In Praise of the Half-Pound Cheeseburger: John Hiatt's Master of Disaster
Written: Jun 29 '05
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Product Rating:
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Pros: Mmmmmmm.... cheeeeeseburger.
Cons: ooooohh.... cholesterol.
The Bottom Line: In which the author goes back up for more napkins.
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| plorentz's Full Review: Master Of Disaster [SACD Hybrid] [Digipak] - John ... |
For the rest of the day, the smell of grease is going to linger in the whiskers of my beard, and I’m going to be paranoid that some embarrassingly visible remnant will have escaped my attention even as it commands the attention of anyone I might speak to, embarrassing the both of us. I’m arched over the little concrete table (with its faded striped umbrella in the mascot colors of this particular establishment) on the little concrete patio, facing the deathly slow parade of traffic on Bluemound Road, carefully attempting to guide whatever drips off what I’m eating into the crumply pocket of white waxed paper under my chin, where a mucky pool of ketchup, melted cheese, brown mustard and burger juice has already formed.
I can’t quote him exactly, but William Saroyan once wrote something about the common cheeseburger being one of the most satisfyingly bad and quintessentially American of culinary pleasures. Which, I guess, is what brings me back to this particular frozen custard stand every time I have the time and a halfway plausible excuse to make the required detour to get here. The cheeseburger may be as common as dirt, but for me, something this magnificently indelicate, unpretty, and unhealthy holds a mystique akin to a religious relic, a Renaissance sculpture, the Hope friggin’ Diamond. It’s an intensely personal experience, this Kopp’s cheeseburger; it’s something I always enjoy by myself, in the company of strangers, my own private indulgence, albeit in this most aggressively public of places, surrounded by my fellow true believers. This isn’t just a meal. It’s a pilgrimage.
With fries.
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Like my favorite half-pound cheeseburger, the half-pound cheeseburger I would drive (and have driven) fifty-plus miles out of my way to sink my teeth into, a new John Hiatt album is always a rare treat, a meaty mouthful of salt and grease, a little bit bloody on the inside. McDonald's may serve billions of cheeseburgers daily, and surely there are just as many rough-hewn men who carry their guitars around with them as if they were carrying their own beating hearts in their hands - in this sense John Hiatt is nothing special - just a guy, his guitar, and his songs of heartbreak and regret. But somehow, like that Kopp's burger, John Hiatt defies ubiquity, transcends formula. You pretty much know what you're going to get every time you step up to that stainless-steel counter and place your order to the guys in the white shirts and old-fashioned bow-ties, but it's special every time.
But in the last five years or so, starting with his landmark Crossing Muddy Waters album, John Hiatt's been even better than usual, putting out some of his best albums in a thirty-plus year career. And his latest is no exception.
After an album with his long-time touring band the Goners (2003's Beneath This Gruff Exterior), Hiatt's gone and enlisted veteran Memphis producer Jim Dickinson and his sons' band, the North Mississippi All-Stars, to back him up on Master of Disaster (his 17th studio album!). And from the sounds of it, you'd think they'd been playing together for ages.
The difference in sound between this record and Hiatt's last is subtle: where the virtuoso Goners played loud and punchy, and occasionally wandered off into loose, jammy territory, the All-Stars favor economy and clean understatement on lovely, tear-soaked ballads like "Howlin' Down the Cumberland" and "Cold River". Even the rockers have a tradesmanlike simplicity and purposefulness to them, a good ol' boys sittin' 'round the fire familiarity.
Ironically, it's one of the biggest bands Hiatt's ever worked with, but their sound is refreshingly un-showy, full of airy, unassuming details. On the opening title track, Hiatt sings a portrait of a traveling blues singer who lives for little more than his romantic regrets, delivering his hard-luck lyrics with a typically sour grin, an expression Jim Spake matches perfectly with his dirty sax solos, punctuating each of the song's choruses like the guy on the barstool next to you who nods silently, sympathizes reservedly, and sips his drink in solidarity.
A Dixieland horn section (sax, trumpet, trombone and, yes, tuba!) adds a dash of nostalgic whimsy to songs like "Back on the Corner" and "Wintertime Blues", the latter an aggrieved rant against the seemingly endless cold, with a voice full of burger grease and phlegm:
Three hours of daylight and all of them gray
The suicide prevention group has all run away
Supersize that.
There are no cherry tomatoes, radish slivers, or purple cabbage shreds littering Master of Disaster, no baby spinach or romaine or pretty, ruffly watercress; there's nothing delightful or especially colorful about the record, but it's positively enticing in its down-and-dirtiness.
There's something wonderfully secret about it too. Amidst all the drive-through Happy Meal artists, the blockbuster-movie cross-promotions and Darius-Rucker-in-a-funny-suit ad campaigns, John Hiatt is an artist least likely to be overexposed. Maybe it's just me, but it seems the longer he stays in business, the fewer the people who know who he is. And that's not necessarily a bad thing.
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Something funny happened the other night at dinner. I was out with a dozen or so of James’s co-workers and co-workers’ spouses at a barbecue chain restaurant, smearing pecan butter on corn bread anticipating the arrival of the gigantic garden greens salad with balsamic vinaigrette I'd ordered in lieu of red meat; and I was talking about how my commute music had been alternating between John Hiatt and Britney Spears.
A woman at the end of the table, someone I don't know very well, piped up when I said Britney Spears and gave me a big smiley thumbs up; then said, "Wait? John Hiatt? Is that what you said?"
"Yup. I just got his new one."
"Master of Disaster?"
I was floored. She even knew the title! I had just met another Britney fan who also just happened to be a John Hiatt fan too. The unlikelihood seemed staggering. And suddenly, I really, really wished I'd ordered a burger.
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BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW:
"Master of Disaster" by John Hiatt
New West Records
Released 6/21/05
Produced by Jim Dickinson
50 min.
SONGS: Master of Disaster - Howlin' Down the Cumberland - Thunderbird - Wintertime Blues - When My Love Crosses Over - Love's Not Where We Thought We Left It - Ain't Ever Goin' Back - Cold River - Find You At Last - Old School - Back on the Corner
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MORE JOHN HIATT:
Beneath This Gruff Exterior (2003)
Recommended:
Yes
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Member: Paul Lorentz
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