P. W. Long - "God Bless the Drunkard's Dog" (Black Diamond Records 2006)

God Bless the Drunkard’s Dog rips, howls, moans and shreds its way out of you speakers and leaves you for dead. I’m not kidding. Loyal readers may recall a review from a couple of months ago for the Young James Long EP You Ain't Know the Man and my mentioning that it was the music you’d hear while getting your teeth kicked in outside a sleazy roadhouse. Well, these are the same fellas, only P.W. Long seems to have full artistic control here. This record leaps from full on Southern Rock that shows the world in no uncertain terms what a pussy Bob Seger is (if you don’t already think Seger is a pussy, you will after listening to this record) to mellower introspections on the heartless bitch that brought a whole town to its knees to loud, raunchy blues that are not just about situations you don’t want to be involved in, but don’t even want to know about. The man has a gift that rivals Bukowski for giving you a visceral taste of both the seedier side of things and the personal hell that led him there. Not without a sense of humor. The man’s a goddamn cipher.

It’s difficult to speak of specific songs as the track list seems to bear little relation to the actual song order. “Crazy Tonight” is one that stands out with its distorted, bluesy riff, immediately reminiscent of Long’s previous project Mule, and a growling lyric that strongly implies you probably don’t want to be around when this guy goes from “feeling crazy tonight” to acting on it. In any case, the song titles don’t matter. Every single one of them has teeth and they’ve got a taste of your blood. Too bad there’s nowhere for you to hide and you just need to ride this one out. In the end, it’s worth it. This album kicks more ass than a skinhead at a love-in.

Long seems dedicated to making it increasingly difficult to find his stuff. He apparently had to be bothered mercilessly by his friends to make this record, and finally only did on the condition it be released only on vinyl. Southern Records created vinyl only subsidiary Black Diamond Records just to get this wax out there. With that kind of dedication you know there’s something going on you should be checking out.

This isn’t much of a review, I know. More a testimonial. I’ll get back to the real reviews for the next one. In the meantime go online or head over to the last record store in your town that carries vinyl and pick this motherfucker up. After you spit your teeth out you’ll thank me for the recommendation.

3 out of 4, just because it’s a little less focused and introspective than his last effort. That doesn’t mean it can’t kick your ass.

Young James Long (Southern Records 2006)

I don't know if you've ever had the misfortune of laying on the ground in front of some shitty roadhouse while the bouncer is kicking your teeth down your throat. I never have, thank God, but I'm certain Young James Long is the band that you would likely hear emanating from said roadhouse as they tore up the stage while you were getting your ass kicked.

This is blooze rock distilled down to its essence - short, aggressive blasts of angst that are over before you get a sense of what's really going on. The brevity of the songs (the longest is two minutes and four seconds) works in their favor, and all of them launch in with a effective groove that carry the song musically. PW Long's howled, slurred, and mumbled vocals don't give you much of an idea of what the songs are about, but they definitely give you the feeling that it's some creepy, ominous, sexually charged (not in a good way) shit that you're probably better off not knowing.

A very important component of rock 'n' roll, at least for me, has been its ability to scare the shit out of parents. Elvis did it. The Beatles did it. Jim Morrison did it. All the punk bands did it. These days parents are offended by idiots like Marilyn Manson and Trent Reznor because of the staged and scripted crap they spew, but they know it's ultimately harmless. Young James Long is not harmless. Young James Long might stop your father's heart. Young James Long is like your mother walking in on you while you're masturbating. My dad's reaction when I played him The Butthole Surfers way back in 1987 was disgust, not fear. Young James Long is pissed. They sound pissed and scary. What are they so pissed about? Who knows? It might be you. That's scary.

This is down and dirty blues rock that would have fit right in at the ramshackle roadhouse where Robert Johnson got himself poisoned. Nobody would have cared that it was three white guys playing it. This record shoves everything Jon Spencer did right back up his ass. Pussy Galore could share a stage with them, but they'd end up mopping the floor - at the wrong end of the mop.

PW Long played guitar and fronted Mule and PW Long's Reelfoot, and put out a couple of solo records (the newest is "God Bless the Drunkard's Dog", available only on vinyl - it's worth buying a turntable to listen to). All his stuff kicks ass, be it misanthropic blues rumblers, introspective acoustic offerings, or something in between.

Kirkland James played slide guitar for Kansas City blooze rockers Tenderloin, no slouches in their own right. I don't know if their stuff is still available, but if it is go get it.

Taylor Young plays for both Young Heart Attack and Polyphonic Spree. I hate both bands, but his drum work on this is more than adequate to keep the adrenaline fueled bile pumping right along.

There is nary a bass guitar on this record, but don't worry. The bottom will still shake the glass out of your window panes. How? That's just how mean these guys are.

Five songs. Seven minutes thirty two seconds. That's a pretty quick ass-kicking, but it'll leave you in traction for a while. Then you'll listen to it again.

Rating: 4 out of 4