Luck in the Valley, Jack Rose's final album, recorded before his unfortunate passing this past December, is a testament to the lasting value of the old American song forms. His work has always played out less like that of a revivalist and more like that of a student eagerly striking out on his own, striving to surpass his teachers.
At a passing glance, the musical recidivism of artists like Rose, Glenn Jones, and the like appears to be a proverbial waving of the white flag. Most of these guys, Rose, Jones, Jim O'Rourke, etc. first made waves on the experimental rock circuit: Jones in Chicago's Cul de Sac, Rose in Richmond's Pelt, and so on and so forth. All of them would eventually jump ship and embark on solo careers more rooted in the style and substance of early American music than the adventurous, provocative work that put them in the spotlight in the first place. Whatever drew them out of the avant-garde and into folk and pre-war blues is irrelevant. There is just as much majesty and mystery to be found in this music as there is in any of the most progressive reaches of the musical spectrum.
Most of these songs could have come out of the pre-war era, unearthed as is on ancient, dilapidated 78's. Jack's music contains a certain classicist element of escapism (much like all of the American Primitive guitarists), retreating into the "good ol' days" to find substance the current era of musicians lack, but the performances here are sopping wet with raw emotion and too powerful to be written off as merely the work of someone pining for a simpler time. Rose transforms opener "Blues for Percy Danforth," a meditative raga, into a transcendent, almost worshipful moment of release. "Saint Louis Blues," Rose's full band version of the classic W.C. Handy original he previously covered solo on his last album, is a perfect example of the palpable ache that Rose's playing can elicit. This wasn't just a man playing the blues, this was a man tapping into a vein and positively bleeding the blues.
Rose is not alone for this one either. Luck in the Valley finds him flanked by a crack band that includes the aforementioned Glenn Jones on guitar, Harmonica Dan, pianist Micah Smaldone, and Appalachian folk revivalists the Black Twig Pickers. The backing band is a great deal of what elevates "Saint Louis Blues" from a yearning blues to a full-on blast of bar-room ragtime. Elsewhere they assist him on "Moon in the Gutter," adding color and texture to Rose's already emotionally charged lament. The quality of musicianship at work on Luck in the Valley is a marvel to listen to. Little touches like the mouth harp on "Blues for Percy Danforth" or the faint percussive elements that accent the title track are revelatory. While the more bustling tracks show a band that knows when to lay it on thick, the album's quieter moments reveal a band that also knows when to hang back and let Jack soar. He definitely picked the right team. We aren't likely to come across an ensemble of this caliber for a long time.
Jack Rose was more than just a skilled, self-taught blues guitarist. He was a time traveler. It is easy to close our eyes while the fleet-fingered Rose spins out these tapestries of notes and be whisked away to a time of saloons and trains and dirt roads. He picked up the legacy left behind by auteurs like John Fahey and Ronnie Basho, and he ran with it, marching this amazing, distinctly American music into the next century. It's too bad he's not still around to carry the torch. He was an amazing musician, and he will be sorely missed. Luck in the Valley is as fitting a send off as an artist of such talent and taste deserves.
-Craig Jenkins