Arts Entertainment and
A song that’s happy and sad After years of struggles with addiction, Christopher Denny is back with his first album in seven years. By David Ramsey
M
ore than 10 years ago, I was at a house party in Little Rock. Don’t recall quite where it was, or who was throwing the party, or who I was with. But there’s one thing I remember, and will never forget. I was wandering around outside in the yard and thought I heard an old record I wasn’t familiar with. For just a moment I thought it was Bessie Smith, but no, the sound was too crisp. I just couldn’t place it one way or the other — man or woman, black or white, country or gospel. I walked toward what I thought were the speakers and it wasn’t a record at all: There was Christopher Denny, no more than 20 years old at the time, sitting in a lawn chair, playing guitar and wailing out songs. Who was this? It’s too obvious to say the kid sounded like he was from another time. Hell, he sounded like he was from another planet. Denny, a North Little Rock native, gets compared to all sorts of things: Roy Orbison most commonly; Bob Dylan is also sort of a fit; Jeff Buckley (Denny was a big fan growing up); a little bit of Jimmie Dale Gilmore’s high lonesome trill; plus gospel, blues, old-time country, soul. National Public Radio called his voice “an androgynous, time-jumping instrument.” But the thing about Chris Denny is 22
August 7, 2014
ARKANSAS TIMES
ONE OF A KIND: Chris Denny has come back after nearly wrecking his life.
that he sounds like nothing so much as Chris Denny, an American one-of-akind. His voice is a singular instrument: a cinematic warble that veers between sorrow and joy, between Sunday morning and Saturday night. Years later, I saw Denny play again, this time in New Orleans, in 2008. He was the drunkest person I’ve ever seen perform. Maybe just the drunkest person I’ve ever seen. “I was out of my wild, fucking mind,” Denny said, remembering the show now. He strolled through the bar, veering between flirting with women and cussing at men. Later, he threw wine glasses against the wall until he was asked to leave. His performance was beautiful at times — there were still those moments when songs seemed to
leap out of the crackle and hiss of an old 78. But he was too much of a mess to sustain the magic. Denny and his then-band, the Old Soles, were the opening act, and when the bar manager began signaling that their time was up, Denny refused to leave the stage. There was shouting back and forth. He began jam-band noodling on his guitar in protest, an endless and unwanted encore. His bandmates, one by one, walked off the stage. Shortly thereafter, they walked away from playing with Denny for good. “That was close to the end,” Denny said. Over the years, there have been more than a few fans that worried that this would be the story of Denny — an undeniable talent and a train-wreck life. So it was welcome news last May
when Partisan Records announced the coming release of “If the Roses Don’t Kill Us,” the first new album from Denny in seven years. Denny is clean and sober and playing music again. “I got a song that’s happy and sad,” he bellows to open the new album. After all these years, unmistakably him. *** Denny grew up poor in North Little Rock, a self-described “Levy rat,” and bounced around more elementary schools than he could count. When he was 12, his uncle and aunt adopted him, giving him a more stable home life. “I was upset and disappointed in my mom when I was that age,” he said, “but she made the best decision that she’s Continued on page 36