Faith ain't phony - the rather curious communion of creeps and crowds; the Rev. Vince plys his trade

December 19, 2001: There are only twelve days left in the year that was the first of a new millennium and finally, finally, I’ve found the one song that gives us a hint of confidence that rockroll has truly got its shot at surviving the upcoming years. And although history clearly defies the sensibility – musical sounds and genres have, in the past, rarely survived stretches of more than a few score of years before the evolving tastes of culture wind up in head on collision with the course of human events inevitably and forever shifting artistic geographies – the joyous noise that the Reverend Vince Anderson makes on "Johnny Shot the Mexican" is too much, is too grand, and is too goddamn fun to bow down to any seismic shifts in taste or culture. It’s a rockroll song that refuses to be overlooked, and it’s a song that celebrates the religious fervor of not only Rev. Anderson, but of rock and roll itself.

"I am a Christian. I believe in God but I also believe in the human spirit," Anderson pens in the short, earnest liner notes of his recording. "My God takes me as I am, warts and all. It is in this spirit that I give you this collection of songs." ‘This spirit’, meaning the one that rock and roll lifts up, carries forth, and delivers. Anderson is a self-ordained minister through the Universal Life Church (yes, the one that places ads in the back of Rolling Stone – Anderson admits as much in his notes) who had actually attended seminary and dropped out "after 3 months" when he came to some sort of realization that the "established" church wasn’t going to take him "as I am".

Sounds like horribly conceived shtick doesn’t it? Anderson nearly admits as much in his quips, but he also remains utterly sincere – making no phony claims to this, that, or any other higher powers. The only thing he is certain of is that he believes.

Rock and roll has that power. Belief. It’s music that, when at its best, is surreptitiously religious - a wholly transcendent experience and a fervent racket that reaches for some secret soul deep inside, hoping only to touch it, to help you find it for yourself. That is why the rock/religion metaphor works –because for those who truly believe, for those who’ve known the music’s touch, for the ones who’ve categorically accepted the possible transubstantiation of song into spirit, it’s incontrovertibly real. It is the reason to believe – in anything and everything.

So the possibilities for rockroll in an uncertain future gain more than just a little bit of ground as Anderson introduces his rollicking record with a preamble done in coy Spanish: "El nombre de cancion (the name of the song) esta (is) Johnny Shot the Mexican". Anderson, without a hint of irony, quickly pummels his piano into a loping up-scale boogie breakdown that dances straight from the middle of Led Zep's "Fool in the Rain" and all over the rather hoarsely shouted, "Uno, Dos, Tres, Quatro" - a knowing nod to so many garages where rockroll religion is most fervent. Then it happens - "Johnny Shot the Mexican" steals rambunctiously away on the back of Anderson’s whiskey growl (true – it is Waits-ian at times, and Anderson does look slightly similar to Dr. John, but his obvious devotion to rock and roll, and his faith it what it brings feels so very much like early Springsteen) and becomes timeless.

Anderson’s wild-asses piano takes the lead, only to be followed immediately by a parade of blaring, honking horns (a trumpet – or maybe two? - a saxophone, and Lord knows what else) and a chorus of soulful backing voices. All of them dancing down the aisles, taunting, enticing whatever congregation might be around to stand up, get up, raise your voices and hands, join the procession – we’re all going to that place; we will find our way - together - to the place that you, me, they, everyone wants and hopes to find. Just believe. Just Believe. Believe, believe, believe.

On I Need Jesus (the record – eight songs in all – in question here) the Rev. Vince Anderson delivers the uncomplicated faith. Beyond the hoot of "Johnny Shot the Mexican" Anderson slips slightly only when he mines his murky, anguished croaking soul on a sliding guitar "I Need Jesus" blues. It’s not a very sharp performance, but it probably shouldn’t be either – not if autobiography is from whence you speak (the hurt). But, put up against the scatting "Cypress Tree" or the twin elegiac beauties of the warm "If You Ever" and the soaring piano ballad "Lovers on Lease", "I Need Jesus" drowns. And while "Johnny Shot the Mexican" and "Lovers on Lease" may be the pillar’s of Anderson’s church, the surrounding structure of "Bon Voyage" (a drunkard’s elegy), "Jesus Christ (friend of mine)" (a call and response foot stomp), and a deeply morose rendition of Hank Williams "The Angel of Death" are their sturdy equals.

The Rev. Vince Anderson, be he shaman or shyster, believes. Whether it’s with booze on his breath, lust in his loins, or with a sly smile; whether he has guitar in his hands or a piano at his fingertips, be it with a wink and a nod, or a grim countenance, the Rev. Vince Anderson truly believes. The music he makes would not work if he did not. And whether it’s my God, your God, his God, or whatever God may exist in peoples hearts and minds, it’s a belief, a faith – something that can maybe get you through to the next time you need to believe in something once more (and hopefully, without gaurantees, you’ll find that thing when you need it again). But for now, the Reverend Vince Anderson has me believing - believing in the rockroll something once more. Amen.

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