Look at the picture of Steve Cropper on his new album cover and you see what appears to be a quiet, reserved young man—certainly not a lead guitarist. Play the record and you find that a lead guitarist is exactly what Cropper attempts to be on this solo album.
But Cropper is not a lead guitarist—he's a rhythm guitarist, maybe the best in the business—and this album is a failure for just that reason. After all these years of listening to him as an integral member of Booker T. and the M.G.'s, or backing Otis Redding and countless other soul stars, the sad truth to be gleaned from this album is that Cropper simply cannot carry a sustained piece of music alone.
on this album is unoriginal and far from exciting. The arrangement of the title cut is so close to Joe Cocker's version that it seems impossible for it to be coincidental. "Land of 1000 Dances," "99 1/2," "Funky Broadway," and, to a lesser extent, "In the Midnight Hour," also sound a bit too familiar, New material, please. Or at least fresher arrangements.
No one could ever criticize Cropper for lack of good taste. His taste is impeccable. What he is lacking, and very sorely, is a sense of adventure. The restrictions he imposes on himself are too severe. Each cut sounds like the last one, which sounds like the one before it, and so forth. Cropper knows his licks, and he knows them well, but he doesn't know enough of them to put out a diversified solo album.
Listening to Cropper in a more familiar role, however, can be a most rewarding experience. On the three-way LP with Albert King and Pop Staples, King takes the lead virtually all the way through, and Cropper is subdued, relaxed, and effective. It's Cropper's discipline and control, for example, which saves "Don't Turn Your Heater Down," a tune that is in serious danger of falling apart in several spots.
The jam album has its other weak points, but for the most part I recommend it highly. Each of the three guitarists sings one song, the remainder of the album being left to Memphis music pure and simple.
"What'd I Say," is the first song, and despite the weakness of King's singing (which is unconvincing and hardly in the spirit of Ray Charles' original), this cut sets the tone for the rest of the album because the interweaving of the three guitars is pure alchemy. Pop Staples, a man who we should all probably listen to a great deal more than we do, gives "Tupelo," the John Lee Hooker classic, an incredibly sensitive treatment comparable only to that of Hooker himself. Even Cropper's vocal on "Water," his first on record to my knowledge, is surprisingly compelling, an effort easily as good as a lot of the stuff passed off as singing these days.
Most of the first side is slow, lazy, and bluesy — the kind of music that runs through your head when lying in the sun on a hot summer day. The second side is pretty much uptempo. Horns are used simply and sparingly, sometim
