Paul McCartney is dead. That’s what Tim Harper said in 1969. And even Paul found it difficult to get away with it: there are dozens of proofs of this on the cover of Sergeant Pepper. And a hundred faces of varying degrees of recognition: no Elvis, but some Dion DiMucci, east of Aldous Huxley, in the wake of Oscar Wilde. The beloved singer of Springsteen, Plant, Scorsese, the king of doo-wop, Dion has been at the origins of rock and roll north of the Mason-Dixon line since 1957, when, after the small success of the first single “The Chosen Few”, he formed The Belmonts gang from his friends, which soon began to roar from all teenage bedrooms America.
The new DiMucci was born in the Italian way on July 18, 1939 in the Bronx, a half-Jewish neighborhood, and this neighborhood may have saved his life: knowing the basics of accounting, in February 1959 in Clear Lake, Iowa, Dion decided to save $36 on a flight – Buddy, Richie and Big Bopper boarded the plane together. The owner of a witty tenor and a Neapolitan sense of harmony, Dion embarked on a solo career in 1960, deftly hitting the charts right up to the “British Invasion”. DiMucci recorded his most famous song, The Wanderer, which was sung by everyone, and which became the title track in the film of the same name in ’61. Nevertheless, due to the non-musical conjuncture – a genuine love for the root genres – Dion changed genres and began experimenting with blues and folk already in 1965, and the breakdown of relations with drugs led to Protestant God and a series of gospel albums in the 1980s. The break in relations with the Protestant God brought Signor DiMucci back to the bosom of Catholicism, and for a decade now Dion has been producing high-class blues, although without signs of papism.
For the new album, both old buddies of the scale of Paul Simon and Van Morrison, as well as young shoots like Joe Bonamassa and Samantha Fish, were called together; Wayne Hood turned the knobs and played for the entire rhythm section; publishing label: Bonamassa’s fresh brainchild Keeping The Blues Alive Records. The name of the album is quite obvious – “Blues With Friends”, although it would be more authentic to call it “Blues Without Friends” and record it alone in “solitary confinement” while awaiting execution. All songs are written by Dion, all but two are co-written by Mike Aquilina.
“Dion can sing,” Bob Dylan writes in the CD’s booklet, and this is just as obvious as the fact that Dylan’s own vocals are often monstrous (I’m softening, perhaps children will read this).
However, trust Zimmerman, but check. So, let’s check it out!
Blues Comin’ On (feat. Joe Bonamassa) is a pulsating boogie blues in which Dion does not change his trademark melodism and phrasing, known from “The Wanderer” (who played in “Fallout 4” will understand). Bonamassa is also melodic, concise, and assertive, using the slide for its intended purpose rather than like Hendrix in a bad trip. The listener’s foot taps involuntarily, grande inizio, bene!
The first version of Kickin’ Child (feat. Joe Menza) appeared as early as 1965, when Columbia’s bosses had not yet given up hope of making Dion another crooner. A New Yorker (like many here) Joe Menza, an experienced session player and guitarist of the Menza Madison Band, adds the necessary character and impetuosity.
Uptown Number 7 (feat. Brian Setzer) was composed like gospel, but arranged in a minor key, with rockabilly passages and a gypsy twist, for which, of course, Brian Setzer is responsible, turned into a swing action movie for the dark everyday life of the Bronx blacktrap. She’s gorgeous.
Can’t Start Over Again (feat. Jeff Beck is a hillbilly ballad flavored with strings. Dion has never hidden his love for the music of Hank Williams. The guitar flows like mercury from country to blues and back again. Jeff Beck is a real magician.
My Baby Loves To Boogie (feat. John Hammond) has that characteristic beat that Negroes have from traveling on freight trains from cotton fields to Chicago. On the accordion is an old sidekick, John Hammond, who won’t spoil the furrows.
In I Got Nothin’ (feat. Van Morrison, Joe Louis Walker) mastodons who do not need to be introduced make blues of pure water and the finest cut. The train to Chicago slows down. Fun fact: back in 1965, both Dion and Morrison and their band recorded their own versions of Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue”, but only their version became a hit. It might have made others quarrel…
Stumbling Blues (feat. Jimmy Vivino, Jerry Vivino) is an imposing and well-fed evening jazz. Jerry, the leader of his own quintet, is blowing sax, Jimmy, the leader of the Conan O’Brien Show orchestra, is plucking the strings in a relaxed manner. As can be seen from the surname, Vivino’s siblings are natives of New Jersey, which is near New York.
Bam Bang Boom (feat. Billy Gibbons) tells about Dion’s acquaintance with red-haired Susan, his future wife. A slow-motion shuffle with a meaty and slightly mocking guitar by You-know-who. A beard from all the cracks.
I Got The Cure (feat. Sonny Landreth), according to the author, “the bright side of the blues.” A leisurely but exciting rhythm, a characteristic wind section. Louisianan Landreth, a pioneer in zydeco and country blues, and a former colleague of Mark Knopfler, uses a bottleneck to stroke the fingerboard, extracting devilishly correct notes.
Song For Sam Cooke (Here In America) (feat. Paul Simon) was written decades ago, archived, taken back out after watching The Green Book, recorded in two voices with Paul Simon. To the gentle accompaniment of violin and other acoustic instruments, the story is told about how in 1962 the devil pulled Dion to walk through the streets of a southern town in the company of a black Sam Cook. The lead violin cinematically paints rural landscapes. An actual item.
What If I Told You (feat. Samantha Fish) is sad and poignant. Blonde Samantha was blown into the studio by a hurricane from Kansas. Her Gibson SG gives a head start to many “buffaloes” of style in terms of power, beauty and accuracy of phrases. Bellissimo, if you capisci.
Told You Once In August (feat. John Hammond, Rory Block) recreates the Delta sound. Curving like the Mississippi, it threatens, fascinates, and drags into its murky waters. Rory Block, a true Lady of the blues, perfectly complements the lead vocals with her voice, while simultaneously arranging a leisurely guitar roll call with John Hammond. Mud, bourbon, a knife in the boot – a good aftertaste.
Way Down (I Won’t Cry No More) (feat. Stevie Van Zandt), like a canary in a mine, rings with a premonition of trouble. The invited guest is Stevie (Stevie is here because my friend is sincere) Van Zandt, star of the TV series “The Sopranos” and “Lillehammer”, guitarist of the Springsteen E-Street Band and just a gentle guy. The main thing is not to imagine his face during the song, spoil the impression.
Hymn To Him (feat. Bruce Springsteen, Patti Scialfa) was also conceived as a hymn to the Lord, and look at what they turned everything into.: while Bruce extracts epic spaghetti Western melodies from the guitar, his lawful wife Patty whispers, howls and moans with a hundred voices of lost souls. The hero rides into the sunset.
I’ll sum it up without further ado: Great Artist, great material, amazing album. Well, my friends didn’t let me down! It’s getting light…
I don’t know how many legendary names are on one cover… I definitely need to listen to it.
After listening to it, I can say that it was worth it. Unfortunately, I listened to it back in the summer and forgot to leave a comment, so I don’t remember exactly what I liked and what I didn’t like, but overall the record is extremely soulful. Most of all, I Got Nothin’ is a classic blues song that tells me that I have nothing (except love).
If you think about it, it’s amazing how far music has come: at some point, everyone started trying to talk about how much they have, rather than the fact that they have nothing but a guitar. But that, as they say, is a completely different story.