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Though he\u2019s a West Coast musician based in San Jose, California, Chris Cain\u2019s vocal and guitar styles owe a significant debt to Mississippi-born B.B. King. As showcased on Raisin\u2019 Cain<\/i>, his first album for Alligator Records, Cain\u2019s approach to the blues is one steeped in the postwar electric tradition.<\/p>\n
Lyrically, Raisin\u2019 Cain<\/i> traffics in familiar blues territory, with street-level stories and sentiments that connect with listeners without pandering or clich\u00e9. Cain\u2019s expressive voice \u2013 with phrasing influenced by Ray Charles and delivery informed by B.B. \u2013 is the idea vehicle to put his lyrical ideas across. And Cain\u2019s lean, powerful lead guitar lines are melodic in the extreme, propelling the songs forward rather than overwhelming them with showiness.<\/p>\n
Raisin\u2019 Cain<\/i> follows on with key elements that made his self-titled 2017 album (released by the Little Village Foundation) so successful. Producer and fellow guitarist Kid Andersen led the sessions at San Jose\u2019s Greaseland Studios. The arrangements across the album are varied: half the numbers feature a four-piece horn section led by Michael Peloquin.<\/p>\n
Cain\u2019s recorded debut was 1987\u2019s Late Night City Blues<\/i>; he\u2019d go on to release three records for Blind Pig, and made several more for his first label (Patrick Ford\u2019s Blue Rock\u2019it) and self-released a few as well. As Dick Shurman notes in Raisin\u2019 Cain<\/i>\u2019s liner note essay, the guitarist tried years ago to get onto Alligator, but they passed. In 2021, however, he seems right at home on Bruce Iglauer\u2019s label.<\/p>\n
Cain knows his way around electric blues. \u201cI Don\u2019t Know Exactly What\u2019s Wrong With My Baby\u201d sounds like a lost B.B. King track, and his Albert King-flavored extended lead on the big-band backing of \u201cOut of My Head\u201d is the icing on a very tasty cake.<\/p>\n
The most unusual cut on the album is the last one. For \u201cSpace Force,\u201d Cain puts down his electric guitar and steps up to an Arp Soloist, a vintage synthesizer that ceased production in 1977. The compact monophonic (one note at a time) keyboard has a distinctive sound all its own, and Cain smoothly integrates the instrument into a playful, uptempo blues arrangement. Here he\u2019s channeling George Duke or Steve Wonder more than the three Kings, but \u201cSpace Force\u201d makes a credible argument for the synthesizer as a credible conduit for the blues. The tune has more traditional elements, too: Andersen takes a brief melodica solo, and keyboardist Greg Rahn \u2013 who excels throughout the record \u2013 turns in some nice organ washes and a tasty electric piano solo.<\/p>\n
The appealing if atypical \u201cSpace Force\u201d aside, Raisin\u2019 Cain<\/i> keeps its focus squarely on good-timing, catchy blues, played with feeling, finesse and conviction. It\u2019s sincere without being insular, expertly produced but not slick, and true to the spirit of blues without being imitative. Fifteen albums in and at age 65, Chris Cain is turning out the best work of his career.<\/p>\n