Introduction

Part of that impression was owed not to the Champ himself, but to his backing band, which here included such seasoned session players as Pete Brown on sax and Wendell Marshall (who'd played with Duke Ellington and a boatload of other jazz notables) on double-bass, and particular­ly Ennis Lowery (who later took the name of Larry Dale) on electric guitar. For those used to Dupree's near-solo performances, or his low quality recordings with Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, the image of the Champion recording with a full-and-willin' blues band under profes­sional modern studio conditions must have been a revelation — in fact, it was probably a revela­tion to Dupree himself, who took the opportunity to re-record a couple of his old classics (ʽTB Bluesʼ, ʽJunker's Bluesʼ — the latter leaving all of its drug-related lyrics completely intact), throw in a few more time-honored standards (ʽFrankie And Johnnyʼ, ʽStack-O-Leeʼ), and introduce a decent level of variety, ranging all the way from slow soulful blues (ʽGoin' Down Slowʼ) to rol­lickin' boogie-woogie (ʽNasty Boogieʼ).
The addition of Lowery is indeed a good touch: the man is a disciple of B. B. King, well versed in the art of sharp, stinging electric blues leads (ʽTB Bluesʼ is a particular highlight), and he adds an element of «Chicago blues danger» to the relaxed, leisurely stroll mode of Dupree, even if the two do not look all that much like a match made in Heaven upon first sight; and he does not get to solo on the album's merriest piece, ʽNasty Boogieʼ, which is instead dominated by the piano / sax duet, and where even the bassist is allowed to take the spotlight for a few bars, but not the lead guitarist — who prefers to stick stubbornly to the slow blues idiom, and for a good reason, I guess: not every great blues player is an equally great boogie player, and vice versa. Then again, it's a sensible distribution of labor: get the sax guy to be your partner on the lighter numbers, and the guitar guy to be your foil on the darker ones.
As for Dupree himself, he is arguably at his best on the opening number, a simple New Orleanian shuffle called ʽStrollin'ʼ and featuring neither guitar nor sax — just the Champ taking his time, improvising a leisurely syncopated jazz rhythm and alternating it with a couple of brief ragtimey solos as he hums out whatever is on his mind. Not exactly the kind of sound you'd expect to come out «from the gutter», but then again, a gentleman like Champion Jack Dupree probably has to keep his cool even in the gutter — considering the dignity and reservation with which he narrates his protagonist's drug problems on ʽJunker's Bluesʼ and ʽCan't Kick The Habitʼ. And, by the way, the title of the album is fully justified if one simply counts the number of songs about drugs, decay, and death — cocaine, tuberculosis, and cold-blooded murder are the norm of day on this album, which certainly was not true about the average Chicago blues album in 1958, where themes of woman-hunting ruled high above everything else. All in all, even if the music as such is hardly exceptional here (just average even by contemporary standards), the very fact of an old pre-war urban blues piano man really making it in the nearly-modern era is quite admirable, con­sidering that Dupree, on the whole, represents a blues-playing tradition that is older than that of B. B. King or, in a way, even that of Muddy Waters. Definitely a thumbs up, on the grounds of mild enjoyability amplified by strong curiosity.
NATURAL & SOULFUL BLUES (1960)
1) Seafood Blues; 2) Death Of Big Bill Broonzy; 3) Don't Leave Me Mary; 4) Rampart Street Special; 5) How Long Blues; 6) Bad Life; 7) Mother-In-Law Blues; 8) Slow Drag; 9) Dennis Rag; 10) Bad Luck Bound To Change.
The years 1959-60 saw some huge changes in Champion Jack's routine. Despite his stubborn clinging to New York's landscape ever since his repatriation from Japanese captivity, in 1959 he agreed to take part in one of those European blues revues that, in the late Fifties and early Six­ties, had warmed the hearts of so many Chicago and Delta bluesmen (not to mention bringing to orgiastic heights of ecstasy all their young British fans like Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton). Among other things, this brought him face to face with Alexis Korner, the famous Kulturträger of Blues Incorporated, with whom he is said to have played a duo gig at the London School of Economics (presumably, Mick Jagger was not part of the audience, since he did not join the ranks of the LSE until 1961).
Fast forward a tiny little bit, and here we have this LP, recorded by Dupree as part of a trio that also involved Alexis Korner on acoustic guitar and Jack Fallon on bass. Details are scarce, but apparently, it was first released in the UK on London Records, then, one year later, in the US on Atlantic Records, with whom Dupree still had his contract. Either way, it is a milestone in the Champ's history: his first proper European release, after which he'd move to Europe permanently, and mostly record and release there, with whoever was ready to support him.
The minimalism works to a certain degree: Korner and Fallon are basically here just to fatten the sound a little, give it a bit of a bottom, but have all the attention focused on Dupree's piano playing and general artistism instead. And he seems to sense it, playing in a loose and relaxed manner, worrying more about making a charismatic impression than about producing a tightly structured 3-minute, 12-bar blues number — many of these tracks sound like little vaudeville miniatures, starting with ʽSeafood Bluesʼ (in which the Champion discovers signs of unfaithful­ness in his humble abode, including a suspicious smell of seafood... hmm? oh, my!) and ending with the melodically identical ʽMother-In-Law Bluesʼ, in which the Champion tells us everything about his (hopefully, imaginary) mother-in-law that's been bothering him for those past twenty years (but now that he's safely crossed the Atlantic, he can finally unburden his heart).
Particularly touching is ʽDeath Of Big Bill Broonzyʼ, a humble obituary to his recently departed friend that begins with Dupree telling us how the two made each other a promise that whoever was to go first was to write a blues about the other. Ironically, this would become a regular thing for Dupree — for the next thirty years, he'd see them drop off one after another, and diligently compose formulaic, but sincere obituaries, gradually turning into Gravedigger Jack Dupree until it was his own turn. Musically, of course, there's not much to speak of, but who else would write a song about the departure of one of the most important bluesmen of the first half of the century? Not Alexis Korner, that's for sure. (Interestingly enough, the last track on the album, ʽBad Luck Bound To Changeʼ, is credited to Alexis Korner — and I am not sure of that, but he may have been the first bluesman to insert the line "someday baby, my bad luck is bound to change" in a blues tune, because normally, bad luck is not supposed to change for these guys. Or maybe he just wanted to wish the Champ some good luck in his safe European future).
Other than that, the record may be notable for one nice example of Dupree's boogie-woogie playing (ʽDennis Ragʼ)... and nothing else. Natural, soulful, and largely undescribable blues.

CHAMPION OF THE BLUES (1961)
1) I Had A Dream; 2) Roll Me Over Roll Me Slow; 3) Reminiscin' With Champion Jack Dupree; 4) That's All Right; 5) Daybreak Stomp; 6) House Rent Party; 7) Snaps Drink Woman; 8) One Sweet Letter From You; 9) New Vicksburg Blues; 10) When Things Go Wrong; 11) Johnson Street Boogie Woogie; 12) Misery Blues.
This next album founds the Champion in Copenhagen, where, so it seems, he feels himself right at home: at least, on ʽRoll Me Over Roll Me Slowʼ he acknowledges that fact with pleasure and gratitude to all the good Danish people who feel so hospitable towards an exotic blues piano player from the faraway swamps of Louisiana. The recording session was produced by local jazz and blues enthusiast Karl Emil Knudsen, who had recently launched his own blues label (Story­ville) and seemed all too happy to make Dupree into one of his permanent clients. And this time, there is no Alexis Korner around: all twelve songs feature Champion Jack Dupree solo, with the strict warning that "the percussive sounds heard on several of the tracks are made by stomping of Champion Jack's feet". So there! The album was still picked up by Atlantic overseas — at least, Atlantic pressings of it do exist — but essentially, this stabilizes the Champ's status for a long, long time as one of America's most reliable exports to Europe.
Music-wise, of course, there is not much to discuss in such a setting. Since it is unlikely to expect the Champion to get influenced by Thelonious Monk or John Cage, most of the attention will be drawn to his behavior behind the keyboards — for instance, nostalgizing about the good old days with his deceased blues pals and explaining why he prefers piano over guitar, illustrating it with little flourishes (ʽReminiscin'ʼ), or getting adjusted to the new realities of his life in Denmark with songs like ʽSnaps Drinking Womanʼ, an old jump blues with new lyrics quickly re-written to fit the circumstances. Overall, it's just another predictable mix of regular slow blues, uptempo jump blues, and boogie woogie — ʽJohnson Street Boogie Woogieʼ is fun, but does not work all that well without a supporting band. I guess Danish audiences loved it all, though, and the Champ was happy to oblige, putting on one-man vaudeville shows like ʽHouse Rent Partyʼ, a simple illustra­tion of the menu served at a modest house party deep down in Louisiana. Still, even if you keep your expectations to a bare minimum, it is pretty damn hard to put Champion Of The Blues in the class of «satisfactory entertainment», unless you put yourself in the shoes of a young Danish blues lover in 1961 who has just miraculously discovered the real thing playing in his local bar.

SINGS THE BLUES (1961)
1) Me And My Mule; 2) The Blues Got Me Rockin'; 3) That's My Pa; 4) Tongue-Tied Blues; 5) Sharp Harp; 6) Blues For Everybody; 7) Camille; 8) Walkin' Upside Your Head; 9) Harelip Blues; 10) Big Leg Emma's; 11) Two Below Zero; 12) Silent Partner; 13) Mail Order Woman; 14) Stumbling Block; 15) Failing Health Blues; 16) She Cooks Me Cabbage.
This one is not from Copenhagen: it is an American compilation that, if I understand correctly, largely consists of singles recorded by the Champion for the King label in the mid-to-late 1950s. All I know about it is the track listing, the date of release, and the gushing, but hardly informative liner notes on the back sleeve, so even though most of these tracks feature Dupree with a small backing band, I have no idea who is playing what and whether you should by all means grab this because of a unique guest appearance by some unique blues hero.
Still, it's worth owning or hearing at least for ʽMe And My Muleʼ, a comic piece of one-sided dialog between Dupree and his trusty pack animal on which the man barely plays his instrument, ceding it all to bass and harmonica — the former mimicking the animal's lazy trudge, the latter imitating its hee-hawing. It is not so much hilarious as it is «authentic», cementing Dupree's status as The Everyman's Bluesman, a teller of routine stories of realistic daily troubles, usually invented on the spot. And it is certainly more impressive than Dupree's Muddy Waters tributes such as ʽMail Order Womanʼ, most of which sound like flimsy shadows of far superior originals.
Minor highlights on this collection would include ʽStumbling Blockʼ, a simplified, «untwisted» variation on ʽRollin' And Tumblin'ʼ with a steady beat and a cool echoey guitar part (Dupree does not play any piano on this one); the instrumental ʽSharp Harpʼ, more of a showcase for George "Harmonica" Smith than for the Champion — if you like Little Walter, George Smith's playing is in quite a similar style; and the mock-your-local-disability-today number ʽHarelip Bluesʼ, with an artificially enhanced speech impediment (apparently, Dupree used to present himself as harelip­ped which he really was not, but it helped attract extra customers; he did come out with some ridiculously bad accents, though). A few other tracks have nice slide guitar parts, for instance, ʽShe Cooks Me Cabbageʼ — there's some Elmore James-level chops there, even though the lead guitarist never gets a chance to solo; that, however, is just about it.
Apparently, there are more complete packages that cover Dupree's mid-to-late Fifties career in the States (prior to Blues In The Gutter), but, naturally, only a diehard blues completist should be seeking them out, and only after having exhausted the hard-to-exhaust pool of Chicago blues recordings from the same period.
THE WOMEN BLUES OF CHAMPION JACK DUPREE (1961)
1) Ain't That A Shame; 2) Talk To Me, Baby; 3) Tell Me When; 4) Old Woman Blues; 5) Hard Feelings Blues; 6) Bus Station Blues; 7) Rattlesnake Boogie; 8) Black Wolf Blues; 9) Jail House; 10) Come Back Baby; 11) On My Way To Moe Asch.
Undoubtedly the finest thing about this album is its front sleeve, featuring a stylish retro photo by David Gahr that looks fantastically modern at the same time — I mean, what is it that dame is doing before the mirror unless taking a selfie? Well worth owning for that shot alone, if you ask me; and take no substitutes, hunt for the original LP on Ebay or something, because size definite­ly matters with this one.
Other than that, the details are not exactly clear. This is the only post-war LP recording of the Champ's that actually came out on Folkways Records, for whom he'd previously only recorded an occasional number or two; and this was clearly a single, cohesive, almost conceptual session, as evidenced by the album title and accompanying liner notes (all about them ladies, and how they continue to influence the life of a weathered old bluesman), and even the last track, which conti­nues the Champ's «diary-like» approach to bluesmaking — a special musical post-scriptum to acknowledge the Moses Asch / Folkways connection for this piece. However, the album does not include any information about where, when, and with whom the whole thing was cut, so I have no idea, for instance, if Dupree had to temporarily return to the States to make it, or if he recorded the session in Copenhagen and then sent the tapes overseas, or if (most probable solution) he cut it in the States before moving to Europe, and Folkways simply took some time (a year or two) to put it into proper shape before marketing the results.
He is working with a full band here — there's at least a regular drummer, bassist, and guitarist in the same room with him — but I have no idea who they are. In any case, it's nobody great, or, if it's somebody great, the somebody in question is keeping humble, providing for a fuller sound but never threatening to overshadow Mr. Jack. Not that there's much to overshadow: as usual, the record is very straightforward, consisting of about half a dozen completely interchangeable slow 12-bar blues, and a few faster, but also interchangeable, pieces of boogie (ʽTell Me Whenʼ, ʽBus Station Bluesʼ) with no surprises whatsoever.
Relative (very relative) standouts here include ʽRattlesnake Boogieʼ, a percussion-heavy instru­mental (and you can judge what the percussion sounds like by simply considering the title), and the already mentioned ʽOn The Way To Moe Aschʼ, not because it mentions Moe Asch by name, but because it features a nice bass solo to break up the overall monotonousness of the session. Also, if you are wondering by some chance, ʽAin't That A Shameʼ is not a Fats Domino cover, but just another one of those generic blues pieces. All in all, I don't think Folkways really got the best side of the Champion here — he seems fairly stiff and morose; but then, considering the label's almost religious attitude to American folk and blues traditions, they'd probably want him to be as stiff, morose, and boring as possible, leaving his humorous, vaudevillian side to all those corny, commercial record labels. Still, that photo...
THE BEST OF THE BLUES (1963)
1) Cabbage Greens No. 3; 2) Sporting Life Blues; 3) Mean Mistreater; 4) In The Dark; 5) You've Been Drunk; 6) Careless Love; 7) Tomorrow Night; 8) Fisherman's Blues; 9) Bring Me Flowers While I'm Living; 10) Everything I Do Is Wrong; 11) See See Rider; 12) Diggin' My Potatoes; 13*) Please Send Me Someone To Love; 14*) In The Evening; 15*) Rock Me Mama; 16*) I'll Bet My Money; 17*) Going To Copenhagen.
These Storyville titles for the Champion's albums gotta rank as some of the least inspired in music history, but The Best Of The Blues trumps them all — not only is this not a compilation, but it is not even, you know, the best of the blues. It is just a collection of tracks recorded by Dupree during two sessions in Copenhagen (October 3-4, 1961 and June 14-15, 1962), backed by Danish bass player Mogens Seidelin and Swiss acoustic / electric guitar player Stuff (Chris) Lange. In the CD era, it was expanded with several bonus tracks and released as Blues Masters Vol. 6, which is the edition I have.
In this installation, we see the Champion trying to expand his repertoire just a little bit, through the addition of a few classic «commercial» blues ballads, most notably ʽCareless Loveʼ and Lonnie Johnson's crossover hit ʽTomorrow Nightʼ. This may have had something to do with the growing popularity of blues-de-luxe crooners like B. B. King, but might just as well be a mere coincidence; after all, even such a rigorous self-repeater as Dupree would need a refreshing touch every once in a while, and it gives him a pretext to try out some new piano flourishes. Totally inessential, but nice, and delivered without any superfluous sentimentality.
At the same time, conversely, he also digs deep into his past, resurrecting ʽCabbage Greensʼ (and remembering correctly that he'd already recorded two of those in 1940, so this is ʽNo. 3ʼ) which may now, for the first time, be experienced in pristine sound quality; and ʽYou've Been Drunkʼ and ʽFisherman's Bluesʼ from 1945, both of which get themselves a whole stereo channel of (boring) electric guitar, yet somehow end up sounding slower, limper, and less decisive than their older counterparts. In the end, the whole thing is probably only worth it for the final bonus track ʽGoing To Copenhagenʼ, which continues the Champion's «musical diary», somewhat randomly alternating between the man's narration of his journey to Copenhagen and comments on how his baby cooks him turnips and calls them mustard greens, and seems to simply represent three minutes of total improvisation, with Dupree fumbling to find the right chords (and the right words) for the bass player's slightly jazzified rhythm pattern. It's a bit of fun, but nothing essential, just like this entire record.
TROUBLE, TROUBLE (1964)
1) You Can Make It If You Try; 2) Cryin' Woman Blues; 3) Schoolday Blues; 4) Free And Equal; 5) Carolina Sunrise; 6) My Hearts Beats For You; 7) When A Young Girl Is Eighteen; 8) Broken Hearted Blues; 9) Trouble, Trouble; 10) I Ain't Gonna Be Your Low Down Dog; 11*) Gravier Street Special; 12*) Drinking Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee; 13*) Oh Baby Blues; 14*) Kind Hearted Woman; 15*) Number Nine; 16*) Blues Before Sunrise.
Discographies conflict over this one, some stating that it was released in 1962 and some putting it at 1964 — a good sign that nobody really cares. The recordings do seem to come from the same 1961 sessions that also produced The Best Of The Blues, with Dupree accompanied by Chris Lange on guitar and nobody else in particular; which means that the album is, at the very best, in need of a mini-mini-review.
Most of the tracks here are slow: a few generic 12-bar blues and a few urban blues ballads. If you thought ʽYou Can Make It If You Tryʼ might be the good old Gene Allison / Solomon Burke / Rolling Stones song, you would be mistaken: it is a semi-original, loosely based on ʽNobody Knows You When You're Down And Outʼ, but turned into an optimistic statement of hope from a pessimistic acknowledgement of non-stop bad luck. The other songs offer no specific red herring hints, but the only one worth batting an eye at is ʽSchoolday Bluesʼ, largely for being capable to press all of the Champ's negative life experience into a condensed 4-minute package.
Speed is picked up only on the last number: ʽI Ain't Gonna Be Your Low Down Dogʼ is fairly limp considering to how fired-up the Champ can get on some of his boogie numbers, but feels positively maniacal compared to everything else on here. The CD edition that I am reviewing adds a few extra bonus tracks from the same sessions, including a tepid, but fun version of Stick McGhee's ʽDrinking Wine Spo-Dee-O-Deeʼ — alas, Mr. Chris Lange is no Stick, and his guitar performance is completely by-the-book. Bottomline: be it Denmark or Switzerland, good blues guitarists were fairly hard to find there in the early Sixties.
CHAMPION JACK DUPREE (1965)
1) Everyday I Have The Blues; 2) Three O'Clock In The Morning; 3) Oh Lawdy; 4) Whiskey Head Woman; 5) Young Girl Blues; 6) Fine And Mellow; 7) Holiday Blues; 8) People Talk; 9) Shirley May; 10) Federal Man Blues; 11*) Shake Baby, Shake; 12*) Champion Jack's Guitar Blues; 13*) Sporting Life Blues; 14*) Don't Ever Believe; 15*) Christina, Christina Blues; 16*) Hand In Hand.
Again, I am totally unsure about the date of issue: conflicting sources indicate it as anything from 1962 to 1965, although I believe that 1962 really refers to the date of the last sessions — June 15-18, with Mogens Seidelin backing the Champ on bass and an unknown musician on percussion. A few extra tracks from the 1960-1961 sessions are available as well, with the same mediocre Chris Lange on guitar, so I assume this must have been Dupree's last Copenhagen-era album, one that could certainly be defined as an exercise in diligent barrel-scraping and little else.
Like the last time, this is almost completely slow piano blues, with one boogie number thrown in for good measure (ʽWhiskey Head Womanʼ — a re-write of ʽDrinking Wine Spoo-Dee-O-Deeʼ). Since there is absolutely nothing new to be said about any of these tracks — even Dupree's lyrical stories are getting boring — this time I will allow myself to lose my cool and finally slap a thumbs down on the whole thing. Sure enough, the blues is repetitive and monotonous by nature, but for the mid-Sixties, this level is intolerable: re-recording completely generic 12-bar pieces by the dozen really went out of style by the start of the LP era, and I cannot imagine the Danish people wearing out their LPs so quickly that they had to patiently stand in line for the newest Champion Jack Dupree release every Christmas.
FROM NEW ORLEANS TO CHICAGO (1966)
1) Third Degree; 2) T.V. Mama; 3) He Knows The Rules; 4) Ain't It A Shame; 5) Ooh La-La; 6) (Going Down To) Big Leg Emma's; 7) Won't Be A Fool No More; 8) Take It Slow And Easy; 9) She's All In My Life; 10) Poor Poor Me; 11) Pigfoot And A Bottle Of Beer; 12) Down The Valley; 13) Too Early In The Morning; 14) Shim-Sham-Shimmy.
More like From Copenhagen To London, to be sure. Perhaps the Champion felt that, despite the warm reception he'd enjoyed in Denmark, this was not really the location where stuff was happe­ning, and that in terms of surrounding musical environment at least, it was sort of a downgrade after New Orleans, Chicago, and New York. At the very least, you couldn't get first-rate blues players to sit in with you in Copenhagen, that much was for certain (and his imported friends from Switzerland weren't that much better). And so, early 1966 finds Dupree in London, making an album for London Records and backed by John Mayall and Eric Clapton in person — not a bad change from those Swiss and Danish no-names, right?
Well, actually, he is only being backed by this double chunk of Britain's blues royalty on two tracks, astutely chosen to bookmark the record (and, by the way, this is not really «John Mayall's Bluesbreakers» on the sessions, because the other players, such as Malcolm Pool on bass and Keef Hartley on drums, were not part of John's regular band at the time). One of these is Eddie Boyd's ʽThird Degreeʼ, with Mayall blowing on the harp and Eric providing his usual melodic breaks (not quite on the level of his Bluesbreakers record, but it would be surprising if it were the opposite, right?) — ironically, thirty years later Eric would record the same song for his From The Cradle album, where he gave it a far more aggressive treatment. The other piece is the fast boogie ʽShim-Sham-Shimmyʼ, which is fun, because Clapton slips into his «Mr. ʽSlow­handʼ Yardbird» mode, letting rip with a ʽToo Much Monkey Businessʼ-style solo that was already a bit anachronistic for him around 1966, but still came off very naturally.
Unfortunately, the rest of the album is not a serious improvement over the Copenhagen period. Mostly this is just the Champ doing that same old thing, rehashing and reshuffling his stocks (ʽGoing Down To Big Leg Emma'sʼ, for instance, is a slightly less humorous rewrite of ʽMe And My Muleʼ), and his only accompanyist is guitarist Tony McPhee (of The Groundhogs), who is a little more loose and inventive than Chris Lange, but putting him on the same record with Clap­ton is a bit of a disservice. In an attempt to lively up the diversify the proceedings, Dupree engages in some straightforward silliness: ʽOoh La-Laʼ is a nostalgic parody of Creole music, largely sung in «broken French» (which, in Dupree's execution, truly sounds like a French-African «creole», and is fun to hear once, but no more, no more!), and ʽPigfoot And A Bottle Of Beerʼ is a lively polka-blues that has nothing to do with the Bessie Smith classic, but everything to do with impersonating a drunken romp that is, however, not very convincing (when the bass player begins his solo, Dupree ad-libs that "he's gone real crazy, he must have been drinking corn whiskey", but the sober truth is, he hasn't gone that crazy). This is fun, but not overwhelmingly fun — try as I might, I still do not feel that much chemistry between Dupree and any of the other players on the record.
Arguably the one track here worth saving is ʽPoor Poor Meʼ, a slow, echoey blues number with complete focus on the soloist — very explicitly dealing with racism issues ("ain't you glad you're white, and you ain't none of me?", he asks at one point). I have no idea how hard the Champion may have been suffering from that issue in Europe (I'd imagine he probably had a harder time in Chicago, let alone New Orleans), but even if he was not, this kind of experience stays with you for all time, and there is no denying the sincerity in his voice, or even the added touch of serious­ness in his piano playing, when he concludes that "this is a white man's world, I'm only stopping in". That said, it is still hardly a classic of the freedom-lovin' genre, and all in all, while there are a few signs of life revving up on the record, it is hardly a proper rebound from the Denmark slump. To get that rebound, Dupree needed to find himself a band well suited to his talents, and one that would actually care about making it all worth the listener's while — and that would not happen until his next album.