Feel bad this mornin’ Ain’t got no home No use a-worryin’ ‘Cause the world gone wrong
I can’t be good no more Once like I did before I can’t be good, baby Honey, because the world’s gone wrong
—from The World Is Going Wrong, by The Mississippi Sheiks
In order to get a new side project off the ground, I’ve been listening to a LOT of The Mississippi Sheiks. Tremendous songwriters (“Sittin’ On Top Of The World,” anybody? Yeah, that was them …), great and powerful instrumentalists (Delta Blues fiddle? Yep, and tough as fu*k to boot …), and genuine Delta royalty, countin’ Sam Chatmon and Charley Patton amongst their kin …
And as you can tell from the lyric above … prophets. Cuz that’s just about how I feel …
This new project is called The Westside Sheiks. It’s gon’ be real, real cool. We’re on to somethin’ … see if you agree … Here’s the very first song we ever performed together …
“Down The Drain” is the first official video single off my new album “The National Blues” on Coast Road Records. And like virtually everything I write, its roots go deep, and it draws on a great many influences for its shape and sound.
The origins of the song are actually a little out of step with much of what I write, the bulk of which is largely inspired by the early country blues/delta blues canon. Probably the most important influence is actually a comparatively contemporary musical act, a band called Sixteen Horsepower. For my money, they’re likely the greatest band you’ve never heard of. They came out of Denver about the same time as my first album came out (1995), part of a small, localized, but very wonderful sort of Gothic Americana movement that included acts like The Denver Gentlemen, Slim Cessna, Tarantella, Munly, and more. (Full disclosure, I later spent about two years in Denver, and shared bills at one time or another with most of these acts).
David Eugene Edwards of 16 Horsepower was fond of using open minor tunings in what sounded to me like an Open Gm form, and while I’d already spent half my life in open tunings, and while I was also deeply fond of minor keys, I’d never really put the two together in an Open Gm form until I heard 16 Horsepower. But listen to South Pennsylvania Waltz, or Coal Black Horses, or I Seen What I Saw, or Prison Shoe Romp, and you’ll surely see the similarities! (The following playlist has a whole host of 16 Horsepower gems):
Another big influence on the sound of “Down The Drain” was actually a song I learned to love from hearing my Dad play it on the record player when I was a kid. It was a great guitar instrumental from an era full of great guitar instrumentals, and I used to just love it. I’m not even sure I was drawing on its influence as “Down The Drain” started to come together, but once I realized what I’d done, it was pretty obvious what I’d done! Give it a listen, and I’m sure you’ll see what I mean:
Duane Eddy did a killer version of this as well, which you can check out here, and which I also really love.
The semi-wordless chorus (depending on whether you think “sha” and “la” are words!) of “Down The Drain” is probably the other key component of this song that has clear sonic antecedents. I’ve always loved songs that use vocal “sound” as evocation … think of the “humming” part of Skip James’ magisterial “Hardtime Killing Floor Blues” as but one example (Skip’s melodies on this song are definitely an influence on “Down The Drain” as well!), or Adelaide Hall on Ellington’s “Creole Love Call,” both of which are great examples of this kind of thing. Probably more specific to “Down The Drain” of course is something like Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl”—the sha-la-la’s tell the whole emotional story! Given the sound of my voice though, the comparison that probably leaps to mind sooner than Van Morrison is Tom Waits, from “Jersey Girl.” And yeah, I’ll confess that was in my mind when I first started toying with doing the chorus this way. But honestly, it’s not one of my favorite Waits songs, and truthfully, while “Down The Drain” may SOUND like “Jersey Girl” the effect I was actually after was more akin to Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger” which somehow manages to make la-la-la sound somehow so … rueful.
So, where does that get us to so far? 16 Horsepower, Bill Justis, Skip James, and some combination of Van Morrison, Tom Waits, and Iggy Pop. That’s the music!
Now, as to lyrics, that’s a little harder. I don’t entirely know WHERE they came from! I will certainly admit that the drink has played a lot of roles in my songs over the years, and Shane MacGowan has certainly been my patron saint in that regard, so the reference to “your Chardonnay sky will go black & tan” can probably be attributed in no small part to the influence of The Pogues. And I’m not sure one can write a song with rain as a central metaphor and not be thinking of Ann Peebles singing “Can’t Stand The Rain”:
There is actually a LOT of country blues in Peebles’ song, most notably in this verse:
Alone with the pillow Where his head used to lay, yeah I know you’ve got some sweet memories But like a window you ain’t got nothin’ to say
Which definitely calls to mind these lyrics from Son House’s immortal Death Letter Blues:
Got up this mornin’, just about the break of day A-huggin’ the pillow where she used to lay
I actually first discovered Ann Peebles’ song being sung by a band at Your Place Too in Oakland, back in the late eighties. (Check out my friend Pete Devine’s bio on the Howell Devine website for a nice little reference to Your Place Too). I don’t remember the band, but I’ve always remembered the song!
So, now we’re up to: 16 Horsepower, Bill Justis, Skip James, some combination of Van Morrison, Tom Waits, and Iggy Pop, Shane MacGowan, and Ann Peebles.
And I think that’s where I’ll stop. Eight! And I tell you what, it’s a wonderful thing to be able to write songs, if for no other reason than you get to listen to so much music! Thanks for helpin’ me continue to get to do it! To borrow (and mutate!) a great quote from the world of creative writing, to be a good songwriter, you must be a good songlistener!
~
Buy “Preacher Boy – The National Blues” direct! Just click the image below:
From the moment I heard Will Scott play, I have esteemed him greatly. I have for him a love that is brotherly, and a competitor’s admiration. I have been both his student and his teacher, and I remain the former forever more. I am proud to call him friend, and put simply, as a musicianer, he is a motherf&*#er.
We got to do an album together. It’s called Gnawbone, and it’s an incredible bloody record. If you don’t own it, own it.
Here’s the thing about Will and I. When I heard him sing, I knew I was f&#*ed. He came from a RL Burnside, Johnny Shines kind of thing, whereas I was more Bukka White and Blind Willie Johnson. We met in the middle at Son House. He could sing like Son House, and that was hard for me, cuz I couldn’t. But, I could PLAY like Son House, and that helped.
We started doin’ shows together, and it was one night in some weird place in Williamsburg (of 15 years ago, mind you), and here he comes out with the slide lick from “Preachin’ Blues” and I about fell about the place. Cuz now he was singin’ like Son, and playin’ like Son, and everytime I hear that lick I think of Will. Everytime I hear “Preachin’ Blues” I think of Will Scott.
So this song, really, is several notes of appreciation for Will Scott, because when I play it, I think of him. He’s a couple thousand miles away from me right now, but I’m thinkin’ on him. This is a brand-new song called “Obituary Writer Blues.” And if you know your Son House, you might think I copped a lick from him to build this song on top of, but honestly, I stole it from Will Scott.
Obituary Writer Blues
I’m gon’ quite writin’, gon’ lay down this pen I use Oh, now I’m gon’ quit writin’ gon’ lay down this pen I use And you know by that I got the obituary blues
I been at the typer, lord, honey, ’til my fingers sore Honey, I been at the typer, lord, ’til my fingers sore I ain’t gon’ write no obituary anymore
Black was the color, one after another They lay down on sheets of white Time may erase me, but I ain’t so crazy That I don’t know my wrong from right
Oh, sweet mama don’t ‘low me to stay out all night long I may act like I’m crazy, but I do know right from wrong
It was rock, paper, scissors ’til the sword get the better of the pen Oh, it was rock, paper, scissors, ’til the sword got the best of the pen I seen it printed in the paper, somebody shot up some poor kids again
Black was the color, one after another They lay down on sheets of white Time may erase me, but I ain’t so crazy That I don’t know my wrong from right
Oh, sweet mama don’t ‘low me to stay out all night long I may act like I’m crazy, but I do know right from wrong
~
On the subject of thievery, I owe nods to Sleepy John Estes and Nina Simone as well. Dig.
As we close in on the release of new Preacher Boy material, we’re startin’ to look at specific songs, performances, arrangements, etc. This one’s in the running for one of the releases, and this is some behind-the-scenes footage of the recording. It look place in a beautiful old lodge nestled way up in the Santa Cruz Mountains … most mojo-laden, to say the least…
Anyhow, the song is an open-tuning, slidge guitar re-imagining of a piece learned from a Mance Lipscomb recording. His version was called “Evil Blues.” Here, it’s just “Evil.”
For the guitar-heads amongst ye, it’s my 1936 Natty, tuned to open Gm, and capo’d at the 4th fret. Heavy tapered brass slide, and D’addario brass-wounds with a 13 on top and a wound 3rd string … National fingerpicks …
I really hope y’all enjoy this, it’s a song I’ve loved some 25 years now, and it’s both an honor and a terror to record it and present it …
Cheers all, thanks so much for payin’ me some mind…
Sleepy John Estes. For my money, one of THE voices of country blues. The reason why we have the cliche “cryin’ the blues.” So plaintive, so heartbreaking, so present, so cool, so real, so powerful, so compelling. An almost laughably clumsy guitar player, and yet the perfect accompanist for himself. With Hammie Nixon and Yank Rachel of course. But really, who’d want a whole mess of guitar gettin’ in the way of that gorgeous voice?
As for myself, I can’t sing like that. And actually, I love guitar like that. Which essentially explains the arrangement of “Down South Blues” that I’ve landed on. And by landed on I mean played endlessly, over and over, year after year, stage after stage, night after night. I’ve been playin’ this song almost since the beginning of Preacher Boy. I’ve had the pleasure of playing this song with SO MANY great musicians: Jim Campilongo, Ralph Carney, David Immergluck, Big Bones, Jamie “Beatnik Beats” Moore, Tim Luntzel, Virgil Thrasher, and many, many others that I’m regretfully not name-checking here but am nonetheless very grateful to …
The point being, I love this song, and I always have, and I’m really excited about the opportunity to commit it to recorded posterity. And with that, a video to share; a wee bit o’ raw behind-the-scenes footage from a recent recording session in the wilds of the Santa Cruz Mountains:
By way of comparison, and if for no other reason than to hip you up to this beautiful song if ya don’t yet know it:
The Pocket is strictly authentic. I love it. The sound is actually mighty mighty for an oilcan crib, the souls behind the bar are extremely soulful, and Patron Papa Jerry is of a broken mold and more … poet laureate of the pub, dig?
Yeah, man. The wisdom.
I had the great pleasure of rollin’ in recently with The National Blues — Virgil Thrasher on the horizontal reed hammer, Zack Olsen on the tub n’ thumps — and we carved three sonic hours out of the night-funk, including a slice of sour cherry drama by the name of “A Little More Evil” …
7 1/2 minutes of crescendo murk mud menace, prognosticated via slide baton on wail cans and thub-tumpers …
Truth be told, my steady at the BBQ is fast becoming one of my favorite gigs I’ve ever had.
Don’t get me wrong, those days on stages in front of 200-person audiences, 2000-person audiences, even the occasional 10,000-person audience; those days are something to remember, and to treasure.
I’ve been very, very, very lucky in that regard.
Imagine, I turned 30 on stage in front of some 1000 Londoners as the opening act for Shane MacGowanl! I played the San Francisco Blues Festival with John Lee Hooker as the headliner! I toured 17 countries with Eagle-Eye Cherry! I played Glastonbury, and got to see my name on the same poster with Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, and Portishead! I’ve played Sonny Boy’s in Helena, BB’s in LA, and Buddy’s in Chicago!
I tell you, I’ve been lucky.
But in all honesty, the music I grew up on, the music I learned by, the music I still play today, the music I will forever return to when I’m lost, it didn’t grow up in clubs. It didn’t grow up in theaters or arenas. It didn’t grow up at festivals. It didn’t grow up on radio, or tv, or the internet. It didn’t even grow up in concert. It grew up in backyards, on porches, in fields. It grew up around food, around drink, around people. It grew up on chairs, in corners, on the floor. It grew up in places just like Aptos St. BBQ, where people of all kinds come to eat, drink, talk, and listen to music.
I’m very, very lucky to have this gig, and I’m proud to share some music with you from my shows there. Please see below, and I hope you enjoy!
See that article headline? That’s how that’s supposed to read. But when I first “wrote” the line, I actually spoke it. Into my iPhone. And here is what my iPhone actually created:
And eight minutes are all Spallone into the deep caverns of blind Willie Johnson’s delta gospel swamp donkey
And so with that, I give you some delta gospel swamp donkey:
What this actually is, is footage from a performance at the Hermitage Brewing Company, as part of their 6th annual MEET THE BREWERS CRAFT BEER FESTIVAL (you can read a brief review of the event here).
I adore playing this song; the melody line is just canonical, the groove is so insidious, the lyrics are just haiku-zen-blues perfect, and it’s transporting to perform it. I’ve been playing this song for 20+ years, and it moves me as much now as it ever did. God may or may not move on the water, but Blind Willie moves on me.
Droppin’ into a new venue for the first time tomorrow night (1.4.15): Jerry’s Front Pocket. Gonna run the sound down with a trio: myself, harmonica ace Virgil Thrasher, and Zack Olsen on the skins.
I don’t know the place yet, but they’re pullin’ in some killer talent, including a couple of my ol’ Blind Pig Records stablemates: Debbie Davies & Popa Chubby.
This is gonna be a great chance to reunite with my new fave drummer pardner Zack Olsen, whom you can hear here poundin’ the tubs with me and Big Bones at Biscuits & Blues:
And as to Virgil and I, we were most recently caught together on New Year’s Day at my new weekly musical home Aptos St. BBQ, runnin’ down an alt. blues stomp-off of “If I Had Possession Over My Judgement Day”:
This particular trio format is a pretty odd one (National, Harmonica, Drums), but it’s a gas, with a lot of space for everyone to fill, and big responsibilities for the right hand thump; as there’s no bass …
Gon’ be playin’ tunes from the whole history; pre-Blind Pig, some Blind Pig era cuts, lil’ something from Tenderloin, even a cut from Crow, and of course some things from Devil’s Buttermilk and Demanding To Be Next.
Not to mention a whole slew of Bukka White, Son House, Fred MacDowell, Blind Willie Johnson, Sleepy John Estes, etc.
The perfect road song is a kind of Holy Grail for songwriters.
To write it is to experience a holy striking of compositional lightning, the result of which is ideally a song magically evoking the singular juxtapositions of fear and exhilaration that inevitably define a long, possibly late-night, and certainly lonely drive.
This is something I believe all songwriters pursue.
My most recent attempt did not succeed. It is not the perfect road song.
It is called “My Car Walks On Water,” and while it is not the perfect road song, I will say in its defense that it has certainly stood the test of time. I first tried to demo an early version of this song back in 1993. 21 years later, it is still with me, still alive, still changing, still convincing me it is real, a real road song …
I am safe in here
No need to worry any longer
The rain may break the forest’s bones
But my car walks on the water
To equate one’s car with Jesus is the usual unusual nocturnal moxie of the driver driving, alone …
This new iteration is my favorite version. Somehow, with Bones …
My desert island road song is probably “State Trooper,” by Bruce Springsteen, from his dark acoustic masterwork Nebraska. The imagined conversations (or so I perceive them to be) with a State Trooper play out like a narcoleptic head play starring a driver, and no one else …
Maybe you got a kid
Maybe you got a pretty wife
The only thing that I got
Has been botherin’ me my whole life
Mister State Trooper
Please don’t stop me
And the descriptions of the passing nocturnal nightscape are desperately, dirtily perfect …
New Jersey turnpike
Ridin’ on a wet night
Beneath the refinery’s glow
Out where the great black rivers flow
My first “proper” attempt (meaning, my first published and recorded attempt) at the perfect road song was a cut called “The Drive Goes On” from my debut album Preacher Boy & The Natural Blues:
The rearview mirror shines back my red eyes
And the yawns come on, just before sunrise
I keep my eyes open, cuz accidents happen
My left leg is asleep and the right one’s nappin’
It was not perfect either, but to this day, some 20 years later, I hear the song, and I remember exactly where I was driving on that dark mountain night …
“My Car Walks On Water” is altogether a different kind of narrative animal; more compressed, bluesier, a broader reconciliation of the simple (It’s rainin’ hard, and I can’t see) and the strange (The rain my soak time’s swingin’ braids).
But is it, “The Perfect Road Song?”
No, it is not.
But it is one more humble and deeply felt contribution to a growing canon of songs that collectively represents our search for harmonic Americana Nirvana.
~
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