The Naked Trucker And T-Bones Release Debut CD and DVD, 'Live at the Troubadour,' on Feb. 13
Whenever The Naked Trucker and T-Bones cruise into Los Angeles, they stop off at clubs to spin out their demented tales of life on the road. Backed by The Dickaround Gang, a fine trio that includes Thomas "T.C." Chan on lead electric guitar, J.P. Fitting on bass and drummer Andy Paley, their music is as unique as their unfettered banter and their tunes pinwheel from country to rap to R&B and back again. "Where’s My Beer" is a drunken, stomping honky tonk rave up, with a memorable chorus that soon has the whole club singing along; "You Don’t Know Jack S$@#" sounds like Bob Wills after a long night of Romilar and tequila, while their cover of Snoop Dogg’s "Gin and Juice" veers off in a completely unexpected direction. Their between tune banter is an intellectual free for all with the darkly comic aura of a midnight side show. The Naked Trucker and T-Bones will disturb anyone that wants things put into neat categories, but those with open minds will hear the unvarnished, though gently soaked in Wild Turkey, truth. The Naked Trucker and T-Bones reveal something essential about the way we live today, as they wander through an American Dream of postmen and porn stars, cream pies and carnies, a place where they feel free to smoke a bowl while they’re smoking a Virginia ham
The Naked Trucker is a long-haul driver in search of ultimate freedom. He’s nude at the wheel, or on stage, simply because he can be. Fueled by cold beer and hot coffee, he’s a voice of reason preaching the Gospel of "Live and Let Live" in a world dominated by the "Us Against Them" mentality. He’s always ready to drive that extra mile for truth, justice and his own anarchic, idiosyncratic American way. It’s hard to say if he’s in fact naked, since his nether parts are always hidden behind his guitar or a dashboard, but he’s naked in the sense that his mind is wide open to the shrieking beatnik saxophone cry that can shiver cities down to their foundation and rattle the windows of middle America with a laughing howl of unfettered independence. He’s also a damn fine picker and a baritone singer who can attack a lyric with an insouciant Johnny Paycheck meets Jack Kerouac flair.
Gerald "T-Bones" Tibbons is a slightly bewildered bodhisattva with a bad comb over and his own kind of wicked wit. Armed with a bottle of sweet wine and a ball-peen hammer, he’s as pedantic as he is didactic, living life with extreme immediacy, always looking for an angle, often finding the hardest way to make an easy buck. T-Bones is as smart as a whip and not afraid to use one. Imbued with a self-serving entrepreneurial American spirit, he would just as soon con a corn dog from a carnie as he would stow-away on a space shuttle shot. His manic vocals, prickly stage presence and slightly warped lyrical talents contribute to the success of tunes like "Two Dollars and a Hand Job" and the unexpectedly poignant "My Daddy is an Astronaut."
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