As seems to be regularly the case this time of year, musical offerings in the Washington area over the next week largely range from inanely innocuous (The Big Wu, Dave Matthews) to the inadvisably incessant (Ani DiFranco) and on to the irredeemably intolerable (Dashboard Confessional). However, be not wary, fellow musical travelers; a small hopeful glimmer remains, as the Bottle Rockets play at the Metro Cafe this Sunday.
The Bottle Rockets’ roots lie in Festus, Mo., a town not too far down the Mississippi River from Belleville, Ill, the home of the legendary Uncle Tupelo, and hence the ancestral home of the elusive genre of roots-rock. The band took off in 1993 with a critically beloved but little-heard self-titled debut. Emerging at the height of Tupelo’s success, the Bottle Rockets, led by guitarist and songwriter Brian Henneman, played conveniently into the nascent category that would eventually be known as roots-rock (or “alt-country,” or “no depression,” or “country music played with electric guitars” depending on who you ask).
But like so many other bands lumped into that unfortunate category, there was something about the Bottle Rockets that set them apart. With their musical roots based more in boozy honky-tonk rather than subdued folksy lamentations common to some of their roots-rock peers, the Bottle Rockets feature a hard-edged sound, whose country influence is more in attitude rather than sound. Their influence can be heard in the early efforts from similarly raucous Texans the Old ‘97s, though that band’s laments, coming from pretty-boy frontman Rhett Miller, carry a lot less weight than those from the grizzled Henneman.
This identity was only confirmed by its subsequent release, 1994’s critically acclaimed The Brooklyn Side. With the promise the album’s unlikely success indicated, the band inevitably signed the clich?d ill-fated major-label contract. After its first Atlantic Records released failed to sell, the band was dropped in 1997 and spent the next few years wandering in a desert of poorly distributed indie releases, more or less dropping out of alt-country critical consciousness. However, last year, the band made a somewhat triumphant return on last year’s well-received Songs of Sahm, a tribute to the late Doug Sahm, whose embrace of country, blues and rock proved an inspiration to early roots-rockers. The record’s profile was enhanced by its release on Chicago’s Bloodshot Records, which is not only roots-rock’s most respected label, but also has the benefit of a relatively wide distribution network.
So the Bottle Rockets are back on the scene after so many years, and while the cramped confines of the Metro Cafe may belie their past glories, don’t be the least bit surprised to hear some great material. This show should prove to be a fine addition to what looks like a decent year for the roots-rock genre, with the recent release of a new Uncle Tupelo retrospective and the long-overdue release of Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in June. Fans of either of those bands, as well as other standbys like Son Volt and the Old ‘97s should come away more than satisfied.
You’re bound to have a better time than listening to Dashboard Confessional pour his pathetic “emo”tional heart out. That guy really needs to start writing fewer songs and drinking more whiskey. You know, like the Bottle Rockets.
