Sailing Sideways Up the Back Hole of Not Sane-ness: Best Records Of 2013, Says Me.

If you've ever read my Blog before, you know I'm way into several different genres of music. I'm not even going to go into a long disclaimer again this year. Suffice it to say that this will be an eclectic list. Music is music, you like it or don't. Labels are for bottles of pills. Furthermore,these are in no particular order. Ranking is for Roger. Let's DO this, sexy internet warlocks and witches!

GIUDA- Let's Do It Again
70s inspired, bell bottom wearing, soccer playin', chant along, sing along, bombastic guitar glitz from the way back machine. Stumbling along the same gutters as Slade, Gary Glitter, Bay City Rollers, Cocksparrer. Oh, you best get to buyin' this.It's makin' all the skinheads fall in love!

JOHNNY MARR- The Messenger
While his former partner Morrissey has made consistently good records since the break up of the Smiths, Johnny Marr has flitted about, joined other people's bands and formed his own(Pretenders, Bryan Ferry, Modest Mouse, The Cribs, The The, The Healers etc), experimented, mucked about, made money and changed his hairstyle multiple times. He's always been interesting, but he's never lived up to his legend for shit. Not playing wise, not any-wise. Clearly, getting away from his legend was what was important to him in those years. All that changed rather abruptly and violently with the release of his newest solo album "The Messenger" this year. It's catchy, rockin', emotive, dark, perfect. Lurching about the same atmospheric, anthemic, dark alleyways as Echo And The Bunnymen, Joy Division, The Smiths, The Church, etc.

NIKKI HILL- Here's Nikki Hill
Wow. Just wow. This very classy, very raunchy, very inspiring lady came out of nowhere in the last year or two and already she's being touted as the next Tina Turner. Her husband and guitarist Matt Hill is the perfect foil for her soulful, raspy and sweet as-needed vocals. Matt keeps it raw and bluesy, slashing at his beat up Fender slab like Ike Turner. You've now noticed two Ike and Tina references, but I'm not talkin' about fisticuffs. I'm talking about very obvious true love and fated partnership. These kids are formidable and adorable together, and this record is fuggin' brilliant.You like Otis? Early Ike and Tina? Early Black Crowes, Small Faces, Little Richard, late 60s early 70s Stones? Who doesn't love that stuff? You'll love this.

IN SOLITUDE-Sister
Sweden's In Solitude are probably the greatest young metal band to come along in 20 years. Less gimmicky and silly than their more popular counterparts Ghost,they nonetheless share that band's gift for haunting melody and punchy guitar dirges. This record dips into 80s UK Goth territory for sure. There is a definite Sex Gang Children/Ausgang/Birthday Party-esque quirkiness to some of the guitars, and the melodies are darker, catchier and more coherent on this album. "Sister" on the whole is also slower and more atmospheric than the last. For fans of Sisters Of Mercy, early Iron Maiden, NWOBHM, Ausgang, Joy Division, King Diamond,etc

LION'S LAW- A Day Will Come
This album punched me in the very taint! IN MY TAINT! Anthemic, catchy, sing along boot boy rock and roll played by a bunch of prole Skins from Paris (of all places). Really strong, solid songwriting with a sing along in every tune. Hard as nails, rocking Les Paul and Marshall Half-Stack guitar wallop throughout, and melodic but raw throated vocals. Punk ain't dead, it just shaved it's head. Kicking big Doc Martens down the same violent streets as Cocksparrer, Angelic Upstarts, Sham 69, The Clash, 4 Skins, Cockney Rejects, etc. OI!

NIKKI HILL AND DEKE DICKERSON-Soul Meets Country
Nikki Hill makes a second appearance in my countdown, yes ma'am. She is that awesome. Paired with the extremely personable Deke Dickerson, she shines blindingly on this four song EP of country-inflected soul tunes. Her soulful wail sits nicely next to Deke's warm, calming country drawl. One definitely misses a kick-ass Matt Hill guitar solo here and there, but other than that I hear no flaws on this frickin' superb vinyl platter. As great as Deke is on this, if Nikki ever decides to duet with Dwight Yoakum I will soil my undergarments (and yours) in utter drooling joy. So if you collect Stax and Sun singles with equally insistent grabby-fingers, you will enjoy this 'un, boogie chilluns.

SATYRICON- Satyricon
Norse Black Metal legends Satyricon return with this stripped down, pummeling, slinky temptress of an album. It's perfect for the bleak winter with its brittle icy guitars and blasting, freezing rain drum beats. For fans of Norse BM (which does NOT stand for Bowel Movement, in this case)and classic NWOBHM.

ANYTHING THAT CAME OUT ON WILD RECORDS THIS YEAR.
The best roots music label in the world right now. Special props for releasing Aussie rockabilly/r'n'b prodigy Pat Capocci's brilliant record "Call Of The Wild". Pat's gonna be the next JD McPherson if he gets half a chance. The label also dropped incredible sex bomb platters by The Black Mambas, The Hurricanes and more this year. Rockabilly, garage rock, classic punk, blues, you name it, they are cornering the market on it. Seriously, dummies, Wild Records. Google it.

UNCLE ACID AND THE DEADBEATS-Mind Control
This would make my list just for the brilliant Beatles meets Sabbath style pop dirge "Poison Apple" alone. Inventing a new, more specific meta-genre with every release, Brit garage-pop-metal-biker-horror-glitter-doomsters Uncle Acid are part of a new wave of accessible, classic sounding hard rock/metal bands that appeal to non metal heads and metal heads alike. For Fans of early Black Sabbath, The Beatles, "Man Who Sold The World" era Bowie, MC5, early Alice Cooper, Blue Cheer, The Sonics, The Cramps, Electric Wizard.

JD WILKES AND THE DIRT DAUBERS-Wild Moon
The hipper among you may remember JD Wilkes from his former band Th' Legendary Shack Shakers, who were a powerhouse punk-blues-rockabilly juggernaut of a live act in the early 2000s. His lyrics have always been filled to the brim with backwoods good'n'evil, every song a scintillating story of sin, hellfire and redemption snatched away. He has lightened up a bit with his newer outfit the Dirt Daubers, who have always been a sort of Shack Shakers Lite, incorporating more folksy, acoustic, bluegrass style sounds. On the new Daubers platter "Wild Moon" however, the band has amped up the Chicago Blues style tube overdrive on the guitar and turned in a rocking disc full of darkly compelling tunes. The secret weapon here is Jessica Wilkes (JD's wife) who lends her sultry vocals and thump-heavy doghouse bass playing, among other things, to this slinky blues-devil of an album. For fans of scratchy old blues and bluegrass 78s, Legendary Shack Shakers, The Cramps, etc.

That's it, people. I'm sure I forgot something, but I grow weary, and require a sandwich. Please support the artists I've named here, and for your sake and mine, check out more independent music. Remember, folks...your next door neighbor could be a better songwriter than Lady Gaga (and probably is)...who would you rather support? -CM

The Unbearable Swankness Of Being Unbearably Swank

So I haven't posted in awhile. I've been busy, but not busy enough to quiet the never ending voices of discontent in the old brain. It's true, I'm a man, and I cain't be satisfied, to paraphrase Dale Watson. I meant to spell it "Cain't". You just calm down, pal.

So a weekend trip to Austin, TX has informed my brain-thoughts recently. They have such a respect for country music there that the aforementioned Mr Watson (pictured) and other ridiculous talents like Junior Brown and Jesse Dayton can play five nights a week at various clubs and still expect a decent crowd each time they play. Of course, there are also thousands of other country artists struggling to eke out a meager living in Austin's busy hot spots. Popularity doesn't always equal talent, but in the case of Austin's most popular, it certainly seems like talent plus perseverance will get you a crowd anywhere you want to play on a Monday night.

Here in Boston, however, us Country type wanna bes have trouble even finding other musicians to play with. Oh, they're out there, but with day jobs, wives and girlfriends, and various stages of mental illness and depression, nobody's got time for shit. And of course, playing country covers on the shore is more lucrative financially than trying to form a tight band to play original(unproven)music.

But enough of my whining. DALE WATSON. This guy, he is amazing. He tosses out seemingly effortless country classics with every release, and he's been at it more or less non stop since the early 90s, despite a nervous breakdown, a divorce, and the death of a beloved girlfriend. Reportedly he did attempt to quit music in the mid 2000s, to move to Baltimore and drive a UPS truck. This didn't work out. High profile friends like Johnny Knoxville and Willie Nelson dragged him back to Austin (although I suppose there wasn't a whole lot of almost-persuasion needed)to keep the great man doing what he does best. Dale Watson as a singer-songwriter serves the world much better than Dale Watson as a husband, father and UPS driver ever would, one supposes.

Musically, he favors the 60s version of electrified country twang (Merle, Buck, Cash, more Merle), and lyrically, the man actually surpasses his idol Merle Haggard as a country Shakespeare writing almost-literary working class poems about whiskey, God, trucks, country music, jukeboxes, more whiskey, women and heartache. Basically, there's nothing else to write about.

If anyone ever has any doubt to whether the man lives the songs he writes, I can testify. When I saw him play, on a Monday night at the Continental on Austin's beautiful South Congress Ave., he lived up to all my expectations and more. Dale probably consumed three shots of whiskey and at least four beers within the span of the first seven songs. Still, his fingers never faltered on his battered Tomkins Telecaster copy, and if anything,his jokes got funnier. Of course, I was drinkin' too. However I can tell you that there was something both joyful and sad about the man in person. The music was miraculous. The band, which included Dale on vocals and guitar, as well as a drummer, an upright bassist, a fiddle player, a steel player, and a trumpet player (I think that's what it was), was tight and as effortlessly well rehearsed as only a band that plays five nights a week can be. This was Texas honky tonk music in all it's tears in yer beer glory.

As I've been a fan of the man's records for years, I've grown accustomed to seeing him in my head as he appears in his promo pictures and on his CD covers. There, he looks like a young Merle Haggard with just a little bit less resigned world-weariness and a little more rockabilly menace. In person however, his gray-white pompadour, grinning slouch and cuffed rockabilly jeans convey more of a Marlon Brando circa "The Wild Ones" vibe, albeit a bit more aged, drunk, and dissolute. In short, the man looks like what he is: the epitome of the honky tonk singer. Not as they've ever existed in real life, but as you picture them in your head, if you romanticize such things, and I sure do.

Another difference between country music in Boston and Austin: People actuallydance. In front of the stage, the floor was crowded with twirling Texas two steppers, as much a part of the show as the band and songs themselves. Here in Boston, even if it's a great show and people are enjoying it, you'll see a lot of folded arms and nodding heads in front of the stage, a few feet back, so as not to appear too eager.

While in Austin I also got to see an artist that I have seen a couple times in Boston, the inimitable Junior Brown. Here's another guy who's been on the alt-country scene forever and a day. Every time I've seen him, he's been confoundingly brilliant, but here in Austin in front of a hometown crowd, he was positively transcendent. The addition of his wife on acoustic rhythm guitar and harmony vocals (ala Johnny and June or Merle/Buck and Bonnie)gave the show some cute down home feeling that was absent from the Boston shows I've seen him play.



His ability to whip out pretty much any country classic one would require on cue certainly hasn't faded since I saw him last. His knack for blending virtuso playing with punk rock abandon all the while channeling the ghosts of Chet Atkins and Jimi Hendrix hasn't let up much either. His earnest, Ernest Tubb like baritone still carries the show, while his violent outbursts of guitar and steel guitar still amaze and delight. But this was Austin not Boston and there was something special about this night for me, even if it was just another evening in a honky tonk and a paycheck for him.

There's no one like Junior Brown in Country music, rockabilly or rock and roll. the fact that this man isn't a household name is a sign of the shameful times we live in where video games have come to mean more to people than music. Skinny jean hipster indie rock could never, ever carry the emotional weight that this 50 something man effortlessly carries on his black suited shoulder. This cat has more heart felt energy per song than a room full of Brooklyn based indie rockers could muster in their entire careers.

Anyway, vacations end, and I returned to the grind of work and of Boston itself. What a segue.Anyhoo, this is where I sought comfort.



It's been out awhile, but being prohibitively priced, I didn't get around to grabbing a copy till recently. I also kinda figured that being the rockabilly nerd that I am, I'd heard most of these songs. Not so. Even the songs I have heard time and time again gained quite a bit from the addition of the 50s JD exploitation movie ads that are peppered throughout the track listing, and the company of all the other amazing rockabilly obscurities.

Throwing this stuff in my iPod was something like getting sprayed with cold water on a sweltering day. All the weepy, fatalistic country music I had been listening to was washed away in favor of the razor sharp guitars and echo-laden good time lyrics of 50s rockabilly. By injecting the blues and RnB into the earthy working class twang of country music, all of the famous and unsung artists that grace this 4 CD compilation changed popular music, social reality, race relations, and the very fabric of the world we live in. They did this just by greasing their hair, turning up loud, and playing chords they learned on the wrong side of the honky tonk tracks.

It's some of the most fun, funny and life affirming music ever etched onto wax. Songs like the effervescent "Love Bug Crawl" by Jimmy Edwards and "Suzi Q" by Dale Hawkins cannot possibly fail to make your worldview a bit brighter, at least for three minutes while the song plays.

Some of these artists went on to worldwide fame (Elvis, Jerry Lee, Carl, Orbison) and some went back to the farms and factories, having had their fun. Doesn't matter. Every song on here is a winner, and whether the performer ended up in the main house or the poor house, what was left behind is what matters. The songs. The energy. The melding of black and white music, the melding of cultures and the rejection of musical and cultural divisions.

And never mind all that, even. The music rocked.

Sometimes I wonder why I, and so many others, reject the "new", "now" sounds that assault our lives on a daily basis in favor of the old forgotten relics of the past. Sure, it's just personal taste, but it's more than that. Early American morality was restrictive and stifling. Every aspect of human nature that wasn't so next to Godliness was rejected as outright evil, back in the day. Rock and roll and the melding of culture changed that. And that was good.

Now, however, 60 years on, the idea of right and wrong has mutated into pretty much an "anything goes" philosophy. Morality's rules have given way to an all out acceptance of almost anything. Maybe we've gone too far. Maybe having morals and standards isn't so bad, as long as we understand that not everything, not everyone, can be seen in such a black and white light. Maybe the great relaxation of strict morality that came with the advent of rock and roll was a good thing, but the great giving up of any kind of idea of right and wrong that has happened in the last forty years isn't so great. Maybe somewhere in between is where we want to be. Maybe I'm drunk.

Anyway that's my frickin' Blog. God I miss fanzines. Anyway, check out Dale Watson and Junior Brown on Youtube and via their records. Anyone in the Boston area that wants to play some house rockin' country music, let me know. I'm still out there in the wilderness lookin' for a toilet. Thank You and good afternoon.

RED STATE BOOGIE: Country Music And America

RED STATES. We all know that they’re full of ignorant hicks, yeah? Gun toting, beer swilling, “God, Guts and Guns” poor white trash and fat women with beehive hairdos. Yes, it’s all true.

COUNTRY MUSIC. We all know that this is the sound of the great unwashed of America. The soundtrack to the lives of Wal-Mart shopping, cut off T shirt wearing, God fearing, “Honk If You Farted” T Shirt wearing, Kenny Chesney CD buying, ignorant blindly patriotic idiots. Also somewhat true.

Like any other, however, this stereotype leaves you wanting. The Civil Rights movement was born in the South. Stax Records, sweet soul music, white kids and black kids stomping down literal and idealistic barriers to dance together to Little Richard in the 1950s. It all happened in the red states.

Did you know that white honky tonk king and country music pioneer Porter Wagoner was the first person to bring black music (James Brown) to the Grand Ole Opry, long (since 1925) a last bastion of white redneck good ol’ boy culture? Did you know this happened in the early 1960s?

Did you know that Ernest Tubb, basically the father of modern country music, used to give homeless people (then simply known as “bums”), whether they were black, white, or swollen and purple, charge accounts at the restaurants of their choice so that they could eat between shots of bathtub gin?

Did you know that Elvis Presley grew up in what we would today refer to as the “projects”, living amongst blacks and whites who mostly had no sense of separation?

What IS this? Socialism? White folks reaching out to black, rich folks reaching out to poor? In the Red States? In the 1940s and 50s and 60s, supposedly a time of racism, the KKK, and segregation?

The fact is, country music, now all about money and Wal-Mart, used to be the most soulful, caring and uniting music that white people had to offer. It wasn’t a sad, whitebread, money grubbing, watered down, muscle flexing, professional wrestling endorsing piece of hilarious Jerry Springer crap like you may have noticed that it is today.

It is erroneous, some might say, to romanticize America’s past. We look back fondly on the supposed simplicity of 1950s living, yet caution the nostalgic to remember that we have it so much better today. Race lines have broken down (have they?), our governments are so much more honest and direct now (really?) and technology has made all of our lives easier (has it?).

Truthfully, of course, this is all bullshit. Race lines were broken down by music and working class culture long before it became taboo to say “nigger”. Governments and legislation only reflected what the most intelligent and caring people on the street were already doing and feeling.

And lest we forget, yes I know America was stolen from Native Americans. We think of them, condescendingly, as Noble Savages. Of course, history tells us that these people waged cruel wars on each other and killed each other quite often before we ever got here. We also know that Native American scouts frequently worked with our cow-hustlin’ ancestors to aid the killing and swindling of their own people. This is not to say that we were right or that they deserved what we did to them. Not at all. I’m just illustrating how the picture is never black and white. Nobody is innocent.

But back to Country Music and America.

I need to tell you that without the blues, there would be no country music. Elvis, Hank Williams, Carl Perkins. They all spoke of how hearing honest to goodness working class black people sing the blues made them want to sing it too. That is racial harmony and that is your great American melting pot right there.

I need to tell you that I actually love America, I love this country. I do not like its' government. I detest its' foreign policy and it’s war on the poor. I hate the bloody exploitation of Native Americans and African Americans that we built this country on. I hate how big money and corporate control rages unabated and few people here seem to care that they’re being lied to.

What I love is it’s art and it’s culture and it’s geography and it’s class struggle. I love the people and what they’ve given to the world despite their governments’ greedy policing of said world. I love it’s roots in England, in Africa, in Mexico. We should and could be the best of all these cultures.

It’s not cool to say that anymore. I know a lot of liberal hipsters who like to say how much they hate this country, because of it’s many faults. How they’d like to move to another country where things are better, and it’s all because of those goddamn ignorant hick red state people. Apparently there are no ignorant people in other countries, and no political problems in other countries. I’m no blind patriot, I recognize the problems. But this is where I was born. And there is still so much here.

Politics are worked out in offices and boardrooms. The real world happens in the factories, the supermarkets, and on the streets.

I’m a card carrying liberal. I vote Democrat every election. Lesser of two evils, sure. Without the money for ad space to reach the masses, no third party will ever triumph in our lifetime.

America is a great and powerful beast, and in it’s sheer size and weight, it is sluggish and fat and slow to understand. The Media has it’s own agenda, and the working class, who have little time (because they’re working and raising families) to consider the intricacies of political wheeling and dealing, believe, naively, what they hear. Fear is the greatest motivator. Fear of other races, fear of immigrants, fear of homosexuals, fear of loss. This is why we have red states. Because the media have led those honest working class people to believe the very fabric of their lives is under attack by all of these things. It’s not because the people there are stupid, it’s not because they’re ignorant. It’s because they just don’t know.

In the sound of country music, we have the sound of America. You may notice in early country and bluegrass music, the similarity to European folk ballads and traditional Irish and English reels. You may notice the thunking rhythms that are the heart beat of African music. The steel guitar is a Hawaiian instrument that goes back ages. Asian cultures from thousands of years ago had similar instruments. African and European cultures stumbled upon early versions of the guitar at roughly the same time in history. The banjo, the sight of which sends most modern people into a panic of country music hatred, was first played and developed in Africa.

Flash forward to the here and now and I’d like to tell you about a man called Steve Earle. Steve was raised in the 50s and 60s as a lil’ tyke on Honky Tonk music, as he was born in the deep south. I don’t know if Steve ever bailed hay or drove cattle, but he certainly absorbed and worshiped hillbilly music from an early age. Steve grew up playing hillbilly rock n roll and country music, and did some jail time in his early 30s for some nasty business we can just overlook, cuz he’s a good boy, our Steve.

Steve Earle is pretty much a hick.

Steve Earle wrote these lyrics:

“Livin’ in a city of immigrants
I don’t need to go travelin’
Open my door and the world walks in
Livin’ in a city of immigrants

Livin’ in a city that never sleeps
My heart keepin’ time to a thousand beats
Singin’ in languages I don’t speak
Livin’ in a city of immigrants

City of black, city of white, city of light, city of innocents
City of sweat, city of tears, city of prayers, city of immigrants”





Which is pretty much some serious liberal shit. Steve Earle is a card carrying Democrat and a proud Southerner. A Red Stater. A man who also wrote this song about the reign of King George Bush the Second:

“North wind blowin’ like a hurricane house
Old man leanin’ like he’s pullin’ a plow
Neck bowed, bendin’ like a willow bough

Red sky color of the end of time
Bleeds dry runnin’ down the center line
Wise guy pretends he doesn’t see the signs

Bad news everybody talkin’ ‘bout
A short fuse a half an inch from burnin’ out
All used up beyond a reasonable doubt

Make way for his majesty the prodigal king
Still taste the poison when you’re kissin’ the ring
Don’t say he never gave you anything

Deep breath the calm before the storm begins
Cold sweat pretend that you ain’t listenin’
Don’t bet on gettin’ by with that again

Short ride from here to where the beast resides
Fine line that separates the shadows inside
Make mine a double shot of cyanide”

Lyrics like these certainly don’t warrant the “I’m With Stupid --> ” T shirt that most of our more liberal, intellectual folks would probably place on Steve Earle’s doughy middle aged torso, just by looking at his pork belly and his Grizzly Adams beard and cowboy boots and knowing he’s from the South.

What I’m trying to say here is that stereotypes are wrong, and Country Music isn’t racist and ignorant (although it is at times purposefully and gloriously ridiculous). It is, at it’s best, the heartbeat of the poor white man, living alongside the poor black man, working alongside the Mexican, Puerto Rican and Asian man, a mile away from the impoverished Native American Reservation. It’s the voice of the American working class, and it’s a symptom of the disease of America that you will no longer find real Country Music on the radio or your flat screen TV.

I’ve made Steve Earle an example, because I love his music, but there are certainly others. The Waco Brothers from Chicago. Robbie Fulks, Hank Williams the 3rd, Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, even early Wilco. Dale Watson, Rosie Flores. Lucinda Williams. The classic pioneering Country Rock of Gram Parsons and Townes Van Zandt. Steve Earle’s 25 year old son Justin Townes Earle. This is soulful heart of America full of compassion and conscience.

So don’t count out those red states. We have allies there. And they are spreading the true spirit of American Music, one gig, one record, one fan at a time.

I leave you with more Steve Earle. This is one of my fave songs and shows a much younger and slimmer Stevie Earle. Please note my favorite line; "Everybody told me you can't get far/ on 37 dollars and a Jap guitar", and also note the GORGEOUS middle eight at 1:25. ENJOY.