O.V. Wright A Nickel And A Nail And Ace Of Spades 180g LP

Sometimes great things come in humble packages. The ramshackle cover art for this 1972 album makes it look like a bootleg, and the rampant misspellings and inconsistencies in the album and song titles make it clear that whoever was in charge of proofreading at the Back Beat label must have taken the day off when the art was circulated. But no matter... seldom has the secular met the sacred with as much emotional force as on O.V. Wright's A Nickel and a Nail and Ace of Spades. That's what makes it one of the greatest Southern soul records ever waxed. Mind you, just about any record produced by Willie Mitchell and featuring the Hi Records Rhythm Section and the Memphis Horns will pack a punch. But it's the raw emotion of Wright's vocal delivery, the gospel styling stirred in with the pure, pleading anguish, that pushes this collection of songs over the top to sheer transcendence. Record buyers noticed, too; "A Nickel and a Nail," "Ace of Spades," and "Eight Men, Four Women," three of the biggest hits O.V. Wright ever had, were all on this album. But really, the whole thing is a tour de force. Reissued on 180-gram black vinyl to preserve its brilliance for posterity.

The golden era of Southern soul was essentially over by 1971, but thankfully no one told O.V. Wright about this; this album, which as the title suggests featured two of his biggest hits, showed that his gifts as a vocalist were near the peak of their strength, and this is Memphis-style R&B in the grand tradition....A Nickel and a Nail and Ace of Spades sounds like the work of an artist as powerful and vital as you could ask for. Brilliant music...

How does an artist with a strong soulful voice and backed on his album by some of the best musicians in Memphis - all under the direction of producer Willie Mitchell - wind up slipping through the cracks of the R&B scene of the '70s? That question has plagued me ever since dropping the needle on the reissue of O.V. Wright's 1972 album. This album is every bit as impactful and funky as the work Mitchell and the same players did with Al Green, and maybe better thanks to the growl that runs through Wright's vocal performances. Head right to the pleading album closer 'Don't Take It Away,' on which he bemoans the loss of a love with remarkable power while the Hodges brothers grind away at a tempestuous groove. Real Gone's resurrection of this little stunner is hopefully just the start of a reappraisal of Wright's career, which ran from the mid-'60s through to his untimely death in 1980. The man deserves his laurels.