#jerry david decicca

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

All One Song - "From Hank to Hendrix" with Jerry David DeCicca

If you haven’t realized it yet, I love talking about Neil Young. And I’ve been fortunate enough to have some great guests on All One Song to help me dissect some of Neil’s most interesting creations. It’s always fascinating to see where these free-form conversations go, whether it's deep dives into lyrical obsessions, personal history, chord progressions, Shakey lore … or some indefinable blend of all of that.

And this week’s episode is no different! We’re back in the 1990s this time around, taking a look at a song from Harvest Moon — “From Hank To Hendrix.” It’s a song that has been a regular setlist inclusion ever since it first appeared in late 1991. He usually does it solo acoustic, and it feels like a fairly straightforward statement of intent from Neil, an acknowledgment of his restless nature, his refusal to stay in the same place for too long, the joys and dangers of duality. A simple song, right?

Well, probably not. Nothing is ever completely simple when it comes to Shakey. And here to plumb the depths of “From Hank To Hendrix” today is Texas-based singer-songwriter Jerry David DeCicca. Like Neil, Jerry’s songs are often made out of seemingly simple materials, but the more you listen to them, the deeper they become, simplicity transforming into something wonderfully complex. For example, one of my favorite songs of his deals with the cosmic nature of watermelons. Jerry’s albums are all awesome — if you need an entry point, go ahead and start with the most recent one, Cardiac Country from 2025, which Aquarium Drunkard writer Jennifer Kelly praised for detailing “the sweet transitory pleasures of living here on earth with an awareness of the unknowable beyond.” That sounds about right to me.

Jerry doesn’t have a new album coming out this year, but he is also an active producer, with great records by Ed Askew, Chris Gantry, Bob Martin and more under his belt. His latest production effort is the debut album by 83-year-old living legend Frank “The Wild Jalapeño” Rodarte, entitled, naturally, The Return of the Wild Jalapeño. It’s a fantastic listen, featuring tunes written by Jerry, alongside killer covers of songs by Bill Callahan and Greg Cartwright of Reigning Sound. It’s soulful, spiritual, strange and an album that could only have been made in Texas. Head over to Bandcamp to check it out and order a compact disc.

Bonus Track: Neil has played "From Hank to Hendrix" hundreds of times over the years — but hey, how about we check out the very first time he played in onstage? This one comes from the 1991 Bridge Benefit shows, and features the Stray Gators, plus Nils Lofgren and Nicolette Larson. It's a beauty. That year boasted another wild Bridge lineup — Don Henley, Tracy Chapman, Willie Nelson, John Lee Hooker ... and Sonic Youth?! An infamous/awesome trainwreck, which you can listen to here.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Aquarium Drunkard Transmissions :: February 2018

Jason has been killing it lately with the AD Transmissions podcast, and the latest edition might be the best one yet. An embarrassment of riches. It’s got an interview with Itasca’s Kayla Cohen, an inspired mix-up of poet Maggie Smith + Jerry David Decicca, and the mighty Laraaji. Have you watched any of Laraaji’s public access TV series? What the hell! Also, Itasca’s just released/slightly under-the-radar tape is recommended, as is Jerry’s latest LP, Time the Teacher. 

[dollarbin]

Free Bin #24:

Marilyn to Madonna Week, Part 2

There are plenty of things I enjoy losing my pants for.

A swim in a glacier-fed mountain lake, a moonlit wiz off my back porch...

I could go on listing more of the quality times that I seek out without my pants in place but my famous brother reports that yesterday's description of cleaning the cat's butt took things a step too far.

And so let me move on to report that old people sure don't make me want to drop trou, at least not yet. And I'm guessing, and hoping, that they similarly inspire you to leave your pants firmly belted, buttoned and zipped.

And so you've got to admire Billy Bob Squarespace, or whatever his name is, on this week's All One Song. The guy simply loves snuggling up with old people, especially when they are - metaphorically anyway - pantless.

To wit:

He produces their records! His latest, a debut record by an 83 year old named after a problematic vegetable who "loves Jesus, marijuana and his family" sounds totally naked, honest and killer.

In college, while you and I were busy listening to Black Francis and acting like 12 year olds, Jerry David DeCicca (I looked the dude’s name up, because continuing to call him Peter David LeBoof or Dominic Sebastian Cheeseworthy or Anthony Miranda McSqueeze seems rude, and it's niceness month in the Bin) spent quality time with Neil and Bob's most octogenarian records: Good As I Been To You and Harvest Moon. Both albums are products of the men's middle age, sure, but on them they sound like they're 106 years old and are bidding us all a fond farewell with quaking knees.

Plus, DeCicca even pledges allegiance to Neil's most recent record, and especially its utterly tone deaf "let me explain why I hate my sainted daughter" theme. You gotta love McSqueeze's point though: no one should write such songs, he argues, let alone sing them, but the fact that Neil does so anyway makes him utterly unique and therefore admirable in the very same way you and I would just have to shrug and then cheer if we ever caught sight of a pasty white 86 year old strutting the catwalk.

Even so, the guy's got principles, and therefore limits. Much as he loves art that embraces ugly naked truth, Cheeseworthy cites Old King as Neil's worst song, and that not because it's boring unless Neil takes 15 minutes to explain it to you...

... no; DeCicca says it's Neil's worst song because in it he kicks his dog and does not apologize.

Enjoy this week's show!

[dollarbin]

Free Bin #23:

Marilyn to Madonna Week, Part 1

I can do hard things!

I can do the essential twice-a-week deep clean on the cat's butt; someone's gotta do it!

I can track down four used tires for the family van for less than the price of one new one and pay for it all in cash because that's the way Jessie, my tire guy, rolls.

I can unclog my bootleg gray water system by standing around and swearing a bit, then unleashing the beast and spewing 5 months of the family's congealed essence all over my bewildered yard, and I can do it like nobody's business.

I can even forge connections between, and get my students mildly interested in, the state of Elizabeth Bennet's petticoats and our federal government's increasingly irrelevant system of checks and balances in the very same 45 minute class.

And so, I can surely do the hardest thing yet: I can sit through an hour of some guy I've never heard of talking about From Hank to Hendrix, which may very well qualify as the least seductive song choice in the history of All One Song.

I mean, come on.

The song is soft and nice to listen to; it's good.

But all of us have listened to it before, and we've done so over and over and over again. Plus, its lyrics are largely obvious and verging on hamfisted; even its California Divorce makes me yawn. Worse yet, it climaxes with the clumsily phrased concept of a "musical ride." I like rollercoasters and music, separately.

David Briggs hated the song, and David Briggs always knew what he was talking about when it came to Neil.

I don't hate the song. Ben Keith plays on it! And the second half of the final verse, with its troubled window and pleading tree and growing distance, all plays. But I'd much rather actually listen to Hank or Hendrix or Madonna, or gaze chastely upon Marilyn. And I'd much rather hear a discussion of just about any other Neil Young song.

But, I can do hard things! So, let's roll the dice and listen to the music made by today's guest. Tyler doesn't tolerate dopes, so maybe this guy's tunes will help me summon up some courage and optimism before dropping the needle on Dylan to Depeche Mode week.

Apparently, Jerry David DeCicca has a song about cosmic watermelons. That sounds promising!

Okay, this song is far sillier and more enjoyable than I'd even hoped. Jerry Jeff Whateverhisnameis sounds like Jonathan Richman on peyote. And that sax is really something.

So, let's do this. Let's go listen to All One Song! Tomorrow I'll give you my report...

[musiconspotify]

Jerry David DeCicca - Cardiac Country (2025) … brave stories …

[tuuneoftheday]

Jerry David DeCicca - Good Ghosts

[dustedmagazine]

Jerry David DeCicca — Cardiac Country (Sophomore Lounge Records)

JERRY DAVID DECICCA "Cardiac Country", by Jerry David DeCicca

10 track album

Texas singer-songwriter Jerry David DeCicca is a lifer in the sun-cut dust-moats of alternative Americana, having started very young and spent decades first tracking down and meeting his musical heroes then recording and touring his personal vision of thinking-person’s DIY alt-country, and producing archival compilations and records by outsider legends like Ed Askew and Bob Martin along the way. All that experience with songs, sounds and living in the world lends presence and wisdom to his latest LP Cardiac Country.

A life of dedication to music leads to a deeply felt and beautifully crafted record like Cardiac Country, in this case there also lies a life-or-death immediacy. All but one song on the album was composed just before JDD learned that he had a life-threatening heart condition. The final track, “Old Hat” was written post-diagnosis, waiting for open-heart surgery. It was recorded expediently — in JDD’s somewhat fatalistic words, “just in case.” In it he reflects on how darkness and death were his favorite subjects to write about when he was young and knew nothing, and now he knows all too well.

The near-whispered, lo-fi recording of “Old Hat,” with its high-stakes backstory, ideally read from the liner notes while listening to the record, stands in sublime contrast to the production on the rest of Cardiac Country, which has a laid-back Texas vibe and an effortless studio warmth. In JDD’s recent run of LPs, he has not been afraid to bring in ringer-level side players, such as Rosali Middleman, David Hidalgo, and Auggie Meyers. On Cardiac Country that chair is filled by English pedal steel player BJ Cole, of no less than “Tiny Dancer” fame. He brings classic country steel licks, but his origins lie in more experimental music, and he can also follow the less traditional Lanois-era Dylan style alleyways of productions that these songs sometimes wander down.

With Cardiac Country JDD has mastered the art of the album opening one-two punch, beginning with “Long Distance Runner,” which gives a lyrical nod to the fan favorite Grateful Dead jam “Fire on the Mountain,” but reads like a metaphor for life as a long distance run that feels almost too right, at least at a certain age: “One foot in front of the other, at a pace of your own, there’s others around you, but you’re in this alone.” Life requires endurance, “the road is not wide,” you might not always have as many options as you want and pain is a constant. Time and experience pass by so fast at times you barely clock it. Things don’t feel stable, “the ground is slippery.” If you keep breathing though, you’ll keep moving. The refrain of “the road is not wide” cuts both ways. At the very least you’ve been given a direction, and “your heart is healthy for what lies ahead.”

The following track, “Good Ghosts,” is about being a deep music fan, and conducting the late-night séance that only a deep music fan knows, summoning into your living room the spirits of your idols through your stereo, and communing with them over a heavy sacramental dose of liquor. The shivers up the spine when *that* bassline or drum fill hits, the healing when you are riding the sequence of a record you’ve listened to five hundred times, knowing what comes next, that knowledge like a bandage on your soul. The solace and the inspiration — JDD sings “mostly black and white men, because I wanted to be them, gotta chase that feeling, sing me ‘Blues on the Ceiling’” — it’s a shout out to Fred Neil and a clever line, invoking the racial and cultural blending that gave rise to American roots music and the black and white pictures of musical icons that young kids with guitars stare at in books and pin up on their walls.

The songs on Cardiac Country, like all JDD’s music, find the profound in images of the mundane, a move from the John Prine school of country songwriting. A song like “Where Does My Empathy Go” does this, relating some interactions with animals — freeing a cow, rescuing a dog, instances of an empathy that somehow evaporates when a hamburger appears. It’s funny, but there’s a higher purpose to it — an existentialism. Between the conception and completion of this record, Jerry David DeCicca faced an existential threat, and he came out the other end singing – the words on Cardiac Country have been come by as honestly as any you’ll ever hear. As he affirmed as if through a premonition, his heart is healthy for what lies ahead.

Joshua Moss

[musiconspotify]

Jerry David DeCicca New Shadows (2023) … avant-Americana …