230 West Allmon St. Apt B Track Listing
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What is the difference between being a songwriter and a messed up person who’s in and out of therapy all the time? In this case we must give credit where credit is due, and I don’t know if therapy is involved here…but what comes from misery, heartache, love, loss and anarchy? The blues, man. The blues. And in Chris Black’s case that raw, scintillating blues that make the Black Keys look like pussies.
I first met Chris at 3AM on his front porch in Kentucky while he was ranting and raving about criminal justice and foreign politics. Well, at least he was ranting and raving about something of importance but I wasn’t exactly sure what. But there is something innate about Chris that makes you want to be his best friend, or at least your partner on a heist…like he’s the kind of guy you want driving the getaway car. Maybe it’s that same allure that makes him a good front man, or a songwriter so keen on telling truths, it hurts. It hurts like the blues.
I must admit, it’s been a while since that front porch sesh with Chris, and thus way before his latest album; but after sinking my teeth into 230 West Allmon St. Apt B, one thing is clear…this mean blues compilation is eminently powerful, painfully soulful and one-hundred percent Kentucky in emanation.
His slow blues is reminiscent of one of my favorite stand alone, southern bluesmen, Junior Kimbrough. He has that capability to make his guitar of choice exude an electric rawness. The guys that Chris manages to get to play with him, well, they certainly fit the bill of the standards of soul. Mostly I’ve seen him play with just a bassist and a drummer, but I’ll call it a quartet for now, given the beautiful sounds coming from his 6-string companion.
Chris often times serves up, most unexpectedly, a heavy harmonica dish that would make Walter Trout proud. Black’s harp takes you high above that smoky, dimly lit blues club you dreamt of going to in the 60’s; slow, seductive, biting-your-lip-perfect. Amidst the euphoria it sets you back down gently to rest your weary head from all the delight. A lot of what makes Chris Black special is his quasi-modal, hypnotic tonality. You could swear that his harrowing riffs could be based on an ole Howlin Wolf tune. They have you ruminating a past love or betrayal, and when you boil it all down to it’s core, you can hear Chris’ musical essence: a euphonious, non-formulaic, southern blues.
His slow, down and dirty style in “Best Friend’s Blues” is reminiscent of ZZ Tops “Catfish Blues.” With a defined signature riff, it crescendoes quickly into a grungy progression, and – right before it’s climax – reverts down to a melodic, eery solo that screams the beginning of Jimi’s “Voodoo Chile.” Not Bad Chris, not bad….
He surprises listeners with a more contemporary style in tunes like “Karaoke Excuse,” pleasant and fun. Think Randy Newman meets Jimmy Buffet. At first, I was a little take aback, but then I realized that it was a testament to Chris’ musicality. He’s not one to be confined to that 12-bar blues that dominate the Chicago or delta sound, he – much like the region in which he calls home – is a crossover of that mixylodian rock n’ roll to a genre he hopes to call his own. Like Kentucky, which finds itself stranded in between the North and the South, Chris Black is a mix between those powerful sounds.
The song “Introduction to Side B” displays the essence of those blues that lie deep within Chris. His staccato riffs and tired vocals are anything but smooth, but isn’t that the point? It’s his in-your-face punctuality that screams a tale he’s yearning to tell. A tale of love, loss and anarchy.
230 West Allmon St. Apt B is somewhat like an energy surmounting a hill of messy noise to scour the top for something greater. What exactly? Who better to know than Chris, who produced this trip that serves as an introduction to all things mundane and lackadaisical. But this is no small town guy whining about his small town. There’s an energy and an embrace, a joyful lightness that promises hope to those rough around the edges.
Before you buy the vinyl, do yourself a favor and see him live. Chris is a bit of a loaded canon in his live performances…you never really know what you’re going to get. But that’s the fun part. Sure, the purr of the vinyl is always convenient in your living room, but sometimes you have to see a blues artist live to really understand the music. And then buy the vinyl.
I first met Chris at 3AM on his front porch in Kentucky while he was ranting and raving about criminal justice and foreign politics. Well, at least he was ranting and raving about something of importance but I wasn’t exactly sure what. But there is something innate about Chris that makes you want to be his best friend, or at least your partner on a heist…like he’s the kind of guy you want driving the getaway car. Maybe it’s that same allure that makes him a good front man, or a songwriter so keen on telling truths, it hurts. It hurts like the blues.
I must admit, it’s been a while since that front porch sesh with Chris, and thus way before his latest album; but after sinking my teeth into 230 West Allmon St. Apt B, one thing is clear…this mean blues compilation is eminently powerful, painfully soulful and one-hundred percent Kentucky in emanation.
His slow blues is reminiscent of one of my favorite stand alone, southern bluesmen, Junior Kimbrough. He has that capability to make his guitar of choice exude an electric rawness. The guys that Chris manages to get to play with him, well, they certainly fit the bill of the standards of soul. Mostly I’ve seen him play with just a bassist and a drummer, but I’ll call it a quartet for now, given the beautiful sounds coming from his 6-string companion.
Chris often times serves up, most unexpectedly, a heavy harmonica dish that would make Walter Trout proud. Black’s harp takes you high above that smoky, dimly lit blues club you dreamt of going to in the 60’s; slow, seductive, biting-your-lip-perfect. Amidst the euphoria it sets you back down gently to rest your weary head from all the delight. A lot of what makes Chris Black special is his quasi-modal, hypnotic tonality. You could swear that his harrowing riffs could be based on an ole Howlin Wolf tune. They have you ruminating a past love or betrayal, and when you boil it all down to it’s core, you can hear Chris’ musical essence: a euphonious, non-formulaic, southern blues.
His slow, down and dirty style in “Best Friend’s Blues” is reminiscent of ZZ Tops “Catfish Blues.” With a defined signature riff, it crescendoes quickly into a grungy progression, and – right before it’s climax – reverts down to a melodic, eery solo that screams the beginning of Jimi’s “Voodoo Chile.” Not Bad Chris, not bad….
He surprises listeners with a more contemporary style in tunes like “Karaoke Excuse,” pleasant and fun. Think Randy Newman meets Jimmy Buffet. At first, I was a little take aback, but then I realized that it was a testament to Chris’ musicality. He’s not one to be confined to that 12-bar blues that dominate the Chicago or delta sound, he – much like the region in which he calls home – is a crossover of that mixylodian rock n’ roll to a genre he hopes to call his own. Like Kentucky, which finds itself stranded in between the North and the South, Chris Black is a mix between those powerful sounds.
The song “Introduction to Side B” displays the essence of those blues that lie deep within Chris. His staccato riffs and tired vocals are anything but smooth, but isn’t that the point? It’s his in-your-face punctuality that screams a tale he’s yearning to tell. A tale of love, loss and anarchy.
230 West Allmon St. Apt B is somewhat like an energy surmounting a hill of messy noise to scour the top for something greater. What exactly? Who better to know than Chris, who produced this trip that serves as an introduction to all things mundane and lackadaisical. But this is no small town guy whining about his small town. There’s an energy and an embrace, a joyful lightness that promises hope to those rough around the edges.
Before you buy the vinyl, do yourself a favor and see him live. Chris is a bit of a loaded canon in his live performances…you never really know what you’re going to get. But that’s the fun part. Sure, the purr of the vinyl is always convenient in your living room, but sometimes you have to see a blues artist live to really understand the music. And then buy the vinyl.