Carved from the same mould that once produced old skool folk firebrands like Pete Seeger and Phil Ochs, Indiana native OTIS GIBBS has spent decades walking it like he talks it. Prior to eking out a living from music, he did crummy jobs aplenty (flipping burgers, freezing half to death planting trees in Indiana) and he’s since experienced the kind of nomadic existence most of us couldn’t conjure up in our wildest dreams. If you don’t believe me, check his CV: it includes stints walking with nomadic shepherds in Romania and even wrestling a bear. He lost the bout, apparently, but – unlike Timothy Treadwell – he lived to tell the tale.
Despite the best efforts of our ursine cousins, Gibbs has gradually pieced together one of the most consistent Roots/ Americana-related back catalogues out there. Now (relatively) settled in East Nashville with long-term partner Amy Lashley, he set up his own Wanamaker imprint a few years back and has since released several fabulous albums. W&H caught up with him properly with 2008’s superb ‘Grandpa Walked A Picket Line’ and 2010’s ‘Joe Hill’s Ashes’ wasn’t far behind.
‘Harder Than Hammered Hell’ is Gibbs’ seventh album and once again it’s a wow from wall to wall. However, unlike the rather downhome, intimate ‘Joe Hill’s Ashes’, this one’s got a more defined group identity to it. Rhythm section Mark Fain (bass) and Paul Griffith (drums) provide the supple backbone, while long-time acolyte Thom Jutz supplies the perfect combination of muscle and guile on lead guitar.
Their tight’ n’ just-right sound is the ideal vehicle for Gibbs’ emotive, blue collar songs. It summons the ghost of Creedence Clearwater Revival on ‘The Land of Maybe’ and the defiant ‘Dear Misery’ (“you’re never gonna make me beg”) which has more than a hint of swampy ‘Born on the Bayou’ territory about it. Elsewhere, trucker’s anthem ‘Detroit Steel’ beats with the same restless heart that inspired Tony Joe White’s evergreen ‘Detroit Steel’ and the light-hearted talking blues ‘Big Whiskers’ (about failing to snag an elusive catfish rather than a paean to Gibbs’ enormous beard) wouldn’t have disgraced Johnny Cash or Townes Van Zandt.
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However, while Gibbs clearly respects his folk-roots heritage, his songs are firmly rooted in the hard, unrepentant modern age. Showing off Gibbs’ nicotine and firewater rasp to a T, opener ‘Never Enough’ (“sometimes I give it all I got, sometimes I give a little more”) is one of his patented odes to keeping on keeping on regardless of the odds, while ‘Christ Number Three’ and – especially – the heartbreakingly plaintive ‘Made to Break’ (“I once knew a man who claimed he could handle everything the world threw his way/ there was no such hope, he was swingin’ from a rope/ seems he couldn’t take another day”) speak of increasingly crazy times and frightened folk trying (and failing) to stare down local apocalypses.
Crucially, though, while Gibbs’ songs paint resonantly vivid pictures of the marginalised, the weird and the forgotten, they are usually leavened with hope and grace. Sweetened by Amy Lashley’s vocal foil and Jutz’s sublime guitar embroidery, ‘Broke And Restless’ yearns for the innocence and gentleness of childhood (“life was slow and troubles were few”), while the strong, poignant ‘Don’t Worry Kid’ (“there’s nothing wrong with you that you can’t work out...we’re all filled with doubt”) rightly celebrates the individual’s right to be different. And three cheers for that.
With its title referring to his back-breaking days as a tree-planter in Indiana, ‘Harder Than Hammered Hell’ pulls few punches. It’s been around the block more times than most and vividly bears the scars, yet it’s still aware, concerned and capable of melting the hardest of hearts out there. At the very least it’s another fabulous Otis Gibbs album, but it could just be the very best yet.
Otis Gibbs online
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