SNL singer serves up rock ‘n’ roll with a side of Stax
Rock ‘n’ roll women have always been a sparser commodity than their male counterparts. Even the adjective that describes a forceful rock ‘n’ roll performance discriminates with its anatomical reference. Rock’s had a few chart-topping female stars, including Wanda Jackson, Janis Joplin, Ann Wilson, Joan Jett and Pat Benatar, but the bulk of female rockers labor in day jobs that overshadow their solo output, or work in local obscurity. Patty Scialfa’s better known for her marriage and membership in the E Street Band than for her three releases, Karla DeVito is remembered more for the video she made with Meat Loaf (on which she lip-synched Ellen Foley’s vocal) than her solo album or subsequent song writing, and Ronnie Spector took decades to emerge from the shadow of her former husband and producer.
Christine Ohlman, whose twenty-year gig with the Saturday Night Live Band has put her voice in the ears of millions of listeners, has released six albums and contributed vocals to dozens of projects, yet remains more of a cult favorite than a name star. She sings in a gutsy rock ‘n’ roll voice edged in soul and blues, part Bonnie Raitt and part Genya Raven, with an element of Van Morrison’s early wildness. Her throwback sound combines the romanticism of Brill Building pop and horn-fed Stax muscle (courtesy of the Asbury Jukes’ Chris Anderson and Neal Pawley) into a potent rock ‘n’ roll stew. Her music reaches back to a time when guitars were front and center and bass lines propelled dancers to the floor.
The album opens with Ohlman growling her lovesickness against a twangy variation of the riff from Barrett Strong’s “Money.” She’s drawn to the wrong man, but loyal to a fault, recounting the reasons to break away but lamenting what she’s missing, proclaiming everlasting love and, in the tradition of the Crystals, opening her arms without worry of what others will think. She slings it out with the ease and familiarity of a club singer, working the crowd and drawing listeners close. Ohlman’s band is similarly road-tested (Michael Colbath’s bass playing is particularly notable), and her guests include Ian Hunter, Al Anderson, Eric Ambel, Levon Helm, Dion, and Marshall Crenshaw. Her dozen originals are complemented by covers of Van & Titus’ deep soul “Cry Baby Cry,” Marvin Gaye and Mary Wells’ “What the Matter With You Baby,” and Link Wray’s “Walkin’ Down the Street Called Love.”
Once upon a time, when rock ‘n’ roll thrived on the radio, this album would have spun off several hit singles. But in today’s fragmented music market, and with little room for raw, gutsy guitar-based music, you’ll more likely hear this in the background of a Fox TV show whose music coordinator is tasked with setting a rebellious mood, or perhaps on a celebrity musician’s weekly satellite radio program. Of course, you can also hear Ohlman in her weekly gig on SNL, and perhaps the show’s producers will be so kind as to offer her a spotlight to sing her original songs – songs that stand tall alongside the covers she curates for the band. [©2010 hyperbolium dot com] 
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Blue-eyed and Memphis soul too smoothed-out to light sparks
