Author Alvin

Dave Alvin's no blast from the past

by John O'Neill

Perhaps by sheer accident -- less-likely than some marketing scheme -- but in all probability a simple declaration of "who-we-are,"

Dave Alvin coined the term "American Music" and applied it to describe the Blasters, his young outfit of rock purists. Rock and roll has always been America's child, as indigenous as cranberries, NASCAR, and fast-food shooting sprees are. So Alvin's proclamation seems, in retrospect, quite obvious, even a bit silly. But dear reader, keep in mind this announcement was made some 20 years ago when the Blasters, bless their simple souls, had set up camp just outside Los Angeles city limits. In 1979, LA (land of the hip and home of the slave -- music, fashion, food, any trend really) was more wrapped-up in Brit-inspired punk bands, new-wave oddities, and pretty-boy power-pop. And that was within the in-the-know underground crowd. The real movers-and-shakers who made the town quake were busy sniffing coke off each other's backside at daiquiri parties, hobnobbing with Jan Wenner and those hideous Eagles and name-dropping Warren Zevon, if only because they played on his albums. Roots music had all the appeal of a dental scraping, so the Blasters were, in a word, fucked. But the band, especially Alvin, believed there had to be more people out there who felt like they did. There had to be folks who dug Ray Campi and Big Joe Turner and Dale Hawkins and Hank Williams.

American Music, released in 1979, became not just the name of their first album, but also the flag in which they wrapped themselves. It was much like wearing a Ramones T-shirt in '77 -- it gave you an automatic, unspoken bond with the kid in ripped jeans.

Sure enough, two years later, the rockabilly revival hit; the Blasters became suddenly cool (but not as cool as the Stray Cats), and the City of Angels retained its luster, even as it continued to screw its head farther up its fanny.

The point being, none of this would matter -- fads come and go, and young men will always be counted on to grit their teeth and issue statements -- except for one thing: 20 years after reclaiming roots music, Dave Alvin continues to define what "American Music" means. Now the marketing people call it Alt-Country, Americana, and No Depression, but it's an art that's finally getting attention.

"It's a pretty healthy scene right now. None of the major artists sound like each other. I don't sound like Lucinda Williams, and she doesn't sound like Wilco, so things are more open," says Alvin from his cell phone. Having spent the night at a Richmond truck stop (there were no smoking rooms available at the band's hotel, so he drove down the road for a friendlier climate), Alvin is on his way to do a little laundry. "I have a problem in that [record companies and radios' Gavin Report, specifically] tend to ghettoize the music by lumping it together. It's great that some people are getting noticed in traditional folk, but there are negative aspects.

"I'm old enough to remember when it was a lot worse. There was never a chance that X [whom he played guitar with post-Blasters] was gonna get played."

Since dumping out on X after 1987's See How We Are (which contained the first version of his stellar "Fourth of July"), Alvin has spent the past dozen years honing his skills, becoming one of the most poignant and poetic voices in contemporary music. Though the Blasters were a rockabilly-bottomed roadhouse act, Alvin has developed into a pure assimilator of domestic styles -- more interested in the blues.

"Oh yeah, I'm basically a blues guy who likes country music," he readily agrees. "If you hear my guitar there's gonna be a lot of blues things recognized. Otis Rush, Magic Sam, I listened to these guys growing up. And we'd follow Big Joe Turner around! I have a lot of country and folk influences, so traditional blues guys wouldn't consider me blues; but I do bring a lot of that to the music."

His latest release, Blackjack David (Hightone), is another monster shot of Alvin's specialty -- misguided souls worth pulling for because they're so much like us; everyman tales of hard work, broken hearts, frustration, death, and reflections on unfulfilled promise. Eleven sharp, literate tales that teeter between short stories and poetry are proof that Alvin belongs in the upper echelon of American songsmiths. "Abeline" is an instant antihero classic of hopefuls born to lose. While "California Snow" (cowritten with Tom Russell) is an indelible slice-of-life heartache through the eyes of a border patrol guard. "Mary Brown," a twisted tale of love and betrayal smacks of Waylon Jennings, and "From a Kitchen Table" is unmitigated, though accepted, despair. Like his pal Russell, Alvin is one of those rare singer/songwriters who can plumb the depths of the heart and of humanity and articulate pain while sidestepping self-absorption. His is the type of music that Nashville should be falling over itself to support.

"Nashville's a pretty easy target. What they make has nothing to do with what I make, just like I don't make top 40 music. They're making suburban shopping-mall music. You just stick to the formula."

To make up for the lack of financial support provided by major labels, Alvin tours nine months out of the year across the country and over to Europe where he enjoys pockets of success, particularly in Italy. Then he returns to his new digs and spiritual home in Austin, Texas, where he writes.

"Smaller labels don't have the monetary means, so you go out [on the road] and beat your head against the concrete cuz, when you're on an indie label, that's all you can do. That's why I'm not so prolific as a songwriter. I can't write on the road."

So from rock-and-roll rebel to godfather of the new roots movement, Alvin rolls on unable and unwilling to live in his past. LA and that young, now-revered band were a long time ago, and, by his own admission, he prefers his current artistic climate.

"I love being out on the road. One of the reasons I'm doing this is I'm trying to get good. A better singer and a better guitarist. I know I'm better now than I was with the Blasters. . . . I just wish people would stop asking me when we're getting back together," Alvin says with a laugh. "If someone told me I could be on the road and play well forever, I'd go for it. "

GREEN RIVER FESTIVAL

The 13th Annual Green River Festival takes place on July 16 and 17 on the campus of Greenfield Community College (Exit 16 off I-91) in Greenfield. Friday tickets are $10, $3 for children. Saturday tickets are $20, $7 for kids. Call (800) 843-8425.

FRIDAY

6:20 p.m. Hot Club of Cowtown (Western swing; see "Hot tempo," next page)

7:30 p.m. Stash (funk/R&B)

8:50 p.m. Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys (Cajun)

SATURDAY

Noon. Shankai (Afro-pop)

12:50 p.m. Mark Erelli Band (roots rock)

1:40 p.m. Hot Club of Cowtown (Western swing)

2:30 p.m. Great Big Sea (Celtic rock)

3:40 p.m. Martin Sexton (folk/rock)

5:15 p.m. Kelly Willis (country)

6:35 p.m. Rod Piazza and the Mighty Flyers (jump blues/R&B)

8:10 p.m. Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men (roots rock)

A second stage will feature children's entertainers and appearances by the performers. The traditional hot-air-balloon launches take place on Friday at 6 p.m. and on Saturday at 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. Fireworks start Friday and Saturday at 9 p.m. Food and crafts will also be available.