Polished country rockers or ragged renegades inventing Americana? Actually a bit of both, and a whole lot better than actually recalled or remembered.

Release date: 19th January 2024

Label: Cherry Red

Format: CD

Sid Griffin must be relishing his revival of the Long Ryders brand, the band proving still a big hit on the live circuit, and, now, Cherry Red are doing what they do best with their back catalogue, rebadging and reboxing this sometimes overlooked band. Overlooked? Well, yes and no. To those in the know, they were always there, an integral part of the Paisley Underground family of guitar bands in the 80s, sometimes lumped in, a little lazily, as being all at one with Dream Syndicate, The Bangles and Rain Parade. Sure, there were similarities, the whiff of psychedelia infusing their guitar gymnastics, but, and never more clearly than on this, their debut, there was a whole lot more going on, principally in the debt to the Byrds, and particularly their mid to late period country fumes.

But they were never just Griffin’s band, even if he was the accepted spokesman for the quartet. Joining Griffin on guitar and vocals was, and still is, Steven McCarthy, himself every bit as good a songwriter, and player, as Griffin, and debonair sticksman, Greg Sowders. The fourth member, present during the many reformations of the band, and there have been a few, was bassist, Tom Stevens, a third accomplished singer and the conscience of the band, who died, suddenly, two years ago. The band play on, without him, but never without an onstage tribute to the magnitude of his input to the whole.

Native Sons came out in 1984. An earlier EP, 10-5-60, also included in this set, had set out their stall as a heavily 1960’s influenced psychedelic rock band, a slightly trippier Flamin’ Groovies, but for their Frontier Records debut they dialled some of that back, in favour of the purer country rock, with roll. A good decison. Relistening now, it is easy to have forgotten quite how important was this aspect, with the occasional banjo and steel coming as some forgotten surprise, not least as they later became more and more a guitar band. Sure, we have all read the ‘Godfathers of Americana’ hype, but, y’know, listening again, they were, they really were. Indeed, not until Griffin moved on to his next project, the Coalporters, was there this much country on the palette. (And, then, of course, there was a whole lot more of that, from where that came from…..)

Disc 1 comprises the actual album and some associated material, and we’re off with a hefty wallop as the drums and picked guitar motif launches Final Wild Son, a Griffin/McCarthy co-write, Griffin spitting out the vocal, all Subterranean Homesick Blues Bob style, McCarthy chucking in fancy Nashville West Clarence White type licks. Way to go, with McCarthy’s Still Get By offering no let up in momentum, more of a straightforward garagey rocker, reminiscent of Love at their aggressive end, even down to the harmonies. The harmonica solo is suitably deranged. Some beautiful guitar starts off Ivory Tower. And the vocals? The naggingly familiar voice on harmony is Gene Clark, the Byrd, no less, his tenor the perfect match for, this time, McCarthy’s lead vocal. A song written by earlier bass player, Barry Shank, it was no surprise it was a keeper.

Griffin and Sowders helmed the Cut Across Shorty-like of Run Dusty Run, an elegant homage, that combines some Paul Revere and the Raiders with a faint hit of the Ramones. Mel Tillis was a fabled Nashville writer, his (Sweet) Mental Revenge then getting an elegantly roughed up rendition, the steel guitar licks jousting with the rowdier orthodox guitar. (Both McCarthy and guest, Dave Pearlman, get credited with the steel guitar across the album, uncertain who is what when.) Fair Game offers the first hear of banjo, McCarthy again, and the Byrdsy fumes of McGuinn come through strong in the vocals, the song not a zillion miles from Hey, Mr Spaceman.

So far and not a song has broken the three minute barrier. Griffin’s iconic signature tune, Tell It To The Judge On Sunday, still a live highpoint, is the first to do so, by six seconds. Is it punk, is it garage? Who cares, so buoyant is it, a definitively perfect slice of rock and roll. Wreck Of The 809 has McCarthy stretch out his guitar and vocal over Steven’s walking bass, the staccato clangs something Strummer and Jones might have considered, ahead of further demented harmonica from Griffin. A mention also for Sowders’ solid metronome. Want some slow? Too Close to The Light offers some slight reprieve from the guitars, with an incense wafty arrangement and what sounds like sitar. But the guitars can’t stay far away, and don’t, the whole being another neat 1960s lysergic pastiche. Lovely slide takes it to the close.

Never Got To Meet The Mom starts all acoustic thrash andhurried vocal , but, wait, is that a banjo in the background? It surely is, bubbling up to the surface and making the song an odd and quirky mesh of genres. Likeable, too. Power surging guitars and thumping drums introduce another of the songs by McCarthy, his I Had A Dream, replete with a Rickenbacker 12 string for the full McGuinn. (Probably the same 12 string that malfunctioned when I saw them live!) Now that’s how to close an album! (There is also a tacked-on alternate version of Too Close To The Light, a b-side to a single. Called the Buckskin version, which gives a fair idea of the mood instilled, coming over all Buffalo Springfield, no strangers to buckskin themselves.) A final note, and an impressive one, is to note that the production duties for the album came from Henry Lewy, the veteran responsible for helming some of the original Flying Burrito Brothers recordings.

Disc one uses the extra time well, hoovering up the aforementioned earlier EP, together with another, the abandoned 5×5 Sessions from early ’85. These had been mooted as content for a fleshed-out re-release of 10-5-60, following the acclaim of Native Sons. First to the former, finding it to be much simpler fare, clangy guitar fodder, with lots of echo and the bass stuck on the root notes, perhaps explaining the players replacement. It isn’t without charm, mind, and the 12 string is there in the scuzz, as is, in Join My Gang, a neat example of ye olde backwards guitar solo. Or a clever reproduction of one. You Don’t Know What’s Right, You Don’t Know What’s Wrong is powerpop central, if with steel skirling in the background, with the 10-5-60 track being almost glamrock in its brashness, with punky falling downstairs drums. Born To Believe You is a lighter-in-the-sky sway in the style of Herman’s Hermits, with what sounds like ukelele, so we are getting a lot of traction through the styles absorbed by Mssrs. Griffin and McCarthy in their formative, in this case, Griffin. The jamboree bag closes with the further throwback of And She Rides. Overall one has to express, with awe, just quite how much ground the band trod in their development, forward to the Native Sons recordings.

The 5×5 Sessions are also bit of a hotch potch, with songs both sublime and ridiculous. The Trip is, awkwardly, the former, a by numbers thumpy thrash, although I accept the intervening years have contributed to that feel. If that was McCarthy on autopilot, Time Keeps Travelling is Griffin in full magpie, with any number of borrowed ideas, even if, under all that pizazz, the germ of a good song lies, mainly in the instrumental parts. So where the sublime? For me, this comes with a cover, and a good one, I Can’t Hide, from obvious influencers, The Flamin’ Groovies. As God Is My Witness picks up the own material stakes, but it remains still a bit derivative. mainly of, ironically, or understandably, enough, the Groovies. Finally, and it pains me to say it, comes possibly the worst version of Dylan’s Masters Of War I have yet heard. Maybe it’s best this session was scrapped, with, as far as I can tell, few re-emerging later, in any studio recording, as they embarked on to a bigger label, Island, for their next few outings.

Disc 2 is demos. The first three come entitled the Radio Tokyo demos, the name being that of Ethan James’ studio, which wasn’t, incidentally, in Japan. The Radio Tokyo Tapes was a compilation album put out by James and, as well as the Ryders, included other Paisley Underground denizens, such as the Bangles and Rain Parade. The Ryders song was Still Gets By, uncertain whether it was this version or the Native Sons version that was included. It, 10-5-60 and And She Rides each get a raw run out, each interesting more for the enthisiasm, which tends to overpower the substance some. (I prefer the version of 10-5-60, in truth.)

The following sixteen tracks come much as demos usually do and of interest more to completists and historians. However, there are one or two, that appear ahead of going no further. I’ll Get Out Somehow is a classic slice of Burrito style country rock, where McCarthy even channels a little bit of Gram in the vocal. Pity it was never seen much again. There is also a doozy of a version of Tim Hardin’s If I Were A Carpenter, maybe straying too close to the original, if with superlative electric 12 string, ahead a less well-conceived raga rock breakdown.. The third orphan is Fair Game, a slow banjo fuelled meander, where the harmonies, as ragged as hell, are perfect for the hillbilly hayrick hubris it portrays.

Disc 3 is live, and comprises a single show, March 2022, from Camden’s celebrated Dingwall’s Dancehall, a venue perfect for this sort of music, and remembered fondly. (The current equivalence fails to pass muster, I find, but maybe it was what I was then drinking.) Which, I guess, epitomises the performance, the ecstatic crowd response being self evident. These are, by circumstance, broadly stripped back versions of the album, concentrating on guitars at the expense, and in the absence of, any peripheral instrumentation for variation and contrast. They are still good songs, but a bit of banjo or steel might have suited better these ears. Maybe I am being churlish, as the guitarwork is incendiary, and maybe more fitting the mood. A couple of songs from next album, State Of Our Union get an airing, Macon-Dixon Line and State of My Union, as does another orphan. Southside Of The Story, their inclusion in the set a pleasing bonus. Closing with a stonking Tell It To The Judge On Sunday, it possible underlines the schizophrenic mindset of the band, uncertain if they were Byrdsy country rockers or guitar heavy Americana in the style of the Bottle Rockets or the Replacements. I get that, because as much as I like the idea of the former, they were, and are, pretty damn good as the lattter.

As ever, full marks to Cherry Red for this compilation. In the usual sturdy box, as well as the discs, you get a mini-poster (yay!) and a glossy booklet, with detailed notes from Anthony DeCurtis from Rolling Stone.

Finally, and because I can, here’s a clip from how you seldom saw ’em live, from the Apple Tree Sessions, in 2016, featuring an alternate version of the opening track from Native Sons.

The Long Ryders online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram

Keep up with At The Barrier: Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram / Spotify / YouTube