People who fall in love with Grub Dog Mitchell’s songs want him to be

the next [insert three-named Texas legend here:] Jerry Jeff Walker,

Jon Dee Graham, Robert Earl Keen, Billy Joe Shaver, Ray Wylie

Hubbard, etc.. There’s something dusty and romantic about 

them, with enough country to make critical Austin audiences

hear themselves in it. The songs have a sense of place; they

were born out of Steinbeck’s California Central Valley but might

as well have been from the barren Panhandle. They’re boot-kickin’

songs that can break your heart. It’s no wonder folks want to hear

them clean, like a starched western shirt.

It would follow that Grub frame his songs in a kind of non-threatening contemporary country

sound to better fit in with his radio counterparts. He is more than capable of writing a beautiful

waltz, fit for Nancy Griffith’s tremulous soprano. Or a bluesy number for Bonnie Raitt.

Or a pop song for Sheryl Crow. But, while he wouldn’t mind lending a song or two

to these divas, you’ll not catch him giving his lyrics the velvet treatment himself. 

When he is on stage with The Modestos, Grub surrounds his songs with the

sonic roar of cacophonous guitar. He screams them drunkenly, like

Westerberg, sometimes like Waits. He gives it to you the way he longs

to hear it: loud and beautifully sloppy emotional rock and roll.   

When Grub is at full throttle with The Modestos, it's a Replacements-like

rock extravaganza. It's loud and guitar-driven, heartbreaking and smart.

With influences everywhere from the Stones to Big Star, it fits right in with

what bands like the Drive By Truckers, Grand Champeen and Slobberbone

do. Music like this makes you realize that smart poignant lyrics can coexist

with big dumb rock...   can, and should.

So, while Grub Dog Mitchell isn't our grandaddy's singer/songwriter, he

is the kind whose lyrics do not underestimate the discerning ear, even

while the surrounding music addresses our fundamental need for rock.