Druid City

By Casey Childers

In the intimate, cozy setting of the Flicker Theatre and Bar on Thursday night, Druid City played to a packed house of 17. Understanding the acoustics were probably not the best, with the brick walls, sheets covering the unused speakers beside the stage, the red lights illuminating the stage and a curtain separating the stage and bar area, I didn’t except much. I expected no more quality than if I were attending a party in a basement with a keg and a friend of a friend just happened to bring a guitar to play for everyone.

However, on the first song, I was blown away by the quality of the musicianship of Druid City. Larry Tucker is on tenor sax, Aaron Wegelin on drums, and Julien Derocher singing while playing the guitar and harmonica made for a raw, reminiscent sound of 70s rock.

Derocher’s vocals were smooth and melodic contrasting dark against the light of an almost full marching band and orchestra behind him. But, there was one problem with Derocher’s performance: I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He seemed so encapsulated in the moment, closing his eyes with each verse, pouring his heart out on stage.

Derocher’s voice is evocative of a muffled Bob Dylan overshadowed by his band. The fans, which seemed more like friends and family, really loved the show, with nodding heads and shouting requests. I felt like an outsider, as everyone in the room seemed to know what he was saying except me.

The overall feel of the sound evokes musical images of the smoothness of Allman Brothers Band, the guitar and piano breakdowns of Lynyrd Skynyrd with the soul of Van Morrison. The Druid City sound is authentic, not cover band material, with blues, R & B, folk influences blending without being obvious.

Songs changed style, with one song having a salsa beat with a strong drum and clapping beat with Derocher changing up his voice to a staccato feel. His voice matching the instrumentation reminded me of how Kanye West’s voice matched the trumpets in “Touch the Sky.” I can’t speak for the lyrics, but the multifaceted musicians in this band pulled it off, making the audience get up from the cheap wooden chairs and second-hand sheet-covered couches to dance. Druid City’s stage presence is approachable and likable. They spoke directly to the audience and seemed to really love entertaining.

Druid City is named for the hospital Derocher was born at, Druid City Hospital in Tuscaloosa, Ala. Druid City is a new band to the scene, with only four shows prior to Thursday’s show. There is little information available about Druid City or any of the musicians in the band.

Derocher is no newbie to the music scene though, with writings and recordings spanning over a decade. Derocher has a quiet, mysterious air to him. This may be because I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I’m willing to give this band a second chance, as they have a show in March coming up. Even without hearing what Derocher had to say, it seemed he owned the stage.

The Corduroy Road's Sprouting Bluegrass

By Gage Henry

The grunge/indie aura of Athens, GA, doesn't appear to be a hospitable environment for a bluegrass band to grow, but The Corduroy Road has managed to flourish taller than most of the city's DIY competition.

On April 9th the four-man ensemble hosted a party for their new EP release, Just One Drop (Mule Train Records, 2009), at the Melting Point to give their newest songs a test run on a medley of wine-sipping spectators and faithful fanatics who didn't spare a square foot of space when canvassing the floor with their dancing shoes.

The Corduroy Road brought an energy that isn't foreign to Bluegrass, but somehow still seeps its way into other genres-- even performing with the nimble audacity of punk rock, as advertised on their website. The question is: would this exuberance also be present on Just One Drop?
The trick with this five song EP is that it leaves little margin for error. One bad song means that already 1/5 of the album isn't worth listening to, a problem that the band skirted quite well with the help of John Keane Studios, a host to R.E.M., Indigo Girls and Widespread Panic.

Just One Drop is a highly concentrated blend of goodness, absent of fillers and mirroring their live shows' sporadic solos and slick harmonies-- they don't waste a single track. The band's founders, Drew Carman (banjo) and Dylan Solise (guitar) trade off vocals discreetly as both voices are seasoned with the same country twang, though Carman is a little flashier on stage.

The album starts with the cantering melody of the song, “Just One Drop,” livened by the quick cuts of a fiddle and prickly banjo highlights. “The Wind and Water” eases the record's pace for a scenic ballad about a mariner pleading with the waves to take him back to the “one he loves best.”

“Brad's Song” is where the album truly resonates, putting the band's finer elements on display-- the romantic, humorous, clever and brutally honest lyrics trailed by a wavy harmonica accompaniment. The lyricist's confidence is further evident in “It'll Be Me,” a waltzing, flowery and poignant depiction of love's inescapable cycles-- not to mention my personal favorite.

“Temperature Raised” stands as the record's big finish and takes home the “Most Likely to be Played at a Hoedown” award. The scampering drum beats by John Cable and Tim Helms' dexterous bass licks makes for the album's perfect showdown.

The Corduroy Road may not be following suit with the independent musicians and home-brewed records-- of which Athens is the national headquarters to-- but the band's surefire talent takes all the risk away in signing with a label.

The flip-side to releasing a bad EP is making an excellent one. Sure, The Corduroy Road gives a lot to digest in Just One Drop, but they've also instilled a cotton-mouth thirst for more.

Listen to songs from Just One Drop here.

Punch Brothers' Hush-Hush Concert

By Gage Henry

Would anyone have guessed that on March 27th, our very own Hugh Hodgson Hall would give floor to the best mandolin player in the world? More importantly, did anyone even know he was here?

On what seemed like a casual night for many, Chris Thile, former mandolinist for the bluegrass rooted Nickel Creek, and his present band, Punch Brothers, delighted a surprisingly small crowd of faithful, or rather fortunate fans at the University’s Performing Arts Center. Based on the advertising campaign put out by the PAC-- which buried this feature in a monthly schedule, posted on a website no one knows about—most people there just got lucky via word of mouth.

Indeed, the audience was treated to a great show, but no one was happier to be there than Chris Thile himself. His first words on stage praised the elaborate concert hall, originally built for the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, yet perfectly suited Punch Brother’s eclectic string picking, smooth dissonance and glowing harmonies.

The band’s set drew largely from their first album (released February 26, 2008), Punch, partly a tortuous musical documentation of Thile’s 2004 divorce. Among the evening’s set was a forty minute suite, “The Blind Leaving the Blind,” which Thile wrote in four movements and Punch Brothers played in its weepy and woebegone whole.

Highlighting one member of Punch Brothers is like ordering a dish from a restaurant where everything is good. Noam Pikelny, their jesting banjo player, lightly produced sparkling background melodies that appeared to move faster than the fingers which played them, a feat while standing next to Thile.

The spindly fingers of Paul Kowert, the gangly bassist, walked up and down the neck of his instrument, both purposeful and fluid, laying a compounded foundation fitted for the band’s keynote improvisation.

The world renowned mandolinist exceeded his own infinite standards, brimming with talent that sparked from his plucking fingers and rested on the smooth inflection of his unwavering voice. He played the mandolin like a third limb, and made his performance look all too easy.

Punch Brothers also explored alternative sounds through unorthodox, mechanical percussions, slapping the hollows of their instruments and grinding their strings during an impressive cover of Radiohead's “Packt Like Sardines.” Noises reminiscent of a cheesy 1960's Sci-Fi flick crept through the concert hall's vast space, expanding the genre of “progressive acoustic” as we know it today.

No band is flawless in a live concert, yet Punch Brothers tested this absolute. Every note and harmony projected into the crowd as if they'd been rehearsed a thousand times before. Their progression was tight like a studio record (crediting their sound technician who fiddled with buttons and faders through the entire concert), but their delivery was impassioned with a liveliness too rampant to be captured in microphones and equalizers.

The performance came complete with an intermission and much expected encore, where Thile dipped back into his lambent solo era, which mirrored “House of Tom Bombadil” of Nickel Creek's early fame.

Punch Bothers' set ended strong, with Thile bowing out while praising the hoots and hollers of what he claims to be one of his best audiences he's played for. The prodigy, with his four band members, exited the stage as Thursday night's best kept secret.

Ham1's CD Release Party

By Gage Henry

The Caledonia Lounge resembles a dimly lit basement with more crowds, less couches and what appears to be a makeshift stage where even the bravest audience members hesitantly inched towards at the beginning of the show– the perfect atmosphere for a band like Ham1 to perform to its pure, lackadaisical potential.

Like most bands dwelling in the murmur of the Athens music scene, Ham1 is just another one of the city’s best kept secrets, but maybe they like it this way. This Saturday night show was the CD release party for their third album, The Underground Stream, yet their set was squished between the bands Don Chambers & Goat and JEFF the Brotherhood.

Ham1 wasn’t the headliner. They were the meat of the sandwich.

The four band members wandered on the stage around midnight with a presence that was casual at best, and somehow the group was able to squeeze in 13 songs and a technical difficulty delay for a psychedelically sweet set that lasted under 45 minutes.

“Oh, that sounds awful,” said the keyboardist after the band cracked out a tight sound check that resembled a song playing in the background of a lazy Napoleon Dynamite scene. He jabbed a couple more keys while cringing. “Technical difficulties… Do you know a joke?” he asked the lead singer, Jim Willingham.

Willingham then turned around and candidly chatted with the drummer, who apparently did know a joke but didn’t think to tell it into the microphone. The next three or four minutes played out more like a shtick rather than an awkward silence, where the bassist and keyboardist fumbled with chords at the foot of the stage, and the drummer and leader singer exchanged bar jokes in the background.

The abandoned crowd was too busy eavesdropping on the scene before them to acknowledge their abandonment at all. It was funny, quaint and a perfect introduction for the upcoming bombardment of meandering tunes and comical lyrics.

Ironically, the next words sung out by Willingham were: “Will you ever see me again?”

Ham1’s abstract appearance perfectly mirrors their music, yet unlike the striped feather protruding from the tuning pegs of Willingham’s guitar, the droll melodies and nasally vocals were still elements you can wrap your head around and think, “Yeah, that works.”

The group’s quirkiness increased with their volume and tempo. After the third song a man dressed in a faded checker suit walked out on stage with a trombone that soon struggled to play hoarse notes as if the instrument had been strained by laryngitis, a fitting accoutrement for a band that dedicates an instrumental ballad to a deceased pet chicken named Franklin (written with only two words shouted at the songs close: “Go Franklin!”)

If anything lands in the group’s suggestion box, it is simply the length of their songs, which averaged around two minutes a pop. Most were composed without a chorus and linger long enough only to tempt like a peck on the cheek. Their rhythms lured people to shuffle their feet and then completely dropped off the table, stranding a handful of dancers in the sway of their own silenced grooves.

The trace stumbles of Ham1’s melodic inflection eventually gave in to classic entropy, a noisy jungle complete with a raspy trombone, where clashing cymbals, thumping drums and reverberating guitar chords were topped off with Willingham sending the tinny sound effects of a plastic toy gun into the microphone by the end of the last song, a resourceful and primitively satisfying way to close the show.

The band is indubitably odd, but in no way do they stretch themselves to fit this mold. I’d never heard of Ham1 before that night, and they genuinely unfurled as if they were so wonderfully themselves, never reaching beyond their own capabilities or hinting they had anything to prove.

The lyrics of Ham1’s sleepy-toned song, “Low Expectations,” communicates the band’s motto:

“Low expectations / it makes everything OK.”