Charlie Poole was a sot, a holy hell-raiser, a smart-mouthed terror of a banjo player with huge, open ears. His recording career lasted just over five years, from his 1925 megahit "Don't Let Your Deal Go Down Blues" to 1930 sides that sold only to cultists; a year later, he drank himself to death. Having wrecked his picking hand by catching a baseball bare-handed, Poole wasn't a great technical player, and he didn't write songs. But he could identify a great song buried under orchestral gunk and insufferable minstrel accents on a 20-year-old record, yank it spine-first out of its setting, slash the fat out of its lyrics, and translate it into a slurry, cocky snarl for the North Carolina Ramblers, his trio with guitar and fiddle. Even when he's garbling words or barely keeping up (as with his version of the temperance song "Good-Bye Booze," which he drawls through a 100-proof fog), Poole's records swing, crisply and bluntly. They're not fancy, but they get to the point. And if you played banjo after him, you were either a post–Poole banjoist or a relic; the organizing principle of this roughly half–Poole three-disc anthology is that he gave country music a good hard shove toward where it... More >>>