MUSIC NOTES J.D. Buhl
From “Wanderer” to “Thunderer” Thought my image needed a pat on the back I thought my ego needed a Cadillac There I was sittin’ in the driver’s seat I was feelin’ low, still incomplete Now I really know, like I never knew before The Lord come knockin’ and I finally opened up the door Thank you, Lord; thank you, Lord “Sweet Surrender” did not make it into The 100 Greatest Songs of Christian Music, the colorful CCM celebration of 2006. The King of the New York Streets’ greatest hit—in what was still called “gospel” at the time—came too soon to rank highly amongst the hair bands and evangelical ingénues that followed. Still, there are those who remember its scintillating groove and assured, knowing vocal. Dion always sang with utter joy, immeasurable depth, and complete authority. By 1980 he had placed that voice in the service of the Lord. “Irrepressible” is the word. Dion—the toughest, tenderist crooner to ever rule the charts, is nothing if not irrepressible. Now 68, the former paragon of independence is a living testament to the necessity of restraint and control as gifts of grace.“I don’t do what I want to,” sings the bluesman on his new album, Son of Skip James, “but what I oughta and what I should.” It all starts with the snappy drumroll and boogie piano that open “The Wanderer.”This 1961 hit, and its predecessor at No. 1, “Runaround Sue,” are symbolic of a sound, a style, and an attitude that virtually define rock and roll for a whole generation of men. The for-
mer is an anthem for the love-’em-andleave-’em type; the latter warns other guys about a girl who does the same. Such records as these and “Lovers Who Wonder” or “Donna the Prima Donna” are not triumphal, but give expression to a street understanding of fairness. What is lacking is compassion. When Lou Reed inducted his hero into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1989, he summed up his speech with, “After all, who could be hipper than Dion?” Like Reed and other aging artists, Dion has heroically shown us the variegated levels of hipness. His cool followed him from impeccable rock as sharp as his clothes to an unaffected Christian witness that needed only that gray-flecked slouch cap. Dion has made it through the years with one identity, one Lord and Savior, one wife, and the belief that “rock ’n’ roll, at its best, proclaimed your own personal freedom and individuality.” “Sadly,” he continues, “so many artists and friends of mine have never achieved the very reality which they were expressing in their music.” It takes Jesus. One day while jogging in 1979, Dion observed, “God, it would be nice to be closer to you,” and everything changed. The only problem with his subsequent six-album run in gospel music is that it happened in the ’80s—glossy guitars, synthesizers,“programming,” and pillowfight drums. The majority of the 18 selections on The Best of the Gospel Years come from Inside Job (1980), a wonderful record best appreciated as a whole. While Paul Harris’s electric keyboard dominates, guitars are present and still sounding natural; Dion’s writing and singing are sweet and simple, with every song memorable and edifying. The trilogy of “Old Souvenirs,” “New Jersey Wife,” and “Man in the Glass” is especially gripping. These compassionate songs, laced with humility and humor, are followed by “Sweet Surrender.” Dion was nominated for a gospel PRISM 2008
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Grammy in 1985. Other highlights from this period include the intensely personal “Come to the Cross,” as well as “Golden Sun Silver Moon,” and “You Need a Love,” both of which use real horns. His duet with Pamela Sessody, “Day of the Lord,” could be a worshipband standard. His interest in the blues began early, nurtured by A&R giant John Hammond at Columbia Records. After two incharacter singles, the label didn’t know what to do with the increasingly primitive, introspective and drug-addled pop singer. His earnest stabs at blues and folk rock (many of which can now be enjoyed on the retrospective The Road I’m On) were ignored at the time, and he slipped away. Reemerging in singer-songwriter mode, he gave us “Abraham, Martin and John” in 1968. Stripping things further back, it was just the man and his guitar who laid down Bronx in Blue, the 2006 album that marks an astonishing career high.With just a hint of percussion, Dion steams his way through country blues (and country and western) classics by Blind Willie McTell, Robert Johnson, Lightnin’ Hopkins and Hank Williams, among others. Two rocking originals tear it up. And his playing and singing are rich in detail, making you pay attention to every nuance. A five-star album 50 years into his career? Like I said: irrepressible. Now we have Heroes: Giants of Early Rock Guitar (just out from Saguaro Road Records), a tribute to the rockers Dion once toured and shared stages with, which joins last fall’s Son of Skip James (Verve Forecast), the former presenting 15 electrified oldies, the latter another acoustic set of blues thumpers, slightly enhanced by piano and organ. The killers on Son are the tough-talkin’ title cut (which begins “I want to be more like Jesus” and ends “I’m a lover not a fighter, but I could kick your ass”), Sleepy John Estes’“Drop Down Mama,” and the early