We're From Here by Miss Shevaughn & Yuma Wray (2012)

There are moments when I think that nothing I do matters.  I don't mean that in the cosmological sense; I made my peace with my meaninglessness on that level a long time ago.  I mean on a nuts-and-bolts, interpersonal, everyday level.

What I value, others do not (my thinking goes).  I don't have any real friends, anyone I can truly depend on.  People only show interest in me when they think they can use me (not that I mind playing the game, but when I start thinking that that's ALL there is...).  In these moments, I often wonder why I do anything at all.  Why do I write this blog?  Why do I talk to these people?  Why do I even set foot outside the door?  All is vanity and vexation of spirit and so on and so forth.

Judging from "Go Hang," the opening track of We're From Here, Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray have been there too:

Well, maybe I'll let my pipes rust.
I've run out of fools I can trust.
I'm gonna cry my nose runny
While I'm making my money
And my guitar is covered in dust.

I saw Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray play the Crux back on March 30th.  I was waist-deep in my Treefort write-ups at the time, so I'd decided beforehand that I wasn't going to write about the show.  I liked  this group's performance so much, however, that I introduced myself afterwards and gave them a business card.  In turn, Chris Stelloh (a.k.a. Yuma Wray) handed me a copy of their album.  If I liked it, he said, I could write a review of it.  If I didn't, we'd just forget the whole thing.

I listened to We're From Here a few times and knew that I liked it, but it didn't really sink in until I found myself in one of those (admittedly narcissistic) funks I mentioned earlier.  The album ain't exactly sunshine and roses: its lyrics are filled with hard times, broken dreams and heartache.  The punchline of "Morning Is Breaking" is "breaking my heart."  The most hope that "No Surprise" can muster is "It's not too late, but it's improbable."  Even the yearning of "Pneumonia" is tempered by lines like "Oh, better off alone" and "I'm gonna be with you 'til my blood runs cold/ Or 'til you just get old."

Of course, blues and country were built from the get-go to handle hard times, broken dreams and heartache.  Consequently, Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray's firm footing in these genres lends a durability and tough-mindedness to We're From Here's somber, skeptical moments.  Also, listening to Erin Frisby (a.k.a. Miss Shevaughn) dip these songs in her warm, rich, hundred-proof voice, I react in the same way that I do when I hear Aretha Franklin wail about being a fool over some guy: I imagine that at any minute, she'll shake those doldrums off and get back to kicking the world's a**.  The stinging guitar, the glowing organ and Chris Stelloh's pleasantly unvarnished croon add to that defiant, keep-your-chin-up spirit.

You don't need to look too deep for that spirit either.  The resolution and independence of "Make It Out Alive's" lyrics help make up for that track's slightly stiff performance.  "Martha Ann" celebrates the life of a woman who was given less than nothing, made plenty of bad decisions and still grabbed life by the balls.  And whether Frisby's telling her mama to go hang from a tree ("Go Hang") or Stelloh's putting the noose around his own neck ("Cloin's Lament"), the ultimate message is the same: "F*ck you--if I'm going out, I'm going out on my own terms."

We're From Here saves its most hopeful, life-affirming moment for last.  "Anniversary Song" tells of a couple whose piss and vinegar drove them apart but who start to reconnect after taking some knocks.  "Each painful moment, every toll, every tear/ Paid for the ticket that brought me here," Frisby sings.  This puts all of the hard times etc. that have come before into perspective.  A brief instrumental coda entitled "Prelude to Go Hang" further accentuates the idea that Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray had to endure all of that stuff to reach this point.  We will grieve not, rather find and so on and so forth.  Or, if your Wordsworth's a little rusty, you can't always get what you want...

You can find info on Miss Shevaughn and Yuma Wray on Facebook and elsewhere online.  You can stream and purchase We're From Here on Bandcamp.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

Screen Door Porch and Benyaro @ the Red Room (4/17/13)

Originally, I'd had Black Mountain at Neurolux marked for this night.  However, I balked at the $12 cover; as I've said, the war chest's a little bare right now.  Besides, I figured that most everybody else in town would be at that show, so I decided to check out this Red Room show instead.  Some talk I'd heard about Benyaro's impressive live act helped sway my decision as well.

There were ten people at the Red Room when I arrived.  By a quarter to midnight, that number would dwindle to five.  Being right sucks sometimes.

Benyaro opened the show.  Who says there's no such thing as multitasking?  Wyoming-based musician Ben Musser played guitar with his hands, bass drum with one foot and high-hat with the other while singing his blues and country tunes with his big, ductile voice (oh yeah, and he played harmonica too).  As if this weren't impressive enough, his originals were smart, funny and catchy enough to hold up fine next to his Blaze Foley and Etta James covers.  He wasn't as nice to Eureka, CA as he was to New Orleans, but judging from the details in the former song's lyrics, the town had it coming.

Screen Door Porch played next with Musser supporting them on drums.  You hear enough hokey, smarmy roots-related acts and the whole Americana genre starts to feel phony as a three-dollar-bill.  Then an artist or group comes along and makes it feel like the genuine coin of the realm.  This Jackson Hole, WY duo fell into the latter category.  Seadar Rose's smoky drawl and Aaron Davis's light grit and liquid slide guitar struck just the right balance of hot and cool.  Their songwriting showed enough savvy that their original about 1937 didn't sound like bullsh*t next to their Big Mama Thornton cover.  It's just too bad that more people weren't there to dance to their smooth grooves.

Betcha Black Mountain didn't have a "trumpet-kazoogle."

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

Insomniac Folklore, Jonathan Warren and the Billy Goats and Fleet Street Klezmer Band @ Neurolux (2/26/13)

Some readers out there may be wondering, "Hey, where's the post on the Youth Lagoon show?"  The answer is simple: there isn't one.

Judging from this Boise Weekly write-up, last Monday's "secret show" at Neurolux was something.  As one gentleman says in the article, "Every hipster who is any hipster is here."  Which, I suppose, proves that I'm not any hipster.  For all of my vanity and ambition, I simply couldn't bring myself to spend time and money on a group I have never particularly cared for and consider grotesquely overrated.  But God help me, I may yet write about Youth Lagoon in the near future.  For one thing, not to do so feels more and more like ignoring the elephant in the room.  For another, while the adoration that their/his music receives from a certain portion of the population frustrates me, it fascinates me as well.

Just thought that I should make some kind of statement before starting this post.  Moving right along...

As some readers may recall, I saw Insomniac Folklore play the Red Room back in August.  I enjoyed their set so much that I actually posted on Treefort's Facebook page a request that they be added to this year's lineup.  So much for the influence of bloggers, I guess.  Anyway, when I learned about this show, I jumped at the chance to see them again.

I counted about thirty people at Neurolux when I arrived.  When Insomniac Folklore played, I counted about sixty.  A very respectable number.  What made it even better was the fact that a good chunk of the crowd seemed familiar with their music; when the band asked the crowd what they'd like to hear, Tyler Hentschel looked impressed by the requests that they received.

Fleet Street Klezmer Band opened the show.  They might have sounded a bit loose this night, but that didn't do much more than lend a certain woozy charm to their gypsy folk tunes.  It helped that they seemed to be in a good mood: Victoria Kostenko wore the sweetest smile on her face as her fiddle swooped and fluttered while newcomer Hollis bounced all over the stage and let rip on bouzouki.  Shlomo Kostenko's deep, droll, friendly moan sounded in good form, and he very helpfully recommended that the crowd consult the alcohol behind the bar if they didn't understand the lyrics.  Their cover of "Turkish Song of the Damned" helped me feel like less of a presumptuous ass for my earlier Pogues comparison.  Another nice moment was when Adrienne Hentschel and Amanda Curry from Insomniac Folklore got up to dance.

Jonathan Warren and the Billy Goats played next.  Asked 'em for the Louvin Brothers, they brought me Old Crow Medicine Show.  These local favorites' roots seemed to run about as deep as a few skimmed-over issues of No Depression and maybe some fond memories of Hee Haw.  Of course, the same could probably be said about any number of so-called Americana acts nowadays.  Besides, their songs did show some decent craftsmanship.  Quite pleasant as well were Jonathan Warren's weathered vocals, Dave Sather-Smith's groaning cello, Andrew Smith's sprightly drumming and newcomer Abraham's fluid violin solos.  It would've been nice, however, if Sather-Smith had eased up with that gratingly phony hillbilly accent.

Insomniac Folklore closed out the night.  Man oh man, it woulda been something if this group had played Treefort.  If anything, their warm, witty, playfully sardonic songs and sweet, slyly cartoonish stage act were even more enjoyable than I remembered.  Tyler Hentschel's clanging riffs, stomped-out beats and humorously portentous baritone played Ring Around the Rosie with Adrienne Hentschel's tart harmonies and Amanda Curry's viscous basslines.  Song topics included playing with Legos, arson, the meaninglessness of existence, the best way to not be afraid of the dark and how you should listen to your parents but not the government.  Beneath all of the sarcasm and smirking gloom, however, lurked hearts of gold: their finale, "Earplugs," pledged eternal love and closed with the chant "L'Chaim to life."  The crowd didn't leave their seats, but they did clap to the beat, sing along and give the band some warm applause.

And now, for the benefit of those who weren't there, here are some shots of Insomniac Folklore's fourth member: Wallace, the World's Only Singing Sheep.

"He talks a lot when we're in the car, but he gets kinda shy when we're onstage."

Another cute touch: Adrienne Hentschel blowing bubbles.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

Tater Famine, Stoneseed and Jan Summerhays @ Neurolux (1/29/13)

I'd heard of Stoneseed--I'm friends with them on Facebook, as a matter of fact--but I'd never actually heard their music before.  On top of that, I'd never heard of either of the other acts on this bill before.  This gave me all the reason I needed for checking this show out.

I counted about thirty-five people when I got down to Neurolux.  A few more people showed up as the night went on, but not too many.  Not bad, all in all.  Given the rootsy slant to the night's music, the Atomic Mama and Joy Division songs on the PA system felt a bit incongruous, but hey, I wasn't gonna complain.

Local musician Jan Summerhays opened the night.  I remember thinking that this lady's gently urgent strumming and breathy, tender vocals would've been better suited for the High Note Cafe or an Idaho Songwriters Association showcase.  All I really meant by that, however, was that I wanted the people behind me to shut up.  In any case, Summerhays's lovely folk melodies and haunting, thoughtful lyrics ensure that I'll keep an eye/ear out for her from now on.  Gentle and tender, yes.  Weak or fragile, no.

Stoneseed played next.  Ty Clayton's strong baritone drawl and sure sense of rhythm, Lindsey Hunt Terrell's sultry harmonies and moaning violin solos and Bennett Barr's smooth, steady djembe earned some big cheers from the crowd.  Their bluesy tunes and conversational lyrics felt as lived-in as their groove.  Maybe there's something to be said for blindly accepting friend requests after all.

Tater Famine closed out the night.  This Santa Cruz trio admonished themselves throughout their set to keep their language radio-friendly.  However, that was pretty much the only concession that they made to gentility.    John Dodds's nasally snarl and fierce strumming, Matteo Brunozzi's ripping mandolin and Laurenzo Burman's fat, pounding basslines winningly fused bluegrass and punk.  Between their brawny, rough-and-ready music and lyrics and their loving but not overly reverent take on Americana, they shot right to the part of me that loves the Pogues.  The only shortcoming of this set was that there weren't more people there to dance.  At least a handful of folks had the right idea.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

Grandma Kelsey, Gregory Rawlins and Chris Jennings @ the Crux; Rose's Pawn Shop @ Neurolux (1/13/13)

Last Sunday, I violated one of the standing orders of this blog: I chose a show composed entirely of acts I'd already seen over one featuring groups I hadn't encountered before.  In my defense, I should explain that I'd listened to a few songs by Rose's Pawn Shop, the headlining act at Neurolux, and been left unimpressed.  They just felt too slick, too facile--the work of guys who reckoned that alt-country/Americana was the surest way to a guy's wallet and a girl's pants.  I like my indie-roots stuff with a little more spunk, a little more warmth, a little more idiosyncrasy.

So, yeah--Grandma Kelsey and Gregory Rawlins.

When I arrived at the Crux, I counted a little over forty people there.  The crowd looked composed mainly of twenty-somethings with a few folks in their thirties and forties sprinkled around.

I was a little late getting down there, so I only caught the last three songs of Chris Jennings's opening set.  From what I heard, however, the guy seems to be coming along pretty well.  Both his singing and his guitar playing sounded more assured.  His "He Stopped Loving Her Today" cover still sounded a little awkward, but hey, it took the Possum himself a while to nail that one.

Gregory Rawlins played next.  His clean, firm tenor and well-schooled country-blues tunes sounded as good as they did at the Red Room's Eastern Oregon Invasion if not better.  Not only that, the crowd's respectful silence enabled me to hear more of Rawlins's well-observed, well-phrased lyrics this time around.  Personal favorites included one number about wanting to romance a lady dishwasher and "Going to Bed Sober," a portrait of the artist as a young screw-up.

Grandma Kelsey closed out the night at the Crux.  Seeing her here, I was struck again by just how fine a balance her music strikes.  Push it a little this way or that and it could turn smug or cloying or maudlin.  As they stand, however, her evergreen melodies, ruminative lyrics and modest yet transported vocals are utterly disarming.  By just strumming her guitar and singing, Grandma Kelsey managed to seal every pair of lips and draw all eyes and ears to her.  A truly unique talent.

I'd planned to head down to Nocturnum at the Red Room after the Crux show, but a gentleman whose taste I respect persuaded me to stop by Neurolux first and check out the last forty minutes of Rose's Pawn Shop's set.  This Los Angeles-based group clearly had talent to spare.  Their honey-drawl vocals, sharp guitar solos, soaring violin, swift basswork and high-octane drumming whipped the surprisingly large crowd into an impressive frenzy.  They tangoed smoothly through Tom Waits's "Jockey Full of Bourbon" and ripped up Woody Guthrie's "Do Re Mi" but good.  Their most telling cover, however, was their finale: Phil Collins's "In the Air Tonight."  That textbook guilty pleasure seemed to encapsulate this band's music: it was polished and fun but too bland for regular listening.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.

John Cazan, Coleman & Reed and Sam Lay @ the Gamekeeper Lounge (1/12/13)

Picking which shows to review on this blog can be hard sometimes.  Saturday night was a case in point: not only did Neurolux host its Sun Blood Stories/Iconoplasty/Phantahex bill, the Van Allen Belt/Hey V Kay/Dirty Moogs show at the Red Room seemed equally promising.  In the end, though, I opted for this Idaho Songwriters' Association gig, which featured three local acts I'd never encountered before.

The crowd numbered fifteen people when I got down to the Gamekeeper Lounge and stayed at about that number for the rest of the night.  Richard O'Hara, one of the two head organizers of the ISA, speculated that the Packers/49ers game sucked up most of the audience for this show.  He may have been right, although I imagine that the crappy weather and the plethora of other shows happening this same night were factors as well.

Local musician John Cazan opened the show.  My ears perked up when the emcee announced that Cazan had played gigs with the Coasters, the Drifters and Little Anthony and the Imperials.  For the most part, this set didn't let me down.  While some of his backing tracks tended a little towards the elevator-jazzy side, Cazan's smooth, finely aged croon went down nicely.  Even better, his fluid, elegant guitar soloing called to mind Nils Lofgren or maybe Stevie Ray Vaughan at his most lyrical ("Lenny," "Little Wing").  As a nice little bonus, the man sure did love dogs: he played two songs that were inspired by his pet pooches.

Michelle Coleman, Daniel Reed and Dominique Tardif from the local Americana group Shakin' Not Stirred played next.  Tardif's terse mandolin solos, Coleman's straight-ahead guitar strumming and Reed's sly basswork fell into such an easy, seemingly effortless groove that they made younger indie-folk groups sound insufferably tight-assed by comparison.  The same went for their insouciant between-song banter and lyrics about dancing outside naked in the middle of the night, neighbors be damned.  Their gorgeous three-part harmonies were no joke, however.  Neither was Coleman's loving, precisely crafted song about her father's passing.

Sam Lay closed out the night.  "You may be watching history tonight," the emcee told the crowd during his introduction.  I don't know about that, but Lay's breathy tenor, nimble strumming and soloing, well-crafted tunes and funny, self-deprecating banter all showed a maturity well beyond his seventeen years.  Show me a teenager who writes lyrics about living in a "gullible theocracy" and I'll show you a songwriter to keep an eye and ear on.  His dad played guitar and harmonica on one song, and local singer-songwriter Gayle Chapman chipped in with some keyboard and harmonies on another.  Lay's mom sat at the front and filmed part of the set.  She must be very proud.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Finn Riggins, And And And and Little Tiny Little People @ Neurolux; the Hardluck Cowboys @ the High Note Cafe (12/8/12)

This show interested me because it featured the return of yet another Treefort alumnus, And And And, and a headlining set by Finn Riggins, who probably don't need an introduction.  Part of me was tempted to head across the street from Neurolux and check out the Idaho Songwriters Association show at the Gamekeepers Lounge.  I'd already made arrangements to attend this one, however, and I figure that a man oughtta honor his commitments.  Besides, I can't complain much about seeing Finn Riggins again.

Apparently, not many others can complain either.  I counted around seventy people when I made it down to Neurolux.  By the time that Finn Riggins played, there had to have been well over a hundred.

Kicking off the show was a new local group, Little Tiny Little People.  Their music proved about as cutesy-poo as their name: fragile vocals, jaunty folk melodies, gently swinging beat, pleasant trumpet and straight-ahead, down-strummed guitar.  Maybe a bit too twee for my taste, but not bad.  At least they've got a decent drummer.  Also, the crowd certainly didn't seem to mind.  Especially the ladies--got a little swaying going.

And And And played next.  This Portland band's jangly drones, whooshing distortion, bouncy basslines, malleable drumming and solemn trumpet all sounded as pleasant as I remembered.  Unfortunately, Nathan Baumgartner's pitch-challenged whine also sounded as irritating as I remembered.  Don't get me wrong, I got nothing against pitch-challenged whines in themselves (I'm a huge Neil Young fan, remember).  The rub, I think, lay in a certain smug insularity that seemed to lurk behind it.  The man sounded too cool or too bored to bother with staying on key.  Just as it did at Treefort, however, the music saved the day.  And this night, it got help from some trippy, creepy montages from antimagic, which helped give the set a 90's alt-rock video feel.

Finn Riggins took the stage next.  It occurred to me that up until this show, this group hadn't played a headlining slot around these parts in a while.  They took the opportunity to stretch out and experiment, tossing in some marimba, some moaning and screeching distortion, some dub-like echo and some extended instrumental passages.  No matter how far-out the music got, however, the songwriting and the playing held it all together.  Aside from a slight stumble and some unintentional feedback in the middle of the set, all three members brought their A+ game.  The videos playing on the screen behind them, which came courtesy of antimagic and others, knocked the energy level up a couple of extra notches (I especially liked the dancing children and elementary school paintings for "Benchwarmers" and the 8-bit incarnations of FR for "Big News").  The mix of sound and vision whipped the crowd into a nice frenzy--lots of dancing and cheering.  Overall, an outstanding performance.  I just wish I had a picture of the little dancing miniature of himself that Eric Gilbert placed on his synthesizer.

After Finn Riggins wrapped up, I headed over to the High Note Cafe to catch part of the set by the Hardluck Cowboys a.k.a. local musicians Johnny Shoes and Speedy Gray.  It was a great pleasure to hear these gentlemen trade songs and solos again (especially in Johnny Shoes's case--hadn't seen him in way too long), but it was an even greater pleasure to see a solid crowd of people applauding the same.  Speedy Gray unveiled a song from his upcoming solo album, Z.V. House and Karen Singletary stepped up to play a couple of numbers, a young musician did some pretty good Tom Petty covers and Johnny Shoes wrapped his sly, weathered vocals around my favorite Townes Van Zandt song, "To Live is to Fly."  A wonderful coda to my night: warm, loose, collegial.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.