Clouds, Campbells Spread the Spirit
James Sullivan, Chronicle Pop Music Critic
Sunday, January 21, 2001
©2001 San Francisco Chronicle

URL: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2001/01/21/DD122290.DTL

Those who attended the double bill of gospel music at Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall on Friday are excused from church services today.

No doubt a few of them had never been to church before. But on Friday, two groups -- the veteran Mighty Clouds of Joy, now in their 40th year together, and the Campbell Brothers -- helped a lively audience get a little religion.

It wasn't exactly that old-time religion. No style of music handles change without a struggle, and gospel struggles more than most, for obvious reasons. Friday's groups represented several decades' worth of slow but steady secularization, intentional or not.

When the young, impressively Afro'd Mighty Clouds added an electric rhythm section to their music and took it to "Soul Train," they caused more than a little consternation among the faithful. A quarter-century later, the Campbell Brothers are introducing their music to audiences far beyond the congregation to which their father ministers in Rochester, N.Y.

The contrast between the Campbells' raw brand of "sacred steel" (a bluesy strain of gospel that showcases the steel guitars typically associated with hard-core country music) and the Clouds' well-cooked soul revue was distinct. The pairing surveyed the whole gospel landscape during the age of rock 'n' roll.

It's easy to see how pop music lured Joe Ligon, the Clouds' leader and one of two remaining original members (with singer-bassist Richard Wallace). Part James Brown, part Bobby "Blue" Bland, Ligon is a real showman, prone to catty posturing, changing the set list without warning and goading his audience with good-natured threats and asides.

"Can I take my time?" he asked, interrupting himself as he sang a glacial rendition of "Nearer My God to Thee." Several in the audience hollered their consent.

With Ligon instructing his vocalists like a field marshal ("Let's do one of those hard, hard, hard, hard! gospel songs"), the band moved effortlessly from deep-rooted, low-moaning hymns to recent Clouds recordings that seemed calibrated for "Quiet Storm"-style radio.

During one medley, "Amazing Grace" was recast as a chugging R&B oldie with doo-wop harmonies. Later, Ligon introduced a brisk version of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" by noting that Clouds band member Ron Staples is a relative of the Staple Singers, who had a minor hit with the song around the same time the Clouds did years ago.

The group's undeniable polish left a few smudges. Besides a lackadaisical rendition of the band's '70s hit "Mighty High," the biggest was Ligon's larded version of "Wind Beneath My Wings," which sent a few ticket holders scurrying for the exits.

As businesslike as the Clouds were, the Campbell Brothers were unassuming. Guitarist Phil Campbell did the talking, and he proved a genial ambassador for their music.

"You're starting to get the feeling," the big man congratulated the crowd, which was seated but clapping along, midway through the group's hourlong opening set.

The Campbells -- Phil on electric guitar, Darick on lap steel and eldest brother Chuck on pedal steel -- sat in a semi-circle, with Phil's son Carlton pounding away behind them on the drums. Guest vocalist Katie Jackson took center stage.

In a sober charcoal dress, the matronly woman sang like a clean-living Etta James. "Some glad morning," she rumbled, "I'll fly away." As the slow song gathered steam, she fluttered her arms at her sides like a bird's wings, then faced off against the brothers' wailing slide guitars in a stirring call-and- response.

"Turns out we're not a big secret anymore," Phil said a little while later, noting that the Campbell Brothers' album for El Cerrito's Arhoolie Records ranked No. 3 on Amazon.com's gospel recordings for 2000. When the group finished its set with "Jump for Joy," the huge guitarist leaped to his feet, hopping and twirling. The audience members leaped to their feet with him.

Ninety minutes later, the Campbells couldn't contain themselves backstage as the Mighty Clouds of Joy began their bubbly encore. "I need them steel guitars out here!" Ligon barked. Darick Campbell scrambled to plug in his instrument, plopped himself down and coaxed some ecstatic slide notes from his guitar. "I feel good now!" Ligon bellowed, then invited audience members onstage for that old inhibition-killer, "Shout."

It was the most universal kind of religion of them all.

E-mail James Sullivan at jamessullivan@sfchronicle.com.

©2001 San Francisco Chronicle