|
|
Wingless Angels There was a night in Berkshire County, MA when ‘we all’ went out into the woods. Wanted a bit of privacy to smooch and otherwise imbibe. Actually, we didn’t go into the woods at all, rather we sat just at the edge on top of the hill behind my parents’ summer home. It was autumn so my folks weren’t in residence. |
|
We could have used the house but it wasn’t half as romantic as the gloamin’ up the hill. I was no longer ‘living with’ the family but I had a key anyway; lucky old me—we had running water. Sure enough, ultimately someone broke out a guitar, one lad with drumsticks proceeded to prod the local hollow log [cool sound] and then there was a fiddle. A harmonica materialized and a couple of us decided 'twas time to vocalize. The drummer kept time to the crickets and the night birds and we made up the words as we went along: a magical night. One I thought lost forever to live only in my memory, but I’ve just relived the feeling. Not the same music to be sure, but the same ambience. Keith Richards, in his Rastafarian wisdom, has produced an evening from his Jamaican backyard. And what an evening: I wish I had many more bucks. I’d buy the place next door so I could sit quiet-like in my own back garden and listen as he and these gentle men and women get together and chant their praises to Jah. |
|
Richards is Executive Producer on "Wingless Angels" and he and Rob Fraboni produced this soiree. It was recorded outdoors in November of 1995, and however they set the mics they managed to position the listener in the very center of the music. There’s Keith on guitar, there are the drums, there are the vocals, and then back there—a little further out from where I’m sitting are more drums. A fiddle, bass, keyboard, flute, pennywhistle—and the music and voices and insects all around—the damned thing is beating my heart. I’m almost afraid to turn it off for fear I’ll fall over dead when it stops. A simple 4/4 beat and the music of the people is born. So easy is this sound that you find yourself laughing with the artists as they pass their comments to each other before the song begins, as if you’re in on the joke. Backup vocals seem to have been there all the time since Richards and the ‘Angels’ met in 1972, but they weren’t. They were there that night though. Such an interweaving and community: I love “No Dark There” and “Come in My Little Ones.” I want to be with these people. I want to sing with them. And quite frankly, listening to this again this evening, I’m doing just that. There is a bit of the feeling here that I get when listening to George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass” only it is far more joyful. Garmon? You have got to hear this. |
|
|
Listening to this CD I felt I’d come home. Odd that. I was raised Catholic (Yes… that’s what’s wrong with me) so there’s a bit of the hymn in me as well as the Irish ballad. But nowhere in my background is an African beat or Ska or any of the folk rhythms associated with the non-white cultures. Not really. There’s Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess of course, there are the Broadway show tunes, the New York cabaret—and the rock and roll of my generation [60s]—there is a beat to be sure; but nothing like this—except of course, my own pulse. |
|
|
All of that and more is in this music. Mind you, I had no interest in hearing and/or reviewing this album. In a moment of rocker passion a week or so back, I joined the Keith Richards fan club online. I couldn’t help myself. I am mad for that man’s guitar. As part of my ‘welcome package,’ in today’s mail I received this CD. “Oh!” says I. “I didn’t realize… well, what is this thing anyway?” |
|
Well, now I know, and so do you. Do not miss the chance to hear it. There aren’t many nights like this one—or that one ‘way back in ’78 in my folks’ back garden. Richards named the ‘Wingless Angels’ himself after these tracks were laid down. He said they’d the voices of angels, but couldn’t fly. Oh, Keith! From the first time I heard you sing to the recent “Angels and Outlaws” concert with Willie Nelson and Friends, I always said you had the voice of an angel. And I love those damned bugs that have the lead in on track 9: bloomin’ marvelous. —Jessie Lilley |
