Lucero - Women & Work (2012)

When Lucero lurched into public consciousness at the beginning of the previous decade, they were the sonic equivalent of a savagely angry barroom drunk itching for a knife fight. The band played punked-up Americana, a definite southern twang buried under layers of electric fuzz and distortion with  murky influences touching on the Replacements, Uncle Tupelo, Crazy Horse, and, buried deep, Springsteen, all while leader Ben Nichols sang in a rasp so thick he must've gargled with gasoline and rusty carpet tacks. Since joining the major labels with their previous album (2009's 1372 Overton Park), the band hasn't exactly reinvented their wheel, but they've certainly buffed up those whitewalls with some Armor All. Women & Work continues that trend towards respectability. The songs feature a full horn section, keyboards, as well as the occasional gospel choir, and Nichols' ear for a hook continues to get more pronounced. Old fans may quibble about the clean, big budget production gloss, but to my ears it still sounds like good ol' Lucero - in other words, the angry drunk with a knife in his pocket is still sitting at the end of the bar, just now he's wearing a brand new pair of beatin' jeans.

Lucero website

I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House - Menace (2002)

These Portland shitkickers mine the same southern rock goldmine as the Drive-by Truckers, although being from the Pacific North-West they're understandably less interested in myth and tradition than the Truckers (though thankfully much more likely to goose their tunes with punk rock irreverence). So while the epic heaviness of songs like "Dust And Sun", "Fall Down", and "Pauline" could form the basis of their own Northern Rock Opera, tracks like the profane "Westboro Baptist Church" and the steamrolling "Gone" are closer in spirit to Mojo Nixon than Lynyrd Skynyrd. It's a good mix, to my ears, both fun and thoughtful without sacrificing anything in either direction. These are some good ol' boys capable of tolerance and introspection, bringing some dignity back to the term redneck, and having a blast while they do it. When vocalist Mike D. commands "C'mon y'all, let's fuck the president!" in a voice that lands squarely between Mojo's rasp and a swamp frog's croak, it's as much a gesture of solidarity with gays and lesbians as it is a fun call to arms against Bush 43. And on top of everything else, they may possess the best band name of all time.

Menace on Amazon