Archive for the ‘Departures’ Category

Barry Beckett, 1943-2009

October 30, 2015

Originally posted June 15, 2009

Not quite two weeks ago, I wrote about the song “Loan Me A Dime” and my explorations of its genesis. What I didn’t write about at the time was my visceral connection to the song.

As I’ve mentioned here a few times, I played in a recreational band from about 1993 through 2000, playing a couple parties a year and a few gigs, though mostly playing for the joy of it. We played blues, R&B, vintage rock, jazz – whatever any of our members brought to the table over the years, and, combined, our musical interests ranged far afield.

One of the songs I brought to the band’s attention was “Loan Me A Dime,” as interpreted by Boz Scaggs on his self-titled 1969 debut album. I didn’t sing it; our lead singer was a better blues singer than I am. But we pretty well replicated the instrumental backing brought to the album by the crew at Muscle Shoals, starting with the performances of drummer Roger Hawkins, bass player David Hood and rhythm guitarist Jimmy Johnson. For a couple of years, we had a guitar player who’d made the study of Duane Allman’s performances one of the major efforts of his life. And for twenty minutes every couple of weeks – and during every one of our performances – I got to be Barry Beckett.

I posted it here just twelve days ago, but here’s Boz Scagg’s “Loan Me A Dime” once more. Listen to the piano part Beckett plays, from the slow bluesly stuff in the intro and the body of the song to the exquisite runs and triplets near the end of the song, when all hell is breaking loose.

And then take a moment. Barry Beckett is gone. He crossed over last Wednesday, June 10, at his home in Hendersonville, Tennessee. He was sixty-six. Several news reports said he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and later with thyroid cancer; he also suffered several strokes, including one in February from which he never recovered.

In 1969, Beckett and Hood joined Hawkins and Johnson in forming the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios at 3614 Jackson Highway in Sheffield, Alabama. The four had worked together for Rick Hall at FAME studios in Muscle Shoals. Beckett stayed with the Muscle Shoals Sound until 1985, when he left to become an agent and then a music producer on his own.

The list of Beckett’s credits from his long career is remarkable. Starting with his early work with John Hammond, Etta James, Cher and Boz Scaggs and many more, Beckett’s work as a musician and a producer was part of the sound of American music for more than forty years.

I’ve written occasionally about my admiration for the Muscle Shoals crews, especially Beckett, and my love of the music they all created, together at Muscle Shoals and later on. There are plenty of remembrances and eulogies out on the ’Net, and I’m not sure I have any words to add to the discussion today. Probably the best thing I can do to pay my respects to someone whose music influenced me greatly is just to offer some of that music.

Here are a few early things from Muscle Shoals and a bonus track from the first years after Barry Beckett left Muscle Shoals.

A Six-Pack of Barry Beckett
“People Make The World” by Wilson Pickett from Hey Jude, 1969
“I Walk On Guilded Splinters” by Cher from 3614 Jackson Highway, 1969
“I Won’t Be Hangin’ Round” by Linda Ronstadt from Linda Ronstadt, 1972
“Hello My Lover” by Boz Scaggs from My Time, 1972
“Breath” by Johnny Rivers from Road, 1974
“Sailin’” by Kim Carnes from Sailin’, 1976*

Bonus Track
“Damn Your Eyes” by Etta James from Seven Year Itch, 1988*

*(Also produced or co-produced by Barry Beckett)

Delaney Bramlett: The Keystone

November 9, 2011

Originally posted December 30, 2008

Picture a stone wall with an arch in it. The stones that make up wall are smaller – and less important – than those that are actually part of the arch; without the arch stones, the wall would not exist. And in the arch, there’s the stone at the top, the keystone, the piece that holds the arch together. Without the keystone, the other stones in the arch fall and the wall falls.

The man who was the keystone for a huge swath of American music in the 1960s and 1970s died over the weekend. Delaney Bramlett, 69, died Saturday (December 27) in Los Angeles following gall bladder surgery. His wife, Susan Lanier-Bramlett, said he’d had “seven hard months” of ill health, according to Reuters.

Why do I call Delaney Bramlett the keystone for any portion of American music, much less a large one? Well, start with the fact that Bramlett, along with his then-wife, Bonnie, formed in the late 1960s Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, an amalgamation of musicians that blended rock, soul, blues and gospel into a potent brew.

The 1992 edition of the Rolling Stone Album Guide said of the group: “In its toughest, 1969 incarnation – an 11-piece revue – this was southern soul-rock of a scorching expertise. Honing her R&B chops as history’s only white Ikette, powerhouse vocalist Bonnie Bramlett and husband Delaney, an ace picker and country-tinged singer, had the talent and charisma to attract breath-taking sidemen: Leon Russell, Bobby Keys, Carl Radle, Rita Coolidge, Jim Keltner – and, at various times, Eric Clapton and Duane Allman.”

(I’d add to that list Bobby Whitlock and Jim Gordon.)

The records that Delaney & Bonnie – with or without their Friends – released in the late 1960s and early 1970s are vibrant, joyous, sometimes raucous celebrations of the music that Delaney Bramlett grew up listening to in Mississippi. From Home (released on Stax, with Booker T and the MG’s numbered among the Friends) and Accept No Substitute in 1969 through 1972’s D&B Together Delaney and Bonnie’s albums were dependably good and generally well-respected, though the albums were never top sellers. (The duo had one album hit the charts: 1970’s Delaney & Bonnie & Friends On Tour With Eric Clapton, which went to No. 29.)

But it was beyond those records where Delaney Bramlett’s influence lies: It was he, according to the tales, who persuaded Eric Clapton that he could sing well enough to lead a group. Bramlett produced Clapton’s first, self-titled, solo album, released in 1970, with some of the Friends backing Clapton. I’ve read criticisms of the record that say that Clapton sometimes appears overwhelmed by the band. I don’t get that; I think that from the funk of the opening track, “Slunky,” to the extraordinary closer, “Let It Rain,” Eric Clapton is one of the great albums.

It was basically that same cast of musicians – recruited at short notice by Leon Russell – that provided the band for Joe Cocker on the tour documented on Mad Dogs & Englishmen, one of the great live albums. Many of those same players – with a few other Brits added – provided the backing later in 1970 for George Harrison and his sprawling solo album, All Things Must Pass. And the core of that group – Radle, Whitlock and Gordon – then became the Dominos to Clapton’s Derek for the recording of Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, with Allman joining in.

The direct chain ends there. Bramlett released a series of solo albums in the 1970s and then again in the past eight years. From what I’ve read about the albums from the 1970s – I’ve heard only bits of them – there’s little to recommend them. But I’ve listened to two of the three recent albums, and they’re pretty good.

But for a listener – this listener – the chain of influences that Bramlett started with the Friends goes beyond the albums and musicians listed above. We all explore music in different ways. I wrote in one of the earlier posts on this blog about discovering in 1972 an anthology titled Clapton At His Best. The bulk of the two-record set was pulled from Eric Clapton and from Layla, and that music introduced me to the Friends of Delaney & Bonnie. From there, I connected the dots, finding Delaney & Bonnie, the Mad Dogs & Englishmen album, the Allman Brothers Band, the studio geniuses at Muscle Shoals and more, moving on and on along a path of music that continues to this day to entertain, comfort, awe and inspire me. And at the beginning of that path – at the apex of the arch, to get back to the original metaphor – one finds Delaney Bramlett.

And in that conclusion lies one of the fascinating things I’ve learned about myself through writing for nearly two years about the role of music in my life. Had someone asked me in early 2007 to name the most influential pop/rock musicians in my life, I would have answered with utter assurance: the Beatles and Bob Dylan. After all, it was through the Beatles that I discovered rock and pop, and listening to Dylan and his use of language over the years has influenced my writing, both my prose and my lyrics.

But I have to make room on the mountaintop, I think, for Delaney Bramlett. The news of his death – I read it first at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’ – has touched me more deeply than I would have expected. It’s not entirely surprising when any of the men and women who made the music of my youth pass on. They are entering that age when tasks are finished and learning, for this time around, is accomplished. But losing Delaney Bramlett has affected me as much as did losing George Harrison in 2001. At first, that startled me.

Thinking about it overnight, I’ve come to realize that Delaney Bramlett – through his direct and indirect connections – led me during his life to as much good music as has anyone else. That’s a gift for which I’m very grateful.

A Six-Pack of Delaney Bramlett
“Soul Shake” by Delaney & Bonnie & Friends from To Bonnie From Delaney, 1970

“Sing My Way Home” by Delaney & Bonnie & Friends from Motel Shot, 1971

“You Got To Believe” by Delaney & Bonnie & Friends from the Vanishing Point soundtrack, 1971

“Comin’ Home” by Delaney & Bonnie from D&B Together, 1972

“Brown Paper Bag” by Delaney Bramlett from Sounds From Home, 2000

“Mighty, Mighty Mississippi” by Delaney Bramlett from A New Kind of Blues, 2007

Odetta Holmes, 1930-2008

October 12, 2011

Originally posted December 3, 2008

I saw Odetta in concert once, sometime around 1971. I vaguely knew her name, and I somehow knew that she’d played a role in the 1950s folk revival and the civil rights movement of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

So I talked Rick into going along with me, and we sat in pretty good seats in Stewart Hall Auditorium at St. Cloud State. And we listened as a dignified, almost severe, African American woman sang songs we’d mostly never heard before, accompanied only by her spare guitar playing. The music of Odetta, who died in New York City Tuesday at the age of seventy-seven, was nothing like the music we were accustomed to hearing. But we listened, pulled into the performance by the clarity of her voice, the messages of the songs and the warm humanity of her performance.

I can’t say that hearing her in concert made me run out and buy her records. But I stored her name away as one of the important artists I’d seen and heard, mentally filing Odetta in the folder filled with the names of artists I’d someday learn more about. To be honest, I’ve never done that. I’ve heard a few things, taken some CDs out of the library in the past ten years, but I’ve never dug too deeply into her catalog.

I was aware, nevertheless, that Odetta was one of the major folk artists of the 1950s and early 1960s, lending her voice and her stature to the struggles of those times. I was unsurprised to read this morning that she was one of the artists who performed during the March on Washington in August 1963. The New York Times reports: “Her song that day was ‘O Freedom,’ dating to slavery days: ‘O freedom, O freedom, O freedom over me, And before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave, And go home to my Lord and be free.’”

There will no doubt be other blogs whose operators can write more knowingly than can I about Odetta, her music, and her influence on American music, culture and history, so I’ll defer to them and let Odetta’s music do the talking.

I’ve pulled together six of her recordings, two from the later portion of her classic folk period and four from recent years, when she was once again recording regularly. The credits at All-Music Guide for Blues Everywhere I Go list Dr. John and Seth Farber on piano, but on both tracks I’m offering here, it sounds like Dr. John. (Unfortunately, the AMG credits don’t identify who played guitar.) And sadly, I don’t have any credits for Looking For A Home, which was a tribute to the late folk-blues artists Leadbelly (but I’d swear I hear the good doctor on those tracks, too).

A Six-Pack of Odetta

“This Little Light Of Mine” from Odetta Sings Folk Songs, 1963

“Masters of War” from Odetta Sings Dylan, 1965

“W.P.A. Blues” from Blues Everywhere I Go, 1999

“Homeless Blues” from Blues Everywhere I Go, 1999

“Rock Island Line” from Looking For A Home, 2001

“Bourgeois Blues” from Looking For A Home, 2001

Miriam Makeba, 1932- 2008

September 26, 2011

Originally posted November 11, 2008

Commemoration is one of the functions that blogs like this one take on.

As musical pioneers or stalwarts cross over, their passings are noted in Blogworld, sometimes here, sometimes at other blogs, sometimes seemingly at every blog that puts its voice forward. I have no idea how many blogs will write about Miriam Makeba today, but I imagine there will be many.

And yet, even knowing the central place that Makeba and her music played in the long struggle for a free South Africa, I find myself hesitant to write much about Makeba or her music or the struggle. Not because of a lack of importance, but due to my lack of knowledge. (I have a vague memory of seeing Makeba in concert at St. Cloud State when I was about eight, but I’m not sure, and even so, that’s not nearly enough to hang a post on.)

I can start with the fact that Miriam Makeba, a singer who earned the sobriquet “Mama Afrika,” died yesterday near Caserta, Italy, after she became ill during a performance. I know – thanks to Wikipedia – that she was born in Johannesburg as Zenzile Miriam Makeba in 1932.

The Wikipedia piece summarizes her life and career as well as I can, and it looks as well at the musical and cultural impact Makeba had on her homeland as it moved slowly out of the tragedy of apartheid. As I expected when I heard the news of her death yesterday, there is a moving tribute to Makeba at Any Major Dude With Half A Heart. Check it out; living in and writing from Makeba’s South African, he’ll have far more to say, more cogently, than can I, observing and writing from afar.

As for music today, here’s the track “Malaika” from the 1965 album by Makeba and Harry Belafonte, An Evening With Belafonte/Makeba.

“Malaika” by Harry Belafonte & Miriam Makeba [1965]

And here, in a live performance from Harare, Zimbabwe, in 1987, is Makeba performing “Soweto Blues,” written by her one-time husband, Hugh Masekela.

“Soweto Blues” by Miriam Makeba [1987]

And to close, here’s a video of the same performance:

RIP, Miriam Makeba.

Farewell To Seven-Toed Henri

August 24, 2011

Originally posted October 17, 2008

I was going to write about the autumn of 1971 today, a time that was unexceptional for the most part. It did mark my first quarter of college, and I guess that made it a time of major adjustments. But I’ll write about that some other day.

We lost another cat yesterday.

This summer, shortly after we had to let go of the Texas Gal’s beloved Smudge, one of the Texas Gal’s co-workers said a kitten had found its way to her mother’s place. The kitten ended up with the Texas Gal’s co-worker, who then learned that her husband and son were allergic to cats. For two days, the kitten was alone in their basement while they figured out what to do, and there was talk of letting it loose in a field to fend for itself.

Given that we were in the middle of the difficult (and expensive) process of moving, I was reluctant to bring in a kitten, but I’ll never let a little one be let loose in a field; I can’t imagine anything more terrifying – or more practically lethal – for a small animal. So one evening, the Texas Gal brought home our new little guy, black with some white trim . . . and seven toes on each front foot.

I’m not sure where the name came from, but after some hesitation, the Texas Gal named him Henri Matisse, after the artist. But we pronounced his name “Henry” instead of the French “Ehn-ree.” And we took him to Dr. Tess for his standard kitten care. He had worms, which we expected, and we treated him for that. A few months later, not long after we moved, we had him neutered and had his front claws removed.

Even after treatment for worms, Henri’s digestive problems continued. When we organized the empty boxes we’d thrown off to the side of the basement during the move, we discovered that he hadn’t been using his cat box regularly. We thought his continued digestive problems might be the reason, so we changed his diet, kept an eye on his trips to the basement and gave him a supplement for two weeks.

Nothing really helped his digestion, and once the two-week regimen of the supplement was over, he began to lose weight and he didn’t always seem comfortable. And one evening this week, we discovered that his cat box behavior in the basement hadn’t changed. In some ways, it’s no big deal. We’ve cleaned up worse messes over the years. But the vet said yesterday morning that it was unlikely Henri’s behavior would change, even if we could correct the problem with his digestion. And we knew we couldn’t continue.

Henri went peacefully. And we have another cat-shaped hole in the house. The Texas Gal and I both spent a little bit more time than usual last evening playing with Oscar and talking to Clarence, our two remaining catboys. That helped, at least a little.

A Baker’s Dozen from 1971, Vol. 4
“Tell Me Why” by Matthews’ Southern Comfort, Decca 32874 (No. 99 on the Billboard Hot 100 as of October 16, 1971)

“Theme from ‘Summer of ’42’” by Peter Nero, Columbia 45399 (No. 91)

“Respect Yourself” by the Staple Singers, Stax 0104 (No. 82)

“It’s a Cryin’ Shame” by Gayle McCormick, Dunhill 4288 (No. 60)

“Two Divided By Love” by the Grass Roots, Dunhill 4289 (No. 55)

“Women’s Love Rights” by Laura Lee, Hot Wax 7105 (No. 37)

“You’ve Got To Crawl (Before You Walk)” by 8th Day, Invictus 9098 (No. 36)

“One Fine Morning” by Lighthouse, Evolution 1048 (No. 32)

“Loving Her Was Easier (Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again)” by Kris Kristofferson, Monument 8525 (No. 27)

“Stick-Up” by Honey Cone, Hot Wax 7106 (No. 19)

“I’ve Found Someone Of My Own” by the Free Movement, Decca 32818 (No. 15)

“So Far Away” by Carole King, Ode 66019 (No. 14)

“Smiling Faces Sometimes” by the Undisputed Truth, Gordy 7108 (No. 12)

A few notes:

The Matthews’ Southern Comfort track is a cover of the Neil Young tune from After the Goldrush album, which came out in 1970. Southern Comfort was headed by Ian Matthews, who had been a founding member of Britain’s Fairport Convention. Matthews’ career is a fascinating series of stops, starts and sudden left turns, but his music has always been listenable and sometimes inspired.

One evening during the summer of 1971, after a day of unpacking file cabinets in the new Education Building at St. Cloud State, I wandered off to the theater and took in The Summer of ’42. The movie touched me, with its tale of a young man’s beginning to grow up, of his crush on the older woman played by the luminescent Jennifer O’Neill (looking impossibly young from where I sit now) and of the tragedy and confusion of wartime. I was also blown away by Michel Legrand’s Academy Award-winning score, which was sweet and sad and over-the-top – all of the things that we are at sixteen. I never looked for the soundtrack LP; I’m not sure why. But when Peter Nero had a hit with the main theme later in the year (the single went to No. 22), I was pleased to hear the song coming out of my radio.

Gayle McCormick was the lead singer for Smith, the group that had a No. 5 hit in the autumn of 1969 with a cover of “Baby It’s You.” “It’s A Cryin’ Shame” was a pretty good single from her first solo album – she recorded two others in the early 1970s, and after that, I lose track of her – but it didn’t do very well. Nor did her follow-ups. She never cracked the Top 40 as a solo artist.

This selection includes three more good singles (several showed up in previous Baker’s Dozen selections) from Hot Wax and Invictus, the labels launched by Eddie Holland, Lamont Dozier and Brian Holland after they left Motown. The singles weren’t as successful on the pop chart as they were good. “Women’s Love Rights” peaked at No. 36, and “You’ve Got To Crawl” topped out at No. 28, but the Honey Cone single nearly got into the Top Ten, stalling at No. 11. (It spent two weeks at No. 1 on the R&B chart.)

This version of Lighthouse’s “One Fine Morning” originally linked with this post was from the album. Since then, I was able to find a video with the fairly rare single edit. Either way, once I saw the title in the Hot 100 for this week in 1971, I had to post the song, even in the wrong version. It’s just too good to ignore.

The Undisputed Truth’s “Smiling Faces Sometimes” was a pretty grim and tough song, talking about the perfidy surrounding all of us, wherever we go. Some folks saw it as a political allegory, and the theme of betrayal makes that at least a little bit plausible, given the realities of 1971. Whatever the message, the record had a great groove.

Edited and rewritten slightly on August 6, 2013.

RIP, Rick Wright & Norman Whitfield

August 15, 2011

Originally posted September 18, 2008

Pillars continue to fall.

Monday saw the death from cancer of Rick Wright, keyboard player and one of the founding members of Pink Floyd. He crossed over at his home in England at the age of sixty-five.

Wright appeared on every Pink Floyd but one from 1967’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn onward. (The single exception was The Final Cut in 1983.) Along the way, he wrote some of the most cherished songs in the group’s long history, including two songs – “Us and Them” and “The Great Gig in the Sky” – for the group’s 1973 masterpiece, Dark Side of the Moon.

Also leaving us this week was Norman Whitfield, soul and R&B songwriter and producer, most notably for Motown in the 1960s and 1970s. Whitfield, who was sixty-seven, died from complications of diabetes. He was one of the most prolific songwriters and producers in any genre; the list of recordings of songs he wrote – generally with Barrett Strong – stretches for thirty pages at All-Music Guide covering soul, R&B, funk and many other genres and subgenres of music.

While it’s always risky to distill such a broad-based career down to two or three songs, there were three records I thought of immediately when I heard the news: Marvin Gaye’s version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” Edwin Starr’s “War,” and the Temptations’ “Papa Was a Rolling Stone.”

Given the news of the two deaths, I went digging at YouTube, as I generally do on Thursdays, and found some interesting things.

Here’s Pink Floyd on its 1994 Pulse tour performing Wright’s “Us and Them,” with some good close-ups of Wright singing and playing keys.

From the same tour, here’s Wright’s “Great Gig in the Sky,” again with a few good looks at Wright.

As for Whitfield, his writing and productions were his performances, so first, here’s the late Marvin Gaye singing “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” during a television performance that’s dated 1968.

Then, here’s a live performance by the Temptations – from Soul Train, I think – of the Whitfield and Strong’s “Papa Was a Rolling Stone.”

And here’s the late Edwin Starr with a performance of Whitfield & Strong’s “War,” evidently from a New Year’s celebration – if I’m wrong, someone please say so – hosted by British musician Jools Holland, who hosts Later . . . With Jools Holland.

Finally, stop by Barely Awake In Frog Pajamas for a moving meditation on the passing of folks whose art matters to us.

Afternote
The Temptations’ performance on Soul Train took place in 1972. The Starr performance was in fact from a show hosted by Holland on December 31, 2001, and was titled Jools Holland’s 9th New Year’s Eve Hootenanny. Four of the five videos – all except the Pink Floyd performance of “The Great Gig In The Sky” – have been re-embedded during posting in the archive although I believe they are the same videos as were originally embedded in 2008. Note added August 15, 2011.

Calum ‘Dave’ Thomson, 1945-2008

August 5, 2011

Originally posted September 9, 2008

A few months ago, as I wrote about hearing from musicians whose stuff I had posted, I mentioned Dave Thomson of Blue Rose, whose 1972 self-titled album I shared here during the first week of April.

Dave wrote to me when the download link to his band’s album wouldn’t work. I sent him a CD of the album – which he said he’d not heard since the 1980s – and he sent me some pictures of the band (including the photo page above) and a portion of a memoir written by Rick Allen, who played organ for the group. I heard from Dave a couple times more, with him sending me notes about the band’s history and me eventually sending a scan of the record jacket from 1972.

I got a note last night from Dave’s wife, Alice Johnson. She told me she and Dave had enjoyed hearing Blue Rose and had made copies for friends. And she told me that Dave had died August 31.

I did some digging and found an obituary in the Morning Sun, a newspaper published in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan:

Calum David “Dave” Thomson
Jul 4, 1945-Aug 31, 2008

“Calum David ‘Dave’ Thomson, 63, of Shepherd, Michigan, passed away at St. Mary’s Hospital in Saginaw on August 31, 2008. Calum was born in Fort William, Ontario, on July 4th, 1945, to Russell and Jessie (MacMillan) Thomson. A talented musician, Calum entertained people with his music for most of his life. In 2001 Calum moved from Phoenix, Arizona to Michigan where he shared his life with Alice Johnson, whom he married on January 6, 2006, and who survives him.

“Besides his wife, Calum is survived by his father and his father’s companion, Lucille Maneval. He is also survived by three brothers; Kelly, Craig and Kenny, a son Davey, a daughter Sheli and several grandchildren. His step-children, Anita (Wade) Davis and Rob Johnson, as well as his step-grandchildren, Dru and Quinn Carson and Madylin Johnson, will also miss him. Calum was preceded in death by his mother and his brother, Dwight.

“A gathering of friends and family to celebrate Calum’s life will be held at the Shepherd United Methodist Church Fellowship Hall on Saturday, September 6, 2008, from 1 to 3 p.m. In lieu of flowers, please consider a donation in Calum’s name to the charity of your choice.

“Arrangements have been entrusted to the Berry Funeral Home.”

Here’s a picture of Dave during his Blue Rose days:

Obviously, I didn’t know Dave well. But the fact that I knew him at all carries a little bit of weight this morning. And although anything I feel is minimal compared to the loss felt by his family and the others in his life, there is some sorrow here this morning. I never thought for a minute when I started this blog that it would bring me distant friends. It did, though, and now comes the realization that, having gained friends, there will be times when I lose them.

I guess the best I can do for Dave this morning is to share his music again. Here’s Blue Rose, the self-titled album from 1972. (Dave wrote “I’ll Never Be In Love Again,” “Chasin’ The Glow Of A Candle,” “Make You Happy” and “Show You A Way To Have Fun,” and co-wrote, with John Uribe, “Look What We’re Doin’.”)

Track list:
My Impersonal Life
Takin’ Love And Run
I’ll Never Be In Love Again
Debt Of Fools
Chasin’ The Glow Of A Candle
Sweet Thing
Make You Happy
Home
Show You A Way To Have Fun
Look What We’re Doin’

Blue Rose –Blue Rose [1972]

And here’s the single version of “My Impersonal Life,” released as Epic single 10811:

Blue Rose – “My Impersonal Life”

And to close, here’s a track from Mickey Newbury’s 1988 album, In A New Age:

Mickey Newbury – “All My Trials”