music & theatre reviews, Volume 6 number 7, July 2004 The Return of the Queen Wanda Jackson One of the more welcome developments in popular music over the last decade or so has been the surprising return of quite a few old country singers who have surged back with new albums that are often ever bit as good as the material they were producing at the peak of their popularity. The most well publicized comeback, of course, was that of Johnny Cash. The remarkable string of albums he produced over the last decade of his life for the American label stand favorably alongside his finest work. And while these recordings were largely ignored by country radio (which has never been as bad as it is now), college stations embraced Cash and he died last year at the peak of his powers and popularity. Cash isn’t the only one from country music’s golden age who experienced an artistic revival. The late Rose Maddox preceded Cash’s resurgence with a final pair of albums on Arhoolie that found her as full of hillbilly sass as she ever was. Merle Haggard has been sounding mighty fine lately. As have Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris, Dolly Parton and Hank Thompson. Hell, even lonesome ol’ George Jones has shown renewed signs of life. Now we can add to this list the Queen of Rockabilly herself, Wanda Jackson, who has broken a recording hiatus of more than fifteen years with Heart Trouble, a rip-snorting set of country and stripped down rock’n’roll that puts most of today’s music to shame. Jackson was an anomaly in the fifties, a female rockabilly performer in what was a decidedly male world. (She also toured with a multiracial band which, at that time, simply wasn’t done). As rockabilly faded with that decade and most of its stars disappeared, she made the successful leap to country, enjoying a few more years of popularity before turning to the gospel circuit and eventually dropping from the radar screen. But in the nineties she was coaxed back to the stage, performing primarily in Europe (where aging American stars have always been held in far greater regard then they are at home), and at age sixty-five she has finally returned to the studio. Jackson dishes out a blistering set mixing some of her old favorites with newer material. Backed by some crack musicians, she barely slows down for the sixteen tracks that range from the Louvin Brothers’ standard “Cash on the Barrelhead” to the Carl Perkins-penned “Rockabilly Fever,” the barrelhouse blues of “Hard Headed Woman” to the gentle country of “Anytime You Want to Fool Around.” There’s not a dud to be had. A number of younger luminaries join Jackson, paying tribute to her influence on generations of musicians. Alt-country favorite Rosie Flores (who was instrumental in bringing Jackson out of retirement) duets on “Woman Walk Out the Door,” while Elvis Costello take a vocal turn on the old Buck Owens hit “Crying Time.” Guitarist Dave Alvin (of Blasters and X fame) makes several appearances. And legendary psychobilly rockers the Cramps lend an appropriately creepy swamp groove to “Funnel of Love.” But the star is Jackson. A protofeminist back in the fifties, she was never one to wallow in tears and play the wounded woman (this is the lady, after all, who proudly sang “With my big iron skillet in my hand/I’m gonna show you how a little woman/Can whip a great big man”). Time has only served to increase her self-confidence. On “It’ll Be Me” she plays the stalker, and there’s no doubt she’ll get her man. The big surprise is Jackson’s voice, which shows absolutely no signs of wear. She always had a worldly tone, even in her youth, and here she only sounds wiser and more experienced. But she can reach for heaven too. The album’s lone gospel piece, “Walk With Me,” sets even secular toes like mine to tapping. If I have any complaint at all about this album, it’s that she didn’t include one or two more spirituals. But then she launches into another party number and all is forgotten. Wanda Jackson deserves your business. Buy this album, take it home, invite your friends over, and play it really loud. If you don’t find this tremendous fun, then you, my friend, are comatose.
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