One of his best performances, and a song that would have fitted snugly on to any one of Scott Walker’s I-IV. But the overpowering choruses only work because Jones displays such restraint on the verses. Grand, existential despair – of course it was a French song first – that was perfectly suited to Jones at his most overwrought. His version of this Ray Charles standard is as hard and fierce as you like, a sweaty explosion of verve and charisma, proof that before anything else, Jones was an R&B singer. To hear why Decca would have wanted to sign Jones, listen to Live on Air 1965-68, a collection of BBC recordings. Photograph: Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images 7. Gillian Welch’s song about a poor boy changing the world would have obvious resonances, but the power here comes from the arrangement, a church built to draw attention to the altar that is Jones’s voice. The third of Jones’s Ethan Johns albums continued with the theme of unexpected choices. First came the ballad of a death row prisoner on the day of his execution, which is very much a period piece – the spoken-word section is pure corn – but Jones could sell any chorus. Who at Decca had the bright idea of associating Jones with violent death? It was an unusual marketing tactic, but it worked. “Lusty lady, she just died,” the song opens, and Jones unspools Johnny Bristol’s story of a hard-luck life over four minutes of sinuous funk. The title is misleading: this isn’t Jones satisfying the needs of a hot mama. Once again, a standout on a second-rate album. It got a single release as the B-side to Puppet Man, making it the only Tom Jones record of any length that is 100% perfect across both sides. There wasn’t much hint from its title that the album Tom Jones Sings She’s a Lady would contain something quite so fabulously frantic as this cover of Ashton, Gardner and Dyke’s hit from a few months earlier. Photograph: Eddie Sanderson/Getty Images 11 Resurrection Shuffle (1971) Jones had first heard this on Jerry Lee Lewis’s 1965 LP Country Songs for City Folks, which proved to be hugely influential on him.Īt home in Beverly Hills in 1980. Quite why a Welshman was so convinced he could handle Americana will remain a mystery, but Jones – somehow, because goodness knows his accent wasn’t suited to the spoken word section – pulled it off. Here he takes on Otis Redding and earns respect.
The bands were routinely fantastic and Jones was in his element, much tougher than he was in the studio. Hard to Handle (live) (1969)Īny Jones album recorded in the first decade of his career with the word “live” is worth hearing. This Dr John cover concludes one of the worst Jones albums and – all sweaty and funky – appears to have been flown in from another record. The 70s and 80s were not, by and large, golden eras for Jones the recording artist – too much bad MOR country – but there were occasional gems. The A-side was Howlin’ Wolf’s Evil, but the B-side, a spare and haunted take on the betrayal ballad, was the keeper.
Lo and behold, Jack White duly took an interest, and Jones recorded a single for Third Man with White producing. Bob Dylan’s What Good Am I? was the statement track, but this version of John Lee Hooker’s Burning Hell was more remarkable, casting Jones the Voice as the White Stripes of the valleys. Praise & Blame was the first of three albums produced by Ethan Johns that took Jones out of Vegas and insisted he be treated as an artist. This version of the Larry Williams stomper is a thrill. Their joint album steered Jones back towards R&B without any modern affectations. Slow Down (2004)Įveryone has had a bash at rehabilitating Tom Jones this century and Jools Holland’s was one of the best. It’s a shade over two minutes that’s absolutely irresistible – not an overpowering performance, but a record that’s perfectly constructed to deliver a shot of adrenaline. Hide and Seek (1969)Ī B-side that has become a collectible Northern Soul classic, Hide and Seek is all thrusting brass, twanging guitar and Jones sounding like he’s having fun. On this Italian hit, with English lyrics by Leiber and Stoller, he defies you to suggest that maybe he is laying it on a bit thick. Give him something florid and overblown, though, and he’s devastating. Jones’s voice – roughly, a constipated bull rhino who has mistakenly been given Viagra – isn’t always great on ballads because it expands to fill every available space. The metaphor is obvious, but the song is undeniable. But best of all was this sombre, southern soul rereading of a Bruce Springsteen ballad about a veteran fighter.
Tom Jones’s 2008 album 24 Hours was a mixed bag, with cheery efforts to recapture his swinging mojo (If He Should Ever Leave You) and a song from Bono and the Edge (Sugar Daddy).
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