RB Morris
Zeke and the Wheel
Koch Records 8050



by William Michael Smith

Zeke come rollin', come rollin' 'cross the sky
And where he touched down, the world was passin' by
Zeke come rollin'

Musically speaking, perhaps nothing beats the thrill of discovering a new artist who just spins your head around on the first hearing. As I reviewed a series of records by Knoxville artists, music business insiders from Knoxville kept telling me, "If you think that was good, just wait 'til you hear RB Morris." I've found Knoxvillians in general to be above average in their knowledge and recommendations, so I sought Mr. Morris out. And am I ever glad I did.

RB Morris's musical persona has multiple personality disorder. Part roots rocker, part souped-up folk singer, part Beat poet, all Appalachian Southern mountain man philosopher, after one listen to Morris it was obvious that he is a word master equally at ease with simple, direct, straight-to-the-heart-and-head lyrics or with complex allegorical visions, equally at home with sinners and saints, in-laws and outlaws, the pure and the corrupt. His album Zeke and the Wheel is a pageant of vistas from on high and hallucinations from the gutter, full of poignancy and humanity but providing equal opportunity for evil and the cruel, dangerous vagaries of life. If it sounds pretty Dylan-ish, it is.

We get some idea of Morris's stature among his peers by the cast of characters who appear on Zeke and the Wheel. The album is produced by R.S. Field (Webb Wilder, Scott Miller, Trent Summar, John Mayall, Billy Joe Shaver), and he has assembled an all-star cast of Nashville studio guns-for-hire to power Morris's lyrical visions: Kenny Vaughan (Alison Moorer) and Hector Quirko on guitars, David Jacques on bass, Paul Griffith on drums, and Carmella Ramsey on backing vocals. I never cease to be amazed at what Field can do with the right group of musicians and some well-crafted lyric material in 48 hours in a Nashville studio. Part of the album is gut-bucket, down-and-dirty roots rock ("Some One Was Listenin'," "Distillery") while some is the purest, most delicate and sincere folk-pop ("I've Been Waiting," "Maybe The Soul"). With Field at the controls, the songs all hold together, complimenting one another, each change of tempo and atmosphere coming at the perfect moment.

A noted playwright, poet, literary editor, spoken-word artist and one of the leading lights in the Knoxville literary community, Morris is a man of deep ideas and penetrating images. On the brooding, ominous title track, with the guitarists playing off one another with Zen subtlety yet military intensity, Morris explores the philosophy of infinity and the metaphyics of the Big Wheel.

The little wheel's spinning, the big wheel's turnin' slow
The moon is rising, the sun is sinking low
The big wheel is turnin' slow

Zeke was lookin' up, way up in the air
Down at his feet, the whole world was passin' there
Zeke was lookin' up

No matter how good this music is, we should remember that Morris is first and foremost a minstrel poet, a storyteller, a seer of things, a word wizard. On "Maybe the Soul," he paints several vignettes of fallible humans caught up in the circumstances of life on the margins, but rather than condemning their moral frailties and missteps, Morris surveys their circumstances and conditions and nonjudgmentally extends the benefit of the doubt and the charity of forgiveness.

She was just a vacant body hangin' 'round the block
Where other bodies come and go, someone to pick up
They never really touched her though, they never knew her name
They gave her something for her time, for her they were all the same

Maybe the soul can still be pure, I like to think it's true
I know somethin's there for sure, but I ain't got a clue
There's laws of man and laws of God and laws of nature too
There's judges everywhere you look, but they're all outlaws too

There are several tracks on Zeke and the Wheel that will haunt you, that refuse to retire into the recesses of your memory and wait quietly. "Distillery" is a sinister twanger, an addictive piece of music reminiscent of the musical hard side of Steve Earle. Like all great poetry, this provocative track is open to any number of interpretations. A drunken ramble on the surface, some may see it as religious, others will see it as sacrireligious, of questioning the very foundations of faith and belief. Whatever it all means, it is one hell of a song that will keep playing in your head long after the CD player switches off.

Now old lost John brought a jug and sat it on the rug
We learned a moonshine tune
Distillery (don't touch my still)
Distillery (don't touch my still)
He's in the middle where the Lord played the fiddle
And confusion can't break my will
Distillery (don't touch my still)
Distillery (don't touch my still)
And didn't he turn the water into wine?
That's what John said
They say in those days
They didn't have no good drinkin' water
Why didn't he turn it into good drinkin' water?
I guess he did
Now walkin' on water wasn't built in a day
That's what John said

The album goes on and on with Morris's multiple poetic and musical personalities alternating from the edginess of a crowd of all-night carousers to the introspective happiness, innocence, goodness and calm of a still-life painting of a bowl of fruit and a patinaed wine bottle. I can hear "A Winter's Tale," "I've Been Waiting," and "She Sings Me Songs of Solomon" being sung by the likes of Judy Collins or Joni Mitchell while driving roots rockers like "Someone Was Listenin'" and "You My Love" could fit on any Bob Dylan record.

But "Call Me Zeke" and "Long Arm of the Law" probably bring us face to face with the deepest recesses of Morris's vision and outlook. The music here is full of tension, veiled threat, and knowledge that there is no easy way and no easy answer.

Call me Zeke, I don't care
Somethin' stinks, it's in the air
Try not to look at all the rage
Just close the book or turn the page
Call me Zeke, but understand
I got my feet on shiftin' sand
I can't hang out while this goes down
Call me Zeke, yeah all I know
Is no one can speak for someone's soul
There are no heroes, just you and me
There's only chaos but we are free

In the full speed, rip-snortin', no-holds-barred jet ride "Long Arm of the Law," Morris informs us that "I was born a criminal/That's where I'm from/All your life you try to wise up/But you gotta play dumb." He goes on to examine the paradoxical angles of law and justice.

You're gonna need some legal advice
Gonna need some legal advice
But there's a price
You gotta have an attorney at law
Gotta have an attorney at law
Give 'em a call
They'll tell you 'bout the common law
They tell you 'bout the protocol

My musical informers from Knoxville were absolutely correct once again. Zeke and the Wheel, RB Morris's fourth album, is a stunner right down to the final note of the gentle "Lest We All Lose" with its faint hint of the melody to Floyd Cramer's "Last Date." This isn't an album that has to grow on you, this is a record that just bores into your ear and your brain as easily as sunlight is absorbed by leaves. There isn't a false note or stale phrase or ill-considered idea on this fine example of the best of Americana. I could go on and on with superlatives about Morris, but Steve Earle said it best: "RB Morris is the reason I started writing poetry." Now that's a recommendation.

* Purchase Zeke and the Wheel as well as Morris's other works at www.rbmorris.com




Contact William Michael Smith at: wms-at-rockzilla.net

 
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