Vida Wakeman grew up bohemian, with parents that traveled Europe until they settled in Munich. Jeff Burke grew up “as American suburban as you can get in the rolling hills of New Jersey,” he laughed while weathering a rainy evening in Carrollton Station. With those backgrounds, what else could Jeff and Vida do but make really good traditional country and bluegrass? Their second disc, The Simplest Things, was one of OffBeat’s Top Ten albums of 2002 on the strength of Wakeman’s voice, Burke’s instrumental accuracy, and songs that focus on an emotional nugget with almost surgical precision.
The duo moved from New York to New Orleans in 1998 with little sense of what they were getting themselves into. “We didn’t know much about New Orleans music, so it was all new,” Burke recalled “We spent all day listening to WWOZ.” “He wanted to pledge during a pledge drive,” Wakeman remembered, “and we were so broke I had to ask, ‘With what?’” While it was fun to listen to the radio and hang out at Donna’s, it wasn’t helping them find other people interested in acoustic music. After a few months of playing Neutral Grounds open mics, “we were getting ready to leave town,” Burke confessed, but then they saw Mike West at Margaritaville and things turned around. He not only helped them see there were like-minded musicians, but he also co-produced both of their albums.
Meeting Pat Flory convinced them they were in the right place. “He’s been great,” Wakeman said. As a musician and a country aficionado, he enthusiastically shared with them, and when he discovered holes in Burke’s musical education—“He knew all these great songs that he thought we should know”—he not only made them a tape, but then called a week later, asking, “How many of those songs have you learned? Are you ready to get together and play?”
The blanks Flory helped to fill in their musical backgrounds aren’t surprising because few suburban teenagers grow up loving folk and country. “I was into classic rock,” Burke admitted, but he and Wakeman shared an affection for Bob Dylan, and tracing his roots backward led to Doc Watson and for Burke, a trip to the Philadelphia Folk Festival. “I was with a family, and after hearing music all day, we went back to the camp and sat up playing and drinking beer all night,” he remembered. “I liked how it was a musical thing and a social thing.”
These days, it’s also a traveling thing for Burke, Wakeman, and bass player Mike Kerwin as they’re on the road an average of 20 days a month, logging miles in a van whose sliding door slides off with disconcertingly little provocation. That has caused their education to continue because, as Burke admitted, “I wasn’t a car guy before, but I’m becoming one.”
SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST DIARY
Day Zero: I went by the OffBeat office before leaving and had a packet of press clippings from Beatle Bob. I have regularly mocked his attention-starved antics—and see no reason to stop now—but I admire his nerve in this case.
Day One: After a quick dinner, I see the end of a Drive-By Truckers set at an afternoon party. The three-guitar Southern rock sounds less mannered live, and “Hell No, I Ain’t Happy” is an anthem-in-waiting. That was sufficiently satisfying for me to want an—ahem—second helping at a midnight showcase, but first I saw Inner, an L.A. pop band whose songs seemed to swell into beautiful things instead of moving along the traditional verse/chorus axis. After them, Motorway showed how compelling the verse/chorus axis can be, and with each gig they make the songs from their recent album sound more and more alive without losing melodic and textural hooks. Around the corner from that gig, Supagroup was Supagroup, if at first a speedy Supagroup. The house was packed and those that hadn’t seen them before walked out sweaty and in love.
The night ended with a Drive-By Truckers set that was the highlight of SXSW. Like Supagroup, they love and understand their genre, and like Supagroup, the genre provides a platform. Supagroup is as much about rock ‘n’ roll as it is rock ‘n’ roll, while Patterson Hood uses Southern rock to explore southern-ness, and in both cases, the beauty is that they rock.
Day Two: I began at the Convention Center, where John Sinclair performed in the trade show hall. Without a band, his performance was just another reading and felt like an opportunity missed. Letting people hear the grooves Andre Williams helped him develop for Fattening Frogs for Snakes would have been more compelling. From there, a friend and I went to the Spin party, where we saw the Black Keys. I can imagine this two-man band’s dirtyass take on the blues blowing people away in the right room on the right night, but in the daytime, only Ralph Carney’s nasty, Shepplike guest spot on “Have Love, Will Travel” stopped me cold.
. . . and here my troubles began. On the street, I had my first Beatle Bob sighting of SXSW. He was talking to someone and I kept moving, but the jinx was on and little else worked after that. Quasi played an afternoon party, but this two-person band—Where have all the bass players gone?—with Elton John melodies and dubious harmonies reminded me that sometime “indie” is code for “can’t play.” Later I recalled that “stoner rock” can be code for “can’t write” while seeing Honky and Puny Humans. Suplecs and Supagroup were supposed to be playing, but the afternoon schedule was an early casualty. The dull-witted plodding of these bands really made me appreciate the subtle grooves Danny Nix and Andy Preen embed in Suplecs’ songs.
The night? A glum Norwegian band (or is that redundant?), a Japanese band whose singers couldn’t sing in either Japanese or English, and Rock City Morgue. Their glammy hard rock sounded great, and the swift interplay between guitarists Rhoades D’Ablo and Johnny Hotwheels was a big part of that. Why haven’t I noticed that in New Orleans? Why do Motorway and Suplecs sound better out of town? Could the number of dubious P.A.s in New Orleans have something to do with it? Selling New Orleans’ funky vibe is good, but selling its good music is better. After that, I quit. I fought the night, and the night won.
Day Three: After a wander through Flatstock II, a show of rock ‘n’ roll poster art, I realized rock art is just as clichéd as the music it hypes. Then I spent the afternoon leaning against the bar at the Continental Club with college basketball on the TV behind the bar and cool bands on the stage. One, the Hustlers, had now-ubiquitous dancing girls shift about drugily to hard garage rock, while the King Conjure Combo played the country/soul/pop songs Elvis would have done in the early ’70s if he wasn’t in aesthetic freefall. The afternoon turned sublime when Jon Dee Graham set beautiful, sincere songs in arrangements that celebrated the power and beauty of the electric guitar. Mojo Nixon closed the afternoon show, and while I appreciate the way he’s made rock ‘n’ roll a platform for political and social commentary, I was surprised the set didn’t deal more pointedly with the war.
That night, I opted for comfort music over exploration and pursuit of the “buzz band.” Sally Timms of the Mekons shared a bill with Kelly Hogan, and both sang like angels, though in Timms’ case, the most bitterly funny angel. They were followed by the Meat Purveyors, whose punky bluegrass really caught me for the first time, perhaps because their chops have improved. From there, I dashed to see Tim Easton, whose Break Your Mama’s Heart is really tuneful folk-rock, but the room ate up his voice and I couldn’t hear a thing. After that, more Jon Dee Graham, more Drive-By Truckers, and the Waco Brothers, featuring Jon Langford from the Mekons approaching country the way the Clash handled reggae. Political, drunken and hard, it was an excellent way to finish a weekend. Then, when I realized I had gone another Beatle Bob-less day, I thought this might have been the best SXSW day ever.
COMING ATTRACTIONS
The Ponderosa Stomp at the Mid-City Lanes April 29, 30 and May 1: As far as I’m concerned, this is the real Jazz Fest. For three nights, a Who’s Who of traditional blues, rock and soul will play, and if last year’s event was any indication, the appeal is only occasionally the abstract idea that you’re seeing legends. Tony Jo White was brilliant last year, as was the reunion of players from Cosimo Matassa’s studio. Me, I want to see James Blood Ulmer playing with Jamaaladeen Tacuma and G. Calvin Weston, and I’m curious about who will be a part of Sun Ra’s Arkestra, and how it will fit into the schedule each night.
Amerigo at the Howlin’ Wolf May 17: Singer Matt Martin has worn Jeff Buckley on his sleeve, but this CD release party will feature a rawer side of Amerigo than they have previously shown. At the show, the CD will be free.
