William F. Gibbs
My Fellow Sophisticates
(Old Man Records, 2008)

William F. Gibbs kicks off his debut recording with the dark, rollicking “Darling, You Were Beautiful Once”, a tune that sounds like Cab Calloway and Tom Waits trading punches in a Kansas City honky-tonk during a total eclipse of the moon as the power fails and the band goes falling down a flight of stairs while Vanilla Ice stands in the background mumbling bitter recriminations. Chuck Lichtenberg’s dissolute piano adds to the tune’s stygian feel. “Come Back to Me (for My Love)” is a song that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a 1940s Bing Crosby flick, with Gibbs crooning poetically about the heartless Juliet that he still loves. Then there’s a sudden shift, a time warp if you will, and the chorus soars into the psychedelic ’60s with cascading, Beatlesque harmonies oohing and aaahing and some dreamy keyboard effects rising up like the bubbles in a glass of pink champagne. “Operate” keeps the Beatle thing going with a vocal that suggests McCartney at his most sincerely soulful, with a slide guitar solo that’s pure George Harrison.

“LA Money”, a fantasy of West Coast excess, gets a smooth Memphis soul arrangement. This time Lichtenberg’s Hammond B3 has a restrained, churchy feel, while Gibbs turns in a subtle Al Green-influenced vocal with hints of mortality and repentance in the lyric. Then it’s back to the ’50s for the rockabilly of “Here Comes Your Steamboat Brother!, Here Comes Your Freightline Sister!” and back even further for “Brother Jon!”, a taste of jumpin’ jive that brings to mind a smoky Paris cabaret in the heady days just after World War II. Gibbs’ guitar on “Here Comes Your Steamboat” combines bass twang, jittery high string fills, and great female backing vocals from Stephanie Morgan, while on “Brother Jon!” the guitar has a pleasing, jazzy influence with just enough grit to remind you that it’s 2008, not 1948. Lichtenberg’s piano adds plenty of boozy energy to the playing.

The music throughout is pleasingly retro, but it isn’t just holding up a broken mirror to the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s. “Tomorrow Never Comes” starts with a processed vocal that once again trades on that ghostly radio vibe but quickly morphs into a clanking, glam-rock stomp that suggests the kind of music Marc Bolan of T. Rex might have made had he lived in South Side Chicago instead of East London. Gibbs evokes both Bolan and Howlin’ Wolf in his wailing vocal and delivers a nasty distorted guitar solo before the disjointed horn charts of the New South Jazzmen take the tune home with their joyful cacophony. “Streetfighter” sounds like the portrait of an underground DJ suffering from too many nights without sleep, and looks to the ’70s for musical inspiration with its grinding punk/funk sound—think KC and the Sunshine Band on belladonna. Gibbs drops some hip-hop flavor into his rapid-fire delivery to keep things from getting too retro. The combination of 21st century language, chattering noise guitar, and a swinging funky backbeat give the tune a delightfully impenetrable aura.

Gibbs was born in Alabama and lives in North Carolina, and the humid feel of the southland in the summer pervades his music, 10 feverish visions steeped in the steamy soil that gave birth to all of America’s best music: Blues, jazz, rockabilly, country and, yes, rock ‘n’ roll. The overall feel is retro, definitely in the roots/Americana pocket, but there are enough modern rock, funk, and indie asides to keep the youngsters from getting too restless. It’s obvious that Gibbs has done his homework, and probably has a mountain of ancient LPs that he plays over and over in the wee hours of the morning, but the production and arrangements keep the tunes from being nostalgic exercises or clever recreations of blasts from the past. Every time you think you know where a tune is going, Gibbs and his collaborators change direction just enough to keep you off balance and pleasantly surprised.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]

More articles like this:

Album review: Al Green, Lay It Down

Bettye LaVette: When the Blues Catch up to You

Blues ‘66, Part One: Eric Burdon and Howlin’ Wolf