Rock ‘n’ roll is a brazen enterprise. Ever since Little
Richard those who provoke attention seem to get it. Would we have it any other
way? After all, the music blasted out of a repressed post-war America with
its Willie out and a gap-toothed grin on its mug. Still, the music has always
allowed room for those talented individuals who weren’t quite so flamboyant,
who perhaps had a measure of reserve superficially uncharacteristic of the
music.
Take Bob Andrews - he is a more modest sort. In his storied
if under-sung past, Andrews has contributed to some wonderful bands and
recordings, chiefly as keyboardist for Brinsley Schwarz and Graham Parker and
the Rumour. For the past twenty years he’s been living in New Orleans. Playing local clubs, marinating
in the sounds he loves, living life.
Shotgun, Andrews’
new album, demonstrates that restraint has its place, even in the world of rock
‘n’ roll. And, for that matter, restraint and the ribald needn’t be strangers. Andrews’s
smart, idiomatic tunes accompany the words of lyricist Robin Hunn. She knows
her partner’s needs well, delivering smart, blues-drenched lyrics that shift
sexual personae and demonstrate a wide range of emotion, from the violated to
the volatile, from the plaintive to the passionate. Their collaboration extends
beyond Hunn providing words to Andrews’ music. The pair worked together
envisioning these songs, discussing feel, context, and approach. It’s a
partnership that works.
Shotgun is a
bracing roots-rock recital that crackles with energy. It brims with Andrews’ astute
musicianship and makes virtue of his vocal modesty. Restraint, combined with
musicality, can be quite insinuating. Occasionally, with these performances
I’ll strain to hear the ghosts of more robust rhythm and blues archetypes.
Frankly, the title track might sound, well, dirtier if his pal Graham Parker
had sung it; it has a bit of that “Hotel Chambermaid” salaciousness. But more
often than not Andrews’ simmering, slyly expressive singing is unerringly right
for these performances. Nowhere is this better demonstrated than on “I Knew It
Was Wrong but I Did It Anyway.” Sung in the overtly emotive style of a Percy
Sledge acolyte it would lose its shamed, but defiant steel. Here, Andrews
combines the rock-ribbed reserve of Richard Thompson (“For Shame of Doing
Wrong”) with the determined, dogged drawl of Arthur Alexander. On “Doghouse”
there’s a bruised, conversational dignity to Andrews’ delivery that suggests the
songs of Dan Penn, and Andrews plays a beautiful solo that shows his debt to
Garth Hudson.
On lighter moments like “Entitled to Love,” a loping, lascivious,
bluesy shuffle, Andrews rhymes Hunn’s playful swoon/poon couplet with a wink
instead of a smirk. Like his old band mate Nick Lowe, Bob Andrews knows how to
deliver a lyric without ostentation, but unlike Lowe, Andrews’ humor is drier
and sometimes more compelling. Conversely, there’s an earnest, yearning quality
to “Around the Corner” that’s disarming in its sincerity as Andrews stretches
his range. And the songs’ “Soul Deep” groove is the perfect vehicle for the
lyric. Equally sweet is “Only Lovers Do” - equal parts Lou Reed and Billy
Swann, it makes a perfect, gently rocking conclusion to Shotgun.
It’s Bob Andrews’ sheer, supple musicianship that carries Shotgun. Those who know his work recognize him as one of the best keyboard players in rock, equally adept at organ and piano. But it’s his rhythm guitar that anchors these tracks. He’s learned from the best, reflecting the influences of everyone from John Fogerty to Keith Richards (throughout), from Slim Harpo to the aforementioned Mr. Reed. His driving rhythm work powers the title track, with its Creedence meets Stones choogle, and “Put Out or Shut Up,” a brash rocker that connects the dots between Chuck Berry and the brash distortion of punk, while turning both “Last Train to Clarksville” and “The Last Time” on their ears.
Not the biggest Lou
Reed fan, Andrews was convinced by his co-writer Hunn and his lead guitarist (the
sharp, consistently incisive player Alex McMurray) to listen to Reed’s New York
record. Andrews sounds like he absorbed
the split, sprung Reed rhythmic sensibility on “I Knew It Was Wrong,” McMurray
adding a gorgeous solo, and Andrews’ piano playing evoking the delicate power
of Nicky Hopkins. Reed’s way of breaking up time is evident on “Local Lover” as
well, Andrews’ rhythm guitar dancing between the Reed/Richard influence and
subtle subversions of Major Lance’s “Monkey Time.” On “Black Alligators”
Andrews provides a sinewy guitar line, recalling Roebuck “Pops” Staples, as
Johnny Sansone’s bluesy harp weaves in and out of Andrews’ organ lines, which
combine the Hudson’s ethereal quality with something eerily evocative of Bitches Brew.
Shotgun’s straightforward,
soulful, rocking performances betray depths that only emerge with repeated
listening. Many of the musicians on
Shotgun play a just a little against type, bringing their experiences with New Orleans complex gumbo
of rhythm ‘n’ blues and funk styles to Andrews’ quintessentially rock ‘n’ roll
sound. Bassist Cornell Williams and Jermal Watson on drums anchor these
sessions with rock drive and subtle funk inflections. Sansone on
harmonica is Little Walter goes Greek chorus, calling and responding to the
tenor of the songs, while Calvin Johnson wails on sax like the great Lee Allen.
Shotgun is available on compact disc. It’s also available in
combination with a book of the same name authored by lyricist Robin Hunn. The
book has its own quirky charm and reinforces the story implied in the songs.
Information and order details for Shotgun
in all its manifestations are available at http://www.shotgun2012.com/.
Reverberating: 8.6
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