The House Of The Rising Sun
"House Of The Rising Sun", that old
story of New Orleans’ joint and its world of misery and depravity, had always
been a delicacy. Many had sung it, bending from time to time to their musical
needs. Nina Simone ("At The
Village Gate", 1962) had made it a nightly jazzy atmosphere, and listening
to it, seems to see the spread of smoke in the room. Woody Guthrie did not betray the storytelling’s popular spirit: an
all narrative cut, like a crime news in the fifth page. The old bluesman Josh White, from a first recording even
in 1942, had built a twilight and dilated epic, like a Chandler’s page, using a
vocal line suspended on long vowels and an arrangement with piano and trumpet
of grim charm.
Is with this version in
the head, says bassist Chas Chandler, that The
Animals entered in the studio, in February of 1964, to record the song. The
RnB band from Newcastle had already released an adaptation of a folk number, Baby,
Let Me Take You Home (derived from "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down,"
already on Dylan's debut), but this time the things would have been different.
Alan Price, keyboardist and musical leader, had set up a fighting and rampant arrangement,
all played on the warm tone of his organ, the dark voice of Eric Burdon and the
undeniable working –class style of all the combo. Difficult, however, to think
that the group did not know the version just recorded by Dylan (again on his debut LP, in 1962), whose descending guitar
line is full taken by Price’s keyboard.
The song is opened by
a western arpeggio by Vestine, before being led, in the first two stanzas, by
the crescendo controlled but dramatic of the singer, who comes to a climax with
real pathos ("And the only time he's satisfied Is When He's on a
drunk"); Price then, in the song’s barycentre, unleashes the best organ solo of the era:
symmetrical, concise: perfect. The music start again, but the crescendo is
repeated in the last two stanzas, in which even Vestine's guitar becomes more
insistent to support the last declamation of a truly visceral Burdon. At the
end it turned out a song of more than 4 minutes, an eternity for that era. So
much that in EMI they were doubtful of a song they thought long and perhaps
boring; incredibly Mickie Most, producer of the band and a true artist of the
fade-outs at 2'30'', believed in the song that was well distributed both in
England and America, albeit with some "cut".
"House
of the Rising Sun" jumped on “top of the pop” on July 7, and remained
there for a week before giving way to the Stones’new release. In America was
again No. 1. It was undeniably a rock song, rampant, rhythmic, yet serious,
even dramatic, steeped in realism, different from the standards of the era who
sent fifteen into raptures. It was the first rock hit to take whole home from
the popular heritage of the old white American, to which were devoted folk
giants as Guthry or Pete Seeger, who had nothing to do with the '60s British
charts, far more inspired by the blues. And of this Blues were disciples the
Animals: twisting with their electric charge a piece of an old folk singer, had
found success, but the song will remain unique in their catalog, much more
generous with references to the black music.
All this
was the prelude of what would have happened exactly one year after in Los
Angeles January 1965, when a group of novice twentys, who called themselves the
Byrds, entered in the studio to cut a traditional, "Mr.Tambourine Man”... (to be continued...)
The House Of The Rising Sun
“House Of The Rising Sun”, quella vecchia storia del bordello di New
Orleans e del suo mondo di miseria e depravazione, era sempre stata un boccone
prelibato. L’avevano cantata in tanti, piegandola di volta in volta alle
proprie esigenze musicali. Nina Simone
(“At The Village Gate”, 1962) ne aveva fatto un jazz d’atmosfera notturna e, ad
ascoltarla, sembra di vedere le volute di fumo spandersi nella sala. Woody Guthrie non aveva tradito lo
spirito popolare del cantastorie: un’esecuzione tutta narrativa, da colonna di
cronaca in quinta pagina. Il vecchio bluesman Josh White, a partire da una prima incisione addirittura nel 1942,
ci aveva costruito dentro un’epica crepuscolare e dilatata come una pagina di
Chandler, utilizzando una linea di canto sospesa su vocali lunghissime e un
arrangiamento con pianoforte e tromba dal fascino sinistro.
