Urban Folk

Issue 4 November/
December

The Bowmans
Free for you and me
Urban Folk: issue four
More pages! New staff writers! Great things are happening! We’re expanding our scope with Dan covering Brooklyn
and Darren covering a different side of acoustic music all along the East Coast. We’re all thrilled to have the Bowmans
fronting this issue, and you’ll find Claire has some inspiring things to say about breaking into the business end of music.
I got a lot of positive feedback and emails from people after issue three, which gave me a warm communtiy feeling.
Thanks guys. Send us mail, we like it! Hate mail too, we like it all. Thanks to all the sponsors who came through and
made this expanded issue happen. Check out their stuff as a way of saying thanks. Oh yeah, email us to be included in
upcoming Urban Folk podcasts through Alloy Radio. Good times! -Dave Cuomo, Editor

Contact us for advertising or anything at urbanfolkzine@gmail.com

In This Issue:
On the Cover - the bowmans! (thebowmansmusic.com)
Hurricane Katrina Benefit – jon berger tells the story of two victims, and how new york tried to help
Pay to Play Scams – dave cuomo looks into showcases at the bitter end and cb’s lounge
The Paula – jon berger welcomes a brazilian rocker to new york
Brattleboro Fest – darren deicide spends a night with gutter punk folkies in vermont
Exegesis Department – with sarah bowman
DIY Artist Management – q & a with claire bowman
Brian Wurschum – paul alexander profiles the man behind the voyces
Busted in Brooklyn - dan costello goes to jail for his music
Subway Stories – dave cuomo tells a story about the r.n.c. protests and his first new york performance
Antifolk Fest - debe dalton reports from the fort
Alec Wonderful – alec dispenses rare advice on acheiving fame Be an Urban Folk friend!
Get in the Minivan - brook pridemore on tour in arizona myspace.com/urbanfolkzine
Poetry Page and a Book Review - chris maher and rebecca hirsch
The Grateful Dead... - fiction by ed lynch
Paul’s Perspective – paul alexander gets writer’s block
Crossword puzzle - a contest with a prize by deborah t.
CD Reviews – curtis eller, the wowz, creaky boards, gretchen witt, and more...
How you can help... Support your scene while promoting what Back/inside cover - $85 (6.8” x 9.5”)
you do! A lot of artists came to me this issue and said they wanted to buy Full page - $75 (6.8” x 9.5”)
an ad just to support what we’re doing and do their part to help keep it Half page - $45 (6.8” x 4.7”)
going. Thanks guys! We’re not there yet though. Covering priting costs
is still something we are struggling to do. You can help, while getting
Third page - $30
exposure for yourself. The goal of this magazine has always been to bring (square: 4.8” x 4.8”; tall 2.2” x 9.5”)
in more of an outside audience to what we’re doing, and show people Quarter page - $25 (3.4” x 4.8”)
who wouldn’t otherwise know, that there is honest, passionate, and inteligent music thriving in New York City. In order to
do this better we need to raise circulation, which means we need your help! None of us have a lot of extra money to throw
around, but supporting each other now will benefit all the musicians, clubs, and labels (not to mention the culture at large!)
in the long run. A lot of you are not on any label at all, and are putting out your cd’s yourself, or getting your music out
through your website. We designed our advertising with this in mind, so that an artist could afford a $25 ad to promote their
cd, shows, or even just their website, and the clubs or labels could afford the larger ones. Help us spread the word on every
subway seat, every campus lecture hall, and every bathroom stall in every bar. This is your scene and your magazine, and
we need your support to keep it going. -DC
 Jon Berger on...
benefit for victims of hurricane katrina
After Mother Nature had her little tiff with the Gulf Coast,
it took a few days to hear from Patsy and Grey.
Patsy Grace and Grey Revell met at the open mics, fell in
love there, and announced their engagement at the AntiHoot
at the Sidewalk Cafe. Their son’s birth was attended by a
host of singer/songwriters entertaining Patsy and her womb,
inviting Julian to come out into the world. Patsy and Grey
presented a warm place for salons, a good space for parties,
and extra beds for weary travelers. Patsy and Grey Revell,
for their years in New York, provided a much-needed sense
of community. Their departure from New York to L.A. and
then later from LA to New Orleans, was a tragedy for those
kimya dawson at scenic
by Jon Berger
left behind – though clearly nothing like the tragedy that
befell New Orleans.
It wasn’t until Tuesday, August 30 that we in New York
got word that Patsy, Grey and Julian had driven 18 hours
straight to North Carolina, where family offered them
refuge.
“We thought we could wait out the storm,” Patsy explains,
“We’d have to. We didn’t have money for gas. And we
thought maybe we’d be all right – different weather reports
said different things.”
Their neighborhood ended up with three feet of water, but
they weren’t there to see it.
“We got saved, though, and finally, a friend just
gave us twenty dollars to get out, so we packed some
clothes, got in the car, and drove.”
Patsy and Grey took turns behind the wheel until
finally landing in Charlotte, where Patsy’s brother
lives.
“We haven’t been able to go back. They’re not
letting people back in our neighborhood yet. Soon, I
hope. We have to get our stuff.”
Like so many coastal refugees, the Revells have to
decide where they’ll reside. They had migrated to the
musical oasis of N’Orleans, and don’t really want to
live elsewhere in the south, but they don’t have the
resources to leave.
“Julian’s four and a half, and he’s had five homes.
He’s in school here, and Grey’s got a job, so we’ll
stay here, for now.”
Back in New York, the AntiFolk community, like
so many others, wanted to do something, wanted to
help.
“I remember back around 9/11 when I was here
in NYC and the rest of the world’s attentions and
sympathies were focused on us,” Kathy Zimmer
wrote, “People halfway across the country who had
never been to New York were genuinely concerned
about this city’s well-being.”
Zimmer was not one of the thirty acts hastily
collected by Danny Kelly, Dina Levy and Jenn
Lindsay, organizers of the September 10 all-day benefit
at Scenic. Dozens of AntiFolk acts donated their time
and CDs from 12-6pm, performing two songs apiece.
For these hours and hours of entertainment, there was
a suggested cover charge of ten dollars – though many
offered much much more. L.E.I. Apparel offered to
match whatever funds were collected that day.
Included among the performers were such local
luminaries as Linda Draper, Lach, Lippe, and Dave
O’Neal, as well as out-of-towners Danny Kelly (from
Seattle), Amanda Lynn Perkins (from Mississippi), and
Coming Soon (from France). Also playing were international
superstars Schwervon and both Adam Green and Kimya
Dawson from the Moldy Peaches. In fact, one of the show’s
last performances was a brief reunion of those two principals
from the Moldy Peaches, together again for the first time in
multiple months.
The afternoon presented the sense of community that
AntiFolk is known for, the kind of thing that Patsy and Grey
were once infamous for engendering. It had the same feeling
of camaraderie as the annual Tompkins Square Park shows
that usually herald in the Summer AntiFolk Festival. This
year, there had been no such outdoor event, but the Scenic
benefit satisfied similar sensibilities. Though a beneficiary
of the event had not been named at the concert, everyone
seemed to leave, fulfilled and happy. The benefit at Scenic
was great, earning over $2,000, and collecting several
hundred CDs. Just days before her European tour and a
cross-country move, Kimya Dawson helped implement a
system to entertain the youth of New Orleans by collecting
CDs for the newly homeless. “Let’s make sure these kids
don’t have to go through tough times without good music!
It might help them a little to put on some headphones and
escape.” The CDs were sent to a network of volunteers who
were able to distribute them to the displaced.
After much discussion, some of the proceeds of the
Scenic event have been earmarked for the Revells, who
are struggling to start anew in Charlotte. “The people have
been really nice here,” Patsy explains, “Our cupboard is
stocked like it has never been since we’ve been married!
It’s frustrating,” she adds, “that my new neighbors have
been incredibly helpful and generous, and I did eventually
get something from Red Cross, but it’s the people that have
been helping most, not the organizations.”
Patsy explains that she has friends who’ve relied on
institutional support and are still waiting. Not everyone
from New Orleans has had their own Scenic benefit
“There are people who need to get back to get whatever’s
left, and they can’t go home, but they can’t afford to start
over, because they have nothing. It’s tough.”
Dominick Musella was on hand to record the Scenic
Benefit, which will be presented at the Whiskey Ward on
Essex Street (south of Rivington) on November 1, 2005.
Selections from his six-hour DVD as well as other benefits
he’s filmed, will be presented. Entrance charges will go to
Families Helping Families, a charity benefiting victims of
Hurricane Katrina.
scenicnyc.com
kimyadawson.com
greyrevell.com
Whiskey Ward (121 Essex Street, 212-477-2998)
 Pay to Play
larry oakes tries to do it right
Erin Regan was surfing the internet when she came across
the Bitter End website and followed a link for information
on booking at the club. She had only been living in the city
for three months. Having found the booking information,
she sent in a demo and hoped for the best. She was thrilled
to eventually receive an email from Larry Oakes saying that
he loved her demo and couldn’t wait to hear her play. He
booked her two spots, one for the Bitter End, and one for
the lounge run by CBGB’s. Not only this, but her show was
going to be broadcast over the internet so that her friends and
family could watch it across the country. Within
a couple of weeks she was sent ten tickets in the
mail, which she happily gave out to her friends
to encourage them to come to the show. The
day of the first show at CB’s arrived and she got
dressed up and headed down to the club with
her aunt. She was nervous but excited, hoping
that her friends would come and knowing that
her family was watching on their computers,
including her Dad in prison who was a huge
CBGB’s fan and had gathered his cell mates
to watch the webcast. They got to the club and
Erin walked proudly up to the girl at the door
and told her she was there to play.
“Can I have your $50, please,” the girl asked
her.
“What do you mean?” Erin answered
surprised.
“The money from the tickets. You got your tickets in the
mail to sell, right? It’s $5 a ticket.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t able to sell them. I thought people just
paid at the door.”
“You have to guarantee us ten people.”
“I don’t have any money.” Erin was distraught at the
realization that all her family was watching and she wouldn’t
be able to play.
“I’m sorry, you have to pay for the tickets if you want to
play.” Erin didn’t know what to do. She felt tricked, and was
close to crying. They all stood there in awkward silence for
a few minutes.
“Get me my checkbook,” her aunt finally said. Erin played
that night to a full room of loud people drinking at the bar.
Larry sent her a nice email the next day telling her that he
really enjoyed her set and that she could book another slot
at either of the clubs whenever she wanted. She responded
by canceling her show at The Bitter End. She’s pretty sure
the check bounced.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she tells me now, “Larry’s a nice
guy, but he’s running a scam.”
* * * playing the show once you get a VIP card that gets you into
By Dave Cuomo
Larry Oakes came to New York after years in a Vegas
show group who made their way traveling around the world
performing at resorts. Here in the city he landed a gig
playing guitar on tour with Foreigner. Similar gigs followed
with Bad Company, Lou Gramm’s solo project, and The
Derrek Trucks Band. At 42 he married a singer/songwriter
and settled down.
“I hated the way she got treated at auditions,” he tells
me. “They were ‘pay to play scams.’ You had to guarantee
twenty people at $10 a head, and then you had a $12 drink
minimum on top of that. I started the Singer/Songwriter
Sessions because I wanted to do it the right way and give
new artists a better way to work their way up.”
Although artists can get booked from sending in a demo,
live auditions are held for the Singer/Songwriter Sessions
about once a month. Larry explains the way the show works
before the audition starts. If an artist passes the audition,
they are given a 15 min. slot at either The Bitter End or CB’s
Lounge below the 315 Gallery. The showcase is held every
other Sunday at The Bitter End, and every other Tuesday at
CB’s from 7 to midnight. There is a $5 cover charge for the
show and you must guarantee the club at least a ten person
draw. They send you ten tickets which you are supposed to
sell, so that when you show up to the club you have $50 to
give before you can play. Anything after the first ten people
you get to keep, so that if 15 people show up to see you, you
can walk away with $25. People are asked at the door which
artists they came to see in order to keep track, although
their $5 gets them in to see the whole show, not just one
act. However, if you can’t bring in ten people, or if you give
your tickets away, you are still responsible for the $50. After
see the show for free whenever you like.
Emily Watts would be considered a success story, bringing
enough people in to cover the $50 and even walking out
of her show with a little extra money in her pocket. She
heard about it from a poster outside The Bitter End and met
Larry. Being new to the city and looking to play a show she
decided to try out. She didn’t yet understand that she would
be responsible for selling the tickets herself. She learned this
at the audition, and was a little put off by the idea, but badly
wanting to play on stage she decided to go along with it.
Also, she says it was a bit of an ego boost having passed
the audition, exciting her enough to want to take part. At
first she tried to give away the tickets because she felt bad
asking her friends for money, but most of them insisted
on paying. She handed over the money at the show, some
from her friends and some of her own, and played a good
set. Right before she went on stage Larry asked her if she
wanted a recording of her set for an extra $10. More people
showed up to see her than had bought tickets, and in the end
she covered the required ten plus some, allowing her to walk
away with some extra cash.
“I felt bad, like I had taken money from my friends. It felt
pretty dirty really,” she tells me. “Honestly I think the whole
thing just makes people feel bad about themselves. You’re
new here and you want to play a show, but how are you
supposed to get ten people to pay $5 for a fifteen minute set?
If you can’t do it you feel like you must be a bad musician
or something, and if you can do it it’s probably because you
bothered your friends to come, and now you just have to feel
bad for taking their money.” She says she doesn’t entirely
regret the experience because it was a chance to play on
stage and because it was nice for her friends and family to
get to see her play online, but she would not do it again, if
nothing else because she doesn’t want to support the show.
The idea that someone might be a bad musician because
they couldn’t get ten people to pay $5 for a fifteen minute
show is absurd, but it is a feeling that becomes common
among musicians in New York. The culture here has become
such that an artist needs to be just as skilled at marketing and
public relations as they are at making music, if not more so.
Most of what a club wants to know in order to book you isn’t
what you sound like, it’s how many people you can draw.
Musicians are supposed to be shy, neurotic, reclusive, and
self-depreciating; as artists it goes with the job description.
Throw these same artists into an arena where they are
supposed to know how to consistently bring out 50 people
on their own if they want to play shows at all, and a lot of
them are going to get a lot more self depreciating. Especially
in a city like New York where there are more musicians than
fans to go around most of the time. It becomes a sort of
popularity contest. Even on a bill with a number of acts,
each individual artist is responsible for filling the club on
their own because more than likely the crowd will only stay
for the one act they came to see. And, all this needs to be
done with only minimal help from the club with promotion.
What’re we to do?
* * *
East Village singer/songwriter Joff Wilson who also played
the showcase described the thought process, “If I don’t sell
enough tickets, does that mean I’m not good enough? Wait
a second, I passed the audition, of course I’m good enough.
Maybe I just passed the audition to sell tickets...” He has few
regrets about playing it though. “I just like to play anywhere
I can,” he says. “Maybe I’ll play it again, although if I have
to sell again I might be discouraged.” He is from upstate
New York where he says the culture is different. “People
pay a cover to see a whole show, not just one act. Then the
artists all split the door money together. It’s good because
people who go to see the headlining acts watch the openers
and get turned on to new music. It’s good for the musicians
too, because they can get exposure and build a following by
opening for bigger acts. It’s a win-win situation.” I asked
him why he thinks people in the city are less likely to stick
around for more than the one act they came to see. “There’s
so much to do in the city, I think there’s a lot of competition.
Really the audiences are only ripping themselves off though.
With the Singer/Songwriter Sessions I think Larry’s heart is
in the right place, but he’s also a smart guy. He knows what
he’s doing. He’s making a capitalist venture out of booking
bands.”
When I walked up to the Bitter End to interview Larry he
turned to the door man and by way of introducing me said,
“Hey, this is the guy who wrote the piece about how clubs
should be promoting the artists and try to develop a built in
audience. Man, I would love to see that! That’s exactly what
we need around here.” Later I followed up on this and asked
him what he thinks is making it so hard for artists to break
through these days. “The whole industry changed. Live
music itself is struggling. It’s part of this pre-manufactured
corporate mentality. It started with the labels. They stopped
giving artists the opportunity and time to grow and instead
went for quick profits. It shows in the fabricated music
they’re putting out. Now, if you can’t sell albums right away
you get axed. That same attitude is filtering down to the club
level. If you can’t bring in people right away you get axed.”
Larry sees his showcase as a way around this problem. He
says it is a chance for artists to play at really great clubs
with a minimal necessary draw. The show is “really good for
people who are serious about their careers and take the time to
promote themselves, passing around their email list, selling
or giving away CD’s.” He states that numerous acts have
come through that went from a draw of about 8 to 10 people
to 30 or 40 by playing the Singer/Songwriter Sessions. He
says he can only remember two artists who had complaints
about having to sell the tickets, and they were people who
were “just looking for freebies. That’s not what this show is
for. It’s for people who can recognize the opportunity and
want to be serious and really promote themselves. They’re
the ones who are going to make it.”
In the spirit of fairness I went out of my way to try and
interview artists who had made good use of the showcase. I
knew that Steph (who didn’t want her last name used) had
played it a few times, and had even been given a half hour
slot her third time playing. For this one she had to guarantee
twenty people, making her responsible for $100. She says if
she were to do the show again she would make sure to space
them out, because it became awkward asking her friends
to pony up the $5 to see her all the time. Other than the
opportunity to say she compare venue such as The Bitter
End and CB’s Lounge, she says the most valuable part about
playing the show was that she now understands that New
York is a pay to play city. “It’s just the way it works around
here. Even if they aren’t as direct about it, it’s generally the
way shows in this city work at our level. I’m looking forward
to the day when I can play for free. That’s when I’ll know
I’ve moved up.” She says that she did expand her email list,
and that it is good to be able to say she played at The Bitter
End, but when asked she said that the show was worthwhile
only for the opportunity to see if she liked playing at CB’s or
The Bitter End better (she feels she fits in better at the Bitter
End). “Also I was able to recommend some friends who did
it, I guess that was a good thing.” I felt like she was holding
back, so I asked her what her opinion would be if I wasn’t
going to be printing what she said. “Well, I don’t play the
showcase anymore,” she finally said, “I don’t like whoring
out my friends to make a living for someone else.”
“The show is only sketchy if you don’t know any
better,” says Cassandra Kubinski. She played the show last
December and now books regular gigs at The Bitter End,
not through the Singer/Songwriter Sessions. “For someone
who understands how it works, it can be beneficial.” She
also adds that she scoured the website thoroughly and found
no mention of the fact that you’ll be responsible for selling
the tickets and paying the difference. She recommends it to
artists in addition to open mics as a good way to gain a few
fans and maybe find a backup guitarist if you need, but says
that’s about the limit of what you’ll get out of it. “I can’t
imagine any one in the music business who knows what
they’re doing coming down. Talent doesn’t matter there. I
think it’s inappropriate for someone like Larry, who’s been
in the business and knows what he’s doing, to ask people
for money for this, especially considering the mediocrity of
the acts.”
“I like to try and give everyone a chance,” says Larry.
This is why he usually accepts about 80% of people from
their auditions and demos. “You do have to bring in 10
people at $5 each, that’s just business. You’re going to have
to do that if you want to play a good venue like CB’s or
The Bitter End.” I asked him how it was different from the
audtitions his wife used to play. “Those were outrageously
expensive. 20 people at $10 a head, plus the drink minimum,
that’s just undoable for new artists. More than that though is
the attitude. She got treated terribly at those things. I was an
artist, so I know what it’s like. I treat people the way I would
want to be treated as an artist, and give them the chance to
play at really great clubs. It’s different than an open mic,
too. At an open mic you only get a few songs at any random
time, and you only play for other musicians. Here you pick
your time slot so you can promote it and have people come
to see you, instead of waiting around until one o clock in the
morning to play one song for nobody. Plus, since everyone
is bringing ten people you get to play for a whole new crowd
and get some really good exposure.”
I went to go see the show itself a couple weeks ago, and I
found the sign on the wall by the sound booth a little telling.
It said “recordings: CD’s - $35, VHS - $25, tape - $5.” There
was some smaller writing too which I struggled and squinted
to read. Next to each price it said “you provide blank CD-
R, you provide blank VHS, and you provide blank tape.” I
laughed a little that after bringing in $50 to play, than adding
on $35 for the recording, a total of $85 for fifteen minutes
of fame, that the club couldn’t spring the extra quarter for
a CD-R.
It’s would be easy to write off what Larry, The Bitter
End, and CBGB’s are doing as cheap and greedy. This is not
my intention. What they are doing is simply a more glaring
example of what artists in the city go through at the ground
level. Larry’s show does do things that a free open mic can’t,
and the feelings that selling tickets to one’s friends brings up
is similar, although certainly a little stronger, to the feelings
that bugging your friends to come see you at Arlene’s
Grocery, where there’s a $7 cover (but you are not required
to cover any difference out of pocket), or even to a free show
where you need to bring in 30 – 50 people if you ever want
to get booked again. It’s supposed to be about playing music
and entertaining people, not asking your friends to come
see you as a favor to make you look good. Unfortunately
though, this is the reality if you want to get shows. It gets
even trickier when scene politics come into play, where if an
artist tries too hard they risk being seen as engaging in too
much shameless self promotion. Again, what’re we to do?
Larry’s final advice was to “Keep doing it. It only takes that
one right person to see you and give you your break.”
I like to think there’s a better way than waiting around
until some executive finally comes along and does things
for you. Steph tells me that she has found more success as
of late booking and promoting shows at studios spaces she
rents out and sharing the bills with her friends. Pulling from
a similar draw and playing with people who are connected
by their music, people are more likely to come out and see a
whole show when they are familiar with more of the artists
and the styles of the other acts go well together. By renting
the venue herself she is not responsible to club owners anal
about draw. I think it makes a lot of sense that if we don’t
like the way clubs treat their musicians we should find other
ways to hold shows or find better clubs. There are always
some out there that do things differently. New musicians
coming here are bound to get sucked into clubs more than
ready to take their money, but an artist who really wants to
work hard for a career as a musician will look a little harder
and find better ways.
Singer/Songwriter sessions: nysongwriters.com
 The Paula
welcome to the big time
by Jon Berger
So I arrive at the C-Note just on time, put out
the list for people to sign up, and this scruffy guy
comes up to me. He puts his name down, then
he starts talking. His language is a little slow, but
that’s about what I expect from an east village
musician, and I bide my time talking to him.
He says his name is Marcelo, and he’s come
up from Brazil to make his way in the New York
music scene.
I tell him that I spent some time in Brazil,
but I can’t figure out where he’s from. If it’s not
Rio or São Paulo, I’m at a loss. I draw the worst
many people, so Marcelo gets up on stage pretty quickly,
imaginable map of the coast to pinpoint his neighborhood
sitting down with his guitar.
in South America’s largest country, but it comes to nothing.
And he makes me stand up. And he makes me dance. This
The name Minas Gerais sounds familiar, but not enough. I
cat is good!
end up pretending to recognize his state.
Marcelo’s obviously got guitar chops, and there’s a driving
Marcelo’s English accent is really good, but his
intensity in his playing, adding in some of those foreign
vocabulary’s limited, so there are often long stalls as he
dance rhythms that made World Music so big a couple years
struggles to find the right word, and his sentence structure
back. The first song is hooky, fun and strong.
was meek, at best. Of course, when I was in Brazil, I spent a
“What does ‘solameechi’ mean?” I ask upon completion.
month helplessly pointing at things, hoping the nation would
“So lamente?” he replies, “It means… ‘only once’.”
give up their silly Portuguese and suddenly speak wonderful
“Don’t get fooled again?” I suggest. Cool.
East Coast English (no such luck). Marcello’s use of my
The music is great, and there’s something liberating about
language is infinitely better than my use of his. We figure
these nonsense syllables coming out of his mouth. He could
each other out.
be saying anything; I can’t tell. His lyrics are a beautiful
Marcelo de Paula, who performs and records as the Paula,
blank slate. I’m worried that it might turn out all of his songs
has been doing the solo thing since the last century, after
are about monkey decapitation…
his 1990s Monsters of Rock arena-touring group, Virna Lisi,
Marcelo goes up a couple more times, tells me about his
fell apart. He was bass player and songwriter, and he shows
website, and hands me a demo.
me his press kit, which is in Portuguese, so I nod and say,
“My band… they couldn’t get visas. My family will be
“Mm-hm.”
coming soon.”
Maybe it’s the language barrier, but Marcelo doesn’t seem
Marcelo’s taken the plunge. He’s placing all bets on
like he’s bragging. I’ve met other people coming to New
making it in New York. Without the language. Without
York from outside the country, and there’s often evidence
connections.
that they were big, but subscribed to Liza’s lyrics, “If I can
“Good luck,” I tell him.
make it there…” so here they are. Whatever. Marcelo seems
Two weeks later, he’s got a starting show on a Sunday
like he had a successful career as artist and producer way
at the Sidewalk Café. It’s a crappy slot, but he has maybe
down south that he gave up to try out life in the Big City.
twenty people there for him. They’re quiet, attentive. Maybe
I try to ask him why he didn’t move to his local big cities,
he’s got some family in New York. Maybe he met them at
Rio and São Paulo, both substantially larger than NYC, and
open mics, like me. Marcelo’s already got something going
with a slightly easier commute to his home. He shrugs and
on, though, and he’s been in town for barely a month.
smiles.
“Great show,” I say, and he bows in appreciation.
And he waits for his turn at the C-Note. It’s one of those
“I want to start writing in English,” he says, “Want to
days with a lousy turnout, so we chat for a while before
make this all better.
hitting the stage. He wants to do something different; not
“In Brazil,” he continues, “They want to go back. To
the same old same old with Virna Lisi, or a straight samba
Virna Lisi, to the old rock style. Me, I want more. I want to
style, or whatever other styles they have down in Brazil. He
go forward.”
wants to mix up influences, he explains, so New York is the
place to be.
thepaula.com.br/
“We’ll see,” I say, and the open mic begins. There aren’t
 Gutter Rock
a night at brattleboro fest
Hello tri-state people! I come with tales of Brattleboro,
VT. Indeed…Brattleboro. Have you ever heard of it?
If you said “no”, join the club that I was in only about 6
months ago. That was until I met Johnny Hobo and the
Freight Trains at a gig in some random, emptied out theatre
in Brooklyn. They had all the elements of an excellent
roots-rock outfit: a washtub bass, beat up acoustic guitar, a
trumpet, a harmonica, and some snarly, from-the-gut vocals.
I loved it. And, they were from Brattleboro, VT. Over time,
I’d come to know Brattleboro well.
Brattleboro is a small-town right in the southeast corner
johnny hobo
of Vermont. The town rests just west of the Vermont-
New Hampshire border. In fact, I discovered that when I
was there, you literally can walk to New Hampshire from
Brattleboro. Underneath this quaint little Vermontian town
exterior also resides what has been called the “gutter rock”
scene. Droves of tweaked out, anarcho-punk kids that hang
out in a big, local parking lot called Harmony Parking Lot
and throw completely acoustic shows in random public
places. Most of them call these shows “gutter rock shows”.
This summer I went down to play “Another Summer in
by Darren “Deicide” Kramer
Brattleboro Fest”. The descriptions were vague. “A minor
conspiracy with plans to claim the streets of Brattleboro,
Vermont for two days of rock music, games, wingnut
subversion, and ‘drunk and disorderly’ citations,” the
website said.
After a flat tire on the GWB, I finally made it to Brattleboro,
and barely anybody was hanging out in Harmony Parking
Lot! Only handful of rag-tag kids smoking cigarettes next
to cardboard boxes sat around. I didn’t bother to ask what
the cardboard box was about. I guess I was a little afraid
to ask. “What’s goin on?” I thought. Turns out just about
everyone was skinny dipping down by the river. There were
a few people talking about fabled tales of the night before
as if it had happened years ago. Apparently someone had
driven a car without license plates, risking life and personal
liberty, just to get down to Brattleboro Fest. Once there,
some kids started doing skateboarding tricks off the car.
Fireworks were blasting off and skateboards were flying to
the point that the police rolled into the parking lot. After a
little conversation, the cops told them to keep it down, and
that there wasn’t any trouble. That was when I definitively
knew that I wasn’t in the NYC area!
The show that night was to be at Common Ground, a
local coffeeshop and activist center in Brattleboro. I’m not
sure what happened, but the venue could no longer host the
event, so it was moved to someone’s garage.
In a rickety old garage, with rickety old wooden boards
for a floor, and a rickety old lamp with a single bulb to light
the place, the show took place. Brattleboro kids are quite the
motley bunch. Imagine hobo style clothes, patchwork pants,
and unkept hair on everyone. Many an ass-of the-pants
had fallen out from these kids’ pants, and it was obviously
apparent they had the sewing skills to remedy that.
Pat The Bunny of Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains
kicked things off with an excellent sing-along solo set with
just him and his guitar. It was infectious. You couldn’t
help but scream out the words if you knew them, and that’s
exactly what the crowd did. With every last ounce of carbon
dioxide in their blood, people exhaled through raspy vocal
chords every word, and with every muscle in their legs, they
stomped that wooden floor. “You feeling that bounce?” I
asked the girl next to me. “No,” she said as she swigged
down her can of PBR. I watched on with fake assurance.
Pat was followed by a set from Lemon Juice Effect; quirky,
pop-rock songs about…well, rocking out. This was the first
moment that people really started to get down. This was
especially good for me. The crowd was nice and warmed
up. Their muscles were stretched and their legs filled with
blood for the boogie. I kicked it off on a spoken word piece
and ended on a cover of “Great Balls of Fire”, so the gamut
was pretty wide. People boogied with a furious frenzy.
Mark Leonard then delivered his unique brand of folk-punk.
I was very impressed with his quick guitar strumming skills
and passionate lyrics. The crowd was fixated on his lyrical
content and stared with a wonderous intent. I definitely felt
he was bringing something different to the folk-punk genre
at that moment. The final act of the night was Cars Can Be
Blue. They describe themselves on their website as “simple,
fun, catchy songs that combine bubblegum pop with an
off-beat, sometimes even naughty sense of humor.” That
pretty much hits the nail on the head. In some respects, they
reminded me of Weezer and The White Stripes in a head
on collision. Of course this is all with heaping helpings of
pop. But nothing over-distorted here. It was just Becky
on an acoustic guitar and Nate on a snare with a couple of
cymbals. They achieved an amazingly full sound with just
these two instruments and their singing. I am impressed yet
again. And it was definitely a nice way to cap the evening
as everyone bopped with the jumpy beats.
But how mistaken I was to think this was the end of the
night. On it was to a house party for further mayhem. Allow
me to explain something here. In Brattleboro, you don’t just
pop a pill. You grind that shit up and find a different orafice
to put it down! Needless to say, the PBR and illicit drugs ran
like the River Jordan at this party only to encourage “ultimate
makeout” game and “naked patrol”. Maybe it’s my age, but
I felt like I would have been engaging in perversion had I
joined the games. But with an equal amount of perverse
stigma, I watched “ultimate makeout” ensue. It was only a
minute or two into watching the game did I realize that there
weren’t many rules to this game. I see. That’s clever. To
shroud drunken debauchery in a “game”.
The pilled out, drunken madness was intense. I almost
felt like I was secondhand rolling from watching it all.
But I know I wasn’t. Especially when I tried to have a
conversation with a Brattleboro-ite only to realize that they
are completely rolled out of their mind and have no idea
what I’m talking about. Imagine trying to get together a
game of Texas Hold ‘em with money on the table only to
realize that 1/3 of the table has no idea how to play the
game and just wanted to touch the cards because it felt good
during their ecstasy roll. It was at this moment that I felt I
had gotten a monstrous dose of Brattleboro tweakiness. It
felt like my cue to run back to what suddenly seemed like a
sober and sane NYC-area.
But how? There were droves of people on “naked patrol”
outside that I’d have to wade through. “One more beer
and quaint goodbyes is all I need,” I thought to myself. I
strolled outside. Indeed, naked patrol was everywhere. A
squad of about 7-10 young boys, completely naked and…
well…patrolling. Suddenly, one of them hits the crowd.
“Man down!” I scream. Naked patrol is right on the case!
In a moment of extreme fright, the kid’s pasty white ass
starts rolling towards this sheer cliff near the side of the
house. “Whoa!” I screamed out. No need to fear though,
as someone from the naked patrol grabs him and helps him
toss his lunch over the side of the cliff. I guess there is a
good use for the naked patrol. As for what the “naked” part
of the equation has anything to do with this, your guess is
as good as mine. I saw my window of opportunity. “Bye
everyone!” I screamed. Those cognizant enough to respond
said “See ya!”
There you have it. Truly a night in Brattleboro that
defines “gutter rock” in many ways. I guess the website can
finish this article when it explains the activities of the next
day. “The festival is over. Get the fuck out of our town!
We’ll miss you but must warn you to escape before ‘Another
Winter in Brattleboro’ hits.” It’s 4 hours to Brattleboro from
NYC, and while that’s certainly no small drive, it may just
be worth it to see what happens when folk comes crashing
into the nihilism, snot, and grime that is punk rock.
Darren “Deicide” Kramer
www.darrendeicide.com
www.myspace.com/darrendeicide
Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains
www.myspace.com/johnnyhobo
Mark Leonard
www.myspace.com/rabidpossum
Cars Can Be Blue
www.myspace.com/carscanbeblue
 Exegesis Department
justify the music
with Sarah Bowman
Sarah Bowman,
Why the hell did you write this song?
The Kitchen Song

We’re spending too much time For fear of what can be read
in the kitchen. on our faces.
On my face.
You always said
you would die this way. And after all this time
we’re estranged somehow
I caught hold of your hand Living in fear
today. Of strings and games
I thought you were gonna cry; Holding a flame causes pain
you were terrified. it’s insane
to try to live
We’re spending too much time this way
in our heads these days. but I saw
I always thought poker your face
wear a strong sturdy brace the look on your face
I could hide this way. on your face
and you’ll be
There’s no room OK.
On your face.
for love
in this city. You didn’t notice me
peeking over your wall today We’re spending too much time
Seek safety in arms. in the kitchen.
Embracing but armed I covered my tracks
put it all back in place You always said
To the teeth.

The Kitchen Song was actually written in the living room... and another song, the Williamsburg Bridge, was written in
the kitchen of an apartment in the East Village that sadly, is no longer my home.
So many things in my life have changed since I wrote that song... but now — a year later; the sentiment in the story
hasn’t changed... at all. When am I going to become a “grown -up” who can venture out into the world of possible intimacy
without fear? When will I stop dwelling on the probability that people who are at times very close will inevitably experience
a period of distrust and strive to ruin what they have built in order to regain a sense of freedom?
Speaking of dwelling, what was that Onion article, “Man Calls off Search for Self after 38 Years.” …And there’s the
picture of him on the couch, laying in self-absorption appearing as if he has experienced nothing during this quest but living
in his head. I hope I don’t bring people to THAT place when they hear me tell the story of this time of love in New York,
but there is a strong element of introspection in it.
The song is delivered from the perspective of a very vulnerable, very skeptical and confused but passionate and loving
person (who, me?) who would rather seek to understand why things are as they are than accept them and live according to
rules and advice. I can’t help it, I’m from the Midwest. It’s not natural for me to have short-lived relationships, watching
people come and go without explanation and without exploration. More than anyone I know, I carry around the common
fears of attachment and abandonment... but I’d rather go through shit again and again and again than avoid it to become a
rock solid heartless rock... star.
The structure of the song is pretty standard, with the exception of the brief pseudo polyphonic segment which is how
my father’s Gregorian chanting or my old days with the Baltimore Symphony chorus still creep into my anti-classical folk
music.
thebowmansmusic.com
 Claire Bowman
on DIY artist management
Along with singing with Sarah in The Bowmans and singing back up in Lowry, Claire Bowman has been serving as
manager for both groups since last spring. We did this interview on an East Williamsburgh roof top during a recent Lowry
photo shoot, and over email.
DC: How did you end up becoming Lowry’s manager?
CB: First off, I’m a huge fan of his music and his album.
It was that Saturday in March when it snowed and snowed
and it was so beautiful. Alex and I went to Hanger Bar, and
sat near the big snow flurry view windows. We decided, with
his album due to come out in a couple months, he needed to
plan a tour. I asked, “well, how would you go about planning
something like that?” He told me what he hoped for, I made
Alex and Claire at Hanger Bar
suggestions on how I could help make it possible. We got
so worked up talking about it, we closed our tab, ran back to
the apartment, pulled out a road atlas and started charting. I
remember the Johnson brothers were home, and Eric. They
chimed in with places we should go and call so-and-so and
it started going from there.
You asked how I became his manager, not how I came to
book his tour. Well, basically, once I started getting bookings,
I discovered I needed to send mailers and promotional
materials places and put the shows in the local listings. I also
needed to get discs out to folks ahead of time for them to
even consider booking us. And we started talking about how
we were going to make money, which led to discussions
about merch, so I sort of assumed responsibility for a lot of
interview by Dave Cuomo
stuff and naturally assumed the management position. He
did eventually ask me formally, of course.
DC: What experience did you have before you booked
the Couchtown tour?
CB: Nothing directly related to music promotion and
management, but a lot of work world stuff. Eric lent me his
book on managing artists, and in the Intro section it said the
best background for an artist’s manager to have is
A) tour management experience (which I didn’t have
before Couchtown) and B) a degree in Psychology.
Well, I have a BA in philosophy and psychology,
and an MA in Counseling psychology. There’s
a LOT of psychology in promotion. I’m always
aware of how something that strikes me – an image
(or musician’s logo) stays in my mind and leads to
vague or crystallized recognition of the band, and the
emotional association with the band I get from their
image. That’s called “branding,” I guess. I’m such
a nerd.
Other than that, I have done a lot of project
development. I helped form legislation (the
Cockfighting bill – ha ha) for the U.S. Senate (Tom
Harkin), I developed a 180 page web site that became
the catalyst for restructuring the way our departments
worked together in HR for John Hopkins University.
That was a monster because, in trying to translate
our operations into a web index, I discovered
many holes in our systems and things we weren’t
capitalizing on. So, I had to help resolve the
real-life operational problems in order to move
forward with the web site. That’s a lot like planning tour.
I also bought a house once, including applying for and
receiving grant funding toward our down payment. I love
projects.
DC: How did you go about booking the tour without
having national connections and contacts?
CB: I was interning at OddMob records at the time. So,
I used MusiciansAtlas.com to get a start. But it’s REALLY
limited. I connected with a lot of real and virtual friends
on MySpace who often knew real friends with connections
in target areas. I used Google a lot to find venues. I won’t
divulge everything about how I select venues, but there’s
 promoting shows, checking listings, and keeping everyone
that psych background at work again. But mostly, I just spent
weeks of 15 hour days where I wouldn’t get up from the in the loop as to sound check time, departure time, driving
time, you know, details. I’m like a touring camp counselor.
computer to take a dump or eat until it became a crisis while
See? Counseling. Tying my crazy background all together.
working on this stuff. I’m sorry if that’s gross. I have a habit
of neglecting myself when I’m on a project. As ADD as I am, On our tour, I was the one who needed counseling the
when I get on a project I can be excessively focused. most, actually. It’s a STRESSFUL job. And I had JUST
finished my MA the DAY BEFORE tour started. Point is,
DC: Would you say at the time when you started booking despite the challenges, I LOVE tour managing. You said
the tour, with the difficulties of doing something like that I was weird or something because I love booking and
from scratch, that it was more of an ego boost or an ego managing tours. But hey. I guess it’s my thing until I move
blow? on to the next thing

CB: When I first started? I felt COMPLETELY DC: Do you feel like you’re now a professional (whatever
overwhelmed and incompetent. I cried a lot. I got stuck a that means), or do you still feel like an oddball outsider?
lot. I got a lot of rude responses from venue booking people
like, come on lady, this is a business and you’re a nobody CB: Back and forth. A professional should probably have
with no draw in this town. But then I had the super highs real connections. But now I’ve got this amazing experience
of getting bookings in awesome venues like The Mill in of having managed that national tour, and I made a ton of
Iowa City, which is the best place to see live music in that connections along the way. It’s like going from novice to
town. I think The Elbo Room in Chicago is a cool club, professional in one month. You know that scene in Team
and Subterranean. It was so cool to see everybody on the America where they have the montage? Like that.
marquis at Subterranean, even though it was a sparse show
– but something good came out of that, which I won’t go DC: What’s the one thing someone should know before
into right here. Where else was good…The Milestone in attempting to book their first tour?
Charlotte, Radio, Radio! in Indianapolis, Red Star Bar in
Baton Rouge, Davey’s Uptown in Kansas City, D-Note in CB: ONE thing? Start MONTHS in advance!! I’m not
Arvada, CO, Walnut Room in Denver, Rubber Gloves in kidding. MONTHS. I’m freaking out right now because
Denton, TX. They were virtual victories. Some of the places I’m just getting started booking our January tour. Can I
were not what they were cracked up to be when we got there, give TWO pieces of advice? It’s important to KNOW your
or they were super venues with NO built-in crowd. But goals. Oh – and ANOTHER thing - here’s something that’s
getting the bookings was a high. really true: It never hurts to ASK, no matter how impossible
you think something might be. Go ahead and ask the White
DC: What do your duties as manager entail now? Stripes if you can be their next opening act on tour. Why
not?
CB: I’m not really sure. Real managers have connections, I can’t imagine asking somebody something like that ever
and they theoretically get label people to your shows and ruined anyone’s career.
they get bookings at hot clubs with awesome lineups or And it’s good to know ahead of time that the first tour is
something. And if you’re not sure why label interest is highly unlikely to profit.
important, it’s because they put money up front for things
like tour. It’s a huge upfront investment to launch your own DC: Is this something that anyone can do? What kind of
tour. person does it take?
Actually, I’m not really sure what real managers do, but
what I consider my management responsibilities are booking, CB: That’s a tough question. Well it takes someone
which I don’t take a separate cut for because that’s somehow with a lot of self-discipline, who can multitask and stay on
illegal, promotion, merch, mailing list, website, myspace, and task at home. You have to be able to see where problems
EPK updates, budgeting, advising on entering festivals and lie and identify solutions, give things a chance and go to
the like, distribution when I get to it. Responding to people plan B when too many resources are being sucked into a
who ask for Mp3s, ASCAP or other membership, copywrite failing scheme, learn from mistakes, plan ahead, anticipate
stuff, getting promo discs to the right folks, which included the worst (I’m a pessimist, so that was up my alley), track
radio for a while but Holy Shit that’s time consuming! And everything, manage personalities, be assertive and flexible
really tough. -- which is more than I can be all the time --and come up
Managing tour is a WHOLE nuther story. It’s a 24- with systems to best track everything in a comprehensible
7 job with all kinds of things that could come up. Mostly way. Gotta be good at letting everyone know what the plans
budgeting, paying musicians, distributing per diems, contacts, are, too.
venue liaison, scheduling, sleeping arrangements, food, ugh
– the worst part – assigning designated drivers, taking care of thebowmansmusic.com
the broken down vehicle, assigning roadie responsibilities, lowrymusic.com
 Brian Wurschum
the voice of the voyces
In case you haven’t heard of them, The Voyces, named
for the Moody Blues song “The Voice,” are a New York
City band long known for their tight harmonies and well-
crafted songs. Brian Wurschum doesn’t consider himself
The Voyces without band-mates Laurel Hoffman and Frank
Carino, but even a cursory inspection of album credits for
these East Village darlings reveals that not only does Brian
play guitar and sing lead vocals in the band, but he is usually
the band’s sole songwriter. In addition to playing within
the confines of a well-known band, Brian Wurschum has
achieved much as a solo performer since learning a few
chords on his dad’s 1969 Hofner.
Brian has traveled the country many times over. He
has opened for international acts. He was on the Late Show
with David Letterman in 1999 after Letterman’s producer
saw Laurel and Brian singing in Washington Square park,
and he has even had songs on several since failed television
shows, such as Nick Freno: Licenced Teacher, which
aired from 1996-1998, and most notably in 2003, Brian
and The Voyces had their song “Relate To Me” included
on the soundtrack of singer/songwriter Jack Johnson’s
short surf film, Thicker Than Water. Brian has released
two self-produced solo albums, The Ups and Downs from
2001, which to no one’s surprise features the vocal talents
of one Laurel Hoffman, and Brian’s 2003 effort, Anorexic
Demographic. Additionally, Brian has recorded several
other albums with various ensembles, such as 1994’s now
out of print Mr. Night, recorded in his native California,
featuring one of Brian’s rare songwriting collaborations on
the song “Awake, Alone, Alive,” which he co-wrote with
Laurel Hoffman, to The Voyces’ album The Angels of Fun,
which Brian composed in its entirety and then co-produced
at New York City’s Soundbox Studio in 2002. Meanwhile,
Brian reports that several of The Voyces’ songs are also due
to be included in a new National Lampoon movie called
Adam and Eve.
Raised in the sleepy SoCal locale of Newbury Park,
California, about 30 miles north of Los Angeles’ sprawling
metropolis, Brian Wurschum was not ever encouraged to
enter the world of entertainment, and yet through the many
records his mother always had in rotation, Brian found
musical motivation on hand even from his days in the crib.
Beginning on the drums and bass, Brian learned guitar last.
By the time he was twelve, he had begun forming bands
with his friends, bands with such era-appropriate names
as “Rough Justice” and “Talisman”—bands whose names
remind us all of a different time in music. Brian recalls, “It
was really intoxicating stuff. Our outfits were waterproof.”
For a singer/songwriter with such a captivating voice, it
by Paul Alexander
is perhaps surprising to note that despite being a multi-
instrumentalist at a young age, Brian didn’t start singing in
public until he was eighteen. Even then it wasn’t by choice,
but was because his band couldn’t find a singer. Today, Brian
plays mainly guitar, though he maintains a love for the bass
and the drums, and suggests that he can “fake it on the piano
some” as well—all worthy talents to maintain, considering
the fact that he typically writes and records songs entirely
on his own before playing live with other musicians. There
are exceptions to Brian’s music monopoly, such as his
occasional collaboration with Laurel Hoffman, but for the
most part, he has always been a solo artist.
the voyces at rest
According to Brian “There are a handful of artists
that slay me often, so I love them the most and would consider
them my main influence—artist such as Pink Floyd, Peter
Gabriel, Steely Dan, Paul Simon, Randy Newman, and The
Eagles.” Brian realizes that to many, his influences are, “for
the most part, extremely unhip,” and he wishes that he felt
stronger about newer artists, but says, “Most new large acts
strike me as frauds—The lyrics. The melodies. The clothes.”
Even still, Brian is the first to admit, “Any song which kills
me, influences me in some capacity, and thousands of songs
have killed me.” Suggesting that most recently he was slain
by the song “Wall Of Death” by the British singer/songwriter
Richard Thompson, while adding that local artists such
as the elusive singer/songwriter Don Freda, Antifolk icon
Barry Bliss, and Linda Draper are also constant sources of
inspiration. In addition, Brian also owns up to harboring
a weakness for the Nigerian/British songwriter Sade,
made famous in the 1980s by her song “Smooth Operator.”
He has a fondness for another British group, The Darkness,
while even admitting, “50 Cent makes me happy…I can’t
help it.”
Talented people like Laurel Hoffman are drawn to Brian’s
thoughtful songwriting and delicate execution, yet he seems
genuinely awed by having the continued opportunity to work
with other talented New York City artists such as Laurel or
Linda Draper, and many remember Brian’s work with such
artists quite fondly. As poet, performance artist and general
pest Jon Berger recently reminisced, “The vocal interplay
between Brian and Laurel was always amazing, I wonder
why she’s not around anymore.” For all the success and
near misses with fame Brian Wurschum has enjoyed over
the past ten years or so with his band, he remains just as
happy playing as a solo artist for audiences of all shapes
and sizes—though he always prefers an attentive crowd to
a large one.
Brian has had some great shows at some of the City’s
greatest rooms, from The Sidewalk Café to The Bitter End
and The Knitting Factory, but he says, “There really aren’t
any special places. There are special nights. You know?”
Brian is also very gracious about the eclectic fan base he
has amassed over the years, counting himself lucky for all
the fan mail he receives from everyone from teenagers to
the elderly.
Admittedly, he draws a larger audience when he plays
with his band than when he plays solo, but no matter the
musical manifestation, Brian Wurschum is an inspiring and
amusing presence live, as fellow singer/songwriter Brian
Speaker says, “Brian writes the most beautiful lyrics, and he
is so sharp—in-between songs he had us all laughing.”
Brian Wurchum used to tour quite a bit and it’s
something he misses, but lucky
for those of us here in New York
City, his days on the road are for
the most part over. These days,
Brian passes much of his time
alongside the brilliant Amy Hills,
within the walls of Engine Room
Audio where he works both as an
engineer and a studio musician of
sorts, making cameos on many
artists’ albums such as David
LK Murphy’s Home to You
EP. Brian works in the studio a
few days a week “for the rush.”
Beyond his day-to-day Engine
Room experience, his only real
aspirations at the moment are to
remain comfortable in his own
skin and to continue to work on
improving his craft and himself,
as he endeavors to improve his
narrative focus, and ultimately
end up “someplace increasingly
less self-centered.” Nevertheless,
with or without The Voyces, Brian
Wurchum is a voice worth hearing.

thevoyces.net
 I Was a Rock n Roll Vandal!
a true story
FACT #1: I was arrested in Williamsburg for hanging
flyers, as part of a crackdown on vandalism initiated by
Mayor Bloomberg.
FACT #2: A week later I would travel to the
UK to participate in the Summer Antifest 2005,
a celebration of lo-fi, electronica and acoustic
punk (I guess my acoustic lo-fi folk-hop fits in
there somewhere.)
FACT #3: I was caught flyering for my UK
send-off concert, booked at my neighborhood
wine bar STAIN on Grand and Humboldt in
Williamsburg.
THE ARREST: At 11:32PM on Tuesday
July 5. Three days til my send-off show. I’ll
walk to Bedford and flyer outside North Six and
Galapagos. I put on my shoes, grab my license, my
bag of flyers and a roll of tape. The walk from my place
to Bedford Ave. takes 25 minutes. I post along the way at
intersections already marked by some flyer or other (music,
moving van, etc.) There are some cops eating at Kellogg’s
Diner. At last I get to North 6th St. and Berry. This is a
popular music spot, as is evident by the number of flyers
– some peeling, fading, or obviously posted recently - up
on the light poles. The paper hanging on each pole could
fill several notebooks. I hang a couple quarter-page flyers
on each light pole (over expired flyers), and begin walking
home. Ten steps later, a black Chevrolet Caprice angles into
a driveway right behind me, and two men get out of the car.
I hear them talking, I keep walking. “Hey, we want to talk
with you”. I shake my head nervously. “We’re police. Come
here.” I now notice these two are in matching Yankees
jerseys. They have badges. I stop. “What are you doing
here?” one asks me.
“Oh, I’m hanging up flyers for my free show this
weekend.”
“How many have you put up tonight?”
“I’m not sure, maybe 20...” I still had a lot of flyers to
hand people. There were maybe a hundred left in the bag.
“You know it’s illegal to do that. This is public property.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was a law. I was only
posting where people had already. I’ll go take them all
down.”
“Well it’s a little late for that. You have any ID on you?”
“Actually, I do.” I hadn’t brought my wallet but had
taken my license on intuition.
Cop looks at my license. “Any prior arrests?”
by Dan Costello
“No Sir.”
“What you did is a crime. It’s a misdemeanor called
Criminal Mischief Vandalism. We have to take you in. If
you have no record, it should only be a couple hours ‘til
you’re out. You have to come with us.” The look of helpless
shock washes over my face. One cop takes a polaroid of one
light pole. “Can’t you just give me a ticket?”
“This isn’t an offense we can write up. We’ve gotta put
you in the back of the car, cuff ya. You have to be booked.
We’ll get you in and out as soon as possible. Anything in
your pockets?” I take out my house keys, my lighter (I’d
only brought one cigarette for the short walk) and hand them
my bag of flyers and the roll of tape. They cuff me and put
me in the car.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I yell out the open door,
loud enough for the cop taking the Polaroids to hear me.The
two cops look at eachother, but no words are exchanged.
The officer who is by the car slams the door.The sense of
helplessness a person can experience in the presence of law
enforcement is excruciating. The arrest is already absurd
because it’s clear I’ll be released soon. What’s all the fuss
about flyers? What’s the reason these guys have to bring a
nobody like me into the station?
I’ve lived in Williamsburg for about a year. In that time,
I have seen people arrested for breaking windows, for
stealing from liquor stores, for starting a shouting match in a
supermarket. I have never in my life seen a person arrested
for hanging a flyer on a light pole.
The taller cop comes back from taking pictures.He
crouches next to the back driver’s door, where I’m sitting in
the Caprice, cuffed and fuming. “Here’s the deal. All these
brick buildings down here, they’re all owned by the mayor’s
friends. Now, a lot of international communities are moving
into this neighborhood, and there’s a lot of international
gangs. They are marking their territory by spray-painting
graffiti on these buildings. Then the mayor’s office gets
a nasty phone call - it costs money to remove the paint -
and so he’s decided that any destruction of property is a
misdemeanor. They’ve got us out here looking for kids with
spray cans. But what you did qualifies as the same offense.
So we can’t just turn a blind eye.”
I am shocked by his candor. “So if you don’t find real
graffiti artists, you find anything you can…is that it? You
can’t arrest the guy selling grams of coke outside that bar,
you have to arrest me for flyering?” “We’re on the Vandalism
Task Force. That’s what we are looking for.”
The clock in the car says 12:35 and I just want to go home.
I have nothing to say to these cops. I am resigned to my fate
that this petty crime is a political focus in the neighborhood.
Let’s make this as painless as possible. We head off for the
Precinct.
One cop’s on his radio. One cop looks at my flyer. “Free
food eh?”
“Yeah, you should stop by, there will be plenty of
leftovers.”
“I might just do that. Hey, just so ya know, we’re gonna
give you the flyers back. We’ll just keep the tape and a
couple of the flyers.” I just smile and look out the window.
This whole thing’s ridiculous.
An awkward silence after one gets off his radio.
“What are your names, officers?”
“This is Officer Miller, and I am Officer Hassler.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Officer Hassler.”
“Has anyone else ever asked you if that’s your real
name?”
“Sure.”
“Pretty ironic, eh?” No reponse from Hassler.
Hassler parks outside Precinct 94 on Meserole St. The
local cops are standing around. Hassler and Miller’s
demeanors change. Now in front of the local cops, I realize
this isn’t their home precinct. When they open the door for
me, I hop out and begin walking. Miller rushes up and grabs
my shoulder. “Only walk when we tell you to.” To everyone
on the street, and the cops on the stoop, I’m just another
criminal. Precinct 94 is in a small neighborhood. According
to the nyc.gov website, murder is down 100% for 2005
(from 3 in 2004 to none this year). Serious crimes are down
in general. The cell at Precinct 94 is about 8 feet deep and 12
feet across. There’s a wooden bench. There’s no one in the
cell. Miller tells me to remove my shoelaces.
“What?”
“It’s policy. We don’t want anybody doing anything
stupid in the cell.”
“You think I’m going to hurt myself with my
shoelaces?”
“It’s policy. No one in the cell with shoelaces.”
“I can’t give em to you.”
Miller gets a little exasperated. “Listen, kid, I’m doin my
job here.”
“No, I can’t. I’m cuffed behind my back.”
The cops can’t figure out which to do first - should they
put me in the cell so they can take the cuffs off? Or should
they take the cuffs off so I can take my shoelaces out so they
can put me in the cell? Eventually I’m sitting cuff free in the
cushioned desk chair while I remove my shoelaces, then I
am put into the cell.
SLAM. HOUR ONE – QUESTIONS. I embellish the
truth. Why not? I have six brothers, twelve cats. I tell them
this isn’t the first cell I’ve been offered - I was asked to be
in a terrorist cell in Detroit by a 400 pound woman named
Olestra, who works at the shoe store in my neighborhood.
She offered me socks in exchange for my soul. I declined
due to my intense national pride. I am offered a phone call.
It’s past 1AM. I decline. Just as I am asked about the phone
call, I realize I was never read my Miranda Rights. Miller is
filling out paperwork, like a third grader who was told “No
dessert til you finish your math.” I really pity these cops.
HOUR TWO – TAKE IT LYING DOWN. A wooden
bench has zen-like properties when it’s the only furniture
available. I can stretch all the way out…this is better for my
back than my lumpy twin mattress! I start thinking about
what a great song this experience will inspire. As I begin
working the verses out, the cell opens, and I am removed to
have my pictures taken. I have a quick inner battle of “Do I
go for the toothy Broadway shot or the Dead Zombie look?”
Dead Zombie wins out. It takes Hassler and Miller over 30
minutes to take my fingerprints on the fancy new-fangled
inkless machine that keeps giving error messages on the
screen. My hand kept cramping up – and my pleas that they
be gentle (“I’m a musician!!!”) were largely ignored. They
send my info to be processed. They are not sure the computer
transmission went through. Back in the cell, feeling bad for
all those three year olds who want to be cops. These are
their role models.
HOUR THREE – THE PHONE CALL. Not mine, I
declined that one. Hassler gets a call, I assume from a buddy
cop. He is sitting at a desk less than ten feet from the cell.
“Yeah, we couldn’t find any spray cans so we had to grab
ourselves a poster collar.” THERE. He said it. Hassler admits
that he needed an arrest that night. I lose my cool. I had
been a good sport til this point, I love life experiences, but
I’m behind bars and he’s gloating about what a waste of his
time this is. I lose it. “SO THAT’S IT?” I scream at the top
of my lungs, “I’M YOUR POSTER COLLAR? I’M YOUR
QUOTA? GOOD JOB, BOYS, WAY TO GO! GLAD YOU
MADE YOUR QUOTA FOR THE EVENING. NO SENSE
LOOKIN FOR REAL CRIMINALS!!!” My level of fury
surprises the cops – for about a second. Hassler jumps out
of his seat and leaves the room. I can’t see anyone. I start
pacing, working up a sweat, ready for a verbal joust. The
only power I have is language, my only freedom left is HOUR SIX. The ultimate finish. When the cops do
speech. a background check, they send the mugshot, prints and
arrest number to a NY State- central computer system in
HOUR FOUR - SILENCE. It’s been thirty minutes since Albany, NY. The system runs through outstanding warrants
I lashed out at Hassler. I’m alone. Right around 4:20AM, and unsolved cases to make sure the prisoner isn’t wanted
Miller comes in “How’s it goin in there?” I stoneface him. elsewhere. Apparently since mine is a pretty common last
“Well, I’m trying to get out to go to work in the morning, name, this takes several hours. As a kid in Albany NY I used
maybe get some sleep before. How’s your night going?” to roller-blade past the NYS Police Department forensics
Miller sits in the padded desk chair. labs. I am amused that the computer system where my
“Listen, Dan, this is the job. If we don’t make arrests we fate is being decided is less than a mile from my childhood
hear about it from the captain. We’re doing our jobs so we home. At 5:45AM I’m clear to be released, with a DAT
can keep them.” – a desk appointed ticket.
“Are you proud of what I have to appear in court
you are asked to do?” He at a later date. I lace my
can’t look me in the eye. shoes up, collect my keys
“When you have mouths and lighter, my remaining
to feed, you do what you flyers, and walk up to the
gotta do.”I lay into the guy. front counter with Hassler.
“Officer, no disrespect Seated behind the counter
intended, but I’m not a is the Commanding
criminal. You know it, I Officer, who has to sign
know it. You’re doing the city for my release. He’s a
of New York a disservice. tall, lanky guy and he’s
You’re only reinforcing my smoking a cigarette. He
belief that NYC cops have leans back in his swivel
misguided policies . I’m chair and slurs,
here because you know I’m “Ya know you’re
getting off easy, you get mine til I say you can go,
to sit back, and you look right?” I nod. He signs
good tomorrow for arresting my paper (which I was
someone. You’ve kept me unable to decipher and
up all night so your morning therefore I cannot identify
meeting with your Captain him.), and I ask him for a
goes a little smoother.” He cigarette. NOTE – DO
stands up straighter, his chest NOT ASK COPS FOR A
poked out a little puffier than CIGARETTE.
before. “What’s that son?”
“We didn’t send you “I’ve been in here
through Central Booking. almost six hours on a crap
We could have, and you charge, sir. I could use a
could be in a cell with other Marlboro if you have
perps. Rapists. Burglars. But one to spare.” I’ve got no
we didn’t do that. Is that money and a long walk
what you want? Now we’re home.
getting you through as “I got a whole pack
soon as possible.” Feeling the incriminating flyer of cigarettes, son,” as he
emasculated and furious, waves them in front of me.
I sit and think of ways to “And you can’t have one.”
escape. Hassler shouts to Miller “Grab those Newports off the
table. Miller hands me a busted box of Newports with three
HOUR FIVE – NOTHING HAPPENS except Miller remaining. The C.O. scowls at them in disgust. Hassler
offers me a bottle of water. An olive branch? Miller walks me to the door. “See, some people aren’t so nice. You
makes me hand him the plastic cap back through the bars. know where you’re going?”
I begin pacing the cell. I have a case of boredom-induced “I have no idea. Thanks.” I navigate my way home,
claustrophobia. I pass the time by remembering the details smoking the three cigarettes right away. I’m home in an
of the night, and by humming Johnny Cash tunes. hour to my roommate asleep on the couch. It’s almost 7AM.
“Hey, remember that short walk to Bedford?”
 “Grumble, Lipsmack, Yawn?”
“Well, I got arrested for flyering. I just got out.”
“Yawn…”
Yeah, I’d better go to bed too. I have to leave for work
in an hour.
SLAM. CURTAIN CALL - A MONTH LATER I
appear at the Criminal Court House on Schermerhorn St.
in Downtown Brooklyn. Here it’s decided if my case is
thrown out, if I receive a fine, or if I am issued an ACD - an
adjournment in contemplation of dismissal. This is the same
charge most NYC protesters were issued after being jailed
during the Republican National Convention. Six months
good behavior, and it’s as if the arrest never existed. My
public defender is a woman who tells me she’s never seen a
case like this go to court, and that she’s shocked mine did. I
mention I am a musician, and reiterate what the officers told
me about the Mayor and his policies. She tells me they were
very honest, and she’s surprised by that. Then she asks me if
I know any good harmonica players. She’s a legal counsel,
but she’s really a fledgling Indie Filmmaker looking for a
good harp player to record the background music for her
movie. I think, ‘What is it about Brooklyn?’ I forget to tell
her I was never Mirandized. I give her my email address.
The entire hearing took less than sixty seconds. They call my
name, I step up. The judge looks at the prosecuting attorney,
says “ACD?”. He says back, “ACD”, and the judge says
“You’re free to go.” My time under arrest was more than
360 times longer than my day in court.
POSTLUDIO – There are four months left until my record
is as clear as the day I was born. I see police authority in a
new light. Some cops are just assholes. Some are not. Some
are conflicted themselves about the laws they enforce. This
suggests many things to me, the least is not to worry too
much about this arrest.
The UK send-off show was great, though no cops showed
up for the burgers - would we have served them? The trip
to the UK was a slam-dunk. Folks over there put flyers
wherever the hell they want. Musicians are also allowed to
drink a beer while playing guitar on the street corner. The
USA should take a hint - Maybe we could have a new Arts
Awareness Task Force - patrols that blast indie-rock from
their loudspeakers while serving PBR to street musicians.
SO BE AWARE - There are police in NYC who want
YOU –to help them keep their cushy Task Force jobs! The
administration wrongly believes that punishing flyer hangers
will reduce spray-can graffiti. Criminal records are being
started on non-threatening musicians. Take your license
with you everywhere. “If all advertising is banned, there’ll
be a lotta bands in Lorimer Jail.”
Listen to the song “The Saga Of Lorimer Jail” at
myspace.com/dancostello
more at
dancostellomusic.com
Erin Regan: Live - in Prison!
Jonathan Berger asks the hard questions. Erin Regan,
recent Urban Folk cover girl, also spent several days in
custody in April. They discuss.
JB: So, you spent some time in prison.
ER: Jail, actually. They never sent me on to the big house.
JB: What was that like?
ER It was only a few days; stale baloney sandwiches three
times a day.
JB: How many escape attempts did you make?
ER: Excuse me?
JB: How often did you try to get out? Did anyone mail you
a nail file in a cake or anything?
ER (laughs): Nothing like that. It was only for a couple
days.
JB: A few or a couple?
ER: What?
JB: Was it a few days, or a couple?
ER: I guess it was three.
JB: Hm. What liberties were you defending?
ER: I don’t think I –
JB: Sorry .What First Amendment issue were you defending?
Was it freedom of religion? Are you agnostic? Or…
buddhist?
ER: I wasn’t arrested for anything like that.
JB: Did they send you to the Big House to silence you? Who
did you refuse to sell out? Tell me…
ER: I was taken in for driving with a suspended license.
JB: Yes, but WHY was your license suspended? Was there
sex?
ER: What?
JB: In prison. How many prisoners did you
love while on the inside? Ten? Twelve?
Who was the bitch? Were you the bitch?
Were there bitches?
ER: It was only three days…
JB: Did you get married? Were there
conjugal visits? Shower room pillow
fights?
ER: This interview is over.
JB: Any prison tatts? Did
you kill anyone? Was Tim
Robbins there? Wait…
erinregan.com
 Subway Stories
taking a vacation
by Dave Cuomo
I took most of the last few months off of playing in the subways for a number of reasons. To make up for my lack of new
subway material to write about, here’s the story of my first public performance in New York. Enjoy...
XVI. The Folksinger folksinger. “Hi, I don’t
My third day in the city Jennie and I were walking through have my guitar with
Washington Square Park where I stumbled on my first New me, but I have a song
York street performance. A man with camouflaged pants and I’d really like to play if
desert army boots was standing in front of a crowd of about I could borrow one,” I
30 or 40 people all sitting around him in rapt attention while said with a bit of nervous
he sang Woody Guthrie style folk songs. He looked like any elation. He seemed a little
traveling bum musician I had ever known. This excited me. taken aback, and looked
I knew it was a political time, but the fact that a political at me kind of funny for a
folk singer could draw such a large crowd of passersby in moment before catching
the park gave me a lot of hope for my own street performing himself and smiling.
career. Around him several other people were playing along “Sure man, sure,” he said and handed me his guitar.
on their guitars. They looked shy and nervous. Seeing an “Go for it.” He sat down with the crowd. I wasn’t really
impromptu jam session like this reminded me of home, expecting him to give me his own guitar, but I was excited
and I regretted having left my guitar back at my uncle’s to play. I showed the others the chords quickly and then
apartment. launched into the song. At first the crowd seemed a little
I was shy and nervous too, not having played publicly confused when I started playing, which I didn’t understand.
in New York yet. I was inspired though. The day before we Back home, everyone always took turns trading off songs at
had been welcomed to the city by half a million people in an impromptu session in the park like this. It’s egalitarian
the streets protesting the Republican National Convention. that way. Pretty quickly I felt I had won them over. The
Later we had gone to see a radical documentary at a small folksinger was smiling, and the crowd was enthusiastic and
art house theatre, and now this. I knew I had come to the excited by the song. When I finished people whooped and
right town. clapped loudly. My first New York performance had gone
I wanted to take part. I saw them playing there and thought well.
“I know how to do that!” I had the perfect song too, a fast “Do another,” the folksinger called from the crowd. I
aggressive cover of “When The Ship Comes In.” Perfect for hadn’t really planned on doing a second one, and didn’t
the election and I figured the perfect song to rouse the crowd know what to follow up with. Not knowing what to play, I
in the park. Also, I couldn’t help but feel it was a little more politely declined, but he urged me on.
appropriate than the slightly cliché union and war songs that “Um ok, thanks,” I said and racked my brain for something
were being sung. up beat and inspiring. I wanted to continue the energy of
Jennie and I hung back from the crowd while I complained the last song, but didn’t have any really good straight up
that I was too scared to ask to play a song. Only the man politically inspiring songs ready to go. I choked. I started
with the desert boots had sung anything, appearing to be into the closest thing I had, a song I have since retired called
the default leader of the circle. The others strummed along “Bring Us the Rock, Bring Us the Hammer.” I had written
contentedly if a little awkwardly. it as an attempt at a socialist folk punk anthem, but really it
An older black man walked by, and the folksinger called was just me yelling for three minutes while pounding at my
out to him. “Come on over, we need some more diversity in strings. It was pretty atonal and obnoxious. I could tell the
the crowd,” he said. The man seemed a little embarrassed crowd was not into it at all. They looked disinterested and
or annoyed, but complied good naturedly enough, while the annoyed or just looked away entirely. What was I supposed
folksinger positioned him up front. “Here, I’ve got a song to do though, stop and apologize? I knew it was the worst
you’ll like,” he said, then began playing Otis Redding’s thing I could’ve played, but I was stuck with it. Jennie put
“Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.” After the song the man her face in her hands, as if to say “oh god, anything but
nodded uncomfortably and quickly made his escape. this song.” I sped up the tempo a bit trying to make it end
We took a seat with the crowd while I grew more and quicker. The three minute song became 2 ½ excruciating
more antsy watching them play from the sidelines. Jennie minutes of wishing I didn’t exist. I finished and received
kept egging me on, saying it was a perfect song and that tepid applause. The folksinger stood up and took back his
the crowd was sure to love it. Finally I couldn’t take it any guitar.
more and in between songs I got up and walked down to the “You sound good man, thanks,” he said. I was embarrassed
and a little pissed at myself for ruining what had started as suck and should probably quit music before I horn in on
a really good performance. I took a seat by Jennie, and he real musicians stages and make a fool of myself. Or I should
started into another song about unionizing farm workers. No at least watch out whose shoes I’m about to naively step
one in the crowd looked at me again. on around here. Some days the moral is that things have a
I was sitting next to the man the folksinger had sat next habit of mattering more to people in the city than they might
to while I was playing. He nudged me. “Do you know who elsewhere, for better and for worse, and maybe we all need
that is?” he asked me. I of course, had no idea. “That’s Dan to lighten up a little, myself and Dan Bern included. Today
Bern, he’s a famous folksinger from LA. I’m his manager. I think the moral should be that “Sitting on the Dock of The
He’s playing some park shows as part of the RNC protests. Bay” is a fantastic song that people of all races can enjoy. I
He emailed his fans to come down here and see him.” can whistle that one all day.
“Oh.” I paused for a minute to let the further embarrassment If the moral is that Otis Redding rocks, the tragedy is that
sink in. “ I wasn’t trying to horn in or anything. I thought it Dan Bern’s and Dyaln’s song are still so relevant but feel so
was just an impromptu kind of thing.” futile. Everyone was so energized and excited about making a
“Yeah, we figured you didn’t know,” he said in a ‘we’ll let difference then.
it go this time’ kind of way. People were
We sat politely through a couple more songs than slunk so empowered
quickly away. I was embarrassed and discouraged by the before the
whole thing. Jennie reassured me. election, but
“Oh, fuck him,” she laughed, “it was probably good for afterwards the
him. He’s a folksinger not a rock star right? Besides, you whole thing just
played great.” faded away with
“I kind of choked.” barely a second
thought. I guess
I’ve always figured there had to be something prophetic our work is cut
in the whole thing, being my first performance here. Some out for us. It’s a
moral it symbolizes or allegory for how I’m going to do in good time to be
New York. Seems like every time I think about it though a folksinger...
the moral changes. Some days the moral is simply that I myspace.com/davecuomo
 The Antifolk Fest
debe dalton reporting
by Debe Dalton
Well they asked me to do this. Why did they ask me instead of you?
They hoped I could string a few words together.
I look literate. It’s the glasses. And they knew I would be there.
I would attend all nine nights of the SUMMER ANTIFOLK FEST 2005.
Forty-five acts.
I missed one. Sorry, not on purpose. Faulty umbrella.
But nine nights. 7:30 to midnight. Tip jar. 2 drink minimum (hah)!
I was there. Listening. Viewing.
Proving my stamina once again for sitting and listening.
Yes I can sit and listen and view.
Review and report. A whole different matter.
I can’t seem to do that to well. I’ve missed deadline after deadline.
Sorry Dave. Just write it Jon says.
Do I have to explain Antifolk again? Please god no.
Well I had a good time. Tiring time.
My throat was hoarse for weeks from the who-hooing.
But how do I review 45 totally different performances?
Who do I love?
Barry Bliss, Danny Kelly, Amy Hills, Randi Russo, Dan Fishback, Kirk Kelly.
Of course they are the reason I started living at the Sidewalk Cafe.
Beat the Devil, Preston Spurlock, Hearth, Rebecca Smith:
the reasons why I can’t leave.
Lach, a reason all by himself.
My favorite moments: Jon Berger not breaking out in full sweat till his fourth
poem; Danny Kelly covering Stanley Brothers’ “Sarah Jane” dedicating it to
Karen; Thomas Truax howling at the moon; Steve Espinola bumbling along,
yet heavy metal-ing on his tennis racket; wandering in to listen to Amy Hills’
thoughts; Creaky Boards exiting during their “Suburban Skies Goodbye” before
the mando tip jar got passed around; the jetlagged Murphy kids; Matt Van
Winkle’s she makes it fun, fun, fun to fight; Curtis Eller effortlessly showing all
of us how it should be done.
I could go on and on. But I can’t go on and on.
See it for yourself. Hang out at the Sidewalk Cafe.
Dark room in the back.
Go to the Winter Antifolk Fest 2006.
Damn.
Review it for yourself.
Done.
 The Return of ALEC SAYS
It has been said many times, “Alec Wonderful, you are so
wise, so willful, so wonderful, could you give me advice on
the important matters of the days?”
Usually, I answer “No.”
“Please Alec Wonderful,” the people wail and cry,
a groundswell of aching need from a populace hungry
for enlightenment, “Teach us, inform us, educate and
elucidate.”
I feel for these people; I really do. And for ten thousand
bucks, I usually relent.
Today, though, this one time only, I have decided, as a
special service for those less fortunate than myself, I will
answer certain questions and give the people the benefit of
my experience. It’s a little bit like my old advice column in
Wonderful News, lo, those many years ago. Today, I shall
satisfy your curiosity. Today, I shall tell you all you need to
know – or, at least, all that I wish to tell.
How do I form a band?
Usually, it’s a matter of calling your closest and most
personal friends, telling them to uproot their lives to follow
you around the globe for a couple of months, then, while on
tour, flying back to their place to sleep with their wives. It’s
not pretty, but it is a necessary aspect of life on the road.
Here are some tips to make sure you make the most of
your band:
When the drummer starts asking for writing credit, fire
him. The bass player, too. If they think they’re contributing
something to your artistic process, they’re just getting too
big for their britches. Seeing as how they probably know
your operation pretty well, though, it’s a good idea to keep
them on the payroll. Maybe as part of the road crew – or
food taster.
It’s important, when on the road, to create redundancy in
your staff. Your second violin player should be able to fill in
as acrobat. Your tour manager should also work security. On
the one hand, it keeps expenses down, but just as important,
making sure everybody fulfills multiple roles lets everyone
know just just how expendable they are.
Do not record with your bandmates. Use your home studio,
recording all the parts yourself. If you can’t play sousaphone,
and require that sound for your recording, kidnap someone.
They don’t even need to know how to play the instrument.
You wouldn’t believe how strong an educational tool terror
can be (unless you went to public school in Oakland). When
you’re done with the poor sucker, dump him on an interstate
two time zones away. The mystique this will build around
you and your recordings will do you nothing but good.
The important thing is not to trust your bandmates. As the
people who are on the road with you for months at a time,
they are the ones who will know you best, understand you
most fully and could be the friends you remember forever.
by Alec Wonderful
Exploit them quickly, before
they can exploit you.
How do you gain a huge
following?
I’m told that if you stay
true to your creative vision,
people will flock to you. Then
again, I am an international
phenomenon. People love
me in 117 languages. I’ve been a golden boy longer than
some pop tarts have been alive – and might have fathered a
few of them. Anyway, maybe my view’s a little skewed.
In fact, now that I think about it, when I’m on the road,
I hear lots of performers working hard to be honest and
true without being any good. They spend all their effort
on innovation and not enough on entertainment. For God’s
sake, I may be the most important man since Caesar, but I’m
an artist. My medium requires someone to understand and
appreciate what I’m talking about. What I’m getting at is
that you should be true to yourself, but you’d also better look
for the lowest common denominator. Got that? A distinct
vision that everybody can appreciate. Dumb it down, but
be unique.
Oh, hell. To get a huge following, rip off Alec Wonderful.
It’s been working for lots of superstars for years. Give it a
shot; I can lend you some of my crowds.
Have you even been in a hurricane?
Well, I have been in the eye of a media storm that few
others have had to weather, but maybe that’s not what you’re
asking. I don’t recall ever being in a hurricane, but there was
this time I inadvertently caused a cave-in in Kentucky.
I was playing a benefit show in a mining town, for the
workers or the uninsured or the orphans or the ore, and,
well, too many people showed up.
Normally, there are tight controls as to the size of my
audience, for fear of this very kind of thing, but the poor
orphans or the elderly or whatever they were so desperately
wanted to see me, I just couldn’t turn them away. If only I
had…
The sheer mass of my fanbase collapsed the mountain.
I wasn’t hurt, of course. Few of us were that were on the
mountain-top. But the avalanche that the roaring appreciation
caused, well, the fauna and flora of the entire environment
will never be the same. But of course, isn’t that just like
most of my shows?
I had to sing to the poor captured miners or homeless or
abused nuns until they all were freed from the rockslide. My
throat was pretty sore at the end and 13 people died, so it
was not a good day for Alec Wonderful. I will tell you this,
though: Kentucky knows a lot about the rock.
 Get in the Minivan by Brook Pridemore
Over Six Weeks in the Summer of 2005, I partook in a perimeter tour of the US, going South, then West, then North, then
East. David LK Murphy traveled with me through Los Angeles, and was then replaced by Ivan Sandomire.

So Phoenix, AZ is grossly hot in the summer time. Don’t to kill before you
let anybody fool you, that dry heat is easier to deal with than get to make another
wet heat: dry heat just means that you can’t breathe, and it’s stab at making
still hot as hell. money and meeting
Strangely though, as we drove in from Albuquerque on friends.
a Saturday afternoon this past July it poured rain on us. It Dan and I were
rained all the way from Flagstaff to Phoenix, through some sitting in this big
of the windiest mountain curves I’d ever seen. Although downtown common
we’d heard horror stories, both on the news and from our area in Phoenix,
friends, we reached downtown Phoenix and it was sixty waiting for Food
degrees, pitch-black, with clouds and drizzle. The kid at the Not Bombs to
venue told us that it never rains in Phoenix, but he seemed show up. Lots of
even more creeped out by the fact it was only six pm and homeless people
the sky had darkened to full nightfall. Streetlamps, set on were sleeping/
a timer, had not recalibrated for this unexpected dusk and lounging in the park,
hadn’t started working yet, leaving everything dark and but nobody paid us
sinister. The clouds made the sky look like a giant brain, any mind. This one
pulsing with electrical synapses and rolling thunder morse guy came up and
code. said, “Hey, guys, what’s up?”
The venue was a seemingly left-leaning place called the Dan said, “Sorry dude, we’re traveling.”
Counter Culture Cafe, but it could also have easily passed The guy freaks out, makes up some shit about selling
as a Christian coffeehouse. I’ve played both, and believe sunglasses, and threatens to kick our asses. Dan tells him
me, no gig is full of less appreciative people, and worse to have a nice day. He comes back and starts screaming
for tips, than a Christian coffeehouse. I spent the whole again, so we just walk away, and go find Murph. After a
evening trading sets with Murph, getting proper stoned by truck pulled up to the park, loaded up some people, drove
the cafe staff in their “get-high shack,” and not worrying off and didn’t return, we figured Food Not Bombs wasn’t
about finding a place to stay, because we were hooked up gonna show up. We saw the same guy walking around,
with my friend from college, Nicole. yelling about stuff, but this time, he had a couple of friends
Whatever had consisted of a crowd slowly trickled out with him. We went off in search of swimming.
into the now-hotter late night. I talked to a guy who said We found swimming in a public pool. The water was
he was in a band called Where Eagles Dare. I said, “Cool. easily ninety-five degrees, but was still a welcome change
The Misfits, right?” He got all mad: “It’s got nothing to do from the dry air. Murph borrowed one of my bathing suits,
with the Misfits! That’s just the name of the band!” My then used the pocket to wash out a pair of his boxer shorts.
friend Nicole called me at about 2AM and told me not to
bother coming over, she was just going to bed. I tried to Note to self: Don’t let anybody borrow your bathing
make her understand that we had no place to stay, and no suit.
hope of finding shelter at this late hour. She still said no.
We ended up sleeping, or attempting to sleep, in the get-high Later that night, we met a bunch of really cool bands.
shack behind the club. This girl Allison, who plays bass in a group called The Orphan
Dan, {my manager,} got really mad at me the next day, Line, took us to her house, where we did some late night
for taking the couch in the get-high shack, when it was my drinking, and sleeping in an air-conditioned environment.
flaky friend that had fallen through. I spent much of the Next morning, her guitar player invited us over for a home
afternoon thinking of the best way to tell him to go fuck cooked lunch. After all that despondence, insecurity, and
himself, then gave up. Murph spent a good portion of the uncertainty, we were proven wrong about Phoenix, which
afternoon in the Hard Rock Cafe, enjoying the air conditioner leads me to my point: No town is completely full of assholes.
and watching baseball. Sometimes you just have to look hard or luck out.
This was one of those despondent days, where the gig
the night before didn’t go so well, and you didn’t make any brookpridemore.com
friends in a town of strangers, and you have a whole day
 Poetry Page and a Book Review
send your book to 640 W 139th St. #24 New York, NY 10031
what was magnetic
Blood
chris maher
I.
RiYL Books
I spit blood into the sink this morning;
Our first book to review! Awesome, keep them coming.
before brushing, my mouth untouched by
This is a short smart looking chap book from songwriter and
floss - no apparent provocation - but enough
RiYL records founder Chris Maher. Most of the poetry is
blood to cause alarm. My tongue and teeth
personal, a lot of it being about girls and heartache with light
were a dark red and after rinsing my mouth with
abstract imagery, and a loose easy rhythm. Beyond his well
a glass of tap water (sickly sweet with bloody
adjusted yearning is a dark streak too of which “Blood” is the
glucose), I stared into the bathroom mirror, examining
most blatant example. The innocent ones about missing girls
the edges of my gums for an abrasion, some source,
are always balanced out with the ones pointing to something
but found nothing.
more sinister, allowing itself to become darker as the book
moves along until the ending “Blood”. It opens with a sweet
II.
breakup poem followed by one of quick couplets describing
At age thirteen, I watched a white pickup
a nervous uneasy city. It feels like Chris allows himself to
truck drive through a flock of ducks on a back
say more with each passing poem, weather being a common
road in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. I sat in the backseat
device to describe personal storms coming, which allows
of our family car - my mother and father up front - and
him to if not step out of his own head, at least draw the
stared through the windshield as the mess of
common experience into it. Interspersed are short almost
white feathers and blood and decapitated bird
parable like poems which paint a quick picture, but often
bodies flapped and spun and fell along the asphalt.
end up saying more than the longer ones, such as “Lucky,”
The driver showed no mercy, no attempt to
seven lines in which a man is introduced who is selling
avoid the birds.
socks from a bag followed up with the lines “Do not allow
the loss/of the privilege of love/let you feel tragic.” That’s
III.
a lot of implication for a seven line break up poem. Usually
On the eve of the invasion, Barbara and
the dark streak is under the surface, catching the reader by
Jenna danced drunk in a seedy Austin, Texas
surprise in an almost over looked line, such as the end to “A
piano bar, as I sat drinking with friends - at the
Device Comprised of Pipe Valves,” a nostalgic piece with
opposite end of the club - on my last night in town.
mixed childhood stories involving a B.B. gun and a generous
As the sisters exulted, their father was preparing
uncle, ending with the creepy line “I considered shooting
to bomb Iraq; I was halfway through my fifth
my uncle/ but that pillow was just too damn expensive.” It’s
beer, trying hard not to entertain the thought
innocent enough in the context, but feels murderous. Chris’s
of that fourth Pennsylvania plane
language style is fairly plain and straightforward, using
reaching its target.
simple imagery and wordplay with an indirect and fluid
-Chris Maher
rhythm. The simple line drawings interspersed throughout
make sense with the language style, but there is a nervous
The Evening Nothing Happened and sometimes frantic energy to some of them which adds to
Sad, sexy bartenders lean far over counters, pout and act the tension in the poetry
coarse for contrast. chrismaher.com
Ex-lovers pretend and kids toast with fancy glasses riylbooks.com
and eat Polish cheese and English muffins.
I had an encounter on 2nd and the Bowery that didn’t matter
(and didn’t happen).
Seduction wars with the braid man on the downtown 4 home.
Glance, look back, leg bend, head arch, I’m not looking, why are you looking?
Camaraderie with the Roxy Diner man who can’t speak English.
Rebecca to attractive, melancholy soul on the elevator up:
“Hey, want a wafer?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I didn’t bite it off- I just tore it.”
“Cool.”
-Rebecca Hirsch
 The Grateful Dead...
fiction
When I first did it I could not explain me to myself. It felt
good and that is all I cared about. The ‘G’ string was the best
one to use as I had tried the others but they were either too
thick or too thin. The fear explored up my back in a coffee
spill kind of way each time - but it felt good. A little kitten
was the first. I laugh now as I think of how frightened I was
at the volume of sound it made dangling at the end of my
guitar ’G’ string garrote. So, yes I did several other small
animals and a couple of big dogs because I knew for what I
was rehearsing. I loved the music the guitar-basically wood
and wire,- could make. I sing all the songs of the 60’s and
70’s and have a small following in Manhattan at some of the
clubs. I seem to play with more gusto after killing someone.
It must be the remnant rush from the act. My first human
was a kid from the Bronx and I was 15 at the time. I just
didn’t like him, the way he walked, some kind of handicap.
. I came up behind him on one fall day. It may have been
late September. I wish I could remember. Anyway I snapped
the wire around his neck with speed, clarity, and strength.
It was a used ‘G’ string so I did not mind the blood and
the ‘inside of the neck’ stuff on it. I suppose his flailing
arms made it a bit, more difficult than I expected but I
learned a lot from him, being my first human. I could
get a sense although general of how most may react.
I’ve done it so many times in various parts of the City
and I sing and write songs about them too. I watch
the stupid motherfuckers listening to me singing with
fucked up grins and smiles. They don’t know that I
am actually telling my truth. Here is a song:
I walked through the City one morning
Down a dusty side street of pain
There I met young man
Who was under some strain
I killed him on the spot
And that was the gain
Chorus:
Oh how grateful are the dead
Upon lovingly losing their head
What a soft space I have in my heart
I only kill people I don’t know a lot
Continuing along the alleys of town
I met a young girl who was selling herself
As I asked to see her back and her ass
I snapped off her head with style, grace and class
There she shrieked and I ran as I heard a voice
I got a bit winded but I hadn’t a choice
by Ed Lynch
One funny thing happened where I almost got caught. I
had not killed anyone in a while and it was a boring winter
day. Everyone had on coats, which interfered with my fun.
I had to restrict myself to drunks in the Bowery and bums
I’d meet. They were asleep or too drunk to struggle and I
was releasing them anyway. So, one late evening I saw a
man standing by a streetlight and I decided to go for him
The damndest thing!! He had on one of those neck braces
you wear after a fender bender. Now let me tell you I am
tremendously strong in my arms and hands but this surprised
the hell out of me The guy turned around with a frightened
look as I drove my fist into his nose. I am sure I broke it. He
fell backwards into the street. I skedaddled right out of there
as I was sure he really did not see me and I didn’t want to
hurt him any more than I had already. Let’s see if I can figure
it out. I have been doing this for about 20 years and I must
have killed 55 to 60 people. I am sure you don’t believe me
but that is your issue. When I am singing to the
foolish crowds, it is like my confessional
there. I also know that the dead are
grateful for the release. I have written
many songs with death being the
main issue. I realized how ironic it was
when I killed one of my own audience
persons. I just got a glimpse of the side
of his face but my wire was already
doing its job.
I have to be careful. I have to
have control. I have to choose more
carefully, more wisely. I don’t want to
kill my own business!
illustration by Elise Cuomo DeFrank
 Paul’s Perspective
waxing and waiting
by Paul Alexander
Waiting for a song isn’t like waiting for a train— no thirst can go forever unquenched,
sometimes it’s not just a matter of time, but more a matter of and so as is often the case, after weeks
motivated inspiration; and sometimes a songwriter can wait of fruitless toiling, it was only at the
for what feels like forever and never know when to expect last possible minute that I achieved
their ship to come in. That said, I think all songwriters, the Herculean feat of composing my
writers, artists, or “creators” of any type experience periods first complete composition in what
of drought, however, occasionally it becomes difficult seemed like an eternity. Meanwhile,
to deal with these dry spells when they last for too long. following my first success, others
Perhaps I am wrong in thinking that all songwriters hit a songs began to pour from my pen in
wall from time to time, especially considering the fact that rapid succession.
friends of mine, such as Drew Torres, seem to dream up It has been said that necessity is the mother of invention,
songs faster than they can write them down, while I, despite and so it shouldn’t surprise me that after building a
my occasional serendipitous brush with divine inspiration, subconscious barricade to my creative juices for so long, it
have somehow lost the prolific productivity of my past, and was only after my producer let me know that we had reached
have recently begun treating the “art” of songwriting more the eleventh hour that I was finally able to capitalize on my
like a discipline—working daily at advancing my craft to dormant ditties, churning out the final two songs I needed
what seemed like no avail. Nevertheless, I never let up, to round out my album in record time. Even so, despite
and I have been writing everyday—even when uninspired. the fact that I suppose all’s well that ends well, I would
I have turned to lauded songwriter self-help such as The never wish to be in such a precarious position again, and
Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity by Julia I endeavor to make the most of my new found fertility by
Cameron, and as always, I have been immersing myself in waxing, not waiting, and complete my next album’s worth
the energy of our fair city. Yet all efforts aside, the songs I of material—and then some—long before this first album is
harbor within remain ever elusive, continually taunting me even complete.
like I were Tantalus, as 2nd verses, missing choruses, and more
insightful themes dance somewhere in my consciousness, Post-Script:
but just beyond my reach. Irony of ironies—you can ask the editor—this article
Ordinarily annoying, writer’s block becomes much took me the longest time of any article to write, thanks to
more mortifying when working under a deadline, as the old yet another bout with the metaphoric monkey on my back—
adage “you can’t rush genius” becomes all too prophetic. I writer’s block.
discovered this recently, as I’ve passed the time since the
publication of the last Urban Folk bleeding many a pen and palexandermusic.com
losing many a nights sleep in search of the final songs
for an album, at times, I fear may never see the light
of day, not due to the conflicts with my producer I’ve
spent other issues chronicling, but due instead to what
I am starting to think may be my inept abilities as a
songsmith. And perhaps it is good to put pressure on
creating perfection in each piece a person creates, but
maybe such standards also prevent pure passion from
peeking through. Still, the semantics of songwriting
aside, as I have poured over chord progressions and
journals written over the past year, every time I seem
to be close to finishing a song, something always keeps
my work from feeling final, and something about it
always seemed forced.
Anyone who knows me, or even reads this magazine
regularly, is aware that I am rarely at a loss for words,
nonetheless, during my recent songwriting drought it
was lyrics which failed to flow, as at every sitting I
continued to stockpile songs without words. Even still,
 Crossword Puzzle
-that’s somewhat relevant
by Deborah T.
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the rules:
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Across
1. symbol indicating
41. la ___ bonita,
Madonna hit in ’86
the prize:
pitch
5. more than none
45. one opposition to a
yea be featured here! You will be
8. remedy
12. fraud
46. aggressive question
OR antihoot trivia
interviewed by Deborah T. and
13. already gone OR
antihoot trivia 48.
category *
blister site
win a short feature in the next
category (abbr.)
14. similar
49. campus concern issue of Urban Folk
OR antihoot trivia
15. east village music category (abbr.) 9. small, fretted 34. argument based on
scene 50. i don’t give one instruments an emotional plea
16. mongrel ___...! 10. traditional deed 37. type of protest
17. environment 51. disapproving sounds 11. vocal ailment 38. over and done
that fosters rapid 52. foolish one specialists 39. yoko, et alia
growth 53. not at a great 18. dwell 40. windows to the
18. characters distance 20. adviser soul
19. recipient of an
21. not as young 42. holey place
exaggerated Down 22. bring something 43. never ___ fool kiss
display of feeling 1. kin to a close (2 you, or a kiss fool
23. good ‘hood for 2. verse component wds.) you (2 wds.)
music (abbr.) 3. grub 23. wst. side of the 44. at a great distance
26. enthusiasms 4. Belgian “french” map 46. boo hoo
27. sass fry 24. the end of an ___ 47. marketing bits
30. confidante 5. ruckus 25. loitering location
31. greasy spoons 6. trendy quarter just OR certain music * this answer has been
32. teensy bit above a good ‘hood venue censored for your
33. lukewarm for gelato 28. annoy solving convenience.
35. brassy music genre 7. chatter 29. indy radio station
36. speaks publicly 8. army store standard break
38. type of chord (abbr.)
 CD reviews
send your cd to 306 Jefferson St. 1R, Brooklyn, NY 11237
listen to the samples from the artists reviewed in this issue at alloyradio.com/urbanfolk
A Brief View of the Hudson
Go North To Find Me
North South records
I hate it when this happens. The first track opens so
promising, an upbeat folk rock song chock full of energy that
makes you want to get out of your seat. It has a real sixties
feel but with modern energy and creativity, fun melodies
with acoustic guitars, a quick beat, good harmonies, and
catchy riffs in the breaks. I’m enjoying it, I’m ready for
more, but then the next two songs sink down into drawn out
meandering that completely kill the mood. The sixties feel
carries through, but more in the stoned redundant jammy kind
of way. The pace drops out entirely, and the hooks disappear.
Luckily they get it back after the second two tracks. The fast
energy never quite matches the beginning, although the hard
beat on “Perfect Love” comes close to raising the blood. The
acoustic and organ ballad “Down South” is a perfect sing
along moment, catchy and emotional. The double tracked
vocals with one singing high and pretty while the other
speaks in low tones is a nice artistic touch too. The acoustic
sixties rock feel mixed with some modern production and
the twin male/female vocals all ad up to an attractive sound
that makes me curious to hear more.
abriefviewofthehudson.com
Brook Pridemore
First Name/Last Name
Crafty Records
Brook is a damn
fine songwriter. This
album shows him
off well, with a good
clean sound and
plenty of memorable
catchy songs. He’s
got a hard edge on a
folk rock sound, with
punk roots always
showing through
around the edges.
Some of the songs
are obviously so,
with a fast fun sound, but even his slower ones hint at it with
his habit of switching from a nice croon to an unexpected
yell at the turn of a chord. Thankfully he resisted the urge
of a lot of artists who pull this sound off so well live on
an acoustic, and then go into the studio and lay it all down
electric, losing every ounce of character they had on stage.
by the editorial collective
The sound of an acoustic with good hard drums behind is
always exciting. Character is one thing Brook is in no way
lacking. Fun, melodic and quirky songs with eclectic and
funny lyrics that are still emotional and honest at their core.
I especially appreciate the inspirational chorus to “Keith
Richards,” “Play guitar, stop singing along.” When he puts
his lyric writing talent in with a fast tongue tripping singing
style, it’s an adventure. A good portion of the album is a
slower standard folk acoustic singer/songwriter style, and I
have to admit I would prefer to see more of the fun upbeat
sound that is characteristically his. He is a good enough
songwriter though that there’s no danger of not enjoying the
songs that are here. Keep an eye out for the new one coming
early next year.
craftyrecords.com
brookpridemore.com
Brownbird Rudy Relic
Don’t Dress Rhythm
You could call Brownbird retro, although I think in this
circumstance the word “traditionalist” suits much better.
This is old school blues. I really feel like I’m listening to an
old 30’s blues album put out by Smithsonian Folkways. It’s
in his wailing voice, his lyrics, and his simple yet emotive
guitar playing. The recording is kind of muddy and far away,
with a bit of hiss over the top adding to the effect. I have to
say it’s kind of eerie what a good replica of the old sound
this is. There is not a drop of irony to the imitation either
(unless you count the kazoo), just old blues played well.
He’s got an impressive voice which he loves to show off,
holding the long notes a little too long frequently just to
make sure we really feel it. It’s a proud rich voice, and live
it carries across a room with show stopping power. He sits
back from the mic in a cocky “I don’t need that crutch”
kind of way, which could be obnoxious if he wasn’t a good
enough singer to pull it off. He’s a good blues man, and a
great musician and singer, but music like this always begs
the question, why would I put this on over the original
real thing? Not that this is worse, but I don’t necessarily
think it’s better. I have to wonder what would happen if he
got a little more creative with his talents and looked into
finding a voice of his own, equally powerful. Given how
good a musician he obviously is, I’d be willing to bet it’d be
great things.
brownbirdrudyrelic@gmail.com
myspace.com/brownbirdrudyrelic
 Casey Shea
Take the Bite
Picture an acoustic Coldplay, a sort of grandiose brit pop
folk, and you’ve got Casey Shea. Lush songs with emotional
melodies and a smooth voice with what sounds like a hint
of a British accent singing songs about girls and apathy.
The strongest part is definitely the melodies, which are rich,
complex, and expansive. I like the acoustic fairly sparse
recording on this kind of music. There’s a bit going on in the
production to pad out the sound too, giving the impression
that the stripped down sound was a conscious choice rather
than a matter of financial necessity. Overall the album is
somewhat lacking in energy, except for the distorted rocking
sitar sounding track, which was overbearing and a little
annoying in its own way. The album as a whole is pretty and
lush, and the songs are of a high caliber. It is beautiful, but
in the end it is still a slow album about apathy.
caseysheamusic.com
Cassandra Kubinski
hiding underneath
I find it really weird in this city how artists who might
never associate end up thrown together in the same ring.
Singer/Songwriters like Cassandra and many others around
here come from an unadulterated pop school of music, that
is easy for some of us east village indy folkies to pass off
as shallow. We here at Urban Folk are just as guilty of this
as anyone, but I think it’s important to step back and judge
things on their own merits sometimes. This ep showcases a
lot of things that Cassandra does well. Her compositions are
strong and complex in their melodies, which come out both
catchy and interesting. Her voice is engaging and impressive
as well. She avoids the nasally showtune quality that so many
trained singers end up with, and instead has a clear strong
voice not lacking in character or sweetness. Live she uses
her voice to add to her confident
stage presence, which is stronger
and less cutesy than other girls of
this genre often go for. The lyrics
can be pretty hit or miss, mostly
personal/emotional themes that
don’t look much beyond her own
head and heart, ranging from the
fairly poetic “Cradle the Moon,”
to the slightly embarrassingly
blunt title track about how she’s
not as innocent as she seems.
“Cradle the Moon” was by far
my favorite track, showcasing
her voice and good melodic
sense in a simple piano and vocal arrangement that comes
off very intimate. It has a sweet slow building verse with
interesting bits of jazz composition, that breaks into a chorus
that lilts and turns with a few undeniable hooks that come
at you one after another. I get it stuck in my head quite a bit
which I’ve been enjoying. She is at her best stripped down
to the piano and vocals where she sounds most natural and
has a chance to show off what she does best, as evidenced by
the awkwardness again apparent on the title track when she
tries to kick in a heavy electric guitar and drums that sounds
like it was played by a middle aged producer trying to rock
out. For hard rock I’m going to have to look elsewhere, but
she does write and carry a good piano pop tune.
ckubinski.com
Creaky Boards
Where’s the Sunshine?
This is a much more serious release then their last one.
The Beach Boys feel is still there, only this time the songs
are tighter, and the recording sounds crisp and clean. Catchy
fun summer songs with good oohs and ahhs and multi
layered textured harmonies throughout, Creaky Boards are
always right there telling you to lighten up and dance. Also
they put my two favorite songs on this one that get stuck
in your head for days after seeing them live, “Marvin’s
Marvelous Mechanical Museum,” and “Who’s Living in
our Smile Tonight?” The album is worth it for these two
songs alone. The secret to doing music like this well is really
understanding what goes into crafting a good early sixties
pop melody, beyond the simple blues progressions most
bands would be content with. These songs are not so simple
often with long building chord progressions and interesting
key switching, combined with intricate song structures that
have little surprises waiting around the corner, making you
appreciate when they finally slip back into the catchy simple
refrain. Maybe it’s just because I can hear it better on this
recording, but it sounds like Creaky Boards have taken a
real leap forward on this album, creating a perfect example
of what they’ve always been capable of. Yes, it’s still retro,
but it also sounds self aware, and doesn’t take itself too
seriously while managing to sound honest and heartfelt, a
nice trick to pull off. If this band keeps going down the road
they’re on, I have no doubt they’ll be putting
out a “Smile” of their own soon, and it will be
nothing we were expecting.
creakyboards.com
Curtis Eller’s American Circus
Taking Up Serpents Again
Usually, I find myself disappointed with
the recordings of artists whose live act I’m
familiar with. I so enjoy what I’m used
to hearing them do that any deviation is
something of a disappointment, a betrayal.
I’m a fan of Curtis Eller and his banjo antics,
so it should be obvious what happened when
I listened to “Taking Up Serpents Again.”
I loved it. Eller is a dynamic and exciting live performer.
His past as circus acrobat leaves his elastic on-stage, both
physically and mentally – he can easily gauge the room and
perform accordingly. None of these strengths help him on
an album, though. On an album, it’s all about the songs and
the arrangements. Luckily, Eller’s songs are superlative, and
the arrangements are fleshed out variants of that old-time
sound that Eller’s perfected. The “Very powerful
lead instrument is Eller’s banjo, ....and neither
but also included in the carny Springsteen nor
mix is accordion, upright bass, Mellencamp
drums and tuba. On first listen it would be less than
may sound throwback, but if you thrilled to have
think that’s all there is to it, then written some of
you owe it to yourself to listen to these tunes. Ditto
it again. Curtis has as much Tom Luka Bloom or
Waits and Greg Brown to his Billy Bragg. No
music as he does anything from kidding....”
the 30’ and 40’s. Plus, the lyrics
are smart too. They explain exactly Michael Fremer
what he’s up too if you listen. He’ll musicangle.com
take something from history, like
Amelia Earhart, Steven Foster,
or Buster Keaton, and then use live! every
their stories to sing about things thursday at the
completely current and relevant. In
the same way he uses an old sound
Underground
for the arrangement, but the songs Lounge
themselves are completely modern songwriter
songwriting in the lyrical form showcase
and the melodies. It’s the kind of (107th & Broadway)
congruity that every artist should
be striving for. Running themes available online at:
through the release are nostalgia martinbutlermusic.com & at NY CD
and religion. “Hide that Scar,” with cdbaby.com, emusic.com, & the itunes music store (81st & Amsterdam)
its otherworldly back-up vocals, is
about an attempt to storm heaven’s ever seen David LK Murphy at a show or even for a few
gates via angel’s wings. “Amelia Earhart” is about wanting songs at an open mic, you know his songs will stay with
to die before getting old, while “Buster Keaton” is about an you even long after you’ve first heard them. Do yourself a
old soul wishing others hadn’t died or dissipated. There’s favor and go get a copy of this well written and equally well
lots of melancholy all through the album, “Two of Us” and executed album.
“Sugar in my Coffin,” about major and minor apocalypses, dlkm.com
seem more angry. But there are no bum tracks on the record.
There are sweet nostalgic songs that get right to your heart, el alto
mad songs with a dark energy, and one completely happy the center of accident one
song that kind of made me wonder what he was up to. I’ve Yay electro folk! I don’t know why, but I really enjoy
said enough, get this album and see him live. the idea of computers and programmed beats mixing with
curtiseller.com acoustic guitars and folk melodies. This has all the quirkiness
and eccentricity of IDM, combined with the cohesiveness and
David LK Murphy listenability of a singer/songwriter. It starts fun and upbeat,
Home to You if a little dark in the lyrics, such as on “Georgia Knockout”
Stripped down, passionate, lush, and memorable. Despite with the “Stick your head in the oven” chorus. Most of
the fact that David LK Murphy released Home to You over the lyrics are about as off beat as the music. Acoustic and
a year ago, the eight song EP remains a poignant picture of electric guitars mix in with computerized blips and bleeps,
a songwriter at the top of his game. There’s the beautifully electronic drums, and twin harmonizing vocals. There are
passionate “Smitten,” gracefully embellished by the cello of even some grand melodies accentuated by the slow rising
Martha Colby, to the haunting chords of the “Prowler Intro” of the arrangements and production. After about the third
followed by the power of “Prowler,” featuring the talented or fourth song some of the upbeat energy dies down a bit
Brian Wurschum on drums and bass. David’s album is an and doesn’t return until the last few songs. The production
eclectic collection of well orchestrated lyrically savvy songs. is still intricate and interesting though, and the melodies are
No one song stands out among this collection, though “Sixty catchy in a subtle way. These songs make really good use
Cycle Melodies” seems to find him at his best. Despite being of the programmed beats, hitting just left of where you’d
a great namesake for the album, the song “Home to You” is expect and keeping you on your toes. The slower ones are
by no means the best song on the disc. For anyone who has a little less tight though, and a bit more morose. There is
less harmony on them too, which I miss, replacing it with
a low solo voice. I’d say I prefer the upbeat ones, but can
enjoy these as part of the album and another dimension to
their sound. It just seems kind of jerky to start and end the
album one way and do something completely different in
the middle, like they were trying to cover up something that
really wasn’t that bad.
winondiagonals.com
Gretchen Witt
demo ep
This CD starts amazingly pretty. “So Called Bliss,” begins
with a gorgeous acoustic riff before her voice comes in with
a single beautiful note held just a little longer than expected.
Simple yet effective. Gretchen has a lovely voice. The song
builds from there into a bit of a good solid driving chorus,
and still comes back in for more of the beautiful intro with
added harmony. This had to be my favorite track. The demo
overall showcases Gretchen as a versatile artist. The second
track is an upbeat acoustic rocker, “Say So” is poppy enough
to have been written by a professional Nashville songsmith,
there’s a good ballad, and a bluesy track to cap it all off. All
these are done well, and Gretchen’s voice carries them all
with a touch of Southern bluegrass to it. I will say the two
poppy tracks began to test my limits of how far I was willing
to go with her. This demo shows her to be an excellent singer
and a good songwriter of the post-Ani pop folk variety.
gretchenwitt.com
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Martin Butler
Watching The Days Fall
It’s those albums that stare death in the face that give us
the rare opportunity to hear things that are difficult, inspiring,
cliché, or hard to listen to for whatever reason, but are things
that our jaded ears could really use being open to once in
awhile. The liner notes explain this album as “a musical
document by which those I love might some day remember
me.” Martin created this album after a long battle with life
threatening illness, and a sense of the temporary nature of
life pervades these songs. Not by singing about himself, but
by the using this album as an opportunity to inspire. The
songs are about life, about how it’s fucked up and how it will
fuck you up. But after acknowledging that, there is hope and
encouragement in the choruses and in the compassion for
the characters in the songs. Martin is a native New Yorker
who played in the late seventies punk scene and maybe that’s
why I’m biased to trust that the grit and jaded optimism he
sings about is honest and worth hearing. This has the feeling
of one of those albums that an artist is finally able to make
only later in life when they find what is really important, and
realize what it is they actually want to say. There aren’t a
lot of punk roots left in the music. I would say sonically it’s
like a folky Tom Petty with more of a deep Johnny Cash or
Roy Orbison voice, definitely a mature sound that is neither
progressive nor especially hip. That doesn’t seem to be the
point.
martinbutlermusic.com
The
Two Man
Gentlemen Band
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 Mascot’s Distance
s/t
An interesting and eclectic album combining bits of jazz,
funk, world beat, folk, and occasional electronica. Acoustic
guitars, interesting percussion, a strong low voice that’s not
afraid to flip up into a crazy falsetto once in awhile, mixed
into a full band on a good rich recording. The funky stuff
I could do without, I usually find white American world
beat to be a bad idea, but once in awhile a really good song
pops out at you on this record. It’s usually the ones where
they stop trying too hard with the rhythms and concentrate
more on the voice and melody, although they don’t do
too badly at smooth jazz either on the first song. Also the
Ween-esque strangeness that is “Hear The Laughter” is a
good time. Really the best part is the real songwriter songs
though, interesting stories told well with a low rich voice.
It’s a strange hodgepodge on this album that ends up making
sense as a whole, but a good portion of the songs taken on
their own can be a bit grating. Take the time to skip around
and you’re certain to find something interesting. I probably
won’t be putting this on any time soon just to hang out
though. That’s always the risk when a band tries to be just a
little too creative with their sound. Creative is good, creative
and consistent is better.
mascotsdistance.com
Mick Flannery
Evening Train
Mick went back to Ireland, and if you’re just now hearing
about him for the first time, you seriously missed out. He’s
probably one of the most talented songwriters New York has
seen in a long time, and while his recordings are amazing,
live he would stop
a room cold every
time. Yes he sounds
a lot like Tom Waits,
but he’s 21. Tom
Waits sounded like
his influences at
21 too. Regardless,
Evening Train is a
beautiful album. We
reviewed the three
song demo for this
last issue, so I won’t
get overly specific
again, but suffice
it to say this full length exceeded our expectations. It is a
concept album, telling the story of two brothers both trying
to catch the last train out of their small town. Alcoholism,
gambling debts, lovers’ betrayals, and the futility of trying to
turn your life around are the stuff of great tragedy. Combine
this with a gruff and powerful voice, and melodies that
move effortlessly from pure hope to utter despair at the turn
of a note, and you have yourself a timeless piece that should
not have been written by a 21 year old. Did I mention that
the songs are amazingly catchy and practically demand that
you raise your glass and sing along? The liner notes narrate
the story between the lyrics too, allowing you to sit down
somewhere comfortable, put this on and get lost in the story.
Something I seriously recommend you do. Soon.
mickflannery.com
Miller Farrell
3-Song Demo
The songs are great, the production’s fine, but where’d
the accent come from? When Miller Farrell speaks, he
sounds very much the native New Yorker, but his singing
makes him out to be one of those faux New Wave Brits
from out of the eighties. In fact, Miller’s demo sounds
very much like Ric Ocasek. There are worse models, and
Miller lives up to that poppy influence. When he plays live
and alone, though, Miller adds a more energetic element
to what’s available on this demo. Here, with full band
instrumentation, the Cars connection seems stronger, which
works if he’s trying to get gigs on the almost-oldies circuit,
but not as fair a representation of what this fine singer/
songwriter is about. There’s a strange production glitch on
the last track, “So True.” The lead guitar falls out of rhythm
for part of the bridge. It comes back in quickly, but it’s a
little disconcerting. Maybe there’s an artistic point to it that
I’m missing, but I doubt it. It’s a shame, because it mars the
coda, featuring a pretty cool lyric: “Why should I be so true
to you when you make me feel so black and blue?” Other
than that momentary lapse, the band sound on this demo is
good, but he’s probably better live.
myspace.com/millersongs
The Morningsides
s/t 7”
RiYl Records
A 7”, yay! And on green marble vinyl, double yay! Of
course my record player is broken, making me not cool
enough for my own standards. A member of this band
described them as a chocolate coated Pavement, or The
Monkees covering Edgar Allen Poe. It’s hard to get a feel
for a band from two songs, especially when the songs are as
far apart as these two are. Summer Song is a catchy up beat
rock n roll tune of the Chuck berry gone indy rock variety,
while “A Mole Hill Is A Mound” is more plodding and
thoughtful with a variety of influences melding together.
Take the bass line from “Under the Boardwalk,” with an
equally sixties guitar, while artsy keyboard noises come in
randomly once in a while in the back ground and the voice
sounds like a lazy Seattle singer being a little bitter but well-
adjusted about it. I would say this 7” is a bit predictable as
far as indy rock goes, but these are both enjoyable songs of
the genre. I’d be curious to hear a full length from these guys
and see what comes in between the two extremes, and see
where else they take their music. Side note-- singer and label
founder Chris Maher plays solo with a back up band called
the Post Modern Lovers. Cool on so many levels.
themorningsides.com
riylrecords.com
 The Paula
Ouça & Escute g gretchenwitt.com

rw
Well, I don’t know what the hell this guy is singing
about. There are lyrics up on the guy’s website, but they’re
in Portuguese, and they’re embedded in pictures, so I can’t

e i
translate them using all the tools the web affords. Damn
foreigners. Of course, it’s some of that foreign-ness that
makes this release so appealing. Abandoning his successful

t t
mid-90s Brazilian rock project Virna Lisi, Marcelo de Paula’s
opted to start anew as The Paula (a rough translation of his
last name. Does he know it sounds effeminate in English?)

c t
which is him, his band, the whole shmegeggi. “Ouca
&Escute” (in English: Hear and Listen) is his debut release,
and it sounds great. The best two cuts are “Só Lamente uma
Vez” and “Santo Ofício,” which could well be about Herman
Hesse and oral fixations, respectively. I mean, who knows?
“Só Lamente uma Vez” repeats the phrase “Só Lamente” in
h CD
its chorus, which sounds like something of a call to arms.
“Santo Ofício” also has a repeated word, “foi.” I think
it means “I’m going to,” and then lists a bunch of stuff.
e available
at
towerrecords.com, cdbaby.com,
Rhythm is emphasized in all these tracks, and the hooks
are strong enough to make you want to sing along, even if n and folkweb.com
you have no idea what you’re saying. But the not knowing Sunday, October 16th, Friday, Oct. 28th
what you’re saying is a fascinating phenomenon. How 8:00 p.m. The Postcypt Cafe
often have you hummed along to some catchy tune until Rockwood Music Hall at Columbia U.
you hear the real words (“You’re telling me ’Papa Don’t FREE 9:00 p.m. cost TBA
Preach’” is really an anti-abortion screed? Say WHAT?”)? and with the band! (but not much)
With The Paula’s work, you can remain to your dying days solo acoustic
blissfully ignorant of what he’s saying. I mean, who the hell
speaks Portuguese anyway? I guess you could always ask from Brooklyn. Who do they think they’re kidding?
him … Whatever. These songs sound great. I love what he’s thegoddamnrattlesnake@yahoo.com
singing, even if I don’t know what it is.
thepaula.com.br/ Brian Speaker
Revolution of One
Poor Boy Johnson & The Goddamn Rattlesnake Brain Speaker has put together a captivating collection
Ressuressurection of original compositions and exciting performances on
You know, I really wanted to like this album, being the Revolution of One. The CD is chock full of great guitar work
first example of this throwback bluegrass/folk/country/ and lyrics that say something different with each listen. Add
blues played by crusty punk kids that’s been going around. to that Brian’s always effortless voice, and the welcome
I have to be honest though, this band is not the best keyboard from time to time—such as the memorable intro
example. People always need to remember that if you’re to “Goodbye Lorraine.” “The Ride” has some passionate
being grating or obnoxious, even if it’s on purpose, that’s singing and surprisingly well executed string arrangement,
still how you’re going to sound. The biggest problem with and you can lose yourself in the lush opening track
this album is Poor Boy Johnson’s voice, which pretty much “Independence (Wonderland).” Whatever you do, go get
makes it unlistenable. For comparison, picture that noise Revolution of One, because if “Poison” doesn’t get to you,
Jim Carrey made in “Dumb and Dumber” when he was something on this album will.
showing off the most annoying sound in the world. He sings brianspeaker.com
like that, nasally, whiny, and constant. It’s too bad because
without that this wouldn’t be so bad. Sure the playing is a Tim Emmerick and Coldfront County
little sloppy, but that’s all in good fun, and The Goddamn s/t
Rattlesnake (an awesome name) sings with a good tough Tim Emmerick has a fantastic voice to match some
enjoyable growl. The sound has the energy you’d expect equally solid songwriting. It reminds me a lot of old
from punk kids playing music like this. I think without the Swingin’ Utters or Lucero with a touch of Jawbreaker.
terribly obnoxious voice this could actually be pretty fun. Basically punk influenced rootsy americana rock that is
The other thing is they really play up the “country bumpkin” bound to mention Memphis in the lyrics a few times. His
thing in their music, and live they look and dress the part. voice sounds strong, gruff and strained in just the right way,
I feel like I want to remind them that we all know they’re and his lyrics are honest and emotional. I like music like
this where the melodies are distinctly American with their
roots in country, but the music is solid garage rock, although
Tim is not afraid to strip down the sound and the tempo on a
few of the songs, opening with a lighter piano track, giving
it an intimate feeling too. It’ short at 6 songs, and becomes
one of those albums I can’t help but put on repeat and listen
to a few times. Put a good sound with infectious melodies
and I’m hooked. Definitely check this guy out if you like
punk americana, country, or folk. Did I mention his voice?
Fantastic.
myspace.com/timemmerick
Toshi Reagon
Have You Heard
Righteous Babe Records
This is an amazingly
soulful album. Toshi
combines gospel,
soul, blues, and
rock, all done mostly
acoustic. My personal
favorites were the
last two tracks where
she used a delicate
high voice over a
long slow acoustic
riff for an eerie sound
reminiscent of the
song played by the
Robert Johnson character by the campfire in “O Brother
Where Art Thou.” She’s got some power too, opening with
a bang and a crashing acoustic guitar on the title track. Her
exuberance and love for music shine through the whole
album in the way she mixes genres and doesn’t skip on
the energy. The big smiling picture on the cover tells you
instantly what you’re in store for. While most of the songs
stay close to love themes, there is a larger spiritual sense
carried in the passionate way she sings them, and in what
she implies behind what she’s saying, living up to her
Gospel routes. I could do without some of the more modern
R & B sounding songs, which are a bit over bearing and
break the earthy soulful mood for me despite still being
mostly acoustic. But overall this is a mature album from a
seasoned performer and songwriter who hasn’t lost any of
the freshness that comes from an obvious love for the music
she’s creating.
toshireagon.com
righteousbabe.com
The Two Man Gentlemen Band
s/t
Serious Business Records
For a schtik band, this is a lot of fun. Upbeat, not very
serious and full of pep, they sound like their mission is simply
to have a good time and make their audience do the same.
They wear old time looking suits, complete with brimmed
hats and names like S. Andy Bean and The Councilman, and
match a banjo with a stand up bass to produce a simplified
old school bluegrass sound. Did I mention the kazoos hung
around their necks with coat hangers? The dueling solos
they take on those kazoos might be a bit much. I think
that’s the idea though, and I have to admit, it’s fun. As usual
with a band like this, I find myself hoping that these guys
might eventually dig a little deeper and see if they can make
something larger and more meaningful lest they somehow
end up as the world’s first bluegrass college party joke
band. The lyrics are pretty funny and at times ridiculous
while the music is pretty consistently high energy, adding
to the sense that nothing too serious is happening, but if you
want to lighten up you can have a real good time with these
guys. I think the fact that they included a frantic 40 second
instrumental piano track called “Hat Fight!” pretty much
sums up what’s going on.
two-man-gentlmen-band.com
the Wowz
Long grain Rights
RiYL Records
This is an interesting album, with almost too much going
on for me to classify simply. Lets say modern Strokes-
ish indy rock, with a Grateful Dead feel, especially in the
Harmonies, combined with a little bit of early Beatles, and
some folky roots behind those electric guitars. The real trick
to it is how they combine the folkiness with the rock n’ roll
in a way I’ve never heard before, where they blend together
well, but each component remains distinct at all times. More
like a well shaken vinaigrette than a mayonnaise. Beyond
just the cleverness of the sound though is the fact that the
music is really good. These are well crafted songs with strong
melodies and nice arrangements, on an album that is well
constructed, moving fluidly from song to song and sound to
sound in what appears
to be a consciously
constructed journey
which was well
thought out. The
production behind
all this is clever
and smooth. Maybe
it’s just because I
wasn’t expecting to
hear Grateful Dead
harmonies from a
band who looked like
they were going to
be indy rock hipsters, but for whatever reason this album
struck me in an unexpected way. I can’t help but listen to
it repeatedly now trying to understand out what the hell
they’re up to, happy enough to hear it the whole time.
thewowz.com
riylrecords.com