I have no idea what Uncle Sinner is. It might be Kid Rock’s drummer for all I know. But somehow I ended up downloading a CD by these people (or person?) and of all their songs, all ended up on the deletion list except this one track, which persevered in the clusterfuck battle royal of my tiny gaypod shuffle for a long time, until I had listened to it enough it made this list.
Most ugh.alt.country sounds like a graduate thesis project to me. I grew up with too much hopelessness and frustration and plywood windows and dripping ceilings to really feel a lot of this music that pretends itself to be country-influenced. The perfect example of this is Ryan Adams, who is a huge critical darling. To me, he sounds like a bitch. I think about hanging at the Mahan’s junkyard, or sitting around the table at Tip’s house, and something like that would get laughed at. You can’t be country without having a healthy handful of hard dick alpha maleness. Being conscious is what you are when you wrap a guardrail around your hand-me-down vehicle at 3:30 on a Sunday morning, which is technically still a Saturday night to you, and you don’t pass out, so you can call your buddy to try and wench it out the ditch, or just run off into the woods along logging trails if authoritative headlights come shining your direction.
Uncle Sinner may be more of this. But it slipped under my radar. Or off my radar. Honestly, I don’t have radar, though I do have a CB radio, but my old satellite radio blew out all the cigarette lighter sockets in my truck, so I can’t power it up to use it. That is unfortunate, yes, but ultimately makes perfect sense. People like me – real country – we can’t have shit.
STEAL "Jack of Diamonds"
NEXT UP: Pioneer stoner rock, which unfortunately does not mean Pa Ingalls in a ching chong opium den!
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