In the 1980s, Rodney Crowell, keyboardist Tony Brown, bassist Emory Gordy Jr. (all ex-Emmylou Harris Hot Band members), then-rising star Vince Gill, and ex-Elvis drummer Larrie Londin backed Crowell and his then-wife Rosanne Cash on tours under the name the Notorious Cherry Bombs. Stellar lineup notwithstanding, the band never recorded under their name.
Today, Gill has sixteen Grammys and over half a dozen platinum albums. He’s a veteran CMA awards show host and ubiquitous guest harmony vocalist/guitar picker. Crowell’s long string of albums range from inspired to pretentious, and from major-label chart-toppers to more modest indie-label affairs. Brown (who signed Gill) became MCA Nashville’s most visionary and successful producer-executive since Owen Bradley. Gordy eventually retired from playing to produce, doing remarkable work with, among others, his wife Patty Loveless. Londin died in 1992.
A reunion at the 2002 ASCAP Awards led to this, the first official Cherry Bombs record. To fill out the lineup, they went no further than Nashville’s studio A-list: drummer Eddie Bayers, pedal steel whiz and longtime Crowell-Emmylou associate Hank DeVito, bassist Michael Rhodes, keyboardist Johnny Hobbs and guitarist/former Steve Earle producer Richard Bennett. Camaraderie was clearly the goal, and the album’s loose feel, a result of recording live in the studio, contrasts with the usual Nashville sterility.
Freed of his ponderous side, Crowell is refreshing; Gill sounds clearly at home. The pair swap verses on “Let It Roll, Let It Ride”. Crowell takes center stage on “Making Memories Of Us” (covered by Tracy Byrd). “Oklahoma Dust”, a Gill/Leslie Satcher number, oozes classic Johnny Cash boom-chucka, and the Crowell/Gill co-write “Dangerous Curves” possesses optimal tension, complementing the dark storytelling of “Heart of A Jealous Man”. The album’s good-time feel stumbles into overkill just once: “It’s Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long” sounds dated and even silly.
Unfortunately, a flaw often fatal to reunion albums permeates every one of these twelve tracks. It’s one thing for anonymous, aging baby boomers to reunite their high school garage band for fun. When a band reunion includes genuine stars, it’s difficult — even impossible — for many listeners to view their contributions in any terms but their individual voices, not as band members.
That perception undermines the desired collective feel. Such a lack of resonance sunk the original Byrds’ 1973 return, and while the Flatlanders’ recent reunions have fared somewhat better, the solo work of Joe Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock, like it or not, largely defines them to the public. And so it is here.
Good intentions are everywhere, and the music’s certainly enjoyable enough. Nonetheless, the Bombs might have obviated the solo/band issues somewhat by simply setting up and recording live in a club, warts and all. Inevitably, this comes off as a Crowell-Gill collaboration, and that’s not really what they had in mind.
