The Bonnaroo Festival in Manchester, Tennessee, took its name from Dr. John's 1974 album Desitively Bonnaroo-- New Orleans patois for "good time" or "party." So it makes sense that he's become a mainstay of the event, culminating in a fierce performance in 2011 with Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys. That onstage collaboration extended into the studio, as the younger performer produced the elder's latest album, Locked Down. You're right to be skeptical: A certain amount of success gives an artist the leeway to work with his heroes, and for every Van Lear Rose, there's Justin Vernon shouting out Bruce Hornsby. Auerbach has already done production work for Jessica Lea Mayfield, the Ettes, and Hacienda, but Locked Down is his first intergenerational record.
It's an unlikely collaboration, primarily because the man born Mac Rebennack seemed destined for a respectful revival focusing on his New Orleans roots and the melting pot of styles and sounds represented by the Third Ward. Think Joe Henry, some Americana fans, and a Grammy nomination. On the other hand, it's not like Locked Down represents a comeback for Dr. John: If not exactly prolific, he's been consistent throughout the last decade, releasing at least one album every two years and entertaining new twists on his time-tested Big Easy rock. Even so, this album still stands out among his recent work, not so much for the leap of faith he took collaborating with Auerbach but because it turned out so damn well.
Producing and playing like there's no such thing as boomer nostalgia, the Black Key not only respects Dr. John's southern-fried eccentricities but amplifies them. Locked Down is a weird-ass gumbo of grotty funk and R&B, littered with raunchy reeds, leering organ riffs, and blustery guitar. Often it sounds busy and overcooked, but that's better than chaste reverence on any day. The idea isn't to evoke Bourbon Street or some staid idea of New Orleans history. Instead, these songs trace dead ends and back alleys, wandering past houses still bearing high-water marks, finally arriving at a party no tourist was invited to.
While it's never explicitly invoked on Locked Down, Katrina haunts these songs and fires Dr. John's outrage over class inequities and flawed American systems, whether social or judicial. The songs are enlivened by that anger, and if he occasionally sounds like he's shooing the kids off his lawn-- "kids with Uzis, icing suckers," he laments on "Ice Age"-- at least he's still got some fire in him. Even at 71, his voice has lost little of its distinctive rubberiness, which makes him sound like a more agile Tom Waits, only with a thick Creole accent on "Eleggua" and "Kingdom of Izzness".
Not one of these songs proceeds in any expected, predictable way. "You Lie" and "My Children, My Angels" may be the most immediately catchy, but every track boasts a prominent hook, whether it's Auerbach's extended guitar outro on "Getaway" or the second line Shaft funk of "Eleggua". Much like his local forebears from Fats Domino to Professor Longhair, Dr. John has never met a style that he couldn't integrate into his music, so the Afro-pop guitars on "Ice Age" and the rumbling syncopations of "Revolution" don't sound out of place from him. On the other hand, they're a surprise coming from Auerbach, whose vocabulary once began and ended with lo-fi blues rock. So perhaps Locked Down represents a bigger leap for him than for Dr. John, who presides over the album with his usual authority. But both men understand that none of these sounds or ideas is of any use if it doesn't move.
