Tony Peyser's "Blue State Jukebox"

March 17, 2005

Ronny Elliott’s "Valentine Roadkill"

Review by Tony Peyser

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I imagine that more than a few of you were fans of The Coen Brothers’ screwy 1998 comedy, The Big Lebowski. I only wish there had been more of the drawling, endearing, cowpoke narrator who seemed to pop up in the drug-addled imagination of Jeff Bridges’ aging stoner. Well, if you combine that Western guy who was called The Stranger, Johnny Cash and a really cool pop culture professor, you may just wind up Mr. Ronny Elliott. He’s in his fifties and has always been obsessed with American music that exploded in the Forties. As soon as you hear him sing a few words, you’ll always remember his raspy, dusty and quirky voice.

Elliott has made a half-dozen or so albums. I’ve heard four of them, reviewed two of them and loved all of them. His latest is Valentine Roadkill and it purrs like an old Chevy that just got the hell tuned out of it. Elliott lives in Tampa and is one of those unpretentious fellows who plants his two feet on the ground and serves up that three-chords-and-the-truth thing that anybody who loves real music will respond to. His sound is a mix of country, folk and blues where the colors bleed together and are always ragged around the edges. More than anything else, Elliott’s a born storyteller and some of his topics are so startling, you can’t believe he pulled it off. It’s like watching a magician do a card trick blindfolded. Some years ago, he wrote “Room 100,” a love song about the ghastly end of the John & Yoko of punk: Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen. I didn’t much care for Sid or Nancy but the song is achingly beautiful.

On Valentine Roadkill, Elliott has an equally touching gem, “Walk To The End Of The World.” It sounds like something that The Flatlanders from Lubbock might have once had on their set list. The title suggests the kind of vast terrain one would willingly cross for the love of their life. Natty Moss-Bond’s help on the vocals really shines and puts front-and-center the fragile bonds between men and women. If you have someone special in your life, play this for them. If you don’t, get off the damn computer, get out more and start meeting people.

The flip side of relationships emerges in the fourth track about a romance that went way South: “I’ve cried more tears in these last few years/Than I have since I was a kid/I’d tear this heart out of my chest/But you already did.” (Yes, the song is called “You Already Did.”) I’ve reviewed lots of singer-songwriters but they aren’t all poets. This song alone proves that Elliott sure as hell is. Moss-Bonds’ harmonizing here is so gentle, it’s almost like she’s not really singing but Elliott’s just hearing her in his head.

Elliott’s political views are on display in both “No More War” and “I Don’t Hear Freedom Ring Anymore.” In the former, he argues, “With the Koran in their hands and Allah in their hearts/We should have no more war/When the righteous rise up and arm themselves with love/Peace and freedom will soar.” In the latter, Elliott points out, “We drop bombs in the name of Jesus/While the seasons swiftly roll/Coin the term ‘collateral damage’/To describe a human toll/If you raise your voice to express another choice/They’ll brand you a traitor and more/I don’t hear freedom ring anymore.”

I’m not recommending this but if you ever sneaked into Elliott’s house, woke him up in the middle of the night and asked him to please play one of his songs, I think he’d grab his guitar and probably launch into “When Idols Fall.” Why? Because it speaks to so many of his core beliefs. Elliott talks, sings and drops some serious cultural history on you about some folks who’ve seriously inspired him. With a loving but honest eye, he chronicles the lives of hipster stand-up Lord Buckley, country music legend Hank Williams and Beat Generation guru Jack Kerouac. Elliott mixes these sagas up musically with a sly combination of electric guitar and banjo. Like his romantic songs, his heart breaks for these huge talents who had gaping holes in their souls.

Finally, there’s a truly memorable “hidden” 14th track. I had to get in touch with Elliott because he didn’t even bother to give it a name on the album. He got all “aw shucks” on me and said it was just a bunch a babbling. I politely disagreed. Elliott then admitted he did actually have a title for it: “The Third Coming.” I don’t want to spoil it for you but let’s just say that Elliott hung out with Jesus for a little while and gives us the skinny. I will, however, divulge that The Son Of God is a big fan of Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers.

One last thing: remember that cowboy narrator I mentioned from The Big Lebowski who reminds me of Ronny? The splendid actor who played him is Sam ... Elliott. Déjà vu all over again, eh?

Now that you’ve had the main musical course, I also have some tasty side dishes.

I have always loved listening to covers where one singer records a song that somebody else wrote. It’s the way the music community reaches out to each other, acknowledges shared roots and gives a friendly tip of the hat. I finally realized the best way to characterize this process: it’s all about transportation. Everybody knows how the song’s going to wind up. It’s just a question of what kind of vehicle the singer is going to be hopping behind the wheel of to get the job done.

This became abundantly clear in two versions of an instant classic called “Choctaw Bingo.” It was written in 2002 by James McMurty whose Dad (good guess) is novelist Larry McMurtry. He recorded it for the second time last year on Live In Aught Four. The rambling, goofball song is over eight minutes long and tells the story of a souped-up, down-home, deep-fried, white trash, Red State road trip: “Strap them kids in/Give ‘em a lil’ bit of vodka/In a Cherry Coke/We’re goin’ to Oklahoma/To the family reunion …” The folks we hear about along the way include moonshiners, meth dealers, Asian brides, slackers and bikers. McMurtry’s non-studio version is a beat-up pick-up kicking up dirt on back roads under full a moon.

McMurtry later went into the studio to back fellow Texan Ray Wylie Hubbard on his “Choctaw Bingo” cover for this year’s Delirium Tremolos. Before putting it on, I thought: how the hell can you top McMurtry’s version? Hubbard didn’t even try to: he just picked a different vehicle. A big-ass 16-wheeler, if you must know. The guitars clang and grind on this choogling interpretation that feels like it’s driven on the interstate by a driver pumped up on Visine and Benzedrine. It has such raw power, it could plow through three police roadblocks without breaking a taillight. Both songs show that there are still people out there who know how to play this old school rock and roll game. “Choctaw Bingo” is one of the greatest songs that Neil Young never wrote. In last month’s column, I mentioned Gurf Morlix and said it wouldn’t be the last you heard his name in this space. He produced (and played guitar with McMurty) on Hubbard’s churning cover.

Crank it up.

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Tony Peyser writes political poems every day for BuzzFlash and draws editorial cartoons twice weekly. His new music column, The Blue State Jukebox, is now a monthly feature for BuzzFlash. Mr. Peyser (who loves referring to himself in the third person) is
shamelessly using BuzzFlash as a springboard to help him land his dream job: becoming the new Washington Bureau Chief for Talon News.