Steve Earle and I Are Fighting: a Review of So You Wanna Be An Outlaw

by Robert Dean

I wanted to start this review talking shit about Steve Earle. I really, really wanted to. He talked trash on Oasis, which offends me because I’m an Oasis fanboy. To wit, I will take my jab by saying Steve’s theme for The Wire is unlistenable. It’s so awful, it makes every fiber of my being weep with sadness; to say it sucks would be a blessing because it’s so terrible; it’s almost as bad as the abortion that is the theme to Justified. (Different topic, but whoever green-lit that song for such a great show is a complete asshole.)

Ok, so I got that off my chest. But, this ain’t about Steve Earle’s distaste for excellent Britpop, nor his terrible theme song rendition, it’s about his new record, So You Wanna Be An Outlaw. And like I said, I wanted to dislike it, I couldn’t. It’s pretty damn solid.

Steve Earle is a workaholic road dog, and that’s worthy of anyone’s respect. After pumping out an impressive 16 records, you’d think the guy would be phoning it in by now, but nope. The guy who refuses to get a haircut is writing better record than anyone on pop country radio.


So You Wanna Be An Outlaw is a collection of songs that range from bummer country ballads to dirty rock and roll foot stompers. It's good to feel the tangibility of the record and see that the dude is still empowered by his craft.

"The Firebreak Line" sounds like it could pour out of any honky tonk from Austin to Memphis where folks two-step to bands playing for beer money, which is exactly what you want out of a Steve Earle record. While his slow jams are quality, Earle is at best when he’s going for it, playing fast, lighting a match.

The Dukes are definitely on their A game in this instance and deliver the goods for each track on the record. "Fixin’ to Die" is bold, filthy and feels more Jack White inspired than anything else on the record, which all told, would be a refreshing combination were it to happen. The spirit of "Fixin’ to Die" doesn’t feel constrained, but loose and almost like a driving rockabilly-cum-snake handling preacher warning the world of its transgressions.




Say what you want about Steve Earle, he’s effective when he’s playing the role of soothsayer, preacher of the madness, the bringer of truths – he’s had that knack for over thirty years, and that’s when he’s at his best. There are no throwaway tracks on So You Wanna Be An Outlaw, which says a lot about the band’s mindset going into the project. Instead of writing a record to use an excuse to hit the road, the songs feel vital, and personal, which bodes well for audiences who’ll head out to see the shows. There’s an underlying attitude, and it’s obvious Earle went into this record with an ear to the ground of what the slices of America feel right now, red and blue states, included.

All in all, the record is solid. So You Wanna Be An Outlaw is absolutely worth a few spins and maybe hitting a show for. You can’t go wrong with Steve Earle firing on all cylinders but damn him, for liking Blur better than Oasis.

You and me, Steve. We’re fighting.
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So You Wanna Be An Outlaw is available is all the usual spots.

Album Review: Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit - The Nashville Sound

Album Review: Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit - The Nashville Sound

By Kevin Broughton

Last year was a sonofabitch for nearly everyone we know.

-- Jason Isbell, “Hope the High Road”

A thought occurred to me while reviewing Jason Isbell’s Something More Than Free a couple years ago: “At some point, you run out of superlatives.” So let’s get this out of the way. Right now, Isbell is without peer as a songwriter. He couldn’t have a better band – and God bless him for giving The 400 Unit billing on The Nashville Sound. Throw in a producer – Dave Cobb – who should just buy a gadget that makes Grammy figurines, and you have a legitimate American musical juggernaut.

And a quick word about the band. It’s proper that current 400 Unit – Sadler Vaden and Amanda Shires are newcomers since Here We Rest – gets a spot on the marquis. When the book is written on this band, this lineup will be viewed as the Mick Taylor-era Stones were.

There are several great songs on this record, bookended by a pair of wholesome ballads. “The Last of My Kind” is just another great story of an Isbell blue-collar guy, who wryly notes that some Scripture might only apply when back home. “Something to Love,” on the back end, is a sweet, hopeful homage to Isbell’s rural roots, a companion piece to his “God is a Working Man” on Brother Cobb’s Southern Family compilation.

More than one song recalls Isbell in his peak Drive By Truckers days. (And no, they’ll never be that good again, and were never better.) The driving intensity of “Cumberland Gap” captures the defiant malaise of Never Gonna Change, only in middle age. Here’s a guy who probably wishes he’d been thrown off the Wilson Dam.

If you’re looking for other perfect B-sides, how about “If We Were Vampires,” a sweet, morose counterweight to “Flagship,” till now Isbell’s most tender love song?  

Sadly, the album is not as good as the sum of its parts. It’s a good but not great record, lacking the continuity and flow that made Isbell’s previous three studio offerings so compelling. Consequently the default focal point becomes the overtly political.

Have you ever thought about what a vile, racist country this is? This republic that twice elected a black man president, with solid popular and electoral majorities? No? You’re in luck, because Jason Isbell is here to beat you over the head with it. “White Man’s World” would be better titled “White-Guilt World.”

Granted, Isbell didn’t completely lose his mind the way his 50-something former band mates did last fall, stopping just short of pissing on Old Glory and renouncing their citizenship in a bid to curry favor with millennial piss-ants and Bernie Sanders-loving losers.  One wonders, though, how many minds did they change? How many people came around to their cop-hating, white-guilt, socialist point of view because of DBT’s temper tantrum of an album? Likely none, though countless bedwetting, gender fluid NPR fans got enough affirmation to stave off being triggered for at least a day.

While Isbell employs a modicum of subtlety compared to Cooley and Hood, “White Man’s World” is still heavy handed. And lest you think blacks are the only oppressed people in this fascist nation: “I’m a white man living on a white man’s street, got the bones of the red man under my feet. Highway runs through their burial ground…”

Really?

Yeah. Step right up for self-flagellation, Cracker Boy. You will be made to care.  And never mind that “red man” is way more than a microaggression.

You want privilege-checking? Got some of that, too. “I’ve heard enough of the white man’s blues, I’ve sang (sic) enough about myself” is our entry into “Hope the High Road,” an otherwise hopeful postmortem of the 2016 election. Oh, and “Anxiety” will be perfect fare for the “safe zones” (you know, where they exclude white people) on the campuses of Mizzou, Harvard, Brown, etc. It’s just flat-out whiny. The crybabies and victim-pimps will love it.  

It’s a sad thing when music – something that should draw everyone together to admire it as art for art’s sake – is politicized. More than a couple of the artists I’ve interviewed for FTM have told me off-the-record why they avoid it. “You're 100 percent right about the music and politics thing,” one told me recently. “I've worked really hard not to do that. The only thing that can come from that is that you piss off half of your fan base. And you won’t change anyone’s mind.” Indeed. But those on the Left seemed determined to politicize every aspect of American life and culture, as we’ve seen happen in the world of sports over the past few years.

Will Isbell lose some fans? A few. Not this one, who hopes it’s a one-off. Still, look for plaudits from all corners: “Jason Isbell courageously speaks his mind.” Yep. Takes a ton of courage to toe the Leftist line in song.

Ultimately, though, if you can do this, you can do anything you want. Nice record, Jason. Wish it were better.

The Nashville Sound will be available everywhere this Friday.

Album Review: John Moreland - Big Bad Luv

by Matthew Martin

The first thing I noticed about the latest album from John Moreland was the generally positive and upbeat tint to the album.  Where other Moreland albums burn and singe their ways into your soul, this album boogies its way in.  That isn't to say that this particular outing from John Moreland doesn't have those same gut-punch moments.  It does.  The man writes songs that are written, it seems, in the dead of night with not a lot going on- just your thoughts either haunting or taunting you.

The next thing I noticed was just how damn soulful and bluesy Big Bad Luv is.  I know that's always been there with Moreland, but on this album it's much more pronounced.  The album is such a throwback Americana album to me.  It's something that Steve Earle would have put out.  There's a hint of Full Moon Fever-era Tom Petty.  It's an album that will certainly grow as the Summer heat begins to intensify.  The laid-back bluesy songs such as "Love Is Not An Answer" or "Salisaw Blue" are perfect soundtracks to Summer.

So, the album is a damn good album.  It's a growth even if it, in reality, is a step backward for Moreland.  Sure, his last two albums were more somber in tone, but those weren't his first albums.  He's always had bands and this album is more or less a return to those earlier days.  I think that this is an artist who is happy, who is comfortable with the artist he is, and has found a group of musicians that has helped him realize his vision.

Let me get back to the positivity for a moment.  Yeah, there are some crushing lines on the album ("If we don't bleed, it don't feel like a song"), but those feelings of despair are mostly in the past and nearly every song has a moment of clarity for Moreland, acknowledging his love has more than made him happy- she's made him better.  He's a married man now, and that new truth colors his new music.

Yeah, there's a lot to think about in our pasts, but sometimes we get lucky and we have someone come along who makes those past experiences seem worth it.  Those experiences led us to this point.  And, it's not so much dwelling on those past experiences.  It's more acknowledging them.  That's always been Moreland's strength; turning a sharp, unblinking eye on those pasts and the feelings they conjure late at night.  He makes us confront what we may have been disregarding.  That's what makes us love him and his songs.

Every John Moreland album always ends up being one of my favorite albums of the year, and I don't see a way this album won't also be in my favorite albums list.  If not at the top, then damn near it.  If you've never seen the man live, he's going on an extensive tour this Summer and you should do all in your power to get out and see and support him.  The show is unreal.  It's stunning.  While you're there, or before, pick up Big Bad Luv and all the previous albums if you don't already have them.


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Big Bad Luv is available everywhere you consume music, except like, Walmart probably.

Album Review: Dalton Domino - Corners

"People like me have to live in hell to see if Heaven is worth it"

Dalton Domino's second album, Corners, is a sober but intoxicating look at the journey of a young man moving from the partying days of youth into the first blush of accepting adulthood. It's a fitting portrait of life, given that its painter is recently sober himself.

"Who I was ain't who I am"

Domino hasn't changed his sound for his second outing, though things are a bit more shaded and a little more guitar-driven. It's still a hearty mix of mid-American rock, red dirt country, and thoughtful singer-songwriter fare. Things are just seen through clearer eyes this time. With that clarity brings sharper detail; a little less giving 'em what they wanna hear, a little more giving 'em what I need to say.

The title track finds Dalton trying to mend fences by admitting the state he was in when he tore them down in the first place. He's okay with it if you can't get past his transgressions, but he's also confident in the transformation he's gone through. Jack Ingram guests on the song, adding gravity to the message and support to its messenger.



"Decent Man" is a funkier cut. A measured but rocking honky-tonk number with some southern rock swagger and another heady dose of truth …this time, gleaned from a run-in with the law

The lead single, "July," is a catchy, radio-friendly (in Texas anyway) mid-tempo rocker. It's a co-write with Kaitlin Butts about figuring out who's really to blame in a broken relationship: the dude she's cheating with, her, or himself (hint, it's the last two).

Thinking things through. That's one of the important distinctions between boys and men, and one of the main themes on this album.

On Corners, Dalton Domino has declared that honest confessions are more valuable than false optimism. It's a mature approach, and though it's a bit darker sound than his debut album, there's a boldness in being more assured of who he is.  Corners is a powerful second release, and one that should see Domino continuing to climb the ranks in Red Dirt and Americana music.

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Corners is available on Lonestar Music, iTunes, Amazon, etc.

Album Review: Charlie Worsham - Beginning of Things

Charlie Worsham – Beginning of Things

by Jonny Brick

Hi, my name is Jonny and I love country music. Nice to be here. I think it best that I start my first piece on Farce The Music by acknowledging my forebears.

Here is what FTM thought of Rubberband, Charlie’s debut from way back in 2013, when number one songs included the gruesome twosome "Cruise" and "That’s My Kind of Night" (I am contractually obliged to call both those songs rubbish):

‘Rubberband is mainstream country music as it probably should be in 2013. It's not rock masquerading as country, or country wishing it were pop, or (thank God) hick-hop.

‘Charlie's music is organic, honest and warm…It's accessible but not pandering. It's catchy but not built solely around hooks. It goes down easy, but requires repeated listens to get a full appreciation.’

If that’s your bag, or if you enjoyed Rubberband like I did – I was briefly addicted to "Want You Too" – then Beginning of Things is the album for you.

Here in the UK (I’m writing from London), we have adopted Charlie because you in the US didn’t want him, like a sort of Bush (the band) in reverse. (Gavin Rossdale is our version of Blake Shelton here, so go fig.)

As a nice gift to his fans over here in the UK, Charlie accidentally left copies of Beginning of Things in the hands of his fans at his gig in November 2016. When he returned in March 2017, playing Country2Country (C2C) in London and at small venues across the country, some fans knew every word to songs that had not yet been released.

To promote the album, Charlie released a wave of five songs (John Mayer-style) in January 2017, which all appear on the LP. "Southern by the Grace of God" is co-written with Luke Dick and the modern-day Tom T Hall, Shane McAnally. The harmonies in the chorus are awesome, as is the way Charlie tags the end of the chorus with a reference to the bluegrass style of singing like a hillbilly. It’s authentic and fun, and proves Charlie knows his heritage.

Daniel Tashian and Abe Stoklasa wrote "Call You Up," which has hints of the former’s work with the band formerly known as The Bees, now called The Silver Seas. The latter has played keyboards on Lady A’s tours, and wrote with Charles Kelley, who I am sure would leave Lady A to pursue his more interesting solo career…if only his mortgage would pay itself.

Charlie has told the story of headlining a gig above Sam Hunt and Kip Moore; the lineup was booked well before Hunty became a big star. Whereas Sam only played a few songs, the crowd grew restless when Charlie was up there trying to do his job. He should have been rubbing his sexy body like Shmuel, but must have been too busy playing chords and riffs on his guitar.

Charlie suffered a crisis of confidence after the tour, and is still too polite to blame old Hunty for this. I wonder if Sam’s expected second album will be musically better than Charlie’s, and about the Pope’s religious preference. I know whose album Nashville is betting their horses on selling a million copies. And it ain’t Chuck’s.

All this despite the fact that Vince Gill is his guiding light, that Marty Stuart played on Rubberband and that, in "Could It Be," Charlie has released one of the finest love songs in country music this decade.

(It’s better than "Need You Now," which I think is also an obvious easy target on this site; Lady A’s album will come close, in its best moments, to Beginning of Things, but will probably be weighed down by AOR. I am willing to be proven wrong.)

Consistency between Charlie’s two albums is maintained with having Ryan Tyndell on board once again. He wrote nine of the eleven tracks on the debut, and writes five here, including "Please People Please" (‘you can’t please people, please people, please’), a live favourite which really needs some airplay on country radio. Bobby Bones is a huge fan, and the Bobbycast with Charlie is a really brilliant hour of conversation.

Charlie uses his talents as a picker – he went to Berklee College of Music thanks to his brilliant pickin’ – to good effect as and when he needs to, sounding like Daryl Hall on the track’s solo passage. Hunter Hayes brought him onto the stage of the Greenwich Arena at C2C, so there is mutual respect from another act who deserved more appreciation.

Charlie can do throwaway pop songs (I’ll say it) like Paul McCartney or (I’ll say it) like Brad Paisley. There are a couple of them on Beginning of Things: "Take Me Drunk" has the great line, ‘What’s a drink got to do to get a guy in this bar?’ which is a song title on its own!

"Lawn Chair Don’t Care," with which he delighted Country2Country fans back in 2016, sounds like the theme tune to the Nickelodeon show Doug: ‘Boo-ba boo boo, boo-ba boo boo!’ Charlie sings. The chorus is a ‘sitting in a chair drinking a beer’, but with strong melodic heft.

It’s a co-write with Tyndell and Brent Cobb, and that trio also wrote "Only Way to Fly," a brilliant piece of music with a soaring chorus that demands to be sung at CMA Fest. Though, as I am contractually told to write, it’ll be drowned out by those darned FGL/Kane Brown fans, right?!

(Am I doing the right thing here by hating on T-Hub, The Other One and Kane Brown?)

Brent Cobb co-wrote "Old Time’s Sake" with Charlie and Jeremy Spillman, who also wrote "How I Learned to Pray," one of the softer songs on Rubberband. "Old Time’s Sake" is the equivalent song on this album, a magnificent ballad in 12/8 time. I love the line in verse one:
‘I love this song too. Can I dance with you? Let’s try something new, for old time’s sake.’ A killer.



The title track is a story in a song (duh, it’s country). Co-written by Stoklasa (who wrote "The Driver" with Charles Kelley), it’s a love story set to a lovely beat. The pace quickens with "Birthday Suit," whose chorus of ‘TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF!!’ must bring back awful memories of that Sam Hunt tour for Charlie. The song actually recalls the music of Beck, which isn’t bad musical company to be in.

Ben Hayslip, who is partly responsible for bro-country (he co-wrote "It Goes Like This," "Mind Reader," and "Honey Bee," as well as "Touchdown Jesus"), helped Charlie write "I-55," which sounds like its title, ‘a familiar stretch of interstate’. Fans of American rock music (which, from what I know, seems to be making a big impact on country sounds) will dig it, as there’s a lot of space between the notes on Charlie’s guitar part.

I am not surprised if Luke Bryan options this for his next record, as he’d kill for it and also deliver a great vocal. (I like Luke, get over it.)


"I Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere" shares a poppy sound with the likes of John Mayer – again, a guitarist-songwriter unafraid to go his own way, industry be damned – and is a big live favourite. It also stands as a sort of missing statement. Meanwhile, Charlie calls "Cut Your Groove" his ‘theme song’, and it’s the best thing he’s done and may well ever do.



Farce The Music readers will love how the three-chord marvel uses the physical object of the record to stand as a metonym for one’s life: ‘You got a melody, make ’em hear it!’ is a great affirmation from a guy who admitted to seeing a therapist to get his career back on track. "Cut Your Groove" is such a brilliant song that on any other act’s album it would relegate the rest to filler. Here it is just the best of a starry bunch.

It makes me wonder who else Britain can adopt because America are too stupid to make stars of proper stars like Charlie Worsham. We’ll make Charlie a huge star here of Sam Hunt proportions.

I know he won’t sell a million copies like Lady A, Sam Hunt or Luke will, but even if Charlie sells half a million (and gets people streaming too), at least that’ll ensure he can make another album and force these top acts to raise their game.

Just don’t make us wait four more years, Charlie!


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Beginning of Things is out this Friday and will be available on iTunes, Amazon, etc.


Please welcome Jonny Brick, who runs this fine site, to Farce the Music as our newest contributor. His tastes skew toward the mainstream it seems, but more often the good stuff than not, so we're looking forward to his perspective. He's also from across the pond, so that'll add some different spice to our formerly all American presentation. -Trailer

Album "Review" Mastodon - Emperor of Sand

How I Really Feel About Mastodon’s The Emperor of Sand

by Robert Dean

You know when you’ve got mutual friends with someone, and your friends try to sell you on that other friend like, “Oh man, you gotta meet Phil. Phil fucking rules. We went to high school together. Great dude. Kills on guitar. Hilarious. Knows every word to every episode of Family Guy.” And then you meet Phil, and Phil sucks.

You have no idea why your friends love Phil. Maybe it was because you were late to the game and missed out when this dude peaked and owned shit with that wicked sense of humor. (While we’re on it, despite it being funny, people who over-quote Family Guy are annoying.)

You keep giving Phil chances when you see him out. You’re desperate to like Phil. You study up on Phil history. You actively learn about Phil if he’s going to be a satellite member of your crew. You revisit his old material. You ask to be told the stories so that you can search for the deeper meanings in the payoff. Still, you’re just like, meh – Phil. Because Phil is relevant to your community of friends, you deal with Phil and learn to tolerate Phil, not love him as they do.

You’re having a few beers, and next thing you now, he’s there telling boring work stories, but doing a bunch of weirdo cartoon voices. He’s also obsessed with Rick and Morty to an uncomfortable level that makes his constant show references hard to keep up with. It’s kind of draining. But, you endure the night.

Phil LOVES Iron Maiden. Like, a lot and thinks they’re the best band ever when most people like a handful of tunes. Phil gets all obsessional about the content of the lyrics and by word seven of this whack conversation, you’re already fucking bored with Phil. It’s just too much.

You start to wonder if you even wanna kick it with your friends anymore because maybe you’re just as annoying as Phil is. Considering this, it blows your mind. It makes you wonder about all kinds of mind-altering, existential dread shit. Just because Phil is a dork, who thinks bacon flavored everything is cool. He’s spoken at length to you about “nature’s candy” and essentially just ruined breakfast meats for you.

Finally, you just learn to ignore everyone when they drop some Phil knowledge or try to sell you hard on him and his corny jokes straight from the pages of Reddit. Sure, he has some moments where he does shine, and you’re like, fuck – “why can’t you do that all the time?!” And then Phil goes right back to bumming you out. He’s not a bad dude, either. He’s just not your people. It took a little while to get it, but it just is what it is.

Once you’ve gotten over that crucial hump of learning to accept indifference and gain the ability to filter out annoying shit in your life, you can hang with Phil. Never alone, though. That’d be too weird. Phil will never be that cool, and you will never like him like that. He’s a group hangout instance only. You’ve been dodging that Facebook friend request forever and you ain’t about to hit the yes button anytime soon, despite the fact that he’s been following you on Instagram for like a year.

What I’m trying to say is, Mastodon is Phil.


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Emperor of Sand is available on Amazon and everywhere else, and the head honcho of this site thinks it's excellent.

Drake’s a Millionaire, and I’m Still Broke: A Review of More Life

Drake’s a Millionaire, and I’m Still Broke: A Review of More Life

by Robert Dean


I have a complicated relationship with Drake. Sometimes, he’s the baddest dude in the room, with a swagger that’s incredible, and then, in one swift move drops the softest bars imaginable. To quote my man A-Town Brown, “Drake is entirely capable of folding up like a lawn chair when shit gets real.”

You know what? I ain’t entirely convinced he’s not wrong.

Drake is like a paradox of songs meant for the club, but like, not partying hard, but slow dancing with a dude who’ll get mad if you insult his cologne. Drake is like an expensive purse that people want, but are kinda weird about taking out of the house due to embarrassment.  And, just when you’re like, damn, he’s finally done it, he releases some super lame tracks, then fucking Drake comes at you a million miles per hour with a track that slays. (See: "All Me") Shit is weird.

On his new record, More Life, it’s like half of the hardest tracks ol’ Mr. Wonderful Smile could conjure up, and then a bunch of club track trash. "Free Smoke" immediately sets a tone, but then a few turns later, we’re at "Passion Fruit." And "Passion Fruit" almost made pour water on my computer to stop the wack.



When Tribe Called Quest is still dropping records that destroy and Young M.A. is coming up as the best thing outta Brooklyn in forever, what’s the point of More Life?

It certainly doesn’t feel cohesive - it seems like a bunch of stuff slapped together to say there’s new music out there in the streets.

Since More Life is 22 songs, it’s considered a “playlist” vs. a mix tape. Whatever it’s called, people are buying it. It’ll be number one for the second week in a row. But, people think Five Finger Death Punch is good music too, so whatever. Views was commercial, but More Life feels trying to please too many people with too many styles. And what’s up with this Jamaican accent? You’re from Toronto, dude.

I think being from Canada finally caught up with Drake. Cuz, even as a casual observer, this one just ain’t working for me in the slightest.

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More Life is available anywhere and everywhere.

Fresh Grime in 2017: Mark Porkchop Holder’s Let It Slide

Album Review: Mark Porkchop Holder - Let It Slide
by Robert Dean

If there’s one thing, I’m a total sucker for it’s some downhome-ass, dirty blues. On Mark Porkchop Holder’s new joint, Let It Slide, we’re treated to some fun blues jams complete with some filthy slide guitar work. Mark is a well thought out guitar player with some serious groove laced through the songs on Let It Slide. He doesn’t rely on cheap riffs, but grinds on those classic head shakers that guys like Dan Auerbach from the Black Keys manage to slay with.

My one gripe with the record is the vocals being too far up front in the mix. I prefer my blues to come with the classic, “all in one” mic’d up room technique from the lo-fi, analog days. I feel like it just makes records with grit sound more natural and warmer. It’s not just Mark’s record that I feel this way; it’s a general observation of recently recorded rock and roll and blues records.

Nothing on Let It Slide reinvents the wheel, but why would you want it to? When it comes to the blues, the guitar needs to ooze, and the battery behind the riffs needs to be airtight. Let It Slide accomplishes both tasks.

Living in central Texas, I’m super close to the famed Luckenbach that Waylon sang about, and "Headlights" is a track that immediately reminds me of the one bar in town. All of the road dog acts passing through on their way to Austin try to hit that stage, it’s a Texas legend. "Headlights" gives off the Sunday afternoon showcase vibe – a song you could drink beer with strangers on a nice day to. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.

The record’s title track takes its cue from the traditional Chicago blues. It’s mean and talks about what else? a .38 – and we’re left with quite a few questions about not just motive, but what those problems Mark speaks of really are about?

But, minus the vocal mix, Let It Slide is one of the better records out there for the blues genre. If you’re looking for some good time music to throw on for the next barbecue, this one won't bum anyone out, and you might even get a few compliments on your solid musical taste.
Stand out tracks: Stagger Lee, Baby Please Don’t Go



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Let it Slide is available on iTunes, Amazon, Alive Natural Sound Records, etc.

Drunken Review: Scott H. Biram - The Bad Testament

By Robert Dean

Whoop Whoop. Guess who’s back on the bottle, y’all?

Today’s drunk review is brought to them folks over @ Ghost Tequila. Now, I’m a known whiskey drinker, but show me a bottle with a cool ass skeleton rib cage thing, and I’m liable to give it a whirl. What makes this review, even more, fun is I don’t usually fuck with the fine agave plant’s sprits. This is uncharted territory. But, real talk: holy horse nuts, I’m shit hammered.

I'm embarrass your family at Christmas drunk. Yell at your uncle cuz he likes to listen to Alex Jones drunk. (Yeah, I’m a liberal. Fight me at the park, neckbeards.) This here Ghost Tequila is like if Patron didn’t taste like cat piss, and was something you’d go out of your way to order. For real, tho – Patron sucks. Who’s ordered that shit aside from that time the random loud guy with the shaved head made you do a shot with him? You know who I’m talking about. He wears a dress shirt with no undershirt, wears a bottle of cologne, his shaved his is shiny, and he drags around a girlfriend who looks miserable. Usually, her boobs are hanging out of her shirt.

Anyhow, on to the music. This week, we’re talking about that ol’ Scott H Biram’s new joint The Bad Testament. This is some good timing music, right here. At first, I thought homie went and got himself a band, but nope. Still just Scott. But, damn, I thought dude got some John Bonham beats happening, but it’s just a kick drum. Blame the bottle, dawgs.

There’s a good mix of some country bummers on here, which I like. I like my Scott H Biram like I like my Ben Nichols: all fucked up. But, the upbeat songs are rad, too. I mean, come on. Scott knows his ballpark. He ain’t gonna go all left turn on us. He knows how to play some bluesy country with the best of em’. He’s a good hermano.

The Bad Testament is classic Scott H Biram. No surprises, just some good ass country music. I’m on team Scott. This bottle has a real dent in it. Holy shit. Scott is cool. Listen to Scott H Biram. Do it for America. Scott H Biram might be the only person who can save us at this point. A little bit of the bottle, a little smoke, and some other cool lyric. Yay for Ghost Tequila. Yay Scott H. Biram.



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The Bad Testament is out tomorrow and you can find it on the Bloodshot site, iTunes, etc.

Photo by Christopher Cardoza

Some bio:
With the heart of a genuine Texas bluesman, the head (banging) of a Zappa and Lemmy disciple, and boots resting in the dust outside of town at sunrise, Scott H. Biram journeys through the harrowing human condition like no one else. A walk on the Biram side straddles the chasm between sin and redemption and The Bad Testament lands somewhere west of the Old Testament and south of an AA handbook. It’s a record of hard-grinding lost love, blues and deep, dark Americana.

Scott H. Biram conjured the words and music for The Bad Testament during mad alchemical sessions at his homemade studio in Austin, TX.  Through stacks of amps, spools of cable, and a prodigious collection of microphones, he spread his technical wings wide, while never losing the immediacy honed from a life on the road. He added a drum kit and rustic vocal duet to his skill set (which already includes all guitars, bass, keyboards, vocals, and percussion on the album). And strip away the one-man band eccentricity, SHB is out-writing any meeting taker on Music Row. The man writes on a razor’s edge of aggression and deftness, thoroughly contemporary but steeped in the backwaters, back porches and back alleys of our collective musical heritage.

Album Review: Japandroids - Near to the Wild Heart of Life

by Matthew Martin

Japandroids released a new album on Friday, January 27th 2017.  Let me repeat that- Japandroids released a new album!!!!  The thrill of this release to me was probably only rivaled by Sturgill's A Sailor's Guide in recent years.  The last album Japandroids released was 2012's Celebration Rock, which a buddy of mine turned me onto way too late in that year.  Not sure how I had missed out/dismissed these guys, but I was hooked by the time the ending fireworks were exploding on that album.

On Japandroids' first two albums, the themes were clear- life lived with abandon, with all of your best buddies around you to enjoy every last drop.  On Near to the Wild Heart of Life, the enjoyment and positivity is still there, but there seems to be a lens on home and/or the road.  In short, this is Japandroids' road album.  Most of the songs on this album revolve around leaving home, missing home, or coming back home.  But, it's not necessarily a depressed longing for home.  It's more of an excitement of what leaving (and going back) home can promise.  As someone who left my rural upbringing behind over ten years ago, both of those things hit very close to home for me.

I don't know if it's just me and my excitement for this album, but every single drum beat on this album hits harder than anything the Japandroids have done up until this point.  Every guitar note is perfect.  It seems that on all Japandroids releases, they've perfected the art of opening/closing songs and Near to the Wild Heart of Life is no different.  In my mind, these two songs (opener- "Near To The Wild Heart Of Life" and closer- "In A Body Like A Grave") are two of the three best songs on this album with "North East South West" coming in at a close third.




If you're a fan of rock and roll, of reckless abandon, and of anything Japandroids has ever put out, you need to grab Near to the Wild Heart of Life.  If you have been on the fence about listening to Japandroids for whatever reason, I strongly urge you to give in and listen to this album.  I saw these guys live around 2013 and had one of the best show experiences I'd ever had- everyone smiling from ear to ear and shouting along to every "oh oh oh oh!" If you get a chance to check them out live, I would definitely suggest that as well.  Go support music, y'all!

Near to the Wild Heart of Life is available everywhere and way you normally consume music.

Album Review: Upchurch - Chicken Willie

I ran a poll on Twitter last week to 'force' me to review an album. I threw this in on a lark. This was the choice I hoped wouldn't win, but then, I knew it probably would because y'all just wanna see me talk trash. Okay then, let's see how this goes.

Upchurch, Upchurch the Redneck, Ryan Upchurch… comedian, hick-hop rapper. His most recent album (on Spotify) is titled Chicken Willie. The cover features Mr. Upchurch proudly presenting a prized farm fowl. On a surface level alone, this is far more interesting than 99.9% of the other hick-hop album covers I've seen. It shows a uniqueness and a willingness to stand out from the posing-with-muddy-trucks crew.

As country rappers go, Mr. Upchurch is uh, not the most inferior. I know that's like saying he's one of the taller midgets  little people, but it is what it is. His flow is not bad. He doesn't rap like he's got a mouth full of Red Man or chicken wings or Keystone like most hick-hop dudes. Basically what I'm saying is that he doesn't sound like a fat honky (I can say that; I'm a non-skinny honky). By no means is he in the realm of talent of say, Yelawolf, but on rapping ability alone, he's head and shoulders above most in his genre.

The songs lean a bit more toward hop than hick. The vocals are front and center and the beats are loud and staccato. It gets pretty tiresome. There's plenty of acoustic guitar and banjo down in the mix, but mostly it's more table dressing than side dish.

The title track is a statement of purpose, if that purpose is saying he's a redneck, white-trash, hillbilly. Mr. Upchurch brags about being the realest motherf**ker, being higher than a tree stand, and being uh, Chicken Willie. There's not much more to it. Not sure how he got the nickname - perhaps from having a 'special' relationship with the cover model chicken?

By the next track, it's clear that's all this album is about. The bragging, not the forbidden love. He's baiting his haters to "come and get it." "It" is a blast from a shotgun, apparently. I'm a little worried about this review now.



There's lots of stuff about trucks and fighting and never turning down and drinking and girls and that really covers most of it. Throughout this album, Mr. Willie has warned me to avoid his neck of the woods and after this review (and even before) I'm likely to heed his cautions.

There's at least a minor improvement from other hick-hop lyrics in this mess of threats and posting up. There's a hint of humor, some traces of self deprecation, and a few interesting turns of phrase. Upchurch is again, one of the honor students at his school for morons.

Basically, I wish I hadn't put this album on the poll. I'd rather review the best of the best or the lowest garbage in existence. It's hard to appropriately hate on Upchurch's album because I've heard so much worse. That said, I still can't stand hick hop. Until they make better use of country instrumentation and songwriting, and until the bulk of the "rappers" don't sound like it's a hobby they dabble in on breaks at the pawn shop, it's just not for me, dawg.

But you know, if you're into crap, Chicken Willie is at the very least, one of the less offensively stinking dog turds. Please don't shoot me with a 20 gauge, mister chicken f***er.

Drunken Review: The Band of Heathens - Duende

I Wanna Take The Band of Heathens to Prom

(spicy language ahead)

By Robert Dean

Ladies and gentlemen, chirren, and babies, in-betweens, grown folks, fuck ups, tweakers, booze hounds, smokers, tokers, midnight jokers, weirdos, dweebs, sluts, dorks, nerds, rad dudes, sick chicks, hillbillies, city slickers, burnouts, jerkoffs, and just plain ol’ cool motherfuckers – Band of Heathens has a new record out next Friday, and it’s like a goddamn ray of sunshine.

That’s right, you bearded weirdos, we’re doing the drunk review thing again. And this week is brought to you by Two Buck Chuck at Trader Joe’s cuz my wife buys it by the case, and I’m already a bottle of red in. So, let’s get talking about these here Heathens. (My breath smells like your high school best friend’s hot mom. You know who I’m talking about. You didn’t know then, but you know now what was up.)

Hailing from my current locale of Austin, TX – The Band of Heathens got themselves a new record out, it’s called Duende, whatever the fuck that means. I had to Google it, and I think I heard them say something about awesome shit being one with the universe and all of the feels. Cool. I like it when the universe doesn’t screw you. So, good on ya, Heathens.

But, about this record. This shit smokes, dawgs. I may have consumed a whole lot of alcoholic drinks before this here engagement, but I can tell you, Duende ain’t “no mouse music” as the dude from Arhoolie Records likes to say. Instead, the record sounds like if every awesome dude you knew with killer taste in records was like, “fuck it man, let's start a band.” And that band ruled. Duende features the best parts of acts like JD McPherson, Black Keys, and the Beach Boys (it’s those huge harmonies). There’s even shades of My Morning Jacket and Neil Young, The Band (Songs from the Big Pink, anyone?) as well.

Sugar Queen is a super funky groover that just sounds like the south, man. These dudes totally sound like an Austin band. The groove, the playing is as tight as a duck fart, and it feels effortless. The vibe is transparent, and there’s no lame showboating with taking extended solos, which The Band of Heathens could be that band, but rather they’re focused on a hard as nails song.

I hate it when music journalists, or guys drunk, alone in their home office (me) use the word “textured” but, in this one, singular case, it’s got merit. The Band of Heathens managed to take a whole bunch of sounds, and layer them in this honky tonkin’ Beatles way that pays off. There’s so much going on existentially on this record, and I think that’s why I’m crushing on it. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I’d take Duende to prom. I’d be a gentlemen. I’d buy it a beautiful flower, save my paychecks from Blockbuster video and do it big because Duende deserves it.

Bottle two is officially open. I’m going to be hungover as fuck tomorrow. Let’s cut to the chase: buy Duende. Go see The Band of Heathens on tour. I bet these songs crush live. Maybe, buy these guys some shots. Yeah. Shots.

RIP Princess Leia. I need to sleep. Band of Motherfucking Heathens, y’all – a band’s band that keeps the heart of rock and roll beating. Ok, I just quoted Huey Lewis in a run on sentence. Good night.



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Duende is available for pre-order and will be released Friday, January 13.

Metallica: Catching the Lightning Once Again

By Robert Dean

Metallica has a new record out, Hardwired to Self-Destruct and people are losing their shit. And for once, people losing their shit about something non-political feels like slipping into a warm bath of goodness. So, you know what? Bring on the four horsemen – we need them way more than the awkward conversations about the “Alt-right” or emails, or whatever was trending around the Thanksgiving table yesterday.

Metallica has always had a weird place in social and cultural history, in that they’re like the Beatles or Stones: they no longer own their allure or mystery – we do. Metallica at this point are like Stephen King, even if you don’t think your worlds cross over, there’s easy money saying they do. The people, their fans, really everyone, has a Metallica story, a frame of reference, or at least a supposed notion of what the band is and represents – that’s very hard to do in the world we live in today, and the flash in the pan celebrity culture.

The reason people are reacting to the new album is that it’s exactly what people have wanted for twenty years. For over two decades, Metallica has maintained a loyal fan base that worships them, but mainstream adoration, where they belong wasn’t happening due to their self-inflicted artistic choices.

Metallica belongs on the covers of magazines, they’re one of the few bands who are relevant in a world where more kids are playing music on laptops than in garages. Without that omnipresence of James Hetfield making it look like anyone can do his job, a lot of those possible converts are left with some dickhead throwing cake over his turntables, or some dork rapping about thrift store shit.

People are starved for good rock and roll that’s accessible because most people are too lazy to hunt for the good stuff, hence why Luke Bryan has a career. But, Metallica takes fast, blazing fuck your rules and package it so a fifteen-year-old and a fifty-year-old and share the same angst, the same gut punch. The world is opening their arms of Hardwired to Self-Destruct because it represents a notion of self-ownership, and pays off in ways that are too big to gauge. People who like heavy music or just the sound of a guitar cranked through an amplifier to deafening levels have a thing with Metallica.

I don’t begrudge Metallica for the Load/Re-Load stuff. You shouldn’t either. They were a band trapped in their image. What do you do when you’ve written one of the biggest albums of all time? You can’t follow it up. Anything you release will pale in comparison. So, they went AWOL artistically and wrote a record reflective of their tastes, their current passions – they were men in their thirties who were just a little sick of trying to recreate a style of music they helped solidify into an art form.

People evolve, we grew in and out of phases, but the cultural touchstones in our lives circle the wagons more than once. When I was around eleven, I discovered Metallica. I was prime. It was 1992, and they were massive. I dove in headfirst; I had their Binge and Purge boxset, all the records, the VHS tapes, I had a bazillion t-shirts, and a whole wall dedicated to my heroes. But, I was also listening to punk, discovering hardcore, digging deeper into metal. By the time I was fourteen, Metallica was super lame because of bands like Pantera, Sepultura, Black Flag, or ironically, The Misfits existed. Metallica wasn’t that. They couldn’t hang with The Great Southern Trendkill, or whatever I was into – they were writing blues songs with Marianne Faithfull droning along, or trying to go country rock a time or two. I didn’t get it; we didn’t get what they were trying to do.

And it’s there where this all lies: we never got them. Because they’re evolving, emotional human beings that aren’t here for our carnal pleasure. Metallica defined music, abandoned that music to try different things, and never looked back. We chastised them for not being the Metallica playing Orion, but doing stuff like Some Monster – instead, we watched a psychological experiment when four dudes create what interests them, and that’s not a bad thing. Looking back on it, Load and Re-Load aren’t bad records; they’re just different – they’re a step away from what was expected of the band.

Following that period, Metallica found themselves looking back in the mirror, rediscovering the music they helped forge. Metal wouldn’t have survived without Metallica, and to think otherwise is foolish. Once, they had the bad vibes out of their systems; they could slowly figure out the pieces again by instead of running from their ghosts, but embracing them. We got St. Anger, which wasn’t a great record, but showed the band was thinking, considering and interested in heavy metal again. Then came Death Magnetic, which minus a horrid mastering job, isn’t that bad, it’s just a watered down, trying too hard version of the band.

Hardwired changes everything.

The Metallica you were sure were long gone were dormant, were waiting silently somewhere in the depths. The songs feel old, they feel right, and most importantly, they feel genuine. Over the last decade, instead of trying to run with the pack of music that’s evolved into insane directions they could never compete with nor replicate, Metallica have accepted their position in the world of heavy metal – they’re the kings, the band that cannot be touched. You can love Megadeth or Slayer till the cows come home, but they didn’t write Battery or to wit, Enter Sandman.

Hardwired to Self Destruct doesn’t feel trite, or slapped together. It’s a cohesive piece of music that captures those glorious riffs as they’re meant to be heard – loud and without a sense of civility. The songs are fueled by a new age, new technology, and the human crisis driving it all. We’re not getting some new fangled version of a band that’s cool trying to sound old. Instead, we’re getting the rare treat of a band thirty plus years into the game, catching lightning once again. By this time in most bands careers they’re putting out jack off sessions, no one cares to hear, and no one buys.

We take this record so personally because it feels like a coming home, an affirmation of what we want out of our heroes, out of ourselves – we see the band many of us growing up on reclaiming that thing we felt we lost a long time ago. It feels good and feels right. Maybe rock and roll is getting gearing up for another wave, and it’d be nice, thats for sure. There’s a climate for snottiness and a middle finger at authority right now. A few months ago, I bought my first Metallica shirt in over twenty years. I gotta admit, it felt weird having the kid bag my groceries tell me that my shirt ruled. He fist bumped me as a token that we belong to the same tribe. I can live with that now that there are a few grays in my beard these days.

That’s the magic of what Metallica are capable of: they’re reigniting something old, and something pure and Hardwired to Self-Destruct unlocks what we’ve been craving. Old dudes are happy, long hairs are happy, and suddenly, it’s cool to put on Blackened in the bar, and it just feels right. I hope that kid at the grocery store enjoys this more than anyone.

Album Review: Rodney Parker & 50 Peso Reward - Bomber Heights

By Kelcy Salisbury

Rodney Parker & 50 Peso Reward have been present in the Texas Music Scene, for lack of a better term, for the better part of 15 years now. They've recorded sporadically, are best known for a Bruce Springsteen cover, and haven't ever been quite at the leading edge of the attack. What they've recorded has been pretty stellar, but much like another of my personal favorites, Javi Garcia, they haven't had the output of the leaders of the scene.

What sets Rodney Parker apart from the pack in Texas is his ability to pare a song, a verse, a line & a phrase, to its bare essentials in order to achieve maximum impact.

In a way it seems fitting that Rodney Parker & 50 Peso Reward are best known for their cover of the Springsteen classic, "Atlantic City," because Parker's style is reminiscent of Springsteen at his best. It's been said that a picture can say a thousand words, but in the hands of the gifted writer, a few phrases can create an entire movie. Parker has always been remarkable at creating memorable scenes with just a phrase or two. The lines from "Tell Me What It Is" come to mind, "...an hour back and forth, just to tell me she's in pain, girl why are you screaming it, you know I know my name..." To me, this is pretty masterful songwriting, that evokes a cinematic quality.

With Bomber Heights Parker and his band, 50 Peso Reward, have created a masterful, literary, cinematic statement.

The album begins with "Steppin' Into Sunshine."  The song offers a series of visuals such as "...there is a priceless work and a box knife" that contrast images of beauty and destruction, light and darkness, before the quietly triumphant line "I'm steppin' into sunshine".  It sets up the album perfectly.

"Skin and Bones" follows as a prequel to Megaphone, which is found on The Apology Part II.

The next major highlight of the album is "The Road Between None and Some," another masterpiece of cinematic lyricism that is (according to my own highly unscientific poll) the best loved song on the album.  The bass line and laid-back pacing of the lyrics belies the dark subject matter, and it works to perfection.




"Night In My Hand" features the loud distorted guitars that have been a hallmark of past Rodney Parker & 50 Peso Reward albums.  It serves as a fine change of pace before the heavy subject matter of "Ballast," which also could function as a companion piece to "I'm Never Getting Married" from 2003's The Lonesome Dirge and "The Day Is Coming" on Bomber Heights.  "Ballast" again showcases Parker's incomparable ability to create vignettes that are as true to life as anything I've ever heard.  If "you were out like a light of my life" doesn't hit you in the heart you might be missing yours. 

The album concludes with the dreamy "Moon," a song I see as akin to "Space Oddity" in that it uses the imagery of a man in space (or on the moon as it were) who is to far away to ever return home to the innocence of childhood.

I suggest Bomber Heights for anyone who is a fan of Texas Country, roots rock in general and well written lyrics.  The musicianship by Danny Skinner (Guitar, Banjo & Accordion), Brooks Kendall (Bass), Zach Galindo (Lead Guitar) & Grady Don Sandlin (Drums) is nothing short of first rate. 

My only wish is that Rodney Parker & 50 Peso would put out more music, but the truth is, you don't write & play like this without being a perfectionist & this album is fairly near perfection to my ears.

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Bomber Heights is available on iTunes, Amazon, Lonestar Music, etc.

Drunken Review: The Dexateens - Teenage Hallelujah

Review by Robert Dean

*drunkenness and profanity ahead*

Look, I know I’m late to the party on the new Dexateens record. Life happens. I slept on it, ok? My mistake, my bad, and my screw up. But, hey – who doesn’t like a month's late review?

Tonight, we’re hitting them White Russians. And maybe a few Miller Lites to get them out of my fridge. (Side note: Good Half and Half is crucial for a White Russian. That sweet cream is a must have. So much better than milk.)

Apologies aside, The Dexateens turn up the rock and roll, and kick it into straight-up overdrive, and give it fast and hard, kinda like a magnificent skin flick. The songs on Hallelujah are country as hell, but get lit, too. I wasn’t too familiar with The Dexateens, but after hearing them, I’d love to see them tour with Quiet Hollers or Lucero, that’d be a good damned damn tour.

Anyhow, back to this record. Hallelujah goes hard. These dudes play it filthy and you know what, I like this shit. This record sounds like some dudes blowing huge clouders in the back of a Grand Turino on some backroad in the middle of coal country. I bet the singer of this band sold speed to kids at his high school, cuz you don’t bring it like this unless you did some dirt once or twice. The Dexateens sound like beat up black Chuck Taylors – nice and comfortable and feels just right.

Seriously, though. I’m in love with the filthy guitar tones, the stories and the imagination intertwined in the songs. I’m binge-watching Justified right now, and I feel like a few of the scenes up coulda used this here song “Shake and Bake Astrovan” when referring to some sketchy-ass folks up in the hills.

Just popped open a beer. This is going well; I can see straight. But, I feel like a dumbass for not knowing about The Dexateens, this is my shit right here. I’m a sucker for songs about failing and doing it with a smoke in your mouth, and a finger pointed at the sky. Songs about binge drinking, meth, loner chicks with nothing to look forward to – these guys wrote a Bukowski novel, but set in the south.  Plus, The Dexateens are blasphemous, I love me some songs about calling church a bunch of bullshit. (I’m a heathen, come at me, bro.)

I think you should buy this record. It’s got some good moments, and you could do a lot worse than ripping some bong hits to The Dexateens. "Jimmy John’s" is an awesome song. It makes me wanna do bad shit.

I give this a four out of five stars. Good fuckin’ times. That groove is nasty, the songs are hot as fuck foot stompers, and they make me wanna drink (more) and smoke the kush while dancing alone in my garage. Ok, I’m gonna puke. Review over.



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You can buy it here and here and probably some other places.

Album Review: Erik Dylan - Heart of a Flatland Boy

A review by Trailer

If you're like me, one of the first things you'll notice about Erik Dylan is his vocal similarity to 1990's Steve Earle. It's undeniable. There's also some Chris Knight, some Guy Clark, and some John Mellencamp in there.

Don't let that dissuade you though; this guy's no cheap imitation, and he's got "it." "It," as in songwriting chops, a singular point of view, and an indefinable gravity. He's even got a blessing of sorts from the Earle family by way of Steve's niece providing backing vocals on lead single "Pink Flamingos."

Dylan's written songs for or with Nashville acts like Thompson Square, Eric Paslay, and Kip Moore, but his own music hardly fits the mold for radio airplay. Not to say radio isn't moving his direction, but Dylan's sound would still be considered edgy by Top 40 standards. It's not squarely in the realm of Americana either - there's a clear commercial bent to the sound - he resides somewhere in the middle ground.

And the writing… the writing is pure heartland. Downtrodden blue collar souls, broken hearts, and small town dreamers populate his songs with a depth that's detailed enough to carry a songwriters' night, but a universal appeal to grab more commercially-oriented souls.

All that said and I haven't even mentioned the album yet. Heart of a Flatland Boy is out Friday, and if the first four paragraphs perked your ears, you need to click play or download on this record.

The aforementioned "Pink Flamingos" is "Feel Alright" (Earle) meets "Goodbye Earl" (Dixie Chicks) and if that ain't the formula for a killer tune, I don't know what is. It's a backroads justice tune with a little dark humor and a lot of devil-may-care attitude.

"Astronaut" is a dreamer's anthem. It's a little fanciful and a lot of fun. A working man dreams of getting out, whether by rocket ship or lottery windfall, but he's stuck in a map dot town with a "Copenhagen habit and a GED." And that line there is the hook that will stick in your head long after the album is over, whether you want it to or not.

The album's most moving song is "Fishing Alone." It's a recounting of regrets after losing a close family member that touches the heart and sets the most important things in life in proper order. Give it a listen and then go call your dad.

Heart of a Flatland Boy is a bold debut, full of stories and emotions. It deals less in platitudes than it does in reality, more in grit than gloss, but there's still more than enough catchiness to appeal to even the most passive listener. Dylan is a promising talent who's landed with an album that already surpasses many artists' potentials. It's well worth your time.

RIYL: Steve Earle, Chris Knight, John Mellencamp, Reckless Kelly.



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Heart of a Flatland Boy is available on iTunes, Amazon, etc.

Drunken Album Review: The Sword - Low Country

A drunken review by Robert Dean

*Robert uses colorful and unedited language*

For your reading pleasure: a drunk review of The Sword’s Low Country

Duuuude. You know who rules? The Sword. They rule so hard, they ran out of rocks to smash your head against. And you know what, mayne? They can even strum on them acoustics! That’s right my fellow longhairs, our favorite space nerd-cum-Black Sabbath- worshiping burnouts from Austin have a new record and there ain’t an electric guitar in sight. (Insert Matthew Dazed and Confused guy voice: and that’s all right, all right, all right. Now, go buy a Lincoln)

    

But, for real, though, Low Country is still The Sword, but when jammed acoustic, it feels like some of those timeless jams like My Captain from Grand Funk Railroad, or some even some Moody Blues, or Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Now, before you listen and you get your Doors shirt in a twist, I ain’t saying this is classic rock, I am saying it has a vibe that works and harkens to an old spirit we don’t get much of these days. Cuz, seriously, my dawgs – when is the last time you heard an acoustic record that rips that wasn’t straight country or some guy with a beard in a flannel? This is a throw back to the 70’s and makes drinking beer super easy. 

(If you’re keeping score, we’re drinking Rum and Cokes with limes. Cuba Libre’s if you’re into the fancy titles and such. I’m on number four.)

It doesn’t suck, like at all. You should buy a fat sack of that purp, turn the lights down low and get all down like you wanna talk to Sampson. And then, get weird to The Sword – yeah. Get weird to The Sword. Go to their shows, buy all of their shit. I own two Sword shirts, cuz I’m cool. You need to be cool, too. 

The Sword, Low Country – fucking awesome, fully sick. 

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Low Country is available on iTunes, Amazon, etc.

Album Review: Blackberry Smoke - Like an Arrow

A review by Trailer

There's something to be said for consistency and dependability. Some consider those descriptors to be boring, but I think they're sturdy and certain. Without the unfailing constants of minerals and gravity, we'd all be floating in the void. Some things just are. Some bands just are.

Blackberry Smoke is. They are and they endure. If you want steady and meaty southern rock n' roll, look to them. Like the mountain, they stand strong against the winds and rains of change. If you're a fan, do you want to hear Blackberry Smoke has cut their hair and smoothed their edges for country radio? Do you want to hear that they've hit the LSD tabs and decided to explore progressive rock? Hell no! We want Blackberry Smoke to give us thick riffs, hard twang, real life, and foot stomping grooves!

That's what they do on their new offering, Like an Arrow. It wasn't broke, and they didn't fix it. Lead man Charlie Starr still has a cocky whine to his voice and he still spits attitude and proverb filled lines about drinking, living, and love. The rhythm section still kicks, they keys still pound, and the guitars still rip.

Opener and first single, "Waiting for the Thunder," is appropriately electric and a gripping welcome back. It's all buzzing guitars and big harmonies and there's even a great organ into guitar breakdown at the bridge. If this song doesn't get you fired up, rock music might not be your thing.

Later on, "The Good Life" breaks you off some fatherly advice. Songs like this run the risk of falling into the "listing songs" category, but Blackberry Smoke keeps it real by focusing more on the messenger and on applying the message - proving that walking the walk is always a bigger impression than talking the talk.

"Workin' For a Workin' Man" is a growling anthem for the blue collar man. It's fraught with anger and determination. "This bait and switch is a son of a bitch" sings Starr, full of piss and vinegar at the injustices eternally shoveled upon the laborer.

"Free on the Wing" closes out Like an Arrow with a guest appearance from Gregg Allman. The song finds hope at the end of a relationship, exploring the ways people move on. The harmonies are especially sweet on this track.

Like an Arrow is a perfect title for another great effort from Blackberry Smoke. An arrow goes right where it's aimed, time always rolls on by, some stay low, some get high, and Blackberry Smoke only puts out Grade A slabs of country flavored Southern rock. If you've never given them a listen, they're highly recommended to fans of Whiskey Myers, Fifth on the Floor, Skynyrd, The Black Crowes, etc.



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Like an Arrow links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Like-Arrow-Blackberry-Smoke/dp/B01JKHXUZK
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/like-an-arrow/id1140564716

Album Review: Courtney Granger - Beneath Still Waters

A review by Robert Dean

So, Courtney Granger has a solo record, Beneath Still Waters, and it’s out Friday. It’s nice. It’s warm like bathwater, or a cool like a beer out of the fridge, welcoming as the Louisiana sun.

Granger is best known for playing some mean-ass fiddle in the Pine Leaf Boys, who tend to land more on the side of traditional Cajun/Louisiana music. But, on his first solo record, this is straight up classic country.

Beneath Still Waters doesn’t feel contrived or hokey, or worst of all, trying too hard. There’s nothing worse than some dude breaking his back to come off as a genuine. Even better? This record has nothing to do with Nashville - it’s pure Louisiana, so it’s free of any contextual chains that could poison the product. Instead, the songs on Beneath Still Waters feel like a love letter to George Jones with hints of Merle Haggard, Conway Twitty (lots of Conway Twitty) and you know what? They smoke.

If you’re on a steady diet of the stuff Jason Isbell, Chris Stapleton, or Sturgill Simpson are doing, you need to get Courtney Granger in your life. I think the reason this record hits so hard is that unlike a lot of the garbage chute of music that dumps daily, it’s always a treat to get a homegrown, crowd-sourced record that doesn’t miss a lick.

The playing is airtight, and the songs feel like gut punches. When you’re singing some barroom bummer tunes, that emotion, that vacancy needs to be front and center. That’s why so many artists fail: you can’t fake it. Like an actor, a good country singer needs to be able to draw from the well and pull some serious shit to make your heart ache with theirs. That’s the magic ingredient. Courtney Granger’s got that mojo up in his roux and ain’t nobody’s momma got better. This dude has done Louisiana proud.

Listen on Soundcloud.



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Beneath Still Waters is available Friday on iTunes, Amazon, etc.

Robert Dean (Drunkenly) Reviews Knocked Loose - Laugh Tracks

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 NSFW

 A "Review" by Robert Dean

Here we go: Drunk review 

Why bother with sobriety at this point?

I’m hammered after a long night hanging out with my dad who drinks Jack Daniels like a madman. My mom went to bed hours ago.

Anyhow, back to the record:

We drank ¾ of a bottle of Jack Daniels – wait, nope. I don’t drink Jack. That was my dad. I just drank a lot of Lone Star and Jameson. A lot. Sorry, let’s do a fucking review:

Being from the middle of nowhere sure as hell didn’t screw up Kentucky’s Knocked Loose’s ability to write some seriously pissed off music. Their new record, Laugh Tracks is a showcase of all the songs, riffs and sounds that hardcore kids have wanted their favorite bands to drop. There’s some Turmoil, some Terror, some Comeback Kid and a lot of goddamn violence. As my Australian friends would say, “these cunts are fully sick.” (Side convo: go watch some YouTube videos about all the weird shit Aussies say. It’s incredibly odd and hilar.)

Oblivions Peak is all mad as fuck and foot stomp-y. I like that cuz, I’m hammered and want to throw my computer at my television and swing my arms like I’m in the middle of a circle pit. Only I can’t because I’m 35 with a gut, and that would wind me, and I’d need a nap or a blood transfusion following such strenuous activity.

My dad is into it. He got me into Black Sabbath, so he respects some hot riffs and Knocked Loose has got some motherfucking fingers on em.

Whoever the dude singing is, he’s got some serious pipes. Dude has a shriek instead of just a yell. On My Heroes, that shit is lit as af. Bass starts all wobbly and Machine Head-y, then it goes all HAAM with the Slayer riffage. I think he said something Satan, which always works for me. Remember when everyone was jocking NAILS? NAILS wrote some seriously sweet songs and were two or three minutes of straight killing. Knocked Loose is like that – they leave out all of the boring shit and keep it real with the stuff you can spin kick some dude in the neck to.

Everything on Laugh Tracks is a mosher or at least something you can’t listen to if need to keep your cool. Cuz, if you listen to this in a public place, you’re liable to hurt a bystander with some gorilla punches. Buy Knocked Loose’s Laugh Tracks. For real it’s everything you need to rip the head off your neighbor. We’re not responsible if you kill anyone in a badass kung fu fueled rage.

Ok. That’s enough. I’m seeing double, and my dad wants to tell me cool Harley stories and about the time he saw GG Allin.

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Laugh Tracks is available on iTunes, Amazon, etc. 

*not edited, we don't edit Robert Dean