The ‘just because we can’ album is becoming sadly rarer in these days of meticulously planned marketing strategies, yet this release from Diamond Rugs is indeed the result of a bunch of musicians saying, ‘fuck it, why not?’ Led by Deer Tick frontman John McCauley, he is joined by bandmate Robbie Crowell, Ian St. Pé of Black Lips, Hardy Morris of Dead Confederate, Steve Berlin of Los Lobos and Brian Dufresne from Six Finger Satellite. The result is a filthy, alcohol-soaked ruckus filled with references to picking up prostitutes and getting wasted at the local dive bar, not treading too unfamiliar ground from McCauley’s Deer Tick background.
Diamond Rugs is a throwback to classic rock ‘n’ roll, and whether that is a good thing or not depends on how willing you are to accept the rough and ready nature of this six man onslaught. Track titles like ‘Hungover and Horny’ give an idea of the alt-country jams found here, though the song, along with the similarly blunt Replacements inspired ‘Gimme A Beer’, is one of the strongest here, stomping and screeching heartily like a grown-up version of FIDLAR. ‘Call Girl Blues’ is exactly the kind of song you would expect to find on a blue-collar rock ‘n’ roll album, with a sleazy horn section provided by Berlin, and faintly misogynistic lyrics about a lady of the night who you can’t hold, “cause she ain’t yours”.
While these tracks could almost be brand new Deer Tick tracks, McCauley allows the other members their own individual chances to impress throughout the album, resulting in a hugely mixed bag across a lengthy 14 numbers. St. Pé takes over vocal duties for introductory mumble along ‘Hightail’ and the Dylan-esque Blue Mountains, and while the instrumentation does it’s best to support it, his listless and weak delivery saps all the energy from both. Morris takes his chances rather better, especially in Country Mile, which transforms from garage rock scuzz to charming country singalong to psychedelic freak out in the blink of an eye, and the raucous Big God.
There are a few calm before the storm moments sprinkled into the mix, even Diamond Rugs realise that their soundtrack to a barroom brawl needs some kind of resting post. Out On My Own is a surprisingly sensitive call to a lost love, as McCauley bawls ‘I wish that she would stay’, and unrealistically promises that he will change, while I refuse to believe that Totally Lonely wasn’t the result of finding a long lost time capsule from 1963 in the Rugs’ back garden. The moody festive blues of Christmas in a Chinese Restaurant is certainly interesting, but hard to tell whether it should be taken seriously or not. Given the band’s preference for alcoholic beverages though, it’s most likely to be a drunken joke set to a mournful, 70’s ballad.
It’s not hard to tell that these songs were rather hastily put together, and there are times when the album sounds rushed. Filler tracks like Motherland and 100 Sheets never get going, or in fact go anywhere at all, and appear to be there purely to tick boxes. Then again, perhaps an album collaboration from such varied sources leaves little room for harsh, but necessary cuts.
Ironically, it’s the old familiarity of brash, basement rock ‘n’ roll produced by bands such as Deer Tick and Black Lips that work best for Diamond Rugs, yet at the same time, the band does have an identity of its own, especially with the occasional flourishes from Steve Berlin and the assorted selection of other musicians drafted in to give the raw, unfiltered sounds from the guitars and rhythm section a neat coat of paint. In an odd way, there is a hope that Diamond Rugs doesn’t get the attention that it deserves, just so that the band can remain playing the kind of seedy bars and clubs that they write about, and fit so seamlessly into. It’s no masterpiece, but if you believe Diamond Rugs, there’s no such thing as perfection anyway.
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