The Devil Went Down: Charlie Daniels, Now and Then

Now (well, 2016):

Charlie Daniels, Night Hawk: the title character, that quiet fella over there, lost his wife and babies in a sagebrush fire, so best not mess with him, This here set is at home on the emotional and musical range, so we also get a cowgrass “Big Balls In Cowtown” and Western Swing “Stay All Night”—riding econo, and sounds like he might be playing all the instruments (no drums, that I’ve noticed yet, anyway—plus a couple of re-done co-writes, “Billy The Kid” and “Running With The Crowd”, plainspoken, but more cautionary than preachy, as he keeps a sharp eye on the party (the latter song could be taken as something about runaway populism, as well as reg’lar Saturday nights getting carried away, turning into shoot-outs and necktie parties—-I wonder; he’s managed to stay out of any political news that I’ve seen this year, unlike his sometime talk radio colleague, Ted Nugent).

My favorite is “The Goodnight Loving Trail”, a real place, main route of many a cattle drive, and name of course ready for implicit irony in this campfire waltz, at first tweaking the beard of the “old woman”—somebody who can’t work the range no more, so he’s the cook–but the narrator then admits “someday I’ll be wearin’ the apron too,” cos what else can he do? No place else to go, as the desert wind dries him out, first preserves and then scatters his increasing flakiness—I’m paraphrasing, but not by much—also helps that CD‘s voice is as dry as the wind; no tears. (This is by Utah [Bruce] Phillips, AKA “U. Utah Figment“, as referenced by the elusive UP‘s sometime duet partner, Rosalie Sorrels.)

Also “Ghost Riders In The Sky” and “The Old Chisholm Trail” give us more of the cinematic side, while a somewhut self-mocking serenade of a leetle cowboy fan makes for a slightly sly finale, mixing sentiment and sediment (he knows he’s old and his themes are too, duh).

Then (2005, from  a Voice piece, “Sharp Blessed Men”, which starts with a lenghty examination of a good Hat rodeo tribute to ZZ Top):
Speaking of fiddles, and guitars for that matter, why isn’t Charlie Daniels

on this thing? There’s a very metal-fistic “Sharp Dressed Man” on his ’98

Tailgate Party, and the Charlie Daniels Band certainly helped unroll the Interstate

of pop-rock-country crossover. The CDB hitched a surefooted, rollcalling

(own-namedropping) “The South’s Gonna Do It Again” (do what? “It”? Mercy!) to the

otherwise often unwieldy new Southern Rock bandwagon. “South’s” stitched a

“Symphony Sid” jitterbop riff through Allmanesque flow, showing even Les Brers

how to get real concisely gone for a change!

But Chazz doesn’t just run up a musical flag or lay out a picnic blanket

(although that pre-ZZ beard’s a sparkling white napkin, across his

crimson-cowboy-shirted belly). No, the good licks speak in many tongues, especially to each

other. His latest, Redneck Fiddlin’ Man, is a bit off its feed, fave rave “My

Baby Plays Me Just Like a Fiddle” notwithstanding. Yet even Redneck‘s

thinned-out dancefloors do sometimes get prowled by cinch-gutted riffs (shades of his

best Volunteer Jam struts of yore), and coiled/”laidback” ones too.

The latter bring to mind ’75’s supposedly glazed “Long Haired Country Boy,”

talkin’ blues, cash, and other trash (he’s still with us, on the well-named

Live Record: Now he’ll “tell a joke,” not “take a toke,” but one’s as dry as

t’other).

On The Ultimate Charlie Daniels Band, whole flotillas of crap, like

“Simple Man” and “What This World Needs Is a Few More Rednecks,” get an answering

salvo from the angry world-populism of “American Farmer,” the multikulti

mini-saga of “Talk to Me, Fiddle,” a brief-lived fiddle-and-mandolincarnation of

the ever elusive (Persian-fairy-tale-named) “Layla,” and the “multi-colored

junkyard” expanses of “Honky Tonk Avenue.” Which leads to a “Funky Junky,” for

more crass sand in your pearl, Merle.

Not bad but certainly nationwide, Charlie’s got all this stuff he has to

carry around. Stuff he sees from the stage (as in “All the world’s a . . . “),

while insatiably touring. Maybe that’s what he really kneejerks (and sometimes

headbangs) against. Also on Ultimate is “Trudy,” in which a sweet, green

gambling table detours into an avalanche of details. After which the narrator’s

attention span is equally split between the distant Trudy and a certain missing

high roller. Our boy can’t sort this out, but he done, son. So the music rocks on

through his cell block, and into the jigsaw skies.

Meanwhile, Rev. Dylan‘s old sideman/student Bro. Charlie just keeps

rebuilding some jigsaw soapbox, planing and playing over all its creaks and leaks.

Sometimes the spirit finds its own level, even so. Like on 1999’s Road Dogs, where

rapneck-grabbing powerchord purgatory finally exhales “The Martyr.” This

song brings the legend of Cassie Bernall, who supposedly said “Yes” when asked “Are you a Christian?” and

was then killed at Columbine—a story since refuted by survivors—-which could’ve made for the most horrendous (or mere)

 musical kitsch. Instead, he imagines her last moments, quietly reminding me of a “mushroom

cloud” we were shown in school (actually more like a rose, in that case). A

rose in this case slightly dampened by proximity to “Wild Wild Young Men,” his

first whiny scolding ever.

But not his last. Tighter than Ultimate, early 2002’s Live Record

band-as-fiddle dynamics ultimately clunk into the (studio) rant “This Ain’t No Rag,

It’s a Flag” (“and we don’t wear it on our heads.” Actually, We do; check your

current audience, CD). Less snarlin’ than gnarlin’, “Rag” gets drowned out by

“The Last Fallen Hero” ‘s solitary drum on Redneck Fiddlin’ Man (parade’s end,

but no rest). “Amen,” sez the fiddler, sawing a blues out of “The Star Spangled

Banner.” And, on How Sweet the Sound‘s (2001) Elvis-brushed hymnbook, Charlie

tends to send us way up yonder in a minor key. And that’s alright now, Mama.

It’s the gospel truth.

 

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