BY FRED MILLS

Since Alejandro Escovedo’s early-nineties emergence as a solo artist — and subsequent career trajectory that not only earned him No Depression “Artist of the Decade” honors but also the very public admiration of peers (Chuck Prophet), mentors (John Cale) and superstars (Bruce Springsteen) alike — I’ve been fortunate enough to see him perform under vastly different circumstances and touring configurations, each immensely rewarding in its own right.

There was that time in Tucson, in the late ‘90s, when he augmented a full-on rock band with a three-piece string section; trust me, you haven’t heard the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog” until it’s been turned inside out and scraped raw with dissonant swipes of cello. In 2003 in Asheville, his accompanists were just two violin players, a cellist and his longtime foil David Pulkingham on nylon-string guitar; the sit-down show had the gravitas of a classical chamber recital but the giddily lighthearted feeling of a pop performance, too. Three years later at SXSW in Austin I was on hand for one of his official post-illness “coming out” shows at the tiny Mexican restaurant Las Manitas; strings, guitars and synths all swirled madly as A.E. performed selections from The Boxing Mirror, and the sheer love emanating from the audience (largely comprising hard-boiled music journalists like yours truly) added a delicious intensity to an already emotion-packed show.

And prior to all that, back in the ‘80s, I also got to see Escovedo play when he was touring as a member of cowpunk pioneers Rank & File as well as his subsequent hard-twanging rock band the True Believers. So while I wouldn’t necessarily want to saddle the man with an imprecise label along the lines of “chameleonic,” clearly, his frequent skin-shedding is testimony to an uncommon musical restlessness that one can only hope will continue to stroke his muse and fuel his art well into old age.

Such is the case with his recent album, the Tony Visconti-produced, Chuck Prophet-abetted Real Animal (Back Porch/Manhattan), currently garnering some of the biggest critical kudos and commercial returns of his career. It’s not hard to see why; though it contains plenty of familiar Escovedo touchstones — his weathered-but-honeyed voice is instantly recognizable, and very few quote-unquote “rock” performers have integrated strings into their sounds as naturally and fluently as A.E. — in places the record twists the dial decisively away from the folk/Americana end and firmly into the section marked Kick Out The Jams. Sometimes Escovedo, like a lot of us, just wanna rock, y’know?

“Rock” was the operative term when Escovedo brought his Real Animal tour to Asheville last month. Following an opening set by fellow Austinite and labelmate Carrie Rodriguez — the singer/songwriter/fiddle player and frequent Chip Taylor musical partner was promoting her then-forthcoming album She Ain’t Me — the headliners came out, and as befits the material they were showcasing, they were cast in classic mold: two guitars (Escovedo and Pulkingham), bass (Josh Gravelin) and drums (Hector Munoz), plus Rodriguez joining them onstage after a couple of songs. Hey, it wouldn’t be an Escovedo show without at least one string player, right?

Blaze away they did, leading with the stomping Real Animal opener “Always A Friend” and making sure, as the evening progressed, that most of that album’s hi-nrg cuts got their proper public airings, notably during a middle section that one imagined Escovedo had, earlier, bracketed with the “R” word on the setlists he handed out to the players. “People” was all swaggering vox from Escovedo as Pulkingham ripped through badass slide guitar licks while Escovedo mock-taunted him, as if egging him on to unleash some classic blues clichés. “Real As An Animal” was prefaced by an A.E. rap to the audience (“I wanna see all you become animals on this one…”) then the band catapulted into the song Escovedo has gone on record as calling an Iggy Pop tribute, and though it wasn’t overtly Stooges-esque he did subtly reference the Stooges frontman via certain mic postures and gestures. (Another musical reference, this one none-too-subtle: Escovedo letting rip the main guitar riff from “Whole Lotta Love,” which drew a big laugh from the crowd, followed by an offhanded remark into the mic: “Do you remember laughter?”) And “Castanets,” a key number from 2001’s A Man Under the Influence that the singer dedicated to Rodriguez and Joe Strummer, had the band shifting into total raveup mode, Escovedo spitting out his lyrics and sealing the deal at the end with a series of Pete Townshend guitar windmills.

It wasn’t all phallic electric glam and stompbox bravado, however. “Rosalie,” another standout track from Influence, was as exquisite as a traditional ballet, Rodriguez’ weeping fiddle lines tracing the ornate melody as Escovedo murmured the romantic lyrics (about a man and a woman chronicling their love via daily correspondence) with all the wide-eyed grace of someone rediscovering the pleasures of an old friendship. This segued into Real Animal’s “Sensitive Boys” to extend the respite, the gentle, Memphis soul-inflected ballad leavened, again, by the distaff infusion provided by Rodriguez.

For the encores the Escovedo band served up a wearing-influences-on-sleeves trifecta. First came a Buick MacKane song (title elusive) that Escovedo dug out of his personal mothball closet; Buick MacKane, of course, was Escovedo’s late ‘80s/early ‘90s glam-garage combo, so it was fitting he’d do material from that band on the Real Animal tour. Next was a cover of his ‘70s heroes Mott The Hoople, the David Bowie-penned “All The Young Dudes,” intro’d by Escovedo with, “This goes out to Mr. Tony Visconti – sing along if you will.” Equal parts ragged valor and it’s-in-our-musical-DNA reverence, the song found all of the musicians grinning from ear to ear — no heavy lifting, just sheer fun, and let’s lead the audience in a singalong on the extended final chorus while we’re at it, shall we? (Yes, some of the crowd members also felt compelled to do The Wave. But no one was complaining, either.)

Finally, after some salutary comments about his band members and how they were a genuine rock ‘n’ roll band (not that anyone needed any convincing by that point), Escovedo slipped off his guitar and coaxed the other musicians into the sleek, funky groove of “Beast Of Burden”; damned if he didn’t smirk and tease the room with some wink-nudge Mick Jagger stage moves. More mass singalong, then with a heartfelt thank-you to the audience the singer quietly left the stage, leaving the band to finish off the Stones classic.

***

It wasn’t that long after the musicians had all departed the stage for good that Escovedo emerged from the dressing room and walked over to the merchandise table where he and Rodriguez signed copies of their CDs and posed for photos. He greeted me warmly when I reintroduced myself, asking me how BLURT was faring in our post-Harp milieu: Escovedo had appeared on the cover of the very first issue of Harp and was featured in the first digital issue of BLURT, while prior to the launch of BLURT he allowed us to film some interview and performance segments for use in the video exclusives section of our website.

So in a very real sense, the man feels like part of the extended Harp-BLURT family. As I watched him at the merch stand, noting the way he interacted and chatted casually with fans no matter how mundane or involved their queries were, it struck me that Escovedo’s commitment to community runs deep. He was treating those fans — and it was a long line of well-wishers, one that kept him busy for over a half hour — as if they were indeed part of his own extended family.

As an artist, you don’t have to do that. Most are content in the knowledge that their two hours on stage are sufficient to give the people what they came (and paid) for. And most fans are content with that too.

But then, Alejandro Escovedo ain’t like most of us…

[Photo Credits: Allie Goolrick]