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Tom Russell
Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs
Hightone Records HCD 8165
By Marianne Ebertowski
 I
said it before and I am ready to stand on anybody's coffee table
to say it again: Tom Russell is the best living songwriter since
the decease of the much-missed Townes van Zandt. Songs like "Walkin'
on the Moon" and "Blue Wing" can make grown (wo)men
cry like kids over broken toys and Russell's stories about "The
Eyes of Roberto Duran," the glorious "Gallo del Cielo"
or "The Angel of Lyon" make you sit on the edge of
your chair struggling for breath. Tom Russell is a master of
the story song, which makes him remarkable in two respects.
For once, it's great to listen to a singer-songwriter who
does not continuously bother his audience with his own problems.
Not that there is something wrong with that as such. It can
be a cathartic process for both sides. But real craftsmanship
shows when a songwriter proves to have enough empathy and literary
talent to write a story from a different perspective than his
own and/or about a different character or an event in which he
does not figure himself prominently. Not many have that gift.
Among the living troubadours, David Olney springs to mind as
a genius of story song writing and, well, Tom Russell, even though
so far - unlike Olney - he has not written a song from the perspective
of an iceberg.
Secondly, stories are an essential part of country music as
has been pointed out once by no one else than saxophone genius
Charlie Parker. "The stories, man. Listen to the stories!"
he answered when asked by a pal how he could "stand that
stuff," referring to the country songs Charlie was listening
to on the jukebox.
I am sure Charlie would have listened with great pleasure
to the stories on Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs. Russell's
nineteenth album is his third "cowboy album" since
he made Cowboy Real in 1999. Even though I am not really
a great admirer of the genre and generally find concept albums
tedious, Russell took me by surprise, lifted me into the saddle
and there was no looking back till the last notes faded away.
The album is a great listening experience because of many reasons.
First of all, Russell neither glorifies nor vilifies anything.
He just tells the stories: his own, Peter Lafarge's, Bob Dylan's
and, accompanied by his faithful musical partner and soul mate,
guitar wizard Andrew Hardin, and a small group of exquisite musicians,
amongst whom accordionist Joel Guzman, Russell takes you on a
journey you won't forget. You do not listen to these stories,
you watch them, smell them, feel them, and
you become part of them. You're out there riding, covered
in dust and sweat, and you don't want to stop.
For me, the greatest surprise of the album was Russell's voice.
I didn't really remember him as a particularly good singer, but
on this album he is just that. His dark baritone voice is full
of passion and warmth, a totally seductive instrument to drag
the listener into the core of the stories and hearts of the story
characters.
It is the Plaza Monumental Juarez Bull Ring Band that paints
the musical scenery for this weird and violent and wonderful
trip that starts with "Tonight We Ride," a song that
tells the story of Pancho Villa's raid of Columbus, New Mexico
and of General Black Jack Pershing's pursuit of the attacker
and then ends up telling a lot more.
Tonight we rock, tonight we roll
We'll rob the Juarez liquor store for the Reposado Gold
And if we drink ourselves to death, ain't that the cowboy way
to go?
It is a song of extraordinary, simmering, agonizing beauty
with Russell singing his guts out, driven to extremes, almost
cornered, by Hardin on Spanish guitar and Guzman on accordion.
"Seven Curses," a fairly obscure Dylan song, is
not an obvious choice. But this tale of horse thieve Old Reilly,
his beautiful young daughter who tries to save his life and a
relentless, immoral judge turns out the stuff real western ballads
are made of. Never heard what Bob made of it himself, but Tom
certainly does a good job on this one. Kudos to Andrew Hardin
for his convincing and inimitable guitar playing.
Martin Robbins fabulous' gunfighter ballad "El Paso"
which, allegedly, impressed Russell so much as a kid that he
moved there eventually, is dragged back into the dirt where it
belongs. With Guzman on accordion, it sounds more like a bloody
border corrido than the stylized pop version that made Robbins
famous.
"All This Way For The Short Ride," co-written with
cowboy poet Paul Zarzyski and based on the story of Zarzyski's
friend, rodeo rider Joe Lear, who died bull riding some 15 years
ago, is the moving story of a rodeo rider getting killed while
his pregnant wife is watching from the bleachers. It is followed
by Peter Lafarge's "Bucking Horse Moon," a song about
aging and love and loss and pain:
Sweet bird of youth / No easy keeper
Flown with the seasons / All too soon
Beneath Montana's blue-roamed sky/
Nevada skylight and the bucking horse moon.
The heart of the album is a stupefying version of "Lily,
Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts," Dylan's Blood On The
Tracks murder master piece with Russell as Jack of Heart,
Joe Ely as Big Jim and Eliza Gilkyson as "the ladies"
taking turns to tell this bizarre and mysterious story. Somehow
you wish it would never end, at least not before you finally
understand who is killing whom in this intriguing, bloodthirsty
tale. Ghost rider on Hammond B-3 is Joel Guzman.
After another surprising choice is Linda Thompson's "No
Telling." Russell throws himself passionately on a grim
and angry interpretation of Peter LaFarge's "The Ballad
of Ira Hayes," made famous by Johnny Cash and a standard
in Kinky Friedman's live repertory. Russell's half-sung, half-spoken
version of the Pima Indian's and US- war hero's tragic story
makes your blood crawl all the way to Baghdad.
Speaking as a runner, a mountain biker and inhabitant of the
urban war zone, I hope to be forgiven for the fact that I care
as much about dogs as they (and their owners) care about me,
and I care even less about songs about dogs, dead or alive. Still,
Russell's half-yodeled, harmonica-drowned tribute to "Old
Blue" has a certain dignity. I'm sure he only wanted to
play when he caught me in my calves (the dog, not Mr. Russell).
Fortunately, it's the only dog song on the album, so I can leave
my rifle at the saddle or wherever else a real cowboy keeps it
and, peacefully, turn to the last three songs: Woody Guthrie's
"East Texas Red," the tragic story of a tough brakeman
who happens to be "the meanest bull around, "The Ballad
of Edward Abbey" (a radical environmentalist and writer
from Indiana, Pennsylvania) and "Little Blue Horse,"
a lullaby for kids and for Tom Russell's former girlfriend.
Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs is the sort of album you
play when your friends have a look at your country music collection
and ask you how you can stand "that stuff." Just say,
"the stories, man. Listen to the stories." Put a bottle
of tequila on the table, lean back into your chair and release
them on a ride into the sunset. An hour later they will be
back, exhausted and exhilarated and begging you for more. Indians
Cowboys Horses Dogs is arguably Tom Russell's best album
and as perfect as an album can possibly be.
www.tomrussell.com
www.hightone.com
Contact Marianne Ebertowski at ebertowski-at-rockzilla.net
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