Cowslingers

There is a real danger that alternative country will erode into the blues. That doesn’t mean it’s going to sound like Son House and Muddy Waters any more than the modern Blueshammer blues bands do; but there is shortness to the form’s possibilities that could be terminal, or at least deteriorate into over-ironic camp. It is thus thankful that bands like Cincinatti’s Cowslingers are busking the edges of our hearts right now, because rather than use "country” as an excuse to slow down former punk urges, they seem to take specific pleasure in getting the hell out of Dodge whenever possible, bringing us pure sex rock, such as on "Saltine,” while still managing to play a banjo and fiddle like the Depression’s still on and cats are on the menu. And it’s hard to argue with an old time-y drinking song like "Whistlin’ Bob.” Still, any time a zydeco gets pulled out it’s time to take a long, critical look in the mirror, but if Cowslinger sticks to their rockabilly roots, they should survive the coming purge.