He made his first blip on the roots-rock radar as the guitarist with Green on Red, an early `90s alt-country band that fell apart just as the genre was gaining traction. Seven solo albums later, the California-bred singer-songwriter has become a bit of a critic's darling; scoring the opening slot on Lucinda Williams' tour last year certainly helped his cause. Like John Hiatt and Ron Sexsmith, Prophet's one of those not-easy-to-categorize talents whose passion for sonic experimentation has him throwing all kinds of styles into the mix. His latest CD, Age of Miracles (New West), is grounded in the same country/folk soil as his other records, but with a distinctly quasi-psychedelic vibe. Here, Prophet melds literate pop-rock with country-roots realism, wah-wah guitars, blues riffs and sometimes sandpapery vocals. Wildly divergent, yes, but wonderfully so.
One of my favorite loopy local SF characters, not to mention fine and friendly songsmith of no small renown, has been Chuck Prophet. I've known him on and off for years, from bullshitting in under the influence in the dark backrooms of bars & under the flourescence at the local copy shops, to riding rollercoasters both real and imagined... Uh, I guess you could say, what a long strange trip it's been...
Read the whole article here:
High Sierra: Chuck Prophet
"I lost control on the Miracle Mile. She had big hair and an innocent smile." There's a quite a tale hinted at in just 15 words but that kind of short-handed storytelling is the hallmark of this truly gifted singer-songwriter. With a voice full of insinuations, the twang-tastic Chuck Prophet taught the early afternoon festivarians just "What Makes The Monkey Dance."
Plying his trade with white boy funk, country nods, pure sticky pop, handkerchief grabbin' ballads and straight out barroom rockin', Prophet offered up two sets in a single Friday at High Sierra that were so well played, so well constructed, that one felt satisfied on a cellular level. Every element worked from the arrangements to the melodies to the delivery. It seems simple enough but until you actually hear somebody lay it out so well you forget how nice it is to be serenaded by a pro.
Drawing heavily from his most recent albums, Age of Miracles and No Other Love, both majorly ace platters, the band was by turns sensitive and smart-ass. One factor that separates this from the herd is an experimental fringe that keeps things lively without ever feeling premeditated or artificial. They just like screwing around with their material. That's to be commended.
What Prophet delivered in both the early evening & afternoon performances was a ringing affirmation of all the promise many of us first heard when he strapped on a guitar with Green On Red in the 1980s. He's out there doing it on stages, honing his work to a fine point that pierces things with humor & sincerity. It's a lethal combination you gotta hear with your own ears.
Chuck Prophet: No Other Love & Age Of Miracles
I'm such an asshole - read: "Music Purist" - that it's not very often I get to put on a CD and find myself, happily, saying "Oh My God" over and over again (it's usually an incredulous "Jeesus! These guys SUCK!" like I wasn't already expecting it,...) but two Chuck Prophet albums, No Other Love and Age of Miracles , made just that alternate reality possible. Not only that: this asshole was getting a "hello" from a Major Fucking Artist - singing like fucking Tom Petty - and this asshole knew it.
Blues, Rock, Country, Pop, Ballads, Beats, Strings, Harps, Samples ("You mean, I can get my favorite little rainbow sprinkles, for only $2.79 a dozen?") you name it - Chuck Prophet does it all. He strikes just the right balance, between tender and tough, and his production stays clean as a whistle - while he's, continually, taking chances - from song to song, phrase to phrase, measure to measure, and note to note. It's an amazing thing to behold. An artist in full bloom.
Of course, nobody's perfect, and Mr. Prophet is no different. For a guy that, basically, sings love songs, he does, occasionally, wander into sonic areas he's got no business (and can't get out of, like on "You Did (Bomp Shooby Dooby Bomp" and "What Makes The Monkey Dance") but, with such an accurate aim, he, probably, feels he can, naturally, go where he wants - and hopes you'll just go with him - let him drive, y'know? You should. It's an adventure, he's a professional: he'll get you back home, somehow.
"Storm Across The Sea" is probably the best example of what I like about this stuff (a guy, unpretentiously, telling us about his spitfire of a woman) it's got such a mature sound - with echoes of Petty's Heatbreakers, The Beatles, Gordon Lightfoot, Leonard Cohen, and dozens of other classic artists, wrapped up in it - but without copying any of `em. And he probably writes stuff like this in his sleep. I don't know. But I'll tell you what I do know:
If you're a young Pop Musician, you better hope you're good enough to write "Automatic Blues" when you grow up.
The unheralded Chuck, that is
With the recent fad for books dishing the French superiority complex, let's remember that no long list of transgressions is needed to prove our own cultural stupidity. Not when Chuck Prophet is a cult hero in Europe but just a rumor of a critics' fave in the United States. The San Francisco-based singer and guitarist doesn't seem too bent about the whole thing. "I'm just now getting the hang of it," he says of his relative notoriety overseas, "though sometimes it does seem like a long way to travel just to eat some smelly cheese."
What we've missed is not the mere aesthetic experience we'd expect Euros to appreciate, but rather a ton of heart and melody. Prophet's work since his 1990 solo debut is grounded in his singular approach to singer-songwriter classicism. Take the title track of 2002's No Other Love, a pit-in-your-stomach gorgeous silhouette of a ballad composed of little more than strings and Prophet's thick croon; or last year's roomy Age of Miracles, his seventh album, stuffed with literate pop-rock that manages to make use of a sampler as tunefully as it does guitar. This is music to rehabilitate the word "eclectic" from its abuse by interior decorators.
Prophet first eluded us back in ye olde 1980s, when his adolescent band Green on Red helped found LA's Paisley Underground scene. "I don't think about it much, but when I do, I have to quickly take my medication," he says of the band's decade-long run. "Some people considered Green on Red a group of juvenile buffoons—others considered us one of the greatest rock `n' roll bands in the world." Then there was "alt.country": in the late `90s, while we were we were pumping overrated Wilco, Prophet was busy putting out record after rootsy, rangy record. "How can I dis a scene that has heated debates over the best version of a Townes Van Zandt song?" the ever-philosophical tunesmith says. But Prophet doesn't deserve to have to be so good-humored in the face of indifference, and the Euros shouldn't get to gloat.
Prophet plays Friday night at the Starry Plough. Be there or be a dumb Yank.
Once during a live performance, Ryan Adams regaled the audience with a Bob Dylan tour story, introducing the story's original author, Chuck Prophet, as a "classic dude." Take Mr. Adams as you like, but that description fits Prophet perfectly. Not only does it suit the man, whose wry humor comes through in even the straightest of songs, but it also is exemplified in Prophet's seventh album, Age of Miracles, which even with its slick studio production manages to sound as classic as any classic rock. It's flat-out good music, much of which will likely sound as good years from now as it does today.
Many have long felt that the former Green on Red member has been slighted by the listening public. A generally well-reviewed artist who has steadily produced albums since his 1990 solo debut, Brother Aldo, Prophet remains in relative obscurity, despite that his sound is relatively accessible. The irony is that his albums are getting progressively better. He includes some quirky elements, such as some unusual instruments and the occasional incorporation of hip-hop-sounding beats, but he manages to pull it off with out it sounding like a shtick.
With a Clapton-esque nasal vocal delivery, Prophet croons pure pop romance in "Just to See You Smile" and "You've Got Me Where You Want Me." His quirky humor shines on the enigmatic character sketch in "Smallest Man in the World." Showing his versatility, he turns to the more sinister narrative of "West Memphis Moon," a dark, bluesy modern-day murder ballad. And he successfully explores the unrequited love a loyal friend and would-be lover in "Pin a Rose on Me": "It's the same old, sorry song and dance/ You're always good for one more chance/ You saw a light, I saw a freight train comin'/ I tried to tell you he was no damn good."
Though for someone with a reputation for guitar work, Prophet gives us little display of his prowess. He instead uses an unusual panoply of slickly layered instruments (Glockenspiel, frequently impressive pedal-steel guitar courtesy of Max Butler, harpsichord, Echoplex, and Moog), relying on electronic effects to carry his clever lyrics in this unassuming success.
Someone really should have told me about Chuck Prophet. I mean, anybody making music this fucking outstanding doesn't deserve to fly under anybody's radar, least of all mine. His music is practically perfect for my particular tastes: well-crafted songs composed by a songwriter (in the truest sense of the word), sung by a country singer (at heart) but produced with an ear to what's going on in the rest of the musical world as well. Over the course of his 2004 near-masterpiece, Age Of Miracles, Prophet comes off as a less willfully eclectic (and therefore more enjoyable) Beck, living with one foot a little bit deeper in country music than Mr. Hansen would probably consider cool. Actually, he's kind of like the guy I posted on yesterday in the way he takes the arms and legs of different styles and comes up with his own hideously beautiful beast. I think his press sheet sums it up best: "...a world where Dr. Dre and Charlie Feathers would both feel comfortable." That's brilliant man, that's exactly right.
I picked up Age Of Miracles as an impulse buy (read: I liked the cover art) about a week or so ago and I have not been able to stop listening or wishing I was listening to it since. I guess I had heard Prophet's name before, but I'm taking the pat on the back for introducing myself to his music. Good job bak, you really outdid yourself this time! Now turn to the people at home and let them hear what all the fuss is about. Listen people, you need to hear these songs:
Chuck Prophet - "Age Of Miracles"
Chuck Prophet - "Pin A Rose On Me"
Chuck Prophet - "West Memphis Moon"
Age Of Miracles is good enough to be a greatest hits album, except for the little fact that none of the songs can honestly be called hits and it's more cohesive than most compilations. Actually, it's better than most people's greatest hits albums. "Age Of Miracles" and "Pin A Rose On Me" are two of the best songs on the album, but I would've liked to post "You Did (Bomp Shooby Dooby Bomp)" rather than "West Memphis Moon". "You Did" is a hell of a lot more fun and it features his best incorporation of samples and hip-hop elements, plus it's one of the songs on repeat in my head these days. Whatever, it doesn't matter, every song on the album is good and these are the songs that New West Records has kindly made available. Damn you New West, you really think I needed one more person's entire back catalogue to hunt down!?! Now how am I gonna eat this month?
Pay a visit to Chuck's website for more information and stuff, like tour dates. Man, I bet these songs are a blast live, but I don't think I can justify driving back to Denver for another show.
It's been 20 years since Chuck Prophet found himself lumped in with LA's neo-psychedelic "Paisley Underground" during his tenure with Green on Red. But since launching a solo career in 1990, Prophet has kept evolving as a songwriter and guitarist of formidable (albeit under-appreciated) gifts.
The Borderline's promoter, Barry Everitt, will sing Prophet's praises to anyone within earshot, including tonight's audience. Springing to the microphone before Prophet's band came back for some encores, Barry commended him as "one of the best fucking guitarists in existence".
This is true, and one of several good reasons for going to a Prophet show is the opportunity it affords to watch a master of the Telecaster in full spate. Prophet's playing is like an instant guide to 50 years of guitar-playing, from the twangy bottom-end tones of Dick Dale or Duane Eddy to rolling barrages of Neil Young-style chords or intricate, string-bending runs in the Clarence White mould. The trick has been to shape his playing into an indispensable part of the way he writes and performs, so the guitar is woven through the music like an inner voice supplying insights, asides and a running commentary.
Prophet's songwriting is similarly eclectic, though he adds an idiosyncratic spin so that the stuff coming out of the blender couldn't be anybody else but him. Chuck has a radio-friendly side to him, best expressed in the effervescent Summertime Thing, but he also likes to range through sprawling narratives that travel from urban chaos to desert wilderness.
Prophet's dirty-blonde hair and dark southern drawl render him susceptible to country-boy stereotyping, and the likes of Just to See You Smile can only be described as country rock. On the other hand, You Did rollicks along over a modified hip-hop beat while Prophet growls into a weird metallic-sounding microphone, and wonders "who put the wang in the wang-dang-doodle? You did!!!" He'll also defend to the death his right to borrow from Bob Dylan, who popped up in a cover version of Abandoned Love. Prophet called his new album Age of Miracles, and he had a point.
· At King Tut's, Glasgow, tonight. Then touring.
New Music review vol. 14
Chuck Prophet's a no-nonsense songsmith. "You shouldn't need an owners manual to get through an album" he declares. But don't think the San Francisco-based singer/songwriter guitar hotshot is uncomplicated. The songs on Homemade blood resonate like strong memories, which is no slight accomplishment.
Prophet makes loud pop music that explores the quiet edges of Humanity. that's where things turn weird and slowly begin to tilt or find their own skewed balance. His characters sleep in their cares: they burn with the pain of broken blood bonds: they can't even get one even break. They're repeatedly body-slammed by life, but won't stop loving it anyway. Sure a few are psychos and losers, but many like the narrators of `Ooh Wee' and `New Years Day' - are romantics longing for happiness while settling for the nearest approximation.
"I spend time by myself, wresting on the ground with songs all day," Prophet says of his modus operandi. "According to (deadbeat novelist) Charles Bukowski, you have to have faith, practice and luck to write. I try not to jerk too far away from any of those. And I try not to be elusive . That's gutless"
Prophet learned to pack his songs with intestinal fortitude during seven years playing lead guitar and co-writing in the west coast 80's psychedelic revival band Green On Red. So he rocks like crazy as he tells Homemade bloods ragged-luck stories. His battered Telecaster speaks the language of 90's grunge with a 60's acid drawl that makes the subteraneum homesick blues `Inside Track' ring like Dylan fronting the Velvet Underground in Jon Spencer's basement. His six string mannerisms, filigress along the lines of the dizzy pick-slides and sonic booms he tosses into `Credit' put as much character into his numbers as his flexible baritone voice.
In keeping with Prophet's' truth-in music-policy, "we recorded the record as if it was a play, nobody went in the control room. Everything was cut live, standing up for the most part. That's important to me. When you're all in one room you're involved. Art is divine, and that's the kind of situation that gets it out of ourselves and closer to God if you will."
ABOUT "DYIN' ALL YOUNG"
CHUCK SPEAKS TO UNCUT MAGAZINE
I'm no spokesman for the hip hop tradition, but it seems to me it's all about lucky collisions and the search for that magic `chocolate in the peanut butter' combination. Sometimes chance encounter is your friend. I started working with DJ's when they needed a guitar slinger. Some days all they asked me for was two bars of a swampy Tony Joe White-inspired riff. Out of these jams strange gifts came along.
In one form or another, sampling has been around forever. There's a blues tradition that's been doing it for hundreds of years. I've always believed it's not what you throw in the pot but what floats to the top after you bring it to a boil. In the past I might have thrown out the bone that sank to the bottom. That bone was the sample, and it stayed in.
There's something in OC's (the singer sampled) voice that tells me he's been there, seen it, and brought back the news about a generation on the front lines of a lot of needless bloodshed. There are very few bad seeds. People aren't born monsters, they get turned into them. Lot of kids never get one chance. Hell, I had too many to mention.
You learn something everyday if you're half awake. I never knew I would get such an education in sampling and litigation and all that other fun stuff, but that's another story.
Prophet and Loss
"There's winners and there's losers and I'm caught between the two," mourns Chuck Prophet in a rare self-pitying moment from Age of Miracles, his seventh and strongest album.
It is surprising that bitterness and regret don't feature more prominently in the songs of this San Francisco-based singer-guitarist. With 20-plus road-years behind him -- first as guitar-slinger with roots-punks Green on Red, for the past 14 under his own flag -- Prophet is a qualified rock'n'roll veteran. And yet he has enjoyed neither the mainstream success his smart, tough songs and Tom Petty-crossed-with-Elvis looks should have earned him, nor the cult worship assigned to more naturally marginal figures like Will Oldham or Daniel Johnson.
But Age of Miracles finds him too engaged with the present to worry that he has never received his due. Though he remains a son of 60s rock, referencing everything from the drawl of Dylan's Highway 61 to the orchestrations of the Beatles' Abbey Road, he is also taking advantage of the same technology that allows hip-hoppers to create their contemporary cut-and-pastes.
Call it laptop rock. It's a fusion that Prophet began exploring a couple of albums back. But if the turntables and sample-scapes of 1999's The Hurting Business threatened to push Prophet's meaty guitar right out of the frame, on Miracles he gets the balance just right.
On "You Did" he loops drums and weaves vocal samples into an electronic tapestry, without losing his grip on the fundamentally rock'n'roll question: "Who put the bomp in the bomp shooby dooby bomp?" And on the opening cut he stacks up the saxophones of Tom Waits's erstwhile sideman Ralph Carney to re-inforce a crunching riff worthy of Exile-era Stones.
Prophet's reconciling of digital technology with the rock'n'roll spirit is echoed in his website (http://www.chuckprophet.com), where he keeps an occasional log. Here, as he travels from one scungy gig to the next, he shares pearls of received wisdom (fellow journeyman Nikki Sudden cautions him, "I never drink coffee. Keith Richards told me that's the absolute worst thing you can put in your body"), along with a droll commentary of his own. "I remember once getting bumped up to first class," he muses as he boards yet another plane. "I didn't want the flight to end ... In first class you get the feeling that even if the plane crashes, first class will just keep going."
And his songs are laced with the same droll humour. My favourite couplet on Age of Miracles: "I feel like a pair of sneakers in a washing machine/I'm bouncing off the walls, trapped in the heat."
And yet if there's a prevailing mood to Miracles, it's one of gratitude -- for small mercies, narrow escapes and, above all, good love. He lays out his theme in "Heavy Duty", co-written with Dan Penn (composer of the ultimate ode to loyalty, the Aretha Franklin classic "Do Right Woman") and again in the album's closer, "Solid Gold". In these songs, Prophet the rocker does not dissolve into sentimentality as a less mature artist might. He simply views his life from a perspective in which all the rocking and rolling is only made meaningful by the relationship that remains when the music's over. In these moments you understand why there may be more important things to Chuck Prophet than winning or losing.
Chuck Prophet is a good songwriter and a decent singer, but the best moments of his live sets are when his mouth is shut. That's when Prophet is uncoiling his guitar solos—kinetic, crackling and always inventive, wading up from the swamp of Neil Young's "Tonight's the Night" and heading for the open country. There were plenty of those skin-tingling passages at Iota on Saturday night, the songs sounding far more alive than they have on his last few recordings.
"Age of Miracles," Prophet's seventh and latest solo album—he initially made his mark as guitarist for grizzled psychedelic cowboys Green on Red—serves up his usual omelet of fractured Memphis soul, country (he was alt before alt-country was cool) and Dylanesque romps. Playing off the steel and rhythm guitars of Tom Heyman and the keyboards and vocals of wife Stephanie Finch, Prophet, whose own voice bears more than a passing resemblance to Tom Petty's, dunked new songs ("Just to See You Smile," "Solid Gold," "Automatic Blues") in an agreeably gritty bath.
The 90-minute set's highlights were live-wire solos woven into songs with offbeat hooks: "You Did" (a shakin' retelling of Barry Mann's "Who Put the Bomp"), a wonderful cover of Tyla Gang's early Stiff single "Styrofoam" and the stomping, fuzzed-over hoodoo of "Shore Patrol." When Prophet put solos and songs together with that kind of raucous, bar-band energy, his home-brewed country-soul tasted spellbindingly good.
The cover of Chuck Prophet's latest album, "Age of Miracles" is a William Eggleston photo of a young woman holding a vintage camera sprawled across a patch of grass. The box camera image is repeated in the accompanying CD booklet.
Some sort of artistic statement?
"To be perfectly honest, I didn't have an album title," says Prophet, noting his affinity for Eggleston's work. "When I finished the record, when I stood back and squinted a little bit and knew I would have to invent some lies for the bio, I realized there was a kind of a theme running through it, this retro-nuevo general crankiness with technology, and technology not really improving our quality."
Prophet, who visits the South Side's Club Cafe on Friday, says he was a bit nervous about applying this theme because it's been overdone.
He shouldn't have worried. "Age of Miracles" continues the San Francisco-based musician's run of superlative releases that dates to 1999's "The Hurting Business" and includes "No Other Love," released in 2002. Along with "Age of Miracles," the discs share a sense of adventure as Prophet seamlessly combines rock, soul, blues, hip-hop and other forms.
Critics and writers often remark on his ability to "mash" or "synthesize" genres; Prophet says he's sometimes bothered that form seems to be more interesting than content.
"But I can't help but wonder, in a perverted way, what Meredith Brooks and Burgess Meredith might do if you put them together," he says with a laugh. "Or what Jimi Hendrix would do if you brought him back from the dead and said `Hey Jimi, you might want to check this out, it's called a Casiotone. This part here you can get a beat going and with your fingers here you can play chords on these buttons and over here you can play melody.' You just make something up and want to record it. Because inevitably, it would be more interesting than the conventional way that people make records. I guess that's my own perverted way of keeping myself interested. I don't think you need an owner's manual to get through the record."
He's right; all that's truly required is an appreciation of music. Whether it's the melancholic "Pin a Rose on Me," the playful electronic pop of "You Did (Bomp Shooby Dooby Bomp)"—a song that asks "who put the ram in the ram a lama ding dong?"—or the wistful title track, Prophet has a knack for creating memorable melodies.
He especially excels at painting the lyrical details: the "extra-special shoes" for "The Smallest Man in the World," or the itinerary of "Just to See You Smile" in which the narrator walks "20 blocks to your favorite bakery" in order to surprise his lover with her "favorite treat."
"I have my own value system, the things that I think that are worth wrestling into the form of a song," he says. "And it changes, because you have to keep yourself interested in what you're doing, musically and thematically. And to keep yourself interested, sometimes you'll discard things if they have a certain familiarity. If I had any more songs about lonely motel room's on life's highway, it's not interesting to wrestle with anymore. I'll just discard it."
Prophet admits to being disenchanted with his music when he's finished recording an album. It's only when he gets a chance to hear it in an unfamiliar environment—a record store or somebody else's home—that he reconciles with his art.
"It's a lot like honking your horn in a tunnel and waiting for it to get you off," he says. "Sometimes, it just doesn't get you off. Sometimes, it's just not so cool anymore. You just wait to hear it bounce off the walls and come back at you."
Talkin’ Tracks: No other love
Chuck Prophet sat down with writer Alex Green to discuss the songs on No Other Love.
Alex Green: "WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME" - A bluesy number with horny swagger. A rave-up like Jon Spencer piggybacked on Joe Tex's shoulders. An apparent tale of infidelity at a bridal shower when the narrator's girlfriend drinks too much and climbs all over some dude like a jungle gym. The worst part: the narrator is the last one to find out.
Chuck Prophet: "The real clincher is when it gets to the bridge and he discovers that the Chippendale dancer in question was his best friend Jerome. Oh no! Not Jerome! This is the kinda news that gets around. The horror—the shame. Ah...I'm just playing ya'll. Stick around for the outro. How often do ya get to hear someone play bottleneck bass through an envelope filter? You may never again."
AG: "AFTER THE RAIN" - A hushed and gorgeous ballad that looks ahead to spring. The leaves are turning color; you take off your boots and walk in the water. Found strings, brushes on a snare and grandma's metronome.
CP: "That's me playing the punch bowl on the chorus. My favorite bit. And we should give special mention to Stephie - the only singer I know who can effortlessly barnacle onto my vocals. Not to mention, brave those mouth-to-mouth duets night after night. Not for the squeamish, I tell ya."
AG: "I BOW DOWN AND PRAY TO EVERY WOMAN I SEE" - Swamp changes augmented by a bossa nova groove. A tour-de-force that finds Prophet in a playful, associative mood. Name another song that mentions both Sissy Spacek and dropping acid at Disneyland? Didn't think you could.
CP: "Back in middle school in Orange County, radical meant taking acid at Disneyland. Ah...the good old days. Kinda like `To All The Girls I've Loved Before' only not as good.
"They don't make those Southern exploitation movies any more, do they? Jerry Reed, Burt Reynolds... small towns, crooked sheriffs, corrupt politicians and most of all, those custom color Pontiac Firebirds and Trans Ams. I always dug Jerry "Guitar Man" Reed. A real underrated songwriter, as they say... `Amos Moses,' `When You're Hot You're Hot'. Masterful! He used to make the rounds on the afternoon talk show circuit. I'd watch with my mom after school while she did the ironing. He'd panel with the host holding a guitar and always show off a little. I seem to recall he was a mind-numbing, devastatingly great guitarist. Anyway, I kinda lost track of those movies - `Gator' anyone?"
AG: "RUN PRIMO, RUN" - A modern-day folktale of fellow hoodlums who pilot a failed scheme all the way to the bitter end in a border town you've probably never been to. Replete with a snare drum piped through a twin reverb and mariachi horns, its dark grooves punctuate the imminent desperation of our two heroes - or villains. Think Raymond Chandler in a Hawaiian shirt somewhere in Florida.
CP: "Too many miles in an Econoline sitting on a Fender Twin Reverb reading Elmore Leonard with a flashlight in the dark I suspect. Based on a true story... the names were changed... you know the rest. What can I tell you about Primo and Sonny? Sonny hates pretentious assholes and strip malls exploding around him. And Primo never did like to be talked down to. In their day, they had wars to protest. There were real sides. Four students were shot to death by National Guardsmen at Kent State. Hell, even Patty Hearst wielded a machine gun. Just a little harmless fun, `til somebody gets hurt.
"It was a simple plan. Of course the heist went terribly wrong - they always do. Down the road, Sonny developed a conscience or fell into a paranoid funk, depending on whom you talk to. And as they say, only the truth can set you free. Besides, after a couple of drinks, Sonny never could keep his mouth shut. Now it's not just between Sonny and his Higher Power. Primo had better run. The money's gone and there's no statute of limitations on murder. Primo says, `Damn, Sonny—I got kids!'
" I thought I was paying tribute to Hubert Sumlin with those repetitive one note Tele stings, until Justin the engineer spun around on his stool and said, `Rad dude, sounds like Cypress Hill!' I guess `it's all good' as the kids say."
AG: "STORM ACROSS THE SEA" - Heavily under the influence of Tony Joe White/Jeannie C. Riley and all those great southern exploitation story songs from "Son Of A Preacher Man" to "Midnight Train To Georgia" and every stop between. The production: a marriage of eras—the rhythm section sounds like they're on loan from D'Angelo. Dripping wah-wah, gooey molasses electric wurlitzer.
CP: "I wrote this with klipschutz in a couple of minutes one Sunday in his basement flat in S.F. We were both getting hungry and halfheartedly finished it off. Three verses before lunch I always say. It just wouldn't go away. We must have rewritten it a dozen times. After the first line, `someone call the ambulance, she's completely nude standing on a fence' and the string figure that follows it, people should get the idea that something's about to go down. It would be foolish to follow `I woke up this morning, duh, duh, duh duh' with all those grandiose strings ... wouldn't it?"
AG: "NO OTHER LOVE" - A spare and slinky number with pedal steel and soaring strings. An honest and intimate meditation, whose mantra, `no other love,' allows the narrator to go anywhere. Beautiful. Some people call it skywriting.
CP: "I involuntarily wrote this song in a hotel during a commercial break in one sitting ... top to bottom! All three chords and two lines or whatever it is. We were `rehearsaling' some stuff and setting up mics to record demos at Pigshead Studio/Rehearsals. It was so cold that day in that cement bunker of a studio, I can remember seeing my breath in front of my face. Tim Mooney surreptitiously recorded us running it down. Not the first take: he actually recorded us learning it. That's why it takes so long for the band to come in. They're pretty quick - by the time we're two verses in, key change and all, they got all three of the chords in the right order. No point in trying to recreate that crime scene or write a second verse for that matter ... not that I didn't try in vain. We later recovered the original multi-track cassette it was first captured on and Greg Liesz and I over-dubbed onto it in my living room. Hats off to Tim Mooney for rolling the tape. Now that's production! And props to Jason Borger, who charted the beautiful string arrangement."
AG: "ELOUISE" (self-help boogaloo 2001) - Farfisa and bajo sexto guitars rage in this Mexican rock and roll border nugget fiesta. No shortage of secret sauce.
CP: "He drives a late model Lexus. There's a stack of self-help books on the passenger seat. He's not necessarily a bad guy. He's accepting applications for a mate. Must have a positive outlook and a sympathetic ear and a few other specific qualifications. A song that might build character to sing night after night. I have no idea. That's a nod to Senator Condit with the Modesto reference. There's always something to pull out of the air - or maybe it's the fact that wherever I go there's a TV on in the background. Not that I have any beef with TV. You go fight the power. I'm staying at home. There's got to be something on!
"God knows why, but did you know that for some reason, a lot of Germans settled around San Antonio, Texas? Obviously, they brought their accordions with them. It's been well documented. In the `60s, when the world went electric, any self-respecting Beatles fan traded in their accordion for a Farfisa organ. It's true! Or maybe I just made all this up. Sir Doug, Question Mark ... I can't get enough of that shit. I recommend you go out and get the Texas Tornado's greatest hits today. It just might make you a better person. Mixing this song, we tried our damndest to find a reverb setting that sounded like a corrugated tin shack. Apparently, they haven't made one yet. Give it time, though."
AG: "THAT'S HOW MUCH I NEED YOUR LOVE" - A lover's plea in the tradition of Andrew Marvel, but way hornier. Swaggering, pulsing, and smooth. Duane Eddy meets the Gorillaz at Lou Rawls' house.
CP: "When we cut the track, we were amazed at how Max was able to lock in the omni chord beat box with the band, until it occurred to us that we were playing to him! It's just a blues really, over a Casiotone beat box. Stephie came up with that cool background siren vocal part. I'd like to hear Bon Scott sing this song, or better yet, Mark Kozelek. It's a kind of predatorial thing, isn't it? Not quite Andre Williams, but heck, my parents are gonna hear this. And God knows, I've done enough to embarrass them already."
AG: "SUMMERTIME THING" - Recorded under the influence of Dr. Dre/Tupac Shakur. A sun-soaked urban shuffle that pays homage to the summer. You can feel the sweat down your back, the sting of debt, and you know it's going to end, but you just don't care. This one has bounce...with steam. California soul that tips its hat to Roger Trout with the vocoder in the chorus. Pedal steel and vocoder are a deadly combo-you don't find that everyday.
CP: "Am I deluded or is it a hit? I'd like to have a hit. Instead of living like a community college student, maybe I could start to live like a grad student? Or maybe get one of those custom guitars with my name written across the fretboard in mother of pearl. I can see the video now: girls in bikinis singing into blow dryers... Yeah!" We played this song recently and a Mission boho Clark Kent eyewear-donning hipster said to me, `Chuck, I don't mean any disrespect, but that song put me right back where I was the first time I heard `Night Moves.' Bob Seger? No offense taken!"
AG: "WHAT MAKES THE MONKEY DANCE" - Adolescent character studies for the sexually confused. A rootsy hip-hop meditation that asks some pretty important questions. The answers are forthcoming.
CP: "There's nothing unhealthy about it. Some things you can't learn in books ... so just throw away the owner's manual. We don't need Dr. Ruth to tell us that - or do we? With only two chords toggling back and forth, your mind tends to wander. I try to imagine Cleopatra dressed as Venus, the goddess of love, reclining under a gold canopy, fanned by boys in Cupid costumes. Or that fleeting moment when at a stoplight on Mission Street - the windows down - Santo and Johnny spilling out of the radio ... a low rider pulls along side, pumping the 808 at bone rattling volume, and for a split second it all comes together in harmony like chocolate in the peanut butter. That's the sound I was chasing. And I guess I'll keep chasing it until something reaches out and grabs me! I laid down a track of my attempt at a human beat box and we built it up from there."
AG: "OLD FRIENDS" - And that's the thing about small town gossip—you know so much you forget to talk about the things that actually happened. A track featuring nylon string guitar over a bossa nova pre-set beat.
CP: "Stephie played the one note samba `string' in an homage to Nilsson's `Everybody's Talkin'.' There are some secrets we all take to the grave. Then again, if you can't laugh at yourself, make fun of other people. That's what I always say."
Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
A seasoned veteran that many are just now starting to hear about, singer/songwriter Chuck Prophet has just released his second album on New West and seventh overall. Prophet has a bluesy voice that is smooth and easy on the ears, and at its upper register resembles Ray Davies of the Kinks. There are flavors of blues, funk, rock, pop, alt-country, jazz...am I missing anything? Well, Prophet isn't and he really shines here as an artist and a songwriter. The trippy "You Did" is my favorite track among a lot of good ones.
Former member of alt-country godfathers Green On Red and musical experimenter deluxe Chuck Prophet's second album for New West, Age Of Miracles, came out a year ago but is definitely worth a quick re-visit. Building on the hippety-hoppy, funked-out, rocked up, smoothed-down grooves of his last knock-out release, No Other Love, Prophet and "long-suffering wife/bandmate" Stephanie Finch (along with keyboardist Jason Borger, Red Meat alum/pedal steel whiz Max Butler, four bassists, five drummers, a beatbox and a programmer) gleefully continue to break all the rules here.
The lyrics at first seem deceptively simple-straight-forward love songs or story-songs or thematic current event songs or dark, cosmic-surfer songs-but upon closer listen, one finds Prophet to be among the rarest of song-writing talents: One who's able to meld the sage observations of the omnipotent Outsider with the painful, all-too-human declarations of what he calls "... the smallest man in the world ..." to create tunes that let the listener both peer autonomously into fascinating tales and simultaneously experience the emotions of the subjects thereof.
He probably nails his own wonderfully twisted psyche and gloriously original oeuvre best in his own words: "All roads lead to Dylan I suppose, beyond that, if I mention one influence I'd have to leave out a hundred. One definite influence on this record is my increasingly acute awareness that we're living in the modern age. Don't get me wrong; I'm not about to throw my laptop into the river any day soon. I'd probably end up developing some kind of a tic without it. There's just no time. No time to daydream, even less time to think. Fast food express lines, meth?paced TV, medications marketed to women who `have no time for yeast infections' (as if the rest of us have the time). Genetically cloning the family pet, prescription miracle drugs, mad cows, madder scientists ... watch those carbs! The psychosis! On second thought, I wouldn't have it any other way." Neither would we, Chuck. Neither would we.
That's it for this time `round, `Dial-heads! Tune in next week for a few more New West reviews, and don't forget to kick Old Man Time in the ass for Tommy this New Year's Eve ... Until next year-make yer own damn news.
Chuck Prophet, "Age of Miracles" (New West): Prophet's records always seem to find a way into my best-of lists. No one layers country, rock and 1960s soul idioms better than this former Green on Red guitarist. "Age of Mircales" includes the eerie/erotic "You Did (Bomp Shooby Dooby Bomp)," and "You Got Me Where You Want Me," a duet with wife Stephanie Finch, recalls the innocent charms of Sonny and Cher.
Who put the bomp in the bomp shooby dooby bomp? / Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?
Listening to Chuck Prophet sing these lyrics, it's not hard to believe that maybe Chuck himself did. Age of Miracles is the latest in a string of four incredibly strong albums since 1997's Homemade Blood. But as satisfied as he is with the work, Prophet is in no mood for playing the artiste. "This one was tough, very tough," he says. "I need to stop making a record every 18 months." Even so, for all the stress and strain of a creative process that involves producing, writing and playing an orchestra's worth of instruments, Prophet has managed another minor masterpiece, something purely American but entirely genre-blurring, something derivative yet far, far beyond simple derivation. The album is a huge vat of pop-music influences that may appear at any moment in tracks that are instantly catchy and always vaguely familiar, in a primordial-soup way. Besides his wicked Fender Squire fretwork and the nasty elasticity of his suggestive voice, Prophet lays on an array of sounds that range from garage-rock Farfisa organ to torrid night-of-sin horns.
The album is full of tunes co-written with some of the biggest names in the business, and nowhere is the collaborative effort more successful than on the dark, surly "Pin a Rose on Me" (Kim Richey), the Neil Sedaka-meets-the Ronnettes bouncy Brill Building love song "Just to See You Smile (Angelo, Kim Carnes) and the funk-laden "Heavy Duty" (Dan Penn). But the ultimate highlights are purely Prophet's, like the rip-your-brain-out licks of "Automatic Blues," the straight-from-the-Tenderloin lyrical slyness of "You Did" or the sinfully fun "Monkee in the Middle." Fifteen years beyond his tour of duty in pioneering insurgent country outfit Green On Red, Chuck Prophet continues to put the hip in the hippie hippie shake.
Best of 2004
Of all the artists on this list, perhaps there's no one harder to pigeonhole than Chuck Prophet. On Age of Miracles, the under-acclaimed fretter builds upon his typically folk- and country-rooted sound with some curveballs. He begins, for example, with barroom scorcher "Automatic Blues," then glides into 1970s psychedelic clouds with a smile-inducing title track that came 35 years too late to become a hippie anthem.
Scott Wauters' top ten albums of the year
Chuck Prophet is a regular on World Cafe, a radio show found on WUWM. The host's song of choice is the title track of this bluesy rock album. "Age of Miracles" is best described as beautiful. Each song has a different feel as Prophet does everything to hold the listeners attention.