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Rob Jungklas Wanders Beulah Land with Rebel Souls

An ill-informed music fan might mistake Rebel Souls, the latest album from Rob Jungklas, as a slice of Americana. And with titles like “Southern Cross the Dog,” “Beulah Land,” and “Down to the River,” who could blame them? Other details — the cover art by Brooke Barnett, suggesting a black-and-red rose wood print, or the presence of the Sacred Harp Singers of Cork, Ireland, on two tracks — only seem to confirm its Americana provenance.

But examine both the songs and the cover image a bit more closely, and something altogether more intriguing appears.

On closer inspection, that darkly sensuous rose is actually a kind of landscape, a hallway or tunnel ending in some sort of mandala, framed by broken chains. And the lead track’s title, “Ruination,” offers another hint. Open the book of lyrics that accompanies the CD, and you’ll see the full title is “The Body’s Ruination is the Soul’s Release.” The music isn’t the typical folk gospel that might accompany that line, but the modern drone of a synthesizer, leading a minor key dirge as Jungklas sings with an eerie desperation.

In “Beulah Land,” Jungklas “sees Death walking like a man” — a familiar figure in the universe of Rebel Souls. If the phrase carries echoes of ageless blue songs, that’s appropriate. The blues as an idea permeates the album, though the music itself is barely hinted at. Muddy Waters and Furry Lewis appear in different songs, and moreover, the specters of death and loss hover over nearly every word. “Love is the religion,” he sings in “Ruination,” “but Death is the deity.”

Make no mistake, love is present in this world, as crafted by Jungklas in deft literary touches. It’s just that it’s hard-won, coming only after one faces the costs of survival in a brutal land. “I paid in blood for all I have,” Jungklas sings. By the album’s end, one gets a sense of what his rewards might be, as the music turns to major-key hopefulness, albeit cautiously, in “Down to the River.”

The moon rose over Midtown
With a sweet narcotic pull
Shining down on the bleeding and the beautiful
Shining down on all the noble savages
And all the ragged saints
Those of us who are redeemed
And those of us who ain’t

The album’s atmosphere of creeping twilight owes much to the subtle arrangements, blending expertly crafted synthesizer textures with the sound of an organic band. Indeed, some tracks were even recorded live at The Green Room at Crosstown Arts by the inimitable Kevin Houston, who co-produced the album with Jungklas. Other tracks and overdubs were then recorded and mixed by Houston at Nesbit Recording Services. And the contributing musicians — including strings by Jonathan Kirkscey, Jana Meisner, and Krista Lynne Wroten, bass by Sam Shoup, guitar by Dave Smith, and percussion by Shawn Zorn — lend a human warmth to the dark proceedings.

Some music has the distinct ability to immerse you in a landscape, be it a mansion on a hill or the rains down in Africa. The latest from Jungklas has that quality, centered on Memphis, with a vision of the American South laced with dread and foreboding, and perhaps a shred of hope.

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Letter From The Editor Opinion

Everything That’s True

Photo by Fontaine Pearson

Darling, we are the light reflected 

Darling, we are the love we made 

Darling, nothing precious is protected 

We’re all trembling like a blossom 

With winter on the way. — Rob Jungklas 

Maybe it’s last week’s passing of Wanda Wilson, the singular and much-loved proprietess of the P&H Cafe, a woman who created and curated a beer joint that once made Midtown feel like a village of like-minded souls. It was a harbor, a place of sanity (and insanity), conversation, friendship, and laughter for those of us of a certain age.

Maybe it’s the rain and the long cold spell and the winter hanging on, but there’s an inevitable sadness that comes when you ponder the passing of people and things. Sometimes you just have to let it in.

Or maybe it was my discovery of Rob Jungklas’ “Everything That’s True,” a perfect and gorgeous song celebrating the temporal, inevitable human condition. Memphis singer Susan Marshall posted Jungklas’ song on her Facebook page and dedicated it to all the “beloved Memphians who have recently passed: Jimi Jamison, Jack Holder, John Hampton, John Fry, Sid Selvidge, Jim Dickinson, Di Anne Price, Mabon ‘Teenie’ Hodges, James Govan, and Wanda Wilson.”

Seeing that list in black and white was stunning. So many Memphis music and cultural icons gone in such a short time, so much light no longer reflected.

I found myself wanting to disconnect from the hive-mind of email and chatrooms and Twitter and Facebook for a while. I dug out some old books and hunkered down by the fireplace on Sunday, reading from Be Here Now, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, and a battered Alan Watts tome — books that offer words and thoughts that lead one back to the center, to this moment.

Here. Now. All that we have.

And after thinking for a while, it came to me that the hive itself, the incessant connections we make with each other these days, is itself a gift — a way of learning more about the joys and pains of the human condition. The village is larger now; the beer joints are still there, but there are other paths to empathy, to sharing sorrows, celebrations, and memories, to being connected to those we don’t see often enough.

The deepest valley of the human heart knows winter is always on the way, even as spring approaches. It’s as certain as the throw of stars overhead on a February night. There’s a sadness there, but it’s a good sadness. And that too is a gift.

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Music Record Reviews

Record Reviews: Three Memphis songwriters wrestle with mortality.

Rob Jungklas

Nothing to Fade

Self-release

There is a striking contrast between Rob Jungklas’ last two albums. Where 2013’s The Spirit & the Spine was a tortuous exploration of religious dread, his latest, Nothing To Fade, opens with the expansive acoustic universe of “Mary Sees Angels.” Anchored in tuned-down guitars and a five-string bass, a tone of redemption emerges from the depths. This tone continues in “Cop For You,” which has a hint of Cat Stevens amid the whooshy, compressed drums. Jungklas produced with Chad Cromwell and Jack Holder. Cromwell is a Nashville-based Memphian who has drummed for Neil Young and Mark Knopfler. Holder is known for his work with Black Oak Arkansas and Cobra. Jungklas has an affinity for religious language. But he never gets far from the edge. The black hounds gather for “Crawl the Moonlight Mile,” but the dark mood doesn’t dominate this record like it did his last one. The notions of faith and doubt permeate Jungklas’ work, but what sets him apart from “Contemporary Christian” music is his willingness to descend into Hell and the fact that he knows what good acoustic guitars sound like. It’s good to hear his voice emerge from the darkness.

Jesse Winchester

A Reasonable Amount of Trouble

Appleseed

Recordings

Jesse Winchester recorded A Reasonable Amount of Trouble shortly before his death in April. The album sounds much larger and more rambunctious than one might expect from a last effort. But producer and guitarist Mac McAnally lets Winchester’s voice hover in its own space among instruments that do more than support the song. Recorded at the Blue Rock Artist Ranch in Wimberley, Texas, this record is an acoustic marvel. McAnally has written for Jimmy Buffett, Alabama, and Kenny Chesney, among others. His acoustic palette is marvelous and does justice to Winchester’s melodies. Winchester’s voice is a grey line between himself and the air. The instruments don’t sit behind the voice as much as they mix with it. It’s refreshing and no small feat given Winchester’s leaf-on-the-wind vocal approach to delivering a lyric. Winchester had dramatic sense of melody and knew when to whisper and when to start a fire. The liner notes address Winchester’s aversion to writing from a dark place, even though the songs were written during his treatment for cancer. The album closes with “Just So Much.” “There is just so much that the Lord can do.” The last verse is an unflinching final testament to a writer, thinker, and musician.

John Kilzer

Hide Away

Archer Records

The Reverend John Kilzer’s Hide Away comes out on October 14th. It’s his first offering from Archer Records. Like Jungklas, Kilzer wrestled with the music industry in the 1980s, signing and releasing two albums on David Geffen’s DGC in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Kilzer was an All-American forward for the Memphis State Tigers in the late 1970s. That level of Memphianity gets you a backing band composed of Rick Steff, Greg Morrow, Sam Shoup, Steve Selvidge, Alvin Youngblood Hart, and Luther Dickinson. Kilzer delivers contemplative songs, which one would expect from an ordained minister. The struggle between the divine calling and our earthly vessels is evident througout the record. But Kilzer took musical bona fides into the pulpit rather than taking the pulpit to the stage. That’s an important distinction and is aurally obvious from how much Kilzer’s voice gets wonderfully seduced by temptation.

“Lay Down” is a call to peace that transcends the stupid platitudes of hippies and casts the dialog for peace in biblical dogma. This record amounts to a nuanced and honest approach to a civic Christianity that sadly goes unnoticed in the culture wars. “Uranium won’t feed the hungry.”

“Until We’re All Free” marches a foot or two behind the Staple Singers, but is on the same path. The band Kilzer has assembled allows him to craft each song into its own sound. Throughout, the record benefits from the assembly of talented guitarists. Steff’s organ parts stand out in particular. “The White Rose and the Dove” is a sonic blend of “Stairway to Heaven” and “Blind Willie McTell” and therefore a bit of divine inspiration. On “Babylon,” Kilzer pulls out his judging finger, but he points it the right way. “You think God can hear your prayers/ You ignore their hungry stares.” The album might be a little long in places. I could live without “Love Is War.” But for the most part, Christianity as practiced in this country and this state in particular could use more leadership like Kilzer. He offers a soulful, compassionate alternative to the louder sort of God squadder. And he did so by making a great sounding record. Here’s to that.

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Music Record Reviews

New Records

Leo Welch’s Sabougla Voices is the latest from Big Legal Mess records. It’s gospel blues, a virulent strain of Hill Country religious fervor. Welch is a pastor and the host of Black Gospel Express, a Sunday program in Bruce, Mississippi. He’s 81. There’s a spirit alive in this music all right: the spirit of R.L. and Junior drinking and fishing with the Apostles. Welch’s evangelizing has the two-four jump and growl of the best electric country blues.

After 30 years in the church and working on a logging crew, Welch called the label after learning that Junior Kimbrough had recorded for Big Legal Mess. An intern told him they no longer produced blues. A higher-up overheard the conversation and intervened. The result is an album of 10 tracks that could have come from any of the big names in Hill Country blues aside from the exhortations of praise and the ecclesiastical reflections in the lyrics. It’s some of the dancingest church music you’ll hear outside of a praise break. It would make a fine contribution to any heathen’s Sunday morning Bloody Mary and bacon grease situation.

Leo Welch

Sabougla Voices, available January 7th

(Big Legal Mess)

Another take on the blues and biblical influence comes from longtime Memphis songwriter Ron Jungklas. The Spirit and the Spine has a more twisted take on religiosity and redemption. The opening track, “Black Snake Moan,” paints a picture of a post-religious apocalypse, a tooth-and-claw consideration of human nature. Thundering drums and guitars that sound like dust storms get whipped up into “Automatic,” a Dust Bowl tinged lament for rain as a metaphor for meaningful faith.

Jungklas made a run at the big time in the radio days of the 1980s. He’s taught science at local schools since the 1990s. But he stayed close enough to the fires to heed the call of music. The Spirit and the Spine finds Jungklas mining despair, alienation, and suffering. “Spit” explores the nature of false prophecy and hypocrisy: “I just gathered up some dust, and I spit into my hand … I am the crowing cock, sweet honey in the rock/The poison in the bitter pill.” All of this happens over the unsettling whirring of a filtered drone menacingly throbbing beneath everything.

The sounds on this record signal thematic changes. Mud and smoke clear for “Say Damn,” a bent, electric homecoming: “The loyal opposition in the angel choir.” It’s a gritty, erotic Prodigal Son thing.

Maybe I’m lost in the twister of imagery and this album is not intended to be a pilgrim’s progress through the sex-soaked, anger-spewing, materialistic — yet somehow Christian — culture of the contemporary Bible Belt. But it sure works as one. The Spirit and the Spine is fascinating to listen to, even if it makes you want to put a parental advisory sticker on the Bible.

Rob Jungklas


The Spirit and the Spine

(Madjack Records)

It may be time to work the martini shaker and stare at the moon. If that’s the case, Jeremy Shrader and Ed Finney have got you covered. The Moon Is in Love is a collection of originals and jazz standards from the 1930s. Shrader sings and plays trumpet over Finney’s jazz guitar. The pairing is spare, but it gives them room to play. And do they ever.

The duo’s compositions stand up to some heavy comparisons too. They cover the Gershwins, Berlin, and Rodgers and Hart. The standards give the instruments an opportunity to interplay in a way that’s engaging. The original songs carry the load based on a couple of virtues:

Shrader’s voice bounces along fine on the standards and also keeps up with Finney’s compositional workout in “Lovers in Love.” “Daytime, Nighttime” is a Shrader original that divines the mood and harmonic textures of the age into a masterfully written song. It’s a case study of a golden age in American songcraft.

Shrader’s tune “True” veers off the program a bit with a nod to the 1960s. The song incorporates the virtues of ’30s songwriting but puts an R&B energy behind it. What Finney does on this great set of chord changes is phenomenal. His guitar tone is so full and powerful and his phrasing so precise and lyrical that it’s like watching a rodeo bull dance ballet. You almost can’t believe it.

There is a CD release party at the Cove on Thursday, November 21st.

Jeremy Shrader and Ed Finney

The Moon Is in Love

(Electric Room)