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Bloodshot Bash 2005
By Dante Dominick
Well hootenanny. SXSW is so much about discovering new music,
new artists, and new directions you've never considered. But
I'm sorry; I just can't pass up a showcase of Bloodshot Records'
artists. I worry some editors might soon accuse me of being on
the Bloodshot payroll I extol the label's greatness so frequently.
But what can I say? There's a lot to be said for consistency.
And Bloodshot consistently signs artists dedicated purely to
their music. Skewing their edge a bit here, a tad there to become
more accessible to mainstream music fans (buyers), writers and
labels is the farthest thing from the realm of possibilities
within the Bloodshot stable. Thank goodness for the musicians
and thank goodness for the Bloodshot way of presenting them (hands
off, do what you want) because there are a lot of us out here
that love this shit. There are limitless amounts of unadulterated
soul coming from a line-up ranging from traditional bluegrass
to balls-to-the-walls rock and roll. With a few exceptions, there
is always a level of twang and quite often a good bit of bang.
Whether it's the gorgeous pedal steel jazz of Jon Rauhouse or
the unrestrained hillbilly onslaught of Wayne "The Train"
Hancock, the simple refrain, "fuck yeah," routinely
pops out of my simple little head. Bloodshot is run by people
who absolutely abhor the music business and it shows. Their dedication
lies in releasing incredible recordings with profit potential
an apparently distant afterthought.
Oh yeah, SXSW 2005. Friday afternoon was the unofficial Bloodshot
showcase presented at Yard Dog, a quirky art gallery in
the fashionably quirky South Congress shopping district. This
was the 10th such Bloodshot/Yard Dog showcase at SXSW whose ribald
tales of debauchery found their way to me years before my first
SXSW in my comfortable Colorado residence. Limitless free beer,
free food, free music, free good times, free spirits...Dionysus
would struggle to trump this party.
 (Left:Jo Stanli
Cohen (singer) with Bill Anderson (guitar) with Peter Stiles
(mando) in background)The official showcase Saturday was
much the same, except one had to pay for everything. I arrived
at The Parish (formerly Mercury) as The Meat Purveyors
were setting up, missing the first band, Nine Pound Hammer.
The Meat Purveyors are a local hell-raising bluegrass band, but
their shows are very infrequent. They are a bluegrass band, there's
no doubt. But with great strength they exude a late 70s British
punk spirit. So much that moshing is more relevant than square
dancing. Still, even within the traditional bluegrass world Peter
Stiles could win numerous top mandolin picking honors and Bill
Anderson (guitar) deserves many accolades for his songwriting.
Part-time Purveyor Darcie Deaville was on-hand to add flourishing
fiddle breaks.
The demeanor of this band truly comes alive in concert. Cherilyn
DiMond is a fiery, if lanky, lady who doesn't allow the fact
that her instrument (upright bass) weighs more than her stop
her from beating the pulp out of it. The lilting sweet harmony
vocals she provides is just another in the long list of dichotomies
this band presents. Jo Stanli Cohen deservedly attracts a lot
of the attention bestowed upon TMP. She is the first and only
bluegrass diva. She has the stage deliverance that is pure classic
rock singer in the spotlight, propping one leg on the stage monitor,
leaning into the crowd and blankly gazing the circumference of
the crowd with an Ozzy Osbourne leer while she sings the bluegrass
ditties with incomparable intensity. For stage banter this early
Spring night, she felt inclined to give us an extremely frank
update on her love life. So recent was the lewd news that even
some of her band mates were unaware till now. Most embarrassed
by the announcements was, apparently, the young man who was her
accomplice as he was nowhere to be seen hours later as Jo was
front and center reaching for Jon Langford like a 70s groupie
chic lunging for stuffed sock. Fun for the whole family, indeed.
I will keep my account on the following band, Devil in
a Woodpile, a bit shorter than they deserve. Only because
following my SXSW coverage my first project will be a review
of their brand new release, In Your Lonesome Town. To
save time, go buy it today. They rarely play outside their weekly
Tuesday gig at The Hideout, a truly hard-to-find nugget in Chicago,
for myriad reasons. Touring is a strain on singer/harmonica/percussionist/clarinetist
Rick Cookin' Sherry because, "it's just too hard to find
enough good babysitters." Guitar extraordinaire Joel Paterson
is in about a dozen projects as he is the cream of Chicago's
jazz/blues guitarists. And Tom V. Ray has become busy touring
as the bass player for The Blue Man Group.
 (Left: Rick Cookin'
Sherry)What I do need to say is this: every amp-reliant rock
musician, every pop success with salon haircut, every critic
for every glossy publication, every one of 'em-- shut up, shut
up, SHUT UP! Find a way to The Hideout on Tuesday before you
ever comment on music again. There you will find in all its glory
the long lost soul of music. Sherry and company use no amps or
mikes as he belts out turn-of-the century sounding blues vocals
in between the style of harmonica playing that makes me want
to shoot John Popper, or untie his stomach so he eats himself
into an immobile state, making performances an impossibility.
Watching Sherry at his trade is a study in intensity. Keeping
time by kicking a marching drum, he sometimes puts down the harps
to don a washboard with attached crash cymbal. Digging in his
pockets matter-of-factly for all his thimbles, his Cubs hat is
folded tight, tucked over his eyes. It's not certain if he cares
we're here or not. Paterson is the perfect guitarist, wedding
Charlie Christian and Merle Travis through a steel resonator.
Writing this now I am near tears as I think of the hacks that
will make the cover of every stupid music magazine at your local
newsstand while Devil in a Woodpile trucks along mostly
unnoticed. I need to move on.
In between every set the Bloodshot crew played their newest
label mate over the PA, local boy, Scott H. Biram. Dirty
Old One Man Band is a brand new eponymous release. Stomp
board, bullet mic, some harmonica, very aggressive guitar and
hollerin', yodelin and belting the blues that's Scott H.
Biram. Equal parts traditional country blues and heavy metal
with a lot of wiseass, exceedingly funny, insults and observations.
So new to Bloodshot that the SXSW performances were already scheduled,
Biram did perform a few times during the event, including earlier
this evening at an unofficial show at The B-Side at Bitter End,
the adjoining lounge to a local microbrewery. Biram opted to
eschew the stage and set up smack middle of the bar-floor. A
decent crew of his regular following was there, so were some
unaware innocent bystanders. Many were frightened. I overheard
a group of public radio devotees grumbling, "the previous
band was much better." For the record: the previous band
sucked.
Alas, I digress.
Next up at The Parish was Jim and Jennie and the Pinetops.
They are a wonderful unit playing Appalachian music, a lot of
bluegrass certainly, but a lot that soulful acoustic mountain
music that too often is overpowered by steroid-taking banjos
and mandolins. They, too, have a brand new release, Rivers
Roll on By. It's a gem. It makes one wish they were on a
bank watching the river flow; this is the music water makes steering
through rock and dirt. Ironically, Jim, Jennie and the
Pinetops plugged in for their electric debut for a few numbers.
I regret I missed it: I had to eat. Sorry. Tail between my legs
sorry.
Bobby Bare, Jr. was on stage when I returned, no longer
famished. Jr. certainly has his father's flair for hooks, but
in a wildly different manner. Bare, Jr. is undoubtedly the poppiest
music in Bloodhot's history. That doesn't have to be a bad word
though, and Bare proves it. His music his gritty rock with catchy,
jangly embellishments. Aggressive at moments, but never just
for the sake of aggression, always well placed alongside more
contemplative sounds.
This is what I got from the set anyway, whilst I whetted my
woeful toothache with whiskey while waiting for the Waco Brothers.
Yep, I was now anticipating the headliners who were wetting their
whistles right beside me for the past hour themselves.
Last year I proclaimed the Yayhoos as the greatest rock show
I've ever seen...I believe I'll stick to that, but the Waco
Brothers set was within paper-thin measurements, and they
have to be given extra credit for doing it more frequently. This
is rambunctious, liberalist rock and roll. There should be no
need to mention the obvious country edge since country is half
the ingredients of rock, but since folks forget that these days,
there's the obligatory country reference. Of course, if you've
read this far in this endless review, you likely know Jon Langford's
illustrious career, starting with the seminal British punk band,
the Mekons a few decades ago.
Fueled by alcohol but tempered by professionalism (I am the
first to accuse them of that I'm sure), the Waco Brothers belied
the beleaguered 1am start time and had the whole room jumping
by the second chord. Bassist Alan Doughty should never be overlooked
for his contribution to the band, easily the most prolific bass
player ever associated with alt-country as the band often is.
If you're thinking a Cash-like alternating bass then you're thinking
of the absolute farthest thing from Doughty. The Waco Brothers
are rowdy indeed, but they're wise enough (and talented enough)
that they don't succumb to the present rock dedication to turning
amps up too loud. Raucous is good, but we should still be able
to differentiate the sounds. They round out the sound with two
guitars, mandolin, lap steel, bass and drums. Langford and Dean
Schlabowske share lead vocal duties and both are in the upper
echelon of songwriting.
When it comes down to it, what's more fun than an over-energized
group of road-wise rock and rollers overly encouraging us to
drink more, get rowdy and overthrow materialist tyranny? I mean
with all their blaze of guitar glory, I think they're just trying
to tell us to play nice with others. Sharing is good is the heart
of their message. Like that beer in your hand, may I have some?
Contact Dante Dominick at dominick-at-rockzilla.net
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