This reviewer has long been spouting a theory about the more depressed an area being, then the greater chance of mind-bendingly brilliant Rock'n'Roll crawling from the wreckage of it. Take Detroit for instance. Never a stranger to poverty or social unrest, of course, it's also acted as the launch pad for some of the most seismic music ever committed to tape as likes of Stooges, MC5, White Stripes, Dirtbombs, Soledad Brothers, Muggs and countless more can attest.
Also hailing from these precarious Michigan environs are THE DEADSTRING BROTHERS. Or at least 50% of the band, in the shape of singer/ songwriter Kurt Marschke and drummer E.Travis Harrett. However, since 2006, they've been rocking a Transatlantic look with the arrival of multi-instrumentalist Spencer Cullum and his bass-playing bro' Jeff and with their devastatingly fine new album 'Sao Paolo', The Deadstring Brothers are proud to present the fruits of this superb, continent-straddling line-up.
The remarkable thing about The Deadstrings is that they have distilled a near-perfect blend of Southern soul and Northern grit with 'Sao Paulo.' It's a record drenched in the louche, gutbucket grooves of The Stones' 'Exile on Main Street' and prime Black Crowes, with a chaser of Wilco's 'Being There' for good measure and it could eat Primal Scream for breakfast. Well, if there are any solids in there to temper the taste of the Sour Mash, that is.
The album crawls out of its' blackened emotional hole courtesy of the title track, which veers from its' Missisippi-bound National steel guitar intro to a gigantic, slow-medium groove which oozes imperious Country-Rock-Blues all over the place. Marschke sings with a gruff, imploring intensity that has one keen eye on redemption and the other on that all-pervasive desire for oblivion. Indeed, you can almost taste the darkness when he sings "feel my end, Lord, is growin' close...smell of death in my nose."
From there on, the album simply sweats, snorts and spews Rock'n'Roll in its' purest, raggedy-assed form. Songs like 'Smile', the battered'n'bruised 'It's A Shame' and the Muscle Shoals-style majesty of the hip-shakin' 'Houston' raise the ghosts of lost genii past (Spencer Cullum's elegant, Paul Kossoff-style guitar on 'Smile' and the groovy, Ian Stewart piano boogie on 'Houston') yet The Deadstring Brothers immerse themselves so deeply in the authenticity that they easily transcend mere pastiche.
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And nowhere more so than when they slow it down and let the hurt simply bleed from the pores of these cracked, melancholic songs of theirs. Songs like 'Can't Make It Through The Night', the sozzled, but dignified Flying Burritos-style action of 'Yesterday's Style and the the classic, Mississippi-blackened country-blues balladry of the closing 'Always a Friend of Mine' are among the show-stoppers and there's rarely a dry eye in the house when any of them wind down.
OK, they can occasionally over-reach themselves. 'Adalee' tries very hard to be the Deadstrings' very own 'Angie', but despite the accordions, tremulous piano and fiddle, it's just too sentimental to register. There again, it's soon kicked into touch by the T-Rex-ian groove and slamming, Bonham-ish drumming of the ensuing 'River Song', so all is quickly forgiven on all fronts and then the glorious steel and Benmont Tench-style organ playing on 'It's A Shame' come along the ram the points home.
'Sao Paulo' is a convincing and frequently sublime listen. It marks the point where the tough blacktop surface of the Motor City interstate gives way to the rural scenery of the South, yet the juxtaposition is so skilful you barely feel it, except to notice that you're enjoying every second of the ride. For all that, there are always emotional bumps with The Deadstring Brothers, so I'd suggest you stay belted up for the road ahead.
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