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The Resentments
Four Aces: Bruton, Hughes, Newcomb and Graham. Photograph by Todd V. Wolfson.
Sunday Evening Coming Down (page 3)

No Depression
BY JOE NICK PATOSKI
March-April 2004

EARLY ONE Saturday evening, Scrappy Jud Newcomb, the hardest-working Resentment of them all, and who Graham describes as the "sponge" of the band, was holed up in his South Austin apartment, the seven-days-a-week all-night worker without a gig. He wasn't complaining. The rare night off allowed him to indulge in his second-most favorite activity, listening to records, which in this case meant analyzing an obscure ballad by Billy Stewart, whose stuttering interpretation of "Summertime" was a top-4O pop hit back in the '60s.

Tall and strapping, rather than scrawny and scrappy, the 35-year-old tried to point out with some pride that he actually took enough time early in the day to put a coat of paint on one wall of his small kitchen. But the sloppy paint job might not be the best way to demonstrate to others that he has an outside life. In fact, he shouldn't bother. The evidence around him, from the crates brimming with vinyl, CDs, tapes and books that are piled up around his living room, to the glass bottleneck on the coffee table, to the mandolin he cradled and plinked while conversing, suggest he's all about music.

He didn't like talking about his past too much, though he allowed his mother and father's roots were in Mississippi, that he was mentored by Casper Rawls, Rich Brotherton and Champ Hood, and that he's played with the Atlantics soul revue, Loose Diamonds, Walter Tragert, Beaver Nelson, Toni Price, and Ian McLagan.

"I'm kind of superstitious that way," he says. At one point, he couldn't listen to a National Public Radio program on the radio before a show, reasoning the even, measured voices were the antithesis of what he was trying to achieve when he played. Too much mellow would harsh his buzz.

He said he's always been drawn to what he describes as trance music - Muddy Waters recordings from the 1950s, the Stones' classic work in the '70s around the time of Sticky Fingers, music from Jamaica since it was first made - music that could create "this tense atmosphere that could change the way the room looked."

The Resentments do that to him, Newcomb says. "A lot of my education is playing every Sunday, having something click and realized by a melodic passage or a chord change. It's everything I imagined a band could be after I saw The Last Waltz, never mind that I later learned from Levon Helm's book that the movie wasn't the way it was. For me, it's like the Knights of the Round Table with the Resentments."

BRUCE HUGHES opened the door to his brightly painted wood-frame home on a tree-shaded block of East Second Street,

John Treanor - Mambo
Not Forgotton You: Mambo John Treanor. Photograph by Carlos San Miguel.
a stone's throw from 1-35 and Austin's central business district, long enough to hold it open before he headed back into the kitchen, stepping around and over recording equipment scattered about. He was grinding beans for a midday cup of a rare Kona blend coffee from Hawaii. He really didn't need it because he was already chattering away at the speed of light. He just likes the taste.

As the bassist for Bob Schneider projects Lonelyland and the Scabs (and before that the Ugly Americans), Hughes tends to be absent more frequently than any other Resentment, but never so long to be considered a candidate for replacing. "It's better to be too busy than not busy enough," he reasoned.

Slight, curly haired and constantly animated, he was the last piece to the Resentments puzzle, "the fourth corner of the square" as Graham put it. An Austin native music animal if there ever was one, he grew up on the northeast side of the city, started performing at 13, and has never looked back. "I thought every town was like this," he says. "When I first heard 'Smoke On The Water' coming out of a garage, I assumed Deep Purple lived on Corona Street."

His resume includes "everybody for five minutes" from the punk/new-wave scene, a stretch with the punk-funk band Skank, and time with Arthur Brown and Jimmy Carl Black, Dr. John (for two weeks), Cracker (for nine and a half months), and True Believers, in addition to his aforementioned tenure in Poi Dog Pondering.

"Every bandleader has always given me grief - 'Why aren't you committed?' I am committed," he says. When Hughes, 42, finally got the "black feather we sent him in the mail," as Graham describes it, he thought he was ready. "I had Sundays off, but it was daunting. There was

a lot of intensity. The players were high-caliber. But I'm a quick study. Everything about the Resentments was on the fly: no rehearsals, no charts. After a month, I knew all the material. Then I was hooked. It took me a year before I started to bring in songs of my own."

The payoff is "getting to play with the best players in town who play for the sake of the song. I don't want to shred. Being able to get that feeling of being in the right place at the right time in the right universe - that's what I'm in it for. The feeling comes quick and goes quick."

JOHN CHIPMAN has what would appear to be the toughest role in the band, sitting in Mambo John Treanor's drum chair.

The Resentments
Outside Your Door: Newcomb, Hughes, Chipman, Bruton and Graham. Photograph by Carlos San Miguel.
"When you heard him playing, he had this unmistakable voice in his playing, "Chipman remembers. "You could literally cut his body in half. One half would be swinging and the other half would be playing straight time. The entire band had to follow his groove.

"It's an honor being Mambo's sub," Chipman said on the phone from Houston, where he was visiting future in-laws and shopping for an engagement ring at a gem and mineral show. The 35-year-old San Angelo native with a music degree from the University of Oklahoma (specialty: marimba) moved to Austin in 1993 and started playing a number of $25-a-night pickup gigs while working days for Tommy Robertson of Tommy's Drum Shop. "He taught me enough at his factory that I built my own drum kit," Chipman says.

He eventually racked up road miles with George DeVore and Marcia Ball before taking stock of what he wanted to do. "After Marcia, I didn't pick up sticks for four months," he recalls. "One Saturday night, my phone rang. It was Stephen. I'd gone to Resentments shows over the previous weeks. Mambo used to bring his washboard to George's gigs, and a couple times toward the end, I came to help set up his drums for him. He was too weak. A month after he died, Stephen asked if I'd come out. He'd tried two or three different guys and it wasn't working out.

"I asked Stephen when he wanted to get together. He said, 'Tomorrow night, Saxon Pub. You know the drill, no rehearsal, lots of ridicule. Show up at 7.' I had nothing to hear. NO CDs to listen to. I was probably tentative. But you play what you play. Stephen said, 'Don't worry, if we don't like what you're doing, we'll tell you.' That was two years ago last December."

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