I'm not sure if I should explicitly blame NAFTA for this, or just chalk it up to yet another case of outsourcing, but the States' fine musical heritage continues to be sold back to us by the more attuned tastemakers in Japan, Germany, Italy, and England. The Brits, with that sterling exchange rate and unequivocal love of-- as one music journal states it-- "American Negro Music" continue to kill us with our once-exported music. Late last year, the excellent Country Got Soul comp, which compiled homegrown redneck-soul, swamp-sludged funk, and proto-Outlaw tracks, was released in England, and labels like Kent and Ace (not to mention Soul Jazz) regularly dig through our American R&B; and soul vaults and repackage them for new ears in the digital age.
While previous releases on the London-based Honest Jon's label at least looked to their isle's own for tasteful calypso and dancehall sides, they've now turned their attention to the crucial work done down at Fame Studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, at the end of the 60s' pipe dream and on through the 70s' rough soul-survivalism. Behind only the mighty Stax label and house band in terms of Top 40 success, they churned out gritty Southern soul at a pill and whiskey-fueled pace. The consistency of this powerhouse and stable of artists deserved documentation beyond the Percy Sledge, Etta James, and Aretha Franklin sides continually sold to Big Chillers. Though her record has now been reissued Stateside as well-- on Astralwerks, of all labels-- it was Honest Jon's that first brought attention to this 26-track collection of songs from forgotten vocalist Candi Staton, whose vocal range falls squarely between the Queen of Soul and Marie Queenie Lyons.
Reared on church singing and gospel groups, and ironically ignoring her voice to raise a family with an abusive preacher's son, one fateful night out brought her to the attention of singer Clarence Carter and ultimately the owner of Fame Studios, where she would record all of these sides. As love returns as an album-length theme (everyone from Outkast to Superpitcher has recently succumbed to its onus), here it comes in three-minute chunky cuts, world-wise beyond Staton's years. In each of her songs, love is cast as irrational, temporal, and sinful. There are at least four cheating songs, none of them shying away from their awful truths. And then there's love as sweet entanglement, rendered in the South's down-home fetter metaphors of the chain, the prison, the fishhook, and the puppet string. And let's not leave out that love is also without age or legal boundary, as songs like "I'd Rather Be an Old Man's Sweetheart (Than a Young Man's Fool)" and "Another Man's Woman, Another Woman's Man" lay out explicitly.
The earlier tracks are tougher, with muscular bass and snares like rifle shots, as Staton testifies, pleads, and cries until she's hoarse, boasts, or else shouts aloud her tales of love gone bad or love too good to last. I return more to the middle of this set, though, to the country comforts of Candi's interpretations of soul as well as country standards as her voice finds new nuances in the worn words. Her rasp elevates "That's How Strong My Love Is" to the same level as Otis Redding and O.V. Wright's own takes. Though I may be more familiar with Patsy Cline's heartbreaking loss on "He Called Me Baby", Staton's strength makes known the more redemptive side of the song. With the addition of string sections that come later to the Muscle Shoals sound, "Stand by Your Man" is sharper than the syrupy Tammy Wynette original. And Staton's vocal performance on "In the Ghetto" even wrought fanmail from Elvis himself.
26 tracks is a bit much to get through in one sitting, but the compilers have mixed it all up nicely, the slow-boiling, gospel-based ballads leading into the more ecstatic brassy blasts and natural funk of the uptempo tracks. And given that even the least-crucial songs feature a tough backing band and a powerful, raspy performance from Candi, that's a lot of soul for your diminished-value U.S. buck.
