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TH'
LEGENDARY SHACK SHAKERS
“Treulogizing”
the Gothic South
A review of The Tentshow
Trilogy, consisting of Believe, Pandelirium
and Swampblood
(Yep
Roc Records)
Open the flap of Th' Legendary
Shack Shakers' Believe CD and you find a picture
of J.D. Wilkes, David Lee and Mark Robertson on the steps of a
church, each white door emblazoned with a cross. It is a scene
reeking of the South, suspenders and rolled up sleeves and
casual but formal white shirts and, of course, Wilkes' white
socks. It could be a scene straight out of Mississippi's
Burning, with all of its intensity and negative
connotations. To Wilkes, though, it is a reflection of the True
South, a land slowly disappearing, replaced by a much more
sinister South, an homogenous South. A Corporate South.
Wilkes would take the Gothic
South to the Corporate South anyday. “The Southern
Gothic,” he explained in a recent interview, “is
all counter to the original Goth thing where the kids dress up
in the stripey clothes and reflect Beetlejuice. That is
a cartoon-ish version of like a medieval fantasy. That is not
what we are. What that is based on, originally, is a belief
that there is beauty to be found in the grotesque, in the dark
and disturbing. That is kind of what the Southern Gothic thing
is, but rather than it being Frankenstein and werewolves, it is
slavery and inequity and hellfire-and-brimstone religion. Out
of some of those edgy and dark experiences grows something
great and wondrous and worthy of celebration.”
Wilkes would more than likely not
include the Shakers' The Tentshow Trilogy among the
great and wondrous, out of humility if nothing else, but he
might be wrong. The Trilogy, comprised of Believe
(2004), Pandelirium (2006), and Swampblood
(2007), is an amazing work full of everything we identify with
the South and yet find repugnant. Or is it? Perhaps, if you
take Wilkes at his word, it is one of only a handful of works
which really gets it right. Tossing aside political correctness
and the views of The Media, Wilkes might have gone for Truth's
jugular vein, looking at the South through the eyes of the
unbiased, or at least as close as he could come, being from
Paducah and all. With Truth in mind, Wilkes and Th' Legendary
Shack Shakers have presented musical portraits which can hardly
be denied. That is, if you Believe.
From the opening track, you know
that the Shakers are onto something a little different. Agony
Wagon, with train whistle beginning, kickstarts the album
like a cross between a Bar Mitzvah and a scene from “Bonanza”,
Duane Eddy guitar supplying solos over a klezmer/gypsy mix and
clarinet thrown in for good measure. So the ride begins. Creek
Cats sounds tame before what is to come, shuffling polka
beat driving a Beefheart-sounding entity. Wilkes falls into vox
mania on Where's the Devil... When You Need Him?,
channeling voice through a distortion box or some such magical
device, breaking out only on the chorus, where he powers
through to the next verse. Piss and Vinegar has a bit of
funk in there somewhere, Mark Robertson giving up his treasured
standup for a Strap-On Electric Bass, as they list in the liner
notes. Solid rockin' blues this is, Nick Kane emulating the
overamped rhythm guitar of Jr. Walker's Shotgun. Wilkes
pulls out his not-so-secret weapon here, the mouth harp, and
makes it wail. And it goes on and on, styles ranging from blues
to rockabilly to country to hard rock to gypsy and klezmer and
beyond. On some songs, they utilize them all and it makes you
wonder how far they could go. The titles? County of Graves,
All My Life To Kill, Cussin' In Tongues,
Bible Cyst and so forth, every one of them packed front
to back with Wilkes' sometimes disturbing and always point-on
lyrics. They even throw in a blues jam on Fistwhistle
Boogie, an instrumental featuring Wilkes on, what else, the
fistwhistle (on which he plain kicks ass).
The madness continues on 2006's
Pandelirium, the Shakers' up-tempo opening track
Ichabod! a manic Russian hat dance worthy of The Ed
Sullivan Show and complete with Russkie “hey”s and
maniacal laughs. It ends in (what else?) a typewriter lead-in
to South Electric Eyes, something else altogether,
perhaps a demented Seven Dwarfs' eye view of southern politics,
past and present. From there, it's another ride through Wilkes'
South, keying on the weird and the almost occult, the
prejudices and the Truth. Musically, it is all over the place
and adventurous as hell, from the the rockin' blues of
Somethin' In the Water (The Union Carbide Blues)
(ten-to-one you already know what that is about) to the
Tex-Czech mix of Iron Lung Oompah and its “Gilligan's
Island” vocals to the cartoon-ish sound of Monkey On
the Doghouse and its sinister, not so hidden message.
Perhaps this is Wilkes and band's tribute to the circus aspect
of The South. Only Wilkes knows.
Swampblood rounds
out the Trilogy. Written in virtual soundtrack form, it wraps
an intro and outro around the album's four “real”
songs, those standing out as single entities. Lightly plucked
banjo and monk-like background chant lead into a
lighter-than-Shakers'-normal Old Spur Line, shuffling
rhythm carrying light rhythm and blues into a Spaghetti Western
break. Hellwater is swamp rock of a sort, choogling
guitar and electric piano beneath a strangely subdued Wilkes
vocal. Back to the circus with Easter Flesh, guitar
having that curious but apt Duane Eddy edge. Then, there is the
coup de resistance, Swampblood, which may be used in an
upcoming HBO presentation. A classic blues rocker with a
one-chord organ and absolutely magical guitar behind Wilkes'
smokin' mouth harp and vocals. This would have hit written all
over it if the world had any class (which it doesn't), but
those in the South will know. The outro of “dusk”
finishes the first part of the album, a 17-second electronic
collage. Then, the fun begins--- ten short and lively tracks
laid out in quick succession, each with its own sound and feel
and important to the message. Gospel, country, old-timey, swing
and other influences tap out Born Again Again, Jimblyleg
Man, Angel Lust and Preachin' At Traffic, to
name a few, Wilkes pulling out the stops and fleshing out the
story, capping the whole thing off with a pause before taking
Bright Sunny South, the theme in “dawn”,
into the sunset.
This is no fluke, this
“treulogy”. Wilkes is using his trilogy to eulogize
a South he dearly loves. It is more about Truth than most will
realize. Wilkes has a different vision. You might even call him
a visionary, what with his documentary Seven Signs now
completed. If you hold The Tentshow Trilogy up next to
the screen, you will get a better picture of what he is trying
to accomplish here. Even if you don't get it, this is some of
the most adventurous and creative music out there.
And don't think that the rest of
the Shakers are just along for the ride. Mark Robertson has
been with Wilkes for nigh on seven years and works a studio
along with co-producing the Shakers and shortening his right
arm visibly by slapping the upright bass like a madman. David
Lee is fast becoming a guitar legend of sorts, having worked
with Gretsch to create the Gretsch 6136DL, a guitar he
obviously loves to play. Thus far, only one is in existence,
though plans are to market thirty before deciding whether to
continue production. They aren't cheap. And Brett Whitacre,
well, he's just itching for the road. The Shakers kidnapped him
from his previous band, Chicago power-punkers The Saps, but the
split was totally amicable. Brett's brother is now The Saps'
drummer and it is all in the family.
Th' Legendary Shack Shakers
started out as Those Legendary Shack Shakers, by the way.
Steeped in rockabilly (Wilkes refers to it as “Rockabilly
101”), their one album, Hunker Down,
captured the genre nicely. Then it was The
Legendary
Shack Shakers, whose Cockadoodledon't
album
supplied the rockin' track (CB
Song)
used on one of Geico's classic commercials--- the one in which
the gecko drives a toy sports car into a normal sized parking
spot. In that case, the music made the ad.
The
Tentshow Trilogy,
though, is by Th' Legendary Shack Shakers, in its present form
for a couple of years now. These guys love playing together.
All four call it “fun”. Maybe it is, but it's “fun”
that takes ten pounds off you whenever you play. I wish I had
their water concession. I'd be a rich man.
Frank Gutch Jr.
Ed.
Note: This
review was written a couple of years ago and David Lee has
since exited the band. At this time, he is working on forming
his own group, tentatively named The David Lee Band. We wish
him luck.
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