Rubber City Review

Back in the heyday of Cleveland rock radio, this wildman named Murray Saul – sounding a lot like Howard Dean when he blew up his campaign for President – would usher in the weekend with a full-throttle rant on WMMS-FM. Here’s a taste from one of the station’s TV commercials, circa 1975:

Typically, Saul would stick it to the “slavedrivers” who owned us all week at the office or factory. Of course, that was back when most of us had office or factory jobs. Today, Saul’s rants seem like quaint reminders of an era when 5 p.m. on Friday was something worth celebrating. If you’re lucky enough to have a job today, it’s probably one of three low-paying gigs that keep you working all weekend. If not, well, Friday is just another day to smoke weed and hone your Xbox skills while waiting for your mom to get home so you can borrow her car.

I sort of enjoyed the whole ‘MMS “Home of the Buzzard” schtick, even though I was turned off by much of the station’s hard-rock playlist (did we really need to hear Ian Hunter’s “Cleveland Rocks” every four hours?). Which led me to wonder, what if I were in charge of picking the song that would officially kick off a weekend of unholy activity? What homage to hell-raising would I unleash on the populace, whipping thousands of worker bees into a frenzy of drinking, drug use and other forms of debauchery? Sure as hell wouldn’t be anything by Loverboy (with all due respect to ‘MMS fans around the world).

In my alternate universe, it could easily be something by Southern Culture on the Skids. “I got eight slappin’ pistons ri’cheer under my hood”… kind of says it all, doesn’t it? Sure, “just wrap your legs round these velvet rims and strap your hands across my engines” is a pretty cool come-on for a lost weekend together. But here in the real world, you only have a few seconds to make the pitch. So I’ll defer to SCOTS frontman Rick Miller and his timeless ode to parking-lot dating. Besides, how can you resist a song that name-checks Tony Joe White and announces its presence with the mighty cowbell? Voodoo Cadillac

In honor of The Black Keys’ new release dropping on December 6, I’ll simply point out that my favorite song on the album could wreak havoc any night of the week. Unfortunately, I can’t sample the cut without getting sued by my nephew. So let’s go back to one of the band’s more overlooked efforts, “Magic Potion,” and a tune that’s destined for the Garage Rock Hall of Fame. By the way, where would one locate such an establishment? Maybe Boone County, West Virginia – home of the one-man garage band, the late Hasil Adkins… or how about Link Wray’s “Three-Track Shack” on the family farm in Accokeek, Maryland? RCR’s phone lines are open… Your Touch

Those of you who reside on more rural routes probably like to start the weekend with a healthy dose of twang. Forget about that overprocessed horseshit you hear on modern country radio. Let’s revisit a honky tonk classic and one of the great career launchers of all time – the very first cut from Dwight Yoakam’s debut on the Reprise label. Once again, cars play a key role (hard to spend a memorable weekend without one). And thankfully, the guitars are in the capable hands of Pete Anderson, who along with Dwight led the “Back to Bakersfield” movement in the mid-‘80s. If it’s possible to make hillbilly music hip, those two guys pulled it off with this one: Guitars, Cadillacs

So Friday night rolls around, you’ve put in your 40+ at work, the next two days are all yours… but it still doesn’t seem like you have anything to celebrate. You can always ease into the weekend with a little blues, Jimmy Reed-style. Might help you face the facts – like, for example, your boss is a dick and you don’t get paid squat. Maybe this tune and a little “liquid courage” will help you set things straight on Monday morning. Good luck with that. Big Boss Man

I can already predict the comments. “How can you get the party started without the Bubba anthem, Freebird?” Well, I’ve hung out with a few bikers over the years… spent an evening or two at a Bourbon-fueled bonfire… experienced the primordial forces within this storied ballad-cum-guitar throwdown. I get it. But I’d rather start the weekend with Lucinda Williams spreading her own brand of Joy. This tune has no use for a ballad-style opening. It jumps in with a snarl and then works itself into a barely controlled rage. Which is how most people feel after five days at a dead-end job. So don’t hire me as your Friday-night DJ if you’re trying to escape reality. Joy

What’s the best party ever thrown? Woodstock. What was the best performance at Woodstock? Santana, hands down. OK, Sly and the Family Stone gave them a run for their money. But to me, Santana playing Soul Sacrifice defines Woodstock. And I can’t believe Carlos played as well as he did, watching his guitar neck writhe like a snake while he was tripping on acid (which is only more discouraging for the rest of us who can barely play straight). If I were head of the Rock Police, all drum solos would have been outlawed after Michael Shrieve tore it up at Woodstock. That dude from Rush can whirl around all he wants – he can’t touch what Shrieve laid down in ’69 (video below).

Now that I’ve downplayed Sly’s performance at Woodstock, I have to admit that he came up with one of my all-time favorite Friday-night jams: Thank You (Falletinme Be Mice Elf Agin). How can you hear that deep groove kick in – fueled by Larry Graham’s funky bass – and not want to jump up and shake something? I’m pretty sure this song helped popularize that unfortunate dance known as The Robot. But I’m willing to overlook that (and the title) to place it at or near the top of my list of weekend kick-starters. Hell, you could put another four or five tunes by Sly on that list. In fact, just slap on his Greatest Hits and stand back – someone’s about to hit the switch on this ‘bot. Thank You (Falletinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

We’ll close by taking one step back from Sly and paying tribute to the Godfather of Soul, James Brown. Forget about songs that build to a climax… This next tune starts with an explosion of sound and never lets up. The guy driving the beat is the original “Funky Drummer,” Clyde Stubblefield – someone who I’m sure didn’t miss Michael Shrieve’s attention back in the ‘60s. For a number of years, Stubblefield had a regular Monday-night gig at a small club in downtown Madison, Wisconsin (I understand he’s now ailing and in need of a new kidney… if anyone has an update on Clyde, set me straight). If you need the aural equivalent of a kick in the ass, bring this to the party and watch your backside. There Was A Time

Santana at Woodstock, with a 20-year-old Michael Shrieve. The only drum solo you’ll ever hear on this site. It’s been 42 years since this performance… Can any modern-day jam band touch this?

From the sublime to SCOTS… The wizards of white trash extol the many virtues of the Mojo Box:

Cleveland. Where DJ Alan Freed first coined the phrase “rock ‘n roll” and hosted the form’s coming-out party, the infamous Moondog Coronation Ball in 1952. City that launched the careers of David Bowie and Bruce Springsteen. Home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. So it makes perfect sense that the city’s one or two remaining rock radio stations have been eclipsed by country (and sports talk, of course).

I bring this up only because of an experiment I recently conducted in my car, which has an iPod adapter that works about three months out of the year. Following its most recent failure, I decided to listen to nothing but mainstream country radio for a week or so. Partly to figure out why contemporary country artists like Rascal Flatts, Taylor Swift and Toby Keith are so damn popular. And partly because I’m a glutton for punishment.

When it comes to country music, I’m more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Give me Senior, not Junior. Love Merle Haggard, Buck Owens and George Jones. And if I have to listen to contemporary stuff, I usually migrate toward the alternative end of the scale, where artists like Dwight Yoakam, Gillian Welch, Steve Earle and Rosanne Cash ply their trade.

To my ears, much of contemporary country sounds like poorly disguised power ballads from the ‘80s – or even worse, a perfectly generic strain of southern boogie rock. In fact, the glossy sound of modern country music (processed drums, tricked-up guitars, etc.) makes it virtually indistinguishable from ‘80s rock. But I went into this with an open mind. I decided to make every effort to find something, anything, I might like about America’s number one music format. And I’m pleased to say I didn’t come back empty-handed (although I’d like to finish my time on earth without ever again hearing the term “badonkadonk”).

After hours of intensive research, I was able to identify several key ingredients you can find in many country hits.

First of all, modern country owes a huge debt to two major figures who never graced the stage at the Grand Old Opry: Keith Richards and Jack Daniel. Richards is noteworthy for inventing the opening riff to Honky Tonk Women – and various mutations of that riff are used to kick off the vast majority of “rockin’ country” hits. At least it seems that way. And Daniel because references to hard whiskey are far more prevalent today in country music than they were back in the ‘50s, when country stars actually drank whiskey and the term “personal trainer” could only apply to a horse.

Back to Richards… Here’s a nod to Keith from his Aussie namesake (and reformed alcoholic) Keith Urban, who ain’t no slouch on guitar but could afford to learn a few new tricks: You Look Good In My Shirt/Keith Urban

And here’s a tune by another famous Keith (Toby… see, I’m really onto something here) that also seems like a sanitized tribute to the Stones’ greatest hit: Beer For My Horses/Toby Keith with Willie Nelson

That little tribute to vigilante justice includes guest artist Willie Nelson – who, ironically, would be doing hard time if he and his fellow weed wranglers ever got stuck in Indonesia.

Another common denominator in modern country is this strange infatuation with a guy more closely associated with sailboats and parrots than guns and pickup trucks: Jimmy Buffett. I’ll just come out and say it… Every male country star wants to reinvent himself as the next Jimmy Buffett. Why? Three simple reasons. First, it would put them in the same financial zip code as Jimmy and his brother from another mother, Warren Buffett. Second, they won’t have to work nearly as hard in concert. And third, they can spend most of their free time sailing from one Caribbean island to another rather than dodging fans and floods in Nashville.

Of course, the frontrunner in the Buffett.2 sweepstakes is Kenny Chesney. Hell, Chesney isn’t the least bit coy about his strategy – he even records with the guy (then again, so does most of Nashville). Now I listened to Chesney’s new album all the way through. And I have to admit, “Hemingway’s Whiskey” ain’t too bad, especially from a guy who’s spent the last few years chasing parrotheads. Nice duet with Grace Potter. Strong lyrics. A few unexpected twists and turns throughout. But he still can’t resist the temptation to go coastal now and then: Coastal/Kenny Chesney

I’ve also noticed that far too many country hits sound like they were written with a Random Buzzword Generator programmed by a guy named Cletus. Let’s look at just a short list of terms that crop up often in modern country: boots, cut-off jeans, cold beer, whiskey, sweet tea, old back road, old dirt road, jeep, truck, tractor, four-wheel drive, six pack, dog, porch, Tennessee, Alabama, Georgia, small town, red, white, blue, blacktop, dancefloor, Hank, Willie, Waylon, Skynyrd, Friday/Saturday night, Sunday morning… Now let’s hit the RBG and see what pops up:

I’m drivin’ down an old dirt road
Blastin’ Hank in my pickup truck
Just slipped it into four-wheel drive
So I can plow right through this muck

My gal’s in her cut-off jeans
It’s a small-town Saturday night
Not in Georgia but in Tennessee
Where the whiskey tastes just right

When Sunday morning comes around
I’ll drive my tractor into town
We’ll praise the Lord and the Red White & Blue
Then rock some Skynyrd ’til the sun goes down

Needs a chorus, but you get the picture.

One song by newcomer Brantley Gilbert, Country Must Be Country Wide, even includes this amazing claim: “In every state there’s a station playin’ Cash, Hank, Willie, and Waylon.” Safe to say you’ll be driving for days before you hear Hank Sr. or even Waylon Jennings on the radio.

So what did I like about modern country, you ask? Well, let me see… Mostly I liked the women, who tend to leave the tired riffs and hackneyed slogans to the men. For example, if you’ve ever had a teenage daughter, you can certainly appreciate this song by Martina McBride: Teenage Daughters/Martina McBride

And I’m not going to go hatin’ on Taylor Swift (mainly because I don’t want to show up in her next song). Unlike a lot of her contemporaries, she doesn’t seem too interested in Nashville convention. I like to think of her as a countrified (as opposed to country-fried… big difference) Alanis Morissette – she’s sort of an angry young woman, but still a little too polite to tell someone to go pound sand up his ass: Mean/Taylor Swift

Then there’s Miranda Lambert… Who in his right mind would mess with this woman? I guess that would be her husband, Blake Shelton, but maybe he’s just not smart enough to know what he got himself into. Tunes like the next one and Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood are part of an interesting little sub-genre of country music that I like to call the “you messed with me one too many times you pathetic unlucky son of a bitch” song: Gunpowder & Lead/Miranda Lambert

Getting back to the men, it’s hard not to like Brad Paisley. Sure, he lacks restraint and sometimes good taste on guitar. But at least he’s not afraid of twang, which is something most country artists tend to avoid like the Democratic Party (interesting that Paisley and Tim McGraw buck that trend too): She’s Her Own Woman/Brad Paisley

Finally, there’s that whole Rascall Flatts thing. Surely there’s something about these guys I can latch onto. Anything. Let’s start with the fact that the singer is refreshingly homely. And he doesn’t wear a cowboy hat. Now let’s take a look at the music…

Take me back to the Eighties, when an exciting new breed of honky tonkers came up with the perfect antidote to bad rock. “Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc., Etc.” by Dwight Yoakam, “Storms of Life” by Randy Travis, “King’s Record Shop” by Rosanne Cash, “Guitar Town” by Steve Earle… The whole “cowpunk” thing was happening too – but bands like Green on Red and The Long Ryders weren’t allowed to play in the same sandbox as Dwight’s guitarist Pete Anderson:

Now this is country music – The Beatles’ favorite honky tonk band: Buck Owens and His Buckaroos (with Dangerous Don Rich on guitar and tenor harmony) on the Jimmy Dean Show, 1966. Stick around for Tom Brumley’s pedal steel bit at the end of the band introductions… 20 seconds of pure country goodness:

I have more than 21,000 songs on my iPod. And I wrap tin foil around my head to keep out the gamma rays.

Do you think less of me? I’m referring to the iPod, of course. Normal people would find this to be a symptom of OCD. Audiophiles would scoff at the idea of listening to all this music in a highly compressed electronic format. My brother thinks I should be more selective in terms of what I put on my iPod. But my wife likes the fact that hundreds of CDs, records and tapes are now stashed away in the deep recesses of my basement (where I routinely hunt for liner notes to help me with these posts).

One thing about having this many songs on your iPod is that you can put it on shuffle and still feel that sense of discovery. I mean, how many of those tunes could I actually listen to before I dumped them into my library? It’s like tapping into a radio station programmed by a guy with… well, tin foil wrapped around his head.

And that’s the subject of today’s post. No, not mental illness. I thought I’d put the entire contents of my iPod on shuffle and write about what pops up.

This exercise was not audited by the blog authorities. You only have my word that I didn’t screw with the results. As usual, I was surprised by what the little genie in my iPod chose to play. And, as usual, the results reflect the fact that I am completely out of touch with today’s youth culture (Exhibit A: use of term “youth culture”).

But first, let me point out that I typically don’t put my entire iPod on shuffle. It’s simply too dangerous, especially if I’m driving. I once almost drove into oncoming traffic after Coltrane segued into Coldplay, which I’m sure ended up on my music library by accident.

I prefer using playlists – even if they include several hundred songs – and I’ve got some great ones.  Drinking songs (see “There Stands the Glass“)… pure, unfiltered honky tonk… post-war jump blues and R&B, including some rare reissues that appeared on CD for about five minutes (see “Jumpin’ the Blues“)… choice cuts from the glory years of Blue Note… playlists devoted to other great labels like Stax, Sun, Fania, Riverside…

I even have my own genres – mainly because I don’t like the ones provided by the record companies. For example, I think Freddie King, Link Wray and Lonnie Mack belong in the same category as Dick Dale. So I created the genre “Surf & Beyond.” Django Reinhardt doesn’t really go with my jazz stuff… he has his own genre. The Black Keys’ “Chulahoma,” G. Love’s “Coast to Coast Motel” and John Hammond’s “Wicked Grin”? Dirty Blues. And, as I’ve already pointed out, R&B ain’t Kool & the Gang. It’s Louis Jordan, Wynonie Harris and Big Joe Turner. So take that, Mister Genre-Impaired, Think-Inside-The-Box Record Man!

But back to the grand experiment. The first tune selected by my iPod is… Strollin’ With Bone, from T-Bone Walker’s “Complete Imperial Recordings.” Whew… damn good start! I’ve always been a big fan of T-Bone, and this is one of his best numbers. T-Bone started out as a street dancer, which helps explain his almost percussive attack along with a completely original sense of time and phrasing. And he had a huge influence on virtually every blues guitarist who followed – especially flamethrowers like Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown and Johnny “Guitar” Watson. Strollin’ With Bone/T-Bone Walker

Next up – honky-tonk hero Dwight Yoakam, from his 2005 comeback of sorts, “Blame the Vain.” This isn’t my favorite cut from the album (the title song is one of Dwight’s best). But there’s a lot to like on “Blame.” Dwight’s singing is less affected than on his first recordings. And his new hot-shit guitarist, Keith Gattis, has plenty of opportunities to show off… like this nasty little riff he uses to bring the song back down to the key of E: Intentional Heartache/Dwight Yoakam

Now the iPod genie picks the great Professor Longhair, the King of New Orleans Piano. This is from the 2-CD set “The Mercury Blues ‘n’ Rhythm Story 1945-55: Southwest Blues” – actually one of four releases in a first-rate overview of Mercury’s landmark R&B recordings. I’m not sure if there is such a thing as a bad cut by Longhair. I can highly recommend the nine that show up on the Mercury collection… as well as Rhino Records’ “’Fess: The Professor Longhair Anthology” and especially “House Party New Orleans Style,” which features two of my favorite guitarists of all time – Gatemouth Brown and Snooks Eaglin. Been Fooling Around/Professor Longhair

Here’s a tune written by Johnny Cash but performed by the Louvin Brothers, who showed up in our recent post on harmony singing. You have to wonder what pit of despair Cash stumbled into to write this one: “Lord have mercy on me was the kneeling drunkard’s plea, and as he knelt there on the ground I know that God in heaven looked down… Bring my darling boy to me was his mother’s dying plea, and as he staggered through the gate alas he came just one day too late.” Give me a few minutes to recover… I’ll be right back. Kneeling Drunkard’s Plea/The Louvin Brothers

We stagger from that one to Hearsay by The Soul Children – a vocal quartet, split evenly across gender lines, that recorded for the Stax label in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. Both of the male Soul Children – Norman West and J. Blackfoot – still perform today. This tune sounds oddly reminiscent of Soul Man, which is exactly what Stax songwriters Isaac Hayes and David Porter had in mind… They were hoping to strike gold with a different combination after Sam & Dave slipped away (they remained with Atlantic following a split with Stax in ‘68). You can find Hearsay on a two-disc compilation from 2007 celebrating Stax’s 50^th Anniversary. Hearsay/The Soul Children

From Memphis we head up to Chicago – following the same route that Howlin’ Wolf took from Sun to Chess Records back in 1953. A year later he cut the song Forty-Four, one of many interpretations of a blues standard first recorded by Roosevelt Sykes in 1929. The original is more curious than menacing, with “44” used to reference a gun, a train and a cabin. Wolf, on the other hand, has one thing in mind, and that’s pumping lead into the poor sonofabitch who messed with his woman. Essential Chicago blues – with Hubert Sumlin and Jody Williams on guitars, Otis Spann on piano, Willie Dixon on bass and Earl Phillips on drums. Forty-Four/Howlin’ Wolf

And why wouldn’t you follow up that one with the dazzling sax of Sonny Stitt, playing the George and Ira Gershwin favorite Nice Work If You Can Get It? Yeah, I’m starting to get a little whiplash too. But at least this one’s by a master like Stitt, and not Sting (thankfully, I have a very effective “Sting-B-Gone” filter installed on my iPod). This version is from the 3-CD box set “Stitt’s Bits: The Bebop Recordings, 1949-1952”… with liner notes by Cleveland’s Harvey Pekar (“American Splendor”). Nothing groundbreaking on it, so don’t run out and get it – unless you happen to like beautifully executed jazz by one of the greatest sax players to ever roam the planet. Nice Work If You Can Get It/Sonny Stitt

Talk about whiplash… now we’re back in the honky tonks, this time with California cowgirl Heather Myles. I love the collection this song is from: “Rum and Rodeo,” which pulls select cuts from Heather’s first two albums on the Hightone label. She’s got a lot of that hard, Bakersfield sound in her… I’m sure she’s a woman you wouldn’t want to trifle with. An American original with loads of talent – playing music that’s authentic, honest and heartfelt. Wonder why she never caught on in Nashville? The Other Side Of Town/Heather Myles

Now let’s go down to the Crawdad Hole with Big Joe Turner. This tune is from “Big, Bad & Blue,” an essential overview of Big Joe’s storied career as the Boss of the Blues. You could argue that his glory days were long gone by the time he recorded this number in 1983 with R&B revivalists Roomful of Blues. But I would’ve paid good money to hear Big Joe sing along with the organ player at the ballpark. Now strap me in a time machine and take me back to Kansas City, 1935, Big Joe shoutin’ the blues over the boogie-woogie piano of the great Pete Johnson. Crawdad Hole/Big Joe Turner

We should’ve stopped right there… but I let my iPod play one more song, and up pops Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. Actually, once you get past the crappy production, it’s a pretty damn good song. In fact, I’m not sure if anyone has ever celebrated the joys of getting it on with as much passion as Mr. Gaye. Well, maybe R. Kelly… but the only healing R. has in mind involves Feelin’ On Yo Booty (this is the same guy who recorded Heaven, I Need A Hug??). Come back, Marvin – we need you now more than ever…

R.I.P., Harvey… On the same morning I pushed the button on this one, Harvey Pekar passed away. Here’s a nice tribute in today’s New York Times. I found it interesting that Pekar might have been banned from the Letterman Show for lashing out against General Electric, then Letterman himself started trash-talking GE toward the end of his tenure at NBC. Here’s a clip of Harvey’s tirade… he’ll be missed (now I feel silly for wasting even a sliver of bandwidth on LeBron).