Of The First Order

We're talking about a semi-literate pisshead of the first order with a remarkably unremarkable competence on guitar and harmonica.

Yay! Let’s hear it for sleevenotes, folks! Welcome to Jimmy Reed Upside Your Head.

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To be fair the lines quoted above, entirely out of context, are part of a much wider screed praising Jimmy Reed and his utterly dominant influence on the entire R&B scene of the 60’s and beyond. Let’s face it if you’ve ever rolled your stones and loved them, you’ve loved Jimmy Reed; a man, who in a fair and just world, would have a US state named after him by now, at least.

When I was 9 and going through my mum’s singles with her one day I remember her pulling out one and saying I’d love it. I did. It was ‘Shame, Shame, Shame’ by Jimmy Reed. If you want to hear the EXACT sound of the future Rolling Stones listen to it. It was one of the tunes I taped a year or two later, there being something murky, slurred and passively aggressive about it that really resonated within me*.

Born in Mississippi in 1925 and relocated to Gary, Indiana to work as a meat packer after serving in the US navy it took Jimmy Reed a good while to establish himself as a musician of renown. A combination of alcoholism and undiagnosed epilepsy did for him by the time he was 50, poor soul.

He is a really interesting case because he really was no great shakes on guitar or harmonica, but he just had it – an easy, laconic, shuffling groove. His lyrics are often pretty perfunctory, often just a repeated phrase or two but something always sticks, worms its way in.

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I bought Upside Your Head, a 1980 compilation on Charly R&B Records a few years back because there is no definitive compilation of Reed’s work on vinyl and this one covered most of the tunes I wanted. I could do without the rather 80’s graphics** but I do enjoy Cliff White’s sleevenotes.

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The LP opens with ‘Shame, Shame, Shame’ which always sounds to me like it fades out far too early and the band had more to give. ‘I’m Gonna Get My Baby’ and the more upbeat ‘I Ain’t Got You’ follow it out of the gate and I can’t help boggling at just how influential every note, every nuance, every chord change was to all those British musicians of a certain age.

The tunes and the stories fly by with little more than minor variations of each^. Basically women are the morally weaker sex, they take your money, stay out late returning home in the morning, leave you altogether, do you wrong but hey, we can’t live without ’em. I think this was basically what I had instinctively grasped at the age of 9, precocious little latent misogynist that I clearly was. Damn, I just tripped the irony alarm again.

Quite what his uncredited backing singer and trouble-n-strife Mama Reed made of this remains lost to history. Now that would be an interesting movie.

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One real standout here is the awesome, swagger of ‘Good Lover’ where Mr Reed gives his prowess in the bedroom a double thumbs-up five star Tripadvisor review, whilst telling the object of his affections that whilst she may want all manner of material things a righteously good rogering from him would make all such earthly possessions immaterial; I paraphrase. As a lover of some international repute myself, I can sympathise with his viewpoint.

Bright lights big city
Gone to my baby's head
I'd tried to tell the woman
But she don't believe a word I said

So undeniably great that it led to the naming of my third favourite novel, ‘Bright Lights, Big City’ is just pure genius. Mama Reed’s vocals are more prominent than usual on this beauty. You can guess the story already folks, the titular urban charms went straight to the lady’s head. I just love how ludicrously laid-back, even by Reed’s standards, this tune is, adding to the sense that their story has been going on forever.

There is a touching tenderness in the honeyed plea of ‘Honest I Do’, every dissolute chancer needs a way back and a heart of gold for his credulous lady friend to burnish.

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I could wang on for hours about the merits of each and every tune here on Upside Your Head, but I shall be merciful; this once. Just heed me when I tell you that these songs, half-formed out of smoke, sighs of longing desperation and delirium tremens are the most complete you will ever hear.

In common with so much I love musically all the fat has been trimmed from the bones of these shuffling truths, all the better for them to connect with your soul. Jimmy Reed was the real deal, treat yourself to some of him.

1161 Down (In Virginia).

PS: Hey, he’s playing my theme music:

*which I now appreciate was a bit funking weird for a 9 year old, oh well.

**puts me in mind of a few shite Elvis Costello covers I wasn’t fond of.

^which is no damn criticism from this AC/DC and Ramones fan. If it’s amazing to start with, why fuck with the formula?