This disc was the third and final installment of the Agriculture Club's original run - they took some time off and reconstituted in recent years. Their cowpunk is in fine form on this disc - the guitars are Ramones-y, there's a high-tempo two-step beat propelling things along, and the songs are super fun. We'd call them a schtick band if they weren't so good. [img width=603px]//7ca49eb9f67ba1319ef136f9d52cd8b8.cdn.bubble.io/f1775927817849x342547892280057540/richtext_content.jpeg[/img] [h2]Urine the big city now [/h2] [h3]Agriculture Club's valiant homecoming [/h3] MARY-LYNN WARDLE In many ways, The Rubber Duck, singer-songwriter in Calgary band Agriculture Club, was just like so many other country kids when he left the safety of his daddy's farmhouse for the bright lights of the big city and possible fame as a guitar player in a cool indie band. But he hadn't imagined that when those bright lights found him, they'd be flashing red and blue. It probably wasn't until the police officer pulled out the flashlight to inspect the marquee announcing a spiffy housing estate, searching for remnants of public urination, that Duck realized he was a long way from home. But still, the son of a Didsbury barley farmer could easily connect the dots between his days of listening to Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings on the tractor, to leaving behind the farm and country music in favour of metal, to wandering drunkenly in Nanaimo, "because that's what musicians do sometimes, usually after a show." The incident was one of many memorable moments for the musician. "It was the middle of the night, (we were) walking around wasted, and there was this wall at Cameron Estates housing district. Cameron was the former first name of (bassist) Gordon Leadfoot, so we thought it would be funny if we took a picture of him pretending to pee over this name. "So he unbuckled his belt, and he's standing there pretending to pee, and all of a sudden there's these lights flashing and this cop yells out 'OK, which one of you is going to jail?' We had to explain that it's his first name and they had to walk up and see that there was no urine there — there actually had been no public urination," Duck recalls fondly. After releasing three CDs giving audiences the best of both worlds including last year's acclaimed The Horse Always Gets It First, Duck can reflect on his band's success, which they've enjoyed everywhere in Canada except in their adopted city. Duck points out that there aren't many bands who can open for Corb Lund one month then DOA the next. "We're straddling this line. It keeps us out of more places than it lets us in. 'You're too heavy to put with the roots shows, you're too country to put with the punk shows," he explains. "Grow some balls and let us worry about it. I love this town and a lot of people have done a lot of nice things for us, but it's been a tough town to crack." Agriculture Club was formed as an antidote to bands like Culture Club, much despised by Duck, when he was forced to listen to'80s retro music against his will while working in Fort McMurray. "I said "What the world needs is a band called Agriculture Club - old country songs, played through our hard rock amps really fast." They learned punk versions of "Boy Named Sue" and "Elvira," and quicker than a bull can cover a cow, they were in demand. "I was in another band, a serious indie rock band all designed to be played on campus. People kept calling to book (Agriculture Club), not my serious band." Duck and guitarist Waylon Nelson are the two original members left. Last fall, drummer Billy Ray Virus replaced Luther Chickengravy. In their eight years together, Agriculture Club has earned a lot of crazy drunken memories but only one bad review. It came from a national magazine that compared Agriculture Club to another band, saying one was a joke and one wasn't. "We're not telling a joke. I grew up on a farm, and when I sing about a tractor, it's real," Duck says. "Our stories are all about people, but we just put them in a rural setting." Aside from feigned public urination, Duck's other highlights from the band's eight year stint include e-mail he gets from "some kid in Missouri or Georgia," who loves the band. He also is proud to be distributed by Joe Keithly of DOA's Sudden Death label. And while it would be nice to be invited to gig around town a little more often, Duck, a new daddy, has one other plan on his mind. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a journalist, learn to play guitar, be in a big city band, meet hot city chicks. It took me 20 years of urban life and now, I can't wait to get the hell back to the country."
