Judging by the evidence here, a “workbench song” is one that Guy Clark has lovingly cobbled together, usually with an old friend or new, for no other reason than it sure is fun to cobble together songs while nursing cups of Old Crow or trading tokes of, uh, “Worry B Gone.” I say “cobbled together” because the songs here do a have a certain tossed-off quality, an effect that can be quite charming but also not a little disappointing. There are no new Guy Clark story-song masterpieces here, no fresh “Desperadoes Waiting On A Train” or “The Randall Knife” or “Queenie’s Song”. Nor does the record offer any new word-to-the-wise keepers such as “Heartbroke” or “Come From The Heart”.
Instead, Clark’s eleventh studio album overflows with what has long since become Clark’s dominant mode, and a venerable subgenre in its own right: the observation song. Clark’s finest earlier exemplars of the style — they come no more perfect than “Homegrown Tomatoes” — are so conversational, so in-the-moment appreciative of their chosen subject, they can trick you into thinking just any-old-body could write one any-old-time. But it takes enormous patience and workbench craft, not to mention plenty of good ol’ where-did-that-come-from inspiration, to fashion a song that’s about nothing more or less than eating ‘maters or Texas cooking, and to make it sing so fine that folks want to return to it, over and over and over.
The breezy “Tornado Time In Texas”, which Clark co-wrote with his longtime guitarist Verlon Thompson, may just make the cut on that last count. Those of us in Tornado Alley will at least want to sing along — “Hide in the celluh/Here come Amarilluh/Blowin’ up the road” — once or twice every storm season. Similarly, a new version of Clark and Darrell Scott’s “Out In The Parking Lot” nails a not-especially-eventful night drinking outside some honky-tonk with appropriate fondness. And the one narrative included, “Funny Bone”, about a rodeo clown with a busted heart, is fanciful and bittersweet.
Other numbers, though — “Analog Girl”, for example, a mildly humorous lexicon of some old gal’s old-school ways; or Clark and Chuck Mead’s “Cinco De Mayo In Memphis”, which pairs Memphis stereotypes to Mexican los estereotipos — are cute enough but ain’t gonna stick to no ribs.
But what of it? Clark’s gruff, mature voice is fuller and more expressive than ever here — he’s an angel with smoker’s cough — and he can turn a phrase with the best, even in songs that eventually only wind up feeling anticlimactic. These workbench songs are tailor-made to go down smooth while you sip some Old Crow.