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™

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