School Room Rock Blues After Hours by Ernie Freeman: A Witty Spin Through Rock & Roll and Blues
Alright, buckle up, folks. I’m about to dive into School Room Rock Blues After Hours, the groovy little gem from Ernie Freeman that’s equal parts rock swagger and bluesy soul. Released under Imperial Records, this US-born album struts its stuff with a mix of Rhythm & Blues and Rock & Roll vibes that’ll have your toes tapping faster than you can say “shuffleboard.”
Let’s cut to the chase—this record doesn’t mess around. Two tracks in particular stuck with me like gum on a hot sidewalk: "Blues After Hours" and "School Room Rock."
First off, “Blues After Hours” is exactly what it sounds like—a smoky, late-night jam session where the piano does most of the talking. Freeman’s fingers dance across the keys like they’re trying to escape a bad date. It’s moody but not too serious, if ya know what I mean. The bassline slinks along like a cat sneaking through an alleyway, while the guitar throws in just enough twang to keep things interesting. You listen to this track, and suddenly you’re sitting in some dimly lit bar, nursing a drink you didn’t order, wondering how life got so complicated. Classic blues move, right?
Then there’s “School Room Rock,” which feels like detention turned into a party. This one’s got energy for days, with a driving beat that makes you wanna grab the nearest desk and start spinning it like a DJ. There’s something delightfully chaotic about the way the horns blare in, like the teacher finally gave up on discipline and joined the mosh pit. If education was this fun back in the day, we’d all be rocket scientists or poets—or maybe both.
What’s wild is how Freeman blends these styles without breaking a sweat. He takes the grit of the blues and marries it to the punchy swagger of rock ‘n’ roll, creating something that’s neither fish nor fowl—but somehow delicious anyway. It’s like peanut butter and pickles; weird on paper, but man, does it work.
So here’s my takeaway: Listening to School Room Rock Blues After Hours feels like finding a dusty old vinyl at a garage sale and realizing it’s gold. Sure, it ain’t perfect—it’s got scratches, quirks, and moments where you think, “Wait, did he really just do that?” But isn’t that what makes music human?
Oh, and here’s the kicker—I listened to this album three times before I realized Ernie Freeman wasn’t even singing. Mind blown.
