To me, Brian Whelan will always be the Kid. When he first
materialized several years ago at the Cinema Bar, that
charmingly crowded, noisy little room in Culver City known
as “The World’s Smallest Honky Tonk,” he was an
alarmingly boyish presence. At first he stood out because he
didn’t look old enough to legally consume the beer he was
holding. But he soon distinguished himself as a young lion
behind the roots-rock sages – Randy Weeks, Mike Stinson,
Tony Gilkyson – whose shows packed out the tiny joint. It
became quickly apparent that Brian could play just about
anything, and brilliantly; his formidable chops later found
him a primo spot in Dwight Yoakam’s band. But he
displayed other musical dimensions: He also played in a
tough little pop-rock band, known variously as the
Brokedown and the Broken West, which recorded a couple
of fine records before lamentably breaking up too soon. He
fronted another rockin’ unit, Wheelhouse, as a prelude for
the album you’re listening to now. It shows off splendidly
the many things – singing, playing, writing -- that Brian does
so exquisitely well. And it cuts across the broad swatch of
stylistic turf that he occupies effortlessly, from the rootsy
inventions of Gilkyson’s “Mojave High” and Stinson’s
“Brand New Love Song” to a group of originals (two of
them co-authored by Broken West cohort Ross Flournoy)
that to my ears bear favorable comparison to the best of Nick
Lowe or the Plimsouls.
Yeah, he’s still the Kid to me. But Brian Whelan’s work is
thoroughly mature and emotionally wise, and many another
grown-up musician will envy its excellence.
Chris Morris
Los Angles, California
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