Lone Justice
This Is Lone Justice: The Vaught Tapes, 1983

Two blue eyes more than the November sky on a windy day, standing out in that oval face, framed by a sea of blonde curls. She looked like a porcelain doll, Maria McKee, and it was impossible not to fall in love with her.

To illustrate, Benmont Tench fell in love with her, and this had a sequel in history; I fell in love with her, but this did not have any sequel. Naturally, Benmont at that time was playing piano in Tom Petty's band, and he still does, I was playing with toy cars, but not anymore.

From that story with Benmont, Maria even wrote a song, "A Good Heart," which she lent to Feargal Sharkey, the one who sang in the Undertones, and with that song, Feargal achieved what he hadn't even managed with "Teenage Kicks," reaching number one, not only in his native Ireland but also in England and even in Australia.

An unbelievable thing, Feargal sings Maria's song and climbs the charts. A thing to regret, but not Maria, she couldn't care less. Because she had something else in mind, and besides, she didn't even consider that song.

What she had in mind was a date, the one on which she would debut in grand style with her band.

Because Maria sang in a band, she had formed it just a few months earlier with her childhood friend Ryan Hedgecock, and they went around playing a mix of sounds unheard until then. Country and punk, holy water and the devil.

Maria and Ryan had no travel companions, except for that horrible thug Jason Ringenberg and his band of Nashville skinflayers: Jason and the Skinflayers played marvelously, but it was better to stay away from them, and maybe that's why Maria got together with Benmont, at least he was someone she could introduce to her parents, if she absolutely had to. But deep down, she was crazy about Jason And The Nashville Scorchers, she loved their music, that music, and she set her mind on playing it too.

Maria had a passion that consumed her, and she poured it all out in every dive where she ended up playing with Ryan, when she rewrote Johnny Cash and Gram Parsons with the scribbled handwriting of any Exene. But how beautiful she was, and how beautiful her voice was.

Some even managed to see the flame of talent in her, and it was Linda Ronstadt, a major star in country music; Linda who did not stop at the little Maria's rude manners and secured her a contract with Geffen.

Another unbelievable story: a multinational record company signing a cover band without any art or part. And it even ended with Maria holding her ground against Geffen and achieving everything she planned to achieve.

It was 1985. Maria, Ryan, and the rest of the band entered the recording studio and immediately made it clear that things were to be done their way, and immediately started giving orders left and right to people like Little Steven, Benmont and the Heartbreakers, Annie Lennox, Jimmy Iovine; demonstrating that beyond beauty and talent, Maria had quite the personality.

They produced a great album all of their own making and titled it with the band's name, Lone Justice.

But looking deeper, the warning signs of change from the fiery nights spent in dives celebrating the bad blends of Johnny Cash and Johnny Rotten were already appearing. It became obvious to everyone the following year, when "Shelter" was released, and as if by some bad magic, all the freshness and spontaneity that still lingered in the debut evaporated.

So welcome "This Is Lone Justice: The Vaught Tapes 1983," released in 2014 to testify the first steps of Maria and Ryan along with Marvin Etzioni and Don Heffington: these were the Lone Justice.

It feels like one of those faded Super 8 films, with dad wielding the camera and capturing me as I take my first uncertain steps and mom holding me from behind to prevent me from falling ruinously.

In December 1983, Lone Justice crossed the threshold of the Suite 16 recording studio, welcomed by sound engineer David Vaught: they wanted to tape some original tracks and a few traditional pieces, the same ones they played night after night in the dives of Los Angeles and surrounding areas.

It was supposed to be a simple job: one take, always and no matter what, no remixes of any kind.

Twelve tracks went on tape, from "Nothing Can’t Stop My Loving You" to "Jackson," from "Dustbowl Depression Time" to "Working Man Blues"; the beautiful "Soap, Soup And Salvation" that would also appear on the debut and even "This World Is Not My Home," a devilish traditional with a whiff of sanctity.

Rural atmospheres and dizzying rhythms, country and punk, soon enough Lone Justice and Jason And The Nashville Scorchers would be counted among the godfathers of cow-punk; they would derive little to no benefit from it, although Uncle Tupelo and Wilco and the entire indie folk scene owe them a considerable debt.

It was supposed to be a simple job, but thirty-one years later those Lone Justice reveal themselves to be a sparkling band, a beautiful surprise; as if my dad had won the Oscar for directing, I for lead actor, and my mom for supporting actress.

Indeed.