Jeff McCord on the month’s new releases
Freddy Fender & Flaco Jimenez
Dos Amigos
Back Porch
If only by virtue of being crossover artists, FREDDY FENDER and FLACO JIMENEZ have each secured a rarified place in Hispanic music. Fender’s earthy Rio Grande Valley hits, like “Wasted Days and Wasted Nights,” got him there, while Jimenez’s San Antonio–style conjunto attracted Anglo ears as varied as Glen Campbell’s and Bryan Ferry’s. Fender and Jimenez last recorded together in the nineties, playing Tex-Mex rock and roll with the Texas Tornados. DOS AMIGOS (Back Porch), though, plays like a dug-up time capsule, dropping you right on the early-sixties Texas border. There’s not a hint of modernism among these joyful and sometimes bawdy tunes, all sung in the duo’s native Spanish. Simply backed by minimal percussion and a bajo sexto, Fender’s voice soars above the swirling arpeggios of Jimenez’s accordion, finding a spontaneous passion almost always missing from more-calculated efforts.
David Fathead Newman
Pure Genius: The Complete Atlantic Recordings
Rhino
The call came in 1954: Dallas saxophonist DAVID “FATHEAD” NEWMAN was being asked to join a band. On the phone, a young RAY CHARLES, who had befriended Newman on the road years earlier. Newman took the gig. It was work. It also became a career. PURE GENIUS: THE COMPLETE ATLANTIC RECORDINGS (1952–1959) (Rhino) presents every moment from the start of this decade-plus partnership and includes Newman’s long-out-of-print debut, Fathead: Ray Charles Presents David Newman. On those tracks Newman interprets swing and ballads in post-bop fashion (proving himself to be much more than an R&B shouter) as Charles comps beautifully on piano. Elsewhere, you hear Newman on Charles’s early hits and forgotten gems, while gospel and blues combine for the origins of soul. This is an indispensable eight-disc set of some of the finest American music ever made.
Curt Kirkwood
Snow
Little Dog
The Meat Puppets flowered in the Arizona desert with a style so unique that it seemed as if no one in the band had ever heard music of any kind. In fact, behind their weird psycho-country-rock was a group with enormous appeal that quickly became an eighties cult favorite. Led by the Texas-born Kirkwood brothers, the band grew more polished (with the big hit “Backwater” in ’94), but when sibling Cris spiraled into drug abuse, singer-guitarist CURT KIRKWOOD moved his franchise to Austin and debuted a decidedly heavier band. SNOW (Little Dog) is Curt’s first solo album, and it sounds a lot like early Pups, with quieter, slightly more conventional backing. It’s quirky and enchanting, but with one oddity: virtually no guitar solos. Given Curt’s propensity to tear off riffs of Coltrane-like majesty, this is akin to Hendrix’s recording an album while wearing mittens.
