LESSONS LEARNED- My Interview w/Sharon Jones

LESSONS LEARNED

At The Age of 54, Will Sharon Jones FINALLY Become A Star?

by Bret Love

 

Chances are good that you don’t know Sharon Jones yet. But if you love classic soul, funk, or just good-time party music, you definitely should.

 

Before Amy Winehouse, Duffy or Adele had turned their retro soul fetishes into chart-topping hits, Jones and her band the Dap-Kings had earned critical acclaim for their stunning 2002 debut, which recalled legends such as James Brown, Mavis Staples and Marva Whitney. While the Dap-Kings provided backup for Winehouse on her 2006 breakthrough, their recordings with Jones (including 2005’s Naturally and 2007’s incredible 100 Days, 100 Nights) have never enjoyed mainstream commercial success.

 

Hopefully that will all change with their latest album, I Learned The Hard Way, another impressive collection of classic funky soul that showcases Jones’ emotive, gospel-influenced vocals. We recently caught up with the 54-year-old powerhouse to discuss her influences, her long and winding road to success and why she loves Michael Bublé.

 

 

You were born in Augusta and raised in New York, but you’ve still got that classic Southern soul sound. Was that a big influence on you when you were growing up?

 

I can’t get rid of that! (Laughs) Sometimes when I get to talking real fast my little Southern drawl will come out. I was born in 1956 when all that stuff was happening, before everything turned to pop and hip-hop. When I was a little girl we listened to Stax and Motown R&B, soul singers like James Brown and Otis Redding, even rock stuff like the Beatles and Rolling Stones. But it’s not just me: I may do the singing and bring the story to life, but the band writes the music that reminds you of Aretha Franklin or Mavis Staples.

 

Did you come up singing in the church?

 

Yeah, I always sang in church. We did this Christmas pageant one year where I played an angel and sang “Silent Night,” and I think I knew then and there that I had something going on. I wound up singing in neighborhood bands in high school. But by the time I hit my early twenties, they told me I didn’t have the look: I was too dark, too fat, too short. But I kept thinking that God had given me a gift, and one day people would accept me for my voice rather than the way I look.

 

I’m not sure if this is true, but I read that you worked as a corrections officer and an armored car guard during the years before your music career took off?

 

Oh yeah! I was at Riker’s Island from 1988-1990, and I worked with Wells Fargo for two to three years after that. I was still working security, wearing a gun all the time, when I met the guys who became my band.

 

So when you’re doing all these crazy jobs and nearing your forties, did you still think in the back of your mind, “I’m gonna get my big break someday”?

 

Yeah, I was still singing in weddings bands on and off up until the time when I met the Dap-Kings. But once we started going over to Europe on tour, they had to get somebody to replace me. The Dap-Kings would be touring in Europe, making like $50 a night and coming home with no money, and I’d be turning down $500 a night gigs with the wedding band! But I had to make that move.

 

Then five years later, you guys were the most critically acclaimed funk/soul band in the country. Is that crazy to you?

 

Hearing you say it like that, yeah! But it hasn’t really hit me yet. Everywhere I go there are still so many people that haven’t heard of us. But every time I go out on stage I give it everything I got– like 110%– and it seems like each time we tour we have a few more fans.

 

Talk to me about getting together with the guys behind Daptone Records.

 

When I first met them they weren’t even called Daptone yet: It was Desco Records, and they’d just discovered Lee Fields, who played old soul music. They wanted three female background singers for Lee’s record, but since I was the only one who showed up I sang all the backing parts myself. After that we recorded a [solo track] called “Switchblade,” and the next thing I knew we were heading to Europe to open for Maceo Parker. Gabe (bass), Binky (guitar) and Leon (saxophone) used to play together in Antibalas and the Soul Providers when they were like 16 years old. Now they’re all in their late twenties.

 

You guys obviously got a lot more mainstream recognition when the band played backup on Amy Winehouse’s breakthrough album, Back To Black. Was it exciting to see that sound getting played on the radio?

 

Actually, no, because it wasn’t OUR stuff. Even though the Dap-Kings played on it, it was Amy and Mark Ronson’s music. It was good exposure for Daptone as a record label, but Amy never gave props to me or the Dap-Kings. But I knew we had inspired her, because when we started going over to England there wasn’t but one other label trying to do what we were doing. The next thing you know, you’ve got people like Duffy and Adele following in her footsteps, but we were the first and we stayed true to what we were doing.

 

It’s kind of like the way Elvis had to get popular before people went back and discovered the black artists who had influenced him. Fortunately it’s come back around to bless you with opportunities, like working with Denzel Washington in The Great Debaters.

 

It was great! While they were out there doing Amy, I was doing Denzel! (Laughs) Right before that I was playing with Lou Reed, and after that I played with Booker T & the MGs. Last year I did a show with Phish on Halloween because they wanted some background singers, but it seemd like a got a lot of new fans out of it. Then Michael Bublé asked me to be on Saturday Night Live with him. What I love about Michael is that he reminds me of that swinging ‘60s vibe, so we’re influenced by the same era of music. It was great exposure for me; it was like when Frank Sinatra teamed up with Dinah Washington. I don’t know what the future holds, but I hope it will bring more great stuff like that. I just want to share the gift that God gave me, and show people that you shouldn’t give up after 40. You’ve got to keep going!

 

You’ve worked with all these other great artists. What is it about the chemistry between you and the Dap-Kings that makes it special?

 

It’s the music! Those guys write the greatest songs, and sometimes I just sit back and watch them. They amaze me. We recorded our new album months ago and I had copies of the rough mixes, but when I got the final version last week I listened to it for the first time from top to bottom while driving on my way to a photo shoot. I was like, “Wow!” I got so into it, I had to stop myself before I got a big head! (Laughs)

 

So what’s next for you guys once the album comes out?

 

We have so many great things lined up, some of which they told me I can’t even talk about yet. We’re gonna be playing on all these different talk shows, and we’re playing the Apollo Theatre on April 30 and 31. I’ve been doing all these interviews and photo shoots, and the other day I did over 100 radio drops. I guess it’s good; it means people love us! (Laughs)

 

REUNITED- My interview with Goodie Mob

REUNITED- KHUJO ON THE RETURN OF GOODIE MOB

By Bret Love

 

He’s been off hip-hop’s radar screen for a few years, but as one-fourth of Goodie Mob, Khujo (born Willie Knighton, Jr.) was one of the architects of Atlanta’s hip-hop scene. With their 1995 debut, Soul Food, Goodie Mob introduced international audiences to the sound of the Dirty South, infusing rap music with heaping doses of gospel and soul. But when Cee-Lo left the quartet after the release of its third album, the group unraveled, never achieving the commercial success of their Dungeon Family brethren in Outkast. 

After an overlooked solo album, an outing with Goodie Mob’s T-Mo as the Lumberjacks and an accident that left him with an amputated leg, Khujo returned with a new project called Willie Isz, a collaboration with producer Jneiro Jarel that found him charting more tripped-out sonic territory. In our recent conversation, he discussed his latest album, his new outlook on life and that eagerly-awaited Goodie Mob reunion.

 

 

Atlanta's hip-hop scene was primarily local before Outkast and Goodie Mob broke out. What was it about the Dungeon Family sound that made it resonate on such a universal level?

We come from Georgia, and there’s a lot of great style here, from James Brown and Ray Charles to Curtis Mayfield. The first seven songs we did for Soul Food were recorded in Curtis Mayfield’s studio, so it was like we was getting that vibe and the guys were playing over [classic soul] samples and making a new sound. Once cats from up North and the West Coast heard that we were original and weren’t trying to be like nobody, they gave us a chance. I remember at the Source Awards in New York when Outkast got their five mics, everybody booed them. But if we hadn’t gotten that boo I don’t think we would’ve been as great as we were. It’s original music and original lyrics, and everybody in the Dungeon Family has their own personality, kinda like the Southern Wu-Tang. 

A lot of people don't give you guys credit for coining the term "Dirty South." What does that phrase represent for you?

The Dirty South slogan really meant to me that it was hard in the South to break that ceiling and get a major situation in the music industry. Now people are just playing dirty, ya know what I’m saying?  It’s a dirty game, and people think they can just come to the south [to make it]. These country boys just don’t know that we play dirty down here, and that goes for the Confederate flag and the black flag.

How do you feel about the way the Southern hip-hop scene has evolved over the years?

 

Well, it has changed, because once we opened that door everybody came through. We don’t have control over who comes out of the Dirty South. I like what’s goin’ on now because it keeps it fresh, even though I might not agree with everything that’s on the radio. My thing is balance: Some of these cats, their album is wack but they playin’ their one good song. But you can put on a Goodie Mob or Outkast CD and listen to the whole record.

 

You've always been one of hip-hop’s more spiritual MCs. What are the challenges of being a spiritual man in a soul-sucking industry?

 

You just gotta have that foundation, you know? Down here in the South, we went to church with our mamas and grandmamas, so we had a strong spiritual foundation. But once you get into the industry and find out it’s more about the business side than the creative side, you gotta have somebody on your team that can handle that junk so you can stay creative.

 

Goodie Mob always seemed like such a tight-knit group. Can you talk about the circumstances that led to Cee-Lo going solo?

 

It was kinda hard, because we was still young back in those days and we just couldn’t understand what was going on. Cee-Lo and our manager was going off doing other adventures, and Cee-Lo was like, “Man, I don’t wanna deal with him right now.” We thought it was just a little spat or something, but then we had to do a whole album and a tour of Japan by ourselves. We got off tour and wanted to record another album, but LaFace was like, “Y’all can’t record no album without Cee-Lo.” So we couldn’t tour, we couldn’t make money, we couldn’t put a record out… it looked real grim. We was upset about that and told LaFace we wanted out [of our contract]. They let us out, but they kept Cee-Lo. I just didn’t understand that. Then we got a situation with Koch [and released] One Monkey Don’t Stop No Show, but everything that happened was real frustrating. Me and Gipp just had to keep pushing.

 

Then you lost part your leg in an auto accident in 2002.

 

As a spiritual person, it was like God showed mercy on me. That day I’d just gotten my wax, because I was releasing my first solo album, The Man Not The Dawg. We were having a good time all day, then that night we went to one more club. I didn’t realize I had so much to drink until the airbag opened up on me. It blew me away, ‘cuz when they rolled me into the hospital the doctor was like, “We’re gonna have to amputate that leg.” I never did get the chance to see my leg, but they said it looked like it had been in a meat grinder.

 

How has that changed you as a person?

 

You can just call me Humble Goodie, man. (Laughs) It’s been a while now, and sometimes I forget about it.  But I was moving kinda fast back then, coming home late all the time, so that shit had to slow me down. It was a wake-up call. My wife was pregnant with my fourth son and we had to take the baby early, so I was in a wheelchair making breakfast while she was in there with the kids. We been through a lot of stuff…

What were the circumstances that brought you and Jneiro together to form Willie Isz?

 

Jneiro found me and told me he had this remix he wanted me on. I didn’t know who he was, but music to me is always about creating something new. I got on the song and it was jammin’, so we decided to do a record together. We worked through the cyber-world– he kept sending me music and I kept smashing– until we came up with a whole album.

 

What was it about his sound that appealed to you?

 

That guy reminds me of Organized Noize’s production. The way he produces sounds a lot like Outkast, so I was like, “This feels like home; this is what I been missing.” It was kinda like a buffer for me, or like a crutch. But this guy is for real, and he’s released three other albums prior to this one. His system of doing things has been exercised real good.

Can you talk about what the concept behind Georgiavania means to you?

 

There have been a lot of collabos lately, and Georgiavania was a better way of saying that this was a collaboration between Pennsylvania and Georgia. It’s kinda like psychedelic medieval chamber music, but with rap lyrics. The guy doesn’t just use samples– he plays on the stuff too– and it’s so outer space to me that we can go anywhere with it. It was cool, because Jneiro was like we can’t cuss on this record, which made it even tougher.  I think people who like a variety of different songs on their record are gonna like this album.

 

How would you compare the Khujo of Willie Isz with the MC you were back in Goodie Mob's day?

I’ve gotten better! My homeboy Shorty B, who produced Too Short, was like, “You be jamming, but I wanna see you rhyme more.” I took that to heart and I’ve been working on my style, trying not to keep people in left field. Now that I’ve gotten older, I can play around with words more than I could back in the Soul Food days. I think there’s always room for improvement, and I keep that in the back of my mind.

There have been rumors of a Goodie Mob reunion swirling for years, with an official announcement on V-103 back in 2007. Where does that stand?

 

We’ve been in the Dungeon working, but we still have a ways to go. Organized Noize is on they job with the production. We’ve already got seven songs together, and I think two of them are gonna be the meat of the album. The other ones remind me of World Party cuz we don’t have people crying, ya know? Music is still supposed to be entertaining, so we have a couple of uptempo songs that can bang at the club. The vibe now is all love. We done got old and understand that a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.  Even though things were different when we was young, we never got mad at each other and ran up in each other’s houses, because it wasn’t anything serious. I went to the studio yesterday and saw Gipp and T-Mo, so now we’re just waiting on Cee-Lo. He’s finishing up a couple of projects that he’s got going on. Once he’s done with that, we’re gonna submit the songs to him and see which ones he thinks is the hypest. There’s no release date yet, but hopefully in 2010.

(originally appeared in Georgia Music Magazine)

SWEET SOUTHERN SOUL- Atlanta's Tragar & Note Labels

VARIOUS ARTISTS

Eccentric Soul: The Tragar & Note Labels 

Numero Group

 

There are some people who do it for the free schwag, some who do it for the opportunity to hobknob with rock stars, and some who do it for the modicum of fame you get when your name is seen in print by thousands of people. But for my money the best part of getting to write about music for a living is the opportunity it affords you to hear great music you might not ever have known about otherwise, and to share the joy of that discovery with like-minded individuals. Eccentric Soul: The Tragar & Note Labels is a perfect case in point, offering up 50 sizzling soul tracks by a bunch of artists you’ve never heard of.

 

The 2-CD compilation is really the story of ATL native Jesse J. Jones, a saxophonist-turned-producer who headed up the little-known Tragar and Note record labels. In spite of the Jim Crow laws, the first half of the 20^th century had been a relatively productive time for black business in Atlanta, with the Sweet Auburn district producing the nation’s first black-owned newspaper, the biggest black-owned insurance company, hotels, office buildings and restaurants. The City Too Busy To Hate was the heart of the “Chitlin’ Circuit,” with clubs such as the Royal Peacock and the Magnolia Ballroom peaking at the city’s most swinging hotspots, yet there were relatively few independent black records out of Atlanta breaking out on the national scene.

 

Jones, who left home at 17 to tour with blues screamer Jimmy Witherspoon (eventually hiring a young Ornette Coleman for his first pro gig), moved to the West Coast in 1956 to avoid gambling debts he’d racked up in after-show high stakes card games. He wound up working as an arranger with Robert “Bumps” Blackwell, who had discovered Ray Charles and Little Richard, and later hit the jackpot with Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me.” Jones subsequently wound up at a series of failed labels– Ebb, Lita, Four-J– before his inexperience and greed found him persona non grata in the insular L.A. industry.

 

Returning to Atlanta, Jones’ next venture was bankrolled by white music lover Jean Wallace. Named after his wife Tracy and son Gary, Tragar Records set up shop in the West End, a perfect location for recruiting local talent. Whether due to Jones’ blacklisting in the music business or simple lack of promotion, these excellent singles never got the attention they so righteously deserve. But like most of the other albums in the Numero Group’s Eccentric Soul series, the anthology unlocks an embarrassment of riches for fans of the ‘60s/‘70s soul sound, uncovering a deep and rich Atlanta music scene that has never really gotten its due credit.

 

Tee Fletcher’s furiously funky “Down In The Country” opens the set appropriately enough, taking time to shout out to R&B legends like James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin and Sam & Dave, and underscoring the reality that many of the Tragar and Note artists could’ve been contenders had Jones’ business savvy matched his ear for artistry.  But it’s primarily the women who shine brightest here, from Franciene Thomas’ rollicking “I’ll Be There” and dynamically emotional “Too Beautiful To Be Good” to Eula Cooper’s soaring voice on the brass- and string-supported “Try” and the exhilarating “Let Our Love Grow Higher,” which is arguably the set’s finest moment.

 

In the end, while offering a cautionary reminder that talent alone is not enough to ensure showbiz stardom, the fantastic compilation also serves to remind us that the ATL’s status as a hotbed of urban music talent goes back decades. –BRET LOVE

(originally appeared in Georgia Music Magazine)