In the early seventies Doug Sahm put out a 45 with a song called "Be Real" on the A-side. It was released under the pseudonym of Wayne Douglas (Sahm's Sir Douglas Quintet was riding the psychedelic wave in San Francisco at the time), the thinking being that disc jockeys would never let a fiddle-fueled two-stepper get on country radio if they knew the singer was some "fahr-out" hippie who thought paisley went well with cowboy hats. The record flopped anyway, but Sahm was doing what came naturally: revisiting his roots as a steel guitar and fiddle sensation raised on kicker music around San Antonio. Of course, he also possessed exceptional skills as a rhythm and blues guitarist, a big-band leader, and a pop confectioner. All of which makes The Return of Wayne Douglas a fitting bookend to such a storied career. Sahm sure didn't know he would die last November during the mixing of the CD, but a sense of premonition is written all over it. His return to genuine country is the ostensible theme, and Sahm gets straight to the point by dusting off some old originals such as "Cowboy Peyton Place," his paean to the Austin of 25 years ago, and "Texas Me," his homesick complaint. He also pays tribute to songwriter Leon Payne, covering his little-known country chestnut "They'll Never Take Her Love From Me." But because he's Sir Doug, he can't stay on one track, which is why the recording also includes a kiss-off of his adopted hometown, "I Can't Go Back to Austin," as well as a stunning send-up of his old friend Bob Dylan's "Love Minus Zero / No Limit." It's Sir Doug logic, as I call it, the kind of covering-all-the-bases attitude that made him such a joy to hear. And a beautiful epitaph, to boot. Reviewed by Joe Nick Patoski
What the burgeoning rock en español market lacks is the bilingual answer to a band as radio-ready as Aerosmith, Pearl Jam, or Bon Jovi. That's the contention of Latin pop producer Emilio Estefan, Jr., who signed Austin's Vallejo as the first rock act on his label. Vallejo has the requisite looks, story (they're led by brothers A.J., Alex, and Omar Vallejo), and experience (ten years, three albums), and Into the New shows potential. The hooks are heavy, the power ballads are surprisingly sensitive, and the Latin percussion and Santana-inspired workouts are fluid and funky. Though serious chunks are underwritten or repetitive (or both), there's definite radio potential in tunes like the title track and "Modern Day Slave," which features a show-stealing cameo from Austin rapper MC Overlord. Yet it's the songs that flirt most heavily with salsa rhythms, Latin hip-hop, and dual languages that represent Vallejo's most compelling moments, offering strong enough indications that Into the New might well fulfill Estefan's dreams of a full-on Latin rock crossover. Reviewed by Andy Langer
Johnny Horton was best known for his "saga songs," historical narratives that were popular in country music in the early sixties, right around the time the urban folk movement was hitting the pop charts. The longtime Tyler resident's best-known saga song was "Battle of New Orleans," which was written by a folklorist who put lyrics about the final battle of the War of 1812 to the melody of the traditional fiddle tune "The Eighth of January." Horton's rendition—with some throaty grit roughing up his molasses-smooth East Texas accent—topped the pop and the country charts. The Spectacular Johnny Horton was heavy on similar songs; this reissue also features a version of the single released only in England that shows the vanquished Brits more mercy. Yet Horton showed several voices and faces. He sang with pop music clarity and diction, with a hard twang, or with a threatening rumble. Before saga songs, he specialized in rockabilly- and boogie-tinged country but was just as comfortable with honky-tonk ballads. He never got more of himself on one album than this one. Reviewed by John Morthland
Slobberbone
Everything You Thought Was Right Was Wrong Today
new west records
Three albums in and Denton's Slobberbone is firing on all cylinders. Brent Best and his band have tamed their "AC/DC of alt-country" comparisons, creating a twelve-song cycle of barn-burning beauty. Recorded at Ardent Studios in Memphis, Everything You Thought Was Right Was Wrong Today brims with the fervor of the group's earlier recordings but is tempered with mandolin, fiddle, pedal steel guitar, and accordion. It's a companion to the Replacements' Pleased to Meet Me, recorded with producer Jim Dickinson in that same studio in 1987. Besides Dickinson on piano, other Memphis musicians add trumpet, sax, and Hammond B-3, which mixes greasy soul with Texas grit. This is most true of "Placemat Blues," a rollicking guitar attack with horns and lap steel all fighting for the same musical space. "Lazy Guy" and the chugging banjo wail of "Pinball Song" conjure up the Pogues playing a Texas dance hall. And the lovely "Magnetic Heaven" is a short, sweet guitar and mandolin instrumental. Beautifully crafted, lyrically wise, and played with abandon, Everything is Slobberbone's best record yet. Reviewed by Luann Williams
Their voices ring with raw defiance. Recorded by John and Alan Lomax between 1933 and 1934, these work songs find beauty in the worst of horrors and preserve what is an all but forgotten musical heritage. The prison camps of the Brazos and Trinity river bottoms existed purely for exploitation, with their regimen of forced labor from sunup to sundown. Black prisoners, like their enslaved ancestors before them, had one way to speak freely: through song. Singing helped them see their way through the long days, and the meter kept the men, who worked in close proximity, swinging their blades at the proper times. Bad rhythm has always been criminal in music, yet here it could get you killed. The Lomax's most famous prison discovery, Leadbelly, is nowhere to be found on Deep River, yet the cast of unknowns, particularly Ernest Williams, cries out with determination. The narratives hint at forbidden topics but are wide-ranging, hung loose around strong melodies and sung with hypnotic call-and-response grace. Like so many of the Lomaxes' vast field recordings, these are priceless shreds of humanity, and a piece of history told in a way words alone could never manage. Reviewed by Jeff McCord
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