Red Meat ­ Alameda County Line Ranchero Records RAN-21

By William Michael Smith

	Most of us in Texas have never heard of Red Meat except in the "you shouldn't eat it" sense. After hearing their third CD, "Alameda County Line," I suspect there are lots of bands in Texas who hope we never hear of them. My first reaction after hearing the CD all the way through was "why haven't I ever heard of these people?" My second was "what the hell are they doing in San Francisco?" "Alameda County Line" is no alternative country, roots rock, folk rock record and it sure isn't "No Depression." Instead, what we have here is a country record. That's right, Pilgrim, country. And I'm not talking any been-squeezed-into-my-shiny-leather-pants-so-tight-my-voice-sounds-higher-than-an-opera-singer's-oh-I-love-your-makeup-Faith country. I'm talking Buck here, Pilgrim. And Merle. And Bob Wills. And Ray Price before he went countrypolitan. Like findin' a live dinosaur, ain't it? Or a Dodge Dart that still runs. Produced by Grammy-winning performer/songwriter/producer guitar god Dave Alvin, "Alameda County Line" is an impeccable assemblage of well-written songs with marvelous hooks and top-notch playing. Given that Red Meat's natural bent is toward hardcore Bakersfield sounds, selecting Alvin to produce (he had already produced their previous album, "13") seems completely logical. After all, it was Mr. Alvin who took a fledgling Texas band called the Derailers and produced two wonderful, businesslike Bakersfieldian albums of country music, and in the process helped to turn The Derailers into full-fledged, full-grown country music professionals who have become a major force on the Texas and national country music scene without any help from Nashville. According to the members of Red Meat, Alvin was just what they needed. He pushed them hard and served as a tough-love critic, letting them know if he thought a song was weak or needed certain parts rewritten. Judging from "Alameda County Line," Mr. Alvin knows what he's doing. Red Meat's repertoire consists of up-tempo honky-tonk, a bit of swing, a bit of way-past-midnight lounge blues, and exceptionally clever country novelties. With six members (several who play more than one instrument) and five songwriters, the band avoids that "the songs all sound the same" trap that many bands fall into. On "Alameda County Line," they play it straight and they make it danceable. One thing any Dave Alvin-produced album seems to always include is drums well up in the mix and "Alameda County Line" is no exception. This is country music with a big beat. Alvin has miked Les James' drums so that they give a focus point and drive the tunes. On the opening cut, 'That's What I'm Here For' written by guitarist/fiddler Scott Young, a drum fill kicks it off and the band jumps on perfectly. This is a dance-floor filler if I've ever heard one. Michael Montalto's guitar twang is perfect Bakersfield and Max Butler's steel guitar is completely authentically western. This song has serious radio single potential (but it's not the only cut on the album that does). Without slowing the pace, Red Meat rip into a twang shuffler that goes straight to their history with bassist Jill Olson's 'Midwest Blues.' Olson, Young and vocalist Dave "Smelley" Kelley all grew up in Iowa, while Montalto is originally from Ohio. Kelley's vocal is just nasal enough for real country, and the harmonies are straight Buck-and-Don. This one could be on any Derailers' record. The lead and steel guitar interplay is exceptional. Midwest blues, Midwest blues Now Iowa is calling me 'cause I got nothing here to lose When I think about all the hell I've been through There's no way I could stay 'cause I'd never pay All my California dues On the third cut, things get really musically adventurous as the band takes a bluegrass standard by Ruby Rakes (Carter Stanley), 'The Memory of Your Smile,' and transforms it into another big-beat Bakersfield stomp. The three-part harmony is high as the tallest pine and smooth as a shot of Jack Daniels. Songwriter Scott Young has a deft touch with a humorous song, where the less skilled songwriter can often blunder into the trite and tired. But on 'Under The Wrench,' Mr. Young takes surgical metaphors to the extreme as he sings the tale of a man who is worried about having to let a mechanic work on his Dodge Dart. Well that old Dodge has sat in my garage It's been years since the last time it ran And it's had the same starter ever since Jimmy Carter Was the president of this great land It needs some work on the rings and a lot of other things Too numerous to mention Like a voltage regulator and a new alternator Oh my car's going under the wrench This song is an absolute howling masterpiece (come on, America's disc jockeys, LOOSEN UP, YOU GUYS!). And on the bittersweet and tragi-comic 'Lolita,' we find Mr. Young in a real predicament: "When Lolita left the farm, her name was branded on my arm." Being a practical fellow and still having a strong affection for Lolita, Young decides that he'll just search until he finds another Lolita. He checks with the census bureau and they inform him that Mexico has an abundance of ladies named Lolita, so he heads south on his Harley Elektra Glide. He encounters and has affairs of various lengths with Lolita Martinez ("but I can't understand a word she says"), Lolita Carillo ("but it turned out she didn't care for me, oh"), and Lolita Navarro ("but I know I'll need a new Lolita tomorrow"). No matter how many Lolitas he tries, he can never get over the original. It's cornpone, it's melodramatic, but it works. In fact, it works so well that the novelty factor is overcome and the listener accepts this as just another song. The way Young wraps the song up with a poetic turn of phrase makes this possible. Lolita, come on back home, we're sure to get along We'll sing a song about a beautiful love and make love like a beautiful song. It may sound corny, but I tell you it works. Ms. Olson takes the lead vocal on two of her own compositions, the radio single candidate 'Sweet Song,' where she sounds like Chris O'Connell from the early days of Asleep at the Wheel, and the George-and-Tammy-ish 'This Property's Condemned.' This property's condemned, here comes the wrecking ball I don't want to stick around and watch it as it falls We already know it's over, and it's no use to pretend Oh darlin,' this property's condemned In between all this Bakersfield dance-abilly and Mr. Young's lyrical hijinx, the band works its way through some very impressive instrumentals, the sleepy lounge blues 'Nashville Confidential,' composed by Meat's steel guitarist Max Butler and reminiscent of Nashville studio legend Lloyd Green's pioneering instrumental work, and Ohioan Michael Montalto's homage to Buck Owens' band The Buckaroos, entitled 'Buckeye,' a fine track that intentionally mines a melody quite similar to Owens' instrumental theme song, 'Buckaroo.' The band shows off their musical skill on a jazzy Bob Wills-meets-Louis-Armstrong party number called "Catfish Fry" that finds Young dropping his guitar in favor of a swinging trombone. They continue in the blues/jazz vein with 'Mr. Heartache,' which takes its musical cue from the early Ray Price sound, especially his old classic tunes like 'Night Life.' Butler's steel guitar does a lot of crying on this "last call for alcohol" track. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Heartache, just when I thought my misery would end, well, well, well, looks like we meet again." Kelley's vocals are beer-soaked, fatalistically resigned, and totally blue. The title track is a genuine western "protest song." Written by Oklahoma-born steel guitarist Butler, it reflects the current situation many artists are facing in San Francisco since the cyber-economy has boomed and driven property values ever higher. Many San Francisco artists have been forced to move across the bay to Oakland and Alameda County to make ends meet. Well, back in my day in the City by the Bay I could live on a good week's pay Well things have changed but I'm paid the same And I feel I'm getting pushed away I'd like to go to the bar and have a little taste But my favorite old dive is now a live/work space I used to like it better but I know I'll feel fine When I get two feet across the Alameda County Line There are two hidden tracks on the record that give us a taste of what Red Meat can do in a live performance. Recorded at Jack's Sugar Shack in Hollywood, the bonus tracks have a sound quite similar to Gram Parson's live album with The Grievous Angels. 'Streets of Baltimore,' with Montalto doing his best Roy Nichols imitation on lead guitar, is raw-boned country and Young's 'Girl With the Biggest Hair,' originally from their first CD, "Meet Red Meat," is a parody of Buck Owen's classic million-seller 'I've Got A Tiger By The Tail.' She's the girl with the biggest hair and the longest nails And I kinda like the way her perfume smells She gets whistled at by healthy, red-blooded American males She's the girl with the biggest hair and the longest nails I'd write something witty or catchy to wind this thing up, but I think Robbie Fulks has already beaten me to the best line: "The Buck starts here." If you think country music should be heartfelt, danceable, and honky tonk friendly, shine your boots, get out your belt with the biggest buckle and grab a roll of quarters. Country jukebox music is back, thanks to Red Meat. *Listening to Red Meat, you'd never know there's an energy crisis in California. Buy "Alameda County Line" online at www.redmeat.net Also available from the usual suspects. Contact William Michael Smith at: wms-at-rockzilla.net

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