The Holy Cows
Blueberrie
Big Pop, bigpop@bigpop.com
Release Date: 1997
John Walsh & the Sinkholes
Antimatter Eisenhower
National Seed Records, cdsmith@iquest.net
Release Date: 1997
The post-Replacements efforts of Paul Westerberg, Chris Mars and Tommy Stinson have produced a rather, um, uneven collection of work. But while one of the more auspicious efforts -- Stinson's Bash & Pop -- on the surface was just barroom rock 'n' roll, it was wildly successful because it managed to inject a certain swagger and urgency into a well-worn (and often worn-out) genre.
To a slightly lesser degree, the Holy Cows and John Walsh & the Sinkholes achieve similar results. Neither one is likely to defy categorization any time soon, but both pump out emotionally genuine and absorbing rock 'n' roll that does more than just keep you company while you sip your beer.
The big problem with barroom rock is its ponderously repetitive rhythm, that same one-dimensional beat over and over and over again, like a sloshed frat boy pounding down still another Natural Light. Credit Holy Cows' drummer Mike Popovich with avoiding that trap, inserting just enough fits and starts to keep the album rhythmically interesting. It elevates a song like the leadoff "Punched A Friend" well above the standard straightforward rocker, and spices up such midtempo balladeering as "Laundromat" and "Who is He." A few songs flirt with cliches, both lyrically and musically, but there's always something there to save the songs from becoming slovenly or sappy.
John Walsh & The Sinkholes also know how to produce some creditably catchy material -- "I Got You" and "Worst Goddamn Enemy" are particularly fine examples -- but where they set themselves a step apart is on the more introspective tracks. "Family Car," for instance, fools you into thinking it's a gentle, wistful love song before fragmenting into a scaldingly bitter finish. Like "Talkin' To," another standout track, its steady build and disarmingly intimate lyrics highlight a certain desperate edge to Walsh's voice. In its own way, this too is barroom rock. But while the Holy Cows usually sound more like the blustery misunderstood kids smashing beer mugs on the floor, John Walsh and his band sound more like the quiet misunderstood kids in the booth at the back, ordering another pitcher and wondering just where things went wrong.
-- Chris Schwartz
schwartz@outersound.com
