recorded,
engineered, mixed and mastered by Chris Goosman
"roberta"
recorded and engineered by Geoff Streadwick
recorded
at 40 oz., Ann Arbor, MI., Perfect Balance, Solid
Sound and W.C.C. Studios
design,
photography and digital 'woo' by Jeff
Westover
"Twilight
Limited"
painting copyright by Blair Louis Sanderson
musicians
Steve
Leggett
acoustic
& electric guitars, banjo, organ, piano, rhodes piano, mandolin,
jawharp, vocals & hums
Vino Veasley electric
guitar & e-bow
Charlie Murphy gongs,
chimes, bells, toms, djembe, vibraslap, scraper sticks, tone drum, berimbau
& rolling rock bottle
Phil Tepley electric
guitar & feeback
Rob Crozier bass,
fretless bass, harmonica & congas
&
thanks to:
Nate Higley drums
Ian Williamson drums
Gary Saunders drums
Chris Goosman bass
Special
thanks to Bran, Japhy, Kyle, Ben (snake), Weston & Encore Recordings.
• • •
"in the old days you could turn it over and listen to the other
side"
from
Allmusic.com
On
their third outing, Ann Arbor, MI's, Buzzrats invoke the ghost of Phil
Ochs' broken, suicidal alter ego, and carry the listener into mythical
spaces archetypically rendered in the gaseous hazes and swampy bogs
of the American musical landscape. It's not like they haven't been doing
this all along, but on John Train, the ghosts are a little more pervasive;
they've tossed off their sheets in order to display the wounds they
carry with them beyond the pale. These ghosts are simply traces and
shards of American music from the 18th century onward (from saloon music
to the music of "the folk" to popular songs from the 19th
Century to gutternsipe rock and blues) that have been laid waste by
cultural shifts and colorations that have rendered their particular
wailing howls useless. And that's what draws Stephen Leggett and the
rest of the rats to them. These songs — 18 of them — meander
along the dark paths, looking for footprints of those who came before,
but they reject any modern day notions of O Brother Where Art Thou?-ist
revivalism. On the opener, "Damascus, Virgina," Leggett tells
a good old-fashioned harrowing, forlorn tale while being accompanied
by slippery guitars, shimmering keyboards, and minimal percussion. His
voice sounds like he's feeling his way though the story, as he sings
and cracks in all the right places, allowing the listener the room to
disappear inside his narrative. On "Willie Saw the Wheel,"
electric guitars churn and lilt, with a basic 4/4 rhythm to support
the vocal. But it's not that simple — the story is rich in metaphor
and metonymy, and with every lyrical invention, the musical narrative
counters. When the marimbas enter on the next track, "Wake the
Town," and Leggett's voice slips out of the ether covered in echo
and other effects, the sad dream takes hold completely. There are musical
precedents for this music, from Stephen Foster to Tim Hardin and even
Jonathan Richman, but the most evocative thing about John Train is that
this is the Neil Young record — à la On the Beach —
that Mr. Young no longer has the vision or the guts to make. A quick
listen to "Slim on the Corner" reveals a shell game impressionism
of both early rock & roll and doo wop while hiding its intentions
in a restless country shuffle. "Same Old Beautiful Train"
is a country-rock screamer; it's all shambolic and stumbles. The epochal
darkness of "Carry Me Over the Tide" brings the voices of
everybody from Harmonica Frank and Leadbelly to a repentant Dock Boggs,
all of which are firmly tethered and confined within and subservient
to the grain of Legget's own. The disc ends with a stomping rocker of
distorted six-string saw-blading, and country/bluegrass cadences that
cross the Band, Jason & the Scorchers, and Crazy Horse. It's a joyous,
cacophonous finish, but the echo in Legget's voice is more convincing
of something else: That rooting through the past as a way to express
the present may not be "reportorially" sound, but it always
turns up the unexpected and instructive, something Ochs, if not John
Train, understood implicitly.
—
Thom Jurek
more buzzrats albums: