Atrophy of the Muscle Shoals

25Jan08

Forget what you know about Drive-By Truckers, even if all you know is their ill-conceived name. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Remember their name.

I bought the band’s latest album, “Brighter Than Creation’s Dark.” Title sounds a little Modest Mousey, right? “It’s a Long Drive through the Lonesome, Crowded Moon with Bad News for Creation’s Dark.” But I popped it into my comp and heard a decided lack of Johnny Marr’s clean, ringing girlyman guitar stylings.

Instead, I was treated to 75 minutes of hit-or-miss Southern rock and country, pretty much what I’ve come to expect from this once-vaunted Muscle Shoals, Alabama outfit. Drive-By Truckers hail from a city rich in rock/soul/country recording history — such artists as Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers Band, Aretha Franklin and Wilson Pickett laid down tracks in Muscle Shoals studios.

The Stonesified mid-tempo rocker “3 Dimes Down” gets points for making direct reference to a Bob Seger song, but people who aren’t from Michigan might be a little less lenient on that score. The Shonna Tucker songs are dispensable and frankly difficult to listen to even one time. Her cliche-ridden “Home Field Advantage” fairs slightly better than the clumsy “I’m Sorry Huston,” which may or may not be about her ex-husband Jason Isbell. For his sake, I hope it is not. Overall, a middling DBT performance that leaves me hankering for the good old days.

Time was that I could count on a DBT record being at least three-fourths great. Check out the virtually flawless mid-career trio of “Southern Rock Opera,” ”Decoration Day,” and “The Dirty South” for evidence.

2003′s “Decoration Day” is the undisputed masterpiece, released smack-dab in the middle of a tireless, 12-year touring trek. The album features a slew of spinworthy songs, most of which are about the most depressing subjects imaginable. For example, the lead-off track broaches the oft-neglected subject of, well, consensual incest. WAIT, WHAT?!? Don’t worry, it’s not condoned, nor is that topic exactly representative of the album as a whole.

This isn’t ”Second Helping” that we’re talking about here. No “Sweet Home Alabamy’s” to be found. Don’t listen to this album if you’re planning on moving down to Dixie. But if you want a nuanced character study of the American South as it is today — blemishes and all – pick up this long player.

Some of my favorite rock lyrics of all time appear on this album. In “Marry Me,” the songwriter neatly summarizes his origins:

“Well, my daddy didn’t pull out, but he never apologized,
Rock and Roll means well, but it can’t help tellin’ young boys lies.”

That comes courtesy of “The Stroker Ace” Mike Cooley, a man whose sweet nickname is only surpassed by his voice, a dead-ringer for Randy Travis (not a bad thing!)

(Above: Do you want to know why they call him “The Stroker Ace?” No? It’s probably better that way.)

But the bulk of the DBT catalog was penned by Patterson Hood, a man whose Klan member-like real name is surpassed only by his woefully bad vocals. But don’t hold those things against him – gentleman can write a tune. Hood turns in such winners as “My Sweet Annette” — a song that came free with my Compaq Presario back in the day. Thank you, pre-installed MusicMatch Jukebox! Anyway, the song is about leaving some broad standing at the altar while making off with the cute bridesmaid. So I dub it a hit.

The band’s now-departed third songwriter [He's not dead, just left to do solo work -- ed.] , Jason Isbell, manages to outdo Cooley and Hood by offering up a sure-fire classic in the title track. “Decoration Day” offers a complex tale of love and loyalty gone wrong in the rural South. A blood feud plays out over a series of generations with neither family remembering “how the whole thing got started.” By song’s end it’s no longer clear who the protagonist resents more — the rival Hill family or his own father, the man who instilled that sense of unquestioned vendetta.

The only thing that might keep ”Decoration Day” out of the classic Southern rock hall of fame (aside from its exceedingly thoughtful subject matter) is its absence of awesome artwork. Not that anyone could ever hope to trump “Street Survivors” … that combo of fatal irony and cut-off denim short shorts just can’t be touched.

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4 Responses to “Atrophy of the Muscle Shoals”

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1 MRK on February 15, 2008 said:

You…

I don’t even know where to begin. You are an idiot.

Let’s go backwards, cuz I don’t have too much time. Wes Freed does all DBT’s art. Their supposed lack of “awesome artwork” is way off base. Do a little research. If you meant that line to be tongue-in-cheek, then I suggest you focus less on the “pen being an appendage” and more on making sure all you’re synapses are firing.

Then you scribble (in Crayon, I presume): “But the bulk of the DBT catalog was penned by Patterson Hood, a man whose Klan member-like real name is surpassed only by his woefully bad vocals.” Is his surname what makes you write this crap? Nice comparison. Might you also have said: “a man whose clitoris-like real name” or “a man whose sweatshirt-like real name” or “a man whose cobra-like real name.” This isn’t music criticism. It isn’t funny. And it isn’t witty.

I’m gonna just skip “woefully bad vocals.” John Lee Hooker. Muddy Waters. Tom Waits. Howlin’ Wolf. Ricky Lee Jones. Joe Cocker. Kurt Cobain. Hmmm… U are truly a genius.

Cooly=Randy Travis? Did your mama drop you a lot as a baby?

I’m getting tired. And I bet your lips are too (while you read my comments), so I’ll end with the ridiculous lede you commence with. DBT and MM? What the fuck? Seriously, is it just because there’s an implied oxymoron in the album title (like MM’s “Good News…”) that you choose to compare them? See my other comments about your false/forced analogies above. If that weren’t brilliant enough… let’s make a few other comparisons…

MM: Washington State
DBT: Alabama/GA

MM: Isaac Brock, b. 1975
DBT: Patterson Hood, b. 1964

MM: Indie band
DBT: Not indie band

Your comparison–and it’s your fucking lede–is so utterly misguided that I’m almost dumbfounded. At least you could have taken the easy (aka “hack”) route and just compared them to Skynyrd or the Georgia Satellites. See, but you’re not even that good of a music blogger.

Here’s some advice. Go read some music reviews. Lots of them. Do the easy stuff first. Like Tiger Beat. Then maybe Entertainment Weekly. Then Rolling Stone (for a true taste of the pedestrian review). Then maybe some CMJ or Pitchfork or some off the road paper from Texas or Idaho that, for some unknown reason, has a kick-ass music critic who’s just stuck in a one horse town.

The pen should be an appendage. But the best way to learn how to write is to read. A lot. A lot lot more than you are reading.

Until then, you might want to practice by blogging about your John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album. That silly Fozzie Bear: now HE has some “woefully bad vocals.” But you already know that, Mr. Music Critic-blogger.

I doubt you’ll post this response. If you had any stones, which I doubt you do–and if you weren’t afraid that you mom would read it and see that I said the word “fuck” or “clitoris”–you’d put it up.

I taught college-level writing for a long time. I frequently used to tell students: if you wanna be a smartass, first you have to be smart.

But I digress. And I’ve lingered too long. The only consolation I feel right now is that, really, despite all gravitas and heartfelt ambition on your part, one thing I know is true:

Nobody’s gonna read your drivel anyway.

Sorry, Kid.
2 MRK on February 15, 2008 said:

I needed to come back today.

I stand by the sentiment of my comments yesterday.

But not the tone and the bile.

Sorry.

I think your critique of “the Truckles” is off-base, but you’re not dumb.

Keep fighting the good fight.
3 macw on February 15, 2008 said:

Thanks for reading, MRK. I appreciate anyone taking the time to do so, especially since I don’t update this blog enough to expect any kind of regular traffic. The truth is that I spend an average of eight hours a day working at my college newspaper in addition to attending classes (sometimes).

Anyway, I’m glad you like DBT. My criticisms of their album artwork, singing abilities and sir names are of course off the cuff. I’m not an art critic. I’m a guy who enjoys writing about music, movies, and other elements of pop culture on a personal blog. I reserve the right to summon up as much gravitas as Stone Phillips if it so pleases me.

I know you wouldn’t have employed such “tone and bile” if we were in the same room talking about the Truckers. We all understand Internet conventions, which allow people to write scathing critiques of critiques while identifying themselves only by three letters. Hell, I’m just the picture in the top-right corner and whatever I choose to put in the “about me” section. It’s not a big deal.

But I urge you to reinvestigate the works of Jim Henson and especially John Denver, whose “Take Me Home, Country Roads” does in fact feature prominently on my iPod. Say what you will about me, MRK, but leave my mountain mama out of this!

I’m gonna love you forever (forever and ever amen),

TGWB
4 Liz on April 12, 2008 said:

Wow dude. That guy is intense. Can I consider him a Mac White fan?

He suggested you should read more. Did you tell him you read the entire State News every day?

To MRK: As a bona fide college student, trust me, dude. We can tell the difference between a passion for teaching and self-propping pretension. Guess which profs I’ve learned the most from.

Your #2 fan after that dude,

Liz K