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Rating:
Charlie Daniels is a bearded and corpulent, fascist and reactionary artist from the deep American south. Virtually unknown here, he is instead an appreciated and influential figure (though now fading, as he is a seventy-six-year-old gentleman) in his parts, in the country and southern rock scene.
Leaving aside country, a genre so made in USA that it almost can't be exported to the rest of the world, it is the southern rock phase of his, developed during the seventies in the wake of the pioneers of the sector Allman Brothers, that in my taste is truly interesting and at least "exportable" to the ears of American rock enthusiasts (decidedly American).
Daniels is a virtuoso of the fiddle, the country violin omnipresent as a solo instrument like the clarinet for our traditional dance music, but he was capable of great things even when wielding a Gibson Les Paul, obviously not connected to the usual Marshall or Mesa Boogie or Laney capable of making this instrument roar like a bear, but rather to an Argentine Fender amp, capable of rendering a sound always full yet round, ringing and harmonic like a bell, a pleasure for the ears of music lovers.
Daniels naturally also sings his songs, with his terrible (or fascinating, for those who prefer) southern accent, in a clear and very well-set tone. His band is made up of a quintet of brilliant players, among whom the talent of the pianist Taz Di Gregorio stands out particularly, capable of mixing rock'n'roll with jazz and blues under his nimble fingers.
So, making an effort to ignore the typical cowboy hat with an exaggerated band, and more generally the lack of talent of the painter who took care of the portrait on the cover, I assert that this is a grandiose Southern Rock album, roughly in the style of the Allman Brothers, with less blues (a voice like that of Greg Allman is certainly not present) and more country. The use of the infamous fiddle (moreover pyrotechnic and sincerely entrancing) is confined to just one of the seven tracks, for the rest, it is a festival of guitars, almost always electric (Daniels is joined by another guitarist, named Tom Crain), that exchange or unite forces bravely propelled by the double drummer, a cliché very popular there and not practiced in Europe (except occasionally in progressive circles).
There is a bit of everything in the seven tracks on the album, very varied among themselves. I consider a couple of them masterpieces in their genre, first of all the one that gives the album its title. It is clearly divided into two parts: it starts as a harmless country rock but after a few minutes there is a break and everything changes... an instrumental ride savory and brilliant starts, with solo spaces in favor of almost all the musicians involved, supreme class intertwining, rhythmic changes, beautiful sounds and maximum dynamics. Eleven minutes of exhilarating limelight for warm and visceral music, so exotic to our European ears yet brilliant and sincere, if one has the sensitivity to grasp the sense of it.
Tracklist and Lyrics
02 Saddle Tramp (11:00)
Well you pass around the pipe and you all get high
Never even stop and wonder why
Maybe it’s because you wanna die
Maybe it’s just he the way things have to be
You stay up late and drink too damn much whiskey
You know that sort of thing is kind of risky
Maybe it’s just because you like to feel frisky
Maybe it’s just because you like to feel free
Saddle Tramp
How many people watch you ridin’ by
Like a thunder cloud that floats
Across the Arizona sky
And wonder if they’re looking
At a mighty happy man
Or just a lonely breeze that drifts
Across the endless desert sand
Well it’s gettin’ kinda cold in Readosa
Abilene ain’t gettin’ any closer
One more drink, one more hand of poker
‘Cause a fool and his money’s
Gonna have to part
You’re too proud to ever show your sorrow
You don’t steal and you won’t beg or borrow
You may be here today but you’re gone tomorrow
There ain’t no strings on your boot heels
Or your heart
Saddle Tramp
How many people watch you ride away
Wonder why you never promise
To come back some day
Maybe thinking you were holding
All the pieces in your hand
Or are they slippin’ through your fingers
Like the endless desert sand
04 Wichita Jail (02:50)
I woke up on a cement floor this mornin,
My head felt like somebody been walkin on it,
Don't know how I got here,
Don't remember nothin at all,
but if I done all the things that they say I did,
well I sure musta had a ball
Cause in 30 more days
I'm goin back home,
to see that gal of mine,
but the Wichita Jail
is a long long way
from the Tupelo County line,
I gotta do my time
Well I aint got a cent of the money I had
I spent it
Shirts tore, my shoes got a big hole in it,
Theres a king size knot on the side of my head
and I got one big black eye
But brother if you think I look bad,
you oughtta see that other guy
Cause in 30 more days
I'm goin back home,
to see that gal of mine,
but the Wichita Jail
is a long long way
from the Tupelo County line,
I gotta do my time
Well this nine pound hammer feels like it weighs a ton
makin lil ones outta big ones in this red hot Kansas sun
I just hope I can make it 30 more days
and get out of this mess I'm in,
and if I ever get back to Mississippi
I aint ever gonna leave again
Cause in 30 more days
I'm goin back home,
to see that gal of mine,
but the Wichita Jail
is a long long way
from the Tupelo County line,
I gotta do my time
I gotta do my time
I gotta do my time
I gotta do my time
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