Throwback Album Review: Charlie Chase / My Wife, My Life

By Bobby Peacock

The music industry is rife with projects from people who are not career musicians. While the stereotype is of an awkward, misguided vanity project, sometimes people such as Bradley Cooper, Sissy Spacek, or John Corbett have been surprisingly skilled on that front. Disc jockeys who make the jump are especially susceptible to being tagged as self-indulgent, minimally talented trend chasers, most notably Rick Dees's "Disco Duck." So where on that spectrum does Charlie Chase fall?

For the younger crowd, Charlie Chase is a country radio DJ. Active since the 70s, he's best known for his work with Lorianne Crook, including the talk show Crook & Chase and radio program The Crook & Chase Countdown. Though they have a natural chemistry and great broadcaster voices, their style is the same kind of cornpone, Southern grandma humor you'd expect from Hee Haw. (Sample joke: Lorianne asks Lee Greenwood why his family works with him, and Charlie butts in with "they all work cheap and they're always around.") In 1993, Charlie joined Epic Records to record My Wife... My Life. In theory, this doesn't sound like a bad idea: a well-known country DJ wanting to record songs inspired by his wife and family. Theoretically, it could appeal to fans of Bill Anderson or those albums Bobby Bare did with his wife and son.

Despite this being on most major digital platforms, a physical release is shockingly obscure. Databases such as Discogs and AllMusic just have the track listing without credits. I had to buy a copy on Amazon just to figure out who even wrote or played on this album -- and the copy I bought hadn't even been opened! One of the producers is Charlie Monk, aka the "Mayor of Music Row." He was also a veteran DJ, as well as a song publisher and industry executive who also holds a handful of songwriting and production credits. Monk co-produced with Mickey Hiter, who claims over 30 years in the industry as a producer, but I haven't found a single other cut with his name on it. (It's possible they were just small indie acts who went un-documented. He's since given up music in favor of coaching youth baseball.) It includes standard session musicians of the day, such as bassist Glenn Worf, former Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefers member Doyle Grisham, and the Nashville String Machine. Writers present include Jim Weatherly, Kim Williams, Skip Ewing, Eddy Raven, and... two songs by Dana Sigmon and Glenn Ashworth, the team behind Buddy "Cooter Brown" Causey's "Pure Bred Redneck."

 

The first track is "My Wife," written by Monk. It features the narrator's answers to his daughter's inquiries on the meaning of the word "wife." While a few of them are a bit sappy ("she's so tender, she'll cry over practically nothing"), there are a few lines I like. For instance, I like "My wife is the willow...together we bend and adjust to what the winds of life bring to us. You know, had we been oaks... we probably would've snapped and broken in a storm a long time ago." Even with the syrupy strings behind it, this is somewhat better than I expected. The setup is fine (I could easily see a young enough child not knowing what a "wife" is), some of his answers are mildly clever and heartwarming, and I like that he bothered to show that even the best of marriages aren't 100% happy and effortless. This isn't a song I would go out of my way for, but it's a hell of a lot more grounded and believable than "Help Pour Out the Rain" or "God's Will."

Next is "Out on Her Own." Lyrically, it's a standard narrative of a man watching his daughter grow up; think Gary Allan's "Tough Little Boys," only without the "tough" part. I actually expected "first day of school" to rhyme with "cried like a fool" here too, but it's the daughter who's crying, so that's... something. What really baffles me here is the decision to cast this as a collaboration. Garth Brooks of all people takes the first verse, sounding oddly feeble and unfocused. Doug Stone, no stranger to maudlin himself (albeit a flavor of maudlin I found way more palatable than most), comes off a little better, but he's still buried under the string-heavy production. Both of them get twisted up a bit too much in histrionics at the bridge, where Charlie butts in with "no longer daddy's little girl" -- admittedly, a bit of a twist, as I was expecting a "You'll Always Be My Baby" type foundation here. So how well does Charlie sing when he finally takes over for the rest of the song? Surprisingly, not terrible. He goes a little sharp on the chorus, but he displays enough understanding of phrasing not to sound completely awkward.

Thankfully, the album gets a bit of tempo on track three, a barroom shuffle about "My Home Town (Rogersville, TN)." I find it a bit hyperbolic that a town big enough to have had a Kmart in the 80s still had old men whittling on the front porch as their hound dogs watched, seeing as I also grew up in a small town big enough to have had a Kmart in the 80s. (Maybe it's different in the South?) The song's relatively loose feel does a lot to make Charlie's shortcomings as a vocalist a lot more palatable. I also like that he name-drops WRGS, the actual radio station where he used to work. It's probably that little personal touch that makes this go down easier than, say, "Sweet Southern Comfort." (Wow, two digs at Buddy Jewell in the same review. I'm on a roll.)

So after three not-terrible tracks, here's where we start to go off the rails. Every '90s country fan knows Collin Raye's "Love, Me." It's a fantastic song in my opinion, well worth its legacy as a tear-jerker standard. (The only reason it didn't make my "Top 300 Singles of the 90s" list is because I intentionally wanted to focus more on lesser-known songs.) Instead of playing the song straight, Charlie chose to speak the verses, adding a bunch of unnecessary fluff ("You know, it seems that the older people get, they don't grow apart -- they grow closer together. And it reminded me of a note my grandma wrote...") before melodramatically talking his way through the rest of the familiar verses like a poor man's Paul Harvey. Of all acts, Western Flyer -- a full year before their eponymous debut single, and two before the hauntingly fantastic "Cherokee Highway" -- carries the chorus. Between the baffling decisions of the verses and the unnecessarily Eagles-like execution of the chorus, the simplicity of "Love, Me" has been stripped away.

Track five is also a cover; specifically, the Oak Ridge Boys's "Thank God for Kids," aka "that one Oaks song that gets played every Christmas even though it's not really a Christmas song, simply because it was on a Christmas album." I kind of hate to say this as a fan of both the Oaks and the song's writer Eddy Raven, but this one's near the bottom for me on both fronts. ("The closest thing to Heaven is a child" was always a bit too Precious Moments for me.) Very little is changed from the original, to the point that Charlie almost seems to be mimicking William Lee Golden's voice -- which becomes painfully apparent when the Oaks themselves overpower him on the chorus.

What kind of song can you sing about "Hands"? You know, other than "Daddy's Hands" (aka "I wish people would learn already that Holly Dunn has other songs") or Steve Wariner's "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle." The hands in this song "cradled and sheltered a baby boy thrust suddenly into a great big frightening world." Yes, they're his mom's. She cares for her growing boy, but also guides him. If you guessed that this is leading up to singing about the hands of Jesus... then yes, that is exactly where this song goes. And yes, that chorus singing "those precious hands" over and over is as tacky as you're picturing. It's still pretty high on the glurge scale, but at least 1.) nobody dies at the end and 2.) the song doesn't drag out the Jesus-y bits for another three minutes.

"When You're in Love" was another pleasant surprise from a production standpoint, building off a doo-wop a cappella vibe (once again, Western Flyer) with some tasteful percussion. Charlie talk-sings his way around a "power of love" narrative that, while not the most original thing ever, has a few cute turns of phrase like "the man with the shovel or the man with the plan" and "low on charisma or loaded with charm." I would have given him maybe a couple more passes through to loosen up the vocal a bit more (and stop him from doing that vocal fry on the hook), but this is another moment where the tempo -- and easily the best production on the album -- make a welcome change of pace and possibly the album's most enjoyable track.

Not as welcome is his attempt at covering Gladys Knight's "Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me." Yes, you read that right; he put a Gladys Knight cover on here. As limited as he is vocally, he was at least smart enough to avoid some of the more complex phrasings of the original. But the result is a bland, saxophone-drenched karaoke read of the original at best. There's no sense of soul in it, in a way that reminds me of Reba McEntire's dreary cover of Patti LaBelle's "On My Own" (which I'm certain killed the saxophone trend in country music single-handedly). I actually would have preferred to hear him stumbling over melisma and notes way out of his range, as it would've actually been entertaining for a listen or two and not dreadfully boring.

Another narrative, "Mom and Dad," deals with Charlie pondering what his then-teenage kids think of him, and contrasting it with a note he supposedly wrote at age 18. Said note has him laying out how grown-up he feels now, all the things he thanks his parents for. It's the same maudlin stuff you'd think: mom cooks and does the laundry, and gives "unwanted music lessons," dad married the "greatest woman," "let him cruise," and told bad jokes. (I could do without the casual mentions of spanking.) To be fair, I do like that he brings up "it's okay for men to cry," which is a welcome diversion from the stodgy Father Knows Best stereotypes. But for the most part, it's like someone wanted to write their own version of Melba Montgomery's "No Charge," but forgot what that song was actually about. And as someone familiar with the concept of unrequited love, not to mention people who use "love" as a smokescreen for gaslighting and manipulation, the closing line of "you get the same feeling giving love as you do receiving it" sits wrong with me.

"Thank God for Kids" wasn't enough on the Christmas front, as we end on "Christmas Is for Kids." This song breaks absolutely no new ground with its images of colorful trees, crowded malls, sleighs full of toys, and oh yeah, a baby in Bethlehem. (Another questionable line: "The whole world celebrates." You know, except for Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and any other non-Christians, not to mention non-believers or people who choose not to partake in Christmas for other reasons...) To be fair, I do respect that the production isn't overdone here; there are a few subtle bells and the children's backing vocals, but at least we don't have sleigh bells on every beat or a blaring orchestra. (One of my biggest pet peeves with Christmas music is how even the newer stuff tends to sound like it was recorded in 1962.)

So what did critics think? I found one hilariously scathing review printed in four different newspapers (sadly, uncredited each time) which gave the album one star out of five. "If [the title track] doesn't send you scurrying for the barf bag, there's more...Most intolerable is a remake of Gladys Knight's 'Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me', surely one of the worst things ever hatched by Nashville masterminds." Rich Kienzle of Country Music magazine couldn't hold back the snark, either; he wrote a review that I'll admit is way funnier than mine, so I've chosen to include it in its entirety. Cash Box was considerably kinder, stating that the album "comes from life's simple pleasures and common hardships with an honestly heartfelt delivery."

The truth is, I wanted to be way snarkier on this album. It's not by any means a standout, but it did surprise me a couple times, such as "My Home Town" and "When You're in Love." It's still incredibly corny and schmaltzy, self-indulgent, and a little misguided at times. He knows he can't sing very well, so he opts for narrating or letting guest vocalists carry most of the song -- but outside the Gladys Knight cover, he doesn't embarrass himself as a vocalist. The songs are mostly formulaic and saccharine, but at the same time, he mostly avoids any sanctimoniousness. In an era where some of the lesser lights such as Davis Daniel, Dude Mowrey, or Daron Norwood were still doing "novelty song, mid-tempo, ballad, cover song, and six random bits of filler," the song variety here is surprisingly above average. But most of all, the reason I can't fully hate this album is because it feels like something Charlie Chase wanted to do. If you still remember who Charlie Chase is, this might be worth a couple curiosity listens. I'd give it maybe a two out of five, or just recommend you download "My Home Town" and "When You're in Love" individually.

Completely Biased Album Review / Lucero / Should’ve Learned By Now

A disclosure: Lucero is my favorite band. I’ve seen them live somewhere around 14 times. I make sure to always have at least one t-shirt that is new/presentable enough for casual events in life (and a couple of backups). I have considered a tattoo.

Another disclosure: I didn’t like Lucero at first. Never hated them or anything, but I just didn’t ‘get’ them. Lead singer Ben Nichols’ vocals are certainly an acquired taste, and the songs can sound a little samey from a distance. I kept trying though - and around the time of 2003’s That Much Further West, I was suddenly smitten. For good.

A final confession: I’m not so biased that I can’t find fault with the fellas. Their last album, 2021’s When You Found Me did some 70s AM radio rock experimentation that didn’t work for me, and Ben took his vocals to places I’d prefer he hadn’t gone. That said, the songs sound great live. And that’s where the magic of Lucero is truly found. 

I neglected to mention in paragraph 2 that seeing Lucero live for the first time around 2003 was the straw that broke the camel’s back (in a good way). In concert, Lucero is a force of nature. It’s not pretty - the music is a raw blend of country punk midwestern sweaty rock n’ roll. They don’t sound like anything you’d hear on any radio station, even satellite radio. But it’s a rock revival every time they play. 

The crowds are almost as fun to watch as the band. There are dads on their getaway weekend with the boys, there are college punks, there are rockabilly couples complete with a rockabilly baby, there are couples, families, normies, and weirdos. And they all know every word. There are drunks swaying to the beat. There are puffs of vape that you know ain’t nicotine. There’s dancing and screaming at the tops of lungs. And I’ve NEVER seen a fight at a Lucero show. Even if you never come around to liking the band on tape, catch a show some time - you’ll thank me.

Six paragraphs in, we finally get to discussing the new album. Should’ve Learned by Now is Lucero’s best album since Rebels, Rogues & Sworn Brothers. There, I said it. Supposedly this record is a collection of songs not picked for When You Found Me and Among the Ghosts, but it feels like a truer representation of the band than either of those (and I loved Ghosts). It also may be the most accessible thing they’ve ever put out.

“One Last FU” opens the set with the raucousness you expect from Lucero (They are half raucous / half utter sadness), and it’s a sign of things to come. Should’ve Learned By Now leans into the rowdy times and barrooms more than recent releases, and this song covers both. 

Next up is “Macon if We Make It,” which is surely among the band’s catchiest songs ever. The tune is pure dopamine. They don’t play around with building anticipation - here’s your kickass verse, here’s your hooky chorus, here’s your ripping guitars. No teasing, just a slab of rock n’ roll greatness. I can’t wait to hear this one live. 

“She Leads Me” is about as close to pure country music as Lucero will ever get. It’s a hopeful song about love being a restorative journey and destination. It’s a simple song, but the pretty piano accompaniment and the gentle harmonies of the chorus make it a real winner. 

Even my least favorite song upon first listen, “Raining for Weeks” (the only real emotional downer of the album) has revealed itself to be subtly captivating. There’s not a bad song to be found here.

There’s a clear theme of hope, home, and rescue on this album, which is a thousand miles from the sorrow and self-medication of early releases. It’s the hallmark of a great band that they can mature naturally without losing an iota of what makes them special. Lucero never changed for anybody but themselves.

Should’ve Learned By Now is a standout in a career of standouts. Give it a listen. 

Album Review / The Damn Quails / Clouding Up Your City

By Megan Bledsoe

Almost exactly six years after The Damn Quails announced their indefinite hiatus in June 2016, leaving a hole in the Texas/Red Dirt scene and breaking the hearts of countless fans, they are once again making music. Their triumphant return comes in the form of the new album Clouding up Your City, originally marketed to be a Bryon White solo project but now proudly carrying the name of the Oklahoma-based band. With stories of heartbreak and life on the road and the overarching narrative of White’s own struggles with addiction, which culminated in a stint in rehab during the group’s hiatus, the new record is a welcome return to form for the band and a great showcase of the unique flavor that The Damn Quails bring to the Red Dirt scene.

The themes of battling demons and working to overcome addiction are certainly central to this record. White remarks on “Harm’s Way” that indeed, he might always stay in such a predicament. He laments the fact that the liquor is always on the “highest shelf” on the track of the same name, and almost ruefully reflects that he will continue to imbibe despite the bitter taste and negative consequences. This kind of wry self-deprecation is evident in the title track as well, as White sings about “clouding up your city with our sin.” He comments bitterly and sarcastically on “Everything is Fine” about the perplexing human tendency to echo this platitude when, in reality, our lives are crumbling around us. Perhaps all these sentiments are most succinctly summed up on “Mile by Mile,” wherein White announces, “I hung up my demons, they’re dry on the line, I just never could quite throw them out.” He seems to be accepting the fact that, although he may have overcome his struggles, addiction will always be a part of what has shaped his story and these songs.

Perhaps this is why, on a record so brooding in its thoughts, the production of John Calvin Abney is the album’s true ace in the hole. Abney’s production and the live feel of the project come together to add a warm, welcoming quality to these tracks that belies the often darker tone of the lyrics. White states, of the Quails, “We might be the least country band to ever break out in Texas,” and, while that point can certainly be argued, the truth is that this record does not really align itself with any genre. On the more upbeat selections, like “Someone Else’s city,” one might be tempted to classify this album as heartland rock or Americana. The country influence is certainly there in places also, such as in the hauntingly beautiful harmonica that explodes into prominence in the middle of “Highest Shelf.” The piano playing of Abney delivers a classical elegance to tracks like “”Harm’s Way” and “Mile by Mile.” And then there’s the unique vocal phrasing of Bryon White himself, which adds a definite, and incredibly charming, Celtic flavor to the whole thing. Clouding up Your City is, most accurately, a Damn Quails record, for no other band, in Texas or otherwise, possesses a sound quite like this, and John Calvin Abney was the perfect choice for a producer to bring out and accentuate these strengths.

Clouding up Your City is an album of triumph, both in the overcoming of the struggles of life and in the return of a band plagued by all manner of hardships. There is something intangible and infectious in these songs and in this narrative as a whole that renders the record both captivating and accessible. But more than that, this album is an excellent case for why The Damn Quails are special, and why the Red dirt scene certainly feels more complete now that they have returned to it.

Album Review / IV & The Strange Band / Southern Circus

By Matthew Martin

I don't think you'd be necessarily at fault for being a bit leery of another generation of the Hank Williams lineage. I mean, we're on the 4th line here. It's worth being suspicious. I was a little put-off by the whole idea. Here we have Hank 3's only son calling himself "IV" and his band "The Strange Band." It feels like this is about to be reductive. And I guess maybe it is to an extent. But, one thing is apparent here - IV has every intention of taking every single part of his lineage and making it his own. He's done a damn fine job of it on his debut album, Southern Circus.

IV himself acknowledges that it was a struggle to shoulder the name while trying to make a name for himself. I think what you get with this album is a complete acknowledgement of that name with some very good jukebox-ready country songs as well taking those country instruments and turning up the distortion on those instruments. When "Stand Your Ground" moves from delicately-picked country folk to more driving rock, it fits. You can start connecting those dots of where he comes. But again, don't think of this album as complete nostalgia. There are stories here in a way that none of the Williams that came before quite have done. Songs with compelling stories fill the album up mostly to the brim. Yeah, there are a few songs that are vessels for the band and that's fine too because the band is tight. The band knows what they're doing. They're bought into this notion that genres don't have to be exclusive. "I'm Gonna Haunt You" is this kind of song. The lyrics are fine, not particularly memorable, but the music is infectious and brooding- and for those of us that listen to country music and heavier rock music, I think sometimes we gravitate to that, so it works for me.

But, then we get to "Malice" and let me tell ya, this is one of the shiners of the album for me. It has a killer fiddle line. It's a song about a couple that hates each other. It's a sad country song. The way IV lets the music breathe life into this song is something more experienced bands are so good at. This song screams of the true potential of this band and this songwriter. I mean, it's still macabre because there's an image to uphold here. But, it works. It's a damn fine country song.

"Drinking Sad" also completely shows what IV can do should he decide to fully embrace the country side of him at some point. Clever wordplay and a crackerjack band take the song to another level. These are songs that deserve more attention than they may receive as people overlook them for the more unique, darker representations of IV's music. Which leads us to the last two songs of the album. 

"Son of Sin" was the first song I heard when IV started making the rounds last year. I was worried this song was going to be the kind of reductive album we were going to get. Now, I say that and it sounds bad. BUT, I like the song and I like the song particularly with the rest of the album. I just felt like it was completely what you'd expect from Hank 3's son. But, this song is high octane and the country tinge to it is fun. It adds flair that completely takes this song to the next level. Which leads us to "Filth." This is the kind of song that I do appreciate more for the music than the lyrics. I could take or leave the lyrics, but the music is fun and it's another version of the high octane country-ish rock music that can be expected of the 3/IV crew. But, the last minute of this song reaches another Doom/Stoner Metal plateau and damn does the band deliver. It starts to make sense how the band can tour with Eyehategod.

There's a lot more that can be said for this album and I think many people will have PLENTY of things to say about it and the lineage. I've probably said too much already. But, listen for yourself. See what you think. Give IV the chance he deserves. He and his band are a strange bunch for sure, but what else would you expect?

Southern Circus is available everywhere today.

Emotions Run High for Drew Kennedy in Marathon

By Travis Erwin

If the desert had a voice, I can’t help but think it would sound a lot like Drew Kennedy. 

That might come across as pandering, or at the very least obvious given the title and geographical setting of his latest album, but as a longtime fan of Kennedy’s, this is not a new thought for me. I am a native Texan, a windblown son of the Texas Panhandle who now calls Southern California home after forty plus years in the Lone Star State. Drew Kennedy originally hails from Pennsylvania and now proudly calls the Hill Country his home.

I write these facts to highlight the fact that here I am, an expat of sorts writing about an adopted son. Texas might not truly be its own country, but the state is certainly as close to independent as any nation in this land. At least in spirit and my upbringing shapes how I see and react with this world. So long before Kennedy created his side project, Ocotillo, or this new album Marathon, he pulled me in with emotionally laden songs like “Vapor Trails” and “Stars In California.” As a novelist, Drew’s storytelling and strong emotive threads spoke to me. Stuck to me one might say, like the barbed spines of Cholla, so when I moved here and visited Joshua Tree I thought of Graham Parsons first, and Drew Kennedy second because I can hear his music in the rustle of the ocotillo or feel the sheltering emotion of his words as I stand in the meager shade of a Joshua Tree. 

I feel a link to Kennedy as a fellow creative and that is because of the emotional relevance he spins into his words. We are both big, bearded men with softer sides that I would at least like to think is born of empathy for the human condition. So yeah, I’ve long been a fan and still, Marathon just might be Kennedy’s best work to date. Unconventional in both its creation and sound, the heart and life show in unexpected ways. This is not a studio album in that it was recorded in the tiny town of Marathon, Texas, but it very much is a finely crafted and polished product. I won’t spoil the fine work Kennedy did by describing any of the history or wonderment of the area but then again, I don’t need to. It is all there in musical form for you to enjoy.  

Painting in both words and emotions, Drew Kennedy sets the scene with the title track, “Marathon,” and he does so with a calm soothing style that feels like sitting on the porch beside a skilled historian and storyteller. This opening track invites you to sit and listen in to a place that time might not have completely forgot, but has left mostly unscathed. 

In these days of streaming music and a barrage of singles, a finely crafted album is a rarity, but Kennedy and his collaborator Davis Naish have arranged this collection like chapters of a novel. Each track tells an individual story and weaved together they form a larger picture. After setting the scene, “Peace And Quiet” is where this story about broken hearts and the quest for belonging truly begins. “The Hat” then takes our forlorn wanderer and gives him mentor of sorts. No one wants to feel like their best days, or at least final adventures are behind them because we all hope to have a piece of us continue on and this track takes that metaphorical idea and transforms it into the tangible.  

Walt Wilkins very well might be the poet laureate of Texas, so Kennedy’s take of Wilkins’ “Watch It Shine” is one of those pairings that feels like stepping out in the warm sunshine after a long cold night. No matter how dark it has been, letting the warmth hit you reinspires and reinvigorates, and this is a track that I will turn to over and over again, fully expecting more meaning to shone through with each listen. 

The oompah cadence of “West Texas Cloud Appreciation Society” reminded me of vintage Robert Earl Keen blended with Randy Newman. The track left me longing for a dance partner to grab and waltz across the floor. “Hi-Ho Silver” carries a hint of 90s Country but still delivers Kennedy’s intense emotional edge both in the performance and writing. Nostalgia and pop references combine to create the lonesome sensation only remote places can instill, but the track also brings out the unrelenting heart and determination of those who seek out such far-flung places. 

“Hope” is a fragile concept, but one we all need, and this track walks that line in a way that lends credibility to the story with its genuineness. Drew Kennedy is an easy guy to root for. His positivity and compassionate outlook invites you in much in the same way the hopeful character of the track “Lucky” helps us feel the spark of falling in love. 

Few things have been romanticized as much as trains and while “Sunset Special” is less about the glory days of rail travel than it is the emotional side of being excited in love it was inspired by a train that passes through Marathon on its travels back and forth from New Orleans to Los Angeles. The actual train is called The Sunset Limited but how that got mixed up is a story for Kennedy to tell because one of the hallmarks of a Kennedy’s live shows is the storytelling that goes on between offerings.  

“Boots On My Feet” is a song about travelling and how no matter how far you roam, your past goes with you. The spirit of Guy Clark is almost tangible on the final track, “So Far To Go.” The build pulls you along instilling the sense of wisdom shared and knowledge gained. The track does not tie in directly to the album’s overall narrative, but with lyrics about love shared and emotions earned the song is universal enough that few people will even realize the story has ended. That said, one can argue story endings are simply the new beginning to the next story. I hope that is the case because as the story of Drew Kennedy’s “Marathon” closes, I am left eager for the beginning of his next great tale.

Marathon is available everywhere you buy and stream music tomorrow.

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Travis Erwin is an author and freelance music critic. His latest novel, THE GOOD FORTUNE OF BAD LUCK was released in May of 2022 and follows other works such as THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES, TWISTED ROADS, WAITING ON THE RIVER, and HEMINGWAY. Follow him on twitter @traviserwin

Blackberry Smoke’s Stoned: How to do an album of covers

By Kevin Broughton

Atlanta’s Blackberry Smoke released Stoned, an EP of Rolling Stones songs, back in November (as a Record Store Day release) to little fanfare. Under the radar or not, this is the way to do a cover record. 

At least that’s what discriminating Stones fans will think. The first thing that got my attention was the track listing for the seven-cut set; Charlie Starr and the boys put some serious thought into it, and it shows in the distribution: Three songs from Sticky Fingers (“Sway,” “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking,” “I Got The Blues”); two from Exile (“All Down The Line,” “Tumbling Dice”); and one each from Beggars Banquet (“Street Fighting Man”) and Some Girls (“Just My Imagination.”) This last is a cover of a cover, a song first made famous by Smokey Robinson – and the best cover the Stones ever did. 

It spans a decade of Stones history (1968-78), with one song each from the Brian Jones and Ron Wood eras, and a supermajority rightly plucked from the band’s golden (a/k/a “Mick Taylor”) age. 

The tributes in song themselves are exquisite in form and true to the Stones’ blues-based vision of rock ‘n’ roll. “All Down The Line” kicks the record off with a faithful sendup of Keith’s stop-go riff for six bars, and the rhythm section falls right into the pocket. “Tumbling Dice” is so true to the original that you can appreciate why Blackberry Smoke is one of the few bands who could credibly pull this off; they’re just that good, top to bottom. (The Black Crowes could have done this once, but Robinsons.)

My favorite cut might be the aforementioned cover/cover, “Just My Imagination,” one I was exposed to as a 15-year-old on the Tattoo You tour. “What the heck,” I thought. “Why is Mick playing a guitar, and how have I never heard this Stones song before?” 

As faithful as the Stones were to Smokey, Blackberry Smoke is to the Stones.  And on “Sway” and one or two other numbers, the rough edge to Starr’s melodic voice adds a hint of Keith to all the vocals. So much in fact I found myself wishing for a cover of “Happy” or “You Got The Silver” or “Before They Make Me Run.” For that matter, Blackberry has but scratched the surface; Stones fans should be reasonably optimistic about a sequel. Because for all the great renditions on this seven-song EP, they can now envision at least twice that many for any follow-up effort(s).

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Stoned is available on Spotify, Amazon, etc.

Album Review / Kaitlin Butts / What Else Can She Do

By Megan Bledsoe

For years now, Kaitlin Butts has been releasing singles, slaying live performances, and generally making us all--or at least those smart enough to pay attention--eagerly anticipate the day when she would at last grace us with her second album. Now that day has finally come, with a record that will hopefully establish Kaitlin Butts as one of the best emerging artists in the Red Dirt scene. Though the seven-song project might seem a little short, especially given the long time between albums, the resulting record tells a complete and powerful story. Short albums like this one work when they have something specific to say, and Kaitlin Butts certainly does, delivering a message of hope and resilience and painting a portrait of those who face the worst that life has to offer and yet somehow prevail.

The women of What Else Can She Do face very different trials. There's the mother in "It Won't Always Be This Way," constantly comforting herself and her child with these words as she tries desperately to think of a way for them to leave her abusive husband. There's the brokenhearted narrator of "Jackson" who laments the fact that she may never get married, while the young wife in "Bored if I Don't" bemoans the fact that she did. The hapless, homesick waitress of the title track dreams of life back home in the country, all the while knowing she will never return. But though their circumstances are different, all of Butts' characters share a common desperation, each of them standing at the various crossroads in their lives and forced to face the consequences of their choices. And Kaitlin Butts displays her talent as a songwriter in that she is able to empathize with each of them individually while simultaneously uniting them all in the bonds of struggle.

The struggle, however, is only half of the picture and only a part of what unites these characters and makes this record cohesive. All of these women also share a common bond of resilience and strength. The narrator of "It Won't Always Be This Way" never stops echoing the words, even though she has no idea how many more times she'll need to repeat them, and eventually, she and her child are able to begin a new life. The young girl in "She's Using" fights to overcome her addiction with the help of supportive family and friends. The narrator of "Jackson" finds new resolve to leave the man who keeps letting her down. Through it all, Kaitlin Butts weaves a powerful tale of hope, instilling the message that we can survive the worst of circumstances and even come out on the other side having been made stronger by the experience.

Country music has historically been for the downtrodden, for the lonely, for all those who can find comfort in a sad story which sounds achingly similar to their own. Kaitlin Butts understands this instinctively and offers us all this comfort, telling the stories of abuse, addiction, heartbreak, and regret with candor, with warmth, and with understanding. But more than that, she cautions that these situations do not define us. She paints a compelling picture of strength and determination, gently reminding us that, although there are "lots of sad stories," as the title track states, our stories do not have to end sadly. Instead we may change our stories, so that, like the tales of these women, ours may become stories of enduring hope and unwavering perseverance.

What Else Can She Do is available today everywhere you purchase or stream music.

Album Review / William Clark Green / Baker Hotel

By Travis Erwin

William Clark Green has never been an artist that you could confuse with another performer. Some might describe him as quirky, or eccentric as not only is the gravel in his voice a bit different sounding, but often his songwriting takes a unique approach as well. His hit “Ringling Road” certainly covered different ground in creating its unique vibe and there is a good bit of that same spirit on Green’s new album Baker Hotel. The inspiration for the album name comes from an actual hotel with a very intriguing history of its own. 

For years, decades actually, The Baker Hotel has loomed in state of urban decay over the quaint town of Mineral Wells, Texas. Despite opening just after the big stock market crash of 1929, the once glorious resort and spa was a hot destination for both the famous and infamous through the 30s but advances in medicine took the shine off the mineral water that rises from the ground and the hotel was eventually shuttered in 1963. Plans are in the works to renovate and bring the place back to life, but for years the rumored ghosts have been the only occupants of this hulking relic.

Ironic then that the first track on William Clark Green’s homage to the building, is song called “Feel Alive.” The track has a Robert Earl Keen vibe to the rhythm and cadence of the delivery. Green and Keen do not sound all that much alike, but both artists could be called unconventional, and both convey the same kind of raw emotion. This opening track lifted me up the way Keen’s “Feeling Good Again” tends to do and set the tone for an intriguing collection of songs.

The next two tracks, “Gun To Your Head,” and “Give A Damn” deliver the sound WCG is known for and while both are nice tracks with that vocal gravel leading the way, neither song swept me up and away the way Green can when at his best. That said both tracks have heart and passion even while utilizing a structure more like other songs from the genre than some of WCG’s biggest hits.

The fourth track “Anymore” could be my favorite from the album. Coming with a slower build, the track has a vulnerability that feels all the more raw because of WCG’s vocal style. The despair and loneliness and regret comes through in every line. 

The title track, “Baker Hotel” is the kind of quirky song that WCG pulls off so well. The track has a similar vibe as Ringling Road and WCG embraces that fact rather than running from it with the end result almost feeling like a sequel as he invites the ghosts of this iconic landmark to come out and play chicken with the mortals looking for a thrill.    

Every good artist needs a dog song, and while most extol the virtues of man’s so-called best friend, true to his form, Green takes a different approach. This “Dog Song” has a Guy Clark vibe as man and beast compete for the love of a good woman. “All Pot No Chicken” comes next to keep the fun, energetic vibes going. 

“Getting Drunk” is a slower, more tender track looking at the residue of living that party lifestyle and for all of us that have ever had those nights, or a string of such nights, the track will resonate deeply as we examine the reasons, we self-medicate. The track is another contender for my personal favorites from the album. “All You Got” offers more of an in your face take of the party life, by calling the bluff of someone who delivering an ultimatum.

Perhaps the thing that WCG does best is create songs that feel like part of your life. The turn of phrase, the inviting tone, both enriched by their own style of imperfections. These qualities make his music both unique and relatable and that separates William Clark Green from the vast majority of artists out there. “Best Friends” is an ode to those friends we all need in life, and the track feels both nostalgic and heartwarmingly true. “Love To Hate” did not have as much impact for me as other tracks on Baker Hotel, but it does offer a nice straightforward sound and direction and has a more commercial vibe than other tracks on this album, though Green has always transcended the need to offer conventional songs structured to meet radio demands. 

Disappointment is something we all face and often it comes from within as we fail to meet our own expectations. “Leave me Alone” is the conversations we have with ourselves in song form. 

We all have ghosts that plague our relationships and this album, named after a ghost of a building, begins with a track about life and vitality and ends with a track, “Me, Her, and You” about old relationships haunting the present. The arc was not lost on me and I think in a bigger sense the tone and shifting views of the world and ourselves is mirrored with our journey through life as we transition from blind eager enthusiasm to new realties after accruing a few battle scares. 

I enjoyed the symmetry of this dynamic in how it relates to the history of the actual Baker Motel, as well as William Clark Green’s unique sound and journey. The album feels like Texas, but not to the point of excluding those unfamiliar with the state or its ways. The album feels alive, even when, or maybe especially when, -- it dives into the things that haunt our minds and souls.  

Baker Hotel adds to the allure that is William Clark Green and is an album that I expect to go down as one of the year’s best. 

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Baker Hotel is out today.

Travis Erwin is a native Texan now living in Southern California. Along with being a passionate fan of good music, Travis is an author or numerous books, including the forthcoming novel, THE GOOD FORTUNE OF BAD LUCK.  Available for preorder now, the novel releases May 17^th. You can find Travis on TWITTER - @traviserwin or INSTAGRAM @travis_erwin_writer