Leslie West (Part 1)
Saturday’s post about Bill Chinnock got me thinking about my old guitar heroes. So, I trotted out two sort of comeback discs from the early ’90s by Leslie West, one of the three guitarists who helped shape my young life. B.B. King and Johnny Winter are the other two. The listening inspired these notes.
Leslie West is the Larry Holmes of rock guitar. The heavyweight king since his early days in Mountain, Leslie remained uncrowned for having reigned in the shadow of others (Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton in the blues/rock arena; Richie Blackmore [in Deep Purple's heyday] and Tony Iommi [with Black Sabbath] in early conceptions of “metal”). But with the release of two discs, more than ten years after the death of his Mountain bandmate and creative protagonist, Felix Pappalardi, the pretenders abdicated; and Leslie assumed his rightful place among rock’s guitar royalty.
Because of the power and sheer volume of his playing, Leslie’s artistry was seldom acknowledged, let alone heralded. And Mountain’s work is seldom weighed on the relative scale of rock’s accomplishments and milestones. But consider: The release of Climbing in 1970 marked, not only an inimitable achievement, but the realization of the talent hinted at on Leslie West: Mountain (a solo album, which preceded Climbing) and the creative potential of Leslie’s collaboration with Felix Pappalardi (which began with that earlier album).
Even as the mutually affectionate, sympathetic spontaneity of Leslie’s concert performances with Felix were both emotionally touching and aurally breathtaking, Mountain’s subsequent albums continued to fulfill the potential of their first: As isolated examples (and at the risk of seeming to slight anything else), Leslie’s impassioned vocals and lyrical fills on “Flowers of Evil” (the title track from the album) have been perennially overlooked; and the narrative mastery of his solo in the live version of “Dreams of Milk and Honey” from that same album remains spellbindingly unmatched. Even Mountain’s post-West, Bruce, and Laing album, 1974’s Avalanche, is an under-valued gem, expanding, as it did, the sophistication of Mountain’s song craft (”Sister Justice” and “Last Of The Sunshine Days” are exemplary) and adding the interaction of David Perry’s rhythm guitar with Leslie’s, in place of Steve Knight’s keyboards.
In addition to the bewitching brew of power and poise Leslie’s playing always comprised, there’s evidence here that Leslie had finally stepped out of Felix’s shadow and filled the creative void left by Felix’s death (shot through the neck by his wife, graphic artist and Mountain album-cover illustrator, Gail Collins). The first of the discs, Live!, is culled from a series of European dates. Leslie’s band, Richie “The Bat” Scarlet on bass and “The Right Reverend” Paul Beretta on bass, serve as the immovable object for the irresistible force of Leslie’s singing and playing, providing ample room for his commanding improvisations. Live! lacks inspiration in some of its execution (ironically, the Mountain classics “Mississippi Queen” and “Nantucket Sleighride” satisfy least – probably because they’ve been done better elsewhere); and Leslie borders amnesia in his retention of lyrics (this has always been true of him). Nonetheless, this disc marked a return to unabashed form for the champ.
No one’s ever used an amp’s power any more fully than Leslie. There are ways in which he seems to use volume as an instrument, playing it with equal parts overwhelming abandon, deft touch, and poetic finesse. (When he digs into “Third Degree”, a grinding blues he also covered with West, Bruce, and Laing, the dizzying thrill of his bass-note harmonics and the visceral glide of his power chords suggest he alone knows how nasty and forbidding Eddie Boyd intended this song to be.) And no one has ever matched the economy of Leslie’s lead lines: no blazing runs or speed-metal tapping here. This is musical story-telling – mega-watt vignettes, in which Leslie never loses a sense of narrative to the seductions of flash and trickery.
Live! also began to manifest an interpretive conviction Leslie hadn’t shown before. That may be attributable to nothing more than age, maturity, and contemplation; but it’s a strength that carries through both discs. On Live!, Leslie’s poetic re-creation of “Theme For An Imaginary Western” is a fitting tribute to Felix, whose inimitable vocal interpretation of this song Leslie wisely refrains from imitating or suggesting. His alternating between the delicate picking of some chords (embellished by the artful dips and vibrato of his whammy-bar) and the brutal crashing of others adds to the dramatic majesty of his reading. Likewise, in Live!’s Hendrix/Beck tribute, Leslie does justice to vintage renditions of “Voodoo Chile” and “Goin’ Down” while making them unmistakably his own.
Notes on the second disc, Dodgin’ the Dirt, tomorrow.