REMEDIES: METHAMPHETAMINE/O.C.M.S.

Methamphetamine is still, for some, a remedy and, should you be obese and with a hyperactive attention deficit disorder, and for whom other drugs have failed, it may yet be prescribed you. But otherwise it remains a scourge, ravaging communities for its "recreational" effects, which ain't no game I want to play. Cheap and relatively easily fashioned, as anyone who has watched "Breaking Bad" will be familiar, it is better known by its street name of crystal meth. And despite the fact the band represented here take on the title of a Medicine Show, I don't think they are singing of its medical success, the title of the parent album, "Tennessee Pusher" perhaps giving more the game away. But don't get me wrong, the song is no paean to the charms of the high, as can or used to be the case in times and songs not so far gone, more a warning as to the perils of the low. (In many ways I see it a companion piece to Cocaine, written as Coco Blues by the Rev. Gary Davis in 1961, and memorably added to and covered by Jackson Browne 15 odd years later.)

Times, they ain't like nothing they used to be
From rocky mount' to northeast tennessee
Where the river flows with a dusty, cold disease
And the babies whine cause they can't find nothing to eat

But, mama, she ain't hungry no more
She's waiting for a knock on the trailer door

It's gonna rock you like a hurricane
It's gonna rock you 'til you lose sleep
It's gonna rock you 'til you're out of a job
It's gonna rock you 'til you're out on the street
It's gonna rock you 'til you're down on your knees
It's gonna have you begging pretty please
It's gonna rock you like a hurricane
Methamphetamine

Old Crow Medicine Show are a wonderful band, built on the slim sounding idea of recreating the sound of an old-timey string band, busking their way through an amalgam of folk, country and blues. But rather than offering faux re-enactions and milking the idea, along the lines of, say, Hayseed Dixie and their bluegrass spoofs, these guys have stuck to their guns through, largely, writing their own material, a gritty steampunk americana that sits comfortably alongside the more acoustic works of Bruce Springsteen or John Mellencamp. Or indeed virtually any period Bob Dylan, a recent recording being a live tribute to Blonde on Blonde. Which is terrific. It seems somehow apocryphal that their break came as they were found strumming in the street, conveniently enough by Doc Watson, legendary bluegrass guitarist, who was visiting a pharmacy in Boone, North Carolina. Reeks of set-up to me, like those you-tube videos where a busker sings a song by somebody, who, surprise, surprise, just happens to be passing, and joins in, to the astonishment of massed ranks of phone photographers. But, true or no, it's a great tale. That was in the very late 90's, Watson bringing them to the 2000 Merlefest as his guests.

Tennessee Pusher is their 3rd major label outing, the first to be produced by Don Was, earlier production duties being by David Rawlings, who also actually co-wrote the featured song. Another example of with friends like these, maybe, but sympathetic production certainly made a difference, as a listen to an earlier 'remedy' song, Memphis Minnie's "Cocaine Habit" shows, a much rawer deal.

With various changes in personnel, but still centred about core members, Ketch Secor and Critta Fuqua, who met in 7th grade and started it all. Nearly 30 years on, not content to rest their laurels on the Dylan/BoB set, they have recently issued "Volunteer", album number 6, in April this year, the disc rocketing to a number 1 in the bluegrass chart, 7 in americana/folk and 14 in country. That's some sales. I haven't seen 'em live yet, despite 9 trips to the UK over the years. I really must remedy that. (Just don't come back with the wretched Mumfords next time.....)

You want me to beg?

JULY/THE CUCKOO

Sure, you know this, of course you do. You may have sung it as a child; it certainly sounds as if you should have sung it as a child. I didn't but, when I first heard it, I sort of wish I did, or had. I first came across it on the remarkable Kristin Hersh solo album, 'Hips and Makers', in 1994, somewhat of a sidestep from her earlier and later career as, arguably, THE Throwing Muse. (No argument really, but reference is always made, compulsorily, to her half-sibling in the band, Tanya Donnelly.) Tucked in towards the end of a slew of songs of sparse self-immolation comes this cover of an old english folk song, Roud 413 no less. (Me, neither.) It stands out by virtue of its simplicity, perhaps the trigger to her later album, consisting entirely of traditional appalachian ditties, 'Murder, Misery and then Goodnight', also strongly commended. Many of this songs on that set too have a link back to the ballad traditions of Britain.

So what have cuckoos to do with July? Well, everything apparently, or sort of, at least over here. Let me direct you to the lyrics, except, being from the canon of trad.arr., often the lyric varies from version to version, as there is some uncertainty as to whether they "never holler cuckoo till the 4th of July" or whether they "sucketh white flowers to keep her voice clear", the lines apparently interchangeable. This may help. But, as I was saying, it was deemed so essential that a cuckoo's song be heard to beckon in the start of summer that the venerable Times of London traditionally published,  and may well still do, yearly letters around when readers had heard their first of the year. Indeed, a book has put these together. And for those who are thinking the 4th of July late for summer, and I write on the 15th after a full 8 weeks without rain, the suggestion is that the July versions of the song emanate from singers trying to appeal to an american ear.

The list of performers who have included this song in their repertoire is huge, not unexpectedly including the greats of folk song on both sides of the pond, from Jean Ritchie to Shirley Collins, Doc Watson to Martin Simpson, let alone Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. More surprising are versions by rock/blues screamer  Janis Joplin (in Big Brother and the Holding Company) and rapper Buck 65. Here, however are a few more elegant versions, three of my, other than Kristin, favourites.

Archetypal englishman in L.A., Richard Thompson, together with Eliza, daughter of Martin, Carthy and Canadian legend Garth Hudson:

 A radically different version from blues muso-ethnologist Taj Mahal:

And Laura Veirs, with a fairly traditional take:

Hell, I haven't even included Townes, Rory and many, many more. (And some of these, mentioned and/or featured may offer the flower sucking over July. So sue me!) But, before I send you to the record store, all this romanticism should not take away the ugly truth about this bird.

Do you know, if you like the Kristin, buy the whole damn album!

Elvis Covers Part I: Heartbreak Hotel

Doc Watson: Heartbreak Hotel

[purchase]

We speak so much and so well of Arthel "Doc" Watson's ethnomusical prowess with the fiddle tunes of hill and holler, it's easy to forget he fed his early ear on radio, and got his start as a barroom player in a country and western swing band.

But Watson never forgot his other roots. Although a number of his earliest recordings mine Appalachia almost exclusively, his overall body of work - over fifty LPs in all - is peppered with here-and-there coverage of contemporary songs, their tunes and tenor popping through the surface of tradition like errant wildflowers in a field of wheat.

Docabilly, his late career tribute to his early influences, is an extreme case, and quite produced in places, as it should be - Doc's trip down memory lane is paved with smooth studio versions that lean heavily on brushed drums, bluegrass pickin' and slippery slide guitars even as their settings veer from true-blue blues to high-concept country. At its worst, this gives Docabilly a bit of a "novelty album" feel, and it's tempting to argue from a purist's perspective that Doc fails to give this song the gravity it deserves, given its narrative origin in the true tale of a man who jumped out of a hotel window. But there's something tender about the way the aging cowboy baritone takes on these mid-century rock and country hits from Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, The Everly Brothers, and The King himself - he loves these tunes, and you can hear it.

Bodies of Water: What Does The Deep Sea Say?

Bill Monroe & Doc Watson - What Does The Deep Sea Say? [purchase]

What does the deep sea say?
It moans, it groans, it splashes and it foams,
And it rolls on its weary way.

Charlie and Bill Monroe first recorded this tune in 1937, way back when older brother Charlie was the dominant Monroe. But, Bill was no man's second fiddle, so to speak. The group split up in 1938, Monroe joined the Opry in '39, and everything was rosins and bows until Elvis came along and dropped a wiggling turd in the punchbowl. Almost overnight, bluegrass music became quaint and old-fashioned.

Then, in the late 1950s, quaint and old-fashioned music surged in popularity, especially on college campuses. Old was the new new. Bill Monroe was one beneficiary of this so-called folk boom. Doc Watson, the sightless wunderkind of flatpick guitar, was another. When they recorded this duet in May 1963 at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles, Watson was two months away from a performance at the Newport Folk Festival that would put him on the national map for good. Monroe, meanwhile, was already an elder statesman of old-timey, but was about to enter the bluegrass festival era, when he would stand as the genre's livingest legend.

On a sidenote, I'd be willing to bet that in the audience at this Ash Grove show was a young guitar picker named Clarence White. According to Kentucky Colonels bassist, Roger Bush, Clarence called him from the Ash Grove in March 1962, excited about hearing "a blind guitar player from Deep Gap, North Carolina." The KCs actually played the Ash Grove in April 1963, so chances are good they were in town. And if you were in town, why in god's name would you pass up the Bill Monroe/Doc Watson gig??? Trick question ... you wouldn't.

Follow-up dispatch from the "lattice of coincidence":
Within hours of posting this track, Crawdaddy ran a phenomenal profile on Ed Pearl, owner and operator of the Ash Grove nightclub ... who, by the way, singles out Bill Monroe and Doc Watson as career highlights.

Damnations - What Does The Deep Sea Say? [personal recording; not available for purchase]

A beautiful rose, one day,
I placed on the crest of a wave.
I said, "Take it, please, and let it settle home
Above his watery grave."

I've discussed the greatness of The Damnations before, and it was they who turned me onto this obscure chestnut. Though never formally recorded, "Deep Sea" was a regular part of The Damnations setlists. This particular version came from a July 2002 show at the Cactus Cafe in Austin and I was lucky enough to capture it on mini-disc. As usual, sisters Amy Boone (pictured left) and Deborah Kelly (center) provide the killer, downhome harmonies, but it's Rob Bernard's heavy, percussive banjo and Conrad Choucroun's train beat drums that push the song into breakneck, cowpunk territory. Incidentally, after crunching the numbers on Amazon, it turns out you can buy both Damnations albums for a whopping $5!. Get you some.

Winter Wonderland: Footprints In The Snow

Clarence White & Doc Watson - Footprints In The Snow [purchase]

Muleskinner - Footprints In The Snow [purchase]

Today we bookend the career of guitar hero, Clarence White, with a bluegrass standard popularized by Bill Monroe in the 1940s. The duet with Doc Watson in July 1964 was, in some ways, Clarence's coming out party. The Kentucky Colonels' masterpiece, Appalachian Swing, had been released that April, but for bluegrass fans not living in the band's home base of California, the Newport Folk Festival in July was their first chance to see the Colonels in person. Clarence and Doc played a handful of songs at a guitar workshop and I think it's fair to say that the audience got their money's worth.

Muleskinner was a bluegrass supergroup featuring, in addition to Clarence, Peter Rowan on rhythm guitar, David Grisman on mandolin, Richard Greene on fiddle, and Bill Keith on banjo. Ironically, the group's existence was made possible by Bill Monroe. In February 1973, the guys were set to back up Monroe for a Southern California TV show, but the old man's bus broke down on the way to the studio. So, the band played the gig without him, and then in March and April, laid down tracks for an album. Sadly, that album features some of Clarence's final recorded guitar work as he died at the hands of a drunk driver on July 15.

FYI, for those of you wondering when the latest chapter of the Clarence White Chronicles will be set loose on the God-fearing public, look for it on The Adios Lounge in the next few days.