Image: Alessandra Sanguinetti
God's Got It - Reverend Charlie Jackson
Even if I don't end up making a deathbed reconciliation with the deity, confessing all my trespasses and naming those I've trespassed against, this is the song I want them to play as I lay dying. Especially if I don't capitulate to fear of the afterlife. Because the Reverend Charlie Jackson's got enough zeal and conviction in the lord for both him and me. He's got enough for a roomful of mourners-to-be. Which is another reason I select this song (perhaps a tad prematurely): I'd like to see those ghouls around my bedside lose the long faces and dance. Not just dance--hoot and holler, rattle the floorboards, shake the ceiling, annoy the nurses, frighten the candystripers, usher me out in style! And, you know, feel what it is to live, to be here right now. Because there's no doubt Jackson does. He plays his Fender electric in rapturous riffs of crimson glow and hot pepper and ice so sharp and cold it burns. And his voice is weary and exhilarated, relaxed and agitated all at once. It gladly wears itself raw to the viscera, hammering at God got it and Out of time, a tick different with each iteration, fiercer and higher pitched in repetition. Because if he can't hook you with one phrase, he'll snag you with the next. If not immediately, than eventually, if not forever, than for a few minutes, you'll get got. And it feels like you could just die right here clapping your hands and hallelujahing.
From the utterly fantastic God's Got It: The Legendary Booker and Jackson Singles (Amazon, eMusic).
I guess I missed it back in September, but Idolator has (had) an amusing discussion on the worst songs ever. I'm stunned that no one mentioned Miss Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" (critical reclamation be damned!). I have been known to flee--actually run out of--stores when that aural atrocity pipes over the soundsystem. I'd also like to nominate "Afternoon Delight." Ironically enjoyable my ass--some things are just bad.