I'm the King of Boggle, There is None Higher

"I'm the king of Boggle, there is none higher!
I get eleven points off the word quagmire!"

The Beastie Boys on June 14, 1998, at Tibetan Freedom Concert ‘98 in Washington DC. It’s weirdly subdued for a Beasties performance because I think the stage was slick from rain. Hence the goofy blue windbreakers. But still, a fun performance of one of Hello Nasty's better tunes.

Sticking Together like Flour and Water to Make that Slow Dough

Love this pic of Big Boi and Andre by Jonathan Mannion. From the 1998 Source cover shoot.

A Strange and Tangled Girl

Love Love Love the "California Tuffy" artwork from Jesse McCloskey, who also did the Butch cover for the Geraldine Fibbers, and later collaborated with Carla Bozulich on her Evangelista project.

America is Just a Word, But I Use It

Fugazi and The Neckbones at Lafayette's, Oxford, Mississippi, April 10, 1996. I wanted to include this flyer in my transcription for the last podcast, but it didn't quite fit anywhere.

Podcast Episode 11 – 1997 (Kim Shattuck Lives!)

Neckbones L-R: Robbie Alexander, Forrest Hewes, Tyler Keith, Dave Boyer

Transcription

Theme Song: Mike Nicolai, “Trying To Get It Right” [Bandcamp]

Welcome to Don't Call It Nothing, the podcast dedicated to the lost history of '90s roots, rap, and rock 'n' roll. I’m your host Lance Davis and before we dive into 1997 I’d like to mention up front that if you want to support the punk rock musicology I do here you can do so at the $5 and $20/month levels. Click on that fancypants “Buy Me a Coffee” button at the top of the page and you just try and stop the magic from happening. Don’t think of it like you’re just giving the strange voice in your ear money. Think of it like you’re investing in your own happiness. Do it for you.

Also, I probably should’ve noted this earlier, but I transcribe every podcast on the blog that goes along with this show, dontcallitnothing.squarespace.com. However, it’s not a straight one-to-one transcription. I’ll occasionally drop in extra videos or alternate videos on the blog that might not necessarily get played on the podcast. I’m thinking about the first alt.country pod where I mentioned Caitlin Cary singing “Matrimony” on Whiskeytown’s Faithless Street. I didn’t include that in the pod, but if you go to the transcription page I added the video. Or, when I played “All The Labor” by The Gourds on last week’s podcast, the blog included a live performance from 1997. I just wanted to give y’all a heads up on this stuff. Think of it like DVD extras.

OK, I don’t know what you guys were doing in 1997, but I was keeping it real. So … get on your fedoras, we’re going swing dancing! HEYO!!! Who’s with me? Babies? No? You know what, that’s fine. I’m sure I can get my deposit back on this fedora. Besides, why have hamburger when you can have steak? Let me just cue up Smash Mouth’s reboot of Springsteen’s ill-fated homage to Desmond Dekker, nebraSKA. “State trooper, you’re an all star, pickitup pickitup in a cop car.” Huh??? I know we got some Smashing Mouthkins here tonight. By the way, the greatest headline in American journalism history? The August 28, 2016, edition of Consequence of Sound, which declared, "Smash Mouth singer 'was too drunk or had a heart attack,' carried off-stage at Sweetcorn Festival. Sub-heading: Another embarrassing on-stage moment for music's resident Guy Fieri doppelgänger.” Yep. Welcome to America. Here’s your Ed Hardy shirt, off-brand whiskey, and used copy of Fush Yu Mang. All right friends. Fuck around time is over. I know why you do what you do. It’s the “Crack Whore Blues.”

From the 1997 masterpiece, Souls On Fire, that’s Oxford, Mississippi’s Neckbones with the best rock 'n' roll song

• A)  Of 1997?

• B)  Of the 1990s?

• C)  Ever?

• D)  While I was asking these questions, “Crack Whore Blues” just drove off with your car AND your beer.

Oh Neckbones, is there anything you can’t do??? Singing lead on “Crack Whore Blues” is Tyler Keith, who also wrote the song, and he, fellow guitarist Dave Boyer, and bassist Robbie Alexander collectively throw down one of the thickest, swinginest riffs you’re ever gonna hear and drummer Forrest Hewes keeps the band in front of him driving them forward. I love how Keith and Boyer are set off in each channel and doing that Stones thing where both guitarists play rhythm and lead simultaneously, weaving around each other and that main riff. In fact, it’s the Stones via Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers, but without all the stupid junkie posturing.

Heartbreakers L-R: Jerry Nolan, Billy Rath, Walter Lure, Johnny Thunders

Quick Thunders sidebar and it actually pertains to the ‘90s. If you consider yourself well-versed in rock ‘n’ roll, at some point you have to reckon with L.A.M.F. Originally released in 1977 by The Heartbreakers – not yet Johnny Thunders and The Heartbreakers – L.A.M.F., which stands for “like a motherfucker,” is textbook rock ‘n’ roll. Short songs attacked inside a violent pocket. The problem is so many different versions of the album have been released, it’s hard to know which is definitive. I’m here to help you. The one you want is the Lost '77 Mixes, released by Jungle Records on a single disc in 1994. I mention this specific version because you can get a 2-disc, 3-disc, and even 4-disc version of L.A.M.F., but fuck all that. You don’t need to see how the sausage is made. Stick with the single disc version from ’94. It’s Thunders at his most focused.

And that brings us back to the Neckbones. They took those Thunderisms, especially a love of '50s R&B and ‘60s girl group, and married it to a muscular, bottom-up, rhythm-centric brand of punk rock, like the MC5 divided by Rocket From The Crypt. This even extends to some occasional Grifters or Fugazi-esque dissonance. It’s not that Keith and Boyer wouldn’t take solos, but they were far more likely to use their guitars like horns in an arrangement than they were to be shred bros. What made The Neckbones triply unique is they had three different singers and songwriters in Keith, Boyer, and drummer Hewes. Three distinct voices, all solid writers, and weirdly cohesive. Which is why Souls On Fire is the greatest southern punk album ever. And by punk, of course I mean high energy rock 'n' roll.

That’s Dave Boyer and The Neckbones with “Can’t Drive You,” the most formally ambitious track on Souls On Fire. It starts out like a Fugazi homage with those feedbacky guitars, the chord progression, the busy countermelody bassline, and drum fills ... very Repeater. Not sure if it's Keith or Boyer – I suspect Keith – but the guitar solo from 2:04-2:33 is probably the album's most daring moment and the slow descent into madness that is the final minute and a half is cacophony at its most liberating.

I have a quote from drummer Forrest Hewes that puts the album in context. The band members were interviewed by Newt Rayburn in 2007 for their first proper reunion since the band went on hiatus in 2000. When Rayburn asked about the making of Souls On Fire Hewes said:

"Most bands get a budget to work with on an album like this. I think Fat Possum [Records, their label] sprung for a gallon of Jack Daniels and a few family packs of pork chops and chicken for the grill. We couldn't believe our fortunes. We had a week to do it and it was a fun experience. I have no strong recollections other than enjoying it."
–Forrest Hewes to Newt Rayburn, The Local Voice #31, June 28-July 12, 2007

JD and pork chops? In your face, Radiohead!!! This whole album is full of whiskey drinking, fistpumping, couch burning anthems, the soundtrack to falling in and out of love and working your ass off to find your place in the world. Hewes is gonna take us from DC to east LA for our final Neckbones track, a romantic slice of angst that’s like punk rock Rosie And The Originals. Love the drunk guitar in the final 30 seconds as Keith (who’s on piano) jumps in on vocal to snarl the song’s title, "You shouldn't call your man a fool!"

That’s Forrest Hewes and The Neckbones with “Shouldn’t Call Your Man A Fool.” Now, why highlight The Neckbones, other than the fact they’re badass motherfuckers? Because they’re representative of the kind of ‘90s band that’s been ignored as boomer rock critics specifically, but middle class America more generally – including many, many Gen Xers – robotically fawn over dull nonsense like Bob Dylan, Time Out Of Mind, Radiohead, OK Computer, Björk, Homogenic, Portishead's self-titled, Rolling Stones, Bridges To Babylon, Chemical Brothers, Dig Your Own Hole, and U2, Pop. All of those albums were released in ’97 and received a metric fuckton of coverage, some of it was even critical. The problem is that those albums are purely intellectual pursuits. No one actually feels those albums in their soul, they just say they do because we live in a culture that rewards performative white bullshit. Souls On Fire ain’t gonna suck your dick for airplay or favorable press. It’s gonna kick your ass and you’re gonna like it.

I wrote the book upon which this podcast is based because the best American rock ‘n’ roll of the 1990s has largely been overlooked and it didn’t seem to bother anyone except me and the bands being ignored [laughs]. I mean, if you didn’t know about The Neckbones in 1997, there’s no shame in that. Neither did I. But, I damn sure found out about them in 1998 and have been preachin the blues ever since. Shout out to George Hadjidakis and Chuck Thompson at Vinyl Solution in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I have a great quote from Carla Bozulich of The Geraldine Fibbers. She was interviewed in ‘97 regarding the band’s then-new album, Butch, and she said something that I feel in every fiber of my being. She said:

“Punk rock never caught on because radio couldn’t deal with the anti-establishment part. They took it personally and never gave punk any airplay. And now, basically, it’s turned into generation after generation ignoring the underground.”

— Carla Bozulich to Arts Weekly, July 30, 1997

It’s amazing, isn’t? Whether we’re discussing punk rock or the music industry or capitalism or American democracy it won’t be long before we discover the weak link in the human genome: white dudes needing to control shit and failing miserably.

The Geraldine Fibbers with “California Tuffy.” I love that the band is not concerned with your comfort, from their explosive arrangements to their unwillingness to fit inside a tidy genre box to their brutally honest content. This record tackles sexual abuse, misogyny, incest, and gender and sexual identity, and the music reflects this dark tone. Lead singer, guitarist, and principal songwriter Carla Bozulich can switch from croon to scream at the drop of a hat, but her abiding asset is her vocal control and intensity. Filling out the band is Nels Cline on divebomb electric guitar, lap steel, and slide guitar, the lovely Jessy Greene on violin, viola, and backup vocals, and deep in the engine room, Bill Tutton on bass and Kevin Fitzgerald on drums. Given the album's violent arcs, it took a very sympathetic rhythm section to power the Geraldine medicine show.

The versatility of the band is perfectly repped on "California Tuffy," which adds a measure of early '60s AM radio feel to the artsy twang punk. There's a reason this track was chosen for the album's first single and only video (directed by Bozulich). "Toybox" follows “Tuffy” and it's pure assault rock. Bozulich screams, Cline ping-pongs guitar fire, and Fitzgerald's drums power the band to the song's dramatic conclusion. "Trashman In Furs" is a song about grief and death that rockets through space on the back of Greene's sad violin and Cline's stuttering guitar histrionics. And "Pet Angel" is a folkie waltz with Tutton's bowing double bass essentially harmonizing with Greene's viola. But, the track I wanna feature next is alt.country in its purest form.

That’s The Geraldine Fibbers with "Folks Like Me," a wonderful country two-stepper with Nels Cline on keening lap steel and Jessy Greene on violin countermelody. In a different 1997 interview from the one I quoted above, Bozulich discusses the album title. She says,

"The recurrent thread through the album is gender issues and ambiguity, as far as sexual orientation. I wanted to name the album Butch because it's a very homo-specific word. It just means so much to me, that word. It's a state of mind, really. It's usually used in reference to a woman, but it doesn't have to be. What else can I say? It's for the butch inside us all. It was an alternative to the title Bitch."
–Carla Bozulich to Curve Magazine, September 1997

Geraldine Fibbers L-R: Bill Tutton, Jessy Greene, Carla Bozulich, Daniel Keenan (the guitarist before Nels), Kevin Fitzgerald

Given the album title Butch, it’s interesting to consider the song title, “Folks Like Me.” If this were mainstream country, the “folks” in folks like me would drive pickup trucks, like little pups, and think about mama on the front porch. [mock crying] Would you be proud of me, mama??? The genius of Carla Bozulich – and it is genius, let’s be clear – is she takes this formulaic songwriting device, but recontextualizes it into a queer, feminist space. When Carla sings, “I told you from the start that I was not what I appeared,” it introduces the central conflict in not only the song, but in the interior lives of so many in the LGBTQ community. It’s not that your politics flies in the face of the sexually repressed white middle class, it’s that you’re ENTIRE FUCKING EXISTENCE makes them uncomfortable. What’s the chorus of “Folks Like Me?”

“But I'm goin' back to the place
Back to my own race
You won't have to live life on the run
I'm goin' back to the place where
Folks like me are from”

The part of alt.country that the boomer gatekeepers completely misunderstood – because they’re a mostly uniform army of boring white dudes who refuse to acknowledge any context that doesn’t put them at the center – is sometimes the alt meant gay or lesbian. [mocking] SCARY!!! These guys can barely acknowledge women as equals, forget about challenging heteronormativity [laughs]. Yeah, that didn’t happen. And rock radio, as Bozulich already noted, wasn’t interested, despite the fact that, as with Souls On Fire, there’s no way I hear Butch and think, “Oh sure, there’s 15-20 albums better than this.” A few? Maybe. Several? Nah. The last thing the music industry wanted in 1997 was a woman who, get this, expressed her own opinions! What madness is this? “Young lady, does your husband know you’re here???”

FYI, the version of “Crush Me” on the podcast is from Emo’s in Austin on July 23, 2000. Sorry for not back announcing that.

Kim Shattuck and The Muffs with “Crush Me,” the leadoff track on 1997’s Happy Birthday To Me. The album was reissued five years ago and in the liner notes, Kim says of the song:

“While I was recording the rhythm guitars with the amazing engineer Sally ‘Make It Louder’ Browder, we decided we needed another guitar to stereo split with the one I just did. But I didn’t want to do another one because I didn’t want to agonize over whether or not it was locked in. It was decided that this was going to be the opening track and because of that, I was already being way too precious with it. So Sally, as usual, had an innovative idea. For that second guitar she put a microphone up to the noisy air conditioning register and EQ’ed it so it sounded brittle and hissy. When the moment in the song came where the second guitar would come in, I turned on the A/C and we let it roll to the end of the song. It was just noise from the A/C. No guitar playing necessary. Perfect!”
–Kim Shattuck in the Happy Birthday reissue liner notes, September 2016

Muffs circa 1994-95
L-R: Ronnie Barnett, Kim Shattuck, Roy McDonald

FYI, Sally Browder is an engineer and producer based here in SoCal and she was an integral part of the scene at the time, another mostly unheralded woman doing solid work in a male-dominated field. You see her name in the credits for a lot of essential ‘90s acts like Rocket From The Crypt, Wayne Kramer, Claw Hammer, and The Humpers. In 1997, Browder not only engineered Happy Birthday To Me for The Muffs, she mixed Butch for the Fibbers. That list of bands is interesting, too, because it represents a few different healthy mid-‘90s SoCal scenes. Wayne Kramer is kind of a wild card in that I think he lived in Hollywood in the ‘90s and he was signed to Epitaph, who were based in Hollywood, but I’m not sure I’d associate him with Hollywood. So setting him aside, you have the Fibbers based in Silver Lake. That’s one scene. Rocket from San Diego and The Casbah nightclub. You have Claw Hammer and The Humpers from Long Beach and I always associate them with the Foothill Club in Signal Hill. And finally, The Muffs are from north Orange County, the Fullerton/Orange area where there was a great club back then called Linda’s Doll Hut (in Anaheim). I don’t know if I’d associate The Muffs with that (club) specifically, but (Linda’s) was part of that scene.

Anyway, for years the self-titled debut and Blonder And Blonder were my go-to Muffs. But, the more I listened to Happy Birthday, the more I realized it's the band's masterpiece. Superficially, it doesn't sound that much different than their other records. They still exist in that nexus of '60s Britpop and punk, with Kim Shattuck's brilliant songwriting evoking heartbreak and fuck you in equal measure, punctuated with the greatest scream in rock 'n' roll history. One difference was in the drums. As much as I love Blonder, that album was recorded just after drummer Roy McDonald joined the band. By the time they recorded Birthday, though, he'd played hundreds of shows with Kim and bassist Ronnie Barnett and the power trio was a well-oiled machine. I think Roy is the best part of three very good songs – “That Awful Man,” “I’m A Dick,” and “Nothing” – and his presence on “Outer Space” is the best of all possible worlds. It’s flawless melodic rock, but McDonald’s pocket drumming, subtle accents, and heavy rolls and fills give the song an immense depth.

The Muffs on The Mr. Vegas All-Night Party Starring Drew Carey, June 28, 1997

That’s The Muffs with “Outer Space” from The Mr. Vegas All-Night Party Starring Drew Carey recorded June 28, 1997. The other factor that makes Happy Birthday #1 in the Muffography is the fact that Kim Shattuck took over production duties and her control of the band's sound is subtle, but key.

In those same liner notes, Kim admits:

“Happy Birthday To Me was what propelled me into producing and that is a big deal to me. The fact that I was encouraged to give the production credit to the whole band, and not to me individually, was sexist and it stunk. And later I was happy we were going to be dropped because they didn’t understand us and not being understood bummed me out more than being dropped.”

— Kim Shattuck in the Happy Birthday reissue liner notes, September 2016

I'll never stop being annoyed that Reprise was fully bought into Green Day, bought them constant rotation on MTV and radio, but somehow they just didn’t know what to do with The Muffs. Kim Shattuck was beautiful, smart, and funny, she wrote ridiculously catchy pop punk songs, and the band was a tight power trio. And yet, Reprise was all, [mock confusion] “How in the world am I supposed to market this confounding music?!?!?” One of the great indignities of the decade was Reprise informing The Muffs they'd be dropping the band just as Birthday was released, robbing “Outer Space” of the chance to make them millions. Ahh who am I kidding? Reprise, MTV, and/or commercial radio would’ve fucked it up. In the 1990s, the music industry itself was the most visible and obvious impediment to a healthy, economically sustainable rock culture.

Drummer Roy McDonald also wrote a little piece for those Birthday liner notes and it speaks to the character of the band in the wake of getting dumped. He says,

“Most bands would’ve packed it in at this juncture. Many did. That was never a consideration for us. We knew we had something special. We weren’t about to walk away from it. We continue to make records and play all over the world. I think, in many ways, Happy Birthday To Me played a huge part in cementing us as a band. Some of our other records have gotten more attention, but this is the one that defines us.”
–Roy McDonald in the Happy Birthday reissue liner notes, September 2016

Sadly, only three years after Roy wrote that, Kim Shattuck passed away due to complications from ALS. In fact, they did an in-store at Freakbeat Records in Sherman Oaks on March 19, 2017. It was right after Birthday was reissued. That was the last time I saw the band. She was diagnosed with ALS that October and her decline was fairly quick and precipitous. Let me just say that David Bowie deservedly earns praise for releasing Blackstar two days before his death from liver cancer in January 2016. The album was considered a parting gift to his fans as it was constructed when he was in failing health. Well, Kim topped that. You need to hear this.

Muffs circa 1999
L-R: Roy McDonald, Kim Shattuck, Ronnie Barnett

All of the quotes I’m going to read here in a sec come from Lyndsey Parker’s wonderful tribute on Yahoo, “How late Muffs frontwoman Kim Shattuck made final album while secretly battling ALS,” published 17 days after Shattuck’s death.

Parker says that by December 2017 – only nine months after I saw the band at Freakbeat – Kim was having trouble walking and talking. So, that month The Muffs started recording their final album, No Holiday, with Karen Basset of The Pandoras engineering. As for guitar, Shattuck could’ve asked almost anybody to take her place because she couldn’t move her hands. And yet she chose Adam Schary, a friend of hers with no recording credits. That’s fascinating because it tells me that he had the most important quality for this specific project: Kim trusted him.

OK, here's the extended quotes from Parker's article only slightly edited to make it easier for you.

“Her attitude was unbelievable,” marvels guitarist Schary, a friend of Shattuck’s who was recruited for No Holiday once Shattuck became unable to play guitar herself. “I couldn't even really understand how she was just like, ‘We're making a record. We're finishing it. That's it. Disease be damned.’ She never once felt sorry for herself. She just told me, ‘OK, you need to be my hands because my hands are not working.’ And I was like, ‘I'll be there. You just tell me what to do and I'll do it as best as I can.’”

The basis for the album were Shattuck’s unfinished recordings, many consisting of just her and an acoustic guitar. Says Schary, “She had all these songs that were demos or some songs that didn't make the last record and then some of them were literally recorded on an iPhone. Some of them were just recorded on a computer. Nothing really new could be recorded in terms of singing because she couldn't sing anymore.”

Ronnie admits, “There’s some songs that that are recorded better than others. Like, when you have Kim recording her vocal and acoustic guitar track on an iPhone, you can't separate those tracks in a normal recording situation, so there are a couple tracks where we had trouble getting the vocal loud. I’d compare it to Mag Earwhig! by Guided By Voices, where you have polished songs next to more lo-fi stuff, but it all fits together.”

Schary adds, “It shows how good of a songwriter and how talented she was. The songs were so good, it didn't matter that it was recorded in her bedroom on an iPhone. It made no difference.”

By spring 2018, Shattuck was completely immobile and the band set up in the study room of her house while she remotely supervised the sessions from her chair in the adjacent living room. According to Ronnie, “She communicated to us from the other room using the Viber app. By that time, she had gotten a machine called a Tobii that would read her eyeballs, so she was able to construct sentences and communicate using that machine. So she oversaw all of it. She'd be like, ‘It's a little flat there.’ Or, ‘Do it again.’ That's how we did it.”

Schary adds, “She didn't compromise on anything. She was the same sort of meticulous, crazy-talented musician as she ever was. We would run a long headphones cable to Kim and we set up an Apple TV so she could see the computer screen. We'd basically be texting her from the other room, and she would say something like, ‘That's good,’ or ‘No, try this." It was a very slow process, but she knew exactly what she wanted. I think most people would just be so frustrated. She acted like this was normal. She literally couldn't move, but her ears were so good I'd record a part and then get a text saying, ‘You're a bit out of tune.’ There she is, in the other room, and she can't move, and she’s telling me I'm a little flat. Crazy.”

Friends, I’m definitely happier just being with you, especially if you subscribe to this podcast. Also become a member at the $5 or $20/month level by hitting that Buy Me a Coffee button at the top of the page. I mean, you don’t have to, but it’d be cooler if you did. Please visit the Don’t Call It Nothing Facebook page and website, dontcallitnothing.squarespace.com. Like, comment, tell yo mama, and tell a friend.

Talk to ya next time when we explore 1998!

Podcast Episode 10 – 1996 (Alt.Country Pt 2)

Transcription

Theme Song: Mike Nicolai, “Trying To Get It Right” [Bandcamp]

Welcome to Don't Call It Nothing, the podcast dedicated to the lost history of '90s roots, rap, and rock 'n' roll. I’m your host Lance Davis and today we’re gonna finish our deep dive into 1996 alt.country. Last week we discussed Gillian Welch & Dave Rawlings, The Backsliders, Son Volt, The Derailers, The Old 97s, Joel R. L. Phelps, and the Scud Mountain Boys. We also discussed why the Ryan Adams legacy is a pee-pee-soaked heckhole and frankly, we don’t need to relitigate all of that. So, who do we got today? We got another full lineup of both alt AND country. Don’t get your flannel in a bunch, I got this. In fact, I got so much of this that I got extra, so stick around after the closing credits for a super secret bonus track. Easter eggs, y’all!

Wilco - "Forget The Flowers" - 2 Meter Sessions (Dutch TV) - March 31, 1997

From the Vic Theater in Chicago the night before Thanksgiving 1996, that’s Wilco with “Forget The Flowers.” Now I gotta say, from 1995 through ‘99, maybe 2000, I loved Wilco as much as I've loved any band ever. They were SO much fun live, especially ’96-’98. That was the rock ‘n’ roll peak. I know the musicianship with Glenn Kotche and Nels Cline, I know it’s better, but the Being There era is my jam. Where A.M. was straightforward country pop kinda rock 'n' roll, Being There combined that rootsy base with a more experimental sensibility as Jeff Tweedy explored the relationship between music creation and music fandom over the span of two CDs.

"Forget The Flowers" is one of the more overtly twangy numbers on Being There. I love how Jay Bennett uses the Bigsby tailpiece on his SG like a B-Bender, which allows him to pull the B and G strings for a pedal steel sound. Very Clarence White. Being There actually runs the gamut from lazy country pop like "Red-Eyed And Blue” to Stones/Faces rock 'n' roll with "Outtasite (Outta Mind") to "Sunken Treasure," a sprawling, pensive ballad that incorporates ambient noise and textures and uses Tweedy's acoustic guitar to both anchor the cacophony and at 6:19 contributing to it. My favorite moment is the album's final track, "Dreamer In My Dreams." In my opinion, it’s a superior version of the Stones’ "Country Honk." Tweedy's raspy howl has rarely sounded better, plus we get Max Johnston on fiddle, who’s essentially playing the Byron Berline part. Bob Egan plays National steel — a dobro, basically — and Bennett is comping on piano. It’s live, it’s unrehearsed, it's the perfect marriage of trad country and I guess semi-improvisation, with the song building up, falling apart, stumbling on the floor, counting back into anarchic rock 'n' roll, transitioning into swooning country, and giving it one final glorious breakdown before devolving into studio chatter and fade out.

The thing about Wilco, though, is they resisted the alt.country label. In the March 20, 1997, issue of Rolling Stone, in a feature titled, “Wilco: Not Just a Country Rock Band,” bassist John Stirratt is quoted as saying:

“We talked about it, wanting to throw off the No Depression thing – that big blast of excess combined with pop songs. I don’t think we’d be lying if we said the record has kind of a ‘fuck you’ attitude.”

— John Stirratt to David Fricke, Rolling Stone

This is why despite all of the country elements both of Being There’s discs open with experimental rock songs. Alt.country didn’t sell because country radio stations wanted “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and ballads and rock stations wanted Bizkits and Korn with a Spoon. So, this album opens with "Misunderstood," a sprawling epic that emerges from a fog of textural noise and Ken Coomer's toms, turns into a piano ballad a la Neil Young — I’ve always thought "Journey Through The Past” — and then finally explodes into a Flaming Lips-esque noise climax.

Wilco - "Misunderstood" - VH1 Hard Rock Live - April 27, 1997

And this is the alt.country paradox. On one hand you have alt.country songs that are really country songs. On the other hand, if Being There is an alt.country record what does alt.country even mean? In Wilco’s case, the reason alt.country doesn’t really work is because that genre name implies more country than is necessarily present. And if that’s the case, what does “alt” mean? It’s not that I’m opposed to the alt.country designation, it’s that not all alt.country bands were created equal and it helps to know the difference why.

For example, one of my favorite alt.country bands of the era released their debut album (Just Add Ice) in 1996, but said album could just as easily be considered traditional rock ‘n’ roll. I’m speaking about Knoxville, Tennessee’s mighty V-Roys, who combined Cheap Trick swagger with Willie Nelson heartbreak to essentially craft new Replacements songs. Scott Miller sings and writes about 3/4 of the songs and trades leads with fellow guitarist Mic (Mike) Harrison, who contributes the other 1/4. Add Paxton Sellers on squirrelly bass and Jeff Bills on drums. Their musical values – tightly coiled riffs, econo leads, pocket rhythm, concise arrangements – all refreshingly old school, almost a throwback to '70s AM radio. The only thing I might possibly add to these songs is some understated Benmont Tench style piano or organ. Anyway, I mentioned a Cheap Trick influence. Here’s a little excerpt of, let’s just say, Rockford, Illinois.

I dare you to tell me you don’t hear "He's A Whore." Bitchin riffs, great bassline, excellent use of floor tom, great vocal, and now for that Mats feel.

V-Roys - “Wind Down” - Cat's Cradle, Carrboro, NC - July 1999

And that’s the V-Roys with “Wind Down,” little taste there. You know, for all of the talk about Gram Parsons as an alt.country touchstone, I feel like Neil Young and The Replacements were way more important on a song in/song out basis. The Mats are key here because The V-Roys were alt.country by way of Pleased To Meet Me. So you get again those crunchy riffs, you get Miller overdrive vocal, another dope bassline, and it’s just rock and goddamn roll. But I know, you’re here for the alt.country and the alt.country I shall deliver.

Scott Miller & Mic Harrison - Music Fog sessions - Nashville - October 2011

That’s the V-Roys with “Goodnight Loser,” one of the Willie-esque weepers in the band’s catalog. That’s probably Miller’s best vocal I’d say. In fact, great use of vocal parts throughout. I like the bell chime guitar solo panned right, Harrison swoops in for close harmony at 2:07, and then Bills goes double time at the "Ain't she the sweetest thing" crescendo. I just love all of that.

That’s Iris DeMent with “Letter To Mom” from 1996’s The Way I Should, in my opinion the greatest country AND alt.country album ever released by a woman. Not just a great country album, the GREATEST country album ever released by a woman. It’s also a damn good folk, blues, pop, and rock 'n' roll record. Now, I know it’s just a country record. But, it’s alt.country because Nashville wanted NOTHING to do with it. It's intensely personal, as her earlier albums were, but also profoundly political. Iris tackles social justice issues with empathy, grace, and brutal honesty from a defiantly leftist position. This was striking at the time because she'd never written a single song with a political consciousness. OK, I suppose you could make an argument that the subtext of "Our Town" is the decline of the post-WWII manufacturing economy, which resulted in increased suburbanization (i.e. white flight) and thus, urban neighborhoods fell into disrepair (i.e. white fright).

But, The Way I Should doesn't mess around with subtext. It fearlessly reckons with the familial consequences of the Vietnam War ("There's A Wall In Washington"), there’s the toxic combination of materialism, white privilege, capitalism, economic inequality, and moral hypocrisy ("Quality Time"), and the mommy of them all, "Wasteland Of The Free," which features Iris going full-on Beatrix Kiddo on a who's who of American villainy.

I could do that song. But, I wanted to discuss “Letter To Mom.” In the liner notes, Iris admitted:

"The most difficult song for me to put on this record was 'Letter To Mom.' It is not a letter to my mother and it is not my story. It's pretty straightforward. The meaning is not covered up. Some people will be offended by it. Others will be helped. I left the song on here for those people – and because it was the right thing to do."

If "Wasteland" represents the view of America from 30,000 feet, "Letter To Mom" is a miracle of a song about one woman reckoning with childhood sexual abuse. The woman who wrote that letter grew up internalizing her shame and blaming herself for getting molested. I love that DeMent gives her character the emotional strength to confront her mom, who criticizes her daughter for "digging up the past." The mother's denial is a classic symptom of a sexually repressed society, which certainly describes white America, both rural and suburban. But, Iris' allegiance is correctly with the daughter and much respect to her for including this track. There are so many female revenge songs in country music and I’m all about that. But, there’s something uniquely powerful about a songwriter willing to crawl into the ugly muck of human shame and coming out with a diamond of a performance.

In those same liner notes, Iris had another quote that I hold near and dear to my heart. She writes:

"I know a lot of people will listen to these songs and hear them as anything but glorious. Some of what I've said will make some people mad. It might even make some people hate me. I don't like the idea of being hated and I've lost a little sleep lately thinking about it. But, if I hid the truth about how I think and feel in order to be liked I would hate myself, and I like that idea even less."

Word.

Speaking of writing country songs that exhibit empathy for down and out American citizens, ladies and gentlemen, Brian Henneman and the Bottle Rockets with “Welfare Music.” This was actually recorded on April 20, 1996, for an "Earth Day Celebration" in Manhattan Beach, California. The juxtaposition of a pro-welfare queen anthem with booji-ass Manhattan Beach and its angry fat man listenership amuses me to no end.

To be honest, I can’t help but think of the Texas Taliban when listening to the song’s key verse:

Takes two to make three
But one ain't here
Still chasing women and drinking beer
Says nobody understands how he feels
But that don't pay them monthly bills

If this were Texas, the woman in “Welfare Music” would have to have this baby or go to prison. The man who impregnated her? No prison. No consequences. Just continues to live out his wonderful, carefree existence as the governor of Texghanistan. “Get in your burka and be happy you’re not Islam!” Ugh, we need a palate cleanser. Smith, Russell, Bernard, and Llewellin. We need you to the front of the stage, please.

Gourds - “All The Labor” - Barleypalooza, Barley House, Dallas - June 1, 1997

That’s The Gourds with "All The Labor," one of Jimmy Smith's greatest songwriting achievements and the final song on the band’s 1996 debut, Dem’s Good Beeble. “Labor” is about finding your calling in art. It’s not gonna pay, but it will allow you to leave that art behind for the world to discuss, debate, and enjoy. I defy you to listen to it and not get swept up in its refreshing optimism. It's the song of a person in his/her 20s, who has the whole world in front of him. It’s a song about home and community and belonging. "Of camaraderie and pleasure, won't you stand with me in your garden once more?" Love it.

Beeble is organic, raw, and the sound of anarchy, like dudes who grew up with punk rock and filtered those outsider inclinations through the likes of Tom Waits, Los Lobos, and Doug Sahm. It's folk for people who generally dislike folk, poetry for people who think they hate poetry, and country for people who love country, but hate watered down, Nashville "product." There's elements of mountain music and bluegrass, heavy emphasis on vocal harmony, and a lo-fi aesthetic that incorporates textural sound elements. What I love about The Gourds is how they combine and synthesize, twisting country and folk into odd shapes, propelled by funky, specific-to-them rhythms, and they're not worried about getting things perfect.

The Gourds at the Austin Outhouse circa 1995. My God, look at those youngins!
L-R: Claude Bernard, Charlie Llewellin, Kevin Russell & Jimmy Smith

That they're so rhythmically inventive is a marvel given that Charlie Llewellin was serviceable as drummer. Helluva nice guy, limited offensively. How does a band get around that? You have Smith, one of the band's two songwriters and one of the most intuitive, funky, and raw bassists I've ever heard, like a DIY Rick Danko. He carries the low end on Beeble, but he's also often the lead instrumentalist. On this album, check out "Jenny Brown," "Makes Me Roll," and "Pine Tar Ramparts." Occasionally, he'll have a lead bassline simultaneous with Kevin Russell's mandolin. "Honduras" is an example of that or we just heard the end of "All The Labor." Or, he'll use his bass to elevate the chorus as he does on "Web Before You Walk Into It.” I love Jimmy's voice, but it's a very specific wounded dog howl, like if Shane MacGowan were a pirate [laughs].

Russell is the other songwriter on Beeble and I think he could've been a traditional country songwriter were he so inclined. Instead, he was interested in his own brand of literate, surrural, south Texas honkey blues. "Dying Of The Pines." "Clear Night." "Money Honey." "Makes Me Roll." None of those songs would be the same without Kev's powerhouse voice. He also rips through sweet mandolin leads on "Ringing Dark & True" and would become a formidable instrumentalist.

The Gourds are not only instrumentally unique, but the way they use their voices is distinctive. Even if Russell's holding down the lead vocal part, Smith will join him in harmony in the chorus to give the song an off-kilter balance. "Web Before You Walk Into It” is my favorite example. In addition, both men, as well as accordionist/guitarist Claude Bernard, sing harmony with themselves and others, using their vocal parts rhythmically and percussively. The voices fit in with acoustic guitars, mandolins, and accordions effectively working the rhythmic mid-range, chugging, riffing, chanking, and strumming.

Now that I got myself all worked up, how about some bonus Gourds? I’m taking the wayback machine to Monday, December 30, 1996, and we’re going to the Hole In The Wall in Austin, Texas. We’re not staying here, but this is where “Unplug This” is going to be held, which is exactly what it sounds like. A hoot night. It’s an easy way to get a bunch of local songwriters together to do acoustic songs, generally covers, and considering it’s a Monday, the night before New Year’s, and during holiday, when a lot of UT students leave Austin, “Unplug This” is a smart way to draw paying customers/drinkers.

But, like I said, we’re not staying at the Hole. We’re actually going back one day and a few miles down the road to a legendary place called The Steamy Bowl, Jimmy Smith’s home and The Gourds’ practice space. Joining the band for rehearsal this evening are three songwriters also scheduled to appear at Unplug This! They are Mike Nicolai (aka the songwriter you hear every week on my intro and outro) on acoustic guitar and bass, Amy Boone of The Damnations on piano and bass, and Deborah Kelly, also of the Damnations and sister to Amy, on guitar, fiddle, and vocals. The group’s name for this hoot night was The Original Bloodstained Five, which is funny because there were seven people involved. This tells me Jimmy named the group [laughs]. The whole rehearsal is available on archive.org and I strongly recommend a listen. It was not easy limiting myself to one song, but I love this piano-driven version of Gram Parsons with Deborah the Emmylou to Kev’s GP.

Damnations L-R: Amy Boone, Deborah Kelly & Rob Bernard

Original Bloodstained Five - A Song For You [Gram Parsons]

That is Kevin Russell of The Gourds, Deborah Kelly of The Damnations, and the collective known as the Original Bloodstained Five. It’s a perfect name because they had seven members in the band [laughs]. I think that tells me Jimmy named them [laughs]. At the end there you can hear Claude say, “That was wonderful,” and he’s correct. It’s not perfect. You can hear the band feel their way through the song, but that adds to the immediacy. It’s a rehearsal. I’m ok with the performances being loose. This is what made the whole alt.country thing worth a damn. Gimme bloodstains. If you kick over a couple clams as a consequence of baring your fucking soul, so be it. If I wanted Garth and Shania, I’d go listen to them, but I don’t. I want artists that sound like they give a shit. That would be The Gourds, Damnations, and Nicolai, right on the precipice of becoming two of Austin’s best bands and one of its best singer/songwriters.

Now, I wanna finish today with one of my favorite bands. Similar to the V-Roys, Slobberbone married earnest, but fun midwestern rock 'n' roll like the aforementioned Cheap Trick, the aforementioned Replacements, and Soul Asylum with enough rootsy elements like hammer-on folk guitar, train beat drums, root-fifth basslines, and fiddle to be labeled alt.country. However, Slobberbone’s 1996 album Crow Pot Pie definitely leans more into the rock than the country. "16 Days" and "Tilt-A-Whirl" are good examples of how singer and songwriter Brent Best's guitar sound existed in the sweet spot between Farrarmageddon and Jaydo Mascisism.

Like Westerberg, Best's songs veered between smart, smartass, heartfelt, and heartsick, sometimes in the same song. He’d later get compared to Mississippi author Larry Brown and "I Can Tell Your Love Is Waning" and "Little Sister" confirm those rural noir suspicions. “Waning,” in particular, is Brent’s first great song, an epic murder ballad with a proper beginning, middle, and end, a blazing guitar solo (3:43-4:36), pedal steel, Mike Hill high harmony, and Scotty Danbom on sweet organ fill.

That was the great Slobberbone with “I Can Tell Your Love Is Waning.” Love that song. And also, good reminder. Don’t get caught behind a cattle truck. It will NOT be your friend. Before I let y’all go, I wanna share something that I found positively delightful and I hope you do, too. Back in the early 2000s on the old Slobberbone Yahoo group a thread developed that pit Ryan Adams against Brent Best. I mean, it’s as silly as it sounds. Hot or Not, basically. But, at some point the non-existent rivalry spawned an actual T-shirt that said, “Ryan Adams is no Brent Best.” Simple. To the point. And correct. Sure, Ryan Adams was making a mint at the time being a pouty bad boy, but Brent was winning a Yahoo war. So you tell me who’s in the driver’s seat!

Anyway, as I was researching the numerous shitty Ryan Adams stories this week, that shirt popped into my head. So, I Googled the phrase “Ryan Adams is no Brent Best” and sure enough, I got a hit. But, it wasn’t to a picture of that shirt. It was a link to an Amazon review of the Ryan Adams song “Desire,” which is on 2002’s Demolition. Not the full album, just that song. Very specific. The review is from a user known as misterwile - W.I.L.E. so it could be Mister Willie or Mister Wile E, like Wile E Coyote. I’m gonna call him Mr. Wile (like while). His review is confusing because he writes, “Ryan Adams is no Brent Best,” but he gives the song four stars. So, I don’t know. Even weirder, the review was dated June 15, 2015. This had to be an old Yahoo Grouper, so for shits and giggles I wanted to see his other reviews. I mean, anyone savvy enough to drop a “Ryan Adams is no Brent Best” obviously has refined tastes and therefore has to have other very perceptive, entertaining reviews. I was not disappointed.

On February 4, 2020, Misterwile reviewed Jim Beam Bourbon Vanilla Keurig pods. He writes, “Despite it's keen packaging, this coffee is 101% lie. it tastes like nothing more than i would imagine a cup of coffee from a pre-Keurig Goodyear waiting room coffee machine might taste. it's bad. AND, there's no other flavour in it, much less Jim Beam, OR vanilla. In fact, this was so far from any kind of flavour except bitter and concrete, that the light from the nearest bourbon would take a hundred years to get to it. You are better off feeding $15 to a giraffe.”

I think I need to report abuse. Ryan Adams is curled up in the fetal position in the Amazon Warehouse.

On April 10, 2014, Misterwile reviewed calming chews for cats. He writes, “Wasn't even good as a 'treat'. My cats, who are pretty voracious and adventurous, sniffed it and left it. When i broke one up and fed it to my cat, nothing happened. So i tried two, and then up to three. Nothing.”

And then finally, on January 12, 2012, Misterwile reviewed a tiramisu cake. He writes, “I had an open mind about this, and at $3 for a box of 6 at my local Asian Market, it seemed worth a shot. However it tastes what i imagine a twinkie buggered by a tube of instant coffee would taste like. Stoners and Starbuckers may disagree.”

Outro

Friends, I can assure you. You do not have to feed a giraffe or bugger a twinkie to subscribe to this podcast. There’s a little subscribe button. It’s that easy. You can also become a member by hitting that slick Buy Me a Coffee button at the top of the page. Come on, you know you wanna. Please visit the Don’t Call It Nothing Facebook page and website, Dontcallitnothing.squarespace.com. Like, comment, tell yo mama, and tell a friend.

Talk to ya next time when we explore 1997!

Go Where Your Heart Wants to Go

Kelly Willis in 2011

Kelly Willis was almost part of my 1996 alt.country podcast, but unfortunately, cuts had to be made. In 1995, Willis was signed to A&M Records and one day her A&R coordinator, Teresa Ensenat, called asking if she wanted to appear on TV with Lyle Lovett. Now, there was a history here because Kelly signed to A&M because of a demo that she’d cut with Lovett. For Ensenat, it was a logical fit. What Ensenat couldn’t possibly have realized when she called was that Willis and Lovett were on THE COVER OF THAT DAY’S NATIONAL ENQUIRER!!!! WHAT??? True story.

Given that Lovett was married at the time to Julia Roberts and Willis was in a relationship with her boyfriend, singer/songwriter Bruce Robison, shit hit the fan in everyone’s respective households. When the dust finally settled, Lovett and Roberts were splitsville. Meanwhile, Willis and Robison retreated from the public eye and worked on their relationship. They were married the next year and I’m happy to report they remain happily married to this day. One of the by-products of that tumultuous moment in their lives was “She Don’t Care,” which Robison wrote and two years later recorded for himself. However, Willis recorded it in 1995 with a gender-switched title and her backing band was the next act Ensenat suggested: Son Volt.

“He Don’t Care About Me” was one of four tracks on Fading Fast, a quickie EP sent to radio stations in ‘96. A&M was trying to capitalize on “Fading Fast’s” appearance on the modestly successful Boys soundtrack. Fading Fast was produced by Brian Paulson, who prior to this EP helmed Anodyne, A.M., and Trace. Three of the EP’s tracks feature Farrar and Co (the title track, “He Don’t Care About Me,” and a song Willis co-wrote with Gary Louris of The Jayhawks (“What World Are You Living In“). That’s Jim Boquist on bass and high harmony and brother Dave Boquist on banjo. It gives you an idea how alt Son Volt really was in 1996 that it didn’t even occur to A&M that they could sell this EP to the alt.country crowd by promoting the Son Volt part of the collaboration. They also had a Louris song and Paulson’s production expertise, but none of that meant anything to the country music establishment. It was ultimately released in Texas to a handful of hip record stores and within the year, A&M released Willis from her contract.

Willis readily admits she had no idea who Son Volt or Uncle Tupelo were at the time, but she agreed to record with Farrar for a Red Hot & Bothered compilation that ultimately led to demos on which Willis was backed by both Son Volt and Sixteen Horsepower. A year later, those demos became Fading Fast, a promotional EP that was designed to remind radio Willis still existed, but ultimately got released commercially after the strongest critical praise of her career.

"It wound up as an incredible turn for me to work with Son Volt," agrees Willis. "It associated me with people who I hadn't been associated with before, and it made people think twice about me who normally wouldn't. It's like integrity and credibility shined down on me all of a sudden. I was really lucky to have a label that wanted to make stuff like that happen for me."
—Kelly Willis to Andy Langer, Austin Chronicle, February 12, 1999

That Red, Hot & Bothered comp was the first release featuring the Willis-Son Volt collab, though their cover of Townes Van Zandt’s “Rex’s Blues” was credited to Jay and Kelly alone. Whatever the case, the results were pure magic.

The one Willis-Son Volt collaboration you may not have heard is their cover of Little Feat’s “Truckstop Girl.” The track appeared on Rig Rock Deluxe, a truck driving comp that I think was only released in Europe, but I used to see copies in random used bins. If you like “Rex’s Blues,” I can’t imagine you not loving this.

This next track is an addendum to my recent post about Tom T. Hall. Like Joel R. L. Phelps and Iris DeMent, Willis appeared on the 1998 tribute comp, Real: The Tom T Hall Project. She took on one of Tom T’s biggies, “That’s How I Got To Memphis,” and acquitted herself nicely. Mark Spencer actually reached out to me on Instagram to say that he recorded “Memphis” at his Brooklyn Studio, Tape Kitchen. He further noted that Kelly’s backup band was none other than Son Volt! What makes this doubly interesting is that Spencer not only recorded and toured with Farrar extensively in the 2000s and 2010s, but the year after Real: The Tom T Hall Project came out, Kelly released What I Deserve. It was her first independent album and she’s been an indie stalwart ever since. However, it bears mentioning that she was backed by two guitarists for those sessions. One of them was Chuck Prophet. The other? Mark Spencer.

And to think, her move into alt.country and creative independence was precipitated by a ridiculously improbable National Enquirer photo.

OK fine, here’s a bonus cut. It’s Willis and Robison doing “He Don’t Care About Me” from March 2001. Adorable!

Podcast Episode 9 – 1996 (Alt.Country Pt 1)

Transcription

Theme Song: Mike Nicolai, “Trying To Get It Right” [Bandcamp]

Welcome to Don't Call It Nothing, the podcast dedicated to the lost history of '90s roots, rap, and rock 'n' roll. I’m your host Lance Davis and I’m happy to report that today’s podcast is the first of two parts about alt.country in 1996. This was not my plan. I wanted to knock out, I don’t know, a 40-45-minute episode? But, I was going through songs and you know how it is. “Well, I gotta write about these guys and I can’t forget these guys oh she’s a must and I can’t leave them out” and next thing you know I got like an hour/hour and a half worth of material. That’s too much talking for one episode. It’s the perfect amount of talking for two episodes. So, I’ll cover half the bands today, the other half next week, and so if I haven’t covered someone obvious in part one, they’re probably gonna be in part two.

Why 1996? I really could’ve picked any year between 1995-2003 and come up with a solid list of alt.country bands, albums, and songs for that year. But, ‘96 is a good starting point. There were a lot of people at the time getting into Wilco and Son Volt and then going backwards to check out Uncle Tupelo, essentially learning about all three bands at the same time. Unless you were already plugged into an underground live music scene, I kinda feel like a decent chunk of the newbies coming to Farrar, Tweedy, and alt.country in general, were doing so because of No Depression magazine, which started publishing in mid-’95.

alt.binaries.nerd.alert

Let me also acknowledge the influence of internet message boards. I’ve had my problems with alt.country as a genre name from the very beginning and I’ll get to that. But, I’ve actually come to appreciate how alt dot country, not alt dash country, timestamps the genre to a specific moment in time (i.e. the mid-‘90s). You see, back in the olden days before regular ass people had internet in their homes, let alone on their phones, boomers had cush teaching positions at universities. And those universities were about the only places with fast internet – T1 lines typically. If you had internet at home in 1996, it was such a luxury that it was confined to a space called “the computer room” and it was like AOL at 28.8k modem speed.

To give you an idea of the difference between T1 and 28.8k internet speed just imagine a light switch. With a T1, you flip the switch, lights turn on. With a 28.8k modem, when you flip the switch the light does not turn on. Instead, your grandma walks slowly toward a candle with a book of matches, burping and farting constantly. Her delicate hands are slightly shaking as she tries to light the first match, but it snaps in two. She drops the second match. She finally lights the third match, then lights the candle, thank God we finally have internet access, aaaaand that’s when your brother picks up the phone and kicks you off the internet because yeah I forgot to mention that back then we used phone lines for internet access because cable bandwidth wasn’t a thing yet. Which reminds me of one of my dad’s favorite jokes. He was born in 1932, so he was already an adult when TV went mainstream. He’d say, “When my students find out how old I am they can’t believe I was around before television. They ask me what we did as kids to entertain ourselves and I tell them, ‘Nothing. We just sat around waiting for TV to be invented.’”

What does this have to do with alt.country? Because back in those days it wasn’t like people could learn about bands on Facebook. There was no Facebook. The internet was so new in ’96 that very few bands even had websites. I believe the Old 97s site was up, but they were like Lewis and Clark on the world wide web [laughs]. What there was, was Usenet — not SkyNet, like The Terminator — but Usenet, a network of moderated newsgroups or discussion groups where users could post questions and answers would turn into threads. There were no pictures, it was just plain text. No graphics. And these groups had names like “alt.binaries.bluegrass,” “alt.binaries.country,” “alt.binaries.sexwizards,” and it’s from that nomenclature that we get the term alt dot country. So like I said, whatever reservations I have of alt.country as a descriptor, I appreciate that the term itself is a time capsule.

OK, for those of us OGs who were seeing alt.country bands and collecting alt.country records in ‘96, here’s a thought exercise. Think of an act that you didn’t like then, for whatever reason, but you eventually came around. You saw the light. I’ll go first. I have to admit I didn’t really like Gillian Welch. Her debut album, Revival, came out in ’96 and I thought it was, I don’t know, too curated, too safe, as if Welch, her musical partner, Dave Rawlings, and producer T-Bone Burnett were trying way too hard to create faux Appalachia. Obviously, I was wrong and unfair. It's no more or less faux than Uncle Tupelo’s March 16-20, 1992 or Palace Brothers’ There Is No One What Will Take Care Of You or even Iris DeMent’s Infamous Angel. Welch and Rawlings wrote haunting folk songs about lonely people living desperate lives and they absolutely nail the close harmony vocals, intentionally evoking the brothers Louvin and Stanley. The production is immaculate, but not in an overpolished, adult contemporary way. The bass and drums sound warm, the instruments give each other space to stretch out, and they get heavy when they need to. Live, Welch and Rawlings were just as powerful as they were on record, even if they were without bass and drums. For example …

That’s Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings on June 21, 1996, at The Palms in Davis, California, with “Acony Bell,” a very small song about a very small flower. Love the subtly funky interplay of the acoustic guitars, Welch is strumming hard on the downbeat as Rawlings expertly picks single note, mandolin-esque leads around her. My guess is Rawlings capo’ed his guitar way up the neck to give it that sound. Regardless, this is a badass folk blues and I have no idea why I was complaining about Welch and Rawlings [laughs]. They’re awesome.

Now let’s take that thought experiment in the other direction. Instead of naming an alt.country artist I was wrong about in 1996, I’m gonna name an alt.country artist that I was right about and time has totally vindicated my decision. I’m referring of course to Ryan Adams, the so-called boy wonder with the irrepressible shine in his eyes. You cannot discuss alt.country without eventually reckoning with Adams and Whiskeytown. And look, I love Faithless Street, especially the 1998 Outpost reissue. I like Stranger’s Almanac, especially the first half, but I think that album is crazy overrated. It’s closer to the Eagles than Uncle Tupelo and from there, it’s a fairly quick descent into mediocrity.

The worst thing about Whiskeytown, though, had nothing to do with music. It was that the Ryan Adams Experience overshadowed everything. It just sucked the air out of the room. He was like a male Courtney Love, constantly courting drama, fights, and petty, childish nonsense. But, instead of forcing him to grow up, gatekeepers and hangers-on constantly enabled him because they benefited professionally and loved the excitement of being bad boy adjacent. “He’s such a bad boy, he doesn’t play by rules.” Go back and read all the old white guys fawning over this jackass. Are they fawning over Caitlin Cary? Whiskeytown was her fucking band, too. Great voice, lovely fiddler, I say all of us listening to this podcast refer to Whiskeytown from here on out as Caitlin Cary’s band and Ryan Adams as her singer. Cool? Cool. Besides, in 1996, I’m not sure Whiskeytown was even the best alt.country band in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Recorded July 20, 1996, at The Brewery in Raleigh, North Carolina, that’s The Backsliders with “Lexington Avenue,” “a song about the perils and pitfalls of living in Burbank, California.” You can find that on the EP, From Raleigh, North Carolina, where Chip Robinson's hangdog baritone and old school country songwriting meshes wonderfully with Brad Rice and Stephen Howell on dual lead guitar.

Getting back to Adams, even in ’96, as a 26-27-year-old, I was long past celebrating that stupid rock ‘n’ roll bad boy archetype. Gen Xers already know this, millennials probably know this, but anyone Gen Z and younger may not know that the rock ‘n’ roll bad boy was a specific invention of the 1960s. Now, rock ‘n’ roll bad boys predated the ‘60s. Jerry Lee Lewis, for example. But, it was beginning in the 1960s, you see the active celebration and valoration of “the bad boy.” The Stones, Gram Parsons, Morrison, Hendrix, Lou, Iggy, Bowie, Zeppelin, Ozzy, Aerosmith, Johnny Thunders, Dee Dee Ramone, The Decline of Western Civilization 1 & 2, Keith Moon driving his car into a pool, Keith Richards and Bobby Keys dropping TVs out of hotel windows, Led Zeppelin banging groupies with mudsharks. [mocking] “It’s funny ‘cause I don’t see them as people! Sexual assault and pedophilia? Sociopathic behavior? Lighten up, Francis. These are just colorful stories.”

Here’s a colorful story for ya. I wanna say this is around 2004-2005 and a few of us are going to see Ian McLagan and The Bump Band back when he was doing his happy hour residency at the Lucky Lounge in downtown Austin. And when I say that maybe you imagine in your head like 150 people packed into a club to see a former member of The Faces, but nah. I went a few times and there were typically like 20-30 people. Very chill environment, always a good time, and it wasn’t like Ian retreated to the dressing room after the set or between the first and second sets. He came out from behind his piano and hung out, took pictures, signed the Faces box set which had just come out, signed his book which had just come out – neither of which I did because I’m an idiot – and he’d basically just be an awesome dude answering fanboy questions. Zero fucking rock star bullshit.

Ian McLagan & Kim Kerrigan at home in Austin

I can’t remember how it came up, but someone in the group hanging out at the table mentioned Keith Moon. It might’ve actually been one of his band members. I can’t remember. But, if you don’t know the story, Ian’s wife Kim was previously married to Keith Moon and in popular lore, Ian and Kim “ran off together” like in a movie with Keith shaking his fist in the background. In reality, as Ian soberly explained, Keith beat the shit out of Kim so badly that her face would swell up all black and blue. And this happened repeatedly. She wasn’t running off with Ian. She was escaping Moon. I mean yes, she was running off with Ian because he treated her well, like an adult, like he loved her. We valorize these bad boys and then look the other way when, shocker, the bad boy acts like a bad boy. Or worse, we minimize the shitty behavior because if THEY face consequences, then WE have to face the consequences of our own complicity. It’s easy to separate the art from the artist if you separate yourself from your own conscience.

“We valorize these bad boys and then look the other way when, shocker, the bad boy acts like a bad boy. Or worse, we minimize the shitty behavior because if THEY face consequences, then WE have to face the consequences of our own complicity. It’s easy to separate the art from the artist if you separate yourself from your own conscience.”

Fast forward to February 2019. So, this is about 2 1/2 years ago. Ryan Adams’ ex-wife Mandy Moore, musician Phoebe Bridgers, and five other women come out publicly, accusing Adams of consistent emotional abuse and sexual misconduct. Their stories are remarkably similar. It’s almost like they’re telling the truth. According to The New York Times, “(These) women and more than a dozen associates described a pattern of manipulative behavior in which Adams dangled career opportunities while simultaneously pursuing female artists for sex." You know what that describes? The entire history of the film and music industries! [laughs] Actually, check out Lydia Loveless’ song, “Steve Earle.” It is basically the song version of that New York Times description.

Now, fast forward to this summer. Both Variety and Los Angeles Magazine ran self-pitying features on Adams with the following headlines:

Variety
Ryan Adams, Shunned by the Music Business and ‘Scared,’ Pleads for Labels to Rescue His Career

LA Magazine
Exclusive: Ryan Adams: ‘I Felt Like They Were Asking Me to Die’

Seems to me that if multiple women accuse you of being manipulative, then leveraging the press to be publicly manipulative … probably not your smartest move. But, it illustrates the problem for women. Even when social forces work on their behalf, it won’t be long before other social forces, including entertainment industry machinery, grinds slowly into gear on behalf of men, even bad boys. Suffice to say, Don’t Call It Nothing will not be playing Ryan Adams because fuck him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t play “Matrimony” off of Faithless Street at some point. It is after all Caitlin Cary’s band [laughs].

There’s another band I’m not gonna play today, but it isn’t because of some moral stand. Quite the opposite. I’m not playing Blue Mountain because my damn CD player broke and I can’t access this 1996 show from Cicero’s in St. Louis. But, please know this is an accidental omission. Few bands are better representatives of alt.country, both musically and personally, than Cary Hudson, Laurie Stirratt, and Frank Coutch. In fact, they’re so cool that it pisses me off all over again that Ryan Adams got a bunch of free publicity for being a dick, while Blue Mountain were consummate professionals, total badasses, and the nicest damn people you’d ever wanna meet and their promotional muscle was a sturdy cup of jack squat.

So, no Whiskeytown, no Blue Mountain, and I considered, but ultimately passed on Robbie Fulks, Dale Watson, and Ween. Don’t worry, though. An overview of 1996 alt.country was promised and an overview shall be delivered. All right, let’s alt the crap outta some country.

That’s Son Volt from Farm Aid on October 12, 1996, with one of the best songs of Jay Farrar’s career, “Tear-Stained Eye.” It had to be “Windfall” or this and I think I like “Tear-Stained” just a scosh more. Obviously, the lyrics sound 100 years old and Jay’s voice is about as good as it ever sounded. Gotta love Jim Boquist on bass and high harmony and the JB/Mike Heidorn pocket. But man, how about Eric Heywood on pedal steel? That guy makes everything sound better. “Tear-Stained Eye,” kinda like “Acony Bell,” also presents one of the paradoxes inherent to this genre. On one hand we’ve all agreed that artists like Gillian Welch and Son Volt and Whiskeytown are alt.country and I’m fine with that. But, listen to the song. Listen to “Tear-Stained Eye” or “Acony Bell.” Those are country songs. I mean, it sounds how country music is supposed to sound, right? So while alt.country is technically true, in some cases, there’s nothing particularly alt about it.

Incidentally, this was the infamous Farm Aid held at Williams-Brice Stadium in Columbia, South Carolina, when Hootie And The Blowfish’s set was interrupted by an unruly fan wearing a throwback George Rogers jersey who grabbed Hootie’s mic and demanded they play “Slip It In” by Black Flag and if not that then “China Cat Sunflower” into “I Know You Rider,” but not the Boston Garden version, that is so fucking typical of you Hootie, going for the obvious. No, not Boston Garden, the following month at Kezar Stadium. It’s pure joy you fucking Blowfish, at which point security escorted him off the stage. That unruly audience member? My good friend, Nelson Brooks. By the way, when questioned later as to why they let him go on for so long, the bouncer said, “Look, I know what he was doing was wrong, but in his defense, Hootie wasn’t playing.” HEYO!!! “Colorful stories!”

From their 1996 studio debut, Jackpot, that’s The Derailers with “100% not 99 9/10ths Fool.” Obviously, the band evokes Buck Owens & The Buckaroos, which makes them way more country than alt.country to my way of thinking, but it’s not like Nashville was rushing to play The Derailers. Maybe that makes them alt? I don’t know, but I know it’s my platonic ideal for country music. Swinging pocket around a sock rhythm acoustic guitar, Tele leads, occasional steel, and high/low harmony vocals. Lead singer, main songwriter, and rhythm guitarist Tony Villanueva is the low while Brian Hofeldt is the high, the Don to Tony’s Buck. What I like about Hofeldt as a guitarist is that he comes at the Buckaroo sound via George Harrison on Beatles For Sale. So, you get the chicken pickin with a heavy dose of chime. On a side note, this is the first time producer Dave Alvin and drummer Lisa Pankratz ever recorded together. She's one of the greatest country/blues/R&B/rock 'n' roll drummers the hill country of Texas has ever produced. In 2009, Lisa became the drummer for Dave Alvin And The Guilty Women and has been Dave's drummer ever since.

The Old 97s with the A-side of their 1996 Bloodshot single, “Eyes For You.” OK, this is alt.country [laughs]. This was back in the day when Rhett Miller still had the short hair and glasses and he’d play so hard that his glasses fogged up. Dreamy! Drummer Phillip Peeples plays a variation on the train beat, Miller's acoustic rhythm guitar pushes the beat, Murry Hammond's bass sits in the pocket, and Ken Bethea plays some sweet single-string leads over the top. Not very complicated, but well executed. Sounds like the Old 97s.

With the recent passing of Tom T Hall, I had to include this cover of “Spokane Motel Blues” by Joel R. L. Phelps, former member of Silkworm and in ‘96 just starting out as leader of The Downer Trio. Though it was later added to Real: The Tom T Hall Project, a 1998 tribute comp, Phelps actually released this cover two years earlier as the B-side to a single on Moneyshot Records. Hall's original was bluegrassy and led by banjo. How Phelps heard that and pulled a 2 am, just ran out of wine, sad bastard arrangement with steel and horns is beyond me. But, I love it. This seems even more alty than the Old 97s in that Phelps zeroes in on the loneliness and despair at the heart of “Spokane,” but arranged it like a Downer Trio record, which is more like chamber folk or even chamber pop than any kind of country. This reimagining of the original is what gives the song its teeth and what made alt.country such a breath of fresh air at the time – even if the alt.country was secretly country.

That’s the Scud Mountain Boys with “Cigarette Sandwich” off their 1996 album, Massachusetts. Now, the band is from Northampton, Massachusetts, so the title could just be a reference to their home state. However, given Joe Pernice’s love of layered, orchestrated pop, I’ve always suspected the title was an homage to the Bee Gees song of the same name. Most of this album is languid pop with songs like "In A Ditch," "Penthouse In The Woods," and "Grudge Fuck," there’s just gorgeous little snowglobes. In fact, because of Pernice’s pop proclivities, some people might not consider this alt.country because the band isn’t really alt.country. I don’t know. I have a simple system. If it sounds country, it’s country. Whether other tracks are equally country is beside the point. Frankly, I WISH Massachusetts had a couple more like "Cigarette Sandwich" and "Lift Me Up," songs where the rhythm section got to move around a little. Props to Bruce Tull for the pedal steel, lap steel, and chicken pickin electric guitar that gives these pop songs a clever, twangy contrast. He’s kinda like the Mark Spencer of the Scuds.

Outro

Friends, I think that’s a good stopping point for today. If worn out wood and familiar songs are your jam, go ahead and hit that subscribe button. You can also become a member by hitting that slick Buy Me a Coffee button at the top of the page. You know you wanna. Please visit the Don’t Call It Nothing Facebook page and website, Dontcallitnothing.squarespace.com. Like, comment, tell yo mama, and tell a friend.

Talk to ya next time when we finish our deep dive into 1996 alt.country.

Rock the microphone and then I'm gone

Grand Royal #2 from the LD archives

I'm like Lee Perry, I'm very on
Rock the microphone and then I'm gone

Pictured above is an essential piece of 1990s arcana. The Beastie Boys' Grand Royal Magazine, Issue #2, featuring the great Lee Perry on the cover. Perry passed away yesterday at the age of 85 and I immediately sent the crew to locate this issue of the magazine from my archives. Hilarious, irreverent, and surprisingly well-researched, Grand Royal was like other punk rock pop culture zines of the day -- Ben Is Dead, Flipside, etc. -- only moreso. You can look for issues on eBay, but my guess you're gonna pay quite a bit more than $4.95. By the way, given that Biz Markie died six weeks ago, does someone wanna give John Kruk a heads up? Hopefully for his sake we don't have a Final Destination type narrative on our hands.

Remembering Don Everly (Neko Case)

The Everly Brothers were a massive influence on some good hippies (Beatles) and tedious hippies (most Laurel Canyon folk). Far more significantly, the Everlys influenced the fabulous Neko Case, who covered "Bowling Green" on her 1997 debut album, The Virginian. Check out this live version from September 13, 2000, at Maida Vale Studios in London. Neko sings with Kelly Hogan, has Jon Rauhouse on pedal steel, and what sounds like Dallas Good (Sadies) on guitar. (Not sure if he was still a Boyfriend). Quit smoking that '70s shit with seeds and stems. Have some '90s northwest bud and avoid the headaches.