An Experiment Part II (Songs 6-10)

Continuation of my The Dirty South blog.

Song: "Sands of Iwo Jima"

Patterson Hood's ability to tell a story through characters as real as anyone you or I know is one of the foundations of the band. Whether or not these are people he knows, personally, is irrelevant. The person listening to the story accepts that it's someone he knows. That's all that really matters. In this case, it's his great uncle, referred to as George A. More or less, Hood is telling the story through his own point of view. He begins back in 1941, where George A. is driving back from Birmingham to his family farm, where he hopes to work. Unfortunately, he is drafted and goes to the South Pacific to fight on the island of Iwo Jima.

The most important thing to know about George A. is that, through Hood's eyes, he is a humble, unassuming man. He fought for his country, came home and did what he initially set out to do. All of these memories of his great uncle are tied into memories of watching the film The Sands of Iwo Jima when he was a kid. If there's one thing a kid will do, it will be to naively glorify moments that don't need glorifying. Hood, as a kid, wants to hear grandiose stories about the island where his great uncle fought, simply because he saw John Wayne do it in the film. George A. sweetly tells him that he "never saw John Wayne on the Sands of Iwo Jima." This line, to me, is so important. We're all to be sure that, as a veteran, George A. DID see the film. He saw John Wayne IN The Sands of Iwo Jima, but he tells his great nephew that he never saw him ON it. The dichotomy between the two is startling and it's just one word. This is about as simply told a story that you will find in the Drive-By Truckers canon and it's one of the best.

Director: Hal Ashby (1929-1988). His previous experience with post-war disillusionment in Coming Home would bring a lot to the table for this one.


Song: "Danko/Manuel"

Jason Isbell is back for round two and what a glorious round it is. If "The Day John Henry Died" had metaphorical ties, this one is rife with them. The title of this story is in reference to two of the primary singers of the highly-influential group The Band, Rick Danko and Richard Manuel. They are, also, the only two members, to date, who have passed away. As the story goes, Isbell, initially, wanted to tell a story about Band-drummer Levon Helm's feelings towards the deaths of Danko and Manuel, but the more he worked on it, the longer and more drawn out it became. Instead, he decided to focus on his own perception of what it was like to be a working and traveling musician. He puts it in context with two individuals who spent a better part of their lives on the road. Eventually, the lifestyle caught up to them. Manuel hanged himself in 1986 and Danko passed away in 1999.

The narrative is rather interesting, mainly because it's difficult to discover where Isbell, himself, is talking and where other characters may be involved. The opening line is very important, though, that's to be sure: "let the night air cool you off." I, initially, was under the impression that this was Isbell talking to someone, but I think it's someone talking to Isbell, mainly for the reason that in the next verse, Isbell comes to terms with the lifestyle of a working musician. "I ain't livin' like I should", he declares. He needs to go home, which brings us to the refrain of "Can you hear that singing?/Sounds like gold/maybe I can only hear it in my head/fifteen years ago we owned that road/now, it's rolling over us instead/Richard Manuel is dead." We feel that our narrator is becoming increasingly more aware of his mortality. Manuel seemed unstoppable while in The Band, but look what happened to him. When another person questions Isbell as to whether or not he wants to be the guy that sounds just like Rick Danko, there's trepidation. He doesn't go on to give an answer, but you know he's trying to convince himself to quit before he ends up like those two. This story is startling.

Director: I like Todd Haynes for this one. There's just enough obscure imagery to it that I'd put him on the job.


Songs: "Boys From Alabama"/"Cottonseed"/"The Buford Stick"

Tracks eight through ten are a three-song suite in the middle of this very turbulent album. The stories of each are among the most cinematic. Patterson Hood tells the first and last and Mike Cooley takes the middle. The songs are based upon the famous sheriff, Buford Pusser, from McNary County, Tennessee whose house was blown up and wife was killed by a bad group of individuals from across the border in Alabama. Hood actually narrates the story of Pusser before he goes into "Boys From Alabama". The story of Pusser and his revenge was made into a film in 1973 called Walking Tall starring Joe Don Baker. Hood insists that these songs are about the "other side of that story". He and Cooley want to talk about the bad group of individuals. They're going to give us their impression, possibly stories told to them by their fathers from their childhoods, of the "Alabama Mafia" and how they took care of a man who stopped a lot of the bootlegging they were trying to accomplish.

"Boys From Alabama" is really an introduction to the suite. It, obviously, gives the entire backstory during the opening narration, but Hood does a terrific job of forming a story around the men who forced the vengeful nature out of Pusser, which was portrayed in Walking Tall. You get a sense that Hood would like to see a movie made about these guys, not necessarily because he condones their behavior, but that it just might be a better story. It would be. This leads directly into Cooley's "Cottonseed". The last line from "Boys" is "I wouldn't piss off the Boys from Alabama if I was you" and the first line from "Cottonseed" is "I came to tell my story to all these young and eager minds". One of the "Boys" is talking to us. This story is told from a murderous fiend's point of view, barely remorseful of the things he's done. He sits in prison, probably for life, and discusses his time as a man possessed by the same sort of demon that Cooley's "father" character from "Where the Devil Don't Stay" was. If Hood and Cooley's dads were spinning yarns about some bad dudes from around their town, then the narrator of "Cottonseed" is confirming it. There really isn't a chorus, but the main line is "I put more lawmen in the ground, than Alabama's put cottonseed."

The final piece, "The Buford Stick" takes place after Walking Tall has been released to tremendous popularity. Sheriff Pusser is seen, now, as a folk hero, thanks to the Hollywood machine. This makes the Boys none too happy. The story is told from another member of the crew, one who's probably not as horrendous a human being as our narrator from "Cottonseed", but he's definitely more bitter. The film's huge and he has to watch as the town he used to run views Pusser as a sort of savior. They all pity the good Sheriff, but all he knows is that the good Sheriff shut down every one of the illegal operations he ran. He's saying, "How in the hell am I supposed to make money, now?" We might as well lump this guy in with the narrator from "Puttin' People on the Moon". He just can't catch a break. Even after Pusser finally dies, he still can't seem to let it go. The fellas of the Drive-By Truckers live amongst sad people.

Director: This takes ambition. This takes skill. This, also, takes a director who knows how to entertain an audience with something very simple, but present it with the integrity of a true auteur. Thus, I give thee to Quentin Tarantino.


The final entry to The Dirty South blog coming soon!

An Experiment Part I (Songs 1-5)

I feel a little bit of a change of pace is in order. To clear my mind, if you will. Maybe start a new chapter in my career of blogging. Thus, I'm trying a bit of an experiment. I'd like to discuss an album I've been listening to recently. A lot of albums we come across, we listen to once and move on to the next one. This particular one, I couldn't put down. Each song has a specific story or message and they paint quite a visual for the listener. It was in constant rotation for about a solid week and I'd like to share some things about each of the fourteen tracks of the Drive-By Truckers' 2003 release, The Dirty South.

As a companion to The Dirty South, and the basis for the title of this entry, I'm going to give a synopsis of each tune (purely my take) and present who I'd think, past or present/dead or alive, would be the perfect film director for each story. These are well-told songs, written and sung by three different members of the band, all guitarists: Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley, and ex-band member Jason Isbell.

Song: "Where the Devil Don't Stay"

A Depression-era story told by the most baritone and whiskey-soaked singer of the group, Mike Cooley. The beginning is told as a narration by a boy who looks in bewildered wonderment of his rogue-ish father. His dad is a bootlegger during the height of Prohibition and while he associates himself with men just as nefarious as he, the ones who can afford to slip past the law come to see him to get their fix of booze. The boy continues to tell his father's story, until we are interrupted by the story itself. The dad calls out to his son for help. Help from the moonshine he's made which is making him physically ill and help from the police who're on his tail (the boy's mom called them). He's essentially asking his son to be an accomplis to his illegal actions. Still, the boy cannot turn his back. He's morbidly fascinated by a man who holds so much sway in such a bleak town. By the end of the song, he's asking his dad to tell him the things he knows. He's essentially saying, "Dad. Life has beaten the shit out of you. How can I avoid it happening to me?"

Director: For its bleak, but entertaining story, I'm going to say a Bonnie & Clyde-era Arthur Penn could do the job.


Song: "Tornadoes"

This story has deep roots in Southern culture. It's told with great conviction by chief songwriter, Patterson Hood, who, unlike the previous storyteller, is not using other characters. It's modern day and Hood is the one giving an account of an evening of storms that came through and devastated his hometown during a homecoming gig for the band in which he was playing. He uses a woman's description from a newspaper article the next day, named Bobbi Jo McClean, to add levity. The one constant throughout the story and the thing that gives it its visual representation is the simple description of the tornado itself. It's a description that anyone from the South has heard and can attest to: the sound of a fast-moving train. It's mentioned three times, twice by Hood and once by McClean. The second time Hood mentions it is at the very end of the story and it's one of disbelief. He has laid witness to one of the worst sights he's ever seen. He's lived through it and seen others die from it. When an event this big occurs, the things people remember are small. They're detailed and what ANY person who's lived through a tornado will recall is the sound of an oncoming train.

Director: For its small town feel and use of details, David Gordon Green.


Song: "The Day John Henry Died"

Jason Isbell is the least literal of the storytellers. He likes to use imagery and characters to paint a much bigger picture. In the end, this is a story about industrialization, using the fable of John Henry, a one-man machine who could handle the most impossible of jobs with the use of his hammer. It's essentially the working class versus the men who've run the automobile industry into the ground. The country feels a deepening sadness towards the moment that big-time business took over something that felt more personal in its inception. This is, of course, the meaning behind the title. The working class could do anything they wanted and, in this case, did, but when a larger presence looms, sometimes there's nothing you can do. You just have to sit back and take it and realize that your time has come and gone. The story begins with the building of a train and ends with the flying of an airplane. It's not necessarily condemning modernization, but it's not condoning it, either.

Director: For its socially-conscious themes, Michael Moore (really he already has directed a documentary quite similar to this with Roger and Me)


Song: "Puttin' People On the Moon"

It's Patterson Hood's turn, again. He's now turned to the use of a main character narrating his own story. It follows him from the time he and his wife Mary Alice had their first child until the moment he looks back and regrets every choice he's ever made. The antagonist of the story is Reaganomics. It's the 1980s and the small town in which he lives presents no opportunities for economic prosperity. He's recently been fired from his job at the Ford plant and with a wife and child to feed, he begins running numbers and eventually deals drugs. He realizes it's not the most virtuous thing to do, but what other choice does he have. The town's strife is put in contrast with the government's propensity for supplying money to the space program, which, coincidentally, is having a great amount of success just down the highway, in Huntsville. Eventually, his wife comes down with cancer and dies due to their lack of insurance. With no other options, the man takes a job at the local Wal-Mart. He's got several kids at this point and has to find a way to feed them. Yet, pride always seems to be his biggest sin. He spends the entire story blaming others, who have no direct control over his life. The main question we're left with by the end, is "Is it the entire town that's in this much trouble or is it just the man, himself?" Nothing is resolved. We are left with a cyclical feeling about the life of the narrator.

Director: In all honesty, with the right-wing government as the obvious "bad guy", I would enjoy Oliver Stone tackling this particular story.


Song: "Carl Perkins' Cadillac"

Our gravel-voiced spokesman from the opening story is back to tell a biographical account of the founder of Sun Records, Sam Phillips. One of the pioneers of rock 'n' roll, Phillips brought together a unique group of artists who became the basis for the onslaught of American music in the 1950s: Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, and Carl Perkins. The title is in reference to a promise that Phillips made to the four artists for a brand new Cadillac to the first person to have a gold record. Many felt it was Elvis' to lose, but all were surprised when Perkins was the first one to earn the distinction. Cooley, himself, is probably the one telling the story. If there were a narrator for this particular one, it would have to be the singer. Only a rocker could tip his hat to this extinguished group of folks. The line that reverberates the most is, "Mr. Phillips was the only man that Jerry Lee still would call 'sir'".

Anyone who knows anything about the early days of rock 'n' roll will know that Jerry Lee Lewis wasn't the easiest person to get along with, yet this little guy from Memphis could command respect from the guys we view as the founders of popular music. The last part of the story switches from narration to what we assume is Phillips trying to talk sense into Elvis. It seems the direction that Elvis' career took was the antithesis of what Phillips cultivated at Sun Records in the mid-50s. There's disappointment in his voice, leading one to believe that Elvis might've been better off dying before he got old. With Lewis marrying his thirteen-year-old cousin and Cash finding drug addiction, the only one who truly lived up to Phillips ideal of being a man first and a performer second, is the namesake for this story.

Director: After such rock-based films as Hail, Hail Rock 'N' Roll and Ray, I would easily give this film to Taylor Hackford.


Part II (Songs 6-10) to come soon.