Little Feat
Representing The Mambo

THE REVIEW

When the most prominent member of Little Feat, namely the guitarist and singer Lowell George, unexpectedly passed away at the age of thirty-four, his band had already taken quite a hold of things: the insurrection led by colleague Paul Barrere and keyboardist Bill Payne, both very much into genres like funky and fusion that George wasn’t interested in, had already begun a couple of years and albums before.

His departure (in 1979) suspended work for eight long years, after which the Little Feat brand returned to the market, picking up where it had left off, that is, with very Los Angeles-style music, essentially metropolitan, filled with moods like Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers, even Toto, much to the chagrin of poor George who tended to favor more rustic paths, between southern rock and country blues.

Well, I personally prefer this second portion of Little Feat's career: both Barrere, a brilliant and incisive guitarist with an excellent voice reminiscent of Tom Johnston (Doobie Brothers), and Bill Payne, an outstanding pianist and organist with a decent voice, are musicians closer to my preferences than Lowell George. They are certainly far from being mere sidekicks... It's understandable that they managed to shoulder the burden of continuing the career of such a renowned and esteemed band (more the latter than the former…).

The “gap” left by George was filled by hiring not one but two guitarists/composers: Craig Fuller (also a valid solo vocalist) from the Pure Prarie League and Fred Tackett. Seven musicians on stage and in the studio, then, creating an extremely multifaceted, vibrant, and precise sound, arranged with precision and class, in that typical California style that is always smooth and spicy without ever overdoing it.

For many, this is a legitimate flaw, and perhaps they are right: albums like these initially sound exciting, with instruments and voices that travel without a hitch, dry and synthetic in their interventions. Then one might realize that not much sticks, that out of a whole series of admirable passages and clever interactions, of solos that end after a few bars, of solo voice exchanges, there is never an epic song, the perfect solo, or an irresistible melody.

The undeniable fact is that all the musicians can play excellently, with measured and crystalline class interventions. Drummer Richie Hayward, for example (speaking of… he also passed away, three years ago) can be heard in certain tracks seeking the rolling shuffle beloved by colleague Jeff Porcaro (Toto), who was then setting the standard in the City of Angels. Bill Payne is a musician of great caliber on piano, organ, and synthesizers, with which he has no problem arranging entire, complex sections of horns (on “The Ingenue” in particular); he is among the best in the world, many say so (Elton John, for instance) and the hundreds of records he has been called to help as a guest confirm it.

There are three singers: Barrere, the most cheerful and clear voice of the trio, takes on five tracks, another four are interpreted by Fuller who displays a more distressed and tense timbre, perfect, halfway between a grittier Jackson Browne and a Steve Overland (and who’s that? Ah, the singer of FM. And who are they? Oh, figure it out). The last two tracks are performed by Bill Payne.

The opening “Texas Twister” is attacked and marked dramatically by Fred Tackett’s great work on a Fender Telecaster, handled very skillfully, highlighting its great qualities in terms of clarity and attack. On “Feelin’s All Gone” the balding Barrere works wonders with the slide, not making one miss the acknowledged master Lowell too much, but the most sparkling solo break is delivered by a guest, the exceptional Michael Brecker, with his saxophone on the already mentioned “The Ingenue,” my favorite, in touching Steely Dan style.

This is Californian music one hundred and one percent, a true crucible of all the styles that have made the United States great in the musical field: blues, jazz, rhythm & blues, rock, pop, even a bit of Latin blended together and served in excellent sauce by distinguished chefs; white music, very white, but borrowed from the blacks… however, with respect; music viscerally and cerebrally mixed with snazzy and tasty entertainment: it will never be art worthy of an A+ grade, but it often earns a solid B, and this seems to me one of those cases.