Austin Sound

It’s a somewhat perplexing and sad reality that a lot of our nation’s best songwriters and folk artists find their greatest appreciation not at home in the US, but in Europe. On the one hand, it’s great that they can tour over there and find such fervent fan bases, but it’s a shame that they usually can’t generate that kind of support here. James McMurtry, like any number of other contemporary artists, is a case in point. While he does well in Austin, and you can catch him almost any Wednesday at the Continental Club, the fact that his live cd was recorded in Europe is rather par for the course with many great Austin songwriters. With McMurtry, however, it is a bit different. For one thing, this album documents what is, surprisingly, his first European tour. Secondly, while the songs are generally familiar set pieces for McMurtry’s local fans, the band he has backing him for the tour includes Ian McLagan on keys, which is worth hearing in and of itself.

James McMurtry’s newest release “Just Us Kids” is more of what you’d expect from the increasingly acerbic good-ol’-rocker-hippie, which is to say that his latest album is a tightly composed, melancholic ode to the working lonely and an incensed rant against the mendacity-filled pigfucker politicos of the W. Bush administration. The American Dream has croaked and McMurty was there to witness its last raspy breath, next to some train tracks in what could be any has-been American factory town.

McMurtry’s outrage with the nation’s current political path is palpable throughout the album, and nowhere is it more obvious than on the track “Cheney’s Toy,” a searing condemnation of the Boy President and his Iraqi war of adventure. The song opens hauntingly, referencing the unknown emotional casualties of our post-traumatic-stressed troops and continuing to characterize the commander-in-chief as a child searching in all the wrong places for mommy and daddy’s love. The song loses its effect to some extent though in the refrain, where Bush is characterized as, no surprise given the title, “Cheney’s toy.”

10/16/06
You know it’s election season when the songwriters start unleashing as much political commentary as CNN. Of course, the news stations stopped offering real political commentary about five years ago, so I suppose that’s not saying much. McMurtry, on the other hand, has never shied away from telling it straight, and like his popular “We Can’t Make It Here” from last year’s Childish Things, his latest offering is blunt in it’s take on the problems with our current society. Called “God Bless America,” the song is a no-holds-barred jab at the President and forces that have flaunted war in the name of patriotism.

The song available for download is rough mix of the version that will appear on McMurtry’s next album. Last month, the critically acclaimed Childish Things was awarded best album from the Americana Music Association, with “We Can’t Make It Here” also taking down best song. McMurtry will holding down a Wednesday night residency at the Continental Club for the rest of October, performing this week with the Weary Boys and next week Jon Dee Graham.

The Weary Boys absolutely tore it up opening for the Meat Purveyors last week and come to assert themselves at the top of the heap of high-powered string bands in Texas. While they can hold their own with any jam-band, they still remain deeply entrenched in traditional country and bluegrass ramblings – a welcome characteristic that distinguishes them from (and makes them oh-so-much-better-than) the slew of dreadful new-grass bands that think speed equals talent. (I’m looking your way Colorado).

So don’t question the Weary Boys’ country roots, or their talent. Mario Matteoli’s is some of the best around, and their expert covers remain faithful while infusing a drunken fire like the kick after a shot of whiskey. Not any band could pull off a gospel album with such an earnest edge as they do on 2004’s Holy Ghost Power, only to return this year with the explosive Jumpin’ Jolie that isn’t afraid to add a Cajun dash to the mix.