Plastic Fang
The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
(Matador Records)
Blues, punk, hip hop what’s the difference? All
three genres have been around long enough for their rules to
be codified if not ossified, though discerning critics have
pointed out that the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s particular
brand of postmodern genre-mixing often blurred the lines
between parody, irony, and racial caricaturing in unsettling,
“irresponsible” fashion. Had the JSBX been a bigger mini-major
success story, questions about the rationale behind their
contemptuous hipster posturing might have been broached
with greater seriousness. Yet radio has ignored Spencer’s barks
at the moon, and the JSBX fan base probably hasn’t
bothered to really investigate when and how the aesthetic strategies
of blues, post-punk, and minstrelsy have mixed and mingled in the band’s
music. Luckily for them, it looks like they and you and me will no
longer feel compelled to work out the implications of the band’s
avant-blues phase. Plastic Fang, coming
nearly four years after 1998’s Acme, is the most straightforward record of
the band’s career.
Freed from the silly hip-hop nods and pure-noise
experimentation that have littered and bogged down previous albums for over a
decade, the dozen songs on Plastic Fang
lose none of their snarl and speed thanks to Don Smith’s
production and the unlikely rhythm section of guitarist
Judah Bauer and hulking drummer Russell Simins. Gone
also is Spencer’s faux-Mick Jagger impression (and all of
the cultural baggage that implies) in favor of jokes
about Bazooka gum, Black Flag, and the tribulations of life as
a werewolf.
Here they play “Money Rock ‘n’ Roll” shorn of
historical resonance, and they soar into power-trio heaven from
the atonal opening chord of “Sweet ‘n’ Sour” to the organ
riot that closes the record. Whether this new edition will strike
it rich is moot, which is now sort of sad. As is the fact
that principled ideologues and twentysomethings with no
sense of history or charity will probably ignore this unlikely
testimonial. Addison Engelking
Grade: A-
Keep It Coming
20 Miles
(Fat Possum)
I never was a 20 Miles fan. The band, a side project
of Jon Spencer Blues Explosion guitarist Judah Bauer, may
have had good intentions, but both their debut,
Ragged Backyard Classics, and its abortive follow-up, a North Mississippi
blues project recorded with R.L. Boyce, Othar Turner, and
Spam (T-Model Ford’s drummer), fell far short of success.
Bauer seemed unwilling to shape his own vision, and it
showed: 20 Miles came off as an amorphous stab at
self-expression destined to remain on the back burner.
But you can forget all that now. Keep It
Coming supersedes even the Blues Explosion’s new one
(Plastic Fang) as the blues-rock album of 2002. From the stripped-down
approach of “Well, Well, Well” to the album’s closer, “I Believe,” it’s
evident that Bauer has achieved the impossible: He’s concocted the perfect
combination of hill-country blues and big-city
rock. “Tear down the mountains,” he commands on “Well, Well, Well”
“Help me take down all the idols/I don’t need them/I don’t believe them,”
Bauer growls, and it’s obvious that he’s finally comfortable in his own skin.
The country twang of “Only One,” the ringing guitar rock on
“All My Brothers, Sisters Too!,” and the
jangling affirmations of “Feel Right”
make you wanna turn it up loud and boogie till you drop.
Don’t miss “Rhythm Bound,” an addictive hand-clapping
percussive romp that name-checks H.C. Speir, the Jackson,
Mississippi, talent scout who discovered Charley Patton,
Skip James, and a handful of other bluesmen in the first half
of the 20th century. “Heal myself/Help myself/Soothe
myself every day,” Bauer sings over his chunky guitar chords
with infectious enthusiasm, “I am rhythm bound.”
Elsewhere (“Fix Fences,” “Phaedo”), he plays with a tremolo style
that rivals the late great Pops Staples.
Keep It Coming is so damn good that I wonder what
it took for Bauer to finally break through. I can almost
picture him selling his soul to the devil at some desolate
Brooklyn crossroads, like an urban Robert Johnson. Stranger
things have happened. Andria Lisle
Grade: A
Screamin’ and Hollerin’ the Blues
Charley Patton
(Revenant Records)
Charley Patton is the root of Mississippi Delta
blues. He taught Son House (who taught Robert Johnson
and Muddy Waters). He taught Howlin’ Wolf and Pops
Staples. And he has inspired blues players and fans for generations.
Patton’s life is as mysterious as his music is powerful.
He was born in 1887 and died in 1933. He was a songster
in his day, traveling widely and playing in a range of
styles. The blues was then nascent, the elements from which
it would be created swirling about the Delta like a storm
about to form. Patton played them all from the
Scots-Irish reels and jigs to the Hawaiian-style slide guitar. Patton
himself was the tornado that would be called the blues.
I’ve owned several Patton collections, but none has
been as listenable, as sonically accessible, as these. For the
first time, you can hear Patton without the hissing sound
of previous transfers but with the bass-y bottom punch of
a 78. Untrained ears will have little trouble adjusting to
the sound.
Five of the CDs on this massive collection feature
Patton’s music, including false starts, outtakes, and sessions on
which Patton was a sideman. The sixth disc, Charley’s
Orbit, demonstrates the range of his influence, with tracks by
Bukka White, Son House, Ma Rainey, Furry Lewis, Howlin’
Wolf, and several others. It’s a great compilation disc itself;
that each track can be traced to Patton makes it all the
more powerful. Disc seven features four interviews with
people who knew Patton. The Wolf snippet is incredible, and
the H.C. Speir interview is a fascinating oral history.
As important as this collection is musically, it’s also
an astounding feat of packaging. I had as much fun
opening this box set as I’ve had unwrapping any gift since I was
a child. The package is a recreation of an old 10-inch 78
RPM “album” (several 78s packaged together, like oldies at
the thrift stores). Within, there are seven CDs, a paperback
book on Patton by the late John Fahey (founder of the
reissue label behind this treat), a reproduction of liner notes to
a previous Patton reissue, 128 pages of intense liner
notes from national authorities (including the University of
Memphis’ Dr. David Evans), several reproductions of period
advertisements, and more. It’s expensive (about $175),
but for the blues fan who has everything or the designer
who’s seen it all, it’s well worth the cost.
Robert Gordon
Grade: A+