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.

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.

Borderline, London

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Pairing Prophet with LA’s roots-centric New West label (home of the Drive-By Truckers, Tim Easton, etc.) might strike you as peculiar until you consider that the singer-songwriter in question can be pretty peculiar himself, at least when it comes to mashing up genres. Ever since his days two decades ago playing guitar for cosmic country junkies Green on Red, Prophet has followed his own many-forked musical path. He’s been invited to open shows for both Lucinda Williams and Heart (who covered his “No Other Love”), and his seventh solo album features contributions from folks who’ve worked with PJ Harvey, Frank Black, the Mekons, and My Morning Jacket. All of which should tell you something about the man’s range, not to mention his taste.

AOM is a multi-colored brush stroke of taut rock moves (“Automatic Blues”), blue-eyed soul (“Heavy Duty,” which nicks a recurring piano figure from the Beatles’ “Hey Bulldog”), and radio-primed modernist pop (“West Memphis Moon”). “You’ve Got Me Where You Want Me” recalls Sea Change–era Beck, who may be Prophet’s closest pan-genre contemporary. (Prophet’s drowsy-with-a-cold vocals also echo Beck’s.) No matter what territory he’s staking out, Prophet’s guitar playing is both tasty and tasteful, and a battery of support - from Wurlitzer organ and Moog synthesizer to horns, and a bona fide string section - keeps the sound wide and lush yet wonderfully intimate. Miracles just about lives up to its title: it’s eclectic and cohesive, fresh and classic.