MOJO - October, 1999 "What's Happening in Americana"
Sylvie Simmons
MASON AVALANCHE

FUNNY WORLD. Spent most of my life in blissful ignorance of Ray Mason. Suddenly, like buses, two albums with his name on show up at once - one of them, curiously, a tribute album. It's Heartbreak That Sells (Tar Hut) brings together 18 diverse Massachuserts bands - alt-country, pop, punk - most of whom I've never heard of though there are severel Scud Mountain Boys in the credits. Best finds: Eric Ambel on the title track, fine female vocalist Cheri Knight on weepy country ballad "Down In The Night" and whimsical popsters Irrelevant Underground. Mason's own "Castanets" -- his fourth album - has strong sorigwriting and a voice that on title title track recalls Levon Helm.

The Boston Phoenix - April, 1999

The Cult of Ray - A Tribute For Northampton's Mason, Cellars by Starlight -- by Brett Milano

When it comes time to write his life story, Ray Mason's going to have an easy time summing it all up. "I was born. I started playing in the mid '60s. I'll keep playing until I die. That's it. Kind of a simple life. I'm going to go until I drop, and I'll go down face-forward, hitting one of those big twangy chords."

Mason isn't just a rock-and-roll lifer but a man who truly lives for the stuff. He's equally obsessive as a fan and player. "My back room is just full of records, and I listen to music all the time. I still have 45s that I've been playing since 1959. When I go to sleep at night I think of about 40 or 50 albums that I'd like to hear. Then I wake up and listen to something else." Like many local players, he started by distributing homemade demo tapes and evolved to a position of indie-label cultdom. The only difference is that Mason, who turns 49 this year, started distributing those tapes back in 1982. And his indie career -- which includes '60s roots in Holyoke-based garage bands and a stint as bass player with fusionaire Michael Gregory -- now covers three decades.

"He was an indie-rocker before that phrase was coined," notes Pete Weiss, the local artist/producer who's one of 18 contributors to the new Ray Mason tribute album, It's Heartbreak That Sells (Tar Hut). The tribute coincides with the release of Mason's new band album, Castanets (on his own Wormco label). "I grew up in Holyoke," Weiss explains, "so I've known him since I was a kid -- I always looked up to him as the guy that could really do it. And I liked his persistence. Not that Ray's that old, but he's a few years older than me. So when I was 15, I just admired him for sticking to it and staying true to his craft." It's Heartache That Sells proves that Mason's regard goes well beyond western Massachusetts.

Although many of its contributors hail from that area (Steve Westfield and Cheri Knight are the biggest names), there are also some familiar names from Boston (Charlie Chesterman, Incredible Casuals) and beyond. New York alterna-country honcho Eric Ambel leads off the disc with the title track, which comes out sounding like a John Doe ballad. And one of Mason's best-known tunes, "Missyouville," is handled by his sometime touring partners, Ohio roots-rock oddballs the Ass Ponys.

"We played a few shows with his band and really admired him," Ass Ponys frontman Chuck Cleaver acknowledges from his home in Bethel, Ohio. "They're fuck-ups and we're fuck-ups, so we got along. I suppose we're kindred spirits because we both play crummy, falling-apart guitars -- not because it's hip to like Silvertones now, we just love to play the damn things. Not to sound hoky, but he's a down-to-earth guy and that's excellent. Plus he's a good songwriter, and that's an oddity these days. I think his stuff is classic and well written. We'd actually been doing `Missyouville' before this album came up. And we're both big record collectors. On tour he'd always bring up some obscure thing and I'd say, `Yeah, I got that.' And everyone else would be saying, `What a couple of freaks.' Plus, he's an old guy and so are we. So what's not to like?"

Mason himself seems a little embarrassed by the attention. For him, getting the tribute album was like being thrown a surprise party -- you can tell your friends are up to something, but you're not sure what. "I wasn't supposed to know it was happening, but even my wife was in on it. And people leaked it to me -- I'd hear things like, `Someone just recorded one of your songs -- was it for that tribute thing?' Sure, it's a flattering thing that all these people wanted to do my songs. They could have said no. And who knows, maybe some people did. I like hearing the different approaches on the album -- the King Radio song is almost Cars-ish. And Eric Ambel's track sounds like Chris Whitley to me. I think my own version sounds wimpy by comparison."

Given the time Mason's put in, it seems silly to conclude he's finally coming into his own, but Castanets suggests that's indeed the case. Its songwriting surpasses what's on the tribute album. In the past Mason's been so much a music fan that even his best songs sounded like rewrites of something else. But here he's got a more distinctive voice. It helps that he currently has a hot band including a couple of former Scud Mountain Boys, whose countryish sound suits his voice better than the pure pop of old.

"Over the years I've been considered power-pop or rootsy-rock, and they've both been true. But I always call the band a rock-and-roll band. The perfect example for me would be NRBQ, the kind of swing they have. They put the roll with the rock for sure." And they share Mason's veteran status. "I've been in for the long haul since the '60s. I never went to college, I just got out of high school in 1968 and went on tour with a band, the Buck Rogers Movement. I can remember playing six nights a week in Rock Island, Illinois, six sets a night, 9 p.m. to 3 a.m." So it's surprising that Mason didn't wind up in a bigger music town, even a nearby one like Boston, to further his career. "I lived in Boston for about a year once, but otherwise I never saw the reason. I have some good friends here, and I don't know if moving would have done me much good anyway."

So he's content to be a big fish in a small pond? "Yeah, but I'm not a big fish. I'm just a guy who plays music."


Headin' for a Heartbreak
Gary Carra

Ray Mason isn't dead. He just checks his pulse a little more than he used to. Well what would you do if someone made a tribute CD for you?

"It's a beautiful gesture," Mason says of It's Heartbreak That Sells, an 18-song ode to all things Mason, released on Tar Hut Records. "I'm getting old. But really, there's a lot of great bands on there and they did a wide variety of tunes -- and I am really honored. Most people don't get these 'til they're dead. Then again, maybe I am dead and I just don't know it yet."

If Mason were to travel to that great "Missyouville" in the sky, he could take comfort in knowing that his contemporaries have taken good care of his babies. Or at least as much comfort as one can get knowing that the likes of Architectural Metaphor, Steve Westfield, Angry Johnny and the Killbillies and the Bamboo Steamers are tending to your loved ones.

Truth is, whether they apply personal imprints or play it close to the vest, all the Heartbreakkids can't miss when armed with Mason's uncanny knack for catchy composition.

And while The Ass Ponys score a highlight with their lilting "Missyouville" (or maybe I just like saying Ass Ponys?), Dunce and the team of Jim Armenti and Pan Morrigan must take home the over-achiever award for unearthing two chestnuts -- "From You to Me" and "Mr. Albert" -- from Mason's four-track days in the early '80s.

"I'm not sure how it all came about," admits Tar Hut founder Jeff Copetas, "A guy named Hal Benoit did all the legwork. When we found out about it, we put it all together."

What the origins of the tribute CD lack in substance, the circumstances surrounding the official CD release party more than compensate for.

Boston Herald, Friday, May 14, 1999
Larry Katz
A Big to-do for who? Rocker Mason may be the least famous tribute subject ever

The tribute craze continues. CDs have arrived or are on the way honoring the deceased (Graham Parsons and Jimi Hendrix), the defunct (the Clash, Abba, the Pixies) and the influential (Madonna, Alice Cooper, Eric Clapton).

None of which explains the existence of "It's Heartbreak That Sells - A Tribute to Ray Mason," a recent release from Tar Hut Records.

"People around the country are seeing it and going `Who is this guy?'' Mason says, laughing. "You get a tribute album when you're old or you're dead. I checked my pulse this morning, so it must be because I'm old.''

Mason, 48, is a Massachusetts rock journeyman who has toiled in relative obscurity for more than 30 years. His circle of influence doesn't extend much beyond the Northampton area where he's a mainstay of the local music scene.

Not surprisingly, most of the performers on "It's Heartbreak That Sells" also hail from Massachusetts, among them Cheri Knight, Steve Westfield, the Incredible Casuals, Pete Weiss and Charlie Chesterman. But the Mason tribute also includes a couple of admirers of national renown: Ass Ponys and Eric "Roscoe" Ambel. All are united in their affection for Mason's rootsy, utterly unpretentious pop/rock.

"There's a real warmth to what he does," Incredible Casuals bass player Chandler Travis says.

If you're guessing that the tribute CD is a way for all-around nice guy Mason's friends to acknowledge his dedication to music, you wouldn't be wrong. The idea for the album came from fellow musician Hal Benoit, who began assembling the CD in secret as a surprise for Mason. But as one delay led to another, Mason learned of the project several years before its completion.

"It's Heartbreak That Sells'' is more than just an affectionate gesture. As with every other tribute CD, it's a signpost pointing to the work of the honoree, in this case a local artist deserving much wider recognition. With the simultaneous release of Mason's own beguiling "Castanets'' on Northampton-based Wormco, he just may get it. Mason's CD may at times summon visions of the Band's Levon Helm fronting NRBQ, but this collection of 13 three-minute pop/rock gems has a whimsical charm all its own.

"I got written up in Billboard a couple of weeks ago,'' Mason says. "So I guess sending out `Castanets' six days after the tribute CD worked strategically.'' Was its release timed to the release of the tribute? "It was strictly an accident,'' Mason says. "I'm not a marketing plan kind of guy. I've been doing my own publicity for years working from my kitchen table. I've mailed out thousands of things.

"I've been playing with different bands since the '60s, but I first formed my own band in '82. We did six albums worth of cassettes from '82 to '87. Now I've just put out my fourth CD. We only pressed 1,000 copies of `Castanets,' but the way things are looking, we might do another pressing.''

Let others chase rock star dreams. Mason is happy to have a solid band (drummer Frank Marsh, ex-Scud Mountain Boys Stephen Desaulniers on bass and Tom Shea on guitar), a steady string of gigs (including dates tomorrow at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge and May 28 and the Linwood Grill in Boston) and a side job playing bass with the Lonesome Brothers. He doesn't even mind having to work a day job to make ends meet.

"It's better than when I had three jobs,'' he says cheerfully. "I work part time as a courier now. But I used to work as a security guard and janitor, too. I had to drop that. After a night of playing music and getting home at 3 in the morning, it was brutal getting up to push a mop at 6:30 a.m.''

Mason developed his passion for music as a kid growing up in Holyoke. "We lived in a housing project,'' he recalls, "and there was a little department store up at the corner, W.T. Grant's. A woman named Shirl ran the record section and every week I'd come in and buy 45s. The Everly Brothers, Sam Cooke, Duane Eddy. Then the Beatles came out and soon I was buying albums. I just stayed in my room listening. In this house we rent now, me and my wife have a back room with 8,000 singles in it and I don't know how many albums. Sometimes late at night I'll just pull out 10 or 15 albums and read the back covers like a book.''

The same year the Beatles arrived in America, Mason got his first guitar. "The day I graduated eighth grade, my grandmother bought me a Silvertone guitar from Sears for $69.95,'' Mason says. "The picture on the cover of `Castanets' was taken by my mom the day I got it.''

Mason continues to play Sears' never-in-fashion Silvertones to this day, though not the same one he got in eighth grade. "It's become my trademark,'' he says. "I thought I might get a better guitar someday, but that Silvertone just sounds so good to me.''

"Castanets,'' which was recorded in a friend's apartment in Northampton, is proof you don't need fancy guitars or equipment to make good music. And in our acquisitive age when too much is never enough, Mason seems to have found contentment simply by making good music.

But surely he must yearn for stardom, riches or, at the least, a major label record deal? "Well, when I go to shows and see somebody's bus outside,'' Mason allows, "I wonder what it would be like to drive around with a bus and actual driver instead of being crammed in a van, sweating and stinking, all squashed together. When you get older, the thought of sleeping on somebody's floor isn't quite as thrilling as it was when you were 20.

"So, sure, if somebody came along and wanted to do something with the music and the band, something that would push it up to another level, that would be fine. But is that right person out there? I'm not looking for them, so they'll have to find me. Who knows? Maybe with this tribute CD, they will.''

Worcester Phoenix, March, 1999
David Ritchie
More Mr. Nice Guy - Ray Mason is everyone's favorite musician

Unfortunately, when someone is described as a musician's musician, it turns out to be something of a euphemism: an exceptional artist whose credentials are unmatched but whose effect on the public is nothing compared to his effect on other musicians. He's the guy whose presence is so powerfully felt by the music community that you wonder why you don't hear more about him. After he's dead, someone puts out a tribute album, Evan Dando or Eric Clapton professes his adoration, and presto! Recognition. Too late.

The Northampton music community decided to jump the gun. Over the course of several years, Ray Mason's songs were recorded in secret by a variety of bands who'd always loved his music. The objective was to surprise him with a tribute album, their homage to the man considered the elder-statesman of the Pioneer Valley music community. The CD, It's Heartbreak That Sells, will be released April 10 on Tar Hut Records and distributed by Steve Earle's E-Squared label, which could plant it squarely on the national Americana charts.

Mason (alive and quite well at 48 years old) is, to say the least, flattered. But, of course he jokes about the eventuality when shoppers spot a CD subtitled A Tribute to Ray Mason: "Wow, what happened to him . . . I knew the guy was gettin' old."

In truth, Mason hasn't slowed an iota. March 22 sees the release of Castanets, a new CD that features some of the best songs of his career. His side-project, the Lonesome Brothers, also has a completed album awaiting mastering. His hundred-odd performances each year are the most rockin' affairs for which any attendee could hope. But, as befits a musician's musician, attendance during his last show in Worcester wouldn't have filled many music halls. People don't know him here yet. But if the tribute is successful, all that will change.

Ray Mason was born in Holyoke in 1950, and he spent his first twenty years there. He was living in a housing project right next to the Sears store where he would constantly look at the guitars. Finally, his grandmother presented him his first Silvertone for 8th grade graduation. That was 1964. By '65 he'd started his first band, but he'd still never seen a live show. In '66, too young to get in, he huddled in the pitch-black alley behind a bar called the Beachcomber trying to hear snatches of Barry & the Remains. "We were waiting for them to open the back door, and the sound would just kind of shoot out." He actually got close enough to the Rockin' Ramrods once to pick up some fashion tips. "Not only did these guys sound great, they smelled great. They all reeked of English Leather. We all had to go out and get English Leather. I'm sure if I ever cracked open a bottle it would take me right back."

Today, it's Ray Mason who the fresh-faced kids strain to hear through club doors in Northampton, and he's always ready to help them out. Frank Pattalaro, of the King Radio, calls him one of the most generous guys he's ever met.

"Any band that comes along that's any good in Northampton, they'll always get a gig when they're first starting out opening up for Ray," Pattalaro says. "He has nothing but praise for anybody who's trying to play original music around here."

As 18 bands and 50 some-odd musicians will tell you, he's just about the nicest guy anyone's ever encountered. His knowledge of music is immense. His demeanor is so pleasant, you can't believe he ever drove a car in this state. And as one of the album's participants sums it up, "he just generally gives off a great vibe."

But it's the songs that set Mason apart. He's a terrific songwriter, what you might call a craftsman. Charlie Chesterman (formerly of Scruffy the Cat) sees a quality in Mason's songs that is simply absent in others'. "I think as a songwriter I'm kinda hot-shit, but there's something about what Ray does that seems really carefully thought out and just really genuine. Ray's got something going on that most other people never even get around to touching."

One of Chesterman's favorite songs on Mason's newest CD, "You'll Never Catch Me Out of Her Mind," is a song about getting dumped, with the following cocky line: "Seems the old tried-and-true had let me down for the first time/Still, I bet you'll never catch me out of her mind."

"That's one of the ones that kills me, some of the lines in that song," Chesterman says, confessing he's actually a little jealous of what Mason accomplishes. "It really seems like he's just not screwing around. And maybe he's not saying anything super important, but it's still very genuine. He's GOOD."

He's also prolific. He's one of the two songwriters in the Lonesome Brothers, whose 1997 debut was on Tar Hut. He's appeared on several compilations, and he was recently asked to play bass on a track for Cliff Eberhardt's new CD, Borders (Red House Records). And Castanets is the Ray Mason Band's second CD on Northampton's Wormco records, his fourth CD of original compositions since 1995.

The band have filled out to a four-piece these days with the addition of Tom Shea on guitar (former Scud Mountain Boys drummer and mandolinist), with Frank Marsh on drums, Stephen Desaulniers on bass, and Mason on vocals and his characteristic Silvertone guitar. Shea's contribution, the great organ work of Jim Weeks, and the use of 16-track tape (as opposed to 8- used on 1998's Old Souls Day) make Castanets the fullest sounding and perhaps the best recording of Mason's career.

It's jam-packed with hooky pop songs that invariably revolve around a short chorus that etch its way into your consciousness. "Mailbox Blue," for instance, came about while Mason was sitting at his kitchen table looking out the window. "I'm surrounded by woods, basically, but the mailbox is down at the end of the road and it, for some reason, popped into my head, `A mailbox being checked six times a week for something interesting.' I think that was the first line that I thought of in the song and I wrote it down on a pad . . . it's all based around that one line."

The CD's title track, which has already been added to playlists at Greenfield station WRSI, is another song that came out of one line: "The ice is breakin' under my feet/Just like castanets." Mason had it in the notebook for two months. "I just kept lookin' at it goin', `Ah yeah, yeah, that line, that's a song right there for sure, but when's it gonna happen?' And then all of a sudden the rest of the words just come out, y'know? You sit at the table with a guitar one day and then boom, the whole thing's done in like 30 minutes."

So that's how he does it, I guess. No mystery, he's just damned good.

Paddelaro calls Mason one of the best songwriters he's ever heard. "Ray is unstoppable. . . . He doesn't even see obstacles as obstacles. He's a constant reminder that the process is the reward. And the songs stand alone." King Radio do a version of Mason's "Step Back Melody" on the tribute. Eric Ambel's solo performance of "It's Heartbreak That Sells" anchors the CD. In characteristic fashion, Mason gives all the credit to Ambel. "When I heard his version, I went, `Wow, that's the way it should go.'"

Other highlights include Cheri Knight (and other former members of the Blood Oranges, with Rani Arbow of Salamander Crossing) doing a beautiful rendition of "Down in the Night," Ass Ponys faithful to the original "Missyouville," and Claudia Malibu's haunting version of "Light." It's a pretty consistent tribute, a testament to the quality of the material.

Angry Johnny and the Killbillies play a characteristically raucous version of Mason's song, "All I Want Is a Little Revenge." When I asked him about the tribute album, even Angry softened a little: "Who wouldn't wanna be on Ray's tribute album, y'know?" That pretty much summed it up, but he racked his brain for a memorable line for this story. "He's a rat-bastard -- umm, I don't know. I don't want to say the standard thing, I think he's a great guy."

All of the musicians we spoke with echoed the same sentiments: Ray Mason is the most optimistic, good-hearted, and genuine person you could imagine. And they all love his songs. Frank Marsh, drummer for the Bamboo Steamers and the Ray Mason Band, says that Mason's music isn't that hard to explain, whether you call it roots rock or rock and roll. "It's a combination of everything, and it's from years of him listening to records since he was a kid in the '50s. . . . He just absorbs it all, y'know? And his music encompasses everything, from the Everlys to the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Neil Young, NRBQ. The list goes on."

Mason considers it a great compliment when people hear their favorite artists in his music. Bob Dylan comes up several times in conversation. "`Like a Rolling Stone', I remember the first time I heard that on the radio. . . . I think he's probably influenced more people than anybody else."

Dylan might've influenced his songwriting, but you don't hear it much in his performance style -- that's all Ray Mason. His vocals are infectious and immediately recognizable, having more in common with Rick Danko of the Band or Neil Young. Both artists are big influences on Mason, but it makes you wonder whether it's one of those chicken-or-the-egg issues: did he seek out people who sang the way he liked to sing, or did he develop his style after hearing all those records throughout his life? Whatever, Mason is very free with his praise of other artists.

"Danko's voice is just incredible, I've opened for him before when he played solo, and he's just amazing to listen to, the voice is just right there," Mason says. "He strains to hit those notes, and that's part of the sound, like he's really reaching for 'em. . . . It's just almost not making it, but it just does make it. And that's a big influence on me, that kind of stuff. And Neil Young obviously, Randy Newman, all those people." He rattles off a list of albums: Rubber Soul, Pet Sounds, and others from the '60s. "You've been luggin' these records around for 30 years and they still knock you out. I can't imagine how many times I've heard those albums. You know exactly what's comin' next. . . . It's kinda like a friend, you're really kinda used to it in a good way. You never get tired of hearing it. That's definitely a test of timelessness there."

Mason's songs have that quality as well.

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