Few 90s rock bands could work an audience into a frenzy like Chicago’s Jesus Lizard. The quartet’s sinister, Zeppelin-esque stomp routinely turned crowds into writhing mobs, body slamming and stage diving with little concern for their own–or anyone else’s–physical well-being. Duane Denison, the band’s lanky guitarist, had grown tired of such antics during the band’s final days, and he’d also become painfully aware of the increasing age gap between his audience and himself–he’s 42. “It’s really unappealing to see a middle-aged man playing for a bunch of kids,” he told me in 1997. So when the band broke up in late 1998 after a ten-year run, Denison went looking for a playing situation that didn’t involve dodging flying bodies.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
He found one in Nashville, playing lead guitar with Hank Williams III for almost two years. But the position came with other hazards, including offending audience members who expected traditional country, not the heavy-metal-tinged stuff Williams began playing during the latter part of Denison’s tenure. “We did this show in Lubbock and we almost got killed,” he says. “After the show the promoter and about 20 of his friends surrounded our tour bus, and they wanted blood. He yelled, ‘You play that shit in my club, you ran my customers out, what the hell! If your granddaddy was here he’d give you a licking, and I’m fixin’ to.’ They were belly bumping and it was about to go off, so [bassist] Jason [Brown] pulls out his cell phone and calls the bus driver. He comes steaming in with a pistol sticking out of his pants–it was just like the old west–and he says, ‘Anybody touches my bus and my boys they’re going to have to deal with me,’ and he has his shirt open so they can see the pistol. It was awesome.”
To top it off, he’d joined a band rife with veteran Nashville pickers. The only country music experience Denison had under his belt was a recording session with Sally Timms, and he suddenly found himself surrounded by guys who could churn out honky-tonk solos in their sleep. “In Nashville there are tons of great guitar players and many of them are unemployed, so these guys were all wondering, why’s this guy playing with us? I think there was a certain amount of resentment at first, but I just kept at it, and when we weren’t on the road I practiced. And gradually I became more comfortable with it.” He pauses. “A little bit of whiskey helps, too.”
