Concerts – Mack's Musings

REVIEW: The Revivified Squirrel Nut Zippers Deliver One for the Ages at the Ardmore Music Hall

As published in Americana Highways on May 9, 2019

One of the downsides of being a music reviewer is that after attending two or three concerts a week for months on end, you can get a bit jaded about each new show. It’s not that the performances become less enjoyable, it’s just that after seeing so many shows — almost all of them with the same classic, static format of the performers standing on stage while the audience sits and applauds politely at a distance — you lose the ability to recall the raw excitement of your first concert, when it was all so new, transcendent and mind-blowing.

I attended my first concert with my family as a 12-year-old, at the Arizona State Fair in the early 1970s. I saw José Feliciano play “Come On Baby Light My Fire” and a bunch of other covers at the cavernous, acoustically dreadful Phoenix Memorial Coliseum. Though it wasn’t a particularly groundbreaking show (to say the least), it opened up a whole new world for me — live music! — that I’ve continued to relish to this day.

But like I said, it’s rare these days that a show engenders the sheer excitement and “wow” factor of that initial encounter with the concert world so long ago.

I didn’t go into the Squirrel Nut Zippers’ show at the Ardmore Music Hall on Thursday, April 25, expecting a transformative experience — much less anything even close to that first dazzling taste of live music. If anything, I expected the Zippers to provide a mildly enjoyable evening of retro, swinging, New Orleans- inflected dance music along the lines of what I’d experienced (and loved) when I first heard their albums Hot and Perennial Favorites in the late ‘90s.

Suffice to say, Jimbo Mathis and company quickly and completely restored that early thrill of hearing live music played by virtuoso musicians. Even better: they tore down that invisible wall between the musicians and audience that is such a staple of the old, static concert set-up, literally getting everyone involved in the performance. (Translation: No wallflowers allowed!)

What made this show so vivid and delightful? One thing that jumped out to everyone I spoke with after the show — professional musicians and casual fans alike — was the incredible level of showmanship Mathus and company provided. From the moment their N’awlins style drum line snaked its way on stage, with Jimbo shouting out the spoken lyrics to “Conglomeration of Curios” via a megaphone like a giddy carnival barker / snakeoil salesman, to their equally energetic exit 18 songs and one hotter-than-hell encore later, the Zippers thrilled the packed Ardmore Music Hall with a nonstop series of costume changes, Mardi Gras-inspired stage props, bad jokes, and impossibly demanding dance moves. The latter included (incredibly) Tamara Nicolai’s swinging her upright bass above her head in time to the beat and “Dr. Sick” doing some acrobatic high-stepping while coaxing boiling-hot jazz riffs from his fiddle.

It was also impossible not to by awed by the virtuosic level of playing and singing the Zippers delivered. Whether it was vocalist Cella Blue extending her expressive, at times Bettie Boop-like swoops and hollers to their near-breaking points, or Jimbo Mathus laying down nimble ragtime jazz-meets-Delta-blues banjo and guitar solos, the uber-talented horn section of Dave Boswell (trumpet), Steve Suter (trombone) and Henry Westmoreland (sax) topping and re-topping themselves with their endlessly creative horn solos, or the tight rhythm section of Nicolai on bass and Neilson Bernard III effortlessly switching between Big Band, New Orleans jazz, and Latin/Carribean rhythms — or, to top it all off, Dr. Sick launching his fiddle and saw (!!!) solos toward the stratosphere — the extravagantly bravura playing was constant and breathtaking.

My favorite moments (and there were many) included:

• Mathus in his sparkling red suit coat, purplish pants and U.S. flag-embossed socks laying down some swinging banjo chords during “Got My Own Thing Now”;

• Leslie Martin’s fabulous piano solo, followed by Boswell’s equally amazing trumpet solo, during “Evening at Lafitte’s”;

• Dr. Sick’s crazy song introductions — “And now I will give you AUDIO PINK EYE!” — and bad doctor jokes, interspersed with his mind-bending fiddle solos;

• Saxophonist Henry Westmoreland’s polished vocal contributions on several numbers;

• Mathus’ comedic schtick, in the midst of “Suits Are Picking Up the Bill,” during which he laid down on the floor with his head against a monitor, only to suddenly leap up — as though shocked back to life by an electric current — and hop onto the side of Nicolai’s bopping bass, riding it in standing side- saddle style;

• Cella Blue’s roof-raising vocals during “Use What Mama Gave You,” as well as her beautifully melancholic performance during “Fade,” alternated with lovely trumpet and trombone solos by Suter and Boswell;

• The outrageous costumes and props, including Mathus’ twisted voodoo cane and outsized papier maché skull head, and Ms. Blue’s multiple garment changes, including (during the lead-in to “Hell”) her transformation from a southern belle into a punk-goth farm girl, complete with large black commando boots and a colorful, flower-printed summer dress;

• and finally, the unexpected visual delight provided by the black and white, Betty Boop-style animated cartoon projected above the stage during the band’s big finale performance of “Ghost of Stephen Foster.”

Of course the audience ate up the Zippers’ renditions of their early big hits, which included the five tunes referenced above, along with “Put A Lid On It” and “Bad Businessman” from Hot. But to my taste, the newer songs held a special intrigue and, being delivered with such gusto, provided double the pleasure via their seemingly endless layers of surprise.

The changes in the Zippers’ overall sound are subtle, but to my ears the new album, Beasts of Burgundy (with the stress falling on the second syllable of that last word, a la the locals’ pronuciation of the street name in New Orleans) embraces a darker, Dr. John-informed, gris-gri meets voodoo vibe. Which is not to say the songs are any less fun, just that Mathus and Co.’s lyrical concerns have gotten richer, deeper and (in a way) more universal by steeping themselves even further in the New Orleans gumbo.

To provide a visual metaphor: the new stuff feels more like an intimate street- carnival on a poorly lit and slightly ominous backstreet, and less like a well- mannered (though high-spirited), big band dancehall performance. While the new tunes are for the most part just as lively and danceable as the older ones, they have a creepier edge to them along with a correspondingly deeper resonance, I find.

Good examples of this new flavoring can be found in such tunes as “Karnival Joe (From Kokomo)” — which the Zippers opened the show with — the saucy “Rusty Trombone,” the suitably exotic “West of Zanzibar,” the title track, and their closing drumline exit tune “Hey Shango.”

I also enjoyed Jimbo’s performance of “You Are Like A Song” from his recent solo album Incinerator, which added a bit of a mournful country twang to the already tasty musical stew.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter whether your entry point was the “old,” classic Zippers tunes or the newer stuff. It’s all part of the big, delicious, delightful, and dramatically-presented smorgasbord that is the SNZs. Thank the gods for the new/continuing life this twice-reassembled ensemble is currently enjoying: I for one can’t wait to hear how they further develop their tasty musical melange.

The local opening band, Mighty Joe Castro and the Gravamen, was good fun too, though theirs was a more traditional rockabilly / early 50s pop-rock approach. Propelled by frontman Castro’s animated gestures — which included jumps, head-jerks, hand-claps and broad swings of his arms — they did a fine job of energizing the crowd and coaxing the dancers out into the light of the stagefront. It was no big task from there for the Zippers to get the crowd bopping, giggling and clapping along for the duration. Those dancers who managed to keep it up to the show’s end — like the tireless woman in the balcony area who I overheard proclaiming to her friends afterwards, “I’m still bouncing with excitement!” — must’ve gotten one hell of a workout.

__________

Squirrel Nut Zippers tour dates, videos, recordings and merchandise can be found at: http://www.snzippers.com

More info on Joe Castro and the Gravamen can be found at: https://thegravamen.mightyjoecastro.com

REVIEW: Hayes Carll and Ben Dickey — An Old, Comfy Pair of Jeans and a Bit of an Enigma

As published in Americana Highways on April 22, 2019

There’s something relaxed and comfortable about Hayes Carll, so that listening to his tunes sometimes feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans. He’s easy to get into, doesn’t chafe, and feels snug and familiar. After a while you start feeling like you could happily sit around with him all evening, just telling stories and shootin’ the breeze.

That’s partly because his chord changes and melodies really ARE familiar, since he borrows copiously — though nimbly and tastefully — from his Austin-area influences: Ray Wylie Hubbard, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson and Guy Clark. He has also clearly studied the song-craft of folks like Bob Dylan, John Prine and Steve Earle — whose ex-wife Allison Moorer, Carll legendarily “stole,” to Earle’s dismay — along with other, younger Americana penmen like Todd Snider and Ryan Adams. Nevertheless, Carll’s is an original and invigorating voice rather than a merely derivative one.

Carll also has the kind of laid-back, drawling persona that can lull you into thinking he’s not going anywhere quick, when all of a sudden — WHAM! — it hits you that he just snuck another genius line or unshakeable melody deep into your subconscious, where it’s likely to sit and ferment until it hits you hard between the eyes.

He’s a sneaky puncher, that guy.

And then every once in a while his serious, more edgy, political side shows up to remind you that he has a less laid-back, more observant side, too. Though he’s only 43 years old, with just six albums to his credit, it seems like he’s been around (and been through) a whole lot more. In short, he seems like an old, wise soul at times, who has maybe gleaned more than a few nuggets of wisdom from his friend and mentor Ray Wylie.

Carll’s performance with his band The Gulf Coast Orchestra (featuring Travis Linville on steel, guitar, and dobro, Mike Meadows on drums, Geena Spigarelli on bass, and Cory Younts on piano, mandolin, and harmonica) at the Ardmore Music Hall on April 4 exhibited all of the above-mentioned qualities. His 22 song set (including three encore numbers) spanned his entire career, with a natural emphasis on his new album, What It Is.

Dressed in his customary blue, Western-cut workshirt, jeans and boots, and playing a trusty, scratched-up Gibson J-45, Carll choose to open the show with the train-beat propelled country honker “If I May Be So Bold.” Interestingly, No Depression had recently published an essay/statement of Hayes’ by the same title, in which he took a public stance with regard the country’s wide political divide. Though he felt uncomfortable about “being seen” in that way, he felt he finally had to do so after suffering an ugly on-line incident. (In brief: after Carll announced via social media that he would be playing a concert in support of Beto O’Rourke, “someone left a comment stating that he hoped I got shot on stage.” You can read his full response to the incident via the link provided below.)

In a way, starting the show with that particular song was like making a statement about a statement, saying in effect: This is who I am, take it or leave it. Or as he says in the essay, “I’ve decided I would rather be criticized for the things I believe in than be embraced for the things I don’t.”

Statement made, Carll proceeded to show his kinder, gentler side via ballads like “Nonya Business,” “In Times Like These” (which he introduced via a story about the time he and Allison Moorer made up a persona — a librarian — during a Southwestern Airlines flight), and “Jesus and Elvis” (about Lala’s Little Nugget, in North Austin). He interspersed those tunes with others highlighting his pointedly political side, such as the irony-laced “Fragile Men,” as well as his rowdier side with rockers like the joyous “Beautiful Thing” (from the new album) and the scorcher “KMAG YOYO” (an abbreviation for the military phrase “Kiss my ass goodbye, you’re on your own).

The band exited the stage after that last number, leaving Carll to accompany himself on the lovely “Beaumont” from 2008’s breakthrough Trouble in Mind, which he followed with his lilting, cheerful tale about the quirky courtship of Billy and Katey, “Girl Downtown.” Linville returned to the stage to accompany Hayes on dobro for the latter tune.

The rest of the band rejoined Carll and Linville and quickly picked up where they had left off with a rousing version of the Hubbard classic “Drunken Poet’s Dream.” They followed that with “What It Is” off the new album, which featured a tasteful dobro solo by Linville; the humorous “I Got a Gig” from Trouble in Mind, Carll’s rocking version of Scott Nolan’s “Bad Liver and a Broken Heart,” which drew thunderous applause from the crowd; “It’s a Shame,” solidly anchored by Spigarelli’s loping bass; and finally a kickass version of “Stomp and Holler,” which got the audience doing exactly what the title says.

Carll and company’s encore consisted of three tunes: the ballad “I Will Stay,” during which Carll held the audience completely in thrall (you could hear the proverbial pin drop as it ended); “Wild as a Turkey,” whose steady thumping beat was ably provided by Meadows, while Linville added another nice dobro/slide solo; and finally, Carll’s lyrical tour de force, “Sake of the Song.”

By show’s end the comfort level between Carll and the audience was beyond that of a cowboy and his favorite pair of jeans; it was well nigh down to the skivvies. Carll seemed particularly happy with the venue, noting that he usually plays “The type of place that has a mechanical sheep.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, but like the rest of the audience I enjoyed the casual, drawling way he said it.

—————

Ben Dickey, who opened for Carll and his band, was a bit more of an enigma to me. Like many other audience members, no doubt, I was intrigued to see how Dickey’s on-stage persona might align (or not) with his amazing on-screen portrayal of Blaze Foley in Ethan Hawke’s film Blaze. Despite his lack of experience as an actor Dickey absolutely owned that role and seemed completely comfortable and convincing in conveying the title character’s legendarily cantankerous, outsized personality.

He didn’t seem quite as outsized as a solo, live performer on stage, however, though his guitar chops were pretty darned impressive. Playing a black semi- hollow 1935 Gibson archtop through a chorus pedal, and at times running that combo through a looper pedal to stack multiple layers of guitar tones, Dickey provided a nifty nine-song set that culminated with a trio of tunes by John Prine (“Long Monday”), Blaze Foley (the unmistakable “Clay Pigeons”) and Townes van Zandt (“No Place to Fall”). Dickey sang that last tune with conviction, delivering its dark delicacy beautifully. Its legendary author no doubt would have approved.

Dickey seemed slightly more circumspect in delivering his originals, however. Perhaps it was nervousness in returning to the city (Philadelphia) where he’d struggled through some hard times, working feverishly as a chef at the fabled music club Johnny Brenda’s and experiencing “some kind of breakdown” after his band Blood Feathers broke up and a good friend died in a bicycle accident — this was before Hawke drafted him for the lead role in Blaze — but Dickey’s interactions with the audience seemed a bit halting at times. The only reference he made to his Philly past came when he mentioned the local phrase “down the shore” — “I never heard that phrase before I came here,” he said. No further comment was extended.

He was similarly reticent on the topic of portraying a songwriting legend like Foley. That experience was “really strange,” he said — “mystical and magical” — but he did not proffer any specifics about why, or what had made it so.

Which was just fine, as long as he was dazzling us with his nimble guitar playing and somewhat unexpected tunes. The chorus of the balled “Man with a Hammer” goes “Tallyhoo, time to go / Lay down your bones to be free, old soul,” which sounds rather old-timey; but when mated with chorus and tremolo effects pushed through a slowly distorting looper pedal, it became something else entirely. During an upbeat blues number with a strong affinity to Dylan’s “Highway 61,” Dickey shredded on a rockabilly style solo; another song had the flavor of surf music-meets-psychedelic rock, while a fourth featured a nifty bridge with R & B flavored stops.

The man definitely has some chops, and his voice has a husky, pleasantly Dylanesque quality to it. I’m hopeful that Dickey will begin to open up and establish even more of a rapport with his audiences, so he can convey the kind of breathtaking intimacy his portrayal of Foley delivers. He’s definitely a talent to keep your eyes on, whether for his acting or musical endeavors.

—————

Upcoming tour dates for Hayes Carll, along with videos, recordings and merchandise, can be found at: http://www.hayescarll.com

Carll’s essay “If I May Be So Bold” can be found at: https://www.nodepression.com/if-i-may-be-so-bold-an-essay-by-hayes-carll/

More info on Ben Dickey, along with tour dates, videos and music can be found at: https://www.bendickeymusic.com

An account of Dickey’s time in Philadelphia (entitled “When musician Ben Dickey left Philadelphia, he was depressed. Now, he’s a movie star”) can be read at: https://www.philly.com/entertainment/music/ben-dickey-ethan-hawke-blaze-foley-20190329.html

REVIEW: Malcolm Holcombe Charmed, Chuckled and Cajoled During His Intimate Show at Jamey’s House of Music

As published in Americana Highways on April 11, 2019

What a rare treat: not only to get to see Malcolm Holcombe play, but to see him at a newish, intimate venue with a great sound system. Such was my luck when I and a small handful of enthusiastic, mostly middle-aged fans caught Holcombe play at the intimate Jamey’s House of Music in Lansdowne, Pennsylvania, just west of Philadelphia.

Despite having been a big fan for many years I had not seen Holcombe play live before, so I did not know quite what to expect. It some ways he’s very much like the wild-looking, frenetic player you’ve seen in YouTube videos and on the DVD for the RCA sessions, though he’s sweeter and much more approachable than those videos let on. He’s also funny as hell, in a charmingly down-home, pointed way.

Sure, that craggy, careworn face of his — with one long wispy lock of hair from his greying ponytail hanging down in front of it — was instantly recognizable, as was his customarily ragged, near-homeless person’s outfit. So was the dark, downward glare, along with the sharply percussive fingerpicking, the hard palm-banging on the guitar top, and the spittle flying everywhere as he spat out his tunes with growls and howls punctuated by husky whispers.

He declared at the show’s start “Let’s make some racket here!” and proceeded to do just that. He was in perpetual herky-jerky motion at Jamey’s: leaning, swaying, his leg bouncing up and down, his face enacting surprise, fear, anger, melancholic sadness and wistfulness by turns. His song introductions and occasional post-song explanations were sometimes short and cryptic, other times long and expansive; sometimes deeply personal, other times wittily observant of social mores and cultural assumptions; sometimes hilarious, and other times my-favorite-dog-just-died serious.

He played every song — even ones he’d written over 25 years ago — flawlessly, without a cheat sheet or prompter, and with an intensity that was constant and unyielding. The breathtaking, laser-focused intensity of his performance of “A Hundred Lies” — the title song off his first album, recorded in 1996 but not released until 1999 — was worth the price of admission alone.

It was definitely THAT man/myth/legend I saw.

As expected, he also brought his strong political opinions and incisive social commentary, via songs like “Down the River” (“I tried to write this country song when Mitt Romney was running for president”), “New Damnation Alley” (about a visit to Plymouth, England, where the Mayflower “stopped to get liquor on their way here,” according to Holcombe), “Legal Tender” (about rural meth labs’ and pharmaceutical companies’ complicity in ruining American lives), “Yours No More” (about our collective disavowal of the promise Ellis Island once held out to immigrants), and his moving closer for the evening, “A Far Cry.” Before launching into that last number Holcombe reminisced poignantly about having once held a piece of the Berlin Wall, adding huskily, “I don’t think we need walls… we need bridges.”

“I’m a hard lefty,” he admitted at the start of his second set. “I like what Steve Earle said,” he added: “‘I’m just a little bit left of Mao Tse Tung.’”

Holcombe’s sneakily surreal, at times slapdash sense of humor was in full evidence at Jamey’s, too. A few of the one-liners I managed to catch (they came fast and furious at times) included:

• “The moral of the story is, if your dog tells you what to do and his lips don’t move, don’t do it.”

• “I was talking to my wife about my extensive knowledge of world history. It didn’t take long.”

• “When you’re married a long time like we are — 17 years — you got a lot to say… to other people.”

• “I left my wallet in my other pants… for about 20 years.”

• “She had on a two-piece, bright orange bikini — and I think she had most of her teeth.”

• [Imitating someone losing his memory]: “I’m like, ‘Margaret, where’s my Ambien? Did the dog get my Ambien again??”

At one point he told a story about being in Madrid with his collaborator and sometime-producer Jared Taylor. They were playing as a duo in a hotel, but someone assumed they were just part of the full band and wanted to know where their drummer was. “Oh, he died in a titty bar,” they faked off-handedly. This tale prompted a later cry from an audience member at Jamey’s (after Holcombe played a particularly percussive number): “You don’t need no drum, Malcolm!”

Announcing the intermission at the end of his first set, Holcombe quipped, “We’ll take a break so we can chain smoke and touch each other — that’s about all I think ‘bout any more.”

And for the coup de grace — though I’m sure no one will believe this — I SWEAR I heard Holcombe howl a line from the Steppenwolf rocker “Born to Be Wild” toward the end of his performance of “Who Carried You.” His wit was that quirky, delightful and infectious.

There was also something surprisingly gentle and warm about his presence that I did not expect, however. Such qualities evinced themselves most notably during songs like “Savannah Blues,” “Down in the Woods” (which he humbly thanked Jonathan Edwards for covering), “Don’t Know Better,” “My Brother’s Keeper,” “Pitiful Blues,” and finally, “Merry Christmas” and “I Don’t Wanna Disappear” off his album, Come Hell or High Water.

As one audience member noted shortly after Holcombe closed the show with his incredibly tender solo rendition of “A Far Cry” (which he performed as a duet with Maura O’Connell on The RCA Sessions): “It’s amazing that a voice that rough could sound so beautiful.”

Amazing, indeed. Those genuinely warm, tender qualities also evinced themselves during Holcombe’s meet-and-greet banter with attendees, a couple of whom ventured to broach the subjects of addiction and rehabilitation. Holcombe listened to their stories of relatives’ frayed lives with deep, sympathetic attention, and in one case offered to put a fan in touch with a counselor/addiction expert he knows in the Philly area. It was such a touching and unexpected show of simple human kindness that I had a hard time keeping my eyes dry as I walked away. That gesture added many inches to the diminutive Holcombe’s stature, in my eyes. He’s worth admiring for more than just his prodigious songwriting and performing skills it would seem.

—————

More info on Malcolm Holcombe, including tour dates, reviews, and links to his recordings, can be found at: https://www.malcolmholcombe.com

Also check out: My review of Holcombe’s latest album, Come Hell or High Water.

REVIEW: Rylan Brooks Strikes Country Gold at Phoenixville’s Colonial Theater

As published in Americana Highways on April 3, 2019

Rylan Brooks, led by truck-driving songwriter/vocalist/guitarists Nate Rylan and Chris Brooks, aims to deliver songs influenced by “the sound of 60’s & 70’s country music… when Country was COUNTRY.” Their particular approach to the genre is a mix of Outlaw with “some funny” and “some ugly.” As Brooks explains, “Look, we all go through the same sh*t — might as well sing and laugh about it.”

In short, they’re doing a comedic send-up of the genre, while using it as a vehicle to express (sometimes) more serious, umm… desires and observations, let’s say. They’re not the first to attempt that balancing act, obviously. Other performers who have ventured down the same road include The Yayhoos, Bobby Bare Jr. (not to mention his dad, the author of that remarkable 70s country hit “Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life”) and, going back a bit further, the sadly forgotten Nat Stuckey (who penned such classics as “Sweet Thang,” “Plastic Saddle,” “Waitin’ in Your Welfare Line” and “Pop a Top”). You can probably think of many others.

And then there are the many pop-rock stars who have attempted, for better or worse, to embrace the country genre for an album or two, either just for yucks or in a serious attempt to mine that genre’s rich history. In this category we have Elton John’s Tumbleweed Connection, The Kinks’ Muswell Hillbillies, Elvis Costello’s Almost Blue, Van Morrison’s Pay the Devil and such Rolling Stones classics as “Far Away Eyes,” “Dead Flowers,” “Sweet Virginia,” “Country Honk,” and (in a less jokey vein) “Wild Horses.”

As Mick Jagger once said, “I love country music, but I find it very hard to take it seriously.” However, to pull off parodying country from within, as it were, you actually have to take it quite seriously. There are four essential requirements for this, it seems to me:

1. You have to be serious musicians who have studied the genre and genuinely “get it” — and by “it” I mean not just all the essential licks and tricks, but the bleeding heart and soul of the thing.

2. You gotta sing every song, however silly or over the top its premise or lyrics, like you truly mean it. Acting like you don’t really buy into the genre or that you only half believe what you’re singing about it is a sure path to a half-assed one-off.

3. You absolutely must and cannot sneer at, condescend to or otherwise mock your audience, though you certainly CAN make fun of yourself — unless your adopted persona too closely resembles your audience. This ties in with:

4. You have to avoid the winky-wink gesture of knowing, self-congratulatory metacommentary at all costs. Either you stand and deliver, or you don’t — you can’t try to smirkingly save face as you’re doing it.

A good example of a successful venture that meets all those requirements is Commander Cody & the Lost Planet Airmen’s classic 1972 release Hot Licks, Cold Steel, and Trucker’s Favorites. I remember being blown away the first time I heard that album as a punk and New Wave-loving teenager. From the first (title) song’s opening line — “It’s Saturday night and I just got paid” — through to the album’s finale — a live, rockin’ version of “Tutti Fruitti” — I found myself continuously amused AND enchanted. That treasured piece of vinyl remains in rotation to this day.

It wasn’t just the hilarious, over-the-top lyrics of songs like “Truck Drivin’ Man,” “Kentucky Hills of Tennessee,” “Looking at the World Through a Windshield” and “Mama Hated Diesels” that got me, though. It was the fact that the Commander and his band — most notably, “The Titan of The Telecaster” Bill Kirchen and pedal steel player Bobby “Blue” Black — played those songs like they absolutely OWNED them. Their playing conveyed both total conviction and mastery of the musical models (in this case, a mix of the Bakersfield sound with cheesy AM radio-friendly trucker’s favorites) they chose to mimic.

In short, it was clear that they were parodying the country genre because they LOVED it, rather than because they reviled it or thought it was beneath them.

Based on the evidence provided by their debut album Half Wild and their recent performance at the Colonial Theater, I’d say Rylan Brooks absolutely get all of the above, and understand how to walk that razor-thin line between inspired parody and a passing, insincere schtick.

As they showed at the Colonial, these guys are all-in. Though Brooks and Rylan both started out as rock musicians — the former releasing a solo album featuring members of Hop Along and the latter having played in the Grunge band Early Ape as well as a “psych wave project” in Nashville (with fellow Philadelphian Matt Kass) called NIGHTMØDE — they’ve clearly studied and lived the Country & Western Gold catalog. Since they met while hauling loads up and down I-95, perhaps it’s not surprising that they gravitated to the country side of the dial while out on the road trying to avoid smokies.

“1950’s rock n’ roll moves me more than most any other music and is often indistinguishable from Country music,” as Rylan notes. “As musicians and songwriters, Chris and I don’t hear the big differences between genres and we really prefer not to think about music in that way too much. Good songs are good songs.”

On the other hand, in revealing some of his biggest Country influences, Rylan adds, “One of the best things about Country music is that it has already incorporated so many styles from the American experience. Our go-to influences, in addition to many classic Country greats, are artists who stick out like sore thumbs and are hard to define in terms of a genre, like Roger Miller, Buddy Holly, Shel Silverstein, Kris Kristofferson, Jerry Reed, and even Harry Nilsson.”

What Rylan Brooks adds to that mix and what sets them apart from other Country and Americana acts is the good-natured, low-falutin’ humor that drives their clever, congenial tunes. Perhaps it’s just me, but that humorous touch seems to be a rare commodity in those competing musical communities these days.

It also helps that Brooks and Rylan have a kick-ass band that incorporates some of Philly’s (and Nashville’s) finest musicians. The band at the Colonial featured 40-year music veteran Bob Beach on harmonica; Will Brown (of local rock band Deadfellow) on electric guitar; Nashville based multi-instrumentalist Andy Keenan (Sweetback Sisters, Calexico, War and Treaty) on pedal steel; Fred Berman (Tommy Conwell, G. Love, Mutlu, Schoolly D) on drums; and John Cunningham (who has backed Jim Boggia, Pete Donnelly, No Good Sister and heads his own group, Needlefish) on bass.

That all-star cast’s support was right on the money throughout Rylan Brooks’ short set at Phoenixville’s stately Colonial Theatre on March 22, where they opened for the illustrious Delbert McClinton and his band the Self-Made Men.1 RB jumped right in with a tip of their caps to their truck-driving pasts with “Friend of the Road,” a rocker that saw Brown and Beach cut loose on lead guitar and harmonica respectively. A foot-stomping slice of life from the point of view of a trucker trying hard to keep on schedule despite having multiple encounters with various “friends” along the route, the tune features lines like “Turn off the radio, come in from the cold / You know I’m always pullin’ over for a friend of the road” and the chorus “I got eighteen tons of all kinds of fun / I got that monkey on my back ridin’ shotgun.”

Brooks took a turn at the mic for the humorously autoerotic “Nobody Loves Me Like Myself,” which got a rise out of the mostly older crowd at The Colonial. I’ll let the lyrics speak for themselves:

Nobody loves me like myself, I’ve got that special touch
Nobody loves me like myself, when it comes to me, I can’t get enough
I’ve been around the world, known a lot of pretty women
But the best kind of lovin’ is the kind that’s God-given
Nobody loves me like myself, so mama just let me be

The protoganist’s romantic adventures — which explain his preference for self-sufficiency — involve encounters with one woman with a “loaded 5 – 7” and another whose husband wields a Louisville Slugger. Suffice to say, by the time the outro’s key change kicked in, the crowd was chuckling and singing along merrily.

Rylan took the lead with his smooth western crooner vocals on “Milan,” a newer ballad that hasn’t yet been recorded. It’s the tale of a liar who confesses to his would-be lover that

These words that roll off my silver tongue
They don’t mean a goddamn thing
So I’ll wrap my arms around you
And say that it’s all right
Well it don’t mean I love you
It just means that I might

The explanation for his shortcomings in the truth-telling department is rooted in his clichéd, fictional existence, it seems: “For I am just a cowboy / And this is just a song.” While this might seem to directly violate requirement #4 above, Rylan (like the protagonist) sings “the words so sweetly / Till you feel ‘em in your bones” that it’s hard to doubt the sincerity of either. In other words, the song’s complete adherence to requirement #2 counteracts the conundrum its self-referentiality presents with #4. In short, the melody and presentation were powerful enough to allay the qualms of any doubting Thomases, as the audience’s hearty applause attested.

“Living for Today” is a hilarious compendium of redneck clichés (“Pulled the truck up on the yard… Trailer’s fallin’ down, I’m hungry”) grounded by a steady alternating bass line that builds to the rousing chorus, “Well, fuck it — let’s get outta town / Find the reason on the way / Let’s forget about tomorrow / Start livin’ for to-day.” Beach’s harmonica and Keenan’s pedal steel licks nicely complemented Brook’s rugged, raspy vocals on this one. And though the specifics of the characters’ predicament may be a bit white-trashy, the general sentiment is universal: Who hasn’t yearned to skip town and leave one’s troubles behind for a few days?

The slow-burning ballad “Firewood” begins propitiously with the lines “You had nowhere to go / Those fishnets won’t keep you warm when it snows / You saw me comin’ from miles away / Lonesome as a widow on Valentine’s Day.” The appropriately schmaltzy musical accompaniment (think deep B-bends on the electric guitar, weepy pedal steel slides and moaning vocal harmonies) sets the stage nicely for this sad tale about a barroom encounter (the hero finds his counterpart at the bar “tradin’ winks for beers”) that climaxes with the tragic- triumphant refrain: “I shed more tears than any man should / When you split me in two, just like fire-ire… wood.”

The band finished with the lead song off Half Wild, the predictably ominous and cinematic (in a good way) “Gunslinger.” Beach’s long bends on the harmonica set the perfect spaghetti-western backdrop for lines like “‘Cause I got a trigger and a mean right hand / Shoot first, aim later, it’s my only plan.” The song lifts as the second verse begins: “Could you hold my scalp while I cool my brain?” It’s “one more headache in a life gone wrong” Brooks rasped while the band chugged like a big rig on a ribbed road behind him. “You’ll find me out on the road / If you’re lookin’ for a gunslinger.”

By this point Rylan Brooks had the crowd fully in hand, and their set ended to uproarious applause. Unfortunately, as the opening act subject to time restrictions they didn’t get to play such zingers from Half Wild as “Last Night I Lied to Jesus,” “Save the Last Ugly One for Me,” or “The Day I Showed You,” but I’m sure the crowd would have eaten those up, too.

Luckily Rylan Brooks have more songs in that vein up their sleeves (hehe). They’re recording a record with Dean Miller, son of the legendary Roger Miller, in Nashville in July and will be doing several dates with Dallas Moore in May, including at 118 North in Wayne, PA on May 3, Brooklyn’s Skinny Dennis on May 4, and then back in Philly at the Dawson Street Pub on May 5. You should check them out if you’re looking for some good ol’ Country Gold sounds and hilarious stage banter — these guys are the real deal, even if it’s delivered with a wink and a gap-toothed grin.

Their recent album is here: https://fanlink.to/buyhalfwild. More info on Rylan Brooks, including tour dates, videos and recordings, can be found at: http://rylanbrooks.com

—————

1 I reviewed Delbert McClinton & the Self-Made Men’s recent show in Wilmington, Delaware, which was similar in terms of both its set list and amazing display of top-notch musicianship. That review can be found on the Americana Highways site.

REVIEW: Todd Snider Spins Hard Times into Gold at the Ardmore Music Hall

As published in Americana Highways on March 29, 2019

Todd Snider is that rare combo: a consummate songwriter and showman all in one. With a catalog of 16 albums dating back to 1994, along with countless writing credits to his name, he recently returned to his roots, so to speak, with Cash Cabin Sessions, Vol. 3. Shelving his backing band The Hardworking Americans, Snider takes a barebones folky (as in, “what the folk?!”) approach to the Vol. 3 sessions (volumes 1 and 2 were recorded but have not yet been released) that highlights the layered irony of his lyrics, along with his masterful phrasing and peerless comedic timing.

It also highlights a new predilection for the supernatural and suspiciously serendipitous events. His song “The Ghost of Johnny Cash,” which is central to the album, describes John Carter Cash’s vision of Loretta Lynn dancing with the ghost of his father outside the family cabin, as Melissa Clarke’s recent interview with Snider details. Suffice to say, this turn to supernatural inspiration is a bit surprising in a self-avowed agnostic hippie. But as Snider told John Carter Cash before the latter related his dancing Loretta Lynn story, “I’m not really a ‘haunted’ person, but I’m not against it.”

Aside from his apparent openness to supernatural events, Snider also has a well- known history of drug addiction with related trips to rehab, assorted weirdness and broken relationships — including a traumatic divorce in 2014 — that makes one wonder which version of Todd Snider is going to show up when he performs.

Luckily it was a sober, energetic and especially quick-witted Snider who showed up for the Ardmore performance March 14, the second show of his current tour. Unlike his appearance at The Birchmere a week later (also reviewed in Americana Highways), he didn’t bring his dog Cowboy Jim on stage with him, and he didn’t go barefoot. He also wasn’t sporting (thankfully) that frightening, ungroomed beard that showed up in some of the early promotional shots for Cash Cabin.

What he DID bring to the Ardmore Music Hall was his guitar, some new stories, his congenial goofiness, and his sometimes gently satiric, at other times outrageously outspoken worldview. Part Will Rogers-ish voice of the common man, part hippie Zen master and part hard-partying stoner savant, Snider’s infamous between-song banter is droll, painful, prodding and heartfelt by turns. His tall tales almost always end with a pointed punchline (typically a self-mocking or ironically self-undermining one) that you didn’t quite see coming. This just enhances their powerful, reverberative effect.

Fellow Nashvillean Reed Foehl (pronounced “fail” — though, as he told the audience, he likes to preface it with the word “never”) opened for Snider with a set of well-crafted and emotionally affecting ballads on such serious subjects as his father’s decline and his mother’s battle with lymphoma. His father’s love of John Prine, Foehl related between songs, inspired him to pen the Prine-like “Chances Are” about his time spent taking care “of the ones who took care of me / And my highly dysfunctional family.” Several of his other songs shared that focus on mortality, loss and the slow-fast warp of time’s passage, including one containing the refrain “It’s a goodbye world, passing through it” and the stirring ballad “Wake Up the Dead.”

It was thus almost a relief when Snider showed up with his shuffling Chaplinesque gait to brighten the evening with his expected mix of levity, political edginess and hard-earned wisdom re: that hopeless bunch of mammals we call humanity. Dressed in a blue workshirt, chuka boots and his trademark floppy hat, Snider launched right into “East Nashville Skyline,” with its description of crossing over to that neighborhood’s unique “state of mind” with its “discount cigarettes, liquor and wine.” The crowd whooped approvingly as Snider sang about how the radio “kicked us off of the air / So that more Sheryl Crow could come on… Come on!” — and it was off to the races from there.

Snider essentially writes four types of songs: comedic send-ups; explicitly political numbers; songs packed with bittersweet social observations, typically told from the point of view of the down-and-out and/or outcasts; and poignant, sometimes deeply personal, ballads. Of course, being a contrarian he also mixes zinger one-liners into his serious songs and serious notes into his comedic zingers, but despite those hybrids those four categories seem to hold true.

He mixed those categories artfully at AMH, with a slight lean towards the last two. Among the more comedic numbers were “Barbie Doll,” “Beer Run,” “I Can’t Complain,” “Alright Guy,” “Just in Case” and “Iron Mike’s Main Man,” while songs from the bittersweet/socially observant category included “Sunshine,” “Looking for a Job,” “D.B. Cooper,” “Play a Train Song” and the aforementioned “East Nashville Skyline.” The explicitly political numbers came in a row, starting with the obligatory “Conservative, Christian, Right Wing Republican, Straight, White, American Males,” followed by the rapid-fire tour de force “A Timeless Response to Current Events” (with its refrain “Ain’t that some bull… shit?”), then “Talking Blues” from Vol. 3, and later on the long, seemingly improvised (though actually not) rap “The Blues on Banjo,” with its bitter, crowning exclamation: “So zippety- do-dah, muthafucker; zippety-ay!”

Snider’s artful interweaving of those three song types leant extra force to his more personal/serious numbers. These included the touching ballad “I Waited All My Life for You,” the moving “Old Times” (which Snider sang passionately), and his first encore number, “Force of Nature.” That last song, off the new album, contains the quintessential Todd Snider lines: “May you always play your music / Loud enough to wake up all of your neighbors / And may you play at least loud enough / To wake yourself up.” (Amen to that!)

Along with “The Ghost of Johnny Cash,” which requires a whole new category of its own, the final song of Snider’s four-song encore was a stunner. He actually took on — head on, as they say — the perennial obnoxious concert-goer’s favorite request: “Free Bird.” Snider’s slow acoustic version of that time-worn cliché of a tune gave it a whole new life, I thought; he seemed to wring every last, surprising emotion out of it, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a threadbare hat. He left the stage jumping up and down excitedly as the crowed roared its passionate appreciation.

You gotta hand it to him: despite the shambolic, sometimes (intentionally?) unpolished demeanor, Snider is an inspired, pro’s pro of a performer when he’s got his act together. Let’s hope his happy streak of great songwriting and focused sobriety continues.

—————

Tour dates, videos, recordings and merchandise can be found at: https://toddsnider.net/home/

REVIEW: Josh Rouse Brings Intimacy, Warmth and Professionalism to The Locks at Sona

As published in Americana Highways on March 1, 2019

I had not had a chance to see Josh Rouse in person before, despite having been a fan of his nuanced songwriting and impressively diverse catalog for decades, so I was not quite sure what to expect when I caught him at The Locks at Sona in Philadelphia last Friday night. To my delight, I discovered that Rouse is not only a pro’s pro as a musician — he played every tune, including a couple of older crowd-requested ones, with flawless virtuosity — but a personable and warmly engaging performer as well.

That winning combo was fully in evidence from the start and nicely enhanced by The Locks’ intimacy. Though it was a cold winter’s night outside, the atmosphere inside was warm and convivial thanks to Rouse’s easy, charming banter and at times self-deprecating sense of humor. Looking dapper in a dark blue suit and tie and with his light brown hair swept back from his forehead, Rouse leapt in with two of his “oldies but goodies” — the title track from his 2003 album 1972 and “It’s the Night Time,” from 2005’s Nashville — before introducing several tunes from his latest album, Love in the Modern Age.

Following some between-song banter about how tough the winter has been and “the best Scandinavian invention, besides IKEA and fish for breakfast: light therapy in the winter,” Rouse launched into the R&B-flavored “Come Back” with its confessional line “I miss my serotonin, my days are going nowhere fast” and the chorus’s plea “Come back… Baby, here the sun don’t shine / Bring my happy back.”

Accompanied only by a tobacco-burst Guild semi-hollow electric guitar, a small amp, a couple of effects pedals and an occasional harmonica, Rouse made his compositions come alive in ways that were surprisingly true to the fully orchestrated recorded versions. His tasteful integration of reverb, looping and chorus effects into his presentation was especially impressive, along with some deft whistling that helped carry the melodies over his consistently interesting chord changes.

The affluent, dinner-and-a-show crowd of 30- to 60-somethings certainly loved it, clapping and whooping loudly as each song ended and happily singing along at Rouse’s every request. As I overheard one audience member say afterwards, “Wow, that was FANTASTIC — I didn’t expect him playing solo would be so good!”

Rouse’s set list included three songs off the new album: “Salton Sea,” which he said was inspired by a YouTube documentary on that body of water that was narrated by John Waters (it was “kinda creepy,” he noted); “Businessman,” the catchy refrain to which (“Twenty-four hours a day”) Rouse claimed his kids sing whenever he and his wife argue (!); and the title track, ”Love in the Modern Age,” which he successfully urged the crowd to join him on.

Having grown up in a military family Rouse has lived all over the world, and his music incorporates a wide-ranging mix of influences, styles and musical flavors, including country, folk, pop, jazz, and R&B. Another particularly tasty flavoring comes from his exposure to Spanish music (he recently moved back to Nashville after living in Spain for a decade), and he happily incorporated several songs from the albums he produced during his stay on the Iberian peninsula. These included “Lemon Tree” from El Turista, during which Rouse played harmonica while artfully moving between simple triads and beefier chord voicings on the guitar; “JR Worried Blues” from The Embers of Time; and a lovely tune with Spanish lyrics about his former hometown, Valencia — where, he noted, Spain’s “second best invention behind the guitar,” paella, was first created — featuring flamenco-style guitar strumming and the lilting refrain “ciudad de la playa.”

Rouse alternated the Spanish-influenced tunes with other songs spanning his entire catalog, including the finger-picked “Quiet Town,” the California-loving “Sunshine,” “Flight Attendant” (about which Rouse commented, “I have no idea why somebody wanted to use that for a movie!”), and the moody “My Love Has Gone,” which had the audience tapping and snapping fingers to its chorus’s bittersweet minor chord changes. It was the first time I’d seen an audience cheer so loudly for a slow, sad ballad.

An experienced showman, Rouse connected with the audience by sprinkling in humorous anecdotes between songs. The most memorable of these was his tale about when Prince came to see him play a show at a supper club in Minneapolis. Having been alerted to the fact that the Purple Prince was in the house, Rouse decided to play his “sexiest” song for Prince. Unfortunately, Rouse relayed sadly, Prince got up and walked out in the middle of the performance.

Years later, Rouse had the opportunity to record with Prince’s trombone player, and the songwriter couldn’t resist asking what Prince was really like. “Horny,” the trombonist replied with a dead-serious look.

The last few songs of Rouse’s set — “Winter in the Hamptons,” with its simple, hyper-catchy refrain, followed by the smooth, Brazilian jazz-inflected “Here Comes the Summertime” and the mellow, arpeggiated finale, “It’s Good to Have You” from 2013’s The Happiness Waltz — were clearly the biggest crowd pleasers of the evening, along with his three encore numbers.

Rouse managed the arc of that three-song encore masterfully, moving from Marvin Gaye-inspired “Love Vibration” to the early ballad “Feeling No Pain,” and ending with the stunning “Sad Eyes.” That last tune — with its lovely, uplifting chorus contrasting with the dark minor-chord moodiness of the verses, which were punctuated by a startling double-time jump to the bridge followed by a sweet, orchestral slide back into the chorus — aptly showcased Rouse nimble, genre-defying songwriting chops.

By encore’s end the crowd was belting out every chorus along with Rouse, and the show ended to wildly appreciative applause. His showmanship never felt stagey or forced, yet Rouse managed to forge a tight connection with his audience in an incredibly short amount of time. That in itself was truly an impressive thing to behold.

—————

More info, tour dates, videos and recordings can be found at: https://

www.joshrouse.com

REVIEW: Life On The Road: Sarah Shook & The Disarmers and The National Reserve Rev Up Their Engines at the Ardmore Music Hall

As published in Americana Highways on February 25, 2019

Watching The National Reserve and Sarah Shook & the Disarmers play back-to-back at the Ardmore Music Hall last Saturday night, I realized that I was witnessing two nascent Americana bands literally headed in opposite directions.

Shook & Co. were on their last stop of a four-shows-in-four-nights East coast mini-tour, having been on tour — not only across the U.S., but in Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Canada, the Netherlands, the U.K. and Spain to boot — almost non-stop since early March of 2018. The National Reserve, on the other hand, were just about to embark on the European leg of their ongoing tour, with shows starting next week in Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Germany in support of their debut album Hotel La Grange.

Having caught Shook & the Disarmers, along with Zephaniah O’hora and Grady Hoss & The Sidewinders, at the tiny Dawson Street Pub in Philly in April of 2018, I was curious to see how the notoriously hard grind of life on the road might have affected them. The most obvious result was that the band was tight as hell, rolling through the best songs from their two albums (2017’s “Sidelong” and their 2018 follow-up “Years”) with precision, finesse and intensity. Shook’s voice was in fine fiddle and got stronger as the night went on, while guitarist Eric Peterson and pedal steel player Phil Sullivan took turns laying down tasty, Bakersfield-inspired licks. Bassist Aaron Oliva made playing barroom-brawl country on an upright bass look easy, while drummer Kevin McClain held the band’s groove steady throughout, shining particularly (though unobtrusively) on their trainbeat-driven numbers.

The band had clearly developed a solid sense of showmanship since I last saw them, when they came across as more of a fun-loving bar band that didn’t take itself all that seriously. Last March, Shook’s banter was carefree and edgy in that tough-chick, “I- don’t-give-a-shit” way of hers, the band happily chatted with the audience and the other bands’ personnel both on-stage and on the tiny patio by Dawson Street’s side door, they drank a just a wee bit (a-hem!), and they seemed genuinely to be having one hell of a good time.

This time around they seemed more self-aware, image-wise. Perhaps it was just that they are now playing bigger venues (the Ardmore Music Hall is easily eight times the size of the tiny Dawson St. Pub) as well as to more popular acclaim, with its attendant critical microscopes. Peterson, for example, came dressed up for the occasion, resplendent in a black silk top-hat decorated with a bright red band; with his lean, black-clad frame, dark-framed glasses and distinctly parted fu manchu- like grey beard, he looked the part of a poster-ready rock star.

The other band members were less nattily attired though. Except for Shook, who wore her usual combo of leather jacket (quickly removed), tattoos and fitted tee, they came casually dressed in grey t-shirts and jeans. Still, combined with the stage’s greater remove (compared to the stageless Dawson St. at least), the relative lack of between- song banter, the professional staging and light management, the overall impression I had was of a band that was less casual, but by the same token more professional and intent on taking their craft seriously.

The humorous moments I caught during the band’s time on stage at the AMH came when the singer ceremoniously tipped her plastic cup of whiskey with an over-hearty “Cheers!” to the crowd, and then later when I caught a glimpse of the band’s set list, with its cute, inside-jokey replacement of several abbreviated song names with titles like “Farting” (for “Parting Words”), “Home Fries” (for “Keep the Home Fires Burning”) and “Whut” (for “What It Takes”).

The crowd ate it up, singing along knowingly with several numbers. Those included “Fuck Up,” onto which the audience added an incongruously merry gloss to Shock’s weary, simmering anger, and “New Ways to Fail,” during which the crowd gave special emphasis to the line “I need this shit like I need ANOTHER HOLE IN MY HEAD.” By the time they got to “Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don’t” — during which Sullivan’s pedal steel quickly rose to the feisty occasion — a bunch of white- haired older gentleman in flannel shirts, jeans and trucker caps were crowding the front of the stage and shouting along with every word.

The only rumble of dissatisfaction I sensed from the crowd came when the band limited its encore performance to a single song. (In response to Shook’s ”We’ve got one more for you,” the crowd responded pleadingly: “How about two more?!?”) But what a performance that encore was! — with Shook spitting out the “Nah-AIILL in this here coffin” like an angry Appalachian cast-off, Peterson cueing up yet another habañero-hot Telecaster solo, and Sullivan following that with a series of well-lubricated pedal steel lines that prompted a chorus of “Yee-haw!!!’s” from the balcony.

Two earlier moments in the show shared the energy and joy of that encore. The first came when Shook delivered the recently-released ballad “The Way She Looked at You,” digging in passionately on the mournful chorus while Sullivan’s pedal steel wept openly behind her. The other big bump in energy, which sent a perceptible electric zing through the crowd this time, came when Peterson and Sullivan traded fours about 2:30 into “What It Takes,” while drummer Kevin McClain alternated deftly between delicate rim taps and rock-solid pounding. The ensemble playing was as tight as on the recording, but hearing and seeing it performed live was absolutely thrilling. It was clear at these moments that the band was not only clicking on all fours, but actively enjoying itself.

In short, Shook and her Disarmers delivered on all counts and clearly matched or exceeded the audience’s expectations. They did so in a regal, professional manner — rather than, in contrast with last year’s pre-European tour show at Dawson St., a band that was excited to be raisin’ hell out on the road, meeting new folks every night, and basking in the glory of a great new record.

On the other hand, the latter was exactly the vibe The National Reserve gave off during their thrilling 75+ minute, 11-song set. While I’m not sure the Reserve is quite “there yet” (to use a hack-critical phrase) in terms of the level of their songwriting — which is not as memorable and distinctive as Shook’s, for example — and their approach’s originality, they brought an impressive energy and verve, along with a white-hot level of musicianship, to their set at the AMH.

Like Shook and her Disarmers on their last two passes through Philly in 2018 (the second was at Johnny Brenda’s in mid-September), the Reservists seemed intent on kicking butt and taking no prisoners at AMH. Led by the towering songwriter, vocalist and multi- instrumentalist Sean Walsh along with Jon LaDeau on vocals and guitar, The Reserve came out rocking right off the bat with a Walsh-led power-poppish number that incorporated three-part harmonies and (naturally) a jangly Rickenbacher guitar. Walsh is a BIG guy and a strong vocalist with a rough-edged, soulful voice, and with his long dark hair and beard, American flag-adorned jeans jacket and hiking boots, he projected a powerful yet laid-back presence.

LaDeau, who grew up about a half-hour from Ardmore, took over the lead vocals on the second number, and the two continued to toss the lead vocal baton back and forth for the duration of the set, with bassist Scott Colberg and drummer Brian Geltner intermittently contributing tasty harmonies. LaDeau adorned this bouncy, melodic number with a scorching Les Paul solo featuring a nifty descending slide lick, which was followed by a second solo by Walsh that actually drew screams from the crowd.

This back-and-forth dynamic, with their talents intertwining at times, continued throughout, much to the crowd’s delight. The Reservists followed those first two numbers with a wide variety of tunes, including a swampy blues rocker highlighted by a Freddie King-like solo by Walsh; a folksy-twangy Americana singalong number called “Abe Lincoln”; a southern rocker featuring “Sweet Home, Alabama”-ish chord changes, a dual guitar attack AND dueling vocals; and a cover of Derroll Adams’ “Roll On, Babe” that incorporated a vaguely Caribbean shuffle beat, a glissando solo over chimey rhythm guitar effects, and a superb Les Paul slide solo by LaDeau.

The second half of their set included the title song from their album Hotel La Grange, a slow ballad about meeting the “queen of Bowling Green” at that hotel; a mid-tempo country rocker with Allman Brothers overtones; a slide-centered blues rocker that evolved into an extended jam that showed off all of the band’s skills, drawing wild applause from the crowd and the exclamation “MAN, this is fun!” from Walsh; and a tasty roots-gospel-country rock singalong with the refrain “Let me ride in your big Cadillac, Lord Jesus / Let me ride in your big Cadillac.” The audience happily crooned along on the latter.

They closed with a jammy southern rocker that featured more tasty harmonies and snazzy tempo changes. Walsh and LaDeau cut loose on the breakdowns and solos during this one, without the song’s ever getting raggedy or wooly. Tight in concept and delivery, it was a fitting finale to the band’s impressive set.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention local duo Hannah Taylor and Rekardo Lee (aka, Jesse Lundy), who opened the evening with a fun eight-song set of blues-based numbers. With her big up-draft of bright red hair and blonde cowboy boots, Taylor belted out these tunes — which encompassed everything from mellow mid-tempo numbers, to a rockin’ Ricky’ Nelson number (“I Believe”), to some obscure, low-down 1920s blues ditties and even a slow, sweet version of “Blue Bayou” — with a twangy yet robust voice reminiscent of early Bonnie Raitt. Alternating between a metal resonator guitar that was “double-signed” (the first signature had rubbed off) by Johnny Winter and a jumbo acoustic, Lee complemented Taylor’s voice perfectly with his good-’n’-growly slide accompaniment and Chuck Berry-inflected blues licks. Their good-natured, diverse set proved the perfect aperitif for the night’s main courses.

—————

Merch, videos, and tour dates for Sarah Shook & the Disarmers can be found at: https://www.disarmers.com

Tour dates, band info, recordings and merch for The National Reserve are available at: https://thenationalreserve.com/home

Info and links for Hannah Taylor and the Rekardo Lee Trio can be found at: https:// www.facebook.com/htrl3/

REVIEW: Hezekiah Jones Unveils Its Charming Cabinet of Snail Curiosities at 118 North

As published in Americana Highways on February 11, 2019

What if I told you I’m in love with a band that was named after its mastermind’s pet snail? And that said band promoted itself for a time by representing its music as having been produced by a snail — and that its label (Yer Bird) was fine with that? And that the band’s website to this day features a page containing nothing but photos of snails?

What if I further told you that the same band decided, after finally agreeing to self- identify as humans, to obscure their identities by adopting the family moniker “Jones” and letting each band member preface his or her common surname (though none are related) with a jokey, old-timey Appalachian name?

Thus we have: Hezekiah Jones (aka, songwriting snail-lover Raphael “Raph” Cutrufello); Pocono Jones (Brad Hinton); Roy G. Biv Jones (Daniel Bower); Kiwi Jones (Kiley Ryan); Tones Jones (Andy Keenan); and Peter L.V. Jones (Alex Luquet).

Welcome to the surreal, humorous, sometimes dark, sometimes darkly humorous and always strangely magical world of Hezekiah Jones, the best and certainly most unique folk / Americana / sui generis band you probably haven’t yet heard of.

Orbiting around the fertile imagination and songwriting talents of Cutrufello, this collective of Philadelphia-area musicians — often featuring Phil D’Agostino in place of Luquet on bass and on this night featuring Keenan, recently returned to Philadelphia from Nashville, on pedal steel and banjo — has been quietly compiling a strong catalog of quirky, mundanely-yet-transcendentally beautiful and always hummable songs since the mid-2000s. A good number of those songs have the morbidly comedic feel of an Edward Gorey illustration; some seem to harken back to a vaguely Civil War-era America that history books could never capture, while others live in a weird, semi sci-fi time & space all their own.

In short, Cutrufello’s aim is off-kilter and intentionally headed off the beaten path — though his songs simultaneously seem hauntingly familiar, like misheard hymns or battle marches. As “Hundred Miles In,” from the band’s most recent, 2015 full-length album In Loving Memory of oosi Lockjaw (yes, you read that right) puts it: “I know you’re kinda strange / ‘cause you’re not really into the normal stuff / You know you’re kinda weird / when you’re not really into humans that much.” (He prefers snails, obviously.)

If you’re curious about this curious band, …oosi Lockjaw is a decent ledge from which to leap into their eccentric universe. Have You Seen Our New Fort? — a 2011 release that features 14 different players and incorporates such unusual instrumentation (especially for a “folk” album) as glockenspiel, waterboards, sleigh bells, trombones, baritone saxophone and clarinet — is another one.

Though you may not have heard of them, Hezekiah Jones has been a pretty big draw in Philadelphia for a while now, filling places like Johnny Brenda’s, the Ardmore Music Hall, and on this particular evening, the newish venue 118 North in Wayne (on the western side of Philly’s “Main Line”), where Cutrufello hosts a weekly Wednesday night open mic / jam that draws many of the area’s best musicians.

That same venue was packed to the gills with Hezekiah aficionados last Saturday. Darlyngton, the love-child band of Jack Shoudy and Emily MacDonald (who grew up in Wayne) — led off with a set dominated by danceable Grateful Dead jams and lesser known covers, including an interesting rendition of John Prine’s classic “Sam Stone.” A tall redhead with a strong voice and swirling freeform dance moves, MacDonald was the visual focal point, while the rest of the band played their parts more than competently, luring a good portion of the audience onto the dance floor by set’s end.

The Hezekiah Jones sextet then squished onto the smallish stage to play two long sets, performing 25 songs en toto, and re-peforming a snippet of one of those songs (their cover of Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe”) at least eight times, by my count.

To be completely honest, after the third or fourth annoying repetition of that snippet, my reaction was WTF?!?

Cutrufello later reminded me that Februrary 2nd was Groundhog Day, and that that particular snippet — introduced heartily each time with the phrase “Okay campers, rise and shine, and don’t forget your booties, ‘cause it’s COLD OUT THERE!” by drummer Roy G. Biv Hones / Daniel Bower (who also serves as the regular drummer for central Pennsylvania Americana veterans Frog Holler) — plays on the radio as Bill Murray wakes redundantly to his alarm clock in the 1993 comedy of that name.

Now I’m not just annoyed; I’m thoroughly amused.

Cutrufello, you see, is a charmingly wicked, wickedly charming fellow, in his mild- mannered, sweet-natured way. He’s the kind of guy who can annoy you by pulling your leg but then instantly disarm your distemper with a wink and a warm grin (or perhaps a shot of gin). His songs have a similar effect, reeling you in to what feels like a joke that may or may not be on you, but then unreeling them out so that they come to resonate, sometimes immediately, sometimes only in hindsight, like a Zen master’s firm knock on an initiate’s head.

In short, if you’ve never seen Hezekiah Jones live, you’re in for a treat when you do — especially if you like your folk and/or Americana mysterious and a bit offbeat (in a good way). To give you some hint of what you might see and hear, highlights from the Groundhog Day show included:

Cutrufello’s warm vocals on “Spare the Whiskey,” complemented beautifully by violinist Kiley Ryan’s harmonies
Similarly lovely harmonies and guitar accompaniment on “Agnes of the World,” the lead-off song from their debut album, Hezekiah Says You’re A-OK
Keenan’s mournful pedal steel accompanying Cutrufello’s clever lyrics on “Cupcakes for the Army,” featuring such Zen koan-ish lines as “Who needs keys when you got logic? / Who needs logic when you’ve got doubt?” and “No one wins a war anymore with compromise and smiles / Real religion’s in the mind of a child”
The second set’s consecutive sequencing of six of Cutrufello’s best songs, including the 2018 release “If You Harden on the Inside,” which led into a truly astonishing drum solo by Bower. That was followed by the short, cryptic and quickly accelerating “That Panel Where the Soap is at on the Machines” and the crowd-pleasing quartet of “Albert Hash,” “Yeshe and Horus,” the carnivalesque waltz/singalong “Cannonball (I’ve Got a Little Room)” and the Squirrel Nut Zipper- ish “Mind Malaise,” adorned by Hinton’s superb Telecaster solo

The band capped the second set with tasty renditions of a couple of cover tunes: Sparklehorse’s “Knives of Summertime,” on which the Joneses laid out for an extended jam, and the Palace Brothers’ / Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s “I Am a Cinematographer,” featuring tastefully effective fiddle and guitar solos by Ryan and Hinton respectively.

Though they’re not touring widely these days (“With kids and mortgages and such, sleeping on floors and making minimal money just don’t make the sense it used to make,” says Cutrufello), Hezekiah Jones does play fairly regularly around Philly, and Cutrufello and the other band members are mainstays at the Robin & Beth Fest each summer. If you’ve never seen them live and are in the area, you owe it to yourself to check them out.

————

More info on the band (plus snail pix!) is available at (http:/www.hezekiahjones.com).
The group’s songs are available on Bandcamp (https:// hezekiahjones.bandcamp.com), Spotify (https://open.spotify.com/artist/ 20lXQKFXIjJfHdgl7Um0XA), iTunes and most other digital distribution platforms.

REVIEW: Sarah Borges & The Broken Singles Take Philly’s Dawson Street Pub by Storm

As published by Americana Highways on February 4, 2019

The Dawson Street Pub is a tiny neighborhood bar in the hilly Manayunk section of Philadelphia, where parking is damn near impossible and — if you do manage to find a space — you’re sure to be graced (like I was) with a ticket by the ever-zealous Philadelphia Parking Authority. The Pub itself is dark and cluttered, with just a few tables and a tiny little “stage” at the far end of the room, right by the exit to the side patio / smoking area, the door to which sometimes pops open and shut all night long.

On a cold night this can be a serious distraction for the band, since the door is immediately stage-left, with the incoming wind blocked only by a tiny stand for the sound board. A retreat to the green room isn’t really possible either, since said “room” is really just an ancient couch shoe-horned in between an ATM machine and the restrooms, on the path to the bar’s tiny kitchen.

Yet despite these limitations, the former biker-bar-turned-craft-beer-haven is a wonderfully intimate place to see a show, and production manager / booking agent / sound guy Russ Eisenlohr has managed to lure in some top Americana talent. Sarah Shook & the Disarmers, Cowboys in the Campfire (aka, Tommy Stinson and friends), Hank’s Cadillac, the Luck Brothers and Tool Shed, as well as such local favorites as Pawnshop Roses, Dope Pinheads and Wheelhouse (who shared the bill with Borges and the band), have all played the pub over the past year or so.

Add Sarah Borges and her latest, road-ready version of the Broken Singles, featuring longtime bassist Binky, newish guitarist Alex Necochea and recent addition Jeb Williams on drums, to that list — as well as quite possibly to the pub’s list of “most rockin’ shows ever.”

The evening started off a bit oddly though, to be honest. One song in, after commanding the crowd’s attention with the rockabilly-inflected “Streetwise Man,” Borges couldn’t resist asking: “What the fuck is that THING going round & around back there?!” She gestured toward an object orbiting a small fake Christmas tree mounted to a wall near the middle of the bar. “That’s Santa!” the audience enthusiastically responded. “Oh,” she replied, sounding not quite as enthused.

Williams then launched into the floor tom-heavy beat for “Same Old 45,” but Borges’ had let the proverbial genie out of the bottle by asking the crowd to identify the spinning ornament. From that point on, several show-goers — including a tipsy 6’5” linebacker type named Jordan for whom Borges claimed (jokingly?) to have bought tequila shots before the show — seemed intent on getting into the act.

Borges seemed fine with that though, for the most part. A master of comically edgy between-song banter, she used her wickedly whipsmart Boston sense of humor to keep the crowd alternately energized and at bay as required. When she wasn’t rocking out like nobody’s business, she jokingly commented on a variety of subjects, including the neighborhood’s tight streets (“It’s like Armageddon, parking out there!”), her outfit (“I let the boys pick it out tonight; does it match?” — um, not really), the craziness of Philly and New Jersey drivers, and bassist Binky’s love life (by way of introducing her humorous take on it in “Band Girlfriend”).

She and Binky even “went there” — where few performers dare to go when playing in Philly — by alluding to the fact that their Patriots, and not “da Iggles,” were headed to the Super Bowl this year. Eagles hat-equipped Jordan (of the tequila shots) was NOT amused.

Luckily, the band’s crowd-pleasing set kept things loose, preventing a barroom brawl from breaking out between the football hooligans. Highlights included a spirited rendition of “Caught by the Rain” that brought out the Sheryl Crow in Borges’ powerful voice; Necochea’s Allman Brothers style guitar solo on the catchy, trainbeat-powered “Daniel Lee”; Borges’ passionate performance of “House on the Hill,” the lead single from her new album Love’s Middle Name; and the band’s cover of Greg Cartwright’s “Stop and Think It Over,” a song Borges said she “loves” (and her performance certainly proved it).

Borges’ voice was at its soulful best on the mournful “I Can’t Change It” (by Francis Miller) from the new album, which also featured a fluid, tasteful solo by Necochea. At the heart of the set were a razor-sharp, rockin’ version of “Lucky Rocks,” followed by Borges and Binky’s duet on the chugging “Get As Gone Can Get” from Love’s Middle Name (sans producer Eric “Roscoe” Ambel’s distinctive vocals and biting guitar, unfortunately).

Things got a bit more wild and woolly during the latter part of the set. Having learned from Jordan the linebacker that the greenroom couch where she had eaten her dinner was his former “makeout couch” from 1998, Borges peered out from her long bangs to ask, ”Still crazy after all these years, eh?” Later, introducing her version of the NRBQ song “It Comes to Me Naturally,” Borges did a hilarious, scarily accurate impersonation of a sleepy-sounding Al Anderson talking to her over the phone about the song. The crowd loved it.

With the rhythm section fully locked-in a few songs down the road, Necochea laid into a blues-rock solo that caused the aforementioned Jordan to start dancing in the aisles. Necochea segued mid-song into the main lick from the Beatles’ “Day Tripper,” followed by the same from Led Zepplin’s “Dazed & Confused.” Borges suddenly interrupted his guitar pyrotechnics, however, saying “I just want to show you a couple of things” — whereupon she proceeded to play a bluesy solo on his guitar while standing BEHIND him, her arms flung out on either side. “I’m not even sure if that’s legal in Pennsylvania,” Binky commented, before the song morphed into another classic blues number, Necochea now churning out Chuck Berry-crazy lead licks.

The show’s highlights were yet to come, though, in the form of a couple of unexpectedly quiet moments. First, Borges shunted the band off-stage to perform solo, by request, a stunningly beautiful version of “Grow Wings,” a ballad she wrote in response to her experience at the 2017 Women’s March. A couple of tunes later Borges unleashed the full power of her vocal chords on the classic “Cry One More Time for You,” while Necochea supplied a thrilling solo that started off legato on the two top strings and wound up wailing off into the stratosphere by song’s end.

That performance was followed by one last, humorous interruption, this time from the bartender. Vigorously mixing a chilled vodka while the band tuned in- between songs, he startled everyone with the sound of ice cubes rattling against stainless steel. As the din banged loudly across the room, Borges couldn’t help but make one last quip. “All that for some cold potatoes?!” she asked.

It was an oddly perfect way to end an unforgettable show.

REVIEW: Scot Sax and Suzie Brown Bring Their Nashville-Philly Soul Party Home to The Locks At Sona

As published in Americana Highways on January 21, 2019

Imagine you’re Philadelphia born-and-bred, Grammy award-winning songwriter Scot Sax. You’ve been living in Nashville for the past few years, making inroads on the local music scene and showcasing your performing chops via a rollicking “Philly Soul Revue” that pays tribute to your former hometown’s rich R & B, soul and funk heritage.

You and your wife, a singer-songwriter who also happens to be a cardiologist (providing the best t-shirt promo line ever: “Saving Lives and Playing Dives”) get invited back to Philly to play at The Locks at Sona, a new venue that has hosted such Nashville and Americana-associated acts as Jim Lauderdale, Caitlin Canty, Jeffrey Foucault and Fred Eaglesmith.

It’s a bit of a conundrum. Do you stick to your Philly Soul schtick or play up your new Nashville leanings?

For Scot and wife Suzie Brown, the answer was simple: You do both. And you do them full-bore, no explanations or apologies needed.

For the Americana side of the equation, you enlist your East Nashville neighbors Shelby Means (formerly of Della Mae) and Joel Timmons, who play under the moniker Sally & George, to open the show with some lovely, down- home ballads and country rockers. Their sweet harmonies complemented by Means’ supple upright bass playing and Timmons’ bluegrass-meets-Neil Young guitar solos, the duo set an intimate, familial tone for the evening with songs from their 2017 CD Tip My Heart, including the originals “Stowaway,” “Baby,” “Love is Gonna Live” and “Nashville Beach,” along with a moody cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.”

Suzie Brown joined the duo on stage to sing harmony on their final number, the trio’s obvious comfort with each other evoking the intimate vibe of a gig at a small East Nashville venue — like, say, The Family Wash.

Means and Timmons returned the favor by backing Brown on her set, which opened with the upbeat “Good Everything.” Brown followed that tune with some mid-tempo numbers that coaxed out a distinctly Loretta Lynn-ish twang to her vocals. She alternated lovely ballads like “Masterpiece” with more upbeat numbers like “Everywhere I Go” to powerful effect.

Confessing at one point to feeling nostalgic for Philly, Brown shared the tender “Almost There,” a song she and Sax wrote when she was living in nearby Ardmore. “Settle In” was a happy crowd-pleaser highlighted by stirring harmonies from Brown, Means and Timmons.

The trio followed that with a rockin’ cover of Linda Ronstadt’s “You’re No Good” before Brown closed the set with another Philly-specific song, “Our Little Show,” which she explained was “about just hanging with Scot on a summer evening” in her former backyard nearby.

After a break, the hyper-energetic Sax jumped on stage clad in his trademark blue onesie jumpsuit, heart-shaped rose colored glasses, floppy knit cap and work boots. Having collaboratively resolved a technical glitch, the band launched into the humorous “I Can’t Decide” (that is: which side he prefers to sleep on, the song explains) and “Poopy Doopy Situation,” derived from his experience changing diapers for his two baby daughters.

The tight band consisted of local rhythm section Chris Martin (father of Nashville’s Molly Martin) on bass and Chris Giraldi on drums, Sax on a funked-up Telecaster and a quartet of top-notch backing vocalists: Jeanne Petersen of Nashville, plus Deb Callahan, Talia Genevieve and Cliff Hillis from the Philly area. Despite minimal rehearsals, they giddily dug in and delivered on Sax’s brand of spirited and highly infectious — “Somebody, call a doctor!” — Philly funk.

Sporting a goofy falsetto, Sax proceeded to answer the musical question “What Was I Gonna Do (With the Rest of My Life)” with quips like “Probably start some kind of hobby… like crochet?” At one point he launched into a long bizarre monologue about a dream that reminded him “how weird it is to be able to use your legs,” which led improbably into a cover of Isaac Hayes’ “Hot Buttered Soul,” featuring Jeanne Petersen’s gale force vocals.

As Sax explained a bit later, it took moving to Nashville for him to fully appreciate his Philly funk-soul roots. Providing a shorthand example, he mimicked a Nashville waitress’s drawled greeting: “How’re y’all doin’? We’ve got sawmill-buttered biscuits today…” — at which point Sax’s impatient Philly self jumped in with an emphatic “Aw, go FUCK yourself!”

As the locals from the Philly neighborhood in which The Locks is located might say, “Dat’s how we roll in Manayunk.”

Following the faux-egotistical “I’m the Shit,” Sax and band launched into a series of classic R & B covers. ”And Then Came You” featured Petersen on vocals, while Deb Callahan took the lead on “Back Stabbers” (which according to Sax, reveals “how we REALLY feel about each other in Philly”).

The band then segued into The O’Jays’ “For the Love of Money,” during which Sax apparently wise-cracked something that caused Petersen to forget a verse. A mock-chippy blame game humorously ensued.

Sax invited his niece Alison Taylor onstage to sing a lovely version of the not- so-cheesy-after-all 70s pop number “Stoned in Love With You,” after which Talia Genevieve led the band on a raucous version of “Love Train.” Several audience members spontaneously formed a dance train that snaked through the crowd.

Sally & George plus Brown joined the band for a closing rendition of the fittingly one-chord “Love is a Simple Song,” which provided the perfect warm and cozy cap to the evening as snow began to fall quietly outside.

And that’s how Brown and Sax ended the battle between the Philly and Nashville tribes: with a big juicy kiss and hug for ‘em both.

———
More info on Brown and Sax along with song samples and show dates can be found on their website at suziebrownsongs.com and https://www.scotsax.com . A short YouTube video of the Philly Soul Revue playing at the show reviewed above is available at: https://youtu.be/uMGYVgckfaI