Black Diamond Heavies

Watching B.B. King glide through one of his pin-prick solos a couple years back, a friend said, "You can just tell how soft his hands are." King suffered once, then pounded hurt into art. The only thing suffering lately, though, is his music, which — like too much of today's commercial blues — comes forth as smooth and clean as the long silk hanky tugged from a magician's fist. God knows if the Black Diamond Heavies, the Nashville junk-blues trio with one member residing in KC, has suffered, but we're sure of this: Anyone who hasn't dug into the band's righteous racket has. With a sound that's blues-rooted but steeped in Stooges sludge, the Heavies' cranky, cranked-up sets burn black as tire fires. Stylistically, BDH is often lumped in with R.L. Burnside and Tom Waits. That's a fine place to start, but the comparison misses the band's joy and boogie. Instead, think Exile on Main Streetrecorded in Howlin' Wolf's casket. Nothing smooth or clean here. Just eight-bar skronk in bad need of a tetanus shot.