Harahan Fats

Chronique

For years, rock bands from the American South seemed torn between acknowledging the influence of the roots music that was all around them, or denying that in favor of a tighter, blunter attack and disguising the twang in their voices and their spirits. While some early Southern punks like New Orleans' Red Rockers succeeded in delivering high-quality defiance that could pass for similar product from New York or London, in time a lo-fi underground scene emerged that found a comfortable middle ground between the scrappy amateurism of punk and the heart and soul of vintage blues and country, as evidenced by bands like the Oblivians, '68 Comeback, and the Revelators. If King Louie Bankston wasn't a star on this scene, from the 1990s onward he was a welcome and constant presence, performing with the Royal Pendletons, the Exploding Hearts, Bad Times, Bipolaroid, and plenty more, as well as recording on his own with a seemingly endless run of lo-fi projects, often laying down guitar, drums, and keys all by himself. Bankston's relentless creativity came to a halt when he died of heart failure on February 12, 2022, and while there were literally dozens of vinyl releases to document his legacy, in his later years Bankston wanted to release an odds-and-sods compilation that would give a home to some rare and unreleased favorites from his archive. Bankston didn't live to see that album come out, but Goner Records have honored his memory with 2023's Harahan Fats, a fifteen song edition of that projected release. (A limited-edition cassette version includes the originally intended twenty-two song sequence.) Some songs feature (or at least mimic) a full band, such as "(Theme From) Crawzilla" and "Gone Too Far," but most feature minimal acoustic accompaniment, and in some cases, Bankston performs acapella, as on "Places Like This" and an off-key cover of "When God Dips His Pen." There are plenty of numbers here that are rough-and-ready fun, like the country-styled "Coke-A-Cola Cowboy" the atmospheric instrumental "Gin Road Ramble," and the back-porch party of "Gentilly Woman." But Bankston wasn't afraid to bare his soul on these performances, and he sounds casually convincing on "Pawn Shop Row," a plainspoken tale of hard times and empty wallets. And the appetite for alcohol and drugs that shortened his life is a recurring presence here; in particular, his cover of Cadalack Ron's "Rehab Legend" is truly haunting, turning the rapper's smug braggadocio about his multiple addictions into a harrowing portrait of a lost soul running out of options and losing the ability to lie to himself. Harahan Fats isn't the expansive, career-spanning anthology Bankston's catalog deserves – that would require a multi-dsc box set – but as a look into the heart and soul of a man who lived his life for music, this album makes it clear why King Louie Bankston mattered, and how much was lost with his passing.

© Mark Deming /TiVo