Help Me Fake it Thru the Night

Sorry about that cockup with the songs on the previous post. The links are fixed, and y'all should be able get yer truckin' fix proper now. Let me know if'n yr still having trouble.

Here's another post about a musician you may be surprised we like up here on the Mountain.

I know I promised pre-70's country, but I'm cheating by just a nudge here. Technically, Sammi Smith started out in the late 60's, but she's best known for her hit from 1970, "Help Me Make it Through the Night." Written by Kris Kristofferson, the song propelled her(and him) towards a top hit and a Grammy or two. And we're real impressed with Grammys here at the Mountain. And that should have been just about it. Smith had only two more top ten hits, and sort of disappeared from popular entertainment. 'Cept, as most of us know, popular entertainment is rarely the full story. More often than not, it's not the story at all.

Thanks to "Help Me Make It...", Smith got the dreaded countrypolitan poster child tag slapped on her. And as countrypolitan went, so did those who practiced it. Straight to hell. But Smith was never a practitioner of that bland, citified urban cowboy crap. The laziness of journalists, A&R types, and critics placed her there. But Sammi had other interests, and other friends. Friends who went by names like Waylon and Willie. Yeah, Smith was much more aligned with the "Outlaw" movement and it's take no prisoners attitude towards the crap coming out Nashville. To put it in modern context, she was Sally Timms to Waylon's Jon Langford. A respect for the old leavened with a rawer, newer spin. It was this fatal "flaw" that made her poison on the charts, and virtually forgotten in quick succession. Too bad.

To keep the comparisons rolling, Smith was the link between "Dusty in Memphis" and Emmylou Harris' "Wrecking Ball". Her voice was sex, but not kittenish, more late night after hours, when the line dancing is done and yr headed back to her place for a nightcap from a bottle with an X on it. Soul filtered through Owen Bradley. So, forget about what you know of "Help Me Make it Through the Night" (which is actually a pretty darned good song if you isolate it from it's surroundings), and give Sammi Smith a spin on yr ole media player. Neither of the following songs contain distorted guitar, organ solos, ranting male strutters, or references to alcohol (one of those is not true...guess which one). Nope, just good old fashioned country. Make way for a lady.

Sammi Smith: Sunday Morning Coming Down (mp3)

Sammi Smith: When My Blue Moon Turns to Gold Again (mp3)

That special tingly holiday time o'the year is comin'. Buy yr loved ones a gift from your local independent retailer. And don't forget the upcoming Big Rock Candy Mountain daily holiday bandwidth blowout. Starts the day after Thanksgiving.

Mack Daddies

The links are fixed! The links are fixed! Sorry about that folks. The truckin' tunes are now up and password free. Please feel free to download to your heart's content. Truck away, truckers.

Truck driving music today. (get that out the way for all the RSSaggregatorblogline purposes.)

I don't watch much of that there television thingy. Exceptions being baseball, football, the Daily Show, and the Tuesday night trinity of The Gilmore Girls, My Name is Earl, and The Office (I'd include Scrubs, but I don't know where it went). Now, lest you think I'm about to turn into Stereogum and go all hot entertainment news on you, I only mention this as a prelude to today's musical adventures. Sort of. See, someone at My Name is Earl must have a pretty interesting record collection. And last night's episode was a Big Rock Candy wet dream. Smokey and the Bandit and Jerry Reed's "East Bound and Down" figured prominently in the plot, and left me nearly in tears with hilarity. Hi larity. (and that's not even counting the "Everybody's Talkin'" scene with Ray and Earl passing each other on separate buses...guess you had to be there. Quality programming, folks). Anyhow, I got to wonderin'....how often in recent years have we heard truckin' music on prime time television? Probably not that much. Shame, really. I'd watch more tv then. Or not.

So, in an astonishingly roundabout way, we come to The Willis Brothers. I'm pretty sure I've posted something about them awhile back, but memory fails, and it's a pain in the ass to try to hunt through previous posts. Or laziness.

Starting their career sometime in the mid-30's in the traditional radio broadcasts so popular at the time, the Willis Brothers were a mix of Western and Swing styles, playing tightly loose hillbilly stomps and long road wrangles. One of the first groups to put a signature on the blossoming trucker subgenre, it wasn't 'til the 60's that the Brothers fully capitalized on the style. Now, of course they're known mostly for the truckin', and less for the previous 30 years of music they made. 'Course I'm not helping matters much here, as I'm presentin' the diesel.

I always wanted to form a band called Truck Stop Hookers. Probably not a good idea, but it always seemed like one 5-6 beers into the evening. Not that that's what the following songs are about, of course. Only good clean romancin' here at the Mountain. Call them...errr...Mack Daddies, I guess. Sorry 'bout that.

The Willis Brothers: Truck Stop Cutie (mp3)

The Willis Brothers: When I Come Driving Through (mp3)

Don't blow smoke up the asses of giants. Support your local independent retailers.

Sweetheart, You're a Cowgirl

Hi. How's it going?

All y'all probably wonderin' where the hell all the country music went. Well, from now 'til Thanksgiving, I'm gonna give you all the pre-70's country you so desperately crave. Yup. And if you're marking your calendars, might as well remind you that come Thanksgiving and all the way through Christmas, the 'Mountain's going daily(daily!) with Holiday music. Goody. Just so's you know.

I'm astonished by the lack of information on the world wide internet thing pertaining to Patsy Montana. Sure, you get lots of hits when searching, but all the biographical entries are virtually identical, and rather gloss over just how important she was/is to country and western music. A footnote more than driving force.

Like Jimmy Rodgers, Montana's primary years occurred long before record sales were properly tracked. By all estimates, and taking into account the population of the time, Montana probably outsold and outdrew by a good margin many of the artists working today. 'Course this was before music tastes split into a million different pieces, where, now, we're only allowed to listen to one type of music.

What's most important about Montana, asides from the great music she made, is the far flung influence she fostered. You can trace that influence to Rose Maddox, on to Wanda Jackson, through Dolly Parton, and living still in every woman working in country-influenced genres. Neko Case fans take note. She was the first woman in country to chart a million-selling album, she played in a "boy's" game, where woman were supposed to be backup singers, eye candy for the cowboys. She composed a good amount of her own songs, long before it was made acceptable to have a mind of one's own in the western tradition. She also had one hell of a great big yodellin' voice, that surely made more than a few lonely cowpokes a little uncomfortable (nudge nudge wink wink).

Patsy Montana died on May 3rd, 1996, after more than 60 years of music-making and trailblazing. Later that year she was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. Good job, guys. Glad you could, you know, get around to it.

Patsy Montana: I Want to Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart (mp3)

Patsy Montana: A Rip,Rip Snorting Two-Gun Gal (mp3)

Lasso yr favorite cowgirls at yr local, independent rodeos and cattle drive

Honkabilly Boptastic

Sleep well, Rosa Parks.

So I received a fantastic mix cd from the right Rev. Frost of Spread the Good Word, who's celebratin' his birthday right about now (or sleeping it off...what's the time difference?). Man, the man sets the bar high. I'm trying to return the favor, but it's a struggle. What do you give a preacher who already has everything worth having? A Barbara Streisand mix? You know, in keeping with the horror theme?

In my search I reacquainted myself with one Mr. Jerry J. Nixon, straight outta pasttime New Mexico, via Britannia. Or maybe not. See, there's some suggestion that Mr. Nixon is a hoax, albeit a very good one. Voodoo Rhythm Records, the company responsible for the compilation of all his recordings from the "Quality Records" sessions, has been known to be a touch on the pranksterish side.

Here's what we're told in the liner notes: Nixon was born in England as Gerald Hall, committed a crime, joined the merchant marines, and migrated to Santa Fe, New Mexico, changing his name to Jerry J. Nixon in the process. He worked in a cardboard factory, drove a truck, joined the Communist Party, and recorded some great, lost rockabilly classics on the side. He died penniless. Sounds fascinating. Wow, a true unknown legend. Except for the fact that several music journalists around the area claim never to have heard of him, and that the places mentioned in his bio, including Quality Records and the Q recording studio, never existed. Voodoo even included an article from the Santa Fe News suggesting Nixon was a hoax. Which begs the question, why? Admittance, a sly wink, or marketing? I dunno.

All of this is pointless, of course, if the music aint no good, or comes across as a joke. Which it most certainly does not, good sir. No, it sounds like the real thing. Actually it sounds fucking great, revved up honkeybilly swinging through late-nite battered and sweaty jukejoints, urgent and untamed, filtered through just the right amount of sepia ageing. It's an album one imagines could only come from the mid-50's rock rebellion (apparently the only smoking gun, music-wise, is the organ, which may have been made too late to be on these recordings). If you like your rock'n'tonkin'billy "pure", without the ironic, tryin' too hard, I got a costume shtick, this is the sound hummin' in your head. Boogie in a time machine. "Red Sun" is the apocalyptic raveup one always dreamed could only be made in a canyon, and "Saturday Midnight Bop" should remind everyone of the good ole over the bra, under the bra fumbles of a bygone era. Speeding car races on back roads optional.

So, is it real? Yeah. The dates and facts may not match up, but the music does. Mr. Nixon, wherever and whoever you actually are, the 'Mountain salutes you.

Jerry J. Nixon: Saturday Midnight Bop (mp3)

Jerry J. Nixon: Red Sun (mp3)

Support your local hucksters, pranksters and barely existing record shops. Before they blow away.

Rumble Alley

Thanks for all the kind words and e-mails. Y'all are swell.

Duane Eddy and Dick Dale seem to get the most attention,these days, of the myriad of instrumental geetar slingers of the 50's and 60's. And fair enough, but I'd add Link Wray to that list...make it a trinity. While Eddy is the sound of the deserts echoing off sand and canyons, and Dale takes on the pulse and flow of the vastest of oceans, Wray's is equally the space between the white lines of a southern backroad and the graffiti-strewn walls of a big city alley, all revved up speed and menace. Part of the genius of the Link Wray sound has to be credited to his brother, "Ray Vernon", whose studio wizardry on the cheap, and fascination with compression, helped forge the signature Link Wray tone, claustrophobic and dangerous, not safe for children. Hot rod races and gang wars. Straight outta D.C..

Link looked the part, too, rockin' the leather jacket like an early Ramone, he was punk 10 years before the Sonics, and certainly less contrived than the Velvet Underground. With Hasil Adkins, Link is owed a debt of gratitude from grease and trash rock labels like Norton (which has released a few Wray recordings), In the Red, and Sympathy for the Record Industry.

Since most are at least passingly familiar with his bigger "hits" ("Rumble" and "Rawhide" in particular), I thought I'd pull off a couple of tracks from the Ace Records collection, "Law of the Jungle" , which contains Wray's Swan Records sides and unreleased tracks. Of particular note is the rare vocal on "Soul Train" (not the one you think it is).

Link Wray: Soul Train (mp3)

Link Wray: Return of the Birdland (mp3)

Support your local record shop

Drinking With a Diamond

Well. If you happened, for whatever reason, to be downtown Chicago on Friday morning and spotted an astonishingly beautiful woman in a weddin' dress followed by a rather shlumpy, shaggy headed fella looking extremely uncomfortable in a suit, heading toward the county court house, that'd probably have been me and the Missus. Yup, Missus. The Mountain done done it. Shackles and chains, 'n' all dat (and sorry to my legions of adoring female fans). Don't worry if you weren't invited, we didn't even bring the cat. It was a beautiful three minute ceremony, followed by an excruciating train trip to a destination to be referred to in a future post.

And so.

I really don't understand the hatred that folks have for Neil Diamond. I mean, I get that the man can venture into cheese at the drop of a hat, and that damn song about coming to America is a bit much, but every artist has their low point (even Tom Waits got talked into duetting with Bette Midler...would've liked to have heard that conversation). Ummm...ok, there's that Jonathan Livingston Seagull thing too. Alright, so Diamond asks for some of the scorn he gets. And then there's the contingent who loooove Neil, in an ironic hipster fashion. Neil Diamond on a trucker hat or something. Ah, the kids just keepin' it real.

But see, I'm a fan cuz the man is one of the best damn songwriters you've ever heard. Really. It's all well and good and modern to write wordy, tuneless manifestos on the plight of the downtrodden, or Raymond Carveresque slices of daily tedium, but does it make you want to sing along? Can the magazine cover band of choice make an entire bar full of cliques and clans stop what they're doing and sing along? No? Neil Diamond can. I've seen it, and not just in the movies. I don't even have to scrawl out the obscenely large list of songs by Diamond that have become part of our musical backdrop. You already know all the songs. Whether you're snickering or lustily agreeing. And the man, live, puts on a fucking show. You get what you pay for, even if the bloomers thrown up onstage are a little larger than they were 30 years ago. Sweat and sweet sweet Caroline.

So what the hell does Neil Diamond have to do with what we normally listen to here at the 'Mountain. Twofold: an infrequent series of posts about musicians that you may or may not be surprised that we like, and a farewell to one of my favorite songs. Maybe one of Diamond's most haunting tunes. Johnny Cash, who knows a bit about songwriting was fond of the song, too, though his take carries a different level of sadness.

Neil Diamond: Solitary Man (mp3)

Johnny Cash: Solitary Man (mp3)

Support your local Justice of the Peace.

Good Truckin' Tonite

The 'Mountain aint been real good about keeping it's long ago promise for...err...mountains of truckin' music. Wellll, shit, gotta change that. Yup, more road weary tales for all y'all little shavers. Roll on.


Dale Watson is a modern fella with an old diesel soul,a hard honkytonkin' mothertrucker with no love for Nashville's assembly line cream of the crap. Like fellow traveler Wayne Hancock, Watson's music has the history of country stamped in dust all over his catalogue. Naturally, he don't sell a whole lot rekkids. Shame. If yr gonna start with one (and you really should start), the 'Mountain recommends The Truckin' Sessions. For obvious reasons.

If you've been comin' here for any length of time, and still don't know or worship Dave Dudley, I'm a failure.

Giddyup and Go:

Dale Watson: Good Luck 'n' Good Truckin' Tonite (mp3)

Dave Dudley: I Want a Woman With Handles (mp3)

Eat at yr local truck stop.

Pucker Up Buttercup

They fall. Sometimes they are honored and revered. Sometimes they disappear, a mere footnote in history, musical history. Sometimes memory fades. This world stinks of death and forgetting.

Paul "Wine" Jones died the other day. Don't know if you know him or not. If you've ever caught a Fat Possum caravan, you've seen him....usually playing second or first on a loaded bill. He was the youngest of the Fat Possum core stable...the blues men. He had this...energy, playing standing up, guitar in hand, and a fullass band behind him, working a southern pimp hat. He moved. I've probably seen Paul Jones live more than any other musician. Every goddamn time 'Possum sent out a tour, he seemed to be on it. In the shadows, though. Folks wanted to see the legends...the R.L.'s, the T-Model Fords. But it was Jones who shook their asses, made them want to dance. He was a fantastic singer, shaking off the tradition of Mississippi hill blues to incorporate a little Chicago in the mix. His voice ...red wine in a paper bag. Raw and sweet, with a high kick.

At 59, surrounded by gods, he never had a chance to develop the legacy his labelmates had. Not enough time, and who was listening?

I don't know who's going to remember. A few short obits here and there, a blogger shooting off in space, in the dark. Then gone. Joining a funeral parade of ghosts we forgot we had.

Paul "Wine" Jones: My Baby Got Drunk (mp3)

Paul "Wine" Jones: Diggin' Mama's Taters (mp3)

Mad Dogs and Memphis Guns

Trash, trash, trash, trash, trash. What's the difference between trash and garage? What the hell am I talking about? I dunno. But I know it when I hear it.

I know I've already recently posted about another Jack Oblivion group (see the August 29th post for full fanboy love), but I can't seem to take his Jack O. & the Tearjerkers disc, "Don't Throw Your Love Away" out of my cd player. It aint stuck, I just aint willin' to stop listening (blatant lie of course. I had to take it out to load it up to the server. All men are liars). This well may be the album to beat this year, so far as the Mountain's top ten is concerned. Aw, I'm just gushin' here. It's a Memphis soul stew trashjunk frenzy of Exile outtake grease drippings and leering joyous menace. Unlike a recent album by another Jack, you can sing along without feeling like a 12 year old discovering his first hard on. Nah, this Jack knows what to do with it. And he's going to take you down to the corner with him. Spin won't review it, radio won't play it, and ipod won't be using it in a commercial. That should give you an idea how good it is. It's rock'n'roll. Remember that?

Jack O. and the Tearjerkers: Mad Dog 20/20 (mp3)

Support yr local trashmen.

Boozers Are Losers

How does one know when they've jumped the shark? Is this my moment, or has it happened already. Was it the KLF post? Maybe the fringe rock thing was overextended (though I've got another round planned for next month). Couldn't be the Christmas thing last year (that's coming back too), could it? Maybe somebody (and I aint mentionin' no names) needs to freakin' post more often. Regardless, I'm gonna refocus and hopefully get to the good stuff both of you stop here for.

Side note. Fixed a couple of links on the sidebar...Fire of Love is now Buzz the Jerk, and Mr. Barf's...is now The New Thematic! Their old site names are now porn sites. So, you know, do what you want with that. Also added Long Sought Home, a blog of old timey tunes about death, dyin', and the afterlife. Check it out.

Hoyt Axton is known primarily as the composer of "Joy to the World" and "The Pusher". Wait, come back, a man's gotta pay his bills. He's a big bear of a man with a baritone country drawl to match. Axton's best songs are his country songs, writing for himself or for fellow travelers like Arlo Guthrie in his early short song period. Guthrie's cover of "Lightnin' Bar Blues" is a particular transcendent moment. If you look at his early album covers, there was a definite attempt at casting Hoyt as a type of traveling hobo/Woody Guthrie type, and the songs matched the attempt. Axton's a fantastic songwriter, his wry observations bordering often on humorous, but never gimmicky, with flashes of the more serious side never far away. I have no explanation for "Joy to the World", though. Sorry.

So here's a sloppy, hobo ragtime band meets electric Bob Dylan version of Axton doing his "Lightnin' Bar Blues" ("When I die don't cry for me, Don't bury me at all, Place my livin', laughin', lovin' bones, In a jar of alcohol, Hundred proof alcohol"). And since this is the Mountain and Axton's a country singer, no career would be properly represented here without a truckin' song.

Joy.

Hoyt Axton: Lightnin' Bar Blues (mp3)

Hoyt Axton: Gotta Keep Rollin' (mp3)

Support your local grizzled music vet.