Deer Tick “Spend the Night”
from War Elephant (Feow!)
western sizzler //Out Sept 09 7.0
On his first real-label (not just for the club’s merch table) release, Deer Tick is
singer-songwriter/multi-instrumentalist John McCauley times his colleagues,
Natural Baldwin & The Bohemians, who are called on for close-mic’d upright
bass, vintage Rhodes electric piano, electric violin, and various percentages
of percussion. They stand and deliver, in the strumming, picking, sometimes
shredding and howling, sinning and spinning dustbowl echoes of Mr. McCauley’s
hurtling heart. Although he’s based in Providence, Rhode Island (which is, after
all, the ancient home of orbiting obsessives like Six-Finger Satellite, Les Savy
Fav, and The Sheila Divine), McCauley sounds naturally hell- and heaven-bent
on a Wild West quest. At 20, he’s already far down a road that forks like lightning
scars, right through scenes, sensations, intersections of rising and falling, strung
together by determination and despair, cooked rare, as they’re pierced by his voice.
singer-songwriter/multi-instrumentalist John McCauley times his colleagues,
Natural Baldwin & The Bohemians, who are called on for close-mic’d upright
bass, vintage Rhodes electric piano, electric violin, and various percentages
of percussion. They stand and deliver, in the strumming, picking, sometimes
shredding and howling, sinning and spinning dustbowl echoes of Mr. McCauley’s
hurtling heart. Although he’s based in Providence, Rhode Island (which is, after
all, the ancient home of orbiting obsessives like Six-Finger Satellite, Les Savy
Fav, and The Sheila Divine), McCauley sounds naturally hell- and heaven-bent
on a Wild West quest. At 20, he’s already far down a road that forks like lightning
scars, right through scenes, sensations, intersections of rising and falling, strung
together by determination and despair, cooked rare, as they’re pierced by his voice.
Ah, that voice. The press sheet for War Elephant invokes McCauley’s studies
of Neil Young, Townes Van Zandt, and Richie Valens, but he’s also, in effect,
the improbable sonic heir of Roky Erickson. McCauley’s never far from the
way Erickson usually sings “Cold Night For Alligators,” in which one of R.E.’s
folkier-rolling tunes meets his acid-punk-metal vocal mode (rather than the
mellower tones he more often employs for such ballads). McCauley’s atomic
tonsils can also evoke Erickson’s fellow mid-60s upstarts, like Mouse of Mouse
And
The Traps, ? of ? And The Mysterians, and Eddie Hinton: McCauley’s got
their kind of buzzing yowl, but above all, he matches it the way Erickson
(at best) does, to clarity of diction, pitch, and eye-rolling soul. Soul that finds its
own way through whatever contortions may happen in the middle of Erickson’s
and McCauley’s verses. Not that this crispy Deer Tick critter seems singed by
any drugs stronger than youth, women, religion, tedium, or music.
of Neil Young, Townes Van Zandt, and Richie Valens, but he’s also, in effect,
the improbable sonic heir of Roky Erickson. McCauley’s never far from the
way Erickson usually sings “Cold Night For Alligators,” in which one of R.E.’s
folkier-rolling tunes meets his acid-punk-metal vocal mode (rather than the
mellower tones he more often employs for such ballads). McCauley’s atomic
tonsils can also evoke Erickson’s fellow mid-60s upstarts, like Mouse of Mouse
And
The Traps, ? of ? And The Mysterians, and Eddie Hinton: McCauley’s got
their kind of buzzing yowl, but above all, he matches it the way Erickson
(at best) does, to clarity of diction, pitch, and eye-rolling soul. Soul that finds its
own way through whatever contortions may happen in the middle of Erickson’s
and McCauley’s verses. Not that this crispy Deer Tick critter seems singed by
any drugs stronger than youth, women, religion, tedium, or music.
The press sheet also reports that McCauleyforthrightly digs Sammy Davis Jr.,
Tony Bennett,and the sometimes-hideous-early-Bowie-“inspiration" Anthony
Newley, and dang if young McC. doesn’t actually redeem Newley’s
“What Kind Of Fool Am I,” as the blasted sand settles into afterglow of
well-earned modesty, after 13 rigorously self-scribed epic epitaphs on
healthy teeth.
Tony Bennett,and the sometimes-hideous-early-Bowie-“inspiration" Anthony
Newley, and dang if young McC. doesn’t actually redeem Newley’s
“What Kind Of Fool Am I,” as the blasted sand settles into afterglow of
well-earned modesty, after 13 rigorously self-scribed epic epitaphs on
healthy teeth.
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