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| Big Thinkin' Hightone Records (HMG - 3011) |
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Wayne, whose claim to fame thus far in his career is that he is the top selling country artist in Finland where he has resided since busting out in Nashville a decade ago, has crafted an edgy, two-fisted, I'llmeetyouintheparkin'lotan'whipyourass honky tonk record that ranks with any on the market (which begs the question: are there any on the market?). Backed up by Missouri's best roots rockers, The Skeletons, and legendary Buck Owens steel guitarist Tom Brumley, Wayne and producer/co-writer Robbie Fulks have put together a record that makes Nashville's "product" seem like the recorded equivalent of Gerber baby food. This ain't no mashed green peas and strained carrots pablum record, folks, this is an inch-and-a-half-thick T-bone steak with mashed potatoes covered in cream gravy, and a big piece of Texas toast on the side recording. Wayne's record has that genuine, traditional country sound like Dale Watson gets on his records. I suppose some of the songs qualify as "retro." Mr. Wayne has a big baritone voice with more stretch and facility than most country singers can muster. While Wayne certainly has a distinctive voice of his own, he also has the uncanny ability to vocalize like several of the old warriors of country music without engaging in shameless imitation. On 'If That's Country,' Wayne sounds like the old truckers' favorite, Red Sovine, as he critiques Nashville unmercifully and guitarist Donnie Thompson plays wicked Don Rich vintage Bakersfield licks. We may not think of Wayne as part of the Texas country movement, but his philosophy certainly qualifies him for honorary membership in the club: Well, you can paint stripes on a billy goat Wayne goes on to tell Nashville that "you better keep your money grubbin' hands off a poor man's song and make sure Chris Gaines stays the hell off my front lawn." Need another slap in the same song, Nashville? OK, Wayne can oblige you: "It might be rock, it might be schlock, it might be the Beatles or Monkees" (I think you can guess what the next line is.) As you can see, Wayne and co-writer Fulks (who wrote the underground alt-country hit "F*#-at- This Town" about his years of starving in Nashville) don't pull any punches when it comes to their former home and its commercial powers-that-be. Humor runs rampant on this record. The Fulks-influenced, hard driving ode to under achievement title track is laced with more subtle left-handed working man's humor than a Leno monologue. If the fat cats knew what I could do, what big checks they'd be inkin' In another era, 'She'll Go Down in Honky Tonk History' would be #1 on the Billboard charts for 39 weeks and Dallas Wayne would be playing the Opry once a month. Another uptempo, sawdust-on-the-floor, humorous, good-time track finds Wayne's voice somewhere between George Jones and John Anderson singing "She'll go down in honky tonk history, with her name on a plaque describin' the fact that she left me" and "she'll be a legend in her own time, right up beside that cold beer sign." Still, you've got to love a woman who's "been livin' it up too long to ever live it down." If you don't like this song, drive straight to the nearest courthouse and turn in your proof of Texas citizenship, your oversized belt buckle and your XXX felt Stetson, 'cause you're outta here. There's a flight leaving DFW for Nashville every 45 minutes. 'Lie, Memory, Lie' is straight country done the hard way. A cry-in-my-beer, feeling-sorry-for-myself tearjerker, stylistically the track calls up memories of John Anderson's 'Seminole Wind' or 'Straight Tequila Night.' Poor Mr. Dallas Wayne is down to having a serious conversation with his own head: "Memory, when you talk of the love, tell me what I want not the way it was, dress it up so it suits my pride, lie, memory, lie." As George Jones says, this one of those slow-slobberin' sad songs. The good-time fun never ends on "Big Thinkin'." 'Rock Bottom, Pop. 1' is a country rocker guaranteed to fill any dance floor. "Welcome to Rock Bottom, population 1if you're looking for heartache, stop and get you some." The Skeletons really hit overdrive on this one, and pianist Joe Terry (who also doubles in Dave Alvin's road band and produced Fulks' last major label record, "Let's Kill Saturday Night") pounds out a stellar solo. Wayne calls up the ghost of Lefty Frizzell's 'I Never Go Around Mirrors' on a classic country cryin' song, 'Old 45s'. In this day of cd's and DVD's, Wayne may be dating himself when he sings, "It's just a piece of plastic in a paper sleeve, but in each groove is me and you and a love that now is history." But whether the concept of 45 rpm records is dated or not, if you are country music fan and "the needle drops and I can't stop the loneliness and pain, old 45s can kill you like a bullet to the brain" doesn't get to you way down deep where you live, then maybe you need to truck on down to Wal-Mart and see what Shania or Billy Ray Cyrus have on sale this week. Or check out that Barbra Streisand's "Greatest Hits" compilation. Perhaps one of the most astounding cuts on the record from a musical standpoint is the eerie bluegrass tune, 'The Temptress' Smile.' Wayne and Fulks performed in a traditional bluegrass band in Nashville years ago, and they haven't forgotten how the real thing sounds. Their voices blend perfectly and give this cut the feel of a 50-year-old recording. The song is one of those "shame on you" mountain music tunes that is so faithful to the old music it sounds like it could have been written and performed -- by the Stanley Brothers. Don't worry about 'Coldwater, Tennessee' getting any country radio airplay. The song tells the story of a musician from a nowhere town who deserts his family ("one night he ran, headed north with his Martin and everything we'd saved") for Music City because "rusted dreams turn gold in Nashville." But the song paints a picture Nashville will never embrace. After the singer gains enough fame and fortune to become the "favorite son of Coldwater, Tennessee," the son he abandoned and left behind in Coldwater waits in the crowd outside the back door and murders his father as he's leaving the Opry show. Anyone familiar with Fulks' solo work knows he is one of our darkest, most ironic songwriters whose songs take unexpected, often macabre twists -- usually into areas that automatically deem them unfit for commercial radio play lists. If you don't like "depressing" music, you had best program your cd player to skip 'Coldwater, Tennessee.' But if you liked Alan Jackson's 'Murder on Music Row,' you'll love 'Coldwater, Tennessee.' "We Never Killed Each Other (But Didn't We Try?)' comes from that George and Tammy or Conway and Loretta marriage-made-in-hell mold. Brumley gives a classic steel guitar clinic on this tune while Wayne informs us "nothing says love like some 8 ounce gloves." We never killed each other, but didn't we try? As a songwriting team, Wayne and Fulks are as good as it gets nowadays. Purposely working within the understood forms and limits of "classic country" songwriting, they've fashioned songs that are fun, catchy, memorable and laden with addictive hooks. They bring a rare freshness to what has become a mostly trite and stale genre. Don't be fooled, though -- "Big Thinkin'" is in no way a "new country" or "Texas country" record. If you're thinking Pat Green or Charlie Robison or Jack Ingram, don't. This is classic country, played straight up the way they used to play it in Bakersfield and Nashville before crossing over to the pop or rock charts became the Nashville goal, the kind of country record that should make people see the likes of Brooks and Dunn as the faux country fakers they are. The kind of record old Bill Mack would be proud to play on the WBAP late night show. Contact William Michael Smith at: wms-at-rockzilla.net |
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