When Austin Lucas made his way through Austin for his annual South by Southwest show, he was not fucking around. Playing to a capacity crowd at Austin’s legendary Continental Club, Lucas ripped through favorites spanning the totality of his records, but playing fan favorites like, “Alone in Memphis,” “Run Around,” “Go West,” and new banger “My Mother and The Devil.”
Lucas and his band smoked through the set, turning new festival-going faces into interested parties. More than once, I overheard people asking who he was, and at one point, as Lucas stood at the edge of the stage, singing to the crowd without a mic, slowly strumming his guitar, some drunk bro’s were talking too loudly, but a woman told them to can it.
There’s an interesting line between Austin Lucas and what he’s perceived to be. While most people think of him as a country singer, there’s a lot of The Clash going on in that mix. Lucas’ punk roots are shining through more than ever, which I felt was self-evident as took in the show: when the songs go off, they really go hard, and I’d have loved to see him crank that telecaster and fuzz pedal way up so when the dynamic parts hit, they dropped like atomic bombs. If there’s one thing you can say about Lucas’ it’s that he knows how to craft a punchy, yet powerful hook that again, screams punk rock rather than Waylon or Willie.
I hope in the sea of drunk festival goers, he landed a few new fans. That performance was too good to be just a “highlight,” instead it was easily one of the better shows I’d taken in all SXSW. With a tight backing band that could rip the hinges off a work truck, no reason should keep you from hitting and Austin Lucas show. He deserves to play sold out bangers every stop of the tour. His work ethic deserves payback.
Andrew Adkins has some new tunes out. If you’re in the mood for some funky, mountainous stuff with a lot of attitude, heart and soul, this dude will quench the thirst.
If there’s anything you can say about the band Cult Leader, it’s that they’re absolutely unrelenting. Without a doubt, Cult Leader is one of the best bands on the rise – the sadistic mixture is there: they’re the perfect mix of hardcore, death metal and black with a few timely gut punches of shoegaze. The songs go from pummeling Destruct-o-Matic violence to brooding marathons that span many sound types. What Cult Leader pulls off is special.
I’d been waiting to see Cult Leader, I’ve been high on them for a while now and their most recent record, A Patient Man is worth the critical praise many have given it. (I counted in my year’s best for 2018.) So, finally getting the opportunity to see them was something I was excited about and they did not disappoint. Barreling through probably one of the toughest songs I’ve heard in many moons, “I am Healed” the band worked its dark magic giving a tepid audience everything they had.
In general, Austin shows up for bands when they come to town, we appreciate good music, and the turn out was clearly positive, considering it was a sellout. Given that Cult Leader was main support for Daughters, the crowd wasn’t as invested as I’d liked. I understand it’s a move to get the band in front of a lot of newer faces who probably wouldn’t know them or their type of music, but the reaction wasn’t anywhere what the headliner got. Ideally, I’d love to see Cult Leader do a co-headliner with Nails or Gatecreeper, or hell, opening for Cannibal Corpse, but by all means, get that exposure from some new fans.
I don’t mean to say there weren’t people there just to see them, but the majority of that room was there for Daughters and Jesus Christ on a bike wouldn’t have gotten them as fired up as seeing a band they’ve missed for over a decade, so no harm, no foul. But, have no doubt that Cult Leader gave everything they had.
For forty-five minutes, we were given a lesson in what it means to see a tight band crush. No talking, no funny business, just murder. That’s precisely what you want out of a band called “Cult Leader” nothing but well-practiced savagery and boy did they give us the goods; what’s so impressive about the band is how talented they are, there’s no weak link, some dude hiding being everyone else. Every member of Cult Leader is adept at their instruments; there weren’t any points where it didn’t sound as crisp as it did on record, but every piece fit like a glove.
If you’re curious about a new metal band, something new to sink your teeth into, Cult Leader delivers. If you’re into stuff like Code Orange or Vein, you need to give Cult Leader their due. Their records are fantastic, and the live show is incredible. After a strong performance, there’s no doubt they’re one of the best bands in the genre and it’s only a matter of time before more and more people catch up.
When you’re an artist that people are willing to support, it’s a blessing. There are millions of musicians in the world, and a minimal number of them make an impact that spans generations, let alone a few fleeting moments. When people are lined up to snap a photo with you, to get a moment to shake your hand and tell you what your music means to them, you should only be so lucky. While all things are finite, few things are everlasting and in the case of Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein, otherwise known as Doyle who plays in the Misfits, he’s missed that memo.
Over the weekend The Liquid Conversations podcast dropped a new episode featuring Doyle and it was one cringe after another, showcasing just how out of touch the Herculean monster is with today’s music culture.
When asked about how people consume music in today’s market, it was clear that Doyle isn’t getting a significant slice of the Misfits pie because of his view of how music is consumed with streaming services taking up the lion's share of how someone wants to hear a track or album, “The thing that sucks the most about it is that everybody steals music,” he continued, “You spend thousands and thousands of dollars to make a record and all of these scumbags are just stealing it.”
I don’t know if Doyle understands much beyond punching at his guitar and doing crunches, because these days people want everything in one place, along with having music everywhere 24/7 is just now a part of the culture in comparison to downloading from a sketchy service like Limewire back in the early ’00s. Still, Doyle can’t exactly place his finger on how all of it works, saying, “You make nothing, it’s $9 a month [for a subscription], and you can listen to a song 10,000 times if you want.”
Again, I’m not sure if he’s making any pennies off of when “Skulls” gets a few spins considering Danzig wrote it.
Further not understanding how streaming platforms or really, the Internet as a whole work, adding, "They should really fucking police that shit. Shut the Internet down for a fucking day and fix it."
My guy, this is not a good look. I get that artists are scammed when it comes to making money via streaming services and there should be some kind of collective bargaining agreement. According to Blabbermouth’s numbers, “Songs streamed on the company's ad-supported tier last year earned $0.00014123 in mechanicals per play. This means that an artist would earn $100 in mechanical royalties after 703,581 streams. This number actually decreased from $0.00022288 in December 2016. For the premium tier, Spotify paid $0.00066481 per stream. An artist would, therefore, earn just $100 after 150,419 streams.”
That ratio isn’t fair and is a poor reflection of an artist’s worth and value. Doyle also went on to defend Metallica after going after Napster back in the day, "Lars Ulrich was right when he sued fucking Napster," he said. "And everybody thought he was a dick. He didn't do it for him. He's got the fucking money. He did it for fucking jerkoffs like me."
We’ve established the music streaming world isn’t the fairest, so because of this model, artists have had to find new ways to make money. Some offer VIP experiences, signed and exclusive merch, specialized content available only through their webstores, etc. This is just the new reality. The only platform making money right now is vinyl, which only true music lovers buy.
One thing Doyle doesn’t like is meeting his fans. It’s also clear that Doyle isn’t getting a significant payday from these multi-million dollar-earning Misfits gigs. If he’s crying about spending time with the very people who have given him a life so many musicians dream about, “And then they want more, and then you’re a dick because you’re doing a meet-and-greet for 50 fucking bucks to make up for it, which you don’t want to do. You think I want to meet all these fucking people? I don’t. When I’m done, I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
And if a fan thinks paying $50 to meet the adult who paints his face and plays two-chord songs is a little steep, “They can kiss my ass. You want to steal shit? If I was making motorcycles and they came and took one, would that be a crime? Why can’t we punish people for stealing songs? There should be a $10,000 fine for that.”
Apparently, this music on the Internet thing really chaps his well-toned ass.
It’s sad someone of his caliber and level of industry respect has to punch down to the people that worship him. The only people attending a Doyle gig are Misfits die-hards who want the chance to meet a punk icon. Do you think people are dropping the coin to meet Johnny Rotten or anyone in Danzig’s band?
The majority of that room wants a photo with Doyle, and he’s robbing them of that experience thanks to his ego. Look, man you might be tired, but all of those people who’s gotten the Crimson Ghost tattooed on their bodies, or got the shit kicked out of them by jocks in middle school but kept the faith alive are now “some asshole” thanks to your inability to stand and smile while someone shells out $50 of their hard-earned cash for 10 minutes of your time.
You’re lucky that people care and want to see you. You’re lucky you get to live amongst the lore of the Misfits and it should be celebrated, but unfortunately, you’re too busy being mad about riding in a van when your band is on the road. That’s no offense to your legacy, but by no means should the fans who come to your gigs have to suffer a subpar experience because you couldn’t manage whatever money you’ve earned while probably signing away some kind of rights over the years.
Maybe the reason you’re not packing stadiums with your solo act is that it sucks and we’re humoring you. Does that sting? It should. You owe everything to those people sweating alongside you, and by vocalizing your dislike of the culture that effectively propped you up to this “rockstar” level, it’s bullshit.
Whatever the case may be, I’ll be at the April Misfits show in Chicago, singing along. I know Danzig and Jerry are far from perfect, but you know what? They at least understand their legacy and the role they play among the people willing to spend their monthly car payment to share their music.
Slap on your leather jackets, grab that upside down cross and get ready to call up Satan from the nether realm because hitting the theaters this week in select cities is Jonas Åkerlund’s film adaptation of the book everyone in metal was talking about twenty years ago: Lords of Chaos.
The book and the subsequent film is a look at what was going on in Norway during the late 1980s and early 1990s with bands like Darkthrone, Burzum, Emperor, and most notoriously, Mayhem.
While the rest of metal was partying, writing massive solos and seeing an evolution with bands like Pantera and Sepultura rise in the states, Norway was onto something completely different: they were birthing black metal, a sub-genre bathed in extremity from the look, the sound, and the attitude. Everything was about being more controversial, more metal, more dedicated to the black arts, to the lifestyle than ever buying into anything mainstream or even ‘happy.’ The Norway black metal scene demanded bands be fast, heavy and ultimately driven by brutality and fear thanks to a culture of long black hair, fast riffs and songs never meant to be played on the radio or by anyone who didn’t get the aesthetic from top to bottom.
Mayhem stuck pig heads on sticks, while lead singer Dead huffed the scent of death thanks to some roadkill in a paper bag just before showtime. Soon, an entire genre was flourishing in Norway and these kids were at the center of the movement.
Over thirteen churches were burned, a gay man was murdered, and two of the most distinctive figures in the Oslo scene, Mayhem’s Euronymus and Burzum’s Varg Vikernes were tied in a brutal danse macabre till one of them ended up in the grave, while the other in jail.
The pace of the movie is frantic as it follows the formation and establishment of Mayhem’s presence as well as what followed, the explosion of the black metal in the Scandinavian countries, I mean the place is dark, rainy and depressing, and with a lot of trees.
To make the plot even grimmer, Dead, Mayhem’s singer committed suicide while Euronymus snapped photos of his corpse while telling the rest of his band he’d saved pieces of Dead’s skull to put on a string and wear as necklaces. The whole enchilada is insane; what those kids were doing remains the stuff of lore because it’s always felt like a movie, and ironically now is one.
With Jonas Åkerlund’s vision of the material, the shots are beautiful, with some very interesting camerawork that definitely calls on his experience as a music video director. Åkerlund was also involved in the European scene back in the day as he was Bathory’s original drummer. He’d actually knew Dead for a time, so the pedigree is there. The overall vibe of the film plays on that inherent darkness, that lack of reason, but knowing that the work being put in, even if for the sake of building something grim was for show or for a dedicated stance to remain true to some kind of metal belief system.
Lords of Chaos is less about black metal instead it is about the spoiled existence of Vikernes and Øystein Aarseth AKA Euronymus. Both came from wealthy families who helped bankroll their dark metal fantasies. Aarseth’s father helped him open a metal record shop while Vikernes’s mother paid for the original Burzum recordings. Instead of showing the bands sweating it out in the clubs, the reasoning for the corpse paint, how Emperor rose to the top of the game, despite the drummer Faust murdering a gay man as an act of self-oppression in a park after a few beers, the movie is about a push and pull of two identities.
The movie is visually beautiful. The church burning scenes are well put together, and the black metal scene did look like a lot of fun. It’s a matter of perspective on what you want out of a music biopic, because this movie is about raw emotions, not being evil in the woods.
Admittedly, there are some throwaway elements to the Lords of Chaos, Rory Culkin does an incredible job of portraying Euronymus, but ultimately the character’s unlikability makes his demise easy to swallow, despite the murder and suicide scenes in the movie being absolutely horror-flick brutal. Sky Ferreira was thrown into the film as Euronymus’ love interest but plays a paper-thin role as nothing more than a photographer willing to get naked.
If there’s anyone who takes a beating in the film, it’s Vikernes. Throughout the movie, he’s portrayed as a maniacal, ugly person that’s self-obsessed and willing to go too far in the name of metal. If the real Varg Vikernes sees the film, I’m sure his YouTube channel will be ablaze with rants considering the Neo-Nazi, legend-murdering asshole posts multiple videos a week, and sometimes on the hour. Emory Coen does an impressive job of being a believable psychopath, which with the last name “Coen” is sure to boil Vikernes blood.
The story at the heart of Lords of Chaos is something metalheads have obsessed about for decades now. Black metal is still a thriving music scene, and people across all genres of the music find the story about what was happening in Norway fascinating. There are books, documentaries and now a feature film about these kids in black leather jackets and white corpse paint. The story has become something of a cultural ownership battle: what’s the heart of the love, is it what the music means or what the lore of the scene has done to propagate the music as pure “evil?” Euronymus wasn’t an evil genius, but he was PT Barnum showman getting people to buy into the schtick of black metal, of necromancy, Satanism, and witchcraft. While his was a world of bankable fantasy, Vikernes bought the story hook, line, and sinker – making the mantra of the “black circle” as they called it his religion.
Everyone involved in the Lords of Chaos story were just kids. When Dead took his own life, he was only 22. And when Varg Vikernes murdered Euronymus, they were each 25. There’s a significant through-line of childishness and callow youth in Lords of Chaos which teeters on the absurd, but if viewed as a snapshot of the insanity that was the time is expected. While not perfect, Lords of Chaos is a piece of media that every metalhead should watch because their story is ingrained into the culture, for better or worse. The average square won’t get it, and it’ll show. So, hail Satan or not, whatever – just don’t kill someone.
Once again, someone originally from Kentucky is out there killing it. Kentucky needs it’s own country music category right now because as I keep saying, the stuff coming out of The Bluegrass State is unfuckwithable.
Despite now living in Nashville, Tiffany Williams is pure Eastern Kentucky. Plus she’s even got all of those good ole prerequisites: Williams is a coal miner's daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter.
Williams collection of songs on When You Go is a fitting tribute to her home in the Appalachian Mountains, the singer-songwriter bleeds a genuine fire that’s hard to not fall in love with because of its attention to detail, but also it’s a willingness to let the heart do the talking instead of flash.
Up in them hollers, they’re onto something special, it might be the water running through the mountains, but whatever it is, Williams belongs in the pantheon of Kentucky musicians we’re celebrating.
"I love Appalachia as I love myself," she says, "with an intimate understanding of its shortcomings and virtues, with compassion and forgiveness, and with fierce hope. It’s home and always will be, but, for me, it took moving away to write about it."
If you’ve got a need for some country that hits you in the guts with an emotional baseball bat, give Tiffany Williams a listen, the songs on When You Go wallop, but word of warning: if you’re prone to being lonesome when a chord hits just right at that dark hour of the night, you might have just met the devil howling away on six strings.
Ok kids, it’s been a minute. Blame the life of being a freelancer, and honestly, I’ve not been myself. I’ve been tired. Like, real tired lately. I don’t know if it’s getting up there in age considering I’m staring down the barrel of 40 in a few years or that I pretty write myself to death week in and week out.
So, it ain’t you, it’s me.
Let’s do a Round-up so I can clear out this here inbox because a lot of people are doing cool shit right now. So, shall we?
Saw Patrick Sweany a few weeks ago. Was hoping to interview him since he was recording in Austin, but no dice. Anyhow, the show was incredible. I’ve been wanting to see him for quite a while now and I was damned excited to get the chance. If he comes to your town, get the fuck to that venue. He’ll give you your $15 worth and then some and then some.
If you’re in my former stomping grounds of New Orleans, Margo Cilker and An American Forest will be in town the week of Feb 10-12 playing shows around town. One of which will be at Dragon’s Den. If you’ve never been, it’s easily one of the best small venues in town you can catch a good show. I’ve seen some insanity in that building.
Pickathon released its lineup and it’s nasty. If you’re in Portland, might wanna pony up some cash for this one. TBH, you might want to grab them just to see Tyler not play a stadium at this point. It seems like each time he rolls through a town the venue triples in size. He’s got TWO sold out shows at Stubb’s down here.
Anyhow, here’s the lineup:
To go deeper into the lineup, here’s Pickathon’s Spotify playlist:
Jeremy Short is headed back to the International Blues Challenge in Memphis. Short has placed as a semi-finalist in the past, but let’s hope this year he wins this shit. That dude’s record smokes, plus he’s gets something right: blues records aren’t meant to sound clean, they’re supposed to sound vintage and dirty. Short’s records keep the spirit of the music intact and if you’re need some voodoo magic from a dude who sings about chicken shacks, you’ve got your man.
Vandoliers have a new record, Forever dropping the end of Feb and it’s a mixture of the best stuff about Texas: it’s a little red dirt country, but has a Lucero punk flair to it which pleases me. What’s nice about Vandoliers is they go to places musically I wasn’t expecting. A lot of times, you can guess where the songs on a record are going to go and I was legit surprised the collection Forever had some huge hooks and even parts that reminded me of Mariachi El Bronx.
If you’re feeling that old school Appalachian style bleeding from the hollers right now, Allison De Groot & Tatiana Hargreaves have a record dropping that will satisfy the purest of country sweettooths. The duo dance around that Flatt & Scruggs banjo meets fiddle style that honestly so few can do correctly. Give it a spin, you can find it here.
Austin Terrorfest just announced its lineup. Indian and Pig Destroyer are playing. Consider me psyched.
I guess Static-X is doing a memorial tour…. without Wayne Static. The surviving members of the band are going do a massive summer thing with Devil Driver in tow. I think this is going to become the new thing for fans. I’m waiting till they do the Nirvana tour with Dave, Kirst, and Pat. So, while it seems stupid on the surface, it gives people the chance to holler along to the songs they have so many times in cars or sitting around at a party talking about how they wished they could have seen ‘that’ band.
Side note: Devildriver are going to be playing a bunch of Coal Chamber tunes. Dez keeps talking about how good they’ll sound.
Jessie Leach is taking a break from Killswitch Engage again, so is Howard Jones coming back?
A few nights ago, I stumbled into a Tom Waits night at one of our local haunts, The Volstead, down here in lovely Austin, Texas. The night as a whole was entertaining; the Volstead has a creepy lounge vibe, so the context was perfect. And for a free show, the artists who played a few songs impressed me. They all worked the Waits-ian thing of being a little oddball with their delivery, working the room for the jokes and banter lost somewhere in the shadows or cobwebs.
If any cities can pull off a Tom Waits night, Austin is definitely on the short list.
One of those singers that I immediately enjoyed was Nichole Wagner. After belting out two Tom Waits tunes with a country twang, I wanted to hear what her original music sounded like.
On Wagner’s latest record And The Sky Caught Fire, the excitement for her music is validated. The country twang is in full effect, offering a little slice of Kacey Musgraves older songs, mixed with a little bit of The Civil Wars concerning vocal approach.
And The Sky Caught Fire feels very “Austin” with its production sensibilities, but also has a slight poppy feel to it, as well. While I sincerely enjoy Wagner’s vocals and songwriting ability, I was a little underwhelmed with the backing band. Something about “The Rules of Baseball” and “Let Me Know” has a darkness that’s not on front street, but permeates the air. Because of that internal expectation, I’d like to hear what Wagner could do with a band who was sonically closer to Jason Isbell’s 400 Unit or whoever is backing Margo Price.
Music nerd gripes aside, And The Sky Caught Fire is a solid country/Americana record. The production is bright, and the craftsmanship is there. If you’re looking for something that you could throw on while cooking dinner, this has that sensibility, which having a few good dinner records is never a bad thing. For a first record, this is a fine place to start kicking. At a slim 35 minutes, Wagner packs in a lot of punch in just a short amount of time.
If you’re down here in Texas, I’d suggest giving Nichole Wagner a shot out in the clubs. She handled those Tom Waits songs with velvet gloves and made them her own, which was transfixing. I’m definitely going to catch her live because I have a suspicion she’s capable of throwing fire when it’s her songs we’re listening to.
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And the Sky Caught Fire is available on Bandcamp, Amazon, Spotify, etc.
Last week Lucero made their network television debut after 20 years, performing a few tracks off their newest record, Among The Ghosts on CBS This Morning. Finally, the squares of America got a front row view for one of the best bands in America giving it living rooms across the country ...straight, no chaser. The band who was once our dirty little secret is getting bigger and bigger, and it only took two decades for it to happen.
With that performance, the band deserves those much sought after spots on the late night stages of Jimmy Kimmel and Stephen Colbert. All of these hackneyed bands who release a record and get dropped are pushed onto those stages thanks to a healthy PR machine and backroom deals, all the while, the best dudes from Memphis have been slowly but surely building the brand to epic proportions.
But also this got me thinking: Lucero deserves a shot at an Austin City Limits taping.
The band has roared through Austin for two decades, and they’ve grown from a band played a half-filled Emo’s back Red River to a band headlining Stubb’s, which is considered one of the biggest and hardest to fill rock and roll venue’s in town. There aren't many venues in Austin that the band hasn't played at this point.
Lucero deserves their shot at the true music diehards in America; they’ve played the Moody Theater (I was there), but it wasn’t that much-lauded taping, that moment that completely changes the way people view a band.
A lot of good bands will never receive any significant music awards, but if there’s a little nod to their credibility, it’s getting an ACL taping. Lucero deserves that respect. They’ve always shown up in Austin, and have always given it all they had, and in turn, this city adores them.
One of the best things about Lucero is their willingness to play every town all of the other bands skip over. They'll play a smaller venue in Alabama or even fly up to Alaska. That's what a working-class band does for their fans, and in turn, we should do something for them. Lucero deserves to be placed in the files alongside Willie Nelson, Sturgill Simpson, Jack White, Tom Waits, Asleep At The Wheel, and Dale Watson.
I don’t know if we start tagging the ACL people in Tweets, or start one of those petitions, but let’s try to do something to get those dudes a taping.
Nine times out of ten, I hate Christmas music. Outside of “Blue Christmas” and “The Fairytale of New York,” by the Pogues, which makes me homesick for the dive bars in Chicago filled with Irish folks chatting over shots of Jameson and cold bottles of Miller, I am most definitely not a fan of the genre.
I want to stab my ears out when I hear “All I want for Christmas is You” and every year, they pull Mariah Carey out of her crypt and she gets up there and smiles knowing how much cash she’s about to make for the month.
On JD Mcpherson’s new Christmas record, Socks, I don’t feel that mind-numbing hatred, but in fact, I absolutely love it.
Instead of hokey tunes that feel like you’re trapped in mall-flavored hell, Socks is a refreshing take on a stale genre. I get it, tons of bands, artists, and labels love to cash in at Christmas because fans eat the genre up, but Socks doesn’t come off that way. Instead, it feels like one of McPherson’s records, just done up in red and green lights and tinsel.
What’s cool about Socks is that it’s very much in the spirit of McPherson’s first record, Signs and Signifiers, where the songs feel like they’re straight out of the Little Richard songbook. Nothing on Socks feels like it was written as a throwaway, but instead, he could play them in the middle of June with the same sense of excitement. These are straight up old school-minded rockabilly tunes that well-written and boy do they swing. The vibe is playful and there’s a swing of the hammer that just doesn’t quit.
“All The Gifts I Need,”, “Hey Skinny Santa,”, “Socks,” and “Santa’s Got a Mean Machine,”, all of these songs are total sock hop dancers that you can’t do anything but bounce around to. Socks is the perfect Christmas party record, its loud, fun, and never gets lame.
Basically, let me put it this way: if you can’t put Socks on the turntable or wireless speaker while cooking dinner and not want to do the twist in your socks, you’re a monster. Get out and buy a copy before everyone else finds out about the record, you jolly Santa-themed maverick, you.
What’s popping in the world of music lately, kids? It’s the holidays, so music news is slow, but here’s what I’ve got.
Let’s get to it.
RIP to the late, great Roy Clark. I remember watching a whole lot of him on Hee-Haw as a kid. Definitely a loss for country music.
Kacey Musgraves won Album of The Year at the CMA’s, which is fucking amazing. I know Chris Stapleton released a banger, but Kacey deserved every inch of that win. She’s not playing the CMA game and has continually done her own thing with a refusal to be a Nashville commodity. So big ups to Texas’ best.
Since High on Fire isn’t on their tour, they’re writing new music, so that’s a good use of their time. There’s never enough Matt Pike jams in the world, toe or not.
Dude from All That Remains was potentially murdered. Talk about a plot twist.
Metallica donated $100K to help California battle the wildfires. Karma points right there, dudes.
If there was an award for burnout, I think I’d be at least in strong contention to win Burner of The Year. I’ve been writing a lot of stuff lately, and there’s no end in sight.
I typically work on the weekends, playing catch up on writing I owe, but this weekend, I’m seeing Joshua Hedley AND Lucero. I will likely need an IV by Sunday. (No one sees Lucero sober.)
Pray for me.
This past weekend was the Texas Book Fair, and in my adventures visiting my friends @ Clash Books, I stumbled on Why The Ramones Matter, and I’m psyched on this book. It’s a collection of stories, anecdotes, and observations on why our world is still impacted by these four guys from Queens who were all taken way too soon.
Todd Burge, singer-songwriter dude from West Virginia has two records dropping at the same time, with each being recorded 32 years apart. The earlier of the two is straight up garage rock in the style of the Stooges, while the newer record is stripped down Americana ballads. I’m a first record kinda guy, but both are easily able to stoke a fire for plenty of Y'all.
Slipknot has a new song called “All Out Life” which sounds A LOT like their first record.
High on Fire canceled their US tour because Matt Pike lost his big toe. Is it me or does this make him way more metal?
The Red Hot Chili Peppers played a few tunes at Chad Smith’s kid’s high school on Halloween, but it prompts me to ask a more significant, more depressing question: do these kids even know who the Chili Peppers are?
Kids today like music that sounds like Pepsi commercials made by shitheads with face tattoos. I’m no Chili Peppers fan, but I wonder if they primarily played for all of the middle-aged teachers like me vs. the demographic who buys those $40 tee shirts.
Converge mastermind Kurt Ballou offered gives a tour of his God City Studio aka the place where all of the best records are made.
Ashrr is a David Bowie meets Stranger Things theme song band that’s pretty sweet if you’re into dark synth-y stuff. NPR’s All Songs Considered even featured it.
Seriously, while Texas and Tennessee get the love for being hotbeds of country music, what the hell dances in the water down in Kentucky?
Senora May is yet another artist who’s redefining what it sounds like to rise up from the bluegrass state and does so with such a charismatic, unique flair.
On Lainhart, May doesn’t channel the requisite names we’re all used to hearing from everyone’s favorite slice of Appalachia, but instead, May is an impressive mixture that’s a little bit of Lucinda Williams, but a metric ton of John Prine. I’d also be remiss to say given the razor-sharp observations to the record’s lyrics on songs like "California King," I sense a non-linear influence by Kathleen Hannah at some point.
The songs on Lainhart aren’t straight ahead country bangers, but instead this collection feels like an off-kilter exorcism that’s not as dark as expected down in the bible belt, but instead, feels like a calling back to something missing, a moment in a time, or maybe a feeling that’s imprinted on her bones.
Being her first record, Lainhart is an impressive effort, with many nods to May’s rural upbringing, and without the cheese, many country singers rely on for some dopey sense of “authenticity” but instead, tracks like “Elusive” or “Gone From The Mountain” feel genuine.
May’s music doesn’t feel like it was written by a hardened road dog, but instead like we’re getting a sheltered peak behind the pine curtain off into the hollers, which makes it feel like an old ghost. And that's a damn fine way to be.
If you’re looking to fill that emotionally charged void left by waiting for new stuff by Tyler Childers, Chelsea Nolan’s debut e.p. Chelsea is an excellent place to start. On Chelsea, Nolan taps into a slow and steady dive bar tempo that’s the soundtrack down here in my fair city of Austin, Texas. The tunes are in the same vein of Childer’s Purgatory, and I’d be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t appreciate how Nolan channels an electric mix of Lucinda Williams’ growl, but also some Janis Joplin heartache and howls, too.
“Rock Bottom” doesn’t feel trite, or without its moments of chaos, instead, it’s raw and powerful. The song is country, but it’s got a rock and roll heart. There’s something about eastern Kentucky, these folks have a sense of rhythm that’s different than the rest of the country, the sound is becoming instantly recognizable, and on tracks like “Green Bridges” and “Sugar Holler”, Nolan is almost textbook in how to do the sound correctly.
Dan Conn is another Kentuckian, but unlike Chelsea Nolan, Conn’s sound is a little more subdued, less “Kentucky.” The vibe on his new record, Shine On, Conn’s approach is decidedly less honky-tonk and more bar room bummer.
If you’re looking for a driving record or something to throw on while you throw a few back, Shine On hits the mark. The standout tracks on the album are “The Pistol”, “Southern Accent”, and “Green Eyed Gal”, all which are 100% pure no bullshit country music, the exact stuff you shove in someone’s face when they ask you about pop country vs. the good stuff; that’s what Dan Conn is for. Give em’ Shine On to suck on.
There are a few clear indicators of artists like Wilco, The Jayhawks, and Tom Petty threaded throughout Shine On, and the more spins I give it, the more it proves to be something that could find its way into your favorite dive bar jukebox.
I dunno about you, but dive bar jukeboxes are the holy grail of cool, so that’s some pretty good damn company. Dan Conn can write a sad bastard song for the ages.
You can pre-order Shine On (due Nov. 30) here: https://www.danconnmusic.com/store
What’s good with your life? The kids ok? Your mother in law still bugging you? She’ll get over it. They all do. We’ve all got some stuff to get through, and sometimes blasting some jammers is the only thing keeping you sane, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.
First up is, ho-lee crap did you see the videos of the dude from Deer Tick fronting Nirvana? That was awesome. Look, he ain’t Kurt. No one is Kurt Cobain, ok? But, that said, he did a fantastic job capturing the presence of an icon via “Scentless Apprentice” and “Serve The Servants”, which some dickhead audiophile blog referred to as “deep cuts.”
I guess if you only know “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, those are deep cuts, but to anyone who actually likes Nirvana, those are as well known as anything. Joan Jett did a few tunes with the dudes, too, but ultimately they didn’t have the oomph that John Macaulay had. Either way, I’d cut off a hand to see anyone play Nirvana songs and give me a chance to holler at the top of my lungs. Do it for the kids, Krist and Dave. I’d say cash in, but neither of you needs the money, so do it for us.
The American Music Awards happened and Migos, some mumble rap bullshit won for best pop/rock group. So, that’s where we are on the national landscape, huh? Corey Taylor, a man of many opinions dropped his .02 about the subject, and ultimately, I agree: you can’t sell Pepsi to rock and metal. We’re too dangerous, and you know what? When Migos is winning awards meant for rock and roll, all I can say is 'good.' Let the music fester in the clubs, and when the next wave comes, hopefully, the music business is even deeper in the lurch.
Vision of Disorder is doing a show in Brooklyn, and I’m mad I can’t go.
Speaking of former band dudes doing classic tracks, Philip Anselmo and The Illegals are randomly ripping out Pantera tunes along the tour, and damn, they sound scary good. They should consider doing a “night of Pantera” or something of the like because that band is as tight as Pantera circa Far Beyond Driven.
I’m seeing Paul McCartney Friday night. I’d write the show up, but really, do you think it’s going to suck? Extremely doubtful. I’ll save you the trouble with a prediction: it was awesome.
If there was ever a human who’s been written about ad-nauseam, it’s Paul McCartney. His life story has been told over and over, his every note has been picked apart, his lyrics have inspired college courses, and psychologists alike. He will remain immortal while the rest of us fade into the ether.
What do you write about when a guy has been obsessed over so much? I’m not new to the Beatles game (one of my son’s middle names is Lennon). I’ve been a die-hard for as long as I can remember, and while John has some of the best stand-alone Beatles tracks, and the best Beatles song ever, in “Day In The Life,” Paul pound for pound had more songs that were better.
But, once the Beatles broke up, Paul was left to his own devices; he had to make a career in the ashes of his former band. A band that wasn’t just big, but the band that literally changed the world. That’s a heavy burden to bear for any of the now former Beatles. Suddenly, this dude who wanted to write spinning epics, and operas, but also quirky barbershop tunes was out of his dynamic – he’d started playing within what would become the Beatles at 15 with John Lennon.
What Paul McCartney came up with was light years better than any of the garbage John cranked out. Sorry, while John Lennon gets this cultural pass as this too cool for school autre, it was McCartney writing the solid records. Plastic Ono Band has, maybe a handful of solid tracks, while McCartney has cuts that rival any of the Beatles best work.
Listen to those first two McCartney records, they pre-date a lot Jack White and Dan Auerbach's DNA. Those early solo records were created with one vision, a lot of elbow grease and hustle. There's an elemental funk there, a lapse of polish, which makes them all the more appealing today. McCartney showed loud and clear that the soul of the Beatles wasn't just John and his beard.
I wasn’t always high on Paul McCartney’s solo stuff. Honestly, I find a lot of his solo stuff corny. “Silly Love Songs,” “Lovely Linda,” “Wonderful Christmastime” – I hate all of them with the fire of a thousand suns. “That Would Be Something” is pure Beatles. In fact, those two first McCartney records feature a lot of tracks that reach far past his former bandmates, with no disrespect to George Harrison, because All Things Must Pass is a stellar record.
But, it was an unlikely source that turned me onto Paul McCartney’s solo tunes: Howard Stern. Because I’m a regular Stern listener, I get to hear Howard rant and rave about all kinds of things I love, explicitly explaining how much country music, vinyl, and Halloween suck. But one thing Howard did turn me onto is how much Paul McCartney’s solo stuff is vastly underrated.
Once while lecturing joke writer, and continuously homeless Benjy Bronk, Stern played McCartney’s “Too Many People” a song written about John Lennon and applied to Bronk’s tardiness and taking advantage of the system in place, considering the high pay and three day work week.
It was after hearing that track and then digging deeper into RAM and McCartney that I’d realized I’d not given Paul his proper due. While, I’m not a massive Band on The Run fan, “Let Me Roll It” could be used in any lonely bar scene in a Tarantino flick. That’s an all-time banger, rivaling anything on Let It Be.
I appreciate that Howard is relentless in his adoration of McCartney’s music, it was sweet listening to him interview Paul recently because it was from such a genuine place of love and respect, he also tried to do the same with former Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant, but Plant was a condescending asshole the whole time.
McCartney, on the other hand, did his best at navigating those waters of Beatles, and personal life talks that he’s done for so long, and with so much class. Paul McCartney knows his place in the history books, but still maintains an aura of cool. Plus, the dude did kill it with a cigar box guitar playing with the surviving members of Nirvana.
I think as Paul McCartney gets older, it’s crucial for us to reflect upon his post-Beatles career with different eyes. He’s one of the last living legends of that era still kicking, and doing it well. I’ve grown to love a lot of his solo stuff, and for that, I have to thank the guy who played FartMan.
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Paul's latest album is Egypt Station and is available at Amazon and everywhere else.
Today, I have had a stellar day. Rarely do my days kick major ass, but today, my Vans slip-on connected with just enough of the world’s cheek. So, because of that, I’m in a good mood. Why did I have such a good day?
A. I got tickets for the Misfits in Chicago. I’m a mega fanboy with a Crimson Ghost tattoo as most aging punk rockers do, and I am beyond thrilled to finally scream my lungs out to “Hybrid Moments” up close and personal.
B. I acquired a family heirloom: my grandmother’s 1951 Rockola jukebox that’s been fully restored. It’s as cool as you imagine it is. I lost my grandma to cancer at age 54 in 1996, so seeing the little tags for the songs in her handwriting, and knowing that she picked all of the vinyl blows my mind. Us music geeks love this stuff.
C. Got a new puppy. Her name is Mia Wallace, and she’s cute as fuck.
As for the usual, let’s get into it.
Martha Spencer has a new S/T record dropping. The tracks are backwoods, traditionalist country that you’d expect from a gal that hails from deep in Appalachia. It’s campy and fun, and worth checking out. Spencer has a vibe similar to the Carter Family. I dove into some of her projects, and she’s most definitely a product of a different era. She can play a wide variety of instruments, sing, and probably do 56 other things, too. Give her a spin if you’re looking for some honky tonkin’ tunes that are 100% stuff to get your two-step on, on a funky Friday night.
Wayne Graham has a newish record, Joy out, and it’s got all of the feels. If you’re a Ryan Adams or My Morning Jacket kind of person, this is right up your audio alley. The tunes on Joy feel like they’re from a mid-90’s obscure alt-country act, and that suits me just fine. The world needs more records that don’t feel like they’ve dabbled in a little too much Radiohead but instead stick to a few solid tunes that kick you straight in the ass.
If that description appeals to you, then you’ll eat this up, Joy is a collection of head bobbers that feel like they were the background music in a road movie where some guy screams alone in the rain after his girlfriend betrays him.
In live show news, if you get the chance to catch Social Distortion on this tour – DO IT. The boys are out on the road, and killing cities left and right. My man in New Orleans said they smoked tonight, and last week in Austin, they were relentless. If you’re a deep cut, hardcore Social Distortion geek like I am, you’ll be enthralled. No S/T songs.
Instead of “Ball and Chain” or “Story of My Life,” you’ll get “Don’t Drag Me Down,” “Don’t Take Me For Granted,” “Angel’s Wings,” and are opening with “Reach For The Sky.” If that doesn’t set a tone, what does? Also, they’re playing a few new tunes, and “Born to Kill” is a smoker that rivals anything off “White Heat”, which is easily their heaviest record.
Tom Waits has a new song. It sounds like Tom Waits. I love it because I love depressing music.
It’s time for The Rodeo, and as Marc Maron would say, “LOCK THE GATES!”
I was drinking in one of my favorite watering holes down here in lovely, Austin, The Crow Bar when I heard these dudes talking about their band. I had to stick my nose in their business. Forebode is a local outfit that’s a hearty mixture of bands like Iron Monkey, EyeHateGod, and probably a little High on Fire for some added spice.
Give these dudes a listen. They just dropped a demo that’s super raw and gives off an old school black metal vibe with it’s recording quality, but honestly, it makes the approach that much more endearing.
Somehow, in my random internet adventures, I stumbled across Author and Punisher, and my god it. This stuff is HEAVY. If you’ve got a soft spot for mega heavy, machine-driven industrial/one-man metal, give this dude a listen. I stumbled on a video from Noisey that showed how this dude creates his own ways to make sounds meaner and heavier, and down the rabbit hole, I went. Check that video out here, and check out his new song here. If you’re looking for something that sounds like a Terminator battle scene, complete with bodies crawling out of the twisted wreckage, this is most definitely your jam.
Another “holy crap this is heavy” track I managed to discover is Anaal Nathrakh’s "Forward! – I have no idea how to pronounce their name, but this song makes me want to destroy everything. I can’t listen to this song in the car, because honestly if it pumped me up any more, I’d be on the evening news for pulling someone out of their vehicle and pummeling them for no reason other than the riff compelling me. These dudes are everything Fear Factory ever wanted to be around the Demanufacture and Soul of A New Machine era. Not Obsolete, though. That record sucked.
If you’re an Iron Maiden kind of person, I recently found Bruce Dickinson's demo tape that got him the gig. I don’t like Iron Maiden aside from a few tunes when I’m drunk (they’re too happy for me), but this is a neat little nugget I stumbled across.
And now for some stuff that’s not metal or heavy as a fat pair of butt cheeks:
Ole’ WB Walker AKA the dude that should be on Sirius Outlaw Country has some “Well Hell” patches for sale. I bought one and didn’t even try to score one for free because I’m a good friend. If you’re not listening to The Old Soul Radio Show, you’re missing out on the best country/Americana podcast in the game.
If you’re a Spotify user, I just discovered this rad playlist – it’s called Southern Gothic, and it’s got all of the good dark shit that sounds like the scene where the down on his luck boxer drinks his beer alone in a dive and then drives his truck to his empty house. Which is exactly my speed.
Since Paul McCartney has been promoting his new record, and all over every podcast and significant show, I dove down into his catalog, and man, those first two McCartney records SMOKE.
I’m a diehard Beatles fan, and I’ve been on the McCartney solo train as he’s my favorite Beatle, but when you sit down and really give RAM and McCartney a listen, they’re fantastic. That dude recorded both records by himself – every instrument. What he did 47 years ago sounds like the indie stuff a lot of kids are putting out today.
It takes a lot of time, patience, and mistakes to realize who you are as a man. From the way we get knocked down, to what we do next when the dust settles, all of those moments matter, they say something about us, what stock we’re built from.
Throughout Shooter Jennings career, he’s made it a point always to turn left when his peers go right, to duck and dodge, when everyone else is out there trying to sing a little ditty to sell a few Dodges. He’s a man you cannot put a label on, because the minute you try, he’ll outwit you and drop a surprise you never saw coming.
On his latest record, Shooter, Jennings has done it again. He’s made the album no one expected, except this time, some ghosts are lingering of a different variety. Shooter isn’t a record Jennings could have made when I first met him almost ten years ago, instead, that Shooter Jennings was channeling his inner Trent Reznor, he was finding new and beautiful ways to fuck with anyone who thought they knew him.
On Black Ribbons, Shooter Jennings wrote a concept record that has flashes of brilliance that hit harder today than we could have foreseen at the time. The fact that that album lies dormant in a lot of rock and roll minds is a crime, but hopefully, history will be on Jennings side, and he’ll get the credit he deserves.
Following that record, Jennings stayed close to country, writing records like Family Man or The Other Life, which are strong genre records, but they still had a flavor of angst, a shadowy, “can I crank up the gain a little here”, or “can I try this concept on them” there. Straight ahead country records, they were not. While solid, that era of Jennings career wasn’t his most pure; it was a time of growth and personal observation, which in the greater catalog, we can see the direct impact of.
On Shooter though, everything feels different. There’s no way, the guy who wrote Black Ribbons could have sat down and written “Born to Git Down” – Shooter is a portrait into a man who’s come to terms with his abilities, goals, and what he’s after. You can’t write a bunch of feel-good tunes that go hard with the beers, without a sense of purpose, and humility, otherwise, it comes off contrived and douchey, AKA most of the garbage pop country radio pedals.
Collectively, Shooter is Jennings best record. It’s fun, it’s loud, and it’s carefree. There’s elements of boogie-woogie, Motown, pure rock and roll, and a lot of heart. “Do You Love Texas” should be a new Lone Star anthem given it’s unabashed, bold, and in your face, which are all things Texans love. My new hobby is to pull the song up on a TouchTunes jukebox, and then watch people walk up to see the track, and immediately put it on their phones.
“Denim & Diamonds” calls back to Hank Jr’s “Outlaw Woman” a solid beer tune, good for the dark bar, and those drinks you have alone when the day’s been just a little too long for small talk.
I appreciate and applaud Shooter Jennings for reaching inside of himself and owning his legacy and his past. I hope the world around him, and the country radio program managers take a risk and add a few of the tunes off Shooter, if anything, as an effort to save their souls, because Shooter is fun, it’s reckless, and it’s pure country music that is without false pretense. If you can’t kick up your heels to “D.R.U.N.K,” you need to take those boots right off the dance floor, mate.
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Shooter is available everywhere you ingest fine music.
