Autobiography typically has no place in a record review, but let's make an exception here. There's no point in trying to sequester my evaluation of Rank And File's music from memories that are now (gulp!) twenty years old.
The time was 1983. The place was my Canadian hometown of Winnipeg. The event was a beer bash at the University of Manitoba. The entertainment that night was Rank And File. My friend Billy and I, both early adherents to the group's feisty fusion of punk and country, were evidently the only patrons in the hall with enthusiasm for (or foreknowledge of) the R&F oeuvre.
Before an indifferent audience, brothers Chip and Tony Kinman, drummer Slim Evans, and future alt-country guitar star Junior Brown (who had replaced founding member Alejandro Escovedo) drilled through a set of songs from their 1982 debut Sundown, and offered a taste of their then-forthcoming sophomore effort, Long Gone Dead. Things really got interesting, though, when an anachronistic mob of prairie-bred, parka-clad mods pushed to the front of the stage and jeered the band.
Chip signaled for "I Went Walking", and as the increasingly hostile mob bombed the stage with beer cups and coins, he stood his ground. "Did you ever see a sheep in a pork-pie hat?/Ever see a lemming dressed all in black?" he sang. "You sorry junkie beatniks ain't got nothing on me/You ain't noticed anything since 1963."
The song was diamond-hard honky-tonk. The attitude was swaggering punk. Or maybe I had that backwards? It's still an indelible memory; the mindless crowd doing its best to drive Rank And File offstage, and Chip Kinman -- projectiles bouncing off his head -- defiantly spitting out the lyrics.
As the audience got uglier, my friend Billy took matters into his own hands and thumped one of the mods. His efforts didn't go unnoticed by the band, and we were invited back to their motel to celebrate what Rank And File conceded was its worst-received gig ever.
So I confess my judgment of Rhino Handmade's twofer reissue of Rank And File's early-'80s Slash Records releases may be tainted by the treasured memory of that evening, in a smoky room, drinking the band's beer and talking into the night about music. Still, I was a fan of Rank And File's work before that occasion, and two decades later, after listening to this crisply-remastered, limited-edition release (only 2,500 copies are planned to be sold online), I'm happy to report that the music holds up exceedingly well.
Neither preciously retro nor recklessly iconoclastic, Rank And File's music was a true fusion, in that it was equally likely to piss off punks and traditionalists, while transporting those with a taste for risk-taking art. The way Chip Kinman's high, sweet voice played against brother Tony's basso profundo might have been an acquired taste for some -- a consideration that continues in the brothers' current configuration as Cowboy Nation. But the Everly Brothers (not exactly slouches in the fraternal harmony racket) were impressed enough to essay their own cover of the Sundown track "Amanda Ruth", a song with winningly rude lyrics ("Her salt's tasty, her sugar's sweet/She can't cook but she's got something to eat") that can still raise a smile.
The best of the Kinmans' songwriting fell into two categories: fiery updates on traditional country themes (on Sundown, the title track, their hell-bound barnstormer "The Conductor Wore Black", the tender "Lucky Day", the searching, desperate "Coyote"; on Long Gone Dead, the parched "Hot Wind", the historic ballad "John Brown") and an agit-tonk that mixed Clash-style politics and roots-rock fervor (the Escovedo co-written blue-collar holler "Rank And File", the anti-apathy anthems "Long Gone Dead" and "Sound Of The Rain"). The music on these albums is full of surprises: a just right dub-reggae interlude on "Coyote", a borrowed chorus from Ernest Tubb's "Thanks A Lot" grafted into "Rank And File", a peppy remake of Lefty Frizzell's "I'm An Old, Old Man".
Less abiding are their attempts to inject a more conventional pop sound into their music. "Tell Her I Love Her" and "Saddest Girl In The World" (both from Long Gone Dead) suggest Shakespeare's admonition against "vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself" and lands with a splat. Further, producer David Kahne's overly fussy studio treatments betray the same weakness of so many '80s records -- a reliance on thudding snare rhythms and a lack of faith in simply capturing a dry, live-off-the-floor sound. Play what-if for a moment, and imagine R&F under the tutelage of a contemporary producer with a better feel for this music (Ethan Johns? Brian Paulson? the Twangtrust?), and you'll sigh at what might have been.
Rhino Handmade has done a great service in resurrecting Rank And File's music, and this nicely packaged set (including a well-appointed sixteen-page booklet and a bonus lyric sheet adorned with gig leaflets) is up to the completist label's typically high standards. A trio of bonus tracks (the Sundown outtakes "Klansman", "Post Office" and the traditional "Wabash Cannonball") are nice additions. But an added live rip at "White Lightnin'" is a tantalizing sample of what Rank And File could accomplish onstage; more of this live stuff, please!
You know what they say about pioneers? They either end up as wealthy land barons, or they die off during the first harsh winter. Rank And File were pioneers. The group didn't survive long enough to capitalize on its daring, but thanks to the fading-but-fond memories of fans and to reissues like this, their music endures.
Comments ()