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No Cain, No Gain

At the Club: Chris Cain's newest is "Somewhere Along the Way."

Local blues hero Chris Cain

trumps completion with release

of 'Somewhere Along the Way'

By Nicky Baxter

About a month ago, I caught local blues hero Chris Cain in the act. JJ's Blues Downtown in San Jose was packed with fans who'd come out to hear the guitarist debut selections from his new album, Somewhere Along the Way (Blind Pig). Despite the fact that this was new material, the crowd responded with wild abandon. No matter how hard Cain cried the blues, these folks were having the time of their lives. Cain, decked out in a dark pinstriped suit, didn't say much, announcing the new tunes only occasionally. Didn't matter. The way he leaned into each number, yanking on that big Gibson 335 and grinning that gap-toothed grin of his, it was obvious to all that he was having a good time, too. Would the music be as exciting on disc?

Well, not quite. Nothing beats Chris Cain live. But Somewhere Along the Way does beat out most of what's available in the CD racks. Cain, backed by a bracing group of the area's best musicians, built the album from the ground up in his home studio. The songs, all written by the guitarist/singer (except a couple co-written by bassist Ron Johnson), don't break new ground, but that's not a necessity in a rich tradition like the blues. What's important is that Cain invests the tradition with vitality and his own personality.

On "Street of Broken Dreams," the rhythm section, propelled by Johnson and drummer Ron E. Beck, demonstrates that the blues can get as funkdafied as an old Stax recording. Trumpeter Modesto Briseno's and saxophonist Bill Esparza's syncopated blowing reinforces the groove. The lamentably underappreciated Beck is a pivotal figure throughout. Like the genre's best beat-keepers, Beck doesn't attempt to overpower; subtlety is his forte. His playing is both relaxed yet on point--a loping fill here, a quick flash of cymbal there keep things from getting predictable.

Cain proffers some homegrown advice on the smooth-operating "Don't Let the Same Dog Bite You Twice," but mostly the song is an excuse for some fiery guitar/organ dueling. Terse and biting, his guitar vocabulary encompasses more than the Chicago style. He tosses off licks that rock and reel off into a snatch of fusion. On the uptempo "My Baby's Got It," Cain turns his blues into sunshine, declaring to anyone who cares to listen that nobody rocks his world like his woman. The tune also shows off some assured New Orleans-style piano by David Kirk Mathews. When Cain jumps in, he lets loose a volley of Albert King stingers as a reminder of where he's coming from.

In the past, Cain has shown that fun has a place in his blues; no doubt a lesson learned from jive cats like Louis Jordan. Though it's probably just an excuse to show off Cain's mastery of mimicry, the sly self-deprecating humor of "At the Club" is a nice change of pace. The same is true for "Skeletons in Her Closet," a zippy, jazz tinged number that has Cain pulling off flurries of clean, single-note runs like a '40s jazzbo. Fittingly, things close out with the churchy blues of the title song; as Cain's guitar takes the tune out, you can't help admiring that besides being a solid bluesman, Chris Cain can rock the pews, too.

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