Sunday mornings are hell. There's a review to be written but there's a hangover blocking the way. Memories of overpriced whisky, false eyelashes and sequined panties flow back. You should always quit when you lose count. Then again, a shot of redemption could just be what the doctor ordered.
Talking of hell, all roads have a tendency to lead to armageddon in Mat D's songs. As a songwriter, he is undoubtedly a favourite of mine. He turns the mistakes and misadventures that characterise a life misspent into truck stops on a desert highway. Stop by in the dead night and fill your tank. Or maybe you can make it on to the next one before the shadows swallow you up.
This isn't the kind of Americana that looks back fondly to simpler times. This is the altogether darker kind that looks inside to see where it all went wrong. In Mat D's solo work, there is a pervading sense of melancholy - no bad thing in my opinion - but here he has the Profane Saints and they have one divine purpose and that's to start a fire under his songs. It's the kind of synergy that makes for something special. They take Mat D's gravelly vocals in" Out of State Cash" and put it in to '57 Chevy with no brakes. Likewise, the frenetic "Mudflap Mamma" hits the road leaving behind only the unmistakable smell of burning rubber. Even on the more slower paced songs like "Dead in New Orleans", having such a band there - Kurt Mullins' guitar parts are worthy of mention throughout - gives the sadness and despair in the lyrics added eloquence and piquancy.
If there ever was an album that makes you drink bourbon at ten in the morning then it would be this one. That begs the question - what cured the hangover? Was it the bourbon or the music? Reckon it was the music because I know I'm back on Redemption Road once more.
Available from CD Baby.