Hitch a mule ride to the consumate dirty party animal album by the Black MC of the ribald street life. Raise a glass high to Andre Williams. The man who single handedly survived more knocks and bangs than an unloved secondhand sofa in a thrift store. Here he unveils on two splattered cushions, his 'country n western album', the emphasis on the first and last two syllables. Andre leads you by the hand to perch on the broken rusty springs of life to regale you in a cracked baritone about double dealing betrayal and lust. The key elements in any libertine life style choice; and asks is there any other? Sticking his hand down the back of the cushions he pulls fists of condoms, money, cotton buds and forgotten memories. The stuffing oozes from every rich seam of life veloured, now patched, worn and ripped. From the opening one fingered salute to the travails of trucking, he unzips his fly, just to let the air in then lets loose about a man, man man's world focusing his philoso-fee on women. Crying into a red country night whine he reveals his sister stole his woman, reaching the pangs of pathos Lux ascended before collapsing down into gushing rivers with "just that song".
Schmaltz and kitsch free, how does he pan in Memphis? Andre strips down and greases up in Satan's pit and then let's fly backed with a surreal fiddle, guitar, bass and drums backing the beat.
If the parched dry lips cracked to Cave's Murder Ballads, they will beam and salivate at Andre's tales of love, betrayal and loss.
A senior citizen behaving with the grace of an indecent Bacchus after an enforced hunger lust strike.