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In New Orleans, to this day no one gets close to Walter “Wolfman” Washington on the funkiness scale. There is something about the man that defies description. Maybe it’s the way he can take even the theme song from “The Jeffersons” and turn it into a roaring testimony of sultriness. Or it could be his vocals, sung like a man possessed, with or without his false front teeth in. And then there’s the guitar. He works around the melody like a kitten playing with a ball of string, creating his own swinging world while pulling out the hard-won glory of someone who has been on the Crescent City scene so long he’s outlived most of his running mates. For several years, Washington worked with Johnny “the Tan Canary” Adams at a club called Dorothy’s Medallion Lounge on Orleans Avenue. Needless to say, the room and the go-go dancers had their own style. Sometimes the sets started at 2 a.m. and went well past dawn. Washington played his heart out every night, crying into his Gibson guitar like it was his only friend on Earth. At that time, it may have been. On Doin’ The Funky Thing, these soulful elements come together perfectly, and what a groove it is. When the “Wolfman” and his Roadmasters are getting down, he always puts it right in the alley, and of all the musicians who got kicked hard by Hurricane Katrina, he’s the one who was back home first and howling the loudest. This whole album is a testament to someone’s belief in themselves, where they come from and, even more important, where they’re going. Which, hopefully, is straight to the top.
