the Urban Artist Group presents...

One of the more standout presences in the obscure music world today is the Montreal-based one-man band Bloodshot Bill. When it comes to this rockabilly wild man, it is pretty safe to say that he is an exception to what many have come to expect from modern one-man bands. That is to say, Bloodshot Bill has departed somewhat from the primitive rock'n'roll, blues trash, and garage sounds that have been so heavily attached to the subculture in recent years. Instead, his songs embody a certain nostalgia, carrying within their notes and chords and words and beats a sound that many can easily associate with the record player era, with old 45's, big greasy hairdos, black-and-white films, soda shops, pinup girls, smoky barrooms with Wurlitzer jukeboxes, pop art, hollow-body electric guitars, beat-up Converse sneakers hanging by their laces from telephone wires, and a great many other things.

He sways to the rhythm. He shakes his head back and forth, side to side, while his dark locks, combed to perfection only moments before, come loose and hang over his brow and eyes in long greasy strands. He frantically strums and picks the strings of his guitar. He trembles and stomps to the beat. He wails unrestrainedly into the microphone, serving up his peculiar vocal acrobatics, going through a series of grunts, growls, snarls, hiccups, yodels, measured breaths, and a number of other sounds born of his mouth and throat that go entirely against and far beyond ordinary singing.

It's a frenzied rebel sound that Bloodshot Bill owns, the guitar occupying the middle ground between clear channel and dirty settings, the drum and hi-hat work steady, and the deep, raspy, hiccupy vocals more than a little reminiscent of the late, great Charlie Feathers. His sound represents rockabilly as it should be, as it used to be, only with his own twist applied to it. To be sure, it is greasy-haired, comb-in-the-back-pocket, cigarette-behind-the-ear, cuffed pant legs, plaid-shirted, foot-stompin', hip-shakin', finger-snappin', tattoo-sportin', needle-to-the-vinyl music for both the one-man band and rockabilly sets alike.

When I first approached Bloodshot Bill to be part of my One-Man Band Series, he quickly agreed to do it. Not long after that I received a package from Canada's Transistor 66 Records containing a Bloodshot Bill bio and a copy of his latest album, "Git High Tonight!" From the first echoey notes and unusual vocal bits of the first song, "Shick Shack," I could clearly tell that I was in for a different sort of listening experience. And once I had heard the last chord of the last song, "Oh Honey Doll Baby Doll," I knew for certain that it had indeed been a different sort of listening experience, the kind that could have only come from Bloodshot Bill himself, by himself. "Git High Tonight!" was not my first exposure to Bloodshot Bill. I first heard him on a compilation by Rock N Roll Purgatory titled "Attack of the One-Man Bands." After that, I heard his 2006 release on Flying Saucer Records, "Trashy Greasy Rockin' Billy!" That album is home to such songs as "Ring the Bell," "I'll Know," and "Hangin' Me Tonight." Trashabilly was one of the words used to describe that particular album, and I for one think it a fair enough term. After all, the songs do exude a noticeable combination of trash and rockabilly, though definitely more of the latter than the former.

In a world where the human majority seems hell-bent on progression, on cutting edge development and ultramodern concepts, it is inexpressibly nice when one such as myself comes across something a bit more real and meaningful, something less corrupt and artificial, something that harkens back to a decidedly simpler and more innocent time. And for me, Bloodshot Bill's songs offer that. Of course, the time I am referring to, when the marriage of hillbilly and rock'n'roll was more commonly known as rockabilly, was well before my own, lamentably, as I was born too late for such things. That in no way curbs my interest and enthusiasm, though. And I often find myself as hungry for it as if I had lived during that particular period. Besides, there are a select handful of artists these days, like Bloodshot Bill, as few as they are, who do a bang-up job of keeping the spirit of that music and era alive and well.

When I listen to Bloodshot Bill's music, I can clearly see in my mind's eye the late Hasil Adkins tipping a can of beer to salute him from that great trailer park in eternity. I can see Feathers giving him a cool, silent nod of approval. I can see Elvis pointing at him as if to say, "Nice tunes, Bill. Keep it up." In the distance, Johnny Cash offers a slow wave of his pale hand in recognition of Bloodshot's contributions to a fading era of rock'n'roll. There are more, many more, like Carl Perkins and Link Wray, and on and on and on, who applaud him from the polished planks of the stage at world's end, all knowing that with such artists as Bloodshot Bill the spotlights will continue to burn bright and the curtain will never close on rock'n'roll as they knew it in their day.

Just last week I had both the opportunity and pleasure of interviewing Bloodshot Bill. The interview went as follows...

First, as my interviews typically go, I would like to begin with an introduction to the artist. Who is Bloodshot Bill, not just as a musician and singer/songwriter but also as an individual, as a human being of this mad world in which we live?

I'm a pretty easy-goin' guy. When I come home from traveling, I like to go record shopping, hang with friends, be alone, write/record new songs...nothing crazy crazy out of the ordinary.

Your sound really takes me back to the old school feel of rock'n'roll...to the early rockabilly days, truth be told. What influenced you to embrace that type of sound? Or was it just a natural occurrence when you started writing and playing your own songs?

I've loved this stuff since I was real young. So, I just want to write and play stuff that I would listen to...and that's what I do.

What's all this about you not being able to return to the United States by law for at least another year and some odd months?

Well, the short version is that I got stopped crossing into the States with no work permit, and they banned me from entering for five years. Could've been worse.

At present, the one-man band movement seems to be in high gear, gaining momentum, with great artists such as yourself, of course, as well as Reverend Beat-Man, Dead Elvis, Bud McMuffin, Sheriff Perkins, King Automatic, Phillip Roebuck, Bob Log III, Pete Yorko, and Mosquito Bandito, among others. It seems like a very geographically selective phenomenon, however, with a much more prevalent one-man band scene in Europe than here in the States. Why do you think that is? And what has been your experience with it?

I think Europe just kind of embraces things to the tenth degree. Being a solo act is easy in the way that you're free to make all the decisions, just pick up and go when you want. My only beef is when promoters try to set up "Battle of the One-Man Bands" gigs. I think it's kind of cheesy to do that. Same deal with girl bands. ("Oh, there're girls in this band? Let's have a night of all-girl bands," etc...). Like it's a lame novelty or something. I don't think people should be paid attention to just because they're a one-man band, a girl band, or whatever. If they're good, they're good, and that's what should count.

What are some of your more wild and memorable tour moments, if you don't mind me asking?

So many! One time I played in a bar and there was a dead body in the wall (they didn't find it till months later)...and an after party that turned into one big naked dance party, which was great (especially since the girl/guy ratio was 85 to 15). Really, so much strange stuff has happened that it doesn't even seem that strange anymore...and my memory sucks... Oh, but Charlie Feathers' kids coming out to see me in Memphis was very memorable for me!

You seem to be involved in quite a few other endeavors right now in addition to your one-man band project. Can you talk about those a little?

Right now I'm doing Tandoori Knights with King Khan, in which we kind of explore our Indian roots (he's east, I'm west). There's The Ding-Dongs with Mark Sultan (otherwise known as BBQ), and we pretty much play straight-up rock'n'roll/rockabilly. These are two guys I really love and have a ball with. Our records should be out soon. Also, I have a band back home called The Hand-Cuffs, which again is a rock'n'roll band. Like I said, I play music I would want to listen to, you know. Don't expect me to start an indie rock/disco/whatever kind of band just for the sake of it.

What are some of your major influences, musically speaking? For example, some people have compared your vocals to the late, great Charlie Feathers' vocals, to a degree at least...and I tend to agree with them, but again only to a degree.

Yes, Charlie Feathers is an obvious influence (ok, maybe not so obvious), as is Hasil Adkins, Link Wray, and really most early rock'n'roll, hillbilly, rockabilly. If it's wild, then I did it!

Is it true that you have a hair pomade sponsor? If so, you are probably the only other musician I know of, taking into account Sinner and the boys from The Chop Tops, who has such a sponsorship. Long live greasy rock'n'roll!

Yes, I've been sponsored by American Greaser Supply out of Kansas City since about 2002, I think. They run an annual fest out there called Greaserama. I played it, and they dug me.

You just got back from some gigs and bit of good old busking. Do you take to busking often in order to fund your travels, or was simply a spontaneous one-time event that took place on this specific trip?

No, we just brought the acoustic instruments out after the gig to keep the party going. I used to busk a little, but I guess I prefer bars ‘cause they serve drinks.

Lastly, if there's anything I failed to cover in this interview or anything you'd like to express, talk about, etc, please feel free to do so now. The floor is all yours, Bill.

My memory really sucks. If folks are interested though, there's a lot of stuff on the internet about me that I probably forgot to mention here.

For some, rock'n'roll is a pastime, while for others it is a lifestyle. But for Swiss singer/songwriter and one-man band act Reverend Beat-Man it is nothing short of a religion.

With one foot planted firmly on each side of the line which separates heaven from hell, the saved from the damned, and the saints from the sinners, Reverend Beat-Man baptizes obscure music seekers in a river of sound wholly unique to him, offering his many listeners a sacrament of primitive rock'n'roll, gospel trash, surreal folk, and wild blues. To be sure, this scary-eyed fire and brimstone preacher of the Rock'n'Roll Word plays fiery rock guitar, works the drum kit with very capable feet, and pushes out gravelly vocals that sound almost like a combination of Depression-era bluesman Blind Willie Johnson and the singer/guitarist for the dark roots duo Those Poor Bastards, Lonesome Wyatt. The Reverend's mission as a primitive rock and blues trash evangelist, it seems, is to show us the hell in his demented heart in order to bring us all to the light. I mean, with songs like Jesus Christ Twist, I've Got the Devil Inside, Come Back Lord, Save My Soul From Hell, Back in Hell, The Lord is Coming Back, Oh Lord!, and Fuck You Jesus Fuck You Oh Lord, how can we not assume as much?

It is evident that Reverend Beat-Man's sound has captured the collective ear of the rock'n'roll underground, especially among one-man band enthusiasts. In addition to extensive touring and being featured on several compilations, the Reverend has released one album,"Apartment Wrestling Rock'n'Roll," under his original moniker Lightning Beat-Man. After that, he went on to release two albums under the Reverend Beat-Man name, "Surreal Folk Blues Gospel Trash, Volumes I & II," and then a third titled "Get On Your Knees." Later, he went on to release an experimental album, "Your Favorite Position Is On Your Knees," alongside the Swiss industrial analog electro group Herpes-o-Deluxe under the moniker Reverend Beat-Man & The Church of Herpes. This last recording was received with mixed opinions by fans and press alike. The Reverend's faithful flock, most of them no doubt expecting more of the same, were thrown for a loop, as it were, and felt altogether removed from the highly processed sound and artificiality of it all. Of course, the Reverend Beat-Man & TheChurch of Herpes endeavor was not met with any apostasy...so far as I know, that is...and those in the loyal congregation of Reverend Beat-Man's Church of Rock'n'Roll remain as such.

To follow-up his "Surreal Folk Blues Gospel Trash, Volumes I & II," Reverend Beat-Man released a Volume III, only this time, rather than CD or vinyl format, it was an audio-visual piece on DVD. For the most part, the DVD's content consists of video clips of several Beat-Man songs, each one shot and edited by a different filmmaker. There is also some rare live footage, and an unreleased bonus song included.

Quite simply, Reverend Beat-Man, with his black attire and priestly collar, is preaching to his audience not of going to hell but of his own experiences in hell, and his long and crazy road back to the light. These are strip club hymnals and whiskey and cigarette sermons he serves up to his listeners, at once both mad and sane, clear and confused, saved and damned, light and dark, good and evil, violent and gentle, feral and sophisticated---all the contraries that make most of us, for better or worse, human.

We keep listening to the music, which is seemingly designed for our generation, the Suicide Generation, the lost and doomed, following a trail of breadcrumbs to salvation, song by song. In the flesh we are not built for heaven, though. So we must resign ourselves to worldly living and worldly things, and being as far from heaven as human beings can possibly get. But maybe, just maybe, if we attend Reverend Beat-Man's Church of Rock'n'Roll on a regular basis, we can all get just a tad bit closer in the meantime.

Reverend Beat-Man also runs the Voodoo Rhythm record label, which is home to artists such as ElvisPummel, King Automatic, The Dead Brothers, Hipbone Slim & The KneeTremblers, John Schooley, and Reverend Beat-Man himself. Voodoo Rhythm is an independent label, as such things go, with a catalog of talented artists who represent the best of modern rock'n'roll and old rock'n'roll, adhering mainly to the garage, trash, rock'n'roll and blues fusion, and one-man band genres. And according to the Reverend,Voodoo Rhythm will soon be acquiring distribution here in the States, making their releases more readily available, finally, to those of us who seek them.

Recently I had both the opportunity and pleasure of interviewing Reverend Beat-Man. The interview went as follows...

The most obvious place to start, I suppose, is the beginning. As far as I know, you were referred to as Lightning Beat-Man before Reverend Beat-Man. Is it true that you were a wrestler and somehow managed to incorporate a rock'n'roll act into your matches, or visa versa? Can you tell us a little about the early days, and how you eventually came to be known as Reverend Beat-Man?

Before I was Lightning Beat-Man I had a one-man band under the name Taeb Zerfall (1984), which was a mix between Elvis Presley and die Einstürzende Neubauten. Then, in 1992, I changed my name to Lightning Beat-Man. I traveled through the US and stopped in Los Angeles, where I saw Lucha Libre for the first time. I came up with the idea of spicing up my one-man band act with wrestling, so I bought a Mil Mascaras mask, a Dracula cape, and a pair of boxer shorts. The idea was to fight on stage against myself, sometimes me versus my guitar...and always win! Of course, I was one of the first one-man bands around here in Europa that wasn't doing, like, mainstream dance polka music. It was very easy to find shows. Another idea was that I had to get a little more extreme with each show, and I had about 200 shows a year, which I think was the end of Lightning Beat-Man. It changed from a one-man show to a two-man show with a history about Lightning Beat-Man performed by Pantichrist( Robert Butler), then into a whole wrestling circus with other wrestlers, and and and... This wasn't mainstream at all.  We were fighting against everyone, and they were fighting against us. The last tour, in '98, I think went too far. Pantichrist broke his fist. I broke my nose, cut my arms open, broke something in my back, and lost my voice for a year. I went to the doctor and he said, "Beat-Man, you have to stop it. It's getting out of control." And he was right. The mask took possession of my personality. When I wore it, I turned into a Lucha Libre monster. But, you know, I'm not Iggy Pop. I'm a bloddy record nerd, you know. Anyway, in a dust of pot and dreams I saw Robert Johnson and Screaming Jay Hawkins. They told me to go a different way, to preach the word. And that's what I'm doing now. All the energy I had under the mask is not in my Reverend Beat-Man songs. It's more dynamic now, and it's fun. I've been doing the Reverend thing since 2000 now, I think. I went through hell, to heaven, and then back to hell again...three times...I saw the light and spells of the devil. I know what I'm talking about.

In addition to your one-man band and other endeavors, you played a large part in the Swiss rockabilly and garage band The Monsters. Did your time in that band play a large part in your decision to go from a component in a band lineup to a one-man preacher of primitive rock'n'roll and gospel blues trash?

Yeah, that was actually the reason I took things a step further with the one-man band in the early ‘90s. Before it was kind of a living room recording project with some little gigs for friends. But you have to know, The Monsters...well, it's not just a band; we are a men's club. When we do shows or tours, we don't take The Monsters too seriously. It's us as we truly are. We talk dirty about girls and drink and chill and just have fun. Only we men, without the girls (those we fuck in the hotel room). But it was the band democracy that turned me more and more from a side project with The Monsters to a one-man band. You are much quicker in writing songs that way, and in changing from one beat to another. To make it completely anarchistic I developed a set list of about six songs, and the other six I had to make new while live on stage...just being creative and putting together something new. Sometimes it was fantastic, sometimes it was complete crap. But I didn't care at all. All in all, it was fun.

Your label, Voodoo Rhythm, seems to be the place-to-be for one-man bands, garage rockers, and blues trash outfits in Europe and the States alike. Was it your intention to provide a home label for one-man bands? Or was it merely your intention to release music by bands and singer/songwriters you felt were worthwhile?

Not at all. I never wanted a label as a one-man band label or rock'n'roll label or crap like that. It's just that there are special things only a one-man band can do. If you want to be interesting or do an interesting record, you have to be creative, very creative, and that's what I'm searching for in the music I'm putting out. Music that takes you further in your life, brightening your horizon, guiding you to the light, or whatever you want to call it...and there are a lot of one-man bands that can do that. You are only one person. The problem is that all the songs could sound the same, and that's the problem with 99% of all one-man bands. But if you have a good one-man band---like King Automatic, for example---then you hear how he works on an idea, being a one-man band and putting on an interesting show. But of course there are also full bands which, without the chemical reaction between the different band members, would fail to produce the very specific sound they have. For me, when I record in a studio, I never record as a one-man band. I employ musicians and try to export my one-man band songs into band songs. That is also a very interesting process---to see where the song goes. Live, I play mostly as a one-man band. If the fee is good enough I come with a full band, though.

Recently I stumbled upon Reverend Beat-Man's "Dusty Record Cabinet"...or at least mention of it. What is that all about?

I'm a complete music fan and record junkie. I buy so many records, trade them, and even have my own label to produce more records. Plus I  am so bored with the radio programs in Europe. I like a lot of different styles of music: blues, hip hop, dirty funk, classical music, chain songs, Italian folk, death metal, rock'n'roll, new wave...and and and...zillions of styles. I think 99% of all music in every style is crap and 1% is the shit. So that's what I am searching for. The good stuff. That's why I'm doing this Podcast. I like to broadcast it worldwide, and I hope one day a good radio station is interested andtakes me on their schedule. We'll see where the show goes.

From what I hear, you have a rather attractive woman dancing during your sets at live shows---Scarlet Fever, or some such stage name. I have also noticed the women on your album covers. What's the story behind that...other than the obvious fact that you appreciate beautiful women as much as the next man?

I love women...and not just how they look, either. I love everythingabout them. I collect faces as well. Scarlet Fever is an LA dancer. Sheand I even have a child together---my beautiful daughter Coco. The model on the album cover is a Bernese girl called Lucy Ferrette. She'sa professor of psychology...no joke. For my shows I make it known beforehand that I need two to three girls (the hottest in town) that are willing to strip their clothes off from nuns to dirty, whiskey-drinkin', cirgarette-smokin' devils. Doesn't work in every town, though...ha ha ha! Ahhh, I love those girls. They kill me every time I fall in love with them, but I still go for it again and again and again.

What have been some of your most memorable experiences as a singer/songwriter and live performer?

Those questions I never can answer. There are a lot! Come to my next show.

Do you have anything lined up for your own music and/or Voodoo Rhythm releases, etc?

Yes. It's a constantly working organic project, the label. Right now we are releasing new albums from London's rockabilly beat band HipboneSlim & The Knee Tremblers, New Zealand one-man band Delaney Davidson,and The Dead Brothers. We are working on releases by Urban Junior (an electro-clash one-man band from Switzerland), the Sixtyniners (a southern trucker rock and raw blues punk duo from the Netherlands, and and and. We are producing clothing as well---jackets, baby bibs, panties, t-shirts, and and and... and right now we are working on a record player, a Voodoo Rhythm record player.

What artists, bands and/or singer/songwriters have you been most influenced by over the years?

There are too many, you know. Howlin' Wolf and Hasil Adkins, for sure. But then a million more. I am a music fan. I hate mainstream. I hate mainstream rock'n'roll the most. I hate top100 music. I can't stand that corrupt crap anymore.

Lastly, if there's anything I failed to cover, please, by all means, feel free to add whatever you'd like here. The floor's allyours, Rev.

I think we need a change, a big change, not just in taxes or the school system, but a complete change. In our heads, we have to throw out a million years of human history and start over again. People say that war is a natural thing, that human beings have done it since they were Neanderthals, always fighting with each other to get something. I think that needs to change. Why not just fuck with everybody? Why not just have sex and blow cocks and eat pussy all day? I think we should change into that. What do you think?

Allentown is a moldy slice of American pie located on the easternmost edge of central Pennsylvania, and a rather small slice at that. Mostly in economic decline since its few industrial giants shut down years ago, the steel mill being the most notable of the lot, the area's population has somehow continued to steadily increase. Only an hour outside of Philadelphia and a little over two hours from New York City, Allentown is ideally situated in the heart of what is called the Lehigh Valley, making it a desirable home for those who choose to commute to work in the big cities. On the outskirts of town, suburban communities and strip malls have spread like an all-consuming disease, replacing a verdant landscape once rich with agriculture, small businesses and lone homesteads. From those same outskirts one can look back toward town and see hundreds of dark structures silhouetted against the apocalyptic horizon like so many rotted teeth, grotesquely phallic smokestacks and geometrically boring warehouses roofs, as well as the few exceptionally tall buildings that almost create the illusion that Allentown is in fact a real city. The buildings are old and in varying stages of disrepair all along the town's main stretch, which was once lined with a wide variety of stores, ornate lampposts and long glass-topped awnings. Now, however, one can only see pawn shops, liquor stores, sex joints, corner bodegas, and the few remaining vestiges of the way it once was. The crime rate is high; and upon first glance, one can clearly see the poverty of the downtown neighborhoods, while uptown seems reserved exclusively for the upper crust of the social hierarchy. All in all, Allentown is simply another American town inching its way toward the urban finishing line.

It was in the bowels of Allentown that I found myself on Friday, May 29th, down the block from the courthouse and right next door to the homeless shelter toward 4th & Hamilton. From up the hill, one can see the huge letters atop the mission illuminated in bright red, "GOD IS LOVE," like a beacon to the down-and-out and the destitute, the famished and the unwanted, the winos and junkies and criminals. It makes a solemn promise to the lost, "Here lies your salvation, heathens." Moreover, it promises bread and blankets, prayers and soup, warmth and safety, but only temporarily, for such things are only a brief reprieve from what awaits them when the streets begin calling at sunrise. Speaking of heathens, I was in that particular part of town to see some very specific heathens at the Sterling Hotel---a dark, seedy venue for underground bands and singer/songwriters when they pass through town on tour. I was there to see the Goddamn Gallows.

Before entering the joint, one observes a large plate glass window on which gold-colored lettering boasts the Longest Bar East of the Mississippi. When one walks in, the bar area is a long, dim aisle lined on one side by barstools and on the other by a handful of booths. At the far end of the establishment there's the stage, the setup of which is pretty typical of small venues throughout the country. In many ways it was similar to dozens of other bars and clubs I'd been to for such reasons over the years...hell, to bars and clubs I'd been to when I was in a band playing shows of our own.

There were far too many bands booked that night, to be sure, as I entered the Sterling to a two-piece instrumental death metal act with loads of misplaced talent, and then there were a number of other bands ranging from alterno-slop-rock to punk (and anyone who's a true music lover knows that good punk is hard to find these days!). After six or seven bands---and I am absolutely convinced that this act saved the show from complete and utter ruin for me!---a one-man-band who called himself Mosquito Bandito took the stage. Since I was actually there to see the Goddamn Gallows, it was nice to discover a singer/songwriter I had no previous knowledge of, whose songs I was able to really appreciate. And it was fantastic the way he strummed his guitar in a frenzy, all the while banging his hi-hat with the head of his guitar (with so much force that I couldn't believe he didn't knock his guitar completely out of tune!), and controlling the kick drum and snare with his feet. While playing, he shook his head like an old blues musician, screaming and singing out the words from deep down in his gut. His set was short. And when it was over, my only thought was, "Wow. He was phenomenal! I hope this isn't the last time time I catch one of his shows."

After Mosquito Bandito, the Goddamn Gallows were up, at last. Now, I only had gotten my hands on their first full-length album at that point, which featured three of the members present that night---Mikey Classic on guitar and vocals, Fishgutzzz on standup bass, and Baby Genius on drums. Suffice to say, I was more than a little surprised when a fourth member accompanied them to the stage. It turned out that this fourth member, Avery, a scruffy-faced and long-haired wildman, played the washboard and accordion, and he did so in a spastic manner almost like he was possessed by the music itself, sort of dancing from foot to foot, shuffling about. His arms flowed up and down the washboard or worked the components of the squeezebox depending on what song was being played, and it was really quite a spectacle. There were a lot of things about the Gallow's set that were spectacles, though...like when Avery wiped snot on Fishgutzzz' strings (and Fishgutzzz continued pullin' and pluckin' and slappin' 'em as though Avery had never touched 'em)...when Avery and Mikey went back to back until Avery was hunched over and Mickey was lifted precariously over him all while playing their instruments, never missing a note, a chord, or a run on the ruts of the board...when Fishgutzzz put a sweaty hand on Avery's forehead like an Evangelical holyman at a revival tent service...when Avery took a moment from playing the washboard during the song Pass Me the Bottle to play Mickey's larynx, quite literally, to help create the spooky wails that are so much a part of that song...and, finally, as a finale of sorts, when Avery set fire to the end of his washboard and blew huge flames across the stage.

The first song was from the new album, "Ghost of th' Rails," and it showed a slight shift in sound for the Gallows, which was more of a country riot, old-timey blues, and roots rock sound, with the pyschobilly punk almost as a secondary element. Despite the slight shift in sound, they certainly hadn't sacrificed any of their energy or original appeal.

All considered, it was a brilliant set, with Fishgutzzz plucking and slapping away at the thick strings of his upright and tipping his hat to his fellow musicians and the crowd in turns, occasionally wiping the sweat from his strings with a bandanna which hung loosely from his back pocket. One of the things that stood out most about ol Fisgutzzz, even more than the fact that he was evidently an intriguing character, was a full, English-style mustache which curled upward at the ends like the beginnings of a handlebar stash.

Baby Genius was obviously absorbed by the music, too, perfectly timing out every boom, crash, and tap on the kit. What Baby Genius lacked in stature, he certainly made up for with a big sound. With a youthful countenance only betrayed by a few random tatts, Baby Genius seemed part innocent and part deviant, but all punk. One of the finer drum moments was at the very end of the set, when Fishgutzzz dragged a floor tom and snare down the aisle of the bar while Baby Genius played along the music still going up on stage, not once missing a beat.

Mikey Classic---singer and guitarist for the Gallows---appeared to be a fresh-faced, sharp-dressed rockabilly cat who looked almost like he should have been a young man in the early 1950's. He was exactly the type people referred to when they said, "He was born too late." Of course, there was also something undeniably punk about him, which placed him in the here and now, which fixed him to this modern City Earth of ours. I could see it in the way he formed the words, passing them through the microphone while the threads of restraint unraveled all around them, finally giving way to the spitting, snarling, wailing, and echoey vocalizations that his songs inevitably became. It was also in the way he strummed and picked and beat his guitar almost as if he were a preacher trying to exorcise it of its demons. An endless well of talent and style, Mikey Classic skillfully navigated the neck of his Gretsch and belted out, crooned, screamed and sang his lyrics with vocals that established him, at least in the opinion of this writer, as one of the great frontmen of our times.

Gutterbilly Blues is the term the Gallows have coined to describe their sound of psychobilly, punk, roots rock, blues, and country riot. And it really is quite fitting, I think. After all, these lads all-out refuse to be inserted into existing genre categories in modern music, which also makes sense; I mean, why recycle the same old hooch that has been brewed again and again in the same filthy, boring tub. No, this is a whole new brand of firewater, folks, and it burns fantastic the whole way down!

All around this old globe as I've tramped and I've trod
has the hollow bone moon shone its eye from up above,
from south shore to north shore, like an old familiar friend,
from east until west as I wandered without end...

So let us now tell you some tales
from these journeys and travails...
Let us play you some songs
from 'neath the watchful old eye of the hollow bone moon.

We shall begin at the beginning...

-Peter Reid

Occasionally there comes along a piece of art which transports one from his or her present location in the universe to someplace else altogether. For me, that has been the case in quite a few instances. But very few artistic projects have taken me as far or to such strange places as Melbourne, Australia's Pete & the Tar Gang and their debut release, Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon.

          With twenty-three tracks, Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon is constructed of more than just songs in the sense that most records are. Unlike most albums, Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon is a book of short stories, an exercise in modern poetics, and a collection of experimental songwriting compositions, all fused together into one sizable endeavor. And all of it goes to show that Peter Reid, the ringmaster for this ragtag troupe of musical deviants and strange thespians, has a way of weaving intricate stories and wonderfully bizarre pieces of original music into one tremendous web of plot, character development, poetry, and sound.

          What's more, the atmosphere of Pete & the Tar Gang's concept album is such that this review should be accompanied by a pack of cigarettes and a generous glass of rum. It should also be experienced over a backdrop of old-timey settings, aged sea-going vessels with creaky boards and barnacle-covered hulls, bottles of liquor, the wonderful smell of used book stores, dark forests, damsels in distress, ramshackle barns, campfires, big cities, remote mountainous regions, bizarre creatures, episodes of madness, and long desolate roads. Keeping that in mind, dim the lights, sit back and relax, and I will introduce you to: Pete & the Tar Gang.

          During our recent interview, I asked Peter Reid to go down the list and introduce us to the Tar Gang, each and each. This is what he had to say...

          Hmm...

          Well, first, there's Renato---the original Tar member. He is a man of many and varied talents. He can play any instrument, curse at you in Sicilian, and lives on a diet of coffee and tobacco. He can do all of this simultaneously.
          Then there is Jean Macarthur. Jean has a curious penchant for creating wondrous aural oddities out of objects you'd find at a tip or in everyday life.
          Next, there is Kirri---a slick dame with a curious twitch, who can win your soul with her violinery, or just as quickly steal it away with a slice to the throat from her razor bow.
          Occasionally we also have on board Will, Carla, and Sean. Will is a man of ivory dexterity, though he is oft troubled by the burden of living in the shadow of his famous pirate grandfather, Captain Morgan. Thus, he hits the bottle even harder than the rest of us...ironically, with Captain Morgan brand rum. Carla is a deadpan drummer with narcolepsy. I've witnessed her fall asleep at the station before, but miraculously she kept on playing. It's like a breathing reflex. Sean is our escaped pet monkey. Originally he escaped from his parents, as he disliked the way they forced him to saw firewood for them on a daily basis. He learnt to play a fine saw out of it, though!
          Lastly in the Tar Gang, we have the infamous Tar Pit Men's Choir: men of enigmatic origin. I can't tell you anymore than that...

          Oh, and there's me, Pete. And I'm just a regular, boy next door type of guy.

          Somehow I feel that Pete is anything but "a regular, boy next door type of guy." In fact, I suspect he is the exact opposite. Modesty is admirable, of course; but anyone who can write and arrange all of the stories he has, narrating them on the recording and then helping to compose the music that surrounds them, is clearly a tremendously talented and interesting young man. I mean, Pete & the Tar Gang's Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon was his vision materialized into a solid masterpiece. Needless to say, it took all of the members for it to turn out the way it did. Each Tar guy and Tar gal had his and her part in the writing and development of Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon, and each of those parts was important in its own way. It was what Pete said next, though, that really shed some light on the subject of why things turned out the way they did...hell, on why Pete & the Tar Gang is what it is.

          The idea for this project was very simple, in a way, explained Pete. I also work in theatre as a performer and maker, etc. Back when I was at university studying theatre and performance, midway through an absurd monologue whilst playing a psychotic policeman, the idea struck me that I wanted to translate this kind of performance (acting) into music. I had a strong urge to combine music with theatre but didn't really connect with most musical theatre, the way it was done, or the style, etc. I really wanted to explore various worlds in a musical and performance sense. Naturally, I started thinking about my many and varied wild adventures around this old globe for material and inspiration...the wild tales I'd heard, seen and experienced, and the many characters beheld. Their impressions are still as vivid as tea stains on clean white cotton...

          Later in our interview, when I asked Peter about his endeavor and what it entailed, he put it forth quite well, saying:

          Well, I suppose we're rather unique as a musical outfit. "We play music, but we're not a band," as someone once observed. We're more of a musical project, of sorts, built around the basic concept of a band, but delivered as a piece of gritty old theatre.

          Even from the first few utterances of the record's spoken Intro, the mood is set. Much like the other spoken parts preceding each song, the Intro has that scratchy, washed-out, slightly distorted sound which old vinyl records make. Another way the spoken parts could be described is: almost like old fashion talk radio broadcasts traveling the frayed wires of antiquated technology to be spat from the equally old speakers of a dust-covered stereo. Yes, there is a vintage quality to both the Tar Gang's music and Peter Reid's vocals. But there are other qualities to take into account; which is to say, the album is dark and wild, daring and adventurous, both worldly and otherworldly at the same time, marked by both confusion and clarity, sanity and madness, traditional and experimental extremes, among a host of other adjectives and contraries. Most of all, though, Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon is unquestionably a deviation from the commonplace art that we patrons typically expect to find on our plates. In this case, there is something altogether different. Not just different, but eclectic, avant-garde, poetic, endlessly creative, mysterious, artistically genius, and infinitely entertaining.

          To give a description of every song on the album would no doubt be excessive and in bad taste. To not give a description of at least a handful of the songs, however, would be in equally bad taste. Therefore, I will give you, the reader, a small morsel with which to whet your appetite, and with which to excite that secret part of you that thrills at discovering new and worthwhile things, the great new treasures hidden throughout this crazy City Earth. So, pull on your work boots and grab your shovel (figuratively speaking, of course), for this project is definitely one of those great new treasures just waiting to be found.

          "Fifty thousand years ago, mankind clambered through the snow," begins the first song on the record, which, not surprisingly, is titled "Fifty Thousand Years Ago." This particular song is presumably about humankind's primitive origins and subsequent stages of evolution. This song goes to show that Pete & the Tar Gang do as they promise. They did in fact begin at the beginning.

          The second chapter to this book of songs, so to speak, is titled "Fly Away." Without a doubt, this is one of the gentler compositions on the record, with Peter's deep, tremulous vocals accompanied by the soft wailing of violin strings, piano playing which resembles the fluttering of wings, and other such instrumentation. Building towards a strange sort of climatic ending, the song falls apart and pulls itself back together a time or two, and that only serves to make it better. What also makes it better is that one of Peter Reid's best lines of lyrics is attached to the end of the song---And the moon screams through the veil.

          Now, this is where things start to get a bit interesting, to say the least. "The Old Gray Man of Ben Macduie" is a perfectly calculated composition of interacting instrumentation supported by a foundation of strong piano work and skittering drums which at times keep something akin to a marching beat. According to Peter, "The Old Gray Man..." was inspired by a story of a Scottish Yeti he once read about, which makes a good deal of sense, as the song possesses a dark, ominous, and dramatic air. In fact, Peter conceded it was the "sense of foreboding" in the story that he found particularly interesting, "the eerie sense reported by people in the area that they were being watched, even though they didn't see anything, as well experiencing an inexplicable feeling of panic." "I guess I found the fear element interesting," he continued. "I find crytozoological stories interesting in themselves. To me, the Yeti, the Bigfoot, the Wildman, and so on, regardless of whether they're real or not, represent the wilder elements of ourselves, just below the surface of our selves as shaped by society, what we present to the world (and ourselves). I also find that really interesting---characters having to face parts of themselves that are innate but not necessarily appropriate, or even revealed, or seen as wild or untamed in the context of societal conventions, yet existing as a part or potentiality of everyone when you scratch the surface enough." All things considered, the music both individually and as a whole is remarkable, while, as always, Peter's storytelling and singing are absolutely brilliant.

          "A Christmas Eve," the next piece, is background music nicely arranged behind a rather dominant vocal delivery. It's a wintry piece, to be sure, with instrumentation that simulates December winds and snowfall, with piano and junk percussion and violin, until the end, when Peter passionately sings out the words, "Flame to wood!"

          Next is my favorite song on the record---"Scraggelly Anne"---which is a bluesy, experimental piece. The piano sounds like footfalls running down long, narrow, wooden stairwells, perhaps in one of the ramshackle buildings which line the "dust-blown main street" of the "woodplank town" that Scraggelly Anne is said to haunt. Overall, "Scraggelly Anne" is a somewhat dark piece of music, almost nightmarish, though not at all slow or somber. The best way I can describe the sound of this song is: the musical representation of someone creeping up behind you. It's partly like a late-night lounge song gone terribly wrong. And it's more than a little comparable to shuffling feet going to and fro, with low-end note progression and wild violin, and with junk percussion like rattlesnake tails and tin cans, until its finale, during which Peter sings out repeatedly, "Scraggelly Anne! Scraggelly Anne! Scraggelly Anne!" among fits of maniacal laughter and peculiar half-words lost in the intensity of it all.

          "The Tale of Old MacRae" is a composition with sounds that bring to mind---to my mind, at least---a smartly dressed couple waltzing through a closed down and boarded-up amusement park of funhouse mirrors and faded vestiges of long ago seasons, with strings of lights strung about overhead, and with the occasional musician turning up on the carousel that doesn't go round-and-round anymore, in a bumper car that neither drives nor bumps, at a cotton candy booth in which the pink gossamer threads of sugar are no longer spun about those white paper sticks, in one of the motionless ferris wheel compartments, and in the rows of carny games from which all the oversized stuffed animals have long since been removed. Yes, I realize it paints a rather odd picture. But, believe me when I tell you, "The Tale of Old MacRae" is a rather odd song. "So long, MacRae!"

          The stumming of an acoustic guitar and cricket bows open up the song "Road." Before long, the acoustic guitar gives way to piano and lead vocals, which sort of leapfrog over one another until the song nears its finish, where group vocals rise and fall, and where the great fingerwork on the piano gets decidedly busier. All the while, Peter sings out in his deep and altogether inimitable voice, "Road...road...road...road...road...road...ro-oh-oad... Road...road...road...road...road...road...ro-oh-oad..."

          While on the subject of Peter Reid's voice, though it is highly original, I have thus far only been able to place it beside the likes of Dameon Merkl (Bad Luck City), Nick Cave, Franz Nicolay, and Tom Waits. The Tar Gang's music, however, can only be placed beside the likes of Pete & the Tar Gang, for I cannot find anything else quite like it anywhere in the world---not in magazines, not on television, not in the worldwide web, not in any record collection that I have access to, nor at small underground venues with obscure bands on their bills. If comparisons were a must, then I would have to say that there are subtle similarities between the Tar Gang's music and that of Firewater (particularly the Man on the Burning Tightrope album), a few Decemberists songs, Nick Cave's "the Carny" and "the Curse of Millhaven," Captain Beefheart, and a few by Tom Waits (such as, but not limited to "Watch Her Disappear" and "Frank's Wild Years").

When I asked Pete about the interesting and peculiar moniker he had chosen for his endeavor, he explained...

          Back in 2006, we were struggling with the name and pretty much had a different one (or variation) for every show. We even joked that maybe we should try and have a completely different one each time, and that would have just been a thing we did. Kirri (on violin) had the idea of calling it The Good Ol' Tar Band. I liked that, but I felt it needed something more. She also introduced me to a clever system of coming up with a blues musician name. You take a disease, a fruit, and the surname of an American president. We came up with Skurvy Fig Lincoln. So, it was almost Skurvy Fig Lincoln and the Old Tar Gang. But adding Pete just seemed a lot simpler, and we also eventually changed it to just the Tar Gang. Later I was informed by a seafaring associate that a Tar is a term for a sailor who works on the decks of a ship taring ropes, hoisting sails, etc. So, that seemed very appropriate. I also later came across a page in a journal from not long before we did the naming. It had a drawing of a guitar and I'd written next to it: "...the good old tar that played of its own accord."

          To have combined such rich prose with such strangely brilliant music, I naturally assumed that Peter Reid must have quite an inclination towards literature and poetics, as well as other areas of the arts. When I inquired about this, he said...

          Ah... Well, I've certainly always enjoyed writing from an early age, and I guess it's the exploration of a world and story that has always got me going. If that sense of context is there, the rest just seems to flow naturally, and it excites me in a cohesive sort of way. I wouldn't say there has been any particular point at which I've been struck by a realization that I can do those things. Instead, I'd have to say that I've actually been more struck by a realization that I want to explore those things. A sort of itch that needs scratching, I guess.

          As I've already touched on, continued Peter, the need (or desire) to combine prose with storytelling music probably largely comes out of my background in theatre, though everything else I've done has certainly been pointed in that general direction for years, even before I did much theatre. I've always loved writing, drawing, and stories from an early age. When I do visual projects, I often want to combine them with words in some respect, too. So, I guess I'd say that the songs (to me) ultimately and just naturally suggest a certain atmosphere or narrative surrounding them. Partly that may also be just about the fact that I work best within some sense of context. If I was just doing a string of songs with no apparent relationship or running thread, I'd probably end up asking myself what the point is of doing things that have no obvious relationship or connection, and getting confused or distracted by that thought, I suspect. Probably for that same reason I've written songs that suggest that sense of story and a surrounding world.

          Lastly, when I asked Peter about his influences for the style of music he chose---that is, before I realized that it wasn't so much the style of music he chose as it was the style of music he invented for himself and his mates, the style of music that his artistic self was moved to create---he said...

          I wanted to do songs that explored various stories and worlds. I wrote the songs with a conscious (to some degree) openness to what kind of music their subject matter would naturally suggest or generate. I suppose I feel that I've more intentionally tried to be true to the songs and ideas than stray from being influenced by other musicians. I suppose it may even help that I don't really feel like a musician in the 'regular sense.' I've always approached it as a kind of acting and theatrical storytelling performance through music.

          For the most part, that is one view of Pete & the Tar Gang and their book of songs titled Songs of the Hollow Bone Moon. To my knowledge, you can only get copies of the record from the band through their live shows and their Myspace Page. If you do get your hands on it, I would suggest you try to get all you possibly can out of it, as this group of storytellers, musicians, and actors can go one of two ways after this: they will stop with the Hollow Bone Moon, or they will move forward to both write and record yet another masterpiece. Indeed, we can only hope upon hope for the latter to be the case. But...we shall see. We shall see.

So...some songs from 'neath the Hollow Bone Moon you've now heard and experienced.
Find a tale or maybe two of your own,
various happenings, travels, or dreams.
Tell this tale to a friend,
to a stranger,
just to the blowin' old breeze.

-Peter Reid

the devil makes three

Recent years have seen a considerable increase in bands and singer/songwriters abandoning the usual standards by which popular music is measured, and understandably so. Many of them have dropped the electric instrumentation for acoustic arrangements, while just as many have chosen to employ a good deal of peculiar auxiliary instruments uncommon to today's genres. And although this phenomenon is not entirely exclusive to the more underground music communities, it has yet to find its way into mainstream popularity (and hopefully it never does, for the mainstream is where good music goes to die).
           These past few years have also seen a particularly notable rise in bands and singer/songwriters developing some rather remarkable styles. To be sure, some of these styles have never before been attempted in such ways, and I personally find that to be more than a little exciting. One such example is the Devil Makes Three---a folk punk, country riot, and acoustibilly blues trio out of Santa Cruz, California.
           Even though the Devil Makes Three are a very modern example, they have a decidedly old-timey feel to some of their songs---a good many of their songs, truth be told---with vintage style music and classic themes combined with elements of the underground punk ethos. Such a fusion doesn't draw a perceptible line between the band's fan base as many would imagine, but rather unifies them under a single flag of musical appreciation. That is, the Devil Makes Three perform for some pretty diverse crowds, which undoubtedly has much to do with the fact that their music touches on a slew of genres, some more than others, from folk, bluegrass, ragtime and country to jazz, blues, rockabilly and punk. And, in our recent interview, when I asked the Devil Makes Three about the influences that ultimately assisted in shaping their sound, they said...
           "Our sound was largely shaped by our parents' record collections, as well as with the help of our friend from Texas, John Dobec, who introduced us to good country music. He opened our eyes to some really good stuff we were missing."
           The Devil Makes Three are Pete Bernhard, guitar and lead vocals, Lucia Turino, upright bass, and Cooper McBean, guitar and banjo. Together the trio have developed a sound altogether different from what we typically expect from acoustic bands in general; a sound so centered on rhythm, so masterfully tight, so well balanced between guitar-picking and chord pattern, and so brilliantly carried forth on the notes of the upright that their music comes across neither too cluttered nor too simplistic. In fact, with Bernhard and McBean producing those impossibly catchy rhythms, and with Lucia slapping and plucking the thick strings of her monstrous upright in series after series of low end note arrangements, their collective instrumentation is so percussive that they don't even require a drummer. And they don't have one. Nor do they have any plans to add one to the lineup.  
           The trio wasn't always without a drummer, however. That role was briefly filled in the beginning by a drummer and singer/songwriter named Boaz Vilozny. And when I asked Pete about the whole drummer-less band concept and how it came about, he explained: "We had a drummer when we first started the band. He was also a singer/songwriter. He was great and complemented us nicely, but he had a kid and needed to go be a dad. We are covering a song he wrote on our new album. Once he left, we couldn't find anyone as good, and we found the audience kept dancing, so we never replaced him. Plus, drums are heavy as hell." 
           As far as the band members' lives prior to coming together as the Devil Makes Three, Pete Bernhard said, "We are all children of the north. No Texans in our group at all. And although I lived in Tennessee for a short time, we haven't toured much down south. We are all country kids. We all grew up on rural delivery routes. And we all know what 30 degrees below zero feels like."
           Having geographically abandoned ship, as it were, Pete and Cooper, who had been friends since the eighth grade, went from the state of Vermont, with its majestic mountains, where beautiful alpine forests thrive year-round between the timberline and the snowline, where autumn is breathtakingly colorful, and where spring brings the melting of snow and what the locals call the "mud season," all the way to the West Coast, less than a hundred miles from San Francisco, to the city of Santa Cruz, California, where thick fogbanks roll in off of Monterey Bay, where the salty presence of the ocean is delightfully inescapable, and where the climate is much milder and uneventful from what they were accustomed to while growing up in the Northeast. Arriving in a new town is almost always a chance to redefine oneself, though Pete and Cooper, perhaps a bit hardened from the road and wiser for having experienced the world in such a way, seemingly opted to enter a new place as the individuals they had always been rather than adjust their characters to better suit their new environment. So Santa Cruz no doubt found them essentially the same human beings they were before embarking on their cross-country journeys, carrying along with them not only their belongings but their musical talents, which collectively shook the underground music community like an earthquake some time later. Lucia, however, is a native of New Hampshire, only having ventured out to California for the purpose of college matriculation, when she met Pete and Cooper. She had always wanted to play bass, and since Pete and Cooper had already rented an upright for their music, they brought her aboard, excited that she would be able to learn as they went along, her skills shaped by the endeavor, and not overplaying the songs as a seasoned bassist undoubtedly would have. 
           "We started playing as the Devil Makes Three in 2002 with the plan of making acoustic music fun to see live," explained Pete in our interview. "We all loved punk music and many of our friends were in punk bands, so we started opening for them. As it turns out, I think punk music and country and blues have a lot in common, thematically. Basically, we wanted people to get out of their seats and have some fun. There were so many folk music shows that were so boring they were like a museum or something. The music was good; the shows were just dead."
           Now, if you've heard any songs by the Devil Makes Three, or better yet have attended one or more of their shows, you know all too well that their live performances are anything but "dead." The music excites the audience, and that reaction only serves to further excite the band members' playing. The two, both audience and band, feed off of one another in frenzies of playing and dancing, whooping and hollering and applauding, the close connection maintained from start to finish. And a Devil Makes Three show is unquestionably one of the only shows where one can see punkers with mohawks beside good old boys sporting cowboy hats, as well as indie guys and gals with skin-tight jeans and disheveled-on-purpose hairdos beside suit-wearing gents sipping top shelf whiskey accompanied by ladies in dresses, in addition to a good many other walks of life, almost like a World/Inferno Friendship Society show. In fact, it was in a journalistic piece by Linda Koffman at gtweekly.com (Good Times Santa Cruz) where I read: The Devil Makes Three has long been plucking its way toward audiences of publications like Thrasher Magazine by erupting into a punk-tinged acoustic sound suitable to serenade an urban riot just as much as a barn hoe-down. And that is very true. All things considered, their unlikely fusion of sounds has created a sort of unification of the many genres that would otherwise be attending separate events...which makes their music more important, meaningful and worthwhile than even they realize.
           From the audience, one can look up to the stage where the band is going through their set and see Pete Bernhard's clean-shaven and youthful face pouring forth vocals that don't quite seem to match his looks, while he shuffles about, strumming and picking the hell out of his guitar strings. One can just as clearly see Lucia Turino, attractive with her long brunette tresses and a large tattoo of a bull's skull just visible at the center of her upper chest (its long horns extending up toward her shoulders), her body partly obscured by her upright bass, plucking and slapping at the thick strings with one hand while the fingers of the other hold down the corresponding notes. At last, one can also take note of Cooper McBean, looking almost like a seasoned trucker or outlaw biker with both his shoulder-length light brown locks and facial hair heavily flecked with traces of the fiery red of a Scotsman (only rarely in photos have I seen him clean-shaven, at which times he looks like another person altogether), and with several tattoos adorning his exposed skin (including a sizable tribute to his home state of Vermont inked into the flesh across his throat and wrapping around the sides of his neck). It's not just their chemistry as an acoustic trio, producing catchy, toe-tappin' sounds with a punk rock edge that seems meant to be, but they also seem to go together in appearance as well, strange as that may be. Just take one brief glance at a photo of these three, and you will most likely see exactly what I mean.
           One might say that it is because each Devil Makes Three song is a melting pot of sounds, they have gained a melting pot of a fan base. It's the kind of sound that is the best of all words for a musician, as well as for all those eclectic music lovers out there across this vast and crazy City Earth. But with an abundance of creative energy and natural songwriting talent, Pete Bernhard has taken on a solo project on his off-time from the Three, recording his debut cd in 2006, "Things I Left Behind," for which he evidently developed a more stripped-down, folky sound in comparison to that which we are used to hearing from him. He has even taken his solo songs on the road, playing at smaller venues. And the reception of "Things I Left Behind" must have been quite favorable, for there are rumors that a follow-up to it is in the works (though I don't have any definite information on that yet).
           Pete, Cooper, and Lucia are currently in the studio laying down the tracks for their latest album. This will be their fourth album to date, and a much anticipated one at that. Personally, I have yet to hear any of the new material, so I am rather excited about it, and the only insight I have been given into the contents of the new record is that the band will be covering a song by their former drummer, as well as an Elvis Constello song, and they will be employing some distorted guitars for the first time in order to better capture the many strengths of their live shows (which I was confessedly more than a little surprised to find out). One thing is absolutely certain: my fingers will be going directly to the keyboard of my computer immediately following my first listen to the new Devil Makes Three material, typing up a short review as a follow-up to this article.
           As far as that which initially got me hooked on their music, there wasn't one song in particular, but several. I especially dove into their repertoire of songs when Pete sent me a press package including a copy of their eponymous re-release debut on Milan Records. Even more than the other tracks, I can listen over and over to "Old Number Seven," one of the favorites of the band's live performances; a drinking song about one's relationship with whiskey---Jack Daniels, to be more specific---played in an acoustibilly blues style, along with some country and folk punk flavors thrown in for good measure. With an opening verse like...

I guess I grew up on an old dirt road
Pedal to the metal, always did what I was told
Till I found out that my brand new clothes
Came second hand from the rich kids next door
When I grew up fast, I guess I grew up mean
There?s a thousand things inside my head I wish I ain?t seen
And now I just wander through a real bad dream
Feelin' like I'm comin' apart at the seams

And a chorus like...

Thank you, Jack Daniels, Old Number Seven
Tennessee whiskey's got me drinkin' in heaven
Angels start to look good to me
They're gonna have to deport me to the fiery deep

Thank you, Jack Daniels, Old Number Seven,
Tennessee whiskey's got me drinkin' in heaven
I know I can't stay here to long
Cause I can't go a week without doin' wrong

..."Old Number Seven" promises to be a dirty, sinful example of the Three's remarkable musical prowess and collective penchant for merging traditional and unconventional song structures.
           With the exception of "Old Number Seven," many of the threesome's other songs are centered around drinking and other such sinful themes, many of them anthems for the barroom heroes of the City Earth, such as "Shades"---a relaxed ode to daytime-drinking barflies, played in an old fashioned ragtime and bluegrass spirit. One of my other favorites is the bluesy "Chained to the Couch"---a laid back yet earnest monologue of a regret-ridden individual rendered motionless by his life experiences and all that could have been, with lyrics that promise he ain't got those tears no more. Some of their more upbeat and energetic songs include the smoky "Ten Feet Tall," the impossibly catchy "The Plank," the quickly strummed gunslinger ballad "Bullet," the superb start/stop timing of "Man Tap," the fantastic high-paced jaunt that is "Bangor Mash," and, finally, the shufflin' feet-inducing "Black Irish."
           Individuals knowledgeable of today's old-timey outfits could easily place the Devil Makes Three beside the street performing folk punkers, Hail Seizures; the Northwest nine-piece junk band who call themselves the Dandelion Junk Queens; the fiddlin' and washboard scratchin' and strummin' Blackbird Raum; the punky, countryesque, horn-blowing indie-folk troupe the Pasties; and Philadelphia's gypsy punk radicals Mischief Brew. Although they may each share a mere thread of commonality, some more than others, the Devil Makes Three only touches on their genres like the caress of a feather, a soft summer's wind, or the gentlest of fingertips. And while most of the aforementioned bands restrict themselves solely to the underground, the Devil Makes Three has a fan base that extends from the furthest depths of the underground all the way up to just below the surface crust...which is something that most bands and singer/songwriters would aspire to, as it is a postion that can very possibly afford them the opportunity to reach a wider and more diverse audience. And why should only one genre, lifestyle, or social level get to experience something? Why can't it makes its way to each of us in its own way, without ambition, but instead with the the need to share itself with whomever come who may? Admittedly, that's one of the things I like so much about this trio: they aren't a genre-specific or exclusive band. And that makes them valuable to everybody.
           These three friends and bandmates have indeed come a long way from the time KPIG Radio's Sleepy John ventured into a coffee house one day to find them setting up for a show and, before even hearing them play or so much as listening to a demo, ended up inviting them to be guests on his program. Needless to say, the band's presence had a considerable impact on him, causing him to put their music on regular rotation. No doubt, he must have really seen something in them to have invited them to his show without even so much as hearing one note of their music...and a damn good thing he did, too. 
           If you haven't already listened to the Devil Makes Three, I certainly encourage you to go out and get one of their albums, take it home, light a smoke, pour yourself a generous whiskey, and push the play button. I assure you that it will have many of you waiting with an understandable amount of impatience for their fourth album to hit the streets, for news of their next show in your town, and all before you even reach for the beer chaser. The devil knows, I can hardly wait.

www.thedevilmakesthree.com
www.myspace.com/thedevilmakesthree

Yeller Bellies


I like the nostalgia and the mystery of the unexplored West. Songs that told stories of lost souls, murder, loss and revenge.

-Rob "Yeller" Bell

Las Vegas, Nevada. Some call it Sin City, while others refer to it as Lost Wages. There are no doubt a number of other fitting nicknames for it that I am not familiar with, but one thing is for certain: many of them share the same commonalities. That is to say, many of them are based on the fact that Las Vegas is a city of vices, a gambler's paradise, and a 24-hour machine whose gears turn sleeplessly all night long.
           From a distance, once the desert landscape opens up and allows you to observe it on a larger scale, Las Vegas is quite a spectacle---a massive, glowing metropolis surrounded by what seems like an infinity of desolate nothingness. Adorned with millions of artificial lights and a number of monstrous architectural structures on both sides of the Boulevard, Las Vegas is a thriving, bustling piece of modern civilization in the middle of the harsh wastelands that are the Nevada desert. And the lights never go out.
           To be sure, Las Vegas has all of what's expected of a Southwestern town, as well as the climate of a desert community, and yet it also possesses all the charmless corruption of a cigar-chewing pawnbroker's office, all the pretentious glitz and glam of a battalion of runway models, all the practiced swagger of an Elvis Presley impersonator, all the shiny apparatuses and flashing lights of a traveling carnival, and all the untold secrets left behind in the dim rooms of old whorehouses. For those of us who have traveled the States extensively, we know that Las Vegas has many of the characteristics for which other major cities are well known, like the sweaty, booze-soaked sexual energy of New Orleans, Louisiana's French Quarter during Mardi Gras, for example, just as it has the steady decline and artificiality of Los Angeles, California. In some ways, Vegas possesses the gloomy desperation, depravity, and bottom-of-the-barrel, chance-taking atmosphere of Atlantic City, New Jersey, just as it has the sunny amusement park and novelty stand environment of Orlando, Florida. Of course, there are elements of other places in the world, though decidedly too many to point out in a single article.
           Dubbed the Entertainment Capital of the World by the mainstream press and other such forms of mass communication, this desert city is home to a variety of entertainers, including comedians, magicians, and bands and singer/songwriters. It is also a frequented destination for outside entertainers to perform. Such things mostly take place in the tourist areas, however, around the Strip, where the casinos are always at full swing, where crowds clog the walkways and corridors like so many blocked arteries, where the cards are dealt in a seemingly neverending cycle, and where the smell of alcohol and cigarettes are heavy throughout the local establishments. In that part of the city, you will also find a rather sizeable homeless population, who are drawn to the tourist areas to panhandle, to do odd jobs at the casinos for a few measly bucks a day, to rummage through the treasure troves of garbage in the local dumpsters and trashcans, and to take midday siestas on bus stop benches along the Boulevard. That's the dichotomous nature of the city's residents and tourists, though. Some are rags, while others are riches. Of course there's a notable percentage of the population represented by the middle class bourgeoisie, who seem quite comfortable stuck in between the two social extremes. And then there are those who go to Las Vegas as riches and leave as rags. In fact, it's a sad, pathetic story as old as the city itself, for as long as there have been casinos, there have been poor saps sinking their life savings into the slot machines and card tables and roulette wheels and so on. All of this is to say, obviously, that Las Vegas is a melting pot of a city, in which every walk of life, every ethnicity, every culture and subculture, and every level of the social hierarchy is represented to a certain degree by both its inhabitants and visitors alike.
           Las Vegas is also home to the Yeller Bellies, a remarkably talented group of musicians and singer/songwriters whose sound is a combination of Rockabilly, Blues, Americana, and Roots Rock, among other things. When I first heard the Yeller Bellies' music I was more than a little impressed, admittedly, as there was an undeniable chemistry between the band members, a sort of intuitive bond which seemed to permit one to anticipate the other's next move, or, in their particular case, the next note, the next chord, the next boom and crash and tap of the drums, and the next line of lyrics wailed forth. In addition to that, they created a tight-as-hell and yet completely wild sound, brilliantly composed and yet as feral as an alley cat, a sound that would be enthusiastically applauded by the legends, both living and dead alike, such as Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Link Wray, and Mike Ness, as well as the old Blues Masters, like Mississippi Fred McDowell, Lightnin' Hopkins, and Robert Johnson. What's more, there, in the layers of the Yeller Bellies' sound, something unmistakably Countryesque revealed itself as a component part of the whole, a Deep South Blues Rock and Country Riot sound, which was undoubtedly the kind to compel others to drink, dance, fight, fuck, and drive fast cars down the starlit backroads just outside the city limits and on from the bruise-colored horizons of the midnight world to the golden sunrises of the approaching dawn.
           Truly, it is powerful stuff, this music, and I would dare say they are probably one of the best bands in all of Las Vegas, if not one of the best bands in the West.
           It's whiskey and cigarettes music at its finest!
           The Yeller Bellies are a four-piece band, with Rob Bell (Rob Yeller) on vocals and mandolin, Joel Hillhouse on guitar, Mitch Potter on upright bass, and Jimmy Krah on drums. They are all excellent musicians with loads of experience, not just with their instruments of choice but in the band scene as well. And it was during our interview in mid 2008 that I was able to get the story on each of them.
           Rob "Yeller" Bell is a Vegas native. Geographically Vegas made sense to Rob's mother, since his father was serving in the Vietnam War, and his grandparents were already dug-in there as professional musicians. Rob's mother, who raised him, gave birth to him when she was very young, eighteen years old, and she needed all the help she could get. Not unlike much of America's youth, Rob was a latchkey kid from a young age and remained so throughout his school years. He didn't go to college directly after graduation, but it wasn't something he was willing to live his entire life without doing, so he eventually got his Associates in General Studies. Though he now works a day job as a Construction Inspector, music is evidently Rob's passion. His passions don't end there, though, as he has been married for eleven years and is also the happy father of two wonderful little girls, Bijou Blue and Piper Rose. Rob loves the outdoors, but he loathes the desert, and he plans to relocate one day to Ft. Collins, Colorado, where he owns some real-estate. He is also a self-admitted live music junkie, with a ridiculous collection of over 3,000 cd's and 1,400 cassettes of bootleg shows. The Yeller Bellies band is not Rob Bell's first foray in the live music circuit by far, as he has quite a history of playing in Bluegrass outfits and such. Now, I haven't heard any of Rob's previous bands, but I can attest to it being true what they say about his overall performance in the Yeller Bellies: Playing the mandolin like he's beating a dead, miniature pony, he howls through his songs like a fire and brimstone preacher. Come to think of it, in our interview, Rob even mentioned his vocal and mandolin styles in detail. "I've played mandolin for a few years now," he said, "doing hard time in a Bluegrass outfit called the Pickadillos. By playing, I mean beating it until my fingers bleed. I'm not a picker. My strong suit is songwriting. I'm also a fan of experimental music (anything from Waits---post Brennan to Throbbing Gristle). Although this first release may not reflect all that, we shall grow and incorporate more as time goes on. Live, I like to scream like a banshee, bang on skillets with a claw hammer, beat the mandolin, and croon with the rest of 'em. I like to work lyrics in rhythmic patters, really concentrating on meter and syllables. I also like to piss people off. More of a subversive than an anarchist, I like strong statements. I mean what I say, and I don't participate in something I don't believe in. I use pointed language and imagery to get my songs across. As an artist, I want people to love (or hate) our work, but not to treat it with a shrug."
           When I asked Joel Hillhouse about himself, he jokingly stated that he was born the son of a poor sharecropper. Then, on a more serious note, he went on to explain that he was actually born in Springfield, Missouri, and that he had grown up around music in the Ozarks. In fact, his father was one of those musical presences he grew up around, and of Joel's fondest remembrances of his youth he counts listening to his father play Jimmy Rodgers, Hank Sr, Bluegrass standards and old revival meeting songs on his guitar, and how he used to play just for the joy of playing. Tragically, Joel's father passed away when Joel was ten, at which time, for reasons he never quite understood, his mother moved them from the green, green hills and hollers out to the wide open, dusty desert in Vegas. Back then, Vegas was a much different place than it is today, and it definitely took some adapting to. After some time, Joel's mother remarried. And Joel ended up spending the next few years around the Punk scene in Vegas, going to desert shows and whatnot. Currently, as is stated in an online description of his skills, Joel's playing for the Yeller Bellies sounds like: the buzz saws from the hills he hails from.
           Having arrived in Las Vegas from California at the tender age of eight, Mitch Potter grew up as a desert rat, developing tastes for things like motorcycles, hunting, fishing, shooting, hiking, and anything having to do with nature. Mainly he was raised on Motown and Blues and the old Country Greats. For the most part he lived with his grandparents, and they were into Big Band and Swing. Glen Miller, the Dorseys, Les Brown---they all had a serious influence on his upright bass playing. As an adult, this man of few words has confessed to me in our interview that his two favorite pastimes are raising reptiles (he used to be a snake rancher, with over three-hundred snakes at one time) and driving his wife nuts), in addition to playing the bass guitar, of course. The Yeller Bellies band isn't Mitch's first experience in the live music circuit either, and he has been involved in bands ranging in sound and style. But as the bassist for the Yeller Bellies, Mitch has been described as: a tub-thumpin', slappin' monster, still fighting the restraining order filed against him from his first upright.
           "My parents were quite the free spirits," recalled Mitch in our interview, "and there were always interesting people hangin about. That's when I got influenced by some of the early surf music like Dick Dale and Sandy Nelson. In fact, I think the first record I ever jammed to was Teen Beat by Sandy Nelson. I was probably about seven and my neighbor had one of those old crappy Sears guitars. I've been hooked on music ever since. The first bona fide band I was in was MT Pockets with Joel. Even though Joel is an amazing guitarist, he was and is an incredible influence on my bass playing.
            "I've been listening to a lot of the Hacienda Brothers these days," continued Mitch. "Hank is great and Dave's guitar licks are just awesome. Old ZZ Top, pre Eliminator stuff. Dusty Hill is a major inluence on my approach to playing bass. Tommy Shannon of the Arc Angels blows me away. And Th' Legendary Shack Shakers...I swear they have more energy than the Energizer Bunny."
           In the 70's and 80's Jimmy Krah resided in Buffalo, New York, which, as he described it, was "a rust-belt, dying industrial town with no sense of humor, as you might imagine. At night you drank and you bowled. If you didn't bowl, you went to local clubs to see bands, and then, if you were lucky, you formed a band of your own. The scene was different then, and it was better. The local acts were as good as the national acts, and the top of the local talent would work two day jobs and get a loan on the house to buy $20,000.00 worth of lights and sound, and they brought that level of equipment several nights a week to the big local clubs. Production values of live shows were much higher back then, too. I used to go see the local band Talas, for example, with bassist Billy Sheehan, playing McVan's crummy bar on Niagara Street for thirty people with a four-dollar cover. Burgeoning acts like Motorhead and Metallica would play the Sky Room on Seneca Street for a hundred people in 1983, six blocks from my house. Local dive bars as a matter of vogue and trend and marketing concept did not exist then. A bar was either crummy or it wasn't, and you played there because that's where the crowd was, and that's where the gig was. The crowds were blue-collar people with shitty attitudes in general, and you had better be a good band or else. There was neither credit given nor glory taken in trying. You were expected to succeed and to impress, and if you didn't, those crowds simply wouldn't waste their time on you. And they had no problem letting you know you sucked, if you were stupid enough to suck."
           Jimmy had been playing drums for quite a few years when the new wave of British Heavy Metal happened. To him, it was a great thing, as there was a whole series of bands fighting their way out of shitty English neighborhoods, and they were willing to go over the top to breakout of Great Britain's version of Buffalo. It was even more difficult for those bands because they knew they had to measure up to acts like Zeppelin and Sabbath, which, let's be honest, are not easy shoes to fill. Basically, Jimmy came up listening to and trying to emulate early Accept, Diamondhead, Motorhead, Iron Maiden, Raven, and Trust.
           For six years Jimmy was a very dedicated drummer, until he ended up selling all of his gear to one of his drum students so that he could make his car payments. That was in 1984. At that point he stopped playing altogether. And the years between '84 and the early 90's saw him go through many occupations---stockbroker, life insurance salesman, auto parts salesman, and a body shop worker---before enrolling in law school in 1993. In 1996, having graduated from law school and earned his blackbelt in Tae Kwon Do, it was time to break free from Buffalo for good. Then, in 1997, Jimmy made his way to Las Vegas in order to begin his career as an attorney. It was a fresh start. Certainly an entirely different world than Buffalo. Some years later, he began his own law practice, the same practice that is now funding his re-entry into music. Finally, in 2007, he was recruited by the Yeller Bellies as their newest member. And that journey is just beginning, it seems.
           From what I gathered in the interview I did with the band, it would seem that Rob Bell, vocalist and mandolin player, hatched the very idea of the band from his love for Roots music. In fact, to quote an online source, Rob "Yeller" Bell heads this menagerie of miscreants. He is the ringleader, weaving tales of the wronged and wretched into haunting melodies. "I really just wanted to incorporate the sounds and instruments of the music I love," he explained, "write tunes that reflect that, and then collect individuals with multi-colored backgrounds to take that sound to a different level. I think this project reflects what we all bring to it collectively."
           "I had no real preconceived notion of what this band was going to be," said Mitch Potter on the band's beginnings. "As a matter of fact, I auditioned on a five-string electric bass. After a couple rehearsals, I felt the style and flavor of what we were doing would sound better on an upright bass. So I sold the five-string I had been playing for the last ten years and bought an upright. Prior to coming into the Yeller Bellies, I had been playing mostly Country and Blues with Bobby Kingston. Before that, I had been in several bands that ran the gamut from Hardcore Blues to Alternative Rock. I think one of the things that really helps the Yeller Bellies is the fact that Joel and I had been in bands together off and on since 1987. We have a great feel for each other and can read each other very well musically."
           "In 2007," said Jimmy Krah, "still excited about getting my chops back in shape and really wanting to play live music again, I started a Rock band in Las Vegas, cut another demo cd, and shared a few gigs with the Yeller Bellies. Their drummer at the time, Scott, was a neat guy, a songwriter and guitarist who was able to teach himself the drums well enough to do gigs with them as a new band. The Yeller Bellies simply needed a more experienced and technically proficient drummer, and they asked me to join after seeing me play a few gigs with my Rock band. My hat will always be off to Scott for being able to handle the drums while the Yeller Bellies were getting off the ground.
           "I learned the Yeller Bellies material well enough to start gigging after a few quick months of rehearsal," continued Jimmy. "I think my first gig with them was in November of 2007. We continue to rehearse in my living room, with no complaints from my neighbors. Within three months we were in the studio recording our first album, Boys Will Be Boys. We recorded it at the same studio where I did the Blues demo and my Rock band demo. In fact, the studio is owned by my friend Lez Warner, former drummer for the Cult. Basically, it's a converted garage, and there's just barely enough room to set up the gear there. I recommended we use that particular studio based on my previous experience there. We recorded the bass and drum tracks together, live, over scratch guitars and vocals, with generally no more than three takes of each song. Mitch and I did the bass and drum tracks you hear on the album in two days, in two sessions, with no tricks or gizmos. We just hammered those tracks right out. Then Joel and Rob did guitars and mandolin and vocals to replace their scratch tracks. The album came together very quickly because we really wanted to record this band, and we were getting tired of not having cd's for fans. It's a testament to the skill of the players and a real credit to Dave Hornbeck, who recorded, engineered and mastered the cd in Lez's studio, that it could be done so quickly and sound as good as it does. My favorite memory of recording the album is when Joel laid down the entire slide guitar track for the song 'Haunted' in one shot, on the first take. He nailed it like nobody's business, and there was just no need to do a second take."
           For those of us who have heard the song "Haunted," we know exactly what Jimmy Krah means. Truth be told, "Haunted" is hands down my favorite song on the record, with the cool, slow drumbeat which starts off the song, the phenomenal slide guitar part which flows hauntingly over the collective instrumentation, Mitch's subtle but effective basslines, and Rob's Bluesy vocals accompanied by a female presence with an unbelievably beautiful singing voice. Altogether, "Haunted" is an indisputable masterpiece of a song. Indeed, it is one of the best modern Blues songs I've heard in a long time, next to the songs of Pete Yorko, Two Gallants, and Timber Timbre. And when I asked Rob about the woman who contributed the guest vocals on the song, he said...
           "That woman was my wife, Danielle Bell, a professional singer from the hotel circuit. Not only does she have a great voice, she works cheap. She came in and laid the vocals down in one take, and then layered harmonies over her original track (in Touched and Siren Song)."
           As far as the meaning of the lyrics behind "Haunted," Rob explained...
           "It's classic love and loss. Drinking to forget, drinking to honor, the pain still fresh. The song is a single narration, but I thought it would be fun to do as a duet."
           Of course, "Haunted" is not the only great song on the album. There are other gems, like the first track, a Rockabilly instrumental titled "Bullets, Booze, and Sombreros." "Gutter Dog," the second song, is one of the harder hitting songs on the record, with a mandolin intro coupled with a steady beat on the kick drum, which soon breaks into a full-on Rock tune with a rising and falling distorted guitar riff wavering over it all, and the punctuation of each line with the notes of Mitch's upright, while Rob howls the lyrics in fits of passionate vocal delivery. "Vegas is nationally known as one of the worst towns for the homeless," said Rob, explaining the meaning behind "Gutter Dog." "Entire areas of shanty shelters are razed, and parks are closed to the public in attempts to put the homeless out of sight. This is what would happen if the homeless banded together and revolted." Later in the record comes "Siren Song," a Countryesque number, the meaning behind which Rob describes as: "A sailor marries a siren, but suspects her of cheating with the boss, Davy Jones." And it all comes to an end with the title track, "Boys Will Be Boys," a darker, more Rock 'n' Roll piece, with a very involved guitar part, at least for the verses, while the chorus picks it up into an almost Punk sort of frenzy, with echoing backup vocals. Broken down into its simplest explanation, "Boys Will Be Boys" is a social commentary on how people raise their children, as well as a statement on how children grow up and make their own decisions.
           Since the Yeller Bellies began their aural assault on Vegas, they have shared the stage with such bands and singer/songwriters as the Koffin Kats, Th' Legendary Shack Shakers, Jesse Dayton, Pine Hill Haints (with whom they once played a show at the bottom of an empty pool), Detroit Cobras, and the Chop Tops. All of them very notable bands and singer/songwriters. It is my guess that the Yeller Bellies can hold their own at such shows. And if they're playing with these types of bands and singer/songwriters already, I can't wait to see what the next few years will bring for them.
           As far as the individuality and specific characteristics of each band member, there's definitely no shortage; which is to say, there's Rob, with his outlaw appearance, wailing his lyrics at the top of his lungs, and rockin' savagely on his mandolin (of all things!). Then there's Mitch, with his cowboy hat and wolfman beard, holdin' his upright like his best lady, and yet thumpin' and slappin' it as if it were his worst enemy. In fact, in our interview, Mitch remarked on his cowboy hat, saying, "I wear my cowboy hat most of the time unless I'm indoors and it's hotter than hell; then the kilt comes out!" Jimmy is a good-humored guy with a look that suggests he was born a bit too late, sporting an awesome, perfectly groomed pompadour and chop-style sideburns, while he pounds his drum kit like a man possessed. We even discussed Jimmy's hair in our interview, at which time he said, "I decided to let the sideburns do their thing probably back in 2004 as a silent protest about what I thought were people's values and expectations, and also as a commentary about my own values and expectations. They were already there by the time I bought my first set of drums in Las Vegas. I had been watching the box set of the police drama Crime Story from the 80's, which is set in the 60's. In a flash of inspiration I walked in to my barber with the box set in hand and told him I wanted to do my hair like Ray Luca, the bad guy mobster in Crime Story. We worked for about a year to train him to give me the right haircut, and now I get it cut on schedule every three weeks. If it gets to long, it curls and won't stand up. It takes about ten minutes to style it for gigs and photos. Towel dry, two globs of mousse, and a blowdryer. Then I hammer it down with a serious hairspray---so much that it looks the same after a gig. It boils down to the right cut, the right natural body, and a few minutes with a blowdryer. And after four years I can whack it together in just a few minutes. It's now morphed from Ray Luca to Dirty Hairy to Wolverine and back to Dirty Hairy. It has it's moods. People expect to see my hair that way, and they seem to like it, so it probably won't change any time soon."
           Music has been good to these madmen of the dusty West, so much so that they are even acting in films and doing soundtracks. On this experience, Rob said, "The first film, which we have just completed filming for, is entitled Killer Biker Chicks, and was written by Regan Redding. The film is a throwback to 70's exploitation films and Russ Meyer. Low budget, murder, gratuitous nudity, etc. We all play bikers named after California prisons. I contacted Regan about doing a song for his film, and things went from there. We have written and recorded two songs for the film, and I will be on hand for the making of the soundtrack. The second film is called RUJOKIN, a comedy about a farmer and his ties to the mob. We have been approached by this project and have signed on, but we have yet to be involved."
           Truly, it's amazing what these lads have accomplished in such a short time. It's like they were meant to happen, that the Yeller Bellies were destined to form and make the music they're making. And, in the opinion of this writer, I see nothing but rapid progression and good things for this wild bunch of outlaw sinners from the Left Coast. For these cats, as Rob once told me, "Recording is secondary to writing, and writing is secondary to playing live." So support this band, as it exists solely to make you, their listeners, move, think, feel, and walk away inspired and better off for having listened to them.

http://www.myspace.com/yellerbellies

When it comes to the modern singer/songwriters of this vast City Earth, Tim Holehouse, UK songsmith and sound-artist, is unquestionably one of the rarest and most interesting of the lot. With little more than an acoustic guitar and his voice, Tim Holehouse creates a dark and haunting soundscape of lo-fi blues and antifolk...that is, if a name can be attached to it at all. But names are decidedly less important than the songs themselves and what lies behind the songs. So in an attempt to get to the heart of the songs, as well as to what lies behind them, I asked Tim if he wanted to be featured in our little art rag here in the States. It wasn't long before he replied, enthusiastically accepting my offer. And it wasn't long after he and I discussed the basics of the article that I received an overseas press package in the mail. Enclosed was a pre-release copy of Tim's latest solo endeavor: "From the Dawn Chorus..."
           After listening to the record a handful of times, and having developed both an artistic and personal relationship with each of the ten songs on it, I felt it was time to take the next step and do an interview with Tim. Throughout an entire night of drinking strong convenience store coffee and chain-smoking generic brand cigarettes this past winter, I sat at my computer typing in an inspired frenzy to complete, one after another, the questions that served as my part of our online interview. In the early hours of the following morning, exhausted both mentally and physically, with the night's cold, lingering darkness still pressing against the windows, and with my writing room awash in the soft blue glow from the computer monitor, which made my eyelids even heavier, I copied the interview questions, transferred them to e-mail format, and sent them to Tim.
           Tim was very quick to send back the completed interview material. And, after reading his answers, it was rather evident that he had put a lot of thought and effort into them, as well as a much appreciated degree of openness and honesty.
Being that I knew very little about Tim Holehouse other than that he was a very talented and highly original singer/songwriter from the UK, I wanted to use the first question of the interview as a sort of introductory piece, with which to ask him: "Who is Tim Holehouse, not just as a singer/songwriter, but as a human being of this crazy City Earth in which we live?" And he replied...
           Well, I guess I'm a guy who was brought up in Portsmouth, the naval flagship city of the United Kingdom. From there I lived for a while in Exeter, London, and briefly in Edinburgh. I've been in bands since I was 14. I have played everything but drums (although that changed recently when I jammed with a band on drums).
           These days I'm a one man show under two different guises: Tim Holehouse the folk/country/blues acoustic guy, and Timothy "Drone" musician and lord and master of harsh noise.
           I am now a traveling musician living on the road (although that's going to change soon...but I'll talk more about that later). And I guess it's fair to say I'm a lover, not a fighter.
           Occasionally, when it comes to music, one happens upon an entirely new breed of animal---a singer/songwriter whose sound is nearly incomparable to that of his or her fellow artists---and Tim Holehouse is just such an animal. Of course, one could simply insert him into the folky blues categories where singer/songwriters like M. Ward, Taylor Kirk (Timber Timbre), Pete Yorko, Naomi Scott (Naomi Hates Humans), and Angelo Spencer reside, but even they wouldn't sum up his overall sound quite right. On the other hand, one could also place him beside the likes of: Strand of Oaks, the Mountain Goats, Octoberman, and Frontier Ruckus. You see, there's a notable beauty and eclecticism in Tim Holehouse's music that is largely absent in contemporary alternative and indie circles, and which strays well beyond the borders of blues and folk into other musical and artistic realms, some of which I haven't any names for. And that's one of the reasons his music appeals to me so much: there's nothing commonplace about it.
           Aesthetically, Tim's songs have a rather wide range, though many of them tend to have a dark and brooding quality. And while that is so, it is also true that his songs don't hold true to any particular pattern and go from one to the next like the drastically changing seasons here in the northeast. The shifting temperaments are at times subtle, while at others much more noticeable, but never too extreme. And the various components of each song seem to revolve around the elements of not only Tim's surface character, but his innermost self as well, rising up from his center in bursts of artistic and personal expression, from the album's second track, "Good Morning, Mr. Vampire" (a somber soundscape of intelligent and moving note-play, instrumental echoes, and oddly timed percussion, with soft, trembling vocals), to the fourth track, "Everyday, You" (a slow-moving vessel of a song, dark and airy, with effective note bends and the sound of fingers sliding down the fret board to create a bluesy, country-esque atmosphere, with vocals that harmonize off and on with the corresponding instrumentation), to the seventh track, "Tree on the Hill" (a darkly beautiful song with brilliant layers of acoustic guitar and duet vocals between Tim and Naomi Scott of Naomi Hates Humans), to the ninth track, "Searching For" (a piano-driven piece with strong, almost spoken word vocals), and so on. (Note: I only mention a few songs in the above paragraph because to mention them all in descriptive terms would be overdoing it a bit. And besides, the listener of the record should come up with his or her own ideas on the material he or she is experiencing.)
           Just as I've already mentioned in the opening line of this article, when it comes to the modern singer/songwriters of thidss vast City Earth, Tim Holehouse, UK songsmith and sound-artist, is unquestionably one of the rarest and most interesting of the lot. Music isn't just an art form for Tim Holehouse; it's a lifestyle. Even more than that, it's a religion. It's a movement. It's something absolutely necessary. Something vital to his existence.
           When I first heard Tim's music, I was quite naturally taken in by it, and I told him as much. In fact, I told him that I thought his songs were brilliant, that his music was unlike so much of the music out there in the world today, and that he obviously didn't fashion his sound after the music of other musicians and singer/songwriters...or at least if he did, it didn't show. Frankly, I was curious about his history as a musician and singer/songwriter. And I was more than a little surprised, though only at first, to find out that his beginnings were not as the lo-fi blues and antifolk artist as so many know him now, but as something else entirely. He explained it like this...
           Well, the story of me becoming a solo artist is a weird one. Basically, I have been in many different bands over the years, from progressive rock bands to full-on metal bands. In fact, I spent the last 7 or 8 years around the DIY hardcore and punk scenes, playing in several different bands, the main two being: Soon the Darkness (a melodic hardcore band) and Among the Missing (a sludge metal band). The truth is that I came into doing solo stuff purely by accident. I had also been experimenting with electronic trip-hop stuff, kinda like Portishead, Tricky, and Massive Attack, etc, for a while, and we did the odd live gig as a sort of duo. But then I started writing some songs just for myself, really...songs that never quite worked for the project or bands I was in at the time. My first few shows came about as accidents as well, one being when my band couldn't do a show together, and others at friends' houses. It was all very casual for a few years, just something I did occasionally. Then, somewhere around the summer of 2005, when I was participating in about five different bands, I went to see a band called Funeral Diner, and I played one of my earliest, if not my first solo show with them (I can't remember exactly which). The singer Seth had said, "Oh, I'll put your solo album out!" To be honest, I thought he was just being nice. In my mind, I was a band guy, basically. But at another show, about two years later, Seth comes up to me and asks, "Where's that album? You promised me you were going to record all of your songs." He assured me that he had been serious and that he still was. So I told him I would do it. A couple of weeks later a guy called Jim (Millipeed Records), having seen me play at one of his friend's houses, asked me to play a place called the Homestead in Southampton. After the show, which was the first time I was on the bill under my own name (I think), he asked if he could put out my record in the UK. So I guessed it was time to record my songs.
           Luckily, my parents live out in the middle of nowhere. So I took my four-track (if was good enough for Bruce Springsteen to have recorded his Nebraska album on one of them!) to their place one weekend while they were away, and I recorded 7 of my favorite (or rather, the 7 that worked best together). Soon after, I went back and re-recorded a couple of songs, as they needed drums, so we spent 3 hours in a practice space and recorded the songs with my friend, Mark Braby, who's an amazing drummer. In the end, the recording ended up costing a total of about 30 pounds (and that was for the practice space). The album was titled: "Found Dead at the Shoreline." And the themes for that record were love, death, and the sea. All of the songs were deeply personal, but the way I write is very coded and one wouldn't know they about certain people even if one knew them oneself. Musically, I guess I took a lot of inspiration from stuff like Low, Codeine, and Galaxy 500 on that particular record. It was all very quiet, dark and brooding, with a lot of held chords. Part of the reason for the long held chords was because I struggled to sing and play guitar at the same time (to be honest about it). I had been a guitar player in bands, and I had been a singer, but never had I done them simultaneously. It was a lot to do with confidence, too. I still think, for what it's worth, "Found Dead at the Shoreline" is a very nice record, mainly because it's just an incredibly honest one.
           After that I got better at playing and singing at the same time and I learned, and I'm still learning new tricks, musically. Thematically the songs are still fairly personal but sometimes still run with a different kind of theme. One of the tracks on the new record, for example, is about Spike Milligan, one of my favorite comedians ever. Over Christmas I watched a program about his struggle with mental illness and depression, so as a subject very close to my heart, and he being an idol of mine, I wrote a song about him. Lately, other themes have been very rural based, film based, and...well, I also seem to be writing a lot of traveling blues songs. These days, musically, I guess I mix doom metal spacings with blues scales and tuning (I play in d-g-d-g-b-b almost exclusively these days), much of which is accompanied by traditional folk melodies. I always feel like I'm learning things from other writers. And I know that I still have a long way to go on my journey.
           On Tim's new record, "From the Dawn Chorus...," he admittedly stepped into a more experimental realm of songwriting, and I was more than a little curious as to what caused that shift in his process. Not only that, but I was also curious as to which style he thought represented him better as an artist...unless, of course, he felt that both represented him equally and were simply two separate facets of his artistic self. When I brought these thoughts to his attention, he said...
           Well, "From the Dawn Chorus..." is a strange record, certainly the most ambitious thing I've ever attempted. Visualizing the songs with strings and then actually adding strings and full band arrangements and such was a big undertaking. I suppose it's kind of experimental that in some ways I made up my own rules for the way I approached the writing and arrangements. It's also the first record to feature what has currently become my preferred tuning (d-g-d-g-b-b), although I did some of the material in standard tunings. Most of the songs were written for the album, though I did end up taking some of the older songs that I had never been quite happy with, at least not happy enough with them to record them, re-worked them a bit, and ultimately I felt they fit thematically with the rest of it. While it took maybe about two months to write the whole album, putting it together and recording it took nearly a year and a half. Even then, there were still bits I would have loved to have re-done.
           Yes, I guess it's pretty bleak, like a lot of my other material. I don't know if it's quite as bleak as "Found Dead at the Shoreline," though some of it is definitely a bit more euphoric. It's true, I don't do many upbeat numbers. I guess I have a pretty deep and sad voice. And I was also going through a rather dark period when I wrote the songs for this record. A lot of personal change took place while recording the album, too, which may have affected the overall sound. "From the Dawn Chorus..." was me writing and recording a full solo album as a solo artist for the first time, and I think I was very conscious of that fact. And I ended up thinking to myself, "Well, if I ever make another solo record, at least this one turned out pretty much how I imagined it would."
           Having gotten to know Tim through our extensive correspondence, I am very much intrigued by him, and I can say without a moment's pause that he is undoubtedly the kind of artist I admire and respect above most others. I mean, this bearded, shaggy-haired young man, looking like some sort of Euro-poet, casual artist, Undergrounder and meditative bodhisattva wanderer of the great Highway World, lists his favorite bands and singer/songwriters in an order which ranges from Godspeed You Black Emperor to John Coltrane, from Tom Waits and Nick Cave to Neurosis and Murder City Devils and Ink and Dagger, and so on. As far as his own music is concerned, he doesn't see the point in writing and recording songs he never intends to play live. He is a restless soul of the traveling world, going place to place to share his extraordinary and wonderful songs. And what's more, he lives his life by Bill Hicks' words: "Play from your fucking heart!"

www.myspace.com/timholehouse

With their base instruments and a strong repertoire of acoustic "pop punk" songs, the three members who make up the foundation of the Future Kings of Nowhere have come to us from Durham, North Carolina to claim the throne to the kingdom of the City Earth Underground. It is not a position easily won, granted, though they are faring remarkably well. Well enough, that is, to be quickly emerging from the initial level of obscurity with which every band and singer/songwriter is faced in the beginning. After a single listen to their self-titled 2007 debut album, one can clearly see that these lads are destined to go much further than nowhere. And if there is such a thing as royalty of the Underground, these three are undoubtedly it.
           To get a better idea of the band's humble beginnings, I asked Shayne O'Neill
about it in our interview. To which he replied...
           This band has a bit of a scattered history. In 2003 I started playing solo shows under my own name, but I didn't get serious about playing out until 2005 or so. By the end of that year, I was starting to feel like there was something missing, so I recruited a couple friends to join me on stage, which was when the Future Kings of Nowhere officially began.
           My original desire behind the band was to play fast, catchy, acoustic songs that would sound good no matter how much or how little instrumentation was available. That approach has allowed the line-up of the band to be relatively fluid, with people coming and going over the past few years. Each new personality and instrument brings a different feel to the music, which I think is fantastic and ensures that the sound is always changing and growing as we go along. Recently, a core group (drums, bass, and guitar) has formed that are all willing and able to be permanent members, with horns and other auxiliary instrumentation coming and going as they please.
           The sound is close to how I had originally envisioned it, but the path to where we are now has been---how did you put it, James?---"a blunder of human trial and error."
           In order to give you, my readers, a clearer and more complete picture of the royal inventor of this mad project, Mr. Shayne O'Neill, I suggest picturing a tall, slender, clean-cut young man, most of the time sporting his eyeglasses (which suit him quite well actually), whose overall appearance isn't exactly something easily inserted into the countless categories and subcategories of human existence. Otherwise, he is more or less a part of the jeans-and-t shirt masses of the Suicide Generation. But later, it becomes evident that he is another breed of animal entirely...and there's definitely more to him than meets the eye.
Shayne's bandmates fall into a similar category of style, which is quite refreshing, for there's really not much that's overly deliberate or cultivated in their styles, and they obviously haven't the need to conform to some widely accepted set of genre fashions or to whatever countercultural stereotypes that may be attached to the scenes by the corporate branches which profit from infiltrating and exploiting artistic movements and such. (But that's another topic altogether.)
           Wanting to get a better understanding of the Future Kings, not just as musicians and singer/songwriters, but also as individuals, I asked Shayne during our interview about his bandmates and what each of them brought to the table.
           Mike Hacker (drums), explained Shayne, provides the driving energy of the band, both in the music and in life. He winds up being the motivational speaker, the one who says, "Okay, here's what needs to get done to make this happen." He keeps things fast and heavy.
           Jon Kornicki (bass), Shayne continued, is the newest member. He's quieter than the rest of us, which allows him to be more peaceful than the rest of us. While everyone else is vying for the limelight, Jon seems happy to be playing a bit more of a supportive role, holding down the low end and keeping things positive.
           Shayne O'Neill (guitar/vocals), he said of himself, plays guitar and sings. Neither of them terribly well.
           Kym Register, Catherine Edgerton, Colin Booy, etc, said Shayne, (trumpet, sax, trombone, saw, accordion, vocals, etc) bring the fun. They're not around all the time, but when they are, things are chaotic and awesome.
           Having come to know their sound rather well, I can say with the utmost certainty that the kingly trio and their court of royal subjects have succeeded in doing exactly what Shayne had first set out to do, for the music of the Future Kings of Nowhere is indeed fast, catchy, acoustic music that is pretty amazing despite the number of instruments being used. In some of the songs, however, the auxiliary instrumentation transforms them from basic bodies of sound to many-layered compositions with all the elements of intricate "acousti-punk"/"antifolk" masterpieces. Of course I realize that the word intricate isn't typically used in the same sentence as "acousti-punk" or "antifolk," and you must understand that I am not using intricate in the John Zorn or Sufjan Stevens sense, nor in the Charlie Parker or Coltrane sense, but rather in the sense that the Future Kings' song structures are like so many buildings in the immediate cityscape, all surrounded by scaffolding, level upon level of iron crossbars and ladders and planks, from which engineers work arduously at creating a more beautiful and interesting vision of urban architecture...the kind which cause passersby to pause and gaze at length, appreciatively and absorbedly. In other words, the auxiliary instrumentation fills in the gaps, further adorns the unusual décor of their musical abode, and weaves its way through the many apertures in the fabric of sound that the base instruments create.
           Most of the songs on the Future Kings of Nowhere record, although sincere and from the heart, also possess intelligence and a razor-sharp wit, an undeniable energy coupled with...well, with something akin to the wings of a hummingbird, which move so incredibly fast that they almost appear to be standing still, nearly motionless, like the way I remember them hovering at the nectar-filled feeders on a friend's front porch in Birmingham, Alabama. That is to say, despite all of the band's frantic energy and fast-paced songs, there's an undeniable clarity to them. Some of their songs are light and fun, while others are full of heartache and longing. Some are full of metaphors and irony, while others are cathartic and regretful. And like any great band or singer/songwriter of the City Earth Underground, the Future Kings' music is just as emotional as it is intellectual. Not only is the music emotional and intellectual, it is equally soulful, though on a very human level (meaning that their songs, although cerebral and visceral in turns, every once in a while simultaneously, are cerebral and visceral in ways that most people can understand and relate to.) Yes, there are things scattered throughout their catalogue of songs for almost every walk of life here in this vast and crazy City Earth.
           Speaking of intellect and emotion and soulfulness, a lesson I learned early as an artist was the holy trinity of art, which is evident in any important, meaningful and worthwhile piece, to be sure. Quite simply, if the work of art evokes a series of inner responses from the one experiencing it---if it makes one think and feel, and also touches upon that unnamable thing at one's center (which we will call the soul, for lack of a better word)---it possesses the holy trinity of art: intelligence, emotion, and soulfulness. Of course that's a tall order for any artist. But it is also what draws a very obvious line between a great piece of art and that which is merely good. It separates the extraordinary from that which is simply ordinary, and the utterly remarkable from that which is unremarkable.
           Some go by the old Shakespearian question of: "What's in a name?" While for others, such as myself, it's not quite that simple, and we are tempted to answer that there's much in a name. Take the subject of this very article, the band, and their clever moniker, the Future Kings of Nowhere. Now, when I first saw the name of the band, I thought it to be a smart socio-political statement of sorts, a reference to the times in which we presently live, a way of saying, "The world has gone to shit and there's nothing left for our generation but nothing and nowhere." And to a degree I still think I was partly correct on that one. Not only that, but I think it's a pretty accurate appraisal of the current state of affairs. All assumptions and speculation aside, I simply had to ask Shayne about the unusual moniker. To which he replied...
           It (the name) comes from a song I wrote a long time ago that had lines like: "Some day I'll close my eyes and be the king of everything I see." That sort of bitter, self-effacing humor describes who we are pretty well. There's also a bit of anti-authoritarian flavor in it that suits our outlook on life. I also picture a little kid with a towel for a cape and a stick for a sword; or two brothers in rural Appalachia who never made it to college but have figured out how to make their car run on sunlight and garbage. Dreamers, to put it generally.
           Ok. Now that we've covered the introductory segment, the band's history, the band members, and the moniker, I think it would be a good time to go into the style of music that the Future Kings of Nowhere play. The reviews I've read so far have mostly used the term "acousticore" to categorize the band. And while that's a decent description of their overall sound, it doesn't do them complete justice. So I approached Shayne with the following question:
           "Over the past few years, there has been a decidedly considerable increase in the distorted, screaming masses picking up acoustic guitars and attempting to add a sort of clarity and meaningfulness to their music, only without sacrificing their punk rock edge. And for the most part, that artistic movement---or whatever you'd like to call it---has been remarkably successful. And now you come along, the Future Kings of Nowhere, with a whole new formula for the "folk punk" equation, which isn't so much "folk punk" as it is the term coined by the existence of your project: "acousticore." Now, I'm not one to get overly hungup on categories and genres and so forth. Music is music, I know. And it is mostly my belief that there are two types of music: Superior and Inferior. But, all the same, I would like to ask if you think the term "acousticore" suits your style and sound as well as or better than the others associated with similar bands and singer/songwriters?"
           "Acousticore" might not be the best name for what we do, Shayne answered, but it's a lot easier than saying "catchy, lyrical, front porch music played at top speed on an acoustic guitar, with bass, drums, and other instruments that make you want to bounce around and sing." How are we different from "folk punk?" I'm not sure. We at least touch that genre on the edges. Maybe "folk pop-punk," since our songs are mostly about relationships and our own neuroses, and only occasionally about the political topics that a lot of the "folk punk" genre focuses on. Mostly I wanted to be able to play fun, high energy, "pop-punk" songs, but I wanted to write about more introspective things than usually get touched on in "pop-punk," and I wanted to be able to play an occasional slow song, and I wanted folks to be able to hear the words (hence the acoustic). Our music is the result of greedily trying to achieve all that at once.
           According to Mike Frame's review in Razorcake Magazine, the Future Kings of Nowhere's record... sounds like a cross between Against Me! and the first Violent Femmes record. To an extent, I agree with that comparison...the newer Against Me! material notwithstanding, of course, while almost all of the Femmes' songs were great and are therefore relevant to the subject at hand. What's more, I can also place the Future Kings beside such bands as: Fistful of Dynamite, Boners & Airplanes, and Billy Liar, among a few others of the "acousti-punk" underground. For the most part, however, the Future Kings' musical hybrid of "antifolk" and "pop-punk" stands on its own.
           There are two tracks on their album that especially stick out among the rest, mainly because they are so very different from the others. The first of which, "Downpour," goes in a rather peculiar direction next to the other songs on the record...which is to say, the song's trunk is a tricky structure of O'Neill's acoustic guitar and Kornicki's bass wound tightly around one another. Hacker's drums keep a steady, up-tempo beat and act almost like a powerful adhesive bonding all the components of the song together, including the brilliant horn parts which branch out from the trunk in a very deliberate pattern. In fact, the horn parts remind me, in this particular piece, of a vehicle going over hilly terrain, smoothly speeding along, up and over, while a scenery of impossibly green grass and trees like the wonderful crayon drawings of children go rushing by on either side under azure skies and golden shafts of sunlight. Now, the subject matter of the ther song is something else altogether, and is not so much up-beat and happy as it is a socio-political commentary on specific President Bush policies.
           The second song, "10 Simple Murders" is a disturbing narrative over a "country-esque," "acoustibilly folk" sound with pronounced basslines, slightly twangy strumming patterns, and a continuously skittering roll of a drumbeat. At times, in "10 Simple Murders," the union of horns and drums, bass and acoustic guitar seems almost reminiscent of a couple notable Spanish styles of music combined, such as the corridos (originating from 18th Century Mexico, the corridos is a narrative and somewhat poetic style of song, almost akin to a ballad), as observed by Jo-Ann Greene (All Music Guide review) and the ranchera (a more traditional variation of the Mexican mariachi sound, the ranchera typically includes acoustic guitar, other stringed instruments, trumpet, accordion, and drums). There are a lot of ingredients that go into this pot o' musical stew, though...certainly more than I can point out. All in all, it's a tremendously brilliant song.
           When I mentioned those two songs in our interview, Shayne said, We here at FKoN Industries are fans of the old "form follows function" adage. Hopefully the songs sound like what they are talking about. "10 Simple Murders" is a country-esque song because it's about a cowboy-outlaw type figure. "Downpour," a song about Bush's pitiful response to global warming, has a lot of 7th chords (the jazzy sound you mentioned) because 7th chords have an unresolved, expectant feel to them. There is also a falling horn line that mimics rainfall to some degree, and that, in the words of Dan Kinney---FKoN's old drummer---"sounds like a little kid worrying about the weather." Relationships like that are rarely intentional, usually occurring as happy accidents of the process in which the song and what the song is about get created at the same time, feeding back on one another. We're trying to walk a line between keeping the music fresh (not letting every song be made up of just power chords) and keeping it accessible (not getting too far from songs made up of power chords).
           Many of the Future Kings' songs seem to be composed around similar subject matter, true, such as relationship worries and woes, failed romances, unrequited love, and all the late-night musings of such things, like in the songs "Never" and "C is for Heartache" and "Like a Staring Contest," etc. Though their music conveys an undeniable intelligence, it also possesses an equally noticeable emotionality, and I found myself trying to figure out if it was more visceral or cerebral, or if there was a good balance between the two (if such a thing is ever really possible). And when I confessed those thoughts to Shayne, he said...
           I like the idea of balance, although I often find it a difficult thing to achieve in life. Most songs start with that visceral emotion, but in order to convey it to someone else you have to translate it into a more or less cerebral format (unless you just get on stage and shout, "bluuuaaarrrggghhhaaaooommmp!" which only fans of death metal seem to properly understand). I try to find the right analogy or descriptive moment to properly connect the words with the underlying feeling. I can also rely on the music to keep the song rooted in a particular feeling, since our songs are not ever terribly complex, musically speaking.
           With the obvious exception of "10 Simple Murders" and "Downpour," the Future Kings of Nowhere record could almost pass as a concept album. And I'm quite sure I'm not alone in wondering what their next contribution to the world of independent music will consist of.
           Towards the end of our interview, Shayne shared his views on music as art, which he articulately expressed by saying...
           The best thing that music can do is bring people together, either by dancing or sharing a love for a song, or just sharing an emotion of some sort. I hope that our music can make the world a better, happier place and that if we're lucky we can inspire some other people to do awesome things, like fight sexism or build communities. I'm not sure if that really covers the subject very well, but it's how we see music's place in the world.
           According to Shayne, the Future Kings are currently trying to make their endeavor a full-time gig, and they're touring as far as their little van can take them. They recently completed a short Northeast tour, and this fall they're planning to take a Midwest trip. They're also hoping on making it out to the West Coast next year. For information on this royal trio of the Southern City Earth, keep checking their myspace page: www.myspace.com/thefuturekings.

 Tin Tree Factory

by
James G. Carlson

When you sent me that first piece of mail, I was leaving for tour. Now I'm back. It was two weeks on the road. We called it the "Too Dork to Punk Tour." We, the four of us---Stef, Marc, Opal, and I---went from Seattle clockwise through the Western U.S., through the Rockies, down as far as Tucson, and then up the Coast. On the way back to Seattle, we were already talking about ways that we could tour next time and how we could get out to the East Coast. We don't know when, but we really want to make it out that way. In fact, Marc, Stef, and Opal are all from that part of the world. And I'm from St. Louis originally. We all really love the Northeast.

-letter from Johnny D of Tin Tree Factory to James of the Urban Artist Group

 A cold slanting drizzle began falling as the Greyhound bus pulled into its spot at the station in Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a small station which closed early in the evening, and having arrived in the middle of the night, I was forced to wait on the corner of 4th & Hamilton for a friend to pick me up. Luckily there was an overhanging section of roof which partly shielded me from the inclement weather, though I ended up covered in a film of chilly mist despite my efforts to stay dry. I stood bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a nearby streetlight, waiting. By the time my ride pulled up curbside on 4th Street, the drizzle had turned into a downpour, fat raindrops crashing at my feet and soaking through to my socks. Tiny liquid beads hung from the strands of hair that had fallen across my brow, and then dripped down my face in slow rivulets to be absorbed by the fabric at the neck of my shirt. For having just returned from two years in the Deep South, I had very little luggage. I did have my lucky backpack, however, which was stuffed to bursting with a few sentimental items I'd gotten along the way: a photo album, my journals, and a portfolio case filled with manuscripts and poems. It was the same backpack that I had carried through numerous cities and several states, most of the time slung loosely over my right shoulder, or securely on both shoulders when I was walking long distances, and it was always the one thing I managed to hold on to, even when I had lost everything else...which had actually happened a few times.
           From the sidewalk, the only thing I could see in the dark interior of the car was a hand reaching to unlock the door. After quickly stowing my few pieces of luggage in the hatchback of the car, I tossed my backpack on the rear seats, opened the front passenger side door and sat down heavily. I think I may have even let out a sigh of relief. After all, I was soaking wet and freezing. I was road-weary and in need of a hot shower.
           After unzipping my jacket and wiggling out of it, which was rather difficult in the cramped car space, I looked over, smiled, and said, "Hello there." 
           "Well, hello yourself," she replied. And she was as beautiful as ever, with long black tresses like that of a gypsy princess, dark Mediterranean skin, and mocha-colored eyes. Indeed, she was even more beautiful than when I had left for the road and whatever destination awaited me, which had turned into a few destinations over the course of just over two years: New Orleans (Louisiana), Bessemer (Alabama), and Birmingham (Alabama), finally, where I resided for almost a full year. Since the age of about nineteen, it was rare for me to stay anywhere for more than three or four months at a time, so it was sort of nice while it lasted. But I became homesick for the north, especially my hometown---Philadelphia. It wasn't only that, though. I found myself missing her more and more, despite the whiskey and narcotic comfort in which I often indulged, and despite the temporary lovers that sometimes shared my bed. I missed February. So, I packed up, went to the station, bought a ticket to Pennsylvania, boarded a bus, and in doing so left behind the life I had built for myself there in the South.
           And it was around that time, about a year ago, give or take, that I made the acquaintance of one Johnny Druelinger---the driver of the vehicle that is the Tin Tree Factory...an experimental "indie folk" endeavor out of Seattle, Washington, the northernmost corner of the great American West. Upon hearing Tin Tree Factory for the first time, one is almost compelled to label them "folk punk," which they are to a degree, granted, as there are evident traces of "punk" in their sound, as well as a subtle "anarcho" message spread evenly throughout. For the most part, Tin Tree Factory is a pretty fun and clever contribution to the Independent music community. I mean, in what other "indie folk" or "folk punk" band can one hear French horns and toy keyboards purchased from Thrift Store bargain bins? The answer is probably, "None." Well, until now anyway. And those aren't the only things unique to the Tin Tree Factory experience; which is to say that Johnny's vocals, though they have characteristics somewhat comparable to those of Paul Baribeau, Kylewilliam Campol (imadethismistake), and Chris Johnston (Ghost Mice), are indisputably something all his own.
           In our interview, when I asked Johnny about the Tin Tree Factory sound, being that I considered it wonderfully peculiar, very unique and original, and yet seemingly practiced and cultivated: did it come about deliberately and very specific, or was it a general idea that took shape in one of those inspired frenzies of artistic creation (?), he replied...
           Hmmm. Good question. Well, I suppose it's not totally deliberate. I find that little I do actually is. I have basic concepts, and I let those concepts wander off in their own directions. For instance, the instrumentation involved is limited to the instruments I have happened across, mixed with what instruments it just so happens my friends play. Right now those are: a French horn, glockenspiel, snare, thrift store children's keyboard, and guitar. I like working within limitations, and then pushing those limits as far as I can. For example: we have a French horn, but I wasn't imagining one being used in the songs. "What sounds can we make with it that fit," we asked ourselves, "even (or especially) if they are not traditional French horn parts?"
           It is all too common these days for people, especially those involved in modern press outfits, to make the outrageous claim that there is nothing original left in the world. They tend to suggest that everything is a carbon copy of an original, or a copy of a carbon copy, and so forth. And while I agree that too many great works of art are imitated by unscrupulous pseudo-artists of lesser talent and thereby cheapened and corrupted in the process, I would never go as far as to say that there is nothing original left in the world. And while I agree that certain pieces of art, particularly in music, are cloned in large numbers by the corporate machines and injected directly into the mainstream of Big Business America, where they are neatly packaged and given to the "supply and demand" factor of consumerism, I must also point out that it is not that way in the Underground of the City Earth. It is not that way for the Independents. There are still original projects rising up from the underground all the time, and Tin Tree Factory is undoubtedly one of them.
           But this endeavor, although Johnny's brainchild, does not belong solely to him, as there are other participants, other components of the machine that is the Tin Tree Factory. According to Johnny in our interview...
           I think we all bring a unique thoughtfulness to the music, each in his or her own way. We're all activists, collective-minded, for-the-good-of-the-whole type people. It's hard answering for my bandmates, though.
On our last tour I was on guitar and vocals, Marc (Bookworm) as percussionist and keyboardist, Stef on French horn and accordion, and Opal on trumpet and glock. Each of us brings his or her own previous musical experience. Each has been involved in radical marching bands. Opal's done punk and mariachi. Marc has done punk and indie. And Stef has done marching band. All of them understand music notation and theory, which is something I haven't learned.
           Johnny and I were corresponding, trying to set up his involvement in the Sounds from the City Earth Underground segment of the Urban Artist Group (Maga)zine. At that time he was in the Northeast, crashing at someone's pad in New York City for a while. I was very much impressed with his music, and he was quite excited to be traveling the country and coming across new and interesting people with new and interesting ideas, artists with crazy talents and visionary masterpieces, and underground communities of fiery-hearted, restless-soulled, and free-thinking individuals of the Suicide Generation. And it was very cool when he wrote to me, telling me how thrilled he was with what I was doing with the (maga)zine---supporting and showcasing the work of the independent artists of the City Earth Underground. We even made plans to meet when he drove up to Allentown to go to Vegan Treats with a friend of his. Unfortunately, when he finally made the trip, I was bed-ridden with the flu. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed that I had missed him. And I promised myself that if another opportunity presented itself, I would go ahead and take it.
           It was around that time that I received a package in the mail from Johnny. It was a copy of his latest recording: "Dream Warriors." I listened to it right away. And there was no question that it was an absolute masterpiece.
           Being that I am very much into the music and message of the Riot Folk Collective---Adhamh Roland, Ryan Harvey, Brenna Sahatjian, Evan Greer, Tom Frampton, Shannon Murray, and others---I frequent their website for news, updates, show listings, record releases, and so forth. And it was on just such a visit to their site that I first discovered the existence of Johnny D and his Tin Tree Factory project. Now, Johnny is not really part of the Riot Folk Collective, though he is good friends with some of them, especially the ones with whom he has collaborated and toured. In fact, it was around that time that Johnny had released a collaborative record with Brenna Sahatjian. The "Dream Warriors" album.
           In our interview, Johnny shared on that particular subject, saying: No, we are not part of the Riot Folk Collective. I get asked that a lot. I think because I'm so close to many of the members. About half of the Collective are some of my best friends, and the other half I've barely even met. Adhamh Roland is a friend of mine from way back. We went on our first tour together, before Riot Folk even existed.
           Working with Brenna on the album was awesome. Previously we hadn't known each other too terribly well. We just noticed that we both fit what we thought of as similar styles. We're both political folk musicians, but not traditional folk, or even traditional politics. We're musicians first, who just happen to write about the things we think about. And what we think about just happens to be considered political. We don't really fall into the Gutherie school of music; more the Ani [DiFranco] school.
           The process of recording [Dream Warriors] was fun and collaborative. We both tried to come up with parts for each other's songs using a variety of instruments: cello, bass, drums, shakers, trash, scrap wood, keyboard...whatever was around. We would play the base---guitar and vocals---track over and over on the speakers while we banged away at things until we came up with something we liked. Basically, we did that for about two weeks straight, and then I spent about the same amount of time mixing it until it was all done. Through the recording and touring process, Brenna and I have become great friends. It's been wonderful getting to know her, both musically and personally, which I suppose is almost the same thing...but that's another topic entirely.
           Admittedly, I feel somewhat compelled to share the fact that Johnny's music reminds me of my friend Gabriel. Gabriel, the great junk artist of the Suicide Generation, who used to be seen rummaging through dumpsters and garbage cans for materials around New York City at any hour of day or night, his long, greasy black hair unkempt and knotted and hanging in fantastic strands across his face, mad in his creative frenzies. And his face...I remember his face. It was an unforgettable countenance, to be sure, with eyes so dark as to seem otherworldly at times, a perpetual five o' clock shadow peppering his jaw, and a mysterious, purple-colored scar which ran down his left temple and upper cheek (the only point of distraction to mark the otherwise flawless complexion of his somewhat handsome face). Eccentric would be one word to describe Gabriel, as would the words: talented, intelligent, soulful, huge-hearted, subversive, unique, and unconventional. He was also an individual of immense depth. That last---depth---I use in terms of both his character and the potential he had as an artist, the untapped creativity and imagination, the countless ideas in his brilliant head, the evolution of his art and the inner evolution of him as a human being. At all hours, Gabriel would cut designs out of sheets of salvaged metals with his tin-snips and then bend them with his Van-Mark brake, weld bits and pieces together, fasten things to the main bodies of work, and add junk scraps. In his workshop, there were life-size figures and distinct shapes made out of nuts and bolts, out of car parts, out of doorknobs and plumbing accessories and discarded aluminum cans. Later, in the sculpture-like pieces he began making towards his paranoid end, he would break every mold into unrecognizable shards after pouring the liquid plaster into them and letting them harden to the desired shapes.
           The point being that Johnny reminds me of Gabriel in his originality and artistic vision, in his rare and far-reaching spirit which touches the people with whom he comes in contact along the way. I mean, I only know Johnny in the most basic sense that one can know someone, and still I can recognize him as a very interesting and worthwhile individual, a talented and artistic individual with important ideas.
           Also in my interview with Johnny, I asked him the question that many of you have already no doubt asked yourselves: What does Tin Tree Factory mean? And how did he come up with that particular name for his band? Quite simply, he answered...
           It's kinda silly. I just sat around one day, probably about five years ago or so, just writing out combinations of words on a sheet of paper to see which ones I liked. I was watching the Simpsons---the one where Lisa sees into the future, and she goes to college. On the college campus there was a tree hologram that sort of fizzled out and some kid kicked it until it worked again. On the plaque of the tree it read, "In Memory of a Real Tree." It's funny, but also, when you think about it, devastatingly sad, because it seems possible in this world, in a sci-fi sort of way. So, I was thinking about all that and about how dominant culture in the US has this way of selling people artificially reproduced things that would reproduce on their own if we'd just leave them alone. Well, the same goes for music. I'd love to see the music industry collapse. And I feel like it's coming close. We're at a point now that people who make music in their bedrooms and play shows in people's living rooms are challenging mainstream TV and radio. That's incredibly exciting to me, because I believe in music that you can touch and feel in your home, real music made by real people, and to have it happen right there in front of you is so much more profound and life-changing than what they can churn out at the industry level. I guess that's the long answer as to the origins of the name.
           Ok. So with that, we can all get a better feel for Johnny as an artistic, radical and free-thinking individual of the City Earth Underground. And he is definitely one of those artists for whom the underground is inexpressibly important and necessary, to such a degree that I can see him spending the rest of his artistic and musical days as a dedicated Undergrounder. And some of the things that I admire and respect above so much else are also things that Johnny seems to stand for---the refusal to sellout to Big Business, to be conditioned by societal standards, to allow oneself to be swayed by the corporate and political propaganda of our times, and to be guided by the desire for status and greed. Rather than becoming a component part of the machine, Johnny has disengaged as an independent, an individual...and really, other than love, what can be more important than Freedom and Individuality? And besides, the machine will keep on grinding and turning and thundering on without us, through the days and nights, the weeks and months and years. As such, we seek to govern ourselves, rather than having a central governing body dictating what we do and think and feel. And many times, these thoughts and feelings show in our art, like in Johnny's Tin Tree Factory songs. But art also suffers at the hands of mainstream corporate America, at the hands of capitalism, at the hands of consumerism and the "supply and demand" factor, and so on in the way that things are in the present state of the world. In fact, it was on just such a subject that Johnny spoke at our interview, saying...
           I believe we live in a time where capitalism has a hard, far-reaching, deep, and historical impact on art (and especially music). I believe that the way people express themselves has been seriously wounded by the buying and selling of art. Another way to say this is: I hate when people say, "I can't sing." That is a perfect, real-life example of it. I'm sure you or someone you know says it regularly. But when people say it, all I hear is, "My singing voice is not deemed sellable by our market standards." But people can sing, whether they know it or not. Since we are surrounded by a world where art is a commodity, and where the most "commodified" is often associated with "best," people are made to believe that their singing voices, or their way of drawing or painting, or their poetry is all bad, because it does not sell. And I am not saying that all art is good; I'm saying that expression is good. And I am also saying, sadly, that incorporating expression into all the parts of our lives and accepting others' art as real and valid is becoming lost on us as a culture. I think that music has especially been affected by this. And thanks to technology's ability to level that playing field a little, we are beginning to battle back to a world where everyone creates, and that creating is normal, and that singing and playing music everyday is also normal, and real.
           As an afterthought to that, Johnny added...
           Creation is infectious. Life is better with mutual support. And...if you show me yours, I'll show you mine.
           Indeed, this is one young man whose outlook on life and the world in general is undoubtedly a positive one. He is not afraid to be himself, to speak out, to have fun, to strum his guitar and shout out his lyrics. Nor is he afraid to get serious and speak about what he believes in, to share about his life...his fears and hopes, his experiences and observations, triumphs and failures, genius and folly, loves and losses, likes and dislikes hardship and ease, sanity and madness, just like the handful of other extraordinary independent artists of the City Earth Underground.
           In our interview Johnny also said, The things I sometimes try to convey are something like: the world is complex and scary, but out of that complexity and scariness you can find really beautiful things that make everything worth it. Having said that, I suppose I try to take a realist's optimism into each thought.
           Truth be told, I have heard both Johnny's latest release, his collaboration with Brenna Sahatjian, "Dream Warriors," as well as his earlier material, the only collaboration being that which went on between the members of Tin Tree Factory (Johnny, Stef, and Marc...and Opal, when she's around), and his earlier material is unquestionably a bit different from what he did with the "Dream Warriors" record. That is to say, Johnny's songs prior to "Dream Warriors" had a different kind of experimentation going on, and that different kind of experimentation was perhaps a bit more subtle, together with a more straight forward "indie folk" sound, and something else which, though I cannot name it right now, is something that also belonged to a few other acoustic bands and singer/songwriters of the Suicide Generation's predescessors. In other words, Johnny's other material prior to his collaboration with Brenna---the "Rejoice in How We Fail" album, for instance---has a more "emo folk"/"indie folk" sound than that which he exhibited in "Dream Warriors." It seems to me that he ended up really stumbling upon his true musical voice as a singer/songwriter with the "Dream Warriors" album. And I for one certainly hope that we can expect more of the same from Johnny D and the rest of the Tin Tree Factory crew in the near future, and for a long time to come.