#workers comp

A stripped-down trio, Workers Comp marshals the talents of Deadbeat Beat’s Joshua Gillis on guitar, Luke Reddick of Divorce Horse on bass and Ryan McKeever of Staffers on drums. Fair warning, however, the new band sounds not much at all like any of its three predecessors. Instead, it evokes the humorous wallop of the Strapping Field Hands, and the drunken rave-ups of Hootenany-era Replacements. This country viewed through a cracked mirror, amped up and agitated, but also extremely articulate.

The disc starts with its honkey-tonk-i-est track, the Cash-worshiping “When I’m Here,” which starts in profanity and an aborted count, and goes from there. Gills drawls in an uncertain croak, but the lines include some doozies (My favorite: “Labor day in Baltimore/that’s time and a half/planting flowers on a plot between a joke and a laugh/if irony were ecstasy we’d rave until we die, eating bubblegum for breakfast or McDonald’s apple pie.” ) Indeed, the combination of absolute commitment and sly subversion might remind you of Ryan Davis.

It’s a good first track, but also a bit of a head fake. The rest of the songs run more to rock than roadhouse, though of a rootsy, blues-fired, early 1960s variety. And, these dear reader, are the good ones. “Pick and Choose,” rolls like a semi-truck on a steep down-grade, driver frantically looking for an off-ramp. “High on the Job,” maybe the disc’s best cut, flares out of a box drum cadence, its blues riff jutting off towards the horizon, as the singer spouts poetry. “Tripping hard in the parking lot of a quick stop on the go/feeling like an open mic at a lip-sync funeral,” drones Gillis, and it make sense in a lurid, trance-y way.

Gillis sings most of the cuts, but Luke Reddick takes over vocals on “Peel Away” and “It’s Fine” have a noticeably different tone to them, less sardonic, more anthemic and with the singing coming from a different place in the mix. In addition, Anna McClelland stops by to sing “Never Have I Ever,” slipping a bit of sweetness into Workers Comp’s bleak, hyperverbal dystopias, and it makes you think about what a different band they’d be with her as the singer. Still furious, still clanging hard, still letting loose an ecstatic “Whooo!” at unpredictable intervals, but lots more pop.

The music is consistently excellent, rough-edged and full of heart, but brainy enough to catch you up short. I played “Gilt Rigs” for a member of the family and asked him if he heard any Dire Straits in the guitars. “It’s like Dire Straits played by the Fall,” he said, and if you want to know what that sounds like, get on Workers Comp.