Don Allred's Country 07 Comments pt. 5 At my aunt's memorial service, the program included an African-American-sounding hymn (ca. late 18th, mid-19th Century transcription? Or later, probably, transcription-wise), "Come Away To The Skies": "Come away to the skies, my beloved arise, and rejoice in the day thou was born." Piano, vocals, slight trills, suggesting wings. "Wast"? Never heard that, or any of this song before; amazing (and graceful). She was once referred to as "the Dolly Parton of classical and Baptist music." Meant as a compliment, and rightfully so. Recalled the pastor, who also has a bluegrass band," She played forte. A member complained, and she asked what she should do. Ah told her, 'Play louder.' " The Charlie Daniels Band's Deuces is Charlie's duets album, with his stalwarts serving here as first-class bar band, hoisting a set of covers and re-hashed personal chestnuts. No Z Z Top numbers, much less guest shots, alas (see CDB's Tailgate Party for the former, and other good cover versions)(for a contrast/compare session with Z Z and CDB's POVs, please see my "Sharp Blessed Men" archived at villagevoice.com) But "Jackson," with cool-wailin' Gretchen Wilson, has a sleek stomp and kick, somewhut a la Z Z. Descending porch bass notes are greeted by wristwatch-tapping rhythm guitar, in "Signed Sealed Delivered I'm Yours," with Bonnie Bramlett. Even the lesser tracks are rattled along by the characteristically, expertly harnessed speediness, which sometimes gets looser and surfaces as anxiety in his manifestos. But on this album, "Let It Be Me" (with Brenda Lee) is more poignant for its briskness, its flexing: the female duet partners, especially, know how to soothe him (and the old, familiar songs) just enough, to bring out the brio over the brittleness. Without undue earnestness getting in the way---like Vince Gill does on "The Night The Drove Old Dixie Down." (Contrast with the Allman Brothers Band's version on Endless Highway: they don't allow themselves to solo much, much less over-emote—Gregg doesn't even groan! But he's appropriately unhappy.) The Scruggs brothers whine their way through "Maggie's Farm"; they should please shut up and pick, like Daddy Earl does. Still, Charlie and Darius Rucker have a fine time zinging the hapless, right through "Like A Rolling Stone," like Perez Hilton and Michael Musto with better material. The joke's on Charlie in "Evangeline" ("I hear your laughter in the rain"), where he's ably assisted by the Del McCoury Band (haven't yet determined whether CDB also plays on the tracks featuring guest instrumental chunks), and Del himself sounds swell, in homage to Elmer Fudd (a supporting role, and he's fine with it, as always; suits him better than solo spotlights). "What'd I Say" is filigreed with the curly burly slightly furtive sub-Ray intonation of Travis Tritt's trivia; "Daddy's Old Fiddle" doesn't have enough of Charlie's old fiddle or Dolly Parton's old schtick (she's expressing interest like a politician on an off day); "Long Haired Country Boy" is best of the superfluous, with Brooks & Dunn clapping along and staying out of the way of the song's long-lidded, don't-tread-on-me undercurrent. Charlie don't "take a toke" here no more, but the line about the TV preacher stays, despite his own return to the fold, and it foreshadows the advent of "God Save Us From Religion," with Charlie's fellow deacon, Marty Stuart. The title is the sumna of a "barroom philosopher," who's mainly building a castle of bottle caps, but Charlie and Marty are surely with him. Charlie and Montgomery Gentry are all big, high-strung, hit-the-note guys together on "Drinkin' My Baby Goodbye," and finally, we get an actual instrumental, "Jammin' For Stevie," with Charlie and Brad Paisley trading well-considered, enterprising guitar stunts, proving that Southern Rock can still be more than a museum. Nice vapor trails and aftervibes to end the album on a peak; as Paisley would say, it (and at least 60 %of the CD) is "time well wasted," to say the least. (I'm under-rating a little, in honor of Charlie's currently evident allegiance to "Always leave 'em wanting more.") PS: listening to a song on the radio: haven't quite yet got who's doing what to whom, but it's a quietly shapely tune, passing through stoned beauty, way under the saucer, under the formica tabletop, in the slightly blurred, burred chorus, the soothing monotony, and Paul Newman's just met Piper Laurie, they're sitting in a booth in a bar in the gray daylight, and he's watching her talk just a little too carefully, as she gets wasted (he's trained to watch people, no matter what). Although she's dedicated to getting her courage up, stoned song baby's been there done there. ("Morphine" something, by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, on a live broadcast; they're always better live, breathing better, reaching, finding an audience in front of them, and something else I can't see, can Paul? Does it and how does it matter, considering what will happen? It makes some kind of difference, differences, to the audience, while the scene continues, and sometimes after the show's over)(ebba debba th-th-th-that's all foldkz!)

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  ¶ 2/02/2008