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1995-08-25
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August 18, 1995 No. 179
Roch On Music
By Roch Parisien
BOB SNIDER
Caterwaul & Doggerel ****
(EMI)
Caterwaul: a harsh cry, off-key screeching. Doggerel: a low
form of poetry trivial or inferior, for burlesque or comic
effect.
As performers like Barenaked Ladies, Moxy Frovous and Meryn
Cadell (who count themelves among his biggest fans) are only
too aware, Bob Snider's album title finds him far too modest
and self-deprecating. You can buy, to some extent, the
"caterwaul." On the surface, Snider sings in a rustic,
sub-Dylan kind of voice and plunks at his beat-up nylon-six-string
with little flourish - both recorded dry and reverb-less. But
the whole is deceptively complex. Behind the roughened
surface simplicity lies a rare intelligence and elegance of
style, delivery, and content that has long championed by other
performers on the Toronto music scene.
Snider's is a face that has seen a lot of life, a reality
imprinted on his songs. With disheveled hair, ragged beard,
craggy skin, and glinting eyes, he may look like he's just
woken up from a hard night on the streets, but never
misplacing a pointed sense of humor, an ability to poke fun in
Everyman's language at the absurdities of day to day
existence. His captivating songs and delivery take me
instantly back to my English Lit school days and a favorite
Romantic period poem, Coleridge's "The Rhyme Of The Ancient
Mariner":
"It is an ancient Mariner
And he stoppeth one of three.
- "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
He holds him with his glittering eye -
The wedding guest stood still
And listens like a three years' child
The mariner hath his will."
Like the poem's wedding guest, Snider's songs bind listeners
in a spell, constraining them to hear out his tales. Then
again, you can dismiss all of the above intellectualizing and
view Snider as simply a classic rambling street performer; a
witty raconteur one-man-band traveling caravan. Where Snider
goes, entertainment value is never far behind.
His best material really does combine both perspectives.
While there's an air of "novelty" about it, burlesque/doggerel
it is not. Snider's social commentary is gentle and humorous,
devoid of cynicism, which actually makes it more potent than
many of his more strident colleagues. "Parkette" tells the
tale of a sterile, deserted municipal park - now named "after
a politician" and complete with sign warning "no ball playing"
- that was once a natural field teeming with wildlife and
children.
"Darn Folksinger" takes an indirect swipe at big business
interests by casting them as the good guys ("the banker is
busy spreading it all around the nation") while for the
no-goodnik folk singer, "pecuniary consideration is the
machinatin' motivation." Coded proof of this singer-songwriter
conspiracy lies in the roll-call of the guilty: Ray Price.
Johnny Paycheck. Eddie Money. Buck Owens. Johnny Cash.
Then there's the exquisite romantic ballads. "Talk To Me
Babe" and "If I Sang It Pretty" reveal that there's much more
depth to Snider's lispy rasp than he's often prepared to let
on. Gentle finger-picking strikes emotional chords, while
rounded melodies proclaim the (again, deceptively perfect)
likes of "Winter's on the way/I should have had my wood by
now/If I was going to stay/But it looks like I'll be leaving."
It's a classic, timeless Ian Tyson, Gordon Lightfoot, Jesse
Winchester kind of Canadiana image.
Speaking of Canadiana, "They Oughtta Bottle Friday Night"
almost sneaks one past Stompin' Tom Connors on his own home
turf. "Bums In The Park" chisels a vivid portrait of those
society has counted out. Acoustic blues, vaudeville, and
country touches flavor several selections. Some numbers
demand only Bob and his guitar, and are so treated. For
others, producer (and new Rheostatics drummer) Don Kerr adds
unobtrusive splashes of cello, violin, piano, bassoon,
pennywhistle, electric guitar, and tuba.
At 49 years old, Bob Snider is one of those "new" artists,
suddenly thrust out in the spotlight, who's been around almost
forever playing in your kitchen and on market corners. One
gets the distinct impression that, should the music industry
juggernaut presently dragging him in its wake decide to toss
him, he'd be just as happy returning to the Toronto streets
where he got his start, or retreating to the Nova Scotia
wilderness he now prefers to call home. That's if he doesn't
dump the music industry first, of course.
Once way or another, _Caterwaul and Doggerel_ captures the
work of a true Canadian original for whom "sitting in the
kitchen is my favorite thing to do/I can sit in that room and
ruminate until the chickens come home to roost/I never have to
go very far to cook my own goose."
***** - a "desert island" disc; may change your life.
**** - excellent; a long-term keeper.
*** - a good disc, worth repeated listening.
** - fair, but there are better things to spend money on.
* - a waste of valuable natural resources.
Copyright 1995 Rocon Communications - All Rights Reserved