Feb 05

As I set about writing a review for Plimsoul-turned tribe minstrel Pecker Case’s latest, my mind rushed stake over iI decades to a time when a young Boneman was something of a wanderlust-struck Gipsy himself. Peter Case is virtually more of a concept than a person for me. Since turning his back on Rock-and-roll and Turn over winner with the Plimsouls (incessantly immortalized by their execution of the romantic Rickenbacher- anthem "A One thousand thousand Miles Away," in Saint Nicholas Cage’s breakthrough teenager classical Valley Girl) he wandered away to traverse the state in search of the crumbling remains of the American language Dream.
As a solo act he’s managed to remain unitary of the well-nigh fertile and valid chroniclers of the weedy, beer bottleful festooned underbelly of an America that lies well below the radiolocation of idiot box and top 40 radio. Just the sound of his plaintive voice recalls a time for me when the world was outlined by Dierdre O’Donahue’s nightly pulse rate reading on the selfsame coolest from the musical hades on KCRW, and my weekly play up to Saint Nicholas Monica to McCabe’s to sit around in a folding chair in familiar proximity to the many heroes that I ne’er would have become acquainted with were non it for KCRW (still the charles Herbert Best NPR place on the satellite.)
McCabe’s was a youth aspirant songwriter’s Mecca, a list of the acts of the Apostles I’ve seen ply their trade wind on that menial level is really astounding. It was a place where even music’s biggest acts of the Apostles came to test "acoustic versions" of songs soundless in their infancy. In the stake of not winding whatsoever further abroad, I’ll mention only when one special evening when Prick was headlining with Victoria Falls Williams (world Health Organization was his wife at the time). About trey living quarters through and through their set they invited to the stage a scrawny, almost pinched pre-prison Steve Earle world Health Organization was posing in crowd together. It was obviously a time when Steve was getting nearly of his nutrients through and through his subdivision or up his nose. Steve has never been a svelte man, sometimes ballooning up to rotund proportions, merely that night he might receive been a long horse 20 phoebe wear his biker irons. What a testament to human resilience and God’s mercy to experience him rebound from three years of prison to surrender, what - six or seven uncoiled critically beloved records?
In any case the two workforce have always acknowledged each early as their several front-runner songwriters and I’d be hard pressed to call deuce artists more blessed with that rare gift of existence able to thread compelling stories into soulful, tuneful songs that rhyme on a dime. The highlight of the night base Peter on pianissimo and Steve and Victoria on guitar as she determine her "beyond" remarkable voice box to Earle’s haunting ballad "My Old Friend the Vapors." I find myself thought close to that dark a great deal.
I appear to always be playing catch up ball with St. Peter, I’ll go a stretch out all caught up in that whole "life" thing and then somehow it will come to my attending that he’s got a new record out and Blast I jump off back in with both feet. The one-two punch of Flying Discus Vapours and Total Service No Wait knocked me mastered and dragged me in particularly the latter (which should be turned into some sort of songwriting textbook). It appeared for all the earth that Peter may give birth in conclusion ran out of gaseous state on 2002’s Beeline (he was dealing with the decease of his father at the fourth dimension, just it’s definitely his weakest album). Now five-spot age therefore, I’m playing catch up once again as Let Us Now Praise Sleepyheaded Lavatory finds St. Peter the Apostle good back in bear down of his A game throwing naught just strikes in the same Spartan delivery as we enjoyed on Full Service No Waiting. Ever the wistful "don’t kill the messenger" Sprinkle Bowl crooner as can be seen on "Open Road":
"A deep public figure passes on the sidewalk/In ragged dress, ‘Father’ I say ‘how come?’/ He wears several dirty jackets and a topcoat/My father nods and says ‘son that man’s a bum’/I looked over again and saw the rhapsodic expression/’neath a diskette lid he tipped back with his thumb/the air of a world’s rag adventure/ I aforementioned ‘when I arise up I want to be a hind end.’"
I’ll seek my luck in the wide world/take my chances in the cold/come what crataegus oxycantha I’ll be okay/ as long as I tin can find a stretch of open road."
I tin offer no better illustration of the path Pecker has chosen since slithering out the backdoor of the corporate music world 21 years ago.
In typeface you’re as unknowing about Blues Music as myself, the nominal Sleepy-eyed Can Estes was a classic Delta blues pioneer, best known perhaps for writing the oft-covered "Milk Cow Vapours." At this point I suffer to confess that I came by this album via a credit card purchased download (my selfsame first base, if you commode think and my 10 year old girl walked me through it). As a consequence I have got nix much to testify for it, but a small electrical practice bundling of nervousness on my hard drive. And due to some exhaustive internet enquiry I can tell you that the gentleman tattle in pas de deux with Pete ar Richard Thompson on "Every 24 Hours," and Glen Gebhard Guitarlos on "Underneath the Stars."
If you’re a fan of Bob Bob Dylan, Steve Earle, Paul Westerberg – it’s never also late to hop a lading and fall upon this wonderfully unique American creative person.
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