14 April 2015

CHiCKEN SNAKE - Unholy Rollers

fb // LiSTEN! // reverbnation  // beast records // great interview // BUY: teelmusic at gmail dot com (this release is vinyl only!)

   Have y'all heard the new Chicken Snake album? It's called Unholy
Rollers. Chicken Snake rocks the best of the blues of The Cramps and the Gun Club, the book love of X and Nick Cave, the ghosts of Jesse Mae Hemphill, John Lee Hooker, Bo Diddley, and Junior Kimbrough, the cooked and crooked roots of Iggy and The Stooges, Johnny Dowd, Beefheart, Handsome Family, and of course the legendary Hasil Adkins! Chicken Snake combines it in their own original black and white (with technicolor swamp) New Orleans southern gothic style, that rocks as hard as it arts.

   Like a thing in the dark that's brusquely brushed past you, something chilling, thrilling, like the back of your ears touched by some dusty and kudzu covered Charlie Feathers and early Dr. John albums, Chicken Snake play dirty rock and roll pot boilers, part hard wink of evil juju blues bonfire in the middle of nowhere, and part late-night party on the covered patio, fetching beer out the iced down back of a hot rodded Ranchero.

   Jerry Teel (guitar/vocals - Ex-Boss Hog, Honeymoon Killers, Knoxville Girls) and Pauline Teel
(vocals and terrific photographer ) are partners in life and rock, and they make a terrific team, visually and sonically complimenting each other, and with the backup of Josh Lee Hooker on guitar, and Jessica Melain on drums they make for a seriously tough and interesting unit.
 

 Jerry Teel's historia de la rock music guitar tone is confident, sexy and stabbing, and his production on this album sounds sweet and sticky, but crunchy like a PBJ with extra nuts, muscadine jelly, sweet onions, and fried hot peppers. Pauline sings like the gal next door, but she's got a mess of razors and an ass-pocket of whiskey ready to go. It's brass-knuckle creeptastic '68 Elvis from the crypt blues and roll without pretension. Raw, honest, blood, sweat and murder, bad luck and trouble. Chicken Snake takes the often shiny, pillowed, and potpourried History of American Roots Music and drags its precious ass face-first through underground Louisiana swamps, across the dirty south's alleys and backwoods, stands it upright on stage and shines a hot, sweaty light on it...then makes it dance.

You need this. Get it. Vinyl album only via: teelmusic at gmail dot com














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































11 April 2015

Who The Hell Is C.C. Adcock?


Who The Hell is C.C. Adcock?
One self-titled album in 1994 and another in 2004 called Lafayette Marquis. Both albums are dirty mojo bags stuffed to over flow with south texass blues and backwoods sleazy swamp town one swangin' blue light house party boogie.

Lafayette Marquis
branches down to throw on some textureized filthy mid-period ZZTtopian remixish  night tripper-esque voodoo sexy steamy spook funk. Growing up in S.W. Louisiana, years spent as a touring guitarist behind Bo Diddley and Buckwheat Zydeco is bound to skew yr ears to something different and different is a good word to start with when speaking of the music of C.C. Adcock.

The thing that attracts me to Adcock's work is what I look for in the music that I love best and moves me most. That's mystery, freshness, and a twist. I want to hear what I haven't heard before and C.C. Adcock brings it. Adcock keeps one deluxe custom-made steel toe work boot firmly stepping to the future while the other dances and slides confidently in, out, and all around a dirty french alligator Louisian sexy swamp mud under a shiny white hot desert Texan sun draped in sweltering big black moonless Los Angeloan sharkskin traditions.

C.C.'s side band Lil' Band O' Gold with Steve Riley of Mamou Playboys played back up for Robert Plant on a Fats Domino Tribute. Read ThisBuy Lil' Band O' Gold from AMAZON




Check out this short film on Lil' Band O' Gold! it's called Promised Land.



23 December 2014

MUDLOW - The MiNNESOTA SNOW ep

webs // twit // fb // itunes // bandcamp // reverbnation // soundcloud // youtubes

Cover photo by the great Casey Weber
   Mudlow believes in the darkness, the nightshade of black and blues at twilight, and the tension of breath in the space between.

   They know the mystery of a song's mood brings about a sense of place. The song Minnesota Snow is such a song. You can feel the threat. The menace of blizzard winds. A blizzard of snow, or a tempest of violence? Or both. You're the witness.

"Let out some air from the tires, rock it back and forth, Needles on empty, heater's on full."

   That's a place nobody wants to be in, on-the-verge of lost desperation. All you can do is hope and pray you didn't really fuck it all up this time. It's an apt M.O. for most Mudlow songs. The world is gone shit side up y'all, but it ain't gonna always be that way baby, and it ain't ever gonna be without the boogie. It's nothing without that Mudlow style.

   Let's take it down to Stubb's Yard.

   This is where Mudlow drives us through their North Mississippi, their Texas, their Detroit demolition. This is high steppin', steel-toe sliding, finger tracing, hand clappin', face-slappin' downtown rock city boogie music. At 2:28 it's the shortest song of the three, but that's all it needs.

   The third joint of this set is Codename Toad.

   Something untoward is going on but hell, nothing's illegal until you get caught, right? It's a dirty rockin' thing having something to do with guns (a walnut grip Baretta by name) a mohair suit, a clear pint, plenty of cocaine, some weed and a shootout. It sounds like a breakneck, backroad trip from Peacehaven to Small Dole, down Devil's Dyke Road, to Shoreham and Saltdean. Listening to side one of ZZ Top's Tejas loud on repeat, taking that last midnight run...praying...Mr. State Trooper...

   It's a perfect example of a Mudlow song that could be the basis for a movie. Each song acts as a vignette of British crime, grime, and time. It's the Brighton breakdown of AC/DC'd dirty soul blues, hard loaded swagger, and a lot of whiskey, cigarettes and well-thumbed paperbacks.

   It's only been two years since Mudlow released their second album, Sawyer's Hope, but for some reason it seems longer to me. With each release, I get sucked into this Mudlow soundtrack for awhile, where the streets are usually wet and shining with street-lamp glare, everybody has a hard noir story, and the music is polished, flat black and chrome.

   This three song set is saxophone-free (a real switch for the band, which utilised the sax as a tone-setter) but does feature cello on the title track. Mudlow bassist and recording engineer Paul Pascoe's already quality sonics have been refined in those two years, and the sense of space, groove, and breath, always a Mudlow hallmark, is accentuated to the point that on headphones you'll think you're in the room. Pascoe's sense of tension and drama is put to use by Tobias Mudlow's funky, funky, country jazz punk city blues guitar, its strong, inventive plucking, crossed with a fine sense of mood really plays a great part in setting the band's sound apart. It's something that was there, but not apparent when the sax was used, often as a co-lead instrument. Matt Latcham is Mudlow's drummer. Solid, creative, and holding up the bottom while dancing across his drums with one hand in the pocket, the other on the gas. His funky foot locks in tight with the bass and guitar, and is crucial to the noir soundtrack feel of the Mudlow sound. Precise, economical, country yet funky.


   The Minnesota Snow ep is another exceptional release by a great band. It shows continued growth of depth, sonically, instrumentally, and lyrically. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I'm reading a collection of short stories by Tobias Mudlow at some point in the future. Whatever happens, this band will continue to evolve. It's personal blues-infected music with emotional heft, and a strong artistic vision.

   It's the music from the closing credits of your favorite movie. It's the song you listen to as you drive off the dock at the end of the chase scene, it's the song that plays as the sun rises over the weed-choked city cemetery, it's the sound you hear as you run through the concrete jungle of southern (UK) bars and clip-joints. Welcome back to Mudlow country. We've missed you.

   I understand this is to be the first in a series of digital releases, on the road to vinyl. I can't wait.

LiSTEN::





MUDLOW - The MiNNESOTA SNOW ep

webs // twit // fb // itunes // bandcamp // reverbnation // soundcloud // youtubes

Cover photo by the great Casey Weber
   Mudlow believes in the darkness, the nightshade of black and blues at twilight, and the tension of breath in the space between.

   They know the mystery of a song's mood brings about a sense of place. The song Minnesota Snow is such a song. You can feel the threat. The menace of blizzard winds. A blizzard of snow, or a tempest of violence? Or both. You're the witness.

"Let out some air from the tires, rock it back and forth, Needles on empty, heater's on full."

   That's a place nobody wants to be in, on-the-verge of lost desperation. All you can do is hope and pray you didn't really fuck it all up this time. It's an apt M.O. for most Mudlow songs. The world is gone shit side up y'all, but it ain't gonna always be that way baby, and it ain't ever gonna be without the boogie. It's nothing without that Mudlow style.

   Let's take it down to Stubb's Yard.

   This is where Mudlow drives us through their North Mississippi, their Texas, their Detroit demolition. This is high steppin', steel-toe sliding, finger tracing, hand clappin', face-slappin' downtown rock city boogie music. At 2:28 it's the shortest song of the three, but that's all it needs.

   The third joint of this set is Codename Toad.

   Something untoward is going on but hell, nothing's illegal until you get caught, right? It's a dirty rockin' thing having something to do with guns (a walnut grip Baretta by name) a mohair suit, a clear pint, plenty of cocaine, some weed and a shootout. It sounds like a breakneck, backroad trip from Peacehaven to Small Dole, down Devil's Dyke Road, to Shoreham and Saltdean. Listening to side one of ZZ Top's Tejas loud on repeat, taking that last midnight run...praying...Mr. State Trooper...

   It's a perfect example of a Mudlow song that could be the basis for a movie. Each song acts as a vignette of British crime, grime, and time. It's the Brighton breakdown of AC/DC'd dirty soul blues, hard loaded swagger, and a lot of whiskey, cigarettes and well-thumbed paperbacks.

   It's only been two years since Mudlow released their second album, Sawyer's Hope, but for some reason it seems longer to me. With each release, I get sucked into this Mudlow soundtrack for awhile, where the streets are usually wet and shining with street-lamp glare, everybody has a hard noir story, and the music is polished, flat black and chrome.

   This three song set is saxophone-free (a real switch for the band, which utilised the sax as a tone-setter) but does feature cello on the title track. Mudlow bassist and recording engineer Paul Pascoe's already quality sonics have been refined in those two years, and the sense of space, groove, and breath, always a Mudlow hallmark, is accentuated to the point that on headphones you'll think you're in the room. Pascoe's sense of tension and drama is put to use by Tobias Mudlow's funky, funky, country jazz punk city blues guitar, its strong, inventive plucking, crossed with a fine sense of mood really plays a great part in setting the band's sound apart. It's something that was there, but not apparent when the sax was used, often as a co-lead instrument. Matt Latcham is Mudlow's drummer. Solid, creative, and holding up the bottom while dancing across his drums with one hand in the pocket, the other on the gas. His funky foot locks in tight with the bass and guitar, and is crucial to the noir soundtrack feel of the Mudlow sound. Precise, economical, country yet funky.


   The Minnesota Snow ep is another exceptional release by a great band. It shows continued growth of depth, sonically, instrumentally, and lyrically. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I'm reading a collection of short stories by Tobias Mudlow at some point in the future. Whatever happens, this band will continue to evolve. It's personal blues-infected music with emotional heft, and a strong artistic vision.

   It's the music from the closing credits of your favorite movie. It's the song you listen to as you drive off the dock at the end of the chase scene, it's the song that plays as the sun rises over the weed-choked city cemetery, it's the sound you hear as you run through the concrete jungle of southern (UK) bars and clip-joints. Welcome back to Mudlow country. We've missed you.

   I understand this is to be the first in a series of digital releases, on the road to vinyl. I can't wait.

LiSTEN::





09 December 2014

GRAVELROAD - EL SCUERPO

fb // web // knick knack records // reverbnation // twit // AMAZON // iTunes

Wow.

 GravelRoad have grown up and moved out. They've walked on down the juke joint hall into the Mississippi gloaming, through the pines through the pines, to the center of a crop circle on the edge of a south central Washington state scrub land. They climb down a steep canyon, lit by a dusted August moon as it glides down a wide, quiet southern river. Rays of black and white moonlight glance off of the river water and on to the golden eyes...of El Scuerpo.

   While Seattle's GravelRoad always hailed spiritually from a sometimes mythical, sometimes hyper-real north Mississippi, on El Scuerpo the vibe is Spokane and Tacoma, by way of Holly Springs, Greenville, or Chulahoma. That's a good thing. It's how they started out.

   Dirty, pan-regional, they've always been brave about experimentation, and stretching their blues, and El Scuerpo is no great departure from that vision. From slow, folky, smoky grooves, to sumo-weight blasts of post-blues, to a tightened up T-Modelesque go-round, GR's boogie is unimpeachably tight, regardless of musical topography, regardless of any influencing ghosts. They're really at the top of their blues game, and it shows on El Scuerpo.

   Now in their tenth year, with the 2014 release of El Scuerpo it all comes together and they nail what they'd set out to do back in '04: Play with North Mississippi song forms and see where they lead. But this album finds them sonically where they belong. The recording is (as are the performances) outstanding. GravelRoad has always been much more than backup band for late Boss Of The Blues T-Model Ford, and if there was any doubt El Scuerpo confirms that.

   On this their fifth album (not including two albums with T-Model,) GravelRoad step out even further from what could have been a blues yoke for some bands, and into a deeper blues, an amalgam if you will of their metal, hill country blues, punk and funk roots. They, as T-Model Ford would have said, put a stamp on it.

      Walking point on the mixing board for El Scuerpo is Seattle legend of sound Jack Endino , a pairing that makes "like duh" perfect sense to me. Endino you'll recall mixed Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Tad, Nirvana, and Murder City Devils, among others. El Scuerpo was then mastered by Seattle's Rick Fisher (Steve Miller, Sammy Davis Jr.)  El Scuerpo displays the sonic care that went into producing this disc, by simply, sonically, sounding like a classic hard rock record. But it's more than that. There's elements of Zep-ness, psych-ness, CCR-ness, Afghan Whigsishness, and plenty of Seattleness, but all while sounding like the city-slickered sons of T-Model Ford that they are.

   With Endino handling the mixing, El Scuerpo shows GravelRoad's heaviness refined, without them losing an ounce of dirt. Their North Mississippi Hill Country mantle is burnished like trees along a cattle trail, and all of it is finally given the sweaty sonic cojones and sweetmeats they've deserved for years. GravelRoad have never made a better sounding record than El Scuerpo, and they've never played better than they do now. They started as dudes trying to rock the North Mississippi blues, and have become men rocking the south Seattle blues. If there is any band that you could still shake a stick at for representing that Seattle sound it'd be these guys.

   El Scuerpo brings to mind elements of Junior Kimbrough, early Joe Walsh, T-Model and RL Burnside, some Cave, a rainy downtown Seattle street an hour after the bars close, some Lanegan, Dulli, Wolf and Priest, Saturday night sunset at Grandfather Cuts Loose The Ponies wild horse monument, Johnny Cash and Freddie King, Melvins, Skynyrd, SUNN))), leaving the the winds at dawn on the beach at La Push, slipping in your favorite mix tape, cutting through the forest, and going down south. One track you hear Trower, the next Kimbrough, maybe a little Beefheart, some Neil, T-Model of course, but all of it run down that GravelRoad. What else could you want? This'll be  a great album to get you through the winter, in stony fireside listens.

   GravelRoad has made an album both powerful, and forward moving, but also fun. There'll be times listening to El Scuerpo you might find yourself muttering under your breath...fuckyeahdudes...as you bob your head to the blues rock action. It's a new old school. It's blues heavy, funky, classic rock and slankyass party music. It's smart, hot and seriously terrific.

Here's a track by track run down of El Scuerpo::


1. Waiting For Nothing ::

The jam to start your day, and end your night.
I'm 13 and riding in my brothers
Corvair, on rain-slick roads, through the deep woods
outside of Crater Lake, listening to
The Smoker You Drink, The Player You Get.

2. Wolf On Down The Way ::

A modern wolf baby or maybe a
'yote, runs the pines at night, from Cascade
to Fort Wayne, and Tullahoma, to West
Memphis, howling for souls, digging for bone.

3. 40 Miles ::
Evil audio homage to New York-Mississippi wish-fuls Twenty Miles? Respect!

4. Lord Have Mercy ::
Oh. My God. this.
This exceptional cover of Junior Kimbrough's Lord Have Mercy. Vocals are by Lisa Kekaula of the mighty, mighty, Bellrays. Fat, soulful drums of war, fat, blue, brown, tough and soulful North Mississippi chords, meet Sunday morning vocals, pleading for relief. Y'all been there.
Lord have mercy, indeed.

5. Green Grass ::
Heavy/poppy/weird...and rocking.
T-Model rocking on a train, with a '70s english Stoner Witch.

6:: DD Amin ::
I ... wait... what? ...wtf? I'm sorry, but GravelRoad just threw a thousand Melvinized-gigatons of geo-political Sabbath at me. I had to go incognito to search for the words: slide-guitar driven, Explosif Plastique. 

7. Asteroid ::
Here's where they start really hanging out with EndinoEarth hugs its grandsons, dogs bath the heads of cats with their tongues.

An El Camino rolls out after midnight, past Spangle, past Spokane, Past Stateline...Lights....OFF. The dam just ahead...

8. Flesh And Bones::
What else can I say but better than any cannibal song that Danny Elfman or some other smart-ass, could ever have imagined.

El Scuerpo is a hell of an album, folks. 
And that's for damn sure.



&........................................>..........................................&




08 December 2014

HUSKY BURNETTE - Amazing Grace

Husky has recorded a nice new cover of Amazing Grace. He says,
"Amazing Grace was the only song I'd sing along with in church when I was young, it was my favorite. I never cared much for hymns, but this one always hit me right. When I worked up this version it was probably 2010 or 2011. I never did anything with it and it fell by the wayside. Then not long ago I got some bad news about a friend, Kathleen Fiedler, who had passed and got asked to play this at her memorial service. One week later, my first drummer and very close friend, Allen Tate, passed as well. This tune is in memory of those two special people who will never be forgotten. I guess you could say it's also my way of giving back something that was given to me years ago. Enjoy. - Husky Burnette"

11 November 2014

RED MOUTH - TOSKA

@ fb // itunes // webs // reverbnation // wiki //
Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.” ― Vladimir Nabokov

   Florence, Alabama's Red Mouth (aka Eric Gebhardt) makes highly personal music, at once mysterious and otherworldly, and yet deeply rooted in the secular red clay roads of north Alabama, the same clay that got stomped through the hallowed halls and rubbed in to the carpets of Muscle Shoals recording studios back in the day.

   It's personal music in the way that the music of Jim WhiteJim Ford, Boss Waits, Cap'n Beefheart, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Screaming Lord Sutch, Iggy's Stooges, old man Cave, Johnny Dowd, and  Gordon Gano's Violent Femmes music is personal, yet organically familiar. It's old timey music made today, made modern, but with none of the pretension of some current day songsters.   
 
    Toska is some original, strongass, yet beautifully, thoughtfully, sensuously fucked up folk music that should be heard by folks who think folk music is weak. Red Mouth will show them the error of their ears as he dances nimbly, soulfully, madly, across time and space with the dirty old bones of American roots music, doing the old soft-shoe across the sand, mud, and blues of country and early pop music, the gristled bones of rock n' roll, kicking 'em into place, into totems, in to cleavers, into hat tricks, into red words on rice paper, in to chickenbone and velvet, casket and rum. 

    The crack of a powder keg in the distance, the swing of an arm, the rustle of the bulrush in the river, the skim of her dress across the
wooden waxed dance floor.  The sound of motorcycle wheels on gravel roads down 'round, "Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama," crossing the Carolina's on Bone Camp Road, and ending up all the way to hell and back and central Florida on a long gone fast train, past the stars shining down on a holler for help in the Ocala woods at night.

      Homemade murder ballads are shorn into hoedowns, brambled east Texas big band dresses like a wolf in a straw boater. Muscle Shoals soul gets its heart broke by Randy Newman's piano, and Rickie Lee and Tom have a date night at a midnight showing of The Forbidden Zone.  

   A high lonesome call is made by translator to unknown lands, and Johanna's in on it. All of it. From the gospel to the get-go, the knock-down to the drag out.

Recording With The Legendary Donnie Fritts
   Each song on Toska is a piece of the whole, standing alone by the side of a country road, but with plenty more of 'em in the woods close by...listen...in the rustle of the leaves, its breath...on the back of your neck just below your ear. Toska is also exceptional listening music. It's terrific (in the true sense of the word) on the headphones, even better when its Twin Peaks boogies are played good and loud.

   Red Mouth has released his masterpiece thus far, with Toska. A wholly original style-jumper who's comfortable with most any southern folk music forms, it may seem like he's bitten off more than he can chew at times, but no. He hasn't. You have.

   In a more patient and thoughtful music world Toska would rank high on a lot of Best lists this year. If I believed in art contests it'd rank high on mine, too. But some things are too important to rank. Toska is one of them.