Chris Wall
Just Another Place
Cold Spring Records
By David Pilot
 I've always found that the best
country music listens like a Louis L'Amour novel reads, that
it's inhabited by the same sort of brutally honest and occasionally
tragically flawed characters our greatest Western novelist brought
to life. Makes more sense when the conversation turns more to
the western side of the country I suppose. And in that particular
niche, well, it's tough to come up with a better poet for the
modern cowboy than Chris Wall. The other Chris, Mr. Ledoux, is
better known and as authentic and genuine as they come. Chuck
Pyle's the Dalai Lama for the cowboy Zen set up in the Rockies.
Tom Russell paints a Western landscape full of beautiful mystery
and danger, but he does the same thing to places like Oslo and
Pittsburgh, PA on a regular basis, so we'll rule him out of this
discussion. Marty Robbins (hats off) is gone. Mike Murphy's a
standout in the truest sense, but his focus is more on the heritage
that birthed it all. And that leaves Wall, who's done it time
and again from Montana to Texas. His cold blue highways, Rainbow
Inns and old Martin guitars are cut from the bolt of legendary
cloth that a man who turned his back on Nashville after a Grammy
nomination honored him by overlooking his best music deserves.
Since the success Confederate Railroad garnered with "Trashy
Women," Wall's been up and down, seemingly stuck in a lifecycle
loop locked on "dangerous and mediocre." The royalties
from Nashville spawned Cold Spring Records, which gave life to
Cowboy Nation, then an outstanding live album from Gruene
Hall and finally Tainted Angel. All were strikingly different
in their musical scope, but the same at their two-fisted if tender
core. Those were the ups. The downs involved women and whiskey,
and both returned Wall's affections with the worst of their wiles.
Tried and True Music took care of the business side of the problems,
making sure no one could get their hands on No Sweat or
Honky Tonk Heart and proving once again the truth of Hunter
S. Thompson's diatribe about the music business. I once heard
a fan ask Wall if he had some stashed copies of either of those
records, because the MP3s the fan had downloaded from the Web
to burn his own had meant so much he wanted to put some money
in the artist's pocket for the genuine article. I saw the swirling
edges of defeat brimming in Wall's eyes as he explained he had
no recourse there. And I heard the hope in his voice as he said
if the new record he was working on did well, maybe he'd be able
to buy his own songs back some day. Funny that, the idea that
this fan shouldn't be able to buy and listen to "Three Across"
while for the man who penned it the Jack Daniel's was turning
to tears right there in front of my eyes.
Times like that can destroy a man. They can also serve as
the forge that produces greatness from the fire. And Just
Another Place is the sort of record that, set against such
a troubled background, winds up defining an artist's worth. It
may even signal that Texas' newer version of the hardscrabble
troubadour, while hailing from parts North like the last one,
did a better job of checking his Yankee sensibilities at the
Red.
Or maybe it's just one helluva country and western record
in its own right, and the only lessons to be learned lean more
toward the personal than the metaphorical. What's here consists
of the simplest of fibers, wound just loosely enough to allow
for introspective deference until the mental gymnastics they
require suddenly leave you in a place where the truth tightens
around your soul and you couldn't walk away from it if all Hell
was looming in the rearview.
Nashville gets the near-mandatory shot across the bow right
off the bat, but this one takes a tack not often explored. While
most of the Texas hat acts and fratboy panderers are satisfied
to simply proclaim their self-anointed superiority to Music Row's
brand of marketing ploys, Chris Wall takes time to get inside
the head of a minion on the songwriting assembly line. The song's
called "The Poet Is Not In Today." It's dead-on, illuminating
the central problem on Music Row while allowing some hope for
the writer who once had something to say.
he's burning up his passion writing greeting cards
his soul no longer glows in the dark
he's concerned that God
cannot see him anymore
so he's gone to try and find the place
where he first found the spark
It's a fitting intro to a record that spends the rest of its
time quietly proving that its contents are the genuine article.
The Kevin Fowlers of the Texas Music Movement would do well to
pay attention here. Let the songs make the case. Maybe David
Allan Coe could get away with referring to himself as a superstar
in every other song. These new acts springing up like dandelions
ain't him.
When Just Another Place was conceived, it was a muted
and introspective collection of largely acoustic songs meant
to lay the soul bare and count the change. While it still plays
that way for the most part, some bare-knuckled barnburners were
added before the release date to make Wall's rowdier fans feel
at home. Or maybe just to reassure them that all the quiet recognitions
here don't negate those thirty-three reasons to say goodbye.
The most appropriate of that set in terms of the year 2002 is
"An Outlaw's Blues," Wall's tribute to Waylon Jennings.
Dale Watson lights up the opening riffs on the electric guitar
and keeps 'em coming, while Scott Matthews' crunchy drum groove
keeps the bass in line. Wall serves up the sort of just-off-key-almost-minor-chord-back-of-the-throat
vocals that made Jennings a star, and before you know it this
original track pays far better homage to the master than the
current tribute project in the works from Dualtone (featuring
Brooks and Dunn, Kid Rock, Kenny Chesney, etc.) can ever aspire
to. Apparently Wall actually listened to the hero he lauds. It's
a novel concept.
The same session at the Cribworks produced another self-deprecating
Waylon nod in "Five Piece Band." Watson and the Lonestars
again provide tight, practiced backing, this go-round giving
some of the spotlight to the ever-astounding Ricky Davis on the
pedal steel. The autobiographical tone of Just Another Place
is obvious here, and welcome, but it boils down to the basics
every time:
I drink the Shiner and the Pearl
play the Waylon and the Merle
we pick a little Ramblin' Man
just poundin' out the rhythm in a five-piece honky tonk band
This song's infectious in the same way a bronzed 18-year-old
girl on the beach at Port Aransas in July is apt to be. It's
in your head to stay, and damned if it ain't welcome to pull
up a chair and sit a spell.
Those are your dancing songs. The drinking songs are next.
Wall's fans often point out his propensity for writing songs
to appeal to the dancers and the thinkers. Well, the beat might
be there for a slow steady shuffle, but you try dancing to "Ten
Cents On the Dollar." You tell that war-torn voice holding
fast just before the breaking point that your feet feel like
moving.
who are these guys
on both sides of the table
who push their pinstripes in the middle of our lives?
what a way to make a living -
dividing up the husbands and the wives
you say it can't be like it once was
things just don't remain the same
just give me ten cents on the dollar
and you can keep the change
Same goes for "The Jagged Edge." Born of a late-night
phone call to a friend about to dial up his own number and check
out, this cuts to the bone. It also puts a different perspective
on all those honky-tonk heroes who seem so at home up there under
the lights. The South Austin Jug Band sits in for this cut, adding
their distinctive and increasingly accomplished roots feel to
what would've been a gem all by itsowndamnself. Of particular
interest is the fiddle accompaniment from Warren Hood (yeah,
Champ's boy), who's getting better and better every time he picks
that thing up.
Now he's fightin' all his battles
With three chords and the truth
And the only thing that's left of her
Is the picture on the wall
"Somewhere Between Forty and Falling Apart" is the
model every young star-in-his-own-mind with a guitar should base
his work on if he wants to be a success. Way back when, Wall
recorded "I Feel Like Singing Tonight" as a way to
tell Hank he understood what drove that wild, hard ride. Now
he seems intent on proving the depth of the understanding.
somewhere between forty and fallin' apart
I got a bad back and a bum knee and a teenager's heart
that still seeks redemption
but it needs someplace to start
somewhere between forty and fallin' apart
There's neither time nor space here to take you through all
the lyric nuggets and musical mastery on Just Another Place.
Even if there was, serving up all the lines like "You can
play the friend game/And die a little every day/Or do the John
Wayne/And walk away" would just rob you of the opportunity
to take this trip yourself. And that would be the dumbest thing
I could possibly do. No, you do this one for you. Pick up Just
Another Place and find out just why Bruce Robison, Dale Watson,
Merel Bregante (Gary Morris, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band), Paul Cotton
(Poco), and the South Austin Jug Band jumped in to help out Wall's
regular Cowboy Nation band on this record. Most of those get
a turn at the mic on the acoustic hidden track, which may be
the strongest effort on an already outstanding record. You want
to know how to write a song? Listen to this one. Everything true
and simple and relevant and real about country music is here,
laid out plain in the cowboy way. If you get this, well, you
get it all.
Think campfires, old guitars, the coffee flavor you only get
from a metal pot over an open fire somewhere in the Davis Mountains
or on an island in the middle of the Brazos at midnight. This
is where country music came from. It's also the stories of modern
day cowboys who remember what honor means and know how to stare
down lifeshaking loss with the steely glint that eyes only get
when the heart behind them, for better or for worse, knows itself.
This is what tried and true really means.
Welcome home, Chris. Don't stay away so long this time around.
Makes it hard to keep your beer cold for you. Three chords and
the truth, indeed.
* Chris Wall is back, back in a big way. Judging by this record
and his set at the White Elephant Saloon in Fort Worth just after
New Year's, he's happy about that. Go to www.chriswallmusic.com for Just Another
Place and find out why.
Contact David Pilot at: tailgunner-at-rockzilla.net
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