Lowell George
Thanks I'll Eat It Here

THE REVIEW

Although the propeller of a remote-controlled airplane had nearly severed his hand, he still managed to become “the Orson Welles of rock”, as his friend Jackson Browne later described him. Using a spark plug wrench, he became the most extraordinary slide guitar player in the world, rivaled only by Duane Allman and Ray Cooder.

In the late Sixties, Frank Zappa called him to play in the Mothers, and Lowell sprinkled stardust in “Weasels Ripped My Flesh” and in the masterpiece “Hor Rats”. The Rolling Stones cited him in “Let It Bleed” as a fundamental influence, and in a few years, he managed to garner exceptional respect and consideration in the Los Angeles music scene. From the early Seventies, he founded and led the Little Feat throughout the decade in exploring the infinite possibilities of the sound of deep America, honing an already excellent compositional skill in masterpieces like “Willin”, “Sailin’ Shoes”, and “Dixie Chicken”.

But Lowell George was above all a voice, a projection of talent and musicality truly unmatched. “Thanks I'll Eat It Here”, from 1979, is his only legacy as a solo artist, a purveyor of sonic wonders and superb interpretations. On the incomparable rhythmic geometries of Jeff Porcaro, Jim Keltner (drums), and Chuck Rainey (bass), were grafted the piano of the legendary Nicky Hopkins (who had played with the Stones and Airplane), the keyboards of A.O.R. wizard David Foster and Little Feat's Bill Payne, as well as George's celebrated slide-guitar, who also took care of producing the album. Bonnie Raitt, J.D. Souther, and Maxine Willard Waters infused it with vocal harmonies: these are just the most prestigious guest appearances. The choice of repertoire deserves special mention: in addition to Lowell George himself, the authors included Allen Toussaint, Van Dyke Parks, Jimmy Webb, and Rickie Lee Jones, some of the greatest names among American songwriters.

What remains in our hands from such a profusion of talents does not disappoint expectations: it is a grand fresco of styles and arrangements over which Lowell's magnificent voice triumphs, generating pure emotion, rain on burning asphalt that evaporates heat, carnal clamor of bodies overwhelmed with love. To the uncontrollable rhythmic power of the advance of “What Do You Want the Girl to Do?” by Toussaint, where the sound of New Orleans thunders its apotheosis, follows the hysterical delusion of “Honest Man”, with the horns giving no respite, and enduring the strain becomes difficult. “Two Trains” intoxicates us with the mixed aromas of Dixie Chicken, and “I Can't Stand the Rain” overwhelms with George's syncopated slide rhythms. “Cheek to Cheek” is ideally linked to Jackson Browne's “Linda Paloma” and Warren Zevon's “Carmelita”, in an embrace of spiritual tensions towards and beyond the Mexican border. If Rickie Lee Jones's “Easy Money” is still a greedy sip of rock-blues, “20 Million Things” and “Find a River” are twilight moments, leaving space for emotion, the melancholic nectar of melody, when almost gently creeps in the doubt of not making it.

Festive morning is “Himmler's Ring” by Webb, a wonder that resurrects with streamers and vaudeville fanfares, “Heartache” the sorrowful farewell of an overflowing, unrepeatable musical personality: a heart attack would strike him down during the promotional tour of the album.

At 34, the ashes scattered in the Pacific.