Maybe you've misdialed. The voice on the phone sounds like Delbert McClinton's hoarse rasp, honed during a lifetime of working through sweaty sets of soul and R&B.
Eric Lindell has heard it before. "Yeah, you get all that stuff. I get Delbert stuff, and Chris (Black Crowes' Robinson). I guess it just boils down to blue-eyed soul," he cackles hoarsely.
That term doesn't quite capture what Lindell's up to. This ain't no Michael Bolton. The New Orleans based-singer guitarist has that world-weary, pain-filled croak that only the most venerable soul men had; that thing that lets you know they've traveled those rough roads they sing about and felt that pain that bleeds into their voices.
But Lindell doesn't limit himself to one genre. On his latest Alligator Records CD Change In the Weather, he's all over the place. At first glance, Lindell is an unusual recruit for Alligator. His bio has him going from being a California skate punk to a New Orleans funkster/soulman with reggae and jazz overtones. The 38-year-old says that his skate punk days have been over with since he was 15. Since then he's bounced all over the country, at one point leading a ten-piece blues band. His wife was a N'awleans native and that's what led him there nearly a decade ago. But what he found wasn't quite what he expected. "There wasn't a blues scene in New Orleans as far as what I was familiar with. It was more brass bands and a lot of funk. Just kind of ended up there by chance," he says, "and what a beautiful thing."
Lindell's love for blues mingles with his soul attraction. He says he was as fond of Donnie Hathaway and the Miracles as Junior Wells and Muddy and the Wolf. Weather, compiled from five previous CDs, provides some interesting musical juxtapositions. "Give it Time" is ostensibly a soul ballad, but Lindell's slide guitar solo has a Hawaiian slack-key vibe to it as well. The reggae-flavored "Two Bit Town" sounds a bit like Eric Bibb's soul/folk/gospel offering, "Don't Let Nobody Tear Your Spirit Down".
"Feel Like I Do" is an R&B celebration that would be at home marching down the streets of New Orleans after a jazz funeral. "All Alone" sounds like it was lifted body and soul from McClinton's repertoire circa his "Two More Bottles of Wine" period.
Despite his comparisons to McClinton, Lindell didn't know who McClinton was when he first heard the comparisons. His guitar player hipped him to the old Delbert and Glenn records. "So we're now huge Delbert fans," he says. "It's a huge compliment, because we think Delbert's great."
Like McClinton, Lindell is a competent blues guitarist. But he doesn't like to play lead. "I guess I like to hear more of another instrument -- not just guitar. Harmonica and B3 and the sax and all. I guess I'm just not big on the guitar slinging stuff," he laughs. "Though I do have one hell of a guitar player in my band."
A self-taught guitarist, Lindell says he was never able to learn songs and doesn't figure out songs or learn endings. "It was just a feel thing."
He learned his lesson well. Weather oozes with feeling, punched up by a righteous horn section. You won't be hearing a horn section this time out on tour. Lindell's just bringing the core band: Chris Mule, second guitar lead, Aaron Wilkenson, on bass and Chris Pylant on drums. But for his new one, due out this summer, he'll have a couple of sax players along for a warmer sound. He describes the yet-to-be-titled release as "kinda all over the place while still being intact. Still just bluesy, country, soul all mixed up."
That's about as good a description of Lindell's sound as you're likely to come across. "It all came full circle," Lindell says of Allligator's successful corralling of his eclectic catalogue. "To come into your own, settle into your own shoes, to end up on a label like that is kinda cool. I feel like it took me back where I started."