The Daily Deep Cut

The editors at JamsBio like to think of ourselves as music fans first, not critics, and that’s the sensibility we strive for at JamsBio and that we seek in other sites as well. That’s why we’re so jazzed about Damn Fine Day, a site that each day profiles a deep album cut that’s been overlooked, but deserves a place in everybody’s collection. In the name of spreading the gospel about great music, we present “The Daily Deep Cut,” where we add our two cents about the songs featured on Damn Fine Day. Once you read our unique take, we’ll send you over to Damn Fine Day so you can stream the full track and download it if you like. Sometimes we might even suggest another deep track from the same album or present some other novel twist on what their hawking.

It was a pleasant surprise when I made my daily visit to Damn Fine Day and caught a glimpse of the cover art for Boz Scaggs’ self-titled 1969 album. It brought back a flood of memories that I haven’t recalled in nearly two decades. It was the summer of 1987. Following six weeks at camp in Massachusetts I headed back to Philadelphia with one of my close buddies that I had met the previous summer. We were to spend a few days bumming around the City of Brotherly Love, visiting record stores and hurling diatribes about our less sophisticated 15 year old peers. My friend Ryan was into goth and hardcore, mostly as a form of rebellion against his super hip dad who liked the classics. I was still discovering all genres of music and had an open mind for just about anything – jazz, folk, punk – you name it.

One afternoon when Ryan was taking a collossal nap, I ventured downstairs to peruse through his father’s vinyl collection. I was told that I could pick several records and he would make tapes for me before I headed back to Houston. I laid on the floor, tilted my head sideways so I could read the artist and album name on the spines, and started pulling out records. Joe Jackson, Little Feat, Joni Mitchell, Frank Zappa, Nick Lowe…it was a treasure trove of impeccable taste. The Boz Scaggs’ album was one the sleeves that caught my eye. I’m not sure why, but I thought he looked cool standing on the street with his period suit and robust chops. I didn’t know what to expect when I placed the needle on the wax, but it surely wasn’t what I heard blaring from the hi-fi. This cat had soul! Lots of it. The punchy horns, gospel-flavored backing vocals, funky organ, killer guitar, and most of all that smooth, soulful voice, Boz Scaggs’ would be my entree into the world of Muscle Shoals, Motown, and Stax. Not your typical introduction to R&B, but it would do. I haven’t listened to Scaggs much since that summer, but I’ll always have him to thank for my deep appreciation of Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, and Joe Tex.

Mosey over to Damn Fine Day and take a listen to the man who, for me, launched a thousand soulful moments.

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