"Thank you Jesus for the Kirkwood brothers. Sewn Together is one of the top five best albums I’ve heard so far this year and more importantly, it is yet another step in The Meat Puppets’ journey of greatness." - THE TRIPWIRE
"Sewn Together, which is a wonderfully satisfying work. Somehow, it all does get sewn together in a mix of styles that's both head-spinning and earthily rocking." - LA WEEKLY
"Sewn Together is reminiscent of the glory days of the Meat Puppets." - FILTER
" 3 1/2 Stars... The interplay of Curt's drowsy vocals and freaky guitar can still induce vertiginous spells -- witness the dreamy yet insistent "Blanket of Weeds" -- while the snappy "Love Mountain" reveals the clever pop craftsman behind his woozy persona." - SPIN
"Sewn Together's songs demonstrate that the once purveyors of grunge are still adept songwriters." - AOL SPINNER
"The number of ingredients found in a Meat Puppets record is impressive, but the way the band blends those pieces is what's truly astonishing. At its best, Arizona's Meat Puppets makes you think there are no boundaries between punk, country, and pop. The appropriately named "Sewn Together" finds Curt Kirkwood and his brother Cris Kirkwood crafting mongrel music as fine as anything in the band's catalog." - BOSTON GLOBE
Everyone from Nirvana to Pavement to Stone Temple Pilots cite Meat Puppets as one of the most significant American bands.
The highly influential Meat Puppets started as a punk rock band, but established their own unique style, blending punk with country and psychedelic rock. Meat Puppets later gained significant exposure when the Kirkwood brothers served as guest musicians on Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged performance in 1993. The band’s subsequent album Too High to Die went gold, selling over 500,000 albums, and became their most successful release. The band reunited in 2006.
Recorded at The Saltmine in Phoenix, Arizona in winter 2009, the album features the Kirkwood brothers, Cris and Curt, with drummer Ted Marcus.
Sewn Together OUT NOW on Megaforce Records
Lyrics and Music: Curt KirkwoodProduced by: Curt Kirkwood
The first capital of a society, now mostly dead. The last capital of a society, now mostly dying. In its heart, a cemetery, where Hank Williams lies buried and, on its margins, a road where Wilson Pickett learned to walk. At 644 Washington Avenue stands a house, from which Jefferson Davis sang of old virtues and preached an old ugliness. Two blocks away, stands a church, from which the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. sang anew those old virtues, shouted down that old ugliness. A congregation, tired and desperate and yearning. John Smith and Elliott McPherson, relocated and born, respectively, 1976. Elliott sits Indian-style in front of a record player, fawning over his daddy’s Elvis Presley 45’s. John stealthily revels in contraband KISS records. They are unknown to one another.
Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Named for the Black Warrior. His river—now, literally, almost—black, crawls beyond a steel mill and a boat full of bearded men, towards the mounds which his fathers built and, in which, they were buried. There is a football team here, and it has a University. John Smith and Elliott McPherson, enrolled, 1988 and 1994, respectively. Years filled with countless enraptured nights at punk rock shows, innumerable art classes, one National Championship. Jeb Smith, brother to John, co-inhabitant to Elliott McPherson at 109 Crestwood. Brother John returns to 109 Crestwood. A rock and roll band will be his fatted calf. Dexateens’ first rehearsal, 1998, 109 Crestwood. Personnel includes Matt Patton (born, at a specific time, in Curry, Alabama, where he danced to devil-music Otis Redding, through the kitchen, with his mama). Bars and houses become late-at-night congregations, desperate and yearning. Amplifiers blow up. Guitars are held together with duct tape. Sonic sanctity.
Diaspora
Matt Patton, exodus to Birmingham, 1999. Elliott, married, 2000. One sweet wife, two good boys, myriad sacred duties: a pickle. Four years, hem and haw. Why don’t you settle down? And, a revelation, a yearning, a blessing. The Dexateens, The Dexateens, 2004. In Texas, Tim Kerr, rebel yells, old pappy’s going down. Oh boy, we’re moving now. John moves to Ohio, 2004. Long drives south. Elliott remains. Keep it rolling. 2005: Tim Kerr rolls tape on Red Dust Rising. A drawling harmony. Boots stomp, guitars shake and bass snakes around. I was lost. I was found. Take me home.
