natural outlaw – HampoLand

Free Stuff From Hampoland

So, I spent the weekend in Nashville with my son Jack, his little brother, Sandor and the guys in Jack’s band, Natural Outlaw.

We tore that town up but by far, the highlight of the four day excursion was a show, Saturday night. Natural Outlaw played and once again, I was absolutely astonished. Their music is almost a throw back to Lynard Skynard/Marshal Tucker days. It’s guitar driven sleazy greasy Southern rock with smart lyrics.

It’s the kind of music that makes guy do shots and drunk girls get drunker then dance in a pack in front of the stage.

The boys know exactly what they are doing on stage but they don’t have a clue as to how the music business works. Still…folks show up when they play so they must be doing something right.

Everyone tells me they need a music manager. Apparently I can’t buy one so I’m asking you for help and I’m also giving stuff away.

Write to me at hampoland@gmail.com and I’ll send you an ep with three songs and a bunch of books of Natural Outlaw matches. Pretty handy, right?

The first song on the EP is Miss Nessa about an adventure with a horny 55 year old cage fighter lady who tried to pick Ryan and Jack up in a dive bar. It’s a true store.

The second song gives me goose bump. “Make You Proud” is the only sweet love song Jack has ever written. It’s beautiful and he only drops the F Bomb once.

Track three is a gritty southern anthem that needs to be played in a massive stadium. It’s the song that reminds me so much of Skynard and makes me roll my windows up so I can crank it and sing really really loud. I can’t believe my son wrote it.

So Hampoland readers, from East Texas to new England, if you want this prize package let me know and I’ll fix you up. If you like it and want to help me find a music manager or record company or producer….well then I’ll love you forever and give you more matches.

A Fountain Lake Song with Tattoos and Explosives

Jack wrote this Fountain Lake, Arkansas/ Fourth of July/ Love Song when he was in Turkey a couple of years ago. I thought all you Cobra kids would appreciate the story

Tattoos and Fireworks

by Jack Hampo

Well, I woke up this morning with sunglasses on and I don’t remember writin’ this song

and I’ve been laying in this bed too long, can’t quite picking up my old bong.

And I think it’s because I’m afraid of you and what you might do, when you see my new tattoo.

Last night is a haze and I think I know why I got this empty bottle laying by my side and a bunch of texts about

a double wide and no accomplices in sight.

And I think I broke into a fireworks stand before I got this tattoo on my hand.

So I’m going down town try and figure it out but Highway five is blocked gotta find another route.

I hope this isn’t what i think it’s about. There’s a trailer in the road with it’s guts blown out.

And I think this tattoo ain’t all that bad, I blew up your house and that’s why you’ll be mad.

And I’d apologize if you’d ever pick up your phone .

Sorry I blew up your mobile home.

He said, “I Want To Buy Some Pot”…… The Real Nashville

There was a knock on the door. I was alone, in my son’s cool little house in a semi-sleazy Nashville neighborhood. It was after mid-night and someone was knocking on the door. Should I answer? What if it was a burglar Do burglars knock? The house was full of guitars, speakers, amps and keyboards. The knocking continued.

Peeking out the kitchen window, I studied the strangely preppy looking boy with George Michael hair and a Polo jacket. He stared at the door and knocked again. I was pretty sure I could take him, so I opened the door, wearing a pair of silky pjs with chickens and roosters all over them and a New Orleans Saints jersey.

“Is George here?”

“No, there at band practice. I’m Simon’s mom.”

“I know, I can tell. You’re just like him. I need some pot. Where’s George?” He wanted me to let him in but that wasn’t going to happen.

“They’re at practice. Do you want me to call?”

“Yeah, please. I really need some pot. I’m really jacked up.”

I was stunned. Was the kid an idiot? Who asks a middle age mom in chicken pajamas for pot? Closing the door, I called my son and was surprised when he actually answered. “There’s a guy here who wants George and some pot.”

“What? Who is it?” Simon asked obviously confused and instantly annoyed.

“Who are you?” I yelled at the door.

“Tell George it’s Jake.”

Simon heard our exchange. “Oh my God, what the hell is the matter with him? Tell him we’re at Studio D.. I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m gonna kick his ass. What an idiot.” He hung up before I could say anything else.

“Jake, they are at Studio D. But I’m not sure you should interrupt practice. they have a show tomorrow night.”

“I know where that is. Cool. Goodnight.” He wandered up the street where a girl was waiting in the car for him.

After closing and locking the door I snuggled back into the blankets on the sagging couch.

The next morning I woke up around nine. There were two guys and a girl on the other couches. I could identify their various limbs by the exposed tattoos. One arm had an Arkansas Razorback, that was Simon’s. There was a foot with a lovely floral display, that would be Jessica’s. And there was a hairy shoulder with a pirate ship and jolly roger. I had no idea who that was. All the bodies were wearing most of the clothes they had on the night before.

Stepping over guitars, a tray of pot and pipes and play station controllers, I slipped into the kitchen and made coffee.

That was my first night in Nashville with my son and a bunch of brilliant musicians. Seriously, I’m stunned at how good their band, Natural Outlaw, is and how ridiculously talented and bizarre each individual band members is.

I’ve seen the new series Nashville. Maybe it’s an accurate depiction of life for some bands, singers and songwriters. But it seems very shiny and plastic compared to my weekend with various band and musicians in Music City. And a lot less interesting. If the characters on Nashville were a bowl of soup, they’d be canned chicken noodle and saltine crackers. The members of Natural Outlaw are more like whiskey infused gumbo with a pan of cornbread.

I’ll let you know what happened on day two of my visit pretty soon. It was something.