Tramp, Otis Redding and Carla Thomas (1967)

You know, Otis, I don't care what you say, you're still a tramp.  ... WHAT!?!?

One of the funkiest duets of the 60s was an unabashedly rural song that always seemed really out of its element but somehow caught on and became not only a hit but a classic. It was called Tramp, and was sung in inimitable trash talk by the charismatic Otis Redding and Carla Thomas. 

Stax co-founder Jim Stewart had the brainstorm to pair up the label's male and female pride and joy, as Motown was doing with Marvin Gaye and various girl singers, on an album of what was, in essence, covers. According to Soulsville, USA: the Story of Stax Records, by Rob Bowman, neither was too keen at first on dueting, but found they enjoyed it; Tramp was the first song they laid down, a suggestion by Redding, who encouraged Thomas to call him every name she could think of.  

Stax house drummer Al Jackson Jr. sets the table for Otis, Carla, Booker T. and the MGs, and the dy-no-mite Memphis Horns in this irresistible ditty.  The two ooze sass and strut their stuff like there ain't no tomorrow - it's a ridiculous song in every way but there's nothing not to love about it. The first time I deejayed my local Dance Dance Party Party group here in Akron, it was on the playlist from the outset. 

However, their version was not the original.  Tramp was originally recorded in 1966 by Lowell Fulson (and co-written with pianist Jimmy McCracklin). Born on an Oklahoma Indian reservation, Fulson migrated to Texas where he began to emulate guitarists like Blind Lemon Jefferson and Lonnie Johnson, which helped him become a sideman to traveling singer Texas Alexander. He landed in California where, with T-Bone Walker, he became known as the founder of modern California blues.

As a solo piece Tramp had an entirely different feel.  It was more of a showpiece for Fulson's guitar licks. Although this was released just a few months prior to Otis and Carla's and did almost as well on the charts as the duet, I never heard it.

But the Tramp fixation continued one more time that year - it was also recorded by Roy Head and Johnny Winter, of all people, with Head's band the Traits. Before he was discovered by Mike Bloomfield, Winter often served as an uncredited session musician at Gold Star Studios in Houston and there he became associated with Roy Head (of Treat Her Right fame), for a time leading his band.  It was during that brief stint as leader that they recorded Tramp. I can't find that on YouTube, but check out a later kick-ass bluesy version by Johnny Winter solo!

Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In), Kenny Rogers & the First Edition (1968)

The week Dock of the Bay reached #1 for Otis Redding posthumously, charting in at #5 was a bizarre but highly original composition by prolific Nashville songwriter Mickey Newbury that never fails to bring a smile to my lips when I hear it.

Before Kenny Rogers became a country music phenom, he was a member of The First Edition, a group of refugees from The New Christy Minstrels who felt the need to branch out creatively. I think they achieved that and then some with Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In).

As musical exploits go, this one was a doozie. The song's guitar reverb and reverse riff at the intro - not to mention the insane vocals on the chorus, particularly at the end - established it firmly in the annals of psychedelia. Although Newbury intended it to be a cautionary tale against the use of hallucinogenic drugs, I'm not sure that's precisely how it was interpreted by all members of my generation!

Must-see TV in those days was the groundbreaking Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, which regularly featured Kenny and the group. Brace yourself! The show was a fixture of my weekly television viewing circa 1967-69 until it was unceremoniously axed by CBS, which was gripped in the throes of censorship thanks to Richard Nixon's growing paranoia about the dangers of the First Amendment.

I gather the song experienced something of a renaissance from its appearance on the soundtrack of The Big Lebowski. Haven't seen it, but it was used in a famous dream sequence, so I'm betting it gave everyone the same rush that it used to give us in the 60s. Must put that in my Netflix queue!

I've Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now), Otis Redding (1965)

Technically, Otis wasn't a "group," but any artist backed by the virtuoso musicianship of the Stax/Volt house bands - Booker T & the MGs and the Mar-Keys - well, I'm saying he was.

Stax was known for spontaneous arrangements, with the vocal artists working hand-in-glove with the session musicians, and the results were more often than not minor miracles.

Written by Otis and another giant of soul music, Jerry Butler, this is a prime example of the kind of ballad that regularly soaked into my pores as a young teenager growing up in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C., where soul music reigned in the 60's.

As young as I was in those days, I could only imagine what the passion and pain Otis sang of was all about. And imagine I did, because he made it so easy to go there.

Deemed a sound recording that is "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" by the Library of Congress' National Recording Preservation Board, it was inducted into the 2003 registry with the words "Redding's recording for Volt Records exemplifies the brilliance of his vocal expressiveness and the spare but powerful instrumental accompaniments of the much-acclaimed Stax/Volt studio musicians."

Because it also was culturally significant, I direct you to his live performance of the song at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, only 6 months before he died in a plane crash at 26 years old. This show-stopper of a performance among many was the first time a large, predominantly white audience was exposed to him and this masterpiece. If you've never seen it before, or even if you have, get ready to lose all composure.