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Since I listed this disc in William Michael Smith's year-in-review feature as one of the best releases of 2001, it seemed appropriate to tell you why. Unless you're under twenty-five, this probably isn't the first you've heard of Rodney Crowell. He's made a reputation as a top-notch songwriter, writing country hits for ex-wife Rosanne Cash, Emmylou Harris, Willie Nelson, and Lee Ann Womack. For those new to country, Cash had rock crossover success with his tunes and Bob Seeger covered Crowell's "Shame on the Moon." Rodney's own albums have also had commercial success, none more than Diamonds & Dirt, which had an unprecedented five consecutive singles reach #1 in the late '80s. While he's kept busy as a songwriter and producer, Crowell hadn't released a full-length album since 1995. He ended this six-year recording drought in early 2001 with the release of The Houston Kid on indie label Sugar Hill. These songs stand out because of their personal, largely autobiographical accounts of growing up dirt-poor on Houston's east side. Real people, real places, real stories, real feelings -- an equation for great songs. In the fall of 2001, Crowell was part of a group including Gary Allen, David Ball, Radney Foster, and Jack Ingram invited to perform at the Ten Man Acoustical Jam, a songwriter-in-the-round concert sponsored by Houston's KIKK radio. This is how he introduced "Telephone Road," the opening track of The Houston Kid. It's the spring of 1961. Every day at about 7:45 turning left onto Norvic street off of Kilroy over in Jacinto City, along come the mosquito dope truck. Turning left onto Norvic street and the driver has a sense of humor. He like to put that ol' mosquito dope truck into neutral, let it sit there and idle, goin' vroom, vroom. Then he'd slip it into grandma gear and come rolling up Norvic street, belching the biggest two-story blue plumes of the best sweet-smelling DDT smoke you ever inhaled in your life. The Jacinto City mosquito dope truck. Every day for about forty-five minutes we would have 20 stoned, barefooted, heathen kids and 20 million stoned mosquitoes. And for forty-five minutes there was a truce, every day. Out of that, came this. Real people, real places, real stories, and real feelings. "Telephone Road" paints a musical tapestry of violent storms, cherry cokes at Prince's drive-in, water skiing behind a moped in the "bar ditch," and other scenes from Crowell's Houston childhood, setting the stage for the remainder of the disc. Even when invoking an image that is sometimes overused by the younger Texas singer-songwriter wannabes, Crowell adds a fresh twist to make it his own. "Barbecue and beer on ice / a salty watermelon slice at The Little Taste of Paradise / on Telephone Road." The Houston Kid that inhabits all the songs on this disc may not always be Crowell, but the kid is a realistic composite of Crowell and his boyhood pals. "Rock of My Soul" tells the story of a wife-abusing,
alcoholic father and his son. While the son has nothing good
to say about his father -- sometimes he even wants him dead --
the title reflects his ambiguous feelings. After a rocky start,
the son purports to be living "straight and true,"
believing "there's every indication the past is through,"
claiming that's all there is to tell "'bout the rock of
my soul." But the foreboding tone as the music A former Houston kid who's now a gay prostitute dying from AIDS tells his story in "I Wish it Would Rain" while his judgmental twin brother has a change of heart in "Wandering Boy." I used to cast my judgments like a net Driven by a Bobby-Fuller rhythm at three-quarter pace, "Why Don't We Talk About It" chronicles the tale of a man burned by love finally ready to give it another chance. "U Don't Know How Much I Hate U" explores the opposite, a man who's burned his bridges and is haunted by the love he's thrown away. You don't know how much I hate everything about you Music has the power to recall a time and place, set a mood -- sometimes it can even be life changing. For Crowell, it did all three the "first time he heard Johnny Cash sing, 'I Walk the Line.'" Cash makes a cameo appearance, singing snippets of the song, while Crowell tells of that day in "I Walk the Line (Revisited)." This song is the high point in an album full of high points. I'm back on board that '49 Ford in 1956 Our Houston kid dreams of adoption by a millionaire in the radio-ready country-rock "Topsy Turvy." Anything to escape a home where Dad beats Mom and Mom makes excuses for Dad while the kid just tries to stay out of the way. Mad house all topsy turvy, a ship of fools with scurvy The story of a paroled bank robber discovering that his stash has been paved over when they widened "Highway 17" or reminiscing of childhood play on the "Banks of the Old Bandera" would merit singling out if reviewing a lesser album. This is also the case for the tale of a middle-aged man facing his own mortality, who realizes what really matters in "I Know Love is all I Need." But on this disc, each is just one more great song. Remember -- real people, real places, real stories, and real
feelings are an equation for great songs. The Houston Kid
shows how this is done. Buy it to convince yourself everything
recorded in Nashville doesn't suck, even if it requires a North
Carolina record label to get it to you. * For more information visit www.rodneycrowell.com or www.sugarhillrecords.com Contact Al Kunz at kunz-at-rockzilla.net |
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