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By PHILIP BOOTH and JEFFREY S. SOLOCHEK
Published August 7, 2005

ROBBIE FULKS, GEORGIA HARD (YEP ROC)

It has been four long years since alt-country iconoclast Robbie Fulks last treated fans to a full album of original material with the independently released Couples in Trouble, available the same year as covers collection 13 Hillbilly Giants. During the interim, the Chicago-based singer and songwriter has popped up on tributes to Johnny Paycheck, Webb Pierce and Wanda Jackson and reportedly spent $40,000 on a set of Michael Jackson songs. We can't wait.

Georgia Hard is yet another collection of full-on Fulks gems sure to please the Americana crowd and raise others' eyebrows, from the simultaneously funny and sad musings of middle-finger breakup anthem It's Always Raining Somewhere to the laidback countrypolitan shadings of the weepy Leave It To a Loser. I'm Gonna Take You Home (And Make You Like Me), a giddy, silly duet with wife, Donna, located not far from Loudon Wainwright terrain, must be the only time that the German word gemutlichkeit has been paired with pedal-steel guitar.

There's no reason that country radio couldn't or shouldn't embrace the blue-collar woes of the fiddle-decorated title track, the banjo- and mandolin-flecked Where There's a Road, and the sad-goodbye song I Never Did Like Planes.

Then again, Fulks' choice of thematic material doesn't quite fit in - a country star and absentee father pays the ultimate penalty for his sins in the moody Coldwater, Tennessee; an up-from-poverty man goes to prison for murdering his adulterous wife in the delicate ballad If They Could Only See Me Now; a married businessman turns down sex with a stranger for the sake of preserving his career in Doin' Right (For All the Wrong Reasons). Several other tracks, including All You Can Cheat and Goodbye, Cruel Girl, gotta make one wonder: Does this guy love or loathe his chosen genre? Maybe a little of both?

It probably doesn't help, either, that his intelligent lyrics and layered instrumental work are richer and more authentic than any half-dozen slick hat acts you'd care to name. It's no coincidence that Sam Bush and Alison Brown, on mandolin and banjo, respectively, were invited to the party.

But even the North Carolina-bred Fulks probably wouldn't keen to that last defense: With the honky-tonking Countrier Than Thou, he pokes fun at any such litmus test. A

- PHILIP BOOTH, Times correspondent

The first incarnation of twang rockers Son Volt, documented on the recent A Retrospective: 1995-2000, a must-have for alt-country partisans, is defunct, with leader Jay Farrar the sole survivor. Since the split, Farrar, half of the creative partnership behind influential '90s Middle Western band Uncle Tupelo (ex-partner Jeff Tweedy heads Wilco) has recorded and toured as a solo artist.

Son Volt, v. 2, with Farrar plus six-stringer Brad Rice, bassist Andrew Duplantis and drummer Dave Bryson, represents a complete rebirth. But there's a catch: The oddly but aptly titled Okemah and the Melody of Riot will make even a longtime fan swear on a pile of No Depression magazines that the lineup has remained intact.

That's okay, because earnest, affecting singing, rootsy guitar churn and hammering rhythm-section crunch can always be counted on to slice through contemporary pop-rock clutter. Cut open these songs and they bleed with electric guitar riffs and solos as artfully overdriven as anything Neil Young and Crazy Horse ever pumped out, along with crying pedal steel and hard-strummed acoustic guitar.

The titular reference to the Oklahoma birthplace of Woody Guthrie, and a line ("the words of Woody Guthrie ringing in my head") in the opening soft-and-hard Bandages & Scars suggest what's to come: Farrar's lyrics largely address the social, economic and political ravages of the American landscape, circa now.

Anger is evident on the slashing Jet Pilot and the rambling, acoustic Medication, but there's also hope, as described on Afterglow 61, a road song about the famous north-south route: "There's no reason to feel downhearted/There's music in the wheels there to be found." Farrar finds it, all right, and it's as reassuring as comfort food, if a little too familiar tasting for its own good. B+

- P.B.

A decade in the making, Willie Nelson's countrified reggae CD isn't his best release lately - for that, check out the stark It Always Will Be. But this seemingly odd mix of dobro and harmonica with lilting background vocals and a pulsating Jamaican beat easily earns a spot among the discs to enjoy while relaxing by the pool, rum punch in hand.

Perhaps it's the strong material. The songwriters include Nelson, Johnny Cash and reggae legend Jimmy Cliff, and guest superstar Toots Hibbert (on Cash's I'm a Worried Man) adds extra credibility. It's also refreshing to hear retooled, upbeat versions of tunes that Nelson recorded so somberly in the past.

Consider the nearly 40-year-old Darkness on the Face of the Earth, one of the songs Nelson first recorded when he was trying to break into the music business, or the grim I've Just Destroyed the World. They never seemed likely toe-tappers, but the plucky bass line and jaunty drumbeat do the trick.

Admittedly, the music is neither reggae nor Willie's trademark brand of country. But, hey, it's a fun experiment worthy of a listen. B

- JEFFREY S. SOLOCHEK, Times staff writer

[Last modified August 4, 2005, 12:44:05]