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Once upon a time, rock was rock<\/em>. In the days before popular music fell prey to market segmentation, the catch-all term of rock conjured \u2013 at least to some extent \u2013 a kind of music that was played (usually) by men who possessed an onstage demeanor and attitude that said \u201cwe’re here to rock.\u201d<\/p>\n Sometimes it didn’t say much more than that. And sometimes \u2013 oftentimes, in fact \u2013 that was enough. Nobody really looked to Aerosmith<\/strong> or Van Halen<\/strong> (or Led Zeppelin<\/strong>, for that matter) for great statements about the human condition. The songs expressed sentiments no deeper than, say, \u201c I Can’t Drive 55.\u201d<\/p>\n That kind of music seems in short supply in 2014. Instead we have mope-rock, wherein the vocalists don’t look the audience in the eye, turn their backs to the crowd when it’s (extended) solo time, and generally seem to apologize for their existence. Not to suggest any sort of violence be associated with music, but if a \u201creal\u201d rocker stumbled across that kind of thing, their music would \u2013 at least figuratively \u2013 kick that kind of thing right off the stage.<\/p>\n Such rare creatures do still exist, though one has to dig a bit to find them. (And yes, I will readily concede that lessened demand plays a part in the scarcity of the style.) A showpiece of the we’re-ready-to-rock-you approach is Tampa, Florida’s Mojo Gurus<\/strong>. The name \u2013 at least for me \u2013 immediately brings to mind classic bluesmen (as in, \u201cGot My Mojo Workin’\u201d) and the melodic rocking of Austalia’s Hoodoo Gurus. And the music itself is the kind of thing that efficiently gets across the sort of attitude that says in essence, \u201cfuck it, let’s party.\u201d<\/p>\n The Mojo Gurus know that they’re this kind of band, too: their current tour is billed \u2013 without a hint of false humility \u2013 as \u201cThe Last Rock ‘N’ Roll Show Tour.\u201d And why not? The new album, Who Asked Ya?<\/em>, blasts right out of the speakers with opener, \u201cWhere You Hidin’ Your Love.\u201d A beefy horn section cranks out an insistent riff while the four-piece band swaggers their way through the tune without compromise. Musically, it’s straight-ahead blues changes and Doc Lovett<\/strong>‘s stinging guitar solo right exactly where you’d expect it, doubled in length because that’s just how it oughta be<\/em>. And for good measure, there’s a second guitar solo. Again, just because<\/em>.<\/p>\n Sure, these guys could probably slay \u201cMustang Sally,\u201d but so could a billion other bar bands. But The Mojo Gurus ply their trade without artifice. \u201cHoodoo Man\u201d is hard-charging blooz-rock: not only does lead vocalist Kevin Steele<\/strong>‘s harmonica sound like it’s played through the de rigueur<\/em> Green Bullet mic, but the vocals and guitars have that overdriven-right-into-the-red vibe as well. The band conjures a storm.<\/p>\n The opening of \u201cDevil to Pay\u201d is more than a bit reminiscent of The Rolling Stones<\/strong>‘ \u201cHonky Tonk Women,\u201d bu from there it’s a piano-led barroom rocker. It’s slightly understated compared to the rest of the disc, but subtlety and restraint are \u2013by design \u2013 not part of The Mojo Gurus’ bag of musical tricks. Imagine if ZZ Top<\/strong> widened their musical approach just a bit ( and packed up the synthesizers and sequencers for good), and you’d have something not far from The Mojo Gurus.<\/p>\n A quick scan of the song titles provides a rundown of this band’s musical and lyrical worldview: \u201cNo Damn Good,\u201d \u201cBad Attitude,\u201d \u201cC’mon Over to My House.\u201d But they do more than just rock out 24\/7. \u201cNo Damn Good\u201d is built around guest musician Nina Wegmann<\/strong>‘s accordion, and the tune has an aura that suggests Los Lobos<\/strong> covering The Drifters<\/strong>‘ \u201cSave the Last Dance for Me.\u201d But that calm respite is over as the band pivots right back to \u201cSomeone Else Will, with its pegging piano figures and stomping beat. When the music stops at the end of a phrase, allowing Steele to sing the chorus lyrics without accompaniment, you might think briefly of The Georgia Satellites<\/strong>‘ \u201cKeep Your Hands to Yourself.\u201d Is that a bad thing? I think not.<\/p>\n They do some porch-rocking c&w on \u201cBad Attitude,\u201d with Steele doing a good vocal approximation of one of the characters from Squidbillies<\/em>. Jason <\/strong>(Del McCoury Band<\/strong>) Carter<\/strong>‘s keening fiddle and mass-singalong backing suggests the band could make a career out of the style, were they not such unrepentant rock’n’rollers. And the group does some convincing spaghetti western, Herb Alpert-meets-surf-rock on the instrumental raver \u201cBandito.\u201d<\/p>\n In keeping with their \u201cthis is how it used to be done\u201d approach, the group has issued two of the disc’s standout tracks \u2013 \u201cWhere You Hidin’ Your Love\u201d b\/w \u201cBandito\u201d \u2013 on 7\u201d vinyl with a picture sleeve.<\/p>\n
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