The Jayhawks
Blue Earth
»
The Jayhawks
Blue Earth
Rykodisc, 1989
RiYL: Uncle Tupelo, Gram Parsons, Tom Petty |
Uncle Tupelo, as Jeff and Jay named their band, started it all. Started a new genre, a following, and, yes, a movement.
But the masses can be wrong, and in this case, they are way off. Uncle Tupelo certainly wasn't the first band to put Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer in a blender and see what happened. Bands like X, Jason and the Scorchers, and even Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were trying to do the same thing, but just didn't have the right timing. And, if history has taught us anything, timing is everything.
Timing is also what leads us to the re-issue of Blue Earth, the first "proper" release from the Jayhawks, the Minneapolis group that was always dubbed the next big thing, but seemed to end up as the bridesmaid at every turn. Remember, the Jayhawks were expected to blow alt.country into the mainstream with their 1995 release Tomorrow The Green Grass. Critics hailed it as the Nevermind of its genre, and singers/songwriters Mark Olson and Gary Louris were to be the latest in a series of "voices of a generation."
But something happened after it was released: nothing. The band scored a minor hit with the light and undeniably catchy "Blue," but the rock scene in 1995 wasn't quite ready for the little band from the cold North. In 1995, people were either listening to three-chord punk like Green Day or sappy teen angst such as Soul Asylum. No room for a thoughtful band, certainly not an approachable and rooted one like the Jayhawks.
As a result, Olson ditched the band and moved to California with wife Victoria Williams. Louris soldiered on, releasing two schizophrenic albums over the next five years, and just recently scored the Jayhawks' best album since Olson left, Rainy Day Music. If luck and timing have anything to do with it, Rainy Day Music might finally be the break-through album for the band that has been trying for the break-through album since the early 1990s. Only time will tell…
It is interesting to listen to Blue Earth almost 15 years after its initial release. It is not the band's first record, but I dare you to find a copy of their late '80s debut on Bunkhouse Records anywhere. Go ahead, I dare you.
Blue Earth was essentially a series of demos patched together when the group unexpectedly signed to Minneapolis label Twin/Tone Records, which at the time was home to such new-wave bands like the Replacements, Husker Du, and, gasp, Soul Asylum. (Yes, Soul Asylum used to be a punk band, but more about that later).
The Jayhawks came together in 1985, as Olson and Louris were united over their shared fondness for the Byrds, Gram Parsons, and the Everly Brothers. Olson was definitely the front of the group, but Louris was not anyone's sideman. Their twin harmonies characterized the band's early years, and comparisons to Parsons, McGuinn and others were plentiful. Louris' innovative, stinging guitar playing was an early signature, and still is the strength of the band to this day.
In the mid-to-late '80s, no one was paying attention to Parsons/McGuinn and Chris Hillman. And certainly no one was trying to resurrect their sound. Sure, Tom Petty dabbled with that early on, but at this point he was moving toward his classic, cheesy but for-whatever-reason-damned-good era highlighted by "Free Fallin'" and "Learning To Fly."
I'm not saying the Jayhawks were revolutionary, but at the time, they were practically on their own. And that's why Blue Earth is such a statement. It's not a landmark, like their 1992 major-label debut Hollywood Town Hall, and it's not a classic debut like Uncle Tupelo's No Depression. It has warts.
But that's also what makes it so unique. Blue Earth feels like an album where the band just isn't sure of their direction. Olson's high and slightly off-key lead vocals sound shaky, like he wasn't all that certain how he wanted to sound. Was he Paul Simon or Gram Parsons? He didn't know.
On "Commonplace Streets," he's stuck in his best Greenwich Village -- circa 1960s -- mindset, singing about the doldrums of life. "This crumpled dollar bill / in my back pocket / reminds me I've got $20 / What someone says to someone / you think that worries him / Laid out on the newsstands / or even sinful publications / See the haze on commonplace streets / you're back here again."
On "Martin's Song," Olson does his best Flying Burrito Brothers/Buffalo Springfield impression, mixing allegories about life, death and childhood over a Bakersfield, California beat. "He's only six years old / that old killer died / put him down in a great big hole / I'm filling up all the time."
Somewhere in between are "Ain't No End," "Five Cups Of Coffee" and "Red Firecracker," all of which are highlighted by Louris' beautiful harmony vocals. No one since Parsons/Hillman had quite the range and power when they sang together. The Olson/Louris harmony dominated the early Jayhawks years, and even the hardcore fans still miss the combination on the newer albums.
Blue Earth is definitely Olson's project, to be sure. His simple yet effective writing is felt throughout, but Louris's experimental nature does sneak in at points, notably on the rockin' "Red Firecracker" and "Fingernail Moon," a strong bonus track on the reissue.
No, Blue Earth did not have the impact that No Depression had. But it does demonstrate to the world that before Jeff and Jay picked up their guitars, another talented pair was onto the same thing.
RODEO ROB | An expert on all things "alt," Rob spends his days covering the energy industry and his nights covering the DC-area bars. Raise yer glass especially high to this man, for he has contributed to this site constantly since its creation four years ago.