Listen to Dirty Bourbon River Show.

As a general rule of thumb, I don’t write proper music reviews. Because I’m concerned with the fact that I’m not a good writer. And I don’t want my words to get in the way of the music I’m trying to recommend. So maybe it would be safer for us all to think of this “review” as just… serious advice from a guy who is retardedly obsessed with music.

So.

Anyway.

Today, I want to talk about a band called Dirty Bourbon River Show.

As their music makes somewhat apparent, they come from New Orleans, Louisiana. I don’t exactly know how to describe their sound other than… circus music for chameleons on soul-shattering doses of mescaline. They’ve been together about a year, I think, maybe slightly longer. But already, they’re establishing themselves as a dedicated group of hard-working whipper-snappers that will play anywhere, anytime, for anyone.

Okay, in the interest of being truthful, I have met Noah Adams a couple of times. He’s the guy that started the band back in late 2008. He used to live in Portland, where he was already making some great art. The dude is a freak of the highest order. World traveler, writer of novels, amateur botanist, slacker savant… these are just a few arbitrary terms that barely describe the man. But overall, I’d say he’s a kind soul who loves music more than most people ever will. And it shows.

But Dirty Bourbon River Show is clearly a lot bigger than their music. I think this band is pushing sex and love and freedom and chaos and solidarity and and and… I don’t know how to say it. When the boys in Dirty Bourbon play, all the colors in the room get a little louder. When Noah Adams screams out, “One way or another, I’ll be free,” even the caged monkeys at the zoo feel a bit better about their lot in life. When Wayne Mitchell goes batshit on his tenor sax, the minds of audience members are melted instantly and ecstatically. Drummer and bassist, Bootsy Schindler and Jimmy Williams (respectively), take us from Dixieland all the way back to the Motherland. And in case that’s not enough, Big Charlie Skinner is there to act as ringmaster, and to remind us (by screaming, and quite loudly)that Earth and Heaven and Hell and everyplace in between can all be found under the same roof when experiencing The Dirty Bourbon River Show. You will sweat and you will cry and you will speak in tongues. You will sway and gyrate and convulse. This is what it means to experience The Dirty Bourbon River Show.

This is music for dead people, just as much as it’s for people who prefer to live. This is music for cats and music for dogs. There are bits of Vaudeville, pieces of Slayer, little slices of Satchmo, particles of Zimmerman, big bastardly chunks of Americana, and gallon after gallon after gallon of sweet Bourbon.

Their first record, Volume One, came out in February of 2010. And this is where it gets weird. As a band that is obviously very well-suited for live performance, the album is stellar. I mean the production actually captures their essence. You can put this record on at high volumes for a party, or play it in your headphones late at night; it actually works. This is not like the way it’s always been ridiculous to listen to Grateful Dead studio albums, you know? I definitely suggest the live show, but the album will fuck you up just as well, only in different ways. The subtleties are all there.

Anyway, they are always playing shows around New Orleans (For example, you can see them at Cafe Prytania in New Orleans this Tuesday evening, 6/1/2010). And they make their presence known on the internet as well. As a person that doesn’t care to review music, let me just say this: I strongly advise you to get some Dirty Bourbon in your life, one way or another.

Okay? Okay. Great.

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
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