Swing Time was recorded live over a few nights where he is most at home: the stage of Austin’s fabled roadhouse extraordinaire, The Continental Club. In the glare of the stage lights, Wayne and his tick-tight band kick it out and rescue country’s heritage from the clutches of the Nashville pretenders.
Only the choicest cuts of surf, bluegrass, spaghetti western spookiness, garage punk, country murder ballads, and gospel.
Roaring out of the Ozarks with a bottle in one hand and a bible in the other, Ha Ha Tonka mix sanctified four-part harmonies and blistering rock.
It is, simply put, the last word in tiki-inflected, spaghetti western, when's-the-Rat-Pack-showin'-up? geezer rock.
Takes you back to a place where men were hot for their women, women were hot for their men, where rickety run-down back porches were alive with spirit and song, good company, and ample quantities of BBQ and booze.
Plying the choppy sonic waves between the best aspects of the roots rock ghetto, mid-80's Minneapolis punk and the vaunted Chicago noise guitar scene.
There's even a startling cover of that long unheralded roots icon Cher ("Believe").
Boasts the tunesmanship of The Faces and the barroom howl of The Band. The album testifies to the soul-saving grace of rock n’ roll.
When asked to name her musical influences for this effort, Hogan rattled off a Rain Man-like list that started something like "Lotte Lenya, Charlie Rich, Howard Tate, and Ronnie Van Zant..." and went on and on, as she is apt to do.
Moves seamlessly between rockabilly, honky-tonk, and country. So giddy and unaffected, you'd think they were wide-eyed little kids at Christmas staring into a department store window full of cool old records.
Freely and unashamedly mixing the hearts and souls of country, honky-tonk, rockabilly, blues and whatever else gets feet to tappin' and parties to hoppin'.
Originally released as a limited/signed edition EP of 2000 that, as you can imagine, disappeared pretty quickly
Carves out a sound that befits their geographic location -- the desert turned city, smack dab between Bakersfield and Texas. Packed with sand, sweat, rattlesnake scars, and, dare we say, cojones.
Kelly's voice is front and center as she treats you to a Dusty Springfield on a Staples Singers jag vibe. We'll let the hairs standing on the back of your neck decide if we're lying.
Songs that crackle with the sweeping intensity of life in its totality—songs that evoke the jubilation of an early spring as effortlessly as the desolation of a Chicago winter.