Washington, DC’s the Riverbreaks take listeners on a rousing cinematic journey on their second album, Wildfire. Releasing February 1, the twelve-song disc shows off the band’s engaging blend of alt-country Americana indie pop, referencing classic southern rock along the way. Produced by the Riverbreaks with DBs cofounder Chris Stamey, Wildfire was recorded in Chapel Hill, where lead singer and acoustic guitarist Ryan Bailey, electric guitarist Jesse Prentice-Dunn, keyboardist Andrew Satten, and violinist Neela Rajendra went to college. They are joined by bassist Drew Ball and drummer Kirk Anderson as they traverse the open roads of America, speaking up for marginalized indigenous cultures, fighting to save the environment, and falling in and out of love. Much of the album was written by Bailey in Costa Rica, an influence perhaps most evident on the opening song, “Wild Fruit,” in which Bailey sings about the Ayoreo, a Paraguayan tribe battling for survival, declaring, “You can slash and burn these woods until this land is clear / Until the creek beds are dry and the birds have disappeared / You can smoke me from the hills but you can’t bribe me to leave / You’ll never tame the lost ones and you’ll never take their spirit from me.”
The album also features sweet guitar wailing at the end of the visually evocative “Paper Moon,” an infectious organ groove that powers “American Sun,” a memorable riff tailor made for a Western movie theme in the bluesy “Corn Blue Night,” a touch of the Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” on “El Dorado,” and a jaunty bounce on “Waiting for the Rapture,” on which Bailey actually repeats, “I pray it don’t come.” Wildfire is like the soundtrack to an indie Western you’ve heard about for a while but have yet to see. You’ll get your chance this week when the Riverbreaks will be holding album release parties at the Kennedy Center on February 1 before making their way to the Living Room on February 2, where they’ll play at 7:00, followed by Tam Lin, NICKCASEY, the Ramblers, and Rocket & the Ghost. Be ready for a down-home celebration, as they explain on “Tell the Girls”: “Tell the girls to wear their dancing shoes / Tell the girls to show up dressed to kill / And the band will play too / until the night is through / until the light shines through.”
“A great virtuoso madman,” “scary,” “a motherfucker,” “a lovable rogue,” “a dope addict,” “the hammer of the gods,” “a force of nature,” “horrible,” “the world’s greatest drummer” — these are just some of the terms of affection heaped on legendary drummer Ginger Baker by his friends, relatives, and musical colleagues at the beginning of Jay Bulger’s propulsive documentary, Beware of Mr. Baker. In 2009, after spending three months with Baker and his family in South Africa, Bulger published the in-depth article “The Devil and Ginger Baker” in Rolling Stone. Two years later, Bulger went back to expand the story into a feature-length film, but Baker was not about to make it easy for him, continually insulting his questions, calling him names, and even cracking him in the nose with his cane. “He influenced me as a drummer but not as a person,” Bad Company and Free drummer Simon Kirke says of Baker, an opinion shared by many in this revealing film. Baker might be crotchety, but he also opens up to Bulger, particularly in describing when, as a child during WWII, he would hear the bombings outside, sounds that would have an impact on his playing. Bulger speaks with such other percussionists as the Rolling Stones’ Charlie Watts, Rush’s Neal Peart, the Grateful Dead’s Mickey Hart, Metallica’s Lars Ulrich, the Police’s Stewart Copeland, Vanilla Fudge’s Carmine Appice, and Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason, as well as such former Baker bandmates as Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Steve Winwood, who all rave about Baker’s remarkable abilities behind the kit while also delving into his self-destructive behavior, which led him through a parade of groups, home countries, and spouses. “I don’t know if it’s his ability to move on or it’s his inability to stay,” points out Baker’s third wife, Karen Loucks Rinedollar, a statement that applies to both Baker’s personal and professional lives. 
