Vintage Review: Pujol’s Nasty, Brutish, and Short EP (2011)

If one were to scratch out a blueprint for the archetypal indie-rock band, Nashville’s Pujol would be the result. Founded by singer, guitarist, and songwriter Daniel Pujol – the only constant in a group that included the Police’s Stewart Copeland at one time – the band that bears his name has made a lot of influential friends in a short period of time. In two years, Pujol has released ten different recordings, including the full-length X File On Main Street album, released by a variety of pureblood indie labels including Jack White’s Third Man Records and Infinity Cat (JEFF the Brotherhood’s imprint).

For Pujol’s Saddle Creek Records debut, the Nasty, Brutish, and Short EP, they build upon their trademark, Southern-bred, garage-punk rock ‘n’ roll with elements of 1960s-vintage British Invasion and 1970s-era power-pop sounds. The opening track “Mayday” starts out with a blur, a Beatlesque “Helter Skelter” riff leaping headfirst into a chaotic swirl of distorted and contorted instrumentation. Somehow the song manages to hold onto its underlying melody, probably due to Pujol’s playful vocals and the adrenalin O.D. of the singer’s whip-smart lyrics.

The following “Scully” doesn’t fare as well, although it’s by no means a bad song…the melody here is lofty, vague, and undefined while the crush of the instrumentation and Pujol’s smarty-pants garage-rock sneer makes for an invigorating, if shockingly intense, listen. The jangly flash-bang of “Emotion Chip (No Feeling)” hides a lyrical treasure beneath its broken heart and razor-wire guitar lines. Pujol’s pleading vocals barely emerge from the mix, bouncing tearfully in between Duane Eddy-styled surf ‘n’ turf riffs and unrelenting rhythms that crash and bash reminiscent of the Replacements on a good night.

Nasty, Brutish, and Short closes with “Stuff” and “Point of View,” two humdingers of unique style and manic creativity. The former offers a swaggering, sweaty barrage of words and rhythm, a too-brief explosion of noise and frantic emotion with shots of wiry fretwork levied across the mix as the vocals march to their own (different) drummer. The latter takes the “wall of sound” concept found throughout the EP to a higher level – you’d need a backhoe to dig out all of Pujol’s lyrics here, but it’s all just so damn much fun that you won’t care. A barely-present melody acts as the glue holding the song together as madhouse guitars sparkle and instruments chime like the bastard children of the Byrds, R.E.M. and Let’s Active, a simply delightful musical moment that buries itself into your medulla oblongata like a chigger and refuses to let go.

The entirety of Nasty, Brutish, and Short runs just eighteen minutes from start to finish, a reckless, barely-contained joy ride that manages to sound contemporary even while absorbing and channeling so much of rock’s hallowed past. If Pujol is the new sound of the south, count me in as a fan. (Saddle Creek Records, released August 19, 2011)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine

Vintage Review: The Bluefields' Pure (2012)

Probably the closest that the Nashville rock scene has ever come to the birth of a bona fide “supergroup,” the Bluefields are comprised of former Georgia Satellites’ frontman Dan Baird (who, more recently, fronts his own Dan Baird and Homemade Sin band); Jason & the Scorchers’ charismatic guitarslinger Warner E. Hodges (also a Homemade Sin band member); and singer/songwriter Joe Blanton, formerly of such beloved Music City rock ‘n’ roll institutions as the Enemy and Royal Court of China. All three men have a lot of miles under their belts, all three have experienced the fragile joys of a major label record deal, and all three have pursued solo careers with varying degrees of success. Nevertheless, their individual pedigrees are impeccable…

That these three musicians came together is an act of provenance, perhaps, or maybe just the Holy Trinity (Chuck, Elvis & Bob) looking down from the Mount Olympus of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Blanton had returned to Nashville after a decade-long hiatus spent in the hinterlands pursuing the brass ring with an acclaimed, albeit impoverishing solo career. Blanton reconnected with his teenage pal Hodges (the two cutting their musical teeth together on the roughneck late ‘70s Nashville punk scene), the guitarist in turn introducing Joe to Dan, the three subsequently finding acres of common ground. As these things happen, they decided to write and play together ‘cause, well, that’s what rock lifers do, and the trio convened to Blanton’s secret, subterranean recording studio, dubbed by the newly-formed Bluefields as the “underground tree house.”

The Bluefields’ Pure

I’m not sure whether it was the trio’s rapidly-formed musical chemistry, or if jars of pure-D white lightning corn liquor were passed around the basement studio, but Pure, the Bluefields’ debut album, serves up a righteous helping of shit-kickin’, guitar-driven, Southern-fried twang-rock that fans of both the Satellites and the Scorchers will nod their collective heads in approval of, although the Bluefields really sound nothing like either of those bands. Blanton takes the lead vocals on most of the tracks, the man really one of the best singers in the Music City, criminally overlooked among the glut of clones marching in lockstep through the halls of the record label offices that line Nashville’s notorious “Music Row.”

Hodges does what he’s always done best, and that is to bash and mangle that plank of wood and steel, tearing sounds out of his instrument previously unheard of by man nor beast while Baird, the M.V.P. of any session he’s involved with, plays the fat-string, adds a little of his trademark Keith Richards-styled rhythm guitar where needed, pitches in on backing vocals, and even adds keyboards if necessary. Friend of the band Steve Gorman, from the currently-on-hiatus Black Crowes, adds his thunderous drumbeats to the majority of the songs. The bottom line, though, is that regardless of the talent assembled, it’s the music that matters…and Pure offers up more than a few surprises.

The album kicks off with “What You Won’t Do,” the song’s brief instrumental intro displaying more than a few strains of Led Zeppelin’s Eastern-fueled musical mysticism. When the band kicks in, Gorman’s blast-beats ring loudly and the intertwined guitars are simply smothering. The instrumentation is thick, like an intoxicating smoke, the arrangement more than a little Zeppelinesque but with more twang and bang for your buck, mixing roots-and-hard-rock with a bluesy undercurrent to great effect. The jaunty “Bad Old Days” is both a gripping morality tale and a humorous page straight out of the Dan Baird songbook. With a rolling, Southern boogie-flavored soundtrack, the lyrics recall a tale of woe that all three band members have lived in one manner or another. Sobriety doesn’t come easy, those crazy old days are in the rearview mirror, and with guitars that swing with anarchic glee, “Bad Old Days” is an unbridled rocker tailor-made for radio…if radio still played rock ‘n’ roll, that is…

“Don’t Let Me Fall” is an old-school romantic ballad, the sort of song that, with enough hairspray and metallic hooks, would have had the spandex-clad bottle-blondes pulling out their lighters twenty-five years ago. In these days and times, though, Blanton’s vocals are timelessly heartworn, Hodges’ Duane Eddy-styled background riffs a perfect accompaniment. The band doesn’t stay morose for long, though, launching directly into “Nobody Loves You,” a pop-tinged rollicking boogie-rocker with a ‘80s new wave vibe built on a spry rhythm, ambitious rolling drumbeats, and shards of wiry guitar.

By this time in the album’s sequencing, the Bluefields sound like they’re having way too much fun, a hypothesis easily proven by the Zep-styled reprise of “Repair My Soul,” a larger than life, foot-stomping hard-rocker. Built on a foundation of dirty Delta blues, the song is raised to the heavens on the strength of intricate (and inordinately heavy) guitars that sound like a clash of the titans, and Gorman’s unbelievable drum tones, which sound eerily like the angry ghost of John Bonham banging on the cans. With lyrics dealing with sin and salvation, if this one doesn’t scorch the hair from your head and get your feet a moving, then you’re probably deaf (or a Justin Bieber fan…shudder).   

As good a song and performance as “Repair My Soul” may be…and make no mistake true believers, it’s one of the best rock songs you’ll hear in your lifetime…the Bluefields trio scale the heights of the aforementioned Mount Olympus with the incredible “Flat Out Gone.” A runaway locomotive of choogling guitars, racing drumbeats, defiant vocals, and swaggering rhythms, one can hear the entirety of the pantheon of rock heroes channeled through each and every note: Chuck Berry, Duane Eddy, Gene Vincent & the Bluecaps, Eddie Cochran, Big Joe Turner, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Roy Orbison, the Rolling Stones, the Who, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Bob Seger, Bo Diddley, Johnny Burnette, Ike Turner, Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, Doug Sahm, Link Wray, Mitch Ryder, Elmore James, the Yardbirds, the Band, Bob Dylan, and the almighty Elvis himself. The song is three minutes and twenty-two seconds of pure, unvarnished rock ‘n’ roll cheap thrills, the likes of which come around far too infrequently these days for my tastes and, I’m betting, your tastes too...

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

There’s more, much more to be heard on Pure, the album probably the best example you’ll ever hear of three guys getting together and making music for the sheer joy of it all. Every note played, every word sung, every beat of the drum is the result of lives lived in thrall to the muse of rock ‘n’ roll, albeit with a distinctively Southern perspective. As a result, Pure lives up to its name, the album probably the purest expression of reckless country soul that’s ever been carved into wax. (Underground Treehouse Records, released 2012)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine

Vintage Review: Will Hoge’s Draw the Curtains (2008)

Given the circumstances, Nashville’s Will Hoge could have become just another music biz casualty. Ignorantly dropped by his major label deal after a single brilliant, shining album – Blackbird On A Lonely Wire – Hoge nevertheless continued to crank ‘em out with alarming regularity. Studio albums, live collections for the fans, an excellent EP…better than a half-dozen, by my count, all while the artist continued to tour a couple hundred nights a year, developing a loyal fan base and finding his voice as a songwriter and performer.

Will Hoge’s Draw the Curtains

Now Hoge is back playing in the major leagues, and as good as Blackbird On A Lonely Wire was (and continues to be a jukebox favorite ‘round the Rev’s home and office), Hoge’s latest effort and Rykodisc debut, Draw the Curtains, is hands-down an incredibly humbling collection of tunes that perfectly frame Hoge’s talents as a singer and a songwriter. A near-perfect hybrid of streetwise rock, Memphis-styled soul, and country twang, Hoge belts it out like a Beale Street busker one moment, and soars like some hard rock god of yore the next.

Draw the Curtains opens with the lovesick ballad “When I Can Afford To Lose,” a gutsy move in an industry that demands up-tempo iTunes-fodder to draw in attention-deficient teens. Hoge’s masterful performance here is simply amazing. Beginning with just his pleading voice and a lonely piano, Hoge amps it up with a tear-jerking, soul-stirring performance that Rev. Al Green would be proud of; if your heart isn’t breaking for the singer at the end of three-minutes-plus, then there’s clearly no hope for your future. Hoge follows this suburb opener with “These Were the Days,” a guitar-driven rocker and another forlorn love song where the protagonist begs “give me something that I can hold onto” while desperately adding “don’t let it all just get away.”

There’s plenty of other good stuff to hear on Draw the Curtains as well. The complex, textured “Silver and Gold” would sound great on the radio, a blistering, nearly-fatal cheatin’ song with strikingly mournful guitarwork courtesy of Adam Fluhrer, Hoge’s sharp-tongued lyrics, and gospel-styled Hammond-bashing by guest Reese Wynans. With just Chris Carmichael’s beautifully-weeping fiddle for accompaniment, Hoge stretches his rough-hewn vocals to their limits with the haunting “I’m Sorry Now,” an apology, of sorts, from a man that done his woman wrong and asks, yet again, for forgiveness one more time.

Washed By the Water

“Washed By the Water” is a thinly-veiled commentary on New Orleans and the ravages of Hurricane Katrina, written from a survivor’s perspective. With Wynan’s elegant B3 work behind Hoge’s forceful vocals, accompanied by a church-style choir and magnificent six-string work from Pat Buchanan and Dan Baird, Hoge belts out the telling verse, “then the President came down and said things is awful sad, but ain’t no words from that man gonna bring us nothing back, but in the ghosts of church bells I hear my mama say, down here we’re washed by the water, the water can’t wash us away.” It’s a powerful musical moment, delivered with heart and no little amount of passion.

Behind Pete Finney’s pedal steel, Hoge delivers a magnificent tour-de-force in the album-closing “The Highway’s Home,” one of the top two or three “life on the road” tunes that has ever been penned by a songwriter. With brilliant language and world-weary vocals, Hoge describes himself as a “burned out junky truck stop saint” traveling down the road “with a suitcase full of empty dreams, a guitar with broken strings, a busted heart that longs to sing the blues,” apologetically explaining to the love he leaves behind that he has “a mind that always leads me wrong, a head full of Hank Williams songs,” concluding “I’m sorry honey, but this highway’s home…” The song sums up the frustrating paradox faced by every road-worn musician and perfectly captures the endless landscape of Interstate signs, billboards, and yellow lines.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

The rest of Draw the Curtains rolls back and forth on much the same well-trodden path, Hoge delivering masterful performances of Stax-flavored lovesick soul and throwback six-string rock. Much like John Hiatt’s wonderful early ‘90s work, Marc Cohn’s first couple of albums, and D.L. Byron’s lone classic LP, Will Hoge is a romantic poet at heart, a skilled wordsmith capable of capturing complex emotions into a single phrase or verse. His lyrics are imaginative and often cut to the bone; when accompanied by his uniquely organic sound, there’s simply nobody that does this kind of music better than Hoge these days. Forget about American Idol drones and Pitchfork-approved indie-rock clones; Will Hoge is the real deal, a rock ‘n’ roll lifer with a hungry heart full o’ soul. (Rykodisc, released 2007)

Review originally published by the Cashville411 website, 2008

Vintage Review: Glossary’s Long Live All of Us (2011)

 

Perhaps it’s because of their geographic location – about 30 minutes south of Nashville in Murfreesboro, Tennessee – but Glossary all too often gets lumped in with the Americana or alt-country crowd. While Glossary has been known to let slip a little twang now and then on the edges of their guitar-driven rock ‘n’ roll songs, the reality is that for going on 14 years (and counting), Glossary has quietly earned a reputation as one of America’s best, albeit obscure rock bands.

In the end, Glossary defies critical or commercial expectations and instead plays like a square peg jammed into a round hole. With the band”s seventh independent album, Long Live All of Us, Glossary delivers a strong rock ‘n’ soul collection that leans more towards Memphis and Stax Records than it does to Nashville and Music Row. Lead singer and songwriter Joey Kneiser has long been one of the most underrated scribes in indie rock, and he outdoes himself with a stellar collection of songs on Long Live All of Us. The album opens with the laid-back “Trouble Won’t Last Always,” a rollicking 1970s-era mid-tempo Southern rocker akin to Delaney & Bonnie, but with a few interesting instrumental flourishes that fall out of the ether into the spry arrangement.

Glossary’s Long Live All of Us

A trembling guitar lick and Memphis soul rhythms intro “A Shoulder To Cry On,” a delightful romp that showcases Kneiser’s weathered vocals and guitarist Todd Beene’s nimble licks. Kneiser’s voice captures the kind of forlorn emotion and pleading sincerity that a bigger-name but lesser-talent like Justin Timberlake can only hope to achieve, Kneiser’s vocals a cross between Wilson Pickett and Roy Orbison, with Beene playing the role of Steve Cropper (or maybe James Burton). The hauntingly beautiful “Nothing Can Keep Me Away” is a slow-paced folk-country gem with Kneiser’s high-lonesome vocals accompanied by Beene’s tortured fretwork and blasts of mournful horns courtesy of saxophonist Jim Spake and trumpeter Nahshon Benford.

The heart of Long Live All of Us is “When We Were Wicked,” an unbridled rocker with chaotic rhythms from bassist Bingham Barnes and drummer Eric Giles, a wicked riff via Beene, and Kneiser’s Springsteenesque vocals, doubled by wife Kelly’s loftier tones, wrapped around one of the best “Born To Run” styled set of lyrics this side of the Hold Steady or the Gaslight Anthem. The equally up-tempo “Heart Full of Wanna” features a fat Barnes bass line, Giles’ heartbeat percussion, and Beene’s wiry guitar dancing behind Kneiser’s joyful vocals. The tuff-as-nails “Keep It Coming” is Sam & Dave on steroids, a mid-tempo blue-eyed soul heartbreaker with serpentine rhythms, Beene’s imaginative guitarplay, and Kneiser’s swaggering vocals, which swing from a Tom Petty-styled drawl to a mournful Otis Redding plea within a single verse.   

Long Live All of Us was financed, at least in part, by the band’s Kickstarter campaign, and it looks as if they’ve used the money wisely. The production is lofty and nuanced, without busting the budget, the CD’s eco-friendly digipak displaying Glossary’s usual graphic arts savvy. Given that they’ve done seven increasingly-impressive albums on a shoestring indie-rock budget, I’d love to see what they might do with a little more cash in hand and a sympathetic producer like Jon Tiven or John Porter. Then again, maybe this is all they need – a rock-solid set of songs, a little guitar, bass ‘n’ drums, and enough studio time to get it down on wax. You can’t argue with the results, Glossary one of the best rock bands you’ve yet to love! (Last Chance Records, released 2011)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2011

Vintage Review: Daddy's For A Second Time (2009)

Back when you kiddies were still watching Saturday morning cartoons in your spidey PJs and eating chocolate-frosted sugar bombs by the boxful, two nice young men from Kentucky, and another from Alabama, were playing in a critically-acclaimed rock ‘n’ roll band called the Bis-quits. Although these three gents had spun a wonderful collection of intelligent garage-pop with blues-rock overtones and a soupcon of country twang, they were soon forgotten, lost in the enormous commercial shadow of a bunch o’ guys from Seattle named Kurt, Eddie, Chris and their, well, kinda grungy, flannel-clad friends.

Fast forward 16 years, and you’ll find Daddy, which is, really, mathematically two-thirds of the Bis-quits playing with some (talented) friends. Over the past decade-and-a-half or so, the three nice young men – Will Kimbrough, Tommy Womack, and Mike “Grimey” Grimes – have pursued various fates in and out of the music biz. Grimes played for a while with alt-country cut-ups Bare Jr. before escaping the industry’s clutches only to open his much-lauded record store in Nashville (Grimey’s Music – tell ‘em the Reverend sent ya!).

Kimbrough has toyed around with a critically-acclaimed solo career that has yielded four solid albums (and an EP), but his real bread-and-butter has been touring and recording as a guitar-for-hire for folks like Jimmy Buffett, Rodney Crowell, Todd Snider, and others. Womack, on the other hand, has put his experience with the Bis-quits and, previously, the much beloved Kentucky cult band Govt. Cheese, to good use as a whipsmart, slightly neurotic, constantly embattled solo troubadour, also with four acclaimed studio albums (and a live disc) under his belt.

Daddy’s For A Second Time

Daddy began as a one-off between friends and former bandmates, their live 2005 album At The Woman’s Club documenting two nights’ shows in Frankfort, Kentucky. As these things are wont to do, demand for Daddy and the band’s growing popularity has resulted in For A Second Time, the official and righteous Daddy studio debut. A ten-song collection of various Kimbrough and Womack originals and a handful of collaborations between the two (and one excellent total band effort), For A Second Time may well be the best collection of pure music-making that you’ll hear come out of Nashville this year.

As they say in Nashville, it all begins with a song – something forgotten long ago by the industry’s Music Row – and Kimbrough and Womack are two of the best wordsmiths ever snubbed by the biz. Both songwriters have been around the block a time or three and suffered through the indignities and ignorance of men in suits with corporate smiles, and their experience shines through their songs. The semi-biographical “Nobody From Nowhere,” for instance, sounds like a John Hiatt outtake circa Slow Turning, but with Kimbrough’s slinky fretwork and great harmony singing between Kimbrough and Womack. The song perfectly sums up the isolation of growing up in the rural South, where everything is miles away from anything else, and dreams of the big-time are tempered by simple pleasures.

Much of the rest of For A Second Time follows a similar tact, Kimbrough and Womack swapping lead vocals on songs that are built around the former’s tempered optimism and the latter’s wry sense of humor and joyful cynicism. “Early To Bed, Early To Rise” is Womack’s advice to a younger generation, an only-slightly-tongue-in-cheek warning about the rat race from a man that has lived it firsthand. The New Orleans-tinged “Wash & Fold” possesses all the funky soul of the Meters, Kimbrough mouthing a sly come-on to a young lovely that is equal parts Ray Davies and Aaron Neville.

Of course, the Daddy guys also recognize a good song when they hear it, and their loving cover of ‘60s-era folkie Mike Millius’ “The Ballad of Martin Luther King” provides the sort of intricate wordplay that Womack excels at spitting out. The ode to the African-American hero is especially ironic provided the band’s deep-rooted Dixie sound, but these boys have always embraced equality in all things – especially music – and the song’s folkie origins are amped up with squalls of harmonica, bluesy guitarwork, and more than a little introspection.

The full band collaboration “I Went To Heaven In A Dream Last Night” is a syncopated, almost stream-of-consciousness tale of Womack’s brush with the almighty that evinces a dark sense of humor, manic vocals, and more great throwaway lines and imagery than we can recount here (although “a funny thing happened on my way to the grave, I didn’t burn out and I didn’t fade away, my heart kept beating until the end of the ride” is a pretty damn funny line). The band backs it up with a funky-cool, twang-jazz soundtrack with lighter-than-feather cymbal brushing, scraps of honky-tonky piano, and Kimbrough’s piercing six-string notes. “He Ain’t Right” is another semi-autobiographical look back at childhood and what it’s like to be smalltown different, the lyrics pounded home above a muscular rhythm, bee-sting fretwork, and potent, gospel-tinged keyboards.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Will Kimbrough and Tommy Womack bring the best out of each other, creatively, and with nearly two decades of friendship and shared musical history to work off of, it should come as no surprise that they’re able to come up with gem after gem. The background guys in Daddy are no slouch, either, but rather talented pros able to cut loose from their day jobs and spin some fun, complex, and satisfying music behind their charismatic frontmen. Altogether, For A Second Time adds up to more than the sum of the individual band member’s talents; Daddy the best band that you’ve never heard (yet). (Cedar Creek Music, released 2009)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2009

Vintage Review: Will Kimbrough’s Americanitis (2006)

Will Kimbrough is one of Nashville’s best-kept secrets. An in-demand guitarist that has worked with folks like Rodney Crowell, Jimmy Buffet, and Todd Snider, among others, the Americana Music Association chose Kimbrough as “2004 Instrumentalist of the Year.” The biggest secret, however, isn’t Kimbrough’s talents as a musician (which are well documented at this point), but rather his little-known skills as a singer, songwriter, and performer. Nowhere is this more apparent than with Americanitis, Kimbrough’s third and most personal solo album yet.

Americanitis is Kimbrough’s reaction to the social and political aftermath of 9-11 and the Iraq War, his politically-charged lyrics delivered with intelligence and humility and an infectious musical mix of Beatlesque pop, roots rock and country twang. Kimbrough tempers the commentary of thoughtful songs like “I Lie,” “Pride” and the brilliantly subversive, Britpop-styled “Less Polite” with explorations of love and human relationships. Whereas “Act Like Nothing’s Wrong” offers some timely advice and the Okie blues of “Wind Blowing Change” heralds stormy weather for America, the spry “Enemy” is a rollicking apology to romance gone wrong while “Another Train” is a raucous showcase of Kimbrough’s six-string mastery.

Kimbrough has delivered his most fully realized album yet with Americanitis, pulling off a tight-wire act that would send lesser artists over the edge: balancing social commentary with romantic observations and making both equally entertaining. (Daphne Records, released 2006)

Review originally published by Country Standard Time magazine

Vintage Review: Todd Snider's Peace, Love and Anarchy (2007)

Singer/songwriter, humorist, social commentator, and minor genius, Todd Snider is, perhaps, a man out of time. His effortless mix of rock, folk, country, and blues would not have sounded out of place, say, during the 1965-75 acoustic songwriter-oriented era. Much like his former label boss John Prine, Snider tends to mix words, emotions, and the occasional “big thought” all together on his lyrical palette, setting it all down on a musical canvas with broad strokes.

Unfortunately, while Snider’s approach might have worked during a time when Dylan-inspired wandering troubadours as musically diverse as Prine, Warren Zevon, Bob Frank, Jackson Browne, Arlo Guthrie, and Eric Anderson could successfully record for a major label, these days the bar is set a little higher. You have to move “product” to keep a deal, and Todd Snider is a little too original, a little too eclectic to stick around the majors for long.

Todd Snider’s Peace, Love and Anarchy

During the ‘90s, Snider recorded three albums for Jimmy Buffet’s MCA-distributed boutique label, Margaritaville. Although these albums displayed moments of staggering brilliance (songs like “You Think You No Somebody” or “Rocket Fuel”) and great humor (“Alright Guy,” “My Generation, Pt. 2”), when Snider’s sales failed to exceed his critical acclaim, he found himself out on the street. Those MCA-era albums have been distilled into That Was Me: The Best Of Todd Snider 1994-1998, a fine introduction for those unfamiliar with vintage Todd.

At the dawn of the new century, Snider found a kindred spirit in John Prine and signed with Prine’s label, Oh Boy Records. During this decade, we’ve watched as Snider’s art has matured and deepened over the course of three solid studio albums for Oh Boy, and although the acclaim has gotten louder and Snider’s audience has gradually increased (albeit at a snail’s pace), the artist himself, maybe driven by ambition, decided to leave a comfortable indie home to once again climb onto the lower rungs of the major label game, releasing The Devil You Know in 2006 for Universal’s New Door Records imprint.

As such, Snider’s Peace, Love and Anarchy is the obligatory departing collection of “rarities, B-sides and demos,” culled from his time at Oh Boy Records. Although there are few revelations here – and sparse liner notes offer little in the way of documentation – there are a few gems hidden just beneath the surface. An acoustic version of “Nashville,” seemingly a demo from Snider’s East Nashville Skyline, works perfectly well without full instrumentation, while “Missing You,” a demo from 2000’s Happy To Be Here, is a little too rough around the edges to fit comfortably.

I Feel Like I’m Falling In Love

A talented songwriter with a penchant for clever phrasing, Snider has had several of his songs recorded by other singers, and a few of these are represented by Snider’s demo versions of the songs on Peace, Love and Anarchy. Personally, I’d like to see what Snider’s longtime musical foil Will Kimbrough could do in the studio with a full band version of “I Feel Like I’m Falling In Love,” originally recorded by Jack Ingram. Ingram also recorded Snider’s “Barbie Doll,” a bluesy song that displays Snider’s intelligent wordplay. The demo for “Deja Blues,” recorded by legendary country outlaw Billy Joe Shaver, is a twangy acoustic number that would also sound good with a full band behind it.  

As with any collection of this sort, Peace, Love and Anarchy includes a couple of clunkers in the mix. Snider’s cover of Jerry Jeff Walker’s “Stoney” is so lifeless that it barely registers, and it sadly includes accompaniment by not one, but two local Nashville journalists – Peter Cooper and Nicole Keiper. Cooper’s fingerprints are also all over “Some Things Are,” a decent song and a better performance, but with listing vocals that range from a folkie whisper to a bluesy growl, it’s not one of Snider’s better moments. Now I don’t begrudge Cooper, the Nashville Tennessean newspaper’s frontline music journalist, his opportunities as a musician, but as the overall producer for Peace, Love and Anarchy, surely he could have found some Todd Snider songs in the vault that didn’t involve his own (unremarkable) performances?    

It is with the musical “rarities” and not with the demos, however, that the treasures of Peace, Love and Anarchy are revealed. “Old Friend” is a fine country-flavored duet, of sorts, between Snider and Jack Ingram, with traditional country instrumentation (dobro, mandolin, steel guitar) provided by Peter Holsapple (The dB’s). Holsapple also appears on “Combover Blues,” a humorous song that should become an anthem for middle aged rockers everywhere. “East Nashville Skyline” is a love letter to Snider’s adopted neighborhood that should have been included on the album of the same name, while the mostly spoken-word “From A Roof Top” offers non-natives a bird’s-eye view of historic East Nashville.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Closing the album, “Cheatham Street Warehouse” is a full-blown rocker, the kind of highly-personalized story-song that Snider does as well, if not better, than anybody. With a band featuring Tommy Womack on guitar, drummer Craig Wright, and pedal steel wizard Lloyd Green, the song is a lo-fi delight, Snider’s soulful vocals barely struggling above the mix while the band bashes and crashes with ramshackle delight. Overall, the good and grand here outweighs the simply mediocre, making Peace, Love and Anarchy a solid collection with many songs that will appeal to Snider’s loyal fans. For newcomers, however, I’d recommend any one of Snider’s Oh Boy albums as the place to start familiarizing yourself with this talented and underrated performer. (Oh Boy Records, released February 15, 2007)

Review originally published by the Trademark of Quality (TMQ) blog, 2007

Vintage Review: Webb Wilder's Born To Be Wilder (2008)

Webb Wilder deserves better than he’s gotten from the music biz. During a ten-year period circa 1986-96, the larger-then-life performer delivered five simply brilliant albums that combined roots-rock, rockabilly, hillbilly, honky-tonk, surf-rock, and rockin-blues. Although WW developed a cult following stateside, along with a significant European fan base, Wilder never got the break that would have broken him to a larger mainstream U.S. audience. Instead, much of his back catalog lies wrapped up in legal contradictions and label politics, with only Wilder’s indie-label-released debut, It Came From Nashville, re-purposed for the digital age.  

Better than 20 years after the release of Wilder’s breathless debut album, the singer and a modernized version of his ‘Beatnecks’ band are still spankin-and-crankin’ out the tunes. In 2005, WW and crew released About Time, their first work in almost nine years, a collection of inspired covers along with a handful of Bobby Field originals. The acclaim enjoyed by About Time would directly lead to the recording of the live album at hand, Born To Be Wilder. Captured onstage at a Birmingham, Alabama club in August 2005, the performance was also taped for a subsequent DVD release.

Webb Wilder’s Born To Be Wilder

For those of you keeping score at home, here’s the straight poop: Born To Be Wilder is, track-by-track, identical to the bonus CD that came with Wilder’s 2006 DVD release, Live In Concert. So, if you have that DVD, then Born To Be Wilder is probably unnecessary…unless you want an easier-to-transport copy of the disc in its own case to throw in your car (for those of you who haven’t given up and joined the iPod generation). To further complicate matters, this same live set was also released in Europe by Dixiefrog Records as It’s Live Time! Did all of you get that? Good.

Born To Be Wilder features fifteen songs, about a third of ‘em from About Time, the rest culled from the artist’s deep back catalog. Some of these are Wilder classics, and songs like “Tough It Out,” the rollicking “Poolside,” “How Long Can She Last” and the crowd-pleasing “One Taste of the Bait” stand up to repeated listening in any setting. They’re all just well-constructed, superbly-performed story-songs with a strong rock-n-roll heartbeat. Some of the newer material measures up well, especially the cover of obscure country vocalist (and my former neighbor) Tommy Overstreet’s honky-tonk weeper, “If You’re Looking For A Fool.”

Unfortunately, there’s something vital missing from Born To Be Wilder. The usually brilliant R.S. “Bobby” Field’s production falls short here. Whereas Field, who has worked with Wilder since high school in Mississippi, typically captures the mythical WW sound perfectly, these performances seem to have been stripped of their spontaneity, grit and muscle. The sound is too antiseptic, the recording far too slick and well-mannered to effectively convey the WW vibe.

A share of the blame should be levied on Wilder and his band as well, all of which are solid, if not usually spectacular players. The performances here are mostly all lacking the nearly-supernatural, raw rock ‘n’ roll vibe of a typical Web Wilder show; not surprisingly, the older material fares better. But simply listen to the ‘80s-era live tracks tacked onto the end of the It Came From Nashville and you’ll hear the stark difference for yourself. Although most of the songs here are road-tested, tried-and-true rockin’ foo, Born To Be Wilder simply lacks the one-shot knockout punch we’ve come to expect from Webb.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line   

In this light, I’d grade Born To Be Wilder with a reluctant ‘B’...still better than just about any other wet-behind-the-ears, roots-rock rug-rats that you’ll run across in this day and time, but a far cry from the A+ work delivered by WW on Doo Dad or Acres of Suede, or even the A- I’d award to About Time. Maybe age is catching up with the big man, maybe this was just an off night, but when you set the bar as high as Wilder has in the past, you have to be spry enough to either jump over or limbo under...and Born To Be Wilder does neither. (Released by Blind Pig Records, 2008)

Review originally published by the Trademark of Quality (TMQ) blog

Review Roulette: Stone Deep, Teen Idols, Thee Phantom 5ive, Terminal Mycosis (1990, 1996)

Stone Deep photo by Heather Lose

STONE DEEP
“Gangs and The Govt.” b/w “Mr. Sunray”
(Secession Records)
    Nashville’s Hard Corps were local heroes in their day, an ultra-popular band that played a hell of a live set and built a large and loyal Southeastern following by doing so. That their single major label album didn’t reflect the extent of their talent and energy was a true shame, and an indictment of the way that even minor league labels try to force bands into a preconceived mold. Out of the ashes of Hard Corps came Stone Deep. With the worthy addition of former Scatterbrain guitarist Glen Cummings, Stone Deep have developed an identity and following of their own that rivals that of their musical predecessor. Their first effort is another 7-incher that has been lost in our vaults, but it’s well worth looking into.
    Side one offers “Gangs and The Govt.,” which takes a unique lyrical stand by comparing villianized street gangs to the government that battles them via police S.W.A.T. teams and Federal task forces. In light of events like Waco, it’s a bold and insightful statement, a true view from streetside. The music is pure metallic funk, a hybrid of rap styling and hard rock riffs that drill the vocals home. “Mr. Sunray,” on the flip side, is a lighter, soulful bit of musical whimsy with a funky beat and some interesting vocal play. Since the release of this single, the band has only increased their popularity in the region and recorded a number of other songs. (1996)

TEEN IDOLS
Nightmares EP
(House O’ Pain Records)
    Nashville’s Teen Idols are my favorite live band on the local scene – few of the Music City’s rock pretenders and poseurs can match the energy and sincerity shown by Teen Idols on any given night. The band’s latest HO’P vinyl release, the Nightmares EP, offers solid evidence as to why. The band kicks ass through five short and sweet, hit-a-lick and hit the door punk rock tunes. There’s just enough pop mixed into the screaming guitars and frantic rhythms of songs like “I Regret It,” “Anybody Else,” or the title cut, “Nightmares,” to make it easily accessible, just enough fervor and attitude to keep it punkish. You won’t find a bad cut on the EP, no matter how hard you may try, filled as it is with infectious rock ‘n’ roll with a real edge. I expect big things from Teen Idols, who have been building a loyal regional following and solid musical reputation for over a year and across several vinyl releases now. (1996)

Thee Phantom 5ive

THEE PHANTOM 5IVE
...Lift Off To Kicksville EP
(self-produced)
    Another 7-incher that’s been sitting on the shelves since last summer waiting for its moment in print, Nashville’s Thee Phantom 5ive are rapidly becoming Nashville’s resident gods of instrumental surf music (Los Straitjackets, who are increasingly going “Hollywood,” notwithstanding). As advertised by its title, ...Lift Off To Kicksville delivers plenty of kicks, with lively surf guitar punctuating the EP’s four scorching cuts. “Pressure” and “Our Favorite Martian” grace the first side of the disc, offering cheap thrills a plenty with ringing six strings and a steady beat. Side the second starts off with the roaring “Surf Softly,” an energetic instrumental that bravely explores musical turf that others fear to tread. The lone vocal cut of ...Lift Off To Kicksville, “(We Built A) 501 (Caddy)” sets off in search of cheesy sixties-styled thrills with vicious dueling guitars and hilarious trash talk about the “biggest road car ever!” If surf rock instrumentals are your passion, then you owe it to yourself to check out Thee Phantom 5ive, the new kids on the beach. (1996)

TERMINAL MYCOSIS
Nine of Cups
(Potters Wheel Records)
    I crossed paths with this mysterious and pseudonymous recording several months ago, awestruck by its simplicity and disturbed by its dark, brooding ferocity. A cassette-only recording of eight songs, Nine of Cups explores an experimental side of music where even angels fear to tread, an industrial-styled psychotic portrait of pain containing scraps and snippets of found vocals (was that Adolph Hitler…or Ronnie Reagan?), odd instrumentation, distorted guitarwork and demented percussion. At once both fascinating and repulsive, Nine of Cups is a cacophonic cry into the abyss. The question raised by such an artistic statement, however, is whether its creator…the anonymous “Terminal Mycosis”…is mad, or is society? (The Metro, 1990)

TERMINAL MYCOSIS
None To Share
(Potters Wheel Records)
    Nashville’s Terminal Mycosis has returned with he/she/its second effort, a thick, complex and multi-layered grouping of five compositions. None To Share rests somewhere in the musical netherworld between industrial music and cyberpunk theory, blending magick and ritual with found vocals, technological sound, synthesizer-produced rhythms and odd, unidentified random instrumentation to create a dark and disturbing hybrid too heady for many folk. Fans or followers of Psychick TV, Arcane Device, or the Hafler Trio would enjoy this; many others would simply dismiss it without knowing exactly what it is: the abyss of the soul glaring back at the listener. (The Metro, 1990)

Vintage Review: The Thieves' Seduced By Money (1989)

Singer/songwriter Gwil Owen of the Thieves had one foot in rock ‘n’ roll and the other in the honky-tonk sound of his adopted Nashville hometown long before such a blending of genres was codified as “alternative country.” The Thieves’ debut album pairs Owen’s Midwestern drawl and literary lyrics with guitarist Bart Weilburg’s six-string prowess and a dynamic rhythm section composed of drummer Jeff Finlin and bass player Kelley Looney, on loan to the Thieves from Steve Earle’s touring band.

Produced with a deft hand by Marshall Crenshaw in his debut behind the control board, Seduced By Money successfully mixes beefy roots-rock with power-pop and country twang. The tension between the band members’ rock ‘n’ roll leanings and their countrypolitan upbringings created a unique sound that was easily a decade ahead of its time. “When I Wake With Someone New” is heavily influenced by Crenshaw’s style of intelligent pop, while “Everything But My Heart” mixes Keith Richards-inspired guitar riffs with delicate harmonies in a tale of consumerism run amok. The country undercurrent of “From A Motel 6” foreshadows Owen’s future as the king of the truck-stop jukebox, and “Black Lipstick” shows a bristling punk attitude beneath its hard rock exterior.

The title cut of Seduced By Money stands out as the album’s masterpiece, however, Owen’s anti-greed lyrics driven by Finlin’s big drumbeat, Weilburg’s guitar spewing feedback and spitting fire. The Thieves would shake up their roster after this critically acclaimed debut, emerging as Gwil Owen & the Thieves and shopping a Gary Tallent-produced demo around to the industry with little or no luck. As such, Seduced By Money stands as the Thieves’ legacy, and as rock ‘n’ roll legacies go, it ain’t half-bad. (The Metro, 1989)