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Sunday Evening Coming Down (page 2)
The Resentments
Where's Bruton? Hughes, Graham and Newcomb. Photograph by Todd V. Wolfson.

No Depression
BY JOE NICK PATOSKI
March-April 2004

YOU COULD DESCRIBE the Resentments as an Austin-scale version of the Mike Bloomfield/Al Kooper/Steve Stills Supersession group hatched in the late '60s, four decades later - a reason for three guitarists from varying backgrounds to get together, play, and show what they know.

But I sure won't. To compare them to that diminishes the breadth and scope these guys cover. The bassist brings songs to the table too, and they're pushed by an exceptional drummer, John Chipman, who used to set up Mambo's kit and managed to replace the drummer who couldn't be replaced, the guy who gave this weekly gathering meaning and purpose.

They sure didn't hype it. Everyone has enough work to sustain their chosen career paths as musicians, thank you, and digs what they do for a living. Still, comparisons to everyone from Crosby, Stills & Nash to the Traveling Wilburys, the Texas Tornados, the official and unofficial versions of the Outlaws, and The Band can be justified. There's more to this weekly little off-night get-together than meets the eye.

It starts with the genuine, authentic feel of the songs - collectively, this quintet carries more songwriters than any other collaborative venture in town. In this setup, their roles as sidemen are as crucial as their composing skills. Throwing a song into the ring every three or four turns that can stand up to the ones your compatriots are throwing in, and then reverting to backup role, is as hard as, if not harder than, fronting your own band for the night.

Once they get comfy on their stools, they demonstrate an exceptional grasp of the songwriting craft, a deep well of musical knowledge, and a mastery of the tricky ability to ply the tools of their trade in a listening environment and still manage to scorch the paint off any empty stools every now and then. It all wraps up neatly by 10 p.m., usually capped with a nice little fire-power drill by the three-guitar volunteer army, Graham embellishing the demonstration with searing shots of lap steel ricocheting around the room.

"People come up to me all the time and say this reminds them of Austin before there was a scene," Bruton told me.

I know I can trace the off-night tradition as far back as 1971, when Freda & the Firedogs, the group fronted by Marcia Ball that is regarded as the first bunch of longhairs in Austin who could play authentic country, held forth at the Split Rail, a no-cover joint on South Lamar that would draw spillover crowds on Sunday nights.

It's endured over the years in others forms and fashions: Blue Mondays with Storm at the One Knite, the Tuesday Night Cobra Club at Soap Creek, Tuesdays at Liberty Lunch with Beto y los Fairlanes, Blue Mondays with the Fabulous Thunderbirds at the Rome Inn, Tex Thomas' Sunday night services at Hut's, the Scabs at Antone's on Tuesdays, Toni Price's Tuesday early-evening Hippie Hours at the Continental. None, however, started quite so accidentally or blew up into something so substantial that it created a band, a real band.

The Resentments
There he is: Stephen Bruton. Photograph by Todd V. Wolfson.

I was already familiar with a lot of the Resentments' individual histories. I've known Bruton since high school in Fort Worth. I actually worked with Graham when I was band manager of the True Believers, the mid-1980s rock band in which Graham, a border rat from Quemado down by the Rio Grande, played a crucial role. The True Believers' road manager and sound technician, Mike Stewart, went on to manage and produce Poi Dog Pondering, the studiously eclectic ensemble where master of quirk Bruce Hughes fit right in; his local credentials went back to bands such as Iomega and the Shades from Raul's Club punk era. The True Believers convinced a band from Ohio called the Highwaymen to move to Austin, where Troy Campbell met an eager local boy named Jud Newcomb and conspired to form Loose Diamonds. Newcomb, known locally simply as Scrappy Jud, also worked with Mambo John Treanor in Toni Price's band. And you couldn't claim to be a regular on the club circuit without Mambo having entered your life sooner or later.

But I didn't understand how or why this informal group had blown up into either a) the best band in Austin, b) the coolest regular party in town, c) the best bar band in America (according to MSNBC.com's John Schulian), or d) the Texas version of the Buena Vista Social Club.

So I paid them all a visit.

I tracked down Bruton, who at 55 is the elder of the band, to the studio/rehearsal hall/music museum behind his house, where he tried to explain it in terms we both understood. "You're from Fort Worth," he told me. "You know what it was like. You could do anything, like go from a fiddle convention with David Ferguson at the Round Up Inn to dirty blues at Mabel's Eat Shop to going to see King Curtis and Cornell Dupree over in Stop Six and not blink an eye. It was completely natural to me to listen to the Kingston Trio, the Modern Jazz Quartet and Howlin' Wolf back to back. We didn't know any better. No one knew any better. It was making music on music's terms, see what flies."

Bruton left Fort Worth as the banjo flash of the Brazos Valley Ramblers bluegrass band (at one time, he auditioned for and was offered the banjo chair in the Dillards), and as a white-hot blues player who knew his way around the juke joints. He had (co-produced, with fellow Fort Worthian T Bone Burnett, the splendidly atmospheric Robert Ealey & the Five Careless lovers album Live At The New Bluebird Nite Club (Blue Royal) in 1973, still my favorite live performance recording of all time. And he knew more about music than just about anyone because his dad (a former jazz drummer) and mom ran Record Town, a retail shop known around Fort Worth for having the deepest catalogue of jazz, blues and race music in the city.

"You'd be able to quote from things you didn't realize you knew, to cite the guitar solo on the second cut of the Seeds' first album, or that hard sax sound on Ray Charles' albums," Bruton says. "You heard 0 Brother, Where Art Thou? That came out of Record Town."

That sounds about right.

He'd started working Austin clubs in the early '70s, with his band Little Whisper & the Rumors and with Delbert McClinton, while living in Los Angeles and working as Kristofferson's guitarist. He moved permanently in 1983 after finishing his supporting role in the film A Star Is Born.

The Resentments
Marching Guitars: Jon Dee Graham (l), and Jud Newcomb, with John Chipman in the shadows. Photograph by Todd V. Wolfson.

"I realized I was making my money on the road," Bruton recalls. "I wanted to be closer to my mother, my father and my brother in Fort Worth. It was easier getting around, because it was fuckin' Texas. I loved L.A. and I still do, but I didn't want to be sitting around thinking about when I was going to be making enough money to get back to Texas."

He didn't go back to his hometown, though. "There was more going on in Austin than in Fort Worth. Musicians seemed to have more drive and ambition. It all kinda added up."

Since settling in, Bruton has built an impressive resume producing albums for Alejandro Escovedo (which earned him full credentials as a Local Hero), Chris Smither and Marcia Ball, while recording several albums of his own.

The Resentments gig was "a natural extension of what I've done for so long in sessions, gigs, playing for people big and small."

I FOUND JON DEE Graham one chilly mid-morning five blocks from his house, sitting at a table under an awning at Jo's Coffeehouse on South Congress Avenue chain-smoking American Spirits, taking contemplative sips from his latte, his pale blue eyes fixed on the traffic going by. He said he didn't have a clue why the Resentments were happening. He was somewhat preoccupied since he was on his way to a house on Rebel Road where Charlie Sexton was waiting to finish the mix on his fourth solo album, due out later this year on New West.

But Graham, 44, a hardhead for as long as I've known him, let down his armor-plated badass exterior long enough to try and put the Resentments in perspective in a curriculum vitae that includes stretches with Austin's proto-punk power trio the Skunks, several bad new wave bands, the True Believers, Lou Ann Barton, Kelly Willis, John Doe, Michelle Shocked, Simon Bonney, Ryan Hedgecock, and Calvin Russell, as well as producing Kacy Crowley and Steve Wedemeyer.

"As a musician, I've learned never to pass up an opportunity to play onstage, especially a situation where Bruton and I can jab insults back and forth," he says. "And there's some nights onstage with him that I realize at least once he is the best guitar player in America - it's hard for me to say it, but it's true. So how am I not going to play with these guys?"

It's still a goof and afterthought, he adds, and for exactly those reasons, it works. "Because of the casual nature, it becomes all about the music and the songs. Mambo and Scrappy, the thing they've turned me on to, is that music is sacred. These songs are so good, how am I able to not do it?

"There's no five-year plan. There's no record contract at the end of the rainbow .... Fortunately or unfortunately, I don't know which, it's generating interest," Graham continues, citing last year's tour of Europe as a particular point of growth for the band's profile. "The Germans are swapping bootlegs. By the end of the tour we were selling out places."

"We've built and rebuilt the most patient, willing audience possible. They're prone to listen to the songs, even though sometimes we spend more time talking than playing. Everybody is so good, we play for each other. In some ways, it's a serious head-cutting going on. Bruton makes me play outside myself. If Scrappy has a day off, he spends it learning an album like Big Pink. He's this walking catalogue of songs. Bruce will uncork a funk song that I'll play on lap steel. Bruton writes songs that have chords with numbers on them."

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