Seasick Steve
Hubcap Music

To see him just like that, with his shabby demeanor, worn-out jeans several sizes too large, the checkered shirt, and the faded truckdriver hat, Seasick Steve could easily be the guy just out of a suburban job center.

It is certain that his hands have quite a lot of stories to tell, knobby, calloused, and bristling with tattoos... and as much are told by his wrinkles, because from '41 to today he must have walked quite the long road. Hubcap Music is his sixth studio effort, from 2004 to the present day, and he approaches it with the same smile on the lips of a curious child at the amusement park for the first time. Enough with the chatter, because even twenty pages wouldn't be enough to delve into the discourse of purity, honesty, and the spirit with which a music career is approached. We take him as he presents himself, a handshake and a pat on the back, 72 springs well-played, and the feeling that he's living the revival that others before him (see Junior Kimbrough and RL Burnside in the early '90s, thawed by the American audience and not only in a wave of second or third life of the blues) caught on a couple of decades ago. "Seasick" Steve, jack-of-all-trades by passion, hobo by vocation, roadie, sailor, carpenter, and who knows what else, passed unnoticed in his native America but hailed by heavy-hitting patrons like an unknown strummer like Jack White, or a middle-aged guy like John Paul Jones (both guest stars on the record) spits in our face right away the kind of person he is, as if he were sitting on the verandah of a Louisiana juke-joint at the third beer, among a pinch of tobacco and the hoarse breaths of one who has broken his back after a long day's work. He does it in a rustic way, introducing the work with the phlegmy croak of a John Deere, almost giving us a diesel sniff to prepare for the listening. And what an opening, folks! The old man's handmade guitar immediately slaps us lively in a ZZTop-style boogie, Dan Magnusson pounds raw on the drums... sordid, essential, heavy just enough, a tune that can't help but stick in your head.

"Down on the farm" the refrain tells us, and indeed that's the setting. The three-chord plays precise until a slide run elevates the song's quality... and the album has just begun. Seasick Steve at his age must have the habit of repeating things... So why not smack us in the face with the manifesto of what he is and what he wants to represent. "Self Sufficient Man" is a promise, a blood pact, the shrewd blues of someone who cares to say in your face what he thinks. A classic riff, a minor pentatonic, but a unique groove spiced by the powerful distortion and the deep baritone voice of "ours." The rhythm shows no signs of slowing down, after an acoustic intro, the tempo of "Keep on Keepin' On" immediately kicks in, a song that musically might recall the offbeat gait of the early works by North Mississippi Allstars by Luther Allison. A fine bass work, an arrangement crafted on the diddley-bo, another tool built in the basement, a cigar box electrified by a low-grade pickup. We just take a moment to catch our breath, and the album changes course, the first ballad arrives, and with it, it seems even more like being immersed in the green countryside, a light slide played fingerpicking, the enrichment of a mandolin sealing the bridges. The lived voice of Seasick Steve tells us a country poem, a sweet versatility yet not jarring at all with what we have heard so far. With "The Way I Do," we return to blues territory, a sly four-four meter, a song that takes us by the hand before we embark in a new safe harbor. "Purple Shadows" brings a tear, an easy duet with a female voice, lyrics talking about how one can get burnt in love, blues giving space to a twilight country, the steel-guitar framing the sunset described in the title between tones that embrace sadness and melancholy.

We have just enough time to wipe away the remains of emotion, and off we go with a new gut-wrenching stomp, one that smells of cigarettes and Jack Daniel's, in countertime, the slide always in the foreground as a counterpoint to that grave and slurred voice that the hero in overalls characterizes since his debut. The album flows without halts, without hitches, a successful mix of electric blues, not predictable at all, and sweet country folk characterized by taste and experience. "Hope" is a classic blues that seems to come out of Lomax's field recordings, it feels like being in the blackest countryside, sitting around a fire that's dying out. We are in the climate of the Great Depression, it seems like the post-new-deal years, and the sounds bring us closer to ghosts coming out of the closets and ready to walk the streets of modernity. "Heavy Weight" hits hard again, a nice boogie played on precise shuffling triplets. A big shot, Seasick says, and after all at his age one can be hardcore enough to sing and play it by themselves. "Cost is Clear" is the last sung track of the album, and it's a goodbye introduced by a beautiful organ, a refrain that smells of hope for an uncertain future. There's space for horns, a vaguely sixties melody, and the bass that plays along repeating the central theme of the song. Female choirs to battle the deep voice. The last fifty seconds and spare change of the album return to the sound of the tractor at the beginning, as if to say... "Here's where I start and here's where I arrive." Consistency, a nice rev, the engine shuts down but I'm still here solid and sure of myself. Ultimately judging Hubcap Music seems all too simple... it's a great album. A great album because it sounds real as opposed to much of the music that reaches our ears these days. Regardless of the genre, the stage, the audience... Seasick Steve gives us a pearl of simplicity yet solidity, not only telling us where he has arrived after all his wandering but letting us understand what path he has already charted for the future. Excellent production, exceptional appearances by artists who literally fight just to share the stage.

Clearly, there's no need to shout 'miracle,' simply because even Seasick wouldn't shout... at most a raised glass, a toast to celebrate what it is. A hobo who made it, a winning gem of the "better late than never" philosophy. Like his entire discography, it's one of those cornerstones that you either love or hate, but for those with a certain affinity for the genre and especially adore the truth mumbled under one's breath but straight in the face, it's a release not to be missed.