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Jive Turkeys | review | rock | Lollipop

The Jive Turkeys

(Derailleur)
by Craig Regala

There's a buncha ways to go about playing "rock and roll." Generally, using source material in a personal way, skewing whatever "roots" you have is a helluva lot more effective for the long haul than Xeroxing "the new thing" on the radio. Especially if you shoot for the emotional attachment to the stuff instead of trying to "get it right." Jesus penis, imagine if the Ramones had "got it right?" We woulda had a louder Sha-Na-Na. The Jive Turkeys jump into Big Joe Turner's shorts and take a turn toward the horn-driven side of the street. So they have the density of say, a ska or small swing band, with the woozy-gummy feel for '50s r&b/jump blues developed from drinking and carrying on while drunk uncle Marvin spun all his old vinyl. Which seeped into the important subconscious level and was forever linked with the escapades in Marvin's finely-paneled basement. These moments and those jettisoning off from it; fighting, eating pork brains'n'milk gravy, a bar tab, are woven into a kinda funny/fun time from guys who probably got their beginning in some sorta indie stumble/punk context. That they share the stage with that peer group and audience without any odious "punkerisms" to hide behind while concurrently rejecting the beer commercial blues rock "scene" will let'm develop a personality. Fun without stooping to Barenaked Ladies or some such horror.
(PO Box 10276 Columbus, OH 43201)

 


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