T.K. Webb's Ungodly Hours

T.K. Webb, the young man from Lawrence who's slowly making a name for himself in New York City performing blues out of a suitcase (it's also his percussion section), is a lot like his portrait on the album cover?brooding. What's he thinking about as that Native American imagery dances behind his long, untamed hair? One gets the feeling Webb is not going to tell you until he's figured out how to say it just right, and it would seem from the usually distant, intent look on his face that it may be a while.

Not to say he is without manners. When we spotted each other at a recent Mercury Lounge show I was unfazed to see him smile, and then wink playfully as he made his way across the room. I was surprised, however, that this strong, silent type stopped in front of me and, in a club filled to capacity, somehow found room to nervously kick his heel into the bit of floor between us.

"So I hear you've got an album coming out?" I offer cautiously, though I had never heard him play and Webb had never told me he is a musician.

His head lifts, brown eyes dart back and forth cagily and all at once a fist is thrust up within an inch of my face, gripping a plastic bag full of CDs.

"Wanna buy one?" he asks earnestly, shaking the contents.

"Uh..."

I watch him maneuver back through the crowd again until he's met by another familiar face. The woman gives him an enthusiastic hello. Webb, having worked up his resolve, doesn't even wait for the setup.

"Wanna buy one of my CDs?"

She giggles uncomfortably. "Uh..."

In short, Webb is an interesting, endearing local character. Happily, his music is no different.

Jack White may wear a "Blind Willie McTell" t-shirt (which he very endearingly made), but his more obvious musical influences are the Stones and Led Zeppelin. Webb, on the other hand, is the kind of act Jimmy and Mick would take a limo up to Harlem to catch at a small club?real blues. Alanis Morissette could learn a thing or two about literary devices here ("Under Rug Swept"), from the ironic song title "Everything I Own Is Broken" to short 'n' sweet metaphors like "you're wearin' me thin." The Ungodly Hours vacillates between nodding its head knowingly?"I'm high as a kite, woman/And you know how that goes"?and pleasantly disarming "deep thoughts" like "Next girl says you gonna get old you gonna die/so you might as well kick it with me tonight/You know I got the feelin' right behind my eyes/she wouldn't mind seeing me in a chalk outline." And again, this is the blues, which requires remembering those times you'd rather forget: your family all died (but not before they spent your inheritance on coke and hookers and other questionable means of companionship). You finally just went ahead and left high school as they felt graduation was out of the question, and you're currently staring at a dirty white wall in a bare room trying to work up the courage to face your boss at the fast-food place to ask for more hours so you can keep possibly the most depressing apartment in a track-housing suburb that you, like a stray dog, have yet to realize you might as well leave. Eighteen and life to go, baby. Or as Webb would say, "Everybody has a tiny fire in 'em/Yeah everybody's tiny fire burns out/You know it's times like these/make me wonder why not here, why not now?"

Webb's sound goes from stripped down to (what one would think is) a full band. The harmonica on "Haunt This House" truly is haunting, and when he officially opens up the guitar on track eight you're unexpectedly reaching around for your seatbelt and wondering if this is as good as, or maybe even better than, "Baby Please Don't Go." (Don't worry, you may just be very high.)

Complaints: The liner notes are a study in that annoying it's-cool-not-to-be-able-to-draw fad. Actually, they're just messy and hard to read. We know this is not corporate by the music inside, and we know that someone called Jeffery Alan Davis really can draw by the wonderful cover art. And somebody needed to stop the last song, "Sweet Redemption," about three and a half minutes before it does. But that's what a producer is for, and this was a low-budget operation, which otherwise works in the project's favor.

The Ungodly Hours has already scored the coveted "employee pick" at Other Music, dude, and Webb is emerging as a musician's musician (you can find most of those hip Williamsburg rockers catching his oddly booked sets at places like Niagara when they're offstage themselves). That's probably because, like musician's musicians Roy Orbison and Neil Young, Webb's got a real unique voice...but, you know, you just gotta hear it.