Sometimes you come across a band at just the right time. Something in their sound connects with what you’re already listening to, and even though they provide something different, it seems so right to your ears, so perfectly matched to you and to the moment, that a deep, instant, connection is made. That totally was not my experience with the Long Ryders.

In 1984, when I was first aware of them, I was still listening to a lot of melodic and progressive rock acts (Barclay James Harvest, Supertramp, Genesis) as well as more mainstream rock acts. Despite a fondness for old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll, I hadn’t yet cultivated the appreciation of country that might have prepared me for the Long Ryders. At the time, they were being lumped together with a clutch of breaking American bands, such as Green on Red or Jason and the Scorchers. If I’m honest, I can’t even remember most of them now, but I do remember preferring the Georgia Satellites’ harder sounding Battleship Chains to whichever Long Ryders tracks came across my radar back then. I wasn’t ready for a band who drew on 60s country rock and psychedelia, on the likes of newly electrified Dylan, on Buffalo Springfield and the Byrds, fused with the intensity that came from the cleansing fire of punk. It was my loss.

I never really listened to the Long Ryders again until I was deep into the writing of Dead Man Singing. I knew of guitarist and singer Sid Griffin from his sporadic but hugely enjoyable contributions to the Radcliffe and Maconie show on 6 Music, and I even read one of his books (Million Dollar Bash, his account of Dylan and the Band recording the Basement Tapes). While researching my book, I decided to check them out again, and they were a revelation. I Immediately realised two things: first of all, Dave Masters would love them -  their first album, Native Sons (1984) ticked all of his boxes (although I wasn’t sure that he would have come across them, hence their absence from his record collection). The second realisation was that I was in complete agreement with Dave; Native Sons was a fantastic record by a fantastic band.

The opening track, Final Wild Son, is a perfect introduction to the group: simple drum pattern, minimal yet still driving and urgent, followed by a jangling guitar riff. Then a propulsive baseline kicks in as the track consistently gathers momentum. Sid Griffin’s distinctive vocals vie with guitarist Stephen McCarthy in an unmistakably country-rock sound, though the edgy post-punk swagger in Griffin’s voice anchors it firmly in the 80s (albeit a version of the 80s where synthesisers and drum machines never even got a foothold in their war against steel strings and ‘real’ instruments). Griffin’s attitude shines through in that opening number, and while his voice may not be that of a virtuoso, he has the indefinable quality of making you want to listen, to hear more.

The rest of the album is just as good, with Griffin and McCarthy trading lead vocals throughout, simultaneously paying homage to a wealth of American music forms while also bringing them completely up to date. They were inventing alt-country years before the term was ever coined, and sadly I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t ready for them back then. Quite literally, the Long Ryders were a band ten years before their time, although who knows whether the subsequent Americana movement of the 90s would have even taken place without their influence – a host of leading lights from that crowd have eagerly proclaimed the importance of the Long Ryders in their own formative years.

The songs variously jangle, float, or rock hard, with each track providing something new. There are songs supposedly inspired by Jerry Lee Lewis (Final Wild Son), a racehorse (Run Dusty Run) and wry memories of picky ex-girlfriends (Never Got To Meet the Mum). The band’s roots are honoured by the appearance of Byrd legend Gene Clark adding harmony vocals on Ivory Tower, as well as the delicious choice of an obscure Flying Burrito Brothers song, (Sweet) Mental Revenge, with the attention-grabbing opening line, ‘Well I hope that the man you got yourself with gets drunk and loses his job’. It's another of those albums where each track feels like a departure from the one before, yet each fits perfectly into the whole. I can’t believe it took me nearly 40 years to discover the magic of Native Sons for myself, but I’m glad I got there in the end. Some things are worth waiting for.

And, as a postscript, the Long Ryders are on tour of the UK in 2026, and just this week I secured tickets for their Southampton show next October. It’s a long time away but having waited 40 years to discover them, one more year won’t hurt. Bring it on.