Dax Riggs
Say Goodnight to the World
Fat Possum

I’m not going to say that Dax Riggs (former Acid Bath and Deadboy & The Elephantmen front man) is the best singer/songwriter in America because, well, I can’t actually prove a statement like that, but he’s awfully fucking good, and I can’t think of too many people who come close to touching his evil, dark, misanthropic folk rock. As experienced on 2007′s We Sing of Only Blood or Love, the Louisiana musician’s solo outputs contain all the folly and misery of suffering, loneliness, torment, and death — meaning they’re completely and utterly human — and Say Goodnight to the World once again represents our most dire straits via rolling graveyard shuffles (“Say Goodnight to the World,” “I Hear Satan,” “Sleeping With the Witch”), fuzzy rockers (“Gravedirt on My Blue Suede Shoes,” “No One Will Be a Stranger,” “Let Me Be Your Cigarette”), and swampy, haunting dirges (“You Were Born to Be My Gallows,” “Like Moonlight,” “See You All in Hell or New Orleans”). Of course, it’s his babbling, bourbon-basted, bayou tongue that really puts the hoodoo in his musical voodoo, like he’s channeling his inner dead Elvis with a mouth full of curses and bats, which is why his cover of “Heartbreak Hotel” is one spooky, bad-ass moment. Do yourself a favour and get into Dax Riggs if you haven’t already.

Listen to “You Were Born to Be My Gallows” from Say Goodnight to the World!

Dege Legg is a ghost.

His bones rattle like tin cans tied to the tail of an alley cat and he haunts all the darkest parts of your mind, the parts that moan and wail in the middle of the night when the moon bleeds. As a ghost, he’s one of America’s best kept songwriting (and writing) secrets. He’s lived a few lifetimes in the spooky, isolated backwoods of Louisiana where he cultivates his genius on words and music under endless starry skies as the distant static of radio transmitters buzz like mosquitoes skimming the surface of the swamp.

He’s also an inspiration for endless rock n’ roll rhetoric, and the gonzo nonsense I spin here takes on a dignified, romantic air when I’m talking about Dege (pronounced “Deej” in case you’re having trouble). I’ve always admired Dege’s accomplishments as a writer (he’s a prolific blogger, author of the novel, Battle Hymn of the Good Ole Hillbilly Zatan Boys, and writer/music and calendar editor for The Independent Weekly) and as the main man behind psyouthern rock bands Santeria and Black Bayou Construktion, he’s created some incredible, moving, and magical rock n’ blues records. In fact, Santeria’s 2003 record, House of the Dying Sun, is a masterpiece and shines like a beautiful, rare gem in America’s rock n’ roll history. I truly believe that.

And now the tradition continues as Dege Legg, as Brother Dege, sheds his skin to let his soul shine on his latest solo album, Folk Songs of the American Longhair. This album has been burning a hole in my blog as I’ve been waiting to write about it, but the only way I was going to do it was if it was accompanied by a conversation with the man himself. But first, the album. Folk Songs is an iconic, bare bones Delta blues record, just Dege and a Dobro, and the steel on every song echoes like falling tears in a mausoleum. It’s a chilling portrait of death and redemption, an ode to the long road, and each and every slide draws you down into the earth’s waiting dirt.

Now it’s time to get to know the ghost, to run with the journeyman. Dege and I riff about his new record, hurricane Katrina, Art Bell, bathroom reading, how he almost got shot in the head, and, of course, beards. It’s good, deep stuff.

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