Jon Wayne
Two Graduated Jiggers
Waco's Goats Records


by William Michael Smith

I don't know if you folks notice or not, but I am the original Southwest cowboy poetry man. In fact, that's how folks in these...uh...(could you do them dishes some other time...good...uh...tryin' to make a recording here...)...I was the original originator of the...uh...art form. Cowboy poetry, that is

Part liar-comedian, part pissed off pseudo-poet, part cynic extraordinaire, part cult figure, part hallucinatory figment of his own imagination, Jon Wayne rails at the world, spouting profanity, venom, and insanely clever, whacked- out, politically incorrect, often perverse verse guaranteed to offend everyone from Camille Paglia to Jerry Falwell, from Heidi Fleisch to Tipper Gore (although Hunter S. Thompson will buy copies for all his friends this Christmas). Adding to the chaos on Two Graduated Jiggers, the followup to 1992's cult classic Texas Funeral, Wayne is backed by his trusty band of whackos who seem to function in an out-of-tune, boozy, off-kilter, horn-blowin' heroin fog yet somehow come together with unimaginable cowboy carnival perfection behind the venom spewing madman.

Two Graduated Jiggers continues Jon Wayne's musical and verbal assault on all things Texan. Well, scratch Texan, just make that "musical assault on all things." Mr. Wayne takes all the Texas chauvinistic clichés and musically rams them down our throats in a surly mix of profane poetry, stag party Lenny Bruce one-liners, goofy sound effects and twisted spaghetti western rock-cum-jazz in an amazing display of musical prowess and comic imagination. No one can play this "badly" this long and not be a virtuoso. Side note: I actually read reviews of Wayne's record that complained about his band playing out of tune and about "half-finished songs with dubious lyrics." The very idea that writers calling themselves "critics" didn't understand the farcical nature of Wayne's performances just isn't comprehensible to me; don't the words "Captain Beefheart" mean anything to you people; haven't you "critics" ever heard the Beat Farmer's version of "Lucille"? One has to wonder what these same dense critics thought of Felini's "Satyricon."

Highlights? You want highlights? Well, for my money, you can't beat "Generator," "Country Porno," or "Texas Jacking Ledge."

Now my generator's buzzin' and my horn won't beep
Sometimes I get so tired I can't even sleep
I oughta get a horse, I oughta get a jeep
I'd walk off this f---ing hill if it wasn't so steep
But my body's in neutral, my brain won't start
Feel like a sailor with a wicked jealous heart
Lookin' at the world through a bottle o' port

On the purposely excruciating "Texas Moquine Bird," Wayne begins by explaining, "I wrote this next song for Elvis Presley. Elvis, if you can hear this, get in touch with me." Elvis would no more record this than Picasso would paint a trash can. "I Do Drive Truck" reminds me of the cacophonous psychedelic faux-chamber music on Captain Beefheart's masterpiece, Trout Mask Replica. On "Time to Drink Whiskey," Mr. Wayne gives such an excellent parody of a country hurtin' song that, were it not for the drunken New Orleans carnival jazz dissonance of the music and Wayne's extraterrestial vocal stylings, might actually be better than what passes for a "hurtin' song" in this age of sanitized Nashvegas pabulum.

My truck's up in Fresno
The manifold's blown
I lost the keys to my house
That my wife says she now owns

Skies are all cloudy
Clouds are all grey
And I'm drunk in a park
Where my kids used to play

"Las Vegas Audition" combines Wayne's barely distinguishable vocals with time-warped, booze-drenched Gypsy Rose Lee stripper vamp music fit for a Felini movie. In spite of what the "serious critics" say, this is one incredible, fun-filled piece of music. Wayne segues into the rocking, twisted, bawdy, booty-shakin' "Texas Jacking Ledge." Never at a loss for a vamp, "Texas Genealogy" finds the band slogging along with a clippety-clopping horse rhythm while Wayne works his way through a series of incestuous relationships that make Willie Nelson's "My Wife Is My Own Grandma" (or whatever the worst Willie Nelson song ever recorded is titled) seem like a Sunday school rhyme.

To some folks, Two Graduated Jiggers may simply seem like a lot of disconnected noise. Undoubtedly there will be those serious culture-vulture folks who, turning their noses heavenward, will say "what's the point" or "this isn't art" (or "what the hell is this crap?") but there will be that segment who will not care, who will not even consider questions of "point" or "art." They will, however, know every twisted word by heart in a month and will look for that perfect moment when they will mystify their friends with a Jon Wayne quotation much as members of my generation enjoyed reciting the quizzical mystic Zen witticisms of Captain Beefheart or Frank Zappa thirty years ago or the utterances of Country Dick Montana.

Forget all the bands like Southern Culture on the Skids with their comedic odes to all things white trash because Mr. Wayne's mondo-technicolor hallucinatory visions make other purveyors of white trash chic seem like elementary school crayon artists. With the release of Two Graduated Jiggers, Frank Zappa isn't rolling over in his grave, he's just feeling around for his headphones. Country Dick Montana isn't rolling over in his grave either, but I think I hear him bellowing at Wayne, "Get outta my spotlight, you maggot!" Montana would certainly have loved many of Wayne's twisted lyrics, particularly the bent and wicked asides that Mr. Wayne often tacks on as afterthoughts.

There's a place in Amarillo
This here band used to go
We'd laugh and drink and dance
Play songs we didn't even know

*Looking for the perfect Christmas gift for that special child who wears nothing but black and can't relate to anything in your world. You could do worse than Jon Wayne's Two Graduated Jiggers, on sale now at www.jonwayne.com While you're there, be sure and read "The Story." It brought tears to my eyes.






Contact William Michael Smith at: wms-at-rockzilla.net

 
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