Pitchfork

Aged rock critic Richard Meltzer once said that writing about music is much harder today than it was in the 60s. He said that back then, there probably weren't 20 great bands in the world, so it was much easier to cover the scene comprehensively. I'd say he was reducing the issue a tad (especially in light of sets like Nuggets), but there is a kernel of wisdom in his observation. In 1967, Jimi Hendrix almost single-handedly rallied troupes from rock, pop, blues, jazz and soul on both sides of the Atlantic with his psychedelic call to arms, Are You Experienced?. In one fell swoop, he united the sounds of acts ranging from James Brown to The Beatles, and proved that young black men had as much a claim to rock's budding authenticity as any English mop tops. This could never happen again, as ironically, people like Hendrix contributed to a splintering of scenes and sounds that made common threads almost impossible to find (or wind) thereafter.

In the wake of that fertile era, rock historians penned millions of words in hopes of connecting disparate dots into a clear lineage. You know the drill: Hendrix begat Earth, Wind and Fire, Can and Led Zeppelin, who in turn begat everyone from Bad Brains to Lauryn Hill to Pearl Jam. The holes in this reductive reasoning-- all too common in the post-Creem, post-Rolling Stone world of music journalism-- becomes apparent when you realize that hey, there might have been more than twenty good bands way back when, and wow, people were coming up with all kinds of shit in their free time.

One crucial moment, almost always glossed over, is the short-lived Black Rock "scene" of the late 60s and early 70s (only occasionally in cahoots with Black Power); you'd figure that, coming immediately after Hendrix, bands like Parliament-Funkadelic, the Bar-Kays and the newly rockified Isley Brothers would seem obvious parallels, and accordingly, they're the ones always brought up in such discussions. However, bands from all over the place were shooting for the very same synthesis of American countercultural music that Hendrix did were all over, as the mysterious compilation Chains And Black Exhaust strives to document.

Without a track list, artist mentions or liner notes, the Memphix crew (a collective of DJs and funk 45 junkies spearheaded by Dante Carfagna) attempt to set the record straight on black rock, psychedelia and funk, releasing this seventeen-track comp on Jones (a sub-label of their own Memphix Records). The sound is on the exact same, embryonic tip as Funkadelic's first record (if they'd had even less of a budget). Hendrix's wah-wah makes several appearances, as does his stoned out vocal delivery, and the omnipresent direct-from-vinyl mastering gives it a vintage groove. Of course, it would have been nice to know what the hell I was listening to without resorting to major search engine detective work, but for the most part, it's a stone jam of such proportions as to render the confusion part of the experience.

The first half of a great bit captured from a radio talk show ("it's the color man, and the monthly payments, you know what I mean?") opens the record, and leads directly to Blackrock's "Yeah Yeah". Piano and guitar drone set the stage for badass kung fu stomp, courtesy of molasses-laden drums and bass, both doing their best to max out the mics. An acid-fried guitar solo elevates it into the Hendrix/Eddie Hazel stratosphere. Likewise, Iron Knowledge's "Showstopper" takes Hendrix's patented quivering fret trick (on bass, no less!) and slaps down an anti-war jam so infectious, the singers can barely stay on key during the chorus. OK, in truth some of these bands were less than polished, but the spirit is always there.

"Life Is A Gamble", performed by Preacher, Doug Anderson's "Mama, Here Comes the Preacher" and Hot Chocolate's "What's Good for the Goose" are prime slices of black rock, and would have sounded completely at home on Parliament's Osmium LP ("shooby dooby, bang bang, brotha's gotta groovy thang"), or one of the early Ohio Players records. The former tune features a break so potent a crossing of Band of Gypsies and a porno soundtrack, Westbound Records should pay them back royalties. Gran Am's "Get High" represents the raw end of the spectrum here, as the band overdub their vocalizing of the title over and over, threatening to bury the drums completely. On the other end is Curtis Knight's super-tight "The Devil Made Me Do It", which is an excellent mix of Superfly pulse and almost pop, classic rock hooks.

The lesser tracks play it closest to standard funk, such as the Kool & the Gang spunk of track 4, or the funky Getaway music of track 14-- of course, I have no idea who I just dissed, but so goes limited pressing, semi-bootleg funk comps. There's a rumor Chains and Black Exhaust will be reissued next year with recording info and track listing, but for now, Jones is your connection. It's not as if there are loads of other comps with this stuff out there, and until somebody gets off their ass and issues those early Funkadelic records in a decent mix, you need this. Shit, you need it anyway.