“Hey Syd, what’s your favorite Jim Morrison and The Doors song?”
My friend Steve insisted on using the name of the person he felt most responsible for a group’s success or branding as if they were an official part of their name. Which was fine when it was true, even if it was extra—Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention was a mouthful when “Zappa” would have sufficed. But it was annoying when it was untrue. Steve Winwood and Traffic, Shane MacGowan and The Pogues, or Jim Morrison and The Doors are MISNOMERS. You wouldn’t file them in your music library (or look for them in a record store) under S or J any more than you’d look for Dolly Parton under D.
While Steve’s annoying nomenclature quirk got under my skin, he knew a ton about music and was always a gas to have along when I’d go crate digging. Steve approached me on a dig one afternoon with an album in his hand and suggested I buy it. I squinted at the title as a combination of ringwear and black magic marker bearing radio station call letters WBRS (Brandeis University’s college radio) made the band and title difficult to read.
“Lowell George and Little Feat,” Steve said impatiently, “which you should know because Lowell George was a member of Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention in the late 1960s. Lowell George quit and formed Little Feat shortly thereafter—his band wasn’t as pretentiously weird as Zappa’s, and this record, Waiting For Columbus, is one of the best live records ever. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.”
Steve never passed up an opportunity to flex or throw shade—other charming aspects of his personality that eventually led to his place in the MIA file. But on that day in the fall of ‘85, we did spend much of the bus ride from Boston to Worcester arguing over his Zappa diss (“Weird? Definitely. Pretentious? Nope…just over your head, Steve!”). When I grew tired of the argument, he started another. That one hour bus ride felt more like a long weekend as we clutched our new purchases and prepared to argue over who got first dibs at the turntable based on what we scored that day in the bins.
Steve was right that I wasn’t familiar with Waiting For Columbus, which would remain the case for a bit longer. Other albums I’d gotten on that dig in Harvard Square were higher on my priority list, including a long-sought-after copy of Zappa’s Zoot Allures and Nektar’s Remember The Future. Besides, I couldn’t stomach listening while Steve was still visiting for the weekend because the outcome would suck either way. Either I’d love the record and have to endure Steve’s smug, self-righteous judgment for the entirety of the double album (and forevermore), or spend eternity defending a litany of his attacks for NOT liking it. Steve was a walking music encyclopedia, but his opinions were LAW, and challenging them invoked his smarmy wrath. Somehow, it was more charming in high school. By the end of this college weekend visit, it was insufferable.
Some days after Steve returned to his Maine college life, I decided to play Waiting For Columbus. While I’d like to say it was love at first spin, it was more like confusion that had me double-check the label to ensure the wrong record hadn’t been placed in the sleeve. Based on what little I knew about the group, I expected a guitar-driven southern rock joint, a la Lynyrd Skynyrd. There was plenty of great guitar work, but the Tower of Power horns, funk, R&B, and even fusion elements were unlike anything you’d hear at a Molly Hatchet gig. I wasn’t wowed, but I was intrigued. This band had great chops, which drove much of my music listening in those days. I decided further investigation was necessary.
The next weekend, I was “on duty” at my home-away-from-home, Al Bums Record Store, I scored beat-up (but playable) copies of Dixie Chicken and Time Loves a Hero. As a dyed-in-the-wool prog rocker, I (of course) sought the longest track on those albums. “Day at the Dog Races” won me over instantly—what prog/fusion fan wouldn’t dig a flashy instrumental in 6/4 time? But as I started exploring these records, the song that captured my imagination was “Roll Um Easy,” written by ex-Mothers of Invention guitarist/vocalist Lowell George.
This was quite an outlier song for a guy whose primary diet was filled with the virtuosity of Zappa, Return to Forever, and Gentle Giant. But it began my love affair with Little Feat and led to more song-oriented listening. I went on a mission to acquire all of the Little Feat I could find, including a treasured vinyl bootleg, Electrif Lycanthrope.
However, it seemed like Little Feat was a well-kept secret. My Deadhead pals seemed the most appreciative, while my fellow prog rockers thought they were “just OK.” Most of my musician pals had footnoted them as belonging somewhere between Savoy Brown and the Allman Brothers Band. Feat’s lack of widespread notoriety somehow persisted—even when the band reformed and dropped the excellent Let It Roll in 1988. This felt bizarrely disrespectful for a band overflowing with talent, so I developed an elevator pitch (assuming it was an elevator stuck between floors for about 20 minutes) to trumpet the awesomeness of Little Feat that made several key points:
Little Feat was Jimmy Page’s favorite American band. Not only was Lowell George a ferocious slide and lead guitarist, but he was also a brilliant songwriter. Little Feat had a couple of false starts and overcame numerous obstacles to earn the respect of many acclaimed musicians, including Van Halen (who covered “A Apolitical Blues”), Bonnie Raitt (who recorded with Feat in the 70s, in addition to covering “Takin’ My Time” and “Fool Yourself”), and Bob Dylan (who covered one of the band’s best-known songs, “Willin’”). I spoke of Feat’s brilliant gumbo of funk, R&B, rock, and jamming abilities. I fawned over Neon Park’s brilliant (often understatedly hilarious) cover art. Depending on who I was talking with and how open-minded they were, I’d mention that Linda Rondstadt had a big hit with “Willin’.”
Share
While I managed to bring a few new fans into the fold, there’s only so much one person can do. It seemed that Little Feat would remain super appreciated by a select few, their handful of hits relegated to classic rock radio, and that would be that.
New audiences are found in unlikely places. Despite rumors that the long-awaited Led Zeppelin complete album performance was a done deal, Phish managed to surprise everyone in 2010 by donning Little Feat’s Waiting For Columbus as their annual “musical costume.” While hardcore Feat Fetishists had their complaints (“where’s the slide guitar?”), it’s hard to argue with the uber-talented musicianship of Phish augmented by a percussionist and a horn section. Phish not only nailed the album with style, respect, and creativity, but they introduced a whole new generation of Phans to Little Feat, just as they’d done in years past with The Velvet Underground and The Talking Heads.
Things got even better a couple of years ago. I’m not the only human obsessed with the Electrif Lycanthrope bootleg. This 1974 performance from Ultrasonic Studios, which circulated widely in tape trading circles for years beyond the multiple vinyl bootleg pressings, received an official release from Rhino in 2021, kicking off a reissue campaign that deserves more recognition than it has received—much like Little Feat themselves. If you think you know Little Feat and haven’t heard this performance of “The Fan,” prepare yourself:
Jazz and Coffee is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
What followed was beyond the dreams of the biggest Little Feat fans. After dropping Electrif Lycanthrope, Rhino issued a Super Deluxe edition of Waiting For Columbus, an eight-disc set featuring the original recording plus three complete live gigs from Manchester, London, and Washington DC. While there was lots of setlist repetition, if you know Feat, you know they never played anything the same way twice. Here’s a closer look at the collection narrated by Rhino’s A&R hero of Little Feat (among other bands), Jason Jones:
This is the tip of the iceberg. Last year, Rhino dropped TWO Little Feat Super Deluxe packages, Dixie Chicken and Sailin’ Shoes. Both included multiple alternate versions, outtakes, and a previously unreleased live gig. Highlights? Too many to list individually. Except for one that MUST be heard repeatedly—an alternate version of my jam “Roll Um Easy,” which some days I think bests the original:
This brings me to a new release that’s been playing nonstop since it arrived: the Super Deluxe edition of Little Feat’s fourth album, Feats Don’t Fail Me Now. To be honest, I’ve historically ranked this one in the middle of the pack. I’ve loved the live versions of the songs, but for whatever reason, the album never spoke to me as a whole. That’s no longer the case. Maybe it’s the new mastering (which really hits hard on vinyl), or I’m just listening with different ears. But Feats Don’t Fail Me Now sits atop my Little Feat studio album chart, and the additional bonus content only adds to the listening joy. This is the record on which they switched from Lowell George and Little Feat (as my old pal Steve might say) to Little Feat. The balance of singing, songwriting, and musicianship is just exactly perfect, and so many of these tracks became (and remain) concert staples which speaks to the strength and longevity of the material.
The core album and additional studio tracks (eight previously unreleased; five appeared on a Little Feat box back in the day) are identical on the CD and vinyl editions. The CD package comes with a third disc: If You Bought It, A Truck Brought It: Live at L'Olympia, Paris, FR, February 3, 1975. It’s a hot show, showcasing the band at a live peak. From my perspective, 1974/75 was top-shelf Little Feat. There are bundle options as well that include Live at the Rainbow '75. While incomplete, if Paris is hot, the Rainbow gig is INCENDIARY. It’s available as a standalone for those tentative about upgrading whatever existing copy of Feats Don’t Fail Me Now is in their collection. That said, and in full disclosure that I received my new copy promotionally from Rhino (thanks, team), I’m not being paid in any other way to say that the new mastering is a sonic UPGRADE to both of my existing vinyl copies (a 1983 Winchester pressing and this 2016 cut). The previously unreleased studio tracks are a big surprise. The barge-turned-recording studio where Feats Don’t Fail Me Now was created sank long ago, so the survival of any associated recordings is a minor miracle. The liner notes by Dennis McNally are peppered with photos, ephemera, and the level of detail that delights fans, collectors, and trainspotters.
All Little Feat needs is more fans, collectors, and trainspotters. After all, with a big enough Little Feat army, who knows what else might lurk in the vault that will surprise and delight us?
Thank you for reading Jazz and Coffee. This post is public so feel free to share it.
Share
Jazz and Coffee is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
