Dave Alvin, born on 11/11/1955, recorded his eleventh solo album with the characteristic name Eleven Eleven in 2011. In numerology, the prime number 11 is considered very powerful, but we will leave such interpretations to Kabbalists, bankers and other esotericists. However, the irony seems to be that with such numerical values, the album could not have been called anything else. Of Alvin’s many virtues, it is difficult to single out the most important: he is a brilliant storyteller, whose hoarse voice perfectly brings meaning to the mainstream of American mythology, where Twain and Kerouac dance the local krakowiak with Mr. Moonshine.;
Dave is a deep poet with ranges from humor through sadness to the caustic grin of the Devil, writing not only lyrics, but also poems published in separate volumes; Alvin is an amazing guitarist who does not exhaust the listener with cans of notes per second, but confirms his next half-sung, half-hidden word with every phrase of the stratocaster. His sound is recognizable from the first seconds, like that of Stevie Ray Vaughan, and the presence of a Grammy and a cowboy hat only emphasize the seriousness of his intentions. I enviously think of the neophytes who will hear this record, which is grandiose in its sincerity and worn out by us. So, Moon Dogs, get in the back, let’s go!
The Harlan County Line is as aggressive as Kentucky moonshine, menacing blues-rock with a nostalgic narrative of the battered experience of a man who spent the night in all the bedbugs from the Mason-Dixon line to the Rio Grande. About chance encounters and natural separations. The song was also featured in the dashing TV series Justified, where the number of rednecks, confederate flags, and lack of political correctness was pleasantly off the charts.
Johnny Ace Is Dead is a rockabilly-blues number about the rhythm and blues star of the first half of the 1950s Johnny Ace. Johnny, like any respectable Black man, loved waving a gun and dollars. On Christmas Eve ’54, while in Houston for another joint show with Mama Thornton, Ace habitually started poking into space with his revolver backstage. He just grinned at his mother’s remark and said, “It’s not even loaded,” and blew out his frivolous brain. This was not mentioned in the Green Book.
Black Rose Of Texas is one of the best songs about love and lost souls with the most subtle arrangement in the Texan-Mexican spirit. If you don’t seduce your lady with this music, she just doesn’t have a heart.
Gary, Indiana 1959 – boogie shuffle, opening piano in the spirit of Johnny Johnson (this is the guy whose harmonies Chuck “king of guitar” Berry appropriated for himself). The hero of the story, an old man, tells a story about the struggle of the metallurgists’ trade unions with pot-bellied bosses in his youth. The anthem of the working class.
Run Conejo Run is a diddley beat with that powerful signature groove that only Mr. Alvin is capable of. About the fate of a former boxer who rose to the rank of a trucker, who in his youth was quickly nicknamed Conejo the Rabbit (not to be confused with pendejo). A heartbreaking text.
No Worries Mija is the second tex-mex on the record, no less poignant. A father who undertakes to carry a dubious cargo in order to feed his little daughter says goodbye to her affectionately, although he himself is gnawed by anxiety and doubt. The recording was one of the last for Dave’s famous accordionist and old friend Chris Gafney.
What’s Up With Your Brother is an action movie made with his brother Phil, with whom they had not played together since the days of the legendary The Blasters. Happily, the next album was recorded under the Phil & Dave Alvin label. “And even at the gates of Hell, the first thing they’ll ask is: How’s your brother?”
Murietta’s Head is a southern rock song soaked in heat about a star and the death of Joaquin Murietta. More precisely, about the reward for his head.
Manzanita is a duet full of tenderness with country singer Kristy Mcuilson, languishing in the sunshine of Baja California.
Dirty Nightgown is a cheeky greasy philosophical story about an afterparty for two in a cheap motel. The heaviest blues number on the album.
Two Lucky Bums – carefree couple Dave Alvin and Chris Gafney, reflections on vagrancy and an almost Parisian accordion: this is how the wise Jack and Neil Cassidy would sound in the sequel to the novel “On the Road”, if it were composed.
Along with the eleventh song, the thrilling journey along the highways of the Eleven Eleven record came to an end. We hope you enjoyed your trip, now shake off the straw and get lost. Until the next article, of course!
