Album Review: Turnpike Troubadours - A Long Way From Your Heart

A Long Way From Your Heart and Wonderfully, More of the Same

By Kevin Broughton

The striking similarities come quickly. There are too many common threads to miss in “The Bird Hunters,” the opening track of the Turnpike Troubadours’ 2015 self-titled album, and “The House Fire,” our introduction to A Long Way From Your Heart, out today on Thirty Tigers. A hard-driving country beat. A Browning shotgun. Searing heartbreak, met first with resignation and then just a smidgen of hope and resiliency. In fact, the dame who eventually crushes the protagonist shares a name (Good Lord, Lorrie) with a temptress a couple albums back:

I remember smelling smoke, I woke up I was choking.

Lorrie grabbed the baby and we made it safe outside.

She never missed a note, took a breath and cleared her throat,

And wrapped him in a Carhartt coat she found out in my ride.

Turns of phrase like that one are why Troubadours front man Evan Felker is one of the premier songwriters in country music, and by extension, why these guys are the undisputed kings of the Red Dirt scene. Could “The House Fire” be a metaphor for Felker’s recent past, what with several drunken performances the last few years? Maybe. But it’s a damn fine song and a great way to kick of the group’s fifth studio album.

And why, frankly, mess with success? A Long Way From Your Heart is the perfect, logical follow-up to the band’s 2015 release, the hands-down FTM Album of the Year winner. “Something to Hold On To” is straight-up rock ‘n’ roll with a dash of Okie sensibility. “The Winding Stair Mountain” gets in your face with frenetic dose of fiddle, steel and mandolin for a wild, three-and-a-half minute ride, so hang on.

But there’s balance, as with all Troubadours’ records, best exemplified by “Pay No Rent,” a tender friend song reminiscent of “Down Here” a couple years back. No matter the tempo or time signature, nearly all of Felker’s songs have a gentle, human touch. If he can keep his personal life between the ditches, look for the Turnpike Troubadours to sustain this level of greatness for a good while. Because this album sounds like it’s almost too easy for these guys.

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 A Long Way From Your Heart is available today everywhere you consume music.

Chris Porter & The Bluebonnet Rattlesnakes - Don't Go Baby It's Gonna Get Weird Without You

Art by Pearl Rachinsky Moreland

by Matthew Martin

This one was honestly kind of tough. It's such a gut-wrenching album.  And, I feel I don't have the words to properly articulate the feelings Don't Go Baby It's Gonna Get Weird Without You gave me. 

For those of you who don't know, Chris Porter, longtime musician and by all accounts good dude, along with his bass player Mitchell Vanderburg passed away after a traffic incident on the way to a show in Baltimore, MD.  Their drummer survived the crash. This happened exactly one year ago from Thursday (October 19, 2016).  

Porter and his bandmates, the Bluebonnet Rattlesnakes, were working with Will Johnson (of Centro-matic fame) on recording Porter's follow-up to his stellar 2015 release, This Red Mountain. Unfortunately, Chris and Mitchell would not see the release of this album, but - a credit to the likability of Porter - many got together to ensure this album was finished and would see the light of day.  That day is Friday, October 20, 2017.

One of my favorite Porter projects is the Porter and The Pollies EP from a few years ago.  It was rollicking, fun-loving, and just a loose affair.  It really showed off Porter's skills as a songwriter and a bandleader.  This Red Mountain focused more on the songwriting than the rocking and rolling, documenting a tumultuous time in Porter's life when he moved to Austin, TX.  

In 2016, talk began circulating of a new album Porter was working on with a crackerjack band and producer.  I got incredibly excited, hoping that the album would continue to grow the talented Porter's popularity.  Tragically, as I mentioned, Porter would never see that album released.  However, I was right in my hopes.  This is the album that would have hopefully, at least in a just world, sent Porter on a trajectory of playing larger venues, at the very least, and it is an absolute masterpiece of an album; the final puzzle piece of Porter's career.  

Every song leaves a mark, with a gut-punch lyric that seems foreboding in retrospect.  There are moments that careen almost off the rails, but are held together by a thin thread, and it's truly magical to hear.  "Your Hometown" is a perfect example of this careening.  It's a rocker that happens to be one of my favorite Porter songs.  To me, a great song is one that seems it was written either specifically for, or about you/your life.  And this song hits every note for me.  Small, rural, Southern town living...I'm a long way from that now, but damn this song takes me back there with every listen.

This is an album full of heart-breaking songs about, presumably, Porter, his relationships, and the past.  There are songs dealing with tragedy, and those are some of the hardest to listen to.  When you hear "Shit Got Dark", it's hard to get through...  But, it's also a song played and sung with sheer defiance.  Yeah, shit got dark, but maybe there's enough stubborn attitude in us to not let that be the end of the story. 

As far as final albums go, this one is crushing to me because it's absolutely Chris Porter's best and most fully realized album.  The promise the album shows was taken from us last year, and that deserved recognition Porter was always riding towards, always just out of reach, will sadly never be reached.

Credit the musicians on this album as well - an Americana who's who featuring John Calvin Abney, Shonna Tucker, Will Johnson, and The Mastersons. Everyone involved in this project worked incredibly hard to get this album out and I have to believe Porter would be incredibly happy and satisfied with the final product.

To close this out, remember that we love these artists for the release they give us.  The way they make us forget our problems, or let us wallow in them knowing we aren't alone.  We forget that they are real people at times.  People with darkness and light, ebbs and flows.  People with flaws and imperfections.  They work hard for us- to show us that we aren't alone.  So, please, when a band comes through, go see them.  Support them.  Buy all of their albums.  Keep them going.  

To Chris Porter, who I never met, I will quote one song I have a hard time making it through still ("Go On And Leave Me"):

"Hope you find a spot where the lights are hot and draw a crowd..."

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Don't Go Baby It's Gonna Get Weird Without You is available tomorrow on Amazon, Cornelius Chapel, etc. 

Album Review: Ray Wylie Hubbard - Tell the Devil I'm Gettin' There As Fast As I Can

Ray Wylie Hubbard - Tell the Devil I'm Gettin' There As Fast As I Can

by Trailer

Ray Wylie returns with another heavy dose of what he's damn good for. You know the deal: gritty Texas blues, God, the Devil, philosophy, the particulars of being a musician, and lots of stories. "God Looked Around" is a retelling of the Garden of Eden story through Hubbard's trademark filter of wit and candor. The lead single and title track is as close as you'll get to commercial-sounding in RWH's world - it brings together our fearless leader with Eric Church and Lucinda Williams providing support for this world-weary anthem about life, music, and pondering the long, strange trip. "Old Wolf" is a stomping snapshot of a dive bar and its regulars, with Ray giving us his best Warren Zevon howl. My only complaint here is that there's a sameness of sound in general, and across the first half of the album in particular. A little variance in tempo and melody could have brought the record up a notch or two in my book. Still, anything from Ray is hardly unwelcome and he's consistently consistent - a legend by any standard - and Tell the Devil I'm Gettin' There As Fast As I Can gives you exactly what you need, no more, no less.

The album is available everywhere you might imagine.


Tell The Devil I'm Gettin' There As Fast As I Can by Ray Wylie Hubbard from Ray Wylie Hubbard on Vimeo.

Album Review: Tyler Childers - Purgatory

Tyler Childers taps into the dark side on Purgatory

by Robert Dean

After years in the shadows, Tyler Childers is finally emerging. On his official debut record, Purgatory, Childers is ready to step out and into the sunlight, and boy, is he gonna need a pair of shades. In contrast to that bright light of likely success, he's bringing along with him a deep look into the darkness of life.

One thing Tyler Childers is not is your typical country singer. Even at just 26, he’s already a battle-tested road warrior, having logged a lot of miles and while out there, tallied up many sins. Tyler Childers isn’t banking his career on wack songs about trucks and little shorts. Instead, he’s logged down his transgressions, his adventures, and gives them out as cautionary tales via the tracks on Purgatory. When you’re writing about long nights, casual cocaine use, or swallowing a handful of pills, that ain’t the stuff Jason Aldean is singing about. It takes bravado to confront those topics and sing them with mastery. That’s the difference between the songwriters who get out and live, their songs carry weight because they’re genuine, not some crap that a songwriter in an office dreamt up.

While all of the playboys in tight muscle tees and cowboy hats pack the arenas on the message of their bullshit persona a few suits crafted, guys like Tyler Childers live what they dream about. You can buy an “outlaw” branded tee shirt, but until you write some songs about being whacked outta your mind on the shit and ripping down some back road in intimate detail, brother you’re just posing.

Childers is cut from the same cloth as artists like Bruce Springsteen and Jason Isbell; and despite his spacey eyed producer Sturgill Simpson being an influence, the two artists aren’t similar in sound, only in honesty and spirit. Don’t let the album credits fool you. Tyler Childers is his own man.

Purgatory is an incredible welcome to the world for Tyler Childers because under Simpson’s watchful eye, the songs they’ve collected feel like a testament to the hard life, but one that’s not met with dire pessimism, but instead with baring down and letting the knuckles get white.


"Feathered Indians" is a big-hearted, open-armed love song that doesn’t feel dismissive to the rest of Childers’ tracks because of the raw honesty that’s laced throughout the narrative. Directly following the joy of that previous track, "Tattoos" feels like the aftermath of that love taking a swan dive …and without much grace. Right there, plainly and simply, shows what Tyler Childers is capable of as a tactician of the human experience: he’s managed to draw you in with a romantic escapade of close encounters of a belt buckle pressing against a thigh, following it with a whispered dirge, calling back to when times were good.

The main thread that runs through Purgatory is its sheer authenticity. There’s no doubting the songs come from a real place, or that they at least were constructed through the haze of hard living, always with a strong sense of storytelling. Either way, real or make believe, the stories that Tyler Childers tells on Purgatory aren’t far-fetched concepts, but looks into the all too familiar hard lives in a small town.

To say that Tyler Childers taps into the past, and the darker side of country music, is understatement – this is a continuation of the dark masters, and Tyler Childers has surely been welcomed into the family.

Album Review: Lee Bains III & The Glory Fires - Youth Detention

by Matthew Martin
We're in an age of unfettered voicing of opinions.  Maybe it's always been this way bubbling just beneath the surface, but with social media and 24-hour news, that squall is reaching a fever pitch.  Each side is pissed and each side fears the other.  It's in this vein that a lot of great music is made.

In the times of slavery, the spiritual was a song or a chant decrying the atrocities happening to those slaves.  During the Civil Rights movement, countless artists and songs decried the tragedies happening to the weakest among us.  In the 90s and 2000s, hardcore and punk bands railed against the state of the world- from consumerism to seemingly constant war.  I say all this to simply state that music is release.  It's an artist's take on their world view.  Sometimes that view may not be our view, but it's an important view and one we shouldn't scoff at or denounce, but take that view and check it against our own world view.

In 2014, Lee Bains III & The Glory Fires released the incredible, loud, in-your-face Southern punk rock album Dereconstructed.  I said when I first heard that album, and still believe, that there hadn't been an album that important to the South since Drive-By Truckers' Southern Rock Opera.  It was an album that took the quick-paced Southern rock on their first album and ratcheted up the guitar and turned a mirror on the South's transgressions while still maintaining that love most of us Southerners have for our region.  Bains and crew have once again taken a look at the South as a microcosm of the nation on Youth Detention and tackle it the only way we Southerners know how to- loud, abrasive, and mad as hell.

In the first five songs, Bains tackles injustices that happen to those that aren't powerful ("Good Old Boy" is a minute and a half of pure adrenaline-fueled punk) and then hits the nail on the head with "Whitewash."  While the song is slower than the first four, it's the one that hit me the hardest.  With lyrics battling what it means to lose a sense of self and place over time, including our Southern accents (this hit close for me because after moving out of the deep South, I've mostly lost my Southern accent), "Birthmarks to be scrubbed away," Bains sings.

"Underneath the Sheets of White Noise" is a song that LB3 & The Glory Fires were meant to play.  It's a damn good song full of the social commentary we've come to expect from Bains played again, fast and loud.  The surprise song on the album to me is "Crooked Letters."  This song is a typical Bains song with a trudging guitar riff and bass line with lyrics damning and self-reflective at once.  However, it has a loop played mostly throughout of children chanting the chant most of us in the South used to learn to spell Mississippi.  Upon first listen, I was a little turned off by this addition, but to be honest, I can't imagine this song without that loop now.  It's going to be odd to hear the song live without the chant!

The next four songs- "I Can Change!" to "Nail My Feet Down to the Southside of Town"- are the best batch of songs on the album with "I Can Change!" coming in at one of my favorite LB3 songs ever.  The driving guitar with squelching feedback are perfect backdrops for a song that grapples with guilt, ultimately delivering "Guilt is not a feeling, it's a natural fact."



The album ends with two damn good songs- the first being "Commencement Address for the Deindustrialized Dispersion" which again deals with the dispersion of Southern people to other areas, but ends with the chorus "May we all grow old and free, And wander home again."  Amen, Lee, amen.  And "Save My Life!" takes us home with a pure Southern rock and roll song about the life-saving and life-changing nature of rock and roll.  That's what it's all about, man.  Rock and roll is good for the soul.  It releases something in us all.

Clocking in at around an hour and 17 songs, Youth Detention is a break-neck speed of an album touching on everything a good punk album should.  If you don't like your music loud and your artists' opinions worn on their sleeves like a badge of honor, then Lee Bains III & The Glory Fires likely isn't for you.  But, if you're willing to challenge yourself and your beliefs and like your music loud, brash, and full of life, then this is for you. Bains' voice is as good as ever and the band is as tight as you'd expect a band that's been together this long to be.  This is album will be one of my favorites of the year.  If you've never seen the band live, go see 'em.  But, dear Lord, wear ear plugs...

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Youth Detention is available on Amazon, iTunes, etc.

Album Review: Robyn Ludwick - This Tall To Ride

by Trailer

If Robyn Ludwick ever makes it big (well, as big as you can make it on the Americana scene), people will wonder just where the hell she came from. "How have I not heard her before?" they'll ask in exasperated tones. I've got news for 'em. She's been here all along, and it's a damn shame how far under the radar she's flown with even Texas country and roots music fans.

This Tall to Ride is Robyn's fifth album, and it's a strong one. It's brimming over with her trademark dark wit, seedy characters, and undeniable melodies. There are few artists in all of music, who can have you cheerfully singing along to a song about "freelancin' hookers" who sniff Visine.

Ludwick's voice is pure Texas with a hint of Stevie Nicks. It's expressive and relatable. There are times she gets a little pinched sounding, but you get used to it... it's not a flaw, it's a feature.

Her songwriting is full of character sketches of losers and funny stories without happy endings. At times, she uses an economy of words to convey a novel full of insight. And the lines… there are lines that can wet your eyes because they're so heartfelt.
If you can find
A place in your heart
For Junkies N Clowns
Then you’re halfway
To believin’ in Me

There are lines that'll wet your eyes from laughing.
Take Cyclops Boy
You know he don’t lie
And brother he’ll look you
Right in the eye

Despite this lyrical prowess, Ludwick never lets the words take precedence over the song. The hooks never fail. The transitions will take your breath. She builds tension then lets you exhale. Most of the songs on This Tall to Ride are ridiculously catchy. It's just a masterclass in songwriting.

It's a steady and consistent album, only because nearly every song is a highlight. If you're looking for a gateway though, "Bars Ain't Closin'" won't steer you wrong. It's forlorn  in its tale of being away from a lover, whether due to a break-up or being on the road, but there's a beauty and strangely uplifting tone. When you're listening to a sad song, you're never alone.

"Texas Jesus" might bother the Baptists if they focus on the title … oh, and the subject matter. It's about finding temporary emotional salvation in the arms… hands… whatever… of a part time hooker.   "Hard times, easy money, feeling good don't feel bad honey" is the song's refrain and it's how you'll feel listening. Folks on the edges of life finding what they need in a temporary fix. And a great line's in here too: "I can't spell hypocrisy, but I can smell it in the air."



Pretty much all of This Tall to Ride is like that. Broken people getting by however they can. Songs that make you feel so good while hearing about people having it so bad. It'd almost be misery porn, but there's always a bit of optimism, or acceptance at least, to be found in every story. Roses growing in a shut down truck stop parking lot.

Oh, did I mention who Robyn's brothers are? I didn't? Well, that's not even relevant. What's important is that you should listen to this album immediately. Ludwick should be appreciated and celebrated in this scene on her own accord. And don't be caught surprised when she breaks through one of these days. It won't be an overnight success.

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This Tall to Ride is available on iTunes, Amazon, Lonestar Music, etc.

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.