Guy Clark’s latest album was recorded fresh from chemotherapy. He’s abused his voice for decades with smoke and liquor, but the ravages of cancer are more sinister.
I love to see the neon dancin’ on the gravel
And I love to hear the pickup trucks come unraveled
Some have given up, some have given in
Looks like everybody’s lookin’ for a friend
~ Out in the Parking Lot
Good debauchery deepened the sound and made room for lessons learned over the years–listening to Guy Clark’s first album is like hearing a boy in puberty compared to the _Keepers_ recording of “LA Freeway.” He’s always been pretty good at taking advantage of the cracks in his voice, but for the first time I can hear some frailty, some unintentional cracks creeping in. The hardest thing to hear, though, is how tired he sounds on some of these Workbench Songs.
Since Guy Clark spent formative years in Texas with Townes Van Zandt, Eric Taylor, guys whose perspectives were dark, I like to think about the variations among them. That fertile ground has bred some uncompromising songwriters who saw some bleakness in the world but weren’t afraid to meditate on it a while, let the fire start at their fingertips and watch it run all the way up the arm. I know Guy Clark saw it too, but he’s always seemed better able to keep the flames dancing just on the tips of his fingers, keep it almost out of sight. Maybe that’s why his music is sometimes more buoyant than his Texan peers’.
Woody Guthrie was a walkiní man
In the dust bowl days
Had a six string guitar in his hands
He killed a fascist every day
~ Walkin’ Man
But judging from the last few albums, the darkness may be catching up with Guy Clark. Even as he turns wryly part way to face it, he’s still whistling in the other direction. I’m not sure what might happen if he turns to face it. I feel kind of bad for wanting him to.
The first cut from Workbench Songs, “Walkin’ Man” contradicts my opening assertion that there is weakness in Guy’s voice. It’s a forceful reminder of the gadfly role songwriters have always played, with a new call to join the ranks of Woody Guthrie, Chuck Berry, and Ghandi, company among whom Guy Clark’s name falls sort of naturally.