The Nail The Rises Up

Well, howdy, there, folks!  Been a while, aint it?  Shame on us.  Let’s git to gittin’ then.  In the next couple of weeks look for a little joy from Jack Oblivian, DM Bob, Husky Burnette, Brett Detar, and others.  Oh, and Xmas aint that far away, if you know what I mean (wink, wink).

Today we wanna draw yr attention to a new split 10″ put out by Mountain fave Serious Sam Barrett and new Mountain fave The Pine Hill Haints. 

We covered (and interviewed about) Sam Barrett’s brand of  deep holler blues-punk awhile back. 

On Barrett’s two songs, “Rock’n'Roll Heart” and “Truckstop Sunrise”, he channels the ghosts of the road, the  life, and the loneliness of the road.  Echoing Billy Bragg, Woody Guthrie, Merle Haggard, and even (unintentionally, I’m guessing) Guy Clark.  There’s a stomp to these two songs, make no mistake, you could two-step around yr space, but a rare wistfulness pervades, raise a glass, and find yrself on the black highway, nosing forward always the ribbon of lines melding into a fever dream of roadside distraction and salvation beyond the sunrise.

The Pine Hill Haints, on their two songs , “16 Coal Black Horses” and the excellently titled “The Nail That Rises Will Be Hammered Down”, create a Utah Phillips-informed hoedown of corn-swaggled, hootenanny, populist do-si-do.  Two songs laying down the hammer on the “man”, but in a boot-scootin’, Saturday night, freewheel, hog-jowled bar crawlin’ kind of a way.

The record is part of a collaborative effort, and contains only 4 songs.  So no mp3′s, but a couple of killer live tracks on the YouTube the kids are all crazy about.  The record is well worth yr time (we promise), so git to gittin’, as it were.  You can buy the record here.   Have we ever steered you wrong?

Big Charade

Every once in while, we see a live show that’s so transcendental in it’s scope, that takes the live venue and transforms it into a singular experience, where the voices of the crowd drops away, and the artist  becomes a singular focus.

That happened a couple of Saturday nights ago at Schuba’s, with Julia Klee. With backing by anywhere from 7-9 players (on horns, backing vocals, mandolin, etc.) it was Klee’s voice and her lyricism that took center stage.

A booming and deep well vocalist, Klee has drawn comparisons to Neko Case, Jolie Holland (whom she covered brilliantly at her live show) and Kelly Hogan.  Which is all well and good, and apt, but Julia Klee seems to be drawing from an older tradition, one that includes Kitty Wells, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, and most especially, Emmylou Harris.  Some of those comparisons come from a lyrical intent. Klee is songwriter of incredible situationist gift, warping her voice into the subject, manipulating her vocals into the sad and the beautiful. Some of those comparisons are in the power of her voice.  It’s an astonishing instrument in it’s own right.

The show we saw last Saturday was the record release party for her new record, The Big Charade.  One of the most astonishing debuts we’ve heard in years.

While Klee’s show is a collaborative effort (she hands over the stage to friends and fellow musicians alike), the record is a star turn, a heartbreaking and humorous take on Country tropes, but staking out a new territory all her own.  We’ve never heard it’s like before.

So, to the record. The Big Charade.

From the opening track, “Rabbit Hole” to the final song, “A Song About Being Rich” (which is our entry  into best song title of the year), Julia Klee crafts a record of depth and spirit, a hoedown of longing and beauty.  According to Klee, she recorded this record using “…her mother’s classical guitar and a hand-me-down piano”.   Appropriate enough, considering the sepia-toned nature of the record. 

“Rabbit Hole” starts off with delicate piano instro, before busting out into a fiddle-tinged raver, and sets the stage.  “Hook Sung By Strangers”, our favorite of the big-sound songs, follows, a horn-swirled hootenanny, Klee’s voice sultry and strong.  A love song, strung with a gorgeous, surging, melody, and lyrical joy (“Our love is hook sung by strangers/Driving their cars/It goes with mornings and coffee”).  Further rompers follow: “Big Charade”, a twisting desert road chugger (“there’s a con man and philosopher/and they’re fighting for my bed”).  “Macgillard” is all western-noir dread, Klee’s voice set loose, and something bad’s gonna happen. 

As much as we love the “rockers”, Klee truly shines on the slower tunes on Big Charade.  A rarity for us to love the slow songs, it’s true, but that’s the power of this record.  “A Song About Being Rich”,  “Overpass”, and “Elephants” are all pieces of late night whiskey lament and dream, accentuated by Klee’s piano and voice, delicately rendered and heart broken and rending.  Songs to make this old boy raise his glass and while away the wee hours. Beauty in the heart of sadness and quiet joy.

Which brings us to the two centerpiece songs, “Wedding” and “Drunken Chess”.  “Wedding” begins as a slow burning tale (“What starts at the altar/Begins at the grave/For the lovers and the knowers of God”), a song of rebellion and love, the old and the new, the traditional and the youth, full of stars and moons (“heaven in my hands/and fire upon my chest“).   Burning that fire, the song smolders and crackles, under finally, release…the song cracks wide open into a crackerjack wedding reel, driving and joyous.

And “Drunken Chess”…we compared Klee to Parton, Wells, Lynn, and Harris, earlier.  This is where she becomes their equal.  A ballad any one of ‘em would be proud to call their own, but they can’t, because Klee owns this song.  Klee’s voice wavers, sinks, slow and languid, becoming stronger, taking command of the line, allowing space, pleading the light and crawling the dark.   A delicately plucked banjo here, a lap steel whisper there.  Delicate and strong, without cliche, it’s a classic.  Every line a perfect moment we’ve all been in, but never found the right words to express it.  Julia Klee does it for us. We’ll drink to this song any night of the week.  Best song we’ve heard all year.

“Cuz tonight I will kiss you
  In the morning  you’ll be whiskey on my breath”

Julia Klee’s new record, The Big Charade is available here. 

Ms. Klee is an independent musician.  So please support her how you can!

Julie Klee: Hook Song Sung By Strangers (mp3)

Julia Klee: Drunken Chess (mp3)

I Went Out Last Night

This is just the beginning…more to come.

Hell, just listen to what you’re missing if you don’t come out..

The Speaking Tongues:  Run To My Door (mp3)

The Rue Moor Counts: I Went Out Last Night (mp3)

Chicago’s gonna start kickin’ it.  Stay tuned!

Dead Six Pack In the Middle of the Road

Woo Hoo!  Another round of our world famous Six Pack series!  Are you as excited as we are?

For those not in the know, we’re gonna present 6 random tunes culled from our vinyl library.  Some tracks are from new rekkids, some are from older “wax”.  Each song is a solid gold piece of prime sonic joy.  Goodness gracious!

“Sons of Stone” comes from the People’s Temple long-player “Sons of Stone” (convenient, isn’t that?).  One of our favorite records so far this year.  They kicked ass at the Blackout Festival, and this tune is a VU meets Mayan-chant piece of  droney brilliance. 

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band have released a ton of great records.  One of ‘em’s pretty legendary (you know which one).  Our favorite is actually Uncle Charlie and His Dog Teddy  And “Some of Shelly’s Blues” is our fave rave track on that album.  That should tell ya quite a bit right there.

Found the gospel record “Shoutin’, Wailin’, Hard Drivin’ Pop Gospel ” by the Sweet Chariot Singers in an underground record store in Milwaukee.   It’s well worth yr time to hunt this treasure down, cuz it’s a wailer of a record…all hollerin’ and hand-clappin’ an sermonizin’.  Praise the lord!

Tom T. Hall is, well, he’s Tom T. Hall.  A wry observer of Country tropes, on “The Little Lady Preacher” , he hits all the Country cliches we love so well (God, Booze, Sex), and throws in a twist that only he can do.  Take from the vinyl rekkid “In Search of a Song” 

Kenny Price (the “Round Mound of Sound”) keeps the country kickin’ with a little precursor to Sheriff Buford T. Justice.  Not sure if this was an influence or not, but it’s a grand tune about the “man” versus the freewheelin’ brand of trucker glory!  From the killer record “The Sheriff of Boone County”. 

Finally, a great tune,” Bobo Boogaloo“,  from the essential Kid Congo Powers!  Taken from his In The Red full album as monthly 7″ release, 5 Greasy Pieces.  We’re willing to bet that this will eventually be collected, so keep yr eyes’n’ ears peeled!  A perfect piece of jungle trash, garbage can groove to finish us off!

Just a reminder…these tune are ripped from god’s favorite medium, VINYL!  Any inherent flaws in transfer are purely the fault of the so-called “digital revolution”.  Buy these rekkids, get yrself a turntable (plenty of great ones to be found cheap at yr local Salvation Army), and have yrself a party!

The People’s Temple: Sons of Stone (mp3)

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band: Some of Shelly’s Blues (mp3)

The Sweet Chariot Singers: Good Time (mp3)

Tom T. Hall: The Little Lady Preacher (mp3)

Kenny Price: The Sheriff of Boone County (mp3)

Kid Congo Powers and the Pink Monkey Birds: Bobo Boogaloo (mp3)

As ever, and ever and ever, amen….Support independent artists, labels, and record stores, if you can.  Fuck the man, maaaaaaannnn!!

Old Black Mattie

So…for all those folks who missed the Deep Blues Fest this year, this is what you missed, a stunning throwdown between The Ten Foot Polecats, The Scissormen, and Molly Gene.

Oh, damn, this was transcendental….from the tribal drum break, to the guitar god-head, to the vocal George and Tammy back and forth of Jay and Molly Gene…

Every band was amazing, so it’s hard to pick a winner.  We think this video makes it’s own case.

Got-damn, this is rock’n'roll!

More on Molly Gene soon… oh, hell yeah!

Amphetamine

Here we go again…

Today is another round of our series (random, as they are) of The Greatest Song Ever Written (At Least For Today), where we highlight a song, for the sake of the song.  No wordy exposition.  No Mountainesque rambling.  The song is the star.  Of course, we always encourage folks to support the artists’ (or their legacies) involved.

Peter Laughner  was most notably a member of Rocket From The Tombs, and early incarnations of Pere Ubu.  He was associated with many other bands, as well, but that’s neither here nor there, ultimately.  You can find out more about him on the world wide interwebs.   His tragic end should not detract from the amazing music he made, most notably the song “Amphetamine”.  An astonishing piece of work, stolen by the horrendously bland Wilco.   To quote another tediously bland band, we’re “stealing it back”.

A slice of heartbreaking beauty, then.  A swirling, droning piece of loss and loneliness.  Breathe deep and shine…

“Like having a party, but you aren’t invited…”

Peter Laughner: Amphetamine (mp3)

Rocket From The Tomb: Amphetamine (mp3)

Just enjoy…Support who you can. 

Tush Hog Boogie

Hey, now, fucked up mutant Country music kids, Bloody Ol’ Mule’s got a new record out, and we’re all kinda jazzed.  Think ya’ll might be as well.

If Scott Biram seems a little tame for ya, then One-Man-Band  Bloody Ol’ Mule’s yr new best friend. Shilo Brown (the man behind the moniker)  is a fucked up mutherfucker,  surveying the very darkest of backroads America, and not for the faint of heart.

The Devil is a prime player to Bloody Ol’ Mule’s muse.  And women gone bad.  Hell, the men are even worse. All mangled up into a holy mess of cowpunk, dirty blues, and trailer park southern gothic trash fuzz. This is evil and compelling shit.  Brown takes no prisoners, less’n they’re  actual prisoners who have done very bad things.

Bang, bang the kick drum set, shred some nasty cow-patty boogie, holler and moan in nasty Okie dust bowl covered trailer ecstasy.

Yup.

Bloody Ol Mule have another record (the man generously overloads us with tunes) coming out with Devil Christ! Man, we’re just lucky cusses, aint we?

Bloody Ol’ Mule: Tush Hog Boogie (mp3)

Bloody Ol’ Mule: Two Fisted Drinkin’ (mp3)


Bloody Ol’ Mule: Holy Ghost Power (mp3)

Enjoy some nasty rawk’n'country!  Support independent artists!

The Man That Time Forgot

Well, hot diggity dog. Back again, jiggity jig. Let’s not mess around, and kick it.

The best band in America has a new record out on Big Legal Mess, and we’re here to sermonize.

John Paul Keith should be familiar to most of y’all. I damn near fell out of my chair covering his last record. His new record, “The Man That Time Forgot”, may be even better. Really.

We’ve preached before that Mr. Keith is a songwriter with a timeless brilliance: 2 1/2 minute songs, honky bar-hook-filled and longing, desperate and full of belly up to the bar observation.  It’s rock’n'roll, without the pretense, country-fried, soulful, a little boozy, a little trashy, a little bit dance ’til the end of dawn.  Imagine, if you will, that Buddy Holly took the template for “Rave On”, and made a long player record with that aesthetic.  Seriously, stop for a moment, and imagine it.  But he didn’t.  John Paul Keith did.  And the world is a better place for it.  Oh, and John Paul Keith has better hair than you.

So. The new record, then.

From the punkish, Summertime Blues jab of  “Anyone Can Do It” to the Here Comes a Regular regret of the title song,  “The Man That Time Forgot” is a bar record, running the gamut from entry to last call .  12 songs.  That’s all you need (that’s all you ever need).  Especially when they’re these 12 songs.  Follow the track listing from braggadocio to reflection, with all the classic moments in between.

Gonna track this record from start to finish.  It’s not a “concept” record in any way other than our perception.  But we’re gonna work on theme of our own creation, and in the process hope to convince you why this record is a masterpiece.

Kicking off with the raver (all hand-claps, greasy organ, and raving vocal), “Never Could Say No”, , and the immortal line “Flying overseas with the Flipside Kid” (a Jack Oblivian reference, who Keith tours with and backs), Keith sets the stage, a willful roue, blaming others for his appearance at said joint.  Follow that with the rollicking,  barrell-house piano two-stepper “You Devil You”  (he sees the girl), and we’ve got a situation. 

The next three songs set the stage.  The aforementioned “Anyone Can Do It” shows a punkish strut, and “Songs For Sale” is the 50′s-informed groover, the sensitive guy laying out his cred.  “Afraid to Look”, led by greasy keys, is the dance, the manly man strutting his shit.

But with any encounter, self-doubt creeps, and “The Man That Time Forgot”  weighs in with an early night lighter-raiser, a honky tonk ballad full of ripped guitars and reflection. Follow that with “I Think I Fell In Love Today”.  Like Tom Waits’ “I Hope I Don’t Fall In Love With You” , we’re looking at the weird moment between booze-fueled courage and resignation.  But the night is still young…

So John Paul Keith takes a break, and in the garage-country track “Dry County”, full of rave-up geetar and hollered backing vocals, we leave the bar with our best buds,  looking for a little balm to heal the perceived wounds.  But, consarnit, we’re stuck in a land without liquid refreshment…so, back to the bar, and an atonement…“Somebody Ought to Write A Song About You”.  This song is pure Southern Soul, scratched guitar and more greasy organ.  We’re back at the bar, and the girl’s still there, and our hero wants to transform  his perceived love into the immortal. But…and but…he’s “Bad Luck Baby”, another surging riposte on condition, and why men are bad, bad news.

Fumbling into the night, then.  another ramped-up organ-led moment, “Work At Night”.  Who’s he working for?  That’s up to you, but DAMN, the band gives us a greasy workout!

And, finally, the most completely Country song on the record, “The Last Last Call”. Pure Country weeper. The ultimate barstool lament…”So here’s to you and to me”. Does he get the girl?  You’ll have to find out for yourself. But he’s toasting, and we’re drinking, and our boots are on the floor, and we’re gonna wake up, and probably do it all over again.

To reiterate, this is not a concept album, that’s our own take on it. What it is, is…another brilliant album from John Paul Keith. Another entry into “perfect record” status. What more can I do to get y’all to worship this cat?

Every song on this record is perfect. You owe it to yrself to own it!

John Paul Keith: Never Could Say No (mp3)

Please support…well…what more can we say, over and over? Buy records from non-corporate labels! Check out shows in yr neighborhood! There’s a world of great music, just waiting for you!

Tally Ho!

Tally ho, faithful friends!  Been away too long, but hope y’all have enjoyed a break from our normally (and nominally) rambling posts.  Today’s gonna kick yr sweet tuckus.  Guaranteed.

Today is another round of our series (random, as they are) of The Greatest Song Ever Written (At Least For Today), where we highlight a song, for the sake of the song.  No wordy exposition.  No Mountainesque rambling.  The song is the star.  Of course, we always encourage folks to support the artists’ (or their legacies) involved.

It’s no secret that we’re obsessed with, well, a variety of things.  Country, Truck Drivin’ music, Greasy Blues, Trash’n'Sleaze, etc.  But did y’all also know that  we worship at the altar of New Zealand?  Particularly the nascent Flying Nun releases?  Well, now you know.

The Clean are, most likely,  almost as influential as The Velvet Underground.  Brothers David and Hamish Kilgour and Robert Scott crafted  some of the greatest, swirling, droney pop ever laid to wax.  We could spend paragraphs singing their praises.

But, as we said, we’re gonna let the song speak for itself. 

So…an organ-drenched, sun-spackled slab of surging Kiwi ecstasy.  And all done under 3 minutes.  The greatest song ever written (maybe for all time)! 


The Clean: Tally Ho (mp3)

Please support yr local, independent drone pop rawk’n’ roller!

Damn Old Sun

It’s a well known fact we love us some one-man band action ’round this side of the eternal mountain.  And today we’ve got a madroad driven skull fuck of a record to turn ya all the way up on.  Kick on yr black light, and assemble yr gatefold lp appropriately.

Feller goes by the name of Chicken Diamond, and he hails from North-East side of France (what is it with France and great one-man bands?).  He’s got a slab of burnt tire vinyl comin’ out on Beast Records, and stompin’ our ass into powder.

It’s a loud record.  Really, really loud.  In a glorious, fuzzy, xpressway to yr spine kind of way, rattled and raw.  Chicken’s voice, a bastard child of Tom Waits and James Leg, wails “sinners in the hands of an angry god”-syle salvation, ’til yr ears are hoarse and yr throat is parched gasping water, lord, water from the sacred well.  Brutal throbbed kick drum pounds sex beat degenerate lust.  And some of the filthiest fuckblues guitar, drowned in a swamp and emerging covered in the goo goo muck of creation.  Tribal, pulsing, very, very evil.  The kind of guitar slime that gives you bad thoughts, reeks of white lightning, and scrapes, scratches and claws at yr soul.

This is not a record yr parents will like.  Not a record the guitar shop dude who likes Stevie Ray and BB King is gonna like.  Not one bit.  This isn’t a nice record.  It’s a dirty record, mud encrusted with evil intentions, to be played while doing bad things.  Hellfire and damnation.  Sleaze and sin. 

The record is mostly a full on blast of punk blues jet fuel, particularly on tracks like “Bones”, “Damn Old Sun”, “Factory Smoke”, “Damn Old Sun”, and “Me and My 44″.  You also get some seriously psyched-out droners a la “Come Home”, “Power of the Ancient People”, and a transcendent cover of “Sister Ray”. 

Ultimately the track “Bones”, which Chicken Diamond was kind enough to let us share,  is the culmination, a nasty bit of frenzy and hollerin’, greased pig running wild in a yard full of naked heehaw honeys, digging up the skulls of Junior K. and H. Wolf, and humpin’ ‘em silly.

The record comes out in June.  You can pre-order it at Beast Records.  They’re only pressing 500 copies of this fucker, so grab yours now.  That way you’ve got bragging rights down the line when Chicken Diamond conquers the world.

Don’t take our word for it…listen below.

Chicken Diamond: Bones (mp3)

Please support yr local, independent one-man bands.