First, my apologies for the unplanned hiatus from 3hive. It’s been a month since my last post, though I swear it doesn’t feel like it. To break the silence I’m taking it back to the old school—or is it the new school?—folk genre. Don’t know if it’s Joe’s long-awaited John Prine post or the near perfect weather here in Southeast Michigan (mid 70s and clear blue skies, ftw) but my ears seem to have an insatiable appetite for what Joel Nicholson, aka Butcher the Bar, cooked up in his bedroom studio in Manchester, England. His songs are immediately gratifying, they waste no time explaining themselves. Bare, beautiful guitar work and hushed lyrics of human relationship, of coming and going. As with all good stories, it’s what’s not said (or sung or played) that matters most. This is a truth that most 22-year-old musicians don’t learn until some time after their debut album, which is what makes Butcher the Bar’s Sleep at Your Own Speed that much more impressive.
John Prine
In teaching high school history, especially the things I lived through, I’ve often used a simple rule when choosing primary sources: don’t use things you love. In other words, avoid being hurt, intentionally or otherwise, when everyone else is unimpressed by that which changed your life. And so, it’s hesitantly and humbly that I offer up John Prine today. A few years ago, the 3hive writers came up with a “dream post” list, and Prine was high up on mine. I don’t know where I’d be without having internalized a degree of the optimistic outlook on life expressed in songs like “Please Don’t Bury Me,” or that remembrance of what matters in “Storm Windows,” or the embrace of passion and self in “Angel from Montgomery.” You know I could go on and on. John Prine is a legend, a treasure, a gift. I know I’m breaking my rule, but I also know I’m right.
E.S.L.
Although the shuffling Gypsy cabaret of “Prove Me Wrong” may not sound like either rock or punk (or folk, for that matter — genre categories can be so imprecise) a trip through E.S.L.’s full length album Eye Contact will offer up all that and more. A rollicking Polish love song (sung po polsku), experimental strings and craziness, rock, Beastie Boys, Neil Young and Velvet Undergraound covers — this all-girl Vancouver quartet’s got it. You know, today is my birthday; maybe they’ll play at my party.
J. Tillman
It’s been a while since we’ve checked in with J. Tillman, the Seattle-based songwriter with a melancholic voice and American Gothic disposition…and more facial hair. “Steel on Steel†is a pretty and melodic ditty that may not be the most summery of songs in the other 49, but you get the feeling that it’s the perfect antidote to that Peugot Sound Gray.
Haley Bonar
Haley Bonar first appeared on these pages almost four years. I’m not so into acoustic guitars, but seeing her live almost four years, I was completely blown away by the power of her voice. Her albums, a thoughtful mixture of folk and delicate tunes, don’t seem to be able to fully capture that voice; they give just a little picture of what she’s got. The new album, Big Star, no doubt named after one of her influences, is out June 10.
Joe Pug
There’s been a fair amount of turmoil in my life of late: relocation from The Big Northeastern City to The Little Southern City, new job, first house, first child—basically we’ve inadvertently fit all of the major milestones of adulthood into about a 12-month span. It’s got me a little out of sorts, which may explain why I’ve gravitated more than normal toward singer-songwriters. Surely I’m softening in my mid-30s, but there’s just something about an acoustic guitar and a single voice that brings focus to my overactive mind. Joe Pug’s voice and guitar have a particular resonance in this regard. Pug is a Chicago carpenter by day and a troubadour by night. He possesses the eyes, mop, and even a hint of the vocal cords of a young Bob Dylan. More importantly, he possesses the strumming fingers and lush songbook of an all-American folk singer. In Pug’s hard plucking, exaggerated choruses, and lyrical vignettes you can draw a pretty straight line from Woody Guthrie to Bob Dylan to Johnny Cash to Bruce Springsteen to Steve Earle to Josh Ritter. Like all of them, Pug is a populist at heart, a singer who can’t help but talk about all of us when he sings about himself and can’t help but sing about himself when he’s talking about all of us. I’m a sucker for a good line and this one from “Hymn #101” is one of my favorites right now: “I’ve come to meet the sheriff and his posse/ to offer him the broad side of my jaw/ I’ve come here to get broke/ and maybe bum a smoke/ we’ll go drinkin’ two towns over after all.” It could just be a comic-tragic put-on and you probably have to feel some turmoil yourself to truly appreciate it, but “Hymn #101” is full of lines that will fill you with both heartbreak and euphoria. It’s good to be reminded that that’s why we listen to music in the first place.
The Great Outdoors
I’ve got a copy of Spring, the first of the seasonal EPs that The Great Outdoors is releasing over the course of the next year, but I’m not going to open it before running this post. (There don’t seem to be any free & legal MP3 downloads from it anyway…) The Great Outdoor is Adam Nation and his random band of whoever happens to be around in Vancouver at the time. I remember wanting to post the band back when his album Food, Booze and Entertainment came out last year, and the tracks available here are from that disc. Check out “Chekhov and I,” an opposite-world version of Neil Young’s “Out on the Weekend” that nicely captures Nation’s gravelly-voiced storytelling, tastefully supported by acoustic guitar. “If I Were a Car” does the same kind of thing with lovely thin female backing vocals and appropriately grating strings that match a dark story of escape. I’m assuming the seasons EPs will tell more textured tales from Nation’s book of experiences, and I’m going to go find out right now.
Stars Like Fleas
Stars Like Fleas is a Brooklyn-based collective of musicians you probably haven’t heard of from bands you probably have heard of (especially if you’re a regular to 3hive). At the nucleus are Montgomery Knott (vocals) and Shannon Fields (everything else). It was Shannon who emailed us to say that Stars Like Fleas will be releasing their third album after “a fair bit of wandering-in-the-desert time.” That’s gotta be some kind of crazy metaphor ’cause they recorded the album in Iceland—with Bjork’s producer, Valgeir Sigurðsson—and I don’t think there are any deserts there. Wherever it was that they wandered, they appear to have lost their penchant for unstructured, free jazz compositions and replaced it with a knack for lushly-orchestrated pop epics. The single, “I Was Only Dancing,” is a precise audio replication of a cloudburst falling on parched earth, sandwiched between slices of warm sunlight. Bathe/bask in it and you’ll see why it’s already one of my favorites of the year.
Old Man Luedecke
Fast talking, fast picking (on the banjo) Old Man Luedecke’s just telling stories on these snappy new tracks from his third and latest album, Proof of Love. Although Old Man doesn’t really look that old, his narrative style and attention to detail and tradition certainly reflect a degree of maturity and experience. In general, though, it’s the toe-tapping familiarity of these songs that make then all warm and shiny. I can see Luedecke twanging his banjo around a Canadian campfire, telling tales just like people do.
Okay
The first time I listened to Okay was somewhat of a brief and cynical experience. Too cute in its depression, I thought. Their upcoming album Huggable Dust is made up entirely of one-word-title songs that run an average of about two and a half minutes. It’s quirky before you even press “play,” and it gets quirkier once Marty Anderson starts in with his lonesome little-boy quaver over an acoustic guitar and other sounds and instruments reach for a melancholy kind of folk-pop. Yes, it’s a bit of a lo-fi cabaret. But it’s one you won’t want to stop watching thanks to how personal those somber lyrics are made to sound through Anderson’s home recording aesthetic. Fans of Daniel Johnston, The Flaming Lips, and the Elephant Six collective will find much to like. The rest of you might, too.