Stephen Grimstead, Editor
Wayne HancockThunderstorms And Neon Signs (Dejadisc)
ONCE
THE MUSIC OF HARD DRINKing and hard luck, mainstream country music in the
last decade has become more about packed stadiums, line-dancing, and Garth
Brooks flying through the air in a spectacle of glammish excess. In recent
years, however, a backlash against modern country's glitzy packaging has
started among a new generation of musicians. Nashville's BR-549 grab most
of the press about this great leap back, partly because of their revivalist
rekindling of the spirit of Hank Williams and others, but mostly because
they're doing it in the heart of country music's capital, right there under
the nose of the industry that sent Garth flying through packed arenas in
the first place.
There are others, however, and Austin singer/songwriter Wayne Hancock is one of them.
Hancock debuted with Thunderstorms And Neon Signs back in September 1995, to much critical acclaim. Enough, in fact, that the disc is about to go into a second life when it's re-released later this summer -- with bonus tracks -- by Ark21/EMI Records. And with good reason. It's 14 tracks of honky-tonk yesterdays pulled apart and put back together in way that is at once old and new.
From lonesome road ballads like the title track to hepcat freakouts like "Big City Goodtime Gal," Hancock proves himself to be a modern-day swing cowboy, yodels and all. Although all but one of the songs here are originals, you could probably pass them off as found classics, as he works them over with the convincing nasal twang of a half-soused, hopped-up hillbilly. And while the bulk of the songs are made from old blueprints and cover the archetypal themes of trains and roads and gals, Hancock is comfortable enough in his element to brave an occasional anachronism. "Double A Daddy," for example, is a honky-tonk song about not drinking, in which Hancock explains that since he gave it up, he'll be happy to drive you around while you get loose anytime.
Musically, Hancock goes without drums, but surprisingly you never really miss them. And there are some other wrinkles too, like the trombone and clarinet on "Ain't Nobody's Blues But My Own" and the mean steel guitar -- provided by producer Lloyd Maines -- on "Juke Joint Jumping," which make this record an enjoyable bit of nostalgia-from-the-future all the way through. -- Jim Hanas
(Wayne Hancock plays the Young Avenue Deli Friday
with opening act the Frantic Flattops.)
KING BISCUIT FLOWER HOUR PRESENTS: The Waitresses (King Biscuit Flower Hour/BMG)
ONE-HIT WONDERS ARE USUALLY just that -- total flukes that materialize out of nowhere, rise rapidly to the top, and then quickly return to relative obscurity. This backhanded distinction is particularly unfortunate in the case of the '80s New Wave band, the Waitresses. If remembered at all these days, it is as the instigator of the most taunting prick-tease anthem of all time, "I Know What Boys Like," and for little or nothing else.
Although their time in the limelight was brief (two LPs and one EP in a two-year span), a just-released live radio broadcast recording from February 13, 1982, should restore some credibility to The Waitresses' impaired lasting legacy. Issued as part of the legendary King Biscuit Flower Hour Presents series, this particular concert (from My Father's Place in Roslyn, New York) reveals the band to have possessed a lot more musically than was ever on display in their high-profile videos on MTV in its heyday.
The enduring image of the Waitresses is personified in the stance of frontwoman Patty Donahue. Her world-weariness and sheer determination compensated for whatever shortcomings she may have had as a lead vocalist. Her feminine survivalist attitude was unique for the time, when women were definitely thought of as playthings (at least in the rock arena). Yet her tarnished glamour effectively obscured the efforts of the other band members, who were the glue that held the beast together.
Particular attention (and belated appreciation) should be paid to the tasty licks of guitarist and band founder Chris Butler, as well as saxophonist (and copyist for jazz strategist Anthony Braxton) Mars Williams. The Waitresses also featured a black female bass player (Tracey Wormworth), which was quite unusual in the 1980s.
The band storms through 11 original tunes during this fierce live recording, and emerges as greater than the sum of its parts. This may have been the Waitresses' finest hour -- what came across as cloying in the studio rings true from the stage.
Even though the Waitresses self-destructed at their zenith, their place in '80s rock history is secure (with bonus points for clever song titles like "I Could Rule The World If I Could Only Get The Parts" and "Wasn't Tomorrow Wonderful?"). Don't expect any revisionist updates any time soon -- the likelihood of a true reunion was forever dashed with the death of Patty Donahue in late 1996. Thankfully, this vibrant live recording adds another dimension to the short-lived and slightly skewed (not to mention vastly underrated) pop phenomenon that was the Waitresses.
-- David D. Duncan