Friday nights should always be like this; hell, even on a Monday. Twangtastic!

Release Date: 14th June 2024

Label: Fluff & Gravy Records

Format: CD / vinyl / digital

I am a firm believer in the idea that the success of a band can often be pitched on the flip of a coin, and that a good and memorable name can make all the difference, even before a single note is played. As such, these guys (and a gal) come up heads every time, such the evocative drawing power of their moniker. Who couldn’t be immediately sucked in by the idea of Jenny Don’t? Jenny Do has to be the response. OK, so and the Spurs may not carry as much weight, at least outside North London, but, no loss, already I’m in. Add the fact that this is a cowboy outfit, packing some prime outlaw cowpunk; spit, sawdust and all the sourmash whiskey you can weep into, well, mes amigos, it’s a cinch.

Jenny earned her name in her youth, being gifted with a rebellious streak as wide as Texas, or, at least, as New Mexico, where she was born, or, for that matter, Washington, where she was raised. The band have been around about a dozen years and this is album number four, a significant one, at that, given this marks the debut of new member, Buddy Weeks, following the untimely demise of his predecessor, Sam Henry, lost to cancer in 2022. Jenny sings and plays rhythm guitar, he drums, with the rest of the band rounded out by Kelly Halliburton on bass, and the various guitars of Christopher March,

Fuzzy guitar and whatever the American for motorik drums, is what kickstarts track one, Flying High. Don’t’s vocals immediately hit a sweet spot, pitched somewhere between Carlene Carter and her half-sister, Rosanne Cash. March chucks in a sinkful of twang and it’s all gonna go well. The bass is playing way more than just the root notes and it is a pleasing mix. Pain In My Heart is a more trad country construct, lap steel now whipping up some side action. Anyone with a penchant for the sort of din that Canada’s Sadies can whip up, well, they’re going to love this record. Clark duels with himsef, swapping between lap and lead. Next, Jealous Heart is all hokey 50’s girl group territory, it apparent these guys have no shortage of inspiration. Marvellous.

Sidewinder is a classy retro instrumental; think surf, think Sandy Nelson. Weeks really, sorry, earns his spurs for this one, and this sort of stuff should be piped in with the water. One of the many present guitars is turned to that tone pedal that mimics brass, and I am nearly fooled. Unlucky Love slows things down, with a slow throb of bass, a thewack of drums and loads of reverb. Whether you are sashaying slowly across the floor, or weeping into your Bud, it works on either level. (To be fair, I’d weep if offered a Bud, but hey…..). Jangly guitar jangles jangletastically and I’m smitten, especially as a coda of electric guitar chimes in, following a burble of bass, ripe for the closing word.

We remain in heartbreak central for Broken Hearted Blue, but, this time, she’s fighting back and it is another dieselbilly rollick, Don’t’s vocal now like a deranged 60’s starlet, the image of an unravelling beehive coiffure coming, unbidden, to mind. Eat your heart out, Sandra Dee! You’re What I Need channels the sort of song Ringo used to get on early Beatles’ records, if with better guitar. And it’s Dolly who is now being summonsed in through the ether. (Dolly? Is there another?) One More Night starts all Creedence-y, and these references just keep a’coming, all valid and all entirely welcome here, as she sings “I’m not ready to come down, no, I’m staying up all day“. Just to let you know the hours she’s keeping.

More percussiony paradiddles introduces My Baby’s Gone to a Bo Diddly beat, and you just know someone somewhere’s got a huge record collection, mainly singles, all probably loaded on a massive Wurlitzer jukebox. Probably Don’t, given she writes the songs, with some input from Halliburton, conveniently also her partner. (Well, two big jukeboxes might be considered a tad excessive.) Finally, and keeping the bar high, Bones In The Sand sets off into a reverb and twang drenched sunset. With more echo than plex, it boings like a bouncy bison, ending, suddenly, on a turn, with Don’t’s icepick vocal the last sound you hear.

When you have had enough of the week, this one especially, with preening politicians and pretentious pontificators, this is just the ticket to restore any faltering faith in the feelgood capabilities of simple downhome country music: yee-haw played loud. Collin Hegna, the producer, knows this, and, rather than anything fancy, appreciates exactly when 10 on the dial is never ever quite enough.

Lucky for you, here’s Unlucky Love:

Jenny Don’t & The Spurs online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly known as Twitter) / Instagram

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