Rube Waddell was the closing act at Laughing
Squid 6.0 last Friday night. Not
R ube Waddell the National Hall of Famer (and sexy man). Rube Waddell the band. They rocked me so hard, I had to suppress
the urge to go hunt road kill. So I bought their CD, Rube Waddell brand Stink Bait,
1998, Vaccination Records. I am in love with this
band.
Rube Waddell's circussy brand of blues involves guitars, kazoos, harmonicas, penny
whistles, wash boards, drums, duct tape, safety pins, a banjo and a sousaphone. I like
to believe I hear an accordion too. I am in love with this CD. Maybe it's the tin can
packaging. Or the sticker of a red cauldron filled with green tentacled slop atop a
black t-shirt flanked by hungry-eyed Catfish. Could it be the message, "Rube's formula
guaranteed to satisfy long lasting firm and smelly!"? Nope. It must be the 21 most ass
whoopin', porch stompin', spoon tappin' tracks ever recorded on 8-track in someone's
bedroom. The complimentary quadra-fold booklet reveals that our dear friends at
Polymorph Studio in Oaktownbootyville mastered this fine mess. So there's that too.
The cover illustration reads - Rube Waddell brand Stink Bait net wt 73.38 min. I won't
tell you about all 21 tracks. Git your own damn CD! But, a brilliant highlight is the
gritty chain gang version of the dirge Oh Death. It's more like a jungle chant. A
hearty serving of gospel blues is dished up with John The Revelator. The haunting and
surreal Whistling Dead is haunting, yet surreal. Drunken Street Ho sounding Peggy
Bernier Watson performs a Little Rascal-esque prelude entitled I'll Eat A Worm. Roy
Smeck is a kooky Hawaiian tribute to the Ukelele Hall of Famer comprising the lyrics
"maka miki moka miki ma." Johnny Cash's Mean Eyed Cat is down, dirty and seasoned with
grit. Salt of the Earth and San Pablo Rap rock the house. Mohandas=sublime. My all
time favorite track, Eunice Irene, has a sprinkle of Kurt
Weill: "Eunice Irene O'Dougal McGill lived in self imposed squalor on top of the
hill."
Remember, it's recorded on 8-track folks. No high-faluting laser technology here. It's
dirty, gritty, nasty and raw. Raw, like after you run your palm across sand paper for a
spell. Raw, like you been chopping wood all afternoon. Close your eyes and smell the
Possum Stew, hear the frogs mating, taste Pappy's moonshine, see the lightnen' bugs
glowing in the yard while listening for your Bottom Feeder bell. Once more with feeling -
God Bless America.
