Walking Wounded
(Stonegarden)
review
The New West
(Chameleon)
review
Raging Winds Of Time
(Chameleon)
review
Hard Times
(Dr. Dream)
review
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Walking Wounded |
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The New West |
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Raging Winds Of Time |
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Hard Times |
Walking Wounded (Stonegarden)
Street poetry is a difficult thing to pull off without sounding
mannered and insincere. Some of those that shout it the loudest
in this town are living examples of that. Jerry Giddens, the heart
of Walking Wounded, shouts also, but he seems to have an honest
feel for his subjects, who range from a single "wino poet"
to all the victims in Central America. Half of this record is
acoustic, recorded at the Anti-Club last April. Giddens, who plays
acoustic guitar and vocalizes in the angry young folksinger tradition,
is ably backed by guitarist Michael Packard, who also appears
on the two best studio cuts. The lyrics are simple, sometimes
embarrassingly naive, but also manage to touch the heart, especially
during the acoustic set. As protest songs they break no ground
- Gidden's solutions invariably revolve around unification and
love - but they're hummable and endearing, and they have the rare
ability to make you feel good without invoking blind optimism
or urging you to get down and party. Some of the sentiments may
cause a wince or two, but as local bands go, we're lucky to have
Walking Wounded with us.
Russell Briggs, L.A. Weekly
The New West (Chameleon)
. . . The New West is a far more consistent, coherent, and
exciting piece of work [than the group's first, self-titled album
released last year by Stonegarden Records]. It was coproduced
by Walking Wounded and Ethan James at the latter's Radio Tokyo
in Venice; James has seldom squeezed so deep and full a sound
from his modest studio. The harder-rocking numbers, which lean
on Michael Packard's versatile playing, boom pungently, while
the folk and country-oriented tunes, of which there are several,
display a crisply sparkling acoustic sound. While the songwriting
on The New West is still not wholly consistent, a number
of the tracks are as convincing and affecting as any I've heard
recently. The leadoff number, "Anxious", comes on burning
like (dare I say it?) a hit single; this broken-love tune comes
complete with a sing-along chorus, an unshakable two-step country
beat, and crystal-line picking by Packard. "Charlene"
is a compassionate folk-styled composition, a stirring appeal
to a woman whose naive goodness is out of step with a world in
which "people are cruel". The album's second side is
almost totally involving, with the caustic "Hollywood Love
Song", the snarling condemnation of the rock 'n' roll life
"It's All Right", and the bounding "Angel and Corrine",
about a pair of illegals on the run, among the best of a practically
uniform selection of outstanding songs. Throughout, the music
of Walking Wounded is moved by Jerry Gidden's strong, often bravura
voice, the sensitive playing of Packard, and the kick of the Lillestol-Mintz
rhythm section . . .
Chris Morris, The Los Angeles Reader
Raging Winds Of Time (Chameleon)
The Wounded don't play typical disposable pop fodder. The
title track fuses hope and urgency, nestling in a Byrds-like arrangement.
The album is dedicated to the children of Central America, and
the pivotal track, "Los Muchachos", is a grim fable,
set to the urgent drive of drum beats and Latin guitar in double
time - it's the Clash roaming Gabriel Garcia Marquez's countryside.
In "Ruben Salazar", Giddens uses the death almost twenty
years ago of a Latin newsman to paint, in broad strokes, a picture
of East L.A. "Beggar's Bluff" is a tribute to the working
man, while "Prince Of Thieves" delves into deception
and obsession in a semi-psychedelic swirl that grows to a tornado
forse . . . These songs are wrapped around folkish foundations,
detonated by explosive rock 'n' roll dynamics.
BAM Magazine
Hard Times (Dr. Dream)
These guys walk around with the swagger of those drunk on
living, having spent a long while looking up at a big sky. Jerry
Giddens writes and sings with the weight of a hundred years of
injustice, lost love, lost fortune, lost everything except his
sense of place in the world. When he sings "hard times, bad
times" you feel the chill seep into the room you're sitting
in . . . The band can make music as wonderful as the sound of
a locomotive off in a distant saguaro plain. They can also clobber
a barstool over the head of a lout.
Alternative Press