Todd Partridge - Desert Fox Blues (2024)

Musicians – Winston Watson (drums), Nick Agustine (bass), Tom Albanese (harmonica), Kent Burnside (guitar).

Last October I spent a week in Tucson, AZ. I saw those bare grey mountains, the cowboy culture desert dry with thousands of cactus arms akimbo. It was an education uniquely American. The image on the back of Iowa musician Todd Partridge’s (guitar/vocals) new LP against a vast expanse of Arizona sky was nice to see again.

The music of America has a regional signature. Many. But most notable are the New Orleans swampy hoodoo sound, a Nashville, Austin & Bakersfield traditional & pop country torrent/ There’s Motown & the NYC Tin Pan Alley/Brill Building pop tune society.

A Tucson showcase? Hmmm. Yes, Linda Ronstadt is from Tucson but never represented a Tucson-shaped musical structure. She was more California, like Jackson Browne, the Eagles & that ilk. Arizona is a desert state, but it must have a musical personality. It’s just not as widely known as others.

Todd Partridge seems motivated by this region. There are 10 dusty tunes among the cacti on his Desert Fox Blues (Drops Oct 17/Independent/34:43). To kick off the J.J. Cale-type sound he dips it liberally into that Cale oeuvre. Todd lays down a barbed-wire laced performance on “Depression” & has that recorded live in a rickety old hotel in Texas-type ambiance. It also has a spread of Van Morrison’s vocal over a J.J. Cale musical toast. Nice. The harmonica punctuates as if Paul Butterfield were alive ‘n kicking in his Chicago-blue jeans & shades.

Todd does have expressive ideas & with “Interstellar Planetary,” & “Old Picker” — wonderful fuzz guitar intro & Tom’s finest John Hiatt/J.J. Cale intonation. The melodies are exuberant. What Todd does successfully consistently is present his blues in a manner unfamiliar to today’s ears. Each tune’s a calling card. Some pieces are close to the roots of blues – “Lost Your Shoe Blues,” is well-chiseled & “Jimmy Carter” sounds like a new Dr. John vocally. The album is gripping, like a mad dog on the leg of your pants. ~John Apice