Widespread Panic
Don't Tell the Band

THE REVIEW

Introduction:

Made in USA to the core, the musical philosophy of the Georgians Widespread Panic, a common characteristic among bands like them associated with the southern rock genre. Here in Europe, few people pay attention to them... across the Atlantic, however, they always fill the concerts, and they have been doing so for almost three decades now, in the meantime managing to sell fairly well the dozen of albums published so far.

And here you have in this mid-career album six musicians, all over forty at the time (we are in 2001), more or less balding and/or pot-bellied, devoid of any stage frills, focused on letting their instruments speak and entrusting the vocal parts and the stories they want to narrate in music to the original and solemn timbre of frontman John Bell. In the genre of repertoire in question, you cannot expect particular originality and extravagance but more realistically soul, flair, generosity, abandon.

These ingredients are plentiful in each of their albums, pleasantly consistent in terms of inspiration. It’s not easy to be original artists, but even less so to navigate ordinary grounds, specifically a rock spiced up with country, hard, fusion, psychedelia, Latin, soul, and come out with their style and often excellent results.

The latter are sometimes represented by thrilling harmonic progressions, other times by sensational jam sessions, and always with that comforting sensation of "good people," who focus on playing what they feel and push straight ahead, busting their chops with endless concerts grouped into continuous, exhausting tours. I find these "Widespread Panic" guys too likable and engaging, magnificent champions of those musical backwaters where, if you know how and are willing to search, you can occasionally find wonders.

Context:

This is a mid-career album, the seventh to be precise, and also the last in which one of the group's founders, Michael Houser, appears on guitar. He is the most prominent instrumentalist since he is given long solos on the six-string (especially in concert), as a prologue, interlude, or epilogue to their compositions.

Houser is an entirely adequate and fluid guitarist during accompaniments, then assumes a style of his own when launching into solos, lingering and repetitive at hypnotic levels... Depending on how you take it, it can range from pleasantly trippy to overly tedious. His unusual characteristic in the final years of his career was playing seated, in the style of Robert Fripp or a young Steve Hackett. This was due to the fact that his guitar phrasing, which involved the intensive and continuous use of the volume pedal with his right foot, had led him to balance himself and lean for years solely on his left leg, ultimately compromising its blood circulation. Nonetheless, a fatal pancreatic ailment took this unfortunate musician the year after this work was published.

The band appearing on this album is therefore, as always, cohesive, mature, seasoned by countless concerts, supported by a considerable following of loyal admirers mostly from the southern states of the Union. I, on the other hand, am from central Italy, which is why it took me a lifetime to come across their music, three or four years ago; after which it took me a moment to consider them the discovery of the year and one of my top twenty or thirty favorite groups overall.

Strengths and shortcomings:

The music of Widespread is straightforward, mature, sufficiently varied, driven by a great bass/drums rhythm section, reinforced by the presence of a full-time percussionist but standing out especially in the work of the bass: the hefty and virtuosic Dave Schools is a perfect rhythm machine, and capable of elevating his instrument to the rank of soloist without falling into tedium or inadequacy.

John Bell's vocal tone and style (also a rhythm guitarist) are beautiful and important, gritty just enough, hoarse as required, infused with soul (as the English say, soulful). The group's peculiarity mainly passes through his singing.

Also indispensable for the common cause is the work of keyboardist John Herman, aka JoJo, occasionally also a lead vocalist (modest and rounded, compared to Bell's solemn hoarseness). He does everything that needs to be done without overplaying, at the pianos as well as the organ, enriching the sound and not adding a single note more than necessary, with class, measure, and all-American swing.

The only shortcoming I see in bands and albums like this is that they require getting inside them, more listens, music devotee effort. The sound, the musical offering, the interaction among the various musicians, the mix of influences and rhythms are so measured that it is necessary to concentrate to grasp the "hooks," the exquisiteness, the key moments that make an album something unmissable, to be possessed, and a band something to appreciate, love, respect, admire.

In their music, there is a hypnotic, late psychedelic component that transcends harmonies and melodies and emerges forcefully for those who recognize it. They are not just songs; they are sonic situations that grab your guts and synapses simultaneously. In their own way, Widespread Panic fit into the list of great bands for a lysergic, cosmic, sensory journey. Therefore comparable to Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Amon Duul II, Hawkwind... extremely musically different entities yet all differently mind-blowing.

Their most convinced aficionados know this well; they go to see them in concert even dozens of times, never disappointed (also because by now these guys have an immense repertoire). And yet, upon superficial observation, they appear as six heavyset guys in crumpled t-shirts, shapeless jeans, and clunky tennis shoes, standing still on stage and hunched over their instruments. Zero appeal and spectacle... but from the sound system comes out paradise! Look on YouTube for one of their annual concerts at Red Rocks near Denver, already a heavenly venue in itself: enough to blow your mind.

It's different on the album, and paradoxically, that's the limit of Widespread. They are better live. However, they have the prudence to reinvent themselves when working in the studio: less of a jam band and more song form, fewer instrumental digressions and more structure, reaching, in some cases, almost pop-rock. This album is a valid example of that.

Album highlights:

Two, three, even four tracks are masterful, nothing less. Let’s look at them in order of appearance in the tracklist, which includes twelve in total:

“Casa del Grillo” is, for this writer, the absolute peak of the work. Entirely in a minor key, it starts slyly in the verses, then spikes and enchants in the choruses sung entirely in Spanish, heartfelt, a bit disorienting, dense with a completely Latino pathos, almost Almodovarian. A hypnotic and disconcerting flamenco rock, a unique atmosphere, worthy of the very first Santana (in fact, Carlos has sometimes joined them to perform it on stage... his fiery guitar fits like a cherry on top of this one!). John Bell’s mariachi/folk interpretation is simultaneously a riot and touching, with English and Spanish alternating freely between the lines.

The opener “Little Lilly” is a rock lullaby that exemplifies the Widespread Panic effect one hundred percent for the uninitiated (but interested): in the first minute, it seems a staggering and monotonous little song, then its expansion in the chorus ends its wavering, making it lyrical and... sexy. The Beatles are playfully mentioned in the text ("...She Came in Thru’ the BEDroom Window..."), the piano and organ come and go along with the hypnotic lead guitar... at the end of the piece, a novice doesn’t know what he listened to or who. He listened to Widespread Panic, unique in their own way.

The rest:

“Give” is a concise rock-blues brimming with Hammond organ, traveling straight and linear like a “Gimme Some Lovin" without possessing its renowned riff.

“Imitation Leather Shoes” is hard and heavy, even though it tells the story of a guy who doesn't want fake leather shoes anymore. Halfway through, the jam starts, the first one of the album: everything quiets down and unravels, becomes progressive too, towards Pink Floyd direction with a proliferation of echoes and with the pianist hitting the keys in Thelonious Monk style and then playing with Leslie vibrato by switching to the organ. It feels like being in the middle of “Interstellar Overdrive”, such fun. Live, they stretch it out to also a quarter of an hour, and the joints in the audience are everywhere.

“This Part of Town” starts traveling with a funky-confidential groove; in fact, the keyboardist sings it, who has a calm and soft emission, full of bass. However, the brief instrumental interlude is substantial and resonant, completely rock.

“Sometimes” is a surprising alternative rock cover by fIREHOSE, played better than they do (not hard), rounder, more evocative than angry, and then there’s Herman's bass making a difference.

The extremely acid “Thought Sausage” relies on an insistent wah-wah pedal: a filler.

Final Judgment:

No need to spell it out. I like them a lot.

They are not a band for exploits, for spectacle, for highs and lows. They have constant excellence, complete humility, a fierce cohesion. A group to listen to over an entire album or even more than one, trying to get on their wavelength for, say, a week or two, maybe just listening to them alone, to ride the wave and get lost in their music without edges but exquisite, then perhaps ignore them for months and come back to them. I find this album one of their best, even though my judgment might be enhanced by the fact it was the one that made me discover them.