The Chant of the Conjure Man

Has anybody ever gotten more out of less for longer than Tony Joe White. Not “less” in terms of artistry, vision or focus, all of which the Louisiana musical mainstay has in abundance. But less in terms of fewer elements—basic, primal ones, without artifice or embellishment. His 19^th studio album, Rain Crow (out May 27 on Yep Roc) hasn’t traveled far from his first, or from the swampland success he found 47 years ago with “Polk Salad Annie.” If anything, his music hasn’t progressed but regressed since then, going deeper into the swamp, its primal ooze even oozier.  He barely bothers with lyrics as more than scene setters.  It could well be that he has never recorded a dumber couplet than the hook for the album-opening “Hoochie Woman”: “She’s a Hoochie Woman/I’m her Smoochie Man.” (He wrote it with his wife; his son produced the album at White’s home studio.) No matter—the power of White’s artistry has nothing to do with pondering the metaphysics of “gator’s got your granny, chomp chomp.” And he bothers even less with melody, letting groove (and throb) assert primacy over tune, although “Right Back in the Fire” shows that he has another ballad as majestic as “Rainy Night in Georgia” in him. These songs are dreams (the title track), omens (“The Bad Wind”), parables (“The Opening of the Box,” “Conjure Child”), The vocals mumble, chant and growl. The arrangements are bare-bones, electric guitar over bass and drums, an occasional harmonica or organ.  If you love Tony Joe White, you’ll succumb to the spell. At the age of 72, the swamp fox sounds swampier and foxier than ever.