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Monday, June 15, 2015

Jessica Lee Wilkes
"Lone Wolf" (Free Dirt)


Its footloose freedom from care an immediate attraction, this economical, effectual five-cut EP slides listeners up into a retro hip-shaking party dimension, one from which few are likely to seek return. The finger-popping, clapped satisfactions of the forward '50s/'60s-type rock'n'roll here dealt derive no little finger-licking flavor from smokily potent, old-school r&b and soul. 

For some five years, boldly voiced bassist Jessica Lee established herself as a stalwart, driving member of JD Wilkes and the Dirt Daubers. She now commands center spotlight with singular authority.  

Throwing out swingalong ruckus at her elbow are agile, energetic JD McPherson drummer Jason Smay, legendarily rampaging surf/rockabilly guitar icon Eddie Angel (Los Straitjackets, Robert Gordon, Planet Rockers), and Hooten Hallers' good-time saxophone vociferant Kellie Everett - whose boisterous, dance floor-quaking exhortations recall Lee Allen. 

If you won't be spinning this good-time wax at your next quarter party, notify groove-digging neighborhood hipsters so they can make other plans. 

Recommended "Go Ahead Baby," "Groove's Too Shallow," "Love Like Crazy," 


Song clip "Love Like Crazy" https://soundcloud.com/freedirtrecords

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Dale Watson
"Call Me Insane" (Red House Records)



Does Dale Watson realize how important he and his music really are?

The man upholds and advances traditional country music -- the genuine, real people kind that reflects the aspirations, heartaches, and end-of-work-week, shout-and-stomp barroom release that a million corporate Nashville types twiddling computerized studio knobs for a million years couldn't replicate.

From his easy smile and laconic drawl to his silver, mile-high pomp and classy, Grand Ole Opry-redolent populist troubadour clothes, Dale couldn't be anything but the authentic country music last-call luminary his loyal fan base has long lauded.

Call Me Insane was produced by the legendary Lloyd Maines. The unobtrusive, executive flair highlights the songs effectively. Dale's top-level touring trio of slap bass, drums, and pedal steel acquits itself with grit and sheen; they are augmented when appropriate by piano, trombone, saxophone, and trumpet. (Maines himself fills the acoustic guitar chair.) 

Dale's Telecaster rhythms pulse and shimmer, his inventive leads sing out, and his ingratiating vocal warmth lends comfortableness. Whether the clever material is dynamically uptempo, infectious and witty, articulating profound emotions, or charging gleefully into melodic mischief, the players negotiate every backroad and neon-lighted avenue in sterling manner, and their leader maintains good-hearted command.

His objective importance lies in his priceless role as devoted counter to insipid pop-country. That needed function, and simply because the music itself is so damned good, is why Dale Watson is of paramount significance to every listener who knows real country when he is lucky enough to hear it, and who refuses the currently trendy, pre-fabricated ersatz variety.

In fact, Dale Watson and Wayne "The Train" Hancock are of the same rank: crucial, contemporary interpreters of bona fide classic country styles who have every right to be hailed and featured by industry award-bestowers and powers-that-be, but who are too real and uncompromising to ever turn painstakingly manicured 'show me the money' heads.      

As long as music this wood-grained and leather-worked is accessible, does it really matter that the 2015 CMT Awards saluted so much dreckish artificiality? After all, such foolish, televised corporate pageantry doesn't stop appreciators of the real deal from enjoying it. As historians recall Thomas Jefferson remarking when asked how he could abide the free exercise of religions other that his own, "They neither break my arm, nor pick my pocket." So, let the poseurs and clothes-horses prance. Their efforts do not inhibit us.

It occurs to me that Dale Watson must realize how important he and his music are. Because if he didn't, he'd be the only one.


Recommended "Jonesin' For Jones," "A Day At a Time," "I'm Through Hurtin'," "Tienes Cabeza De Palo," "Crocodile Tears," "Mamas Don't Let Your Cowboys Grow Up To Be Babies"

theconnextion.com/dalewatson/
redhouserecords.com/index.html


Monday, June 8, 2015

Wayne Hancock 
"Ride" ( Bloodshot)



Much was made of Wayne's significance when first he broke into national consciousness with 1995's "Thunderstorms and Neon Signs;" "Wayne the Train," as he quickly was hailed, was a vital, prison farm-workshirted personification of bouyant juke joint swing. His battered and furiously downstroked acoustic, rough hewn, everyman drawl, and the mischevious, toothy, sideways grin he flashed as slap bass walked the line, electric lead-picking stung, and steel caromed off jump-bop rhythms earned broad renown. 

Great things, then, were expected of the starkly rustic raconteur in whose twangy voice seemed to lurk the limber-limbed ghosts of every time-lost honky tonk under the risen bad moon. 

Yesterday's promise is today's solid certainty. The Texas rockabilly scramble that has always figured in Wayne's music looms still, and is appropriately a-smolder. Rip-rollicking big band jollity breathes, too. When Wayne slips into swaybacked, mid-tempo country blues he evokes Hank Williams, Sr - a genuine touchstone for all who would tread this unadorned path. And he even relaxes still further now and again, delivering tuneful plaints of universal melacholia.

"Ride's" eminent bounties are maintained in lucid relief by the wise co-production of the star and his longtime collaborator Lloyd Maines, himself an iconic figure of rich repute. 

"Man, I'm like a stab wound in the country music of Nashville," the paradoxically rebellious traditionalist once laughed. "See that bloodstain slowly spreading? That's me!"  

Truly, Wayne Hancock is that rare Americana treasure that shines brilliantly when so many surrounding are dullish and unremarkable.

Recommended "Ride," "Cappuccino Boogie," "Deal Gone Down," "Best To Be Alone," "Get the Blues Low Down," "Lone Road Home"



Sunday, June 7, 2015

Could rock'n'roll even happen today? 

Rock 'n' roll originated from a variety of racial, cultural, and regional sources, osmotic excitement at burgeoning world flux, and at a new day only just beginning to dawn. It represented in the early 1950s exactly the social unity that voices of divisiveness - including Jim Crow-allegiant political, educational, and religious officials, as well as many ordinary sorts - viewed as threatening to an illusory order made possible by strictly enforced segregation.

Young men who would help birth the new and justly communal music drew upon the country airs of rural America that were rooted in European forms, and the blues and jazz idioms that enlivened the nation. Over time, and as ecstatic mongrel blends emerged in countless juke joints, honky tonks, social clubs, and one-lung recording operations, rock'n'roll came into brash being. And the world was forever changed.

But that impromptu natality was only possible because of musicians' and audiences' broadminded attitudes of widely encompassing cultural appreciation and openness to natural creative cross-pollination.

The climate in the days of rock'n'roll's nascency was cold and conformist. So the act of joining cultures was one of rebelliousness against a status quo not at all receptive to integration and permutation.

Regrettably, 2015 is similarly inhospitable to blending styles wrought from diverse communities. But with a twist: Whereas in 1952, for instance, it was the forces of established manners that decried looming integration, it is today a fresh, PC generation who would stand against artistic unity.

Historic battles against segregation and for voting rights and access to schools have been won and are behind us.

But a new segregation is upon the doorstep. Before, the ideal was oneness, unity, e pluribus unum - from many, one. Now everyone is divided into identity groups, each with its own hyphen, organizations, spokesmen, fraternities, political ambitions, and exclusive social circle.

And art. How frequently of late have you heard a musician or filmmaker attacked for "cultural appropriation?" This present-day imagining holds that every cultural expression is the sole property of the community from which it grew, and that for others to include it to any degree in their own work is immoral and illegitimate, constituting profiteering and plunder.

That contemporary voguish mindset, one that would decry multi-sourced rock'n'roll just as did the racists of decades past, was painstakingly detailed by an anonymous Wikileaks poster:

"Cultural appropriation is the adoption of elements of one culture by members of a different cultural group, especially if the adoption is of an oppressed people's cultural elements by members of the dominant culture...This is often seen in the use by cultural outsiders of a minority, oppressed culture's symbols or other cultural elements, such as music, dance, spiritual ceremonies, modes of dress, speech, and social behavior, among other cultural expressions."

In an August 5, 2014 Daily Dot essay, Derrick Clifton sniffs pompously, "Cultural appropriation is not okay, In fact, it comes with strains of prejudice and, within a larger system of colonial whiteness, racism. That's a message Katy Perry refuses to understand, with the artist doubling down on her bigoted behavior in the new video for 'This Is How We Do.'" ("5 things white people need to learn about cultural appropriation.")

A more recent example of this current intolerance-that-fancies-itself-to-be-justice is a Kate Beaudoin's February 27, 2015 Mic essay. The writer intones sternly that, "The act of cultural appropriation carries racial, cultural, and socioeconomic implications...Cultural appropriation in music can be damaging to a culture..." ("11 Songs Prove the History of Music Is All About Cultural Appropriation."

And in the  February 4, 2015 Washington Post, Chris Richards lamented that Macklemore, an "affable white rapper of limited dimension," had won a 2014 Grammy over Jay-Z and Kanye West. Richards huffed that it "added a fresh chapter to the enduring pop saga of black erasure, a never-ending story that predates the advent of Elvis and lingers in the shadow of Eminem."

A case can and has been made that whereas Elvis Presley was a true artist in whose landmark work diverse styles were honestly and affectionately alloyed, a stylist who never contrived to simply mimic others, Katy Perry and Macklemore are fabricated posturers, seasonal sensations hardly of Presley's merited rank.

The cultural appropriation philosophy propounded by these well-intentioned imbeciles is plainly no less intolerant than was the early '50s orthodoxy that reviled rock'n'roll. And it is flatly contrary to the ideal of equality. 'Separate but equal' is as much a fraud today and in this matter as it was back in the pre-school desegregation era.

(And apparently quite lost on these internet soldiers for separatism is the obvious truth that the supposed "crime of whiteness" they blast at each turn is no more that a negative reproduction of the rightly condemned "crime of blackness" concept.)

Respect for others' experiences is to be encouraged. But maintained isolation is hardly a necessary component of that admirable goal.

Rock'n'roll did first rise in an inclement time, true. But whether a similar birth could occur in 2015, when segregation is again the fashion, separateness the ambition, and creative openness is villified as theft, is an open question.



end
 

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Ray Campi 
"Still Rippin' (Rattler)
Charlie Gracie 
"Angel On My Shoulder" (Lanark)


It's reassuring to reflect that as long as golden-age rock 'n'
rollers are still trodding studios and stages, something that makes this world special endures and will always be accessible to us. Money in the bank, as goes the phrase.

But when you hear in decorated veterans today the same snapped-tight dynamism and rollaway, good-time flow that in earlier years made settled sensibilities flinch with startlement, you dig that not only will rock'n'roll never die, but that it should not be thought to have advanced to museum-shelf status. 

The from-the-margins music matters still, in ways magnetic, clamorous, and reliably satisfying.

"Ray Campi" is a name uttered reverently by sideburned true believers both old and young. The former recall Ray's 1957 acrobatic, country-boppin' romp, "Caterpillar." The latter were fortunate to have Ronnie Weiser's indispensible 1970s/1980s Rollin Rock label to facilitate their own howdy-hi to Campi and, in many cases, to the musical vein, itself. 

Ray's roots stretch back into a pre-rock'n'roll era in which loose-limbed and rambling young country pickers first fortified bouncing rural melodies with a pronounced beat. The hillbilly bop they thereby birthed in countless, liquored-up honky tonks echoes rewardingly in Ray's 2015 rockabilly, more explicitly of tradition than many now hefting that banner. 

Thankfully, time's passage hasn't dimmed Ray's enthusiasm for rockabilly. He sounds like he's still in the glow of initial discovery, and that boundless spiritedness enriches each note. "Rippin' It Up" is actually a cooperative effort, uniting Ray with fellow erstwhile Rollin' Rock icon Rip Masters. Rip penned all 24 of the clever, mostly mid-tempo boppers here, also playing a variety of instruments. 

A legend of Ray's stature merits top-notch backing, and besides Rip the impressive band includes former X drummer DJ Bonebrake and visiting Lone Gunmen guitarist Gino Meregillano. 

CD artwork and photos are courtesy of Art Fein, another longtime California rock'n'roll champion. Fein's scratchy front cover lettering reminds of the now-collectible Rollin Rock LPs, adding further Old Home Week stamp. 

Charlie Gracie, he of 1957 "Butterfly" chart fame, here acquits himself most admirably. One expects wondrous things from a man whose lifelong mission has been rock'n'roll, and one is not at all disappointed. Leisurely, ruminant Southern Gospel rolls along in spice counter to much-appreciated uptempo jaunts. 

Surely, no one will remain seated while this infectious work exercises its deep energies. I do believe it quite possible that Gracie's more youthful supporting musicians -- crackerjacks all, it must be noted -- found themselves called to extremes to maintain the affable vibe. This CD swings wide the door with a genuiness, a welcoming air, not duplicable by cold technology.

A pivotal factor in this estimable disc's triumph is Lanark Records mastermind and Reach Around Rodeo Clown Quentin Jones. His is the swinging guitar behind the star, and he also produces, imprinting with executive elan.

Charlie calls upon all of his numerous talents, the result being a swaybacked rock'n'roll exercise that never loses vitality.  

Salutes are certainly due Rip and Quentin for their roles in bringing these golden-age luminaries before new audiences. But most of all, high praise should be paid to Ray and Charlie themselves, for keeping the flame alive in spectacular fashion.

Recommended Campi: "Ring Telephone Ring," "Rockabilly Man," "Get Right Up," "The Wait Is Over," "All-Night Express," "I Got Bills," "Lucky Devil," "Rippin' It Up"

Recommended Gracie:  "You Talk Too Much," "Tootsie,""Thank 
You Jesus,""Man and Wife,""Just a Closer Walk With Thee," "Lover Boy,""A Simple Song,""Sea Cruz"

https://www.facebook.com/rip.masters (for ordering details)


Sunday, May 31, 2015

AJ & the Rockin' Trio
self-titled (DdjRecords)


Lots of spare spaces in between the standard rockabilly guitars, slap bass, and elementary drums, here - which is, of course, a very good thing. Too many busy sounds can get in the way of the fundamental rockin' reason for being. And with that much room to cut loose, leader AJ whirls, shudders, and testifies to humanity on fire. Realness will surely never fade from fashion.  


Recommended "Hot Rockin' Mama," "All Because of You," "Goodbye Baby     
                      Goodbye," "Baby Baby Baby"

  

VIDEO: "Just Thought I'd Set You Straight" (non-CD)        



Hard Six
Haunted Ride (self)



Now, this is worth our attention. The blast-level dynamic Hard Six careens skullfirst through death-defying tilt-a-funland. Members Fuse, Six, and Vogelcide perpetrate the real sort of rock'n'roll that corrupts entire generations and will never be found within arm's reach of upright culture. They understand that the all-important kick at the leathered heart of 70s punk and 50s rockabilly also charged vital 40s country, and wring from each outsider slant an electrified cacophony of febrile fervor. It is only right that they have destroyed stages with Nekromantix, Wanda Jackson, Los Lobos, and similar subcultural icons. 

Discs like this are just too rare.

Recommended "Haunted Ride," "Rockabilly Rumble," "Black Syrup," "Heartbreaker," "In the Shadows"


VIDEO: "Haunted Ride" - official video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_-rAQpWAwQ





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FORMER staff writer for Rockabilly and Pin Up America magazines. FREELANCE credits include Daily Caller, American Thinker, Free Republic, Huffington Post, Counterpunch, Dissident Voice, Independent Political Report, USA Today, Des Moines Register, Iowa City Press-Citizen, Waterloo Courier, Cedar Falls Times, Marshalltown Times Republican, Cincinnati.com, IndyStar, Arizona Republic, No Depression, Goldmine, Blue Suede News, Rock and Rap Confidential, Crackerjack, Blues News, Wrecking Pit, Punk Globe, Prairie Sun, Music and Sound Output, BAM, New Music, and 1980s NYC fanzines Shake, Rattle, and Roll, Rebel Rouser, and Off the Wall. AUTHOR: Shake, Rattle and Rocket!, Ghost Saucers in the Sky!, Stratosphere Boogieman!, Flesh Made Music, That a Man Can Again Stand Up: American spirit vs, sedition during the incipient Trump Revolution, and Ideas Afoot: Political observations, social commentary, and media analyses. WORKED as 2004 Iowa coordinator for Ralph Nader independent presidential campaign; co-founded Iowa Green Party, also served as statewide media coordinator; press coordinator, 2002 Jay Robinson (Green) IA gubernatorial effort. Wrote extensively re Trump campaign..