The art of songwriting is far from dead, as evidenced by a few new
releases, one by an old favorite, one from some local heroes and one from a
relative newcomer. Their sounds are worlds apart, but all excel in their
ability to spin provocative tales from the simplest of images.
John Prine, Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings— **** (of 4)
Veteran singer, songwriter and ex-mailman John Prine recently
released his first studio album of new material in three years. It’s a
welcome return for long-time fans and should win him some new ones.
His clever wit and story-telling skill produce universal sentiments with
originality. Who else but Prine could sing, on “New Train,” “The half pound
of chopped ground round/ Is still a burger when it goes downtown,” in a way
to make the listener think, “Oh, man, I know what you mean.”
The album is full of brand new Prine-isms like this. “Ain’t Hurtin’
Nobody,” which he performed for Knoxville audiences at his last performance
here, turns a simple walk down the street into upbeat existentialism. The
chorus (“I ain’t hurtin’ nobody/ I ain’t hurtin’ no one) punctuates a
variety of seemingly unrelated scenes: “Perfectly crafted popular hit songs
never use the wrong rhyme/ You’d think that waitress could get my order
right the first time.”
Prines wit also makes way for his trademark poignancy, which he can still
pull off with only the slightest bit of cheesy sentimentality. “Lake Marie”
spins a tale of lost children and an old love affair. It’s a sad song, with
sad stories that, again, seem unrelated until Prine pulls them together.
Ironically, he does this with a refrain from “Louie, Louie.”
There’s basically no end of good things to say about this CD. The least
interesting track, “All the Way With You,” has farily straightforward,
(dare I say) predictable rhymes. Still, in Prine’s able hands it is a
touching country ballad. There’s just no way to lose with John Prine.
Rude Street Peters, Don’t Make Me Get Up— ****
If you haven’t seen this band play live, then (to paraphrase Helen Hammer)
you haven’t been to Knoxville. These local rabble-rowsers span that
incredible bridge between punk rock worldliness and East Tennesee Hillbilly
pride. In fact, they prefer to call their music “Hillbilly Music,” in
deference to their idol Hank, Sr. They even have a song on this tape called
“What Would Hank Say?” And they aren’t talking about Junior.
My personal favorite of this collection is “Walkin’ the Dawg,” which is all
about an attitude (as far as I can tell): “Mary Mack, dressed in black/
Silver buttons up and down her back/ I asked her why she didn’t know/ she
lost her needle, now she can’t sew.”
Other gems of in-your-face sentiment come out in “Ohh, No! (Here Comes the
Sheriff).” Paraphrasing Eric Clapton, Peter vocalist Mike Mull sings “I
shot the sheriff but I didn’t shoot the deputy/ I shot the sheriff but I
missed the f—- deputy.” It’s pure poetry.
The Rude Street version of “Somebody Touched Me” takes the gospel standard
to new heights. It exemplifies the band’s infectious sense of humor.
Other tunes include”Snakesnatch,” an homage to the defunct yet beloved
Snakesnatch Lodge, where the Peters resided as house band. Also notable is
“Butt Waller,” which should become a blues-rock classic.
The tape is available locally at the Printer’s Mark Bookshop.
Smog, Wild Love— ****
While Smog is basically a one-man-band consisting of Bill Callahan, this CD
owes a lot to the cello of Cynthia Dall, who also co-wrote several tunes.
Like Atlanta’s Smoke, Smog seems to be discovering the atmospheric
qualities a cello adds to modernish music.
Callahan’s songs are, like John Prine, strong in storytelling, though
Callahan tells a drastically different story. It’s not always readily
apparent what the story is getting at.
“When I was seven, I wanted to live in a bathysphere,” sings Callahan on
“Bathysphere.” The theme seems to be the oddity of childhood memories and
the obscurity of such desires. It loses something in the explanation, but
in verse conveys a very particular mood.
The sound is deceptively full for the sparse instrumentation used. Dall’s
cello seductively pulls the listener in to “Bathroom Floor,” then
disappears, giving way to a simple piano chord and Callahan’s soft but
cynical verse: “I overheard your mother say/ ‘Maybe she’s just a late
bloomer’/ But what she didn’t know was/ you’ve already bloomed and
died.”
“Prince Alone in the Studio” is the standout epic (over 7 minutes) track
here. Callahan takes us into Prince’s secret lair, where he is alone to
create a masterpiece. Prince sends away all the “pretty girls” and lets his
guitar give him something “better than anything any girl cold ever give
him.” It’s strong emotional (and pop culture) commentary.
