Tracking down any Otis Clay recording and tossing it on the ol’ turntable is gonna yield a pretty distinct experience. During the sixties and seventies Clay flitted from imprint to imprint, cutting sides but only issuing a few albums. Sticking to the singles format enabled the singer, who was raised up through the ranks of gospel, to turn out a significant amount of work in secular and religious mode. Of course, after hitting Chicago, transplanting himself from Mississippi, the industrialized Midwest came to bear on his output. But heading back down South to record sides for Memphis-based Hi Records, the same label Al Green and Syl Johnson were connected with, resulted in Clay hooking up with the imprint’s rhythm section. And it’s on those sides—compiled for the 1972 “Trying to Live My Life Without You” and its follow-up “I Can’t Take It”—on which Clay distinguished himself. Over production not dissimilar from what Green worked with, Clay laments bad love and awkward situations; the meaning of love and the trajectory of human relationships. Ultimately, the singer finds himself disappointed. There’s no easy connection between that first Hi collection and the latter, released in 1977; just a low-end similarity and Clay’s voice. But by that time, disco had already insinuated itself into America’s consciousness, supplanting other dance musics and leaving a generation of performers on the outs. Clay, though, persisted, occasionally shifting back to the gospel music that he came up on. During that time, too, he cultivated an international following, which still thirsts for more—he’s issued a few live dates recorded at various soul summits abroad. But Clay’s not a museum show, working out the solemn soul and devotional music he initially invested in during the fifties. His latest work, “Truth Is,” comes off as desperately slick when compared to those classic Hi sides. But Clay’s voice remains a brisk reminder of the Windy City soul that once entranced radio listeners for a brief time in the not too distant past. (Dave Cantor)
January 4 at Evanston’s SPACE, 1245 Chicago, (847)492-8860. 8pm. $16-$36.
For “Want” of a Change: A Preview of Rufus Wainwright at Ravinia Park Rufus Wainwright isn’t the first singer-songwriter to reinterpret earlier work through an orchestral lens. And much of Wainwright’s third and fourth albums, “Want One” and “Want Two”—whose twentieth anniversaries are the prompt for this new tour—is fully scored. But when Wainwright hits the Pavilion stage at Ravinia tonight, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra will be behind him.
Cooling It: A Preview of Colleen Green at Cole’s Bar When Green strums power chords or chiming notes on top of her backing track, you might think you’re at Ramones karaoke night and Madonna is taking her turn.
Brutal Finesse: A Preview of King Crimson at Ravinia There have been few new compositions from King Crimson these past two decades, but the live arrangements of songs from its catalog are often strikingly different than the recorded versions.
Tracking down any Otis Clay recording and tossing it on the ol’ turntable is gonna yield a pretty distinct experience. During the sixties and seventies Clay flitted from imprint to imprint, cutting sides but only issuing a few albums. Sticking to the singles format enabled the singer, who was raised up through the ranks of gospel, to turn out a significant amount of work in secular and religious mode. Of course, after hitting Chicago, transplanting himself from Mississippi, the industrialized Midwest came to bear on his output. But heading back down South to record sides for Memphis-based Hi Records, the same label Al Green and Syl Johnson were connected with, resulted in Clay hooking up with the imprint’s rhythm section. And it’s on those sides—compiled for the 1972 “Trying to Live My Life Without You” and its follow-up “I Can’t Take It”—on which Clay distinguished himself. Over production not dissimilar from what Green worked with, Clay laments bad love and awkward situations; the meaning of love and the trajectory of human relationships. Ultimately, the singer finds himself disappointed. There’s no easy connection between that first Hi collection and the latter, released in 1977; just a low-end similarity and Clay’s voice. But by that time, disco had already insinuated itself into America’s consciousness, supplanting other dance musics and leaving a generation of performers on the outs. Clay, though, persisted, occasionally shifting back to the gospel music that he came up on. During that time, too, he cultivated an international following, which still thirsts for more—he’s issued a few live dates recorded at various soul summits abroad. But Clay’s not a museum show, working out the solemn soul and devotional music he initially invested in during the fifties. His latest work, “Truth Is,” comes off as desperately slick when compared to those classic Hi sides. But Clay’s voice remains a brisk reminder of the Windy City soul that once entranced radio listeners for a brief time in the not too distant past. (Dave Cantor)
