SINKING
CREEK
Sinking
Creek
Insanity
comes in all forms, from serial murders to The Magical
Mystery Tour,
and Sinking
Creek is
as close to the Mystery Tour as we are apt to come. Marinated in
the South, just short of the insane side of Th'
Legendary Shack Shakers and
the sane side of Keith
Morris (whose
Songs
From Candyapolis eluded
everyone except those with half a brain and the sense to use it),
Sinking Creek
reeks
of swamp gas and dementia, but in a good way. You might laugh, but
the phrase that kept coming back to me while listening to this
was, what the hell?
Trying to grasp Sinking Creek in one listening is like trying to hold sand in a running stream. You just can't do it. Halfway through Cinderella's Bible, that became obvious. “One, two, three, four...” and the bets are off. Listen to the song and you'll know what I mean. Kelling Heath it and tell me what's going on. Please. Every time the voice says “I pulled on my Jessie” and “I pulled on my Stacy”, I wanted to pull from the reins, but the wild horses... I keep hearing the Rolling Stones, but it's only one line and they're nowhere near. They don't even know what the devil is. But Sinking Creek does.
They know that life is fleeting, that we live on the edge. Just listen to the scream at the end of the first verse of Fast Asleep. Gerry Roslie of The Sonics would play hell to approach the anguish. And, like all real anguish, it is short. Only Hollywood drags anguish through paces. In real life, it is thankfully short, like the song.
What would you expect from a song titled The Cathedral of Fallen Angels? Hopefully, not some tripe in the form of Crosby, Stills & Nash. I'm not badmouthing CSN here, but these guys are way beyond the norm. They end every chorus with “Pharoahs...” for a reason.
Look. This is serious stuff. The first thing I did was check out their MySpace page and guess what? Right at the top of the band's friends list was Tom Waits and Devon Sproule. I know Devon Sproule, but who is this Tom Waits guy?
Okay. I'm kidding, but not about the music. But please let me say something. These guys may not be the norm, but I thank the musical gawds for that. The last thing we need in this world is another Beatles or Rolling Stones copy band. But we need all the Sinking Creeks we can get. You might not get it, but it's from the soul (or what's left of it). I get it, and if you don't, all I have to say is, “One, two, three, four...” which is one step short of saying, fuck you. These guys are worth hearing, and then some.
I'll take the Sinking Creek Magical Mystery Tour any day. And most days. You can count on it.
For those of you who envision musicians cranking out albums in the bat of an eye, I included the above video. Making a record is hard work with all the stops and starts and boring moments you can imagine, but when the music starts to pull together, it is so worth it to be there. By the end of this vid, the overlapping violins, all Camilla Delks', really begin to give depth. It may not sound like it, but the finished product is pure ambrosia.
Frank O. Gutch Jr.
