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The Gourds don't make bad records, and you'd be hard pressed to find a more consistently dynamic live act. That said, their latest is considerably less rough and ready than earlier albums, hewing closer to Steve Earle and Pogues than their customary hayseed punk-grass. It's bound to happen to any band that's been playing for over a decade, it happened to the Ramones for God's sake, the wild hair of youth is trimmed back in favor of something more elegant, polished, professional. That's not necessarily a bad thing, just different.
For many folks, myself included, it was their inspired, free-range cover of Snoop Dogg's "Gin and Juice" that first brought the Gourds into focus. An epic juxtaposition of West Coast and Southern party cultures, it remains one of THE cover tunes of the past decade. But almost immediately following this blip on the pop culture radar, they delved into much denser material on their third album, Ghosts of Hallelujah, and it's been a steady burrow into thicker, more complex song forms ever since. This may be in part the presence of former Wilco-er Max Johnston, who joined with Ghosts and has steadily pushed things in this direction.
Blood Of The Ram is far and away their deepest, most varied slice of home cookin' yet. Sure, their voices are still as southern as collard greens and grits, but now they also croon like '60s pop stars on "Escalade" and "Turd In My Pocket," which may be one of the strangest pairings of fecal imagery and sweet delivery on record. Penny-whistles and gliding fiddles trot along like a fine country breeze. The title track channels Johnny Cash in the best of ways, and the real standout is "On Time," a spirit-lifting workingman's anthem in the tradition of the band's "Rugged Roses." Throughout, they continue to distinguish themselves as some of the strangest lyricists around, especially within the 'twang genre.
This may well be the album that gets them across with the Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch crowd. There's a part of me, and I'd guess a few others, who miss their sloppy, wild side, the one that felt like they just plugged in and played without worrying about what might come out. This is more rehearsed, which yields greater nuances, which ultimately are what brings one back again and again to burrow down along with the boys.
Dennis Cook
JamBase | California
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