Published on Oct 21, 2005
If the term “punk rock” turns you off, don’t shy away from
Social Distortion. If you like American roots rock served up hard
and fast,
Somewhere Between Heaven And Hell is sure to satisfy.
Social Distortion emerged from the fertile SoCal punk scene in
the late ’70s. Founded and fronted by singer/guitarist Mike Ness,
SD took the roots of rockabilly, country, and blues, and created a
powerhouse that defies any simple label or genre. Like punk
groundbreakers The Ramones, Ness’ love of early rock and roll is
key to the quality and the appeal of his work. Building on the
foundation laid by greats like Elvis, Johnny Cash and Chuck Berry,
he injects these influences with searing guitar work and hellfire
rhythms without losing the original charm of early rock and roll.
He deftly mixes his roots influences with a fresh hardcore sound
that breathes new life into his classic covers, and raw power into
his original songs.
SD’s fourth album,
Somewhere Between Heaven And Hell came after a hiatus
involving two members leaving and Ness’ recovery from heroin
addiction. The timing was excellent as the mostly underground
psycho-billy music scene was gathering speed across the country.
This album stands today as their finest work, and a longstanding
favorite that has transcended styles to appeal to a broad range of
fans.
“Cold Feelings” opens the album, a turbo-charged blast that
sounds like the bastard offspring of Chuck Berry and AD/DC. Next up
is “Bad Luck,” which has Ness playing his favorite role as the
outcast loner, a role he plays to the limit on my favorite track,
“99 To Life.” This bluesy prison song shows Ness’ deep affinity for
the work of Johnny Cash in its bleak, regretful memoir of a
murdered lover:
“I wish she could be here, Lord if she only could Instead she’s
layin’ in a puddle of blood She was my baby, thought she’d be my
wife I killed my baby, I killed her with my knife”
One of the highlights of SD’s work is their excellent cover
songs. On
Somewhere, he rips the lid off the Kitty Wells country
classic “Makin’ Believe.” There’s little to be seen of the
crooning, low-key original — Ness’ version starts off with him
moaning the opening verse over a mass of guitar feedback, then
takes off like a hayride to hell, careening along in a full-tilt
psychotic frenzy.
Besides all the great songs on this disc, one of the highlights
is the amazing guitar work of Dennis Danell, Ness’ longtime
collaborator. Danell would die at 38 from a brain aneurysm, and
this album is a legacy of his extraordinary talent.