Fats Domino. Now we’re talking.
Despite the valiant efforts of Jive Bunny, a lot of the stuff that came out of the fifties can’t help but feel a little, well not bland but thin. Yeah, with Frank and Elvis and the like there was rich songwriting and energy, but half a century later, you can see the cracks. Which is why I loved this album, because it felt like a part of our time.
OK, so that last paragraph couldn’t have been more vague, but the thing about Fats Domino is he’s a part of the New Orleans soul even today (I remember my shock at the false post-Katrina rumours that Fats had died, including my shock that he was still alive anyway). Blueberry Hill is a part of the modern lexicon, (Hell, even Putin sings it), and songs like ‘Honey Chile’ and ‘What’s the reason (I’m not pleasing you)’ sound as rich on Spotify as they did in a diner’s jukebox in another era. It’s hard not to like Fats – his singing is cheery, soulful and honest, and this album is over far too quickly.