Dog and Pony Episodes

Moses Atwood

Mon, 08 Mar 2010 07:09:22 -0500

The Scene

Moses Atwood is a performer.

He sits in the chair with his lap steel and bounces from after-the-snow-falls quiet to middle-of-the-blizzard roars. He chats and rambles on stage. He's gregarious, open. He plays a soft guitar and contrasts that with a powerful tenor.

But he's not Moses Atwood.

Moses Atwood is dead and buried in Georgetown, Massachusetts. He was, in the 1880s, a household name as a maker of patent medicines. You could buy "Moses Atwood's Jaundice Bitters" all over the eastern seaboard.

If a patent medicine (like Simpson & Son's Revitalizing Tonic) was pushed as "bitters," that usually meant it was little more than cheap hooch mixed with bitters to avoid the alcohol tax.

Atwood's bitters were taken to the Supreme Court over trademark infringement. Atwood released his recipe (booze and bitters) to a number of different firms. "Nathan Wood's Jaundice Bitters" was sold in Portland, Maine and is mentioned in the Supreme Court case. In the end, the plaintiff lost as the recipe had been legitimately sold, or something.

Check out the Supreme Court Case in original, olde timey print or read about Moses Atwood's Jaundice Bitters for free on Google Books.

Atwood was also among the nation's first photographers, documenting his hometown of Georgetown, MA on daguerrotype.

Who, then, is our Moses Atwood? I've been listening to him for years and was shocked when I heard his real name. I'm not sure why, exactly. I'd always assumed that Moses was a stage name, but I'd never guessed Atwood would've been.

So when I heard his voicemail say, "You've reached Matthew Chase, leave me a message. And if you're looking for Moses Atwood leave me a message. And if you're confused... don't be," I was a little surprised.

And then he told me about the patent medicines and whatnot and it all made sense, I suppose. His music is temporally dissonant. His simple, direct lyrics and fine plucking and strumming harken to some Antebellum plantation. It's a good backdrop for a man in a white suit with a straw hat and red suspenders hawking panaceas for whatever it may be that ails you.

Also, please raise your hand if you think Moses' next album should be called "Jaundice Bitters."

So it makes sense, I suppose, that Mr. Chase took that name. And it makes sense that he keeps flocking South - painful though it may be.

Moses just spent our short winter here in Maine. He is heading back down South, Asheville way, to study... of all things... the psychology of performance. Which also makes sense. He has taken on a whole new persona. In some places it has replaced his actual personality. Many do not know he is Matthew Chase. For years, I knew of him only as Moses Atwood. I was introduced to him that way, in fact. He answers to it.

So it fits, then, that he's going back to school to look at performance and psychology and to see where those fit together.

Shooting Moses was an interesting experience all around. He is the first artist we've shot who didn't have a specific location to shoot. We invited him over to the lofty Dog and Pony Studios on Marshall Street and set him up by the window in our attic.

Also worthy of note: I think we spent more time chatting before the shoot with Moses than with any other artist. By an order of magnitude. Generally, our shoots involve a little chit-chat while we set up. Moses showed up, though, and we all had coffee and water and talked about the downfall of Detroit reflecting the downfall of America.

It goes like this: Moses, or Matthew, I'm not really sure which, had seen a program on PBS called "Blueprints of a Nation." In which, they profile the rise and fall of Detroit. How abundant resources near a large source of water led to a quick build up. How Detroit was a magnet for rails which led to an advanced rail system in the city. How the rail system led to a more business friendly environment, allowed for the building of a highway to cut through the thick inner city. How the highway allowed people to pass through Detroit and how Detroit bled out through the highway and the cars it built with all its resources.

And how America is modeled after Detroit.

That led to, of course, a conversation about zombies and what to do in case of a zombie apocalypse.

Then we got to shooting. He talked about listening to a lot of Randy Newman lately. Moses is intrigued by how easily and readily Newman writes songs about places. Moses wants to do a song about Detroit.

He borrowed a guitar he never used, favoring the infinite tones of his steely dobro. He apologized for his nasal cold but it adds a certain roughness to his voice. It's a roughness that suits his music. A roughness of campfires and fighting. He sings about a place here, about California, Manifest Destiny. About going West - Moses always sings about somewhere else and Matthew is always drawn South.

Chase talks about living various places around the country. Phoenix and Asheville, mostly. Phoenix is miserable, apparently. Hard packed heat stacked on black tar and people living in artificially cooled and watered homes around it. A hellhole. He doesn't like these planned and farmed cities, he likes the organic places.

Places like Detroit.

Moses is drawn to the organic. He tunes by ear. He often plays slide guitar which - mathematically - is more readily organically infinite in its tonal possibilities. He sings about simple human feelings. He's interested - it would seem - in the human and what makes humans tick.

So he tunes to his voice. So he says he's got a cold. So he tests the strings of his guitar and his vocal chords.

So he sings. He sings about better times and better places.

So, in the attic Moses Atwood performs.

Kino Proby

Mon, 22 Feb 2010 06:13:56 -0500

The Scene

It's the CD release night and the crowd masses inside the Port City Music Hall. McGuckin, Kurtz and Greer have done the sound check and suited themselves up in fine tuxery in anticipation of a thoroughly devoted audience. One, two, three the heads go back and the vodka disappears and the time for toasting is over. The time for rocking has begun.

Kino Proby celebrates its tenth anniversary in grand style, releasing a live CD to their adoring audience at their annual concert. I'm being a bit loose, there, with the term "tenth anniversary." The band has only been performing together since 2004. The roots of the band, however, stretch back to a trip in the year 2000 to Russia. While abroad, Adam and Jarlath not only started their friendship, they first learned about the band Kino.

Viktors I, II and III step onto the darkened stage. Theater smoke drifts past them as the Russian national anthem swells and lifts, setting up tension, mounting in volume. A colossal noise rips through the composition as Kino Proby batters eardrums. Viktor II (Kurtz) can't be contained. He bounds across the stage, practically flying off the notes he tears from his guitar, propelled by vicious tones.

Portland's Kino Proby tribute band - cover band doesn't do them justice - formed, appropriately enough, at a tribute concert in Russia called "Kino Proby." Kino is, of course, the original band. "Proby" means "attempt," roughly translated. Kurtz picked up a disc at the concert that had every Kino album. He was hooked. And it's been a lasting affair, to this day Kurtz says he listens to Kino more than just about every other band.

Viktor I (McGuckin) feeds off II's energy. They duel and battle, push and pull each other across the stage. It makes an energetic and unique dance - a stage experience you'll only see at a Kino Proby show. Between songs, I and II rattle on in Russian and English, praising Viktor Tsoi, Kino's revered founder, and explaining what the songs meant to Tsoi and - better still - what the songs mean to Kino Proby. The audience loves it.

Kino Proby has been tested on audiences for Portland to St. Petersburg. Their infectious energy, impressive talent and devotion to Kino bleed into the crowd in every situation... especially impressive considering all none of the Viktors are native Russian speakers. McGuckin now lives in St. Petersburg. Kurtz visited in the summer of 2007 and shared this anecdote:

"That was insane, because there we were, 3 Americans, playing beloved songs to the natives in their native St. Petersburg (also Tsoi's hometown) and they loved us. This was a room of about 200 capacity plus a balcony and it was packed and bumpin' and so exciting. The day between the two shows we payed homage to Tsoi by going to his grave (in the nothern part of the city) - this involved a few bus transfers and, during one, a girl walked by and saw us and said "Kino Proby!" and we were like "Yeaa!" and she says "you guys are great, respect!" (in Russian)."

A Kino Proby audience is unlike any other you'll come across in Portland. It draws people who love the Portland scene, punk fans and the far Eastern European contingent. What's interesting about the last group is that it comprises just about all age groups and classes. I saw dock workers and grandfathers dancing with hip young girls and professional mothers. Viktor II says this is typical of the Kino Proby audience. It's almost a bean supper for the folks we once called Reds. All the more impressive, not only is the music a Soviet Magnet... but it draws fans devoted to Kino as well.

It's a large following.

Viktor Tsoi is something like Eurasian Elvis. The music of Kino remains hugely popular, despite Tsoi's death in 1990. Kino was a voice for mid-80s Perestrojka revolt. The lyrics weren't as revolutionary as you might expect. They were simply human with a casual declaration of freedom. But the music was the first of its kind - the only of its kind, still - to come out from behind the Iron Curtain. It was the voice of human change, simple and idealistic and most importantly loud and ear-jangling in just the right way. And Portland's own Kino Proby has managed to capture that for much of its crowd. Kurtz again:

"I remember after a show at Harper's Ferry in Boston, an emotional young woman came up to me and said in broken english that KINO is her favorite band and, of course, since Tsoi is dead, she could never see them live but it had always been her dream and that [after the Kino Proby show], she feels like she has lived her dream."

The Viktors invite everyone wearing a Kino Proby shirt onstage. Soon the stage is crowded with laughing crowd members and more of them don't have the shirt than do. It's fine participatory fun and just a reminder that Kino Proby is a special experience, one we're lucky to have in Portland. It is a unique blend of talent and material, culture and chance. It mixes superb musicianship with a tumultuous time in world history, struggling humanism and mixing cultures.

And it's all right here, once a year.

On the web:
Kino Proby
Kino Proby's Phoenix Profile
Bryan Bruchman's review of the CD release show

Alberta Cross

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 11:48:30 -0500

The Scene

Alberta Cross opens for Pete Yorn at Port City Music Hall on the night of the 2nd. It's a Monday and the bands are an interesting mix. Alberta Cross plays a raw, distorted rock, contrasting Yorn's indie-pop-punk aesthetic.

The audience for Yorn is fairly different from the audience that would enjoy Alberta Cross, but that doesn't stop the band from opening the show with amazing energy.

Alberta Cross lists their influences on MySpace as "Rock/Blues/Gospel," but that does not do them justice. They are not derivative, although they are as infectious as you might be led to believe by that sound. They work equally well electric and acoustic, which is an interesting disparity AND owes a fair amount to Petter's vocals. They are high and clear while sounding, in true rock or blues fashion, worn and battered. The songwriting trends toward the simple and hooky. They rely a lot on the suspension and relief offered in blues song structure. They draw out that resolution as long as possible at times, check out "The Devil's All You Ever Wanted" for an example. There's something spooky and dark to their music.

Anyway, they play the gig and are in Portland for a day of goofing around before heading on a European tour.

Europe is home for half the band.

Petter is Swedish. He's from Uppsala originally, but he moved to London. So while he's Swedish, he speaks with a London accent. Much like Terry, who is British all the way. Alec, the guitarist, is half-British/half-American. Austin's from California. We didn't get a chance to meet Sam, who was apparently struck down by a severe hangover compounded by a thyroid problem.

Not a life-threatening one, to be clear, just a crappy one.

Petter and Terry have been playing together the longest. They started off in a band in London, then that dissolved - or more specifically their involvement in the project dissolved - and the two struck out on their own.

They moved to Brooklyn, forming the rest of the band along the way.

The band tours extensively, and their manager, Brian - on loan from Dave Matthews duties - plans extensively. Trying to figure out which places they'll be staying at, how to get from A to B and what to do while they're there.

Dispatches from the afternoon:

-The Afternoon in Portland represents their one day off for two weeks on either side of the day. At least. Brian picked Portland because the only other option was Albany. Smart choice.

-When we meet up with the Band, they've eaten at Duckfat and are working their way across Franklin Arterial in search of a tailor to fix Petter's coat. It is missing two buttons.

-Petter goes in and talks with the tailor while the rest of the band mills about and investigates Guitar Grave. The tailor's busy now, but maybe around 6:00 he can work on the coat.

-We walk around in the autumn, enjoying the sights Portland has to offer, heading down to the pier.

-The band finds abandoned rope from some old ship to play with. It turns violent.

-There is talk of pints.

-We make good on it, heading to Novare Res where we enjoy classy beers, wine. Our waitress is the waitress who served Alberta Cross dinner the night before.

-We head to Amigo's where the pool and cheap beer better suit the conviviality and mood. It's quiet still.

-Petter demands we spin the 8 ball before every break.
There's idle chatter and darts.

-Terry showcases his busted iPhone, screen cracked from a hard sit on the wrong pocket.

-There's talk of women in far off places and the manic strain and frenzied delight that carries.

-Somewhere 6:00 and the tailor pass unnoticed.

-It's time for dinner. Brian takes Alec back to the van and they pick up Sam while Petter, Terry and Austin begin walking to Local 188. Dark has come and its time for the night to end.

We part ways, us for home, Alberta Cross for Europe.

Thankfully, they are back now and touring further in the United States.

The extremely lucky, for instance, will get to see them play with Hacienda through January, it looks like.

Portland will welcome you back, Alberta Cross. Or at least [dog] and [pony] will.

Jakob Battick + Friends

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 11:39:50 -0500

The Scene

Note: If the video appears jerky or stops while playing, please hit the play button, then the pause button, and let the entire video load before watching.

Past canvas and easel, Jakob Battick and Friends wax harmonic over Gorham.

Nick and I drive out an October Sunday, passing bright yellow leaves and apple stands. We drive onto USM's Gorham campus and thread through the old farm buildings past students preparing for parents' homecoming visit.

Jakob and his cousin Milo, both skeletal, smiling, with acersecomic halos, meet us and escort us through the art building to the set that Jakob built for the filming.

They're infectiously enthusiastic. Hauling equipment and chattering as they set up. They introduce us to the band and go about staging members. Mark on the drums clearly goes in the back. Amplified bass and violin off to one side, Jakob's amp to the other. Milo, Jakob's cousin, and his accordion next to the amp.

The set: Jakob has built a stage for our video. Decorative fabrics hang on the wall under a string of Christmas lights. A cardboard moon hangs over the drum kit. One of Jakob's recent assignments rests drying against the wall. There's a Goya tilted against the drum kit.

And even if he hadn't built the set, the band would've had a nice backdrop. The building they took [dog] and [pony] to is the painters' studio. The room is filled with easels,canvases , paintings, drawings, sketches. There are flowers, leaves, wrinkled tubes of various colors of paint, brushes, mirrors. The art ranges from representational to abstract. There are still lifes, great swirls of splattered color, a surrealist montage centered around a pink elephant, a series of aquatic discs, a mounted deer with a rosy nose. A disturbing clown.

They're playing on the second floor, which has windows on all sides and is filled with soft white light as the sun passes over the high point for the day.

Jakob is a John Lennon scarecrow. Tall, skinny. Wavy hair, small glasses. Jacob's guitar is painted entirely white, not just the body, but the neck and the headstock. On the body of the guitar in a scratchy script is written "CÃ³rdoba / Far Away and Alone!" from the Federico Garcia Lorca poem "Song of the Rider." He kicks and jerks around while playing, hunching over his guitar. When seated for All That Really Lasts he can't contain himself. He stamps his feet, he rises out of his seat and falls back into it.

Jakob Battick carries with him a creative air. As if his halo of hair contains some sort of right brained steroids, like he's some sort of artistic Sampson. He's committed to his creativity. Battick says that he has always been interested in creating. Creating art, creating music. He has been teaching himself to live as cheaply as possible so he can work as little as possible to meet his bills and focus the rest of his time on creating. Battick has been considering pursuing a Masters Degree in Art with the ultimate goal of teaching. That way, he reasons, he'd be working in a field he loves and have off time to create.

Jakob Battick and Friends make a distinct style of music. A hypnotic drive swells, builds and explodes through the music. The dynamic range varies from exceedingly quiet - just Jakob and his guitar - to a boots-rattling furor - with all the band raging and forcing their melodies and harmonies out of their instruments, squeezing them like a tube of toothpaste. Their energy, direction and drive is singular, they gel and unite, their disparate instruments come together and push the song up and out, expanding and flowing and cooling hard, only for the song to build and swell again. Watching All That Really Lasts, the swells come in waves and build on each other, creating a solid foundation and building the next swell higher than before.

It's pretty intense.

One of the defining characteristics, what really sticks out to me, anyway, is the violin. Their violinist, Roy, is classically trained. He has been playing since the age of six.

Roy joined the band almost by accident - a happy accident, though. He just happened to walk by their practice space and asked if he could join in with his violin. Roy watches the band while not supplying a drone, and when it is time to shine he closes his eyes and rises above the miasma. His classical training and years of experience have given him the skill to fit to the music, and fit he does. For someone who joined the band as something of an afterthought, Roy provides an integral piece of the band's sound.

Jakob Battick and Friends create art.

Brown Bird

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 08:43:57 -0500

The Scene

A [dog] and [pony] road trip
Port of Call: Portsmouth, NH
10/22/09

At the end of October, Nick and I hopped in his car and followed Ron Harrity south of the Piscataqua to a breakfast diner called Friendly Toast. We were on our way to film a little sit-down with David Lamb and Morgan Eve Swain of Brown Bird in advance of the new album set to drop on Peapod Recordings on November 10th.

We listened to the album on the ride down. It's outstanding. Lamb's dusty voice, however, and the lovely twang of the dobro might set up a false expectation for a face-to-face. Firstly, you've got the gigantic beard. No hints of that in the music, although in retrospect you can see a beard and perhaps some overalls on the tracks - particularly on the rollicking, fiddly bit of Appalachia "Bottom of the Bottle."

Secondly, they're just really nice folks. I guess that probably comes through in the music as well, but the songs are an insufficient representation. Relaxed, friendly folks. David's got kind eyes above that black bushy beard. He and Morgan Eve share a tight but not in-your-face relationship. They're intimate without being over the top, saccharine sweet. An interesting counterpoint to an album with songs called "Danger and Dread," "Gallows," "Sickle and Hood," "Severed Soul," "Devil Dancing" and the aforementioned "Bottom of the Bottle."

And they keep good company. Also at the breakfast was a guy named Guy. A musician in Portsmouth who also works at Friendly Toast. Very pleasant dude.

Devil Dancing is a refreshing slice of Americana from the Northeast. The instrumentation ranges from hand claps and floor toms to dobros and banjos to bowed cellos and guitar (and more!). The mood is somber on many of the tracks, but there are haunting melodies, beautiful harmonies, enchanting bass lines and infectious clappings to pull you out of the dark, but into the song. Listening to the album, I find myself clapping along and swaying, grinning as I sang with the chorus "Are we gonna die?" And then really enjoying hearing Lamb's answer of, "We all gotta die."

This is the sorta earthy album I want with me when I drive out West.

The recording and mixing is the kind of seamless perfection that you don't even notice. Recorded at both the Hog Farm Studios in Biddeford and also at Ron Harrity's in progress studio in South Portland, you sometimes feel like you're in the room. On the track "Sickle and Hood," I imagine the sound of hay as you hear the claps and stomps reverberating off the space. You can tell that much of the album was recorded live, with everyone playing on time with each other. Overdubs blend in unnoticed, which is ideal. I love the sound Harrity pulls out of the cello. Opening up on "Danger and Dread" a simple, hooky, hypnotic bassline sets the tone for the whole album.

Devil Dancing has some definite earworm possibilities here, too. I've gotten the "Sha la la las" from "Lake Bed" stuck looping in my head so many times I could cry. Except that the vocal interplay on the track is so mesmerizing I forget about the crying and just pull up the song on my iPod. The sharp writing carries from track to track, not only in smart phrases and evocative imagery (if you hold me too tightly by the reins / I will crumble to a powder, I will shatter and be swept away) but the sibilance and staccato are expertly woven into the mood. From the breathless rant of "Bottom of the Bottle" to the smooth story telling of "Gallows" to the choral drone of "Severed Soul," the lyrics are not only clever but catchy as all get up.

Anyway, I'm rambling on. There's too much good to say here. The album comes out November 10th. Recorded by Ron Harrity at Peapod Recordings. It's lovely.

White Light

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 21:12:24 -0400

The Scene

Ian Paige's liquid project, White Light has taken many forms under various names over the years. Their performance at HillyTown presents on a humid August evening marked both an end and a beginning.

The band forms a circle in the corner, turned in, tuned in, to each other as a bright red light bounces off the wall in the back.

Their intimacy doesn't exclude the crowd around them, however. It almost feels like White Light's circle is built on the audience, like our being there is an essential part of this music. Floating like a yolk, White Light's performance seemed to feed off the atmosphere in the room as much as it helped to supply it.

Some might call that a 'feedback loop.'

White Light is primarily a solo project for Ian Paige. A liquid, flowing movement, the band has taken many different members under several different names over the past several years. Paige lets the project take it where it leads him, and with Caitlin King has formed a new project, Planets Around The Sun. Paige says Planets Around The Sun is the same thing as White Light, just with a new name and heading in a different direction. It seems his musical direction blossoms from inside each current project, neither destroying nor erasing it, like fractals sprouting off crystal.

This constant flux, ebbing and flowing and abiding in music, starts way back at the beginning of Paige's musical career. The Squire Strat you hear twisted through pedals and amps was purchased on a whim. He had been at a music store with his high school friend (Casey Keenan of Carlisle Sound, Pants Yell! and Major Stars) who was looking for drums. Paige fell in love with the guitar and Keenan's dad fronted him the money for it right there in the store.

Ian says he paid Keenan's Dad back quickly.

But the love affair started there and doesn't look like it'll be ending any time soon. In music, Paige has found an interesting duality that suits his person:

"It makes me exceedingly happy and fulfilled. I like rock music culture because it can operate on both the heady level of production and a very isolated personal craft of painting with sound for a recording and on the visceral communal level of playing with and for people. I need both."

The duality is reflected on the night we see White Light. The night here in this video. In front of an acoustic band, banjo, cello and drums, Paige plays an electric guitar. In front of an audience, White Light makes their music. Separate but integral pieces coming together to perform something more powerful than the sum of its parts.

Paige also talks about how he's been making the same song over the course of his music making career. Looking over notebooks, he says the same theme runs through the entire way. That's one element. But the expression of that theme has been changing, morphing, turning itself over through the years. That's another element. The duality again. Both parts coming together.

Even the name "White Light" suggests a sort of split, as there is no light without a lack thereof. Or as Townes Van Zandt says, "There ain't no dark 'til something shines."

And that split, that divide shows up again outside of what the audience sees. Ian says he's practicing old folk songs on an acoustic guitar in his living room even while making the "loudest, weirdest sounds [he] can find in [their] practice space."

He says everything's pliable.

Speaking of pliable, I have it on good word that that banjo might well be replaced by an electric guitar.

But that electric hypnosis in a White Light set, that floating energy that's separate from but part of the audience, that divide between electric and acoustic, that changing sound, that constant theme. That's still White Light, even if the name changes.

The ebb and flow, the flux and wane, the change.

It's permanent.

Blood Warrior

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 17:55:24 -0400

The Scene

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009
Space Gallery

A word to the reader:

Blood Warrior is based out of Brooklyn. That technically doesn't make them local, but I have three strong reasons for including them on this site:

1. They played an event put on by our friend over at HillyTown. HillyTown primarily focuses on what's going on here in Portland, and this birthday celebration (if you will) was meant to revel in the scene. Also, playing at Space means they played a local,vocal, prominent Portland venue.

2. There is a possibility that Blood Warrior - or at least elements of it - will soon be local to Portland (more on that below).

3. They are too good to pass up.

Blood Warrior was the meat of HillyTown Presents' final night sandwich. They played between White Light and Mark Summers. As with many of the other HillyTown Presents acts, I was unfamiliar with them going in and delighted coming out.

Blood Warrior plays energetic, simple songs that build and build. They echo back on each other. The songs are surprisingly short, too, which adds to the joy. Many of the songs sound like they're building up to be a six minute or longer ordeal, but end abruptly before two minutes. And then you're ready for the next driving, catchy number.

The overall effect is something like waiting for an echo.

The band itself is composed of Greg Jamie, Joey Weiss, Kristin Kellas and Matt Berger with the help - on this tour at least - of Phi Lee Lam. There is a nice web of interconnections here. Greg and Kristin are married. Greg met Joey at a sleepaway camp some 13 or 14 years ago and Joey and Matt met when they were five years old. Phi Lee Lam was responsible for the atmospheric 8 mm projections you may have noticed if you were at the show (or watching the video).

Further information on the projections: The projections add a sort of impermanence to the set, the images dancing across the musicians in a way that'll never be duplicated. As reels run out and are replaced, the light goes white for varying amounts of time. Sometimes the projectors are picked up and moved, or made handheld and toyed with like flashlights. It's a lovely addition to the music. Unfortunately, the projections too are impermanent. Phi Lee Lam - who Greg met at film school - is out of the country for who knows how long.

Greg writes, "we have shows in october and november and there will be no projection. The lights will be on, and people will see our faces and it will feel different than what we did on this last tour. im going to miss that strange energy of having two super 8 film projections being our only light as we play."

The music comes across as something of a communal effort. It is everyone's voice who is heard, even if they aren't singing. From changes in instruments to singular drumming to wild distortion over an acoustic guitar, every song is clearly a group effort. Greg writes about the group keeping their egos in check, but my thoughts are that won't be a problem. For a group with such a long history of knowing each other, I'm fairly certain they'll always be in tune and will avoid the traditional rock set-up.

Finally, I want to talk about the possible move to Portland. And by "I want to talk" I mean "I'll let Greg explain:"

"i know that joey and kristin and myself are all exhausted by new york city. its a trap. It's a lonely place filled with too much hussle and competition. and all my friends are here and family nearby and its hard to leave something like that behind but I think that's what I need to do to grow as a person. or to become the kind of adult I want to be. I have a great feeling from maine. and we all do actually. We swam in the ocean in biddeford. We really fell in love with portland the night you saw us. Kristin and I plan to move next year and portland maine is where we'd like to go, but i just don't know how its going to play out. Theres a lot i will end up leaving behind."

For all the chorus singing, the repetitive riffs, the punchy energy, and more, Portland would love to have you, Blood Warrior.

Boxy and Jesse Pilgrim

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 22:25:25 -0400

The Band

Hillytown Presents

http://www.hillytown.com

Hilly Town Presents:
Boxy, Haru Bangs, Jesse Pilgrim
Wednesdays: 08.05 / 08.12

The Scene

Boxy started their set the right way, jamming in overdriven guitar and distorted organ over a slamming kit. The Big Muff turned off and the rest of the set was pretty cool. It didn't stand out against the showmanship and energy of Haru Bangs. I love the way the drummer beats the skins... something about it is vaguely... t-rexy?

Haru Bangs brings a heavy, loopy metal fun. I couldn't understand a word the pirate-shirted singer spat into the microphone, but the set was energetic, it left me jangling and I wanted more. Derek might look familiar to the savvy, he's drumming for Jesse Pilgrim as well. Skewed pedals and loops, pounding drums. A extended moment of glee: The guitarist sets up a loop, puts down his guitar, charges into the audience, ramming me. He gets some water, has a little conversation and flies back, spewing water all over Derek - who he'd left to hold down the fort.

Jesse Pilgrim was impeccable as always. He started off his set solo, sometimes with a harmonica. The new songs sound amazing and I'm excited for his future. He added a band mid-set, first a guitarist and bassist, then his brother joined on mandolin. I have more to say, and we have two songs filmed in Jesse's barn in West Bath, Maine. Make sure you check 'em out, if that's your thing, I mean.

The concerts themselves are impressive in their own right. Free, open early. They pull out crowds of all ages, from teens and folks who can't catch the acts at the 18 and 21 plus shows to families of the bands. They serve booze (though you will get tagged for the swiller you are with a yellow bracelet). There's an impressive array of wares, goods and whatnots you can buy at the "door yard sale" out front, plus the bands tend to bring merch.

Space is not air conditioned, so I advise hydration, dressing light and getting ready to rock in this balmy August.

The man behind the madness, Bryan Bruchman, deserves some special recognition here. He's doing great work, making bands available that you normally wouldn't get to see and running the whole show those Wednesdays. You can see him walking around, taking pictures, tending drinks etc. etc. Give him a high five, tell him good work and check out his website: HillyTown.

Jacob Augustine

Sat, 08 Aug 2009 20:56:35 -0400

The Band

Jacob Augustine

http://www.myspace.com/jacobaugustine

Jacob Augustine - Vox, Guitar

The Scene

Jacob Augustine is naked.

His imposing figure punches a hulking silhouette out of the air in front of you. A biker's build, he stands over six feet tall, barrel chested. Huge arms and hands grip the guitar neck and pick. Tattooed, bearded. He shaves his head.

He looks like motherfucking Zangief.

He looks mean as all get up. He looks like the kind of guy you wouldn't want to see walk down an alley, much less meet him there.

So it is disarming when he sings in that warm, dulcet tenor.

It is disarming when he picks up an acoustic guitar and strums a simple, mesmerizing chord progression.

It is disarming when he sings deeply personal, honest and raw lyrics. Lyrics about his grandmother, say, as in The Ghost In The Room.

But that's all part of Jacob. Nick and I showed up at his new apartment and he'd just gotten out of bed. It was past 2:00 in the afternoon. He didn't try to hide it. Simple comments like that littered the afternoon as we filmed. Mentioning how he can't deal with a lot of things. How he's depressed. Worries about his drinking. He's honest and open.

He's naked.

His songs come from the same place, these deep worries. Memories. Noticing problems he feels he can't fix. Issues and turmoil he has faced in life, or seen friends go through and not come back.

This paints him as moody. The truth is, though, Jacob is a sunny guy to talk to. Smiling, joking. He's friendly and gregarious. He's a fun guy to be around and maybe all these dark thoughts just come from sitting and recollecting our conversation that afternoon. Nick saw it, too, though. I don't think I'm whistling in the dark.

You can sense something, though, something when he's playing. The depression, the worry, the angst... it all melts away. When Jacob makes music it is just him and the song coming together in an absolutely spell-binding union. His tender tenor, his simple strumming and most of all the raw, personal connection he has with his music. That's it, that's what you're hearing. You hear that connection. You hear a man bear it all.

Jacob Augustine writes his songs off the cuff, to fit the music. They are a lesson in extemporaneous writing. "I don't even know what I write when I'm going," he says, "but when I look back it's always heavy shit." Automatic Writing is a process where the author writes what is in their subconscious. I'll bet that Jacob is going through something similar in the songwriting process. He has his music to jump off of - but that marriage between subconscious thought and the lyrics written creates a unique bond.

Jacob's youth was spent in the clutches of Metal. He always wrote his unique folk songs on the side, but he played guitar for Red Cloud Revival. That was a family affair, featuring his brother on vocals and his cousin on bass. He mentioned two significant experiences that set him on the path from distorted to acoustic music. 1) He heard Dark Side of the Moon and 2) He heard the band Meshuggah. The latter inspired him in that he would never make anything more metal than that. "They're like a fucking machine," he commented.

Jacob feels artists should always be pushing their art. Adding to it. Making something new out of music. He is actively doing that. He is in the middle of recording a new CD, with a due date of "sometime before the year is out." If you haven't heard his first release, Harmonia, you're missing out. He tours sporadically, shows are generally about once a month. He has a full band backing him up, fuller than full, really. Drums and strings and a horn section. But when he takes the stage, the music has the same feel as when you hear him alone at Empire. It is Jacob and his music. It is personal and open and honest and deep and raw.

It is naked.

Jesse Pilgrim

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 20:59:43 -0400

The Band

Jesse Pilgrim

http://www.myspace.com/jessepilgrim

Jesse Pilgrim - Vox, Guitar

Andy Barbo - Lap Steel, Backing Vox
Zach Pilgrim - Mandolin (Yes, it's his brother)
Derek Gierhan - Drums

The Scene

In West Bath, Maine, there is a big red barn. On the side of the barn there are rusting bikes.

Inside of that barn, there is a clever man.

That man is Jesse Pilgrim. Jesse Pilgrim is building things.

Songs, bicycles, electronics, a living area. Jesse is building.

When you meet Jesse, when you shake his hand, take note. Jesse has gigantic, meaty paws. They are calloused and dirty. They are hands that see action. They are hands that know something about putting things together, about gripping and twisting and pushing. They are hands that speak to experience and life. They are hands that know how to build.

And Jesse knows how to build.

In a barn in West Bath, Maine, there is the largest bicycle collection I've ever seen. It surpasses all of Portland's bike shops. Hell, he's got more bikes than Wal*Mart. And Jesse knows, works on, cherishes them all. He has touring bikes, mountain bikes, city bikes. He even has bikes with motors. Bikes you have to pedal to a certain speed before you can engage the motor. He says these bikes are his biggest problem, currently. The addition of a motor makes it trickier to work with.

He also says the saddlebags will perfectly hold One (1) Six-pack and One (1) Bag of Chips.

In the barn there are these bikes, there are skateboard halves nailed to the walls. Behind and above all that there is a living area. Jesse is putting together a home for himself in a barn filled with bikes and boards and even birds. Barns tend to house birds.

Up a flight of stairs and a ladder, Jesse has a platform where his life is. There's an old cabinet television and a couch facing that. There's a large window and many seats facing that. There's a two-roomed tent and a mattress in that. There's a microwave and mini-fridge and jugs of water abound.

A man could live here. A man does live here. A man sleeps here in a tent that - I hope - saves him from birds crapping all over the place.

If you follow the stairs and ladders, you will find Jesse's home. Continue to follow the ladders - this time down a level - and you will find his practice space. Littered with mics, amps, speakers and vintage cases, Jesse cranks out his punk-country. It echoes out over the garden and the fields nearby. It bounces off green leaves and brown trees.

Jesse has been playing guitar for years, though not steadily. In punk bands through high school, he and the axe parted ways for college. After graduating and getting a job in Portland - at The Great Lost Bear, no less - he started really getting into songwriting. Partly because of Woody Guthrie and Dylan and The Boss. Partly because in your post-gradutation ennui you need to define and refine yourself.

So he started writing and he starting playing. He started writing songs around Those Basic American Country chords. He started making music around that.

Ask him to play a medley - by way of a for instance - of his own "Lead Me Down" and the traditional "Amazing Grace" and "Keep on the Sunny Side," and so on. He happily admits to loving that chord structure.

He plays music I think Woody Guthrie would be proud of. Jesse writes protest songs. I can't remember the last time I heard a fresh protest song. "Trial and Error" takes on Dennis Deschaine's incarceration, calling for his release.

Man, the folk protest song is awesome. We live in a time where the IWW and the Socialism movement are weak, pathetic and laughable. Jesse's music, however, brings it all back. You remember the people being important. You remember The Man keeps you down.

Something interesting: Punk music and Folk music are not all that different. Simple chords and songs about the common man, or the common life. It's about equality and the system that keeps us all back. Jesse Pilgrim's music bridges this gap handily. His music is powerful and thumping and keeps you involved. His music is common and familiar and keeps you invested.

Jesse is building things with his music. He's building a soapbox. How many of us have them? He's building a clan. He's building a background.

But Jesse is building on things with his music, too. Give him a guitar sticker that says "This Machine Kills Fascists" and he's right on Woody Guthrie's shoulders. Give him a motorcycle (or motorbike, as the case may be) accident and he's right behind Dylan. Get him a woman to love and he's Johnny Cash.

Rich traditions in populist music, strong voices against modern-day sins. He's a manifestation of presence and spirit. He's built a fine band and written some fine songs.

Now, Jesse Pilgrim's buildings are ready.