Formed in Birmingham, AL but currently receiving mail in the hub of chords and notes that is Nashville, the six-piece Banditos offer an ample and broad study in Southern roots on their self-titled debut for Bloodshot Records. Rock, C&W, assorted strains of blues, and a little bit of soul gets an infusion of punkish distortion, strong songwriting, and instrumental precision; even with banjo present and the Stars and Stripes prominent on its cover, Banditos sidesteps the overly polite regions of many contemporary Americana acts to reside in the territory of hi-test bar rock. It’s out now on LP/CD/digital.
The front of Banditos’ sleeve sports so much hair, denim, and leather that it’s easy to lose track of their collective youth. Comprised of members all residing somewhere in their 20s, in roots terms they are basically a brood of spring chickens, and when youngsters attempt to tackle sounds of history and potency they often blunder with disastrous results.
The scoop is that Banditos convened while taking part in Birmingham’s all-ages DIY scene, singer-guitarist Corey Parsons and singer-banjo slinger Stephen Pierce recruiting drummer Randy Wade, guitarist Jeffrey Salter, and vocalist Mary Beth Richardson to fulfill the invitation of a bar gig. After going down a storm, bassist Danny Vines joined, and the group was complete.
Most assuredly wielding a punk streak, Banditos have smartly not skimped on practice or performance, with Salter and Wade music school classmates and the outfit reportedly chalking up 600 shows in the last three years. And it’s in this diligence that the band remains true to the roots-standard of instrumental proficiency through hard work while steering clear of the slavish adherence to purist notions.
This is not to suggest Banditos are either abrasive or irreverent; as said, the playing is skillful (but thankfully not overly flashy), and just as importantly the songs are of high quality and permeated with contempo verve. The final ingredient in the recipe is diversity of influence that manages to avoid losing focus.
I will admit a handful of the album’s transitions were surprising upon first listen as the music encompasses Fat Possum-styled groove-pound, drum-tight country boogie, the tougher side of bluegrass, swipes of blues, and R&B-informed rock from the ‘70s and ‘80s, and the vocals of Richardson, her pipes recalling Wanda Jackson and Loretta Lynn by way of Neko Case.
And if “The Breeze” prompts one to think of JJ Cale’s “Call Me the Breeze” as famously covered by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Banditos’ opener is in fact an original, its bluesy stomp steeped in copious amp snarl, splashes of organ, sturdy banjo plucking, tandem vox, and even a few seconds at the start combining boogie, swamp, and surf.
Thoughts of Skynyrd aren’t inappropriate, though “The Breeze” is a decidedly country-punk proposition. It’s a good fit for Bloodshot and the label’s legion of fans, a contingent likely to dig the uptempo shuffle of “Waitin’” as Richardson steps to the mic with immediate authority. Propelled by the straightforward resolve of Wade’s locomotive drumming and Vines’ string-band bass, her singing interacts well with the modern gusto of the guitar licks and the lively execution on banjo.
Scads of current banjo-brandishing acts are ultimately about as rootsy as a Winnebago full of keytars, but Pierce approaches his axe with vigor, though he’s also quite adaptable, fitting in nicely during the raw blues tension of “Golden Grease.” The track’s subtle update of McDowell/Burnside minimalist throttle underscores Banditos’ Southern bona fides, but the swampy ambiance is frankly reminiscent of the ‘80s California units that cast aside punk convention by embracing influences occurring below the Mason-Dixon Line and east of the Mississippi River.
Extending their reach, “No Good” is a standout belter finding Richardson investigating the Golden Age of Southern Pop (a period beginning at the dawn of the ’50s and culminating in the early-‘70s) and landing halfway between the honky-tonk and Soulville. In an appealing twist, the cut takes what initially seems to be a concise structure and expands it to four and a half minutes.
The dynamic range is impressive, as is the guitar solo. And any doubts as to Pierce’s ability to adjust should be laid to rest by his adroitness at integration. At its core “No Good” is a superb piece of writing, near the standard of the stuff once played on small radio stations throughout their geographical region, and underneath the drawl and grit the same can be said for the slow atmospherics and vocal duet of “Ain’t it Hard.”
“Still Sober (After All These Beers)” is a Parsons-sung hunk of populist flair with Richardson joining in on the choruses, and while succinct, it’s not hard to imagine it stretching out on the live stage via numerous solos and such. This ground-level sensibility continues through the spirited “Lone Gone, Anyway” as piano adds a touch of the barrelhouse.
I would’ve much preferred trumpet or a harmonica to the track’s out-of-leftfield kazoo tooting, but that’s because I generally abjure the zany. To be fair, the madcap is not really what Banditos had in mind, so one needn’t worry about the proceedings sinking into a hokum-fest. Indeed, “Old Ways” sees Richardson delivering a beautiful slice of country-soul as some terrifically muscular guitar is interjected along the way.
“Can’t Get Away” unites hip-shake and string-band with vocal harmony and a heaping helping of raunch. It’s followed by “Blue Mosey #2,” the selection retaining the shared mic and applying it to C&W environs, in particular the emergence of pedal steel. And the keyboard returns for the Skynyrd/Asleep at the Wheel-descended crowd pleasing of “Cry Baby Cry,” another cut that’s duration is primed for doubling or even tripling from the corner of a rowdy drinking establishment late on a Saturday night.
As such, the number could’ve been excised from Banditos’ 47 minutes (and perhaps tucked onto the flip-side of a 45) in the effort of maximizing the overall punch of the debut. But if the album is a tad long, they do end it on a powerful note, “Preachin’ to the Choir” leaning into the rock zone and lending it banjo and more pedal steel.
Alt-country boosters disillusioned by the decreased zest of Americana developments in the here and now might want to look into Banditos, especially anybody holding a well-worn copy of Fear and Whiskey on their shelf. They don’t necessarily sound like the Mekons, the band instead exploring a similar mindset as they choose to traverse rough yet rewarding terrain.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
