When they weren't backing other famous artists, they were releasing albums and touring on their own. One of their most consistent albums is Hip Hug-Her (1967). From start to finish, it's an all-instrumental record filled with funky beats and Southern-fried riffs--perfect fodder for DJs looking for tasty samples. But, in truth, it's kind of lean when it comes to songs that stand on their own as songs. By that, I mean 75% of the album sounds like backing tracks or demos that are missing a lead vocal.
After all, they were a backing band, albeit a damn good one.
One exception is the album's rollicking title track. All elements come together to create the perfect soul stew: Jones's Hammond-B3 organ wails and Cropper's guitar snarls and moans through slight distortion. But the foundation of it all is Jackson and Dunn.
As I've mentioned before, Jackson had a knack for playing just behind the beat, meaning that there was always a little swing in everything he played. (The pattern he plays here, with the emphasis on the "2" and the "4" and those time-keeping 16th notes on the hi-hat, is very similar to his drumming on Otis Redding and Carla Thomas's duet "Tramp," released that same year.)
Dunn was the prototypical soul bassist who set the standard for how to establish a groove. His closest peer was James Jamerson of Motown's Funk Brothers. But as The Atlantic contributor David Graham pointed out in his 2012 tribute to Dunn, Jamerson was "melodic and intricate," whereas Dunn "was a riff-master, staying close to the triad of each chord and sticking to the bottom of the register." It's that straightforward yet heavily rhythmic approach that influenced bassists from Paul McCartney (see: "Dear Prudence") to Paul Simonon (see "The Magnificent Seven.") It's also that proverbial "bottom end" that gives "Hip Hug-Her" its thump and bounce. (It's no coincidence that the song is named for some tight-fitting jeans.)
No comments:
Post a Comment