Way Down South And Slightly Off-Center

I pull for the South in North-South football games. I think southern people have a soulfulness and ease that others just don’t. We’ve got the best cooking, the best weather, the best literature. I want the south to do well, to do good. And yet, and but, and well … (fill in your own list of shortcomings here).

So, when I hear a band or a musician’s from the South, I root for them and feel at least a small sense of pride.

With a big pile of pride, I present three bands at the top of their games.

WHITE DENIM hails from Austin, Texas, the island capital of that great state. Recently expanded from a trio to a quartet, the band is enigmatic, confounding and utterly compelling. Their recorded output to date has been homemade in an RV, with an insular obsession that’s only occasionally inviting. But with its new one, D, they move into territory less weird, more accommodating.

The real studio and new guitarist seem to have brought more focus to their approach.

Which is still a damn sight deeper in left field than your average bear, to be sure. D is a head-spinning affair, with grooves aplenty. You’ll hear references to all sorts of styles and a number of other bands. Progressive rock (Yes, Wishbone Ash, Led Zep), psychedelia (Grateful Dead, Little Feat’s earlier spacy side), jazz, Latin and country to name just a few.

“It’s Him!” opens with a middle-of-the-conversation burst, challenging the listener to catch up. The rhythm section locks in with twin guitars pushing and filling, respectively. James Petralli lets us know he’s not going to coast vocally, either, as his full-throated sweetness demands equal billing.

“Burnished” and “At the Farm” are two parts of the same song, with the first a rolling, swaggering chunk of prog rock, and the second an instrumental display of Yes-like whip crack virtuosity.

“Street Joy” comes as a welcome breather. A gorgeous melody features Petralli sounding like he’s channeling Jim James (see below) at times. “Anvil Everything” has the band’s kitchen sink approach bursting with ideas that fly by just as they start to take hold. “River to Consider” has a Latin flavor with a Jethro Tull-like flute accompaniment and floating melody.

“Drug” may not get a seal of approval from any law enforcement agencies (its message, if any, is ambiguous), but its structure and groove are bracing, not stupefying. “Bess St” is a gnarly piece of rock, influenced as much by the Allman Brothers as by the Who. “Is and Is and Is” is as whirling and psychedelic as its title implies in the verses, and then abruptly erupts into a macho-howl of a chorus. Closer “Keys” is a flat-out country stroll, with a whimsical vocal, dead-on picking and swooping Sgt. Pepper string arrangement.

These guys may have bigger fish to fry and larger venues to play in, stay tuned.

The aforementioned Jim James fronts the already established MY MORNING JACKET. Kentucky-bred (like bluegrass and bourbon), MMJ has a discography that spans 12 years and devoted, passionate and very opinionated fans (and critics). Some followers were aghast at the band’s later experimentations with funk, reggae and non-reverbed vocals, but more open-eared listeners were delighted, if not also a bit puzzled. The last two albums, Z and Evil Urges, fomented speculation as to just how far from its gauzy alt-country rock beginnings the band would go.

CIRCUITAL answers: not much. With but a few exceptions of wonderful whimsy, the band mostly plays it safe, which is not to say it’s not excellent, which it is, mostly. “Victory Dance” starts with a gong and an orchestral fanfare that can support a literal or tongue-in-cheek interpretation. The song morphs into a minor key meditation on achievement and effort; curious and effective.

The title cut follows without a break and immediately shifts the mood. “I am older day by day/still going back to my childhood ways,” sings James, trying to hold on to his sense of wonder. The song starts sparely and then carries through on its threat to open up, inspiring with its exultant soaring vocals and “everything is everything” worldview.

“The Day is Coming” has a rainy day vibe with a sluggish lope and cascading strings, but the effect is not downcast.

“Wonderful (The Way I Feel)” would seem trite in another band’s hands, but MMJ and James sell the purity entirely. It cracks the cynicism right in its smirking mouth and banishes it, at least for a while. “Outta My System” is a skippable lament about doing wrong set to a beat that’s poorly designed for anything but setting teeth on edge. But that’s followed by the delightfully deviant “Holdin’ On To Death Metal,” which marries a swaying assassin’s riff to vocals backed by a swelling children’s chorus, with a killer guitar solo and whacked-out lyrics.

“First Light” is a welcome return to more conventional rocking, with horns, bracing guitars and close harmonies. “You Wanna Freak Out” is a gentle merry-go-round leavened with acid-toned guitar breaks. “Slow Slow Tune” is just that. But it’s got grit and a great melody. The closing “Moving Away” is beauty and heartbreak, with steel guitar, an irresistible combo plate for a certain segment.

If you don’t have their past stuff, the live “Okonokos” would do as a greatest his package. This is a band in the prime of its considerably likable career.

THE BLACK LIPS are a pack of wild men from Atlanta that have been hacking away for more than 10 years. Reportedly a legendary live act (with punk rock antics that cannot be related here), their studio work has been too sloppy and amateurish to translate to a pure listening experience.

But look, they got themselves a producer: Mark Ronson, purveyor of retro-cool, whose credits include the late Amy Winehouse. He hasn’t tamed the bad boys, merely got them to concentrate, dang it, on their work, which is to make a damn good rock record, ARABIA MOUNTAIN.

Damn good, though, only if you haven’t fully grown up (and probably never will, at this point, so quit denying and fighting it). The record’s got 16 tracks, so I’ll spare you a track-by-track rundown. Suffice to say the band’s got a passing competence on their instruments and a searching curiosity (or attention-deficit disorder) about a lot of things: Peter Parker’s real neuroses, mordant symbolism (“Family Tree,” “Bone Marrow”), the joys of not cooking (“Raw Meat”), “backmasking” (listening to records backward to glean hidden messages, “Mad Dog”), food foraging (“Dumpster Diving”) and the usual laments about stealing girlfriends and stashes (“Don’t Mess Up My Baby”).

Bonus recommendation: The two-disc compilation TRUE SOUL: DEEP SOUNDS FROM THE LEFT OF STAX, Vols. 1 and 2, culled from the obscure Arkansas-based defunct label of the same name. Like finding an old photo album in your grandparent’s attic, except you can dance to it.