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 Street recorded in Howlin' Wolf's casket. Nothing smooth or clean here. Just eight-bar skronk in bad need of a tetanus shot.
