EP Review: Little Richard – Try Some of Mine

By 1968, in some quarters, at least, Richard Penniman was considered well past his sell-by date. The man known to the world as Little Richard had already undergone more than his share of ups and down, rises and falls, ins and outs with the world of pop music. By the later part of the ‘60s he was once again playing the chitlin’circuit. And while another rebound was soon to come – in 1969 he’d guest on the Monkees’ uber-weird TV special 33-1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee and steal the show at the Toronoto Pop Festival – in 1968, things really weren’t happening for him.

But Richard wasn’t idle. In 1968 he was signed to Brunswick Records, and recorded a handful of sides. Detailed information isn’t readily available, but apparently those six tracks were released as singles at the time as three A- and three B-sides. The tracks don’t seem to have been compiled onto any LPs, but don’t take my guess on that score as gospel.

In any event, for Record Store Day 2025, Org Music has brought together those half-dozen tracks from what at the time seemed a fallow period for Little Richard, and pressed them onto a shocking-pink 12″ LP record. The disc – with the full title Try Some of Mine: the Brunswick Recordings plays at 45 r.p.m., just like the original (and now-pricey) 45s did.

Each of the original 45s was the product of its own session, so the six tracks come from sessions with three different producers. “Try Some of Mine” updates Richard’s sound, but just a bit; it feels a lot like the music coming out of Memphis’ Stax Records at the time. “Can I Count On You” is plenty funky, with lots of active bass and shaking tambourines. Richard dials back the “woooo!” In favor of a soulful delivery closer to that of fellow legend Otis Redding. “Soul Train” engages in a bit of pilfering: its horn lick is straight outta “I Can’t Turn You Loose.” But it’s a raving performance nonetheless, and once again that (uncredited) bass work is simply on fire.

“Stingy Jenny” features some incendiary piano work (by Richard himself? Who knows?), and Richard’s shouting is top-notch. The opening lead guitar on “Baby Don’t You Tear My Clothes” is great, and some weird production choices make it a deeply unusual (and decidedly uncommercial) cut. It’s here in what’s noted as an “alternate mix” suggesting that either the compilers gained access to the multi-track masters, or that an oddly 21^st century-flavored mix was created in ‘68 and unused. Which is it? Again, no clue. The set wraps with a Penniman-Don Covay cowrite, “She’s Together.” A sprightly Stax-y number, it recalls Ray Charles.

The six tunes blow by quickly; none exceeds the three-minute mark. But fifteen or so minutes spent with 1968-brand Little Richard is time well spent indeed.