by Tom Gilmore

Michael Hurley
Sweetkorn
(Trikont 2002)

There are some things you probably don’t need to know about Michael Hurley. For example, he answers to Elwood Snock, Doc Snock, or just Snock, Snog, and Kornbred. Or that his ’68 Chevy Impala named Elston, used to go by October Bird of Death. But, more than most, his personality epitomizes his music. The more you know and the more you listen, the more you also realize the two … well, eat from the same proverbial can of beans; to talk about the one is in essence to talk about the other.

In his music he consistently refers to himself in third person, always choosing one of his many pseudonyms. In his crudely drawn comics, or his animated paintings, he’s usually the werewolf, and often chasing women, but then he’s sometimes captaining a ship at sea. His album covers, as example, are representations of his paintings.

You can get a lot of his output, most of it out of print, including 1999’s Weatherhole, from Hurley himself from his website, snockonews.com (if you don’t mind CDRs—$15 dollar checks payable to him). You can also get them on tape, if that’s still your source, which it might be if you are a Hurley fan. A member of his email chat list recently asked if there was any good pop music made after 1965, the question being a statement more than a genuine query.

Off and on he’s appeared on record and in public with the equally anomalous Holy Modal Rounders – the three of them getting drunk would make for a good recording, although I suspect we kind of have that already.
Live, his band often consists of musicians he’s more or less just invited to play with him. And the shows, to their credit, often sound unrehearsed. At a recent one his drummer played nothing more than a snare strapped around his neck, and wore 3-D glasses through the entire set. Once he asked an acquaintance of mine to join him on bass for a tour starting the following week, never mind he didn’t know how to play any of the material.

His newest album, Sweetkorn, was released in 2002 on Trikont, a German label, (because the transsexual who runs the label is a huge fan of American roots music, including Hurley) and the liner notes are in German as well. But then I suspect he’s more popular in Germany than in the U.S., where a group called Friends of Michael Hurley will happily supply you with the recordings you’re looking for. He seems to tour there as frequently as he does the U.S.

His website used to boast a picture of him playing to what appears to be 20 people, this an outdoor show and presumably in the states. Then there was the photo of him in a West Coast fish and chips restaurant (“A must for any fish & chips lover,” the caption reads, “their batter is made from 3 different micro-brews”). More recently, his site offers “The 2004 Snock Challenge,” where fans are invited to share their encounter with his song “Sweet Lucy” over muzak. He writes: “A prize will be awarded to anyone who can give a credible report of having heard this surely inimitable gem on Muzak, including time, place, and THE STORY. (In other words, what were you doing there when your ears were victimized.)”

I’d say he cultivates the image of the odd neighbor who’s written a few songs, the guy known by everyone at the shops in town, but cultivate seems like the wrong word. The truth is, I don’t think any work whatsoever is involved. While so many musicians try hard to make you think they’re this or that, Hurley is himself all the time—it’s very refreshing.

He recently relocated from southern Ohio to Portland, Ore., seemingly selling as many of his possessions as he could before relocating (“everything in Snock’s house has a price on it,” his website advertised prior to the move). I imagine he had a few dozen 8-track machines to unload – he is collector, after all – but then again, that’s probably an item he’d hold on to.

But what does he sing about, you might be wondering at this point if you don’t know. Well, they’re likely the same things he talks about: Hogs, toolboxes, cars, masturbation, cooking tortillas, weed, geese, monkeys, pork chops, women, drinking, werewolves, and as often as not, the splendor and sadness of love. He’s the drunkard, scumbag (as one of his shirts reads), bum, and uninvited guest who drinks all the beer. He’s also welcoming but strange, and a relic while still being relevant. His sense of humor is rarely kept on a leash, but he very much wants you to laugh with him.

The songs are often sluggish, loose and meandering, in the best sense, and as you start to wonder where a song is going it stops. I’ve sometimes had the feeling he was writing a song as he recorded it: the guitar playing is somewhere between picked and strummed, with a forlorn hummed / sung vocal delivered as he cranes his neck and stares at the ceiling. At times, live and recorded, it comes close to falling apart but invariably ticks along. It’s music that seems inspired by inactivity; songs written in the evening after a very large meal, a few beers, and just as a case of wooziness begins to set in. The forlorn trumpet you hear live and on the recordings is mocked, played by mouth, and it fooled me the first time.

A couple years ago I caught him at an unannounced gig at a very small Irish bar in Somerville, MA. The audience was mostly unsuspecting, just there to drink. Looking like a railway man in his signature train conductor’s cap, he didn’t seem to mind that most paid as much attention to their conversation as to him. After the show my friend walked up to him and said, “Michael, I really enjoyed the show.” He apparently looked a little startled and replied, “Okay?” More recently I saw a flyer for a just scheduled show—the venue was a house address.

All of the above, it occurs to me, may sound like strange things to say about somebody so consistently celebrated, albeit by a small crowd. When you happen to hear someone speak of Hurley their comments burst with praise. His live shows are revered; I’ve heard of more than one person who insists on dragging all their friends to see him. Spin described 1976’s Have Moicy (the one and only Unholy Modal Rounders record made with cohorts Peter Stampfel and Jeffrey Frederick) as one of the most influential “alternative” recordings ever made. Nick Tosches wrote liner notes for Weatherhole. Doctor Demento is of course a fan.

Folkways issued a collection of his early recordings, originally called First Songs, but now reissued under the title Blueberry Wine. Myth has it these songs were recorded on the same mic and reel-to-reel machine that Leadbelly recorded his final sessions with. At a certain point it becomes clear that Hurley, if interested, could have been a larger name. But I’m left with the impression that he shuns status and likes things manageable. Again and again, he's referred to as a treasure. While it’s been said that he’s more popular now than he ever has been, it’s also true that he still sails under most radars. Does it matter? Of course not. Is it an asset? It doesn’t matter.

Before Sweetkorn was released Hurley wrote a note to his fans: “When and how you can get this is still a mystery. (I think the truth is a mystery, incidentally. And the truth is not for everyone. Some people can't handle it and prefer to be lied to, would, in fact believe any preposterous lie. But it is best to live close by the truth. And don't live a lie. It saves time and makes for better time. And it is more interesting and entertaining as well. It's hard to know the truth. But the truth is to be had. Go for it.)” He wasn’t lying -- the CD is difficult to find stateside.

Sweetkorn begins with the sad ballad “Ohio Blues,” which starts with the lyric: “Hand me down my Rolling Rock/ The one that says Elwood Snock.” Later he gets drunk and goes to jail and later still he contemplates the possibility of dying in Ohio. It’s a fantastic opener, as memorable as any song in its style could possibly be – it was in my head nearly everyday for a few weeks after first hearing it.

Typical of Hurley, he re-records two of his own songs for Sweetkorn, “The Rue of Ruby Whores” – which only appeared for the first time on his last album – and an older one, “O My Stars.” You might think he’s short on material, but even if he is these revisits aren’t in vain since they’re improvements on the originals.

“The Rue of Ruby Whores,” the saddest and prettiest song on the record, features the superb backing vocals of “the celestials,” among them one Dana Kletter (one half of the folk act Dana and Karen Kletter), along with a nearly baroque arrangement of horns and violin. “O My Stars,” always a Hurley staple, also happens to be the prettiest song on the album, as well as one of the most beautiful he’s ever written. The song, in fact, is so strong that it’s not surprising that he returns to it over 20 years after it first appeared on record.

He also treats to more covers than usual: Tom T. Hall’s “Negatory Romance,” Jay Livingstone and Roy Evans’ “Mona Lisa,” and the traditional “Barbara Allen.” After giving Sweetkorn a few listens I was tempted to call it the best thing he’s done in years. But I paused. That seemed to miss the point. Played alongside, say, Watertower, Wolfways, or Weatherhole, it’s no better but certainly not weaker. It’s another Hurley album is what it is, and if you’ve heard any before this you’ll know exactly what that means.

You get the feeling whenever Hurley’s spotted success, or it’s spotted him, he’s turned the other way (he almost signed to a major label in the 1960s). Nearly forty years after he began making music it’s caught him, sort of, but entirely on his terms. That’s what he’d call emerald luck. In any case, it doesn’t matter. It’s for listening to, not a museum, as he’d say.

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