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Jackson Taylor Band
Hollow Eyed & Wasted
Gaske Records
By Jud Block
 Before
I get too far into this, there's a slight error I feel I need
to rectify. I have to admit it's been weighing a little heavy
on me for a while; now, don't go getting skittish on me here,
I'm no Augustine, and this particular confession won't be enlightening
or insightful, just cathartic for yours truly. About a year ago
I came across a CD called Gypsies & Drifters by some
group called the Jackson Taylor Band. I liked the title's Outlaw
connotations, so I put it on and was thrilled to discover a diamond
in the compost pile. From beginning to end the disc was a brilliant
throwback to the days of Waylon's, Willie's, Tompall's, and Jessie's
seminal "fuck you" that reverberated all through Nashville
and drove a stake through the heart of that lifeless beast known
as "countrypolitan." Well, now we come to the portion
of the tale where the chink in my reviewer's carefully crafted
façade of omniscience is revealed. In my half-assed exuberance
I was somehow afflicted with the belief that Jackson Taylor was
from California when, in actuality, he's from Texas. A dire mistake.
Not one that would get me fired from the New York Times, mind
you, but a personal embarrassment nevertheless and an affront
to the integrity of Mr. Taylor. Fortunately, Jackson took no
umbrage with my oversight and sent me a copy of his latest release,
Hollow Eyed & Wasted. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing.
Jackson Taylor and the boys pick up right where they left
off on Gypsies & Drifters and offer ten more songs
of some of the best new Outlaw country around. This is not the
lowest common denominator ad executive version of Texas music
- - hell, no. This is the sound of every night in a new roadhouse
or honky-tonk, one too many the night before and waking up to
the realization of some horrible miscalculation, good times,
hard living, and the moral conflicts of existing in a Nietzschean
universe. Yeah, that's right, Jackson Taylor knows his way around
a bar, but his lyrics show he's also no stranger to the darker
corners of the Ivory Tower. On the disc's opening track, a bar
room rocker about raising hell called "Long Legs & Longnecks,"
Jackson Taylor's paean to insouciance - - try and say that after
a few shots - - has a few sobering reflections hidden in its
crevices. But don't let that scare you away.
I was a honky tonk hero
And a family man
I've found out the hard way
They just don't go hand in hand
So when I reached for the bottle
I turned my back on the wedding band
As far as I'm concerned drunkenness and death have always
been a sure combination for a great song, and if a little clever
wordplay is involved, well, that's just lagniappe. On "Maria,"
Jackson Taylor gives a little of all three. With a sound straight
from a hard-edged cantina, which includes an honest-to-God piano
riff, Taylor weaves a tale of jealousy and tequila with a gallows
humor that Townes himself would have to applaud.
I gave my heart to Maria
I gave my life to tequila
I shoot tequila because of Maria
And I shot Maria because of tequila
The police found me stone cold drunk at the bar
After I'd dumped the gun and the stolen car
And I left no prints, no, I'd been real careful
The mind becomes keen when you're heart broke and vengeful
Ten songs on the disc, Jackson Taylor wrote nine of them,
and the only one he didn't write, "Eleven Roses," sounds
as though he could have. Like most Outlaws Jackson Taylor has
a romantic streak, and this poetic song about an act of contrition
for a mistake that goes unmentioned is an unadulterated example.
Shit, if Kobe knew how to play a guitar, he could've saved himself
four million dollars with this one.
I guess you noticed there are only eleven roses
I chose them from the garden where they grew
Take the roses and look into the mirror
And the twelfth rose will be looking back at you
"Ride the Lightning" may easily be the most vivacious
song about going to the electric chair that's ever been sung.
If Johnny Cash had fronted the Scorchers this is the kind of
song he would've written. Jackson Taylor definitely knows how
to close out a CD.
Well, I killed a man up in New York City
Just to watch him bleed
I robbed three banks down in Alabama
Ran out of luck in Abilene
Oh, I'm going to ride the lightning, ride the lightning
I'm going to fry, fry, fry
I'm going to ride the lightning, ride the lightning
Glory hallelujah I'm going to die
With a voice reminiscent of a young Waylon Jennings and a
band that rocks harder than the Bama Band after a fifth of Jim
Beam, Jackson Taylor is putting a flame to the ass of Texas music.
This is the second time I've written about this guy. What the
hell else more do you need? Go out and buy Hollow Eyed &
Wasted, review over.
Get on over to www.jacksontaylorband.com and pick up a copy
of everything these guys have done. No excuses.
Contact Jud Block at jud-at-rockzilla.net
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