“Oh last night in a rock n roll bar,” sings Gwyn Ashton. You’d imagine most of his stories start like this. Certainly Grease Bucket does. It kicks off with “Something That The Dragged In,” three minutes of primal blues from a lifer.
If you follow Ashton on socials, you’ll know that’s exactly what he is: a road dog. A man who, despite railing against the “industry,” couldn’t live without the music. This music. His bucket.
“Howlin’ At The Moon” adds a touch of soul, though the guitar solo is pure blues brilliance. Just assume they all are, to save me typing it out each time, yeah?
There’s a menace to “Evil Child,” with Hammond organ parping away to heighten the sense of something lurking in the shadows. “Green Light Blues” is anchored by mighty drums as she leaves him—it’s a tale as old as time, but it crunches hard here.
The slide guitar on the superb “When The Well Runs Dry” is as filthy as anything on a Left Lane Cruiser record. But Ashton knows how to have fun too: “Little Bit Of Crazy” explores the many sides of a woman, while the thick groove of “Somebody” is sturdy enough to stand a spoon in.
“Self-Isolation Blues” is a mighty shuffle that drags us back five years, and “Down And Dirty” is primal, dripping with lust—the backing vocals giving it a real flourish.
And if the blues as a whole feels like catharsis, then “Blues For The Tortured Soul” sounds like something Ashton just had to say.
If you’re going to call your album Grease Bucket, it had better sound like this. Like three-day-old KFC—messy, greasy, but way more tasty.
Rating: 8.5/10
