Tunes I Learned From My Uncle Cleve: A Raw, Toe-Tapping Masterpiece That’ll Knock Your Boots Off
Ray "Pick" Johnson ain’t messin’ around with Tunes I Learned From My Uncle Cleve. This sucker dives headfirst into the heart of folk and bluegrass, spittin’ out tunes so authentic you can practically smell the sawdust on the barn floor. Released under Graphic Recording (props to engineer Dick Brown for keepin’ it crisp), this album’s got guts—and a little help from Anne Tate on guitar, who rips it up like nobody’s business.
Now, let’s get real here. There are 12 tracks on this bad boy, but two of ‘em hit me square in the chest and didn’t let go: “Hell Up Mud Creek” and “Cowboy Waltz.”
“Hell Up Mud Creek” kicks things off like a mule buckin’ in a thunderstorm. It’s fast, dirty, and raw as hell—just how bluegrass should be. The fiddle squeals like it’s been possessed by some backwoods spirit, while the banjo rolls faster than your grandma’s gossip at a church picnic. You don’t just listen to this track; you feel it. By the time it ends, you’re either drenched in sweat or ready to grab an axe and chop wood. No lie.
Then there’s “Cowboy Waltz,” which is the polar opposite but equally unforgettable. This one slows things down, letting the melody stretch out like a lazy Sunday afternoon. The guitar work by Anne Tate? Pure magic. She doesn’t overplay it—she lets each note breathe, creating something that feels both intimate and vast, like staring at the stars from the bed of a pickup truck. If this song doesn’t make you wanna slow dance with someone you love—or at least hug yourself—it’s probably ‘cause you’re dead inside.
The rest of the album keeps the fire burnin’, too. Tracks like “Sugar In The Gourd” and “Cotton-Eyed Joe” show off Ray’s knack for storytelling through sound, while cuts like “Fishers Hornpipe” prove he knows how to throw down when it’s time to cut loose. But honestly? Every damn track has its own charm, even if they all kinda blur together after a few listens. That’s not a knock, though—that’s bluegrass for ya. Repetition breeds familiarity, and familiarity breeds comfort.
But here’s the kicker: What makes Tunes I Learned From My Uncle Cleve stand out isn’t just the music—it’s the vibe. Listening to this record feels less like spinning vinyl and more like sitting cross-legged on a creaky porch somewhere deep in the U.S. of A., sipping lemonade and shootin’ the breeze with folks who’ve lived life hard and loved harder. It’s imperfect, unpolished, and absolutely perfect because of it.
So yeah, Ray “Pick” Johnson might not be reinventing the wheel here, but who cares? Sometimes you don’t need innovation—you just need honesty. And holy crap, does this album deliver on that front. Final thought? If Uncle Cleve taught Ray these tunes, then Uncle Cleve must’ve been one helluva dude. Rest his soul.
