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COVER STORY | IN THE NEWS | DIRT November 29, 2007
CD: On the Jimmy Reed Highway On the Jimmy Reed Highway Less is more. The space between the notes is at least as important as the notes themselves. That concept has been well enunciated by bluesmen like James Harman, Freddy Below and Jimmie Vaughan. This new release from Kent “Omar” Dykes and Jimmie Vaughan is a great illustration of the idea. Chicago Blues has always had a receptive audience in Texas, and Austin became a second home to many Chicago blues vets in the ’70s. Antone’s Nightclub welcomed Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy and Jimmy Reed. Kim Wilson, Lou Ann Barton, Angela Strehli, Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan — they got to meet and perform with the real-deal blues stars. Reed was one of the first bluesmen to regularly chart with Top-40 hits — “Big Boss Man,” “Baby, What You Want Me To Do,” “Ain’t That Lovin’ You Baby.” I remember hearing those as a kid, and Reed’s wailing, lonesome harmonica impressed many listeners who weren’t often exposed to the blues, as did his relaxed, drawling vocals. For some reason he was accepted by American radio while Muddy Waters and Buddy Guy had to wait 20 years for “crossover” acclaim. But Reed was part of the fabric of the ’50s and ’60s, and a tribute album is justified by his influence and appeal. While a few of the tracks here include Derek O’Brien on rhythm guitar, this is mostly a stripped-down, bare-bones operation — just like a Jimmy Reed record. It’s a tribute to Reed, with nine of his songs and three bonus tracks — two by Omar Dykes (of Omar and the Howlers) and one by Reed’s lead guitarist, Eddie Taylor. Vaughan dedicates the album to Taylor, who also served as Reed’s arranger, saying, “This record is as much about him as it is Jimmy Reed.” Taylor championed the unobtrusive guitar and can be nearly invisible on some Jimmy Reed sides, though he anchored the rhythm and dropped in fills like he was decorating a cake. Kent “Omar” Dykes came to Austin from Mississippi in 1976 with The Howlers and first recorded in 1980. His voice really sounds like Howlin’ Wolf — not over-done, just plenty raspy, in a way that marries well with the material and the accompaniment. Ronnie James, formerly of Little Charlie and the Nightcats and The Fabulous Thunderbirds, plays acoustic stand-up bass on this release, and his swinging sense both propels and puts the brakes on, as needed. James Cotton sits in on harp on “Caress Me, Baby,” with Lou Ann Barton dueting with Dykes. Cotton really nails the Reed harmonica sound without sounding like an imitation Reed. Barton sings on three more tracks, and her harmonies shine that subtle light, that easy grace, that Texas twang, too. Delbert McClinton sings and plays harp on “Hush, Hush,” while T-Birds bossman Kim Wilson plays on three tracks, and the late Gary Primich plays harp on a couple more. All these performers have long left the beer joints and pass-the-hat gigs of their early days, earning top dollar and top billing around the world, but they still bring the roadhouse sound alive. Song after song has me tapping my foot, and if I shut my eyes there’s a jukebox and pool table, a wooden floor and those red vinyl bar stools. So this is a gathering of the best Texas blues players of their generation — matured, but still possessing the prowess they showed at the start, and romping through a set of Jimmy Reed numbers in free-range fashion. With the wide-open spaces. — “Good Rockin’” Derral Campball, blues deejay
Shortcomings Comic book artist and illustrator Chris Ware says that whenever he hears the term “graphic novel,” he thinks of D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover. But from the underground comic movement in the 1960s, comic books elevated in form and content, employing novelistic or fictional arcs, creating personal, self-reflective and complex narratives — from Robert Crumb, Harvey Pekar and Lynda Barry to the next generation of comic book storytellers, including Art Speigelman, Daniel Clowes, brothers Gilbert and Jaime Hernandez, and Ware. Simultaneously, the illustration work also elevated in form, borrowing from cinema, with each panel detailed, shaded and organized, from one “shot” or frame to another, using space and expression of character to convey emotion or inner expression. Heavily influenced by the work of Jaime Hernandez (Love & Rockets) and Japanese manga artists, such as Yoshihiro Tatsumi (The Pusher Man and Other Stories), 19-year-old Adrian Tomine started out self-publishing his own comic book, Optic Nerve, in 1991. He soon received recognition, publishing his short strips, usually presenting himself as the main character, in Pulse!, a free magazine supplement distributed by the now-defunct Tower Records. This work was raw, filled with the painful isolation and confusion of late adolescence and early adulthood. With the aid of publisher Drawn & Quarterly, Tomine’s work quickly grew, both in the illustration and in the narrative. Tomine, a Japanese American who grew up in Sacramento, also began to explore his own sense of self within an ethnic lens, introducing readers to a number of different characters, each of whom has distinct, unique perspectives on their Asian American heritage. Putting his English Lit. degree from U.C. Berkeley to good use, Tomine employed a literary narrative to this exploration. The ascent in his storytelling is evident from his earliest collection, 32 Stories: Complete Optic Nerve Mini-Comics, to Sleepwalk and Other Stories, to Summer Blonde, each improving on the previous in character development, story arc and illustrative detail. With his new book, Shortcomings, Tomine reaches a plateau, a culmination of what he has been striving for: creating a strong story with diverse characters and sharp dialog, while making each panel artistically precise. Shortcomings is centered around Ben Tanaka, a Japanese American with a Pekar-esque crankiness who grew up in Corvallis, Ore., and who now lives in Berkeley. His girlfriend Miko, who is also from Japanese parents, is the director of the “Asian-American Digi-Fest,” an Asian American film festival. Her politicization of race and culture in the U.S., is increasing, while Ben firmly denies ethnicity as an issue. Yet with each step he makes, Ben seems to constantly question or have dialog about race. His best friend, Alice Kim, is a promiscuous, outspoken lesbian, who still is striving to appease her Korean parents, denying her own sense of true self. This provides the perfect landscape to mine — the essential gray areas of race and ethnicity, while struggling to find identity in the U.S. and in the midst of complex relationships (sexual or otherwise). The main characters have a number of different flaws and hypocrisies that make them ... well, real. Tomine stays loyal to the characters, allowing them to dictate the narrative. Ben, along with the rest of the main characters in Shortcomings (a pun in the title to an Asian stereotype and “size”), are in transition — in attaining freedom to explore his or her individual identity, while, at times, stumbling forward in the journey. In short, Shortcomings is a triumph. — Mark Shikuma, Journal critic
Shelter from the Ash At this point in Ben Chasny’s storied career, it is unfair to continue referring to John Fahey and Robbie Basho in an attempt to situate the Eureka native’s musical orientation. His accomplishments in Six Organs of Admittance, as well as Comets on Fire and various other collaborations, have established Chasny as one of the forerunners of the so-called New Weird America movement and made him an almost iconic model within psychedelic and folk music circles. Shelter from the Ash, the latest addition to an already extensive Six Organs catalog, continues down the same creative path of Chasny’s earlier work, albeit a path that grows darker as it winds. Shelter from the Ash is marked by a foreboding sense of destruction and despair that purposely create unresolved tensions within the listener. Chasny and company waste no time establishing this effect by opening with the gently picked melodies and shadowy drones of “Alone with the Alone.” Inspired by the mystical world of Sufism, the song’s pensive hum is highlighted by a pair of striking guitar solos that prove to be as pleasing as they are disconcerting. While it may seem tenuous ground for a songwriter to stand, it is exactly within this delicate balance of distress and aural bliss that Six Organs attain their utmost success. Even during the album’s more serene moments, especially those that introduce the syrupy vocals of Elisa Ambrogio (of the Magik Markers), tranquility is offset by a lurking sense of harrowing loss. While Shelter from the Ash is not an explicit political statement, there certainly exist allusions to the current Middle East crisis that permeate throughout the album. Portentous lyrics (“it ain’t between who we know/ one quick war to come/ god ain’t breeding and the end is fear/ all us with rotten teeth hum/ I’m coming to get you”) combine with a swirling mass of acoustic interludes, meditative drones, buzzing guitars and ominous vocals to play out the dramas that reflect war’s grim realities. It is an effort that Chasny’s current supporting cast seamlessly sews together in order to present a majestic yet apocalyptic vision that continues to haunt the listener long after the music fades. It is impossible to try and position any Six Organs release against another and argue the worth of one over the next. However, in the weaving together of this bleak tale, we are allowed access to a more brooding version of Chasny than was previously realized. As we look at today’s precarious state of world affairs, the timeliness of this unsettling release may prove to be the most provocative and enduring work of Chasny’s catalog. — Michael Mannix, Journal critic
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