Modern country
music -- the Blake Sheltons and Miranda Lamberts of the world -- has
a focus grouped, homogenized misunderstanding of the importance of
form over function. They look the part with their cowboy hats and
boots. Lyrically, they employ the same, tired "You and Me"
love and breakup songs to suggest the blandly personal is universal.
They use the same market tested chord structures and glossy
production tools in every song to assure the largest possible
audience with none of the connection people have with artists who
tinker and mess around.
Enter San
Francisco's Nicki Bluhm and the Gramblers, who played the closing
night of the Taste of Randolph Street. They are a country band
interested in putting in the work to create a groove and build
atmosphere, taking as much inspiration from the Grateful Dead and
Fleetwood Mac as Loretta Lynn. In this way, they're country how the
White Stripes could be at times. To them, function is infinitely
more important than form. Claiming “authenticity” is a
difficult, sometimes foolish thing to do, but this band has it.
The Gramblers'
songs work, with classic, almost elemental structures and lyrical
content that takes a sociologist's view of the world. Other people
are more important to Bluhm than herself. Her songs tell stories
about bar patrons on the road, sad couples, those barely clinging to
their marital fidelity. It's more Nashville the 1975 Robert
Altman movie than Nashville the TV show. The storytelling at
times feels like an episode of NPR's This American Life set to
music in its ability to find the sublime in the mundane.
It's that curiosity for life and people that makes an audience care, not a song about a nameless, personality-free person who broke the singer's heart. Details are everywhere in Bluhm's songs, and they're stronger for it.
On stage, Bluhm and her
band are a jovially relaxed bunch. She shambles around, holding a
tambourine like an extension of her arm. Smiles can be seen on all
the members' faces. They enjoy what they do, but they don't push the
audience with desperate, “we're putting on a show so please love
us” vibe of other modern country outfits. They understand the
need for form, too. They adorn their microphone stands with bouquets
of wild flowers, flannels are everywhere, and Bluhm dressed in a
high-waisted pair of jeans and a tank top with “Lover” scrawled
across it. But the presentation is not a distraction, nor is it as
important to them as the songs.
Bluhm's voice has a rasp
to it, which she ramped up for a cover of Janis Joplin's “Piece of My Heart” in order to “bring a little San Francisco to
[Chicago].” But because she has enough syrup to her vocal cords to
counteract the rasp, she sounds better than Joplin's fire breathing
whiskey dragon ever did. Her voice is more of the Stevie Nicks
school, smoother and dexterous, with a lower register most of the
time and the ability to hit the higher notes when necessary; though,
importantly, she does not have the same style of witch clothes. The
Gramblers, including Bluhm's multi-instrumentalist husband Tim, take
their cues from the Allman Brothers and Creedence Clearwater Revival
at their twangiest. They have a sonic fuzziness, with plenty of
distortion pedals. They take the right amount of classic rock –
hand claps! – and incorporate it into their country.
Nicki Bluhm and the
Gramblers are on tour through October, with a show at Milwaukee's
Shank Hall tonight, and they'll be back in Illinois at Danville's
Phases of the Moon Festival from September 11 through the 14.
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