Cosmic Dust Devils
Cosmic Dust Devils
Little Train Records
By David Pilot
 A woman with a powerful
voice well suited to her heavy metal lead singer past but with
no current prospects wanders into a blues bar in Reseda, CA one
evening. A pissed off and frustrated songwriter with haunted
El Paso roots and a hard-earned disrespect for the workaday world's
lack of loyalty picks the same bar, for no good reason. Beers
later, Kevin Higgins has Barbara Malteze talked into heading
back to Austin with him just to check out the scene and let the
music gods have their way.
Christ!, did they ever have their way. A buck says you've
never heard of the Cosmic Dust Devils. My next hundred bucks
say you'll say thanks after you go find 'em. It's quite possible
there's never been a band with a more fitting name. Those
of you who make your homes in or near Tornado Alley know just
exactly the fuck what a dust devil is all about. The rest of
you should have it figured out after reading the last sentence.
Consider the havoc a devil can wreak, and consider that the
"cosmic" in the moniker is accurate in ways both ephemeral
and Hondo, you've got the makings of music Texas hasn't heard
since Rusty Wier could draw a crowd anywhere anytime.
Soon the darkness fell upon us with a sickening thud
Then the heavens opened up and started raining blood.
We couldn't see nothing but them lighting bolts
Then the thunder rolled by and nearly ran us off the road.
White knuckled, shaking...we were going through hell
The radio died and the mercury fell...
When the wind started wailing, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
I said, "Hey...that's the King...it's gonna be alright."
Ooh...moving state to state
Well, we ain't seen nothing like that night on the Natchez Trace
From the mystical and experienced-by-no-one-else-in-the-state-that-night
storm of "Natchez Trace" through the anthemic and ultimately
Texan power of "Slow Setting Sun" and into the Larry
Joe Taylor/Jimmy Buffett inspired "Mestenos Island,"
Devils songwriter Kevin Higgins showcases a range most of Texas'
currently established artists can't touch. His talent is special,
his style versatile in a sense that breathes meaning back into
that most overused of adjectives. And when he writes for Barbara,
watch out. Tremble at her fury when she belts out "Alligator
Mouth" like it's 1986 and the arena is full:
You're such a sweet talker
(Now the talk's all over town).
You swear she's just your cousin
(But to me there ain't no doubt)
She's a vixen kissin' cousin
With an Alligator Mouth!
Pure venom in that delivery, boys. More than enough to make
you quiver in your boots, until Hilary Jean Smith convinces you
to pay that tab and unbuckle the jeans faster than you ever have
before when she ties into "Take Me Home."
Now, Sugar get this through your head
You'll never paint this whole town red
You paint yourself into that corner of your mind
And then those pinkish elephants show up at closing time!
Don't want to fight about it,
Okay to drive?
(I doubt it.)
Let's find a room less crowded,
I want to get you all alone.
Come on, honey take me home.
Hilary left the band after the debut disc's release, and those
who find the Devils now will likely find themselves missing her.
Rest easy, though, the angst will pass. Listen to Barbara
channel Alanna Myles, Marie LeVeaux and a horde of screaming
demons through the snarling swampy powerful and more than a little
bit scary "Snatch," you'll see what I mean. Vocals
like these are a treasure, and singers who can unleash them rarer
than a man who'll turn down a free beer because he's got to drive.
Whatzis? A man writing songs for two women, who take turns
sharing vocals? Is he nuts? The achingly forlorn and beautiful
"Junkyard," a stone country boot scooter laid out for
Hilary, says no. But it's not all about the chicks singing
here. Higgins explains himself and his hardscrabble background
pretty clearly with "Railroaded":
And I told her I loved her
Then I heard that whistle blow.
This here train don't stop for no one.
Runaway and glory bound.
This here train don't stop for no one.
I've been railroaded and runaround.
That's a rocker, the sort of wind-in-the-trees there-goes-your-roof
precursor to a storm that suits the band's name so well. But
Higgins is equally adept with the slower tracks, the ones that
cut into the marrow and suck deeply before going back for more.
Stephen Paetzold's violin work on "Now and Then"
showcases this aptitude brilliantly, as does the thirty-six seconds
of intoxicating guitar and drum work Higgins himself caught for
"Mother Country." Yeah, thirty-six seconds. That's
the whole song. And it says more without a lyric than Pat Green
got on all of Wave On Wave. (Pat and the Devils share
the stage at the dancehall in Luckenbach on Aug. 14th; go listen
for yourself if you need proof) Hell, there's even a jug band
old-time hootenanny feel to be found on "Your Kind,"
and it's a perfect counterpoint to the rollicking and infectious
beer-soaked ebullience of "Damn.. (I Had A Real Good Time)"
that's become the band's signature crowd-pleaser at venues all
over central and south Texas. Wanna know how cool this crew
is? Billy Bob Thornton showed up at Poodie Locke's joint one
night and sat in on drums for this cut. The Devils got a picture
to prove it.
Amazing, this band. Higgins voice is more than up to the
challenge his stellar writing presents. Malteze's vocals are
for the ages, and boldly underscore the inherent truth in that
old Chris LeDoux song about cowboys and rock 'n roll. Higgins,
Malteze and guitarist Mark Tokachs comprise the current line
up of the Cosmic Dust Devils, with auditions for a bassist and
drummer nearing completion. Says Higgins of the process, "It's
that whole 'relationship' thing. Just like dating, you don't
really know if it's gonna work out until you go off for a weekend
with them. I.E. - - do they travel well, practice good hygiene,
and are you both still interested after sharing a motel room
together?"
It's that kind of brazen honesty and simple outlook that lets
a man write songs like "Angel of Dixie," a Civil War
ballad only accessible to those who've stood on the ground consecrated
by the blood of the faithful and felt the presence that remains.
From the Kerrville mud to the Natchez Trace, from California
to Austin, from a haunted schoolhouse doubling as a childhood
home through years haunted by a treehouse and a bottle, Kevin
Higgins has learned just enough to turn himself into quite possibly
the next great Texas songwriter. With Barbara at his side unleashing
a voice that calls out the eternal and frittering around with
songwriting herownself, the man's got to feel better about his
prospects than he has since Daddy lost that job in El Paso back
in the '70s. That experience branded Higgins, sent him off on
a journey of self-realization that thankfully is nowhere near
complete. Go read about it, and about Malteze's metal past,
at www.cosmicdustdevils.com.
Easily the most interesting and laughter-inducing website this
side of The Onion. But above all, while you're there,
order this record. Texas has been aching for this brand of
rawhide bare bones intoxicating (intoxicated?) no holds barred
music since the day Jerry Jeff hung up his spurs on Susan's bedpost.
This wolf's got a bite that his woman won't take away.
Contact David Pilot at: editor-at-rockzilla.net
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