Otis Taylor (with Gary Moore) & essay

I first heard of Otis Taylor on a promo disc: "My Soul's in Louisiana,"
from White African. I later bought the CD--and was unnerved by the cover:
Otis glaring at the camera. I would not wish to have been looking through the
view-finder.

He sang about the wrongful execution-by-gunshot of a black man for the death of the
all-white crew of a train: "My soul's in Louisiana, but my body lies in Tennessee."
It still is one of the most chilling songs I've ever heard for its starkness.
So I wrote about it...published it...and sent Otis a copy.
He put it on his web site. That remains one of the highest honors I've ever known
for my work as a journalist.


Otis Taylor (White African); (Respect the Dead)
This is about testimony, people, and you will not turn your back and say, “That’s not my problem.” It’s about legacies…of violence, pain, hate, suffering…in the name of heritage; in the name of raw apathy…in the name of ignorance.

In Otis Taylor’s big hands, plucking and strumming on an electric banjo, mandolin, or acoustic guitar, it’s a way to cry out for justice—and mercy and forgiveness. They don’t make prophets like this anymore—they did once upon a time, but that was back in biblical days. If there was a reason to listen to this man’s songs, it’s because he wears the dust of history on his physical body and within his heart, and along with that, the crimes of passion that have been done in the name of righteous intention.

These CDs are about commitment: a way to remind us that we have choices to make in our lives, both individually and as a social unit. The actions that we make can come back with a sword or an olive branch—and thankfully, Otis has a gentle way with his power, especially from a man who can stare into your soul from the cover photo of White African.

His companions are right beside him like avenging angels: Kenny Passarelli’s thudding, plodding bass, holding the chains and shackles of generations, daughter Cassie Taylor’s ghostly backup vocals that moan through the leaves on the trees on a hot moonless night, and Eddie Turner’s tortured slide and lead guitar. Yes, the obvious comparison is to John Lee Hooker—but Otis’s strength is that he’s doing it his way. You’ll feel it too, once Otis lays his music on you.

(c) Mitch Lopate 2002