Bullseye!

I didn't know weather to cheer or cry when I saw this snippet in a local Santa Cruz, CA paper.

"At the closing party of this elegantly displayed show, Darryl Ferrucci is lowering the brow level with a sort of home-grown recontextualization--he's bringing the spaghetti Western music, cheap beer, guns and people back to his objets d'art formerly known as targets, and car doors before that. The shooting range will be equipped with a high-powered CO² pellet gun chained to a pedestal inside a Plexiglas case, making it impossible to shoot anywhere except downrange. And downrange will be completely blocked off, save for a narrow aisle, at the end of which will be a bale of hay adorned with your choice or target: pictures of old cars and pickup trucks, cans of Coca-Cola and Budweiser, all yours for the taking after you've riddled it--or missed it--with your 10 shots at Ferrucci's nostalgic take on the American Dream."

As a lifelong gun freak, it's easy for me to see what Ferrucci is trying to tap into. Shooting guns at junk (plinking), is just plain fun. What I find so funny and a bit sad is that they have to dress it up like art and get their patrons all jacked up on Ennio Morricone and Bud Lite just to touch a freakin' air pistol. In my perfect little world, everybody would get to shoot their fist gun (a .22 rimfire) out in the boonies at old tin cans and rotten fruit.

On further thought however, I have to give artist Darryl and his friend Marcus major props for doing their part to put a gun into the hands of one of the most radically hippified towns in California. Get this, Marcus is "a 41-year-old card-carrying NRA member, hardware engineer and Buddhist who will play the roll of rangemaster". Extra bonus points to Marcus and his balls of steel for even letting the cat out of the bag that he's an NRA member. He'll be lucky if he doesen't get doused with organic llama piss before the show's over.

The Pope of Bakersfield

I was watching Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood today and found out Buck Owens passed away early Saturday morning.

Buck was a huge star here in the San Joaquin Valley. We were just as exited as everybody else about those four long-haired guys from England but Buck and his Buckaroos were OUR band. Many people think only of beaches and Hollywood when they think of California but most of the actual geography of the state is rural and agribusiness is every bit as important to the economy as movies and microchips. John Steinbeck might have put the valley on the nation's conscience but Buck Owens put it on everybody's TV.

Our family loved Hee Haw but Buck was a huge international star long before that show aired. I'm sure he will be remembered for his role in defining a tough, stripped down Honky Tonk style now called "The Bakersfield Sound".

I was in Bakersfield Friday night with my wife. We'd driven down from Clovis to pick up some speakers from the Best Buy out on Rosedale HWY and stopped into Buck's Crystal Palace for some dinner. We split a massive Buck Burger and some Cryin' Time Onion Rings. Buck was scheduled to play later that night but (I hesitate to say this) my wife hates country music and...Best Buy closes at 10:00.

I know.

After we picked up our speakers we drove back by Buck's Palace and stopped at a red light by the famous Bakersfield sign and the 99 onramp. Jet says to me "Jeez they even named a street after him". I told her it's a wonder they don't name the whole town after him. I started telling her the history of the sign but the light turned green and we were headed back north. I said maybe we could come back down on a Saturday and see Buck, he plays almost every Friday and Saturday night maybe bring our daughter. A little history would do her good.

Buck played his last gig Friday night and cut the show short because he wasn't feeling well. He drove himself home and passed on apparently in his sleep. He was 76.

Vaya con Dios Buck. May your new telecaster sparkle brighter than those streets of gold.

Laughing Last

I guess you could call Buddy Miller a late bloomer. Here's a question for any baby boomers that might stumble across this post. How many people do you know that picked up the guitar in the 60s? OK. Now, how many of your garage band pals are still making a living playing music?

lonely...cricket...chirps

Buddy Miller has been hanging in there making music since the Summer of Love and didn't really start to get his due until The Summer of Bill and Monica when he landed a job touring with Emmylou Harris. That's a long time in the van but the skills he refined and the relationships he forged along the way have given us an amazing body of work.

The Best of Buddy Miller has 6 volumes, each album he's released since 1995's Your Love and Other Lies through 2004's Universal United House of Prayer. Not a speck of filler in 10 years. Off hand I can't think of another artist I'd say that about.

Buddy is a wonderful guitar player. His sparse, soulful style emphasizes touch, tone and taste over flash and speed. Hardcore guitar geeks revere him and you'll always find a cadre of these wretched souls huddled at the edge of the stage admiring Buddy's rare plastic pawn shop guitars and myriad effects pedals.

Being somewhat of a gearhead, Buddy has turned half of his Nashville home into a recording studio. The other half of the home he shares with his wife, singer/songwriter Julie Miller and an ever changing cast of wayward cats and possums. Ironically named Dogtown, the studio is a wonderful blend of vintage analog and digital technology and all of the Miller's albums over the last decade have been recorded there.

I love Buddy's organic way of making music. Once asked in an audiophile interview how he captured such vital drum sounds, Buddy responded "I work with really good drummers". By working with friends in the comfort of his home, the atmosphere is conducive to great performances. Then, it's just a matter of getting it all on tape or a hard disk, something Buddy's been doing since his Deadhead days on the West Coast.

Ever notice how the best Country singers have first names that seem to go with the job? Names like Lefty, Buck, Hank, Merle, Red and now Buddy. Yessir, Buddy Miller is probably the finest Country Western singer around nowadays. I wish I could post .mp3s of"A Showman's Life" or "That's How I Got To Memphis for you all to listen to as you read this then you'd know what I'm talking about. Hell I wish Country radio would play any of Buddy's music period but I'm not going to go there right now. My Blood pressure's been running a little high and all.

So if you miraculously find yourself reading this and you really love honest, meaningful music, Ryoushi says buy with confidence and treat yourself to all the Buddy Miller albums you can find.

Neko Case

First off I must say I'm still not 100% convinced that Neko Case is human. You simply have to be suspicious of so much talent and beauty under one roof. In typical Siren fashion, the first thing that gets your attention is her (?) voice calling to you through a veil of luscious reverb. Human women just don't sing like this anymore. You must investigate.

So you buy a CD and listen while examining the photos, artwork, liner notes and before you know it WHAM, you're ruined. Months have gone by in a blur and you catch yourself habitually buying Sadies CDs and scouring the internet like a pig for back issues of Kutie Magazine.

If Neko wished, I believe she along with Buddy Miller could usher in a new Golden Age of country music and I'd be very happy. Her voice is an amazing instrument, thoroughly steeped in that tradition but with the release of her latest CD Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, she obviously has something else in mind. Take for instance Hold On Hold On. "...I leave the party at three a.m...Alone, thank God. With a valium from the bride..It's the devil I love..And that's as funny as real love..And that's as real as true love...Dire stuff, but she sings it like she's the happiest girl in the whole USA.

Backed by friends from Calexico, and a host of assorted twangy Canadians, Neko has produced a dreamy album full of evocative, genre defying songs. First listen is like watching a Scandinavian art film with no subtitles. Beautiful, snowbound images bombard your senses but what does it all mean?

I'll tell you what it all means. "Surrender Earthlings"