music
One Bass, Many Faces
Sometimes you get that feeling an artist is completely different away from his stage persona.
If you’ve caught a Rootdown show recently, you’re familiar with some of the antics of the local
outfi t’s bassist, Jackson Michelson. Random animal sounds, high-pitched cries of excitement,
absurd costumes to match equally ridiculous facial expressions … all of these eccentricities
can be witnessed at a Rootdown show. And yet, when encountering Michelson’s music outside
Rootdown, you get the sense you’re not listening to the same guy. It’s so serious, so “mature,” so
surprising that upon fi rst listen you aren’t really sure what to do with it. It’s only when you accept
the fact that Michelson’s solo work is meant to be different that you can get with it just fi ne.
Michelson’s songs are mainstream in production and appeal, fi lled with equal parts pop, rock
and country. The catchy “Summer Fling” is a sly country banger about how a fl ing can grow into
something more, and “As it Rains” is one of those swelling country-pop rockers meant to inspire
you to live in the moment, dance in the rain, keeping dreaming, etc., etc.
Revealing a whole other side to his art, Michelson proves he can sing rather well when he
isn’t acting silly (not that there’s anything wrong with silliness). His lyrics aren’t going to win any
awards for cleverness or exceptional depth, but you get the sense that’s not his intention; simple
truths seem to most stir his interest. Best, then, to keep it simple at Michelson’s upcoming show
and enjoy his forays outside the silly.
Jackson Michelson plays 9 pm Friday, July 1, at Whiskey River Ranch; $5. — Brian Palmer
The Devil’s Right Hand
It’s easy to take Steve Earle for granted, in the same way it’s easy to take a
musician like Elvis Costello for granted. Like Costello, Earle hit the airwaves as a
precocious, angry rocker, and his gritty, impossibly catchy 1989 hit “Copperhead
Road” turned heads, heralding so-called alt-country. And, as with the great
bespectacled one, Earle also descended to the depths of his own personal hell — in
his case, a nasty heroin addiction and a stint in prison — before re-emerging with the
post-rehab focus of a mortal phoenix, determined to make the most, artistically and
otherwise, of his short time on earth. This he has done, heroically, and with a range
and ferocity his early work only hinted at. Earle, like Costello, seems to release a new
album every year, always brilliant and always different than the last. For all but the
most hard-core fans, such prolifi c and sure-fi re output can be diffi cult to keep up
with: Dude, Jerusalem was a masterpiece! What? He has a new one? Two new ones?
And a novel? And an album with the same title?
If now were not now, and country and folk were still pure categories unsullied by
such adjectives as “new” and “neo,” Earle’s name would be etched into the pantheon
of all-time Nashville, anti-Grand Ole Opry greats that includes Hank, Johnny, Waylon
and Willie. Not that Earle gives a rat’s ass about things like that. At 56, Earle — singer,
songwriter, producer, label owner, author, political activist and offi cial coolest guy in
any room — is a Renaissance man in full, and he remains intent on making up for lost
junk time with a supreme talent tempered by a ghetto wisdom and the Zen humility
of a guy who knows exactly how, why and where he exists in the world.
Earle’s latest double punch is I’ll Never Get Out of This World Alive, the title of
a debut novel as well as a new album of spare, sawdusty country songs that cycle
through like a sad lover’s waltz across the mortal coil of memory and loss. Harkening
to the work of his mentor-heroes Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark, Earle’s latest is
yet another departure, or rebirth, in light of his recent recordings; as with the Hank
Williams’ lyric inspiring the album’s title, the songs sound like they were recorded in a
bootlegger’s shack during the dog days of August, with little but foot stomps, fi ddles
and Earle’s gruff, wizened voice calling the tune; it could almost be Copperhead Road
Unplugged, though, honestly, there is nothing unplugged about the quality of his
songwriting. The man is electric, wired to life’s raw currents and good to go. Always.
So, no, don’t take him for granted: Steve Earle is coming to town, and the
revolution starts now.
Steve Earle and Allison Moorer play 8 pm Friday, July 1, at The Shedd; $33/$35.
— Rick Levin
PHOTO BY TRASK BEDORTHA
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JUNE 30, 2011
EUGENE WEEKLY
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