Poster Time: Modern Music Mania 4 w/Basic Static, Practical Stylists, In Pursuit

Nashville Rock Memorabilia: Praxis International Christmas Card w/Jason & the Scorchers, Tim Krekel & the Sluggers, The Georgia Satellites (mid-1980s)

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Vintage Review: David Olney’s When the Deal Goes Down (2014)

You may not have heard of singer, songwriter, and guitarist David Olney and, if not, that’s your loss, and your soul is that much poorer for it. While young flash-in-the-pan indie rockers a third of his age grab blog headlines and barrels of virtual ink on the web, Olney has quietly been building a catalog of some of the most impressive music ever created on this spinning orb.

When the Deal Goes Down is as good – if not better – than anything Olney has done to date, partially because the guy’s a true blue talent whose muse seemingly never shuts up, and partly by his decision to bring Nashville blues guitarist Mark Robinson into the fold to play on, and co-produce the album. The inclusion of Robinson’s immense talents adds another dimension to Olney’s enormous musical palette, and he puts his co-producer to good use playing alongside longtime musical foil Sergio Webb – one of the most spectacular six-string talents on the planet who you’ve also never heard of – as well as his band of usual suspects, skilled musicians capable of breathing life and energy into Olney’s creations.

David Olney’s When the Deal Goes Down

Olney opens When the Deal Goes Down with a bang, the title track a shady entreaty that sets the stage for the songs that follow, the singer setting down the rules with the almighty, a sort of prayer set to an energetic soundtrack propelled by Justin Amaral’s vigorous drumbeats and spotlighting the six-string talents of Webb and Robinson. The song leaves more questions behind than it answers, but it’s an up-tempo romp that Olney gets to really work out on, his defiant vocals more demanding than pleading. By contrast, “Little Bird (What I Do)” is one of those densely atmospheric, almost eerie folk-blues analogies that Olney excels at, his somber vocals perfectly matched by Webb’s elegant fretwork and Tomi Lunsford’s angelic backing harmonies.

The laid-back vibe of “Soldier of Misfortune” takes on an exotic air thanks to Webb’s intricate guitar lines, but it’s Olney’s gift for wordplay and his sonorous vocals that drive the romantic tale into truly emotional territory. Jen Gunderman’s delicate piano fills emphasize the lyrics, while Robinson’s acoustic guitar adds welcome texture to a truly enchanting performance. Olney’s cover of Australian folk-rock guitarist/songwriter Bill Jackson’s wonderful “Something In Blue” fits like a glove, Jackson’s lyrics displaying more than a little Olney influence, and Olney’s performance here honoring the song nicely. The song takes on a Western lilt with Webb’s banjo plucking and Olney’s acoustic fretwork, while Olney’s mournful vocals are matched perfectly by Robinson’s expressive, bluesy solo, which rides low in the mix alongside Amaral’s lively percussion.  

Scarecrow Man

The opening lyrics of Olney’s “Scarecrow Man” describe a coming storm, and that’s exactly what the song sounds like…the fearful, silent calm before the thunderclaps and the falling curtains of rain. The song sits on the edge of a knife blade throughout its entirety, Olney’s forceful vocals slowly reeling out a tension-filled, tragic tale while the percussion rumbles and the guitars strike like lightning behind the menacing vocals and the swelling danger. You just know that somebody’s not going to get out of this story alive. “Why So Blue?,” on the other hand, is a smoky ballad that emphasizes Webb’s weeping lap steel guitar and Amaral’s even-handed brushwork, the song’s rhythmic foundation held down by Daniel Seymour’s underrated and often understated bass lines. Robinson throws in some scraps of guitar for effect, and the result is a jazzy little vamp that would be equally at home in 1954 as it is in 2014.

Olney swerves onto blues-rock turf with the raucous “Roll This Stone,” the song picking up a sort of 1990s Bonnie Raitt groove with its deep rhythms and Robinson’s slinky slide-guitar licks. Olney’s vocals here are gruffer and grittier than anywhere else on the album, growling and barking their way above the mix as the band lays down a muscular, but not overpowering rhythmic backdrop. The lovely “No Trace” brings Olney back to more familiar territory, the song’s Spanish flavor enhanced by Gunderman’s subtle accordion riffs and the singer and Webb’s intertwined acoustic guitars. It’s a gentle ballad that displays one of Olney’s more wistful set of lyrics and world-weary vocal performances.

When the Deal Goes Down ends with “Big Blue Hole,” the song itself a complete 180-degree turn from the opening track, and one of the odder entries in Olney’s extensive songbook. Lyrically, it sounds more than a little like a Tom Waits screed, Olney’s seemingly stream-of-consciousness lyrics alluding to the finality of oblivion, delivered above a cacophonous soundtrack that is scrubbed to a rough grit by Webb and Robinson’s serrated-edge guitars. Olney’s vocals become surprisingly kinetic as the singer name checks talents like Amy Winehouse and Kurt Cobain above an instrumental abyss, concluding that “heaven ain’t nothing but a big blue hole.” It’s a powerful, moving performance and a heck of a way to close the album.   
    

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

The bottom line is that David Olney is the true heir to Townes Van Zandt, a thoughtful and thought-provoking songwriter and mesmerizing performer that wears his hard-won experience like a badge of honor. Much like Van Zandt, Olney brings country and folk influences to his songs, but he also imbues his performances with a punk-rock intensity and attitude.

Young songwriters would do well to listen up, because Olney puts all of you wannabe whippersnappers to shame with the vision and storytelling insight that only a grizzled veteran of four decades in the trenches can bring. It’s a testament not only to Olney’s talent but his enduring muse that some 20 albums into a career spent flying beneath the mainstream radar, he can deliver a musical tour de force like When the Deal Goes Down and hold his head up proudly! (Deadbeet Records, released July 8, 2014)

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Vintage Review: Pete Berwick's Give It Time (2011)

I dunno, just when I think that this whole promising alt-country thing has run its inevitable course, someone comes along to renew my faith in the ghost of Gram Parsons. Singer/songwriter Pete Berwick has been walking that ‘Lonesome Highway’ all by himself for more years than he’d probably care to add up, but in the hallowed tradition of Hank, JC, Gram, and all those other cosmic troubadours that ran afoul of Nashville’s corporate Music Row and decided to just do the damn thing their way, Berwick continues to amaze and astound with each new collection of songs.

I’m proud to say that Berwick is a friend of mine, and Peter knows me well enough to know that I’d call bullshit if he dared to deliver anything short of greatness. No worries, ‘cause Give It Time is his latest, a near-perfect melding of country and rock music, Berwick channeling the reckless energy and boundless enthusiasm of Hank Williams and Elvis Presley in creating an album that leans heavily towards the punk side of the cowpunk equation, the singer and songwriter sounding as pissed-off and proud as any nineteen-year-old. After decades suffering the indignities and insults of the music biz, Berwick remains a streetwalkin’ cheetah with a heart full of napalm, and with Give It Time he’s once again rolled the bones and come up with snake-eyes.

The album-opening “Renegade” is a defiant statement of purpose, an outlaw credo delivering with an unimaginable fury that is as hardcore punk in spirit as anything that you’ll hear from either the punk-rock or alt-country crowd. With unbridled guitars chomping at your eardrums, syncopated rhythms and fierce vocals deliver the (autobiographical?) tale of living fast, dying young, and leaving behind a burned-out corpse. Berwick slows the pace only slightly for “I Keep Waiting”, an unabashed rocker with a heart of gold, swirling guitars and bash-crash rhythms creating a disconcerting wall of sound on top of which Berwick lays down his whiskey-soaked vocals and one of the greasiest, most fulfilling guitar solos you’ll ever hear. In the distant background, Jason Botka’s honky-tonk piano-pounding sounds like the din creeping out of a back-alley barroom.

“Won’t Give It Up” is another crucified rocker that displays Berwick’s deft touch as a wordsmith, the song’s blistering soundtrack pumped up by Berwick’s non-stop verbal barrage. Shaking a bloody fist at the record-making establishment, Berwick spits out muscular lines like “you wanna see scars, I got ‘em”; “the world don’t care if you live or die, one man laughs while another cries”; and “gotta make a stand for something, ain’t settling for nothing”; and “tell me are you really satisfied, do you think that it’s too late to try, maybe for you but not for me…I won’t give it up!” Nashville’s star-making machinery may have turned its back on Berwick and his fellow travelers on the fringe of “polite” country music, but this is one hombre that ain’t going down without a fight, not while there’s still one last breath and a chance to spit in authority’s face.

Even the ballads on Give It Time (“My Heart Is On Hold”) rattle and clank like rusty machinery beneath the weight of the songwriter’s angst and frustration. Berwick imbues the song with so much heartache and anguish that you’ll bury your head under the bedcovers for a week if you approach the tune without caution. None of the songwriting-by-committee that creates many of Music Row’s hits these days comes anywhere close to expressing the sort of emotion and fire that you’ll find in “My Heart Is On Hold,” the song’s conflicted protagonist turning his back on love to venture off into the uncertain badlands walked by lonesome wanderers from Ricky Nelson and Dion to Bruce Springsteen and Steve Earle. To lighten up the load a bit after better than a half-dozen mind-numbing exercises in seriously heartfelt songwriting, the humorous rave-up “Beer” is a cleverly glib ode to that golden-brown honky-tonk beverage favored worldwide.

Berwick is an outlaw and outcast by choice, not by marketing, and the magic displayed by “Falling From the Circle of Love” shows that he can write commercial country fare with the best of ‘em…hell, better than just about any of them, really, and some smart label suit could score a big hit for one of his artists with this elegant love song. That would make ol’ Pete a bundle of well-deserved cash, and besides, nobody is going to do the song better, Berwick’s leathery vocals standing in stark contrast to the song’s elegant construction and Botka’s wonderful piano-work. “The Sadness In Your Eyes” is another fine romantic moment, kind of bittersweet and tear-stained but evidence of the deepness of Berwick’s talent, a Dylanesque ballad with sweeping grandeur and finely-crafted lyrics that, again, in the right hands, could earn the songwriter a truck full o’ cash and accolades. Berwick’s breaking-heart delivery could never be equaled, however, his weathered vocals balanced on the edge of tears, accompanied by female backing harmonies and a filigree acoustic guitar solo that is simply outstanding.

Ten songs in, you figure that Give It Time has run its course, and you’d be as wrong as you could be to overlook “When”. This epic stream-of-consciousness rant is Berwick’s “Eve of Destruction”, his “Jungleland”, his “Positively 4th Street” all rolled into one massive, monster, six-minute-plus song. “When” opens with a spacey, almost psychedelic guitar-driven intro before Berwick’s battered acoustic chimes in and the vocals jump off… “how long must we wait” Berwick screams towards the heavens. “As the road goes on and on, how will we know when we are there?” he asks, “time is a deceiver that’s got us in its grasp.” Hell, Berwick throws out enough ideas, concepts, and questions in this one tune to fuel six or eight other songs. Man’s longstanding philosophical conundrums are echoed in Berwick’s existential “how long must we wait?” In this case, though, the song only gets stronger, louder, and more strident as it rolls along, Berwick’s tone growing in urgency, his questions more potent, his anger and frustration more apparent as the instrumentation swells to a cacophonic assault. It’s like Berwick’s brain busted open and all the shit that’s been mugging him for years comes pouring out in one powerful, uncensored blast of white light/white heat. In the end, no answers are to be had, just a song that is rock ‘n’ roll at its core, and the nagging, enduring final question “how long must we wait?”       

A lot of pundits have spilled a lot of ink (and electrons) talking about the end of the music industry…well, Pete Berwick is dancing on the graves of all those Music Row naysayers, and with Give It Time he takes the D.I.Y. aesthetic to an entirely different level. There are few artists that will create an album this personal, this emotional, and this powerful in this year, or any other for that matter…the kids on the indie-rock tip just aren’t ready and willing to reveal themselves so openly, no matter what little lyrical clues they send their audience. Give It Time is the real deal, though, a postcard from the edge from a middle-aged country-rocker who has looked into the abyss and stomped all over his inner demons, doubts, and frustrations to emerge on the other side even stronger and more pissed off than before. Let’s hope that Berwick continues to make music as engaging, vulnerable, and potent as that on Give It Time, ‘cause dammit, the man is speaking for all of us who want, and deserve something better from our entertainment than Taylor Swift and Rascal Flatts. (Shotgun Records)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2011

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Vintage Review: Tim Krekel's Happy Town (2002)

Singer/songwriter Tim Krekel left Louisville to ply his trade in Nashville for a while during the 1980s, hanging around with folks like Webb Wilder and Jason & the Scorchers and releasing a fine, criminally-ignored album with his band the Sluggers. That the album died on the vine was a shame, too. Even though Krekel wasn’t the most talented songwriter in town at the time – Steve Earle probably deserves that crown – he was nevertheless better than 99% of the hacks that haunt the doorsteps of Music Row studios trying to place songs with Garth or Shania. Krekel wrote a couple of country hits for folks like Patty Loveless, then disappeared for a while, returning to Kentucky. I haven’t thought of Tim Krekel much at all lately until a copy of Happy Town crossed my desk.

Judging from the eleven songs showcased on Happy Town, Krekel remains as bright a songwriter as he ever was. Musically, his material sits firmly in a roots rock vein, mixing the jangling guitar-rock of the Byrds or Tom Petty with traditional country influences, throwing in a healthy dose of Southern rock, kind of like Wet Willie, for good measure. At times, Krekel gets all funky and shows his blue-eyed soul, as on “Sugar From My Baby”. In other instances, as with the title track “Happy Town”, Krekel rocks with a fire in his eyes, adding just enough twang to the song that he sounds like he’s still trying to burn old Nashville down.

Not the most distinctive vocalist in the world, Krekel still gets the job done, and, possessing a keen eye for arrangements, his performances never fail to entertain the listener. If you’re looking for music guaranteed to cure your blues, something that’s a little bit country and a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, without lapsing into the cliches of either, it would be worth your time to find a copy of Tim Krekel’s Happy Town. (FreeFalls Entertainment, released 2002)

Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™

Nashville's Legendary Exit/In R.I.P.

Vintage Review: Governent Cheese's Government Cheese 1985-1995 (2010)

Chances are, unless you happened to be attending college in the Southeast U.S. or lived in the region during the late 1980s, you’ve never heard of Government Cheese. Inspired by influences like the Replacements, Husker Du, R.E.M. and especially Nashville’s Jason & the Scorchers, Government Cheese was formed in Bowling Green, Kentucky by WKU students Tommy Womack and Skot Willis (guitars and vocals). The two added a strong, stealthy rhythm section in bassist Billy Mack Hill and drummer Joe King, and promptly set out to conquer the world with their own unique brand of rock ‘n’ roll, a curious mix of 1960s-era garage, vintage 1970s classic rock, and contemporary ‘80s college rock delivered without guile and with a fair amount of tongue-in-cheek humor.

The band spent the better part of a decade banging the gong, playing every smoky dive and college frat house that called on them, earning a reputation across Dixie as a rowdy and entertaining live band. While the Government Cheese story has been accounted at length in Womack’s wonderful book The Cheese Chronicles, to date the band’s musical history is largely unknown. During their day, Government Cheese released a handful of vinyl EPs and albums for Nashville-based indie label Reptile Records, while a long out-of-print CD that included much of their best material has become a sought-after collectors’ item. Supported by a handful of true believers, Womack managed to raise the cash to put together the comprehensive anthology Government Cheese 1985-1995, a two-disc compilation that chisels into concrete the band’s underrated and overlooked musical legacy.        

Government Cheese 1985-1995

Government Cheese were college radio staples throughout much of the Southeast during the late 1980s, and a video for the delightful power-pop ballad “Face To Face” earned frequent MTV airplay at the time. While Womack was the band’s primary wordsmith, Willis and Hill contributed significantly to the band’s repertoire, and the songs seemingly just poured out…for instance, longtime audience fave “Camping On Acid” sounds like Camper Van Beethoven on speed and steroids, Womack’s surrealistic lyrics matched by a jumble of jangling guitars, explosive rhythms, and overall musical chaos. The hard-rocking “Fish Stick Day” was another crowd-pleaser, this live version offering up a chanted absurdist chorus, droning guitar-feedback, and King’s powerful, tribal drumbeats.

Another Cheese fan favorite was “C’mon Back to Bowling Green,” a rollicking slice of lovesick blue-collar blues with a honky-tonk heart and electrified twang, sort of Duane Eddy meets Jerry Lee Lewis in a back-alley dive. “Single” just flat-out rocks, with plenty of ringing guitar tone, clashing instruments, lofty power-pop styled vocals, and a driving rhythm. The syncopated rhythms and folkish guitar strum behind the vocals on “No Sleeping In Penn Station” are a fine accompaniment to the song’s real-life lyrical inspiration while the metallic “Jailbait” proves that the Cheese could knock heads with any of the decade’s nerf-metal cretins, raging guitars and a blistering wall-of-sound barely concealing the song’s whip-smart pop-rock lyrics and gorgeous underlying melody.        

The band was never afraid to take a stand on issues, either, which sometimes resulted in an unexpected response. The emotionally-powerful “For the Battered,” and its dark-hued instrumental intro “Before The Battered,” tackled the then hush-hush subject of domestic abuse with brutal simplicity and a menacing soundtrack of crashing instruments and noisy Sturm und Drang. Surprisingly, the disturbing revenge fantasy connected with the listeners of Nashville radio station WKDF’s local music show, becoming its most-requested song. “The Shrubbery’s Dead (Where Danny Used To Fall)” is a brilliant story of the toll of alcoholism on an individual and family, Hill’s lyrics bolstered by a roughneck instrumental background. The class warfare of the spoken-word ode “The Yuppie Is Dead” leads into the deeply introspective “Nothing Feels Good,” a hard rock 1970s throwback (I’m thinking Starz) that speaks of the dissatisfaction of too many years on the road. 

The KKK Took My Baby Away

For us original “cheeseheads,” the album includes a wealth of previously-unreleased material, starting with the band’s raucous, off-tilt cover of Jim Carroll’s “People Who Died.” Delivered with punkish intensity and chaotic energy, Government Cheese manages to capture the spirit of the original while adding a menacing edge…or, as Womack says in the liner notes, “we took Jim Carroll’s song and did it like the Scorchers.” The band’s semi-biographical “Kentucky Home” has never made it onto disc until now, a Replacements-styled triumph that speaks of growing up with rock ‘n’ roll dreams in Podunk, U.S.A. “I Can Make You Love Me” lopes into your consciousness with a hearty bassline and wiry guitar leading into a sort of alt-rock dirge with sparse harmony vocals and an undeniable rhythm.

Government Cheese was always known for its spirited covers, which ranged from classic rock (an unreleased and raucous take of Grand Funk’s “We’re An American Band” is cranked out at twice the speed of the original in a white light haze) to critical faves (the Stooges’ “Search & Destroy” totally demolishes the thousand and one versions done by mundane punkers, the band’s reckless, ramshackle performance capturing the white heat fervor of Iggy’s worst nightmares). A live cover of the Dictators “Stay With Me” retains the heartfelt innocence intended by writer Andy Shernoff while adding the Cheese’s own bit of emotional longing to the mix, and a live romp through the Ramones’ “The KKK Took My Baby Away” keeps about 90% of the original’s breakneck pace and energy while retaining Joey’s sweetness and light.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

There’s plenty more to like on Government Cheese 1985-1995, forty-three songs altogether from the best band that you never heard. If Government Cheese had hailed from Athens, Georgia like their friends R.E.M. or maybe even from Austin, Texas they might today be a household name. Instead, they remain a fond memory for a few thousand loyal fans scattered across the Southeast. The very definition of “cult band” and D.I.Y. poster children for the indie-rock aesthetic, Government Cheese flirted with the big time but never got the break they deserved…none of which makes this music any less entertaining, the songs any less brilliant, or the performances any less rocking. Although Tommy Womack has since forged an acclaimed, if modest career as an indie-rock troubadour, the music he made with Government Cheese has withstood the test of time and is ready to receive the long overdue respect it demands. (Cedar Creek Music, released 2010)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2010

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Poster Time: Rumble Circus & Wishcraft (1988)

Poster artwork courtesy of Mark "Smiley" Shenkel

Vintage Review: Various Artists - Night Train To Nashville (2004)

Ask most people what they think of when you mention Nashville, Tennessee and they’ll inevitably respond with ‘country music’. The “Music City” has been so closely identified with the country music industry for so long that most people don’t know that the city hosts a thriving rock music scene and is the longtime home of the gospel music industry. Long before Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, and George Jones helped put Nashville on the entertainment map, the ‘Athens of the South’ was famous for red-hot rhythm & blues.

Nashville’s post-war R&B boom lasted for a quarter-century, a time when almost a dozen clubs featured regional and national performers nightly, attracting wealth and celebrity to north Nashville. This period is lovingly documented by Night Train To Nashville, Music City Rhythm & Blues 1945-1970, a two-CD set featuring 35 songs representing the history of Nashville’s R&B era. Compiled by producers Michael Gray and Daniel Cooper to accompany a Country Music Hall of Fame exhibit, the set includes an excellent introduction by noted music writer and Tennessee native Ron Wynn and song-by-song liner notes by Gray that are accompanied by a wealth of rare photos.

Nashville was once home to independent labels like Bullet and Excello and a literal “who’s who” of R&B talent once came to Nashville to record. Night Train To Nashville features R&B hitmakers like Etta James, Ruth Brown, Arthur Alexander, and Roscoe Shelton. It’s the obscure artists that brighten up the grooves, though, long-forgotten performers like Little Hank Crawford, Rudy Green, and Sam Baker enjoying another turn in the spotlight. Highlights include Gene Allison’s smooth “You Can Make It If You Try”, Sonny Hebb’s pop crossover hit “Sunny”, Frank Howard’s “Just Like Him”, and the Sam Phillips-produced “Just Walkin’ In The Rain” by the Prisonaires, a song favored by Elvis.

Thanks to the Country Music Hall of Fame, fans of classic R&B can rediscover the soulful sound of this overlooked chapter in Nashville’s music history with Night Train To Nashville. (Lost Highway Records, released February 24th, 2004)

Review originally published by the Community Free Press, Springfield MO

Buy the CD from Amazon: Various Artists - Night Train To Nashville

Vintage Review: The Black Keys’ El Camino (2012)

The Black Keys found unexpected success with their 2010 breakthrough album Brothers, which earned the duo of Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney three Grammy® Awards. While Brothers’ mix of psychedelic-tinged blues, rock, and soul music struck a chord with listeners, the album’s hit single, the groove-fattened “Tighten Up”, became ubiquitous, blasting from TV sets and radios across the fruited plains.

The Black Keys have delivered a fast follow-up to Brothers in the form of El Camino, a solid collection that draws upon its predecessor’s timeless mix of styles with a pure-at-heart blast of retro-soul and rock ‘n’ roll. Unlike the band’s previous collaboration with producer Danger Mouse, 2008’s Attack & Release, which experimented in lofty sonic atmospherics, there are no loose musical threads here. Instead, El Camino hits fast-and-hard with inspiration that spans the decades, the Black Keys turbo-charging their trademark garage-blues sound with elements of soul, electric funk, and punch-drunk throwback rock ‘n’ roll.

El Camino cranks from the jump with lead single “Lonely Boy,” which sports a riff-happy melodic hook every bit as large and in charge as that on “Tighten Up.” Auerbach’s slightly-echoed vocals are overwhelmed by the song’s dangerously infectious sing-along chorus and Carney’s propulsive drumbeats. Infusing a bedrock of rock ‘n’ soul with a maddeningly effective recurring riff and plenty of engaging “whoa whoa whoa,” the song will stick in your brain long after you’ve heard it, like some funky brain chigger.

You’ll find no creative drop-off from the radio-friendly peaks of “Lonely Boy,” El Camino rolling through its eleven songs in a shockingly efficient 38-minutes, leaving the listener gasping for breath and wanting another taste. The martial rhythms of “Dead and Gone” belie the song’s melodic R&B heartbeat, while “Little Black Submarines” is a Zeppelin-styled folk-rock ballad with melancholy vocals and elegant, atmospheric fretwork. “Money Maker” is a raucous blues-rock stomp with muscular rhythms while “Nova Baby” revisits the retro-soul vibe of the opening track with a gorgeously melody and sticky chorus.

The Black Keys have come a long way from their three-chord garage-blues origins as an ersatz ‘Rust Belt’ White Stripes doppelganger, finding their own voice in a high-octane blend of styles that is as classic as it is contemporary. (Nonesuch Records, released October 12, 2011)

Review originally published by Blues Revue magazine, 2012

Buy the CD from Amazon: The Black Keys’ El Camino

Vintage Review: Jason & the Scorchers’ Still Standing (2002)

I’ve been a rabid Jason & the Scorchers fan for a full two decades now, the band celebrating their twentieth anniversary this year. As such, it is only fitting that Capitol/EMI saw fit to reissue the band’s excellent 1986 sophomore album, Still Standing on CD for the first time. While listening to this album for the thousandth time, however, I came to a conclusion, maybe even a mini-epiphany. Like a lot of rock ‘n’ roll visionaries, listeners understood where the Scorchers were coming from or they didn’t; you got ‘em or you ignored them.

The Scorchers’ unique blend of country twang, roots-rock, and punk fury didn’t play well on MTV in the mid-‘80s and it didn’t sell many records, but it sure garnered a fair bit of critical acclaim. When the going got tough, though – as it often did during the Reagan ‘80s – there was nobody better at getting on stage and blowing away thoughts of your overdue car payment or impending rent than Jason & the Nashville Scorchers. Any night, in any venue, the Scorchers gave such cult-fave heavyweights as the Replacements a run for their money as the best damn rock ‘n’ roll band in the land.
 

Jason & the Scorchers’ Still Standing

Although they were, perhaps, the most dynamic and consistent live band playing the rock ‘n’ roll circuit during the mid-to-late 1980s, the Scorchers’ label wasn’t pleased with the exposure and acclaim afforded the band’s debut, Lost & Found. Rather than wait for the band’s live performances to create word-of-mouth excitement (and sell records), the label recruited hard rock producer Tom Werman (Motley Crue) to helm the all-important second album. The resulting production and the accompanying image “make-over” provided the band with a glossy sound and glam appearance that dismayed long-time fans. Even Werman’s slick, metal-tinged production couldn’t hide the Scorchers’ cowtown roots, however. If Still Standing polished a few of the band’s rough edges, it by turns emphasized Jason’s manic vocals, Warner Hodges’ raging fretwork, and the big beat rhythms of bassist Jeff Johnson and drummer Perry Baggs.

After all these years, Still Standing sounds like a revelation. Jason’s songwriting skills had matured nicely between the early Fervor EP and this second full-length LP, his masterful wordplay weaving wonderful story songs fraught with emotion and power. Rough-and-ready rockers like “Golden Ball & Chain”, “Shotgun Blues”, and a wild Scorchers reading of the Stones’ “19th Nervous Breakdown” emphasize the band’s punk mindset, Hodges whirling like a dervish, his axework underlining Jason’s growing confidence in his vocal abilities. What made the band’s approach work as well as it did is that the members never thought of themselves as punk rockers, not in the classic British sense of the word, at least. They were country punks, possessing all of the piss and vinegar of their big city counterparts; Jason, Warner, Jeff and Perry making their bones playing to hostile crowds in crappy honky-tonks and dangerous roadhouses.

Country Roots & Punk Attitude

To this punk attitude, the Scorchers added a country traditionalism that was as firmly rooted in Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, and George Jones as any alt-country band today can claim. Jason was the son of a midwestern farmer; the remaining Scorchers were brought up in the Nashville area, Hodges playing with his parent’s gospel band. When punk hit Nashville in the late 1970s, though, it hit hard, offering a stark alternative to the “countrypolitan” sound of “Music Row” in the 1960s and early ‘70s. The Ramones’ first appearance in the Music City, at the legendary Exit/Inn in 1979, would change the rules forever. Only a hundred or so people attended this mythical show, but all of them started bands, it would seem. Early ‘80s Nashville shows by folks like Black Flag, the Replacements, and X would spur further creativity and evolution of the growing local music scene.

The Scorchers absorbed these changing musical currents, mostly through the contributions of Johnson and Baggs, but would remain truer to their country roots than many of their west coast-based “cowpunk” counterparts. Still Standing manages to retain a fair share of the twang, especially on slower songs like “Good Things Come To Those Who Wait” and “Take Me To Your Promised Land”. These were not so much “power ballads,” like those delivered by hair metal bands, but rather country torch songs, tortured with emotion, Jason’s image-filled lyrics and potent vocal phrasing backed by a classic honky-tonk shuffle. On stage, these slower-paced songs would provide a counterpoint to the band's balls-out rockers, allowing the audience time to catch its breath. Tunes like “My Heart Still Stands With You” have aged well with time and sound as fresh today as fifteen years ago.

To the remastered reissue of Still Standing, the label has added three bonus songs. The gem “Greetings From Nashville”, penned by former Nashville resident Tim Krekel, is a longtime Scorchers favorite (and perhaps the only lyrical snapshot of the Southern underground of the 1980s). The previously unreleased “Route 66”, a live staple of the band, is provided a typical raucous treatment while “The Last Ride”, an unreleased instrumental, proves for once and for all that Warner Hodges was one of the greatest six-string madmen of the 1980s.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Still Standing should have broken the Scorchers through to the mainstream, with three or four potentially big singles deserving more than the nonexistent airplay they received. Johnson would subsequently leave the band to join Nashville Goth-rockers Guilt on their sojourn to L.A. and the Scorchers would slightly alter their sound again with their third album, Thunder & Fire.

The band broke-up at the end of the ‘80s and got back together in 1995 for another run at the brass ring. Core members Jason Ringenberg and Warner Hodges still perform as the Scorchers today and through all of the band’s trials and tribulations, they have retained an enormously loyal fan base throughout the past twenty years. If the Scorchers are, indeed, the ultimate cult band, Still Standing is quintessential Jason & the Scorchers. Get it and find out what all the fuss is about… (EMI America, reissued September 5th, 2002)

Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™, 2002 

Find the CD on Discogs: Jason & the Scorchers’ Still Standing

Vintage Review: Tommy Womack’s Now What! (2012)

With his acclaimed, semi-autobiographical 2007 album There, I Said It!, Nashville-based singer-songwriter Tommy Womack partially resuscitated a career that was going nowhere in a hurry. Brimming over with self-doubt, stark personal realizations, and boldly defiant statements, the album bared Womack’s soul in a way that many self-absorbed indie-rockers could only pretend to offer. The songs on There, I Said It! were funny, sad, angst-ridden, frustrating, witty, and emotionally-charged. The album seemed, at the time, to provide a final punctuation mark to the brilliant artist’s tumultuous career.

Fate had a different hand to deal Womack, however, and enough listeners connected with his confessional story-songs to thankfully write another chapter to this story. In the five years since the release of There, I Said It!, Womack teamed up with fellow wordsmith and underrated six-string maestro Will Kimbrough as Daddy, the duo joined by some friends to record 2009’s acclaimed For A Second Time. Now, a half-decade after receiving his second (third?) shot at the brass ring, the former Government Cheese frontman has delivered the wonderful, wry, and playfully entertaining Now What!

Tommy Womack’s Now What!

With Now What!, Womack continues in a musical vein similar to that he pursued on There, I Said It!, with a few notable exceptions. Again, the singer is the main protagonist in his own finely-crafted stories, but while Womack’s witty lyrics remains front and center, he takes a few more chances here musically than ever before, and with exciting results. The album opener, “Play That Cheap Trick, Cheap Trick Play,” is pure power-pop magic with personalized lyrics that blend an infectious melody with lyrical snapshots of domestic life mixed with the seemingly endless gigs of the itinerant musician, all delivered with an undeniable élan.

“Bye & Bye” is a stark, deliberately-paced autobiographical ballad that tells a familiar story for the hopeless romantics in the audience, a random encounter with an old love that sets the mind to wandering and wondering what might have been. Womack’s perfectly-wistful vocals are laid atop a gently-strummed guitar, accompanied by John Deaderick’s subtle keyboard flourishes, the lyrics themselves brilliantly insightful while crashing back to earth with an inevitable conclusion. “I’m Too Old To Feel That Way Right Now” is the flip-side of that encounter, more ruminations on love and lust that are plagued by an uneasy slide into middle age angst and grudging acceptance.

Womack’s flirtations with the demon alcohol are the stuff of legend amidst the sheltered Nashville rock scene, rivaling stories of the Reverend’s own tilting at that particular windmill for tall tales shared by wagging tongues across suburban fences. The singer’s “On & Off the Wagon” wins the competition hands down, the song’s twangy, Lambchop-styled, fractured alt-country soundtrack matched only by its clever, melancholy wordplay. Singing of his battle with the bottle as Bill Huber’s tuba staggers prominently behind the vocals, Womack tosses off sharply-phrased passages like “sometimes I like the wagon, sometimes I like to walk”; “I’ve learned to know my limit, I’ve learned to pass it by”; and “I’m smart as a whip, I’m dumb as wood” as part of a wild mea culpa that is rooted firmly in the country tradition by Jim Hoke’s weeping pedal steel guitar.

90 Miles An Hour Down A Dead-End Street

By contrast, Womack’s spoken word rant “90 Miles An Hour Down A Dead-End Street” is a continuation of the previous album’s wonderfully wry “Alpha Male & the Canine Mystery Blood,” both autobiographical raps delivered with more than a little Hunter S. Thompson-styled gonzo spirit. In this case, Womack’s dialogue is accompanied by a lone brassy drumbeat, the singer tossing off stream-of-consciousness thoughts like a 21st century Bukowski while telling his sordid tale. Prefacing the rant with the introductory “went to Indy, in the rain, to a club that was never going to have me again, a bottle of Chianti in the passenger seat, driving 90 miles per hour down a dead-end street,” Womack delivers such lyrical bon mots as “I work for myself and I still get fired”; “now I just drink, except when I don’t, and you’re either going to get a good show or you won’t”; and the sparkling nihilism “I’ve done everything I could to kill myself and take other people with me,” with tongue only partially in cheek.

Lest one think Tommy Womack as just another hipster with a penchant for lyrical self-immolation, he blows up that misconception with the low-slung rocker “I Love You To Pieces.” Womack’s playful, oblique lyrics here are matched by a mid-tempo soundtrack that blends the Southern-fried funk of Dan Baird and the Georgia Satellites with the reckless, bristling rock ‘n’ roll of the Replacements, offering up plenty of greasy fretwork and blasts of harmonica. The introspective “Wishes Do Come True” is an acoustic ballad that benefits from Lisa Oliver-Gray’s subtle backing vocals echoing Womack’s own, while “Over the Hill” is a trademark Tommy Womack construct, tilted slightly towards Tom Waits territory with an oddly discordant guitar strum and lilting vocals sliding uneasily across the tinkling piano keys and squalls of tuba.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Less a sequel than a bookend to the desperate “Hail Mary” pass that was There, I Said It!, Womack’s Now What! imagines a career beyond the soul-destroying 9 to 5 dead-end the singer saw himself trapped in for the rest of his miserable existence. Displaying a disarming optimism amidst the introspective double-clutching and romantic daydreams than previously, Now What! offers up more of what Tommy Womack does best – working class blues from the street-view seats of the restless American dream. (Cedar Creek Music, released February 12, 2012)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2012
   
Buy the CD from Amazon: Tommy Womack’s Now What!

Vintage Review: Jason Ringenberg’s A Pocketful of Soul (2001)

Soul is an intangible concept – some folks has got it, some ain’t – but anybody who thinks that an old country boy can’t have soul is just plain mistaken. Take Jason Ringenberg, for instance. Grew up on a hog farm in Illinois, been plying his trade these past twenty years or so as frontman/songwriter/bottlewasher for the finest posse of rockin’ cowpunks that this humble critic has been proud to make acquaintance with. Not for nothing did Jason & the Scorchers name their first basement-brewed recording Reckless Country Soul and now Jason steps out on his own in the year “Y2J” with a fine solo effort called A Pocketful of Soul.

To resubmit my original theory, if you think that a country boy can’t have soul then you’ve never heard Mr. Ringenberg’s delightful twang wrap around a set of lyrics. Technical singers are a dime a dozen down on “Music Row,” and I’m looking for the guy supplying the dimes. Jason, on the other hand, is a soulful singer – technically proficient, but with too much honky-tonk in him to mimic the bland pop styling demanded by Nashville’s major label establishment. As raw as an icy wind blowing across a barren wheat field, Jason imparts every song on A Pocketful of Soul with a delightful country soul that is as authentic as it is unique. To hear Ringenberg sing “For Addie Rose,” for instance, written for his young daughter, is to stare into the heart of the artist. Any damn singer can entertain your ears, but it takes soul to hit you in the gut.

There are no pretensions to be found on A Pocketful of Soul, no delusions of grandeur or multi-platinum fantasies. This is a homegrown musical project, a wonderful aside from Jason’s work with the Scorchers. This is country music as it used to be, created by the artist instead of committee, committed to excellence rather than demographics. Jason’s critically acclaimed songwriting skills have never been questioned, tho’ he’s reserved some of his most personal observations for A Pocketful of Soul. The aforementioned “For Addie Rose” is for every father who has ever watched his daughter grow up. The chilling “The Price of Progress” is certainly influenced by one of the greatest tragedies of the modern age, the loss of the family farm. “The Last of the Neon Cowboys” is a thinly-veiled tale of too many nights on the stage while Jason’s cover of the long-lost Guadacanal Diary gem “Trail of Tears” is afforded a, well, soulful reading.

Although there are some electric instruments hereabouts, A Pocketful of Soul is an acoustic-oriented collection of songs, performances captured by an analog 16 track recorder and sent out into the world with no heavy production, bells or whistles. Ringenberg rounded up talented former Webb Wilder sideman George Bradfute and multi-instrumentalist Fats Kaplin to help him pick on an assortment of guitars, mandolin, dobro, steel guitar, accordion and violin. The focus here is on Jason’s vocals, however, and the damn fine songs that this talented wordsmith still manages to crank out after two decades of writing.

A Pocketful of Soul is a rarity – a strong solo effort from an artist known primarily for his work with a band. It is also an anomaly, a country record that is true to the spirit of the ghosts of Hank, Ernest and Lefty, living proof that Jason R. still has a few tricks up his sleeve. (Courageous Chicken Music, released 2001)

Find the CD on Discogs: Jason Ringenberg’s A Pocketful of Soul

Vintage Review: Owsley's The Hard Way (2003)

It’s mighty hard for the pop-oriented rocker to make a living in Nashville – just ask Bill Lloyd, Will Kimbrough, or Josh Rouse, pop aficionados all. That hasn’t deterred Will Owsley from plying his trade in the “Music City,” however. A better-than-average axeman in a city overflowing with six-string wizards, Owsley has managed to survive nicely on session work and tours with folks like Amy Grant and Shania Twain. In his heart, though, he’s closer to Paul McCartney and Neil Finn than to Hank Williams and Merle Haggard. His critically acclaimed debut album, released by Giant in 1999, was recorded in Owsley’s living room over the period of four years; it took the talented singer/songwriter about the same amount of time to deliver his sophomore effort, The Hard Way. Fans of the pop/rock aesthetic should be thrilled to rediscover this underrated talent, no matter how long the wait…

The Hard Way is unabashedly polished, carefully constructed songs complimented by lush instrumentation with just the slightest bit of chaos seeping in around the edges. Owsley’s pop craftsmanship is akin to fellow travelers like Ben Folds or Ben Kweller, Beatlesque flourishes accompanied by influences from folks like Crowded House, Todd Rundgren and Paul McCartney’s solo work. Songs like “Be With You” or “Down” are guitar-driven delights, sharply written and precisely performed with a harder edge than the piano pop of Folds or the folkish radio-rock of Sheryl Crow. An accomplished tunesmith with an eye for detail, Owsley’s skilled wordplay emboldens his observations on romance and relationships with authority. Owsley’s artistic palette is a wide one – “Dude” sounds like an inspired cross between Oasis and Coldplay while “Rainy Day People” includes swirls of psychedelic guitar and trippy harmonies like Jellyfish. Wherever the music takes him, Owsley always manages to imprint familiar sonic territory with his own unique signature.

There’s a lot to like about The Hard Way. If modern rock radio wasn’t so obsessed with the same marketing schemes that plague pop culture as a whole these days, there would be room for artists like Will Owsley (and Josh Rouse, etc) to have their voices heard. Until that wonderful day when talent overshadows image, there’s comfort to be had in knowing that true believers like Owsley continue to create beautiful music for a small, appreciative and loyal audience. (Lakeview Entertainment, released 2003)

Vintage Review: Steve Earle’s Sidetracks (2002)

As explained by Steve Earle’s excellent liner notes, the songs on Sidetracks aren’t outtakes, but rather “stray tracks” that were previously unreleased or saw the light of day only on soundtrack or tribute albums. Much like Bill Lloyd’s All In One Place album, Earle’s Sidetracks confines these stray songs to a single package, providing extensive musician credits and song-by-song commentary. The resulting album is every bit as remarkable as any title in Earle’s impressive catalog, a vital collection of original songs and inspired covers that illustrates Earle’s talents as a songwriter, performer and bandleader.

Steve Earle’s career has always been plagued by misconceptions, his early Nashville albums dismissed by ignorant Music Row hacks for being “too rock ‘n’ roll,” while mainstream rock audiences failed to embrace Earle as “too country.” The truth lies somewhere in between, perhaps, but I believe that Earle is too enormous a talent to be confined by one style or genre, a fact illustrated by Sidetracks. A roots-music traditionalist who has had a tremendous influence on the alt-country scene, Earle has nonetheless flirted with hard rock, reggae and Celtic music as well as country, folk and bluegrass throughout the span of his nearly twenty-five year career.

“Johnny Too Bad,” recorded with Knoxville, Tennessee roots rockers the V-Roys, redefines the Jamaican classic with a harder edge while the Irish-flavored instrumental “Dominick St,” recorded with the Woodchoppers in Dublin, extends Earle’s love affair with Celtic music. A powerful cover of Nirvana’s “Breed” showcases Earle’s rowdy rock side, tho’ maybe not as well as “Creepy Jackelope Eye,” a lively collaboration with Eddie Spaghetti and the Supersuckers. An alternative version of “Ellis Unit One” performed with the Fairfield Four achieves an eerie spiritual edge lacking in the solo version used in the film Dead Man Walking. The folkish “Me and the Eagle” stands in stark contrast to much of the material on Sidetracks, while a twangy, bluegrass-tinged reading of Lowell George’s “Willin’” captures the spirit of the oft-covered original.     

Not everything on Sidetracks clicks, most notably a cover of the Chambers Brothers’ classic “Time Has Come Today.” A technologically crafted duet with Sheryl Crow that was recorded in Nashville with Crow in LA, the performance may have seemed a good idea at its conception, but it suffers in execution. Crow’s vocal contribution is lackluster and the band fails to achieve the manic (drug-fueled?) energy of the original, although the Abbie Hoffman vocal samples are pretty neat. This minor cavil aside, Sidetracks is an extremely worthwhile addition to your CD collection, a significant compilation and a revealing look “backstage” at the multi-faceted talents of Steve Earle. It’s telling that by collecting his various cast-offs and rarities, Earle has cobbled together an album that still stands head and shoulders above most of the country and rock music that will be released this year. Though other artists should probably hang their heads in shame, Earle fans can rejoice in Sidetracks. (E-Squared/Artemis Records, released 2002)