This is Bloodkin's eighth album in 23 long years of hauling ass around the country, playing to every kind of crowd, backing Allen Ginsburg (true story), looking disappointment right in the face, and living it up only to have to live it down. They're survivors, which isn't a comment on the music but a comment on the fact that they're still making music, undeterred in the mission despite the ups and downs implied by that album title. Then again, maybe that's a nod to geography: Principles Eric Carter and Daniel Hutchens hail from West Virginia, but have been based in Athens, Ga., for years-- and sound like it. Or that title could be about zombies.
For many listeners, Baby, They Told Us We Would Rise Again will be their first exposure to Bloodkin, and many others heard them open for the Drive-By Truckers. There are enough musical similarities between the two bands, though, that it seems perfectly natural that Mike Cooley would cameo on Rise Again, David Barbe would produce it, and Patterson Hood would write the liner notes. Bloodkin scribble with their guitars, creating churning ambience as well as cab-forward riffs. The guitar licks on "Easter Eggs" shoot like sparks from a campfire, peel paint on "Ghost Runner", course like heroin through the addiction lament "The Viper", which builds to a climax with Orenda Fink's trumpet. They see beyond the Truckers, though, to drivin' n cryin' and Georgia Satellites, to Skynyrd (of course) and .38 Special, yet the accomplishment of Rise Again is that Bloodkin manage to sound like so many other acts but most of all like themselves.
And because they're Southerners by choice, there's a literary bent to Rise Again, as if the legacy of Faulkner or even the Beats were alive on vinyl rather than in ink (Hutchens proclaims himself the "bastard son of Neal Cassady"). The words are more carefully chosen and placed than the notes, as it usually is with the best southern rock bands. Occasionally the imagery can be a bit pat, as on "Rhododendron", when Hutchens sings, "Life is a mystery, but it's fragrant as an apple tree," as the guitars crash into each other. On the other hand, considering the mean highway they've traveled, they've earned the right to such placid similes.
On the other hand, Bloodkin may be at their catchiest and most quotable when they're at their funniest. "Heavy With Child" is a litany of reasons to be happy, some sincere and some sarcastic. "I'm so happy you're heavy with child." "I'm so happy that you're a real blonde." "I'm so happy the bathroom door locks." And so on. But when Hutchens admits "I'm so happy we're living the dream," he sounds like he means it, and the song's true meaning becomes clear: These are the reasons that make a happy, albeit imperfect, union, where the good outweighs the bad. Or, as they theorize on the road anthem "A Place to Crash": "I think what saved us was we never lost that feel." Here's hoping they never do.
