By Todd Lavoie
Bless the Boxcar Saints. Courtesy of www.boxcarsaints.com.
If there’s anything on this earth that really breaks my jaded, irony-encrusted little heart, it’s the sight of a hobo cranking out a sad, sad waltz.
Are you with me on this one? Can’t you just see it? There he is, shirtless in his denim overalls, a greasy half-empty bottle of hooch tucked in the front pocket, clunking around in the sand with feet falling out of shoes scavenged three states back, somewhere down by the train tracks. It’s a desert nowhere, a three-horse, one-saloon town – cactus, scorpions, the whole bit – and the poor guy’s doing nothing but spinning dust dervishes all around him, clapping his hands in time to a tune only he can hear. Maybe it’s a fine little ditty his Grandpappy taught him, all those years ago, when he was just a little tadpole. Ah, but that was a long time ago.
Now he’s just a drunk, a rambler, a wobbly old crank who hops trains from town to town, staying put only long enough to do the occasional odd job and maybe buy himself a hooker who ain’t too particular. No one ever learns his name – not his real name, anyway. Rather than Bob or George or whatever, he goes by Smalltooth or Soup Can or something like that. And he keeps on waltzing under the blazing sun to the song rattling around in his head. Oh, the humanity! The drama! Do you feel the pain? Do you taste the tears?
Before you give up on our hobo – let’s call him Flea Stick Slim – maybe you should consider the music of local desert-dramatists the Boxcar Saints before ‘fessing up to the coldness of your heart. Led by the mescal-growl of Dave Hudson, this gang of scoundrels and rounders reveal landscapes studded with snakebites and bar fights and girls who mean nothing but trouble. Sure, they’ve got a Tom Waits thing going on – some of the band has even played with Waits in the past – but these guys also add Angelo Badalamenti-esque slinky jazz and a Calexico-flavored dustiness to their South-of-the-Border commotion. Wailing saxophone on tracks like “Together” (from the 2005 Grand Mal Records release Last Things) keep things nice and noir-ish. Listen closely, and you can almost see Flea Stick Slim himself, our hobo hero on the run from the law…
The Boxcar Saints – joined by the leg-kicking sassies of the Barbary Coast Shakedown’s Dancehall Revue – will tell their sordid tales from the other side of the tracks on Saturday, July 28, 9 p.m., at 12 Galaxies, 2565 Mission, SF. Twelve bucks for a good cry is a pretty good deal.