The Knitters were little more than a pimple on a pimple on the face of rock 'n' roll history. Rising from the fertile club scene of mid-'80s Hollywood, the loose-knit crew seemed like a lost weekend among L.A. punks (X's John Doe, Exene Cervenka and D.J. Bonebrake) and cowpunks (Johnny Ray Bartel and the Blasters' Dave Alvin) committed to liberating their inner twang. Still, Poor Little Critter On The Road, the outfit's sole release (1985, Slash/Warner), struck a big chord among a small group of local and not-so-local music fans: It liberated their inner twang as well.
Suddenly, hardcore country -- or at least a near facsimile of it -- was cool among indie-rock types. A generation of DIY-prophesizing, used-record-bin-scouring, loud-fast-ruling, counterculturalists-in-their-own-suburban-mind types (you know who you are) turned on to some of the giants of country music. This mostly covers collection included songs by the Carter Family ("Poor Old Heartsick Me"), Merle Haggard ("Silver Wings"), the Delmore Brothers ("Trail Of Time"), and that omnipresent songwriter, "Trad." ("Walkin' Cane"). Not a bad tutorial coming from a group of upstart musicians whose original street cred was based on an aesthetic derived from working-class England ca. 1977.
The folks at Bloodshot Records were among those inspired. The Chicago label that helped launch the careers of Robbie Fulks, the Old 97's, the Waco Brothers and others claims to practically owe its existence to the enlightenment sparked by that Knitters album. So they felt compelled to compile Poor Little Knitter On The Road, a tribute album featuring several of Bloodshot's more recent stable ponies and others recreating the original release song-for-song. (An interesting, if marginal, Knitters track that wasn't on the original album is also included.)
It's on one hand an absurd concept -- paying homage to a band that was practically an homage itself. But if you can get beyond the rickety premise, Poor Little Knitter is a playful excursion with plenty of fine moments. Kelly Hogan & the Rock*A*Teens lend a ballroomish swing treatment to "Someone Like You", and Anna Fermin delivers a robust, Pasty Cline-like rendition of "Love Shack". Freakwater's Catherine Irwin gives her typically creaky vocal style over to a version of "Walkin' Cane" with the Sadies, while the bassoon-voiced Brett Sparks does nice work on the Handsome Family's noirish reading of "Trail Of Time". Robbie Fulks puts some extra pone into the already campy "The Call Of The Wrecking Ball", while Sacramento, Calif., newcomers 99 Tales pump up "Baby Out Of Jail" with raucous psychobilly edges. Even average trash-twanging Bloodshot artists Trailer Bride (the title track) and the Blacks ("The New World") start to make sense; they're easily linked to the alt-hootenanny getup the Knitters once fostered.
It's mostly a solid effort -- the one glaring misfire being Whiskeytown's take on the Hag's "Silver Wings". On a song that proved how good a country singer Doe could be, Whiskeytown's Ryan Adams steers clear of what would undoubtedly have been his own knockout version with something downright awful -- a droning, ambient, atonal mess that puts a fork in what is otherwise one of the more gorgeous country melodies ever.
Still, this little party is put into proper perspective by the appearance of Doe himself on a new version -- Doe covering Doe! -- of the melancholy "Cryin' But My Tears Are Far Away", backed by the X-worshipping Old 97's (who one might surmise will be collaborating with Billy Zoom next). Here the punk crooner simply dazzles, while 97's singer Rhett Miller is plenty impressive himself on the verse he takes.
It's the collection's best moment, but it makes you wonder: Why not just dust off the real thing? There's a lot more Doe to be heard on the first one. Not to mention Alvin and Cervenka.
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