August 2005

sigh

Filed under: Imported

If you like songs about puppy dogs being too late to save disabled kids who die in house fires, become angels and prevent car wrecks, screamed at you on top of overly dramatic pedal steel fills, you'll love Martina McBride. Bring your wallet because it will cost more than $40 to absorb her vocal histrionics on the back of your skull and have your soul stirred repeatedly by songs of poverty and abuse sung by a very rich woman with servants. Tonight State Fair Grand Stand, $1,000 (Angels get in free)

Buck Owens wouldn't shit down Rascall Flatts' throats if they were dying of starvation. Maybe I complain too much, but if you're going to force me to accept the Chesney-ification of Country Music, please give me some sort of connection to the historical timeline of the art form. Don't just give Hanson some facial hair and put a fiddle and steel player in their backing band and call them the next Alabama. By the way, who the fuck wants to be the next Alabama, anyway? I sure as hell didn't ask for the next Alabama. Thursday State Fair Grand Stand, $Your Eternal Soul's Damnation in Hell (if you go with two of your best friends, make sure one of you wears a tshirt, the other a Western shirt, and make the fattest of the 3 of you wear a long-cut, untucked silk shirt with a spikey collar and the sleeves undone, pout at any girls you meet)

Posted by Jack Sparks at August 31, 2005 4:09 PM

Don Henley Sucks

Filed under: Imported

We couldn't get Lynyrd Skynyrd, but then again, none of us cared. Here's a hint, or maybe a nudge, perhaps even a wink wink to the State Fair folks: The Gear Daddies should play the Grandstand one of the last 3 nights at The Fair every year, and it shouldn't be as a replacement for some band that isn't even a band, or even the shadow of the band, or even 50% of the band that they're supposed to be.

This is a smoked walleye. It was caught in a Minnesota lake and it was gutted and grilled within 100 miles of where it was yanked unceremoniously from its habitat.

I'm a transplant to Minnesota, and I worship the State Fair. I find it to be the perfect period to my Summer sentence, and I scratch my head in bewilderment at those who fail to revel in its majestic beauty and terrible ugliness. Our hopes and our fears are sewn into the seams and pockets of this spectacle, and we gather, like sardines in a can, to hash this thing out until there's nothing left but a battalion of dumpsters, filled to the lid with the shattered equinox of what we think is "Minnesota."

As you're standing in the middle of a six or seven thousand member sea of humanity watching the 40-someting Gear Daddies play, you realize that they don't speak to who we are so much as they speak to who we hope we are. We want small town education and big city guts, and we pray every night that there's one or three things we can rely on when the sun comes up in the morning. We want to feel like the boss expects us, but we want him to understand that it's still August, and, incongruously, that there are ripe tomatoes on the vine. We want to get bombed Friday night and miraculously find our way home, safely. But we don't want to feel like a pussy getting there.

Here's the thing about the State Fair...about the Gear Daddies...about Minnesota...that you'll never understand, unless you have your ear to the ground Kemosabe. A) You want some friends. B) You want to spend time with your friends, exchanging ideas, lawnmowers, and recipes for smoked walleye. C) At some point, you hope and you pray that some rock solid gal who understands the finer points of paying the mortgage on time, when to plant the tomatoes, where the dogwoods should go in the backyard, and which belt to wear with which shoes, takes pity on you and makes your life worth living. Diablo Cody, THAT is what the State Fair is about; it's about the sweaty mess of 3 deep lines at the port-o-let at 10:01pm, and the men who love them. There is LIFE in this process and genuflection is mandatory.

Posted by Jack Sparks at August 28, 2005 11:25 PM

Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and...

Filed under: Imported

Still, I felt a nagging emptiness when I left. That was it? That's the event Minnesotans talk about all year long? --Diablo Cody

You see, my little Diablita, the State Fair is about the annualness of it all. This is a harvest festival. We all get together and celebrate our sunburnt, drunken, fish-poachin', gun-shootin', bike ridin', pontoon wreckin' summers. And, if we happen to come across a bare-chested, 300 pound man with a prosthetic hook for a right arm, wearing a captain's hat, with a distended belly button that would be a b-cup breast if it were on a woman...well, good God woman, that's worth the $9 in and of itself. Some things are different about the Fair each year: the seed artworks, some of the food, a handful of musical acts...but some things are the SAME: like the above photo, an annual rite of "Sparks at the Fair." This year's act was filled with unbridled joy because I had actually bought a digital camera this past winter and was able to capture it in pixilated form for posterity. I apologize, but the only thing I don't like about the State Fair is when they bring in bullshit sissy boy bands like Rascall Flatts, and the scotch eggs. Everything else gets a "10" in my book.

Posted by Jack Sparks at August 28, 2005 10:36 AM

A rooster born of heaven...

Filed under: Imported

Carlos Saragosa
left his home in Casas Grandes
when the moon was full

He had no money is pocket
just a locket of his sister
framed in gold

He headed for El Suego
and stole a rooster named Gallo del Cielo
and the he crossed the Rio Grande
with that rooster nestled deep beneath his arms

Robbie Fulks once told The Onion in an interview that Country Music does one thing really well, and when it does that thing, it sort of transcends itself. As I watched Joe Ely last night at Lee's Liquor Lounge, I pondered this idea. What kept ringing in my head is that what I consider good and/or authentic twang music, stains you. It stains your clothes, your heart, and your soul. It gets down inside you and it stays there across the years.

By contrast, the kind of Countrived Music that I rail against is more like lip gloss or clown paint, very temporary. If you're prancing around in a black cowboy hat right now, singing about Margaritas and Senoritas, you're going to wake up 10 or 15 years from now and wonder what the joke was. Why were you wearing that shirt, and man, this song sounds kinda fruity all the sudden doesn't it?

Joe Ely's music isn't like that. I often tell people if they had to re-record the episode of the Simpsons where Homer eats the chili pepper, goes on a trip and meets his spirit guide, a coyote with Johnny Cash's voice, they should choose Ely to fill in for the Man in Black (God rest his soul). When Joe sings a song, it stays sung. There's some kind of creepy, ethereal, authority to the way he sings; and that's not to say his voice is hard-edged and brute. Rather, when you're there, 20 feet away from the guy, and he sings something, you have a hard time imagining anybody else ever singing that song again. I like Robert Earl Keen like the next guy, but, after last night, I can't imagine anyone else singing "The Road Goes on Forever," ever again.

And make no mistake about two things: 1) Seeing the man do "Me and Billy the Kid," live in your face is just about one of the ten best things you can do on this earth if you're a country fan, and 2) Joel Guzman will cut the top of your head off with his accordion playing. I'm not sure I've seen anything like him, this side of Flaco Jimenez. He made that thing sound like a pedal steel, harmonica, and everything in between.

Finally, he sang the chicken fight song during his encores. I think I would have stepped over my own mother to hear that song live. To use a sports analogy, the welling of emotion for me in that song at the end is very similar to Al Michaels' "do you belive in miracles" bit at the end of the game against the Russians. The song is epic, yet believable, and for some reason, you get a big sympathetic hole in your heart for a fighting rooster during it. More of that ethereal stuff I was talking about.

Posted by Jack Sparks at August 11, 2005 9:57 AM

A cheap shot at a good writer...

Filed under: Imported

A quick counterpoint to Jon Bream's best live country acts piece on StarTribune.com. His comments, followed by my reactions in bold.

1. Kenny Chesney: With his energy, attitude and athleticism, he throws a party like no other current country star, even if his songs don't measure up to country's finest.

His songs don't measure up to country's worst. To say he sucks ass is an insult to ass everywhere. I'm really lost on why this guy doesn't get savaged more regularly. "...even if his songs don't measure up to country's finest," is the national music writer's code for "we all think he sucks, but we have to write drivel like this because the production companies buy huge ads in our newspapers." Let's all drop the pretense, if Kenny Chesney never recorded another fucking note, none of us in the Country Music biz would be the worst for it.

2. Big & Rich. Genre-blending originality, commanding stage presence and a sense of fun (and humor) have meant that Big Kenny Alphin and John Rich's motto should be "Save a Genre (Take Some Chances)." Thursday at We Fest.

There's nothing original about these guys. Their stage performance is derivative of everything Kid Rock's been doing for many years now. Take some chances? "Save a horse, ride a cowboy" has been a FUCKING BUMPER STICKER for decades! Let's all drop the pretense, these edgy guys who happen to record for the equally edgy independent little shop called WARNER BROTHERS FUCKING RECORDS are an attempt to tap into--albeit about a decade later than they should have--the suburban, white, hip hop market, Wal-Mart Hip Hop.

3. Toby Keith. Part Hulk Hogan and part Hank Williams Jr., this blustery, hard-partying patriot is country's over-the-top success. Thursday at We Fest.

Finally, something to latch onto. It's Part Hulk Hogan part Hank Jr. because today's mainstream country is more like Pro Wrestling than Country Music.

4. Brooks & Dunn. This long-lasting duo has a convincing balance of sentimental songs, sanitized redneck rowdiness and calculated showmanship.

It took all of Bream's strength to say these guys should hang it up. Their act is so tired that they don't even measure up to the 10 bands that are exact duplicates/weird offshoots of them (see Big & Rich).

5. Rascal Flatts. Country's boy band pulls it off with youthful energy, harmony-happy romantic songs and cool hairdos, especially frontman Gary LeVox's (above). Sept. 1 at State Fair.

If Bream wanted Gary LeVox to ask him to the prom, all he had to do was call him. FUCKING BOY BANDS DON'T BELONG IN COUNTRY!!!! I'm calling right now state-wide for anyone who's got tickets for this gig to eat a sweet corn, save your cob, and launch it at the stage in unison when this disaster comes out to play.

6. Sawyer Brown. This veteran group doesn't try to impress with a fancy production. Instead, it lets the uptempo tunes and frontman Mark Miller's dazzling dancing carry the show. Friday at We Fest and Aug. 27 at State Fair.

Two words: Star Search. How long oh lord? How long?

7. Alison Krauss & Union Station. No one can argue with her beautiful voice and the group's awesome instrumental prowess, but it's Krauss' off-the-wall humor that makes the performances delightfully unpredictable.

Finally, someone worth seeing.

8. Keith Urban. This fast-rising Aussie heartthrob injects spirituality, romanticism and guitar heroics into his hook-filled country-rock. Sept. 24 at Xcel Center.

The Sean Cassidy of country. I'm going to tell you what happened with this guy, even though I wasn't there. Some night at some club in Nashville, he was on a bill with 3 other guys who sang and played guitar just as well, if not better than he does. The fat fuck in the audience with the big office at the record company--on his 5th Jack and Coke--signed the good looking guy. That's it, that's what separates him, his looks.

9. Gretchen Wilson. This raw, rough-around-the-edges newcomer's honesty, passion and humor shine through on her forward-thinking but traditional mix of heartache and honky-tonk. Saturday at We Fest.

I'm still warming up to Gretchen. Too bad she's part of the Ass Clown Posse, or whatever they call themselves.

10. Trick Pony. A spunky, fun-loving and fun-generating trio that understands how to create a (contrived) good time. Saturday at We Fest.

Why did he put "contrived" in parentheses? Almost everyone on this list is contrived. In fact, mainstream country music should be changed to Countrived Music.

11. Terri Clark. She rocks! She can be a sensitive balladeer or a sweaty rocker. And she always champions girl power. Sept. 4 at Kick'n Up Kountry Music Festival in Hallock, Minn.

I actually have sympathy for Terri Clark. She starved herself into hotness when she came down out of Canada and that fat fuck with the office at the record company thought he had a chick act he could throw out there and make some dough off of, even if she had a two note voice and a two song act. They tried to make her the "Redneck Woman" thing, but it just didn't ring true, maybe further evidence of Wilson's authenticity, I'm not sure. The thing is, now that Wilson hit it big, they've twisted Clark's bit all around and tried to shove her into the mold. It will be interesting to see where all the chicks go now. We've already seen the desperately God-awful Faith Hill try to refashion herself into a hillbilly queen after selling out mercilessly for so long. What a fucking joke.

12. Dwight Yoakam. Long a Nashville outsider, this Hollywood cowboy is a scrumptious sonic throwback with a deep melting pot of superior tunes and a sly, witty stage style that drives women wild.

I've heard some good things about Dwight's gigs recently. I'm kind of crossing my fingers on his split with his long-time producer.

13. Tim McGraw. He drives women wild, too, not with his statue-like moves but with his hunky body, winning songs and big-budget production. Saturday at We Fest.

Sigh. In another words, he stands out there like a puppet and voice-boxes some song somebody else wrote while hookers and fireworks dance around in the background so the chumps who got duped out of $200 a head down front are distracted from his master's strings? Is that about right Jon?

14. Wynonna Judd. Long one of the strongest female voices in Nashville, she has finally found her comfort zone on stage with a spirited, liberating, humorous journey through her life via her favorite rock and R&B covers along with her own hits. Aug. 26 at Grand Casino Hinckley.

He's right, Wynona has a powerful voice. She also weighs about 2 1/2 bills, which made the fat fuck with the big office in Nashville jump off her ship like a scared rat. Do you see what I'm talking about? Loads of talent, but she likes moon-pies, so we think we'll pass. Nashville sucks.

15. Montgomery Gentry. Coming on like WWE tag-team champions, this duo is rambunctious and rockin' with a couple of ballads to balance the bluster. Aug. 26 at Jackpot Junction Casino in Morton, Minn.

See Pro Wrestling reference above. All of these duo acts in Nashville are just twangy copies of Wham! You do the jitterbug (snap snap snap)...

Posted by Jack Sparks at August 5, 2005 5:17 PM

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