Chris Canterbury - Quaalude Lullabies
Episode 305
On this episode of Abandoned Albums, singer/songwriter Chris Canterbury stopped Thunderlove Studios to talk about his new album, Quaalude Lullabies.
Once in a great while, something comes along and stops you in your tracks; it could be a woman, it could be a delicious piece of fudge, and sometimes it’s great music.
And that’s what happened when I first heard Chris Canterbury’s Quaalude Lullabies. I had just put the album on as I was feeding executive producer Rufus Thunderlove. I put his bowl down and walked back into the dining room and forty-five seconds into the first song I heard the line that grabbed me and literally stopped me dead in my tracks:
A heart only breaks when you use it
I thought: “WTF is this?”
As I stood in the center of my dining room, I listened:
All the things
I don’t wanna see
The devil, the dealer, and the dark side of me
Some days I am
Some days I’m not
Some days are made to run out the clock
There’s a fine line
’Tween you and me
Am I runnin’ free
Or runnin’ scared
What’s heaven
When hell crashes through it
A heart only breaks when you use it
They say they’re all here to see
The devil, the dealer, and the dark side of me
I made my way over to my computer and slipped on my headphones:
Cold as a shoulder
Dry as a bone
A memory is worthless if you make it alone
Once you make friends with the walls
What’s left on your sentence don’t matter at all
The truth doesn’t care if you choose it
A heart only breaks when you use it
The mirror don’t like what it sees
The devil, the dealer, and the dark side of me
That’s the first song - “The Devil, The Dealer, and Me”.
Thus began my odyssey into Chris Canterbury’s Quaalude Lullabies - the best album I have heard in a very long time. I don’t recall the last time an album hit me this hard.
If you’re familiar with drugs, the more illicit kind*, then you’ve probably heard of quaaludes. Colloquially known as “ludes,” they were a barbiturate or “downer.”
So by the title alone, you know well in advance the type of songs you’re in for.
At nine songs, Canterbury’s Quaalude Lullabies is a platinum example of what I like to call “sad bastard music.” These songs are taut examples of characters living their lives. No, it may not be their best life, but they’re still here… living.
Like the guy in “Felt the Same”:
Put my name on a marquee sign in Phoenix
From the looks of things
Folks ‘round here can’t read
Playing to a barkeep
And some old drunk that’s past his prime
I’ll pack this joint when I come round next time
Like all “sad bastard music,” we’ve got the usual mess of troubles sifting through the album. There’s my personal favorite about one of those cats who has the gift of gab, “Kitchen Table Poet.” The character in “Heartache for Hire” is the type of lover you should probably stay away from… but can’t:
If you’re sick of being happy
And jonesing for a change
I can be the misery
Standing out here in the rain
I can’t help but think the last line there is an homage to the great Lloyd Dobler (#iykyk).
The one cover on the album is Will Kimbrough’s “Yellow Mama” - the nickname for the electric chair in Alabama. A simple yet haunting example of a man accepting his fate. You can almost hear someone yelling:
“DEAD MAN WALKING!”
“Yellow Mama” isn’t a song pointing fingers or placing blame on where this man has ended up, and it’s not a political statement about the legitimacy of the death penalty. Sure, this character may have had a shitty life, but he knows what he’s done. This is the story of a man lamenting his life while accepting his destiny with the simple and haunting refrain: “Yellow Mama, have mercy on me.”
The exciting thing about the album is that at first listen, it’s a bit of a bummer - a happy bummer if that makes sense to you - if it does, you’ll like this album.
Of course, comparatively or by “normal” standards, these characters are all sad, but once you realize they’re not tragic, the album plays out like a Jim Jarmusch film.
Whether it’s the “Kitchen Table Poet,” the bad news lover in “Heartache for Hire,” the truck driver on his last ride in “Over the Line,” the hopeful troubadour in “Felt the Same,” or the addict in “Back on the Pills” all of them are undeniably damaged.
What makes Quaalude Lullabies interesting is that you don’t feel too sorry for these characters, they all know what they’ve done, what they’re doing, and where they’re going.
Don’t be fooled by the seeming simplicity of these songs. They pack a fucking punch.
Produced by Canterbury, the album offers simple and straight-forward productions and arrangements. In lesser hands, that may seem like a dodge or a lack of experience; but here on Quaalude Lullabies it’s not. It’s a creative decision that adds a depth and texture to the stories being told, heightens the tension in the three-minute narratives, and levels up the entire album.
This record is the very definition of “all killer, no filler.”
With Quaalude Lullabies, Chris Canterbury is one step closer to joining the ranks of some of America’s finest songwriters.
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.” - Leonardo da Vinci
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*Yes, quaaludes were used in medicing, but their legacy is more attached to their illegal useage.
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