Bleu Edmondson - Lost Boy

There’s heart, soul, and substance in this CD and great sound too. It’ll grow and grow on you, or at least it has with me.
On my list, Bleu is one of the top five young acts to come out of Texas in recent times. There�s not much country about Bleu; he hails from young Springsteen, John Mellencamp, Rick Springfield rock and roll territory. But if that isn’t Americana then what is?
Bleu searched his soul for this one. Then he took an axe to a frozen heart and found a strong warm pulse beneath the ice. Many of the songs document battles and wounds suffered in the strange battlefield fought in the bars and honkytonks or our land�a place where those that lead with the heart get savaged.
For any that accuse Bleu of getting soft, you’d have to be brain dead not to realize that this world and our country in particular is in bad shape. People look but don�t see, they listen but don�t hear. We live in a dark time where prayers hardly make it though the haze and answers are not always forthcoming: a time and a place where people have been raised with the best the planet has to offer, are surrounded by luxury, yet have become little more than hollow shells, almost soulless in their selfishness. Bleu is blessed (or cursed, depending on how you look at it) with seeing and hearing everything and trying to make sense of it. It may be the only world he has known, but down deep, he knows something�s wrong and he�s doing his best to describe how he feels.
It’s no wonder he feels lost sometimes.
On Lost Boy, Bleu Edmondson doesn’t sing Rock and Roll, he bleeds it.

Tags: Bleu Edmondson, Reviews

Bleu Edmondson, Revisited (Words Matter)

They’re right. Partially.I’ve met Blue only a handful of times, first when he did a short set with Ray Wylie Hubbard on KNBT’s Roots and Branches show, then again at Gruene Hall for a quick word, and finally at Jack’s Patio, Bar and Grill in San Antonio where he did an acoustical show along with Mike from Back Porch Mary. I’ve watched him perform perhaps four or five times aside from these.One of the rules where correctness in writing is concerned is to leave yourself out of the story. I’ve always had a problem with correctness. I think when critiquing writing and music, the rule is horseshit. Why? Because both are interactive experiences. It’s not only what the writer or the singer says that matters, but also the message received by the listener. Words delivered to nothing but the air around fall, lifeless, worthless, dead and stinking to the ground. It’s only when listeners hear and relate to experiences in their own lives that words have value.Words matter. Songs matter.And if words don’t tear at your heart… I have no time to waste.When I write about a performer, I offer an interpretation of what they say. In some cases, I get the opportunity to sit down and really get to know a performer; in others I must glean what I can, watching and listening from a distance. Most of what I wrote on Bleu was shaded by my last encounter with him and his music. I believe what proceeds from a man’s mouth reflects his heart. I also believe booze is a liar, a thief and a mocker. Words uttered while drunk can be total bullshit. So some of the things I wrote about Bleu are liable to be off.Bleu wrote to tell me that he was OK with what I said and that he understood what these others don’t. But he also assured me that I had caught him at less than his best. From the uproar of those that have known him longer, I know he is a more complex person than I portrayed. He is certainly loved by many. One reader pointed out that Bleu is like almost any twenty something year-old in Texas.Yes, and no.Here’s what I missed, even in the first draft of this piece, which tended to be an argument to prove I was right in the first place. In order to find this, I had to think back to some of the earlier shows I had seen. Bleu loves life, his home. Listen to his version of Dallas. Have you ever seen Dallas from a DC-9 at night? Or Southland, where he describes his attachment to the home of his youth and the traditions he holds dear, the joy of a romp in the hay with a young lover. Not only does he love his home and his country, he has an infectious way of sharing that love with others. At his core, Bleu seems a genuinely good person.But he’s not one-dimensional. Bleu is smarter than his peers. He’s gifted. Others will work hard to get what he has and won’t find it, no many how many hours they devote to the task. It’s beyond them. He’s in the spotlight. His behavior influences others more than most ever can or will. So he’s not only partying and having a good time but also trying to understand why he parties, why we do what we do, and he’s describing what he discovers. Not just the fun parts, but also the pain derived and some of the scars he has picked up along the way. Most people hear only what they want to hear, like how great life must be great as a rock star…Fifty Dollars and a Flask of Crown captures the joy a young man feels when headed to town on a Friday night with a pocket full of money and a flask of whiskey. It’s a high-energy song, an anthem for young Texas headed out to have a good time.captures the joy a young man feels when headed to town on a Friday night with a pocket full of money and a flask of whiskey. It’s a high-energy song, an anthem for young Texas headed out to have a good time.  And then, in the next breath, Bleu says, don’t you know everybody’s got a story? Might be a little better than yours. Have you ever bled for the price of glory, what the hell are you living for? You sit and listen to the music but you don’t hear the song. This old world spins a little faster and the band plays on…Travelin Man, ride as far as I can stand, my mama cries for the life I lead. I need a beer but it’s too far away from here…You never ever met a man like me. I’m not the guy you think you found. I am asking you, please reconsider. Finish your drink, turn around. Cause you don’t know me, you don’t know me, I’m no good… (Proof enough for me that he is in fact, honest, making him as close as we of the despicable human race get to being good.)(Proof enough for me that he is in fact, honest, making him as close as we of the despicable human race get to being good.) Bleu describes failed loves. How he got out of the way so his lover could move on, find a Good Thing. Did Bleu find a good thing? (I’m asking. I don’t know.) I guarantee it hurt like hell each and every time he turned away. Listen and tell me I’m wrong.I Got Drunk and I fell down. Spend my whole life staring through a beer. . . Got drunk alone instead. If you ask me I would smile. And we could sit and talk a while. But there’s just too much to hide, got nothing left inside, I’m just a little bit crazy. Catch me cause I’m falling. Phone rings no ones calling, This whiskey running down my chin…Well I’ve done hit rock bottom. My time is at hand. Cause I lost my job, the bills are getting bigger, crying baby, about to lose my mind, hundred dollar habit, ain’t got a penny, woman ran off with a friend of mine, can’t keep a job, too fucked up, DHS about to take my kids, got to get well, keep getting sicker, sitting in the parking lot, my finger on the trigger. Brandon Jenkins wrote Finger on the Trigger. Bleu owns it. In the same way Waylon Jennings owns many songs written by Bill Jo Shaver. He sang them. He owned them.Bleu doesn’t have kids. He hasn’t lost his job. He has no gun in hand. But metaphorically he describes the territory he inhabited at some point and it scares the hell out of me. Because he goes back there each and every time he sings it. A gun can be a glass of whiskey, too much smoke, or some other form of self-destructive behavior. I feel this song more than I hear it.Bleu cuts out his heart on stage and holds it up for the rest of us, raw and bleeding. While not all his songs are factual, Bleu is non-fiction. He’s real. As real as the ground on which you stand, the air you breathe, the love we all seek and so often fail to find. Open you ears and listen. Open your heart. Feel the music. Feel the song.Otherwise it ain’t worth shit. Might as well be Nashville.Don’t worry. Bleu is hunting his own redemption. When he finds it, it won’t be in a bottle of whiskey or a pack of smokes. He’s made of good stuff. He has dabbled with things that have damaged him. I hear this in his voice, in his songs. You do too, and that’s what scares you.Have you heard Resurrection? Now there’s a song.Visit His WebsiteClick to view the original article. ——————–About the Author - Don Henry Ford, Jr.When Don’s not writing books he lends out his talent to Americana Roots to put together great articles like this. If you’ve enjoyed what you read, then pick up Don’s latest book Contrabando: Confessions of a Drug Smuggling Cowboy at your local bookstore or online at Cinco Puntos Press. Photograph taken by Adam Rethlake of TimeLine Photographic.

Tags: Bleu Edmondson, Features

Bleu Edmondson - Embracing The Life

The challenge is recognizing his abilities without glorifying the lifestyle (or for that matter condemning him-he without sin, throw the first stone).Bleu Edmondson caught my ear a few years ago with Travelin’ Man, one of those songs I heard on the radio and found myself wanting to hear again. I bought Southland on the strength of that song and was delighted to learn that the rest of the CD delivered, big time. I returned to the music store and bought The Band Plays On. It also proved a top-notch effort. So I caught one of his wild live shows. Three for three. The boy can play.Most of Bleu’s music has a high-energy southern rock sound-perhaps a red dirt version of Lynyrd Skynyrd. But I’ve also seen him play an acoustical set and he delivers there as well. A mediocre singer may get by when the volume of the music is played high enough-it’s when he or she is left with nothing but a stringed instrument and a naked voice that weaknesses appear. If I have any criticism, it’s that Bleu doesn’t do enough of this.Bleu oozes talent. His songs display an almost maniacal dose of intelligence in the vein of a young John Belushi, Jim Morrison, or maybe Johnny Cash. Like many young Texas rednecks, he’s a hard partying type. Probably spent nights as a youngster cruising through a Dallas suburb, racing his car, fighting, fornicating, and trying to figure out how to buy more beer. My guess is that he was damn good at the drinking and the smoking, pretty good at the fighting, but average when it came to fornicating. He’s a stout built type. He ain’t exactly pretty.For whatever reason, a stroke of insanity drove him to enter college at Texas A&M. While there, he became a musician. In his defense, Robert Earl Keen and Lyle Lovett made similar mistakes.In spite of these character defects, I hear a trace of reason, regret and maturity in Bleu’s songs, a voice of one that not only loves and recognizes the high the party brings, but also acknowledges the depths of the hangover this activity creates. I suspect he’s had his share of hard knocks. I suspect he has more in store. Comes with the territory.The combination of racing hormones and an almost suicidal drive to impress and bed members of the opposite sex, especially when it’s so hard to limit yourself to one (leastways for guys like Bleu-lots of Brokeback types in the world nowadays-others don’t fight quite the battle he does), can leave a person bloodied, bruised, beat down and searching for relief in another equally risky encounter or a bottle of booze, smoke, and perhaps even a handful of pills or a small windrow of poisonous powder. Then you’re liable to do something downright dangerous. Bills don’t get paid, the boss fires you, the girl friend finds another; frustration and anger build. You know you need to get well, but you get sicker instead. Offset all this with the near lethal combination of a good heart and a conscience.The drugs help for a while, then you wake up. Nothing has changed. Maybe things have gotten worse. So you do more drinking and doping and fornicating (or even worse, wanting sex and having none) to forget all this. You run out of money. They don’t give the stuff away for free. The day comes when you find yourself sitting in a parking lot with a Finger on the Trigger. That one’s from Bleu’s latest live album. Bleu, don’t pull that trigger. I feel your pain brother. Loud and clear. Lloyd Maines produced Bleu’s first two efforts. Lloyd isn’t good; he’s great. He has probably done more than any one man alive to make Americana music what it is today. I’d list highlights of the two studio albums, but it’s not necessary. They’re all good. On Southland, there’s an extra song not listed on the credits that is magnificent, an old blues collaboration these two put forth with bottleneck licks that would make Robert Johnson jealous. Doesn’t even list a name for it.Bleu’s live album has sound quality issues, but contains songs you won’t find elsewhere and for that reason is also worth owning. So far, he hasn’t been able to press the CDs fast enough to keep up with demand. I hear there’s another CD in the works and from what I’ve heard of his new material, I fully expect it to be nothing less than great.If you find yourself in the mood to get down on some hard driving southern rock with a Texas twist, pick up a set of earplugs and go watch the controlled explosion Bleu Edmondson puts on in a live show. (If you forget the earplugs don’t count on hearing anything else for a day or so.) The CD’s are easier on the ears and the lungs than the live show. All three are well worth the time and your money.Bleu is one of Texas’ best young acts. Let’s hope and pray he hangs around for a while. **Don has posted a follow-up to this article. Click here to read it.Visit His Website ——————– About the Author - Don Henry Ford, Jr. When Don’s not writing books he lends out his talent to Americana Roots to put together great articles like this. If you’ve enjoyed what you read, then pick up Don’s latest book Contrabando: Confessions of a Drug Smuggling Cowboy at your local bookstore or online at Cinco Puntos Press. Photograph taken by Adam Rethlake of TimeLine Photographic.  

Tags: Bleu Edmondson, Features