On July 14, 2024, former Wood & Wire frontman Tony Kamel stepped inside Bruce Robison’s all-analog studio in Lockhart, Texas, aka “The Bunker,” and performed for 30 fans and friends. The songs, pulled from his life and imagination, are stripped to their core, just Kamel, his guitar or banjo, and harmonica. The result is a buffet of bluegrass, old-school country, and dusty folk, with the distinct stylistic cuts flavored with mesquite smoke—aka his vocals—in fine Texas fashion.
Much will be made of the solitary nature of the set in some quarters, I suppose, but—truth be told—most (if not all) of us have enjoyed plenty of solo acoustic sets through the decades, some with favorite singer-songwriters and others with unknown opening acts. At worst, they’re serviceable echoes of polished productions—and the result of economic need. Touring is damn expensive, after all. At best, however, such turns are sterling evenings of soul-baring stuff, with the tunes essentially trickles from the collective unconscious. Live From the Bunker is the latter. In the press release, Kamel says, “I spend a lot of time trying to make my solo performances more than just a guy with a guitar. I want them to feel one-of-a-kind, like something being passed around the room that you can’t quite capture anywhere else.”
The songs are pulled from across Kamel’s catalog, from his days with Wood & Wire to his solo years. Included are a few cool covers, including Johnny Paycheck’s sweet ode for his wife, “Sharon Rae,” and Dan Reeder’s salesman’s lament, “I Don’t Really Want to Talk to You,” which reminds me of my days working in retail.
My favorites, however, are the two songs inspired by Kamel’s grandparents. He wrote the first, “Damn Good Ride,” in his grandma’s house shortly after she passed; it’s a touching tribute to a life well-lived. The harmonica-driven “Just Don’t Make ‘Em,” about his grandfather, celebrates our near-mythic (and oft-stubborn) elders who encapsulate the best parts of our shared past, plus shares a truth many folks have yet to grasp about technology: “They say we’re moving forward and that might be true/But it don’t make it better just because it’s new.”
“Raleigh & Spencer” finds Kamel transported to either the North Carolina or Virginia (or even both) of a century ago—it’s a traditional tune that dates at least to the 1920s, if not before. The etymology of old songs is fascinating topic but, for the purposes of this piece, all one needs know is that it’s a rollicking rendition that returns us to a time when bootleggers were a thing. The concert’s final song is “John,” a deft portrait of a high-school classmate who’s become “a modern-day Kerouac,” while a moving cover of My Morning Jacket’s “Golden”—recorded in a cave at a music festival in New Braunfels, Texas—closes the album itself.
I am not as well-versed on Kamel or Wood & Wire as I likely should be, I admit. We’ve lived in an age of musical plenty for decades now; it’s easy to miss artists and bands we should’ve heard way back when. (Just as I don’t pretend to be a doctor on TV, I don’t pass myself off in print as anything but what I am, a fan with expansive tastes yet many blind spots.) That said, based on this album alone, if Kamel played my town, I’d go see him. Live From the Bunker is an excellent outing.
The Old Grey Cat 