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- Asylum Street Spankers
Mercurial
Spanks-A-Lot Records
By Dante Dominick
 Over
and over we read bands promoted as truly original, indefinable
one-of-a-kind must-see acts. These claims have become trite
and typically dead wrong. A concert flyer is out of the ordinary
if it does not cite at least five genres to be in store for your
all-night dancing pleasure. The trend is simultaneously audacious
and thoughtless and we've learned to take it all with a grain
of salt. But remember, despite the infamous boy's track record
of false alarms, eventually the wolf did show up. So keep your
ears open and take heed: there is no group in existence anywhere
like the Asylum Street Spankers. Genre defying? Yes. Adventurous?
Yes. Entertaining? Hell yes. A must-see? Blindness is the
only acceptable excuse.
A vaudevillian approach to music ranging from bluegrass to
sophisticated jazz with a set list encompassing fresh originals
to turn-of-the-century ragtime and obscure blues, the Spankers
are most definitely peerless. A few world-class musicians, some
world-class entertainers and an irreverent attitude that frees
the band up to do anything their apparently warped minds can
come up with.
Relentless touring and the tendency to steal the show at overseas
festivals provides assurance that Spanker fans spread over three
continents are welcoming the news of a brand new Spanker release,
Mercurial, containing some of the band's most popular
tunes from live shows that, for one reason or another, never
made it on their previous five full-length albums.
The band is dedicated to an all-acoustic line-up -- literally.
They perform with zero amps and zero mics, making a mockery
of what passes for "unplugged," filling rooms sans
electricity with their bellowing vocals and arsenal of instruments
including guitars, violin, clarinet, dobro, bass, drums, ukulele,
saw, banjo, kazoo, harmonica and who knows what else. Mercurial
was recorded with the same philosophy live at the Mercury Hall,
a restored wooden church in south Austin. Much experimenting
was necessary to determine where to set up the microphones (it
is still impossible to record a sound without one) and
soundman Brian Beattie proves to be a genius. The recording
catches the church's warm acoustics with an appropriately heavenly
richness. No overdubs or fill-ins, successfully recording these
arrangements live-to-tape (a reel to reel 2 track at that) so
wonderfully is an unbelievable achievement in its own right.
As those initiated to the Spanker world already know, no single
track will scratch the surface of their breadth, but "Digga
Digga Doo" was a good choice to start with. A jazz staple
of old, the Spankers lay down an Eastern European / Ragtime rendition.
Korey Simeone (violin) and Stanley Smith (clarinet) get a bit
klezmer while Christina Marrs (tenor banjo) and the band ensure
a tin pan alley feel (the tenor banjo, strummed, was a standard
rhythm instrument in ragtime jazz bands long before bluegrassers
started fingerpicking the banjo). Marrs can sing a tune in a
myriad of manners, and here she lilts a somehow-sexy, mousy squeak
perfect for the part.
On other cuts Marrs casts aside the higher register Betty
Boop quality. Nevada Newman (guitar) opens the Spanker version
of "Got My Mojo Workin'" with a relatively funky blues
riff and Marrs digs for something noticeably deeper and more
powerful in her vocals. Marrs brings the tremendous desperation
back to this song. This is a song about a woman who is excessively
consumed in her quest to win over her desired lover who, in turn,
takes absolutely no notice. Her exasperation and ungodly loneliness
has her resorting to every black magic remedy and old wives tale
she can remember: black cat bones, hoodoo rashes, 4-leaf clover,
snakeroot, rabbit's foot. Nothing works, "I want to love
you so bad I don't know what to do," she screams and Marrs
bewitchingly conveys the forever futile longing that tears the
woman's heart to pieces. This element of the song has been missing
ever since Muddy Waters made it his own. The dapper, extremely
masculine Waters ("spelled M-A-N") never dared to appear
so vulnerable and the tale got turned around, practically accusing
the woman of frigidity. From Waters to Jim Morrison to Austin
Powers "mojo" became incorrectly associated with male
virility.
Another lead singer in the troupe is the enigmatic Wammo,
and his first turn fronting here is the Beastie Boys' "Paul
Revere." Who knew the doghouse bass (PB Shane) and scaled
back traps (Paul Schlichting) would sound so dynamic and pristine
when played in a church? Shane and Schlichting move the tune
along like a Setzer-less Stray Cats and Wammo's swashbuckling
delivery is cocky (even if countrified), as any B-Boys song demands
it to be so. During concerts this take on an early rap classic
goes over tremendously well. During concerts it is only heard
once. But a recording's inherent intention is to stand up timelessly
to repeated listens. Spankers' records invariably have songs
or fragments of songs that don't make this grade. "Paul
Revere" isn't the most glaring case, but it is the first
example on Mercurial. To be fair, this is because the
Spankers truly are an anomaly. At times providing a gorgeous
soundtrack with clever arrangements but other times music plays
second fiddle and provoking laughter becomes the focus.
Wammo is a master entertainer on stage but his sardonic gruffness
doesn't always carry so well on record. Other times it is just
misplaced. Smith takes a turn on vocals for "Since I Met
You Baby," the beautiful Ivory Joe Hunter tune. Part of
its beauty is its simplicity -- man to woman: you are the best
thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. This version
is all-around casual; Smith, the elder backbone of the band,
has a voice ripened like fine wine and the band dreamily rolls
the tune along making it simple to close your eyes and smile
in pleasure. Out of nowhere comes a fierce, attacking harmonica
solo to snap you from nirvana. It seems more like an attempt
to scare away an intruder in your house than a solo befitting
the mellifluous mood. That no one suggested, "maybe that
ought to be toned down a bit," is just as surprising as
anything. I understand ironic juxtaposition and all, but there
are times that screaming, "fire!" just ain't funny.
At their best the Spankers wed the music and the entertainment
components in a marriage for the ages. Case in point: "Some
of These Days." Getting back to the Dixie/Ragtime aspect,
Marrs takes the lead and Wammo, Simeone, Newman and Schlichting
pipe in wonderfully with barbershop quartet backing. The solos
are fine, with Smith's clarinet guaranteed to brighten any day.
The arrangement is fantastic: a taste of silliness (but not
overdoing it) to liven an already splendid number displaying
the group's talent and unbelievable tightness through unconventional
twists. The barbershop boys, here and more subtly on "Mojo
Workin,'" are perfect in touch and even more delightful,
believe it or not, when the visual antics are available.
Black Flag gets Spankerized, too, as Wammo leads us through
"TV Party." Wammo's demeanor and delivery are perfect
in this biting condemnation of a society absurdly obsessed with
television programs at the sake of stimulating lives independent
of the tube. An indelible Spanker touch is added as the band
weaves together a medley of TV theme songs for the solo break.
Some of the strongest tunes on Mercurial, "D.R.I.N.K.,"
"Sugar In My Bowl," "Going Up to the Country,
Paint My Mailbox Blue," make me wish the Spankers would
reign in the goofiness a little more often. This is hard to
admit because their hilarity and hijinks helped make me so fond
of the band in the first place. The Grateful Dead had a drastically
different approach in the studio than in concert and perhaps
the Spankers could benefit from that example (in the Dead's case,
the studio takes were far superior). This would not mean eliminating
their quirkiness and cleverness, just save the shock for shock's
sake for the stage. The proliferation of cheeky tunes makes
the disc less likely to remain in the stereo for extended periods
of time.
Take the last song, "It's a Sin To Tell a Lie."
Marrs on tenor banjo, Simeone on violin, Smith on clarinet weave
a perfect melody again defying category. Marrs is squeaking
the lyrics once more and Wammo, noticing the band lacks a trombone,
mouths a perfect, formidable solo. Paris, Broadway and New Orleans'
red light district are all embodied. Just when we think Marrs
sings the last note, Shane slaps the upright bass as the number
takes off in a merry jaunt and we think, all right, let's finish
this off in a wonderful romp. However a back and forth dialogue
interrupts, in deference to parents whose children may find this
review, I will not print the dialogue, but let's say it could
be construed as vulgar. When I'm at the show, I laugh riotously
along with everyone else in the room, but in the studio it is
sophomoric at best. And when the tune morphs ingeniously to
culminate where it began, it's already lost.
The good news: the Spankers are jointly releasing a live DVD,
Sideshow Fez, that promises to deliver the whole package
in all its wonder and amazement.
You'll like this disc and be happy to have it in your collection
if you are like myself in wishing the stage antics were scaled
back a bit when recording. If you like the comedic interludes
as much as the music you will think this is the greatest disc
on earth and will likely start annoying your friends as you talk
endlessly about the Spankers.
www.asylumstreetspankers.com
dominick-at-rockzilla.net
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