Month: April 2005

Here are a couple of records from one of America’s best songwriters. One is a batch of cuts made for movie soundtracks, or for some other reason didn’t fit on his albums. The other is brand spanking new, and causing controversy for no reason.

The controversial one is Jerusalem, and the controversy is over a little ditty called “John Walker’s Blues.” Yes, that John Walker; John Walker Lyndh, the American kid who fought with the Taliban.

Earle sings the song in the first person, as Walker, and tries to explain why a kid would become “the American Taliban” (does everyone hate that expression as much as I do?). It’s an okay song. Not surprising that a guy like Earle would write this kind of thing. But it’s neither controversial in my mind, nor all that impressive a song. In fact, of the 11 cuts here, it’s one of my least favorite, and not because of the subject matter. I just don’t think he fleshed out the character enough, and the music is, at best, refried folk/rock.

The problem is in this day and age, anyone not toeing the line is bound for some criticism, and that’s what happened here. Hell, I think the intelligent and well-written liner notes by Earle are more controversial than the song is. If anything should raise the hackles of the folks who think any words contrary to the president’s are treasonous, it would be those liner notes.

Okay, enough about that song. Maybe the publicity did Steve some good.

Other than that, this is a fine album, the kind you’ve come to expect from Earle. Not as strong as his last effort, it still contains some excellent writing. There’s a lot of stuff, as you’d expect, pulled from today’s headlines. “Amerika v. 6.0 (the Best We Can Do)” is an acerbic take on American’s priorities. “What’s a Simple Man to Do” has a fatalistic lyric and a stomp that must be making Doug Sahm smile in heaven. “The Truth” tells a prison tale with Earle scraping the lyrics through a bullhorn, a la Tom Waits. “Conspiracy Theory” is a must-listen for fans of talk radio everywhere, and the title cut is a wonderfully upbeat way to end things. Not Earle’s best work, but a strong album.

Also interesting is the Sidetracks disc released earlier this year. “Some Dreams,” from the movie The Rookie, is a real gem. It’s what he does best. A killer country-rock story with killer hooks, both lyrically and musically. Same with “Open Your Window” and “Me and the Eagle.” Country-folk with a purpose. Then, there’s some really off-the-wall stuff that helps you see some of his very varied influences. “Johnny Too Bad” takes us to the islands. “Breed” is the very unexpected Nirvana cover. “Time Has Come Today” lets him share the spotlight with Sheryl Crow and Abbie Hoffman (in spoken word). And Little Feat’s “Willin’” really was meant to be sung by Earle. It fits him, and he fits it.

There’s also some nice instrumental stuff; Earle and friends shine on the Celtic-meets-the-South “Dominick St.” And there’s a live cover of the Flying Burrito Brothers’ “My Uncle” that’ll knock your socks off.

Both these are worth having. Ignore the hype about “John Walker’s Blues,” and just enjoy the music.

I really enjoyed Sean’s last album, Cuttin’ In, and this one is just as likeable. He’s young, but man, he knows the blues. Both his singing and his guitar playing reek of soul. His playing shows hints of influences, but he’s always his own guy. The sound is authentic, but never dated. It’s fresh and new and full of soul.

The title cut opens things with burning guitar and killer B-3. It’s an instrumental that might feel at home on an Allman Brothers live album. Then, not surprisingly, it morphs into “You’re Killing My Love,” a slow blues that features Costello’s big, fat tone on a solo that showcases his vibrato and bends. That cut, by the way, is an old Bloomfield tune, and Costello shines on stuff that comes from that era. Check out “No Lie,” which features killer tone, and really cooks. There’s some nice soul ballad work here, too, on cuts like “I Want You So Bad.” “One Kiss” is a Chicago-style blues that has some nasty guitar and harp by Paul Linden. “You Can’t Win with a Losing Hand” is a horn-driven R&B pumper that would keep a dance floor churning.

Throughout this very diverse CD, Costello plays his heart out. And vocally, he is full of soul – and he’s growing.

This is a real treat. You’ll have Sean around for awhile. If he stops at your town, check him out. I guarantee it’ll be worth your time.

As huge a star as Emmylou Harris is, and as long and varied as her career has been, her achievements still don’t get their due, in my mind. Because virtually every article or review about Harris, for 30 years now, casts her as a protégé of Gram Parsons (indeed, she often speaks of herself in that context) – but she’s so much more, and always has been.

Parsons, who died of a drug overdose in 1973 at the age of 26, pioneered country-rock and remains a huge cult figure. But in the early days of hippies doing country, whether it was Parsons’ Flying Burrito Brothers or the Byrds (of which he was briefly a member) or Commander Cody or Asleep At The Wheel, country audiences (and radio stations) wouldn’t give these acts the time of day; their audience was almost strictly a rock crowd.

When Harris, Parsons’ former backup singer, carried on his tradition, she mixed a more traditional brand of country than was coming out of Nashville with an eclectic blend of contemporary songs. And without resorting to anything that smacked of “crossover,” she achieved mass success with rock and country audiences alike. She was based in Los Angeles, instead of Nashville, and used primarily the same band in the studio as she took on the road. In many ways, she was the link between ’60s Bakersfield iconoclasts Buck Owens and Merle Haggard and Dwight Yoakam’s rise in the ’80s.

The reasons for her broad appeal can be found on Harris’ first five Warner Brothers/Reprise albums, recently expanded and reissued by Rhino. She possesses one of the country music’s (or pop’s) truly unique voices; her choice of material and interpretive skills are impeccable; and she surrounded herself with incredible, distinctive musicians – not to mention the perfect producer in Brian Ahern, who manned these five titles and six more during their prolific association.

Harris inherited the players who’d backed Parsons on G.P. and Grievous Angel, including several alumni of Elvis Presley’s band – pianist Glen D. Hardin, drummer Ronnie Tutt, and guitar legend James Burton – to record 1975’s Pieces Of Sky. The repertoire mixed material from the Louvin Brothers and Merle Haggard (“Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down,” with Burton’s Tele trading solos with Bernie Leadon’s Dobro) with Emmy’s own moving “Boulder To Birmingham,” newcomer Rodney Crowell’s “Bluebird Wine,” and a beautiful reading of the Beatles’ “For No One,” with Amos Garrett supplying his typically unexpected (but always perfect) bends.

By the time Elite Hotel was released at the end of that year, Harris’ Hot Band was a force to be reckoned with – as evidenced by the three live tracks included on the original LP, including a version of “Sweet Dreams” that matches the high standard set by Patsy Cline and Parsons’ “Ooh, Las Vegas,” featuring some spirited sparring between Burton’s chicken-pickin’ and Hank DeVito’s pedal steel. Elsewhere, Burton proves he can play the minimalist, on “Wheels” and “One Of These Days,” relying on a phase-shifter (I’m guessing a Mutron Bi-Phase) to fatten up his tone.

Whether Elite Hotel or 1976’s Luxury Liner was Harris’ high-water mark is a matter of taste. The former doesn’t have a weak track among its dozen, but the latter saw the addition of Ricky Skaggs (on fiddle and mandolin) and, more importantly, lead guitarist Albert Lee, who replaced Burton in the Hot Band. James still shows up – playing electric to Albert’s acoustic on “You’re Supposed To Be Feeling Good” – but Lee shows off his Parsons/White String Bender on Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell” and burns down the house with Bender licks and plenty of slapback on the title track. And, again, there are great songs, like Townes Van Zandt’s “Pancho & Lefty.”

For 1978’s Quarter Moon In A Ten Cent Town, Emmylou made a conscious effort to concentrate on contemporary material. That may or may not be the reason, but the album is probably the weakest of the five in this batch – bearing in mind that the other four set the bar awfully high. The departure of Rodney Crowell could be another reason, although he appears on a couple of songs, including his classic-to-be, “Ain’t Living Long Like This” – with Lee’s splattering double-stops.

Harris closed out the decade with her truest country album to date. With Blue Kentucky Girl, she determined to stifle critics who attributed her success to her rock and pop leanings, and delivered a hardcore country album that remains a classic. Lee trades solos with Skaggs’ fiddle on “Sister’s Coming Home” (and Emmylou finally took advantage of Ricky’s harmony vocals on LP), and Burton shows his melodic side on “Everytime You Leave.”

Harris’ next album was an even bigger anti-establishment step, the all-acoustic Roses In The Snow, which presaged the success of the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack by almost two decades. She eventually moved to Nashville, but continues to push her own limits and country music’s envelope as few artists in the genre’s history have. But this five-album run represents her dynasty years.

Rhino’s expanded versions of the albums contain two bonus tracks each, but in most cases the added material is not from the same period as the CD it’s grafted onto. For instance, Luxury Liner‘s bonus selections feature steel guitarist Steve Fishell, who replaced Hank DeVito in a later edition of the Hot Band, along with Don Heffington and Mike Bowden replacing John Ware and Emory Gordy on drums and bass, respectively, but no dates are given – on the album cuts or the bonus tracks. And Quarter Moon is padded out with two live tracks featuring Fishell, multi-instrumentalist Barry Tashian, and guitarist Frank Reckard, who replaced Albert Lee – again, with no information regarding when or where they came from. They’re great tracks, but considering Rhino chose to release these five albums (her ’70s output) simultaneously, they shake up the continuity – which Harris and Ahern were obviously meticulous about.

If you’ve ever heard R.L. Burnside play, you’ll know the significance of this album’s title; “Well… well… well” is one of his pet phrases, a constant punctuation to his conversation.

Burnside is a modern-day Delta bluesman who plays deep blues boogies in a trance jam that transcends even John Lee Hooker. He has recorded sporadically over the years, his high coming with his masterpiece breakthrough album, Bad Luck City, in ’91. Lately, he has toyed with rap-blues in concert with the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion.

This new album captures (for the most part) a live concert in Charleston, South Carolina, in ’86, part of a tour with Burnside and harmonica player Jon Morris, where they traveled the South in a silver ’58 Cadillac. A smattering of other cuts came from concerts in The Netherlands in ’91, Greece in ’92, and a home recording from Holland in ’93. The net result is a tad disjointed, but this is still a fine collection of hard-driving modern Delta blues. Burnside plays few of his trancelike boogies and more classic covers or “original” versions of standards. Despite these covers and his debt to John Lee Hooker, R.L. is still an original.