AIN’T IT NICE
Ain’t It Nice, a collection consisting primarily of originals, is Kent’s first recording for Bob Koester’s Delmark label–perhaps a signal that Delmark will record more contemporary blues artists. The recording has rough spots–some the result of the way Delmark chose to program it–but this disk should gain Kent wider public recognition.
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Kent is a surefire crowd pleaser, but he’s a challenge to record. He’s no poet, and his arrangements tend toward the workmanlike rather than the flamboyant, despite the occasional insertion of slick rhythmic patterns. This kind of unembellished blues depends on instrumental panache to remain interesting. Fortunately his current band–billed as the Gents on club dates–consists of aggressive young players with the skill to keep the fires burning.
These two fast shuffles are followed by two similar-sounding slow blues. B.B. King’s “Worry Worry” is given a brooding intro, distinguished by an Otis Rush-like tension between major and minor keys. Kent’s good-natured pleading is infectious, Davenport’s harp skitters around the upper registers, and guitarist Luther “Slim” Adams contributes a light-fingered, tasteful solo. It’s a joy to hear a younger guitarist who understands that the music can speak for itself. “One More Mile,” a Muddy Waters tune, follows, with Davenport’s harp warbling sweetly behind Adams’s moody picking. Again the song goes on longer than necessary, despite the interesting lyrics (“I made a mistake with gamblin’ / I bet my money wrong / I was bettin’ on my baby / she wasn’t even at home . . . “).
Willie Kent’s determination to push himself in new musical directions is admirable, but the next cut, “Feel So Good,” is a pretty freaky endeavor. It’s an almost free-form pop ballad that sounds like an attempt to re-create the druggy eroto-mysticism some R & B singers specialized in during the 70s–utterly inappropriate for Kent and far too long. It never progresses much beyond the noodling stage; plenty of dexterity and imagination is on display, but too little coherence. Yet toward the end Adams partially redeems the gooey psychedelia with some lovely chiming harmonics and genuinely surrealistic jamming.
