JP Jones | Life and Death

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United States - Rhode Island

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Folk: Power-folk Rock: Folk Rock Moods: Spiritual
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Life and Death

by JP Jones

Intense and eclectic folk-based collection is songwriter's ninth independently released CD. "Thoughtful, spiritually grounded music that tells stories rather than thumps bibles." - Bill Conner, KNBT
Genre: Folk: Power-folk
Release Date: 

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  Song Share Time Download
1. Cum a Live
3:36 $0.99
2. The King is Dead
4:46 $0.99
3. What in God's Name
4:18 $0.99
4. Pull Over
5:48 $0.99
5. In the Beginning
2:53 $0.99
6. Ballad of Adelle
4:31 $0.99
7. Flat Black Cadillac
3:45 $0.99
8. The Last Song
3:34 $0.99
9. Killer Instinct
2:52 $0.99
10. What's the Fuss?
3:40 $0.99
11. When That Change Finally Comes
5:23 $0.99
Downloads are available as MP3-320 files.


Album Notes
In Brief:
Recorded live in January 2003 at Lloyd Salisbury's Flat Rock studios in Moosup, CT with 7-piece back-up band Rite Tite, "Life and Death" is JP's best and most diverse collection of songs to date. Rite Tite tackles it all: punk to folk to funk and jazz, but what unites the disc is its vision of opposites: black and white, beauty and ugliness, birth, death, sex and salvation. "Life and Death" leaves nothing out and stays focused on what endures.

"JP Jones writes with an intensity and vision that transcends the sound...Jones has a way with words, and he nails them, hammers them, and stretches them, but never minces them." -- Rich Warren - Sing Out!

It takes no more than the first few bars of "Life and Death" to understand that JP Jones hails from the era which ushered folk music from its Mitch Millery 50s incarnation as a venue for the rather passionless peddling of past masters into a moody resuscitation of why Guthrie, Seeger, and the immortals took to songsmithing in the first place: protest, social comment, cynicism, the anarchistic sentiment to put authority on the hot plate, and a modern re-investment of the antecedent musics that helped inform blues towards its own birth: madrigal, lonesome prairie lament, proto-country, and the styles springing from earth and sky as the human spirit met with adamantine truths beyond the Bible, law books, and sanitized school texts - in other words: real life.

If you're of Boomer age, you might've peripherally known of this gent early on, during the brief 70s mating of the Columbia and Windfall labels. The former was Clive Davis' domain, the latter Felix Pappalardi's tiny sub-entity meant for Mountain and the later West, Bruce & Laing plus a few lucky side acts like David Rea, Brothers, Bill Wilson, and Jones. However, whatever may have been possible in that congeries, the stable met, like so many, an untimely demise as Columbia chafed and abrased Windfall into a court battle and then an early grave. Jones' single slab, entitled "John Paul Jones," to this day mistaken as an overlooked release from Led Zeppelin's bassist, sold 8000 copies, receiving absolutely no promo. Pappalardi's progeny sank into the sunset and there'd be no second chance in Tinsel Town for either.

In like manner, more talent than any of us would like to count went underground during that heyday, but, despite this typical corporatistic mis-move, JP Jones was not unnoticed. No less a name than John Hammond Sr. - who produced such artists as Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan, Alberta Hunter, and Stevie Ray Vaughn - liked what he heard, as did Ed Freeman, producer for Tim Hardin, Don McLean, Tom Rush, and Roy Buchanan. For reasons unknown, nothing came of the admiration and no LP issued. Nonetheless, Jones went on to share stages with Bonnie Raitt, B.B. King, Little Feat, and Bruce Springsteen, amongst others. A little while back, in quiet recognition of what had been a budding talent now grown to decidedly mature proportions, Sony re-released the debut 1973 LP on CD, a product that unfortunately came and went as quickly as the unheralded original.

So what was it about this guy? Merely that indefinable something that makes you stop and listen to a hypnotic busker on the street corner while gratefully passing by the latest pile of crap Rolling Stone's flakking, blasted irritatingly from Sam Goody's tin speakers as you tread past mall cornerposts. All folk music begins with an unusually intense compassion for the human condition blent with a gritty ability to look at life squarely, eschewing the fairy tales the herd indoctrinates itself with for an uncompromising and often heartbreaking understanding that bipedal animals are horribly flawed while simultaneously capable of transcendent grace. Of course, it doesn't hurt that a fortunate few of these storytellers are imbued with a magic gifted only to artists. Jones, in his lifetimes-agone woodshedding, matched a Baptist Bible Seminary education with a BA in music at Amherst and formed his own highly humanistic, non-dogmatic, hard-tack-and-hope style that blends psychology, spirituality, and an absorbingly rough literacy, a way with words and turns of phrase that have always marked the true poet's specialized desmesnes.

Possessing a growly voice surprisingly akin to Mark Knopfler's, interpolating glints of Warren Zevon, Bob Dylan, and even a very faint Tom Waits, the composer is accompanied on "Life and Death" by a stunningly appropos band, the Rite Tite, a sextet completely dialed in to what Jones is doing, abetting each composition with a streetwise backing embroidery not heard in ages. The lead cut "Cum a Live" tells all as an organ swell breaks into an indolently bracing, coffee house, blues-jazz air, a loungily urgent exhortation to wake up and live, carrying an element supplying richly lamentive side tones in Louise Muller's pulsingly emotional violin, appearing thoughout the release, as often subtle and wistful as lusty and capricious. Mike Barrette matches her unusual lines with a highly elastic electric guitar speaking like mischievous gremlins poking their heads out in just the right places, capering, dancing, forming striking modes and refrains.

Jones himself is a multi-instrumentalist, alternatingly playing keyboards, acoustic guitar, and harmonica while singing, but it's that dusty voice and earthy authenticity which immediately capture the listener. Not a cut on this marvelous CD is wasted and when the band steps out for the middle eight, as in "Pull Over" o man o man, that's precisely what makes sonic omnivores bliss out, nudging cynical wonts aside to wallow in pure pleasure and reluctantly admit that, yes, life can sometimes be very good indeed.

Jones is also similar to Bruce Cockburn, a facet coming out most clearly on the solo "Thugs and Lovers," shedding the killer Rite Tite to produce a just-me take, the sort of record every folkie longs to press but so few do...or are capable of. Here, uncompromisingly, the artist is put on naked display. With only four exterior elements (an inexpensive Alvarez guitar he makes sound like a Gibson Dreadnought, two microphones - one for vocals and one for the strings, and a Mac G3 to capture it all), the composer opens his cranium and thorax to show exactly where his brain and heart reside, producing a fascinating twelve-spot of ruminations on the fragility, individuality, highs and lows, and spirit of the creatures composing the Earth's dominant order.

Jones' lyrics are as suggestive as they are direct, leaving no emotion uninspected, no incident unobserved, speaking poetically through a sieve of experience and acceptance, willing to see matters as they are, angry or content but never misjudging. His guitar playing is masterful, bouncing and complex one song, laconic the next. As well, he's clever with lyrics, but ya hafta hear 'em in context for the full power to become evident. Some are searing, others playful; most often, though, they're windows into what other musicians never see as they weave their MTV fantasies. JP Jones' pense's are wry, insightful, and sympathetically warm even when chronicling the panoply of cold sabotages heir to man and his estate.

If you've grown tired of the scions of the rich and the plainly lesser young offspring of elderday folk giants (are ya listening, Jeff Buckley?); if you're longing for the flavor of delight once had when earlier discovering folkies like Dirk Hamilton, Murray McLauchlan, and Bob Sauls; and if the catalogue of those whose prodigious artistry never caught fickle Mistress Fate properly tends to leave you with that pissed-off feeling, then this is extraordinarily rewarding fare, easily the best genuine modern folk music I've heard in the last 10 years. The above CDs represent only two examples in an 11 title catalogue...with a 12th coming this summer. Do yourself a favor and listen to what the radio will never play.

© Mark Tucker,

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Score! Music Magazine

I guess it isn't all that bad.
Well, my thoughts upon hearing the first song aren't very charitable: I hated it. The vocals are too loud, the instruments sound unrehearsed, and, by god, it's folk. The slow, heartfelt second song, "The King Is Dead," was pleasant in a Bruce Springsteen way. And by the third song I was back to pulling my hair out over that breathy, off-kilter, Bob Dylan-esque voice. The saving grace of this disc are the elements of jazz and blues, and, for the most part, the politically aware lyrics. The keyboards, violin, and electric guitar funk it up some. The remainder of the disc wavers back and forth between acoustic folk and down-home blues. I waver with it; sometimes it makes me cringe, but... dammit, I guess it isn't all that bad.