Review: Ronnie Hawkins - The Folk Ballads Of Ronnie Hawkins (1960)
Tracks: 1) Summertime; 2) Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child; 3) I Gave My Love A Cherry; 4) Brave Man; 5) A Poor Wayfaring Stranger; 6) Virginia Bride; 7) Mr & Mrs Mississippi; 8) John Henry; 9) Fare Thee Well; 10) One Out Of A Hundred; 11) The Death Of Floyd Collins; 12) Love From Afar.
REVIEW
Despite the fact that for the next several years after ‘Mary Lou’, Ronnie would not manage to get even a single hit on the charts, either US or Canadian ones, 1960 still ended up an unusually productive year for him. In addition to Mr. Dynamo and its accompanying singles, he released two more LPs whose goal was to present him in a completely different light: as an interpreter of the folk side of Americana on The Folk Ballads, released some time in mid-1960, and of its country side on Sings The Songs Of Hank Williams, which arrived well in time for the Christmas market of the same year. Given that any LP that is fully dedicated to covering Hank Williams usually ends up as a fiasco (see my Johnny Cash Sings Hank Williams review for more on that), I’m going to take some liberties and skip a detailed analysis of that second record (I did have an obligatory listen to ‘Hey Good Lookin’, just to confirm once more that nobody who ever sang the song could even remotely approach to capturing the exquisite mood of the original).
The Folk Ballads, however, is at the very least deserving of a casual and unprejudiced inspection. And I do stress unprejudiced: the official website of The Band, for instance, describes the album as a "rather desperate attempt to market the fading rockabilly-star Hawkins as a folk singer", implying that (a) Ronnie himself had no agency in the matter and that (b) rockabilly stars have no right to be interested in folk music, or something. For statement (b), there is no theoretical basis whatsoever, and as for (a), maybe the site writers have their own sources of information, but somehow just a glance at the size of the guy tells me that this "shitkicker with the wisdom of a sage", as per Bob Dylan’s words, would probably have his own last word on what musical style he’d like to play in on any particular day of the week.
Admittedly, it does seem weird for a guy who used to go by the name of "Mr. Dynamo", do head flips while singing Chuck Berry covers, and roll the piano (along with its piano player) across the stage during the instrumental breaks, to suddenly go all "sometimes I feel like a motherless child" on our asses. You wouldn’t expect Angus Young to do that, for instance, so why should you believe in the sincerity and naturalness of Ronnie Hawkins in the matter? But if you took a good enough listen to the two rock’n’roll albums that he and the early Hawks put out in 1959-60, you probably remember that they always had a very strong «soul» vibe in the first place. There used to be mournful backing vocals, minor key weeping guitar and organ parts, and Ronnie’s own voice was perfectly suited for some deeply-felt sorrow right from the heart(lands) — and there’s but a small musical step that separates something like ‘Southern Love’ from ‘A Poor Wayfaring Stranger’.
In fact, The Folk Ballads start off in such a way that you’d barely even notice the transition from Mr. Dynamo. The (non-absolute) majority of the recordings do feature a stripped-down approach, with acoustic guitars, banjos, harmonicas, and a «spiritual choir» as its main ingredients; but some of the songs are recorded with a full band, and those could have easily fit on either of the first two albums. The very first number is, in fact, ‘Summertime’ — not much of a «folk ballad», if we want to strive for historical accuracy, but if we don’t, well, ‘Summertime’ has pretty much been turned over to the folk domain ever since its inception — and one of its chief attractions is a rather angry-sounding electric guitar lead running through the entire song. (I hesitate to guess who that is: probably not Robbie Robertson yet, most likely his predecessor — Fred Carter Jr., who had replaced Jimmy Ray Paulman sometime in early 1960 or so. Documentation on the Hawks’ pre-Dylan history is frustratingly scarce and unreliable).
And, let’s face it, «Mr. Dynamo» has a pretty good voice for singing the likes of ‘Summertime’, or even ‘Motherless Child’, which also comes in with a full band arrangement. All he has to do is to switch the tumbler from the «giddy cowboy» to «lonesome cowboy» position, and the mood swing feels fully believable to my senses. His is a relatively light and superficial vocal tone, never reaching down to the very center of the Earth like Ray Charles’, and never conveying upon you the chronic incurable pain of Hank Williams, but the overtones sound very natural, there are no attempts to over-dramatize the situation, and even the backing choir, which some reviewers are very put off by, does not bother me all that much. There’s sort of an «average Joe and his imaginary band of heavenly angels»’ vibe to it all, as could be represented by some moody-broody romantic young lad à la Montgomery Clift or Rock Hudson in an old-fashioned western movie, and it is perfectly organic for Ronnie, who was not that much of a rock’n’roll rebel in the first place — just a prairiewise soulful kid from the Heartlands who could have mindless fun one minute and get all sad and serious the next one.
Still, the soulful kid from the Heartlands tends to do a little better with a full band behind his back (it returns later for a full-on stomping rock’n’roll version of ‘John Henry’) than with a minimalistic backing, where the «heavenly angels» usually draw too much attention to themselves. The quiet folksy arrangements are admittedly tight, professional, and diverse, with banjos, harmonicas, and mandolins sneaking in and out to make company for the acoustic guitar; and the song selection is not entirely predictable, including such curious oddities as ‘The Death Of Floyd Collins’, a musical commemoration of the tragic demise of a formerly famous spelunker that made serious headlines in early 1925 — and then, of course, was fully forgotten until people like Ronnie would drag it out of oblivion.
But even so, while I am totally sympathetic to the overall vibe of the album, it is useless to pretend that it leaves much of a lasting impression. Hawkins’ charisma on all these recordings is just a little too slick — not enough grit, not enough humor, not enough depth, and none of the subtle ability possessed by, say, Johnny Cash to make it all look like the confessional diary of a sensitive and troubled rough soul. In the end, it’s just another of these "I-love-this-music-but-I’m-not-too-sure-how-to-make-it-mine" endless series of albums that stretch all the way from the dawn of the LP era and up to the present times — sure, there are much worse cases out there (when the artist in question really does not love this music, or when the artist does not have a shred of talent or discipline to pull it off), and I certainly do not consider three listens to this little collection as a complete waste of time, but there have been far more treasurable lonesome cowboys out there in the 20th century than «Mr. Dynamo» with a banjo on his knee.
Only Solitaire reviews: Ronnie Hawkins