Category: Country-influenced Rock


Cameron McGill Is a Beast strongly recalls U2’s rock ‘n’ roll Americana travelogue Rattle and Hum.

Now I realize that Rattle and Hum is widely panned, the album from the film project being relegated to the backstacks while other U2 albums take a much a more prominent place in musical history. While conceding on this point, I still refuse to dismiss Rattle and Hum as an album jaunt through folk rock, soul, blues, Gospel, and American rock. It may come off as disjointed or overwrought to some, but I find it a magical space summed up in the image from the movie where the band sits on a hill overlooking an American interstate, sliding down the grass in a playful gesture even as they hint at the darkness around their love story for America. Rattle and Hum comes off as an over-celebration of all things American if one ignores the underbelly of the beast on “Helter Skelter,” “God Part II,” and “Bullet the Blue Sky.” Love may come to town, and the angel of Harlem may sing, but this diverse album circles around the band’s right to disbelieve the American dream.

McGill and What Army’s album begins squarely in the Rattle and Hum vein. Listen to the Americana touches that dust up the edges of the rock ‘n’ roll of “Houdini,” even as McGill channels Bono’s urgent wail. With “I Don’t Believe In Magic (But All My Friends Just Disappeared),” we could be in Sun Studios with Memphis horns playing those backup doo-wops. “Dead Rose” brings out the anthemic U2 growling from the dark, “second guess the American Dream” moments of “God Part II” or the revisiting of “Helter Skelter” and “All Along the Watchtower.”

Elsewhere, the U2 comparison falls apart as McGill returns to the Country-influenced rock I first came to know him by when he opened for Tift Merritt. Things lilt along on “Let’s Make Dinosaurs Extinct.” “The Road to Hell is Paved with Adverbs” brings out some of that Memphis 50’s rock even while having much in common with Andy Friedman. “My Demons are Organized” brings out a Charlatans UK-like English rock that’s got a bluesy core.

Yet, like Rattle and Hum, Is a Beast is a varied tour, never to be pigeon-holed while trying to reflect the great vastness of a manifest dream. Channeling Bono singing in the style of Marc Broussard, the soulful, string-filled ballad “Michelangelo’s Blue Period” grows intensely as the blue lights fill the room, hushes the crowd, and makes us ponder our souls. Like the Edge’s haunting “Van Diemen’s Land,” “Sad Ambassador” stands back to reflect on the world passing on the “streets of America.”

Cameron McGill

Like a graduate seminar in songwriting, Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt discussed music interspersed with song. Like two friends on “this old porch,” Lovett and Hiatt told stories, poked fun at each other, and lent encouragement (and sometimes harmonies) to one another. The intimate, acoustic evening at St. Louis’ Fox Theatre saw the two artists showing their humility even while delivering some of the finest country-folk song ever written.

Trading off song throughout the night, both Lovett’s and Hiatt’s stripped back versions revealed the center of the song. While Lovett’s lacked the full band, jazzy lilt or the Country Western swing, they often took on a more deeply blues feel, especially on “Natural Forces” and “Her First Mistake.” In fact, the latter had a Greg Brown feel to it, another artist who would make a fine addition to this seminar panel of sorts. Taking up an old blues song, Lovett played a mean bluesy guitar even while giving the lyric his unique country feel.

Hiatt may not have been augmented by a band, but that didn’t rob his songs of their rocking power. Confessing that he had smashed a guitar once, “Perfectly Good Guitar” jammed, flaired out with harmonica. Picking up an old tune, “Riding with the King” had a bluesy, bluesy swagger. Towards the end of the set, Hiatt sent out “Have a Little Faith in Me” to the people of nearby Joplin, Missouri, still rebuilding from the tornado that hit the town.

Throughout the evening, there was something spiritual hearing these tales from Lovett and Hiatt—their songs and stories. There was something spiritual going on as they plied the waters of heart and soul. As Hiatt confessed that he had smashed a guitar before, and Lovett commented on this moment of confession, Lovett turned to his next song, “Private Conversation,” the opposite of confession. With Hiatt playing some extra guitar strains, “Private Conversation” rings with that deep desire to bare our soul because of the burden of what we know about ourselves. Then there was “L.A. County,” a wonderful Lovett tune about murder, a song described by Hiatt as being part of the folk tradition of taking “a jaunty tune with a god awful story.”

Another spiritual moment that I noticed in the evening came on one of John Hiatt’s songs, “Open Road,” whose chorus says:

The open road where the hopeless come
To see if hope still runs
One by one they bring their broke down loads
And leave ‘em where the hobo dreams are stowed
Out on the open road
.

“The hopeless come to see if hope still runs.” That’s a beautiful way of putting our spiritual search, looking for a place where “hope still runs.” We come broken down by what we experience in this life, and we’re looking for what could lead us out of our dead ends. We might look to the open road—cars, highways, travels—but the truth is, we’ll find it on the open road of Christ, the way of Jesus. That’s where hope still runs.

Lyle Lovett
John Hiatt

I once proposed a book based on Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois that would be a travelogue of sorts, reflecting on each song on location for each geographic entry on that album. The book proposal was rejected, but someday I’m going to trace that musicalogue.

Meanwhile, I’ve got another book proposal: reflect on My Cousin, The Emperor’s The Subway EPs while riding the New York City subway. Hailing from Brooklyn, and playing an urban-influenced bluegrass, My Cousin, The Emperor’s two EPs on one disc (Vol. I: Prospect Park West and Vol. II: Brooklyn-Lafayette) sounds like music for country drives through rolling farmland or Appalachian foothills. Yet, I expect that the incongruity of bluegrass and subway tunnels would heighten the imagination for people watching, the melancholy for having your own soundtrack, and the wanderlust for exploring the city even while thinking of the continent’s grand canvas.

I haven’t been to New York City for more 20 years, but here are some guesses on where I’d listen to these songs while making my way around the city. Things begin on Vol. I with “Burly, Old Couch” recalling the lazy, easy chair feel of Dylan’s “You Ain’t Going Nowhere.” I’d have stepped off the subway into some little neighborhood with a thrift furniture store, find a plaid couch, and enjoy a living room moment in the middle of the dusty, musty showroom floor.

Singing of Tennessee while “I took a trip to Utah,” “Southern Nights” might be best played while standing in Grand Central Station, watching the departure screens, and dreaming of places your heart yearns for—even as the country-picking and sliding guitars call you aboard.

Vol. II starts off on a bluesy note with “Down N Out,” perhaps being the soundtrack for sitting on the steps of a subway station, foot-tapping to the organ and electric guitar charms, even as you realize you’re kind of in the way of the crowds but knowing you don’t really care because you’re in the zone of the music and mood.

“Nothing Left for Us to Find” charges forward like a country-influenced rocker, sending you down that subway platform, heading for the nightclub where you’re sure to find live music, and knowing you’re only a few stops away from reeling around that dancefloor. Meanwhile, you’re sure to attract some attention as you play air guitar while waiting for the train to arrive.

The flourish of acoustic and electric guitars that greets you on “Goodbye” wake you up the next morning to run around Central Park. I don’t mean put on your running shoes and shorts. I mean, you’re on a walk, toting your bookbag, but suddenly, joyously, you find yourself running around fountains with a childish grin on your face. It might be a break up song, but it’s a “glad to be free,” “throw caution to the wind,” run around the park like a fool kind of rush.

Once this book proposal goes through (and why wouldn’t it?), I’ll have to firm up those locations, but for now, step onto the subway with My Cousin, The Emperor, experience the musicalogue, and find that urban air that’s graced with bluegrass and country.

My Cousin, The Emperor

The Black mention “listening to Leonard Cohen on the AM band” on their song, “Now I Am Here,” but that’s like looking at a mirror inside of a mirror because the album is like listening to the Black on the AM band. Sun in the Day Moon at Night is a trip back to early rock ‘n’ roll from the red dust clouds outside a studio in Texas where Buddy Holly was holed up with the boys. “Freeway (Exiled)” rocks on with a backbeat, Brylcreem guitar, and a black Chevy hotrod attitude. “Death’s Bell” has that honky tonk rock that has long been picked up by AltCountry acts like the Old 97’s. Then there’s the 60’s Dylan harmonica on the plaintive “Throwing Away.” All in all, it’s a nice blend of 50’s and 60’s rock hopping down the tracks of the 10’s.

The Black

Three-Chord Lectionary is a series of posts that connect songs with readings from Scripture, seeing how music can send us to the music of the Bible.

Junip’s “Howl” on their 2010 release, Fields, train tracks right up to some of the world’s biggest questions about who God is and whether we can believe what we’re told about Him. On the back of a rhythm that gets into your bloodstream, the song is peppered with just the right amount of extra percussion to make the folk-rock hit a bluesy, African groove. And it’s peppered with just enough spiritual questions to make you wonder where you really stand on faith questions.

If you weren’t told about any divinity,
If someone showed you our fallibilities,
If you weren’t told about the trinity,
Would you still know what in the world created all this?

Wouldn’t you
like to figure out
what’s pulling the strings?

Those questions send me back to the rhythms of Psalm 89 which sings of “the Lord’s love forever.” But it’s a psalm that also asks the questions: “Who is like the Lord among the heavenly beings?” and “O Lord God Almighty, who is like you?” The implied answer is no one, no one is like the Lord.

Junip’s song may beg to differ, stepping up in Jose Gonzalez’s mysterious voice and asking whether there could be more answers out there. It’s a good thing to wonder, “Wouldn’t you like to figure out what’s making us howl?” It’s a good thing to wonder, but everything in me has always led me back to God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Psalm 89 rejoices in God who “created all this,” which means that “with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations.”

Yet, that’s not to say I don’t appreciate the wondering of “Howl.” I deeply appreciate the spiritual seeking going on. I deeply value the rhythms of a song that can penetrate past the surface level and seek meaning at the core. Which is probably why a song that may imply a lack of faith sends me back to a statement of faith like Psalm 89. The psalms in the Bible are rhythms for getting to the core and seeing how God penetrate the surface of our lives. The psalms ask the big questions, stepping up in the mysterious voice of David and asking whether there could be more answers out there. Again, the implied answer is no; there is only one God. But that doesn’t mean the psalm dismiss the seeking, the searching, or the wondering. Which is why I don’t dismiss the seeking of “Howl,” but rather take it as it train tracks right to my soul and brings me to Psalm 89.

Junip
Mute Records

The Music Spectrum Notebook Series digs into my handwritten notes and reviews on older releases still getting my attention as 2010 comes to a close.

With a voice that’s a combination of Lou Reed and David Wilcox—with a little John Gorka, too, Howe Gelb leads Giant Sand on 2010’s Blurry Blue Mountain. Percussion keeps a pulse going even as Gelb speak-sings in subdued fashion on the opener “Fields of Green.” Piano gives a jazzy lilt to the mumbling “Chunk of Coal.” Later in the disc, Giant Sand shake off the dust and lay down a J.J. Cale-like “Brand New Swamp Thing”—sounding exactly like a song with such a title. “Thin Line Man” growls with a Southern Rock garage passion.

Blurry Blue Mountain doesn’t work at every click of every track. For instance, first impressions of “Spell Bound” made it sound like filler, but the bluesy guitar kind of draws you in and the song grows on you.

Giant Sand
Fire Records

The Music Spectrum Notebook Series digs into my handwritten notes and reviews on older releases still getting my attention as 2010 comes to a close.

Back in June, I saw Delta Spirit and the Romany Rye at the Firebird in St. Louis. I never got the review written, but now as 2010 closes, I dug out my notes and figured I’d share some thoughts about what turned out to be a great night of music.

Delta Spirit
Delta Spirit opened with “Bushwick Blues” where they can take a Dylanesque intro into an electrified smasher way beyond when Dylan went electric while Jakob Dylan’s Wallflowers show up with a harder-edged keyboard sound. They can then bring on an AltCountry march, while at other times, some Southern rock shows up in the way a blues rock invades the country stomp. Then there’s also some soul country before you end up in an AltCountry that comes from an ethereal place where extra percussion sends it into another stratosphere for a jam down drum circle. That jam was also augmented by a Crash Kings-like piano. In my notes, I kept writing Dylanesque, but it went in so many different directions. One time that Dylanesque folk thing led to a fever pitch thrash mess; another time it went towards a Spanish guitar thrash. Finally, a punk barndance might have been ready to break out, and the whole night ended with some good ol’ pogoing country thrash.

The Romany Rye
The Romany Rye opened the evening with the opening track from their album, Highway 1, Looking Back Carefully. “Brother” cooked along live more than it does on the disc, with a groove like the Band, four-part harmonies, and the drums and bass creating a bombastic base. During the night, led by frontman/songwriter Luke Scott MacMaster, I also felt like they channel Neil Young with a little Drivin’ ‘n’ Cryin’. “Dear Holly” wants to hit a train track for the West, just watching it pull out of the station, and then sparks fly as its wheels hit the tracks on the guitar solo tag ending. The Romany Rye can also build to some smashing jams and a Southern Rock air (“Untitled (Love Song)”). Watching the music come alive speaks a better word than just the album.

Delta Spirit
The Romany Rye

It’s the ache that grabs you when you hear James Apollo. With a mournful sound straight out of Tom Waits’ backing band, Apollo does a Texas-styled waltz into your heart as you walk alone out on the range. It’s Chris Rea with a . For ’til Your Feet Bleed, he assembled a set of instrumentalists to bring that ache to your door in a multi-layered fashion—eclectic percussion, organ, lap steel, cello, violin, and clarinet. Despite the songs driving rhythm and building intensity, when Apollo sings about “Happiness,” you believe happiness is something that always been elusive. The clarinets stare at the sky with you on “Pray for Rain,” standing and wondering if your prayer can be like that of Elijah whose prayers about rain were heard by God, while the trash can lid percussion keeps time with your waltzing heartbeat.

What first caught my attention was Apollo’s startling video for “No East, No West,” a single light bulb swaying in the room as he sings for all he’s worth. Like other songs on the album, “No East, No West” builds and builds until it breaks open on the back of Apollo’s aching voice and the intensely-sparse percussion.

James Apollo

In 1996, I remember hearing Third Day’s self-titled disc at a bookstore listening station. I bought the disc based on the first track alone, “Nothing At All,” with its growl of guitars and rootsy rock.

Since then, I’ve listened to Third Day, heard the subsequent albums, but always wishing that they would return to the rootsy sound. Even when I heard them live (see review) and realized that they were more Country-influenced Rock than I had first heard in that self-titled album, still I wanted them to shy away from pop Country, the pop worship, and aim more for the Americana Guitar Rock which I know they can deliver.

Thankfully, with 2010’s Move, Third Day returns—at least in part—to that rootsy, Americana growl. The album opens with “Lift Up Your Face,” supported by the Blind Boys of Alabama through a bluesy swagger brought to bear for a worship song. “Make Your Move” rides on a Country Rock muscle. The acoustic opening to “Surrender” throws in some slide guitar, an effect that brings out the Country Blues in what could’ve otherwise been a Country Pop tune. “Gone” brings out that Southern Rock sound. The album takes one last stab at having swagger on the closer “Don’t Give Up Hope.”

Overall, there are places where Third Day slides back into the Country-influenced Worship Pop that keeps them from being as rootsy and Americana as they would otherwise be. However, Move has definitely made great strides to deliver a band’s core sound instead of letting it all be brushed over by a pop gloss.

Third Day
Essential Records

D.B Reilly’s Zydeco-Americana kicks off his album, Love Potions and Snake Oil, and cooks along for “One of These Days (You’re Gonna Realize)”. It’s not straight Zydeco, in that, it’s more Texan than Cajun. Country, Americana, and folk singer-songwriter appear to Reilly’s route to Zydeco.

What that means is that when Reilly’s not kicking up the Zydeco beat he’s in a much more pulled back, Country folk feel. “Don’t Give Up on Me” has a Tejano hint of lime while sounding like something from the BoDeans’ early work. “One Day at a Time” lands somewhere near Loudon Wainwright III.

The Zydeco returns for the morbid toe-tapper of an abduction story “I Got a Girlfriend.” In a Blues-Zydeco mash up, “We’re All Going Straight to Hell” is a rousing rocker.

Love Potions features some different looks besides Zydeco and Country, too, looks that work for Reilly. “Loving You Again” is like a country T.Rex “Bang a Gong.” Later there’s the country blues of “Changed My Mind;” that feel continues right into the foot-stomping “Got a Mind.”

If there’s anything to be said that detracts from this album, it’s by placing the rather received Country ballad “Save All Your Kisses” as the third track. It’s not the strongest track by far, and perhaps should have been later in the lineup so as not to derail the listener.

That said, Reilly’s album really makes a great overall impression in its explorations of Americana. He has also delivered a very cool package—a tin case to go along with the Love Potions and Snake Oil theme.

D.B. Reilly

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