Many are already aware of my great love of Americana. It’s that enormo-niche which, I believe, embodies the absolute, truest essence of American music.
As an Australian, and thus, an outsider, I also get to believe that it embodies an America of which, many Americans are not even aware. And if they are, they probably think of it as being something else. To someone like me, Americana, is as much a state of mind as it is a style of music. A hazy, mythical environment found only on the way to somewhere else. A place, every bit as mythical as that “somewhere” Australians call the Outback. A place people can speak of but never really go to. Proverbially, it lies beyond the black stump. Like the fabled Outback, the concept of Americana exists primarily in a world of imagery. It exists in the world of David Lynch films. But mainly, it exists in music.
And the locale, like the music, is not so easy to pinpoint.
It’s kinda Country but not that bullshit hat-wearin’ kind. It’s Blues but not of the modern, urbane variety. It’s Folk music, but not the collegiate sweater wearing style, or from any place remotely called, Honalee. It’s Bluegrass, Hillbilly, Cajun and Zydeco but by way of inference, rather than, specifically.
Americana is that place where civilization gives way to desert. Where stones crunch underfoot and the horizon shimmers in the heat. Where dust endlessly rises, settles, and rises again on the eddying breezes.
On long car journeys as a kid, I’d bug my parents by asking, “Are we there yet?” knowing perfectly well, we weren’t. Instead, we were usually in just the kind of place I’m talking about.
Some musicians get it, and as a fan, they win my greatest respect, for bringing all that mythical imagery to life. It gives me reason to believe that someone actually has been to these places I can only have ever imagined. These are real musicians, who understand the sound of wide-open spaces, and allow their music to swell with the emptiness. The notes are important but the air between them is vital if a song is to be allowed to breathe.
A perfect example of this, is by a small ‘s’ supergroup of players you may never have heard of, including Bill Frisell and Marc Ribot, brought together by Buddy Miller, a man who is himself, one of the best in the business. The group is called The Majestic Silver Strings and when you watch the clips below, you’ll see, they are not being boastful without reason. No one could argue with Clapton, Bruce and Baker when they adopted the name, Cream. Likewise, no one can dispute that this gathering of silver strings players is anything less than majestic.
Known to you, or not, these cats are what people refer to as, “musician’s musicians”. They know what they’re doing. Watch the clip below and you’ll know, in an instant, that there were no costume changes during this show, no auto-tuned vocals, no lip-synching to compensate for possible flaws. This is high-flying trapeze artistry without a net. And it’s awesome to behold.
When I was a kid, I often heard Roger Miller songs on the radio. Songs like “King Of The Road”, which I actually grew to appreciate more as I got older, and songs like “Do-Wacka-Doo”, which proved the opposite. There was the nod to the British Invasion in, “England Swings”, which still has it’s naïve charm. And then there was that other one, “Dang Me”, with a chorus that rolled so easily from the lips, but verses I never bothered to get close to. Until now.
I must have heard Roger Miller’s version of that song a million times but after the take by The Majestic Silver Strings, I was left trying to fathom Miller’s reasons for writing a song of such deep pain and self-loathing and then tossing it off as a Top-40 novelty tune.
Sure, his masterpiece, “King Of The Road” allowed it’s hobo protagonist to hold his head high by having the inside edge on the man in the street in knowing “every lock that ain’t locked when no-one’s around”. But “Dang Me” never, ever, sounded so dark as it does in the hands of these guys.
Even the throwaway poetic license of Miller’s original, rhyming purple with “maple syrple” is not permitted entry to lighten the mood. The interplay of the three guitars on the track is that edge of the desert sound I was trying to allude to earlier and the blistering solo is just the sort of thing that is missing from anything you’ll hear on Robbie Robertson’s new album, even with Clapton in the room.
Please check this out, and try and tell me I’m wrong:
“Dang Me” – The Majestic Silver Strings
Both “Dang Me”, and the album’s opener, a version of Eddy Arnold’s 1963 tune, “Cattle Call” were featured in this week’s edition of ‘Just Released’ (the new radio show I’m co-hosting with Bill on ABC Digital). If you missed it today, maybe you’ll catch the Sunday afternoon encore broadcast.
Better still, go and buy a copy of ‘The Majestic Silver Strings’ album from your favourite record store while it’s still in business. If there’s anything remotely resembling my idea of Americana in your own collection, Buddy Miller’s band can only help improve its cred.
As a bonus, here’s another track that appears on the album. Sure, it’s a cover version of a George Jones song. Sure, it’s a Country number. But hey, it swings! And besides, do you see a hat anywhere? …Nope.
“Why Baby Why” – The Majestic Silver Strings
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Interesting to read, working overseas, offshore in Energy Exploration, meet a lot of Southerners and “Hillbillies.” Aside from my enjoyment of a diverse clattering of musical genre’ from Ozark Mountain Daredevils etc. it was, and is interesting to meet and work with people from the Ozarks, the Swamps and N’Orlins, Missisip and Alabama, Jackson…endless.
One guy, called himself “Hillbilly”, because as he said, when called a Redneck, “Hell no, I’m no Redneck, they Flatlanders, we fight with Rednecks, I’m a Hillbilly!” Mind you he married a Cajun girl, much to her Daddies consternation! I guess that intro saved having to explain over and over. Anyhow, the Walsh boys are deep woods descendents, living in the now sprawling home their Grandparents built in a Forest, which they sometimes Harvest a little and regularly play for Community events, Weddings etc. No charge, just a Community thing.
Hillbilly once went to a Blues gig at a local Bar where Clapton, Willy and some others were set to play. Whilst he and his brother were sipping a brew and listening to the music, a Dude who looked vaguely familiar asked if they minded if he sat and had a beer with them. Their guitars and Banjo were leaning nearby and he asked if they played.
After chatting for a bit he smiled and said he was due on, there was a party later on at an address if they would like to join in and went up to join the band, it was Clapton. Well much later and many beers, the boys decided to go to the party. When he ran into Clapton, he asked if Hillbilly read music, he replied no, plays by ear. Clapton asked if he would like to play with them for a bit. 3 hours later, they left for home.
It is really that down home, no bullshit thing of the Southern Music scene, whether Hills or Cities like New Orleans, no doubt not unlike many other parts, including Australia, where the music is spontaneous, sincere, un-engineered, that creates the integrity of Hills, Blues, Jazz, Zydeco roots Folk Music. Just about everybody plays or participates, not a lot of Television, not a lot of Politics, just music!
I asked him why he just didn’t play music professionally, he said Hell no, I would be dead by now if I played bars all the time!
Speaking of which, very sad;
R.I.P. Amy Winehouse