Report: Wild Men of Rock Live in Houston

Andre Williams, Archie Bell, Roy Head, and Little Joe Washington descended upon Houston's Continental Club on Sept. 3 and proceeded to tear some shit up.

By Steven Rosen

At age 74, Andre Williams (pictured above) is just coming into his own as a Great American Singer. He's part Leonard Cohen and part James Brown, capable of expressing in the most impassioned way possible his primal needs of the moment, yet also willing to step back with cool romantic, poetic demeanor and consider the effect his words of love have on his enthralled audience.

Take, for instance, the version of "Let Me Put It In" he performed, with backing from Allen Oldies Band, at Houston's funky, spacious Continental Club, where he headlined a "Wild Men of Rock" revue. Looking dapper and calm in a white double-breasted suit, wearing a smiling Buddha-like countenance as well as a fine mustache, he introduced the song to his fans, many college age or just modestly older, with an aside about past trouble with police trying to perform it.

Then he intoned the song's title pleadingly, softly promising that "I'll buy you a car" to his imaginary subject. And then, WHAM! He screamed out the title line, again and again, as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. He dropped to his knees as the band slashed out its supporting rock with all the power it could muster. It was soul music, raw and unpretentious, and the crowd pushed forward to the stage as if pulled by a giant magnet. And then Williams let up, returned to his quiet pleading, looking slightly amused at his power over the masses. And then he did it all again. It was pure dynamism and he knew it.

He was the headliner of this show, and was treated like royalty. When he eventually left the stage, after "Mustang Sally," the band offered him shouts of "Hallelujah." Williams has been around rock and soul's edges for a long, long time. He recorded for Michigan's Fortune Records in the 1950s, his songs having enough of a naughty edge ("Jailbait") to not get much airplay then but to appeal to collectors today. He wrote a couple 1960s classics ("Shake a Tail Feather" and "Twine Time") for others, fell into hard times in the 1980s, and then started to find his way back in the 1990s.

Often working with bluesy punk-soul acts on songs that sometimes had sexually explicit lyrics, he developed a cult following. He has used that to grow in popularity, through a series of fine Bloodshot albums and even a book, Sweets and Other Stories. What's critical to know about Williams is that, unlike Blowfly or Clarence Carter vamping through "Strokin,'" Williams "dirty" material isn't a smutty joke. It's his take on the rawness of real life and sexuality's place in it. He just omits the jive and politeness. As a result, the tunes he performed in Houston, like "Agile, Mobile and Hostile," "Bacon Fat" and Goin' Down to Tijuana," come off as serious as a heart attack. They're soul tunes without compromise.

But, then, there's also a detachment that lets you know he's the artist working the crowd. For example, with a smile on his face, looking cool, calm and collected, Williams stood on stage while the band ("four of the best motherfuckers I've ever played with," he announced) worked through a pleasant instrumental turn. At the right moment, Williams stepped forward, hands gesticulating like a serene conductor, and sang "Pussy stank/but so do marijuana," It's beyond criticism.

Of the others on the bill, the diminutive, gray-dreadlocked and -bearded Little Joe Washington, who opened, is a Houston favorite, a blues guitarist who slowly works up his energy to show off some dazzling, tricky guitar work. And Archie Bell, a Texan whose Drells had a couple classic dance-tunes-with-attitude-hits in the 1960s like "Tighten Up", does a solo act now where he doesn't mind letting you know how hard he's working. His voice wasn't the best, but he handled the crowd well and was proud he can still do it. "I'm 67 years old and I still know how to ‘Tighten Up,''' he announced at one point, and the words were inspirational to the older members of the audience who were there because they "Can't Stop Dancing" (the title of another Drells hit). And he also did "Mustang Sally."

One of Houston's favorite sons and a soul-shouting wild man, Roy Head of "Treat Her Right" fame, supposedly was appearing to perform from a new album - his first of new material in decades. He was the night's second act. But he did nothing to promote it nor were copies for sale, so it remains a mystery if that album is out there or not. Head, at 68, obviously is a little older and slower (and bigger) than the thin gymnast who memorably did splits and tossed and turned about like a jumping bean on television appearances in 1965, when "Treat Her Right" was a hit. He wore a green paisley shirt and sweated as much as he smiled, apologizing for a frog in his voice between songs. But it didn't noticeably diminish his volume as he squealed and roared his way through the likes of "Lucille," "Just a Little Bit" and "She's About a Mover" as the Allen Oldies Band pushed him on.

He also did some scary-thrilling microphone-twirling toward the band and crowd - scary because an advance in the local arts paper warned he's been known to have faulty control and once almost robbed a watching critic of his family jewels; thrilling because he kept control. Considering that Head's forte is rootsy, sweaty, roadhouse rock, it was surprising he tackled Bob Seger's "Turn the Page." It wasn't maybe the best kind of song for his persona, but there was honesty when he sang "Here I am, back on the road again." You felt for Head. He was still doing it.

By the way, Head took a break before finishing with a no-holds-barred "Treat Her Right," and his son Sundance came out to sing a few blues-rock standards with the Allen Oldies Band behind him. And wouldn't you know it? One was "Mustang Sally." Three times in one night. That's wild, indeed.