I was fascinated last summer, during an interview, listening to Marcia Ball recount the years-long process it required for her to master Professor Longhair’s left-handed technique on the song “Tipitina”—which to a mere mortal like myself seemed, rather like, oh, building a fighter jet in my garage out of empty beer cans.
The affection and wonder in her voice—not necessarily that she was able to finally play “Tipitina,” but more in the context of admiration for Fess and the sheer magic that surrounds some artists and personalities like clouds of glitter—has stayed with me, and made me hope that, some day, Ball will record a CD wherein she does nothing but play the piano. And because she’s as much a fan as she is a brilliant player, a just-sit-at-the-piano-and-kick-ass-for-the-sake-of-it album, sorta like James Booker’s “Spiders on the Keys”—though we all know that particular record exists simply because producer Scott Billington culled through hours of live tapes trying to excise something usable—would be a fine thing to hear.
Anyway, it’s a moot point for the time being. Ball’s latest CD, Presumed Innocent, out from Alligator after her long association with Rounder, isn’t the solo work I’ve fantasized about. It’s a typical Marcia Ball release—which is to say it’s sweet, indeed, despite not breaking any particularly new ground.
Her affection for the music implied by a Gulf Coast crescent that ranges from Memphis to Padre Island is of itself rich enough in stylistic possibilities—and Ball works her way through many of them with joy, precision, and spirit.
From the start, on “The Scene of the Crime,” a horn-driven rocker on which Ball collaborates with Texas guitarist/producer/all-around-wizard Stephen Bruton, and a marvelous rendition of Allen Toussaint’s “You Make It Hard,” where Delbert McClinton contributes some post-midnight wails, Presumed Innocent is a fireball of energy. “Count the Days” and “Let the Tears Roll Down” represent two aspects—“I’m pissed” and “I’m broken-hearted”—of the breakdown-in-a-relationship situation, and Ball is utterly convincing in both roles. For piano work-singed R&B, Ball’s own “Louella” is a wonderful workout recalling Champion Jack Dupree, and the riff-fueled roadhouse boogie of “Thibodaux, Louisiana” and “Shake a Leg” are tunes that fairly scream for a round of fresh Dixies.
Ball’s take on “I’m Coming Down With the Blues” represents yet another aspect of her Gulf Coast palette, and the gospel strains of “I Have the Right to Know” is wonderful and whets the appetite for any future collaborations with old friend Irma Thomas.
It would be correct to actually say that Ball is treading water with Presumed Innocent, though that casts an unintentionally negative image. Surrounded by top-flight musicians—old and new compatriots—and crisply produced by Ball and the estimable Doyle Bramhall, this is a wonderful CD. What Marcia Ball points out in effortlessly great fashion is that the many implications of R&B, soul, rock ‘n’ roll, country and gospel—painted in those day-glo Southern colors—are rife with infinite permutations and possibilities.
