Author Archives: Easy Ed

Musicians Work For Peanuts Without Shell Corporations

640px-street_musician

This was originally published on October 6, 2016, a month before the last presidential election. As we all know, the Republican candidate won. 

These past few days and weeks have been pretty rough out there on the American political landscape for the Republican nominee for president. Putting aside having had his clock cleaned in a televised debate in front of 84 million people, tweeting disturbing early morning rants about a Latina beauty queen he calls Miss Piggy — and lying about her making a sex tape — he’s also accusing his opponent of marital infidelity and his charitable foundation is being investigated for fraud. Now comes news that he used a tax loophole to avoid paying personal income tax for close to 20 years.

And who knows for sure; maybe he’s never paid a dime. Ever. He is the first and only modern presidential nominee who refuses to share his income taxes with the public. I think my late father would probably say something like, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Now I don’t know about you, but I have been filing and paying my taxes for close to 44 years. I’m not alone. My friends, relatives, co-workers, and neighbors pay their share too. And while we all complain and wish we could pay a lot less, most of my people are considered middle-class wage earners, and we’re not able to take advantage of the tax laws and loopholes that are given to the wealthy folks. My entire life, I’ve heard politicians tell me that they’ll fix it once elected, but it hasn’t changed. If you want to talk about a rigged system, you can start right there.

Back in the early 1990s, Donald Trump’s hotel-airline-casino empire fell apart and he filed bankruptcy four times. He laid off thousands of people, stiffed contractors and suppliers, stripped the value of his holdings to leave his creditors with staggering losses, and he took money off the table for himself. He proudly calls himself a “brilliant” businessman. He claims he’s the best candidate to fix the system since he is a genius at ripping it off. To me, that’s the equivalent of putting Charles Manson in charge of overhauling our criminal justice system.

Now, before I go too far off on a tangent here, let me pull it back a little bit. Since this is a music website, lets talk about musicians. For the sake of this conversation, lets exclude those on the level of Bruce or Bono, Madonna or Taylor. Let’s be real: for every Snoop Dogg, there are probably 25,000 players barely making minimum wage.

https://youtu.be/-WXy-h5scjk

Your favorite Americana-folk-blues-jazz-bluegrass picker-singer-songwriter-indie-alt-whatever musician might crowd source 20 thousand dollars to record and market an album, go out on the road and perform at clubs, coffeehouses, house concerts and maybe some festival dates, travel for the most part on four wheels in a crowded vehicle, eat whatever food is offered to them, take time to do benefit shows every so often, and then spend some serious dough to go to trade shows and conventions to drum up even more dates. If they’re lucky, at the end of the year, they’ll pull in somewhere between 20 to 80 thousand dollars a year. Just an un-educated guess. Maybe more, maybe less.

Reaching out to some of my friends who actually make their living playing songs  for you and me, I asked them how they earned their dough, kept track of expenses, and managed to run a business while staying creative. Not surprising, it ain’t easy.

For those at the low end of the range, there are some tax laws that allow for them to keep most of what they earn. Moving up the income level, they balance obligations and deductions just like most other creative types and independent contractors. Without a day job, there’s nobody contributing a portion of their check into social security, so they pay the full amount. There’s no employer providing health insurance, so that’s another expense. It’s a little easier to do that today with the Affordable Care Act, but healthcare is still pretty expensive for many people and you’ve got oodles of Republican politicians trying to take it away altogether.

On the other hand, musicians and other independent contractors can write off some expenses that people with regular jobs cannot: travel expenses, meals on the road, clothes for the stage, music to listen to, lessons to hone their skills, concert tickets and instruments. If they have an office in their home or a studio, there might be other deductions available.

A musician has to document business-related spending by keeping track of daily receipts, expenses, and a detailed  travel log, and it helps if they keep separate bank accounts and credit/debit cards for business expenses. Many have an accountant and probably just as many don’t. It basically comes down to feeling confident with their financial literacy, and balancing that with the complexity of their musical endeavors.

And at the beginning of each year, musicians gather up their 1099 forms, figure out what they earned, calculate what they paid out, and guess what … they pay their taxes. Just like me, just like you.

There’s an argument to be made that paying your “fair share” is a patriotic act. But there’s also another way to look at it, and it’s about millions of people chipping in a portion of what they earn to help all of us enjoy a decent life. Not just the one percent who make the most money, but each of us.

In closing, I went over to the website for the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities to see exactly how our tax dollars are spent. Here’s the breakdown:

25%: Health care or long-term care to about 72 million low-income children, parents, elderly people, and people with disabilities.

24%: Social Security for 40 million retired workers, 2.3 million spouses and children of retired workers, 6.1 million surviving children and spouses of deceased workers, and 10.8 million disabled workers and their eligible dependents.

16%: Defense and security-related international activities.

10%: Safety net programs to individuals and families facing hardship.

8%: Benefits for retired federal workers and veterans.

6%: Interest debt.

4%: All other expenses.

3%: Education.

2%: Science and medical research.

2%: Transportation infrastructure.

In the case of Donald Trump, this list is what he didn’t contribute to. We did, but he didn’t. Nothing for our vets, our military, our kid’s education, the elderly, the sick, those in need of a helping hand, highways, bridges, airports, trains, or border security.

Thanks for nothing — and I do mean nothing.

https://youtu.be/qBlEJ0teznM

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com.

Was Bruce Springsteen Born in the USA?

As you know, over the past several months, the mainstream media, which is controlled by … well, I don’t need to say it … has been been running articles and news stories virtually every single day in advance of Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography, Born To Run.

The book is being published by Simon and Schuster, a company founded by a man with German-Jewish ancestry who incidentally was the father of singer-songwriter Carly Simon who was once married to a musician known to authorities as a heroin addict. Currently the publisher is a subsidiary of CBS Corporation, which is an international multimedia conglomerate that just so happens to also produce the television series Sabrina the Teenage Witch. So to be crystal clear, an organization that broadcasts a subliminal Satanic message aimed directly at young children is now assisting in advancing a possible lie that a politically subversive popular guitarist and singer was born in the USA.

I don’t have to tell you that many people have often questioned the heritage of Bruce Springsteen, who has spent much of  his career associating and advancing the music and politics of people like Pete Seeger, the late activist who refused to answer questions from the US Congress surrounding his membership in the Communist Party. Our huge and experienced investigative team of reporters has been working around the clock in fact-checking an early advance of Born To Run, and we’ve uncovered many inaccuracies that raise more questions about just who this man is.

For example, we have uncovered that the author writes at length in the book about his father’s Irish-American heritage, a man who went by the name of Dutch Springsteen. Consulting a world map and  encyclopedia, as well as scrutinizing Where’s Waldo?, our geo-political specialists now confirm the close proximity to Germany of the former Dutch Republic currently known as the Netherlands. The importance of this is that origin of the name Springsteen is now in question.

It is a well documented fact that in an article published in 2013, TheNew York Times “misspelled” the Boss’s last name as “Springstein,” which I’m not saying actually means something, but most of us can clearly see the unintended link to Gertrude Stein. A self-described lesbian, Stein (who as you know, is often pronounced as Steen) promoted pro-immigration and democratic policies throughout her life, with a mix of reactionary and progressive ideas. Although I’m not trying to insinuate it, the coincidence is troubling.

While none of these actual historical facts (and there are hundreds more that will be revealed in the next few weeks) can be linked to Bruce Springsteen, in the shadows of this new dark autobiography, there are some people who are beginning to question his political views and heritage, wondering out loud if his most popular song, “Born In The USA,”  was written and released to cover up his true nationality.

I now can officially report to you that despite sending hundreds of telepathic messages to New Jersey officials through a medium located inside a Brooklyn storefront on Flatbush Avenue, these government bureaucrats have absolutely refused to provide me a copy of Bruce Springsteen’s birth certificate. My amazing attorneys are preparing a lawsuit which will be filed very soon in federal court and I can promise that I will get to the bottom of this conspiracy and report my findings no matter how long it takes.

I dashed off the above piece of fiction the morning after Donald Trump attempted to erase years of his own infamous lies and deception directed toward President Barack Obama. In his role as the loudest and most vocal spokesperson of what we identify as the “birther movement,” Trump has built his political career based on racism and bigotry. Along with his ability to consistently state lies and falsehoods that too often go unchecked, he teaches all of us how easy it is to cast doubt and suspicion through innuendo and fear. He is everything wrong about the values and beliefs of our great country.

I apologize to Bruce Springsteen for using him and his new book as a vehicle for making my point, and want to be clear that this represents my own views and not those of either owner and publisher, editor or staff of No Depression website or magazine, nor any parent or subsidiary companies.

Let’s close it out with a little music … and please use your vote to keep America safe, sane and free forever from demagogues and con men.

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression dot com.

The Americana-ization of Bob Weir

Bob Weir met Jerry Garcia at Dana Morgan’s Music Store in Palo Alto, early in 1963. Before the Beatles came along and influenced them into forming an electric rock band, the pair’s group was known as Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions. Bringing in elements of country, folk, bluegrass, and blues, they plugged in, added some folks, became the Grateful Dead and … y’all know the rest.

When I first saw the Dead, it was in a small college gymnasium. The New Riders of the Purple Sage, with Jerry Garcia sitting in on pedal steel, opened the show, and much of the material that the Dead performed that night came from Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty. Five years later, I watched Old and In the Way take the stage with Garcia, David Grisman, Peter Rowan, Vassar Clements, and John Kahn. They delivered a stellar set of traditional bluegrass.

As the Dead greatly expanded their music vocabulary through the years, my personal interest in them went from attending dozens and dozens of their concerts throughout the ’70s, to finally drifting away. Honestly, I just got bored with the scene rather than the music. Nonetheless, it’s always surprised me that so many fans of traditional music — as well as writers, reviewers, and even publications such as (the previous incarnation of) No Depression — never seemed to be able to draw the distinction between their jam band rock-ola experience and the fact that the Dead’s origins were grounded in American roots music.

To put it bluntly, I believe the Grateful Dead were doing Americana music long before a bunch of people came together in the late 1990s and actually decided to call it Americana.

Which brings me to Bob Weir.

In August, it was announced that in support of his new solo album Blue Mountain, Weir would be in Nashville during the Americana Music Festival and Conference to take part in a workshop where he’ll play songs from the album. Producer Josh Kaufman will be on hand and Buddy Miller will moderate a Q&A. Here’s a little of what to expect:

Whether it was hocus, pocus, magic, or an outstanding lobbying effort from his record label, publicist, and management team, the week after that event was scheduled came big news that Weir will receive the Lifetime Achievement: Performer award at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium on September 21. Whatever the circumstances surrounding Weir being selected, this recognition is more than well-deserved.

As far as I can find, there’s never been any acknowledgment of the Dead’s contribution to the genre from the AMA. Its members have earned some accolades from the association — Jerry Garcia was given the President’s Award in 2008, and Dead lyricist Robert Hunter got the Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting in 2013 — but the band itself has never actually been named. Feels to me like there’s an opportunity there in the future to do the Dead right.

While it’s impossible to separate the man from the Dead, there is a documentary by Mike Fleiss titled The Other One: The Long Strange Trip of Bob Weir, which is a great starting point. Available on Netflix for the past year, it offers a detailed oral history with great archival footage and music. But it was the intimate and loving look at Weir’s life today as both husband and father that filled my heart … a true lifetime achievement on its own.

https://youtu.be/HRuaRcqvnzc

 

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column at No Depression:: The Journal of Roots Music’s website.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana and Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email address is easyed@therealeasyed.com

The Death of Country Music: Natural Cause or Homicide

Some days my bones feel weary. It especially hurts when I get down on my knees, slowly bend over, and flip through dusty shelves of old, used books. Years ago it was record stores, but I can barely recall the last time I opened my wallet for a hunk of plastic. It’s so much easier to stream it,  and when I leave home I can fit a few thousand songs inside my phone. But when it comes to words on a page, I still prefer paper to pixel.

A few months ago I found a copy of Nicholas Dawidoff’s In The Country of Country: Peoples and Places in American Music that was published almost 20 years ago, and I just got around to reading it. Named “one of the greatest all-time works of travel literature” by Conde Nast Traveler, Dawidoff’s series of short profiles and conversations with some of the pioneers of country music at times feels more like a eulogy to the music than a tribute to a living tradition.

The question of what or who killed country music has been discussed and written about endlessly, and it inspired a song called “Murder on Music Row” which you may recall was popularized in 2000 by George Strait and Alan Jackson.

While most people agree that it was pressure from New York record label executives on Nashville producers in the ’60s to sweeten up traditional country songs with syrupy orchestrations and arrangements that could appeal to a suburban audience, that’s just one of the theories about what went wrong with country music. Another finger points at the 1980 film Urban Cowboy, which re-calibrated the story from Saturday Night Fever and changed up the music.

While Urban Cowboy spawned a fashion trend in big cities of men wearing cowboy boots and women in tight denim jeans doing line dances and two-stepping at strip-mall bars, I’ve always believed it was the pop-country radio playlists — along with the emergence of the Walmart consumer driving a pickup truck and watching Shania Twain doing a virtual lap dance — that killed off hard-core country.

I might have been wrong.

The Stanley Brothers “Rank Stranger” is a beloved country classic, and Dawidoff spent time with Ralph Stanley talking about what it was like growing up in rural Virginia. No running water, no electricity, no bathrooms. They had a horse to plow the field and a washboard to clean their clothes. They were Primitive Baptists, and as such they sang sacred music without instruments on Sunday mornings. When the family moved to Smith Ridge, their father acquired a Philco battery-operated radio, and as they listened to the music of the Manier Brothers and Carter Family, Ralph and his brother Carter would sing along.

https://youtu.be/zvXmVCGLvTs

The Louvin Brothers grew up in Henagar, Alabama, on a five-acre government allotment where their father grew vegetables and sorghum cane. The town had a post office and cotton gin. Charlie was 12 and Ira 15 when they saw Roy Acuff pass by in an aircooled Franklin, on his way to a show at the Spring Hill schoolhouse. They didn’t have the money to get in, so they stood outside with three or four hundred other folks.

Buck Owens was born in Texas just ahead of the Dust Bowl exodus, in 1929. Seven years later, the family of 10 loaded up their old Ford coupe and a trailer to head West in search of a new life. They settled in Arizona and were “fruit tramps,” picking grapes, carrots, peaches, and cotton. Many nights, Owens went to bed hungry, with only cornbread and milk in his stomach. The whole family would travel to California when the seasons called for field work, and they stayed in migrant camps that were often filled with music. According to Dawidoff, “The Mexicans sang folksongs, the blacks sang the blues and spirituals, and the whites sang country gospel and Jimmie Rodgers’ songs.”

These are only three stories he captured, but Dawidoff also profiles Harlan Howard, Johnny Cash, Lester Flatt, Bill Monroe, Chet Atkins, Sara Carter, Kitty Wells, Patsy Cline, the Maddox Brothers, Sister Rose, Merle Haggard, and Iris DeMent. Along the way he meets many other musicians, and there is a common thread.

Pretty much all of the early country artists came from rural areas and their families were, if not poor, then of barely modest means. Religion was a large part of their upbringing, and there was also a consistent tug of “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning” behavior. Liquor, drugs, gambling, womanizing, and other diversions were often mentioned.

Seems as if, more than anything, what killed country music was our own country. The population has shifted from living off the land in sparse areas of small populations to larger towns, cities, and suburbs. As much as there is a financial divide of the haves and have-nots, even the poorest of the poor have iPhones and access to popular music and culture.

If you’re searching for a type of music that shares raw stories of people’s lives and experiences, you’re more likely to find it in hip-hop or rap than in the studios of Nashville or on the airwaves. And while we’re fortunate in these times that there is a new generation of great musicians embracing old-time music, bluegrass traditions, folk singing-songwriting, honky-tonk, classic country, and alt-whatever, it all flies under a flag called Americana, which sometimes feels too encapsulated and formulaic. Beware of an Urban Cowboy backsplash and whiplash.

In 1997, Dawidoff closed out his book with an epilogue appropriately titled “No Depression”:

To call today’s mainstream country music county at all is a misnomer. Hot Country is really pop music for a prospering, mostly conservative white middle class. It’s kempt, comfortable music – hyper-sincere, settled and careful not to offend nor surprise. A lot like Disneyland, in some ways its model, contemporary country thrives because it is sleek and predictable, a safe adventure in a smoke-free environment.

In this final chapter Dawidoff offers up a bit more hope and optimism. He cites Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Junior Brown, Alison Krauss, Suzanne Cox, Dwight Yoakam, and Lucinda Williams as having “fresh things to say about life.” He mentions Son Volt and Golden Smog as the heirs to Hank Williams and Gram Parsons. And to close out the book he quotes Joe Ely: “You know, good stuff, people’ll want to hear it.”

This guy sure gives all of us country music fans hope.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Many of my past columns, articles, and essays can be accessed here at my own site, therealeasyed.com. I also aggregate news and videos on both Flipboard and Facebook as The Real Easy Ed: Americana Roots Music Daily. My Twitter handle is @therealeasyed and my email is easyed@therealeasyed.com

Image from 1947, Carnegie Hall NYC: CC2.0 Wiki

Alive On Video: The Last Waltz At 62nd and Amsterdam

(L-R) Larry Campbell, Anderson East, Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Buddy Miller and Teddy Thompson perform as part of ‘The Last Waltz’ 40th Anniversary Celebration in Damrosch Park at Lincoln Center in New York City on August 6, 2016. Photo by Ebet Rogers/Elmore Magazine

This Thanksgiving, when we sit down for our turkey or tofu dinner, those of us who care about such things might take a moment to mark the 40th anniversary of The Band’s farewell concert. It was filmed by Martin Scorsese and released two years later as The Last Waltz, and remains not only a superb documentary, but also one of the seminal events in American roots music.

Earlier this year, Warren Haynes assembled a tribute show in New Orleans during JazzFest, and this past weekend it was New York’s turn, with a different cast of characters. In a collaboration with the folks at Lincoln Center and the Americana Music Association, several thousand souls squeezed into the mostly concrete Damrosch Park to enjoy a free concert with Larry Campbell and the Midnight Ramble Band, featuring special guests Bob Weir, Lucinda Williams, Dr. John, Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, Howard Johnson, Teddy Thompson, and Anderson East.

I’m sure my editor would prefer that I earn my keep by turning in a proper and concise review, but I just read Scott Bernstein’s post over at JamBase and, to be honest, he pretty much captured the night. I completely agree with his observation that it was an “all-killer, no-filler version of The Last Waltz” and that “no one is better suited to play the music of The Band in 2016 than the Midnight Ramble Band.”

Having Larry Campbell as the evening’s music director, badass guitar-slinger, vocalist, fiddler, mandolinist, host, and emcee further solidified his standing in representing Levon Helm’s spirit and legacy. Vocals from his wife Teresa Williams and keyboardist Brian Mitchell cut through the summer humidity like a sharp knife. The horn section included Jay Collins, Erik Lawrence, Steven Bernstein, and Clark Gayton. Jacob Silver played bass, Shawn Pelton drove percussion, and 1980s Band member Jimmy Weider smoked and soared on guitar.

At the beginning of the show, each member of The Band was mentioned, and each received loud applause. The last name spoken was Levon Helm, and the roar of the crowd at the mention of his name was so charged it almost lifted me off my seat. I don’t mean to stir up the pot here, but if there is any question as to who the leader of The Band was, I know a few thousand people who would testify.

A large contingent of the crowd seemed to be there for Bob Weir, but Lucinda and Dr. John were greeted loudly and all three received standing ovations. Maybe I’ve been hanging out at No Depression too long, but I was really surprised at how many people sitting around me had no idea who Buddy Miller, Patty Griffin, or Teddy Thompson were. Perhaps just a reminder that in this great, big world of music, we’re still just a subgenre.

On the morning after, before I even got out of bed, I checked You Tube to see if any videos had been uploaded yet, and discovered Front Row Dave. A professional music videographer in the Hudson Valley, Dave Beesmer has a channel on You Tube with lots of concert videos and he’s closing in on almost four million views. He shot the show along with Joey Calderone, and I appreciate that he’s allowed me to share them with you here.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside at No Depression dot com.
The photo at the top of the article was originally published by Elmore Magazine and the photographer is Ebet Rogers.

Thirty Years of Guitar Town, Steve Earle and The Dukes

steve-earle-guitar-townOn a high-temp Sunday in Manhattan, after a train ride on an excruciating slow-moving local that stopped at every single station, I took a 36-block stroll downtown with music in my head. It’s not unusual to occasionally find Steve Earle walking the western grid between Houston Street and 14th Street, so I began to look for him as I cut across Washington Square looking for shade.

Forty-five minutes earlier, somewhere between Fordham and Harlem, I had made the decision to hand him a 20 dollar bill. Had I checked to see where he and Shawn Colvin were appearing, on what The Guardian has tagged the “nine divorces, two addictions, one perfect mix” tour, I’d have known they were down in Virginia.

What prompted me to seek Earle out was that I’d listened to the complete digitized bootleg Magnetised Motherf**kers along with the second shorter edition More MMs. Together there’s over 75 live tracks, B-sides, promo-only songs, collaborations, duets, tribute albums, and compilation appearances which are not so easy to find in this post-pirate world of online streaming. Both are essentials in my Earle collection, and I felt the need to make amends.

Loosely calculating that if these albums were ever released Steve might actually see 20 bucks after performance and publishing fees, it seemed like a good gesture on my part. And since we didn’t connect, I’ve taken a bill, folded it into thirds, and tucked it into my wallet behind my driver’s license. Next time I see him on the street, it’s his.

Anyway, to my point. Guitar Town, the first full-length album from Earle and his band the Dukes, was released on March 5, 1986. It topped the Billboard country album charts and the title song reached number seven on the country singles charts. There were two Grammy nominations. The album is turning 30 years old this year, so it seems too important an anniversary to skim over.


Ten years after the release of Guitar Town, a new magazine called No Depression put Earle on the cover of their third issue, and Peter Blackstock wrote an excellent profile that was part interview, part history. Earle had already crashed, burned, and risen again. Blackstock wrote:

Guitar Town, which presented the most definitive synthesis of country and rock ‘n’ roll during the 1980s, is generally considered Earle’s debut, but in fact he had released a rockabilly EP titled Pink & Black in the early ’80s. Furthermore, he had been a fixture on the Nashville scene for more than a decade before Guitar Town came out, ever since he had moved there from his boyhood home of San Antonio to play bass for Guy Clark.

In the late seventies Earle left Clark’s band and began to get work as a songwriter. He told Blackstock:

People [publishers] would keep signing me because they knew I could write, but nobody got a lot of cuts on me, so they’d usually drop me eventually, and then somebody else would sign me. I had the odd cut here and there.The first record I ever had that made any money was a Johnny Lee single in about 1980 that I co-wrote.

You can find Lee’s “When You Fall In Love” here on You Tube, and it was co-written with John Sherrill and produced by Jim Ed Norman. Released in 1982, it made it to just the middle of the charts and peaked at number 14.

Of more interest to me is a song that came out almost exactly one year before Guitar Town was released. Connie Smith was planning to come out of semi-retirement, and “A Far Cry from You” was written solely by Earle. Released as a single and never on an official album, it was dead on arrival. Reaching number 71 on the Hot Country Singles chart, it was anything but. Yet to my ears, it’s the first song of his that I hear written in the “Earle-style.” This past year, it was re-recorded beautifully and released by Marsha Thornton, a label-mate of Earle back in the early ’90s, at MCA.


To mark the anniversary of Guitar Town, Universal announced that they would do what they usually do these days: remaster and reissue it on black 180-gram heavyweight vinyl, and sell it for 17 bucks. That’s some brilliant marketing. Checking on Amazon, it’s ranked today at #39,430. In a press release from back in March, there’s also a two-disc set and a digital download (who does that anymore?) deluxe edition coming before Christmas. Huh.

Does anything else really need to be added to the 34 minute and 35 seconds ten-track original? I think not.

In an article titled Albums of Our Lives written by Lucy Shiller in 2013 and posted on The Rumpus, Shiller nails the essence of what makes Guitar Town so special. In her youth, this disc became the soundtrack for family road trips. She wrote:

Here was a harder-edged voice than I was used to, yelping and sneering about having a “two-pack habit and a motel tan.” I barely knew what a two-pack habit might be, and I had no idea about a motel tan. But I wanted both. My father and I screamed the lyrics as we entered the dreaded hour five of a day’s drive—just about the time when you feel you should almost be there but know you’re only halfway, and with each passing hour, you become, in the parlance of my family, increasingly “rumpsprung.”

Steve’s guitar was rambunctiously cheery, bolstered by swift pickings on the mandolin. The instrumentation belied gloriously bitter lyrics. Singing them, singing them loudly, was being full, suddenly, of a rightful rage about a discovered outsider status. “Hillbilly Highway,” the album’s third track, was an epic: a young man leaving his country home for a job, years later, his son leaving for college, and then, finally, the grandson — Steve Earle — picking up his guitar and hitting the road. He’d had enough.’


While Earle’s ten songs alone would be cause for tribute, it’s the entire package of collaboration between songwriter, band, and producers that makes it work as well as it does. The Dukes, or more accurately this version of the band, breaks down like this:

Bucky Baxter-Pedal Steel Guitar
Richard Bennett-Guitar, the infamous Danelectro 6-string bass, slap bass and associate producer
Ken Moore-Organ and synth
Emory Gordon, Jr. -Bass, mandolin and producer
Harry Stinson-Drums and vocals
Paul Franklin-Pedal Steel Guitar (‘Fearless Heart’ and ‘Someday’)
John Barlow Jarvis- Synth and piano
Steve Nathan-Synth
Tony Brown-Producer
Steve Earle-Guitar and vocals

The album was recorded in late 1985 and early 1986 in Nashville at Sound Stage Studio. Overdubs were later recorded at Emerald Studios. It was one of the first country music albums to be recorded digitally, utilizing the state-of-the-art Mitsubishi X-800. Each of the album’s ten tracks was either written or co-written by Earle.

Thirteen years after it’s release, Guitar Town was certified gold by the RIAA in 1999. Reno Kling on bass and Mike McAdams on guitar joined Baxter, Moore, and Stinson as the touring Dukes.

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside on No Depression dot com.

Could Richard Thompson Have a Hit Single?

RT+Photo+5

On the Friday night before the long July Fourth holiday weekend, I drove alone in my car beneath a dark, threatening sky. As I approached the turnoff to the hamlet of Chappaqua, New York, home of Bill and Hillary Clinton, the rain began to fall but I decided to move forward. A few miles north on the twisty turns of Route 22, the sheets of water — along with the snap, crackle, and pop of the thunder and lightening — forced me to pull off the main road to wait it out.

An outdoor summer concert is always a spin of the wheel when weather chooses to roll in, and I knew Richard Thompson had easily sold out the venue to which I was headed, the intimate Spanish Courtyard at Caramoor, which holds no more than five hundred souls, if that. On the grounds of what once was the summer estate of a prominent and wealthy New York family, the arts and music center is now a seasonal destination for fans of classical, opera, pop, jazz, and American roots music.

Fortunately there are several venues on the sprawling grounds of gardens and trails, and so the show was moved to the larger, tented Venetian Theater. The upside was twofold: more tickets could be sold to those who had previously been denied a seat and whose names sat on a waiting list, and we all kept dry.

I’ve seen Thompson on quite a few occasions over the years, so I was unsurprized when he dazzled and delighted the crowd this night with his usual mix of guitar wizardry, song selections from Fairport Convention and the repertoire he recorded with ex-wife Linda, and titles pulled from his voluminous solo work. With an always comical and interesting stage patter, he was both engaging and sentimental. Acknowledging the recent passing of fellow musician and friend Dave Swarbrick, Thompson spoke of the upcoming 50-year anniversary of Fairport, which he co-founded in 1967. To mark the occasion, he delivered a moving version of Sandy Denny’s “Who Knows Where the Time Goes,” which has become a standard at many of his concerts.

So the “hit single” thing…

Last year, as a bonus-trackon Thompson’s Jeff Tweedy-produced album Still, he introduced a song called “Fergus Laing,” which is about a wealthy developer who buys property and builds golf courses in Scotland. Sound familiar? It didn’t take much persuasion to get the Caramoor crowd to sing along with glee to the chorus:

Fergus he builds and builds
Yet small is his erection
Fergus has a fine head of hair
When the wind’s in the right direction

With the protest song movement of the 1960s merely a faint memory, it fascinates me that it takes a man from England who lives in Los Angeles to write a song that eviscerates with sarcasm and humor the man whom the Huffington Post describes daily in ways such as this:

Donald Trump regularly incites political violence and is a serial liarrampant xenophoberacistmisogynist and birther who has repeatedly pledged to ban all Muslims ― 1.6 billion members of an entire religion ― from entering the U.S.

I imagine it’s simply my little dream, but it would be quite the coup if “Fergus Laing” got picked up by social media and terrestrial radio only to spread as fast as the Pokemon Go app. Since nothing else seems able to stop the blonde-haired beast, maybe a song can.

With very few artists as of yet willing to stand up to the Trump Train (I do love the Dixie Chicks), many people might enjoy having an anthem to raise their voices to. Perhaps with just a little promotional push, “Fergus Laing” can stand beside “Eve of Destruction” and “I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore.”

Here’s the lyrics, and at the bottom is Thompson performing it. (Yes, You Tube’s spelling is incorrect. Let that not deter you. Raise your voice.)

Fergus Laing is a beast of a man
He stitches up and fleeces
He wants to manicure the world
And sell it off in pieces
He likes to build his towers high
He blocks the sun out from the sky
In the penthouse the champagne’s dry
And slightly gassy

Fergus Laing, he works so hard
As busy as a bee is
Fergus Laing has 17 friends
All as dull as he is
His 17 friends has 17 wives
All the perfect shape and size
They wag their tails and bat their eyes
Just like Lassie

Fergus he builds and builds
Yet small is his erection
Fergus has a fine head of hair
When the wind’s in the right direction

Fergus Laing and his 17 friends
They live inside a bubble
There they withdraw and shut the door
At any sign of trouble
Should the peasants wail and vent
And ask him where the money went
He’ll simply say, it’s all been spent
On being classy

Fergus’ buildings reach the sky
Until you cannot see ‘um
He thinks the old stuff he pulls down
Belongs in a museum
His fits are famous on the scene
The shortest fuse, so cruel, so mean
But don’t call him a drama queen
Like Shirley Bassey

Fergus Laing he flaunts the law
But one day he’ll be wired
And as they drag him off to jail
We’ll all shout, “You’re fired!”

This was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside on the No Depression website.

Photo credit: Pamela Littky / richardthompson-music.com