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Ray Wylie Hubbard
Growl
Philo
By Steve Cooper
 Let us see how
quickly we can get the perfunctory, oft-repeated history out
of the way. Ray Wylie Hubbard, born in Oklahoma, moved to Dallas
at a young age, wrote hippie/redneck anthem "Up Against
the Wall, You Redneck Mothers," barnstormed around in various
semi-successful bands, disappeared into a bottle for a few years,
returned in 1994 and rapidly became one of Americana's leading
singer/songwriters. Six solid-to-great studio albums later,
we arrive at Growl, his newest release.
The Hubbard modus operandi is bluesy and rocking this time
around or, as Hubbard says in the liner notes, "let's go
back and get greasy." Call this his "delta" album.
Producer/guitar wiz Gurf Morlix helps Ray Wylie "go swamp"
on your ass with his assortment of guitars, mandocellos, beer-bottle
slides and such. Surprisingly (to me at least) old RWH proves
to be quite adept on resonator slide.
Hubbard's songwriting has been hittin' on all eight his last
couple of releases (1999's Crusade of the Restless Knights,
2001's Eternal and Lowdown) and Growl is no exception.
For a switch, let's begin with the last cut, "Screw You,
We're From Texas." Yep, it's an anthem. Just when Ray
Wylie had finally lived down "Up Against the Wall, You Redneck
Mothers," he goes and writes another beer-drinker's delight:
"Screw you, we're from Texas/Screw you, we're from Texas/Screw
you, we're from Texas/We're from Texas, screw you." Morlix
is fine on note-bending, stabbing electric Fender. He also layers
in the "chooglin'" bassline. My favorite lines in
this crowd pleaser are: "When it comes to music, my friend/I
believe these words are as true as St. John the Revelator's/Our
Mr. Vaughn was the best that there ever was/And no band was cooler
than the 13th Floor Elevators." One could quibble about
this guy from Seattle named Hendrix and this other, cool Texas
band whose initials were SDQ, but these are minor details in
this charmingly-boorish, beered-up, braggin' song. Someday,
hundreds of drunken requests later, Hubbard will regret having
written it. For now, let the Shiner Bock flow and the party
go on forever.
The opening track of Growl just may be the most hauntingly
fine. "The Knives of Spain" is a slow burn, aided
by guest note-twister Buddy Miller on guitar. The lyric is full
of "black cat bones," "poet wings," and "grains
of faith," all of which prove to be "as lethal as the
knives of Spain." Hubbard's trademark vocal is quavering,
descending, now sung, now spoken, and just the right amount of
off-key.
"No Lie" is part reminiscence of Hubbard's hard-living
years, and part tribute to a couple of his musical influences,
Blaze Foley and Mississippi Fred McDowell. The other musician
mentioned, "Ms. Williams," is a bit of a mystery.
Could be Lucinda, could be Marion. No matter, sin and shame
oozes from every line, accompanied by snaking guitar.
"Purgatory Road" continues the "Cat On a Hot
Tin Roof" atmosphere. Morlix's electric lead is slow and
lazy, with lots of slide, swampy like Tony Joe White. The lyric
concerns boredom, defeat, heat, and the inevitability of death:
"Some are here working on a passage to Heaven/And others
they can't carry that load/A few are left singing the blues on
Purgatory Road." Simple folk, doing simple things, avoiding
the pointed finger of ill fate that catches them anyway.
The pace is quickened a bit with "Bones." The "bones"
referred to are dice. The narrator's daddy is a gambler. With
the help of loaded dice, he wins. Disaster avertedthis time.
RWH is solid on resonator slide "in F tuning" and
Rick Richards shines on "really loose snare drum."
The chorus, a gambler's cliché, is especially compelling
as sung: "Shakin' them bones/Shakin' them bones/Shakin'
them bones/Ah baby needs a new pair of shoes."
"Rooster" is an effective re-do of Big Joe Williams'
"Baby, Please Don't Go." RWH again stands out on loose-stringed
resonator. Basically, the song tells of the late-night life
of a musician who returns home in the wee morning hours to the
crow of a damning rooster: "My rooster crows at dawn/My
rooster crows at dawn/Don't do nothing when the dark come on."
I'm still trying to figure out the logic to "Stolen Horses."
The tune is a fetching mix of blues and gospel. The "logic"
seems to be that dead sinners are reincarnated so they can, maybe,
get it right this time: "So don't be cryin' when I'm done
breathing/The way I'm living, I'll be back again." And,
being the skewed poet he is, RWH's reincarnated sinners return
riding stolen horses, pilfered from God's celestial stables.
A lesser songwriter doing "a blues album" would
probably have covered such chestnuts as "Sweet Home Chicago"
and "Dust My Broom," or otherwise bastardized their
muse on the hallowed altar of Willie Dixon. Ray Wylie Hubbard,
however, incorporates blues essence and menace into his own sound,
into his own methods of mayhem.
*www.raywylie.com
Contact Steve Cooper at: cooper-at-rockzilla.net
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