December 2003

« November 2003 | Main | January 2004 »

Wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger

Filed under: Imported

TCB reminded me that in addition to being an authority on hillbilly music, the world's greatest dogfish fisherman, and a part-time dentist, I'm also a big fan of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, especially around Christmas time.

But don't worry, I'm not here to tell you how God made the Grand Canyon the same way a child digs a mote around a sand castle. No, my perspective on Jesus tends toward the reality of it all. I like fresh, offbeat perspectives on our Lord and Savior, and there are many of those in everyday life, if you care to look, and are not the psychotic Attorney General of a Western democracy.

One of my favorite investigations into the mystery of human frailty, faith, and love, is the 1971 album, Jesus Was A Capricorn, by the West Point graduate, Rhodes Scholar, and country songwriting legend, Kris Kristofferson. If you ever feel like blowing up an abortion clinic, handing out leaflets on the Gospel as folks leave their synagogue, or just plain ol' going door to door to save everyone from an eternal damnation to hellfire, just sit back and listen to this a little first, it might calm the fires in your heart:

Jesus was a Capricorn
He ate organic foods
He believed in love and peace
And never wore no shoes
Long hair, beard and sandals
And a funky bunch of friends
Reckon they'd just nail him up
If he come down again

`Cause everybody's gotta have somebody
To look down on
Who they can feel better than
Anytime they please
Someone doin' somethin' dirty
Decent folks can frown on
If you can't find nobody else
Then help yourself to me

I bought that CD around my junior year in college. Since then, whenver someone asks me what I think of Jesus, I sing that to them. It's just religious enough, and just heathen enough, to confuse them and make them walk away.

But, for those of you who really like to get down and dirty with The Son of Man on his birthday, there's nothing like the magazine, Popular Mechanics. Yep, right in between a hydraulic floor-lift schematic for your two-car garage and an irrigation system for your tomato plants, lies the Light and the Resurrection. Last year there was a great article in the mag about a group of forensic anthropologists who set out to build a "Real Face of Jesus" based on the archaelogical evidence available about semitic men in the 1st Century of what is now Israel.

The Real Face of Jesus

From an analysis of skeletal remains, archeologists had firmly established that the average build of a Semite male at the time of Jesus was 5 ft. 1 in., with an average weight of about 110 pounds. Since Jesus worked outdoors as a carpenter until he was about 30 years old, it is reasonable to assume he was more muscular and physically fit than westernized portraits suggest.

It's okay to admit that there probably weren't any assembled weapons of mass destruction, that Lee Harvey Oswald probably wasn't the only shooter, and that the Lamb of God, who took away the sins of the world, was closer in appearance and stature to U of M All-American 125 pounder Leroy Vega than anything at Jesus of the Week.

I find a strange sort of comfort in the thought that Jesus was nothing like all the knuckle-headed, tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed propapaganda foisted on us by all manner of dogmatic institutions. It makes the whole story more interesting, and ultimately, more believable. If someone who looked like Sebastian Bach in a beard went parading around Copernicum 2000 years ago, he woulda got whacked for being a carpet-bagging trouble maker. Jesus got as far as he did because he HAD to look like everybody else. The message was different, but it sank in with his road crew because he was one of them. Also, I don't think it's any coincidence that Leroy Vega is one of the more rock solid, moral men I've ever met and had the honor to call friend.

At the end of the day, we all have our belief systems, I guess, so I'm not here to say mine is infallible or right. But, there's a lot of Jesus in country music, and some of it is even good. So, while you're looking for him in the lakes, trees, fields of flowers, and your bowl of mashed potatoes at the Old Country Buffet, don't forget to take a gander at the used record bin too.

Here's a smattering of a playlist I did on the show last Easter, if ya care:

The Gourds/Jesus Christ with Signs Following, Jack Ingram/Pete, Jesus, and Me, Johnny Cash/Personal Jesus, Hungry Horse/Dashboard Jesus, Slobberbone/Trust Jesus, Larry Gatlin w/ Kris Kristofferson/Help Me, Bobby Bare/Drop Kick Me Jesus, Hank Williams/I Saw the Light, Uncle Tupelo/Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down, Drag The River/Back to God, Drive By Truckers/Too Much Sex (Too Little Jesus)

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 30, 2003 1:21 PM

 

The Last List from Me

Filed under: Imported

I've made two resolutions for New Year's Day this year.

First, this will be the last "list" blog I do for 2003. I'm sick of both reading and writing them. So sick in fact, that I didn't even write this one. I just compiled it from stuff I've already written.

Second, I'm not going to put down Shania Twain anymore in 2004. I was looking back through some of the things I've written, and it's apparent A) That I think she sucks, and B) I've said it so much that it's almost as boring, dull, and overdone as her music. Viva la plastic surgery and voice modulation!

That being said, it was a great year for live music. Make a mini resolution to get out more.

Jack's Top Ten Live Gigs of 2003:

1. Drive By Truckers, 400 Bar, 8/6/03
It's refreshing sometimes to see a band that plays with a kind of deadly urgency. It's as if they'd be killing themselves or others if they weren't onstage several nights a week. Performance intensity can be created through soaring voices, gritty lyrics, or expert musicianship; but you can't fake it, and sometimes, it just comes from plugging in 3 guitars and seeing how strong the walls are. My ears are still ringing, some 11 hours later. If you ever want proof that there is a God who is angry and is punishing the wicked, then make sure you amble down to whatever local club is hosting a Drive By Truckers show in your town. Patterson Hood saved my life last night, and I didn't even ask him to do it.
2. The Gourds, Davey's Uptown, Kansas City, MO, 3/20/03
In town for the debauchery that is the annual NCAA Championship Wrestling Tournament, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the best band in the world had a gig scheduled at a famous hideout for good music in Cowtown, Davey's Uptown at 31st & Main. Being a Thursday night gig, it was cozy and friendly, beautiful acoustics coupled with an outstanding PA system delivered an almost mythical Gourds experience; maybe, having not seen them in almost 2 years, I'd a-ate a pile of shit and called it sweet potato pie. But, I really don't think that was the case. Bouncing in and out of current and past favorites, this band of genuine men making genuine music floored the KC crowd and left them clamoring for more. I gave up about 30 seconds into the set and began dancing around about halfway back from the stage, willy nilly, completely given over to my hillbilly ancestry, stomping out tunes written long ago, but only committed to digital media in recent years.
3. Steve Earle, First Avenue Mainroom, 2/6/03
I once saw Jesse Jackson speak as an undergrad in college, and although I didn't really agree with his politics on every level, it was hard not to feel the energy and passion of the man and his followers at the time. So it was on Thursday night with Steve Earle at First Ave. Adorning various amps and equipment with "No Iraq War" signs, and getting off more than one "Fuck 'em" during his nearly 2 hour set, Earle married politics with music throughout the evening, without making the blunder of failing to entertain. Taken out of context and off the stage, Earle might come across as some sort of paranoid leftist. But, as he wove a few stories into his scratchy voiced songs, it was easy to see that he's simply a man who's tired of greedy liars greedily lying to him. Backing band The Dukes served up an aural assault that allowed Earle to equally translate his modern-day confusion with the world, and, his "Go-to-hell" attitude of his earlier work. So, even if you don't really agree with one side of the political spectrum or the other, it's not hard to be pissed off about the world after leaving an Earle show. As he said at the end of his encore, power chords ringing in the background, a sea of applause rising from the packed floor, "Remember, there's nothing more American or Patriotic than to criticize your leaders, and don't let anybody tell ya diff'ernt."
4. Emmylou Harris, State Theatre, 10/13/03
Part of the appeal of twangy country music to me is the interplay between the secular and the sacred, the bluesy voices from the gutter that know nothing of God, and the voices of angels from on high. People like Buddy Miller interview the guy at the end of the bar, and sing his life through bent strings and brushed drums to noisy audiences craving a cigarette and a fresh drink. People like Emmylou Harris vibrate strings of guitars and the sinews of your soul, amplifying the very humming of God himself, making you afraid to die, both because you haven't prepared yourself properly, and also because you might not hear her sing again.

Miller's conversational set was throaty and real, a hot sidewalk hello, bumming a light to lay the latest news on ya' about what his old lady did last night, a slap on the back and a "have a good day." He and bandmates Spyboy laid a good foundation of beat and melody, southern mood for a northern crowd, so that the headliner could take the stage with contextual ease.

When the angel took the stage, you didn't sing with her, but, as you mouthed the words you knew, the roof of your mouth vibrated anyway, the breath of life expelling from your lungs maybe for the first time, maybe for the first time since the last time you saw her sing. The soft twang like Christmas divinity candy floated across the air, craning you gently forward to soak in God's words. Even the sad songs made you smile, and the happy songs made your heart leap right out of your chest.

It's amazing how she synthesizes and melts world styles and appears before us to tell us the good news in Emmylou-eze. It's back porch friendly and burning bush awesome, and you feel like you've just been plugged into a light socket for a couple of hours after you've left the room, but your hair isn't messed up and your clothes aren't smoldering.
5. Drag the River, Seventh Street Entry, 12/13/03
The best country record of 2002 was CLOSED., by Drag the River from Fort Collins, Colorado. Recorded in more or less a week, the album leaks whiskey and regret from turned over plastic cups, clouds of anger rise from overflowing ashtrays that should have been dumped out many days ago, and the hangover of redemption greets bloodshot eyes as the sun rises the next morning. I was terribly excited that they were playing a Saturday night gig with my buddies from Anchorhead at the 7th Street Entry. There's something electric about this band and its music. You typically dont get encores if you're not the headliner in a club; but music that reaches people and whips them into a place they don't go very often demands such things. The principal songwriters are Chad Price and Jon Snodgrass; one a seemingly laid-back Colorado hippie type, all hair and torn jeans, the other some kind of happy-go-lucky bar room regular that belies a horn-rimmed, bug-eyed intensity. Together, they aren't afraid to draw each other out, and somehow their canvas of the Americana genre produces something that drills into the core of existence. Why booze? Why pain? Why rebirth?

I truly love going to clubs and dissecting this music for my blog and radio show audiences. Most of the music I see reinforces the idea that Country doesn't have to be some asshole in a black hat and designer clothes singing about a truck. But, I find renewal when I see bands like Drag the River. They're authentically dirty, authentically tired, authentically angry, authentically optimistic, and authentically country.
6. Lucinda Williams, First Avenue Mainroom, 10/19/03
Lucinda Williams is going to hell. Had I not seen Emmylou Harris at the State Theatre last Monday, I probably would have never known that. Monday night, about 11:59pm, I was pretty sure that Emmylou was the closest thing to an angel from God that I had ever seen. Her strangely alluring twangy voice lulls you right up to the altar, where you renew all your vows of temperance, chastity, and moderation.

And then, a cherub from Louisiana stumbles out onto the mainstage at First Avenue, wearing a black tank top, with obvious black bra straps, and begins to sing polypped voice vibratos of fallen paradise, with a fresh cigarette and caramel sauce, and you realize that she is absolutely damned to eternal hellfire. The subtle break of her voice, delicate behind the seafoam as her words rush over you in the wave, you have no defense. You HAVE to climb into the rail car, down, down, down, to the master of lies. I almost cried when the innocent son of the prairie, Gary Louris lent harmony and guitar to "Essence" while she cavorted and mashed with Mr. Anonymous onstage. Milton never scratched something so real out of the blindness.

Asian chicks in Western shirts smoking Marlboros and drinking whiskey, Eden Prairie suburbanite divorcess hitting on the bartenders and looking for personal space, 20-something spikey haired single women in tight T-shirts travelling in 3's, and neatly cut silver haired "hippies," with tucked in shirts, all crowded the floor, drawn to the smooth, smokey evil...so sweet going down, so hot on the way back up.
7. The Jayhawks, First Avenue Mainroom, 9/20/03
While white teenagers from Wayzata named Trevor and Rebecca were being whipped into a "rap" frenzy by the Insane Clown Posse at the Target Center, we adults with less of a theatrical taste were being pushed to the edges of Minnesota Nice in the Mainroom at First Ave by the Jayhawks. Paul Westerberg's mellow sobriety spawned a kind of fearlessly sensitive, six-string, White-guy songwriter fry pond here in town, and Gary Louris has kind of either backed into or outright grabbed the "big fish" title, I still haven't made up mind which. He delivers those love songs with a kind of 500-pound-brass-balls attitude that people like John Denver, James Taylor, and Cat Stevens never seemed to have. I think it gets back to what I was saying about him yesterday on the air; I've just sort of run into him at Mayslack's, Elsie's, and other kinds of neighborhood haunts, and for someone who's such a big wheel, he's a really unassuming and seemingly normal guy. It seems to me if a normal guy were given the lead mic, a cranked up guitar, and a packed-to-the-rafters First Ave, he'd leave everything he had on stage, which is what the band did. It's possible for highly melodic, achingly tenor love songs to have forceful, dark, music-club balls, and the Jayhawks are living proof. It's chilling to hear several thousand people--truck drivers, secretaries, accountants, lawyers, doctors, pimps, pushers, hookers--reach for the falsetto of "bluuuuuuue," and then look up at Gary who seems to be blushing behind the glare of his glasses, while at the same time, reaching for more to give. Last night ranks right up there with the best shows I've ever seen.
8. Wayne "The Train" Hancock, Lee's Liquor Lounge, 11/1/03
There are a lot of music clubs in this town. People in Minneapolis sometimes take it for granted that this IS a "live music town." All you have to do is drive up to St. Cloud, down to Des Moines, or, over to Fargo on a Friday night, to watch your umpteenth Blue Oyster Cult cover band, and then you realize that this little confederacy of club owners, who'd all cross the street if they saw another walking down the sidewalk, have created one of the live music Nirvanas in the grand old U.S. of A., that other pundits, authors, journalists, and bloggers lament is not THEIR town.

The Minneapolis Star and Tribune unfortunately sent Jon Bream, a fine American, down to the Xcel Energy Center this past week to watch, and, try to produce a few thousand words on one Shania Twain, and her shallow, hollow, domo arigato mr. roboto, form of "country" music. His review, while finely crafted, was more predictable than the Bears' win over the Pats in Super Bowl XX. BUT, dear readers, not one to shake it off and zip it up without a thought of flushing, I'm always willing to entertain theories.

I'll never cross the street and say that Shania is good, worthwhile, or talented. She sucks. That's that.

The question is, are the acts that I pimp good, worthwhile, or talented? Is what we profess merely a scene, another kind of club or clique, full of people so hip on being hip, they forgot to be good? Hmmmm.

Enter one Wayne "The Train" Hancock. Hancock's schtick is decidely retro. It's also decidely simple. It's also decidely a lot of other shit. Basically, you have a wild-eyed Texas hillbilly up there wailing about all sorts of things, while a standard slap-bassist does nothing dramatic in particular, and, the only musician in the group creates the only recordable sounds with a tricked out Telecaster out of the whole mess, for something like 2 hours.

So, is this purely honkytonk mania of twitchy eyeball looks and non-sequitur song intros somehow BETTER than a bulemic, Prozac� queen in a Wild jersey singing about cliche things that never happen to her at her palace in Switzerland? Yes.

Just read Bream's review. She had to drag some little girl in some bullshit cowgirl outfit onstage to placate her about things she couldn't possibly understand, and things she DIDN'T want to possibly understand. Wayne "The Train" was a little buzzed, a little tired, and a whole lot real. And, more than anything else, he was Country. He coulda greased his hair back, put on his boots, and hooked up his wallet to chain, but fuck all that. Tonight was a Hawaiian shirt, tennis shoe night. Play until Louie pulled the plug. If your reality is nothing but $65 dollar seats to some truck rally concert of pussies like Kenny Chesney in muscle T's singing Eagles' songs in borrowed Vikings jerseys, well then folks, steer clear of 11th and Glenwood. There are places in the world where music happens, and sometimes, it happens for less than $10 at the door.
9. The Reverend Horton Heat, BR549 and Throwrag, First Avenue Mainroom, 9/17/03
Wednesday night started off with a bang as California based Throwrag hit the stage to warm things up for BR549 and Reverend Horton Heat. First Avenue is Horton Heat's territory, they play the club like they own it, and they should. There's always been a carnival huckster quality to Jim Heath's smile, and filling the spot vacated by The Blasters with Throwrag really brought that to the forefront. What looked like a late 30-something version of Buckcherry took the stage and proceeded to howl through a 45 minute set of mostly unintelligible lyrics and who-the-fuck-ordered-this bodily gyrations. They were like some over-the-hill college party band that someone forgot to tell to go ahead and graduate. It was all kind of annoying until the overweight "washboard player" took off his shirt and started jiggling himself at the crowd. Annoyance turned into entertainment when he ran down into the crowd and brought up a pretty straightlaced girl and made her play his washboard while the band played on around her...capped off by her playing his ass cheeks with spoons. Indeed, this was the perfect band to start this evening.

For those who were fretting (namely, me), BR549 just might be better without Smilin' Jay and Gary Bennet. Chris Scruggs appears to be a better guitar player than Chuck Mead, and he took a lot of the lead parts while Mead stepped out front and coursed the band through it's leaner, meaner honkytonk route. Oh, and by the way, Donnie Herron is still one of the best pickers on the entire planet, and he produces a stunning wall of sound as he deftly switches his pickup chord between 3 instruments, making it all look effortless. Like The Fat Guy, I was wondering what a matchup of BR549 and Reverend Horton Heat would be like; but it became fairly apparent that a Horton Heat crowd is almost perfect for these guys. The can alternately "Hank" it out or screw it on as they please, and the crowd that paid good money for hillbilly madness will instantly make all the right connections.

So why was that sea of people in the Mainroom Wednesday night? They were there to see a red suit with silver flames and a jett black shirt. They were there to see one of the best guitarists in the world ditch the bullshit, screw up the volume knob, and keep the noise coming until the cigarettes ran out. It used to be that these shows were mostly greasers with spider-web elbow tattoos and girlfriends that resembled Betty Paige in hair-do only. But, there's a kind of universal, shine-runner, kickoff's-at-noon-on-Sunday, whip-a-hooked-3-wood-250-and-down-out-of-the-wind, that-bass-is-as-big-as-a-goddamned-baby, vibe to what these guys do. So you had your college frat punks, your way too pretty and obviously lost single girls, your hillbillies, your Fonzies, Richies, and Potsies...a really good soup, which the boys whipped into a frenzy before the clock ever struck 11. You really have to walk around the club to get a hold on this phenomenon. There were old people in the back with ear plugs; the psychobillies were in the wings bobbing their heads and comparing lighters, and up front, by the end of the evening, there was a full scale mosh pit. Bill Haley would have been flumoxed.

But that's just what the ol' girl can deliver: a crowd, probably differing in age from top to bottom by 30 or 40 years, all gathered together to hear a driving guitar sound and rub elbows with yer fellow honkies as 3 almost completely different bands try to deliver whatever it is they do best.
10. Fred Eaglesmith, Cedar Cultural Centre, 10/16/03
Now that the Yankees have ruined baseball for everyone again, it was a good time for me to walk downstairs and write a review of tonight's Fred Eaglesmith show at the The Cedar Cultural Center. Somewhere in all the hype of the hard times this country has gone through recently, this band of overpaid bastards has become synonymous in some peoples' minds with the spirit of America. But, if you take away Posada, Jeter, Soriano, Williams and Rivera, the rest of this squad is the worst kind of mercenary piece of shit. This highly paid band of knuckleheads who failed so miserably last year against the Angels, were once again shorn up by their megalomaniacal owner, who went out and purloined the highest priced free agents available, so that his numbskull manager and coaching staff couldn't possibly screw up another season. These aren't hard hat guys. They aren't hard luck stories turned 'round by one last big break. They aren't even compelling individuals sacrificing personal gain for the good of the ballclub. If you live in New York, were born there, spent most of your adult life there, or are the child of a similar individual, then fine, they're your team. But they aren't my team, there is no set of circumstances that could be dreamed up where anyone outside their fan base should ever root for them at any time. And their greedy, lowlife, front-office philosophies don't fucking represent ANYTHING about the America I like to think that I live in.

Ironically, the America that I love is articulated quite well by Fred Eaglesmith, a Canadian hillbilly singer from Southern Ontario. Fred's songs of tractors, dogs, hot dog stands, murder, love gone wrong, and lust gone weird, have more to do with your average Joe's everyday reality than anything done by a mercenary jackass professional athlete, paid more than $10 (ten) million dollars a year to be successful less than 30 (thirty) per cent of the time during his typical work day.

Fred was in strange form tonight, kind of more mellow than he's been on previous stops to the Cities. He told a lot of good stories to introduce his songs, and a lot of good cornball jokes:

Two Canadian cows were on a grassy knoll in Alberta. One cow said to the other, "what do ya think of this mad cow stuff?" The other replied, "what do I care, I'm a helicopter."

He seems to have shed a drummer somewhere along the way, but his music was always acoustic enough in its roots that constant percussion wasn't really missed.

Still, it was an uneasy crowd. The Cedar typically means a lot of "calm," silver-haired ponytails and well-fed vegetarian women in comfortable shoes. But, there were a few obviously chemically agitated spectators sprinkled throughout the room for the first time in my recent memory. If Fred had been playing at one of the local whiskey-and-cigarettes type watering holes, these pilgrims would have melted into the fog, formica, and wood-panelling. Instead, they supplied Fred with a few ill-timed shouts and hollers that caused a few awkward moments of audience play.

Fred and his band overcame this and put on a very crisp, clean show, concentrating more on his personal tunes rather than the raucous, rural Canadian eruptions that didn't jibe too well with the folk circuit, but made him a darling of the alt crowd. The Cedar crowd is always so polite, he seemed to be tailoring the material to a more low key climax, choosing to go it alone on his encores. Regardless of which Fred you get, he remains a must-see gig, like a crazy cousin who whips into to town only a few times a year, the best and worst parts of the family history packed into his guitar case, just looking for an audience and a place to crash.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 29, 2003 12:55 AM

 

Best Blog of 2003

Filed under: Imported

It occurred to me that I should make an entry for the best blog on the internet. Without a doubt, I think the best blog is Open All Night by CityPages' own Brad Zellar. I would wax philosophically about this, but I thought the best way to pay tribute to this outstanding journal of human existence is with a single statement:

"Feels So Good," by Chuck Mangione, makes me want to check my horoscope.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 28, 2003 3:55 AM

 

Is it 2005 yet?

Filed under: Imported

When people ask me what the best thing is about getting paid nothing to blog on CityPages and next-to-nothing to have my own radio show on The Mighty 1220, WMGT, like Fat Sam, I reply, "Free junk."

A terribly close second, however, is all the great people I meet who really dig similar music, and are still club rats, long after we all should have protected our hearing, and hung up the shoes we don't mind getting stepped on and the shirts we don't mind getting all smokey. I don't pretend to know everything about what I'm doing either, so these guys and gals keep me in line, and are a constant fountain of good information, good music, and good stories. Next time you're introduced to Mark Haakinson somewhere, ask him about his "Staff" Tshirt. Next time you're introduced to Al Kunz, ask him about his various Americana bowling adventures.

And that's the ticket. Sometimes, going to a club is just another lame thing to do, on a lame night, when you're feeling really lame. But many times, it's an adventure. You can watch, meet, or be severely menaced by a very large cast of characters, and the world seems neither too large, nor too small anymore.

That being said, here are some alternative lists to my Ten Best Country Albums of 2003 and Top 50 Country Songs of 2003. The authors have been known to stay up for 3 nights on end in town likes St. Louis, and to drive all the way to Chicago to see Billy Joe Shaver. I like to think of them as Soldiers in the Army of the Twang, but they're really just good old-fashioned music lovers.

Perfesser Al Kunz' Top Albums of 2003:

1. Sid Selvidge - A Little Bit of Rain
2. Scott Miller - Upside/Downside
3. Fred Eaglesmith - Balin
4. Rodney Crowell - Fate's Right Hand
5. Greg Trooper - Floating
6. Rod Picott - Stray Dogs
7. Dan Roberts - Viva La Cowboy
8. Dan Israel and the Cultivators - Love Ain't a Cliche
9. Vince Gill - Next Big Thing
10. Patty Loveless - On Your Way Home

South Side Bob Ferguson's Top Albums of 2003:

1. Rodney Crowell - Fates Right Hand
2. Johnny Cash - The Man Comes Around
3. Reckless Kelly - Under The Table Avove The Sun
4. Jayhawks - Rainy Day Music
5. John Bunzow
6. Roseanne Cash
7. Pat Green - Wave on Wave
8. John Eddie - Who The Hell is John Eddie?
9. Ben Atkins - Mabelle
10. Teddy Morgan
11. Drive By Truckers - Decoration Day
12. Matthew Ryan
13. Robert Earl Keen - Fresh Farm Onions
14. Chris Knight - The Jealous Kind
15. Jim Lauderdale - Donna The Buffalo

South Side Mark Haakinson's Top Albums of 2003:

1. Johnny Cash - Unearthed
2. Bruce Springsteen - Essentials
3. Warren Zevon - The Wind
4. Reckless Kelly - Under The Table & Above The Sun
5. Chris Knight - The Jealous Kind
6. Roseanne Cash - Rules Of Travel
7. Pat Green - Wave on Wave
8. Ben Atkins - Mabelle
9. Robert Earl Keen - Farm Fresh Onions
10. Rodney Crowell - Fate's Right Hand
11. Jayhawks - Rainy Day Music
12. Jud Newcomb - Turbinado
13. Matthew Ryan - Regret Over The Wires
14. John Eddie - Who The Hell is John Eddie?
15. Jesse Malin - The Fine Art of Self-Destruction

South Side Bob Ferguson's Top Songs of 2003:

1. Devils Behind The Wheel - Chris Knight
2. That's Not The Way It Works-Lauderdale/Buffalo
3. Into The Sun - John Bunzow
4. Fate's Right Hand- Rodney Crowell
5. This Too Will Pass - Rodney Crowell
6. Hurt - Johnny Cash
7. Just Fall - Reckless Kelly
8. Regular Guy - Pat Green
9. All The Right Reasons - Jayhawks
10. Beats The Devil - Robert Earl Keen
11. September When It comes - Roseanne Cash
12. Midnight Train To Georgia - Hangdogs
13. Maybell - Ben Atkins
14. No Such Pain As Love - Teddy Morgan
15. Everything - John Eddie

South Side Mark Haakinson's Top Songs of 2003:

1. Keep Me In Your Heart - Warren Zevon
2. September When It Comes - Roseanne & Johnny Cash
3. Disorder In The House - Warren Z & Bruce Springsteen
4. Tailspin - Jayhawks
5. Redemption Song - Johnny Cash
6. Hurt - Johnny Cash
7. Still Learning How To Fly - Rodney Crowell
8. Empty Bottles - Judd Newcomb
9. The Little Things - Matthew Ryan
10. None But The Brave - Bruce Springsteen
11. Nobody's Girl - Reckless Kelly
12. Will You Remember Me? - Roseanne Cash
13. These Years - Robert Earl Keen
14. The Same - Ben Atkins
15. Wave on Wave - Pat Green

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 26, 2003 2:25 PM

 

49, 50, thpbbbbbbbbbptt....

Filed under: Imported

Yea yea yea I know, Freedom's Child by Billy Joe Shaver was released in November of 2002, so it shouldn't be in my Top Ten Albums of 2003. Oh well:

A. This is just a blog
B. See A.
C. I didn't get it until January
D. See A.

So, I'll leave the songs from it out of my Top 50 songs of the year. Get 'em while they're hot folks, tell yer friends.

Jack's Top 50 Country Songs of 2003:

1. Emma Rumble, by Graham Lindsey

If I kiss you
I must kill you
You told me in gentle tones

This song will absolutely murder your heart if you listen to it closely. It's a really amazing twist on the old love and murder song of folk-writing days gone by. It was the best song I heard all year.
2. Sink Hole, by The Drive By Truckers
I listened to this record the first time through without reading the liner notes. As I heard this song, I said to myself, "this really reminds me of the short film, The Accountant." Funny, Patterson Hood says the movie was the inspiration for the song. Just a driving guitar riff and a lot of strong words about a disappearing rural way of life. It's really powerful when you see it live.
3. Tampa to Tulsa, by the Jayhawks
This is just my favorite song on Rainy Day Music. It's a very old school, 70's, country road song. I can't listen to it without singing along.
4. I Shot Your Dog, by Fred Eaglesmith
This is pure Fred. If you don't know what pure Fred is, I feel sorry for you. Just when you thought a dead dog song just might be cliché in Country circles, Fred gets out his pen and proves everybody wrong.
5. Hurt, by Johnny Cash
I honestly couldn't perform this song anymore if I were Trent Reznor. The song just feels heavier and more authentic in Johnny's breaking voice. A real killer.
6. Uncle Pen (live), by Ricky Skaggs
"Hey y'all here's Uncle Pen...." then about 15 guys take off at light speed on every kinda string instrument known to the Pope. About 2 minutes later, your legs hurt and you're out of breath.
7. When You Say Nothing At All (live), by Alison Krauss + Union Station
Sigh.
8. Through, by Richmond Fontaine
The best song on the best album of the year. I absolutely love songs that define a word. Yeah, this song is about "through," as in the sense of done, finito, fuck it. Fabulous.
9. bless this mess, by Haley Bonar
If your parents ever made you go to church this song will kick you right in the head.
10. Red Letter Bible, by The Dead End Angels
If you ever made a deal on the border of Texas and Mexico for your life, this song will kick you right in the head.
11. On Saturday Night, by Lyle Lovett
Pills, trailers, and Cadillacs. Yep, Lovett's got a lot of that magic Fred has in his pen too.
12. To Daddy, by Emmylou Harris
Emmylou took a stab at this old Dolly Parton song for a tribute album to the buxom one on Sugar Hill Records. She absolutely nails it and proves once again that she's the reigning queen of Country music.
13. Taking the View, by Thad Cockrell
This song will take the knots out of your spine. In case of stress attack, break glass.
14. One Step Ahead of the Blues, by Rhonda Vincent
Rhonda Vincent AND Alison Krauss, on the same song...sigh.
15. city girls, by Big Ditch Road
You've all seen the Ole's line up for the Rebecca's when they get home to Warroad from da Cities down to th' U there, ya know. Rebecca is bored and can't find Dunhills at the Circle K. Umm, well, that's what the song is about. The band does a much better job at telling the story than I.
16. No Rolling Back II, by Jay Farrar
I don't have a clue what Jay's singing about anymore, but this song really gets me for some reason. I like this disk, but it's kind of impenetrable. Maybe I'm lazy. Anyway, this is my favorite song on the disk.
17. Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings, by Lucinda Williams
You really have to see Lucinda sing this drunk at First Avenue for a crowd that includes Asian chicks with masculine haircuts in Western style snap-button shirts smoking Marlboros and singing it right back to her, to get the full effect. Maybe it's just me.
18. Where Nobody Knows My Name, by The Gibson Brothers
A really dark grass song, and by that, I mean really modernly dark. It embodies alienation and escapism in a really 21st Century way. This whole album rocks.
19. Thunderstorms & Neon Signs (live), by Wayne "The Train" Hancock
The Train's best song, performed the best way. The version we've all wanted for years.
20. Guitar Pickin' Martyrs, by Luther Wright & the Wrongs

Well we've got all these guitars
And all these guitar pickers
A table and four chairs
And a bottle of hard liquor

Why not? I mean, really...why the hell not? Yee-friggin'-hah.
21. Chief of the Fuzzers, by The Gourds
This song is the result of a very long story. But it's typical Gourds faire, words and music all about a beard growing contest somewhere in Texas, the entire massacree in four part harmony, etc, etc, etc.
22. Flutter (live), by Jack Ingram
Jack's a real spark plug live. This is a real toe tapper on the new live record.
23. Willamina, by Reckless Kelly
I know this band in my bones. This song has some real hot Texas wind in it.
24. Backsliding Man, by Kevin Deal
So you go pour concrete all day then record great records at night. This song has a real work-hard, play-hard quality that only comes from really living that way.
25. 95 South, by Joe Ely
Now that Johnny Cash is gone, I nominate Joe Ely as the new spirit guide for the faithful of Country music. This song is about roads and trains but it always makes me think about Jesus. Go figure.
26. Charming Betsy (live), by BR549

Rich girl uses vaseline
Poor girl uses lard
My girl uses axle grease
Cuz she takes it twice as hard

Uh huh. THIS is the old BR549 that I was worried had disappeared forever. Take an old song and crank it up to 11.
27. It's Raining, by Eleni Mandell
Sigh.
28. Gulf Coast Romance, by Luke Olson
The first time I saw "King of the Hill" on TV, I swore that guy had met some of my family. The first time I heard this song, I swore this guy was at my oldest brother's wedding. Kind of a Gulf update on "Gringo Honeymoon."
29. Sing 'Til I Stop Crying, by Pat Green
The best song on Pat's latest record.
30. Lucky That Way, by Greg Trooper
"Muhammad Ali" is probably the most interesting song on the record, but I think this one is the best executed. It's a really bouncey number with a great lick.
31. Polaroid, by Richmond Fontaine
The number two song on the year's best album, it contains some of the best advice to give someone who is frustrated and scared, that I've ever heard.
32. My Museum Blues, by Graham Lindsey
You WILL end up comparing this kid to Bob Dylan. You don't want to, but you can't help it. It's just true. He's too damned young to have made this album, this song, this great leap of artistic maturity. But chill, just go with it. This song is a good exercise in poetry memorization.
33. My Town, by Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Anna is always good for at least one two-fisted, woman-of-power song per album. This song cuts through all the bullshit and really lays out her talents for singing and songwriting.
34. Sunken Waltz, by Calexico
I don't always get what these guys are doing, but Jesus they're cool when they're doing it, aren't they?
35. virginia, by Frog Holler
My favorite band from Pennsylvania checks back in this year with another solid album, and this song really grabs me early on.
36. Lexington Jail, by Tim Easton
The song that will break your mother's heart on Break Your Mother's Heart.
37. Bubbles in My Beer, by Bobby Flores
I triple dog dare you to listen to this disk, this song, this man's band, and not dance. I mean, I triple dog friggin dare ya.
38. Empty Bottles, by Scrappy Jud Newcomb
One of the most confrontational songs about love and booze I've ever heard. I saw him do it live with Beaver Nelson in the corner of a bar with just two acoustic guitars. A very high quality song.
39. Hole in Our Town, by Bill Isles
The town of Crookston almost sank into Canada this past summer. This is one of the more "Minnesota" songs you will ever hear this side of "The Zamboni Song."
40. Drink Yourself to Death, by The Hangdogs
I can think of about 20 Nashville artists I'd like to send a copy of this song to in a brown paper bag.
41. Stolen Horses, by Ray Wylie Hubbard
The popular choice off this album would probably be "Screw You, We're From Texas," but I think this is the best song on the disk.
42. Jump Through the Rings, by Dan Israel & the Cultivators
A real investigation of love and twang with doubt and pain.
43. Preparations for Winter, by Barn Burning
Bam! A Minnesota song from Rhode Island. That's right, country from Rhode Island. WINTER should be the inspiration for Country tunes now that all the muckity mucks down in Trashville have beaten Margaritaville to death. More songs about salt trucks and ice augers and dead hookers at the hunting shack...did I say that out loud?
44. The One That Got Away, by The Dry County Crooks
A good driving tune outta Oregon. Kinda greasy with three on the tree, if you know what I mean.
45. Vagabond Motel, by Trailer Bride
Melissa Swingle's voice makes me imagine my grandma as a hottie back in the Twenties, leaning on a wingback chair with one of them 12-inch, 3-speed, oscillating fans going over in the corner...did I say that out loud again?
46. Guitar Pickin' Chicken, by Jason Ringenberg
What kids should be listening to instead of Barney, Teletubbies, those unintelligible Japanese cartoons, and anything else you use to sedate them instead of being an actual parent.
47. Moonlight on the Mountains, by Amy Allison
A very beautiful neo-traditional piece at the end of this great album.
48. Nobody's Fool, by Neil Cleary
Every guy has sung this song to himself, regardless of whether he knew these particular words. Cleary has a real aptitude for capturing conversational stories into songs.
49. Blood on the Bluegrass, by The Legendary Shack Shakers
When the lead singer of a band runs out on stage, crosses his eyes, and writes "Pretty in the Face" across his chest, well, yeah, you get the picture. This is the only anti-country song in my list. And by anti-country I mean, the minute you tell these guys you like the "country" songs they do, they might just pull out a picture of Johnny Cash and piss on it in front of you.
50. Cocaine Parties, by Moonshine Hangover
Angry bar bands playing angry old country songs are always good for business folks. All those pecs and tummy tucks and wigs in Nashville are pure bullshit.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 23, 2003 1:28 AM

 

Is it 2004 yet?

Filed under: Imported

I

In case you haven't bothered to read something beyond a major newspaper, or happened to listen to a radio station not owned by a fat, bloated corporation, a lot of great music was made in 2003. Yes little Johnny, music wasn't just some kid named Trevor from Wayzata who bought himself some baggy jeans, started calling himself Mr. Thuggz-a-Mic, and hopped all over the stage, "rapping" about his gangsta lifestyle; yes little Suzy, there is something other than four emaciated, flop-haired, closet cases in Mr. Bubble Tshirts, singing to their shoes about ice on the sidewalk outside the co-op; and yes, Bubba, Country music comes in all shapes and sizes, and the best of it has nothing to do with THG created biceps singing about lost love and heartache in a black felt "cowboy" hat, while his wife is home, recovering from even more plastic surgery, picking songs to be dissolved in a sludge of electric pianos, violin arrangements, and overblown video imagery, for her next album, designed mostly to sell iced-tea tumblers and eye make-up at a Super Target near you.

After being back on-air since March and blogging since April, I'd like to believe that I've learned to be a little more fair and balanced about country music. There were a handful of good things that happened in the creatively impotent shit-hole that is Nashville, Tennessee, and those efforts should be applauded. Like I've been wailing to the East five times a day from my minaret, there's no one person in Nashville that is to blame for the garbage that comes spilling out of the town and into the hands of the spineless little turtles who run Mainstream Country radio; it's the process that's all screwed up, and until they correct it, we true country fans will have to simply keep our radios off, and our eyes pealed at the indy record stores for the type of artists who care more about their souls than their record sales.

II

Lest we forget, 2003 was the year of the list in Country Music too. Heartaches by the Number: Country Music's 500 Greatest Singles, by David Cantwell and Bill Friskics-Warren, created a real stir among the faithful for its accessible format, outstanding writing, and exhaustive research. If you have even a sliver of interest in Country Music history, this book should be your first source, because it really chronicles the finest efforts of the biggest artists in the early years of the genre. The only downside was the window of apology it gave for artists like Shania Twain and Faith Hill. Chronicled in a newer review as well, the theory goes that Country is benefiting--or suffering, depending on your point of view--from a healthy dose of pop music infusion, typical of the evolution of the format and genre throughout its history. While there is some credence to that view, it simply ignores the greedy collusion that has been happening between mainstream country radio and the filthy executives at the top of the large labels in Nashville, to create music aimed at derivative income gained by preying upon the emotions of a very specific demographic. Records are recorded, released, and played over and over again until all the people they DON'T want listening turn the station off, which is what most of us have done. That being said, out of 500 records, only about 5 or 6 of these lousy things made it into Cantwell's and Friskics-Warren's list.

III

MMIII was the year Johnny Cash died. I went back and looked at what I wrote then:

Today is not a day to turn on your radio and hope that the gutless cowards who run and program mainstream Country stations are going to pay tribute to the Man in Black. The smooth, well dressed cowboys and their pouty lips that get airtime on these worthless signals will shed greater tears for the deaths of Billy Joel, Elton John, and Barry Gibb, the true progenitors of the garbage that passes for Country these days.

Today is a day to turn off your radio and pay tribute to Johnny by playing his records on your stereo, in your car, or on your computer's CD, DVD, or MP3 player; also, to fill in the picture, fill your empty spaces with the sounds of the people who are truly part of his legacy: Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Joe Strummer, Shane MacGowan, Jay Farrar, and Chris Cornell. There's more Johnny Cash in 3 seconds of the past 30 years' edgy music, than any 3 days of bullshit you're going to hear on any "Country" station that's left out there. His music is and was vital right up until the day he died, and any crocodile tear tributes that you hear in the next 24 hours on these stations is the final act of betrayal upon a man who made all of their jobs possible as the ultimate ambassador of the art form.

Sadly, I was right. The gutless turtles who run Mainstream Country stations in this town and others don't play Johnny Cash regularly. Just say that to yourself once: Country stations don't play Johnny Cash regularly. That's like saying Economics students aren't being taught Adam Smith, English Literature students aren't being taught Shakespeare, and Anthropology students aren't being taught George & Louise Spindler. I'm still quite angry about Johnny Cash's death, because it draws in sharp relief this amazing phenomenon: the men who run Country Radio in Minneapolis and every other city in America have traded this music and their own souls for money. To say that people who listen to Country Radio don't want to listen to Johnny Cash--so, you're not going to play him--is a truly weird mix of stupidity, hypocrisy, and surrealism. If you run a country station somewhere, tell me, what's it like to be stupid?

IV

Oppressively, this was also the year the incredibly deep Natalie Maines and Toby Keith got into a pissing match over America's involvement in Iraq. They forgot the part about where none of us care about what either of them think. If you want to call the President a squirrely little frat boy junkie draft dodger, who only cleaned up his act so his daddy and his fishing buddies could hand him the Oval Office, it's your right to do so. Thomas Jefferson loved to be criticized, and the White House crackled with vigorous dialogues back then, moderated by Dolly Madison, drink in one hand, fan in the other. Love it or hate it, we've decided to give Western Democracy a trial run in an area of the world dominated by theocratic, feudal/tribal autocracies. Yeeeehaw! Hand me mah geetar so I can strum a G chord! An optimist would say we're affecting positive global change by stabilizing and modernizing the Middle East and putting a huge dent in the resources of the worldwide terror network; a pessimist would say we're doing nothing but getting the children of the working class in America killed in the name of a jingo-istic definition of Patriotism and Freedom; a cynic would say Dick Cheney is getting disgustingly rich; and a realist would take a deep breath and realize that there's a slice of truth to all three. So Natalie and Toby, shut the hell up and go back to bleaching your hair and waxing your pickup.

V

On the positive side, there was some great music made. This was a wonderful year for alt twang. The Twin Cities are right dead smack in the middle of a roots renaissance that finds great bands seeking new sounds in the unique clubs and crannies of our fair area almost every night of the week now. A lot of these folks graciously allowed me to listen to them sing and play their records on my show. They agreed to interviews, and let me give away tickets to their gigs to all the great people who listen in their garages, living rooms, and milk barns. And if you held a gun to my head, well, I guess I'd say that these are...

Jack's Ten Best Country Albums of 2003

10. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
While a lot of his contemporaries are croaking out songs they recorded 40 years ago under terrible hairpieces to half-dead audiences in Branson, Shaver has raged against the dying of the light with vibrant songs of God, love, and death. This man will die with his guitar plugged in during his second set of the night, I swear. Freedom's Child is my "biggest surprise" of 2003 in that it's a lot grittier and kicked all sorts of ass that I just didn't expect.
9. American IV: The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash
This probably wasn't the best American Recording, but it was the last, and Johnny's version of "Hurt" is the kind of thing that makes the original artist give up performing the dang thing, like Dylan did when he heard Ramblin' Jack Elliott sing "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right."
8. Guitar Pickin' Martyrs, Luther Wright & The Wrongs
There was a time when music was made by people who were constantly on the road, breaking strings, eating crap food, and taking photos of themselves near goofed-up marquees and strange landmarks. As weird as it may sound, the best country music is still written about sitting around with jugs and joints and crying about the real live girl who really just did leave you.
7. Balin, Fred Eaglesmith
Written on a train trip through the farmlands of Canada. More authentic than a rusted out tractor left in the ditch by the mile road where it died.
6. ring, Big Ditch Road
Yeah I know, a real homer pick. I honestly and objectively believe, though, that this is the best club act Country album of Minnesota for 2003.
5. Alison Krauss + Union Station - Live
Everybody in Nashville is pal-ing up to Union Station now that people are rediscovering how much better authentic music sounds in contrast to the crap that normally comes out of there. Krauss's voice in a live setting will melt your spine and make you see God.
4. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, Graham Lindsey

To look at your face
is to lose myself in those eyes
how softly they open
and swiftly they close
from the light
like big curtains in your room
venting shadows over you
tonight
as you snake through your skin
from the shape you been in
that you still somehow seem
to fit inside

Beat that.
3. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
The muscle in Minnesota roots music. Everyone expected it to be a solid piece of music, start to finish, and it was. Not to get off on a tangent, but a lot of "rock stars" are laying on pretty thick these days with music that is very boring and very derivative of the late work of the Replacements. The lesson to be learned in this little forum is that THIS album is the true evolution of whatever Paul Westerberg was doing in the late 80's and early 90's. Gary Louris is the next great music icon of Minneapolis, and you're not going to catch him strumming bouncey chords through a strange rip-off of "I'll Be You."
2. Decoration Day, The Drive By Truckers
A moron once told me this isn't a country band and theirs isn't a country album. What the moron failed to grasp was that I tend to spit on most definitions of what country is and isn't. Instead, I find it in places like the twangy howls of the road weary. For most of 2003, Country stopped and started with Decoration Day. The Drive By Truckers fulfilled a lot of folks' immense expectations with this record, and their live shows in support of it were the kind of evangelical tent revivals soaked in booze that were so predictable and inevitable, the devil hisself musta been their road manager.
1. Post to Wire, Richmond Fontaine
The world needs more Country concept albums. Post to Wire plays like a series of letters to friends and loved ones, flung far across America, with tales of isolation, regret, despair, redemption, and hope. As this album meanders through 16 (sixteen) tracks, 4 of which are short postcards of news from the front containing rolling fills of pedal steel and 3 quick spoken-word notes, I am overcome with a feeling of artistic completeness that only comes from an actualized vision. Maybe that's just a fancy way of saying this record has a beginning, middle, and end that follows a real story, and nobody's trying to slap together a collection of singles to sell to some dumbass at a mainstream radio station. There are 4 stunning songs on this album: "Through," "Hallway," "Polaroid," and "Willamette." The refrain from "Polaroid" is nothing short of brilliant American poetry:

Not everyone
Lives their life alone
And not everyone gives up
Or is robbed or always stoned

Quite simply, a group of thoughtful people, with a love of twang, sat down in a recording studio in Oregon, and recorded the finest Country Record of 2003. It should become an instant gem in your collection.

VI

Best Salt Truck Twang of 2003

1. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
2. ring, Big Ditch Road
3. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
4. Hollerin' At A Woodpecker, Ben Weaver
5. Love Ain't a Cliché, Dan Israel & the Cultivators
6. The Threshhold, Bill Isles
7. Old Numbers, The Ashtray Hearts
8. It Happened in America, Sherwin Linton & Friends
9. All the Way Wrong, Brett Larson & Three County Tour
10. Someday, Lazy Ike & the Daredevils

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 18, 2003 1:23 AM

 

I like to smoke 'til I can't breathe...

Filed under: Imported

If you're going to savage Ryan Adams, it's important to lead off your story with a picture of your best friend's 11 year-old son kicking an 11 year-old girl right in the ribs at a Karate tournament. Apparently, she had been backing him into a corner with a barrage of punches, which he was defending fairly well, but still in reverse. He got a little mad, forced her back to the middle with a few punches of his own, then gave it to her, full foot.

I'm not sure who ordered The Cat in the Hat: The Movie, the health food tack in KFC commercials, or the disaffected, feedback-filled, white boy bounce pop, but I'd like my waiter to take it all back to the kitchen. There was a period not too many years ago, when those of us who follow the whole roots scene thought that Ryan Adams was the next Gram Parsons, or some reasonable facsimile thereof, transposed to this period in American music. His voice and songs were the unique sound that was the next logical step in the Alt Country/Americana spectrum.

I don't begrudge anybody their passions. I find it curious though, when someone ditches a gift to pile onto a derivative dump of American rock music that hopefully, is about to collapse under its own weight. Paul Westerberg must take it as a great compliment that first the Stills, then Adams, took the stage at the Mainroom of First Avenue and both did their best Don't Tell a Soul impersonations for the 2 hours or so of music that I could stomach. You don't have to go all the way to Grumpy's Nordeast at 22nd & 4th to have someone tell you that everyone in this town had given up on the Replacements by Don't Tell a Soul; but when you got there, if you described what happened at 7th & 1st last night, they would probably shake their heads in disgust and disbelief.

Maybe I should ditch all the comparisons and scenery and just say it. There are a lot of guys and gals in the music biz who were strange, exciting and vital voices for a new kind of twang in the late 80's and early 90's, and for some reason, many of them think they're rock stars now. They're all talented, so these are at the very least, passable rock shows; but, their twang talents were and could be so much more interesting and important than the garden variety stuff they're churning out now. Good luck Ryan Adams, we hardly knew ya.

The best country record of 2002 was CLOSED., by Drag the River from Fort Collins, Colorado. Recorded in more or less a week, the album leaks whiskey and regret from turned over plastic cups, clouds of anger rise from overflowing ashtrays that should have been dumped out many days ago, and the hangover of redemption greets bloodshot eyes as the sun rises the next morning. I was terribly excited that they were playing a Saturday night gig with my buddies from Anchorhead at the 7th Street Entry. There's something electric about this band and its music. You typically dont get encores if you're not the headliner in a club; but music that reaches people and whips them into a place they don't go very often demands such things. The principal songwriters are Chad Price and Jon Snodgrass; one a seemingly laid-back Colorado hippie type, all hair and torn jeans, the other some kind of happy-go-lucky bar room regular that belies a horn-rimmed, bug-eyed intensity. Together, they aren't afraid to draw each other out, and somehow their canvas of the Americana genre produces something that drills into the core of existence. Why booze? Why pain? Why rebirth?

I truly love going to clubs and dissecting this music for my blog and radio show audiences. Most of the music I see reinforces the idea that Country doesn't have to be some asshole in a black hat and designer clothes singing about a truck. But, I find renewal when I see bands like Drag the River. They're authentically dirty, authentically tired, authentically angry, authentically optimistic, and authentically country.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 15, 2003 6:13 PM

 

naught...naught...carry the one...naught

Filed under: Imported

From the Associated Press:

DETROIT, Michigan (AP) -- More than 200,000 computers spent years looking for the largest known prime number. It turned up on Michigan State University graduate student Michael Shafer's off-the-shelf PC.

"It was just a matter of time," Shafer said.

The number is 6,320,430 digits long and would need 1,400 to 1,500 pages to write out. It is more than 2 million digits larger than the previous largest known prime number.

Shafer, 26, helped find the number as a volunteer on an eight-year-old project called the Great Internet Mersenne Prime Search.

A prime number is a positive number divisible only by itself and one: 2, 3, 5, 7 and so on. Mersenne primes are a special category, expressed as 2 to the "p" power minus 1, where "p" also is a prime number.

In the case of Shafer's discovery, it was 2 to the 20,996,011th power minus 1. The find was independently verified by other participants in the project.

"People are going to make posters of it to hang up on the wall," said Shafer, who is pursuing a doctorate in chemical engineering. "It's a neat accomplishment, but it really doesn't have any applicability."

Anyone who learned to cipher in the sixth grade can see real news when it comes spewing out of the big wheel. Prime numbers are well known to hillbillies, and when the largest one yet has been discovered, it's a time to uncork the jug and fire your shotgun indiscriminately at various varmints and road signs, at top speed in the middle of the night with your headlights off. Every prime number is odd, but not every odd number is a prime...my family are all hillbillies, but not all hillbillies are my family. Yes friends, just like every prime number is divisible by itself and the number 1, "2 to the 'p' power minus 1, where 'p' is also a prime number" is just another way to say, "run cousin LuLu, run; because cousin Goober's pretty fast, and, if he catches you, well, it's just another strange page in the family Bible."

If everybody called 2 to the "p" power minus 1 friends Saturday and told them to listen to the Other Side of Country, why, we'd have a great big party. If 2 to the "p" power minus 1 people called the old pigwhistle Saturday between 1 and 3pm (651-275-1220 local; 877-646-1220 toll free), why, we'd have ourselves an opry.

P.S.--I still have Gopher Wrestling Tickets tonight for anyone who can email me the answer to this question:

Last year, Damion Hahn was the most recent individual National Champion for the Gopher Wrestling team. Who was the last Gopher wrestler to both win an individual National Title, AND, go undefeated during the season?

Email your answers to me by clicking on this link. First come, first serve WITH THE CORRECT ANSWER. Winners will be notified by me, and arrangements will be made for you to attend. One winner per household, Shania Twain can't be your date, and you aren't allowed to root for Iowa State. Contest ends 3pm CST Friday, December 12th.

Jack's 2 to the "p" power minus 1 Top Twenty:

1. Live at Billy Bob's, Jack Ingram
Loud, driving, Country. It doesn't get much better than this.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, Graham Lindsey
Perfesser Al wrote a great review of Graham's live show under my Robbie Fulks review. This album is just a great piece of music from start to finish. It's travelling minstrel hobo folk blues murder music at its best.
3. Warmth & Beauty, Thad Cockrell
Thad Cockrell is the tenor voiced hillbilly Barry White that Ryan Adams either steered clear of becoming or, never quite became.
4. My Baby Don't Tolerate, Lyle Lovett
Sam Snead used to take a backhanded swipe at Ben Hogan's popular Five Lessons: The Modern Fundamentals of Golf by saying he never had a callous in his life from playing golf. The unspoken words being that he was more of a gentleman golfer than the zealous Hogan. You get the feeling, listening to Lyle Lovett, that he doesn't have any callouses on his left hand from playing guitar. He puts out pretty complex musical albums, but they all seem so effortless and gentle.
5. A Day at the Farm with Farmer Jason, Jason Ringenberg
When I was a kid, my grandma had all these yellow, red, and blue vinyl albums with all sorts of hillbilly kids' songs on them. This record by Jason of Jason and the Scorchers is just like those old disks. Screw Barney!!! Plug this into the CD player in the minivan while your ADD kids drink soda pop playing video games in double reinforced harnesses in the back seat.
6. Oh the Stories We Hold, Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Anna Fermin could melt butter on frozen lake in Canada in January.
7. Just For The Record, Bobby Flores
The best damn country dance record that's out right now.
8. Fool For Love, Paul Burch
There are all these guys who can sing, write, and pick in Nashville, and all the talentless people who have hits on mainstream country radio go to see them when they go out. This is a country record that ought to be a big hit, but it doesn't contain any tampon jingles, so you're not going to hear it on the FM at say 2PM on a Thursday.
9. Railings, Frog Holler
Will be in Chicago and St. Louis later in November, I have my fingers crossed that they'll turn the van north for a show. Pennsylvania's finest hillbilly pickin' an' hollerin' band.
10. "OK - I'm sorry...", Bobby Bare Jr.'s Young Criminals' Starvation League
I like this better than the original disk. There's some great live material on it and some really nice studio outtake stuff.
11. Live from the Memory Hotel, Mark McKay
A fine live album from an up and coming heavy hitter on the East Coast roots rock scene.
12. Weatheredbound, Barn Burning
Every song is an imbalanced equation where the mandolins and fiddles could give way at any moment to power chords of I Wanna Be Sedated, all the while integrating polynomials of mountain strings, Music City steel fills, and Jay Farrar-style guitar turned up to "11."
13. Hope is a Thing With Feathers, Trailer Bride
Lead singer and songwriter Melissa Swingle could be singing about bluebirds eating lollipops in the sunshine, and you would still feel like somebody was asking you whether to take a relative off of life support. It's a deceptively alluring sound that wiggles its way into your noodle before you know what hit ya.
14. Lost Highway: Lost & Found 1, Various Artists
Mostly made up of songs from the artists' most recent albums, the highlights are obviously the unreleased stuff and yet-to-be released stuff, including "Falling Star" by the Jayhawks from the Bunkhouse Record, and a version of "Wichita Lineman" by Johnny Cash that will make you weep like a baby. "Hockey Skates" by Kathleen Edwards is also a great tune to throw on this album.
15. It Happened in America, Sherwin Linton & Friends
There's all these young guys and gals playing country around here now, and after a few hours of sitting around telling stories, one of them inevitably starts off a story, "Sherwin Linton once told me that..." This is a disk that just reinforces that Sherwin Linton has seen and done it all.
16. Post To Wire, Richmond Fontaine
All reports say that it's better than Winnemucca.
17. Love Ain't a Cliche, Dan Israel & the Cultivators
Minnesota's Elvis Costello. This disk has a nice feel to it. The best way to describe it might be that it's the kind of music you think you might have seen in the clubs of Minneapolis 15 or 20 years ago, when we were the cutting edge of most music styles. That's not to say it's old-fashioned; rather, the process that created it was old-fashioned club gig know-how. The songs on this record are tested and tight, and you can see yourself boppin' next to your buddies in a good ol' smokey club, checkin' out the Cultivators gig.
18. The One That Got Away, Dry County Crooks
Music to open a cheap beer with a greasy but sharp switchblade by, as you drive through the streets of Portland in your three-on-the-tree, straight-six Impala. There's just the slightest touch of the early work of the Old97's in these guys, but it's not quite early 90's Austin hick pop, more of an edge to it. (See also, Moonshine Hangover).
19. Fought Down, Ken Layne & the Corvids
If it wasn't a bedrock fact that you can't smoke anywhere in the State of California, least of all in bars, I would say a few packs went into making this disk. And maybe that's the best description for the record, it's an ashtray full of butts, and everybody in the room saying it was the other guy smoking; the minute you turn your back, they all light up again. There's some grit and reality to this record which I never saw in my 10 or so trips to the Los Angeles area, which leads me to believe there's some kind of secret roots rock society there, where you can eat fatty foods, smoke cigarettes, and actually listen to the band on stage, rather than posing yourself to get laid by someone higher on "the ladder" than you. Go West young man.
20. Blue Sky, The Bottle Rockets
Haven't heard it yet, but what the hell? My old list was getting stale. Ya gotta figure it's at least the 20th best CD out there, sound unheard.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 12, 2003 8:55 AM

 

Friday Nights were made for Fights

Filed under: Imported

The above picture is a split second of a scene you had to see to believe. Jacob Volkmann, the eventual third place finisher at last year's NCAA meet, had to beat John Clark of Ohio State to get into the Third Place match at 165 pounds. At this point in the meet, there are about 6 guys left at each weight, down from the 32 to 36 that start the weekend, wrestling for 10 weight-class championships. These 6 guys are more or less the best fighters at each weight, the guys who don't get tired, don't get caught off guard, typically don't get pinned or lose by large point margins. Warriors, in other words.

If you look closely, you'll see John Clark's head just below Volkmann's knee. His head is attached to his neck, which is supporting all his weight, because just a few seconds earlier, while he was lying on his stomach, Volkmann secured both of Clark's arms behind his back in what's called a "Double Arm Bar," and rolled him the hard way up and over onto his neck. Clark is trying very hard to breathe here, and ideally, not pass out. It takes a particular kind of focused warrior to execute a vicious maneuver like this so late in the tournament, and on such a tough opponent.

But, this aggressive style is a benchmark of the University of Minnesota wrestling program. They constantly attack on the mat, and high-flying, neckbending, oxygen cutting pretzels are their specialty. If you're burnt out on some of the manufactured silliness in today's mainstream sports, come get a bit of old-fashioned, hand-to-hand violence down at the Target Center on Friday night, as they take on the Iowa State Cyclones, who are fresh off their dual meet upset of the University of Iowa.

And, as a special treat, I have several pairs of FREE tickets to the event to the first few folks who can email the answer to the following Gopher Wrestling Trivia question:

Last year, Damion Hahn was the most recent individual National Champion for the Gopher Wrestling team. Who was the last Gopher wrestler to both win an individual National Title, AND, go undefeated during the season?

Email your answers to me by clicking on this link. First come, first serve WITH THE CORRECT ANSWER. Winners will be notified by me, and arrangements will be made for you to attend. One winner per household, Shania Twain can't be your date, and you aren't allowed to root for Iowa State.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 8, 2003 10:34 PM

 

Shop now, or forever hold your coupons

Filed under: Imported

From the Associated Press:

WEST BURLINGTON, Iowa - A pair of National Guard soldiers were married among the plastic smiling snowmen, lighted reindeer and holiday poinsettias of the Wal-Mart store where they worked, met and fell in love.

Brett Hamilton and Erin Sapp were married last week after the bride-to-be received orders signaling a likely deployment to the Middle East.

``This wasn't what we would have wanted for them,'' said Sapp's mother, Sheila. ``But I told them we'd support them any way we can.''

Hamilton, who planned to ask Sapp to marry him this summer, moved up his plans after she received orders to report for training Dec. 1. Sapp said deployment to the Middle East is likely after training is completed.

Hamilton, who works in the Wal-Mart car care department, and Sapp, a floral department employee, are members of the National Guard's 224th Engineering Battalion.

They hastily arranged the ceremony with Dan Davis, the store manager.

Dozens of Wal-Mart employees wearing blue vests emblazoned with ``How Can I Help You?'' wept, cheered and smiled the two were married. The bride and groom wore their dress Army uniforms.

Hamilton and Sapp have planned a larger wedding celebration when she returns home.

Back in the old days, when a territory was settled, a central location was chosen to erect a church so that everyone could get to it easily, and be chastised for only performing back breaking labor for 16 hours of a 24 hour day. Yes, the lord was gonna get ya for sinnin', even if you were too damned busy trying not to die from starvation, disease, the elements, or that "handful" of people who had been there for a few hundred years before you and were a little ticked you were shooting their buffalo and burning their wood. Back then at the old church, grandpa lit the fire in the stove, papa read the "readins," both Old and New Testament, and mama led the choir.

These days, Grandpa's a greeter, papa works in home improvement, and mama's a cashier. Nothing says retail like Jesus, and vice versa, they both have that "eeee" sound in them. When Sapp and Hamilton start their family, they'll undoubtedly find Baptismal fonts on aisle 11.

Maybe, at 35, I've reached full-blown curmudgeon status, but I can think of about, oh, I don't know...666 places I'd rather get married than inside a #$%& Wal-Mart. Call me idealistic, but I'm willing to bet Andy, Barney, Aunt B., Floyd, AND Clara wouldn't be caught dead attending a wedding at a large retail outlet. Not to get all longhaired and egg-headed on everyone, but I had an English professor at Stanford who wrote two books on how religion was replaced in literature from the beginning of the Industrial revolution to the present, by secular worship of love and comedy; that is to say, literature ditched its focus on a cultural cynosure as an extension of some sort of god or gods, and got down to the nitty-gritty of being human.

Well, boars and sows, bulls and cows, geese and ganders, we've come full circle. We don't need any of that these days. We just need a podium from aisle 45, flowers from the garden center, a bible from aisle 22, rings from the jewelry counter, and a cake from the bakery. Convenience is indeed divine, and true love is one-stop shopping.

Sometimes, around 1pm on Saturday at AM1220 on your radio dial, we wonder if the whole world has gone nuts. Somewhere between monastic contemplation of the mystery of the divine birth AND easy credit for easy terms, lies The Other Side of Country. We like to think listening to our show is like pouring yourself a Vanilla Cherry slushy before shopping for your nativity set.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 4, 2003 10:25 AM

 

The Mustard Burp of Fame

Filed under: Imported

From Billboard.com:

RCA had no comment on reports that Justin Guarini, the second-place finalist for the first season of "American Idol," has been dropped by the label. The eponymous debut album by Guarini -- who is no longer listed on the RCA Web site -- has sold 134,000 copies in the U.S., according to Nielsen SoundScan.

People who are truly honest with themselves immediately thought of Sideshow Bob from "The Simpsons," the first time they saw Justin perform on this vapid vehicle for cheap ratings and quick record sales. None of these horses were sired for long tracks or careers. There are people in America who will go out of their way to hang on to a lighter they bought in a gas station convenience store longer than they'll keep the Justin or Kelly CD's in their players. And that's just what this whole American Idol thing is about: disposable "music" stars. There's no guarantee that Kelly's "2nd CD" will sell a million units, but year two's winner's CD will, and year three's, so on and so forth. If you get a couple hundred thousand units from the chumps who take second, that's just gravy on the pile of "F You" money that comes from "giving the public what it wants." Sorry Charlie, the recording industry doesn't want tuna with good taste, they want tuna that tastes good.

Jack's Here Today Gone Tomorrow Top Twenty:

1. Live at Billy Bob's, Jack Ingram
Loud, driving, Country. It doesn't get much better than this.
2. Famous Anonymous Wilderness, Graham Lindsey
Perfesser Al wrote a great review of Graham's live show under my Robbie Fulks review. This album is just a great piece of music from start to finish. It's travelling minstrel hobo folk blues murder music at its best.
3. Warmth & Beauty, Thad Cockrell
Thad Cockrell is the tenor voiced hillbilly Barry White that Ryan Adams either steered clear of becoming or, never quite became.
4. My Baby Don't Tolerate, Lyle Lovett
Sam Snead used to take a backhanded swipe at Ben Hogan's popular Five Lessons: The Modern Fundamentals of Golf by saying he never had a callous in his life from playing golf. The unspoken words being that he was more of a gentleman golfer than the zealous Hogan. You get the feeling, listening to Lyle Lovett, that he doesn't have any callouses on his left hand from playing guitar. He puts out pretty complex musical albums, but they all seem so effortless and gentle.
5. A Day at the Farm with Farmer Jason, Jason Ringenberg
When I was a kid, my grandma had all these yellow, red, and blue vinyl albums with all sorts of hillbilly kids' songs on them. This record by Jason of Jason and the Scorchers is just like those old disks. Screw Barney!!! Plug this into the CD player in the minivan while your ADD kids drink soda pop playing video games in double reinforced harnesses in the back seat.
6. Oh the Stories We Hold, Anna Fermin's Trigger Gospel
Anna Fermin could melt butter on frozen lake in Canada in January.
7. Just For The Record, Bobby Flores
The best damn country dance record that's out right now.
8. Fool For Love, Paul Burch
There are all these guys who can sing, write, and pick in Nashville, and all the talentless people who have hits on mainstream country radio go to see them when they go out. This is a country record that ought to be a big hit, but it doesn't contain any tampon jingles, so you're not going to hear it on the FM at say 2PM on a Thursday.
9. Railings, Frog Holler
Will be in Chicago and St. Louis later in November, I have my fingers crossed that they'll turn the van north for a show. Pennsylvania's finest hillbilly pickin' an' hollerin' band.
10. "OK - I'm sorry...", Bobby Bare Jr.'s Young Criminals' Starvation League
I like this better than the original disk. There's some great live material on it and some really nice studio outtake stuff.
11. Live from the Memory Hotel, Mark McKay
A fine live album from an up and coming heavy hitter on the East Coast roots rock scene.
12. Weatheredbound, Barn Burning
Every song is an imbalanced equation where the mandolins and fiddles could give way at any moment to power chords of I Wanna Be Sedated, all the while integrating polynomials of mountain strings, Music City steel fills, and Jay Farrar-style guitar turned up to "11."
13. Hope is a Thing With Feathers, Trailer Bride
Lead singer and songwriter Melissa Swingle could be singing about bluebirds eating lollipops in the sunshine, and you would still feel like somebody was asking you whether to take a relative off of life support. It's a deceptively alluring sound that wiggles its way into your noodle before you know what hit ya.
14. Lost Highway: Lost & Found 1, Various Artists
Mostly made up of songs from the artists' most recent albums, the highlights are obviously the unreleased stuff and yet-to-be released stuff, including "Falling Star" by the Jayhawks from the Bunkhouse Record, and a version of "Wichita Lineman" by Johnny Cash that will make you weep like a baby. "Hockey Skates" by Kathleen Edwards is also a great tune to throw on this album.
15. It Happened in America, Sherwin Linton & Friends
There's all these young guys and gals playing country around here now, and after a few hours of sitting around telling stories, one of them inevitably starts off a story, "Sherwin Linton once told me that..." This is a disk that just reinforces that Sherwin Linton has seen and done it all.
16. Post To Wire, Richmond Fontaine
All reports say that it's better than Winnemucca.
17. Love Ain't a Cliche, Dan Israel & the Cultivators
Minnesota's Elvis Costello. This disk has a nice feel to it. The best way to describe it might be that it's the kind of music you think you might have seen in the clubs of Minneapolis 15 or 20 years ago, when we were the cutting edge of most music styles. That's not to say it's old-fashioned; rather, the process that created it was old-fashioned club gig know-how. The songs on this record are tested and tight, and you can see yourself boppin' next to your buddies in a good ol' smokey club, checkin' out the Cultivators gig.
18. The One That Got Away, Dry County Crooks
Music to open a cheap beer with a greasy but sharp switchblade by, as you drive through the streets of Portland in your three-on-the-tree, straight-six Impala. There's just the slightest touch of the early work of the Old97's in these guys, but it's not quite early 90's Austin hick pop, more of an edge to it. (See also, Moonshine Hangover).
19. Fought Down, Ken Layne & the Corvids
If it wasn't a bedrock fact that you can't smoke anywhere in the State of California, least of all in bars, I would say a few packs went into making this disk. And maybe that's the best description for the record, it's an ashtray full of butts, and everybody in the room saying it was the other guy smoking; the minute you turn your back, they all light up again. There's some grit and reality to this record which I never saw in my 10 or so trips to the Los Angeles area, which leads me to believe there's some kind of secret roots rock society there, where you can eat fatty foods, smoke cigarettes, and actually listen to the band on stage, rather than posing yourself to get laid by someone higher on "the ladder" than you. Go West young man.
20. Blue Sky, The Bottle Rockets
Haven't heard it yet, but what the hell? My old list was getting stale. Ya gotta figure it's at least the 20th best CD out there, sound unheard.

Posted by Jack Sparks at December 3, 2003 10:54 PM

 

THE NEWS

Filed under: Imported