Search - Bill Hicks :: The Perfect Gig

NOT Bill Hicks the comedian... don't be confused!

12/11/2002

(5 out of 5 stars)

"Not sure why deals are offered with this CD and "Philosphy: The Best of Bill Hicks" as they are two completely seperate people!DON'T buy this thinking it's from the late comedic genius, this is from a DIFFERENT Bill Hicks -- one who simply wrote music! This may be an excellent CD for all I know, but it ISN'T newly released lost material of Bill's and Kevin Booth's band!Who knew there were two Bill Hicks? You have been warned!"

"Kick Me, I'm a Tree"

Laird Baldwin | New River Valley, Virginia | 06/10/2002

(4 out of 5 stars)

"That's what Marhall Hay, the guy that brought Jack Kerouac to Chapel Hill, N.C. back in '66, said one night on his way back to his dorm after a few beers at "Harry's Bar and Grill". How did he meet Kerouac? Marshall was hitch hiking. Kerouac was, well, on the road.
They met, paths converged. Marshall told Kerouac about the literary scene at Chapel Hill - how his fans would lay their drugs, booze and bodies at his feet, and the self-ravaged poet could not resist the flattery. So Jack Kerouac passed through a few of our lives shortly before he left the earth. Live in a bar/coffee house in Chapel Hill, about 35 years later, Bill Hicks recalls and invokes this visit in "Wet July" (track 6), in the same way that he ruminates over less significant events - some real, some not - all authentic, in which (if you are good at reading between the lines) you can find little pearls of wisdom. Usually unspoken. Kind of like meditating on that old Zen Koan: "What is the sound of a solid iron flute, played upside down?" Answer: "Beanpaste that smells like beanpaste is no good."
This collection of songs (perhaps poems set to music is more correct) is not a pretty, slick piece of Nashville packaging. It is neither for the faint of heart, nor the weak of will. You have to work hard to pry out those oysters. But each is guaranteed to have a pearl. Not that I've been clever enough to find them all...
The upside to this is that you can listen to the songs over and over and over, as you slip into the warm nocturnal Southern breeze blowing through the Spanish Moss of Bill's brain. Or let your feet play in the sandy beaches at Okrakoke, where Bill and his musician-wife Libby spend a lot of time these days.
Bill holds steadfastly to many of the ideals we all held so true back when I knew him at Chapel Hill in the sixties, the essence of which, I believe, can be summarized thusly: the journey is what It is all about. The question is the answer. And there are moments of vision in the most unexpected situations, (like "The SOB in the Carvel Truck" that passes him on the right and makes him swerve into the twilight zone) that reveal a glimpse of the truth and beauty of our ephemeral lives, which is always right there under our noses, just out of reach, or maybe not.
There are a few tunes that are just pure fun like "Uncle Charlie's Revenge" and "Play 'Rocky Top'" and others, that you just have to listen to again and again before they make much sense. His "dissertation on bars" ends with "Last Call", which, in my humble opinion, buggers all description. Here is the third verse, without the snakelike guitar accompaniment:
"So anyhow one night a drifter came in
And swayed down the aisle in his long cowboy coat,
His spurs making tiny Oooommmm-ish like notes,
And the moon making sparkles on his buckles and irons,
And he sat down beside me and ordered a brew.
"How far is this engine takin' this rig?"
I asked him--a kind of a "howdy" I guess--
And he looked at me gently, like Clint Eastwood would,
And drew his revolver, gave the chambers a whack
And said with a smile, 'It's a circular track.'"Though Bill is one of my favorite old time fiddlers, no, my favorite (but don't tell that to whomever I'm playing [banjo] with these days), he plays strictly guitar on this album. His rhythm guitar work is quite amazing. Not only does he find the soul of each poem/song, he can cook that stuff up like gumbo. I had to email him to ask him if it was only one guitar. It is.
As you approach this album keep in mind, this guy is a philosopher, a poet, and an artist. This is the real Bill Hicks. He has dared to bare his soul. And, I think, it is his honesty and integrity that does not want to make it too easy for the listener."Comparisons are odious", as a quote, is attributed in Bartlett's to Sir John Fortescue, who apparently said it first, back in the 15th century. The important thing is not who said it first, but what it means. In Bill's case it means it would be odious to compare his song/poems to anyone else's writing, Kerouac notwithstanding, because of the unique quality of his art."