I can’t help but think that had this 2009 Canadian film about a rock n’ roll band of vampires been released at some other time (that time being any time when there wasn’t a Twilight or a Trueblood, etc.), I might have enjoyed it more, but as it is it just feels like another bite (yes, really) at the fang craze, and even its backdrop of a gigging band searching for stardom, its numerous rock star cameos, and small but smart doses of humor, doesn’t help push it past being just another fad. Of course, it doesn’t help that the music in this rock n’ roll spoof is completely lame — that it, yes, sucks. That’s probably what offended me most about Suck, especially given the obvious influences guiding writer/director/star Rob Stefaniuk. I understand that in order to properly spoof the industry, to lay waste to the shticks people will rely on to help make ‘em famous, you have to have a shitty band with a shitty name (in the this case The Winners) because the majority of mainstream bands are truly terrible, but The Winners’ insipid, whiny brand of rock n’ roll just made me angry. I got it, but I didn’t enjoy swallowing it.* Of course, as mentioned earlier, Stefaniuk was obviously guided by some strong influences, and Suck isn’t so much a great movie to watch as it is a great game to play.

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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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