Americana Glam: Ian Hunter's Shrunken Heads

When I traveled to St. Louis for a conference in May, I prepped my CD player (yes, I still use a CD player) with a new disc before getting off the plane in St. Louis. In the midst of disembarking the plane, figuring out where to go towards the baggage claim, and then figuring out where to catch the Metrolink train, I kind of forgot what I put in my CD player.

Once I was on the way to the train, I finally put my earphones in and pressed play. In the light rain on the platform waiting for the eastbound train, I tapped my foot to the slow, country-tinged burn, letting it energize one of those soundtrack moments there in the muggy St. Louis evening. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t remember who was singing this warm groove, a bluesy strut walking music, snarling at the world with a coy, detached, engaging manner.

Studying the Metrolink map briefly took me away from paying attention to the music, but once I confirmed which stop I needed, I looked down the track searching for that train and realized that the next song was kicking up some rockabilly down its own tracks. I could imagine getting off the train in University City, going to the famed basement of Blueberry Hill, and watching this band rock the stage.

Needless to say, I was still waiting for the train—not in one of my favorite clubs, but the music continued in my ears as I finally stepped aboard that eastbound commuter rail. By then, I was onto the flash of track 4, and it was time to remember who was delivering such pulse-pounding, freeing rock ‘n’ roll. I was just about to have to stop the CD in order to open the player and see what disc was inside when I remembered. On the plane I had looked through a stack of review CDs that I needed to consider, and I had specifically thought that this one would make good travel music from the airport to my hotel.

Ian Hunter, former lead singer and pianist for Mott the Hoople, and an incredible solo songwriter in his own right, was the one singing in my head via my headphones on his newest solo disc, Shrunken Heads. The jump flash rocker I was currently hearing was “Brainwashed” with its wry, ukulele-like bridge to further up the ante when the rocker pushes to a close.

The country-tinged first track was the self-aware “Words (Big Mouth),” while the Blueberry Hill-bound rockabilly was “Fuss About Nothin’.” Having missed the 60’s because of age, the 70’s because of not being of age, meant that in the 80’s I only knew Mott the Hoople and Hunter as names in a list of influences mentioned by Michael Stipe and Morrissey. I knew “All the Young Dudes” from enough plays on classic rock radio, but that was all just caught up in the David Bowie-thing. Perhaps that unfamiliarity with rock’s pedigree is why I could listen to four tracks of an Ian Hunter album without remembering what I was hearing. Or perhaps it is because Shrunken Heads is not anything what I imagined knowing Bowie, Elton John, the New York Dolls, Jobriath, Queen, and the other princes of glam rock.

I was surprised to see Hunter’s disc arrive being released on Yep Roc, but it turns out the album is much more organic, Americana, bluesy, and rootsy than anything that a father of glam rock might have been assumed to create. A great example of this is the title track, an indictment of world leaders, which rolls off Hunter’s tongue like a Van Morrison ballad—soulful and jazzy—before Hunter bangs his piano to lead the band off to a big finish.

Morrison’s wide-ranging influences and styles is a good parallel to what Hunter is able to do: incorporate so many different things while still putting together one heckuva album. “Fuss About Nothin’” and “Soul of America” strongly recall the delivery of Warren Zevon and Bob Dylan—while also sharing some of their cynic’s perspective. Like a glam rock leftover, “When the World Was Round” is an almost torchy R&B ballad that his the big stage with a sweeping melody.

Thanks to Ian Hunter and Yep Roc Records for the review CD.