Terry Reid is probably someone I should know more about.
He's been active since the early 1960s, played with some big names and gathered some high profile friends and admirers along the way.
If things had turned out differently, he could even have been lead singer with Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple though it's hard to imagine him fronting either band.
This sprawling live recording is from one of the shows he played at a residency at Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club; on August 31st, 2010 to be precise.
Reid, now resident in California, revels in a return to an intimate London setting with songs interspersed with recollections from the past including name dropping references Hendrix, Bono and Jack White.
The fourteen track double album features eleven originals and three covers: J.D. Souther's Leaving And Gone, The Beach Boys' Don't Worry Baby and Wee Small Hours, a song made famous by Frank Sinatra.
He sounds relaxed and informal with a slurred voice that reminded me of the perpetually stoned sounding Keith Richards. But including the rambling and unfunny song patter is a mistake in my view. This is the kind of chat that helps connects with a real-time audience but just comes across as self-congratulatory when committed to disc.
Reid used to be known as 'super lungs', but now, past 60, his once powerful vocals are now audibly strained and raspy.
He runs through songs which mostly have an classic jazz-blues character although BJ Cole's pedal steel guitar also adds a old-timey country flavour on a few tracks, notably Time Is A Virtue, where Reid hits quite a few flat notes.
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All the tracks are longer than they need be. The six minutes of Leaving And Gone includes two and half minutes of preamble which, even if you find this informative and/or witty one time, will stretch the patience of even the most ardent fans on follow up plays.
Disc one begins with 10 minute version of The Frame and closes with a highly indulgent 19 minutes of River with improvised solo spots.
Brave Awakening taps into his working class roots, dedicated to his late grandmother in North-East England while a stretched-out version of Brian Wilson's Don't Worry Baby features what could easily pass as a parody of scat singing.
With some tighter editing and a few overdubs this might have made a crisp single album but Reid obviously wanted to capture the loose, in the moment, feel of his performance.
The point of the exercise is not to win over new fans but to issue an aural snapshot for those who were either part of his adoring audience at Ronnie Scott's or who would dearly have loved to be there. I belong to neither of these target groups.
Terry Reid On The Net
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