The flaming Appalachian gospel you can hear in Little Richard, James Brown, Elvis, especially Jerry Lee. Songs and sermons, 300-plus pages of riveting oral history, lyrics, 290 photos. Total Dust To Digital class.
Gospel soul classic from 1971, with Gene Barge, Phil Upchurch and Richard Evans, besides the rapturous Youth For Christ Choir. Good enough for Donny Hathaway, good enough for me.
Following Alan Lomax, Daptone placed a small local ad, asking singers to show at Mt Marian Church a certain Saturday. This marvellous record of acappella gospel is the result, including everyone who showed up.
Pentecostal vocal delirium and fine, secular, Texan pianism, recorded by OKeh in 1926. Michael Corcoran tells AD’s story.
Lovely, intimate 128-page book and sizzling 18-tracker devoted to the electric guitar preacher and his COGIC buddies. Once again CaseQuarter brings the shit.
Heartfelt hymns and songs of praise, deconstructed and rebuilt. Sometimes reverent, sometimes raging, sometimes playful, always spellbinding. ‘Christ Is Not Cute’ runs the Fahey quote on the sleeve. A beauty.
Vital and thrilling, raw and original compilation by Mike McGonigal (who’s done stuff for Mississippi), spanning all styles — solo and congregational, studio and field, rural and urban, hellfire and lament.
Primitive choirs, spacious breaks, congas, old-boy rappers impersonating the devil, cast-recordings, thumping bass, and JB copyists — all with a heavy slathering of gospel gravy.
Third in Numero’s series of otherworldly gospel, robed funk, and spiritual soul: heavenly harmonies, psychedelic guitars, damaged sacred steel, off-kilter choirs, and consumer-side electronic percussion…
Dylan gave it to an enthused Neil Young: ‘the original wealth of our recorded music, the cream of the crop… it’s incredible. It’s in a wooden box and everything, and it’s just so beautiful.’
Invigorating, intrepid mixtape-overview of a neglected period in gospel music, flowing irresistibly through sweet two-step, hard funk, disco stompers, jazz fusion, soul ballads etc.
Another electrifying installment in Mike McGonigal’s unmissable series.
Recent church recordings: distorted PAs, female lead singers, claps, tambourines, ramshackle guitars move the earth to get congregations on their feet. Crossing Opika Pende and Johnny L. Jones, says the label.
You can’t miss the shots of JB, Isleys, Bo Diddley, Impressions, Staples and co, coursing through this magnificent survey (including stupendous early sides by Candi Staton and Lou Rawls). Super-intense and soulful.
Spectral, outsider gospel from Detroit, 1978, with Otis extemporising to himself worryingly in the name of the Lord, and zoning out on his Hammond (with rhythm unit). Pretty gone. Terrific.
Like Saturday night on a Sunday morning. Patsy on Jesus. Elvis, no pelvis. With four celebrated Nashville sidemen fresh from June 1958 Elvis sessions.
Drawn from the hundreds of reel-to-reels and cassettes that Jones — aka The Hurricane, The Fireball — has made of his Southern preaching, raving between speech and song, since 1960. From Dust To Digital.
A sample of fifty years’ ministry: two dozen soul stirrers, with sermonettes, guest soloists and righteous radio clips. ‘A hurricane starts off slowly… when she gets a certain speed, that’s when she’s dangerous.’