By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
By Drew Ailes
By Courtney Harrell
By Kyra Scrimgeour
Dealing with misplaced priorities was a problem as well, Ness continues. "It seemed like they always delivered the first single, but they could never deliver a second. That's because Celine Dion had a record coming out right when it was time to push our second single, and when radio was a little finicky about it, they'd say, 'Okay, that's the end of that. Let's focus on Celine.'"
Social Distortion began the Time Bomb era with 1998's Live at the Roxy, a balls-out salvo that allowed fans to purchase incendiary versions of its best stuff without giving any of their money to Epic. But instead of following up this recapitulation with a band-centered studio outing, Ness opted for a solo recording that would goad aficionados into seeing him in a fresh light. "When I had made the decision to do Cheating at Solitaire, and even before most of the songs were written, I knew I wanted to show people other sides of myself. I love Social Distortion and I love what we do, but I also think it can be very one-dimensional--and I have this affection for other styles of music that I didn't really feel I could bring to Social D for whatever reason, whether it be stigma or stereotype. This was a chance to venture off into things that have affected my life just as much as punk music has.
"I've always felt that I could only go so far, and then it wouldn't be Social D anymore," he says. "Whereas this meant that there were no limits or boundaries or restrictions--and since I don't like to be restricted, that was great. Maybe it's a self-imposed thing; I mean, there isn't a punk-rock board of directors telling me what I can and can't do. But this gave me the freedom to do whatever I wanted. If I could accomplish one thing with this record, it would be for people to acknowledge that I'm not only Mike Ness, frontman and lead singer of an Orange County punk band called Social Distortion, but that I'm also Mike Ness, American singer-songwriter."
Solitaire should manage to do just that. "The Devil in Miss Jones" starts off the proceedings with a keening pedal-steel guitar, a "Ghost Riders in the Sky"-style melody, a chicken-picking solo and dust-bowl noir lyrics ("I'll take you when you're young/And leave you when you're old"). That's followed by the chugging cow-punk of "Rest of Our Lives," the title cut's sincere balladry, the Tom Waits-like blues showcase "No Man's Friend," and "If You Leave Before Me," a song built on the steady flutter of a mandolin. And as if such accoutrements weren't unexpected enough, the CD includes contributions from a handful of guest stars whose presence may raise the eyebrows (not to mention the ire) of punk purists. Chief among them are the horn players from the neo-swing Royal Crown Revue, rockabilly cat turned swingin' daddy Brian Setzer, and Bruce Springsteen. But such cameos are not as incongruous as they might initially seem. The Revue brass section honks righteously on "Crime Don't Pay," which also features some of Setzer's most energetic six-stringing, and Ness and Springsteen sound like long-lost brothers on the roaring duet "Misery Loves Company."
"Every player who played on the record was picked because we knew they were going to bring something to my music, and everyone did," Ness points out. "It was amazing to see them come, not only because they didn't charge me to do it, but because they wanted to be a part of it. I knew that Bruce Springsteen was a Social Distortion fan, and I figured that if he loved Social D, he'd really love this, because it was much more in his vein--and I was right. After I sent him the song and the lyrics, he called me back and said, 'Yeah, this is fucking great.' And it was the same thing with Brian Setzer. The song was in his genre, and to have him come in and make his Gretsch squeal like a cat in a radiator was just so inspiring."
Ness doesn't get nearly as much of a charge out of the punk music being pushed by the majors, particularly the stuff topping charts for the Offspring. "I know those guys, and they're really nice guys," he says. "But most of that stuff is just 'Weird' Al Yankovic with electric guitars. I'm from the old school: I think that Johnny Thunders and the Dead Boys and the Ramones were ahead of their time. They were innovators whose music was heartfelt, not cute. But here's a fact that will never change: Radio and big corporate record companies will peddle shit all year long, and it's been that way since the beginning. Once in a while, a good act comes out of that, but not many--and I've just had to accept that."
Of course, what Ness is doing right now
doesn't have much to do with punk rock, either. But in his mind, it's truer to the spirit of punk than most of what passes for it these days. "And do you know why?" he asks. "Because it was taking a risk. That's what bands like Devo did. They had tomatoes and beer bottles thrown at them for the first ten years of being on stage, and I have a lot more respect for a band like that than I do for one that has a power-pop song with a catchy hook that sells a million records out of the gate and becomes a marketing phenomenon. Guys like the Offspring can sing songs for little kids, and that's cool, but I sing songs that make people maybe look a little bit beneath the surface and think. At least I hope I do." This attitude is part and parcel of Ness's current music, and he figures that it will infuse future Social Distortion efforts as well. "This record has definitely been a learning experience and a growing experience. When I made White Light, I felt like we were entering a new level, and after making this one, I know it's still developing."