“From The Hellhole” (YepRoc Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
For the last few years, Marshall Crenshaw has made it his mission to reclaim the rights to old recordings and reissue them on his own terms. His self-titled 1982 debut and his sophomore effort Field Day were rereleased to coincide with their 40th anniversaries. Preceding that, he reissued late ‘90s records like Miracle Of Science and #447. Now, he has returned with “From The Hellhole,” a collection of tracks that were originally issued as vinyl EPs.
Back in 1982, it felt as though Marshall simply burst on the music scene, but he had been working toward his debut since picking up his first guitar at age 10. Born in Detroit in 1953, he grew up in the nearby suburb of Berkley. He cycled through a series of bands in high school, and then fronted a combo called Astigafa (an acronym for “a splendid time is guaranteed for one and all,” a lyric found in The Beatle song “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite.”)
By 1973, he had completely lost interest in Top 40 radio, he found it to be narrow and somewhat whitewashed. Instead, he focused on collecting ‘45s released in the ‘50s and ‘60s. While he thrilled to the echo-y slap-back sound of primitive Rock & Roll, he was equally entranced by the romantic Soul music that saturated the local R&B stations. Each genre informed his songwriting.
Detroit lost a bit of its musical cache once the Motown label had relocated to Los Angeles in the early ‘70s. By the end of the Me Decade, there wasn’t much of a scene. Looking for new career opportunities, Marshall answered an ad in Rolling Stone and was cast as John Lennon in the Broadway production Beatlemania. After enduring several months of Beatles bootcamp the show premiered. Following extensive runs in San Francisco and Hollywood, he spent six months on the road. He finished his tenure with the production knowing exactly what kind of music he wanted to make. He bought a 4-track recorder and began honing his own songs.
Armed with a clutch of demos, he relocated to New York City and recruited his brother Robert to play drums with him. After auditioning at least 30 bass players, he settled on Chris Donato. Marshall actually traversed the city on foot, dropping demo tapes off with various showbiz movers and shakers. Journalist/Record label president Alan Betrock was one of the lucky recipients. Another tape found its way into the hands of Rockabilly revivalist Robert Gordon. Both became early and ardent supporters. Robert recorded his version of Marshall’s “Someday, Someway” and it appeared on his Are You Gonna Be The One album.
Alan took it a step further and released Marshall’s “Something’s Gonna Happen” song on his Shake record label. It created a bit of buzz and major labels began to court him. He inked a deal with Warner Brothers. Although he tried producing his debut himself, he got bogged down by the minutiae of the recording process. He wound up ceding that responsibility to Richard Gotthrer. The veteran producer had worked with Bowie and Blondie and recently produced The Go-Go’s’ debut, Beauty And The Beat, which shot up the charts, staying at #1 for six weeks. The first “Girl Group” album to reach that milestone.
The producer helped streamline Marshall’s sound. When his eponymous debut arrived in 1982, it felt like a breath of fresh air. His songs were catchy and concise, his sound encompassed Rockabilly, Power Pop and Country, with a soupcon of Soul. The first single, “Someday, Someway” made its way up the charts, landing in the Top 40 and the album spent six months on the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at #50.
Throughout the ‘80s he released a string of excellent albums, Field Day, Downtown, Mary Jean & 9 Others and Good Evening. They didn’t rocket up the charts, but they received critical acclaim and his passionate fanbase continued to increase with each effort. The next decade saw the release of three studio albums, Life’s Too Short, Miracle Of Science and #447, plus a live set, Live…My Truck Is My Home. He also acted in films like Peggy Sue Got Married and La Bamba. In the latter, he portrayed Rock & Roll legend Buddy Holly.
Somehow, he managed to find time to produce a compilation for Capitol Records, Hillbilly Music…Thank God, Vol. 1, and published a book, Hollywood Rock: A Guide To Rock n Roll In The Movies. Everyone from The Bellamy Brothers and Lou Ann Barton to Marti Jones, Kelly Willis, Ronnie Spector and Bette Midler have covered his songs, and he co-wrote the Gin Blossoms’ chart-topper “Til I Hear It From You.”
Although the 21st century has only seen the release of two studio albums, What’s In The Bag and Jaggedland, there have been a few live recordings and compilations. He also co-wrote a song for the Walk The Line parody film, Walk Hard and hosted his own radio show, Bottomless Pit on WFUV. Noting the resurgence of vinyl, he chose to forgo recording a full-length LP and began releasing a series of 10” EPs. He recorded six between 2012 and 2015, each comprised of a new song, a cover and a reconfigured version of a Crenshaw classic. The vinyl quickly went out of print. Aside from the classics, the tracks were collected in CD form as #392: THE EP Collection, which is also out of print.
Now, it’s being reissued via the YepRoc label on CD and a full-length LP with a couple of additions and a couple subtractions. The track-list pivots between originals and cherished covers, but for simplicity’s sake, this column will tackle the MC compositions first. The record kicks into gear with the loping “I Don’t See You Laughing Now.”
Jangly guitar and buoyant bass are tethered to a cantering beat. Marshall’s vocals wobble and warble in an almost autotune fashion. Written as a stinging riposte to the Enron scandal, these days, the lyrics could easily jibe with the eventual downfall of the Oligarchical taint-stain that currently occupies the Oval Office: “I said you used to laugh about the lives you’ve ruined, and here you are now, standing in their place, now maybe you will learn, maybe you will remember what got you fired from your mess/I don’t see you laughing now, well, I don’t see you laughing now, you had it all and where did it go, you lost your dog and pony show, there you were in a manic dash, tried and flying by in a flash, well, you wound up here anyhow, I don’t see you laughing now.” Spangly guitars sting and spark on the break, mirroring the lyrical schadenfreude.
Both “Driving And Dreaming” and “Grab This Train” suggest that travel is occasionally an antidote for emotional distress. On the former Hammond B-3 notes wash over fluid bass notes and liquid guitar riffs that echo and sway to a percolating beat. Behind the wheel, he’s given the chance to contemplate past regrets and lost opportunities. But the epiphanies come and go as the landscape rushes by: “Well, I had a revelation, back 100 miles ago, but right now I can’t remember anymore, that’s how it goes/And I’m fighting a losing battle, with the Oklahoma wind, the joy’s gone out of joy ride, and I’m nowhere, here I am still nowhere, nowhere near the end.” A spiky guitar solo on the break underscores this restless roundelay.
The latter is propelled by sun-dappled acoustic guitars, ambling bass lines and some low-key locomotion. Yearning for a lost love, lyrics hope a train trip will be a way to travel back in time. While leisurely riding the rails allows him to “lose myself in sweet memories of the past,” ultimately, he can’t outrun his troubles: “So now I’m here, but it seems to be that I tried to run but the Blues came and found me, found me here on memory lane, so it’s back the way I came to grab the next train.”
The propulsive “Stranger And Stranger” weds tensile guitars thrumming bass, tinkling vibraphone to a conga-fied beat. His vocals are suitably wistful as lyrics tackle themes of love and loss, originally inspired by the death of his father and the Sandy Hook tragedy that followed. He quietly notes “sad to say, I’ve been confronted by this fact, she’s gone away now and never will be back, it’s so true that time can be a cruel rearranger, and the weather outside is getting stranger and stranger.” The spirited arrangement belies lyrical angst, and there’s a glimmer of hope when Marshall rips a cutting, yet soulful guitar solo that offers a measure of catharsis.
“Move Now” and “Red Wine” add some new colors and textures to his sonic palette. On “Move…,” rumbling rhythm guitar coils around angular bass lines and an insistent Cha-Cha-Cha beat. Something of a one-man band, Marshall plays it all by himself. His lead guitar licks spiral and saw, magnifying the lyrics’ broody paranoia: “Don’t wait until the come, with their licorice gum, their fife and drum and their bourbon and rum, their oxycontin guns/ahh, you gotta move now, it’s gonna happen better move now and fly like birds, you better move now, ahh, they’re waiting for you, mark my words.”
“Red Wine” ditches the paranoia, drilling down on another romance gone wrong. Lilting accordion notes imbue the arrangement with Parisian patina, latticing reedy Hammond B-3, chunky guitars, spidery bass and a kick-drum beat. In vino veritas: “Now I’m drinking red wine and It still holds true, with everything we’ve been through, it’s still you, I’m still in the game, sitting here with you on my mind, drinking red wine.” A squally guitar solo on the break confirms that he remains tangled up in blue.
Finally, “Walkin’ Around” is a new “old” track, a stripped-down demo that later appeared on his criminally underrated 1991 album, Life’s Too Short. Marshall plays everything, as bramble-thick guitars, airy keys and a walking six-string bass connects to a thwocking beat. Lyrics offer a welcome respite following a night of spousal tsuris: “Let’s keep walkin’ around till we see the moon, just walkin’ around in the afternoon, with a crowd around us, the sun in our faces, we’ve known all these places for a long time it’s true, and I’ve been a long time loving you/I don’t wanna see us end up with broken hearts, what’s been going on between us is going to make us stronger or tear us apart.” A rippling guitar solo is equal parts twang and sunshine.
The balance of this 14-song set is cover songs. A couple of tracks were AM radio staples back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, but most are deep cuts from that era. He sticks pretty close to the original arrangements of The Carpenters’ “Close To You” and The Move’s “No Time.” Written by the songwriting team of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, “Close…” feels all the more poignant now that Karen, Hal and Burt have moved on to another astral plane. In Marshall’s hands it remains lush and ethereal, even including Burt’s trademark flatulent trumpets. Even now, all cynicism washes away whenever this song is played.
Pre-Electric Light Orchestra, Jeff Lynne was part of The Move. “No Time” didn’t exactly storm the charts, but it’s a baroque slice of Elizabethan Prog-Rock that blends plinky toy piano, gossamer vibraphone notes, knotty guitars, rumpity percussion and keening slide guitar. Marshall’s stacked vocals wrap around doomsday lyrics like “Saw the folks down below crying, heard them on the radio lying, distant bells in the air, ringing out, do they hear, do they know it’s growing very near. everybody’s sitting here, they don’t realize they got no time.”
The Loving Spoonful’s “Didn’t Want To Have To Do It,” is recast as a creamy, Philadelphia International-flavored Soul ballad that could easily sandwich between Billy Paul’s “Me And Mrs. Jones” and Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes’ “If You Don’t Love Me By Now.” Conversely, The Easybeats’ Garage Rock classic, “Made My Bed, Gonna Lie In It” simply growls with authority.
The two new additions to the covers portion of the album put his encyclopedic talents on full display. “Couldn’t I Just Tell You,” from Todd Rundgren’s epochal Something/Anything album sidelines Todd’s vocal um, exuberance, in exchange for Marshall’s (still) boyish croon. Effortlessly limning the ache of unrequited love, lyrics like “I don’t come whining with my heart on my sleeve, I’m not a coward if that’s what you believe and I’m not afraid, not ashamed if it’s true, I got to talk to you, and then I’ll make it clear, couldn’t I just tell you the way I feel, I can’t keep it bottled up inside,” are buoyed by irresistibly ringing chord clusters, throbby bass lines and a sly backbeat.
Flipping the script, he puts the pedal to the metal with a souped-up muscle car version of “I Just To Celebrate” from Detroit’s own Rare Earth. Wah-wah power chords ricochet atop strutting bass lines and a walloping beat. In its original incarnation (from one of the few white acts signed to Motown), the song was already a banger. But Marshall adds an extra layer of Psychedelic grit. The extended outro swirls and grooves with intent.
The record closes with “Never To Be Forgotten,” originally a minor hit for the Bobby Fuller Four. The Texas combo clearly took their cues from Buddy Holly and The Beatles. Marshall jettisons the original’s heavy “Wall Of Sound” arrangement, managing to create a perfect blend of Roots Rock jangle and British Invasion harmonies. It’s an energetic finish to pretty perfect record.
This collection was primarily recorded in his home studio, lovingly known as “The Hellhole,” hence the title. Several songs find Marshall going it alone. But he is occasionally joined by Andy York, Rob Morseburger, Susan Ornstein, Lisa Morseburger, Glen Burtrick, Steven Burnstein, Jaime Saft, Daniel Littleton, Plink Giglio, PK Lavengood, Bryan Carrott, Manual Quintana, Byron House, Jared Michael Nickerson and the legendary Graham Maby.
As a diehard Marshall Crenshaw fan, I am totally there for the reissues. This year marks the 40th anniversary of the release of his amazing third record, Downtown. Hopefully, a reissue will arrive by the close of 2025. Still, to paraphrase Burt and Hal, just like me, his fans long to be close to an album of new, original music. Maybe next year, Marshall….
