By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
Roger Clyne obviously didn't like the prospect of forever being cast as the smirking musical bard who fronted the Refreshments. That, more than anything, may explain both the faults and the merits of the debut album from his new band, the Peacemakers.
It's two albums, actually: Honky Tonk Union, a studio disc, and Real to Reel, a limited-edition live album. Still gun shy from the Refreshments' experience with Mercury Records, they decided to mix, produce and distribute the project themselves.
For the most part, Honky Tonk Union is a surprisingly strong and mature collection. Its songs branch off in new directions without completely abandoning the old Refreshments formula.
That's the good news. The bad news is that the record as a whole lacks a sonic and vocal punch.
The Refreshments had a diehard fan base, but were unfairly lambasted by critics because they: a) came from Tempe, b) sounded like the Gin Blossoms or c) wore shorts onstage. The reviews that actually focused on the music found them too cheeky or bereft of the "heavy" thought-provoking and emotional content that critics like to harp about.
But the band was tight, and with Clyne's ebullient vocal charisma and the sheer infectiousness of the songs, they were able to convert even the most reluctant listener. So, despite the highbrow resistance, the Refreshments sold a ton of records. By extension, Roger Clyne's unmatched fan dedication makes the Peacemakers virtually critic-proof.
Not surprisingly, the band is musically impressive. And they should be -- they've had more than a year of constant gigs. Drummer P.H. Naffah, the other Refreshments alum, is splendid, whether crashing through the cymbals on "Never Thought" or showing admirable restraint on softer country-tinged affairs like "Green & Dumb." Newcomer Danny White's rich tones and liquid bass lines complement the rhythm as well as augment the guitars.
Clyne's biggest coup in putting together the band was snagging two of the city's most distinctive guitarists, Scott Johnson and Steve Larson. Johnson's smooth, almost blithe picking is perfectly suited for Clyne's new direction, as is his ability to seamlessly alternate between styles and sounds. Although Johnson handles most of the lead duties on the studio record, Larson manages to pick and choose spots for his patented, soulful crunch.
"Beautiful Disaster" is the first and strongest track of Honky Tonk Union. Against a backdrop of thick rhythm and sinewy guitar lines, Clyne paints a broad canvas full of Springsteenesque imagery:
"Take the wheel the highway's clear/I got the throttle now, baby you steer/Let's squeeze every drop out of this machine/. . . Till this god damn rig can't run no faster/Baby, ain't we a beautiful disaster?"
Clyne has always proved successful at appropriating elements of the big, anthemic themes that Springsteen (and to a lesser extent, Tom Petty) specializes in without sounding derivative. Here, Clyne pays homage to the Boss in a much more direct manner, even nicking "Born to Run's" chord changes for the song's pre-chorus. With a respectful wink and nod, Clyne and company also lift the familiar glockenspiel bells from "Born to Run" to erase any doubt about the song's source.
The band quickly pulls off the interstate for the dusty byways of "West Texas Moon," "Honky Tonk Union" and "Tell Yer Momma." The songs have a decidedly country bent, but Clyne still reels in listeners with instinctive pop hooks and beguiling melodies.
"City Girls" is the album's best-produced cut, layering discreet stylistic touches: the bouncy twang of the electric guitar fills; the swell of the pedal steel; the gentle strum of the acoustic; the strategically placed backing harmonies. It's a collage of sounds that recalls both the country/pop of Steve Earle and the pop/country of Nick Lowe.
Tim Rovnak's moody Hammond organ brightens a number of tracks, as do the fattening horns on "Tow Chain" and "My Heart Is a U.F.O." But, unfortunately, the group's tinkering is wasted in other spots, most noticeably with the woefully misplaced piano break on "Honky Tonk Union."
The record gets some comedy relief by way of the breezy "Jack vs. José," the tale of a desert drifter who finds himself south of the Mason-Dixon line in search of an elusive shot of tequila, and in "My Heart Is a U.F.O.," a cheatin'-song-on-peyote about extraterrestrials and government conspiracies.
"Green & Dumb" is a wistful, lilting country waltz that shows off Clyne's unabashed romanticism, self-deprecating pathos ("If I weren't so empty in the head and tied up in the tongue"), and his gift for lyrical juxtapositions ("I haunt her house from the outside").
All in all, the record is a solid product; without exception the songs are well-crafted and tuneful. Its missteps seem to be the result of Clyne trying too hard to distance himself from his past and the lack of an objective producer. But by the end of the album, it becomes fairly obvious that Clyne wants his songwriting to speak for itself without relying on any musical or vocal pyrotechnics. While that intention is admirable and reflects a growing sense of faith in his work, unfortunately, it doesn't make for a very exciting-sounding record.