Saturday, April 16, 2011


(Saustex) Here's some things about the white boy blues: the zillionaire practitioners, your Stones and your Zeppelins, seemed to exoticize and condescend the African American bluesmen that begat their artform..all the way to the bank. Then you've got the more reverent students, the Jewboys in Chicago in the 60s, your Bloomfields, Butterfields,  Corky Siegels, paying respect and limiting their own ambitions. Then you've got the kid prodigies turned hacks like Johnny Lang, who you can't blame for seeing Buddy Guy as a cartoon character -- the Papa Smurf who anointed them, hell they were 8 when they started, what did they know? But then you've got the crazy motherfuckers that you really can't even figure out what race, class, logic, soul, or sanity have to do with anything. Little Howling Wolf playing his noseflute on Chicago street corners, a hundred Hasil-inspired wild-eyed one man bands, Captain Beefheart zonking us with his Doo Wah Diddys, schizo Peter Green foregoing Fleetwood Mac success to jam the blues...these are the kooks that midwifed Churchwood's gruff, threatening, slightly bizarre, and 110% badass noisemaking. This is no minstrel show, these Texans are bloozin' it up because they got something smart and ugly to say and they need to express it as simply and pretty as they can, and that's where the blues comes in. That they seem quite possibly out of their gourd nuts doesn't hurt!

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