Review by Jenn
Rayburn Anthony’s Hold Me: A Raw, Rockabilly Punch to the Gut
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—Rayburn Anthony wasn’t screwing around when he dropped Hold Me in ’77. This album is a no-bullshit rockabilly banger that slaps harder than most of the polished crap coming out today. Released under Polydor in the US, it’s got that raw edge you only find in records from dudes who lived and breathed this stuff. No studio magic here, just pure grit.
First off, the title track “Hold Me” hits like a freight train. It’s not trying to be clever or overproduced—it’s straight-up rock ‘n’ roll with a greasy swagger that sticks to your ribs. The guitar riffs are sharp enough to cut glass, and Rayburn’s voice? Dude sounds like he gargled gravel and whiskey before stepping into the booth. You don’t forget a track like this because it doesn’t ask for permission—it demands your attention. Every time I hear it, I’m ready to grab my leather jacket and hit the open road, even if I’m just sitting on my couch.
Then there’s another killer cut—I won’t name it (you’ll have to dig for yourself), but damn, it’s got this sneaky groove that crawls under your skin. The bassline alone could make your grandma want to shake her hips. There’s something about how Rayburn layers his vocals over the twangy guitars—it’s messy, chaotic, and absolutely magnetic. Like, yeah, maybe they didn’t nail every note perfectly, but that’s what makes it real. This ain’t some soulless pop record; it’s alive, man. Alive.
Now, sure, Hold Me isn’t gonna appeal to everyone. If you’re looking for glossy production or trendy hooks, keep walking. But if you’ve got a taste for rockabilly that bites back, this album will slap you upside the head and leave you grinning. Honestly, listening to it feels like finding an old pair of jeans you forgot you owned—they might be a little worn-out, but damn, do they fit just right.
Here’s the kicker: as much as people talk about the classics from the ‘50s and ‘60s, albums like Hold Me remind us that rockabilly didn’t die—it evolved. And Rayburn Anthony? He wasn’t just riding the wave; he was making waves. So next time someone says rockabilly’s dead, shove this record in their face. Oh, and crank the volume while you’re at it. Trust me, they’ll thank you later. Or hate you. Either way, mission accomplished.
