Urban

Folk
free for
you
and me

(the zine on the scene)

a sort of
leavetaking.

featuring: OJ All Day 2008...

the Wowz... Debe Dalton...
Mr. Rogers... JJ Hayes...
The Trouble with Boise...
Open Mics... Compact Discs...
and a farewell address.
 Urban Folk 16: The Final Curtain
Well, this is it: the last independent issue of Urban Folk. When Dave Cuomo wanted to start this rag back in
Aught Nine, I told him it wouldn’t last fifteen issues, and boy, did I prove me right...
It’s been a couple years now, with lots of text under all of our respective belts, and I would have to say the entire
experience has been rewarding. Oh, not financially. All but a few issues were run at a loss. And not critically,
unless by ‘critical,’ you mean ‘received lots of hate mail.’ Not spiritually rewarding either, really. I mean, I kind of
doubt anybody involved in fanzine production have souls to begin with, so how could this be good for it? The point
I’m getting at is, I guess, thanks for the contributions, the words, the photos, the poems, the pictures, the CDs,
the sexual favors. Thanks for being involved, and most of all, thanks for not buying Urban Folk.
Jonathan Berger, former editor

LIKE THE INNARDS OF A STOMACH, HEREIN ARE THE GUTS OF THIS ISSUE

COVER ELVA BERGER TOOK A PHOTO OF HER SON. HIS NAME IS BERGER. JON BERGER… 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS THIS VERY PAGE. I T 'S WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING AT . PRETTY, AIN'T IT? 2
DEBE DALTON INTERVIEWED IN THE 1ST ISSUE, FEATURED IN OUR LAST . HERB SCHER REPORTS. 4
THE W OWZ BREAKING NEWS: DEENAH VOLLMER TELLS US THAT SAM GROSSMAN ISN'T SAM JAMES. 7
MR. ROGERS JOCELYN MACKENZIE ON WATCHING PBS PROGRAMMING. 12
OJ ALL DAY OLIVE JUICE MUSIC PUTS TOGETHER IT'S SECOND ANNUAL FESTIVAL. READ ALL ABOUT IT. 15
URBAN JOKES A SAMPLING OF MAGAZINES THAT THIS ONE IS NOT . 19
SOPHIST FOLK JJ HAYES, THIS MONTH, WRITES ABOUT MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE. HOW DOES HE DO IT ? 20
GET IN THE MINIVAN BROOK PRIDEMORE DOESN'T LIKE IDAHO. I S IT THE POTATOES? CHECK OUT PAGE 22
COSTELLO'S W EB JONATHAN BERGER RIPS OFF DAN COSTELLO'S SHIT . 23
OPEN MICS SOMER BINGHAM EXPLORES SEVERAL OF THE CITY'S OPEN MICS. W HICH ONES ARE GOOD? 24
SUBWAY STORIES JOE CROW RYAN, BUSKING NEAR THE TRAINS? HILARITY ENSUES! 26
RECORD REVIEWS THE LAST REVIEWS EVER IN AN INDEPENDENT URBAN FOLK. TREASURE THEM. LOVE THEM... 28
MARK SINNIS JONATHAN BERGER TRIES TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF INTO AN UNHIDDEN FUTURE. 31

Urban Farewell Addresses

What’s Next? myspace.com/urbanfolkzine
Urban Folk is merging with it’s kissin’ cuzine Boog urbanfolkzine@gmail.com
City. All acoustic matters will be handled as a regular
insert in that monthly Village Arts publication, master- scribd.com
minded by Professor David Kirschenbaum.
Ther Urban Folk segment of Boog City will still focus To (snail) mail the former editor of
on AntiFolk, and all that is acoustic in the New York
City. The mandate hasn’t changed, just the location.
Urban Folk:
Urban Folk will be part of something bigger, better, with Jonathan Berger
more mature circulation and distribution system. You’ll 1119 Longwood Avenue
still find us. Trust me. Have I lied to you?
Bronx, NY 10474
...Well, OK, then. Have I lied to you today?

Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 2

page 3 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
 It Takes a Village
the making of Debe Dalton
It is probably not a stretch to say that most performers
who turn up at Sidewalk Café are looking for a forum –
a place to express themselves and find an audience.
However, time and again, those who arrive looking for a
launching pad find themselves captivated by the tight-
knit community that has formed in the world of AntiFolk.
Nested within one of the world’s largest metropoli, Side-
walk is like its own small town, a place where the faces
are familiar, where bonds are made, and bands are
formed (and the local paper is handed out free of
charge).
Debe Dalton’s March 14 birthday show promised to be
the usual fun night out at Sidewalk with performances
by The Telethons, Ivan Sandomire, Costello, Brook
Pridemore, and Debe. But through a charming surprise
that came at the end of Debe’s set, the evening ended
up demonstrating the club’s bonds of community in
action. In something like a modern-day version of a
barn-raising, Debe’s friends came together to provide
her with a remarkable gift.
Debe began learning guitar during childhood in the early
1960s and started writing songs as a teenager. She
gave it all up in her late twenties, when, working as a
school teacher, she felt that her creative pursuits were
too time-consuming. In 1988, her interest was brought
back to music when she convinced a friend to part with
a discarded banjo, rescued from the trash.
Debe began performing at Sidewalk Café in February
2004. and quickly found a home there. She was de-
scribed as a “stalwart” of the scene in a 2006 New York
Times article, and from her preferred seating area down
front at the left hand side of the stage she has probably
seen more shows and certainly stuck it out to the end
of more Monday night AntiHoots within her time than
any performer. It seems that for Debe, drawing an early
number is not a priority. “I like getting to the end of the
night,” she says, “after 1 a.m. when a good percentage
of the people are new and willing to stick it out.”
Debe’s songs, which she performs to her own banjo
accompaniment, undeniably reflect the traditions of
American song and are influenced by the work of
songwriters like Stephen Foster, Woody Guthrie, and
Pete Seeger as well as others like Mimi and Richard
Fariña who emerged during the 1960s folk revival. Al-
by Herb Scher
though the musical content ties into this heritage, in
their subject matter her songs are often movingly per-
sonal and eloquent, sometimes surprisingly so, given
her somewhat reticent demeanor off stage. They range
from “Close the Door,” a delicate ode to “shifting winds”
in her life to “Ed’s Song” about Debe’s compulsion to
play at open mics, and “Sorry Joan,” an apology to
Gandhi and Joan Baez, in which she remembers slam-
ming a pervert in the jaw!
Debe has a unique presence onstage, starting with her
pink and aqua tinted hair. In combination with the sight
of her banjo and the work shirts she favors, first time
audience members might wonder if they are at a punk
show or a hoedown. But when she plays, these mat-
ters become irrelevant. Debe’s lyrics, music, banjo-play-
ing, and singing blend into captivating and beautiful
moments of pure song that have won her a place of
honor in the hearts of her many Sidewalk fans.
Yet, though she seems to thrive on live performing, Debe
has been skittish about capturing her work in record-
ings. “I’ve been making music since I was ten years
old but never been able to record,” she explained. “If
there was a recorder I would stop playing or deliber-
ately mess up. I had a real mental block about it.”
About two years ago Debe decided to try to get over
that block by having her shows at Sidewalk recorded.
Since then she had fifteen of her performances cap-
tured from the sound board, but out of fear that she
might destroy the disks or throw them away, she gave
them to a trusted friend for safekeeping.
That’s where Rachel Devlin comes in. It was Rachel
who held onto the body of Debe’s recorded shows and
who, with that raw material in hand, launched a secret
project in collaboration with some of Debe’s other
friends. “A couple weeks before her birthday Frank Hoier
emailed me and said ‘why don’t we put together a CD
of her live recordings?’ I’d been thinking the same thing,
but I hadn’t thought that we’d do it for her birthday be-
cause of the tight deadline.”
The ball got rolling and Rachel and Frank set to work.
The first challenge was listening to the recordings of all
fifteen shows, and trying to name the tracks. “It’s diffi-
cult because Debe doesn’t name the songs what you
think they would be titled,” Rachel said. “Eventually in
one version she would say the name. I had ten ver-
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 4
 + 1 page pix

Frank Hoier and Debe Dalton,

page 5 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
Urban Folk’s first cover artist and first featured artist
sions of “Ed’s Song,” eight versions
of “Normal.” Frank came over and we
spent a whole day listening to differ-
ent versions and figuring out which
ones we liked.” Then Frank decided
to contribute a set of duets that he
and Debe had recorded during a Side-
walk residency.
From that point on the project plunged
headlong in a rush toward comple-
tion in time for Debe’s birthday on
Friday the 14th. “We still didn’t have
a good version of “Ed’s Song” or “Any-
thing,” so we concocted this crazy
scheme the Monday before her birth-
day to get people to request those
two songs and we recorded them with-
out her knowing.”
At that point Sidewalk soundman
Brian Speaker learned about the
project and revealed that he himself
had been getting Debe down on digi-
tal tape. Aware that her self-con-
sciousness while being recorded hindered her perfor-
mances, Brian told Debe that the club’s sound equip-
ment was malfunctioning, but was secretly capturing
her shows planning to eventually help Debe put together
a disk. Brian joined the secret CD team to contribute
his material and help with the technical aspects of the
production. Illustrator Peter Nevins was also recruited
to design a cover for the CD.
“On Tuesday we’re still figuring out which tracks to use
and which tracks not and the final order,” said Rachel.
“We still had to get the whole order of tracks to Peter
so he could do the artwork. Brian and I were calling
each other until 1 am that night.
“Once we got finished audio, on Wednesday we sent
the track listing to Peter with final titles.” On Thursday
Rachel was supposed to pick up the final mastered CD
at Sidewalk from Brian Speaker. “Brian’s computer
crashed before he could do the CD, and so he brought
his whole hard drive,” said Rachel. Dan Costello and
Rachel worked through the night until 6:30 Friday morn-
ing duplicating the CDs, and printing all the cover in-
serts and the CDs themselves. They continued print-
ing and assembling the package throughout the day
up until Debe’s show.
At the end of Debe’s set on the 14th, the whole team
jumped on stage and Rachel announced to the audi-
ence – and to Debe – that they had created Debe Dalton:
Live at the Sidewalk, an 18 track CD. As soon as the
evening’s show was over, Debe’s fans began buying
the disk and by evening’s end about twenty were sold.
The first run of 50 copies sold
out in a few weeks and a new
batch has already been made.
“This was really a labor of love,”
said Rachel. “The minute
someone said ‘We really need
this’, someone else would say
‘Yeah, got it.’ People have been
waiting to have a Debe Dalton
CD for so long that they were
really willing to help out.
“It was really incredible how it
happened,” she continued.
“Frank hears things differently
than I do. Frank hears things
like whether the banjo and gui-
tar are in tune. I’m hearing
whether Debe is sounding com-
fortable and what her perfor-
mance is like and Brian comes
in with these mad technical
skills. None of us on our own
could’ve done this because we
all were listening in our own way, but together we made
the perfect Debe Dalton CD.”
But how did Debe feel about the project?
“I felt very taken care of,” she said, “And I also felt relief
that I didn’t have to do it.”
This story of a group of Sidewalk regulars coming to-
gether to create a CD for a friend is a somewhat dra-
matic example of the community in action, but whether
it’s in collaborations formed, guitars borrowed, romances
made, feedback given, articles written, late nights hang-
ing out, or help in times of more dire trouble, bonds
such as these play out all the time in Sidewalk’s dingy
back room and in the community at large that stems
from it.
Some songwriters who turn up at Sidewalk soon deter-
mine that it is not for them. On one message board
someone wrote, “if you want to be recognized for the
true musician you are, I suggest avoiding the circus
that is Sidewalk Café.” Yet for many it is the connec-
tions forged over time with others who share a passion
for self-expression that keep them coming back.
In her quiet way Debe reflected on her own involvement
in the scene. “I was always looking for a place where
making music could happen in a community of artists
I could respect and love and they could return it – and
it’s here.” Return it they did, in the form of Debe Dalton:
Live at the Sidewalk.
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 6
 The Wowz
page 7 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
 The Wowz
Satirically Depressed About the Lack of James’
by Deenah Vollmer
What’s in a name?
What’s that mean anyway?
How come the words we say
Mean what they mean when we say them?
Do you like my songs the way I play them?
Good day Sam James
Good day for changing your name
— “Good Day Sam James” by Masheen Gun Kelly
Two years ago, I received a book from Sam James, as
he was then called, entitled A Cabalah Primer. The
Cabalah is the esoteric teachings of Jewish mysticism.
It included a note written with pencil on a torn piece of
paper. “This is the book that started The Wowz,” he
wrote. Now Sam James is back to Sam Grossman
and The Wowz, a folk-y rock n’ roll trio, live on.
“Hey, look ya’ll,” Sam said to me on a snowy day near
the New York Public Library, “The adoption of the name
Sam James was a satirical gesture.”
He would repeat the phrase “satirical gesture” three
times. A professor once said when something is re-
peated twice it is an accident, but three times and
something deeper is happening. In Holland, if you
sneeze twice you’re sick, three times and tomorrow
will be a sunny day. There are three members of The
Wowz. This year their third album will be released.
Three, clearly, is the magic number.
The Zohar, a major work in the Cabalah, posits that the
human soul has three elements: Nefesh, the animal
part, Ruach, the spiritual part, and Neshama, the higher
soul. This triad is not too dissimilar from the Christian
Trinity or Freud’s psychic apparatus.
Sam James is nefesh and neshama. Sam Grossman
in ruach. Sam James is Son and Holy Ghost. Sam
Grossman is Father. Sam James is id, Sam Grossman
ego and super ego. Sam James never looked me in the
eye, but Sam Grossman gives good eye contact. Sam
James talked at me. Sam Grossman talks to me. Sam
James is a character on stage. Sam Grossman recog-
nizes that he is performing. Sam James is hilarious.
Sam Grossman is charming. Sam James passionately
seeks women. Sam Grossman has women. Sam
Grossman is the name on the passport. Sam James is
the international man of mystery.
“I didn’t think I could pull it off and I didn’t really,”
photo by Herb Scher
Grossman said, articulate and slowly, “Maybe it’s too
easy to rest everything that’s strange about me on a
neurological condition, but I went a little nuts in 2006.
The circumstances I got myself into were such that I
must have been crazy. I want to explain that I have a
disease that makes me different.”
Grossman is patient and kind. Grossman was very able
to express the dichotomy between mysticism and neu-
rons. He is engaged in a battle with the devil – he em-
pathizes with Daniel Johnston, with whom he shares a
diagnosis – and sometimes his narrow brown eyes are
sharp and focused, but other times they seem to be
looking very far away.
“Your problem, Mr. James? You were born with a prob-
lem only the devil could solve,” wrote James on his
Myspace blog on September 19, 2006.
Around that same time Sam James talked to me about
what he called “the genius level.” He told me Johnny
Dydo, drummer for The Wowz has reached the genius
level. He told me Bob Dylan is past the genius level, a
prophet. He said both Maimonidies and Leadbelly are
at genius level and that black people in general have an
easier time achieving genius level.
As James, Grossman self-published at least three
books: one, a songbook of 51 songs inspired by the
Francis Child folk ballads, another is many pages list-
ing cryptic and invented email addresses, and the third
a book of writings called Name Games.
Name Games is a photocopied booklet, and like all
three of his books is copied on colored printer paper
and stapled in the corner. It is a poetic manifesto for
Sam James, but contains the official identification of
Sam Grossman on the cover as a photocopy of his
passport. The Sam Grossman of 2003, if the photo-
graph was taken when the passport was issued, has
long hair and a look of mild surprise. His name is Samuel
Thomas Grossman. He was born January 6, 1981 in
New York. The passport was issued in Connecticut
where he attended college at Yale.
The first line of Name Games is “Praised be the Lord,
Blessed be the Messiac: the Sam James Stoary.”
Throughout the poetic page of biblical declarations,
“story” is spelled in different ways and with different
capitalization, suggesting there are many stories. One
Sam James story begins in Europe.
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 8
To Simon Beins, guitarist, singer, and songwriter for
The Wowz, James was born on the April Fools Tour in
2006 when The Wowz toured with Huggabroomstik and
Horror Me, a solo performer from Berlin.
“He was a character that people really loved and latched
onto quickly and easily,” said Beins. “Sam James is
great. He’s a really fun and exciting guy on stage. Sam
James doesn’t exist so much anymore and I definitely
miss him a little bit, but everything has its own time.
Sam James’ time is up. He might be back. I don’t want
to speak for Sam James.
“I think Sam James was born in the public eye,” Beins
continued, “He has more [than Grossman] that he’s
willing to give publicly and show off publicly.”
Sam James was a performance. “Performances do not
end on stage,” Grossman admitted. “They go on to
parties, they go on the street, then on to other people’s
shows too. A performance artist really never stops.”
Sam James went to Europe.
Beins called the name change playful, “Like dressing
up in different costumes.”
While in Berlin, at the residence of Horror Me’s Heiko
Gabriel, Sam James recorded “The Sam James Med-
ley,” an improvised eleven-minute track of cover songs,
where many of the words are changed to “Sam James.”
page 9 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
Gabriel washed dishes while Sam James sang “James,
get back, James, Paul McCartney, James, James
Joyce, get back to where you once belonged” to the
Beatles tune “Get Back.” He taped “She’s got a ticket
to James” and “Hey James, don’t make it bad, take a
right wrong, and make it wronger.” He changed Dylan
songs too. “They’re selling postcards of the hanging,
but don’t James want to know.” And to Elvis he sang,
“Love James tender.” When Gabriel’s dishes crash in
the sink, James sang about broken dishes.
What is the meaning of all this? Is Sam James part of
the oral tradition? Is he revising the past to make room
for his own artistry? Being in Berlin, should he “get
back” to New York, “where he once belonged?” Ulti-
mately, is he taking a right song and making it wronger?
Or did he make it James-ier?
After tour, Neil Kelly of Huggabroomstik wrote a song
called “Good Day Sam James” with a verse that goes
““Good day Sam James / What’s on your head today?
Why wear a yarmulke / When you can just wear a
beret / Or a bleach blond toupee / You changed your
name / Give it up for Sam James.”
Grossman attributes the name change in part to anti-
semitism. “I wanted to highlight the extent to which a
kind of latent anti-Semitism plays a big part in the way
people view you,” he said. So he eliminated his Ger-
man Jewish surname when introducing himself, and
was accepted differently.
Johnny Dydo likened Grossman to Adam of the Bible
who named the animals.
The name Sam James symbolizes a season in the
artistic career of Grossman. He envisions himself as
having many names. Sam Grossman is college gener-
ated. Sam James is a taste from the British Isles. Sam
Grossman goes to the bank. Sam James is an under-
cover Zionist crusader. Neither one plays in The Wowz,
but both can be found there. According to Grossman,
S.T. Grossmark IV plays in The Wowz.
Looking back, Grossman said Sam James was not a
responsible thing to do. “With the name adoption came
a change in behavior. As a one time psychotic, I wanted
to make sure that was in the interview because I want
to be able to take responsibility for the weird things I’ve
done that may have upset other people.”
Sam James acted weird. Sam James talked more. Sam
James was more confrontational. Sam James had un-
reasonable confidence in his talent.
To Grossman, the Sam James story goes back a bit
further than Europe. He was hit by the magic of folk
song in the winter of 2005, when he became interested
in the ballads collected by Francis Child. Tjese songs
were considered to be the folk music canon, the inspi-
ration for Sam James’ songbook. Sam Grossman,
(once Sam James)
“I chose a folk singer name because I didn’t want to be
a folk singer, but I felt I needed to train in that idiom to The Wowz emphasize the importance of having differ-
achieve my real goal of being,” Grossman paused, “a ing points of view and the unique synthesis that occurs
rapper.” in the whole. “We can talk about the same thing with
All Wowz agree that their music has a lot in common different perspectives,” Dydo said.
with rap. In fact, according to Dydo, the new Wowz Dydo called Grossman the spiritual leader of the band
album is recorded with a hip-hop producer. and said his own thing “has to do with singing more
“We think of ourselves as the Wu-Tang Clan,” Grossman about prosaic problems. Every day is a new struggle”.
said. “We are about protest as much as we are about Grossman said Dydo plays with a hip-hop persona,
revelry. If we were really like Wu-Tang Clan, we could “who seems to be indignant, but is resigned like a beg-
be protest singers and ladies’ men,” Grossman said gar,” which he attributes to Dydo often being drunk on
and blew his nose in a napkin. stage. “He explodes with charisma and offsets the
Simon Beins said that rap and folk come together on eggheadedness of the rest of the group.”
the new record. “There’s a certain communal element When Grossman and Beins sing together they can
to what the Wu-TangClan does that’s also present in sound like The Everly Brothers or Simon and Garfunkel.
lots of folk music. There are some geographical differ- Grossman said that he and Beins are like synchro-
ences as well as style and façade, superficial differ- nized swimmers mirroring each other. When Dydo’s
ences, but there is a core that is similar,” he said. He coarse voice is added to the mix of the new record, the
cites specifically the way in which all three Wowz are result is deeper, more original, and resonates more in
involved in every song, a quality that is unique to the the streets.
new record. They often switch off singing verses, while Simon Beins is the rock, the ego mediating the ex-
coming together harmonically for the choruses. All three tremes of Johnny and Sam. Simon is the country boy,
also participate in the song writing process. “Bringing small town values” to the band, said Dydo.

Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 10

“I like country music most of the The electronic elements
three of us,” said Beins. “I’m from are subtle and seem like
a small town and Sam and little flourishes. At one
Johnny are from the big city. I’m point I think Beins voice
into polish. I love glossy stuff, is distorted, but the har-
not as a rule, I just love shiny monic acoustic Wowz
exterior. The new record is way are still alive in many
shinier than any other records songs. It’s nice to see
that we’ve made and I love that something completely
about this record. It makes me different like “John the
really happy because it’s as Red Rose,” which is
substantive as any music any- based on a traditional
one is making. I don’t think we’re Scottish folk song and
covering anything up with pol- Simon Beins adapted into a W.H.
ished production, or synthesiz- Auden poem. The song
ing sounds. I think it’s a great package that we’re giv- echoes with police radio sounds and rap parts.
ing to people.” And where is Sam James in this record? According to
Compared to the other records, Beins said, “This one Beins, the psychedelic waltz “Sun Point” was written
is more electronic, way more computer-oriented, with by Sam James on the April Fools Tour in Europe. In
synthesized and electronic sounds. I think it’s totally addition, in the song “H.O.T.,” Dydo sings, “They say
awesome. It’s the most important record of 2008.” that I’m no good / But I say I’m missed understood”
Grossman called the new album “Macintoshy. and all three voices go into the refrain “Sexually de-
pressed about the lack of James’.” James has another
“It’s smooth around the edges with human style curves,” overt reference in the song “James and Sons” which
he said. “It’s clean. Some songs sound like singles. goes, “James and Sons was a shameful business once
The album is painstakingly edited. It’s very short be- / But now what a proud industry it might be.”
cause we didn’t want to leave room for imperfections.
It’s a major work.” All three Wowz should be proud of their industrious-
ness. As far as the new album is concerned, it’s not a
bad idea.

page 11 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain

 Ultimate Truths for the Creative Soul
Mr. Rogers and The Return of Spring
by Jocelyn Mackenzie
On Monday, March 20, I woke up as usual in my little
sister's room. The lemon yellow walls and baby blue
ceiling with the fluffy clouds painted on it seemed dull
in the morning light. This morning, the rainbow of count-
less horseback riding ribbons my sister had won over
the years hanging from every available surface, were
not a reminder of her accomplishments, but a reminder
of the dreadful fact that I'm once again living with my
parents out of a room that's not even mine. It was not a
particularly gorgeous day. I lay in bed for a while listen-
ing, waiting for that final moment of sweet silence when
my mother would finally turn off the TV, gather her keys
up in a jingling swoop, and leave for work. That's the
moment my feet would finally be able to will themselves
out from under the snowman sheets and onto the blue
shag-carpeted floor to start my day, because they knew
they would have to cherish those few sacred minutes
of alone time before trudging onto the commuter bus
for the daily forty-five minute ride into the city.
On 3/20, however, my timing was off. I shuffled down
the stairs and, turning the corner, was greeted by my
mother's painfully cheerful smile.
"You're up early!"
"You're late for work."
"Oh no, just on my way!"
"Mph."I begrudgingly poured myself
a cup of coffee.
"You know," she said, pulling her
purse over her shoulder, "today is Na-
tional Sweater Day. You have to wear
a cardigan!"
"Okay..."
"I saw it on the news. It would have been Mr. Roger's
80th birthday today, so they called a National Sweater
Day to honor his memory. You know how he always
used to zip that cardigan up..."
But I had stopped listening. Immediately, giant tears
had formed in my eyes and started pouring down my
face. I couldn't stop crying. All I could think about was
Mr. Rogers. "Honey, what's the matter?" My poor mother
had no idea how to react. It's not rare for me to cry, but
this one came further out of left field than usual.
"It's just that..." I sniffled, trying to calm myself down
and actually figure out what it was that had incited this
profound and overwhelming reaction. I mean, the guy
had a TV show. He's been dead for five years. Really,
what was the matter?
"I just loved him so much." And that's exactly what it
was. I hadn't thought about him in years, but suddenly
it became very real that the impact this man had on my
life had gone deeper than I'd ever known. I used to watch
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood every single day when I was
a little girl, and every day, his reassuring smile and
soothing tone made my young self know that every-
thing was right in the world.
But it wasn't just the fact that his neighborhood was
perfect and magical and colorful, like a kiddie-land drug
trip. He was so encouraging. There was nothing you
couldn't accomplish with Mr. Rogers on your side. "What
do you want to be when you grow up?" he would ask,
then take you on a field trip and introduce you to some-
one who did something amazing, like a ballerina or a
concert pianist or a crayon factory worker. He would
ask them how it was that they came to
do what they did; he narrowed down ex-
actly what steps they took to get to
where they are. Fred Rogers didn't just
encourage you to dream, he showed you
that there are concrete ways that you
can make your dreams real. He lived
and breathed positive reinforcement,
persistence, and courage.
He was also a firm believer in express-
ing feelings through art and music. In
his neighborhood here was nothing you couldn't talk
about, and if you couldn't find a way to say it in words,
you could draw a picture or sing a song or do a dance
to show on the outside what was going on inside. There
was no feeling you could have had that should shame
you; you could be confident knowing that he would lis-
ten and would never judge. This message helped mold
me into the songwriter I've become. And only now, as
I'm writing this, am I realizing that one of his favorite
mantras, "I like you just the way you are," has sur-
faced as a lyric I'd written for my band Pearl and the
Beard's song "Oh, Death." It was the first song we'd
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 12
ever written together as a band. My band-mate Jeremy
Styles had written the verses and didn't quite know where
to go with it. Very naturally, the chorus was born, which
repeats, "I love you the way you are, the way you've
always been." Fred Rogers wrote that line, not me.
And yes, looking back on it, there were a lot of not-so-
subtle Christian messages imbued in many of the epi-
sodes that my young-woman-not-so-Christian self would
be skeptical about showing to my toddler self for fear of
blurring the line between what's appropriate to say on
public television and what is not. But in the long run,
Fred Rogers, an ordained Presbyterian minister, did
not preach to children to love Christ. He preached to
children to love themselves and to be good to one an-
other and to be thankful and patient and kind. All of
these things can be perceived as Christian values, but
coming from that man, with those gentle eyes that al-
ways looked right into yours from his place on the
screen, they were human values.
I thought about Mr. Rogers all that day. I sent text mes-
sages telling friends to put their cardigans on and zip
them up tight. I posted two Myspace bulletins with a
link to a video of his farewell after the final episode aired.
Maybe I went a little overboard, but it was something I
Looking for a historic issue of Urban Folks? Go online!
scribd.com
(search for Urban Folk)
page 13 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
(ask for Babs)
had to do. The man that had reached out to so many
young people deserved to be remembered. When Mr.
Rogers died, I was a student in college. I was clearly
very very busy doing very very important things (most
of which were time-consuming distractions from what
is really important to me {which is music}). But now, I
am a musician; all I've ever wanted to be. And although
I'm a musician with a day job who lives with her parents
because she can't afford to pay rent, I'm finally a musi-
cian nonetheless. Suddenly I became very grateful for
my seemingly stifling circumstances and realized that
they are actually very valuable resources and steps I
have to take right now towards living out my dream.
And I may not know exactly where that dream may
take me quite yet, but I do know that Mr. Rogers is one
of the people that helped me get there.
On Monday, March 20, I had a rebirth in self-confidence
and faith that my dream can become real, and a resur-
gence of gratitude for all of the people and circumstances
that have already taken me this far. How fitting that the
anniversary of Mr. Rogers' birth happened to land on
the first day of Spring this year. That night I lay under
the snowman sheets in my sister's sunny yellow room,
looking forward to the morning, and humming to my-
self, "It's such a good feeling to know you're alive..."
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 14
 OJ All Day!
what to expect at the festival to start all festivals

While touring as a musician in Europe Matt Roth found himself playing in small club nights and
music festivals, often put on by record labels to promote their artists. Back home, as the driving
force behind Olive Juice Music, Roth had already been running a record label, music distribution
company, recording studio, and web community for songwriters. In 2007, inspired by the EU, he
decided to add music presenter to Olive Juice’s repertoire and kicked off the first annual OJ All Day
festival at Cake Shop. More than 20 artists played and hundreds of people attended.
This year the festival expands to a second day and includes more than 30 acts, plus a craft sale, free
clothing and book exchange, and a bricks and mortar Olive Juice Store. Artists on the bill include
Jeffrey Lewis; folk-punk pioneer Roger Manning; Schwervon! (Roth’s duo with Nan Turner) and a
broad range of performers from the community that has gravitated around Olive Juice. The festival
will be presented Saturday and Sunday, May 24th and 25th at Cake Shop, 152 Ludlow Street on the
Lower East Side. “Last year’s fest was more successful than I ever could have imagined,” Roth
said. “We set the bar high for ourselves. There’s a kind of energy that surrounds a music festival. I
think it even elevated the performance levels of a lot of the acts that participated, and the positive
response was especially rewarding because so many people who played in the festival lent their
talents to putting it on.
Olive Juice Music was started in 1999 by Roth and Tom Nishioka as a web site and record label.
Stemming out of the scene at Sidewalk Café, Olive Juice expanded into a collective of artists, with
group meetings and members who paid dues. After finding that the collective format was hindering
the ability to get things done, the group eventually coalesced under Roth’s leadership and has grown
to provide a structure and support for a wide group of artists who value an independent approach to
creating, promoting, and distributing their work but remain tied to the spirit of mutual support that still
guides Olive Juice. “The phrase ‘inde-
pendent’ music suddenly seems too in-
dividualistic and disconnected,” says
Jeffrey Lewis, whose critically ac-
claimed new album 12 Crass Songs
(Rough Trade Records) was made at
Olive Juice’s recording studio. “OJ is
communal, locally-grown, supportive,
and not at all like most ‘indie’ labels
which are nowadays just smaller ver-
sions of major labels.”
The OJ All Day festival is a good op-
portunity to get a taste of Olive Juice.
More information is available at
2008.ojallday.com and a full schedule
with artist bios follows...

page 15 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain

 Day 1
Upstairs
1:30 pm Liv Carrow
This young lady’s songs are like the little animals that
your 4-year-old nieces and nephews make out of play-
doh; lumpy yet distinguishable in form, and rudimen-
tary to the point of psychedelic complexity.
2:30 pm A Brief View of the Hudson
“Perhaps it was fate, perhaps not, but from that day
forward whenever I take the train home and it goes above
ground between 125th Street and 137th Street I look to
the west and between the buildings and behind the high-
way, right before we disappear underground once more,
I see A Brief View of the Hudson.”
3:30 pm American Anymen
OJ All Day will host the first American Anymen show in
almost 2 years. This time they’re taking out the old
sampler and playing the songs they like best.
4:30 pm Randi Russo
Her fingers ride and glide the rails of strings of a right-
handed guitar played upside-down and backwards. Her
haunting voice reminds one of a modern-day Patti Smith.
5:30 pm Phoebe Kreutz
With smarty-pants lyrics atop dubious guitar stylings,
Phoebe Kreutz makes you chuckle until you realize
that she’s totally dead serious about all this nonsense.
The New York Times called her “genuinely funny,”, o
that’s pretty cool.
6:30 pm Lisa Lilund
She was born in the Jungle of Bolivia, raised by mon-
keys. That is why she doesn’t have what they call very
good manners. She lives and dreams in Paris now.
7:30 pm Dave End
This acoustic D.I.Y. troubador writes queer cupcake
loving honesty pop and can be found wearing costumes
in a living room near you. Listening to Dave End’s mu-
sic is like giving your younger self a hug.
8:30 pm Prewar Yardsale
This old school AF duo play a bucket and a tincan and
a guitar with a fuzzbox and a flute and a tamborine.
They sing songs that they write in bed at night after
their son goes to sleep.
9:30 pm Toby Goodshank
The soft-spoken, enigmatic Goodshank made his high-
profile debut playing acoustic guitar in The Moldy
Peaches (Rough Trade). In a relatively short amount of
time, he has become a crucial voice in the underground
NYC music scene, with unconventional song-structures
and surreal lyrics supported by an uncommonly pro-
fessional approach to his craft.
10:30 pm The Babyskins
Formed at the end of 2001, collaborators Crystal
Madrilejos and Angela Carlucci take the stage sharing
guitar and xylophone duties while weaving in and out of
haunting vocal harmonies. Their acoustic folk songs
deal mainly with the trials and tribulations of that won-
derful but also very wretched thing called love.
Downstairs
1:00 pm The Leader
A fancy lady plucking a see-through bass guitar. A debo-
nair gentleman smashing a 40’s era drum kit. Beautiful
to the eyes and ears, The Leader rock out with the
dynamic grace of two sonic gymnasts (in formal attire,
no less).
2:00 pm The Wowz
The WoWz are a three-piece miscellaneous band from
New York City who play weird folk music. They comb
(and combine) the eternal dolor of Hank Williams Sr.
with the perverse humor of David Berman and the im-
probable harmonies of Beatles For Sale.
3:00 pm Huggabroomstik
Intended to be a response to what was supposed to be
the New York rock ‘n’ roll renaissance of the early 21st
century., they have evolved into a full on lo-fi psyche-
delic pop noise collective with an ever evolving line up
of supporting characters including, basically, anyone
who shows up to practice.
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 16
4:00 pm Double Fantasy
Double Fantasy began as Babs and Nellie. They met
as members of Guitar Situations and soon discovered
they liked each other’s lo-fi-ish songs a lot. They’ve
often been compared with clocks, lumps, church la-
dies and wet spaghetti, and occasionally dead people.
5:00 pm Purple Organ
The man behind he organ states his first musical expe-
rience as, “Mommies songs, as I suckled. On the
beaches of California, a strange percussive form of gui-
tar playing was born from a combination of marijuana
smoke, a lust for life and an extended
period living out of a Toyota Camry.” The
Purple Organ is the byproduct of one
man’s ever evolving musical journey.
6:00 pm Art Sorority for Girls
Daoud Tyler-Ameen grew up on the lower
east side of Manhattan. His songwriting
career began in high school with a string
of extra-credit projects about literary char-
acters and the life cycles of plants. Art
Sorority for Girls is a collection of story-
songs about the awful messes kids can get themselves
into.
7:00 pm The Faggots
The Faggots are the brainchild of queer songwriter Dan
Fishback, who was getting sick of being called “cute”
& “spunky” by music reviewers and himself. The Fag-
gots play rock music inspired by the great girl bands of
the 90s — The Breeders, Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, That
Dog, Sleater Kinney… the list goes on.
8:00 pm The Lisps
They write songs about science and love, space and
pain, babies and documents. Their performances have
been known to involve bloody tambourines, wrestling,
lipstick-smeared melodicas, tap shoes, old kitchen
cabinets and dinosaurs.
9:00 pm Dream Bitches
dream bitches (pl. n): Yoko Kikuchi and Ann Zakaluk
(oftentimes with an extended family) tinker with the
boundaries of what it means to be friends, take trips,
have boyfriends and lead parallel lives, while dreaming
up a landscape of densely crafted lyrics, rock guitars,
and smart harmonies.
10:00 pm Paleface
Featuring Paleface himself and drummer Monica “Mo”
Samalot, they’ve been charming audiences all over the
US with their fun-lovin’ tunes and soulful energy. Pale-
face started writing songs after spending some time in
NYC with friend Daniel Johnston.
page 17 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
11:00 pm Schwervon!
Nan & Matt met and fell in love amidst the fertile gut-
ters of NYC. They have been likened to both Sonny &
Cher and the Pixies, and are DIY to the hilt, mixing and
recording the bulk of their records in their cramped Lower
East Side apartment - which they have converted into
a center for underground music production and online
distribution called Olive Juice Music.
11:59 pm Roger Manning
A true antifolk pioneer: the first Roger Manning album
was mostly recorded on a 4 track cassette machine
and released in 1989 by California
punk recording label SST (Black Flag,
Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr.). He has
been described as: Led Zeppelin
meets Joni Mitchell meets Sonic
Youth meets Public Enemy meets the
Clash meets Woody Guthrie meets
Big Audio Dynamite.
Day 2
Upstairs
2:30 pm Major Matt Mason USA
Major Matt Mason USA has been making music since
the late 80’s. Major Matt has evolved from recording by
boombox to a catalog of five full length albums. The
DIY spirit is a big part of Matt’s art and lifestyle as he
continues to carve out a niche for truly modern Ameri-
can Folk music.
3:00 pm Elizabeth Devlin
Elizabeth Devlin invokes influences from scratchy Ameri-
can phonographs and love-lived, combining bitter-sweet,
haunting vocals with angelic, cacophonous Autoharp
melodies.
3:30 pm Dan Costello
Dan Costello is a Brooklyn songwriter and performer
who also records, works as a sound engineer, and will
do pretty much anything for a fair price. Is there work
out there for a beard model? He co-runs The Brooklyn
Tea Party, a live/work space in the heart of Bushwick’s
far-out scene.
4:00 pm Preston Spurlock
Preston has been making lo-fi bedroom recordings of
his nervous, oddball songs on a Casio SK1 for eight
years. Besides performing solo, Preston is also a per-
manent member of the groups Huggabroomstik, Elas-
tic No-No Band, Don’t Enroll In Public School, Mango
Glaze, and Old Hat.

4:30 pm Erin Regan
“As inauspicious as the night began, Erin Regan turned
everything around in a matter of seconds. Her stage
persona may say stay the hell away from me, but her
bleak, outsider chronicles are welcoming and inclusive,
and will resonate hard with any other cool kids who’ve
been liberated (or long to be liberated) from a stifling
environment.” (Lucid Culture)
5:00 pm Brook Pridemore
If you haven’t seen Brook Pridemore in more than a
week, he’s probably on tour. Brook played two hundred
and one shows in 2007, and is on the fast track to
break that record in 2008. Brook is hard at work writing
“A Brighter Light,” his fourth album, which promises to
“whup the ram’s ass with a belt.”
5:30 pm Dibs
Dibs is playing guitar. He is looking down at the guitar,
in order to play it. He will be looking down for hours of
the festival, during performances by Huggabroomstik
and The Faggots, but not during Art Soror-
ity For Girls, because he will be banging on
drums. Besides music-making, Dibs tends
to play around with computers.
6:00 pm The Best
A princess of all things tiny and home-made,
The Best sings catchy, riot-grrl, anti-folk uke-
pop with child-like wonder and ancient wis-
dom. Known to the legitimate world as Betsy
Cohen.
6:30 pm Jeffrey Lewis
Jeffrey Lewis was raised in New York City
and is a maker of comic books, tragi-comic
folk narratives, and lysergic garage rock. Live
shows also incorporate “low budget videos,”
Jeff’s large illustrations displayed to accompany cer-
tain songs. His most recent album Jeffrey Lewis: 12
Crass Songs, is a collection of songs by the legendary
anarchist punk band Crass, reworked by Jeffrey into
glorious folk, rock, psychedelic, orchestral and
electronica productions which dazzle the ear while los-
ing none of the political power of the originals.
Downstairs
Olive Juice Music Distro Brick & Mortar For A Day
A rare chance to purchase all your favorite OJ distro
items in person with no shipping fees.
OJ Artists Craft Sale
There’s a lot more than just music making going on in
this community, mini Cakeshop used records sale too.
OJ Free Clothing and Book Exchange
Bring some! Take some!
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 18
 Urban Jokes
future publications to consider?
As we at Urban Folk transition away from a quarterly publication, we’ve been brainstorming other projects to be
involved in. Some of them are brilliant. Then there were other ideas...

Verbin’ Folk Turban Folk

“I am active.I think, I speak, and I act... ”

“...I am passive. Actions

happen to me. I allow the
world to act upon me. ”

Passive, aggressive or neither? See page 19... December’s dastaar!

H
e
r
Urban Toke
Play the
b piano…

F …in ten
o short
l years!
k
It’s 4:20. Do you know
s where your munchies are?
!
page 19 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
 Spandrel Monger
by JJ Hayes
It is all about the unknown. As our knowledge grows,
we find less to be new. Those with the greatest experi-
ence among us state that such and such is not new;
it’s been done before. But it is new to us, we who are
less well versed. And then what was old, what has been
done before, becomes new to us. But what is new is
what was once unknown. And if it contains within it
enough of the unknown-to-us, it may prove fascinating.
It is all about the unknown. The pleasure I derive from
any work of art seems to be that it either hits dead on
an experience I already know, or communicates an
experience I haven’t had. But even the former is about
the unknown. My experience is not new, but hearing it
told perfectly is new. I either did not know that another
human had such an experience, or could appreciate
such an experience, or could possibly communicate it
so well. The experience is old but the telling is new.
The new is the unknown being made manifest. We did
not know it was unknown until such time as it was
revealed. The unknown being made known is the new.
Some of us strive mightily to make something new,
only to be told that it is not new at all, that we are not
fully conversant with the world of arts and letters to
really see something for what it is. But such a view
conflates the individual critic’s personal knowledge with
a collective knowledge. It declares as objective and
eternal that which is contingent upon the accidents of
space, time, technology, industry and the critic’s ex-
perience. It declares that the first to be recorded and
known was in fact what is new. It leads in its worst
manifestations to a rejection of what seems superfi-
cially old, accompanied by a failure to hear what is
actually new.
The converse is the artist who insists on the objective
newness and worth of their art and narcissistically re-
fuses to acknowledge that what is new to them is not
necessarily new to others. Having bought into the no-
tion that the new is important, they search through the
limited range of what they have been told or personally
know, and try to produce something, only to run up
against hearers who say it has all been done before.
The ability to produce something heralded as truly and
objectively new, as a conscious and intentional act is
predicated on knowing what is known in the field. But
then the quest becomes driven by the need for the rec-
ognition of its newness, of its revolutionary character
against a standard set by others. More profoundly even
if the need or desire for recognition and compensation
are not present, still the independence of the quest is
compromised by what others have declared to be known.
It is not a free and independent quest unless the artist
is seeking what is new to the artist (but then there is
no distinction between artists who think they do some-
thing totally new with artists who, in fact, do). Both are
looking for something that is new to them individually.
But then the artist who mines the old, revisits it, works
with it as it is new to them, is also an explorer of the
same order.
What then is the difference between an artist seeking
to be new to the rest of the world and an artist seeking
purely commercial gain? It seems these motivations
threaten to obscure the truth that may be available to
the artist, alone which could be new to the rest of us. It
is precisely what is known to the artist (and therefore
considered unworthy of attention or even boring to them-
selves), which may be unknown to others. That which
is commonplace – personal ways of thought and phras-
ing and sense of sound and vision – may be unknown
to us, the recipients, until the artist is willing to share
that work.
Artists are humans with a set of spandrels and maybe
they are spandrels. A spandrel is an ornament on me-
dieval architecture that seems to serve no useful pur-
pose. The term was adopted by Stephen Jay Gould for
a feature, a mutation which appears for whatever rea-
son and may or may not be useful now but when cir-
cumstances change give the species with a particular
spandrel an advantage. Or it may be a hindrance. By
its nature, a spandrel is something whose origin is not
within the control of its possessor. It has been given, it
has arisen, it is what it is. Why these spandrels? What
will happen with these spandrels?
The artist has to play, as Debe Dalton notes, and when
such a deep seated spandrel as having to play, to write,
to make art is unsupported by the surrounding popula-
tion near and far, family, friend and stranger, perhaps
the artist just wants to be normal for a minute. To be
normal, the artist may seek those possessed of simi-
lar spandrels.
The aforementioned Stephen Jay Gould was one of the
authors of the concept of punctuated equilibrium. At
the margins of any species arises a much smaller popu-
lation, perhaps a spandrel-bearing population, that in
short order replaces the existing species in a given
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 20
environment. Evolution does not progress gradually.
There is a sudden change and then a period of equilib-
rium. But you are never going to know at a given time if
the smaller population you inhabit, with its own pecu-
liar set of spandrels, will be the group that sweeps aside
the old way of looking at things, or will simply continue
to exist at the margins or even be eradicated. Such is
the world of music I guess; one never knows.
All our conversations are about the unknown. You men-
tion something, I mention something; you reveal some-
thing unknown to me, I reveal something unknown to
you – even if it is only the fact that someone else has
had the same experience.
We desire to be heard. We seek audience. So there is
the unknown of receptivity. We want a lot of willing re-
cipients, but sometimes we only find a few. We want
perhaps the hall crowded with 3,000 simultaneous re-
cipients rather than a hundred different venues with an
average of 30 (if we can get even that). We can find out
what enough people want and give it to them, but then
we are not being heard. There are spandrels of recep-
tivity as well as spandrels of creativity. And all of that is
really unknown as well, until the artist finds new fans
willing to reveal themselves.
page 21 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
It is the unknown revealing itself to the unknown. In-
deed, the artist searching and exploring is revealing
something unknown about themselves to themselves,
and then that self-communication becomes a commu-
nication to others. So the artist must first be receptive
to herself or himself and then send the words, music or
images outside themselves where the offer will be ac-
cepted or rejected. When a hearer communicates in
return that something new has been revealed, that is
the unknown, the-will-someone-like-it of existence,
making itself known.
So the origin of all this is unknown. Where it ends or
whether it is going anywhere is unknown. The offer is
an offer of the unknown to the unknown, which unknown
then responds with its own offer of the unknown –
namely the acceptance or rejection of the unknown
made known. And the artist may accept or reject that
unknown-made-known.
And so the mystery of origin and end, of history and
transcendence, of offer and acceptance; of knowledge
and love really goes on at every open mic, at every
performance of every show.
Maybe it’s the same with the art of living.
Hey, maybe it’s the same with everything.
 Get in the minivan
The Worst Party that I’ve Ever Seen (Boise, ID)
by Brook Pridemore
We left Missoula at a leisurely pace, not realizing that
we were in for 7+ hours of intense, winding mountain
driving across the peaks of central Idaho. I’d been
through that terrain before, and my impression of Idaho
will always be potatoes, meth and an endless vista of
flat, flat great plain farmland. For reasons I can’t re-
member, I insisted on doing all of the driving, and thus
pulled into Boise a shivering, rubbery mess.
Like Dick Van Dyke in an endless loop of the intro to
his own show, I stumbled around the Myrtle Morgue,
never quite getting a foothold on my surroundings. I
had joked on the way in that I hoped Doug Martsch
would come to the show; we could catch up on old
times, but the Built to Spill mastermind was nowhere
to be seen. Well, he’s probably holed up in Twin Falls,
smoking weed and noodling along to Neil Young
records. There were a LOT of people in the small back-
yard for a Wednesday night. I thought to myself that
either the weekend starts super early around Boise or
we had a massive, pre-existing following in South Idaho.
It turned out to be the former. What appeared at first to
be a decent, pretty rollicking party was in reality mostly
a bunch of drunk meatheads who didn’t give two shits
about the local punk bands, and didn’t give ONE shit
about the out-of-towners who’d traveled most of the way
across the country to play for them.
I try never to carry an air of entitlement. I don’t expect
or ask anyone who does a show for me to roll out a red
carpet. I have never once in the last four years asked
any audience to “be respectful.” If you think that your
goddamn punk rock band should be treated like rock
and roll royalty, then you’re in the wrong business and
I don’t have any time for you.
But I DO think people should have some appreciation
for a couple of punks who drive hours and hours across
unfamiliar territory to share their warmth and ideas.
When you consider the price of gas alone, the traveling
wingnuts are not exactly in a seller’s market. Pat the
Bunny (my latest travel companion) has joked more
than once on this trip that he can’t wait for the day
when gas is so expensive that we have to tour on horse-
back: that then, finally, the poseurs will finally be sepa-
rated from the real road dogs.
I was instead confronted largely with indifference when
I opened my guitar bag. Wendy and Luke, the two who
seemed most in charge of the show, hollered multiple
photo by Lauren Terrilli
times into a megaphone that I was about to play. After
a few minutes of loud apathy from the drunks, I went
ahead and started playing to the handful of kids who
gave a damn about the songs. After I made enough
noise, twenty or so kids (out of the easy hundred in
attendance) filtered over and watched politely/indiffer-
ently. I was fed a couple of sweet compliments from
kids who’d watched, but I couldn’t shake the feeling
that I’d wasted my time preaching to the inconvertible.
Pat’s set did not go much different. Having played snare
drum for most of his sets on this tour, I’ve become ac-
customed to the typical polite enthusiasm for my songs
(which most people are not familiar with) transforming
into frenzy when Pat starts (more people having a past
history with his music). In Boise, however, even Pat’s
songs ended with a rustle of clapping from the small
crowd, something akin to crickets, or the clinking of
martini stems in a glass tender.
Somewhere in there, someone had promised us that
there was keg beer being sold, and we’d get the money
from those sales. When that came up in conversation
after the show, Dan was told there was no money, and
he then went around trying to scavenge up some change
for gas, with little luck. So: We had driven hundreds of
miles across uneasy terrain and out of our way to play
our songs for alcoholics who couldn’t care less about
our music, let alone our message; and we couldn’t
scrounge a tank of gas out of them.
To be fair, Pat and I both received several apologetic/
thankful emails from kids who cared. A lot of words
about how Boise needed us to come there, that our
show really brought the community together. Those kind
words are more important to me than the lost CD sales
or tanks of gas. When I can clearly see that I’ve af-
fected a younger punk, I feel like I’ve won.
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 22
But this talk about community leads me to my ulti-
mate dilemma about Boise. What do you do when your
community – because like it or not, any time you go to
a place and play a show, that place is your community,
at least for the day - largely has its eyes and ears
closed? Someone whose idea of anarchism is constant,
belligerent drunkenness is just as hard to reach as
someone who’s been brainwashed into a cult. When
Pat and I talked about Boise on the way to the next
show, he suggested a paradox: some people’s idea of
anarchism is to subvert the system through commu-
nity development, the sharing of ideas, and inclusive-
ness; other people’s idea of anarchism is to subvert
the system by alienating everyone possible.
I wish I had an answer. Even before I quit drinking, I’d
resented the fact that people use punk shows as a
springboard for alcoholic idiocy, but any action I’ve ever
tried to deter that stupidity has made me feel like an
old man, watering my lawn in my underwear, yelling at
passing cars to slow down. I have toyed with the idea
of asking bookers to announce shows as dry until after
music’s over, but I desperately don’t want to seem ho-
lier than thou. I’m sorry to leave this one open ended,
but all I know how to do from here is keep moving, and
keep seeking out the kids who actually care.

Costello’s
by Jonathan Berger
Web
There are a variety of old school AntiFolk chicks that I used to stalk, but then they left town or set up restraining
orders, and I lost touch. Luckily, with this newfangled tool, the internetz, I’ve been able to track down some of the
lovely ladies of my past. web). There are some obvious attacks on the
Brenda Kahn right from the left with a pretty twangy – almost
Brenda Kahn’s the reason I got into this ironically so – voice. I’m not loving the track,
whole AntiFolk business. It was trying to but any jibe against a political party is worth a
follow her around when I discovered the little support.
Fort... and everything changed. Now she’s The other track is better. “Forty Cent Raise,”
living in PA with a passel of kids and a featuring vocals from John Doe, speaks to pov-
real estate license, and I never get to hear erty level employment, where there is such a
her anymore. But: what’s this? She’s got a site up? thing as a forty cent raise. It was about fifty years ago
She’s got some songs there for downloading? She that the Pajama Game’s “Seven and a Half Cents” spoke
wants some money for them but she doesn’t police it to the same point. The song makes me ache for
in any way to make me cough up the dough? I’m in America, much more than the “Jesus” song. It’s good
heaven. Her MySpace page has some other songs, to hear Cindy Lee back in the saddle. Maybe she’ll get
but I think my favorite is “Regular Job.” Kahn’s style to tour for the new Beloved Stranger album, and I won’t
remains literate; she rhymes “statistic” and “ballistic” have to go online to listen to her stuff.
while she addresses issues of growing up, and grow- myspace.com/mscindyleeberryhill
ing out of her early dreams. These are home demos, I
believe, created entirely by Ms. Kahn herself. I’m glad Casey Scott
to have them. I go to this page a bunch.
I kind of loved Casey Scott for a little while. She was a
brendakahn.com/music.htm nutjob, but her performances could be electric, and her
songwriting was distinct. Even when singing a love song,
Cindy Lee Berryhill she was acerbic and edgy, the very height of AntiFolk
The original first lady of AntiFolk, the chick who inspired artistry. When she moved back to Portland, Scott cre-
a hundred Kirk Kelly songs, is now a mother in SoCal. ated Red Venus Love Army, “12-piece soulful rock or-
She’s also reinvented herself as an anti-country artist, chestra.” The three tracks up on MySpace have been
taking the same violent stand against the C&W format all I’ve had of them for a while, and… currently they’re
she once had against West Village folk. There are two gone. Why am I mentioning them, then? You should
songs from her new album on MySpace. One is the look for Casey Scott however you can. If you ever get
well-distributed, arrhythmic “When Did Jesus Become the chance to hear Red Venus Love Army, do so. “400
a Republican?” It’s been all over Neil Young’s Living Stars” is a standout.
With War site, and blog pages all over the world (wide myspace.com/redvenuslovearmy

page 23 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain

 On
by Somer Bingham
Open Mics
When I first set out to cover the open mic scene in New York, I expected to hit every open mic I could find, give
a brief summary of each, and recommend each reader a perfect open mic based on skill level, genre, format and
whatever other categories emerged based on the fruits of my quest. Some of the open mics I planned to review
are now defunct (with good reason, I think) and some of them have yet to receive a visit from me. I still have
boundless hope for the next installment in a future issue of Urban Folk, assuming the editor doesn’t fire me, or
give up publication like a big fat quitter. I am not afraid of you, Mr. Berger.
Bar 4
444 7th Avenue at 15th Street
Park Slope, Brooklyn
Tuesday at 8:30pm / Sign-up at 6pm
Free
The sign-up is listed at 8pm, but in reality if you don’t
make it early for the “pre-sign-up list,” you’ll be playing
late into the A.M. Of course, the benefit to playing late
is that you’ll get to hear all the other songwriters that
frequent this very popular Park Slope open mic, many
of whom have already gotten booked to play shows at
this and other Local Correspondents venues. For those
those of you who don’t know, the LC are a community
of musicians, based in Brooklyn who run the open mics
at Bar 4 and Matchless and also book a monthly show-
case at Rockwood Music Hall. Some of their bookings
are done from the open mics, so for those looking to
break into those venues, come ready to impress.
The first time I played this open mic, I sauntered in
around 9pm, apologetically asking if there was any room
left on the list for a time-insensitive musician like my-
self. Tanya Buziak, a Local Correspondent who man-
ages the list, kindly added me to the end of the sign-up
sheet, which put me somewhere around the late 30s. I
settled into a corner and had a glass of wine, glad to
pay my open mic dues and patiently listen to what this
group of artists had to offer. Like any open mic, the
skill and experience levels fall on a bell curve, with a
few beginners, a lot of average to good acts, and the
occasional melt-your-face-off talent. With so many acts
playing two songs each, the night tends to blend to-
gether (or maybe that was just the wine kicking in?)
especially since the “sound” of many of the artists is
so similar.
I was a little tipsy when I finally made it onto the stage
around 2:30am, but there were still about 15 to 20 people
hanging out so I didn’t have to play to the walls, the
bartender, and the soundman – who, by the way, was
very attentive and eager to make the room sound good
for each act. There are even a few non-musicians hanging
out in the crowd, which is a huge benefit to those who
impress the audience and happen to carry around their
email lists or have CDs to sell.
My only criticism comes as a result of the second time
I played the night; though I rushed over from my day
job and hit the pre-sign-up list at about 7:15pm, I still
had to wait ‘til 2:30 to finally play. A little frustrating, but
perhaps this is due to the popularity of the open mic.
The bartender mentioned that people were lined up at
the doors when he opened at 6pm…and that would be
my recommendation for those who like to be in bed
before midnight. Also good to know: if there are a lot of
musicians on the list, the night will switch to a one-
song format, at the discretion of Ms. Buziak, and then
back to two songs to finish up the night. Be mentally
prepared in case you are one of the unlucky ones! This
does help to speed up the night, however, and prevent
it from ending at sunrise.
Summary: Excellent vibe and atmosphere, but arrive
around 6pm to make it on early enough to show off
your skills to the other talented singer-songwriters.
Bar Matchless
557 Manhattan Avenue at Driggs
Greenpoint, Brooklyn
Sunday at 9pm / Sign-up at 6:30pm
Free
Another Local Correspondents event, this one is a little
less popular than the Bar 4 night, but with many of the
same musicians. The stage is quite awesome; how-
ever, it’s separated from the rest of the club, so your
audience consists entirely of other musicians. Tanya
Buziak also manages this open mic but after sign-up
she moved to the bar and allowed the soundman to
take over the rest of the night. Since the sign-up list
includes a line for email addresses, I assume that a
talented performer who catches the ear of the soundman
might get contacted for a show, but this is just specu-
lation.
Again, I came in late, but there was plenty of room and
I was on the stage before midnight. About 25 people
came to play. One of the soundmen mentioned that
the open mic gets very crowded in the summer, when
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 24
the back wall garage door comes up and the crowd
can spill into the smoking area and out onto the street.
Passers-by even stop to check out what’s going on.
I’m looking forward to checking out the scene when the
weather is a bit warmer, but of course that means that
if you want to play early, you’ll probably have to be
there as soon as the sign-up list drops.
Bar Matchless is one of the coolest bars I’ve been to; it
was converted from a motorcycle garage, which ex-
plains the back wall garage door of the venue. There is
a long bar in the front, foosball, pool, a quieter back
room, and booths. The venue area has a couple of
couches and chairs, and it doesn’t feel too empty even
when there aren’t people in the audience. From my
limited experience, this seems to be a better venue for
those who are just starting out and don’t want to wait
at the end of the longer lines at some of the more popu-
lar open mics.
Summary: Great stage, especially for a newcomer look-
ing to hone skills – at least while it’s colder and the list
is shorter – and play on a very nice, roomy stage in
front of other musicians. Look to the summer for more
of a scene.
newcomers should know that every act will get to play,
as long as they can tough out the wait. At around ten
the format switches from 2 songs / 8 minutes to 1 song
/ 4 minutes per performer, which helps move the night
along and give hope to those who are concerned with
the wait. But waiting shouldn’t be considered a hellish
endeavor; the other performers are sure to keep you
entertained. During the first night I attended, the genres
ranged from psychedelic folk rock to dark piano pop,
from blues to antifolk (this writer considers antifolk to
be both a genre and a subculture. The genre is acous-
tic punk, often politically minded, while the subculture,
based at Sidewalk, promotes the values of good
songwriting with a focus on melody. I know you’re go-
ing to take this out, Jon Berger, but I don’t want to
confuse anyone with my ramblings). Experience level
was varied, but keep in mind that many of the acts that

Sidewalk Cafe
94 Avenue at East 6th Street
Mondays at 8pm / Sign-up at 7:30pm
Free admission / Two drink minimum
You probably don’t need me to tell you about the long-
est running open mic in New York City, where acts like
Regina Spektor, The Moldy Peaches, and Nellie
MacKay, have graced the stage. If you’re reading this,
you might even be sitting at it.
Founded and run by Lach, who also coined the term
“antifolk,” this is one of the most popular open mics in
the city and fosters a creative and often welcoming
singer-songwriter scene often until 3am. I was quite
intimidated by the open mic’s reputation for talent –
one posting on openmikes.org claimed that the first 20
acts are “usually so good you may decide to head home
and work at it some more” – so I put off playing for
months before finally showing up.
Sign-up is by lottery, which has its drawbacks and
merits; I’ve seen as many as 80 on the list, but the
page 25 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
play are promoting a show while a many of the rest are
playing to try to get booked, so complete beginners
were a rarer breed.
The audience almost entirely consists of other singer-
songwriters, making this less of an opportune place to
draw a larger fan base – though you will see email lists
passed around and also receive multiple fliers for shows.
The sound is generally quite good, though it can be a
little loud at times. When the weather is warm, the
crowd spills into the street where some musicians even
play impromptu shows.
Summary: Might be frustrating for a beginner; best for
those who are looking to get booked and/or benefit
from networking, collaborating or being influenced by
the other singer-songwriters who hang out in and around
the venue throughout the night.
Vox Pop
1022 Cortelyou Road at Coney Island Avenue
Brooklyn, NY
Sundays at 7pm
2 drink or snack minimum
No doubt this open mic is worth the hike out to south
Brooklyn via the Q train. Sign up is at 7pm, but despite
showing up about 20 minutes late, there were only about
15 people already on the list. The night that I played
seemed a bit “front loaded” with experience – I imagine
the regulars are more timely than the rookies – but I
thought the overall concentration of talent was awe-
some considering the size of the open mic. Even more
Subway Stories
How Was Work, Honey?
by Joe Crow Ryan
Though being a full time musician (2-4 hrs a day, al-
most every day) seems romantic and exciting- even to
me – it is a job.
If you have a job, you have a routine. While the musi-
cian has the benefit of the occasional instant gratifica-
tion of warm applause, unbridled esteem and the deep-
est of smiles from beautiful women and men* (every-
one is beautiful when they smile at me), most days are
like yours: nothing really happens.
Seeing my last story in this mag made me think, “What
has happenned worth writing and reading?”
Well, whaddaya know? See what happenned.
I am playing at my favorite station after midnight and
ask those assembled, “Are there any requests?” and
before I get to the part that goes, “Requests are likely
to be approximated” (really, who can know all the
pleasing was the variety: a bit of country, a bit of antifolk,
a bit of rock, emo, spoken word, and even an impromptu
performance of “The Witch is Dead” by a half pint rock
star in the making.
The venue is a café/bookstore/publishing company
dedicated to democracy and the “voice of the people”
(hence the name) and serving up food, organic wine,
and beer on tap. It’s a cozy space complete with out-
door seating, which is perfect for the warm summer
months ahead, and the crowd was generally support-
ive throughout the night. It wasn’t uncommon for a per-
former to announce a show they were scheduled to
play at Vox Pop. Also, most of the musicians mixed in
a cover or two along with their original material. My
favorite aspect of the night was the three song format –
more of a mini-set than you’ll get at most of the more
popular open mics I’m used to playing around the city.
It was a little hard for me to hear my guitar and looper
pedal during my set – the speakers are in front of the
stage, and there are no monitors – but the crowd was
respectfully quiet, so this wasn’t too much of a draw-
back. A closing praise of the night: most people stuck
around until the last few performances to listen and
encourage them, so the last of us didn’t have to play to
a completely empty room. We left just as the host was
finishing his closing set around 11pm. Late for a school
night, but early for a open mic!
Summary: For beginners or pros; a cool night to spend
in a part of Brooklyn you’ve probably never been to.
photo by Herb Scher
songs? You can usually at least get the genre ,era or,
sometimes, the artist), someone offers, “I’ll give you
five dollars to shut the fuck up!”
Reflexively, I rejoin, “Ten dollars! Though if there are
any other bidders....”
“Just Shut the fuck up!” he persists.
I pause to look around (I only have one ear, so cannot
tell from which direction a sound comes). Off to my
left, about ten yards off, I see some surly-postured,
angrily motioning and tall black man. He continues mut-
tering in a smoldering sort of way.
Did I mention that the slowly running L-Train had just
disgorged a great number of passengers who have
come over to my place of work? Well, among this num-
ber is a familiar figure of a tall-tall black man of consid-
erable body mass who has in the past smiled and
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 26
shared his wealth while enjoying my act. He is of the What I could recognize was that there was an escala-
opinion, which he voices, that the distant heckler should tion of anger and mutually percieved disrespect that
just shut up himself. hinted strongly at imminent violence.
Here is where I launch my First Ammendment riff, de- “Holy Shit!” I think (I nearly never use vulgar language
fending both my right to sing and my foe (for that is out loud, since I feel it should be saved until nothing
how he defined himself to me)’s right to criticize. I went else will do. It concentrates their nastiness so that when
on with a new bit: “I know that I am not responsible for you do let loose out loud you can scorch your listener’s
people’s taste in music. That has nothing to do with eyebrows – figuratively).
me and I understand that this stuff I do is not for every- “This could hurt.”
one. I know there are people interested in this and
people disinterested in this. And if you can’t exercise I start strumming, the whole platform- to me- crackling
your disinterestedness in as small a matter as this, I with the fear that we are about to see some major black-
don’t see how you’ll make it in New York.” on-black crime – all because little ol’ me has to whip
out my unbidden schtick in public.
Since I have been speaking, I don’t follow the exact
words but my foe and advocate both have been hold- The strumming turned into “The Scared Song,” to re-
ing forth between themselves while I was riffing. mind me that it is my choice to eschew Fear. As I sing,
I find myself waiting for the feeling I love in my dreams,
I continue, “Plus, it is only going to be for a little while when I am about to be killed, no two ways about it, and
you have to suffer this. The train will be along in three I have nothing to do but let it happen (that is how I met
songs or so. Compared to the Knicks, this is just a Lily. Ask me sometime). The tension of the situation
teaspoon in an hourglass.” (that was the first time I made, however, for an imperfect peace.
ever said this: the Knicks and the hourglass thing, and
I thought it was pretty good. So did some others who I am thinking, “What if he has a knife? What if he comes
mildly laughed) where I sit crosslegged and kicks me and kicks me
and kicks me?
Did this “...oil on the waters...” calm the building storm?
What if my advocate and my foe struggle at length?
When the laughter dispersed, the two interested and Will I help before the cops get here (the station has an
large black men had advanced to a stage of social in- NYPD Station right upstairs)? Turn the other cheek?
tercourse with which I am to this day alien. Well, that has been one of my lifelong goals, but, Geez!
It was as though American blacks have a lingo private The song ends.
to themselves (I am put in mind of the Trinidadian broth-
ers who used to preach eloquently but who, when they My foe is reduced to indistinct muttering between my
spoke to each other, used a type of English that would following FIVE songs (even for the G-Train, this train is
need subtitles on a movie screen). taking like FOREVER).
More listeners on the now packed platform from the
sluggish L-Train smile and contribute.At last, the G-
Train comes.
The platform is clearing except for me and my foe.
He approaches and addresses me, “That’s right, you
stay right there, motherfucker (true, but we can’t go
into that right now other than to say none of them were
my mother) You stay right there.” and he scoots through
the shutting car door.
Of course, he feared that I would follow onto the train
and continue oppressing him with my dulcet ministra-
tions of musical art. Which I don’t.
Another platform fills and empties.
Another platform fills and empties.
“Huh!” I think, “Maybe he meant, ‘Stay here until I go
get my Glock so I can bust a cap in your miserable
subway-busker ass.’”
On second thought, I was right the first time.

page 27 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain

 CD Reviews
Interested in reviewing CDs? Being reviewed? Either way, we need you!
Contact:: urbanfolkzine@gmail.com
Jerry Cherry
Life is Sweeter
“Big City Life” starts Jerry Cherry’s full-length with a big
crunchy guitar that tells you you’re in for a full-size
rock album. “Lancelot,” the following track, features a
mournful trumpet and lyrics that seem melancholy: “a
tragedy unfolds if our love should grow cold” leads into
references to happy loving couples who rode off into
the sunset like Lancelot & Guinevere and Romeo &
Juliet. Then the string-laden “Turned Around” is an ode
to satisfied love – or maybe a perfect relationship.
Cherry switches gear from song to song, displaying an
eclectic nature. The vocals often sound sad, the music
often joyous. “Everywhere” illustrates this dichotomy
perfectly; the song has that sound you recognize as
familiar the very first time you hear it, with a full electric
guitar over plaintive vocals: “If you only knew how much
it hurts to go a day without you…” The boy can mix it
up. “Fit In” adds dramatic resonance in the middle of
the track, for a rousing orchestral effect.
“Freakshow” is great hard rock fun. “If you really wanna
turn me on, what’re you doing over there?” Cherry self-
harmonizes over big guitars and screams, whoops, and
hollers. “Hello, My Dear” also sounds hauntingly famil-
iar, though repeated listens refuse to divulge just what
it sounds like. Cherry’s amalgamation of style hides
his influences well.
The last cut, “Worst
Looking Man,” is
most obviously the
showstopper. If
you’ve heard Jerry
Cherry, then you’ve
heard “Worst.” It’s
the hit, it’s the man-
tra, it’s the theme
song. In this track,
his voice goes from
poignant to slick, as
he details the ladies
who shoot him
down, and his justi-
fication for why they
shouldn’t. “Hey
baby, don’t be so
mean. I’m not the worst looking man you’ve ever seen.”
Sure it’s shallow, but fun, and funny, and our Mr. Cherry
has earned a few smiles by this point. A big band plays
behind him, with big horns, drums, guitars. It’s huge,
Jerry Cherry’s “Worst Looking Man.” You oughtta hear
it. (Reviewed by Jonathan Berger)
jerrycherry.com
Annie Crane
Annie Crane
As I listened to Annie Crane’s brief, self-titled affair, I
thought to myself, ah, I wish this were a scratchy 45. I
also thought, gee, I’m glad someone else likes old
mountaintop fiddle riffs as much as I do, and man, I’d
really love a Hostess cupcake right now (The third idea
really has more to do with my ritualistic afternoon sugar
binge than with Crane’s disc, but...) Another honest
thought: this EP could have been much, much longer.
Crane offers up just five short tracks, but covers a lot of
heart-broke, weather-worn ground; I was sad to see it
end. Maya Roney on fiddle and Dan Costello on piano
add substance and profundity without interfering with
Crane – they also drive home her stylistic nod to an-
cestral Americana.
With simple instrumentation and a pliant, ethereal voice,
Crane channels Baez via Krauss via the Chieftains. She
nimbly quotes all of the American folk markers (softly
plodding guitars, lyrical legends) but adds a smart,
modern twist. Thank God: I loves me some Baez, but
another bland revival would have me crying into my
paisleys. Crane’s music is mature, minimalist, and
she’s got a depth to her voice that lends credence to
even her most mythical poetic wanderings.
Crane’s femininity is an asset to the album. Too often,
women songwriters try to ditch the softness and in-
sight thinking we should sound like the boys, when
really, we just sacrifice truth. Finally, here’s a girl-gui-
tar combo that is unapologetic but never angsty. Crane
is no Avril, no Ashlee, no way. And she is confident and
smart. She muses on her roots, her future, and her
heart with a precise mix of honesty and archetype. On
unrequited love, in “Pennsylvania,”: “Sorry dear, honey
dear, but he never really loved you, I put a great river
between you, and left it up to you to venture ‘cross.”
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 28
She could be taking What little problem I have with this down-and-dirty
notes directly from ten song release revolve around the words.
Emmylou Harris’ “Red Feddock’s voice isn’t the strongest in town, and
Dirt Girl”—and I think I while it pulls off the snottier punk songs, it works
caught some Feist there less well on the plaintive “Test Tube.” To make
in “When I Grow Old,”— matters worse, the vocals are pretty low in the mix.
but if you’re going to fill And speaking of words, what about the plot? Let’s
some footsteps, those look at the “Knocked Down,” where our young Mis-
are phenomenal ones to ter Feddock describes three separate scenes where
choose. And Crane is motion occurs. In Verse One, he chats up a girl
the second woman I’ve then takes her downstairs and gets down and dirty.
heard sing something Verse Two, they sit in traffic: “I tried to pull out of
pretty about Lake the lane / the other drivers insane / and then I
Charles (the first being screamed ‘Hey babe!’ I think I need a little space /
Lucinda Williams). I’m but then the traffic started moving at a nice steady
starting to think I ought pace.” Verse Three, the narrator’s alone, drunk at
to get down there for an open mic. I can’t follow the through line of the
some inspiration. story, or even if these anecdotes connect at all. “I like
My favorite tracks on this bite-sized EP are “Ring Down” the idea of saying something without really saying any-
and “Franny and Zooey.” The first is a winding, spooky thing,” Feddock explains, “Using words as colors to
tune that I could accuse of rambling, but won’t. Every give the impression of something but doing it in an ad-
writer needs an epic, and this one is a seductive way mittedly bone head way.” I’m not sold that his approach
to beckon listeners in to the EP. “I could hear his heart executes all that well. The musical drama in “Knocked
from miles away, from miles away.” Phew. “Franny and Down,” building through the last verse, doesn’t seem
Zooey,” besides citing my complete bestest-ever favor- substantiated by what’s he’s actually describing. The
ite Salinger novel, has a particular unassuming beauty words seem too plain to add much to the picture. I can
in being so bare. You have to give it up for someone only imagine how powerful this track would be with a
who’s not afraid to be quiet and wise. Or maybe you different lyricist and singer.
should just put her on your next country-driving mix “A friend of mine had a very strong feeling that I should
and let her get you lost. (Reviewed by Jordan Levinson) be the one singing,” Feddock says, “He thought the
myspace.com/anniecrane songs were really personal and actually pretty well-
realized vocally.” There’s potential depth in the
songs that could make Feddock’s investment
The Hot Left stronger than anyone else’s, but his greatest
The Hot Left strength is absolutely in the music, and the
Dave Feddock muscular, popping arrangements. Absolutely
used to perform worth a listen – maybe nine. (Reviewed by
as Fave Deddock. Jonathan Berger)
He’s got a better myspace.com/thehotleft
moniker now,
leading the three-
piece outfit the Claire Fisher
Hot Left. No, I don’t know what it means – literally. Gold Miner’s Journal
What it means on a sonic level, however, I can fully After rotating Claire Fisher’s latest work, Gold Miner’s
grasp. The Hot Left is explosive. Feddock definitely Journal, through my 5-disc a few times, I took a peek
knows his way around a hook. There are lots of mo- at her MySpace page. I was hard-pressed to recognize
ments on lots of these songs that are memorable: the the quirky, intriguing Fisher here on the interwebs as
wail at the end of each line on the first track, “Down in the creator of this slightly half-baked demo. The tracks
The Basement,” the early Joe Jackson Band sound of on Fisher’s page have a tight, funky edge and some
“Right On Time Again,” the riff that accompanies the great instrumentation. I’ve got to say, the girl can really
verses in “When I Get Knocked Down,” and then the write a hook. “Gold Miner’s Journal” feels unseasoned
song’s chorus? Sweet… in comparison.

page 29 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain

Fisher plays solo
acoustic sets around
Grand Rapids, MI, and
her homespun, high-talk-
ing spark is reminiscent
of the Hudson Valley
coffee shop circuit,
where Joni Mitchell cov-
ers abound and every-
one is just a little bit
nicer than down here.
True to its origin, “Gold
Miner’s Journal” is a per-
fect suburban-spring-
time album: Fisher’s
voice is smooth and
well-pitched, her melo-
dies are clean and strong, and her lyrics are smart.
The whole record glides by so pleasantly that the oc-
casional veers toward the overwritten or the precious
are almost forgivable. The record is young and inno-
cent, which might work better for Fisher if it was all a
little less innocuous. As it stands, she’d do better to
skip the meticulous production until she’s got a fuller
sound, and could rough herself up a little: have a torrid
affair, get a funky haircut and lose the KidPix cover art.
The record’s opening song, “I Won’t Wait,” showcases
Fisher’s bluesy leanings, which regrettably wander off
somewhere around Track Three. Her thumpy guitar lines
are begging for a backup band and some harmony-
partners, additions which could really launch her into
the Be-Good-Tanyas realm of femme-folk peculiarity.
This type of charming oddness starts to emerge in “You
Are A Giant,” and gets downright wacky in “Pirates.”
Fisher has got the brains and the chops, she just needs
to find her niche and set herself apart from all these
other white-bread folksingers out there. If Fisher sticks
to the surreal and the sassy, she’ll be a woman to truly
watch out for as her writing matures.
(Reviewed by Jordan Levinson)
myspace.com/clairefisherchick
Wakey!Wakey!
Silent as a Movie
Mister Mike Grubbs has certainly come a long way
since his first solo piano show at Rockwood Music Hall
as Wakey!Wakey! Dazed and confused, blaming an
absent (and possible fictional) copy desk attendant for
his lack of a band, Grubbs, under his new name, played
a series of new songs – songs that were untested,
songs that were strong, songs that promised a new
pop style for this long-time acoustic player. There was
potential in the matieral – much of it not yet realized,
but potential nonetheless.
And now there’s a live uber-EP, Silent as a Movie, which
executes the pop orchestration hinted at way back at
the beginning. Performed with a four-piece string sec-
tion, a rock band, an occasional accordion, and other
sporadic guests (songwriters Casey Shea and Misty
Boyce make appearances), Silent as a Movie hints at
words like “Chaotic Masterpiece,” if only because some
of these pieces requires mastering anarchic elements,
like collaboration and arrangement. The songs thrive in
this environment, with the already beautiful “Falling
Apart” suddenly sounding stunning – seriously. The
building excitement in “Take it Like a Man” could only
be done with accomplished players executing excel-
lent work. “Cokehead,” featuring Ivan Sandomire, also
grows in excitement, adding band mates and energy,
eliciting the proper emotion at the proper time.
“War Sweater,” though, never ceases to piss me off.
Sure, it sounds great. The music is beautiful, but the
chorus, “You wear your religious like a war sweater,”
it’s stupid. You wear your religion like you wear a war
sweater? You wear it like one who sweats war would
wear it? What the hell is a war sweater, anyway? In
general, Grubbs’ lyrics bear examination. “I wrote this
one love song and then realized I wrote (it) about the
government when Bush was reelected,“ Grubbs once
explained, “So I thought I should write all my songs
and disguise them.” So these are political songs about
girls or something? Makes as much sense as the band’s
name (though, admittedly, Wakey!Wakey! sounds better
than Mikey Grubbs).
Note: the live show from which most of this material
was culled, one of Liberated Matter’s weekly Cross-
Pollination gigs, featured a sensitive and touching ver-
sion of SNL’s “Dick in a Box.” I guess Lorne Michaels
wouldn’t give permission for that cut to make the al-
bum. Damn you, Lorne Michaels, DAMN YOU!
(Reviewed by Jonathan Berger)
wakeywakeymusic.com
Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain ~ page 30
 Mark Sinnis
“A Mystery Wrapped Inside an Enigma
Smothered in Secret Sauce”
Mark Sinnis, the former leader of the Apostates and
current leader of Ninth House, has released his first
solo album, featuring 20 years of greatest misses,
songs that didn’t work for either of his bands. It’s called
Into an Unhidden Future, also the name of one of the
multitude of songs on the album.
I wish I could get a handle on this guy.
I feel like something’s missing from
my understanding. Sinnis’ debut solo
album is 19 songs long – 19! – though
the cowboy goth Ninth House released
a full length just last year, and he’s
their songwriter. Boy’s got a lot to say,
I guess. A complete set of lyrics re-
sides on poetrypoem.com, and
there’re like a shitload of songs. But,
within all this material, is Sinnis say-
ing something? I think so. The first line
of the album is “Nine times seven is
sixty three, there’s nothing wrong; it
was meant to be, aerosol, I’ll figure it
out by myself.”
I can see the math being a Dylanesque
joke, but not in line one of song one.
Placed thusly, it’s got to be significant, but how? The
man’s band is Ninth House; could they have produced
seven albums and sixty three songs? Was Sinnis born
in ’63? Is this some oblique reference to the assassi-
nation of JFK? Lenny Molotov appears on the album,
and he writes songs about JFK...
“Aerosol”’s wordy mouthful of a chorus, “You’re lost I
found it / can’t convince me I was saying… I’m inside,
I’m lying here / I saw you, are you yourself?” suggests
intellect and lyrical intent, but I haven’t quite decoded
it.What I have decoded is the value of Sinnis’ singing:
it’s great. His voice is clear, strong, flexible and subtle.
These are minimal acoustic numbers (though a plethora
of guests other than Molotov make appearances).
The website for Ninth House explains their name: “The
ninth of twelve houses in astrology focuses on higher
learning and the ability to extend our minds... repre-
sents our lifelong struggle to find out what we believe
about the world, God, man and life…”
page 31 ~ Urban Folk issue 16 - the Final Curtain
by Jonathan Berger
Pretty New Agey. The posters for shows and venues
suggest that there’s a horror rock connection, and his
voice sounds like psychobilly isn’t too far in his past.
Among this score of songs are some pretty impressive
tracks. My favorite: “When the Sun Bows to the Moon,”
with a rhythmic multi-instrumented track
that rhymes more than most of the re-
lease, and sounds simply beautiful. With
lines like, “What’s less is more / crawl
into / when the sun bows to the moon,” I
think he’s most interested in painting a
picture, combining the poetic with the
mundane. In “Waiting for a Train,” Sinnis
presents rich emotional delivery while de-
tailing redundancy: “Follow me, release
me through the blackened night / take
the train through the blackened night /
I’m waiting for, waiting for the train, wait-
ing for the train, yeah.” This is another
track where Sinnis eschews traditional
rhyme schemes. There’s consistent
scansion throughout the album, but few
actual rhymes. “I don’t like when things
rhyme too much,” Sinnis explained, “be-
cause then it sounds contrived.”
Another train song, “It Takes Me Home,” seems to ref-
erence lots of country and folk tropes. Home is the
other side, you see, on a train that’s sixteen coaches
long. “I like a lot of old school country,” stated Sinnis.
“That’s Why I Won’t Love You” presents the aching
hurt of the narrator, but it’s almost a spiritual act, where
he refuses to get emotionally involved with anything.
True story? Sinnis said, “99% of my lyrics are autobio-
graphical. I write about my life .Everything has been a
personal experience. It keeps it honest.
“You can still say something deep and profound and
have it be intelligent without dumbing it down. I want
songs to be little bit of a riddle.”
Mission accomplished, sir. I don’t think I understand
what makes Mark Sinnis guy tick, just yet, but I’m
gonna keep trying.
myspace.com/marksinnis