Ho Ho Who: It's Otis Redding. If you don't know who he is, you're probably just reading a blog post about pop music because you're getting paid to leave a spammy link in the comments. Released in 1968, the year after Redding died in a plane crash, this Christmas covers single never charted. But it should have.

May Your Days Be Merry: Around this time of year, merely turning on the radio (except maybe to listen to NPR or WTOP) carries some danger of accidental exposure to Christmas music, most of which is loathsome. That adjective applies to the Bing Crosby original that Redding covers on the A-side of this single, too. But the King of Soul can't be brought down by Irving Berlin's treacly lyrics! He can barely even keep the tempo of the song from breaking loose of ballad territory.

Feel Like I'm in Paradise: The B-side doesn't even sound like holiday music at all, except for some jingle bells in the background that you can easily pretend are just the work of an overzealous tambourine player in the Stax studios. It's the best of all seasonal songs—people who like Christmas music will be happy with the constant "Merry Christmas"-ing in the refrain, and people with good taste will be happy because it's Otis Redding. The 1947 original, by songwriter Johnny Moore's Three Trailblazers (featuring Charles Brown) is worth a listen, too.

Cheer Factor: 9/10. Only the sad fact that this was a posthumous release puts a perfect score out of reach.

Listen: Otis Redding, "White Christmas"

Otis Redding, "Merry Christmas Baby"

The Last Waltz is a remarkable film, but it shouldn’t take a Scorsese to make a concert movie that repays repeat viewing. Even in a year that offered marketers many routes to consumers’ wallets—the 40th anniversary of Woodstock! the eighth anniversary of Bonnaroo!—there were few glimmers of hope—and enough turkeys to sate the enhanced appetites of audiences at Bonnaroo, Gathering of the Vibes, and Burning Man combined.

He looks at newly released—and rereleased—footage of John Lennon, Woodstock, Otis Redding, and more. Read the full article here.

As approximately 62 of you know, I've been spinning a Friday Soul mix via the old Twitter account. Man is it groovy! I'm even linking to videos. The playlist so far:

1. Otis Redding, "Shake" (live at Monterey Pop, 1967)
2. Raphael Saadiq, "Let's Take a Walk"
3. Laura Nyro, "And When I Die"
4. James Brown, "Super Bad"
5. Buddy Guy, "Feels Like Rain"
6. Mofro, "Ho Cake"
7. James Cotton, Muddy Waters, Johnny Winter, "Got My Mojo Workin'" (hey, we're branching out)
8. The Impressions, "Long Long Winter"
9. Rod Stewart, "(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher"
10. Bettye LaVette, "You Don't Know Me At All"
11. Van Morrison, "I've Been Working"
12. Curtis Mayfield, "People Get Ready" (some live version from, I think, 1974)

Eclectic, see, yet accessible. But it ain't over 'til the fat lady sings! (No Aretha jokes, if ye please.) Just point the browser of your choice in this direction, make like a lemming, and follow along. Suggestions are appreciated. As are witty remarks concerning my inclusion of Rod Stewart...or the fact that a number of these tracks don't necessarily qualify as soul.

Below the jump: the remainder of the mix, updated incrementally.

13. JJ Grey, "The Sun Is Shining Down"
14. Al Green, "Get Back" (yep, that one)
15. The Acoustics, "I'm Gonna Stay In A Hurry"
16. Jackie Wilson & Count Basie, "In the Midnight Hour"
17. Sam Cooke, "Somebody Have Mercy" (live at the Harlem Square Club, 1963)

Photo by niecieden, Creative Commons attribution license

You won't need a metronome to guess that it was the James Brown-type grooves off the first record that kept the 9:30 Club audience (at $30 a pop) shaking and sweating past midnight on Saturday. Jones' show is structured along the lines of a gospel revue, a single extended exhortation that includes a lot of flop-sweat and audience participation. Anchored on the low end by a belch-y bari sax and on the high end by squealing trumpet and a two-guitar attack, Jones lays down her brash soprano with the confident intimacy of an old lover who sees right through you (cf. "What Have You Done for Me Lately?"). She sees right through herself too—ribbing things like her age (53) and her height (unspecified, though she notes that her legs are about half as long as Tina Turner's). That low center of gravity matches a barreling live presence, one not easily effaced by the occasional Wedding-band funk of her otherwise groovy associates.

Fittingly, this was also the throngingest crowd I've seen at the 9:30 Club. What makes one sold-out show more packed than another? Probably all that dancing. Sure, Jones played only a 75-minute set—a rollicking, heart-stopping, thoroughly exhausting set—as opposed to the marathon two-fers she's been known to pull on occasion. But that's not much to complain about. Especially since, for many couples, 75 minutes is a whole lotta foreplay.

I'm fascinated by the notion of influences and inspirations, especially when they're mashed up and twisted by geographical and cultural differences. Listening to any The Soundtrack Of Our Lives album conjures up bits from the historical nature of rock n roll—how it was served like a flaming tennis ball across the pond to Britain by Chuck Berry, volleyed back by the Rolling Stones and returned again by Otis Redding.

Often they cram the entire playlist of a classic rock station into one song, other times appropriating (doppelganger-style) a signature sound, as in the Doors' knockoff "Age of No Reply" from Origin, Vol. 1.

For some reason, and much like their fellow Swedes the Hellacopters, it works. It must be the earnestness and reverences they employ. American bands who try this approach end up sounding like Matchbox 20, or are Matchbox 20.

Communion, the new T.S.O.O.L album continues this trend. The album, however, does not hew to serious indie sensibility nor will it receive much critical love. It is fun, though, and well crafted. Songs like "Flipside" finds relation to the Who's "Goin' Mobile" while "Fly" gets all Mamas and Papas.

One could argue that the double album approach includes too much filler. True, Communion does have its share of ballad-y cheese, but I prefer to view it from a the standpoint of jazz musicians who use space and silence—the cheddar numbers with their drops in tempo enable a bigger impact in the the rock songs.

RA 88 from Communion:

Flipside from Communion:

Age of No Reply from Origin, Vol. 1:

Infa Riot from Behind the Music:

Her Strut – the Hellacopters