Farm Report Rural Thrash
Railroad, PA ? Just because we're hoeing, planting and hauling ass out here on Whoa-O-Rama Farm this time of year don't mean we're not listening to music. In fact, I'm one of the first Amish farmers to install a 16-speaker system down on the lower 40 so as we plow with the team we can boogie.
The little Amish adolescents that infest my place have cultivated a taste for punk music: the boys are listening to Anti-Flag and Against All Authority, while the girls lean toward Fabulous Disaster and the Selby Tigers. And in our pitched battle for lower 40 audio, they seem unimpressed by my argument that country is a subgenre of punk rock.
But despite the skepticism of miniaturized ingrates, when you get down to it, hardcore and hardcorn are the same thing. Punk and country have the same basic esthetic, even if almost no one except the members of Social Distortion really like both.
Country emerged from the rural South, whereas punk came out of the urbs and suburbs of the East Coast and California. But they both emerged from what we might call disaffected communities, folks who were ejected from or wanted out of the mainstream. And both have rough-hewn esthetics, a DIY technique and a philosophy of authenticity: both are above all about keepin' it real.
Not only that, but both have a thrash thing going. Really. Bluegrass is acoustic thrash about God, basically the same thing as Minor Threat. Hank is as raw and direct as Black Flag.
Now this is not to say that the styles cannot be corrupted. What Blink-182 is to hardcore punk, Faith Hill is to Loretta Lynn: vicious mistakes, but not refutations of the original oomph.
For all these reasons, I wasn't that surprised to be told that Porter Hall Tennessee, a killer country group of deep traditionality (if that's a word), used to be a punk band. Welcome to Porter Hall Tennessee (Slewfoot) is the ultimate in hardcorn. "Whiskey, whores, and overtime/Have taken her place now that she's gone." "She keeps my heart like a dimestore charm now on her golden chain of hate." You just ain't gonna do no better than that. Molly Conley and Gary Rodarmel trade off vocals, and Molly sounds like she's been listening to all the great girl singers of the tradition, from Kitty Wells to Chrissie Hynde. Plus it's suddenly struck me that Slewfoot, a label out of Missouri, puts out great shit all the time, like the Hadacol album I reviewed last time.
It strikes me, too, though, that a country straightedge is overdue. Let's ponder Gary Stewart's Best of the HighTone Years (HighTone). Gary, like the Dicks and Millions of Dead Cops, is everything you'd want coming out of Texas. But you can't help thinking as you listen that it's just a trifle booze-soaked. Basically every cut proceeds along these lines: "They oughtta make a brand new whiskey and give it a woman's name." There are a couple of pure love/hate songs too, though, like "Delia" and "Bedroom Battleground." Indeed, those two songs, like several of the others, are actually perfect country, little-known classics of the form, like an emo Screeching Weasel doing the Ramones (or something like that).
One doesn't object too severely to sophistication if it can be accomplished responsibly and interestingly, like where Beck takes punk. Case in point: Chuck Prophet, No Other Love (New West). I swear to God, sometimes the future becomes audible; I heard it the first time I heard the Ramones. And now I hear the future of country music. This is somewhere between Bob Dylan and Beck. It's smart, it's hip and it's actually beautiful. The arrangements are perfectly contemporary (hence the Beck), and the songs display great traditional craft as well as a willingness to emerge. My favorite song in the world right now is "That's How Much I Need Your Love," which sounds like a less self-consciously cool Chris Isaak, but in the new millennium. You need this record, bitch.
A few times ago I said that IIIrd Tyme Out is the best contemporary bluegrass group. Well, if their guitarist weren't dead, Hot Rize could certainly give them a run for their money. So Long of a Journey (Sugar Hill), recorded live in 1996 before the death of Charles Sawtelle, is as good a bluegrass album as it is possible to imagine. Sawtelle himself was a unique player: he had a lot more blues and feeling than any other bluegrass guitar player I've ever heard. And of course Tim O'Brien could hardly be bettered on mandolin, fiddle and vocals. Maybe the harmonies aren't as perfect as IIIrd Tyme Out's, but the instrumentation is a trifle better, and the overall effect is equally pleasurable. Hot Rize, which I think is named after a brand of biscuits, thrashes like the Circle Jerks.
Obviously, Ralph Stanley is to bluegrass what the Germs or Teen Idles are to hardcore punk: early, raw, immediate and perfect. And though Darby Crash is dead as a motherfucker, Ralph somehow goes on and somehow gathers depth and intensity as he goes along. Jim Lauderdale is one of the best DIY country artists, both as a writer and as a performer. So it's a good thing that Lauderdale and Stanley have collaborated on a whole 14-song set, Lost in the Lonesome Pines (Dualtone). Essentially, Lauderdale replaces Carter and becomes a Stanley brother, which works as perfectly as you could imagine.
Surprisingly, there is a person named Ralph Stanley II, and he has recorded an album called Stanley Blues on the amazing country-punk label Rebel Records, out of Charlottesville, VA, where evidently they still have got some commitment to the truth. Just as surprisingly, Ralph II does not sound like Ralph I, but rather like the great Keith Whitley, who got his start singing with the Stanleys in the 70s, when Keith was a teenager. Later Keith died of an alcohol overdose, which is pretty hardcorn. Anyway, let me tell you something: this is quite a good acoustic country album. If they still liked country in Nashville, they'd give this boy a career. Ralph II is an extremely expressive and subtle singer, who bids fair to be a classic. Get your punk ass to rebelrecords.com. And while you're at it, alternativetentacles.com, dischord.com and slewfootrecords.com, interpunk.com and milesofmusic.com.
When I read on the back cover of an album that it's produced by Garrison Keillor, especially when his name's as big as the artists', I take it to be a very bad sign. The music I figure is liable to quaintly old-time, and I fear that Keillor himself might take it upon himself to sing, a noisome noise. However, let's just forget about that and listen to Robin and Linda Williams' raw and beautiful disc Visions of Love (Sugar Hill), which consists of intense and gentle versions of old-time love and lost-love songs by the likes of the Carter Family, Hank Williams and Merle Haggard. There are truly great examples of American song here, notably "After the Fire Is Gone" (I still remember the Tracy Nelson/Willie Nelson version from the 70s) and "You're Running Wild." All instrumentation is acoustic, and the voices sound like they just emerged for the first time from deepest Appalachia.
Sometimes clumsy is bad, simply representing incompetence. Sometimes it is annoying, being self-conscious DIY preening. But sometimes it is touching and right. Tommy Carns is a sort of naive-sounding, slightly clumsy singer, with a thin voice and lyrics that flirt with cliche. But Get Up and Fall Down works somehow, and an eccentric sensibility and quirky intelligence slowly become audible. This thing snuck up on me but finally addicted me: very emotional, very touching and oddly well-constructed. Somewhere between Elvis Costello, the Queers and Ryan Adams, I guess, if that makes any sense.
I like the idea of Eliza Gilkyson: a beautiful voice, profound songs. I just wish I liked the album. Lost and Found (Red House) is a sort of sophisto folk album, but I gotta say I find the melodies boring and the words pretentious. It could use a trifle more raw, a trifle more Lucinda, if you follow me. Maybe the best song is "Richmond Boy," which at least samples the idea of country blues. But otherwise, it just ain't punk enough. On the other hand, I got a feeling women might like this more than killer macho Amish studs like me.
Ponder with me now the TwangBangers, an amazing all-star thrash country band that includes Bill Kirchen, Joe Goldmark and the great white hope Dallas Wayne, maybe the best country singer working today. 26 Days on the Road (HighTone) is all about rocking like a motherfucker, recapturing a sense of country vitality you might associate with Commander Cody.
That, kids, is punk country, country punk, rural thrash for us, the Amish.
[www.crispinsartwell.com](http://www.crispinsartwell.com)