It's Time For Cherries Jubilee, Southern Rock Style

Them Southern boys sure know how to whip crowds into a frenzy, don't they. Lynyrd Skynyrd may have created the template, but if you look carefully you'll notice there are some willing students of the class aching to soak up whatever deep fried influence they can. Hailing from Edmonton, Kentucky, Black Stone Cherry go full on nasty with "Me and Mary Jane" which promises to get you excited enough to tear some apparel from your body if not someone else's. The early going riff 'n' raunchiness festival instigated by lead vocalist/lead guitarist Chris Robertson apologizes to no one. Don't expect much subtlety. Crank the volume up to eleven like a good little heathen and let the cards fall where they may. Chris aces straddling the line between wholesale smarmy and technical excellence. His ax bends to reach places a regular joe couldn't, shouldn't, but probably wants to in the worst way. You can't aspire to this pinnacle of buzz without a bass lubing the way. Enter Jon Lawhon who'll grind for as long as you can take the boot knocking. Drummer John Fred Young allows the flavor to last until whenever forever's supposed to be. Someone broke his leash and dared him to run as wild as possible. Mission accomplished. In fairness you'll probably not be able to entirely grasp the weight behind his talent until the closing assault, 4th of July fireworks only earthbound. Mad displays like this take percussion to the next next level. Throughout "Me and Mary Jane" he's adaptable. He wiggles his way through an obstacle course fit for only the fittest. His mates unfurl sex set to playback ready mode and he's right there encouraging balls, bombast, and barnstorming stylized rock. "Magic Mountain" produced Pandora screaming from the box. Plenty of magic to go around. You hanker for a big finish much the same way a gymnast nails the judges attention via a solid dismount. No need to wait that long for pulse accelerating excitement. We should be tossing confetti in the air each time the chorus comes into view. Chris twangs higher higher and then let himself drop back down into the lusty mix he helped create. There are too many footloose references to name without your eyeballs falling out or me getting acute carpal tunnel pounding this out. They tip their gimme caps to Lynyrd Skynyrd early on. Ideal cruise crunching to spare. Chris has a weekend party to crash. As his guitar ascends the ladder he will shortly jump from we know how badly he wants to take the edge off the unplanned dreck his week has dumped on him. Which spirit he and his Mary Jane are getting blitzed on is hardly prime importance domain. Getting there's a supreme delight. You never really expect anyone with a Southern pedigree to mess around, to stand on ceremony on the way to an honest sentiment. Black Stone Cherry doesn't have a use for beating around the bush. Uncork, release, repeat. That's their formula for a legendary night anyone would be glad to say they participated in. "Me and Mary Jane" hits it way out of the park for you, me, and anyone else whose toleration for life shit has his middle finger firmly planted in the upright and locked position.