CD Reviews: Ronnie Earl - Now My Soul - Stony Plain SPCD 1298
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Posted by: Adminon Tuesday, September 07, 2004 - 01:10 PM |
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Reviewed by: John R. Taylor - E-mail: john.taylor@ca.ey.com
Ronnie Earl is a troubled man. First coming to prominence as co-founder Duke Robillard’s replacement in Roomful Of Blues, he’s become known over the years as a ‘guitarist’s guitarist.’ Yet after wrestling with and conquering substance abuse he’s had to contend with manic depression, chronic fatigue syndrome, and diabetes.
Most would choose to hide such difficulties. Is it fair to air Earl’s laundry in public? Well, yes, given that he himself isn’t shy about discussing it, to the point of a spoken-word outro at the end of “Now My Soul” that acknowledges all of the above and offers thanks to God for his survival against such overwhelming odds and for his musical gifts. A humble man is Mr. Earl.
But just what what does that have to do with his music? Actually, everything. “Now My Soul,” a follow-up to his Stony Plain debut, 2003’s almost all-instrumental “Feel Like Going On,” is Earl’s most personal work to date, one that simply cannot be taken out of context.
Earl’s instrumental prowess is a given. There are few guitarists with such command of the instrument, capable of a sustained and furious intensity that leaves listeners breathless yet equally capable of whisper-soft shadings that could coax tears from the angels themselves. And he’s surrounded by a stellar cast that includes his regular working unit (drummer Lorne Entress, bassist Jimmy Mouradian, and pianist/organist Dave Limina), along with a few old friends. Back again are the Silver Leaf Gospel Singers, whose impassioned vocals prove a fine foil for Earl’s piercing guitar. Kim Wilson contributes vocals on four tracks and adds occasional harmonica; and old band mates Rod Carey (bass) and Greg Piccolo (sax on one, vocals on another) are also on hand.
Despite the high-profile help, though, this is unquestionably Earl’s project, and he offers an almost frightening look into his deeply troubled soul. Things kick off innocuously enough with Jimmy Smith’s jazzy instrumental “Blues For J,” but next up is Otis Rush’s “Double Trouble,” here stretched to nerve-wracking intimacy with Wilson’s exquisite harp accenting Earl’s typically razor-sharp leads. Earl’s own “Feel Like Going On” (yes, the title of his last album) is indeed an affirmation, but he manages to catalogue so many ills against which he’s had to fight it’s almost too much to bear. Ditto “Abandoned,” another original with a confessional intimacy that borders on unsettling.
The gospel fervour of “Walkin’ On The Sea” is uplifting, but “Black And White,” co-written by Earl and noted music journalist Ted Drowzdowski, returns to a dark vision of the world indeed. It’s followed by “Kay My Dear,” a slow twelve-bar instrumental that builds, over almost nine minutes, to a ferocious climax with Earl’s trademark dynamics intact. Things pick up with “Maxwell, Mudcat and Per,” a swinging instrumental in tribute to more of Earl’s former band mates – those who’ve followed his career will recognize the names from the Broadcaster days. “My Buddy Buddy Friends,” despite a catchy grove, is an unbecoming exercise in cynicism that doesn’t quite jibe with Earl’s professed love for humanity. “Walter Through Kim,” though, gives Wilson a chance to stretch out in ways most blues fans will instantly understand – despite the title (which obviously doesn’t appear in any catalog of his work), the song’s attributed to Walter Horton). The curiously named “#7” rides a mid-tempo groove to excellent organ-driven effect, and the music comes to a close with a blistering “The Magic Of Sam,” another tribute to one of Earl’s influences.
While all involved deliver impeccable performances, the album’s overall mood of despair is somehow at odds with Earl’s obvious humility and gracious acceptance of life’s tribulations. Earl’s closing speech (appearing as the disc’s ‘hidden’ closing track) is frank and from the heart, thanking those who’ve helped him through his darkness, and those who continue to listen to his music. Like much of the music, it’s almost too intimate. Yet, again, it shows Earl a man of great courage and humility. And can that be a bad thing?
Earl remains a musician of astonishing power and rare grace. Here’s hoping he’ll conquer the personal demons that continue to plague him, and that someday we’ll be able to celebrate, through his music, a joy that eludes him yet. Make no mistake, this is a fine outing that finds Earl in incendiary form as usual. But there’s so much of the man in every groove one can’t help but hope, for his sake, that he’ll find a measure of happiness. There certainly isn’t much here.
I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this one, as I’d recommend any of Earl’s previous outings. But I’d strongly recommend that anyone who likes this one also check out Feel Like Going On,” his first outing on Stony Plain. Somehow it’s a little easier to listen to.
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