Gone Away Backward is the new studio album from Robbie Fulks, one of the alt-country field’s true veterans. Never one to fall into stylistic repetition, the territory his latest effort inhabits is still quite noteworthy. Where much of Fulks’ prior work examined the essence of the eternal honky-tonk, his return to Bloodshot Records finds him instead exploring the grand traditions of Americana. And unsurprisingly, it’s a very good fit.
Robbie Fulks’ first big splash on the scene occurred way back in 1996 with his debut LP Country Love Songs, a record flashing veteran smarts and a quickly obvious sense of legitimacy, two traits that many of his counterparts in the then booming alt-country scene lacked. To describe his emergence as a welcome turn of events remains quite an understatement.
For up to that point, the vast majority of the genre’s sounds very rarely reached beyond the general template of The Flying Burrito Brothers channeling Merle Haggard or George Jones as they grasped for inspiration. Now this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did point to what the greatest portion of alt-country actually was; a revamping of country-rock.
Instead of carving out a spot in that turf, Fulks opted to open his first full-length with a solid slab of honky-tonkin’ western swing sporting the pointed title “Every Kind of Music but Country” (as in, “I like every kind of…”). And as Country Love Songs progressed, it became apparent that Fulks did indeed have a few rock-derived tricks up his sleeve. But even more obvious was the righting of certain stylistic wrongs perpetrated by the fumes of the mainstream junk that’d been wafting out of the locale of Nashville for far too freaking long.
Prior to Country Love Songs, Fulks had figured on the first two volumes of Bloodshot Records’ intriguing and resonant series of alt-country comps. For a Life of Sin: A Compilation of Insurgent Chicago Country kicked off those discs, of which there were three released from ’94-’96 (though Straight Outta Boone County, ‘97’s very jake tribute to the Boone County Jamboree radio show, has always felt like an unofficial fourth entry in the run.)
Overall, Fulks fit into the musical scheme of these overviews pretty darned well, but his debut made it readily clear that he wasn’t as off-center or deliciously twisted as many of the other participants in Bloodshot’s aptly-named purviews of country-informed revolt. To elaborate, his inaugural LP held extremely sturdy connections to the traditions that shaped it, enough so that former Buck Owens steel guitarist Tom Brumley figured in its creation. And yet the record was also quite far from a sedate replication of classic sensibilities.
For along with additional help from much missed Missouri roots killers The Skeletons there was Fulks himself to consider, his personality prominently expressed through drum-tight instrumental skills, singing that was country-deep without tipping overboard into expressions of spurious (or mock) authenticity, and lyrical attitudes that shaped up as something other than studiously trad.
Like his contemporary Paul Burch, Fulks actually came through with the goods promised back in the ‘80s in association with the name Yoakum. After first hearing (or more likely reading) of ol’ Dwight’s rep, visions of whiskey-dipped sugarplums danced through all sorts of minds, but the pudding proved disappointing.
Though bred in Los Angeles in the midst of the city’s thriving roots boom, Yoakum’s thrust was ultimately too reserved to actually alter contempo country’s stampede. To the contrary, Nashville ended up absorbing Yoakum, offering him up in due time as an exotic side-dish to the bland entrées they normally served. Flash forward roughly a decade and the basic gist of those Bloodshot comps revealed a disinterest in assimilation. Rather, the attitude was to go to war.
But taken as a whole, Fulks’ Country Love Songs registered less as an assaultive protest over the wounds inflicted upon the country form by its misguided establishment wing and more like a study in how to naturally extend the possibilities of a then neglected but (as subsequent history has shown) still vital strain of American Music right into the present day; don’t rip it apart, just do it right.
Perhaps I’m splitting hairs, though. By the end of his ’97 follow-up South Mouth, Fulks was in full-on (though highly humorous) attack mode against Nashville’s unrelenting folly with a song shortly-and-sweetly titled “Fuck This Town.” But if his first two releases provided an ample portrait of an artist whose country-inclined heft cut a bit deeper than the norm, ensuing activities found Fulks to be resistant to any kind of intra-genre pigeonholing.
‘98’s Let’s Kill Saturday Night, recorded for Geffen and essentially buried after a corporate merger gave most of the label’s roster the pink slip, remains a fairly divisive release. It remains difficult to glean if listeners who loved his turn toward unabashed ‘90s-style county-rock are outnumbered by fans who consider it an underwhelming (if far from awful) change of direction (or vice versa), and after revisiting it I can’t say I fall into either camp. More specifically, I sorta find myself inhabiting the middle ground (and in this assessment I’m surely not alone.)
Unsurprisingly, Fulks never reacquainted himself with the major label lifestyle and good for him. His post-Geffen material has been a rewarding display of his focused versatility. 2000’s The Very Best of Robbie Fulks is a very nifty comp collecting early material, 45 cuts and other odds and ends, and he followed it the next year with an utterly swell covers collection 13 Hillbilly Giants, tackling Bill Anderson, Dolly Parton, and Hank Cochran amongst others, and it remains one of the better examples of chestnut excavation, country division.
Roughly concurrent with 13 Hillbilly Giants was the record Couples in Trouble. Released on his newly formed Boondoggle imprint, it found Fulks again branching into rock territory, but this time with an edge that was often tangibly experimental. Apparently it didn’t sell like flapjacks, and his 2005 slab Georgia Hard shifted toward a durable if occasionally middle-of-the-road zone as he commenced a run with the Yep Roc label. His second offering for Yep Roc, issued in 2007, was an enjoyable two disc live affair titled Revenge.
All this and a 50-song digital release on Boondoggle in 2009, and don’t let’s forget Happy, his eclectic yet sincere 2010 covers tribute to Michael Jackson. Now comes Fulks’ new LP Gone Away Backward, his first rec of studio crafted original material in too long a time, and one that finds him back on the roster of Bloodshot Records after an even lengthier absence.
It might seem sensible to compare Gone Away Backward to his last bite-sized batch of self-penned studio stuff, but it’s edging up towards a decade since Georgia Hard hit the racks, and additionally, the two records are substantially different. If stylistically varied, that ’05 disc is pretty citified overall, and it also features a handful of Fulks’ familiar humorous turns.
By contrast, Gone Away Backward can be aptly described as an exercise in Americana, and across the disc’s dozen tracks it’s revealed as a very good one. Of course, Fulks’ country bona fides are in full bloom, and by extension, happily absent are any clapboard shack/dirt floor shenanigans. Throughout his discography, Fulks has had a heap of fun messing around with the classic atmospheres (and attitudes) of old-school C&W, hillbilly etc, but he’s always done so on his own terms and he’s never tried to hoodwink anybody or, to reference a song from Georgia Hard, come off as “Countrier Than Thou.”
While its title may suggest otherwise, Gone Away Backward is actually a very contemporary record; that’s to say, it sounds like it was made in 2013, if by a guy who’s spent quite a few decades developing his creative voice in relation to music that’s essentially considered antique, at least in relation to pop chart standards.
The LP begins with “I’ll Trade You Money for Wine,” a tune that quickly attains a sleek power through Fulks’ highly assured vocals and guitar, both strong and emotive but never straining for effect, and Jenny Scheinman’s exquisite fiddle work expertly weaves around his confident tones. As the song advances, the intensity rises and the musicality never falters, and the result is an outstanding opener.
Gears swiftly but smoothly shift with “Where I Fell.” From a lyrical standpoint, it examines the struggles and setbacks of working class life and a world of increasingly sour surroundings (mentioned are polluted rivers, lost jobs, the fallout of war, and even the Tea Party), but its disillusionment is offset with the gentleness of Fulks’ voice and the playing that surrounds him. The vocal tradition recalls the oft tender strains of Bill Anderson and Tom T. Hall, but in a manner similar to Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner, Fulks takes it to a different, darker place.
Scheinman’s fiddle returns for “Long I Ride,” and with banjo, guitar and stand-up bass, a very appealing string-band aura is conjured. But while the musicianship is superb (and at this point this is basically a given for a Fulks release) it consistently shares the spotlight with the vocalist’s strong points; he’s inspired, focused, and as the record progresses, he reveals a more serious mood than has been the norm on his prior efforts.
If considered casually, the words of “That’s Where I’m From” could be taken as a statement of authenticity, a very familiar topic in the country milieu, but perhaps a surprising one coming from a guy who’s reliably subverted the attitudes of “realness” in the music as he’s staked out his own corner of the alt-country universe. Listening closer finds the song to be not autobiography but rather a first-person narrative concerning class, generational divides, and the persistence of memory.
Tipping over the six-minute mark, the tune is a touch too long, but it never flagrantly wears out its welcome. And if it’s not one of the best moments on Gone Away Backward, the track’s construction (and some very stylin’ mandolin courtesy of Ron Spears) helps it to go down rather nicely. And “When You Get to the Bottom” blends some killer honky-tonk straight-talk with vocal harmonies straight out of the Louvin Brothers’ songbook.
Along with some excellent guitar work, “Snake Chapman’s Tune” brings more fiddle (and what sounds like bowed bass) to the table for an exploratory instrumental that’s top notch. But “Imogene” smartly changes course again, stripping things down to just Fulks’ voice, a heaping mess of tender string picking and a little bit of Scheinman’s bow. The vibe, quite like a laid-back but seriously crafty city folkie digging deep into the undying majesty of the great John Hurt, is a total treat and one of Gone Away Backward’s standout selections.
“Pacific Slope,” another (brief) instrumental, offers up the smooth flash that’s familiar to a lot of contempo bluegrass descended material, and while a whole LP in this vein wouldn’t really gas me, the dosage here goes down alright. On the other hand, I’d welcome more of Mike Bub’s terrific banjo as revealed on the next cut, “Sometimes the Grass is Really Greener.” That song does find Fulks diving into themes of autobiography, but what’s most striking is his voice, specifically how downright comfortable it sounds in relation to country music’s long tradition.
And on one hand, the approachable prettiness of “Guess I Got It Wrong” seems ready-made for success on a hypothetical country singles chart that isn’t beset by entertainers of varying degrees of shallowness. But in truth, pop country listeners are highly focused on lyrical concerns, and Fulks’ words reveal an artistic engagement with the ups-and-downs of real life that sadly seems beyond massive sales figures, at least in our current context.
But while “Guess I Got it Wrong” is a pleasant and thoughtful number, if it was Fulks’ main bag he’d be a lot less interesting to this writer. However, monochromatic issues have never plagued the guy. To wit, “The Many Disguises of God” shows that Fulks’ comfort with experimentalism is still quite healthy. But this turn, partly due to Scheinman’s contribution, sows no discord in the overall scheme of Gone Away Backward.
“Rose of the Summer” is a beautiful slice of advanced country vocal harmony augmented with sharp mandolin and guitar as a sturdy, simple doghouse bass line establishes an understated rhythm. The voices work up some serious magic and it becomes a splendid thing to hear. Thirty years ago, this was the stuff of Sunday morning AM radio, but 2013 finds it as niche music, and Fulks and his cohorts deliver it with real authority. It brings the album, exceptionally recorded by Steve Albini at Electrical Audio in Chicago, to a sublime close.
In summation, Gone Away Backward rates as Fulks’ best studio effort since 2001, and it hopefully portends an increase in prolificacy from this very valuable artist.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
