Hot Box
Notes on notable musicians.
Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble
Live at Montreux 1982 and 1985
Legacy Records
The first thirty seconds of Live at Montreux 1982 and 1985 (Legacy Records) lays the cards on the table. An announcer so excited he's about to crawl out of his skin introduces by name Chris Layton, Tommy Shannon, and Stevie Ray Vaughan in a thick accent, trying to sound formal and important, as if music appreciation is serious business. The words are followed by SRV's thunderous twang, all distorted and wigged-out right out of the chute, trashing up Freddy King's "Hide Away," riding and skipping over the funky cool groove laid down by Shannon and Layton—the band sounding like they're still playing a room so low-down that Stevie's bolero hat is brushing against the ceiling. Music worlds collided that night back in 1982 when a European jazz audience got an earful of Texas juke joint and reacted by booing with growing intensity. The jolt of reality that real American blues music still existed was obviously too much for the Euro-sophisticates to comprehend. Too bad for them, because Jackson Browne, who offered free use of his studio to make SRV's first album, and David Bowie, who asked Stevie to record and tour with his own band, saw the same show and got it big-time, giving Vaughan the biggest breaks of his storied career.
It was a completely different reaction three years later when SRV and Double Trouble returned. The Euros had finally gotten it too, their cheers punctuating the second disc of this twofer. Though more than half of the second disc consists of tracks that already appeared on Live Alive, disque deux is worth scrutinizing for the unreleased stuff, particularly for its version of Stevie doing Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)" and "Life Without You." But even the refried stuff is a pleasure hearing once again. "Tin Pan Alley" is some of the darkest deepest blues SRV and his band ever delved into, and the guest appearance by Johnny Copeland, the Houston guitar giant, confirmed Stevie could hold his own with his elders.
Bruce Robison
Country Sunshine
Boar's Nest Records
Bruce Robison may be the luckiest dog in Nashville. He makes so much money writing songs for performers, he doesn't have to worry about his own career. Nor does it hurt that he lives in Austin, that his wife is Kelly Willis, or that he grew up in Bandera, where he was blessed with a native's ability to distinguish a dude ranch buckaroo from the real thing. Because of all this, Robison can afford to make an honest album that the suits can't mess with. His self-released Country Sunshine (distributed through Southwest Wholesale) is so anti-commercial, it even features a goofy generic cover lifted from a bad seventies sampler. But that can't hide the compositions under the packaging. Some are plain good ol' tunes like "Can't Get There From Here" and "Valentine" that will most likely make some other star a bunch of money when he covers it. Others are simply jewels such as "Friendless Marriage," in which he pulls off a stirring duet with his wife that recalls the best of George and Tammy and Porter and Dolly. Then there is "What Would Willie Do?" which is over-the-top brilliant, because it explains the cosmic reality of Willie Nelson in three minutes better than any single song ever has, features Mickey Raphael blowing harmonica for street credibility, and manages to rhyme "races" with "Iglesias." May Robison stay away from the Nashville suits forever.
Shawn Sahm
Shawn Sahm
Poverty Records
It's been two years now since Doug Sahm's death, but there are bits and pieces of him still alive in two recent releases. Sir Doug's kid, Shawn Sahm, was the most pleasant surprise at the Soap Creek Saloon Reunion at La Zona Rosa in Austin this past October, proving himself a chip off the old block as he gathered his dad's musician friends around him and rocked the house with a moving version of "She's About a Mover." He continues to pay tribute with songs to his father on Shawn Sahm (Poverty Records), mining the Tex-Mex groove with "Senorita" and flavoring that and other tracks with Flaco Jimenez's accordion and Augie Meyer's piano. Originals like "Bullet Proof Skin" and "Mama's Out Rockin'," the latter featuring Doug on fiddle, demonstrate the kid can bounce around different grooves almost as effortlessly as his old man. But it's the last song, a reprise of "Stoned Faces Don't Lie," that brings it all back home with a stone groove, as the elder Sahm would have put it.
Lucky Tomblin
Lucky 13: Lucky Club Music
Texas World Records
lucky13band.com
Lucky Tomblin, a long-time Sahm pal, followed suit by enlisting many folks from Doug's old San Antonio dream team, namely Rocky Morales, Al Gomez, Arturo "Sauce" Gonzales, and Louis Bustos for Lucky 13: Lucky Club Music (Texas World Records). While Tomblin won't be confused with Sir Doug, his rendering of "Mom and Dad Waltz" is some stone-cold Western soul that holds its own next to Sahm's two-steppers. The real draw for Doug Heads is "Funky Butt," reprised from Joe King Carrasco and El Molino's Tex Mex Rock Roll, which showcases Morales' inspired sax solos that have cemented his reputation as one of the greatest Texas tenors alive. That, and two bonus instrumentals—including an on-the-money rendition of "Soul Serenade" originally by Fort Worth's King Curtis and reinterpreted here by San Antonio tenor legend Spot Barnett—are worth the price of admission alone.
Flickerstick
Welcoming Home the Astronauts
Epic
Now I know what happened to classic rock bands like Journey and Styx. They were reincarnated into modern groups like Flickerstick, the Dallas band that became famous this year for winning VH-1's "Bands on the Run" competition. Winning was no small feat. But now that they are playing for real with the release of their debut, Welcoming Home the Astronauts (Epic), it's a different story. The quintet's musical competence and ability to structure eminently hummable pop songs are obvious. But despite vocals that recall the glory days of power ballads and guitar charts that couldn't be produced any better, the music comes off as generic, lacking a sense of place or a message and suggesting Flickerstick could have come from anywhere. Worse, album rock has practically vanished from the airwaves, and classic rock stations aren't adding contemporary acts to their playlists. In other words, Flickerstick was born twenty years too late. They already peaked before they got started.
Greezy Wheels
Millennium Greezy
Tana Records
greezywheels.com
There's an old saw that if you remember the sixties (and the early seventies), then you weren't there. It's an easy cop-out to the reality that a lot of stuff from that era, music included, won't stand the test of time, even under the influence. This stands to reason if you take the case of Greezy Wheels, the first band I ever saw at the Armadillo. Back then, they were led by Cleve Hattersley, a bombastic, gregarious preacher man in hippie threads who shared more than a few common traits with his road buddy Kinky Friedman. Then Cleve was busted for smuggling pot to the Fillmore East in New York and was sent to jail. Cleve's sister, Lissa, took over, and between her and Sweet Mary Hattersley, the cosmic fiddler who was the band's secret weapon, Greezy Wheels unwittingly became the smartest chick band in Austin until the Dixie Diesels (Shawn Colvin's first Austin band) hit town. All in all, they were funky, fluid, and fun back then, but ever since, I've had the feeling you had to be there to understand. Or did you?
Millennium Greezy (Tana Records), Greezy Wheels' first album in 25 years or so (featuring the husband/brother, wife, and sister), is actually better than it should have been. Okay, "Sideman's Party" sets a bad example, merely affirming hippies shouldn't do reggae, and the cover that follows, "Jambalaya," may have passed for rootsy way back when but it lacks the requisite funk, fire, and Cajun attitude most modern roots rockers would pack into it. And blues shuffles? Please. But for every clunker like that, there's a "Louie, Louie" that sure isn't the Kingsmen—it's more like Toots—but still cuts a most delectable groove that goes cosmic when Sweet Mary's fiddle takes a ride, or a "Book of Rules," which retools the Heptones' Jamaican reggae classic into a restrained but sanctified pulpit sermon. But all that pales when "Dr. Wayout (Roky's Song)," Cleve's tribute to Roky Erickson, kicks in, transporting listeners to a trance state worthy of an extended Grateful Dead jam. That segues smoothly into Lennon-McCartney's "Tomorrow Never Knows," in which Sweet Mary's fiddle becomes possessed and the percolating between Ponty Bone's accordion and that of Mambo John Treanor's pulls the song further out than the Sergeant Pepper—vintage Beatles could ever imagine. Hey, I thought I was too old for astral traveling too, but this belated version of Greezy Wheels reminds me that maybe I'm not after all.
Josh Alan Band
Josh Alan Band
Black Cracker
joshalan.com
Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble
Live at Montreux 1982 and 1985
Legacy Records
The first thirty seconds of Live at Montreux 1982 and 1985 (Legacy Records) lays the cards on the table. An announcer so excited he's about to crawl out of his skin introduces by name Chris Layton, Tommy Shannon, and Stevie Ray Vaughan in a thick accent, trying to sound formal and important, as if music appreciation is serious business. The words are followed by SRV's thunderous twang, all distorted and wigged-out right out of the chute, trashing up Freddy King's "Hide Away," riding and skipping over the funky cool groove laid down by Shannon and Layton—the band sounding like they're still playing a room so low-down that Stevie's bolero hat is brushing against the ceiling. Music worlds collided that night back in 1982 when a European jazz audience got an earful of Texas juke joint and reacted by booing with growing intensity. The jolt of reality that real American blues music still existed was obviously too much for the Euro-sophisticates to comprehend. Too bad for them, because Jackson Browne, who offered free use of his studio to make SRV's first album, and David Bowie, who asked Stevie to record and tour with his own band, saw the same show and got it big-time, giving Vaughan the biggest breaks of his storied career.
It was a completely different reaction three years later when SRV and Double Trouble returned. The Euros had finally gotten it too, their cheers punctuating the second disc of this twofer. Though more than half of the second disc consists of tracks that already appeared on Live Alive, disque deux is worth scrutinizing for the unreleased stuff, particularly for its version of Stevie doing Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)" and "Life Without You." But even the refried stuff is a pleasure hearing once again. "Tin Pan Alley" is some of the darkest deepest blues SRV and his band ever delved into, and the guest appearance by Johnny Copeland, the Houston guitar giant, confirmed Stevie could hold his own with his elders.
Bruce Robison
Country Sunshine
Boar's Nest Records
Bruce Robison may be the luckiest dog in Nashville. He makes so much money writing songs for performers, he doesn't have to worry about his own career. Nor does it hurt that he lives in Austin, that his wife is Kelly Willis, or that he grew up in Bandera, where he was blessed with a native's ability to distinguish a dude ranch buckaroo from the real thing. Because of all this, Robison can afford to make an honest album that the suits can't mess with. His self-released Country Sunshine (distributed through Southwest Wholesale) is so anti-commercial, it even features a goofy generic cover lifted from a bad seventies sampler. But that can't hide the compositions under the packaging. Some are plain good ol' tunes like "Can't Get There From Here" and "Valentine" that will most likely make some other star a bunch of money when he covers it. Others are simply jewels such as "Friendless Marriage," in which he pulls off a stirring duet with his wife that recalls the best of George and Tammy and Porter and Dolly. Then there is "What Would Willie Do?" which is over-the-top brilliant, because it explains the cosmic reality of Willie Nelson in three minutes better than any single song ever has, features Mickey Raphael blowing harmonica for street credibility, and manages to rhyme "races" with "Iglesias." May Robison stay away from the Nashville suits forever.
Shawn Sahm
Shawn Sahm
Poverty Records
It's been two years now since Doug Sahm's death, but there are bits and pieces of him still alive in two recent releases. Sir Doug's kid, Shawn Sahm, was the most pleasant surprise at the Soap Creek Saloon Reunion at La Zona Rosa in Austin this past October, proving himself a chip off the old block as he gathered his dad's musician friends around him and rocked the house with a moving version of "She's About a Mover." He continues to pay tribute with songs to his father on Shawn Sahm (Poverty Records), mining the Tex-Mex groove with "Senorita" and flavoring that and other tracks with Flaco Jimenez's accordion and Augie Meyer's piano. Originals like "Bullet Proof Skin" and "Mama's Out Rockin'," the latter featuring Doug on fiddle, demonstrate the kid can bounce around different grooves almost as effortlessly as his old man. But it's the last song, a reprise of "Stoned Faces Don't Lie," that brings it all back home with a stone groove, as the elder Sahm would have put it.
Lucky Tomblin
Lucky 13: Lucky Club Music
Texas World Records
lucky13band.com
Lucky Tomblin, a long-time Sahm pal, followed suit by enlisting many folks from Doug's old San Antonio dream team, namely Rocky Morales, Al Gomez, Arturo "Sauce" Gonzales, and Louis Bustos for Lucky 13: Lucky Club Music (Texas World Records). While Tomblin won't be confused with Sir Doug, his rendering of "Mom and Dad Waltz" is some stone-cold Western soul that holds its own next to Sahm's two-steppers. The real draw for Doug Heads is "Funky Butt," reprised from Joe King Carrasco and El Molino's Tex Mex Rock Roll, which showcases Morales' inspired sax solos that have cemented his reputation as one of the greatest Texas tenors alive. That, and two bonus instrumentals—including an on-the-money rendition of "Soul Serenade" originally by Fort Worth's King Curtis and reinterpreted here by San Antonio tenor legend Spot Barnett—are worth the price of admission alone.
Flickerstick
Welcoming Home the Astronauts
Epic
Now I know what happened to classic rock bands like Journey and Styx. They were reincarnated into modern groups like Flickerstick, the Dallas band that became famous this year for winning VH-1's "Bands on the Run" competition. Winning was no small feat. But now that they are playing for real with the release of their debut, Welcoming Home the Astronauts (Epic), it's a different story. The quintet's musical competence and ability to structure eminently hummable pop songs are obvious. But despite vocals that recall the glory days of power ballads and guitar charts that couldn't be produced any better, the music comes off as generic, lacking a sense of place or a message and suggesting Flickerstick could have come from anywhere. Worse, album rock has practically vanished from the airwaves, and classic rock stations aren't adding contemporary acts to their playlists. In other words, Flickerstick was born twenty years too late. They already peaked before they got started.
Greezy Wheels
Millennium Greezy
Tana Records
greezywheels.com
There's an old saw that if you remember the sixties (and the early seventies), then you weren't there. It's an easy cop-out to the reality that a lot of stuff from that era, music included, won't stand the test of time, even under the influence. This stands to reason if you take the case of Greezy Wheels, the first band I ever saw at the Armadillo. Back then, they were led by Cleve Hattersley, a bombastic, gregarious preacher man in hippie threads who shared more than a few common traits with his road buddy Kinky Friedman. Then Cleve was busted for smuggling pot to the Fillmore East in New York and was sent to jail. Cleve's sister, Lissa, took over, and between her and Sweet Mary Hattersley, the cosmic fiddler who was the band's secret weapon, Greezy Wheels unwittingly became the smartest chick band in Austin until the Dixie Diesels (Shawn Colvin's first Austin band) hit town. All in all, they were funky, fluid, and fun back then, but ever since, I've had the feeling you had to be there to understand. Or did you?
Millennium Greezy (Tana Records), Greezy Wheels' first album in 25 years or so (featuring the husband/brother, wife, and sister), is actually better than it should have been. Okay, "Sideman's Party" sets a bad example, merely affirming hippies shouldn't do reggae, and the cover that follows, "Jambalaya," may have passed for rootsy way back when but it lacks the requisite funk, fire, and Cajun attitude most modern roots rockers would pack into it. And blues shuffles? Please. But for every clunker like that, there's a "Louie, Louie" that sure isn't the Kingsmen—it's more like Toots—but still cuts a most delectable groove that goes cosmic when Sweet Mary's fiddle takes a ride, or a "Book of Rules," which retools the Heptones' Jamaican reggae classic into a restrained but sanctified pulpit sermon. But all that pales when "Dr. Wayout (Roky's Song)," Cleve's tribute to Roky Erickson, kicks in, transporting listeners to a trance state worthy of an extended Grateful Dead jam. That segues smoothly into Lennon-McCartney's "Tomorrow Never Knows," in which Sweet Mary's fiddle becomes possessed and the percolating between Ponty Bone's accordion and that of Mambo John Treanor's pulls the song further out than the Sergeant Pepper—vintage Beatles could ever imagine. Hey, I thought I was too old for astral traveling too, but this belated version of Greezy Wheels reminds me that maybe I'm not after all.
Josh Alan Band
Josh Alan Band
Black Cracker
joshalan.com
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