Published on Dec 6, 1999
It would be easy to tear apart
Soul To Soul, the third effort from Stevie Ray Vaughan and
Double Trouble, as an album recorded on excesses. Vaughan was
admittedly in the throes of a full-blown addiction to drugs and
alcohol at the time this disc was recorded, and he was one short
step away from bottoming out — and eventually rebounding before
perishing in a helicopter crash in 1990.
It would be easy to write this disc off as the aftereffect of a
terrible bender — as I was fully prepared to do before reaching
into the overstuffed “inbox” at the Pierce Memorial Archive. But it
would also be inaccurate to do so without giving the music a
serious listen. Sure, this disc was not up to the standards that
Vaughan and his band had set for themselves — there’s no question
about it. But this disc is hardly the recipe for disaster that you
might think it is.
After all, isn’t this the disc that brought us such classics as
“Look At Little Sister,” “Lookin’ Out The Window” and “Change It”?
Isn’t this the disc that certified that Vaughan could have just as
easily been a killer jazz guitarist? Isn’t this the disc that
featured “Life Without You,” the track that would eventually be the
song that Vaughan would use to preach his message of sobriety?
Granted, the solos that Vaughan was cranking out didn’t quite
have the bite that older tracks seemed to have. If anything, there
are times that it almost seems like the volume on Vaughan’s guitar
tracks was turned down a few notches so that it would blend in with
the rhythm track. Tracks like “Say What!” and “You’ll Be Mine”
don’t have the kind of lasting power that other Vaughan
compositions had. And, thanks to
The Sky Is Crying, the first version of “Empty Arms” has
been reduced to a rather half-assed approach to the song. I’ll
freely admit I thought the version from
The Sky Is Crying got seriously overplayed, but I’ll gladly
take that version over the
Soul To Soul version any day.
But there is enough on
Soul To Soul to suggest that no matter how drug-addled
Vaughan’s life might have become, he still knew how to kick things
into overdrive when the moment called for it. His cover of “Come On
(Part III)” and his bluesy take on “Ain’t Gone ‘N’ Give Up On Love”
show that Vaughan still knew what to do with his craft, even if he
had fallen prey to some personal demons.
In fact, some of Vaughan’s live performances helped to make some
of these tracks into classics. I used to have a bootleg tape of
Vaughan featuring shows recorded in 1984 and 1986 that highlighted
“Lookin’ Out The Window” and “Look At Little Sister” performed back
to back. The sonic attack of these two songs was incredible – and
if you were fortunate enough to hear these performed live, they
help to enhance the already-great studio versions.
The remastered CD features two unreleased cuts, including a
snippet of an interview Vaughan did in 1989. The brevity of one of
the tracks, “Slip Slidin’ Slim,” can explain why it didn’t get
released the first time around – then again, it was a solid effort
from Vaughan, so we’re left to wonder why it wasn’t tacked on the
end of the album as a bonus. The other track will sound familiar to
people, again thanks to
The Sky Is Crying. The medley of “Little Wing / Third Stone
From The Sun” leaves no doubt that Vaughan was one of the best
students of Jimi Hendrix, right down to the unique guitar sound he
got from his Stratocaster. Note that this isn’t the same version of
“Little Wing” that’s on
The Sky Is Crying, so it’s not like you’re paying twice for
the same track. Just hearing Vaughan’s take on “Third Stone From
The Sun” should pique your interest.
Vaughan as a jazz guitarist? Listen to “Gone Home,” and see how
far-fetched an idea it was. Again with the volume turned down on
his guitar parts, Vaughan makes a convincing argument that he could
have probably mastered any musical genre that was thrown his way,
had he only lived long enough to try.
Is
Soul To Soul a perfect album? Hardly. But it’s also hardly
the disaster we’ve been led to believe it is. Even though it has
many strong moments, you could consider this Vaughan’s musical cry
for help at times. Not counting the in-concert disc
Live Alive that would follow this release a year later,
Vaughan would answer that cry with what became his final release —
In Step.