has reviewed my record. Here's what he had to say:Ok. So I meet this fella in a plastic bubble barroom in Nashville. Tall, important looking. Maybe a little too important looking. Nice coat though. I find out his name his David. Handshakes and polite smiles. Saturday afternoon, a blind date of sorts. Its damp outside. Looking like a chilly early evening. Good excuse to have a drink. Maybe two. There's a group and there are several accents at the table - English, Southern American, Canadian. Eventually a CD is sliding around the table. Lotsa hmmmms and ohs and reallys? Simple cover. Orange with bold letters: DAVID SINCLAIR. Interesting, I thought this fella was music journalist, not a rock 'n roller. I've never written a review before. I'm sure there's a protractor I'm missing. However, I measure music by an involuntary response. It's automatic. Therefore I feel qualified to keep writing.
Dusted & Rusted EP
If you're sharp enough to understand that The Pretenders are top ten Rock N' Roll royalty, then David Sinclair's Dusted & Rusted is for you. Telecasters bustle, thread, twang a bit and crunch while the rhythm section leans and pops. Spit shoots from the speakers cause Mr. Sinclair's throat sounds like a race horse that just broke from his stall. The lyric is straight and unadorned. Apparently the myth of Jimmy Hendrix is an inspiration for Going To Do Something. But this song feels working-class to me. Any kid that ever looked beyond the gray and cruelly familiar rooftops of their hometown should identify with that desire to explode into that great promise that youth makes. Meanwhile, a bluesy Bouquet Of Weeds hops along with a Kim Deal type backing vocal that adds an element of bored sinister. A cold killer. Resentful and very English sounding, Bouquet Of Weeds reads like a dejected singer/songwriter that's holding a grudge despite his desire to confide the humor in disappointment. The title track, Dusted & Rusted, had me thinking "Holy Ray Davies Meets The Jazz Butcher!" Now, its never fair to assume one's intentions. But I believe its safe to say that Mr. Sinclair has a few bullets with some names on them. God have mercy if he finds a gun. Dusted & Rusted is a bit self-obsessed. But that's all right, isn't that what pain does -- turn you inward? It's bound to get ugly. So ... an enjoyable listen. Visceral and hooky, these songs are for barrooms and fast cars speeding over bridges from cities when traffic is thin and mistakes are tattooed to your eyelids. I only wish Mr. Sinclair would work a little harder for a rhyme from time to time. But its a simple language that's leaning on delivery with a caustic rock n' roll band that's as simple as a punch in the face and does the same.