I am not sure if I posted about this already but I’m off to Louisville to see Alabama’s Own Drive By Truckers with my beloved brother and sister in law, as a celebration of their anniversary, my birthday, and the fifth anniversary of my husband asking me to go with him. Like true rock and rollers, we flew my mother in for child care because we can’t trust our babies with just anybody while we’re out raising hell. I absolutely cannot wait.
We knew them when. I/we have followed them all over the South, from Knoxville to Houston to Atlanta to Birmingham. Patterson Hood kissed me on the lips once. We saw the world premiere of the Southern Rock Opera. My child saw them twice from the comfort of my (unwed) uterus.

Now they’re playing, best I can tell, in a sit down ‘theatre’. We’ll see how that compares to the concrete, beer and cigarette butt soaked floor of the Nick, where we could stand as close to the amps as we wanted and headbang til our ears bled (not really. It just sounds good. To me, anyway). I better go get some corduroy pants and equestrian slip on boots and a tweed jacket, since it sounds like the kind of place where tight levi’s and a tight black babydoll t-shirt with the Southern Rock Opera owl on it might not be quite the thing, no matter how much they represent my personal high school experience.
I don’t have time to truly opine right now, so I’ll just paste this in from their website:

Drive-By Truckers

“You hear about “the greatest band in the world” being dropped on many a group, desperately given this medal in hopes they’ll use it to “save rock-n-roll,” whatever that means. But no band that has had to suffer under this artificial responsibility has succeeded so triumphantly as Drive-By Truckers. Equal parts back porch historians, runaway drunken firecrackers, and poets of the hard life and how to live it; they came on the scene and set the bar higher for what you can do with the music we love. The characters in their songs have left gals at the altar, wrecked their cars, woken up on the cold floor and even killed themselves a number of times over the years, breathing some new intelligent life, not just into rock music but, into rockers everywhere. Many a critic, including myself, have placed upon them the treacherous mantle of being The Best Rock Band In The World, and they wear this title like the blessing and the curse it is…I love this band.

Their three front men/guitarists/songwriters: Patterson Hood, long time running partner Mike Cooley and guitar wizard Jason Isbell, make for a triumvirate that would crumble a lesser band. Hood explains, “We are all very close, in a family kind of way, albeit a sometimes dysfunctional one. We fight, sometimes very hard, but couldn’t continue with such strong opinions and personalities without a huge degree of mutual respect for each other personally and artistically.” In a live setting, that respect takes shape as intricate, driving interlocking hard guitar rock, nimble as a ballet dancer with too much Jack Daniels in her, and with the emotional impact of Walker Percy slamming into you with an out of control stock car. But all hyperbole aside, they avoid the trap of caricature in their songs, instead building their poetry out of the sweetest and harshest thing available in this world – love and the pain that comes with it.

DBT’s 7th album, A Blessing and a Curse, takes in all the elements that make them great and condenses them into the tightest, hardest rocking set of songs they’ve yet to produce. Their influences in the past have been immortalized in song, but here we see them integrated into the songs. The opening track “Feb 14” sounds like the best, most poetic song the Replacements never released and Cooley’s devastatingly great rocker “Gravity’s Gone” does the same thing with a Creedence Clearwater Revival backwoods twang. Isbell chimes in with “Easy on Yourself” a subtler yet more biting warning fable in the vein of 2003’s “Outfit.” And just when you think that these former class clowns have moved on to the honor society, they kick in with the hilarious “Aftermath USA” – as good a train-wreck, surmise-the-damage classic as anything from Waylon or Merle.

Everything on this album is a notch sharper, a logical progression from 2004’s neutron bomb of a record The Dirty South, pushing beyond singing about the South to universal themes of love and pain and determination with more drive and more passion than they have ever displayed before. Isbell opens his throat and delivers some vocals so soaring, so potent on the chorus of “Daylight” that they give me chills every single time. “Wednesday” weaves a dense elliptical tale about a man losing a woman, and maybe dying, maybe not even existing. “Goodbye” has the warm glow of a candle, illuminating those moments when things work in this life and when they fall apart. It’s beautiful stuff – deeper, warmer, and more real than anything else you might find out there.

But the real push forward on this record can be found in its heaviest songs. The 10,000-pound subject matter of an infant cousin dying before you were born, and how that presence persists, makes “Little Bonnie” possibly the most poignant song they’ve ever put to tape. The final track, “A World of Hurt,” offers a sermon against suicide (a recurrent theme in their songs) but Hood explains it’s much bigger than that: “Suicide is only one part. The song is really about learning how to live, or at least striving to learn how to live. To love is to open your heart up to unbearable pain, but what good is life without it?” In “Space City,” Cooley offers a bittersweet tale about his grandfather following his grandmother’s death and how one learns to make it through the intangible and the unflinching realities of life. Hood remarked, “Its ruminations on love and loss, to me reveal the true nature and theme of the album, to love IS to feel pain. A blessing and a curse.”

It is fitting that the final words on the album are “It’s great to be alive”. The songs on this record illustrate the triumphant struggle it is to survive and thrive in this world. It’s not only a great record, but an important statement delivered honestly and passionately without any sugar coating or details spared. It’s a refinement, a honing, and a focusing of what you’ve always loved about them, what makes this band the greatest band in the world.”
- Alex V. Cook

To listen go here

I reckon you can find their website etc. yourself.

Hell. Here you go.

mymorningjacket.com has a page of streamed media which is very cool.
I just bought tickets to their Nashville Show at the Ryman. Mmmmm, mmm.

So today I was thinking about getting a tattoo of 3 crows– 3 for a girl, you know– and the words ‘to cover up his invisible tattoo…’ popped into my head.

What are we wearing, what am I wearing, that others can’t see, marked on our bodies and hearts, sweet as well as sad, as indelibly as any tattoo?

Anyway that line is from a lambchop song called Hickey, to hear it go here (free account signup required) and as soon as I get done writing about them I’ll post the lyrics.

Lambchop is fare for those with truly rich subtle tastes– sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and bathed in the humidity and grit of the southern mindset. If that means you, go to these sites, and buy yourself a few albums, posthaste. I don’t think I’ll bother rhapsodizing… so many others have done it, and I haven’t heard them in a while, so I am anxious to run upstairs and find my albums and listen to them over, and over, and over… I have some pretty deep thoughts in the lambchop file in my brain… but I’ll write them some other time. Just go there.

Here are some links, and then the lyrics.

http://www.alwaysontherun.net/lambchop.htm 

http://www.lambchop.net/index

http://lambchop.info/ 

Hickey He hated to shower
Cause he wanted to smell
What was left of the girl
That stayed at his hotel
Still the water was warm
With the soap in his hand
As he halted the process
Just to stare at this man
In the dark of his room
Right after his nap
He buried his face in her pillow
Then he stared down at his lap
A small circle of miracles
Surrounded his head
That ranged dark blue
All the way to dark red

But not as good as this invisible tattoo