I think about cover tunes a lot. When a band decides to do a cover on a compilation record or add it to their live show, there’s a lot at stake. Is the band going to do the song straight up? Are they going to take some artistic liberties? Is the song the right choice for the band? There’s a lot to consider when playing someone else’s tune.
What got me thinking about this list was imagining if some of my favorite artists covered songs that in my head worked in concert with their existing sound and style. Cuz, let’s face it; there’s many times when a band picks a cover tune, and it’s complete trash. I’m constantly wondering what a band would sound like if they just tried this song, this one jam.
Maybe I’m nuts, but here are my top songs I think artists should be covering right now:
Don’t Mess Around With Jim – Jim Croce, as covered by JD McPherson
There’s a familiar cadence of the groove between this tune and what JD continually pumps out. The breezy verses seem almost too perfect for McPherson’s solid rock and roll swagger. With the head bobbing tempo and slick feel, there’s so much soul and pure filth underneath this song, that JD McPherson could pull it out in spades. Plus, there’s a third verse riff where it’s just vocals and a super in the pocket drum beat that JD would be all over with that big, bright voice.
Remedy – The Black Crowes, as covered by Every Time I Die
Remedy is one of The Black Crowes sleaziest, blues-soaked tunes. There’s a sense of inherent vice and slick danger to this song. It’s full, breathy and is so slinky and over the top. Every Time I Die have recently been more of a metal band with a few mutated classic rock riffs thrown in, but should they ever wanna flex those muscles they were in the Hot Damn! Era, Remedy would be a great vocal fit, but also be a solid sing-along tune in respect to the chaos of their live shows. Because Every Time I Die have the musical chops to pull off a song like this, I feel like their ownership would be astounding.
Breathe – Pink Floyd, as covered by Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit
Now, this one might sound weird, but hear me out. Jason Isbell’s guitar playing is silky smooth. The backbone to Pink Floyd’s signature era was David Gilmour’s Stratocaster taking humans to new planets. Isbell is a songwriter, but he’s got some chops, too. Plus, The 400 Unit are quite the band, musically speaking. Coupled with Isbell’s ability to pour himself out and bring out those inner demons, he could harness something akin to the sounds of Dark Side Pink Floyd. When you think about it, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched. If you need further proof, listen to Isbell’s biggest bummer ever, When We Were Vampires – if you don’t hear lament and slow, steady blues, something is off with your ears.
Refugee – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, as covered by Lucero
Lucero has a back catalog of a million songs. Most of which, Ben Nichols can draw up from the well in an instant mentally. But, one in a while, Lucero will break out their cover of Jawbreaker’s Kiss The Bottle. But, as the band gets older and establishes a much more weighted in purist rock and roll sound, Refugee is a tune that fits Nichols swagger, but also works with how the band works as a cohesive unit. That wide open riff matched with the song’s signature call and response works well considering Lucero’s On My Way Downtown isn’t too far off style-wise.
They did cover "American Girl" already: ~Trailer
Magic Man – Heart, as covered by Nikki Lane
There’s something low-key magical about Nikki Lane. She is sultry without putting it on front street. She could deliver on Ann Wilson’s vocal runs. Songs like HighwayQueen aren’t too thematically different than the Heart catalog. This one feels like a natural fit.
Mannish Boy – Muddy Waters, as covered by Chris Stapleton
Another odd choice, but it works when you think about it. Chris Stapleton has a gigantic, powerful voice. What’s the most memorable thing about Mannish Boy? It’s the riff and Muddy’s ownership of the room, challenging all comers to step to his vocal prowess. Stapleton could master that song as long as he kept it true to it’s roots and go country.
Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker) – The Rolling Stones, as covered by Jack White
If there’s anyone who can handle the instrumentation concerning the original sound and spirit, it’s Jack White. He’s already jammed Loving Cup with The Stones, so seeing him tackle one of their lesser known, but die-hard fan hit songs would be a perfect match. He’s got the gear, the ability to play all of Keith Richards riffs and he’s a complete purist who’d relish trying to offer that same fierce spirit that the original Goats Head Soup warrants.
I Never Loved a Man That Way That I Loved You – Aretha Franklin, as covered by Lady Gaga
Look, Lady Gaga is one of the three best singers in pop music. That’s not even up for debate. It’s her, Beyonce and Adele. Yes, I’m aware there are other badass singers with a serious set of pipes. But, I’d like to see anyone else take the Pepsi Challenge on nailing such a soulful icon track. (If there’s someone you think could wreck shop on this one, shout it out: @Robert_Dean, I wanna know.)
Anyhow, one of the best songs of all time. I’d love to see a killer vocalist take the track on and show off their skills.
I’m Your Captain/Closer to Home – Grand Funk Railroad, as covered by Margo Price
Here’s the wild card. Margo Price is a beast. She’s so talented it’s unreal. If there was anyone who could destroy the all-time jam, it’s Margo Price. Her band is insane and just so tight. When she did those Prairie Home Companion with Jack White we saw a layered, classic Margo Price that could straight murder harmonies and let’s face it. She would wreck shop on this tune. Someone send her people an email. This one would be dope.
Agree or disagree, tweet us or leave a comment. What are your dream covers? We want to know.
If there’s one thing Chicago is good at, it’s churning out
legit punk bands. Not to be sold short on Chicago’s history of solid punk rock
bubbling up from the sewers, one of the Windy City’s newest offerings, The
Decayed are steeped in the tradition of working class anthems and talking some
serious shit. Chicagoans expect their punk to have a slight attitude, a sense
of foreboding, even if the city is responsible for Fallout Boy.
Equal parts Motorhead, The Casualties, Agnostic Front, and
maybe some Dickies for shits and giggles, The Decayed’s sound is nothing more
than the minimum, which is exactly what punk rock should be. Punk shouldn’t
have keyboards or atmosphere, but instead, should be some scuzzy ass folks
plugging straight into their amps and cranking the volume till eyes bleed.
The songs on The Decayed debut S/T record are fast and
pissed. That’s it. There’s a thread of early 90’s hardcore, just without the
breakdowns. Despite the apparent digital recording, the viciousness is still
present on the record, which is nice. A lot of times bands lose their bite
because of over-production. Instead, these tracks feel sonically kin to the
classic Pennywise stuff, or maybe even Strife’s In This Defiance – sans
beatdown riffs.
Given the pedigree of everyone in the band, who have played
in way too many groups over the years to share, it’s unsurprising how reliable
this batch of songs are. Considering everyone in The Decayed is in their mid to
late 30’s everyone involved has paid their musical dues.
Old man punk bands are great because, in the context of the
group’s existence, it’s merely for the love of playing. Everyone has chops, and
everyone knows the drill and what’s expected. The posers have been weeded out.
These are tunes for beer money and the passion of their scene. And what we’re
gifted with a is a debut that doesn’t feel desperate or begging for attention
like so many hungry bands drop with the intention of taking over the world.
Instead, the tunes The Decayed chose to share are mature, fun and a great
addition to the history and lore of Chicago punk rock.
Note: Their album/EP is available for the hefty price of $1 on Bandcamp.
Rollin’
and Tumblin’ with the King of The Slide Guitar, Elmore James
by Robert Dean
In the annals of the blues, there are
a few guys who get the nod for all time: Howlin’
Wolf, Muddy Waters, Skip James, Leadbelly, Charley Patton, Robert Johnson,
etc. But, then there are the deeper cuts, the artists people talk about, but
it’s unsure if they really know them. The thing about the blues is that,
despite being one of the cultural backbones of American identity, much of its
lore is shrouded in darkness. Which, for its context works for the music and
gives a thumbprint like no other.
One artist who continually reaches up
out of the murk and grabs you straight like a zombie from the grave is the
slide guitar mad man, Elmore James. While his name might feel familiar, or
you’ve heard him mentioned on a rock and roll documentary – you have.
His legend isn’t that of those
mentioned before him. There aren’t movies in the works, books about him are
hard to come by (at last count there’s a whopping one), and his records aren’t
collector’s items. James is an underground, under-appreciated legend of the
blues. He may not be a household name, but if you ask anyone who knows the
blues, and they’ll all agree he’s paramount to all comers.
Ranked #30 of Rolling Stone’s greatest
guitar players of all time, James was a guitar player who defied what the blues
could sound like. While Muddy’s playing is concise, tight, Elmore James riffs
are nasty as a dead possum lying in a gutter. He played an acoustic with a
pickup drilled in, which gave his sound a ghastly, ghoulish quality unlike
anyone else in that late 50’s classic blues era. Coming up from Mississippi,
James’ music wasn’t quite the Chicago sound, but something that met at the
crossroads of the new school brewing in the north, but firmly rooted in the
traditions of the Deep South.
Dust
My Broom is quintessential James filth, TheSky is Crying was a
roof burner long before Stevie Ray
Vaughn ever covered it. Go through the Elmore James catalog and you’ll see
all of the greatest tipped their caps to the man known as “The King of The
Slide Guitar.”
Other bluesmen feared James with his
raucous performances and envied how good he was with a guitar in his hands. No
one knew how to play a slide guitar like Elmore James. His ferocious playing,
coupled with his raspy, growling voice, he was a unique talent, in the vein of Howlin’ Wolf. When Elmore made his way
up to Chicago, he was ready. Packing the clubs, and cutting records, James was
poised to be a force to be reckoned with in the world of popular music.
But, life eluded James early. At just
45, Elmore James died of a heart attack. He was on the heels of establishing
himself as one of the premier bluesmen. He was booked for his first European
trip with the world looking bright as the sun. Today, we’re left with a treasure
trove of records that swings, that growls and moans. Elmore James isn’t a
household name, not for lack of trying but because death came too early for
such an enigmatic soul. Get right with the universe and get Elmore James into
your life. If you have the slightest interest in the blues, there’s none finer
than The King who was gone too soon.
Skulls, voodoo, punk rock, with no condom: we dig up the corpse of Black Market magazine
By Robert Dean
Back in the pre-internet age, the underground music scene was ran from zines. Yes, there are still zines, but they’re not as plentiful as they were a long time ago, Mr. Know It All, Comment on Everything Hipster.
Zines were how you discovered new bands, heard about social causes, or found out weird, subversive art. Most were handcrafted, collectives of multiculturalism, or just filled with a lot of weird shit. Some enterprising folks with a vision put a lot of effort and idealism into crafting zine culture and just about all underground scenes benefitted. Because no one in bands like The Cramps or KMFDM were getting on MTV aside from the occasional bone from Headbangers Ball or 120 Minutes, indie labels or even in some cases, the majors, relied on the local music programs, or zines to help spread the gospel of new bands.
As a young buck, I worshiped the record store. I saved up all of my money to continually buy cd’s, band shirts, music magazines, and zines. I gobbled up Maximum Rocknroll, scoured the racks for NME, and even had subscriptions to Circus and Metal Edge. But, there was zine I’d read and was after it like the Holy Grail: Black Market Magazine.
Black Market existed from mid-1980’s and up until 1995, and in those years, Black Market offered the world that was fucking mind blowing to a 14-year-old kid with a Nirvana shirt on, and with Misfits and Sepultura stickers on his skateboard. The art was subversive. It took risks, both societal and cultural: they challenged what was allowed, even in the underground community. Everything from race, to religion, and gay rights were all on display long before they became the everyday topics in our age. The magazine was just as much about the art as it was about the music. The two mediums together gave Black Market magazine a potent cocktail for all of us acolytes to swallow. We got style, attitude, a lot of knowledge out of these pages.
They allowed artists a platform for dark art and darker opinions. Nothing in the realm of Black Market was taboo.
The music, though – that was what was mind-blowing. The Rollins Band, Marilyn Manson, Megadeth, Nine Inch Nails, Alice in Chains – every cool band from the era found its name plastered between the covers of Black Market. What’s interesting seeing the magazines these years later, Black Market was not only a pioneer in their artistic nuance, but they did interviews before the modern culture molded certain figures to a particular light. The journalism, the questions were sharp, and in a way, the style precluded the VICE styled music journalism we see today with Noisey.
The magazine also featured icons of culture like Famous Monsters’ Forrest Ackerman, as well as members of the Manson family. The interviews are candid, but also truthful in that they’re biting, and honest.
Being out of print for so long, re-reading the issues doesn’t feel dated. If anything, the magazines hold up now better than ever. They’re time capsules into an era when dying your hair meant you were a freak, and visible tattoos meant you were a scumbag. Bands like Type O Negative or Samhain were frightening, and indeed a big, detailed picture about priests engaged in questionable acts as a social statement weren’t exactly en vogue. You had to embrace and earn culture like this. Black Market shoveled all of the best things about goth, industrial, punk, hardcore, and metal into one oozing corpse and made us all love it in return.
I don’t know much about Tyler Childers. What I do know about
him, is he’s downright haunting. Thanks to the venerable W.B. Walker’s Old Soul Radio Show, AKA the best country podcast out
there, I stumbled upon Tyler and I ain’t been right since. I know he’s from
somewhere between the hollers of Kentucky and the miasma of West Virginia. I
know he writes songs that come out of a shotgun like rock salt and nails. I
know he’s someone you need to hear.
Tyler Childers’ songs are stripped down and simple, but they
burn so real. So hot like a flashbulb, trying desperately the capture the truth
of a life lived hard. That’s what appeals to me about Tyler Childers: his
obsession with unearthing his skeletons, thus knocking the dirt off mine, too.
I have a religious devotion to folks who can take my demons and make them their
own, to give credence to what we may feel on the inside, yet broadcast
differently to everyone else. That’s the mark of a true artist: their ability
to lay a dagger into the heart with little effort, other than being themselves
and telling their story.
Nose on The Grindstone
aches with personal pain. It hits hard like a southern gothic by Flannery
O’Conner or Cormac McCarthy. It was my favorite song of 2016 with a bullet.
Having lost a cousin to pills, and family up in the Tennessee mountains causing
all kinds of trouble, it struck as true as an arrow can. Hearing the poetry of a
broken handed life isn’t just blue collar, it’s an element of humanity we know,
but we need to accept as gospel if only to admit we’re far from perfect, even
if we’re different.
You yearn for more of Tyler’s unease, but he’s a bastard
like that – you can’t buy any vinyl, you can’t find any cd’s. His stuff is
super hard to come by. He’s on YouTube. You can download a few tracks, but he’s
not as available as some, and it only makes his ghostly allure that much more
enticing. If there were any justice in this world, Tyler’s music would have
been a centerpiece of the show Justified.
Whitehouse Road is
another that just slays. So many moments of personal distress boiled down and
into a slurry that’s a bitter, yet powerful pill. Given the new climate in
America where we all hate one another, Tyler Childers’ time is now. He’s one of
those rare voices that lays a hand and offers a sense of solace and relatable
pain. When a lot of singers step into their boots, trying to find their voices,
most of the times, it comes off as obvious bullshit. Tyler Childers ain’t that
guy. If it came off any more genuine, he’d be named Ben Nichols or Frank Turner.
Like a snake handler, the faithful believes without moral restitution – we align
ourselves with a sense of wrongdoing, but righteousness by the fire below.
Those of us, who’ve got a little dirt, can sink our teeth into that kind of
steak, because it’s not tainted.
Do yourself a favor and get out and see him live, try to
grab whatever piece of music you can. If he releases a record this year, he’ll
be that guy we’re saying we knew when – just like we do with Sturgill Simpson, Jason Isbell, and Chris
Stapleton. Tyler Childers is next. You mark my words.
When it comes to the history of hardcore music, there are a
few periods that matter: the first wave of the 1980’s with bands like Black
Flag paving the way for CroMags, Madball, Sick of It All, Leeway, etc. Then,
there’s a second wave of bands from the late 90’s, early 00’s who took the
presence of mind from the first wave bands and reinvented the genre but only
with a lot more metal influence.
While yes, there are a lot of bands in the gray area (Burn,
Converge, Trial, Unbroken) of timeframe - there are a few from the East Coast
who were on fire during this later period: Indecision, Cave In, Snapcase, to
name a few. But, one band managed to write an all time, headbanging, freak out
mosh classic that a lot of people don’t know about: The Process Of and that band was Turmoil.
Honestly, I can’t give you an in-depth history of Turmoil.
They’re one of the few bands who aren’t steeped in nostalgia, hocking their
shirts, stickers and whatever represses of their records that are available.
You can’t find much about them online. The Facebook is barely managed, and none
of the members seem all too keen on living by the history of their younger
selves. All I know about Turmoil is they were from Philly, and they killed.
The Process Of is
twelve tracks that slit throats and offer no solace of reason or rectitude. For
any angry kid of my generation, it serves as a fantastic album that
encapsulated a time when you had to tour to get kids to know your music, and
you had to sell cd’s to get the next show. The record sounds mad. It sounds
desperate, and it sounds hungry. It’s a considerable shame Turmoil never
managed to get the mix right with their ability to land big tours and get the
band in a financially fortunate position because if you put on The Process Of in your car and don’t
want to murder everyone when the opening of Playing
Dead hits, you’re not human. And you’re certainly not metal.
The Process Of
stands the test of time because it doesn’t feel churned out. Instead, it feels
birthed – like it was a parting gift to the world, a final statement. The band
wasn’t big; they were lucky to get VFW halls or gym’s in whatever town they
played, but goddamn if the record doesn’t feel like a statement of absolution.
The guitar work is airtight, the drums are intricate, but the perfect blend of
fast punk sensibilities married with metal progressions. The vocals, though.
The frantic, angry sound of Jon Gula’s tenor is what brings this record home -
the viciousness is palpable and compelling because of its genuineness.
If you’re a metal dude, or someone with a history with
hardcore music and this one slipped past you, hunt it down. The CDs should be
easy to find online, and the vinyl was repressed a few years back (I’m still
trying to find one. You got one, holler at ya boi.) The Process Of is an incredible statement of what hardcore felt
like when it was a music that bubbled up from the streets. We didn’t have the
Internet to rely on. We had to go to shows or read zines to get our gossip. The Process Of sounds like a band
living hand to mouth and writing a record that had to carry their good fortunes
or else.
Now get off my lawn and buy everything you can with
Turmoil’s name on it. They deserve to be in the greater conversation with bands
who defined that era of hardcore music. It’s frankly fucking criminal they
aren’t.
Sometimes there are bands out there grinding, making a
living, killing it show after show, but somehow, they’re not as big as they
should be. It’s frustrating when you see a band put out a stream of quality
records, while touring mercilessly, and never losing their souls in the
process, and still just still feel like they’re somehow getting the shaft.
For me, that band is Every
Time I Die. You wanna talk about a band who’s bucked every trend, not given
a single shit about what all of the cool kids are doing, and still managed to
write some of the best records of the last decade? It’s those dudes.
From Ebolorama, to
Logic of Crocodiles (Personal plea:
play more Last Night in Town shit,
dudes. Us old men want to hear this and Pincushion.)
to the new slayer, The Coin Has a Say
– Every Time I Die are a goddamned
powerhouse of vicious rock and roll fury.
What kills me about ETID
is that they’re in that weird spot of too big to play little clubs in music
towns, and still humble enough to take a good tour when someone asks them to
join them. Honestly, for my money, I have this bet with myself that a lot of
the bigger bands in metal are slightly afraid of letting ETID open for larger crowd due to the fact that when the Buckley
brothers and Hammer Smash Andy suit up for the night, they’re leaving corpses
in their wake.
And don’t think our boys from Buffalo aren’t out there
struggling to keep the lights on, they’re doing fine. I just want more people
to buy their records, buy their shirts, and keep them on tour. In a sea of
tasteless boring bands, Every Time I Die
manage to pump out consistent, great records with a vibe and personality. A lot
of the drek out there can’t say that. When ETID
first burst on the scene, all of the big bands were riding the nuts of At The Gates, and today, it’s Meshuggah. Did Every Time I Die give a shit? NOPE. They went the exact opposite
and put out records that dodged every trend. While their peers came and went, Every Time I Die are still relevant
because they’ve always chosen to not follow.
Folks need to recognize droning, boring eight string
nonsense ain’t that great. Get your party on and give your hard earned cash to
some dudes who earned respect and earned their place as one of the best
hardcore bands of the 2000’s. And that ain’t shinfo.
Get off Facebook for a few hours and go see Every Time I Die
– they just announced a headlining tour with bad ass rednecks Knocked Loose. Also,
Low Teens, their new record is a full-fist anal blaster. Get that shit.
If you’ve got a hankering for something truly strange – there’s a blast from the past you need to get your brain around. Boris The Sprinkler was an oddball, eclectic pack of weirdoes from Green Bay, Wisconsin, and boy were they a deliciously strange mix of everything meth-fueled nightmares were constructed of.
Take parts Mr. Bungle, The Ramones, the Reverend Horton Heat, and maybe Frank Sinatra’s sleazy cousin, and maybe some string cheese. Throw in some rubber chickens, maybe a tranny hooker or two and you’ll get near what these left of center Wisconsin punk rock pranksters were up to.
On their debut, 8-Testicled Pogo Machine, Boris The Sprinkler full tongue French kissed their way into the Chicago, Milwaukee, and Green Bay punk scene. The songs feel like wild parties and are a pure portrait of an era of punk when bands still drew up those great flyers with magic markers and maybe some basic computer skills.
Boris The Sprinkler has some moments that harken to sweaty bars, and bad nights on cheap booze. The songs are irreverent and even better after all of these years. One of the best things about Boris The Sprinkler is the sheer easiness of the songs – not by a technical standard, but by which they stand. I have such warm memories of this era of punk, maybe because it’s mine, but more because it’s the era that slithered in just after when everyone was so severe. The songs are catchy and without any preaching of idealism, and in many ways, that’s refreshing on so many levels. There can only be one Clash, and the world has enough carbon copies of Joe Strummer.
But no Boris The Sprinkler – I doubt these guys cared who came off the spaceship unless they promised Transformers comic books and some YooHoo. But, that’s what made them great, it wasn’t about the music, the scene or the songs, it was simply about existing in your skin and having some fun in the process.
If you’re looking to dive into something odd, and just ridiculously entertaining, pull Boris The Sprinkler up on YouTube, and buy some records if you’re into it. Fifteen year old you really wants you to.
“Okay, I’m almost ready,” says Kelly Hogan. “I
was driving, waiting for your call, now I just have to pull over and find a
parking space.” She eases into a comfortable play-by-play: “I may just turn off
on this side street…almost there…well, why don’t you just go ahead and start to
talk?”
Hogan has, according to her hometown Chicago Tribune, “the range
ofa gospel belter, the phrasing of a jazz
diva, a bit of a country twang, and a taste for humor that make her something
of a difficult fit in these category-obsessed times.” If she’s tough to
pigeonhole into a genre – and she very much is – then it’s doubly tough to pin
down a category for The Flat Five, the Windy City super group she formed with
Scott Ligon, Nora O’Connor, Alex Hall and Casey McDonough. Their debut album, It’s a World of Love and Hope, drops
today on Bloodshot Records; fitting, as that label has always been home
to the genre-bending misfits of independent music. Ligon and McDonough are themselves members of NRBQ, a fluid band – founded 50 years hence – that has always
defied classification.
But, to take a stab at Flat Five
comparisons: Late 60s/early 70s harmony-laden pop with a slight bubblegum
flavor, reminiscent of The Carpenters, Beach Boys and Beatles. Some Manhattan
Transfer. Or maybe that’s a little off? “Yeah, it reminds me of
childhood, hearing the AM radio in the Rambler station wagon,” Hogan says. “All
of those sounds like Sly and The Family Stone, The 5th Dimension, Spanky and Our Gang…and
The Archies! Definitely The
Archies.”
Yeah, that’s better. And, oh, the harmonies; five parts’
worth sometimes. Groovy electric piano.It’s pure, unadulterated, unmitigated, undeniable joy. This can’t be overstated; it’s an album of existential
happiness, as the campy title suggests. Each of the album’s dozen songs were
penned by Ligon’s older brother Chris, and if you drill down a little into that
dude’s catalog, you’ll want to throw in They Might Be Giants and Dr. Demento when making
comparisons. As joyfully bouncy and bubbly as this record is, there’s also a
lot of downright quirky, head-scratching humor.
But the joy overrides all. You want to feel better right
now, when the whole country and world are spiraling downward into hades? Turn
off Twitter and Facebook. Turn off the news. Listen to this album a couple
times through, and you’ll be physically happy.
Heck, it’s impossible not to be happy after 20 minutes on the phone with “Leather
Lungs” Hogan, after she finds a parking spot. Her mood is as infectious as The
Flat Five’s music.
You’ve worn a lot of
hats in a bunch of different bands/side projects, etc. This Flat Five record
certainly has a distinctive flavor to it. How has working on this project
differed from, say, The Pine Valley Cosmonauts or any of your other endeavors?
Well, a lot of the things I did with Pine Valley Cosmonauts,
I was like a ninja. I’d come in real quick and record one song and be done. The
Flat Five, we’re a band. It’s gross. We love each other so much, it’s gross.
We’ve been doing this since 2005 or something. I started out playing with Scott
Ligon, then we got Nora O’Connor into it; I knew her from when we both sang in
Andrew Bird’s band. It just sort of picked up, like a rolling stone…wait, a
rolling stone doesn’t gather moss.
(Laughs) We snowballed, that’s what I mean to say.
We just really love to sing together. And even with our five
separate, crazy schedules and the stuff we do with other bands, we’ve always
made time for this. We just love it.
When did y’all decide
“Okay, we’re gonna do an album,” and how and when did that process finally come
together?
I guess a couple years in, we made a commitment to play
quarterly. That’s a time commitment and everybody has to block out time on
their schedules. We started talking about playing more often and how we would
do it. And we were warming up to the idea of doing an album of Chris Ligon’s
music, because we had already been doing several of his songs [live].
So that idea developed, and we all got really excited about it,
because one, we love his music and two, we want more people to hear it. So in
lieu of going door-to-door (laughs), we knew we needed to record. That required
us all to pledge allegiance to each other and commit. And so it’s taken us
right at two years; we first went into the studio in September 2014. We
financed the whole thing ourselves, so occasionally it was, “Well, we’re out of
money, so we gotta play a show.” And luckily we were able to record it at our
drummer’s studio, and he engineered it. There was just a lot of goodwill and
teamwork involved.
This album bubbles up joy. Can you describe how much fun it was to
record?
We made a conscious decision as a band, led by Scott, that
we were gonna do a positive album. And I mean, I love sad songs. I’ve heard
great songs with awesome harmony, but it’s like “My baby died in December.”
(Laughs) So we tried to make it a cohesive thread, and all positive. Because
everything’s so heavy, you know? You
said “bubbles,” and not every song sounds effervescent, but the material and
the message are designed to lift people, you know? Mavis Staples just did that
on her last album.
And we were trying to decide what to call this record, and I
said, “Dude, let’s just go for positive broke and call it ‘It’s a World of Love
and Hope.’” In the face of all this evidence to the contrary; there’s so much
going on to be sad and mad about. And all of us in the band, we’re all mad and
sad and scared. This is just a little respite. I mean, I’m on the street in
Chicago. The trees have colored leaves and people are walking their dogs…it’s
Halloween. That’s just as real as all the bad stuff.
I just…well, I’ve never heard anything like it.
Well, we are weird, you know…
(Laughs) Well, I
don’t mean just because it’s a little off and has some tongue-in-cheek…
…People try to describe us. Right now Nora and I are trying
to book a tour and folks ask us, “Well, what kind of band are you?” And we’re
like, uhhhhhhhh, well…
I think we’re like a pack of Life Savers. You’ll get an
orange and a lime, and all the different flavors. We just love it all; we love
all kinds of music.
Do you have a favorite cut on the album?
(Pauses) Uh…gosh I don’t know. It’s so hard for me to pick
from all the different flavors. I don’t think I do. I can’t pick a favorite
puppy! I love them all, and they are all different. Some of them were more
difficult to get right in the studio than others. I do love the magic of “Bug Light.” I like “Bluebirds in Michigan;” I love that really weird string/bass/flute arrangement.
I’m curious, and this
is a Kelly Hogan-centric question. I discovered you as the voice of Cassie
Gaines on DBT’s Southern
Rock Opera. Do you hear that
every now and again, maybe from folks down South?
Oh! Awesome. I love that’s the case; I really love that
album and I love those guys so hard. But yeah, a few, a few, definitely. That
always makes me feel so proud. We did that at (Mike) Cooley’s house and I was
in the dining room with a microphone, drinking a PBR and they were all in the
kitchen. I finished a take and I heard some screaming and I found out they were
screaming because they liked it. That
was really cute.
That album…well, “Angels and Fuselage” makes me weep to this day.
Think about how hard it is to sing it! Because I sit in with
them sometimes, and I try to do it – like every song I do – like I’m living it.
And those lyrics…it’s just such an honor to be on that record. And you know,
hearing your Southern accent, I’m just leaning into it because I love those
accents so much. Any excuse to call Patterson (Hood), I’ll do it, just to hear
that voice.
What else would you like folks to know about It’s a World of Love and Hope?
Um, it’s definitely an album made by friends who really love
singing together. We love it so much we’ve all made time to do it over the last
dozen years. We’re the kind of band that will practice together for seven hours
and it seems like seven minutes. I mean, if we were at a club to play a show
and nobody showed up, we would still play
the show! We do this because it’s so much fun. And that’s the spirit It’s a World of Love and Hope was made
in.
Because it is a
world of love and hope. Sometimes I might be feeling really shitty (giggles)
but I’ll just say, “It’s a world of love and hope!” It’s become my mantra. It
was made by five friends who can’t
not do this. And I hope people can
hear that in the record.
Final note: I’ve not
played an album over and over like this one in recent memory and subsequently
tried to figure out why. I’m still not sure, but what’s exceptional is this
wonderful Venn diagram of the underappreciated Chicago music scene. In fact,
when you put elite-level talents like these together – all of whom share such a
passion for the craft and an unselfish love for one another – greatness
shouldn’t be surprising. –JKB
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It's a World of Love and Hope is available today on iTunes, Amazon, Bandcamp, etc.
But it was Woods’ across-the-board authenticity – on stage
and off – that impressed me. The dude is real. July saw him fine-tuning a bunch
of heavy country songs that make up
the album How to Survive, released
today on his own label, Lonely Ones Records. Did I mention that these are heavy
songs? Just to make sure, I compared notes with the Boss Man. “If you'd rather
be lied to or be sold a rosy view of life and love, you'd best steer clear of
Matt Woods,” said Trailer. “His confessional lyrical style pulls back the
curtain on the heartaches and struggles of real life.”
And, Bingo. While his previous two albums, The Matt Woods Manifesto and With Love From Brushy Mountain, were
sprinkled with a hearty mix of story songs, murder ballads and love songs,
today’s release is all about relationships. There are some aspirational love
songs, but it’s weighted down with heartbreak – and reality. When you hear “To
Tell the Truth,” or “Born to Lose,” there’s no question that these songs are both
autobiographical and from a dark place. And it’s not insignificant that the
song Woods says is truest to him – “A Good Man” – is a soul-crushing
confessional; so much so that it took some coaxing for that to be divulged.
We caught up with Woods out in the west Texas town of El
Paso, and talked songs for the downtrodden, dark thoughts of bodily harm to
percussionists, and how being covered by Dean Ween is a dream.
One of your earlier albums is
called The Matt Woods Manifesto. That
strikes me as both an awesome and ballsy concept. For our readers unfamiliar
with your work, what flag were you planting, and were you satisfied by the
reception?
Yeah,
I was definitely happy with the reception. I had spent a good many years
bouncing around in rock ‘n’ roll bands. That record came out in 2011, and I
guess it was sometime around ’09 that I realized I was gonna move away from the
bands and start working on things under my own name. And what partly informed
that was my writing, which was taking itself in a different direction. That led
me to getting back to my roots, and back to my love of country music.
That’s why I did the Manifesto; it was a departure point.
Having listened to some of
your work, I think I have a good idea, but who are some of the songwriters
who’ve influenced you?
I’ve
been influenced by a great number of people in one way or another.The easiestto name, over the life of my writing, have been Kris
Kristofferson and John Fogerty. I’d also have to give a nod to Steve Earle,
Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark.
You’re like the
eleventy-billionth artist about whom I’ve said, “WTH isn’t this person on
radio?” Without going too deeply down that rabbit hole, when did murder ballads
and cheatin’ songs go the way of the dinosaur, in the minds of Nashville suits
and program directors?
As
far as mainstream country is concerned, I think that all started happening in
the late 1980s and early 1990s. At that point you could still find some music
that still used what would be considered traditional country themes. But it was
also sort of the birth of…party country. You know, “everything’s alright and
let’s just have a good time.” That’s when things started leaning that
direction.
You’ve done some really good
murder ballads. How To Survive is
made up – except for “The American Way” -- almost exclusively of relationship
songs. Did you go at this album
thematically, or did it just organically evolve that way?
It
did happen organically, but there’s a certain theme. We were going for a more
intimate deal, and it’s a more introspective album as it turned out. Any time I
go into the studio to record an album, there are always more songs than can fit
on it. So you’re trying to take the best ones and make them fit together into
one thing, instead of just a collection of songs on a piece of wax.And I try to keep that in mind and pair
songs together that complement one another.
Some noteworthy artists have
addressed the disenchanted/disenfranchised, hard to re-adjust veteran. Isbell
did it a couple times, McMurtry hit a chord with “Can’t Make it Here” a dozen
years ago. Steve Earle did it with “Johnny Come Lately” in 1988. Describe your
approach to “The American Way,” because that song hasn’t been secret, and the
video’s been out there a while. Obviously there was some deep meaning for you.
Yeah,
we released that video on the Fourth of July. I started working on that song in
the summer of 2015. For me, it’s just the state of the union. It reflects parts
of my childhood in rural East Tennessee in the 80s and 90s, and how things just
sorta stay the same, you know? I wanted it to be a snapshot of how things are
for blue collar people; folks who are just trying to live.
The album hits all the bases:
love songs of the aspirational, affirming or cheatin’ type, and even a
heart-stomping I don’t love you song, “To Tell the Truth.” They’re all pretty
sad & heavily laden with minor chords. I assume this was purposeful?
Yeah,
I uh, I feel pretty comfortable working in a minor key, and I’d say I
definitely do that more often than not. I think there’s something about the
minor keys that definitely ring a little truer…well, maybe “truer” isn’t the
right word. Maybe “profound.” I think songs in minor keys strike people more
profoundly.And as such, maybe, I
think they can give folks something a little more concrete to hold onto.
There
are plenty of good traditional songs with the 1-4-5 progression, but I think
it’s the sad ones, the ones in minor keys, that people keep going back to.
And you definitely lean
toward the sadder stuff here; granted I’m new to your body of work, but it
seems like there’s even more of an emphasis on How to Survive.
I
don’t know, I always tend to lean toward the more downtrodden, darker side.
Even on a lot of my story songs…well, there are more story songs on my last two
records, and some of them do come at you with an upbeat feel. But these are definitely from the darker
side of things.
Is this album serious empathy
across the board, or autobiographical? Maybe a little of both?
It’s
fair to say it’s a little bit of both. It’s certainly a little autobiographical. And it’s a good bit more introspective
and personal than the last two were.
Is there one
song that’s more autobiographical than any other on the album?
Oh, man. Ha. That’s a difficult question. (Lengthy
pause.)
You’re free to take a pass,
and that’s fine. But I mean, I can see several candidates. It ain’t like you
just made all this stuff up…
(Laughing)
Yeah. I know…there’s certainly some real shit in it. And some of it has to do
with stuff I promised myself I wasn’t gonna talk about in the course of
promoting this record, so…
Okay, that’s cool. And as we
move away from this question I’d just observe that there are several
songs…well, “Fireflies” is certainly inspirational and aspirational.I’m guessing there were some songs that
were hard to write. Looking at “To Tell The Truth,” I don’t think that song was
written in a vacuum. Is that fair?
Yeah.
That’s fair. That one’s got pieces of me in it, but they’ve all got pieces of
me in them…
Okay. We can
move on…
…man,
this is hard to talk about, hard to say. But I’d say the most telling one on
the album is “A Good Man.”
Structurally, you place your
bridges as points of emphasis, often in different spots. Do you have any kind
of guiding philosophy in that regard?
My
guiding philosophy, I guess, is just to be efficient. I don’t tie myself into
any formulaic songwriting. You know a lot of folks are all about verse/chorus; verse/chorus; bridge/chorus;
out. With me sometimes they fall that way, sometimes they don’t; I try not
to be superfluous…I try not to fill the time if it doesn’t need to be filled,
you know? If I’ve set up what I needed to with one verse and it’s time to get
to that poignant/conflict part of the song maybe I’ll go ahead with the bridge
right there. It just depends on what the song calls for. But yeah, I look at the bridge as really
being the heart of the song.
I’d like to switch gears for
a minute and ask you about the inspiration for some of your songs. You made a
couple references at the Atlanta gig in July; for instance, I believe “Bed
Sheets” is something of a send-up of one Conway Twitty. Expand on that a
little.
Sure.
I think “Bed Sheets” is really the only sexy-time song on this album (laughs).
And there was actually a point as I was finishing it up where I was like, “Man,
can I say this? (Laughing) Am I going
too far?”
But
I’ve always been a fan of Conway’s, and that was what I thought: “Well, shit,
here’s a man who had no qualms about taking a song into the bedroom.” And I was
coming to terms with the fact that I’m probably the same age as he was when he
was on Hee-Haw when I was watching as
a kid, you know what I mean? I told this story in Atlanta. I remember watching Conway, sweatin’ under
those stage lights with one of those skinny 1970s microphones, singin’ bedroom
songs. (Laughing) And I was old enough to realize, “Well, shit. Maybe I need to
do some of that,” you know?
Back to the Manifesto, was
writing “Port St. Lucie” a reasonable alternative to doing bodily harm to a
former drummer? Am I remembering that correctly?
Yeah,
man. One of those bands I was in, we were on the road and had van trouble in Port
St. Lucie. You know…being in a band, it’s good and it’s frustrating all at the
same time. You start bands with your buddies and…you see how far and how much
you can damage that relationship (Laughing), how much you guys can just damned hate each other.
Out of boredom?
No,
not out of boredom. You know, when you’re young, it takes you a while to figure
out that everybody has their own set of priorities and interests and
quirks…eating habits and drinking habits and everything else. And trying to get
all that to work together is sometimes a struggle, especially if you’re in a
band with a bunch of dudes.
And
not to ruin the illusion, but rock ‘n’ roll ain’t that glamorous and there’s
not much money in it. You go for a stretch of time of sleeping on couches
covered in cat hair and not making any money, and something’s gotta give. We
had that van stuck in Port St. Lucie with no shows to play, and it was about as
hot as it could get in Florida in August. And I just realized, “Man I gotta get
out of this situation before I kill this damn drummer. (Laughs) And I’m sure he
had his own thoughts on the situation, you know.
I’m glad we got a nice song
out of it, instead of tire-tool justice in Southwest Florida. You produced this
album. Was that the first time producing your own work, or anybody else’s?
No,
I’ve produced all of my albums. And recently I got to produce an album for my
buddy Jeff Shepherd and his
band the Jailhouse poets. We got them into the studio in Knoxville and it was
really cool to be able to work with them. I really enjoy it, and just like
being in the studio and want to be able to do some more of that in the future.
I see Jeff sang
backup on “Bound to Lose.”
Yeah,
he actually wrote that song with me. Jeff and I were on tour together in the
Spring of 2015. We were on our way to Florida, and damned if it didn’t snow all
over Mississippi. (Laughing)
You recently pulled up stakes
from your native East Tennessee & moved to Nashville; I think you and
Chelle Rose might have passed each other? Was that a move for convenience’s
sake?
Yeah,
Chelle and I apparently traded spots.Not really convenience, man. I’m from East Tennessee, I love it there,
and I’ve spent the last 22 years in Knoxville.But for the last five, I’ve pretty much been on the road about
ten months out of the year. Circumstances came about that enabled me to sell my
house, and once I had done that I didn’t see the need to just start over in
East Tennessee. So I just took advantage of that; Nashville’s a happening town and
there’s a lot going on there.And
it’s at least as well positioned for touring as Knoxville is.
Word has it you’ll be touring
with a full band this fall. How long has it been since you did one of those?
I’ve
been doing some band touring about twice a year. I try to take a band out on
the road during the spring and fall, and the last one was in May. I had some of
the same dudes with me I’ll be taking out this fall, and this one will be
fairly extensive; it’ll be about six weeks covering the eastern U.S.
Lightning
Round:
Have you ever
been in a joint and heard someone cover one of your songs?
I
have. I did just get word from a friend of mine who was at Adam Lee’s and Josh Morningstar’s show in Detroit last
night that Josh played one of my songs. And something that really tickled me, I
don’t know if you’re a Ween fan, but I met Dean Ween in Pennsylvania and he let
me know through social media that he had covered one of my shows at his standing
gig. So I’ve been covered by Dean Ween!
The one person in the Outlaw
Country/Alt.Country scene you’d love to work with one day?
(Pauses)
Man. I’d love to sit down and write songs with Jamey Johnson. I think he writes
really sharp songs.
An artist you’d
recommend to all your fans?
I
don’t know if you’re familiar with Sam
Lewis; he’s pretty fantastic. He was living in Knoxville when I met him,
and at that point he would have been in his really early 20s. He was writing
really sharp songs and performing them really well. I guess he’s been in
Nashville six or eight years and starting to get the recognition he deserves.
You said in an interview, with Riki Rachtman of all people, that you didn’t really like the term “outlaw country.” How would you
describe your music?
Aw,
man. I guess I’d call it Southern…American…songwriting? (Laughs) How about
“Appalachian heartbreak music?” Let’s go with that.
I love this! I’m learning new
terms all the time, and they’re all so fluid. Describe touring with Austin
Lucas.
Fantastic.
Touring with Austin was fantastic. We had been trying to get something together
for years, and we were finally able to make it work last summer. He’s just
immensely talented, and so kind and thoughtful. I had a great time with him,
and running around with Sally the dog was great, too.
The ubiquitous
Sally. Top five albums of all time regardless of genre?
Alright.
I’m glad you hit me with this earlier, because that’s a moving target. I got it
down to seven, so I’ll give you the five.
Tell you what,
then, let’s make it top seven.
Guns
‘n’ Roses, Appetite for Destruction. Randy
Travis, Storms of Life. Kris
Kristofferson, The Silver Tongued Devil
And I. Any Creedence Clearwater Revival album. (Laughs) If I only get one,
I’d go with Chronicle, a greatest
hits record with about 20 songs on it. Pearl Jam’s 10.
As I
was thinking through that list, there are a couple on there I haven’t listened
to in a while, but there are a couple others I can’t imagine being without: Two
Cow Garage’s Sweet Saint Me, and
Glossary’s Better Angels of Our Nature.
Why is How To Survive your best work?
I
think the simple answer to that is I’ve been able to apply everything I’ve
learned thus far (in my career) and apply it to this album. I think if you
release a record and you don’t think it’s the best one you’ve ever done, then
you’re not doing your job. With How to Survive,
I think because of its introspective nature, there’s something in there
that just about everybody can relate to.
Writing
love songs is not something I typically do a lot of, but there’s some of that
mixed in with all the heartbreak. What it lacks in story songs and murder
ballads, I think it more than makes up for with truth and emotion. At least I
hope that’s how people perceive it.
