Beasts of Bourbon - Sour Mash
Seminal records are not written every day, and some are found in retrospect. They are determined by the ground they break, the level of subtlety that most others cannot achieve, and their authenticity. Authenticity that is derived from the connection and interpretation of a source that has crossed the track, often against volition. The drive to resurface is fuelled by volatility. That is what distinguishes vibrant, challenging, visceral work that redefines our understanding.
It's easy to follow behind those who have already cut through ahead. It is easy to write sweet, fluffy melodies that catch like cotton wool. Anything that makes a difference to how we understand goes further and deeper. And its impression lasts that long.
Great music often has a great pedigree. The collaborators on Sour Mash are epic in every respect. Tex Perkins is joined by the imitable Kim Salmon, the spanking Spencer Jones, cardinal drummer James Baker, and underground bass god Boris Sujdovic. If you cannot name at least one other influential band they've been in, or if you can't place their name, I'd suggest opening a window and doing some research. You won't be disappointed or drone on at your next dinner party.
I tripped over this record again after a screaming week and having my brain cooked to pulp by the drudgery of some of our best radio stations. Anyone who is trying to rebottle anything halfway generic from the 1970s needs to have a serious life experience. It's been done. And it's corked.
Today I started following an amazing Melbourne music producer on Instagram, who himself is a great pedigree, and who also plays in a seminal band reviewed on this blog. In 2015 he posted a very bloodied up guitar. The caption: Blood on the Tracks. You know what I saw? Six Strings That Drew Blood.
Some seminal musicians make it big. Perkins might not be Nick Cave, but what's up in lights isn't always more interesting than what lurks in the shadows.
"Hard Work Driving Man" has a sinister, resentful bass line that you don't want to mess with. Or maybe you do. But you don't want to cross these boys. You are either gonna get the freak out of the alley, or you belonged there from the start. Take a long look into the darkness and make your decision.
"Hard for You" lets you know what you are up for. And sometimes some people deserve it. If you don't know what that's like, you haven't crossed the tracks. Go get yourself some life experience and come back.
If your still here, "Watch Your Step" gives us the first introduction to the swagger that Perkins and his crew deliver with the suave and cruel demeanour they have earned. Salmon's distorted harmonica, the westside guitars, and Baker's perfectly minimal drumming show they know how to play it.
"Playground" is irony that you hope won't find you. The insidious asbestos, your all-purpose fix-all, is coming back to haunt you. Everything you loved in generic suburbia is turned inside out here, and so is the music: it grates, it's dissonant, it redefines what you thought you saw in the last frame.
"Door to Your Soul" relaxes with you, because you can't go back. "Like a moth to a flame" they have "walked right through ... the door to your soul". That's what these boys do with this album.
"These Are the Good Old Days" introduces the brass. Perkins' anecdote sounds like a Tom Waits twist, but it's darker. He doesn't shy away from irony or the men everyone doesn't want to remember. He coats it with the crustaceans of everything he brings up, and the three-pack smoker cough. It's about time someone did.
"The Hate Inside" is a black ballad. Like The Beasts' "Psycho", it's brilliantly told. The lumbering bass line and their guitar accomplices show you what you didn't want to see in the dark. You probably won't make it on the school bus now.
Side two opens with "Pig". This is sensationally bad. If you are looking for politically correct you aren't going to find it in the mire. The guitars make space for the sax - that hee-haw junkie that lost it's mind. The Beasts make music define places you never wanted to go.
"Driver Man" shows how The Beasts take control of music. They don't even let it play until they're ready, and look how they distort it when it's finally let out. ... With it's lop-sided walk, it's snickered and distorted. Driver Man is a twisted cackamayme carnie sideshow. If you don't know how it feels, go get out in the fields somewhere south or far east and see how it's done when there's no-one around to account for what's going down.
"Today I Started Loving You Again". Perkins and his boys are the darkest Byron-lover your gonna want. And despite everything he's done, he's going to make you feel that he's worth it. And your gonna want to make him feel like you're worth it. Close the curtains.
"Flathead" brawls and someone called the cops before you knew what was behind you. The Beasts know this town better that you. That driving whine of guitars and the cock-eyed bass isn't as out of control as what you think. Watch them back out and back off. It's not going to be pretty.
"This Ol' Shit" shows the boys get down with a wily style you can't copy unless you grew up here. And here is their authenticity. You don't get in here unless you know the back way.
"Sun Gods" plays a new day that so many know, and have replicated. It's a lot lighter, and a good way to finish up a long night. The structure of the album shows The Beasts know how to cross the tracks and how to get back.
You want to listen to Sour Mash? Look it up, or get your own copy. If you want to get there, you'll get going.
Seminal records in this part of the world cross the miles. They are wild because it takes a while to get it out of your skin.
Sour Mash is dirty, dark and looks you in the eye. It tells you something you knew, but you didn't want to know. It'll rip off all your namby-pamby pretensions and leave you standing naked in a grease hall. F' oath. It's about time you took one.
It's easy to follow behind those who have already cut through ahead. It is easy to write sweet, fluffy melodies that catch like cotton wool. Anything that makes a difference to how we understand goes further and deeper. And its impression lasts that long.
Great music often has a great pedigree. The collaborators on Sour Mash are epic in every respect. Tex Perkins is joined by the imitable Kim Salmon, the spanking Spencer Jones, cardinal drummer James Baker, and underground bass god Boris Sujdovic. If you cannot name at least one other influential band they've been in, or if you can't place their name, I'd suggest opening a window and doing some research. You won't be disappointed or drone on at your next dinner party.
I tripped over this record again after a screaming week and having my brain cooked to pulp by the drudgery of some of our best radio stations. Anyone who is trying to rebottle anything halfway generic from the 1970s needs to have a serious life experience. It's been done. And it's corked.
Today I started following an amazing Melbourne music producer on Instagram, who himself is a great pedigree, and who also plays in a seminal band reviewed on this blog. In 2015 he posted a very bloodied up guitar. The caption: Blood on the Tracks. You know what I saw? Six Strings That Drew Blood.
Some seminal musicians make it big. Perkins might not be Nick Cave, but what's up in lights isn't always more interesting than what lurks in the shadows.
"Hard Work Driving Man" has a sinister, resentful bass line that you don't want to mess with. Or maybe you do. But you don't want to cross these boys. You are either gonna get the freak out of the alley, or you belonged there from the start. Take a long look into the darkness and make your decision.
"Hard for You" lets you know what you are up for. And sometimes some people deserve it. If you don't know what that's like, you haven't crossed the tracks. Go get yourself some life experience and come back.
If your still here, "Watch Your Step" gives us the first introduction to the swagger that Perkins and his crew deliver with the suave and cruel demeanour they have earned. Salmon's distorted harmonica, the westside guitars, and Baker's perfectly minimal drumming show they know how to play it.
"Playground" is irony that you hope won't find you. The insidious asbestos, your all-purpose fix-all, is coming back to haunt you. Everything you loved in generic suburbia is turned inside out here, and so is the music: it grates, it's dissonant, it redefines what you thought you saw in the last frame.
"Door to Your Soul" relaxes with you, because you can't go back. "Like a moth to a flame" they have "walked right through ... the door to your soul". That's what these boys do with this album.
"These Are the Good Old Days" introduces the brass. Perkins' anecdote sounds like a Tom Waits twist, but it's darker. He doesn't shy away from irony or the men everyone doesn't want to remember. He coats it with the crustaceans of everything he brings up, and the three-pack smoker cough. It's about time someone did.
"The Hate Inside" is a black ballad. Like The Beasts' "Psycho", it's brilliantly told. The lumbering bass line and their guitar accomplices show you what you didn't want to see in the dark. You probably won't make it on the school bus now.
Side two opens with "Pig". This is sensationally bad. If you are looking for politically correct you aren't going to find it in the mire. The guitars make space for the sax - that hee-haw junkie that lost it's mind. The Beasts make music define places you never wanted to go.
"Driver Man" shows how The Beasts take control of music. They don't even let it play until they're ready, and look how they distort it when it's finally let out. ... With it's lop-sided walk, it's snickered and distorted. Driver Man is a twisted cackamayme carnie sideshow. If you don't know how it feels, go get out in the fields somewhere south or far east and see how it's done when there's no-one around to account for what's going down.
"Today I Started Loving You Again". Perkins and his boys are the darkest Byron-lover your gonna want. And despite everything he's done, he's going to make you feel that he's worth it. And your gonna want to make him feel like you're worth it. Close the curtains.
"Flathead" brawls and someone called the cops before you knew what was behind you. The Beasts know this town better that you. That driving whine of guitars and the cock-eyed bass isn't as out of control as what you think. Watch them back out and back off. It's not going to be pretty.
"This Ol' Shit" shows the boys get down with a wily style you can't copy unless you grew up here. And here is their authenticity. You don't get in here unless you know the back way.
"Sun Gods" plays a new day that so many know, and have replicated. It's a lot lighter, and a good way to finish up a long night. The structure of the album shows The Beasts know how to cross the tracks and how to get back.
You want to listen to Sour Mash? Look it up, or get your own copy. If you want to get there, you'll get going.
Seminal records in this part of the world cross the miles. They are wild because it takes a while to get it out of your skin.
Sour Mash is dirty, dark and looks you in the eye. It tells you something you knew, but you didn't want to know. It'll rip off all your namby-pamby pretensions and leave you standing naked in a grease hall. F' oath. It's about time you took one.
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