Organ safari

Rarely did exotica masquerade as authentic simulacra. That’s part of what made exotica exotica. An odd minor key and a flourish of African percussion here. Some warmed-over Arabic melody there. Exotica, in all of its post-War American pop music splendor, created an aura of mystery and taboo with only a vague musical relationship to the culture it attempted to evoke.

In the hands of, say, Les Baxter (an all-time favorite artist of mine), the exotic was more likely be a “Congolese-ish orchestral tone-poem" than passed off as anything genuinely Congolese. Other compositions might venture even further from their source of inspiration; exotic in title only, you get the sense they were mostly an opportunity for musicians to exorcise some of their darker creative impulses. That’s why I love the more obscure strains of exotica (including early psychedelia). Like this week's selections, they maintained a basic degree of air-conditioned comfort for the sedentary daydreamer, but, by leveraging the idea of the exotic, musicians could paint with wilder, weirder strokes than they might have conventionally used.

All of this can be problematic, of course. Intentional or not, invoking the exotic is also invoking old stereotypes about the “primitive” and a long and shameful history of ethnocentricism. I’m not thinking about that right now, though. Instead, I’m back to the way those conga drums ricocheted around in my speakers. Did you hear that?

1. Jimmie McGriff, Jungle Cat (Part 1) (Jell)
With his hit version of Ray Charles’ “I Got a Woman,” Philadelphia organist Jimmy McGriff was one of the first to achieve broader success in the gospel and R&B rooted idiom that came to be known as soul jazz. An exotic mood piece from 1964, McGriff’s obscure “Jungle Cat” is an anomaly among his generally bluesy work, however.

2. Jimmie McGriff, Jungle Cat (Part 2) (Jell)
McGriff is joined on “Jungle Cat” by his longtime guitarist Larry Frazier (with a stunning solo on part two) as well as his brother Hank (on, naturally, bongos). Together they lurch forward into a thick, fetid gloom of studio echo, leaving it to the listener to decide whether they ever emerged again.

McGriff, a legendary, prolific career to his name, is still active today, I'm happy to report.

3. Walter Bolen, Lion Hunt (Part Two)
It was getting progressively harder to find, but, in 1967, exotica was still available in the open market. You just had to ask around a little. You could find it being sold with hopelessly dated titles like “Lion Hunt.” It was out there in different formats, too: jazz, easy listening, soundtrack mood pieces, greasy R&B instrumentals.

"Lion Hunt" managed to be nearly all those things. This selection was also the first release on Pick-A-Hit records, a label run by aspiring Los Angeles R&B producer and impresario Bobby Sanders, and one of many independent labels that - depending on who you asked - either serviced or exploited Los Angeles’s fascinating jazz, soul, R&B, and Latin music scene. Other than writing, arranging, and playing on it (presumably either the saxophone or organ), Walter Bolen remains a total mystery, however.

Part One of “Lion Hunt,” is, if you're curious, the same track - just without “roaring lion” sound effects.

4. The Living End, Jumpin’ At the Lion’s Gate (Bolo)
Like other regions, the Pacific Northwest had its own circumscribed rock ‘n’ roll scene in the twilight years before the British Invasion. Popular groups like the Kingsmen, Paul Revere & the Raiders, the Wailers, and the Sonics all emerged from this scene, honing their raucous R&B-infused version of rock ‘n’ roll on the Northwest’s legendary club circuit and mixing it up with versatile (and sometimes racially integrated) seven- and eight-piece horn combos.

If this selection’s flipside - a tight James Brown-inspired instrumental entitled “Skyride” - is any indication, the Living End were pretty typical of the scene.

Part mod-ish jazz instrumental, part screwball romp through a Go-Go bar floorshow, “Jumpin’ At the Lion’s Gate,” is altogether another story, however. Maybe the Living End didn’t set out to be exotic, but this number probably sounded pretty primal after throwing back a few Coffee Grogs fireside at Kona Kove.

The lone record by the Living End, "Jumpin' At the Lion's Gate" was released on Bolo, which, along with sister label Seafair, was one of the Pacific Northwest’s great indie labels. (Sharp-eyed readers might remember another Seafair/Bolo 45 from this post.) Being released in 1966, it was also definitely an endnote in the chronology of the Northwest sound.

I was so confident that there once stood a club named “The Lion’s Gate” in Seattle. I could find no such references, however - it seems likely it was named for this famous Vancouver landmark, instead.