Wicked Pickett · 26 January 06
For those of us too young to remember Pickett in his wicked ‘60s prime, he has been reduced to a couple of songs, doomed to the hell known as open-stage or wedding-band music. How many times have we heard Mustang Sally slaughtered at a blues jam or In the Midnight Hour performed by an “old fashioned band of married men” in cheap suits?
The original records, unlike their satanic offspring, offer awe-inspiring power. Pickett sang like Judgment Day was right around the corner, and for a black man, gettin’ down with his badself in the American South in the 1960s, it often was. Further to that cause, Pickett was a man who did nothing quietly.
He was reportedly quick-tempered and was said to wave a gun around if provoked. He drank and caroused like a rock star and, though he never fully beat his demons, the man was never anything less than authentic. He insisted when recording that everything be captured live in the studio, and that includes everyone’s mistakes. Even his final recording in 1999 (It’s Harder Now) contains a brief sleeve note from Pickett that reads: “All the music herein was performed by actual musicians, in real time, without click tricks.”
Pickett died last week at age 64.
Rest in peace, Wicked Pickett. You deserve the rest.