The Musical Box

the song and dance ensemble of west africa performs tonight at the singletary center for the arts.

The region commonly referred to as West Africa is a land of living history. Within its mountains, coastlines and deserts live the people of 16 countries representing countless ethnic groups. Look deep into the region’s past and you will discover empires, some dating back to the sixth century.

Defining that history through the years has been music, whether its was delivered by storytelling nomads known as Griots or through the mix of traditional and contemporary voices that have given rise to such esteemed West African artists as Youssou N’Dour, Baaba Maal, Angelique Kidjo and the late Ali Farka Toure. Those performers have not only demystified cultures that can’t help but seem foreign to American artists. They also awakened interest worldwide the music of Mali, Senegal, Benin, Guinea, the Ivory Coast and the other lands that make up West Africa.

Add to that list the name of Bamba Dembele, artistic director for the Song and Dance Ensemble of West Africa, which performs at the Singletary Center for the Arts tonight as part of the Alltech Festival. For 28 years, the group has taken the rhythms and traditions of West Africa across the globe.

“The music is a combination of many traditions from many ethnic groups,” Dembele said. “The dance represents the rhythm of the music. In one piece, a man dances with scarves to imitate a bird. The piece is called Sinkola, meaning the Bird of Power.

“This music has enjoyed a very warm reception. Every night the audience is on its feet.”

A conversation with Dembele underscored, quite expectedly, the immediate difference in African and American cultures - namely, language. Dembele’s first language is Bambara. Spoken primarily in Mali, where most of the ensemble members hail from, Bambara is also the native tongue of a West African ethnic group of the same name. For this story, Dembele spoke through a French interpreter. His comments where then relayed through an American representative of the group.

Estimating how accurately questions and answers were expressed in this kind of party line communication is difficult. But language, Dembele asserted, is no boundary when it comes to expressing the heritage behind the ensemble’s music.

“Even if audiences don’t understand the exact words, the music is still a good means to communicate. It gives a sense of Mali and West Africa to audiences that are curious.”

Dembele is a veteran of the Super Rail Band, a popular Malian music group with a history similar to that of The Song and Dance Ensemble of West Africa.

The Super Rail Band gave rise to such West African artists as singer Salif Keita. The Song and Dance Ensemble at one time included vocalist Oumou Sangare and the celebrated kora instrumentalist Toumani Diabete.

Both bands were formed in 1970 with government support to revive, perform and promote Malian and West African culture. In many ways, its means of delivering music is similar to that of the Griots, the tribal elders who, generations earlier, were given the responsibility of preserving oral history and traditions through stories, songs and poems.

“The Griot is the man who keeps the tradition, who keeps it alive,” Dembele said. “He is the storyteller, the keeper of the oral communication. Many of the songs we do come from the tradition of the Griot.”

For Thursday’s Singletary Center performance, Dembele and the ensemble will perform Mandingo music on the harp-like kora, the lute-like ngoni and the marimba-like balafon as well as on the more familiar djembe hand drum. Also planned are Griot songs performed by a female trio that outline women’s roles in Malian society.

“Instruments like the kora and balafon are all part of the Mandingo tradition,” Dembele said. “All of these instruments compliment each other. The kora (a 21 stringed instrument with a hollow gourd at its base) is an especially important in the ensemble to create the more melodious sounds. But you need the balafon, the ngoni - all of the other instruments - to make the full sound of the music.”

That resulting music is the essence of West Africa’s living history. It is the means that will provide a home in the Bluegrass, at least for an evening, for the musical traditions of Mali.

“Music brings the world together,” Dembele said. “It is the best communication.”

The Song and Dance Ensemble of West Africa performs at 7:30 tonight at the Singletary Center for the Arts. Tickets: $25, $28 and $32. Call (859) 257-4929.

lindsey buckingham: "gift of screws"

The origins of Gifs of Screws supposedly go back a decade or more. Return, if you will, to 1998 as pop maestro Lindsey Buckingham was basking in the aftermath of a high profile (and highly profitable) Fleetwood Mac reunion. The next move was a solo record, which Buckingham traditionally takes his everloving time to fashion. The album was near completion when Fleetwood Mac surfaced again with the desire to make a new recording of its own. Buckingham then gutted the original Gift of Screws project and offered several of its prime selections to the band that made him a celebrity. He then veered off for a quieter, predominantly acoustic record in 2006 called Under the Skin.

Now we have a reconstituted Gift of Screws. The title tune may reference the poetry of Emily Dickinson in verse, but the song’s low-fi pop crunch, jittery guitar patterns and howling chorus are very much the devices of Buckingham. These are elements of a lean and slightly twisted pop vocabulary that, once freed from Fleetwood Mac’s more commercial demands, take full flight on Buckingham’s solo ventures.

You could say the Dickinson parallel doesn’t stop with Gift of Screws‘ namesake song. While Buckingham’s artistic life may not approximate the great poet’s largely solitary existence, he does tend to turn his albums into one man band affairs. Gift of Screws is no different. Aside from a few appearances by Fleetwood Mac’s venerable rhythm section (drummer Mick Fleetwood and bassist John McVie) and two cameos by Cuban drummer Walfredo Reyes (from Santana, Traffic and others), Fleetwood played and produced everything on these pop sketches.

Indulgent as this may seem, there is a familiarity within this methodology. Time Precious Time and Bel Air Rain, for instance, sound like flip sides of the same song. Both employ the sorts of descending guitar arpeggios that Buckingham has favored since the late ‘80s Fleetwood Mac hit Big Love (and maybe even earlier). On Time, the strings have a light, almost harp-like sound that suit Buckingham’s breathy, meditative singing. Rain, though, is all tension. The song is essentially an elongated nervous tic with guitars beating against its melody and Buckingham’s harried singing advancing the tune’s restlessness.

The sprit of Brian Wilson, which never seems to be too far away from Buckingham’s music revisits on Underground. The song creates a cool ambience out of multi-tracked backing vocals, a warmer acoustic stride and lyrics that bear a modestly bittersweet sense of resignation. It’s a sad song, at heart. But the lightness of the arrangement makes the tune positively glow. Underground’s evil twin is the album opening Great Day, where the acoustic runs are more brittle and the layers of Buckingham’s vocal makeup bear a darker, more desperate cast.

Finally, there are moments when Buckingham tightens the reins, plugs in and takes merry old stabs at rock ‘n’ roll. Case in point on Gift of Screws is Loves Runs Deeper. It serves up the sort of killer melodic hooks that Buckingham dispensed with ease during the height of his Fleetwood Mac tenure. But the tune also retains its homemade, demo-like demeanor. It sounds like the second coming of Tusk.

So, the rock re-invention of Dickinson this isn’t. But Gift of Screws does possess a potent solitary streak. You hear tradition. You hear groove. But the pop vision behind this arresting music sounds distinctive because Buckingham caters to no one’s muse but his own.

from david bowie to david letterman: david sanborn performs saturday night in covington.

It will forever be David Sanborn’s burden to be considered part of the modern day elevator music format known as “smooth jazz.” Think of smooth jazz saxophonists and you have to consider names like the dreaded Kenny G. Let’s get one thing clear right off the bat. Sanborn is light years beyond that.

Sure, some of his mid ‘80s albums made a serious bid to mirror the kind of crossover popularity enjoyed by smooth jazz artists. But even on recordings that blanketed his playing with synthesizers and bland vocal arrangements, Sanborn’s alto saxophone tone remained instantly recognizable. A high, conversational squeal of a sound, it owed equally to the ‘50s and ‘60s R&B traditions of such masterful soul sax men as Hank Crawford and to a fruitful ‘70s scene of session players that included the late tenor sax giant Michael Brecker.

But Sanborn also developed his music, in part, as a means of personal necessity. Having suffered from polio in his youth, he was encouraged to play saxophone to build chest muscles and strengthen his breathing.

Bred by the likes of the Butterfield Blues Band in the ‘60s, Sanborn became the sax man of choice by all kinds of major pop names from the ‘70s onward. His breakthrough came in 1975 with a prominent role on David Bowie’s hit Philly soul album Young Americans. Listen to the album’s standout funk track, Fascination, for a defining blast of Sanborn’s early work.

That fall came Sanborn’s debut solo album, Taking Off, a tight, organic groove driven session that still sounds great today. During a recent appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman, Sanborn jammed with Paul Shaffer’s band - as he did throughout the ‘80s - on Taking Off’s lead tune, Butterfat.

Sanborn makes a rare regional concert appearance on Saturday in Covington as part of a tour to support Here & Gone, an album that leans greatly to the meaty, handmade soul Crawford helped pioneer during the golden age of R&B. Guests like Eric Clapton, Derek Trucks and Josh Stone pepper the album. But it’s soul giant Sam Moore’s vocal sass on I’ve Got News for You that really gets Sanborn’s groove going.

Smooth jazz? No way, baby. This is the sound of a major league pop contributor back out on his own playing the sort of learned soul stuff that has been a lifelong passion. This is serious organic music that bridges the worlds of soul and jazz in a way that honors tradition while remaining true to a resilient sax sound that fervently remains Sanborn’s own.

David Sanborn performs at 8 p.m. Saturday at the Madison Theater, 730 Madison Ave. in Covington. Tickets are $35 advance, $38 day of show. Call (859) 281-6644 or (859) 491-2444.

pink floyd, circa 1971: roger waters (top); nick mason, richard wright and david gilmour (bottom, from left).

Richard Wright, keyboardist for Pink Floyd since its inception over 40 years ago, died yesterday after battling cancer. He was 65.

Pink Floyd has long been one of those iconic rock bands heralded for relatively small portions of its musical history. But even on those terms, Wright was a quiet giant. If fans choose to remember Pink Floyd for nothing other than 1973’s The Dark Side of the Moon, then they will still have some of Wright’s most compelling music instilled in their psyche.

He composed the glorious The Great Gig in the Sky, a meditative dialogue for piano and gospel vocals that was the spiritual core of an otherwise deeply psychedelic album. Wright also co-composed the more popular Us and Them with Roger Waters - a stunning collaboration given that Waters supposedly booted Wright out of Pink Floyd before the making of The Final Cut in 1983.  No wonder the latter record remains the weakest album in the Floydian domain.

But set sail from the moon and you will hear what an anchor Wright provided Pink Floyd’s music, from the poppish psychedelia created with Syd Barrett in swinging London to the darker Pink Floyd albums made as the ‘60s gave way to the early ‘70s.

On albums like Atom Heart Mother (1970) and Meddle (1971), especially, Wright could be the band’s most tripped out musical voice one minute and the weaver of comforting melodic warmth the next.

He also cut two solo albums that were as underappreciated as much of his Pink Floyd work.

In its heyday, Pink Floyd was a quartet, a band of four seeming equals. Pop historians have chosen to re-write its later chapters as one giant, cosmic hissy fit between Waters and guitarist David Gilmour. But Wright quietly prevailed. He provided the distant hum of madness to Shine You Crazy Diamond in 1975 and helped keenly orchestrated the unjustly slammed The Division Bell, Pink Floyd’s swan song studio album, in 1994.

Throughout, he was a quiet presence with a mammoth sound.

You miss him too? Then grab a copy of Meddle, Wish You Were Here (1975) or, of course, The Dark Side of the Moon. Now, turn out the lights, crank up the volume and kick back. You journey has begun.

richie havens will perform at tonight's 500th taping of the woodsongs old-time radio hour. photo by jean-marc lubrano.

In more than a few ways, Richie Havens seems the ideal invitee for Monday’s 500^th broadcast of the WoodSongs Old-Time Hour. Over the years, both have been fiercely independent in establishing their respective folk music followings.

In the case of WoodSongs, the program has grown under the direction of host/founder Michael Johnathon from a coffeehouse-style broadcast with a small, devout recording studio audience to an enterprise heard on nearly 500 stations worldwide. It is additionally broadcast in televised form on the internet and PBS stations. WoodSongs’ Monday tapings at the Kentucky Theatre have also become regular sellout events.

For Havens, a veteran of a famed Greenwich Village folk scene during the ‘60s, being his own boss followed initial flings with major labels (Polydor, A&M, Elektra) and high-profile management (by Albert Grossman, whose other clients included Janis Joplin, The Band, Odetta, Todd Rundgren and, most famously, Bob Dylan).

Learning to map out his career as a concert performer wasn’t too daunting a task. Many of his New York contemporaries helped guide him along that path. But as a recording artist, the road ahead was a mystery and an adventure.

“I’ve been sort of managing and taking care of myself since 1970,” said, Havens, 67. “I learned how to enter the market because I was a total independent that still had the luxury of being with some of the guys who mentored me in the Village. But one of the things they didn’t want to bother with was making records. For them it was, ‘I like playing onstage to living people.’ But then record companies came around.”

The first lesson on independence was a victory that seems larger now than it may have at the time it occurred. After a string of albums for MGM (a deal secured with Grossman’s help), the label was promptly sold. But in an almost unheard of turn for a then-new artist, Havens secured the master tapes of those recordings, which included his acclaimed 1967 debut album Mixed Bag.

“Only two guys got their masters back when MGM was sold - Frankie Valli and me.”

So beginning in 1970, following a career-defining appearance at Woodstock the previous summer, Havens issued recordings on his own Stormy Forest label. Albums such as Stonehenge (1970), Alarm Clock (1971) and Richie Havens On Stage (1972) underscored a folk avenue that possessed a deep strand of social awareness in its lyrics, a pop sensibility in its choice of cover material and a musical makeup built around acoustic guitar and congas. And then there was Haven’s voice - a rich, reedy singing tool that could sound alternately warm and desperate.

Return associations with major labels would follow in ensuing years, but those relationships were invariably brief. The labels fired the executives that championed Havens’ music, were bought out like MGM or else folded altogether.

“That’s probably happened to me about seven times,” Havens said. “But it somehow gave me a better pacing for myself and my career. It also made me seek out and work with people that really liked music still.”

As to the latter, Havens points to a song on his new Nobody Left to Crown album. The tune is Lives in the Balance, a 20 year old slice of heated social commentary written by Jackson Browne. But adding to the performance’s rich musical fabric is an ambassador of a new rock generation: guitarist Derek Trucks.

“Working with Derek was extraordinary. I actually have a video of him playing music when he was about 10. Watching it, I was listening to this kid and looking at his face. And he was just gone. He was playing away but had total control. I just went, ‘Wow.’”

But what continues to astound most about Havens’ music is that, despite the immediately recognizable tenor his singing, it has become adaptable on so many different projects.

His 2000 collaboration with the electronica duo Groove Armada, Hands of Time, was used in several film soundtracks, most notably the Tom Cruise/Jamie Foxx thriller Collateral. Havens was also part of the artistic team hand-picked by Peter Gabriel for his millennium performance piece called OVO.

“Peter is such a melody himself,” Havens said of the OVO experience. “What comes through him is very high end reverence.”

Last year, though, Havens, in effect, came home. He was offered a cameo role in the Todd Hayne fantasy biopic of Bob Dylan, I’m Not There. He also teamed with producer Joe Henry to record a propulsive and percussive version of the Dylan classic Tombstone Blues for the soundtrack.

Given how Dylan was a contemporary of the same New York folk scene that nurtured Havens, the project resonated in strong personal terms.

“So I went to Canada where they were shooting and to see what it was I had to do,” Havens said. “And I was immediately going, ‘Oh boy, this is really far out.’ Because, you see, I knew who they were talking about. And I tell you, Dylan was in that movie - especially with Cate Blanchett. It is so ironic, but so unbelievable at the same time. Once she starts, you cannot not see Bob Dylan. And it was the Bob Dylan I know, too.”

WoodSongs’ 500^th Broadcast with Richie Havens will begin at 7 tonight at Kentucky Theatre, 214 E. Main St. Tickets are $30. Reservations are not being taken for this taping. Doors will open at 6:15 p.m. with pre-show music by the Hippy Chick Quartet. A lobby reception for the audience and artists will follow the taping. For information, call (859) 231-7924.

bb king: "one kind favor"

Where would the current careers of rock and blues elders be without producers like Rick Rubin and T-Bone Burnett?

Rubin, of course, is the Beastie Boys-bred studio ace favored by ear-splitters like Metallica, Danzig and Slayer. But he has also re-invented the music of vets like Tom Petty, Jakob Dylan and especially Johnny Cash by simply striping away the thick, commercial artifice that long ago weighed down their records. His next rumored makeover: ZZ Top.

Burnett has always favored a rootsier stride. He was largely responsible for the country roots renaissance triggered by the O Brother, Where Art Thou? and Cold Mountain soundtracks. Recent albums by Robert Plant (with Alison Krauss) and John Mellencamp also benefited from Burnett’s swampy, unassuming roots music grandeur.

The next move is now Burnett’s. On One Kind Favor, he teams with blues giant B.B. King. Under Burnett’s direction, the clock reels back to the late ‘40s and early ‘50s with a repertoire of staples and obscurities by blues foremen like Blind Lemon Jefferson, Howlin’ Wolf and John Lee Hooker. Not coincidentally, this was music that reigned when King’s career began.

But those expecting some sort of raw, primal session of gutbucket blues should steer clear of One Kind Favor. King has never been that kind of stylist. He is an entertainer, a show biz pro that has long embraced the blues as a production piece. The trouble with the majority of his albums over the past three decades, though, is that the blues sentimentalism at the heart of his meaty tenor moan and the jabs of electric guitar he favors over extended, conventional solos were relegated to meager roles in glossy orchestral settings, timid all-star duets and generally weak material.

One Kind Favor jettisons all of that. But it doesn’t sound like 1949, either. With Dr. John’s effervescent piano rumble as his ally, King takes the Jefferson gem See That My Grave is Kept Clean down South for a modest Mardi Gras spin. I Get So Weary (written by Jean Williams but popularized by T Bone Walker) recalls King’s signature tune, The Thrill is Gone. But then, King has such a jubilant vocal manner and has cut so few genuinely downbeat blues tunes in recent years that the song’s balance of late-night horns and confessional singing sound remarkably new.

Greater still is the treatment of Walker’s Waiting for Your Call, a tune of forgiveness and reluctant faith that sounds tailor made for King. The vocals boom while the horns lounge in the background like tree branches swaying slowly on a summer afternoon. As such, this summit of cross generational T Bones - from Walker’s hapless, lyrical contentment to Burnett’s rootsy cunning - sounds sterling.

Everything else on One Kind Favor glows almost as gloriously. The blend of Dr. John’s mischievous piano rolls, Jim Keltner’s keen percussion shuffle and the leisurely jolt of King’s guitarwork fuel the Mississippi Sheiks’ The World Gone Wrong while Lonnie Johnson’s Tomorrow Night is transformed into a devout prayer of romantic hope.

Rediscovering the rootsy connections within the music of Plant and Mellencamp was grand enough.  But to lead King back to the inspirations that ignited his tireless blues voice in the first place may just go down as Burnett’s most masterful feat yet.

leroi moore in a 2005 associated press photo.

Fans of the Dave Matthews Band were led to believe that saxophonist LeRoi Moore was on the way to recovery after a serious ATV accident in late June sidelined him from the majority of the ensemble’s summer tour. Word of his death yesterday at age 46 obviously confirmed things were far worse than his audience realized. The specific complications leading to his death haven’t been fully announced. But for DMB fans, the loss is heavy, regardless of the reasons.

A classically trained player with a taste for jazz, Moore helped ground the band’s grooves. Sure, his solos displayed ample chops. But it was in the design of his playing, especially in tunes with a funkier sensibility where sax anchored the bass lines (What Would You Say and Too Much, among them), that the economy of Moore’s playing was best displayed.

At a Riverbend concert earlier this month, my first live glimpse of the DMB in nearly a decade, the band worked - and worked quite mightily - without a saxophonist at all. Fill in player Jeff Coffin was honoring a prior commitment that night with his primary band, Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. But the DMB is such a profoundly tight unit onstage and off that Moore’s passing - which constitutes the first departure of a band member in over 15 years - can be very much seen as a death in their immediate family.

As a remembrance, we suggest giving a listen to the DMB’s 2003, triple disc live set, The Central Park Concert. On a 16 minute version of Jimi Thing, Moore wails with a bright, boppish tenor break that stands among his finest recorded solos.

Matthews and company will undoubtedly continue. The groove will go on. But expect the bounce and the vibe of the DMB to be very different from here on out.

hi there.

welcome to the new server. hopefully, you’ve had a comfortable trip. things are still a little bumpy on this end. while the overall look of  ‘the musical box’ won’t change, we’re still working out some bugs, especially in the picture posting department. so, as they say as at the cineplex after ceiling tiles fall on your head during a renovation, “please pardon our mess. we’re expanding to serve you better.”

we’ll be back with new stuff tomorrow. on tap for the rest of the week: critic’s pick 33 with randall bramblett, a listen to bob dylan in cincinnati, a state fair wrap-up and a two part interview with rolling stones keyboardist chuck leavell, who plays here next week. stay tuned!

syesha mercado: the highlight performer of "american idols live."

At its best, last night’s three-hour American Idols Live marathon was a vindication. Granted, much of it wasn’t. But there were instances - teases, almost - where the concert possessed a level of pop smarts that outpaced the juggernaut TV series from which it was sprung.

One such moment came when David Archuleta blended the 1961 Ben E. King pop-soul standard Stand By Me with a few verses of Beautiful Girls by Jamaican reggae rapper Sean Kingston. On the surface, that might not have seemed like much of a leap, as Beautiful Girls borrows heavily from the lyrical construction of the former hit in the first place. But Archuleta, the runner-up of American Idol’s seventh season, used his comfortable tenor to make the tune a retro vehicle with an honest sense of swing.

Of course, when Archuleta spoke between songs, the armor came down and what stood before the crowd of 8,500 was a good natured 17 year old who couldn’t help ending almost every sentence with a chuckle.

The concert was, in essence, the reverse of conventional pop music marketing. Most acts hit the road to promote a new recording. American Idols Live was more of a victory lap for the 10 finalists of season seven. Each was presented as part of a Casey Kasem-style countdown. The 10^th place finalist (modern R&B singer Chikezie Eze, who was another of the evening’s nice surprises) started the show. Each successive vocalist was afforded three songs a piece, save for Archuleta (he was awarded four) and season champ David Cook (who was given nearly a half-hour of stage time).

One house band, heavy on ‘80s-flavored keyboard orchestration, backed everyone up. And save for The Time of My Life - a flat ballad that won an American Idol songwriting competition and sung last night by Cook - the evening’s full repertoire was a jukebox of cover tunes that shifted from Feist to Ray Charles.

We’ll save for another time the bigger debate on American Idol’s credibility factor in manufacturing pop stars like fast food and then sending the newly idolized Idols on the road to sing music that is in no way theirs. To an audience devoted to their TV generated heroes, the performance provided a very obvious thrill

Watching girls grab the arms of their husbands, boyfriends or, in many cases, fathers when Jason Castro (No. 4) whittled the Gnarls Barkley soul hit Crazy into a folkish serenade or when Archuleta rose from the floor seated behind a piano for Robbie Williams’ weepy Angels was all the evidence one needed that American Idol has hit a bullseye with its target audience.

Cry foul over the heavy sentimentality the show heaped onto the crowd. The simple truth remains that pop stars sing and girls (and a few mothers and grandmas) cry. Like it or not, that has been part of the pop game since Frank Sinatra began his reign 60 years ago. It lived on last night.

Cook was something of a novelty in the pack. Dressed in a worn t-shirt and jeans, his set centered around two dirge-like makeovers: a grunge take on the ‘80s Lionel Richie single Hello and a version of Billie Jean fashioned far more on Chris Cornell’s doomsday remake than the Michael Jackson original. The diversion was nice, but the performance dragged. More than a few fans - having groveled enough at the feet of their Idols, no doubt - made their way to the exits, bypassing the ensemble finale of Don’t Stop the Music.

The highlight of the night, far and away, was 21 year old Florida singer Syesha Mercado (No. 3), who delivered with ease and expression hits by three new generation pop-soul divas: the Rihanna groovefest Umbrella, and a pair of power ballads - Alicia Keys’ If I Ain’t Got You and Beyonce’s Listen.

In a long evening of pop pageantry, Mercado, like Archuleta with his King/Kingston medley, showed American Idol had in its possession something its biggest critics never would have dreamed possible: soul.

townes van zandt: "live at the old quarter, houston, texas"

About a quarter of the way through Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas, the folkish surrealism of Townes Van Zandt’s music begins to take hold. The tune is Fraternity Blues, the mere theme of which seems freakish. Just imaging one of Lone Star country’s most distinctive songsmiths within the conformist confines of a fraternity is pretty outrageous. But within the song’s talking blues narration, Van Zandt displays a disarming sense of cunning and a matter-of-fact storytelling demeanor, traits that have always underscored the very human (albeit, the very darkly human) side of his music.

“I’m no trouble causer,” he admits. “You want good friends? They’re gonna cost you.”

With that Live at the Old Quarter begins a new Americana life. The performances, all solo and beautifully imperfect, were cut at a watering hole located in, according to the liner notes, “the seedy side of downtown Houston.” The album itself was first issued in 1977 and has floated in and out of print ever since. This new double-disc edition appeared this summer on Fat Possum, the primal roots music label that began a massive reissue campaign of Van Zandt’s recordings last year.

Simply put, Live at the Old Quarter, is the one Van Zandt album everyone must own. It’s contain his best songs (from the rollicking Talking Thunderbird Blues to the ultra stark Kathleen) illuminated with unadorned, underplayed performance detail.

Take White Freight Liner Blues, for instance. It’s been covered a ga-zillion times, usually as a smartly paced shuffle with progressive country leanings. Here, Van Zandt makes his creation seem as plaintive as a Hank Williams chestnut. When he sings “going out on the highway, listen to them big trucks whine,” the voice cracks, almost into a yodel. It’s an alarm that sets you up for a song that, despite its easygoing pace, is consumed with escape and death.

The riches are vast here. Mr. Mudd & Mr. Gold summons a suitable sense of card table drama while Van Zandt almost shyly remarks before If I Needed You about how Doc Watson’s rendition of the tune “really blew my mind.” But Live at the Old Quarter’s greatest strength is the emotional breadth of its material. Since it is essentially a solo performance anthology of the songwriter’s best work, you witness all of the narrative high wire act without any aid of a safety net.

No Place to Fall proves to be exquisitely vulnerable, To Live is to Fly is pure wondrous fancy, a wiry cover of Cocaine Blues is restlessly wry and the Bo Diddley staple Who Do You Love becomes a mini percussive hoedown. And when it comes to mining the sheer human desperation of his stories, nothing remains more stirring, sad and unsettling than Live at the Old Quarter’s unsentimental reading of Tecumseh Valley. That’s when the album’s miscellaneous barroom ambience - the clinking glasses, the deliriously out-of-time audience clap-a-longs - evaporates. For four and a half minutes, it’s as if there is no one else in the room.

Live at Old Quarter has been regularly likened by fans and critics alike to such groundbreaking country concert albums as Johnny Cash at San Quentin. No argument here. My old cassette recording of the former wore out long ago after years of dashboard listening. Last weekend, during a road trip to see friends in Nashville, this new CD version served as a soundtrack. And as the Bluegrass Parkway gave way to I-65 South, right as those big trucks began to whine, Van Zandt, in all his unadorned drama and glory, was alive again.