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The Real Deal
Two country singers who live the life they sing
By Michael McCall
FEBRUARY 21, 2000:
On the cover of the new Wylie & the Wild West album, Ridin' the
Hi-Line, singer Wylie Gustafson stands on a sunlit prairie, his head
tilted back under the sharply curled brim of a tan cowboy hat. His left
hand holds the reigns of a chestnut thoroughbred, and his right hand is
cocked on his hip with his fingers touching the top of a pair of brown
leather chaps. He's wearing a Western shirt, blue jeans, an enormous brass
belt buckle, and a scarf tied cowboy-style around his neck.
If a Nashville-based country singer went to such lengths for a photo
session, he'd be a laughingstock. It's one thing to put on a Stetson for
the camera and the stage; it's another thing altogether to fake the whole
cowboy fantasy for a publicity shoot. Only for Gustafson, this ain't no
costume. A true cowhand who owns a working ranch in the Big Sky country of
eastern Washington, Gustafson is a real-life cowboy who happens to be one
of the most expressive country-and-Western vocalists around. As his
entertaining new collection proves, Wylie and his crack Wild West band are
just as authentic when it comes to music.
Gustafson's songs, most of them originals, are worlds away from the
sensitive ballads and slick country-pop that fills country radio these
days. Buoyantly upbeat, he concentrates on yippee-ki-yo-ki-ya
Western barroom music. More energized than fellow Western singers Michael
Martin Murphey or Don Edwards, Wylie & the Wild West combine shuffles,
two-steppers, waltzes, and lightly swinging rhythms to create an album as
fun as riding a galloping horse and as American as a field of wheat.
The "hi-line" of the album's title is another name for the wide-open
country of northern Montana and northeast Washington, where Gustafson was
raised. He also spent part of the '80s in Los Angeles, playing clubs like
the Palomino, and the driving country rhythms and resonant guitars typical
of artists like Dwight Yoakam and Rosie Flores ring through the music of
Wylie & the Wild West.
But it's the cowboy flavor that sets Wylie's music apart. For one thing,
he yodels--indeed, he's an unrepentant, unrestrained yodeler whose work
ranks with that of Don Walser and Ranger Doug of Riders in the Sky. His
songwriting shows the influence of Marty Robbins as well as Gene Autry, Roy
Rogers, Tex Ritter, and the Sons of the Pioneers. In concert, his cover
songs include "Cattle Call," "Tumbling Tumbleweeds," "Jingle Jangle
Jingle," and a couple of remakes from his new album, a sprightly "Buffalo
Gals" and a loping version of "Doggone Cowboy," a Joe Babcock song made
famous by Robbins.
While his songs have a certain pie-eyed romanticism to them--as
indicated by such gee-whiz titles as "Yodeling Cowhand," "Down the Trail,"
"Ol' Coyote," and "Ridin' Rockin' Rollin' "--he nonetheless goes beyond the
Tin Pan Alley formulas by adding distinctive details from his experience as
a rancher and resident of the rural West. After all, he hears coyotes howl
most nights when he's home, and when he dedicates a song called "He's a
Cowboy" to his father, it's because Dad was a Montana veterinarian who
spent his career making ranch calls and tending to sick livestock.
That said, Gustafson's authenticity and his feel for his material
wouldn't mean manure if it weren't for his sweet-toned baritone and the
sheer joy he instills in his performances. He also benefits from an
outstanding band, especially guitarist Ray Doyle and steel player Duane
Becker, both of whom master the ringing, clear-note twang identified with
the best country bands of the '40s and '50s. For fans sick of the slick,
Middle American pop that fills country radio these days, Wylie & the Wild
West are like a fresh, cool blast rolling in from the range.
Singer Ed Burleson carries the same stamp of authenticity as Gustafson
and a similar born-to-it talent for real country music. A sixth-generation
Texan and former rodeo competitor, Burleson represents much of what
down-home Lone Star country music should be. As revealed on his debut album
My Perfect World--the first release on the late Doug Sahm's Tornado
Records--his laid-back, barroom country tunes have more in common with
George Strait or Clint Black's Killin' Time than with fellow Texas
honky-tonkers Dale Watson and the Derailers.
Watson and the Derailers, for instance, draw heavily on the Bakersfield
sound, and Watson's songs are riddled with references to truckers and
grease monkeys. Burleson is more of a slow-drawling, close-cropped,
thank-you-ma'am cowboy type, with starched jeans, pressed dress
shirts, and molded Western hats--like a lot of Nashville singers these
days.
But Burleson is not a careful revivalist. Instead, like Strait, he's
that rare artist who uses traditional music forms to speak about who he is
and what matters to him in an entertaining, earthy manner. For example, his
song "Wide Open Spaces" laments the loss of undeveloped countryside, and
when he puts down Nashville in "Going Home to Texas," it's with a gentler,
more joyous feel than, say, Watson's "Nashville Rash."
Although Burleson is a distinctive songwriter, My Perfect World
features a few choice songs written by others, including a couple of Jim
Lauderdale tunes, a couple of honky-tonkers by his mentor Doug Sahm, and
another by his producer, Lone Star club favorite Clay Blaker. However, the
most telling songs on the album are the tender weepers written by Burleson.
In the title track, his heart bursts as his wife suggests they married too
young. In "Dreamworld," he silently observes his wife putting on a party
dress and preparing to spend yet another night in bars without him. And in
the sweet "No Closing Time," he wishes a night on the town would never
end--not because he wants to keep partying, but because he doesn't want to
stop dancing in the arms of the woman he loves.
Burleson has quickly made a name for himself in Texas, where he's been
championed as a real-deal country singer. He deserves such praise--as well
as the attention of Nashville, which would benefit greatly from bringing
back the kind of genuine sentiment and naturalness that Burleson instills
in his music.

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