Words: Scott Harrell 

Photo: Matt Kloskowski

It's pretty obvious that the funky little bungalow on the south side of funky little Dunedin is home to a musician. There's an acoustic-guitar mosaic laid into the floor of the front porch. There's a practice PA set up in the room between the kitchen and the back porch. The cat's name is Fender, for Christ's sake.

But you don't need to visit Memphis Train Union frontman Dave Korman's house to know that for him, classic guitar music is a lifelong passion. It's in every taste-over-flash lead, every bent note, every weary verse and resonant chorus of his band's new album, Out On The Road. The CD is a love letter to tried-and-true blues, rock and Americana archetypes, a collection of songs by a guy who's spent as many hours just listening to the gritty and the great as he has strumming and writing his own stuff.

“Yeah, I've got a big CD collection,” deadpans Korman with a smile.

Longtime local scenesters who remember Korman as the frontman for the moodier (and often considerably heavier) act Leonard Croon Band might be surprised to hear two-year-old Memphis Train Union's more traditional, less trendy sound. That twang and whiskey-fired introspection was always in the mix, however; Korman just took a while to find the most satisfying combination of sounds.

“I always wanted to play stuff like this,” he says. “One of the songs on the album, 'Convenience Store,' I've been playing since I was in my first band.”

Korman credits bassist Jason Angelo and drummer Mike Warmath – “just the best group of guys” – with helping to define the MTU style. Both are versatile players with experience outside the usual local-scene rock genres, able to make things as subtle or as snappy as they need to.

“I've been really focusing on doing things upbeat, using the rhythm section as the backbone,” Korman says. “We're actually utilizing those instruments as we're playing.”

That knack for interplay is evident on Out On The Road. Songs that in less intuitive hands might run together into a forgettable glut of white-boy blues instead stretch and flow; the melancholy of “Love Is Hard” stands apart from the anthemic stagger of “Drunk in New Orleans” and the ragged, smiling “Under This Moonlite.” The record is by turns a shuffling blues downer, an alt-country rave-up, an electrified folk singalong.

And that's the way Korman, who could care less about such labels, has always wanted it.

“I don't know,” he says. “I just always called it rock and roll.”

myspace.com/memphistrainunion