- Amos Lee - 06.25.2008
- Nick Moss & the Flip Tops - 06.16.2008
- My Morning Jacket - 06.11.2008
- Bob Martin - 05.06.2008
- - 04.09.2008
- Ray Randall - 07.02.2008
- Ray Randall - 06.26.2008
06.25.2008 | Artist: Amos Lee | Reviewed by:
Joe Koch
Album name:
Last Days at the Lodge
It’s hard to argue with the success of a young artist like Amos Lee. His first two albums have sold nearly half a million copies and he has opened entire tours for such legends as Bob Dylan and Van Morrison. Upon the release of the his self-titled debut, which featured piano and vocal support from Norah Jones, Lee was hailed by everyone from People to Paste as a true purveyor of neo-soul who expertly treads the fine line between sentimentality and artistry.
So, even though all that is hard to argue with, I’m going to try…well, sort of.
Personally, I like Amos Lee. He’s a proficient musician and phenomenal vocalist whose somewhat moody kitsch has managed to avoid the throngs of wailing fourteen-year-olds that tend to attach themselves to sensitive talent like his. In addition, although Supply and Demand was an artistic slide in the wrong direction, I very much enjoy listening to his debut, as songs like “Seen It All Before” and “Arms of a Woman” have the heart and delivery of great soul classics. So, to pinpoint exactly what turns me off about Last Days at the Lodge is a tricky proposition, particularly since I think he’s getting back to what he does best.
Last Days at the Lodge begins with one of the strongest tracks Lee has produced in recent memory, “Listen.” His session band, which features members who have played with everyone from Clapton to Aretha, shines in the tasteful arrangements, and Lee’s songwriting and vocal performance are top class. Unfortunately, writing is not Lee’s strong suit, and the next few tracks begin losing steam. “Won’t Let Me Go” and “Baby I Want You” are by no means masterpieces, but are undeniably good songs, particularly to suit a wine and candlelight type mood, but “Truth” is the first pothole track of glib preachiness that prevents the album from gaining any positive momentum. It’s bluesy, but stiltedly so; it’s idealistic, but not without being sophomoric and capricious. Although it may not be fair to measure one song’s quality against a mediocre track on the same album, there is a sense in which the support of a full record lends either credence or disrepute to tracks that initially appear to stand out.
Which is the main problem with Last Days at the Lodge. Lee is at his best on cerebral soul tracks like “Listen,” “What’s Been Goin’ On” and “Ease Back,” but his venturesome attitude misses the mark when he steps away from those bounds. All artists should try to extend themselves from their bread and butter, but Lee’s exploration here leaves something to be desired.
Overall: B-
Why a B-? After three albums, Amos Lee still finds himself walking the line between art and sentiment, and, although Last Days at the Lodge leaves me with a few complaints, it has more good material than bad. Clearly Lee is trying to leave the familiar territory that came so natural on his debut smash, so one can only hope that he will find surer footing on his next effort. Until then, a few of these tracks will probably show up on some good playlists, while the rest will remain thankfully dormant.
Author: Joe Koch
Joe Koch is a writer and musician from Mississippi living in the DC area. He's the owner and managing editor of Fig & Mint (www.figandmint.com), known worldwide as "The Interweb's Most Edurecated Music Blog." His other current projects include an album he can't seem to finish and a novel he can't seem to start. Because writing and musicianing doesn't pay well these days, he also has a day job that forces him to sell out to corporate America and ride subway trains for long hours with thousands of other haplessly proselytized commuters. For more from Joe, visit Fig & Mint
06.16.2008 | Artist: Nick Moss & the Flip Tops | Reviewed by:
Don Zelazny
Album name:
Play It Til Tomorrow
I had a feeling I was going to like this CD. Nick Moss dedicated his new CD to Muddy Doggers, “the coolest road dog and best friend a guy could ever have” who he lost last year. If you’re looking for one high-energy electric blues CD to get this year, this is the one. If you’re looking for a slower acoustic blues CD, this one is also for you. Play It Til Tomorrow, the latest CD by Chicago’s Nick Moss and the Flip Tops is a blues stuffed two-CD offering. CD#1 is plugged in Chicago Blues at it’s finest, while the band unplugs for CD#2. After honing his skills in the ‘90s, Nick started fronting his band around 2000. The current album is Nick’s sixth release, and he is joined by his stellar band consisting of Willie Oshawny- keyboards, bass and some guitar; Gerry Hundt- harp and vocals, as well as bass, guitar and mandolin on several cuts; and Bob Carter on drums. He is also joined on the project by special guests Eddie Taylor Jr. on guitar and Barrelhouse Chuck on piano. We know by the CD dedication that Nick is a family guy and his wife, Kate, plays guitar and bass on a number of the cuts. She also handled design and photography duties for the packaging.
Choosing cuts to discuss is difficult when you are offered 28 to choose from! Disc #1 starts off with two of my favorites, “Late Night Saint” and “You Make Me So Angry.” The lengthy “Bad Avenue” also features some energetic guitar. My favorite on disc #2 is “You’ve Got the Devil Inside.” Nick even offers several electrifying instrumentals. I happen to love blues instrumentals. They give you a chance to catch a breath between bouts “losin my baby” and “my baby does me wrong...”. The band brings their energy to the stage hundreds of time per year. Of Nick, fellow Chicagoan Buddy Guy says, “Nick Moss is one of the local favorites at my club, Legends. I always enjoy the way he plays and works hard to please our audience.” For those of us in the Detroit area, we have a chance to see Nick live at Callahan’s in Auburn Hills on June 19th. I can’t wait to see all of this blues energy live!
Author: Don Zelazny
Don Zelazny is a music lover who plays dentist by day. He ‘listens’ with his two young children, and wife Michelle in Michigan.
06.11.2008 | Artist: My Morning Jacket | Reviewed by:
Joe Koch
Album name:
Evil Urges
One common theme that arises again and again in the life of a critic is the knowledge that expectation is the seed of disappointment. The recent Radiohead concert I attended is a prime example: although the band themselves were incredible and certainly could not be faulted, the weather and terrible venue amounted to a less than thrilling experience (read all about it here). So, like most of the online music media, word of a new My Morning Jacket album to be released this year was rendered with excitement and, er, high suspicion. The critical achievement that was Z in 2005 has been viewed by many as the artistic watermark of a somewhat static alt-country band characterized by hair and reverb, and, honestly…what could they have been possibly working on for three years anyway? In spite of the doubts, however, the anticipation was piping as my “advance copy” was downloading, and rising still as the first strains of title track opener came belting through my stereo.
No disappointment here. The whole album, top to bottom, is phenomenal.
The layout of the album is really not terribly complicated: the first three tracks blaze a different path than the band has ever embarked upon, only to be followed by nine tracks of MMJ doing what they do best (though, arguably, in slightly different ways), all capped off by an experimental yet conclusive closer. So it’s not the structure of the album that’s so tenably remarkable as how Jim James and Co. pull it off.
As I mentioned, “Evil Urges,” “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 1” and “Highly Suspicious” are hands-down the most ambitiously inventive tracks that My Morning Jacket has yet produced. Although a few tracks like “Anytime” or “It Beats For You” can be compared to “Evil Urges” and “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 1” because of a few similar stylistic elements, the analogues fall short in light of the unconventional vocalizations that James adopts and the roaring synth lines that crash together over bass driven backbeats. This new collation is then effectively stripped down to bare components in “Highly Suspicious,” as James wails his Prince-like falsetto over an unadorned beat that gets joined by a few rough power lines and some intimidating British bobbies for the chorus, accomplishing the most bizarre and polarizing track on the album: either you love it, hate it or can’t take it seriously enough to care.
Just as it becomes apparent that MMJ have taken a permanent turn to the weird, the anthemic “I’m Amazed” surges forth with the Southern glory the band is reputed for in their live performances, setting up a new phase that encompasses a more traditional My Morning Jacket sound. There are still evidences of the band’s artistic progression, though. A couple of the tracks, “Sec Walkin’,” “Librarian” and, especially, “Thank You Too!” harness lush string arrangements, although the tracks themselves are quite different in terms of chorus composition; the broodingly lusty “Librarian” doesn’t have one, while the effervescent “Thank You Too!” swells into a bravado of orchestration. Of the remaining tracks, the most notable are “Two Halves” and “Aluminum Park,” the former being a catchy bubble pop number that recalls Roy Orbison, the latter finding MMJ pulling out the stops for a riff heavy rocker. The ride is consummated with the eight minute “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 2,” which sounds nothing like its predecessor (or anything else on the album for that matter…perhaps a peek inside their future direction?), ending the experience in a spacey flurry of excitement and intrigue.
Overall: A+
Why an A+? To answer that question, you have to ask what makes an album or a band great. My Morning Jacket is a great band because of their stellar musicianship, clarity of vision, unique style of songwriting and craftsmanship, superb stage presence and a host of other reasons that I won’t bother to go into here. Evil Urges is a great album because the band has taken a risk at alienating their fanbase by changing their stylistic convention in the opening tracks, then, by settling back into a familiar yet now somehow alien landscape, they have redefined the context of their artistic goals and assimilated their entire catalog into a larger framework. Before Evil Urges, My Morning Jacket was a good Southern rock band who made a successful “experimental” album a few years back. Now they are one of the premier groups in the country, poised to be named among the great trailblazers in early 21st century music.
Author: Joe Koch
Joe Koch is a writer and musician from Mississippi living in the DC area. He's the owner and managing editor of Fig & Mint (www.figandmint.com), known worldwide as "The Interweb's Most Edurecated Music Blog." His other current projects include an album he can't seem to finish and a novel he can't seem to start. Because writing and musicianing doesn't pay well these days, he also has a day job that forces him to sell out to corporate America and ride subway trains for long hours with thousands of other haplessly proselytized commuters. For more from Joe, visit Fig & Mint
The Long and Winding Road: Bob Martin and the Re-birth of An Americana Classic
05.06.2008 | Artist: Bob Martin | Reviewed by:
Shaun Harvey
Album name:
Midwest Farm Disaster
Every now and then I come across a masterpiece album that somehow flew underneath my musical radar or because of my age and the tender innocence of my ear, I just hadn’t arrived at the place in time to fully understand or appreciate its magic. Once found though, these albums more often than not become a touchstone, a fork in the journey where the well-worn road is left behind in favor of the rarely trodden path. Many times these albums remind me of an old, long-abandoned farmhouse seen for the first time in many years with all of its ancient stories and mysteries blowing in and out of glassless windows. I’ve collected quite a list of such albums: Townes Van Zandt’s For the Sake of the Song, Guy Clark’s Old No. 1, Tom Russell’s Box of Visions, Willis Alan Ramsey’s one and only classic offering, and more recently, David Rodriguez’s Proud Heart, just to name a few. I can now add Bob Martin’s Midwest Farm Disaster to that list.
Recorded in 1972, Midwest Farm Disaster is just beginning to find an audience with today’s music fans. Long out-of-print since the 1970s, the album was recently re-issued in November of 2007 on Martin’s own label, Riversong Records, and should be hitting major stores in May of 2008. The album is already available at CD Baby and various other online music stores. But for those who’ve known of the album since its early beginnings it is one of the treasured records of its time. This speaks volumes when you consider that this also is the time period where artists such as John Prine, Billy Joe Shaver, Willie and Waylon, and a whole host of other singer/songwriters were just beginning their true musical introductions to the world. For my money, Midwest Farm Disaster stands shoulder to shoulder with every single one of the artists I’ve just mentioned. Someone right now is pulling out their original vinyl copy, staring at the worn cover, and nodding their head in agreement.
As luck would have it, I recently had an opportunity to meet Bob Martin. A professional acquaintance, who actually initially turned me on to Midwest Farm Disaster, also arranged a meeting between the two of us, knowing that we both were big Jack Kerouac and Boston Red Sox fans but also with the knowledge that I had become a quick fan of Martin’s debut album. So over a couple beers on a Virginia spring afternoon we talked of music, Kerouac, life, and the long and winding road. So how does a young singer/songwriter from Lowell, Massachusetts wind up in Nashville studio in the early ‘70s, under the direction of one of the city’s legendary music executives, record a monumental album, and end up as far removed from the music industry as possible by buying a farm in the West Virginia countryside and raising a family?
As it turns out, the road and the direction it decides to take us is sometimes defined, not by the place we wish to go, but by the time we spend traveling upon it. Or as Jack Kerouac writes in his seminal work On the Road::
“…the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old…”
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Bob Martin’s music career began in the folk clubs and coffeehouses of Boston, Massachusetts in the 1960s, writing songs and playing in places like the Nameless Coffeehouse and Club 47. But his big break actually took place in New York City, when he was discovered by a couple of label executives who heard him play at the venerable folk club, Gerdes Folk City. That discovery would then lead to Martin being flown to Nashville in 1972 and working with the legendary Chet Atkins, who at the time headed up RCA Records and had just signed on to record Martin’s Midwest Farm Disaster. The whole album was recorded in just four days and included a number of Nashville session players, who, to say the least, may have been somewhat leery of an unknown singer/songwriter from Boston coming to Country Music USA to record an album. When I spoke to Bob he told me how the session players were a little hesitant in the beginning, but after the first day and hearing the songs that Martin had brought with him, they realized this guy had something to say and that he said it pretty damn well. From there it just took off and before you know it, the album was done.
And what an album it is. Each song makes me want to take a long moment and write its praise but I fear that this review would then take longer to read than the time it would take to sit and enjoy the album by simply listening to it. With each successive listen I keep hearing something more: a phrase, a sound, a life, a character alive and entirely recognizable, a place in time, or a timeless place. There are hints of Bob Dylan’s late ‘60s records that hold a very similar Nashville connection, there’s the rhythm and spirit of Neil Young’s Harvest, the strands of vocals reminiscent of a young Stephen Stills, the loose nature and precise pen of Willis Alan Ramsey and Steven Fromholtz, and at times, the zest and zeal of Jerry Jeff Walker. But these are not their songs; these are Bob Martin’s songs.
These songs celebrate the hard truth of life in the “Mill Town” of Lowell, Massachusetts. They lament the “Midwest Farm Disaster” as “Dust blows down the empty plain / You can hear it whining through the barn / Door swing wide with the change of the wind / But there’s nothing left on this old farm.” These songs are filled with characters like the black blind blues woman “Blind Marie” sitting on the street with her old tin cup “Singing voodoo chimes / And holy rhymes till the longest day is done” or old Charlie Zink sipping wine behind the filling station with the rest of the old men talking about hard times that have been and the harder ones yet to come. There is brotherhood and family in Martin’s songs, there’s drinking days and hard-fought ways, and there’s a snapshot of America in there too, a snapshot whose image hasn’t faded as much as it’s been forgotten.
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When Midwest Farm Disaster was released in 1972 it never saw commercial success. Instead Martin would end up touring for the next two years, playing bars and clubs, moving from town to town playing these songs. RCA never really got behind the album, so there was little promotion and maybe even less tour support. So after two years of being on the road, Martin decided that the business of music was probably better suited for businessmen and decided to drop out. He took what was left of his advance from RCA, bought a small farm in West Virginia and there he went to live and to raise a family.
Eight years would pass before Martin would release his next album Last Chance Rider on June Appal Records in 1982. That album would be chosen as one of the top three folk albums of the year by the National Association of Independent Record Distributors. After moving back to Lowell, Massachusetts, Martin made a second attempt at working within the music industry before abandoning the endeavor once again to continue to support his family through hard work. Another decade would pass until Martin’s third album The River Turns the Wheel, released in 1992 on his own independent label Riversong Records. The album would find considerable airplay on Americana radio, reaching into the Top 20 on Gavin’s Americana chart. Martin’s fourth record, Next to Nuthin’ was released in 2000.
And now music fans have a chance to go back and re-discover where Martin’s recording career began. I’ve read the reviews written by fans that are just now discovering the return of this long, lost treasure. They speak volumes. “This is one for all time” writes one fan. “…one of my top five artists in a very extensive collection” writes another. And then there’s this one: “If you are looking for truly great folk music then Midwest Farm Disaster is the highest I could recommend.”
Bob Martin’s stunning debut album has returned once again to hopefully be enjoyed by those who loved it the first time around and to be discovered anew by a whole generation of current songwriters and music fans. Midwest Farm Disaster is an album of the highest order. Over thirty-five years since its original release, the record now sits alongside not only some of the very best albums of its day but alongside the best of those that have come in the days since. Quite simply, it is a master work by a master songwriter.
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I wanted to add one last footnote to the story of Bob Martin because in some ways I find something quite fitting in the tale as it was told to me. As I’ve mentioned a couple times in this piece, Martin is a huge fan of the writings of Jack Kerouac. I believe I could go so far as to say that Kerouac is indeed one of Martin’s heroes. As we sat and talked, he told me of the one time where he had the opportunity to meet his hero. Bob was in his late teens and was walking up to a local bar in Lowell when he noticed Kerouac standing outside, leaning against the wall.
He recognized him almost immediately and suddenly he became so nervous that he had no idea what to say. What does one say to one’s heroes? He ended up simply acknowledging Kerouac just before he headed inside the bar. But here’s the clincher. Just as Martin was opening the door a blast of rock n roll from inside the bar came barreling out onto the street and in that moment Kerouac turned to Martin and said something, but the sound of Kerouac’s voice and the brief words he spoke were lost in the music from inside the bar. Martin never heard the words his hero spoke to him. For all we know it could have been something as simple as “Hey buddy can you spare a dollar or a smoke?” or it could have been a short string of words deeply profound or meaningful to a young writer and soon-to-be singer/songwriter. But that’s something that Martin was obviously not supposed to know.
In some ways this story is very similar to what happened to Martin’s Midwest Farm Disaster. Imagine for a moment that it’s 1972 and you’re walking up to a sidewalk bar and there leaning against the wall is a young man with a guitar. Just as you walk up to the door, you say hello, and in that moment the young man begins to play. And just as the first words are set loose, you open the door and those words are lost by the sounds of 1970s rock ‘n’ roll; Alice Cooper, Led Zeppelin, and the like, all blasting and blaring from within. You head through the door and into that wall of sound, never hearing that crisp, clear, wandering voice or the tales he unfurls from the heart of America. But unlike the ending of Martin’s brief encounter with Kerouac, we are obviously supposed to hear these songs and that voice.
The road, as many travelers know, sometimes dead ends but every once in a while, just when you think you’ve come to the last stop on your journey, the road has a way of unwinding itself and taking you to the place you were supposed to go. With that in mind, it’s nice to know that Midwest Farm Disaster is out traveling the highways once again. Here’s hoping it finds you well and that you discover all of the beauty that road has to offer.
For more on Bob Martin, Midwest Farm Disaster, and all of his musical offerings:
http://www.myspace.com/bobmartinriversong
http://www.riversong.com/
Author: Shaun Harvey
Fleeting Glimpses and Frozen Hearts: James McMurtry plays with “Just Us Kids”
04.09.2008 | Artist: | Reviewed by:
Linda East Brady
Album name:
In the week prior to the contentious 2004 presidential election, singer/songwriter/guitarist James McMurtry delivered “We Can’t Make it Here” to the Internet. The song was his first-ever foray into delivering free new music via the Web.
The seven-plus-minute, six-string-driven rant marked another debut for the songwriter — his first stab at overtly political material. Examining the failure of trickle-down economics and the loss of the nation’s manufacturing base to atrophy and outsourcing, the song greatly boosted McMurtry’s presence on the Web, and helped him capture the best radio exposure he’d seen in years.
“We Can’t Make it Here,” and Childish Things, the album that included the song, took best song and best album, respectively, at the Americana Music Awards in 2006.
McMurtry followed that album with the song “God Bless America,” another pointedly political song posted as a downloadable single in conjunction with the midterm elections of 2006.
Brassier than its predecessor, “God Bless America” stars a fat-cat narrator crowing that America’s ever-growing thirst for oil is the real engine of violence in the Middle East.
“My analogy about these two songs is that ‘We Can’t Make it Here’ is like a newspaper editorial, and ‘God Bless America’ is the editorial cartoon at the top of the page,” said McMurtry. “It’s a little bit more of a parody, an exaggeration made to make the point.”
“God Bless America” and 11 other McMurtry originals grace Just Us Kids, his ninth full-length record and first studio effort in almost three years. It’s due in stores from Lightning Rod Records on April 15.
“A little something to look forward to come Tax Day,” McMurtry quipped.
Imposing presence
A hunting and fishing enthusiast, McMurtry often arrives on stage looking like he’s just come from a day rustling around in the brush. His hats, worn over a Medusan mess of curls, are something of a trademark. They range in style from fine fedoras and safari chapeaux to big-box-store camo hunting caps.
While he looks the part of one of the boys in the crowd, and is sometimes known to wander into the front house post-show, McMurtry isn’t particularly approachable. His imposing gaze alone can deflate the zeal of even the most ardent fan-boy.
“You know, I’m a misanthrope. I don’t like people all that damn much,” McMurtry has admitted.
On stage, he definitely lets the music do the talking. Banter infrequently passes between crowd and band — or gets tossed about among the men on stage, for that matter.
But McMurtry’s band, the Heartless Bastards, don’t seem to need much talking to, playing seamlessly alongside him. The rhythm section is comprised of bassist Ronnie Johnson and drummer Daren Hess, who’ve been alongside McMurtry for better than a decade. Recently, second sets have also included another guitarist, most often Tim Holt, who’s put in years with McMurtry as his road manager.
Though lauded primarily for song-craftsmanship, McMurtry is an inventive guitarist in his own right, incorporating imaginative tunings and a fluid style that can range from tender ballads to roof-ripping rockers, as the material calls for it.
To get the right tool for the job, he is known to tote a good half-dozen axes along on the road.
“It’s about not getting bored, about not having that same tone all they way through a set,” McMurtry has said of his cache of guitars.
As for his bandmates, he notes, “We’ve worked together for long enough that we sound pretty good now, I think. ...When I am working on a record, I go in (the studio) with Daren and Ronnie first, usually. We get the bones of it down. Then we bring in other players and parts later. It’s pretty much how we always get this done.”
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American castes
McMurtry was born in Fort Worth, Texas in the year before the Kennedy assassination. His parents split up while he was still a toddler, and he grew up primarily with his father, writer and rare-book aficionado, Larry McMurtry.
McMurtry spent a good part of his formative years in Leesburg, Va., a city he’s described as neither truly Southern or Northern in nature. But whatever the temperament in that cusp country of Virginia, the abundance of old money and political power in the region is beyond dispute.
“We often try and promote the false notion that we have no class system in this country — but we do,” McMurtry said. “My father was amazed when he moved to the D.C. area, to run across people that didn’t even carry cash, because they were so rich and powerful. They could just give you a business card and you’d bill them, no questions asked.”
On Just Us Kids, McMurtry examines this American caste system at work in the song “The Governor.” Against a driving, blues-flavored guitar riff, the song tells of an expensive cigarette boat on a lake where it shouldn’t be, mowing down a modest watercraft. The angler in the little boat ends up as dead as yesterday’s catch.
“It’s a piece of fiction about class conflict,” McMurtry said of the song. “We like to say we don’t have royalty here, but we do have these dynasties — the Bushes are part of that, of course. And the problem with royalty is that they are always more beholden to their class than their countrymen.
“That’s why all those Bin ladens were allowed to fly to Paris on Sept. 13, 2001, and my drummer couldn’t get to Austin for a recording session. American citizens couldn’t fly on that date — but royalty sure could. They made a big show of George Herbert Walker Bush getting grounded somewhere on a commercial flight? You know damn well that if he’d wanted to get somewhere, there would have been a Lear jet in the air.”
McMurtry further examines the idea of the “more-equal-than-others” mentality in “Ruins of the Realm,” a time-tour of world empires that have come and inevitably gone, looking in the last verse or two at our own times.
“That one’s like a history lesson,” said McMurtry. “I started drawing parallels between the state of the country now, and the decline of various empires — starting with the Romans in the first verse, then I got a couple verses on the British, and now, our situation in the Middle East. And that verse on the South? That just kind of got in there, really because I liked the imagery.”
Two lines and a melody
While overt political outings may be relatively new to McMurtry’s oeuvre, his studies in social commentary are not. Since Too Long in the Wasteland, his 1989 debut, and throughout the eight albums that have followed, the population of his musical landscape can’t even catch a decent glimpse of the American Dream.
McMurtry tales speak mostly of damaged folk clinging without much purchase to the fringes of society — the disillusioned, the addicted, the rebellious, the trapped. And while love songs are the mainstay of most rock, love in the McMurtrian universe is, at best, unrequited.
“I can’t make any promises about writing any (love songs),” he said in a radio interview with this writer, in the months before he recorded Just Us Kids. “I guess I am not much of a lovable guy. The songs don’t much turn out that way.”
A number of songs on Just Us Kids go on to prove his point. Lovers abound, but not the variety with starlight in their eyes. In “Ruby and Carlos,” a poignant acoustic ballad featuring intricate internal rhyme-work, tells of a middle-aged couple going their separate ways — he, trying to keep going as an road drummer while fighting Gulf War Syndrome-related ailments; she, a horsewoman who takes a bad spill off her colt, breaking her hip.
“Freeway View,” a rocker driven by former Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan’s barrelhouse piano, concerns a man trying to escape a relationship, but uncertain he has the willpower to pull it off.
“Hurricane Party,” a crowd-pleaser the band has been playing out for about 18 months, features a classic McMurtry character — a man waiting out the storm, thinking dusty memories of lost love and chances both, alone despite his presence in a bar full of other stranded folks.
“He is kind of beaten down by life,” said McMurtry of his “Hurricane” character. “He is looking back and not entirely happy with what he sees, either. He doesn’t seem to care that much that his house will still be there after the storm. He doesn’t care about much by that point, though.”
Whether he is writing about events on the world stage or a life lived loveless in a thicket-swaddled shotgun shack, McMurtry allows that the actual nuts-and-bolts of his writing tend to be much the same.
“It’s still about figuring out who is speaking,” McMurtry said. “Political songs start pretty much the same way as the others — with a couple lines and a melody. And if that works, if it keeps me up at night, then I keep on writing it.
“But the way political stuff can be more difficult is that they turn into sermons real easily,” he added. “And if they do that, you have to say to yourself, ‘Is this a good enough sermon? Does it have merit in pursuing beyond this point?’ And there are a lot of them I haven’t finished because the answer to that question was, ‘No.’ But the ones on [Just Us Kids] seem to work pretty well.”
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The kids involved
Along with McLagan’s keyboards, McMurtry brought a few other guests into the studio. He brought in pat mAcdonald, formerly of Timbuk 3, to add his harmonica to the mix. Jon Dee Graham, who usually shares the Wednesday night Continental Club gig with McMurtry when both are in Austin, adds soaring guitar lines to “Fireline Road”—a story of the twin horrors of incest and meth addiction.
McMurtry’s teenage son, Curtis McMurtry (who, his father notes, now has a couple of bands of his own) lays down the honkin’ baritone sax on crunchy rocker, “Bayou Tortous.”
Swamp-rock ace C.C. Adcock also adds some blistering six-string to opener “Bayou Tortous.” McMurtry, who’s been producing his own albums in recent years, points to Adcock as a talent he thinks of tapping to helm his next album as producer.
“I am kind of tired of [producing],” said McMurtry. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job of it, but I think I need to go back to school on that now. I have kind of used up all my tricks. It’s good to work with different people because everybody brings something new to the table. All the producers I work with gave me some tools I still use.”
Election highway
But in the meantime, there is an album to sell, and shows to play to help get that done. The first step to getting listeners on board is the release of the single “Cheney’s Toy” as a free download (see http://www.JamesMcMurtry.com for more). Lightening Rod Records is holding a contest for the best homemade video related to the song. The band also played a number of SXSW showcases in March as well, and then in April embarks on an Eastern U.S. tour. Parts West are likely on tap later this year, with talk of a possible overseas leg in the near-future.
But then, McMurtry is not the only colorful character hitting the highway to sell his vision of America in the coming months. Perhaps Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton and John McCain will cross paths with a certain vanful of shaggy Bastards out on the lonely highway between gigs—political and otherwise. Weirder shit has been known to happen out there in an election year.
As to whom McMurtry would like to see go all the way come time to cast the ballot, he said, “I intend to vote for a Democrat. McCain lost me with the ‘Bomb, bomb Iran’ gaffe.”
Author: Linda East Brady
Linda East Brady is an avid reader of, and an occasional contributor to, Americana Roots. She pays the bills by working as the music feature writer for the A&E magazine of the Standard-Examiner in Utah. Mid-South Review, Southland Blues, Blue Suede News and many others have published her music journalism and music-based fiction.
She also serves as host on Tuesday Roots ‘n’ Blues, an Americana show on KRCL, 90.9 FM, Salt Lake City.
Coral Press published her first novel, “Lone Star Ice & Fire,” a Faustian tale set in Austin’s blues scene, in 2004. A second Austin-based novel, “The Pedigree Blues,” which takes place in the months before the 2004 presidential election, is due out shortly.
This week’s additions to Americana Roots radio
07.02.2008 | Blogged by: Ray Randall
This week two stellar CDs made the cut as additions to the Americana Roots radio station playlist.
They are the latest from Teddy Thompson and Doop & The Inside Outlaws.
Teddy Thompson, who you may remember from his previous release “Upfront and Down Low”, is back and showing a different side. His last effort really dug in to the history of country music. This time around the son of British folk-rock legends Richard and Linda Thompson is back to more of a sound heard on his previous efforts. Gone are covers of George Jones and Merle Haggard songs. This time Teddy puts pen to paper and writes all the tunes on “A Piece of What You Need”. There is some very good music and you can hear it on Americana Roots radio.
Doop & The Inside Outlaws give us “Blood River”. Don “Doop” Duprie and the Inside Outlaws dish up country-rock and Americana with energy and passion. You can hear some of the music from the CD now on the site under Radio.
As always we want your feedback too. If you’ve heard an artist you think deserves some airplay leave us a comment here on the site.
Author: Ray Randall
Got some new music in…..
06.26.2008 | Blogged by: Ray Randall
I was so excited when I opened the mail this week. I received the new one from Crooked Still called “Still Crooked” as well as the latest from Teddy Thompson called “A Piece Of What You Need”. Can’t wait to hear them. I also received CDs from Collin Herring and Moneyland and will let you know what they have to offer. The other really cool thing that I was alerted to was the Legacy Edition re-release of Willie Nelson’s 1978 classic album “Stardust”. My copy is still shrink wrapped and a part of me is afraid to open it! The package has sixteen new songs and a 24 page booklet with new liner notes and vintage photos. Dang I’m getting old because I remember when this album came out the first time!
Author: Ray Randall
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