My search continues for something to justify my existence in Missoula. Lately, I've been passing the time forming a tw0-man band with close friend and former boss Sean Breslin. After casting about for different journalism-themed names ("N Dash" and "Topic Lede" were personal favorites), we settled on what Sean calls the "intentionally misspelled" title Valkenberg. Past and present students of the University of Montana's School of Journalism will recognize the name as that of print chair Carol van Valkenburg and her husband Fred, the Missoula County Attorney. The misspelling is a joke at the expense of crime reporter Mike Gerrity, a child who not only substituted an "e" for the "u" in Valkenburg in a news story but also managed to misspell his own name. We can only hope to excuse it as a mental disorder.
Valkenberg's first appearance is tonight at Sean Kelly's. The set list includes several covers as well as two original pieces by Sean and one original piece by yours truly. We take the stage at 12:40 a.m. because I'm an idiot and failed to reserve an open mic slot before all others were taken.
"That's all well and good," you tell yourself, "but what does any of this have to do with me?" Well, dear readers, the answer is nothing. I've neglected the Ragged Edge of the Universe for the sole reason that I've had little to nothing of interest to write. The blogosphere is a bit too narcissistic for this humble, down-home NoDaker, but I'm doing my best to improve.
On that note, here's a taste of what I do on a fairly regular basis: freelance music reviews for the Missoula Independent, an alternative weekly here in town. This review won't be appearing in print as I'm an idiot (see also previous paragraph) and reviewed an album that had already been reviewed without realizing it. Hopefully by posting here I'll turn a waste of time into something moderately worth while. My freelance work is by no means limited to music reviews, nor to the Missoula Independent. But perhaps my freelance career (journalese for "unemployment") is fodder for a future post.
The Gourds, Haymaker!, Yep Roc Records, 2009.
What can you say about the Gourds that hasn’t already been said? A string of Missoula appearances, an eternally upbeat take on country music, hillbilly-licious facial hair. They fit as well in Montana as they do in Texas, and their latest album will fit as well on your iPod as in your car stereo.
Country is typically a unique taste acquired through days breathing dust and nights swigging cans of Rainier. Haymaker!, an eleventh for the Gourds, takes the best of this jukebox staple sound for a 14-track round on the dance floor. It’s all honky-tonk and no tears, so you won’t run the risk of watering down your beer.
The Gourds don’t simply rattle off line-dance ditties. There’s some experimentation here, with an organ on “Luddite” and a strange series of electronic beeps and boops on “New Dues.” There’s some variety, too, from the vocal yodel of “Shreveport” to the vocal strain of “Blanket Show.”
As always, the Gourds are masters of the lyrical arts. Kevin Russell’s acoustic guitar has as much twang as ever, and Max Johnston holds the whole shebang together with that soul-slicing fiddle. The only danger with Haymaker! is that the Gourds aren’t playing the Union Club anytime soon, and you better believe you’ll want to dance.
Cheers.
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