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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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Graveyard Power Walk
Wednesday 28 February @ 15:31:18 |
 by TOM HALLETT
February faces are different than the faces people display throughout the rest of the year--I’m sure of it. Well, what you can see of their faces, anyway. Lots of folks are smart/comfortable enough to wear those bank-robber style wool masks or at least a well-curled scarf to combat the brutal assault of winter. It’s those who choose to (or can’t afford to or just aren’t smart enough to) NOT cover their faces that tend to make for the most interesting people-watching.
Besides the obvious (red noses, watery eyes, lots of glove-to-face wiping), I’ve seen more February faces this year than I’ve seen in ages (probably because when I lived in the city, I drank a lot more, stayed inside but for quick cruises to live gigs around town, and well, just wasn’t that interested in whatever minor differences there might be in the metro skyline from what I’d recently seen during the (shudder) holidays).
In the past few weeks, I’ve seen sixtysomething women bundled up like rolls of insulation with winter gear, power-walking as if the hounds of hell were behind them, huge pink faces huffing and puffing and glaring at oncoming traffic as if to say, "Just you wait, you cage-bound monkey, I'll be power-walking through the graveyard this coming spring mwah-ha-ha!!" I've seen impossibly slow-moving hippies grandly making their way through the slush on the side of the road, shaking their spindly mops every time a gigantic SUV roars past them with a splash of freezing, muddy detritus and humiliation; the hippies just trudging on, expressionless, most of them probably choosing to pretend the Ahhnold-mobile that just nearly plowed into them was just the tail end of a particularly rough 'shroom zoom.
But the faces I've enjoyed watching the most this February (have there EVER been 28 longer days in a row?!) are the ones who shuffle, clatter and carouse their ways into local music venues, either to soak up the sounds comin' outta my DJ booth or catch a whiskey-fueled collective of pickers, grinners an' sinners as the sounds blast and rage back at the elements and their own particular concoctions replace that frozen grin with a real one. Round the Dial found a couple albums recently that have, indeed, elicited that reaction from listeners--so without further ado, let's check out ...
Van Morrison
Pay The Devil
2006
Lost Highway Records
Since his blues-pop-tinged stint with Them in the '60s, Van Morrison has never shied away from experimentation with his music. He's gone on record proclaiming that he doesn't care for the term "rock" to describe his sound, so after umpteen albums and a career that's seen most of his contemporaries either die young and stupid or sell out when they're old and musically irrelevant, it's really no surprise to see the man release an album chock full of (mostly) old-time American country favorites.
No, it's not the first time it's been done (gotta give that one out to the late Ray Charles, a blind black man who released an album celebrating his love of the genre while Rosa Parks was still actually riding buses, and throw Elvis Costello some props for continuing the tradition since forever), and yes, vanity albums are certainly allowable, credible additions to the canons of artists of Van's caliber. Thankfully, we're not talking Dylan's Self-Portrait here, but an actual, honest and musically respectful batch of songs from which the listener can automatically suss that Van himself truly loves and has listened to on a regular basis.
Kicking off with the old standard "There Stands the Glass" (made popular by Charley Pride in the '70s, tho my fave version has to be by the late Ted Hawkins), which finds our pedal-steel lovin' Belfast cowboy easing in on a laid-back, fiddle-augmented barroom shuffle, and in fine voice. "Half As Much" (a Curly Williams composition from 1951) proves that Van's going way past the current, sometimes-shallow alt.country schtick of sticking to covers of "outlaw" country. This is the kind of song you'd hear upon entering a roadhouse in Mississippi in 1960, and the remainder of this album pretty much sticks to that formula.
"Things Have Gone to Pieces" rings out as clear and melancholy as when George Jones first laid his pipes to it, Van miraculously channeling the workingman's honky-tonk (I mean, come on, how often can a millionaire sound authentic singing, "Ain't nothin' in my pocket / But three nickels and a dime / An' I'm holdin' to the pieces of my dreams" into a believable, melancholy-inducing slice of real country?) Superb.
"Playhouse," one of only three Morrison originals here, finds him (and his mighty backing band) injecting a bit of upbeat barn-house shuffle-blues in with the old-school rural vibe he's exuding here, while the other two (the eerily prescient "This Has Got to Stop," which recalls Bob Wills, and the title track, which is a delightfully dark, keening plea from the heart that Van's musical forebears would surely be proud of) prove that, beyond a doubt, Morrison can pen damn near any style or genre of music himself and keep right up with his own heroes.
Other stand-outs include a beautifully-read cover of Hank Williams' "Your Cheatin' Heart," a jumpy, fun rollick through Clarence Willams' "My Bucket's Got a Hole in It" and the Rodney Crowell-penned album closer, "Till I Gain Control Again," wherein Van and the band manage to vocally and musically connect the far-off, rolling green hills of Ireland with the lush, rural treasure that was once America--a land he and his people helped build, musically influence and preserve the heritage of as effectively as any of their melting pot of brothers/sisters worldwide. Highly recommended. Check it out at vanmorrison.com.
Southern Culture on the Skids
Countrypolitan Favorites
2007
YepRoc Records
With at least a dozen albums (and probably as many EPs and singles) under their fried-chicken-tuckin' belts, there aren't very many genres of music North Carolina party rockers Southern Culture on the Skids haven't mined for inspiration. Though their feel-good, nasty blues-romper Dirt Track Date probably still remains the average music fan's impression of this outfit, a quick run-through of their influences proves their aural heritage comes from a deep and complex pool of both popular and underground music.
Their 1994 effort, Ditch Diggin', found them pickin' up fellow side-road travelers on delightful covers of such varied stalwarts as Link Wray and The Louvin Brothers, so Countrypolitan shouldn't be too big a stretch for fans to wrap their finger-licked digits around. Bouncing out of the gate with a bad-ass, rock-a-billy rendition of the Don Gibson classic "Oh, Lonesome Me," SCOTS show Neil Young what can happen if you stay on that bar-stool 'til after closing.
Merle Kilgore's "Wolverton Mountain" is given an eerie, paranoid edge, especially with vocalist Mary Huff's intermittent yowls, while drummer Dave Hartman and vocalist/guitarist Rick Miller carry the story with even more conviction (yeah--to die for love, bay-beh!) than the original. Joe South's "Rose Garden" is handled respectfully, yet is decidedly more upbeat than either the author's recording or Lynn Anderson's '70s cover, and Creedence Clearwater's "Tombstone Shadow" rings almost threateningly, the honey-throated Huff riding an even more dangerous edge than ol' Fogerty himself.
A handful of Brit covers make this collection, hands down, a keeper--the dancehall standard "Muswell Hillbillies" is sung with an appropriately drunken lilt, with Miller managing to convey Ray Davies' ancient homage to the universality of the ducket-impaired. T. Rex's "Life's a Gas" is a fuzzy, heartrending duet in the hands of Huff and Fuller, and sounds like it was meant to be heard in that distant, last-stop-in-fifty-miles gas, grill and booze shack this band should own, operate and provide the entertainment for.
Album closer "Happy Jack" easily captures The Who's angsty, speed-driven monkeyshines with a wink and a naughty nod, and the listener is left with two shots and a bemused smile, ready to hit start once again. Tasty, greasy, raucous music that defies genre and proves once and for all that SCOTS are worth every accolade they've received over the past decade. Check it out at yeproc.com.
That wraps 'er up for this time out, gang. Tune in again for more of the same. Until then--make yer own damn news.
If you have music news/gigs/events/CDs you'd like to see listed in this space, or you'd just like to complain that your jack was never very happy, send replies to: Tmygunn77764@yahoo.com. ||
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