Damn The Rent: the grind, giddyup, and glory of The Dig 3. 2022’s self-titled debut—ranked #3 Best Blues Album of that year by MOJO—got the wrecking ball swinging. The hourlong time warp—pooling power from the three perfectly crusty old-souls of Andrew Duncanson (vocals, guitar), Ronnie Shellist (harmonica) and Gerry Hundt (anything and everything right down to foot drums), whose credentials trace through the likes of Kilborn Alley and Nick Moss’ Flip Tops—blasted open a passageway to let the thrillingly wild spirit of Chicago’s blue past roar into the present. The Dig 3 were here in no uncertain terms. Deal with it. Damn The Rent now takes over from there. Duncanson still grabs you by the collar with every lyric he barks out atop heavyset, do-as-I-say grooves muscling you where to go while dictating at what speed to do it. (The immolating “Dip My Toe,” for instance, gets you huffing). And what you hear was cut live in the studio, without any doctoring, in, essentially, one day. Pure raw blues, the way Nature intended. The 12 originals fan out. A thick John Lee Hooker throb sets “Big Water” to sloshing back and forth, its deep swells strafed by the album’s ever-tough harp. “Gold Tooth” sails on the breezes coming off Hundt’s blue mandolin getting fanned à la Maxwell Street kingpin Johnny Young. “Old Dog” airdrops the trio onto a 1930s street corner, with hokum-style kazoo buzzing away above their six tapping feet. “All the Love That I Got” branches into bona fide soul territory, right down to its bended-knee confession and the kind of meaty bounce that Percy, Otis or Marvin could never muster. Nor can you sit out “Coconut Curry Dance” and “Blanco Boogaloo” due to their wicked hip-shake. “Southern Fantasy” even circles back from The Dig 3 as a bonus, shockingly reborn as Halsted Street disco-funk, showcasing what’s possible with The Dig 3 BIG, a special, expanded edition of the band. Just perfect Damn The Rent, bless the brawn, and pass the bottle. - Dennis Rozanski