'Member when Bob Seger was made of rawhide 'n grit? That was quite some time ago, way back in his early few LPs, then he went chartbuster, mellowed out quite a bit (still pretty damn good, though), and ended up losing his way, now out of the game, puttin' out a CD in '95, then another 11 years later in 2006. We're told another is on its way this year. Well, a bunch of us still long for that unique old Detriot sound of his, and Matt Hill 'n da boyz have stepped up to dish it up nice 'n hot…with a few differences.
Tappin' that Thang is not only the name of this rough and rugged disc, it's also the title of the lead track, soon followed by Same old Fucking Thing, so you get a good unambiguous idea about how Hill deals with matters of the heart…and regions a bit lower than that. His previous issuance was raw and raucous (here), and this one ain't shy to goose that'n just a bit in the rear, laying down low with Chuck Berry chords, back bay boogie, and a rootstomp exuberance that'll have the tavern rockin' well before the midnight hour hits. Thus, Peter Frampton and his embarrassing yuppie poesy, which Zappa put to the gibbet, might want to look to Hill's Let me Put my Love into You for a tip on how to frame eros in the back parlor of a juke joint. If yer gonna get nasty, then do so, don't dance around it, Petey.
Hill possesses a sassy voice, a hi-energy presence, and a dusty-booted country road wisdom—a pretty damn rednecky one at that, to tell the truth—which ain't gonna prance around with curtseys and banana sugar but instead drop by the back of the café, waiting for Ellie Mae to get off the late shift, not bothering to drive to Lover's Lane, just going to it right then and there in the parking lot. Admit it, you envy that, even if only a little, and that's the attitude his music exudes in thick smoking chunks. So, when he covers Roy Orbison's Down the Lane, Hill first pours a quart of whiskey down the composition, sticks a Marlboro in its mouth, and then kicks the thing in the ass, setting up a snarly pace, guitar wailing in the background. Hell, even Roy'd snort and say "Damn, son, pass me that joy juice 'n let's see if'n I cain't get down in the rut with ya!". The whole CD's like that.
Edited by: David N. Pyles
Copyright 2012, Peterborough Folk Music Society.
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