For ages, those songs have been available only as hard-to-find singles, or as favors from Homer himself or one of his pals. Now, they're finally available in CD form on Henderson's Live From the City of Hate, a recording from a recent performance of Homer's Amazing One Man Band at the Barley House.
For the uninitiated, the longtime local music fixture in one-man band mode is amazing. A series of pedals beats a couple of drums and a hi-hat, while various effects make his one guitar sound like several. A harmonica duct-taped to a mike affords Homer another way to solo; next to it is his vocal mike, into which he sings his own tunes and a variety of obscure covers and requests, often sounding better than many three- and four-man aggregations.
"'The City of Hate' was what they called Dallas for a long time after JFK got shot," Henderson explains. His "Lee Harvey" is a doubtful reminiscence of a young man befriended by Oswald: "He used to throw the ball to me/When I was just a kid/They say he shot the President/I don't think he did." City of Hate's version is--like all the originals and roots-rock cover songs on the disc--a trenchant, often pungent, recreation of the Henderson magic, which is equal parts trailer-park obscurist, musical archivist, and that most enduring of archetypes, Rockus Wildcattus Dementus.
And no dummy, either: Oswald's li'l fishin' buddy is up on his conspiracy theories--"Seen him in that photo/With pamphlets and a gun/Shadows pointin' every which way/But there's only just one sun."
The album captures Henderson accurately, although without the impressive visual element. Rest assured, however; what comes oozing out of your speakers when you play Live From the City of Hate is every bit the stuff that Henderson gets all over the stage when he plays. The music is a tad different--no ascending-angels choir on "Lee Harvey" that you've come to expect from the jukebox version, and "Nightclub Cancer" didn't make the cut at all--but Live is 100 percent deep-fried Homer Henderson, batteries and curb feelers included. The covers range from novelty--"Witch Doctor," with its helium-elf chorus--to down and dirty, like the obscure Jimmy Reed songs and Homer's lecherous take on "King Bee."The unique vocal and maraca stylings of bodyguard, equipment tech, and utility man Beer Belly Slim (aka Lewis Brown) are present in abundance, making "Picking Up Beer Cans on the Highway" so poignant and immediate that you might almost swear you can smell the roadkill and feel the whoosh of the big rigs as they speed past.
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