|
(Clicka qua per la versione Italiana)
Summary.
Among the great New York-based populist voices of the second half of the
decade, the leaders were the Del-Lords,
formed by ex-Dictators guitarist Scott Kempner.
Kempner, one of the great storytellers of rock music, penned the suave epics of
Frontier Days (1984) by finding an unlikely common ground between
sounds of the Sixties (Mersey-beat hooks, surf choruses, garage distortions)
and sounds of the grass-roots
(cowboy ballads, folk melodies, Byrds-ian guitars, bluesy rhythms a` la
Creedence Clearwater Revival).
Refining that idea with a deeper sense of identification with its anti-heroes,
Johnny Comes Marching Home (1986) sounded like a cycle of solemn odes
to the American village, in the spirit of Springsteen's Born In The USA
and Petty's Southern Accents, while sonically continuing the quest for
a compromise between the Blasters and the Fleshtones (and furthermore set in Nashville).
If the hard-rock sound of Based On A True Story (1988) sounded out of
context, Lovers Who Wander (1990) was a touching, almost philosophical
swan-song that wrapped up the group's mission in a blaze of glory.
Full bio.
(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)
The Del-Lords were New York’s answer to West Coast “cow-punk.” Formed by former Dictators member Scott Kempner, with the other guitarist Eric Ambel (ex-Joan Jett) taking a prominent role, they for a time managed to fuse Kempner’s Sixties foundations with Ambel’s country leanings.
On their first album, Frontier Days (Enigma, 1984), songs like Get Tough, built around beat-style choruses, surf harmonies, and garage guitar riffs, coexist with cowboy ballads like Livin’ On Love, which are nonetheless performed as adolescent anthems. Kempner and Ambel effectively invented a new creative way of doing revival, different from previous acts (Cramps, Blasters, Fleshtones), not only because it was rooted in the Nashville sound, but also because it was imbued with touches more appropriate for the Paisley Underground or power-pop.
The melodies of Burning In The Flame Of Love (their biggest hit) and Shame On You (with its nearly jingle-jangle guitar) are lively, fresh, and spirited, and would still be harmonic gems even without the galloping drumbeat.
The swampy blues of Mercenary (with the riff from Secret Agent Man), the punk-pop of Double Life (reworking the theme of Shake Some Action), and the martial Parsons-style ballad Feel Like Going Home also show a certain eclecticism. Looking closely, the album features playful imitations of the Byrds, Flamin’ Groovies, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. In short, a vast knowledge contributes to shaping these seemingly simple songs. In reality, Kempner and company draw on a minor tradition of ’50s rock and roll, that of singers like Freddie Cannon and Danny & The Juniors. What aligned them with the Blasters and blue-collar rock (Springsteen, for example) was the lyrical content, which could not be more openly populist.
Their art of quotation, blending, and contrast is even more evident on Johnny Comes Marching Home (Enigma, 1986), which boasts a stronger, harder sound: Heaven, one of their masterpieces, opens as a solemn country anthem with prairie rhythms and saloon ambiance, but the chorus is sung with rockabilly inflections that sound almost effeminate in this context; the instrumental Drug Deal channels the power and nervous energy suggested by its title over a Link Wray–style backing, almost brushing the murderous tones of heavy metal; a mix of roadhouse bravado and the hiccupping rock ’n’ roll parodies of the Cramps inspires True Love.
The quartet delves into the encyclopedia of popular music, using a gospel to describe the miseries of war in Soldier’s Home, displaying an apocalyptic Dylan-like tone on the folk ballad Against My Will, causing chaos in the saloon with a wild number worthy of the Stray Cats and Blasters, No Waitress No Move, and celebrating “the good old days” in the stomp of Saint Jake.
The angriest invectives (Love Lies Dying) and the most vibrant proclamations (Dream Come True) overflow with sincere passion for the struggles of ordinary people, brushing the emphatic tone of Springsteen at least in the tumultuous and overwhelming Everlovin’. Worthy of competing with contemporaries like Born In The USA (Springsteen) and Southern Accents (Petty), the Del-Lords’ second album is virtually perfect. Not a single redundant track, not a weak performance, and an overall happiness of inspiration.
Even more hard-rocking is Based On A True Story, a less resolved album which nevertheless, between emphatic Springsteen-style rock ’n’ roll (Whole Lotta Nothin’ Goin’ On) and a rough southern-style boogie (Crawl In Bed), adds further notable trophies to Kempner’s already rich repertoire: most notable are the carefree folk-rock chorus of Judas Kiss, the solemn gospel of River Of Justice, the Them-style garage-rock of The Cool And The Crazy, and the poppiest track of all, Cheyenne.
Although they had by then won a loyal audience, establishing a relationship with it not unlike the one envisaged in the “Springsteenian” model, the band concluded its trajectory in 1990 with Lovers Who Wander (Restless), a poignant swan song for Kempner that reaches almost philosophical depths and titanic emotions: the autobiographical A Lifetime Of Trouble and Hellbent sketch the portrait of a rebel and “loner” for whom redemption is impossible; while Stand In Your Light (the most memorable melody) and the other ballads on the album are realistic vignettes that continue their monumental fresco of modern society. Touch One Heart (featuring traces of What’d I Say), Love On Fire (with an organ à la Red River Rock), About You (yet another take on Louie Louie) are the final, sly and audacious demonstrations of the leader’s sophisticated rock intelligence.
Initially lost in the maelstrom of the “grass-roots revival,” the return to rock’s roots after the bloodbaths of punk, new wave, and no wave, the Del-Lords actually belong more directly to the “American Graffiti” current. Compared to the original model, they added the brash verve of country-rock—but certainly not the pedantic kind of Nashville. It was precisely this out-of-fashion quality that ultimately marginalized them from the movement and, in the end, killed them.
Kempner returned with the eponymous album Tenement Angels (Razor Edge, 1992), accompanied by the Skeletons across jovial rockabilly (Livin’ With Her) and vibrant garage-rock (You Move Me).
Kempner’s songs fully exploit rock’s power of self-identification, that ability to embed the everyday tragedies of people into music and then have people recognize themselves in it—a power, in this case, capable of transforming the quintessential metropolis into a small provincial town, with its milieu of young office workers and clerks struggling daily to pay rent and debts. Carefully avoiding the “wild side” (to which Manhattan bands have always indulged) and its underworlds in favor of the countless attics where legions of kids like them live, simply seeking a more decent life, Kempner rediscovers the most universal feelings of bitterness, nostalgia, and disillusionment—and with them, the most exquisitely utopian quality of rock music.
Kempner must be ranked among the great storytellers of the 1980s.
Kempner died in 2023.
|
