Urban Folk

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February/March 2008

FEATURING: John Houx, Mike Baglivi, Paleface, Fredo Flintstone unveiled, the Winter AntiFolk Festival and much more!
 Urban Folk: 15 issues young
Pretty much every issue starts the same: This is a great issue; “the best one yet... yada yada... we need your
help... yada yada... we’re only able to continue with contributions from the community... yada yada yada...”
Well, it’s the same story for a different day. Urban Folk will only continue publishing if we can afford to. We need
content about the acoustic community, and, just as important, we need operation expenses. Without either
material or funding, Urban Folk will get shut-down, and all the little Urban Folk orphans will be back on the
streets, and then they’ll be robbing/filching your guitars, sleeping in your cars, and dancing with your stars. I can
assure you, nobody wants that. So I entreat you, please: buy an ad, make a donation, write an article. Help a
zine out...
Jonathan Berger, editor
LIKE THE INNARDS OF A STOMACH, HEREIN ARE THE GUTS OF THIS ISSUE

COVER 1
TABLE OF CONTENT REALLY? W E HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN? 2
FINDING JOHN HOUX BRIAN SPEAKER SPEAKS TO HOUX. W HO? YOU GET THE IDEA… 4
SUBWAY STORIES JOE CROW RYAN ON THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON. 7
MIKE BAGLIVI BEN GODWIN ON MIKE BAGLIVI. GENIUS, MADMAN OR BOTH? FIND OUT … 8
EXEGESIS J.J. HAYES ON BAGLIVI'S "FRANK SINATRA & NUCLEAR W AR." GENIUS, MADMAN OR BOTH...? 10
JUST ABOUT TO BURN BUTCH ROSS TALKS TO PALEFACE AND MO ON THE ROAD FROM OBSCURITY. 13
GET IN THE MINIVAN BROOK PRIDEMORE LIKES BANDS. W HY? THE ANSWER'S ON THE PAGE... 16
AFF! THE W INTER ANTIFOLK FESTIVAL 2008 SCHEDULE, BROUGHT TO YOU BY HARDY BEARS. 18
SOPHIST FOLK J.J. H AYES TALKS ABOUT SOMETHING OR OTHER. F ROGS… SCORPIONS? W HATEVER… 24
SOCIAL NETWORKING JESSI ROBERTSON TELLS US HOW TO GET IT DONE. 26
FREDO'S RANT FREDO FLINTSTONÉ UNMASKS. THE UNVEILING OF THE HALF-CENTURY! 28
DEREK JAMES B.J. BARRATT WRITES ABOUT DEREK JAMES, HIS ALBUM, HIS LABEL AND HIS VIDEO. 30
RECORD REVIEWS YOU'D THINK THIS WOULD BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, WOULDN'T YOU? 32

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Urban Folk XV ~ page 2
Urban Folk XV ~ page 3
 Who Are You?
Finding John Houx
by Brian Speaker photos by Magali Charron
My very first night of training as a sound guy at the Sidewalk Café was John Houx’s first show. Neither of us knew
that the other was new to something that would prove to be so important. All I knew was that the last act of the
evening was a barefoot and rosy-cheeked artist stepping onto the stage with a buzzy primitive guitar held
strapless, high up to his chest. God knows what he thought of me. I placed a mic up to his guitar and we
exchanged a few pleasantries. He admitted to being a bit nervous at his first full performance at the illustrious
East Village club. I knew how he felt. I walked back to the soundboard, watched him mutter a few quick “check,
checks” into the mic and stroke his noisy guitar a few times. I gave him a thumbs up, and John put down his
guitar standing at the mic, poised and unprotected. I sat tight at the board, waiting for him to pick up the guitar
and begin, but Houx needed no instrument to start the show. His first number at his first show was done with one
instrument: his voice. It was a stunner of a song, and he’s never done it again.

Urban Folk: There was a song you opened your set
with when I ran sound for your first show that I haven’t
heard you play since. You sang it a cappella and you
stomped your foot to hold the rhythm.
John Houx: Yeah, that song doesn’t really have a name,
it was the first one I sang at the AntiHoot. My guitar
was really out of tune that night, so I decided to play it
without the guitar and stomp it.
Through very personal lyrics and colorful imagery, John
Houx tells you exactly who he is through his music.
He “was born in 1984” though he’ll deny it to the end.
He’s a “hole digger’s son”, who hasn’t seen his family
in close to a year, and his “...home is nowhere (he’s)
ever been”. His friend, avid music fan, and supporter,
Bernard King describes John as “one of the best new
songwriters on the scene.”
Dan Costello offers, “John Houx blows my mind. He’s
honest, earnest and barefoot.”
John Houx (pronounced oo like noon) was born in North-
ern California, information he presents in “1984,” one of
his many fine autobiographical songs. Spending some
time on the west coast, he wound up in Portland, Or-
egon working in copper plate printing. He hesitates for
a moment, “I’m really unsure what for. Though I learned
something from it. It took me deep into William Blake.
His poetry and imagery.”
the road. The worst that could happen would be like...
I died. At least I died trying.
UF: Trying...?
JH: To live day-to-day and not have obligations to any-
one. Do it on my own, not have to rely or owe. I guess
you can never really do that fully...
UF: What led you to New York City?
JH: I took a train straight to Chicago. I knew I wanted to
come to New York but got off the train in Chicago and
asked people what part of town to check out and play
in. I made some haphazard connections playing in a
cafe where I would meet someone who would take me
to another place to play, where I would meet some girls
who would let me stay for free. I also went to Nashville,
North Carolina and Virginia.
UF: How did people respond to you?
JH: Not always so positive. Pretty interesting being on
the outskirts of Nashville and getting snubbed by people
while asking for directions. Though, also in Nashville, I
asked a couple of girls for a cigarette and ended up
staying in their dorm room for 2 weeks.
(He breaks out into a wry smile. John has a very charm-
ing sensibility. He’s both genuine and sincere and I
can only imagine young ladies, smitten with his unas-
suming swagger, wanting to reach out and help him.)

UF: What made you leave Portland? JH: Setting out was completely liberating. I learned to
reach out to people. Fly or fall; sink or swim. Either
John Houx: There was no reason for me to stay. I was
you learn how to do it or you get left on the highway.
hardly ever playing music and that was something I
Chicago, Nashville, all those places were a warm-up to
had always wanted to do. It was in my head, like some-
coming to NYC.
body was telling me to get up, pack a suitcase and hit

Urban Folk XV ~ page 4

UF: Was NYC hard on you when you got here?
JH: People were more friendly here than anywhere else.
I found it surprisingly easy to get around and felt at
home here pretty quick. But a lot of that has to do with
circumstance. The lady who gave me a ride to NY let
me stay with her daughter, who told me about the Side-
walk Café. While looking for it, I found the Bowery Po-
etry Club. There, people offered me a place to stay and
info on cheap hotels.
UF: Who did you meet over at the Bowery Poetry Club?
JH: Moonshine, the bartender “Mr. Lower East Side
2007.” He and everyone who worked there gave me
free drinks or a place to stay. I played there only once
at the open mic and that one performance resulted in
being able to stay where I’ve crashed ever since. I’ve
got my typewriter, my guitar and a few books.
UF: Do you have a job?
JH: No Job! I’ll die before I work steady again. I’d much
rather live on the streets than be employed. I was of-
fered a position as a personal assistant for $250 a day
and turned it down.
UF: How do you get by?
Urban Folk XV ~ page 5
JH: I do pick up odd jobs at a gallery in Chelsea. It
pays for small things, like typewriter ribbon or if a shirt
wears out.
UF: Where do you get your drinking money?
JH: Mostly from shows and the occasional odd job. I
also get taken care of, but I live frugal. Plus, I consider
drinking a business expense.
UF: With a two-drink minimum, I think most artists have
to consider drinking a business expense. Tell me about
your writing.
JH: When I left Portland, I scrapped my entire reper-
toire. In the last eight months I’ve written 40 or 50 songs.
Some of them I’ve only played once.
UF: Tell me about “Hole Digger.” I really like that song.
JH: I wrote “Hole Digger” the same night I played it at a
show. Little did I know, there was a reviewer from the
BBC in the audience who said it was ‘Dreadful.’ Some-
thing about, it goes on for eight minutes about being a
hole digger’s son. When he heard it the first time it was
unrefined. Since then I’ve worked on it. Later the same
guy said he had liked what I had done with it.
UF: Where do you get your inspiration for your
songwriting?

JH: That’s a theological question, isn’t it? When it’s
inspired, you don’t really know where it comes from.
When you’re inspired, YOU don’t really have anything
to do with it.
UF: Do you find certain activities or times of the day
that are better for your creative process?
JH: First thing in the morning; the time of day when I’m
never awake. Sunrise to 9am, I’m hardly ever up. Ev-
erything seems to be fresh and possible. As far as ac-
tivities: sweeping, normal human work, cleaning or build-
ing things. Those times when you are doing something
removed from a conscious artistic expression.
UF: Hey John, why do you perform barefoot?
JH: It feels natural. I feel like I need to. Part of it is, I feel
like I can’t go up there with shoes on. It feels disre-
spectful. The other part is that it gets hot up there and
its a good way to keep cool. I never like to wear shoes
anyway. When on stage I feel like you don’t have to
wear shoes. So I like to take full advantage of that.
UF: Influences?
JH: Music from old movies, or like... the Muppets.
UF: Like “The Rainbow Connection”?
JH: Of course! William Blake, Marx Brothers, Harpo...
UF: Bob Dylan?
JH: I don’t listen to him a lot. I didn’t really know any-
thing about him till I was traveling with a guy from Chi-
cago to Nashville who had a box set. And I thought it
was pretty cool. Someone burned me his Gaslight stuff
when he was still playing in the Village and I read his
book last week. I liked it. It was very well written.
UF: You know, you and Bob Dylan have similar stories.
JH: That’s another big reason I like him. When I left
Portland and wanted to come to NYC, it had more to
Urban Folk XV ~ page 6
do with Jeff Buckley. When I arrived, a few
people had suggested I was doing “the
Madonna thing”. Apparently Madonna de-
cided to come to Manhattan and not work,
without a place to stay or knowing any-
one. You know, stay up late in coffee
shops and crash in people’s basements.
UF: Plans for the New Year?
JH: Write better songs. Record songs. I’d
really love it if by some stroke of extreme
luck, I’d discover some place to live. But
pretty much the only way that’s gonna
happen is if I find a boarded-up building
and squat.
UF: Is there a John Houx album planned
for the near future?
JH: No. The idea of self recording, releasing and selling
an album... I don’t really have any use for that. I like the
idea of just playing, though I do wanna record this stuff
soon just to document it. Thank God for Bernard (King)
and his tape recorder. He’s been at almost every show
and taped every one. Even those songs I only played
once.
UF: Would you do an album for a label?
JH: Sure. I don’t wanna have to do anything but play in
front of a mic.
There’s a lot to learn about John Houx. In a way he’s a
conundrum. Sonically and storytelling-wise, he is so
reminiscent of a young Bob Dylan, yet claims not to
consider him a musical influence. Even on Houx’
MySpace page, Dylan is nowhere to be found (and we
all know, if it’s not on your MySpace page...).
John is open and sincere yet quiet and understated.
Nowhere is he as big a presence as he is behind a
microphone with a guitar in his hand.
I recently had the pleasure of recording with John. He
was very relaxed and focused and his performance was
pure and easy. I could hear him speaking to his past
through his songs, revising his future and gifting his
fate to that of a floating feather. John Houx landed in
NYC on an eastward breeze, and his presence – his
very lifestyle – smacks of the transient. Who knows
how long we’ll have the pleasure of his company, be-
fore another wind – or worse, a job – takes him away?
So make it a plan to catch one of his upcoming shows
and the entire next day you’ll be singing... “Good
afternoo... Houx... Houx... Houx, Houx... Houx... ooon.
Good Afternoon, I hope to see you soon.”
myspace.com/johnhoux
 Subway Stories
the day before the day before christmas (2004)
by Joe Crow Ryan
The day before the day before Christmas
With a Martin guitar and Hungry-Hungry Hippos
in the Subway at DeKalb in Brooklyn
Waiting for the R-Train home, having come
from 14th Street by the Q-train –
Where the slim man from Tobago gave me
$5.00 (US) and
Told me I saved his day from despair by my
music –
Waiting for the R-Train and seeing so many
people,
I decided to whip it out: the 12-string Martin
guitar.
photo by Herb Scher
He ends my livelihood-earning performance
and
Expression of Free Speech – held both Legal
and
Sacrosanct.
You see, this Christmas Eve-Eve
I was both Legal and Sacrosanct.
Of course I was maced, cuffed, restrained, in-
carcerated and verbally abused.
Hungry-Hungry Hippos was searched.
Hungry-Hungry Hippos was searche

I whistled an improv melody

Over the chords of the World’s maybe-
favorite song
And I had just started singing, ‘Somewhere
over (et cetera)…,”
(Relishing the old switcheroo effect on my
listeners)
When Officer C. told me I had to stop
playing.

Imagine my chagrin!
I am standing here playing the Martin 12-
string
Entrusted to me by Ray Virta
And some officer – young enough, by the
way, to date my daughter –
Is making me stop mid-phrase, mid-song,
Mid-near virtuotistic chordal accompani-
ment;

Urban Folk XV ~ page 7

 Mike Baglivi
“Music is where I want to be.”
by Ben Godwin
“I guess there’s certain pictures that don’t suffer for
their paint – but sometimes you gotta draw, sometimes
you gotta draw a little blood.”
- ‘Life Inside A Frame’
Rewind to the summer AntiFolk Festival of 2006, with
the scene written up in the New York Times and a few
names stood out, held up as key AntiFolkers or some-
thing resembling the Sidewalk Café version of the Next
Big Thing. Alongside time-served old hands like Joie
Dead Blonde Girlfriend and the inevitable and ubiqui-
tous Lach was Mike Baglivi. Mike had been hitting the
stage hard for a solid year, and his shows had evolved
from being a one-man war on heaven into a strange,
lumbering multi-media beast – with the media in ques-
tion including paper planes, Play-Doh, arcane diagrams
and off-duty hipsters in sports coats. Anchoring the
whole thing was an acoustic guitar played so hard that
it rattled the walls, and a lucid, original voice that sailed
over the whole thing, implanting melodic hooks deep in
our brains and telling us stories of transcendence, neu-
rosis, regret and hope.
That was Mike Baglivi – New Jersey’s Lone Wolf, star
of the scene and a gnat’s hair away from busting through
the walls of the Sidewalk.
And then he disappeared.
“Waking up can be hard for me, when i start to feel the
potential of all things / the birds, the bees, and every
tiny seed growing into trees underneath my wooden feet.
/ So I’m lying here patiently, waiting quietly for an op-
portunity / The right moment would have to be met
perfectly with the right timing, cause there’s so much
for me to do.”
- ‘The Greatness Of Apes’
Talk to Mike, or even read the mailshots he sends out
for his shows, and you realize you’re in the presence
of a unique mind that races a hundred yards ahead of
the conversation and is weaving together ten thousand
individual and pertinent threads of thought and jamming
them together into some sort of lunatic, prophetic tap-
estry – a wild magic carpet ride. It’s the same as the
unfolding intricate images in his songs. It’s compelling
and fascinating, and he’s completely stuck with it.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 8
photos by Herb Scher
There’s no downtime and no escaping the runaway train.
He just has to keep riding it until the whole thing over-
loads and then go somewhere quiet and faraway, screw
down the lid and make it slow down far enough that he
can be around the rest of the world again. But when
you listen to the music it’s clear that all of this is some-
thing to be celebrated.
What’s compelling about Mike is that when you hear
him play he’s just bursting with his music. It’s clear
that there is nothing in the world that could possibly be
more important to him than making sure that he nails
it, and that you get it. Like him and his guitar and his
songs are the last line of defense against an impend-
ing Eschaton, and only by singing his heart out can he
possibly avert it. Says Lach: “Mike is completely com-
mitted to every molecule of his songs and performance.
He isn’t kidding around up there, he’s giving you the
last morse code from the other side of the apocalypse.”
“You gotta get out while you’re young, while you don’t
even know you’re dumb – you gotta get out while you’re
young, while you don’t even know you own it.”
-’Kerosene Park’
Mike had the standard musical education- “A couple of
white trash kids around the corner from my house played
me Motley Crue’s Girls Girls Girls and Poison’s Look
What The Cat Dragged In and it’s all been downhill
from there.” Ah, the eighties – back before irony was
invented and rock and roll (along with Jon Berger) still
had hair. Even before he could play, music was a se-
cret compulsion. “My sister had a guitar and I always
secretly had the itch to play, so for a couple of years I
would pick up the guitar and pound on it. I did that until
I broke every string. Then I stopped picking it up.”
How, I wonder, does a musician go from Motley Crue
and Poison to making twelve-minute antifolkoperas?
“My stuff used to be more verse-chorus-verse and then
I started hearing things a little differently – which I think
was reinforced by getting into classical music and more
accomplished songwriters like Paul Simon; people
whose songs have that unpredictable quality but their
songs are as balanced as any Ramones song. I just
take it note by note and I don’t think it has to be a
chorus or a bridge or anything... it just has to sound
good. I can define it later, but it has to justify itself. I’ll
have an idea of the lyrics and an idea of the mood... It’s like a sketchpad. I have a 4-track of ‘Greatness of
epic, quiet, whatever... and I just try and find a hook Apes’ – my family went away for the weekend and I set
and leave my ears wide open. The more I write... I actu- up all my stuff in the living room and spent about 40
ally start crying just thinking about the possibilities hours straight working on it. I think I slept there. Al-
sometimes. It can go anywhere. I’ve always had this though it was the best recording experience I’ve ever
insane urge to write a great song. I love music and I had people would still think I’m an asshole if I put it up
want to make great music myself.” on Myspace.”
“We’ll be making art, while there’s still a god in the The stage show – playdoh, flashcards, backup spoken
black box.” word artists and all – evolved accidentally and haphaz-
- ’NY Afterparty’ ardly. “I guess when you write a big song you want to
do something big with it.
It was completely un-
Apart from his ab- stable and crazy but it
sence, mostly what I was really exciting. It’s
want to know about all about Man’s eternal
Mike is how come he battle against laziness
isn’t playing with an and fear. One thing leads
eleventy-three piece to another, and next
band. The sweep and thing you know you have
the scope of the songs a trunk full of fuckin’
seem to demand it, props and your friends
and listening back to onstage in cheap suit
his tunes on my own jackets swallowing lit
internal jukebox while matches.”
writing this article, I “Hollywood’s Egyptian
can definitely hear the tombs – Hollywood and
orchestra. But Mike its temples – one day
doesn’t want to wait for they’ll discover us and
those stars to align – learn about America.”
“I’m all I got right now. I
would have been at the - ’Frank Sinatra and
Sidewalk a year before Nuclear War’
I was if I hadn’t been
trying to find a band, I notice that we’ve been
doing the dirty casting talking for an hour and
couch on Craigslist and Mike has avoided refer-
interviewing one ring to his missing year.
asshole drummer after I ask him directly – what
another. It was really was up? He doesn’t re-
my fault, because I ally want to talk about
was really avoiding doing something with what I had, the specifics. “ A lot of personal shit hit the fan, and I
and after a year with nothing happening I said ‘I just had to stop for a while. My brain was working the whole
have to get out and play.’” time thinking about being back, but I just couldn’t. I
That hammering acoustic may be all that Mike has to missed playing and I missed people. The Sidewalk is
play with on stage, but it gets him out of the house. more about people for me than music. Music screws
But he does have ambitions to make music on a larger up so many human relationships, even just in conver-
scale. “I have songs I won’t play until I can get an or- sation – people get so cynical about it and they take
chestra... I have stuff on my four-track that has strings, from it and channel it into their lives, which is just ex-
bells, percussion, woodwinds... I think things could be actly backwards.”
so much grander. My ultimate goal is to have a gigan- At least part of it was connected to near-crippling stage
tic band and make it sound bigger than anything you fright. “I was just paralyzed with fear and self-conscious-
heard in your life, like a cathedral.” ness and then afterwards I’d beat the living shit out of
Intrigued, I ask him if I can listen to those four-tracks, myself for not being able to overcome that.” But some-
but Mike insists “they’re not really fit to leave the house. thing shifted in the year Mike was away. “Nowadays
Urban Folk XV ~ page 9
I’ve really got into the idea of being a showman. I have
no idea if I’m pulling it off but now I know what I should
be doing. It might take a few years but it will get done.
I desperately want it to be more than just another guy
playing songs. It’s the scariest thing in the world to
look the crowd in the eye and be who you are, while
that music’s running through you.”
We can expect a lot more from Mike in the future, with
baby-step collaborations taking place with bands like
the Telethons, his own shows, and shows like the re-
Exegesis: “Frank Sinatra and Nuclear War”
We need to get medieval on your posterior analytics,
as it were. Seriously, medieval. Seriously medieval.
When it comes to exegesis, what better place to start
than with the medieval couplet which lists the four lev-
els of biblical exegesis, which work fine for poetry and
song. Especially for a song like Mike Baglivi’s “Frank
Sinatra and Nuclear War.” The couplet goes:
The Letter speaks of deeds; Allegory to Faith / The
Moral how to act; Anagogy to our destiny.
There you have it – the literal sense, the allegorical
sense, the moral sense and the anagogical sense. This
last is especially relevant to “Frank Sinatra and Nuclear
War,” since it is the sense of the passage which refers
Urban Folk XV ~ page 10
cent Neutral Milk Hotel night, where he joined Erin
Regan’s all-antistar crew to deliver the whole of In The
Aeroplane Over The Sea to a rapt, packed house. Above
all, Mike values the scene and the people in it over the
music. “It’s really valuable for me to be around great
people. And they just happen to make great music. It
feels really, really good: playing, trying to live up to
myself. Music’s where I want to be and I’m not going to
stop any time soon.”
myspace.com/mikebaglivi
interpreted by J.J. Hayes
to our destiny eternal or otherwise, often applied to in-
terpretations of the Book of Revelations (AKA the Apoca-
lypse of John).
The Literal Sense
Listen to the song. Such listening will describe the song
to you far better than my words can. In fact put down
this whole thing until you catch Baglivi live, unless he
gets a version available for download. Of course you
could read selected lyrics right here as well.
I find the title interesting, not just because of its con-
tent, but in its relationship to the song, which offers
explicit mention of neither Frank Sinatra nor nuclear
war. This song would work very well and in a much
more mysterious fashion without the title. And imagine
hearing it for the first time. Hearing the title first, the
song becomes a sort of abstract impressionist paint-
ing of some real object, of which the title informs. Hear-
ing the song first and then learning the title sets one up
with previously mentioned mystery which then snaps
into place – in this listener’s mind anyway. Well, you
all know the title anyhow; there’s no use playing coy.
Frank Sinatra and Nuclear War. Both, and especially
in combination, bring forth one image. The Nevada
Desert, wherein both the Rat Pack and nuclear weap-
ons testing had their heyday in the 50s and early 60s.
Man, that was what Vegas was about; this was living
high in a land under the threat of nuclear annihilation.
The desert wherein we tested our own weapons, where
we turned the sands to glass, was what surrounded
Sinatra singing at the Sands. Nuclear war hung in the
air. This is the literal historical context of the title.
The world it seems to be slowing down, is it ever gonna
stop? / ... from all the pressure that’s underground from
everything on top.
One wonders if this first line literally refers to the earth
spinning on its axis, slowing down at an almost imper-
ceptible rate. But it points to the main question - the
main anagogical question, as it were: is the world go-
ing to stop?
The second line plays on the dual meaning of “under-
ground.” In the song’s context, it leaves you wondering
whether we are talking about the pressure of the under-
ground nuclear testing. But the pressure is “from ev-
erything on top.” That seems to be the weight of what
we’ve built: civilization. That points to a second mean-
ing of underground, significant in time and place given
the “underground” movements in poetry, music and poli-
tics that were pressing upward against the civilization
represented to some by a) Frank Sinatra and b) the
threat of nuclear war.
Now everytime there’s a sunny day someone tells me
we’re melting away
A clear reference to global warming and climate change
and people’s reaction to it – bringing the slow world-
ending situation of today in tandem with the threat of
nuclear Armageddon under which the Sinatra of that
period sang.
Outside a war is beginning, while the orchestra plays a
new song...
Is this war an image of the nuclear war that might have
begun, a sort of imaginary revisionist history of what it
would have been like as Sinatra sang while the mis-
siles actually began to fly, his song being the “last
song?” Is it possibly a reference to the Vietnam War
Urban Folk XV ~ page 11
which was just beginning? Or the cultural war about to
explode across the globe, leaving the style and values
(or lack thereof) of the society represented in people’s
minds by Sinatra behind? Is the “new song” the music
that eventually replaced his – is it a reference to Sinatra
making an attempt at the latest rock and roll hits or
even singing Dylan?
The more immediate and powerful historical reference
in this case is, I think, the Cuban Missile Crisis. People
who lived through it tell me it felt like the U.S. and the
U.S.S.R. might finally attempt to annihilate each other,
and us. Imagine Sinatra singing during these anxious
hours a number that might be his last song. It was a
time we can imagine people were not bothering to watch
ball games, and painters could easily have not signed
their work knowing that no one would be there to see it.
This was a time when Dylan was quoted as having
thrown together “Hard Rain” out of a random selection
of lines he’d collected, since he thought there would
not be time to develop them into separate songs.
Hollywood’s Egyptian Tombs / Hollywood and its
Temples
Interesting phrase because it gives the impression of
referring to the sets constructed for those great epics
being filmed in the age of Sinatra and nuclear war. This
slides quickly into America being discovered sometime
in the future. This raises the interesting point: will the
future learn about America and view its monuments as
we do historic temples and tombs, or will they uncover
the fake temples and tombs and learn something else
about us? From a literal perspective, America was on
the edge of being left only for future generations to dig
up – Hollywood’s version of Egypt.
The Allegorical Sense
Since it is only by virtue of the title that we assume
that the singer in this song is Sinatra, it becomes clear
that Sinatra represents any artist, any singer, at any
time when the fear of doom pervades the air. More spe-
cifically, just do away with any thought of Sinatra and
substitute any artist at such a time.
Likewise, nuclear war may represent any particular re-
sult of civilization which threatens to extinguish the very
species that spawned it.
The underground represents the forces that are pushed
down by that civilization, be they nature or human be-
ings which, as they push back, begin a sequence of
events that is hard to comprehend:
And your head is spinning all around and its never gonna
stop / Because the pressure that’s underground is al-
most to the top.
But even this line makes one revert to the initial image
of underground nuclear testing. This raises the ques-
tion does the writer equate the responses to pressure In a certain tradition of thought which reached an apo-
as possibly being as destructive as the nuclear gee in the very same medieval age when we began this
weapon? Is it all about constant leashing and unleash- piece, it was your last moment, your final earthly state,
ing of movements beyond our control? And what hap- that determined your future state wherever that might
pens when it all breaks through the surface? be. Indeed, some writers would advise “Keep always
The Moral Sense before you the moment of your death.” These thoughts
occur in an obvious apocalyptic scenario, as in the Book
Listening to this song in full, one can see that it ad- of Revelations, where we will actually be judged, but
dresses the proper response of the individual to im- we don’t know when that judgment may be.
pending disaster. The moral is pre-anagogic as it were.
In this song we approach it from the other side. Here
Baglivi describes the state of the individual wrestling we have a sense of what is worthy and good, a mo-
with a chaotic and accelerating world: ment, when one can sing along, and know life, is not
Sometimes you feel we’d have half a chance if you / reduced to finishing up with the most toys. The song
only could just catch your breath leaves a real sense of this moment, the moment which
This temptation to believe that somehow we could solve in fact is each of us (for what are we but what we are at
it, if we calmed down, if we didn’t have to race from one this moment, and who else is in control of that mo-
crisis to another, from one appointment to another, ment?) singing a possible final note. It is this that will
meets with the realization that none of this is really take us into eternity, be that through archaeological
within one’s control. All that can be controlled is the memory, the history books or something deeper and
moral question of the moment: more eternal in the world. Sinatra singing as he did,
and everyone joining in that particular song, would have
but then you know that it’s out of your hands – it’s the
at the moment of nuclear Armageddon left only the last
moment, and its gotta last
note. So it is with us.
This question of the moment, which may be the final
The world didn’t actually end back then. That’s when
moment, is the key to the entire song. It is a fearful
you realize that all these last notes that survive, all
time and, truth be told, we do get scared but “just scared
these individual last notes we may be singing, are what
enough to be happy its not up to you.”
make up the present. The present, this moment, is the
And so the moral question, the question of what to do last note, about to go forth into a world that does not
with this particular moment in our control, comes down yet exist, may never exist, or simply isn’t.
to something else. It comes down to a line reminis-
So the singer insists that we are each this moment,
cent, I suppose, of Camus or Sartre or some other ex-
and we’ve got to stay this moment, for in a literal, alle-
istentialist writing in the same times that Sinatra was
gorical and moral sense, this present is the end time;
doing his work:
it is the final note of the whole song, and it is up to us
And now you know it’s all in your hands: YOU’RE THE to keep singing, to keep this moment going, to keep
MOMENT...and you’ve got to last. us going, because it always is the last note even if
But the underpinning of this idea, what supports it, what many more happen to follow.
makes it convincing in this song, is not some existen-
tial conclusion of an individual thrown into an
absurd world, it is rather found in the
anagogic. It is in the face of the future that
doesn’t yet exist, that might not exist, or as
Lach once put it, simply doesn’t exist at all,
that the moral question is fully grounded.
The Anagogical Sense
Baglivi describes a number of natural re-
sponses people have to thoughts of immi-
nent worldwide doom. He does not judge
them. In fact, the singer himself participates
in some of them. But the chorus in some
strange way puts the ground beneath the
singer’s realization of the proper reaction.
but there’s only one note that survives the
whole / there’ll be only one note moving on.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 12
 Just About to Burn
The unexpected rise, inevitable fall and unlikely
return of Paleface
by Butch Ross
The first sign that Paleface is a pretty down to earth
guy only comes after you’ve realized that a surprising
number of the people he’s crossed paths with are ei-
ther cult legends or capital-F Famous. He toured with
the Breeders, had Beck as a roommate, he recorded
with Kramer and was introduced to songwriting by Daniel
Johnston.
Were he to tell you all this, PF (as he prefers to be
called) would sound like some name-dropping L.E.S.
poseur, the kind who live in Staten Island while claim-
ing a Williamsburg residence (someone who says, “I’m
not a waitress, I’m an actress” without a trace of irony).
But PF doesn’t drop names, he’s never read his own
press, he is neither a wannabe nor an also-ran. His
entire career reads like a “behind the music” fed through
a Brownian Improbability Drive; he was there at the be-
ginning and is one of the few people that can lay claim
to shaping the sound that is AntiFolk (if indeed there is
a sound). Daniel Johnston was his mentor, Kramer his
producer, and Beck… well, as Ramblin’ Jack Elliot was
to young Bob Dylan, so PF was to Beck.
PF’s career has ridden the rise and fall and rise again
of the NYAF scene, and he is part of gravity that shapes
its tides. When I was introduced to the AF scene in the
late 90’s, you were deemed AntiFolk in part by how
much you sounded like Paleface
(If you want to hear what this
sounded like, Burn and Rob and
Get Off are still available
at palefaceonline.com).
PF received an unlikely introduc-
tion to performing via Daniel
Johnston. The volatile genius was
in town to record an album with
the band Sonic Youth, a CD that
was being produced by Shimmy
Disc owner and legendary indie
producer Kramer. PF recounts
that Daniel was “troubled” and
had claimed to see “the Devil in
Steve Shelley.” Shelley, who had
been hosting Johnston, needed
to find him a new place to stay.
PF knew Shelley through mutual
Urban Folk XV ~ page 13
photos by Crackerfarm
friends and was in a position to put Johnston up for a
few weeks. When Johnston wanted to hit some open
mics in the area, PF – who had been ‘diddling’ on a few
chords – tagged along, and before long was writing and
performing himself. That same infectious spirit was later
caught by a certain Beck Hansen while living up with
PF. To this day, Beck’s acoustic material bears an eerie
resemblance to that of his former housemate.
The Lower East Side scene had not yet congealed and
it was at a fledgling AntiHoot that PF met former Stooges
and Doors manager Danny Fields. By 1991, Fields got
PF signed to Polydor records, “I thought it was cool
cause it was James Brown’s label.” PF recalls. He did
a couple of shitty tours opening for the Judybats and
the Crash Test Dummies, before successfully begin-
ning to build an audience opening for Billy Bragg. PF
began to record a second record for Polydor but by
then he was ”too drunk.” The label shelved it.
From here, PF gets an offer to record on Shimmy Disk
with legendary producer Kramer. There is a legend that
“with a touch of a button” Kramer erased all the mas-
ters of a record that would have been called Generic
America. If this is true, PF makes no mention of it. He
only says of his experience with Kramer, “his whole
empire was crumbling around him. He had Ween, King
Missile, and Bongwater, and his
whole world was falling apart.”
PF was also not in the best of
places, but he still had a long
way to fall.
In 1993 manager Fields, who
was tight with Sire president
Seymour Stein, got PF a deal
there. Sire was then the flag-
ship of the burgeoning so-called
“alternative” music scene with
bands the Throwing Muses,
Sebadoh and Dinosaur Jr.
PF’s time on Sire would be
short. “Seymour Stein quit like
five days after Get Off! was re-
leased,” he recounts. Un-
daunted, he set out to tour be-
hind the record. “I wasn’t sure if
I was on the label at that point,
but I had some friends at Sire
who sent Danny a bunch of
stuff.”
He went on tour with the
Breeders and Lutefisk. All
were pretty fed up with the
music business, which they
compensated for with overin-
dulgence. “Everyone on that
tour was a wreck,” PF recalls.
Towards the end of that tour
PF hit the bottom, “I crashed,
and my liver like almost gave
out.” Paleface checked into a
hospital, dropped out of the
scene and got clean but it was
a long, long recovery, “My im-
mune system was just gone
and so if I’d get like a cold or
something I’d get an infection
and I’d just be a mess, then
get well for like six weeks and
it would start all over again.”
It wasn’t until around the turn
of the millennium that PF was
finally able to perform, back at
the same open mics that had
earlier launched him. As it
was in the early nineties, he was in the right place at As a trio, the group was well received in the city, Audi-
the right time. “I came back in 2000, and the open mic ences, according to PF, “were really just digging it. It
was just full of (folks like) Nellie Mackay, Joie DBG, the resonated with a lot of people.” Yet like so much of
Moldy Peaches, Langhorne Slim.” Seeing neither an PF’s career, the project almost fizzled just as it was
also-ran nor a has-been looking to make a comeback, about to burn. “The banjo player quit, so I was like,
these people adored PF and reintroduced him to their ‘now what?’” PF chose to carry on, “I was digging writ-
audiences. About this time PF also met North Carolina ing these kinds of songs and I didn’t want to stop doing
band The Avett Brothers. “Meeting the Avett brothers it,” he says. “I just decided to get some really good
was a big deal, cause they were doing it all themselves musicians.”
and having success at it. I began to see that you don’t
need to have a label to do it.” “Someone had suggested Lenny (Molotov). We added
a bass player and before we knew it I had a bunch of
PF’s latest incarnation, and its namesake album, has tunes.” All this time PF was still trying to get his beats
grown organically. Though PF had been working on a and Beck thing together, even though his heart was
new Paleface sound “with loops and these kinds of clearly in the folk camp. ”The two different projects were
things,” He also began working a little side project with getting to be too much so I merged them together and
banjo and dobro player Breadfoot that they were call- called the record Paleface and Just About to Burn.
ing Just About to Burn. “I wrote a lot of tunes,” He Now I’m back to writing just as Paleface.”
says, “and me and this guy were doing this country
folk thing on the side. We did a couple of gigs and The songs on JATB are as good as any from the PF
decided we needed a drummer. Mo (Monica Samalot) cannon, still full of the punky energy and acoustic thrash
was kicking around so we asked her. Basically, we they also are tempered by wisdom (and temperance).
decided to make this record: I called a friend who had a The anger of Get Off has been replaced with outrage,
studio and we just did it.” but also addresses more mature emotions like remorse,
love and surprisingly, fun.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 14

Since recording the record Given that AntiFolk is overwhelm-
PF has trimmed the band ingly, defiantly DIY, (except for
down to just him and Mo, you fucks who think it’s a back
and hit the road hard. When door to pop stardom) It seems
I interviewed him, he was on ironic that PF should come so
the phone at a Wendy’s late to the DIY party. PF agrees.
outside of Chattanooga, “It’s a fucking miracle that I got
TN. According to PF, the on two major labels in the nine-
manager of the Avett Broth- ties and those records got re-
ers told him, “Dude, you leased.” Thus he joins a growing
gotta get out of town, you number of people in his genera-
can’t be in a city and tour.” tion, staring down forty but unre-
They took their marching pentant and unremorseful in their
orders seriously. decision to pursue the art life.
“We just got out and ended The dream of being a punk rock
up in a parking lot in Ten- legend is tempered by realism
nessee.” (and more than one brush with stardoom); but the be-
lief that this is their calling is no less potent. In speak-
This is not to say that they’ve fled the Big Apple for ing of the upcoming plans Paleface is shortsighted and
greener southern pastures. Mo is quick to point out, “I focused, while remaining optimistic and flexible about
convinced him to pack up and hit the road... but we the future. “We’re gonna continue to tour on this record,
never said ‘we’re moving, this is our last show’.” The keep writing songs and getting better. Maybe in the
band will be back in NYC to play some gigs in May ’08, next 6 months we’ll record again, so we’ll see what
before continuing to tour full-time. So while they touch happens. We’re feeling good, we’re feeling like this is
down alternately in Concord, North Carolina and New what we need to be doing.”
York, more often than not where they live is the van:
playing the South, selling CDs out of the back, and palefaceonline.com
sleeping in rest stops.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 15

 Get in the Minivan
The Ballad of Throat Culture
by Brook Pridemore
When nine people show up anywhere, popping out of a
conversion van like clowns out of a Volkswagen Beetle,
it's a spectacle. Every single time. That's the first thing
I learned while on tour with Endless Mike and the Beagle
Club, an excellent band and a great group of people
from Johnstown, PA. The second thing I learned was,
good luck getting to take charge of the stereo. The
third thing is that traveling with a gang of eight like-
minded people around you, while cumbersome and of-
ten overwhelming, has its advantages.
I heard recently that Bob Dylan once said something
like, "Most guys want to start bands so they can walk
down the street together, like they're a gang. Fuck that,
I wanna walk down the street by myself." And I can't
help but feel like that, most of the time. Being a folksinger
has a lot of unsung advantages.
1. Totalitarian decision-making: I've heard stories
and read rock biographies about bands making de-
cisions based on vote. The most nightmarish case
I've heard of is the Ramones, who went through
extreme infighting throughout their career over what
Urban Folk XV ~ page 16
photo by Lauren Terilli
songs they would release as singles, where to tour,
etc. Every little bit of minutiae put up to a four-
member democracy. Being a folksinger cuts out a
lot of the little details-only one guy (or girl) has to
get time off work to travel, and only one person
stands to gain (or lose) from any decision made.
2. Cost-Effeciency: I can tour in a car – or a bus. I
have had almost no problem getting through cus-
toms going in and out of foreign countries (even
doing it without an ID the last time). Try doing any
of that with a drumkit, amps and a bunch of
cramped, sweaty dudes.
But I wish that I was in a band. Touring (or at least
performing) alone has its shares of pitfalls as well. The
first is often mind-numbing loneliness: when the show's
a bust, or there's some stupid van drama, there's no-
body there to bitch to. Even when things are going great,
there's little to no point in celebrating with the same
two guys you've been celebrating/bitching with night
after night.
The second disadvantage is proving your value as a
performer. Equally fervent in the punk house and sports
bar environs, there exists an instant and nearly crip-
pling stigma against the solo acoustic songwriter – that
a kid who can't get his shit together to start a band isn't
worth listening to. I've often gotten around general apa-
thy by hollering louder than people care to ignore, but
even I'm starting to notice changes in my voice from
years of hollering. I used to be a Boy Soprano.
Out with the Beagle Club, there existed the immediate
advantage of having an enthusiastic audience of eight
at every show. A bag of tambourines and shakers sup-
plied simple and inobtrusive accompaniment to my of-
ten completely non-electric shows. And, at the show in
Marion, NC, having an enthusiastic gang around me
helped stir a room full of would-be detractors into a
warm and hospitable crowd.
It’s a Friday, at the ass-end of October 2007. The great
thing about touring the last week of October is that you
get to play a whole week straight of Halloween shows.
Every night, a different local band does all of their Mis-
fits tunes, kids are out in full costume. It's like regular
Halloween, to the seventh degree.
Marion is no different (in fact, the first night of the pre-
Halloween sweeps week). A hollowed-out basement that
looked like it used to be a Sunday School, houses,
and about fifty skeletons, pirates and Napoleons Dy-
namite. Nobody wants to be the opening act, so fuck
it, Beagle Club goes first, generating a big dance party
with their punk/pop/rock/greatness. Two more bands
played, one doing a full set of Misfits covers in full
Urban Folk XV ~ page 17
makeup (righteous!) and one doing indecipherable noise
(headache!), and then me. Lots of yelling on my part,
Beagle Club around me, shaking shakers and singing
along. Kids starting to sing and dance along too, drum-
mer for next band starts tapping with the beat. Instantly,
one sad guy with a guitar becomes eight like-minded
co-conspirators, crazy but benevolent out-of-towners
spreading a joyful noise.
Next band, loud pop-punk. Had forgotten how boring
MXPX is. Singer points at bassist, says, "My Girlfriend's
pregnant. Now you guys know I've had sex." Up ‘til that
point, I honestly thought she drank too much. We laugh
at noise band from Asheville who chastises the audi-
ence for not dancing, then bleeds violent noise through
concrete walls, driving everyone into street with hands
over ears. Touring bands make not nearly enough
money, laugh together, big hugs all around. Nine be-
nevolent loonies crawl back into the clown car to do it
all over again.
B-man, who is never sarcastic, even when he sounds
it, plays auxiliary everything in the Beagle Club. He
tells us later that, while I was playing, the drummer for
one of the other bands mimed blowing his brains out in
disgust. B-man claims to have then told him, "I laugh
at your small brain and then forget all about you." What
would have been a pretty tame night by myself turned
into a great time had with a bunch of friends.
So I went home and started a band. We're called the
Valley Cubs, and it's me and my roommates. I don't
know if it'll end up being as fun as being out with the
Beagle Club, but we're certainly gonna try.
The Fortified Winter AntiFolk Fest 2008

N
Tuesday, February 19
7:30-Kenny Cambre, 8-Andrew Duncan, 8:30-Ben Krieger, 9-Kelsey Bennett, 9:30-Dan Costello,
10-Art Sorority For Girls, 11-Carl Creighton.

Wednesday, February 20
7:30-M.Lamar, 8-Peter Dizozza, 8:30-Frank Hoier, 9-Dibs, 9:30-Elizabeth Devlin, 10-Casey Holford,
11- AntiFolk Reads Bernard King.

Thursday, February 21
7:30-The Elastic No-No Band, 8-Joe Crow Ryan, 8:30-Brendan Kerwin, 9-John Houx, 9:30-Ben Godwin,
10-Soft Black, 11-Phoebe Kreutz, 12-Level II.

Friday, February 22
7:30-Herb Scher and The Key-Lime Pie Revue, 8-Preston Spurlock, 8:30-Bendik, 9-Erin Regan,
10-Mike Baglivi, 11-Creaky Boards, 12-The Telethons.

A F
Saturday, February 23
7:30-Scary Mansion, 8-Charles Latham (Philly AntiFolk), 8:30-The Fools,
9-Brook Pridemore and The Valley Cubs, 10-Lach, 11-Don McCloskey, 12-The Humans.

Sunday, February 24
7:30-Masheengun Kelly, 8-Eric Lippe, 8:30-Liv Carrow, 9-Nan Turner, 9:30-Yoko Kikuchi,
10-Major Matt Mason USA, 11-Ivan Sandomire.

Monday, February 25
7:30-The Antihoot with Lach. Sign-up 7:30.

Tuesday, February 26

Y
7:30-Scott Alexander, 8-Pablo Das, 8:30-Bryan McPherson (Boston AntiFolk), 9-Matt Singer,
10-Goodtimes Goodtimes (London AntiFolk), 11-Michael Wagner.

Wednesday, February 27
7:30-Brian Speaker, 8-Brownbird Rudy Relic, 8:30-Isto, 9-Poez, 9:30-Debe Dalton,
10-Eric Wolfson and The War Cabinet, 11-Jason Trachtenburg and The National Distractions.

Thursday, February 28
7:30-Emily Price, 8-Peter Nevins, 8:30-Somer, 9-Josh Fox, 9:30-Alisha Westerman, 10-Darwin Deez,
11-The Sprinkle Genies, 12-A Brief View of The Hudson.

Friday, February 29
7:30-Nate Awesome, 8-Jeffrey Marsh and Rick Sorkin, 8:30-Pearl and The Beard, 9-Dan Fishback,
10-Daniel Bernstein and The Happy Zealots, 11-Ching Chong Song.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 18

The Winter AntiFolk Fest 2008 is upon us, brought to you at the Sidewalk Café (conveniently situated at 94
Avenue A) by Fortified. You can find most of the performers on the artist pages at antifolk.net, or on MySpace
Music, and many of their albums will be on sale at the soundboard during the shows.
Tuesday, February 19
Kenny Cambre ~ If AntiFolk is Americana, then
Cambre is AntiFolk. He washed ashore from New Or-
leans with songs that can make you want to cry, or
drink moonshine by moonlight.
Andrew Duncan ~ He left home after high school with
only a guitar, and arrived at Sidewalk to write songs in
the basement and sing “Cecelia” like it’s his own. Ap-
parently, there are fiery times ahead.
Ben Krieger ~ Operatic pop at its finest, like Queen
meets XTC. He may jump on stage to do Guns ‘N
Roses covers with Mike Baglivi.
Kelsey Bennett ~ Well-crafted songs. Granddaughter
of Tony Bennett, she comes down from Cambridge to
play. She lists the Marquis de Sade as her number one
influence, which we find disturbing. Seek out the pretty
photo of her with the snake and apple.
Dan Costello ~ He had a dream
last night he was a tape recorder
and was making a mix tape for you.
He’s the barrelhouse piano player
you shouldn’t shoot, and has new
songs after spending January tour-
ing the country to get his head out
of New York.
Art Sorority for Girls ~ Daoud
Tyler-Ameen’s band no longer con-
sists of sorority girls, but lots of girls still come to the
show. There’s rock-and-roll hidden in his layered pop.
Carl Creighton ~ He recently formed a band that gives
him a whole new dimension, something like Elton John
meets The Eagles. We know him for his beautiful pi-
ano ballad to his sister, “Minnesota.”
Wednesday, February 20
M. Lamar ~ A classically-trained counter-tenor, he cre-
ates a soundscape that reaches into the street. Jezabel
Music calls him “an operatic loon trapped in a piano.”
He explains, “What so many right-wing Christians don’t
seem to understand is to be more Christ-like is to be
like a nigga hanging from a tree.”
Peter Dizozza ~ Author of many musicals over the
years, sometimes performed by AntiFolkers. He may
be best known for Pro-Choice on Mental Health. You
will get piano, you will get dinner theater, you will get
his philosophy, all for the loan of an ear.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 19
Frank Hoier ~ Known for “Jesus
Don’t Give Tax Breaks to the Rich”
and “The Death of Jerry Falwell.” A
second album is due out in the
Spring. He performs weekly at the
old-time, folk and blues Roots ‘n
Ruckus show in Red Hook.
Dibs ~ Dibson T. Hoffweiler’s charm-
ing songs include one about Brooklyn’s ill-fated Domino
sugar factory. Known for his innovative guitar work with
Huggabroomstik and Urban Barnyard, he records with
too many bands to mention.
Elizabeth Devlin ~ She plays the autoharp and may
be the best-dressed woman on the scene. Abelard and
Heloise and Egon Schiele appear in her songs. Soft
Black writes, “Intense and abstract folk enchantress;
psychedelic as fuck but I’ve heard she’s never tripped.”
Casey Holford ~ He writes the kind of pop songs that
get stuck in your head after the show, with a seasoned
guitar style. If he’s with the band you’ll hear some
wicked great arrangements.
AntiFolk Reads Bernard King ~ Though his poetry
isn’t meant for public reading, Bernard King can’t stop
others from doing it. Retired from performing, he lives
with squirrels out on Staten Island.
Thursday, February 21
Elastic No-No Band ~ Justin Remer likes to perform
in his bathrobe, flanked by Herb Scher and Preston
Spurlock, at whom he may yell. The album My 3 Addic-
tions explores his love for food, women, and films. It’s
hard to think of anything more entertaining.
Joe Crow Ryan ~ A one-man free-jazz, spoken word,
folkatonic experience, he used to wear a string of bells
around his neck. On uke and piano he weaves weird
tales of America’s byways and down-and-out subway
busking.
Brendan Kerwin ~ Down-home tunes from a soulful,
thoughtful heart.
John Houx ~ After rambling across
the country, he’s finally bought new
shoes, but is more comfortable per-
forming barefoot. Steeped in Ameri-
can folk and followed by comparisons
to Dylan and Guthrie, Houx is what
Dylan would be today if he’d retained
his youth.
 Ben Godwin ~ You don’t expect the
sound of Tom Waits to come from
this bespectacled Englishman, but
he pulls it off.
Soft Black ~
Prone to mystic
experiences,
Vincent Cacchione
hasn’t been the
same since a girl put a spell on him.
What Springsteen and Dylan did in
the 70s, Vin does well today. He’ll be
hawking some of his new music on
vinyl, and his violinist Clancy is not to be missed.
Phoebe Kreutz ~ We’ve heard the term “joke folk”
applied to her, but she’s not all fun and games. She
can make you cry if she wants, and when performing
with Urban Barnyard, she can sing astonishingly like
Grace Slick. Really.
Level II ~ There’s a little Randy Newman snarl in The
Carpenter, AKA Ben Folstein, but it’s a laid-back good
time. You should hoist some beers during the show.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 20
Friday, February 22
Herb Scher and the Key-Lime Pie Review ~ A photo
exhibit of Scher’s AntiFolk portraits hung at Sidewalk
last year, capturing some of the artists at their best.
His music has been described as Jim Henson filtered
through Harvey Pekar.
Preston Spurlock ~ With synthesized raw energy, he
sings profoundly of alligators and frogs, brings you to
weird psychological landscapes, and may veer into
death metal. He’s been known to kick instruments
around, and completely reinvents “Hotel California.”
Bendik ~ A punk-rock stalwart, Joe sometimes per-
forms with daughter Izzy. He’s electric, sweaty, and
he’s been known to jump on tables. He may sing
“Malltown” and other attacks on
what’s wrong with society. Buy him
a red wine.
Erin Regan ~ A doyenne of the
scene who, after something of a hia-
tus, is again devoting all of her time
to writing. You’ll think you’re listen-
ing to stories about your own life, and
she hits some Joni Mitchell notes.
Mike Baglivi ~ He gives big stage performances on
little stages and can get any audience to sing on the
chorus. His music runs like an existential epic to-
wards the end of the world, and he covers a song from
Charlotte’s Web, too.
Creaky Boards ~ Andrew Hoepfner is a cross be-
tween Freddie Mercury and Brian Wilson who sweats
like Rod Stewart, all climbing under and over each
other on stage, or falling off of it. Recommended for a
profound pop experience.
The Telethons ~ Two guys from New Jersey, a drum-
mer and a singer on guitar and piano. A punk They
Might Be Giants, they have some of the most inter-
esting writing around.

Saturday, February 23
Scary Mansion ~ Leah Hayes, with Michael Leviton
and others. We remember her sad songs accompa-
nied by thunder stick, but Scary Mansion’s been out
about town for a while and we’re anxious to hear what
they’ve been up to.
Charles Latham ~ King of Chapel Hill AntiFolk trans-
planted to Philly. Allegedly, he’s the heir to the K-Y
jelly fortune who blew his inheritance on an under-
ground bunker full of instruments, recording equipment,
and liquor. The latest in a long line of artists who have
come to the scene after a fall from grace.
The Fools ~ Two women, guitar and
bass, songs that are like the calm
after the storm, and somehow they Sunday, February 24
make sense of things. Masheengun Kelly ~ The charming alter ego of Neil
Brook Pridemore and the Valley Kelly of Huggabroomstik. We may not see him in a fur
Cubs ~ He tours the country six cape or playing leads behind his back at this show, but
months out of the year like it’s his there’s no telling what else might happen.
lifeblood, and his most recent album Eric Lippe ~ The roving photographer who for many
is Sings Greatest AntiFolk Hits! He years captured Regina Spektor and others on the scene
doesn’t drink, but sounds great when you do. in moody black and white. Most recently he performed
Lach ~ The Godfather of the scene. Who knows where in the Rachel Trachtenburg Morning Show and demon-
you’d be if it weren’t for him? J.J. Hayes writes, “Lach’s strated how to peel a banana. His discs are rare and
music has the same sensibility that allowed the Clash he doesn’t perform his quiet songs often.
to rescue punk rock from its own narcissism.” You can Liv Carrow ~ Originally with Griffin and the True Be-
pre-order his new album, and “Former President Bush” lievers, she trucked her belongings from Philadelphia
and “The Hillary Clinton Song” are also available. to Brooklyn to record an album of songs about fortune-
Don McCloskey ~ An unholy cross between Kid Rock, tellers, hermits, and putting eggs in a single basket.
the Kinks, and Robin Williams. People will drink and Nan Turner ~ When she sings, she may also drum,
have a good time, and it will be loud. and watch out if she’s been drinking Sparks. She re-
The Humans ~ Twin brothers who create a big strange cently appeared as Mary in “An AntiFolk Christmas,” a
wall of sound. For a while they shortened their name to short film by Dan Fishback.
The Hum, but they’re fully human again. AntiFolk alumni, Yoko Kikuchi ~ She’s one half of the band Dream
they hail from Staten Island where, on every street cor- Bitches, wields a guitar like a weapon, and sings nos-
ner, their stickers can be found. talgic songs with keen edges.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 21

Major Matt Mason USA ~ A long-time presence on
the scene, he runs Olive Juice Music and produces the
albums of Toby Goodshank and many others. His plate
is always full and his new album is called Senile Pie
Strive Pip Melancholy.
Ivan Sandomire ~ His band is Ivan and the Terribles,
and he fills the room with memories we can almost
share. He’s been described as Radiohead meets good
music. imdb.com/name/nm1465871/
Tuesday, February 26
Scott Alexander ~ It’s rare to cite John Cale’s solo
work as an influence. We hear he’s like Jonathan
Richman with ADHD, or Tom Lehrer by way of Allan
Sherman with some prog chords thrown in, just to throw
you off.
Pablo Das ~ Formerly of the bittersweet Testosterone
Kills, he writes some of the most sweetest, bitterest,
sincerest, rockingest tunes on the scene.
Bryan McPherson ~ The king of Boston AntiFolk has
been called “hard-driving and punk as fuck,” and Filter
Magazine says “Bryan sings like we’re lucky that he
doesn’t own a gun.”
Matt Singer ~ The kind of stuff that makes ‘smart-
rock’ actually work. He’ll be part of the Elliot Smith
tribute at Bar 4 later this month. Do you know the story
that he’s telling? It’s outrageous...
Good Times Good Times ~ London AntiFolk. Over
the pond, they do things a little differently. How differ-
ently? Come out and see!
Urban Folk XV ~ page 22
Michael Wagner ~ Plays
the ukulele like Thurston
Moore plays guitar:
frequently.
Wednesday, February 27
Brian Speaker ~ Beauti-
fully crafted songs and
blues, and he just finished
his first West Coast tour.
After working sound, you
might find him relaxing with
Debe Dalton and Darcie at
the bar.
Brownbird Rudy Relic ~ He sings
what he calls the “holler blues,” has greased-up hair
and Buddy Holly glasses, and writes songs of despair
and heartbreak. Sylvia Plath is one of his heroes, and
he sings like demons are on his tail. Or trail. Whatever.
Isto ~ Like Zappa as a Smothers Brother. Frank Sinatra
and SUN RA are top friends on his music page, and
there’s a song where he sings “Banana, banana, ba-
nana” to the Pope. His performance has been called
mind-twisting. He is loud.
Poez ~ Brilliant... iconoclastic... savvy... stark… an-
gry. One of NYC’s finest spoken word artists – ever.
Debe Dalton ~ She’s been called the godmother of
AntiFolk, a banjo-player that eschews the folk Estab-
lishment even though she’s more folk than they are.
Songs don’t get any realer than her originals, or inter-
pretations like “Oh, Susannah.” She can often be found
by the side of the stage drinking Guinness.
Eric Wolfson and the War Cabinet ~ Fist-pumping
songs, North Country ballads, some
Elvis Costello mixed with Rolling
Thunder Revue. Band members have
cabinet minister posts, and you know
he believes it when he sings “Sleep-
ing is a Sucker’s Game.”
Jason Trachtenburg and the
National Distractions ~ Of
Trachtenburg Family Slideshow
Players fame. He makes psychedelic pop, and with
the band behind him it’s an onslaught. His stage ban-
ter is not to be missed – or understood.
Thursday, February 28
Emily Price ~ Brand new to the scene, a jazz-pop
vocalist with cello who describes herself as a tall cock-
tail of Ella Fitzgerald and Zoe Keating, among others.
She may be accompanied by a hand-made record
player, which we’d like to see.
Peter Nevins and the Standard Library of Mystery
~ Resident bouzouki-player, Nevins
manages to sound like the Incred-
ible String Band without having been
influenced by them. If you took a
1930s collegian and raised him in the
post-Viet Nam era, Peter would be
the result. A graphic artist, he designs
album art for musicians such as
Gillian Welch (as well as this cover).
Somer ~ A rock-and-roller with an
acoustic guitar who can really belt it
out, and the dim light of the
soundboard shows off her raven-
haired beauty well.
Josh Fox ~ A haiku: Ev’ryone is best
/ when following their nature / that’s
all he tries for. myspace.com/
joshuacharlesfox
Alisha Westerman ~ Alisha Westerman has written
songs for 11 years. The first was about an anchor; the
most recent was about Siddartha.
Darwin Deez ~ He looks innocent with the curls hanging
from under his cap, but that’s before you see him on
stage. He likens his sound to
cats banging on trash cans
with wooden kitchen utensils.
Friday, February 29
Nate Awesome ~ Plus a couple of other guys named
Awesome. They might make a kind of punk bluegrass,
or a cross between the Eels and the Marshall Tucker
Band. They’re big in Lilliput.
Jeffrey Marsh & Rick Sorkin ~ This is Sonny & Cher
meets Kurt Weill in a late night uncensored format,
blending cabaret, musical theater selections, pop mu-
sic deconstruction, and comedy.
Pearl and the Beard ~ A soaring, stomping celebra-
tion of sound that warms both heart and toes. Born on
the frothy shores of Brooklyn, this nascent lovechild of
Kismet and Devotion pours every ounce of their being
into each tenderly crafted hymn.
Dan Fishback ~ Gay or not gay? A solo artist who has
two bands, Cheese on Bread and the Faggots, he writes
surreal, comedic political theater pieces that sometimes
feature AntiFolk performers. He’s happy that his par-
ents will be at this show.
Daniel Bernstein and the Happy Zealots ~ Described
as having a voice like Ethel Merman on downers, Dan
sings pure poetry and writes songs from the grave,
backed up by a great ensemble.
Ching Chong Song ~ Since the recent release of their
long-awaited album, they’ve performed at the Ukrainian
Center and touched something in the Slavic soul. Their
songs are as much staged vignettes as music. She
plays the saw, he plays the piano, there is laughter,
tears, and sex. You could be in 20s Berlin.

The Sprinkle Genies ~

A real rock band that can
jam and follow a disco-
influenced song with
some Led Zeppelin. They
will not disappoint.
A Brief View of the
Hudson ~ NYPress
called them the best
Folk Duo of 2005, the
same year they released
their Art Star Sounds
Compilation, forever
changing the way we
look at… well, every-
thing.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 23

 Sophist Folk
the frog and the scorpion
by J.J. Hayes
Said the Frog to the Scorpion
“I’ll give you no ride
Your cousin and my cousin
Done sunk down and died.”

Said the arch stinger,

“My cousin I’m not
Nor Nature nor nurture
comprises my what, by which I mean my essential being, my whatness as it were, if you see. For I am an
existential scorpion, a believer in free will. I am determined by nothing, I am responsible for it all, I choose to
partake of necessities, I choose the temp jobs, I choose the suit and tie if I so choose. All your necessities,
dear Froggie, dear Froggie, from your a-going courtin’ to that sword and pistol by your side, uh-huh, you choose
them, for you could certainly choose otherwise. Your cousin was under no compulsion...”
“Ah, hah!” cried the Frog, “here your argument fails. any number of reasons but also for the clear implica-
For yes, my cousin chose to give your cousin a ride tion that the story was inspired by fact, and that it would
across the water, but the choice to kill my cousin (and lack much of its entertainment value if it were purely
drown as well), was no choice of my cousin’s. Save fiction. You trust the singer...”
me your existentialism. So your cousin died crying it “Oh, so I trust one singer on one matter, I’m supposed
was his nature to kill my cousin. Your denial of an es- to trust you?”
sential nature to a being brands your own cousin igno-
rant or a liar, while you falsely shift responsibility. Un- “Not at all, I merely point out that the basis for your
less, of course you are saying it was your cousin’s dietary judgment is a reasoned response to a particu-
nature to kill my cousin, and my cousin should have lar poetic report. On the other hand, what reasons do
been aware of it, in which case, yes, some responsibil- you have to base your belief in this obvious fable? Look,
ity floats in that direction. Thus responsibility only at- when I mentioned your going a-courtin’, it was just a
taches if there is a nature to a creature. An essence if reference to an old song, but I have no reason to be-
you will.” lieve that song. Your fear of me is about as valid as if I
were to accuse you of performing acts of interspecies
The Scorpion sighed. This was going to be a tougher mating.”
negotiation than he imagined. He had been on tour for
months and these northern wet climes were getting to The Frog’s deep voice turned a sexy shade of sultry.
him. He needed desert living, but this damn river stood “And what makes you think I don’t?”
in his way. He figured if he could hop a ride on this The Scorpion’s metabolism spiked and the Frog turned
amphibian he could move on. away.
“Look,” said the Scorpion, “I’m not my cousin. I’m me.
I play this little scorpion guitar and I sing. I should be Just then the Scorpion heard that he was on double
afraid of you. Have you not heard the Sewing Circle’s deck. He was sick of being called a killer
‘Great American Bullfrog vs. The Pacific Northwest and undependable by nature. That stupid Frog was
Newt?’” getting him angry. That last remark made him angrier.
“I have indeed heard it. It is quite an amazing work of Tease, he thought.
songcraft. Having heard it, I will not be eating Pacific The Scorpion grabbed his guitar and began a rather
Northwest Newts. I am not culturally ignorant.” long journey upstairs. He dodged numerous feet but
“Now is my turn for an aha,” exclaimed the Scorpion, scurried fast enough to make it to a relatively dark cor-
“for clearly you believed Preston Spurlock’s song, for ner near the stage.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 24
Lach introduced him. He got up on stage. He hooked Distant laughter of green clad boots
his little guitar into the sound system although the plug What can I do but turn on myself
was half as large as his guitar. He asked someone to
lay the microphone on the floor, since the stand wouldn’t Can’t turn on them, can’t turn on them
go as low as he. And I can’t turn on you, I can’t turn on you
“How you doin’ this But I can’t turn to you, I can’t turn to you
evening, Scorpion?”
said Lach.
The Frog, meanwhile, having had a few more drinks
“Oh I’m fine, Lach, and being somewhat intrigued by the possibility that
how are you?” Scorpio was Virgo, and thinking the song had merit
“Scorpion, before way beyond its actual objective worth, began consider-
you start, can I ask ing giving this hook-tailed creature a ride. Frog ap-
you a question?” proached Scorpion and began a conversation that was
“Sure, Lach, shoot.” all excitement and common interest. By 4am. (after
the scorpion nearly drowned in his Chamomile tea),
“You wouldn’t be a the Frog was about to suggest to Scorpion to stay the
Scorpio, by any night at the Frog’s place. Unfortunately Scorpion chose
chance would you?” that moment to say he got a ride from Baglivi and Soft
The Scorpion Black who were heading back to Jersey, but that it had
laughed as did the been really nice hanging out.
crowd. “No, I’m a Frog slept late that Tuesday; Scorpion eventually made
Virgo, actually.” it back to warmer climes. They befriended each other
“When’s your birthday?” on MySpace, but rarely write or leave comments.
“February.” Well, class, that’s it. Your assignment is to write a
Someone shouted from the crowd that that was story, song, poem, or reflection from either the Frog’s
Aquarius and not Virgo. point of view or the Scorpion’s point of view or both.
Send your results to jjfhayes@gmail.com. Winners get
Lach got to the punch line before the Scorpion. to have the implied philosophical underpinnings of their
“I don’t think he was talking astrology.” entire oeuvre exposed and analyzed in a future issue. If
Scorpion sang a strange response to “Ring of Fire,” in no entrants are forthcoming I will have to deal with a
which it appeared that the singer, caught in a ring of fire subject that has been on everybody’s mind, I’m sure:
set by soldiers stationed in the desert, had stung him- AntiFolk and Fundamental Theology. You have been
self to death. warned.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 25

 Social Networking 101
by Jessi Robertson
I am a geek. No, I do not say this shamefacedly. I am quite proud of my geekdom. Nowadays, the pursuit of a
successful music career means dabbling in a bit of everything. If you want to make money as an independent
musician, you need to think of yourself as a private business with a life-cycle that includes generating product,
marketing, and distribution.
Social networking is evolving at an extreme pace. Every musician I know has a MySpace page. Although MySpace
wasn’t the first social networking site, it was a breakthrough in demonstrating the power of online community.
Wikipedia, a collaborative database edited by a community of users, defines social networking as “…a social
structure made of nodes (which are generally individuals or organizations) that are tied by one or more specific
types of relations, such as values, visions, idea, financial exchange, friends, kinship, dislike, conflict, trade, web
links, sexual relations, disease transmission (epidemiology), or airline routes.”
If you’re looking for more info on social networking, visit Mashable.com. Mashable is a blog devoted entirely to
social networking news, so you can find out about the latest Sudoku community or Pet Lovers network. Mashable
has a lot of great info and breaking news about every aspect of online community.
My focus has been on sites that help musicians. These are a few of my favorites:
Eventful
increase, so does the download price. Artists receive
Eventful is a site that allows music fans to keep track 70%, and there are several payment options including
of when their favorite artists are coming to town, with a direct deposit, a refillable debit card, and PayPal. Fans
brilliant twist. Fans can press a button to “demand” receive “Street Cred” for recommending a song that rises
that a musician perform in their area. For the indepen- in popularity. There’s a great player widget that can be
dent musician planning a tour, this tool can be infinitely added to most websites. Songs can be purchased di-
useful. It might lead you to book a show in a new place, rectly from the widget.
or you may be able to get into a better venue based on
http://amiestreet.com
your “demand.” The site provides a widget that can be
added to MySpace, your personal website, blogs, etc.
http://eventful.com Garageband / iLike / Facebook
The connection of these three very different music sites
is an example of social networks taking the next evolu-
c|net Download.com
tionary step. All the sites offer interesting features, but
The editor’s at this site listen to every piece of music the ease of connection between the three creates a
that is uploaded. The downside is it can take up to a unique, highly useful organism.
week before a new song goes live on the site. The up-
side is the possibility that you’ll receive an editor’s re- Garageband lets you upload songs for peer review
view or be featured as an editor’s pick. Based on your (you must complete reviews or pay to enter). The re-
genre and influences, the site automatically updates a viewers have no knowledge of the song or artist as
section called “Artists you may also like.” You will of- the reviews are performed. Based on the results, your
ten find a link to yourself on a major label artist’s page song may move up the charts, advance to further
and vice versa. The editors also choose your similar rounds, and possibly win some prizes.
artists. This not only helps new fans find your music,
but also give you a feel for the genre a music profes- iLike interacts with your iTunes and automatically up-
sional would place you in. dates a page showing which artists are in your library
and what you’ve been listening to. You can flag songs
http://music.download.com and artists that you like, and add reviews. Songs that
have been uploaded to Garageband are automatically
AmieStreet added to the iLike site and an artist page is created
for you. Like Download.com, an interactive list of re-
Upload your songs to Amie Street. The songs are free lated or similar major label artists is displayed. Tour
to download at first, but as the popularity of your songs information can be tracked, much like Eventful.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 26
 Facebook is really a site for friends, not random people
you meet online. It’s a break from the inane MySpace
spam. When I log into Facebook I go to see what my
friends are up to. One of the best things about
Facebook is the Applications feature. You can select
various widgets to add to your page, many of which
will pull in your info from other sites like YouTube,
Flickr, and of course, iLike, all at the simple press of
a button.
The ability to pull content from other sites is a refresh-
ing change. It drives me crazy when I have to upload
the same song, enter the same bio, put up the same
pictures. Facebook definitely has the advantage over
most sites by allowing you to find and add content that
you’ve already uploaded somewhere else. I can only
hope that more sites designed for marketing music will
adopt this method.
http://www.garageband.com
http://ilike.com
http://www.facebook.com
For more info on social networking for musicians, visit
http://drawingprettythings.blogspot.com.

Missing copies of old Urban Folks? Get ‘em online!

scribd.com
(search for Urban Folk)

Or you can order print copies for two bucks each, payable to:
Jon Berger
1119 Longwood Avenue
Bronx NY 10474
urbanfolkzine@gmail.com

Urban Folk XV ~ page 27

 Fredo’s Rant
“Who are YOU? Who am I?”
by Fredo Flintstoné
Fredo, Fredo, Fredo. Everybody
wants to know who Fredo is. Well
I’ll tell you who he is. He’s little ol’
?
me, that’s who. But, as everyone
knows, the best place to start is at
the beginning, and so I shall.
Fredo came into being as a joke.
Not a joke on anyone on the
AntiFolk scene, not even really a
joke at all, more of a wager (I’ll
leave it go at that because if I were
to go further with it my true iden-
tity would be immediately revealed
and it is way too early in this piece
for that revelation). When people
try to outdo one another, odd
things are bound to occur and
hence, Fredo came into being.
Rather, I became Fredo, that
naughty boy. To be honest, I never
really thought of Fredo as being
naughty. I always tried to portray
Fredo on MySpace as a gentleman;
a shy type of man, who, while he
did at times not hide his love for
the ladies, he always remembered
his place as the beloved – if henpecked –
husband to Wilma. I did however, allow you kind folk to
take Fredo wherever you saw fit. If anyone wrote a com-
ment to Fredo, I’d go with it. Many of you, perhaps,
thought Fredo’s words were carefully planned and cal-
culated, but alas, no. I made up everything as it popped
into my head, most times not understanding anything
being emailed or posted to Fredo. I admit it, I can be
very slow at times, but it sure made for some huge
belly laughs on my part when I found out the real mean-
ing behind things said to Fredo and how my replies
had nothing whatsoever to do with the thread of the
conversation. On the other hand, we all know how men
never listen, so Fredo always came off as giving a typi-
cal male response. I must admit, I did try to think and
write as any lusty man would, given the circumstances
Fredo was thrust into by your comments. But all good
things must come to an end and so it must go with
Fredo.
Urban Folk XV ~ page 28
I did have a lot of fun being Fredo,
and I am kind of sorry to see him
leave us, but I just don’t know
where to take the old boy any-
more. I was thinking of having
Wilma catch Fredo at his horn
dogging, turn the tables on him
and start her own column, but
time constraints due to work,
family and love have left me with
little time, if any, to write this col-
umn any longer, and so I think it
best I say adieu and put Fredo
to bed. Also, due to some heavy
editing of my writing (fuck you,
Jon Berger) I don’t really have as
much fun as I used to when writ-
ing, and as we all know, if you
ain’t having fun, it’s time to go.
I have to tell you though, it’s been
a very difficult decision whether
or not to tell you all just who
Fredo really is. My biggest fear
is that people would be hurt by
my coming out, but please, don’t
be. It was never my intent for any-
one to be hurt by Fredo or his
words. And you all have to admit, we had a great time.
Fredo became one of the biggest mysteries on the
AntiFolk scene. He certainly gave people something to
talk about and laugh over. Fredo made people happy.
That was the greatest gift I got out of being Fredo. I got
to make people happy and there ain’t nothing better
than to see your friends – strangers even – laugh and
smile over something you’ve said or done.
That’s another reason I’ve decided to let Fredo out of
the closet. All that I’ve said, all I’ve done, and I never
got credit for any of it; that part sucked. The worst was
the night of the Fredo Super Showcase. One of the
best nights the Sidewalk Café had all year and I had to
sit silently and not get any credit when I wanted to
shout out my involvement. No one has any idea just
how hard it was for me to discuss Fredo, hear how you
thought Fredo was him, or her, knowing all the time,
not being able to say a word. Tough times: some of the
toughest in my life.
The one thing that makes me most proud that I am
Fredo is that I helped to bring the women of the scene
to the forefront. As we all know, men outnumber the
women on the scene. That’s a pity because the women
have just as much to offer musically as any man. I
mean really, Debe Dalton is referred to as the “God-
mother of the Scene,” but please, Godmother? That
woman has more talent in those fingers of hers… she
totally blows me away with every performance. Her
shows should be SRO and anyone who doesn’t agree
with me has a tin ear! The woman reeks talent out of
every pore! And Deborah T. Man, has that gal grown
as a performer. She gets better and better with every
show and Lord only knows where she’s going to end
up, but it’s definitely going to be in the big time. Erin
Regan, her quiet shyness on stage only accentuates
her music. All her songs hit me in the heart. They’re all
such powerful images and play so strongly to all my
emotions that after her show I need to go outside to
catch my breath. Randi Russo, the woman is such a
talented writer and performer that at times I feel like
slapping myself just to be sure I’m not dreaming. And
Somer, my Lord! Somer’s pure AntiFolk, that mix of
folk and punk. She is, fully and completely, what the
scene is supposed to be. Daniel Bernstein, I only tossed
in because I needed someone to close the show and
ran out of female acts. The man is a headliner, though,
and belonged on that stage. The potential that man
has, especially with his new band, the Happy Zealots,
is extraordinary. He can definitely go places and he’s
going to take us all along with him, cheering as we go.
But back to me, Fredo, and who I am. Nope folks, sorry,
I am not Bernard King. Bernard’s too busy with his own
stuff, whatever that stuff is, to be Fredo. J.J. Hayes
isn’t Fredo either. His mind isn’t that dirty. David
Keesey? He’s too angelic for Fredo. Deborah T? She’s
not egotistic. Lach? Nah, he’s too busy with his mu-
sic, his toddler, his whatever. Jon Berger? He wishes
he could write like me! Oh, you silly people. There’s
only one Fredo. Me! The quiet one who sits in the back
and watches silently and applauds loudly. Fredo is me.
Jeannie.
Don’t go telling anyone! Make them read this article.
Now can someone please pick Dan Penta up off the
floor!
Forever,
Fredo

Why would a perfectly respectable Long Island lady want to become a cartoon character and cyberstalk
AntiFolk musicians? Jeannie doesn’t want to talk about it. And it probably doesn’t matter what the inspi-
ration was to transform herself into a 60s fictional icon to support the community. It’s yet another example
of the transformative nature of art, of music, and of creativity in general.
On her webpage, Jeannie writes about how she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, but her
secret identity as Fredo Flintstoné puts the
lie to that claim. Clearly, her appreciation of
artists in this acoustic community is such
that this lifelong listener has become a par-
ticipant in the arts, creating a certain amount
of it herself. “Everyone gets on stage all the
time,” she says, “and I wanted to play, too.
“I wanted to be a part of it, but I don’t sing. I
do write, though.”
Any number of witnesses can attest to any
number of conversations about the mystery
of Fredo Flintstoné for the last year plus. The
turnout for the Fredo Flintstoné Super Show-
case is a testament to both Jeannie’s invest-
ment in the community and the community’s
investment in Fredo. The public wanted to
know who its secret admirer was, wanted to
know who cared enough to write, but hide un-
der a veil of innovative anonymity.

Now we know. Jeannie’s outed herself. It’s a shame, but it’s about time.

Urban Folk XV ~ page 29

 Derek James
No Longer a Stray
Derek James is ready for pop star-
dom. He’s got a great name,
smooth style, dashing good looks,
and talent.
And not just talent, but talent with
a unique twist. In a time where con-
temporaries like John Mayer and
James Blunt are most famous
crooning to the ladies, Derek James
might just become famous for mak-
ing the ladies want to dance to him.
Much of the material on his debut
CD, Stray, is infused with a swing/
jive flavor that simply makes you
move.
"Any music that inspires me to
smack my hand on my thigh or spin
a girl on the dance floor has always
put a smile on my face and filled me with energy,"
Derek said.
Fun is the key to Derek's appeal, whether it is a hu-
morous look at finding the perfect date or job ("Ain't No
Thing is Perfect"), or the kazoo solo – yes, that's right,
KAZOO – in "What's That Sound?", he's gonna make
you smile and tap along.
Time spent listening to jazz, gypsies in the south of
France, and line dancing country stomps in Australia
have also fed into his varied musical influences. You
can hear it in a a song that jabs at the US political
situation, "There is the Sun," and a reggae flavored
ode to a beach love half a world away, "One More Day."
The undeniable hit 'single' that would make Derek James
the radio darling he should be, is the opening track,
"Free Love." The song hooks you from the first beat
and never lets go. Recently, through a series of fortu-
nate events, Derek's CD landed in the hands of Ryan
Stober, a veteran music video editor for artists ranging
from Coldplay to Snoop Dogg. Ryan was keen on find-
ing a song that he could work with to showcase his
talents as a director/producer. Derek's "Free Love" was
just the inspiration he needed. The result is a magnifi-
cently filmed and edited video that can be seen exclu-
sively on YouTube at the moment, but with a few more
Urban Folk XV ~ page 30
by B. J. Barratt
fortunate encounters could find its
way to national media attention.
"I can now proudly say I have a mu-
sic video," boasts Derek. "I've made
some home-made versions of videos
that will be good blackmail material
in the future, but up until this "Free
Love" video, I didn't have any videos
that I felt properly represented what
myself and the band do."
National attention is an uphill
struggle for any artist, but perhaps
more so when the label is of your
own creation, as is the case for
Derek's Howling Clue label formed
in 2005. Derek takes it all in stride
having teamed up with his NY man-
ager, Chris Hacker, to grow the la-
bel as well as Derek's career.
"He and I partnered up, and with his music business
know-how, we developed Howling Clue into a larger
entity that started handling bookings for other artists
as well as myself." Derek explains, "Most recently, he
organized a Howling Clue roster of artists to display at
NACA, the national college conventions for booking
shows in North America. The collective was a great
way to cross-promote some like-minded New York
based musicians in the college market, and it's been
working out wonderfully."
Derek was fortunate enough to be chosen as a 'roving
showcase artist' at the Northeast NACA conference held
in Hartford the first week of November. Any live perfor-
mance at events like these increases exposure to the
lucrative and influential college market. Good for Derek,
good for Howling Clue and good for the colleges smart
enough to book him.
I've seen Derek perform several times and show fea-
tured a different set up. Whether he's at Joe's Pub with
a full band or unplugged at NACA – he can fill the room
with smiles, tapping toes and clapping hands. More
recently, delighted audiences have been getting a rare
preview of material Derek is working on for that elusive
sophomore CD. He went into the creation of Stray with
more than 30 songs which were whittled down to 11
tracks. Some of the others may make it onto the next
CD, but Derek is always working on something new.
"I have enough material that I'd like to record for a few
new CDs. I'm always writing and working on new mate-
rial and don't think that will ever change." As for the
continuation of his unique style, Derek says, "I think I
will continue to have elements of the fun jive flavor in
my future music, as it's a real big part of me musically.
However, I don't have artistic plans beyond writing what-
ever comes out of my head, inspires me to grab a pen
or a tape recorder and remember that sucker! If it moves
me, I'll be making it." Chances are, if it moves him, it
will move the audience as well.
myspace.com/derekjamesmusic

Urban Folk XV ~ page 31

 Record Reviews
Want to have your record reviewed? Mail to J. Berger
1119 Longwood Avenue, Bronx, NY 10474
Alisha Westerman her verses are infused with thoughtful
Mellow Mood prose and irresistible wordplay. Take
“The Mean Song,” for example, where
It’s daybreak in July. You’ve just she sings “This ditty may sound aver-
graduated from art school, and age, but actually it’s mean / The mid-
you and your best friend are point ‘tween the smallest and the larg-
piling your duffle bags into your est quantity.” Instantly you realize that
pre-owned Toyota Corolla, this isn’t going to be an angsty boy-
about to embark on the road trip friend-bashing rant, and your mind’s
you’ve been planning all Spring. eye sucks you like a vacuum back be-
This is your soundtrack. hind that wobbly grey desk-chair in the
Hooked from the very first slap seventh grade, where you’re wishing
of the bass on the opening you were anywhere else but Algebra 2.
track, “This Beat,” you just can’t keep yourself from She continues, “If you were a stranger at my local cor-
singing along with every clever folk-pop ditty all the way ner store / Speculating on the reasons you had ended
down I-95, and your best friend can’t help but add the up there for / I’d point up a number seven, the one not
harmonies. With only a few songs pushing the three- far behind / Help you understand the very magic num-
and-a-half minute mark, the twelve track recording is ber nine.” Subconsciously you can’t help but add seven
over before you’ve had enough, drawing your index fin-
ger back toward the “play” button on your car stereo
like a magnet.
But this album isn’t addictive in the way that junk food
is instant gratification for an unrelenting sweet tooth.
About half of this album lives up to its title, creating a
“mellow mood” that’s comforting, though at times pierc-
ingly haunting in its melodic and lyrical content. Un-
derstated yet powerful barely-there ballads such as
“Stolen Melody,” “Honey,” and “Be For” are part Nick
Drake, part old-school Iron and Wine, part Milk Eyed
Mender-era Joanna Newsom. The other half indulges
the toe-tapping, hand-clapping whirling dervish in us
all. It conjures up memories of such sing-along hits as
Juliana Hatfield’s “Spin the Bottle” in “Casual Sex,” Dolly
Parton’s “Jolene” in “This Beat,” and Strawberry Alarm
Clock’s ridiculously unforgettable “Incense and Pep-
permints” in “Move On.” Westerman still manages to
add her sense of self to each still-can’t-put-my-finger-
on-this-genre poppy tune by sprinkling them with hints
of bluegrass, tango, and acoustic go-go.
The charmingly bipolar album seems to be drawn to-
gether by two unifying factors. The first is Westerman’s
skillful lyric-writing that utilizes various styles of unpre-
tentious poetry to best advantage. While her haiku-esque
hooks are sometimes poignant (“I know better than to
wish that you were here”) and sometimes pure fun
(“Pound for pound, getting down with James Brown”),

Urban Folk XV ~ page 32

and nine together and divide them by two. And the an-
swer? Eight, of course… or is it “ate?” Why else would
you have wandered into a bodega unless your stom-
ach had a rumbling for one of those “beef” patties? Alisha
Westerman just forced you to do math. A word prob-
lem, if you will. And you enjoyed it. Gold stars all around!
The second equalizer is her unique voice, highlighted
by her sisters Nikki and Ninah’s essential backing vo-
cals. While Westerman can surely hold her own in the
singing department and probably could have provided
all of the harmonies herself, this lo-fi recording benefits
from the added textures of three different voices. It also
adds a bit of sweetness to know that the recording
process was a family affair, and that the trio has also
performed as a group that shares the album’s name.
Since the instrumentation is simple and straightforward,
Mellow Mood’s only lament is that the rich vocals aren’t
a little bit higher in the mix. It’s a smart celebration of
songwriting that’s nostalgic, yet reveals something new
with every listen. And listen you will. On repeat. Prob-
ably about four hundred times in a row. I-95 is a really
long highway. (reviewed by Jocelyn Mackenzie)
myspace.com/alishasings
Brook Pridemore
Brook Pridemore Sings Greatest Antifolk Hits
Brook Pridemore’s latest release is a low-key triumph
and a consistently enjoyable collection of simple plea-
sures. The idea behind the album is right there in the
title. Brook takes songs by eleven Antifolk artists and
records them himself. Most of the tracks just feature
Brook singing and whacking the strings of his acoustic
guitar, although there are occasional touches of uku-
lele, piano, glockenspiel, and the like.
Of course, the title is probably intended more as a joke
or a throwback than as an accurate description of the
contents. Sure, a lot of the usual suspects are repre-
sented – Lach, Adam Green, Kimya Dawson, Toby
Goodshank,
Major Matt
Mason USA –
but many of
the artists in-
cluded prob-
ably have
“greater hits”
than the ones
Brook has
chosen from
their respec-
tive catalogs.
It is hard to
deny, however,
Urban Folk XV ~ page 33
that his track selection is more consistent than your
average mixtape and that all the songs suit his voice
and performance style.
In fact, the consistency seems an unlikely anomaly,
considering that most of these songs are pretty much
all personal statements of extremely different singer-
songwriters. And yeah, it’s a bit weird for someone other
than Kimya Dawson to be singing a song she wrote
mostly about her and her family, but Brook makes it
work.
Brook’s readings are pretty faithful to the originals,
sometimes to the point that he takes on some of the
vocal idiosyncrasies of the person whose song he is
singing. His already nasal voice becomes even more
so during parts of Cheese on Bread’s “Modern Art Gal-
lery,” in a nod to their singer Dan Fishback. It’s en-
dearing more than annoying, and it becomes a distrac-
tion only once. Brook’s pseudo-drunk, mush-mouthed
performance of Paleface’s “Liar” is so out of character
that one must assume he is imitating the original. I’ve
never heard the original, though, so I can only guess.
In fact, as a person who has heard only about half of
these songs in their original renditions, I probably
straddle both of the key demographics that this album
would most appeal to: AntiFolk fanatics who’d like to
hear new spins on their old favorites, and AntiFolk
newbies who just want to hear some songs they might
like. Brook’s consistently high level of performance
(most of it reportedly captured in one day-long record-
ing session) makes this an undeniably enjoyable col-
lection to someone located anywhere on the fanatic-
newbie continuum. (reviewed by Justin Remer)
www.craftyrecords.net/brookpridemore.cfm
Ching Chong Song
Little Naked Gay Adventure
Typically, when the word “psychedelic” comes up,
chances are somebody’s talking about a handful of over-
the-hill Englishmen painting soundscapes with an ar-
senal of prohibitively expensive electronics and a moun-
tain of one-use percussion instruments. Someone
onstage is certainly playing either a flute or a gong.
The light show is a much bigger attraction than what
the musicians are doing. Thanks a lot, Pink Floyd.
Over the past little while, though, psychedelia has be-
gun to manifest itself in less bombastic and more home-
grown arenas. DIY craftsmanship and advances in
home recording technology have made it possible for
creative people to make mind-blowing music without
having to put huge mountains of cash down on synthe-
sizers and light shows. The majesty of Neutral Milk
Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over the Sea lies in the mix-

ture of straight folk music with careening horns, saws
and organs – mostly instruments that the players in-
volved had no experience with. Brian Wilson’s forty
years late Smile builds orchestral beauty out of layers
upon layers of vocals and toy instruments – there’s
barely an electric guitar on the whole song cycle.
And Ching Chong Song? The Brooklyn duo comprised
of Julie LaMendola on saw and ukulele and Dan Gower
on piano – both sing – have released Little Naked Gay
Adventure, without a doubt the most quietly psyche-
delic disc I’ve heard this year. What is the element
that gives these songs a Glass Onion feeling? The
semi-planned, semi-improvised “obstructions” that are
a staple of their live show? LaMendola’s saw, which
provides astral and often jarring commentary over
Gower’s often showtuney piano? Or is it that the songs
often seem like stapled-together fragments from jour-
nals and old philosophy books?
It’s certainly a combination of these factors - and much
more. From the opener “Ghost Clock” – which illumi-
nates the perils of merely fulfilling the status quo – to
the abrupt, matter-of-fact conclusion of “Cigarettes,”
Ching Chong Song seem hell-bent on telling a story. The
story doesn’t seem to have an immediate beginning,
end or moral, but is certainly compelling. “Roreesa,”
with its gypsy-band accordion and repetitive chant of
“What the fuck are you talking about?” stands out, as
does the “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” update “Who You Sleep
With.”
The central theme of Little Naked Gay Adventure be-
comes apparent on “Olde Man,” LaMendola’s lament
on her place in the world – being a girl who isn’t pretty,
smart, clean or rich enough to make anybody notice
her. LaMendola’s narrator finds redemption in the
song’s refrain, “Don’t believe in the sun / Make your
own light / stand in the light / Don’t believe in the light /
Make yourself laugh / and turn around.” Ultimately,
Ching Chong Song’s allure lies in their fearlessness. A
band that isn’t afraid to make their own noise – no mat-
ter how unconventional that noise may be – should have
no problem attracting an audience, even if their songs
Urban Folk XV ~ page 34
aren’t good. Fortunately, Gower and LaMendola’s songs
are also very, very good. (reviewed by Brook Pridemore)
chingchongsong.com/
Ben Krieger
Class Dismissed
When Ben Krieger found out I would be the one review-
ing his new CD for Urban Folk, he said to me, “You’ve
gotta listen to it at least five times before you write about
it.”
At first I was
skeptical,
because that
just frankly
sounded like
homework;
but, over the
course of a
couple of
months, I’ve
given the
disc multiple spins, and yeah, after around the fifth time
through, it seemed to click. This could be because
maybe one’s critical faculties are worn down by famil-
iarity with the material, but it could also be
because Krieger has created a power-pop concept
album (about school) with a sonic landscape that is so
layered, slick, and, well... bombastic, it can be a little
too much to absorb on first listen.
On top of that, the album has stylistic ADHD, as though
it were a sugared-up schoolkid. Musically, the influ-
ences fly fast, from Robert Pollard to Brian Wilson to
Prince. But, considering the album’s thematic continu-
ity and its tendency toward rock operatics, Pete
Townshend provides the largest strain of musical DNA,
not least during Tommy-ish songs like “Community
Service,” in which the young hero is forced into com-
munity service after swinging a puppy by its ears.
Fortunately, Krieger plays it fast and loose with his con-
cept, including songs unrelated to school, such as the
Robyn Hitchcock-y love song, ”Window Garden” and
the bizarre ode, “Faye’s Falafel,” which could almost
pass for a radio commercial for the title establishment.
Those side trips are so successful that you sort of wish
that he had abandoned the school thing more often.
“Local 50 Community School Board” is a great example
of a song that would have benefited. Say you wanted
to do a song that sounded like that purple purveyor of
sexy, Prince. OK. But wouldn’t it be hilarious if the
lyrics revolved around the unsexiest thing you could
think of, like... a school board meeting? The song turns
out to be a pitch-perfect musical pastiche offset by a
terribly dull set of lyrics that don’t even derive humor the vein of Joe’s
from the incongruity (“First up is the budget / Got a Garage or The
surplus / Anybody wanna give us your thoughts?/ I Wall. Those al-
say we spend it on text books, paper and chalk.”) bums sometimes
That said, for all of its idiosyncratic touches, Class play like poorly
Dismissed proves to be a solid showcase of written short sto-
Krieger’s smart and catchy songwriting and aggres- ries buried within
sively poppy production style. Despite its thousands epic and often
of musical Frankenstein parts, the album congeals mind-blowing mu-
successfully into a fully realized album, worthy of five sic. No, My 3 Ad-
listens at least. (reviewed by Justin Remer) dictions is a con-
benkrieger.com cept album in the
vein of The Louvin
Brother’s Satan is
Elastic No-No Band Real or Ben Folds Five’s The Unauthorized Biography
My 3 Addictions of Reinhold Messner – albums of songs that are bound
together by a common lyrical theme accompanied by
When you think about the unlikeliness of a group like
well-made but less bombastic music. My 3 Addictions
Elastic No-No Band – a semi-novelty, semi-supergroup
isn’t a timeless exercise in ego-flexing, but rather a
spearheaded by a guy who wrote songs in his off-hours
very good collection of songs centered around perti-
from a grunt-work job at Troma Team Video – a fully-
nent subjects in the songwriter’s life (as of right now).
realized, sparkly clean sounding CONCEPT ALBUM
Recommended. (reviewed by Brook Pridemore)
like My 3 Addictions shouldn’t exist.
my3addictions.blogspot.com/
But it does. This short collection of songs about ENB
leader Justin Remer’s obsessions with food, movies
and girls with boyfriends, opens with a sort of “table of Eric Wolfson
contents” – the album’s title track details its narrator’s State Street Rambler
travails in easy-to-swallow “outline” form. The subjects
are then subdivided by simple solo guitar and voice Eric Wolfson’s “Sleeping is a Sucker’s Game” is the
introductions – chapters, as it were. kind of song that gets in your head and refuses to leave,
snippets of lines resurfacing in your consciousness
Songs flow easily throughout, with more laid-back, when you least expect it. It’s been about a year since
Randy Newman-ish material like “Sundaes on a Sun- I first heard the song on the Anticomp Folkilation
day Afternoon” and “A Modest Proposal (For Laura double-CD set, and I still find myself, in idle
Cantrell)” organizing nicely next to the album’s more moments, mumbling lines from the song, like “We’ve
edgy points like “Woody Allen Surrogate,” or the stop- got a long line of lovers who’ve never left us the same.”
and-start, Pixies Unplugged-sounding “I am Klaus
Kinski (And This is My Song).” The latter, which also Wolfson closes out State Street Rambler, his debut
sounds eerily similar to some of Frank Black’s later, long player, with a slightly different take of “Sleeping is
more stripped-down songs, features the album’s high a Sucker’s Game,” making State Street Rambler the
point, a choral refrain from all of it’s performers, over second album on
whip-smart lead electric guitar by Urban Barnyard’s which this song has
Casey Holford and Dibson T Hoffweiler. Hearing all of been a standout. He
those voices, the off-kilter joy gave me chills. is backed up on the
tune, as well as half
While not a stylistic giant step from last year’s collec- the album, by a group
tion of demos, The Very Best of Elastic No-No Band of friends who make
(So Far) – this isn’t Bringin’ It All Back Home by any a habit of playing on
means – the production quality has blown through the each other’s records:
roof. Remer’s players – pianist Herb Scher, Preston Dan Costello (also
Spurlock on bass and Doug Johnson on drums – click credited with produc-
nicely into a groove so sharp that you could lose a ing the album), Ben
finger. Ubiquitous engineer Major Matt Mason USA then Godwin, Vin from
spit-shines the recordings with a thick layer of gloss. Soft Black, and An-
Is there a moral to the story within My 3 Addictions? drew Hoepfner from
Not really. My 3 Addictions isn’t a concept album in Creaky Boards. Their
Urban Folk XV ~ page 35
habitual collaborations, in addition to the feelgood pub
rock sound they produce on this album, suggest they’re
attempting to be AntiFolk’s answer to Rockpile. A worth-
while pursuit, one might argue, and one that Wolfson’s
band pulls off, while also incorporating elements of The
Band’s North Americana and early rock and roll.
The other half of the songs on the album are stripped-
down to essentially solo performances – guitar, voice,
and harmonica – sometimes with a tambourine or cello
to augment the sound. Like so many acoustic pickers
with a harp-holder around his neck, Wolfson is obvi-
ously a Dylan fan – the opening track on this CD con-
tains at least five really obvious lyrical references to
Dylan songs and probably more I didn’t catch – and
that appreciation comes through most clearly on the
stripped-down tunes.
One of the most successful Dylan knockoffs is the topi-
cal, wry “Talking Dead President Blues,” where Wolfson
goes to the Presidents’ Cemetery, and “talks” to the
ex-Commanders-in-Chief to find out what they think of
G.W. Bush. While some of Wolfson’s jokes and points
are kind of hamfisted – Lincoln says in the song that
the Republican Party used to care about black folks,
and now they just watch them drown – Wolfson seems
right at home spinning vaguely obscure Grover Cleve-
land quips in a way that’s satisfyingly amusing.
Even when Wolfson turns more solemn on wistful bal-
lads like “Cross the River” and “Harlem Lights,” his
crooning style seems patterned after Dylan circa Nash-
ville Skyline, although, unlike Dylan, Wolfson is more
than willing to let his voice crack during these tunes in
an offbeat, Richard Hell-ish style.
And at the end, again we have “Sleeping is a Sucker’s
Game,” a song which should become the official an-
them of Monday night at the Sidewalk Café, and a song
which tells the tale of the struggling musician with
canny, witty lyrics and a stomp-along groove as catchy
as a brassiere clasp. (reviewed by Justin Remer)
www.ericwolfson.com
Lach
The Calm Before
During my pubescent years, my parents would come
up with creative ways of punishing me whenever I had
done something wrong. Instead of implementing the
standard “You’re grounded for two weeks, go to your
room and don’t turn on the TV” routine, they would add
assignments to the mix, like making me illustrate an
old fable with an appropriately edifying moral, or giving
me an enormous stack of books to read and not letting
me be un-punished until I had read them all. And while
reading may not seem like such a torturous task, at
Urban Folk XV ~ page 36
thirteen, The Babysitters Club series was a bit higher
on my list of top reads than The Good Earth. It was
about halfway through one particularly harsh, fifteen-
book sentence that I came upon Kurt Vonnegut. Sud-
denly I found myself so completely engrossed that it
didn’t feel so much like torture. The merging of history
and fiction, the dark humor and the light humor and the
intense gravity and the intense ridiculousness, the bla-
tant honesty and the blatant lies, the voice of the au-
thor intermingling with those of his characters, all pre-
sented in a prose that was casual and authoritative
and satirical at the same time: it all just completely
made sense. The Calm Before reads like one of
Vonnegut’s novels: each song is a character or anec-
dote that plays a distinct role in telling Lach’s story,
uniquely and purposefully crafted in order to best re-
flect the many different facets of their author’s true self.
The first chapter, “Egg,” opens with gentle melodic gui-
tar and soft clarinet that gestate into a soothing, womb-
like atmosphere. Then Lach’s voice cracks painfully
through the warm red aura, “Wobbly wings still sticky /
with yolk and bits of shell,” using sound and lyrics to
create a synesthestic experience of hatching. A few
bars later, the guitar picks up and gains clarity, and so
does Lach’s voice. The frightened chick has matured
into a more aware – though still bewildered – adult who
must now find his place in his big new world. Then
comes “I Just Want to Be With You,” a Pogues-influ-
enced Celtic-folk-punk favorite that sanctifies the little
moments that nobody counts when they’re in love, like
going to the grocery store together or just taking a hot
bath. But in “I Won’t Miss You,” Lach summons a “com-
fortably numb” droning Pink Floyd-esque rhythm to turn
the tables and express his disgust in his now ex-lover,
who may very well be the same one he once appreci-
ated so deeply. “A
Quiet Distance”
balances bitingly
honest lines on a
jazzy Gershwin-
type sing-along
melody and fea-
tures Broadway vet
Lydia Ooghe on
backing vocals,
crooning with a
voice like nectar,
“Are you really
happy?” and “I
can’t handle ro-
mance.”
Lach then steps
outside of himself
and speaks to us
in parables. He recounts a strange dream in “Positions
of Power,” a pure folk ballad that uses a stagecoach,
it’s horses, and its well-to-do passengers as metaphors
for the arbitrary and unfair nature of social and perhaps
political structures. “Letter to Theo” is an ode written in
Vincent Van Gogh’s voice; a reading of one of the
painter’s hypothetical letters to his dear brother, who
was one of the only people in his life he considered an
ally. Then “George at Coney” picks up the pace with a
sea-shanty-like tale of George Harrison’s adventure es-
caping the tribulations of the rockstar lifestyle to have
a day to himself to ride the Cyclone. Its waltzing melody
instantly conjures the treasured essence of Coney Is-
land, complete with its squealing wooden rides, sticky
cotton candy, sweltering heat, and tattooed sideshow
performers.
“Gone Gone Gone” begins the end of The Calm Be-
fore, returning inward with a Paul Simon-y reflection of
lost love highlighted by bongos, bells, tenor sax, and
sighing. Again, Lach celebrates the ordinary by con-
fessing how “the stupidest things,” like a little kid play-
ing harmonica or “an old gay couple” can move him to
tears. Finally, Bill Haley throwback “Crazy House” fin-
ishes off the album with a blang. Horns bellowing and
drums flailing, you can almost see the sweat pouring
off of Lach’s brow as he shouts out his last “Goodbye!,”
bringing us full circle to parallel his “birth” at the begin-
ning of the album.
While The Calm Before may not touch as many souls
as any Vonnegut novel, what the two writers share is a
profound ability to be undyingly true. Both have used
their own distinct forms of language to reveal their in-
nermost thoughts and silliest musings with equal de-
votion. Both have delivered education in the context of
entertainment. And both pretty much gave the finger to
any kind of predisposed standards they were “supposed
to” uphold to their chosen craft. And why not be
unapologetically yourself? After all, as Lach testified,
“This ain’t a song; it is my life.” I’m sure Vonnegut would
have agreed. (reviewed by Jocelyn Mackenzie)
www.lachtoday.com
Dream Bitches
Coke and Spiriters
In 1995, I turned 16 years old. I spent most of my
spare time driving around my hometown of Waterford,
MI in my first car, a 1980 Citation that had red velvet
upholstery and had to be started with a manual choke
each morning. I saw the Ramones on their final tour
and Bush on their first. All of my time in the car was
Urban Folk XV ~ page 37
spent listening to the local modern rock station (the
Citation went out of production before the advent of in-
car cassette players). It was a golden time for radio:
the Grunge boom of the early 90’s hadn’t quite worn off
yet, and unconventional but great groups like the Breed-
ers, Superfriendz and the Smoking Popes all had quick,
quirky and timeless singles around that time. Fred
Durst was still two long years away.
It’s funny that the Dream Bitches have released their
second album Coke and Spiriters right when I’m start-
ing to re-embrace the music I listened to in 1995 –
songs like “Bad Luck Bill” and “Maniacal Mechanic”
would have fit nicely among the minor hits of that year.
Lead Bitches, lifelong New Yorkers and childhood
friends, Yoko
Kikuchi and
Ann Zakaluk
sing duet/duel-
ing songs that
sound not un-
like a cross be-
tween the Deal
sisters and the
girls in Dance
Hall Crashers.
The lead guitar
work of Casey
Holford (of Ur-
ban Barnyard
fame) intertwines with Yoko’s rhythm over simple but
propulsive beats by drummer Jen. Knee and The
Leader’s Julie Delano on bass.
It’s also a funny coincidence that many of the best
Belle and Sebastian songs mention 1995. Dream
Bitches elected to put their spin on the second-best
Belle and Sebastian song (“Me and the Major”) off their
first-best album (If You’re Feeling Sinister), the end re-
sult sounding like a particularly good high school rock
band dipping into someone’s older sister’s record col-
lection. Familiarity is a running theme on Coke and
Spiriters – “Sweet Anneth” borrows its melody from an
old nursery rhyme to tell a cautionary tale about a girl
with loose lips.
Ultimately, Coke and Spiriters sounds like a Live
Through This that was made by sane persons. Like a
quickly-recorded follow-up to Last Splash that went
criminally unnoticed, the Dream Bitches sound and feel,
unironically, like the summer of 1995. Recommended.
(reviewed by Brook Pridemore)
dreambitches.org
Phoebe Kreutz
Big Lousy Moon
That ubiquitous word
“eclectic” has become
almost an insult these
days. It’s a sort of taboo
blanket adjective for the
suburban Pier 1 Imports-
furnished living room
that earns its title only
by displaying a Ningbou
Jewelry Armoire™ over
several assorted Chindi
Rugs™. But where do these household accessories
really come from? A factory lit by florescent bulbs that
churns out thousands upon thousands of other items
that look exactly like them. In a society where eclecti-
cism has become a manufacturable aesthetic, Big
Lousy Moon is an album that authentically draws from
radically different musical and contextual sources.
Founded on a bedrock of clean folk guitar, Kreutz ef-
fortlessly integrates a variety of genres, source mate-
rial, and dramatic changes in vocal styling to create a
sound that is diverse as it is memorable.
Radio-friendly “All Summer Long,” with its charming
fiddle and glockenspiel embellishments, is an infec-
tious ditty that feels like a lost Moldy Peaches anthem
sung by Dar Williams. “Oh, Elizabeth I” makes history
fun à la They Might Be Giants, complete with a roaring
horn section. And clocking in at only a minute and forty-
four seconds, “Birdy in The Driveway” is the adorably
mournful, mournfully adorable tale of a too-short one-
night stand. Its bleeping, blooping, head-bopping
melody is Atom and His Package-esque in delivery,
and it sounds like the way caffeine feels when it surges
through your veins after that “one last” latte.
But just when you think her songs are so sweet that
they may just give you diabetes, Kreutz booms out “A
Bad Feeling About Anna Karenina” with a deep, fiery
Buffy Sainte-Marie-y authority, minus the trilling vibrato.
Then comes “Like You Like,” a sparse, jazzy, vaude-
ville number reminiscent of the South Pacific
soundtrack that’s short, bitter, and to the point. In “Bull
Run Beer Run” she plucks her guitar almost vulnerably
while softly venting about indulging one’s vices on a
budget. “Song to Make You Cry” is a ballad reminis-
cent of Tenacious D’s “Fuck Her Gently” that’s hilari-
ous and just plain mean. And she bares all in “The
Ballad of Throat Culture,” a hypothetical folk-punk nar-
rative of the band she invites you to join. It’s a three-act
comic tragedy of the group’s formation, rise to glory,
and inevitable demise: “I develop a heroin
addiction… You come to my place to intervene, You
Urban Folk XV ~ page 38
find me hanging by the pool house / Shooting
smack with Ben Vereen…And I say, ‘Fuck you,
man, you mother-fucking sellout! / You were noth-
ing when I found you at The Sidewalk! Get the
hell out! / Don’t you know who I am? Get the fuck
out of my rock and roll band!’ ” This girl used to
work for Sesame Street, people. Brilliant.
That in mind, the first thought that occurred to
me when I finished listening to Big Lousy Moon
was that I want to play it for my future children.
Not because the album is cute, and it is, but
because there’s something simultaneously vul-
gar and charismatic about it that is a pure prod-
uct of Kreutz’s cheerful brand of cynicism, or cyni-
cal brand of cheerfulness. I want my future children to
listen to this album because it’ll make them smarter.
They’ll learn that happy songs don’t always have to be
upbeat and that sad songs don’t always have to be
mellow. They’ll learn that it’s important to be honest
about your feelings (“You tell me I’ve got issues / But
my issue is you suck”). They’ll learn that crying until
you run out of tears is just as important as laughing
until you run out of breath, but that crying for its own
sake is just annoying (See “Boo Frickin’ Hoo”). They’ll
also learn about historical figures, great literary works,
and modern socio-cultural practices (i.e. sex, drugs,
and rock & roll). But most importantly, they’ll learn all
of this via osmosis, because they’ll be having so much
fun that they won’t even realize what’s seeping into
their little heads. And that’s probably a good thing, be-
cause a substantial portion of these songs are pretty
fucked up. Still, it’s better that my future children learn
about “destitute orphans” and the “shrinking rainforest”
from Phoebe Kreutz than hearing about them from me
when they ask how our Shanghai Entertainment Cen-
ter™ was made. (reviewed by Jocelyn Mackenzie)
myspace.com/phoebekreutz
The Telethons
The Gory Details
If, for argument’s sake, the first wave of Nerd Rock came
with Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson, and the second
generation featured Weezer and Ben Folds Five, then
it now appears that The Telethons are ready to lead the
third charge. Wearing their influences on their sleeves,
this dynamic duo feature the best of their precursors
without just regurgitating the past in a douchebaggy
sort of way. They’ve got acid lyrics, sugary sweet
hooks, and garage rock crunch.
Consisting of John Mulcahy on acoustic guitar (fre-
quently electrified and distorted) and Mark Deocampo
on drums and percussion, The Telethons are a ragtag
ball of energy that is often so fast and noisy in live
performance, you might miss how good their lyrics are.
As if to compensate for this, a lot of the tunes on The
Gory Details, The Telethons’ debut long player, are per-
formed at a slightly slower tempo than you might find
at a Telethons show. More attention is also paid to cre-
ating interesting arrangements and augmentations to
fill out the group’s largely stripped-down sound.
The lyrics have a story-
teller quality, whether
they’re in the service of
the sci-fi fantasy
“Forcefield,” the paranoid
delusion “Brainworms,”
or the banal service-in-
dustry nightmare “Gen-
eral Store.” Even the
brief but catchy “Chord
Chord Other Chord”
paints an effective char-
acter study with rela-
tively few words: “I’m a guy with a guitar / Gonna rock
the café / Like I rocked my basement.”
Not coincidentally, the liner notes of The Gory Details
mention that the album was “recorded and mixed in a
living room and a basement.” Considering these cir-
cumstances, the album sounds darn good. Sometimes
its homemade origins are apparent in the sound, but
not in a negative way; there’s frequently a palpable “live”
quality to the singing and the playing that gives certain
tunes an offbeat edge.
If there were any quibbles, it would be that certain ex-
cellent Telethons songs – “You’re Gonna Die,” “I’ve Had
Too Much To Drink” – aren’t included. But that’s all the
more reason to look forward to more releases from these
guys. (reviewed by Justin Remer)
myspace.com/thetelethons
The Wowz, with Bo Ramsey and Spencer Chakedis
Music from the Documentary King Corn
The problem with your average instrumental film music
CD is that the music on it was never really intended to
play separate from the picture. Sometimes you get a
lot of short, unsatisfying music cues. Sometimes you
have to deal with the repetitive use of themes (the
Punch Drunk Love CD is particularly annoying because
more than half of the score is the same romantic theme
over and over again, played by different instruments).
The Wowz avoid these pitfalls on King Corn by essen-
tially just making a series of songs, but without words.
In other words, it sounds like you’re listening to a
Urban Folk XV ~ page 39
karaoke version of a Wowz album. They stick mainly
to the ramshackle roots-rock sound that is their signa-
ture, but they also choose occasionally to stretch out
a bit, like on the aptly named, Morricone-meets-the-
Byrds piece “Spaghetti Midwestern,” the noisy dirge
“The Elevator,” and the bizarre space-funk cue “(It’s Fun
To Stay) At the U-S-D-A.”
As someone who hasn’t seen the film King Corn yet, I
can happily report that the listener is not
left feeling that he or she is missing
something without the visuals. In fact, if
not for the occasional corn-related dia-
logue snippet from the film, you could
easily fail to realize that this is a
soundtrack. Of course, you might won-
der then about all the lyrical references
to corn and farmers, during the handful
of lyric-driven songs included.
With song titles like “Cornfed Woman”
and “The Grass Is Always Yellower When
You’re Blue,” it’s obvious that The Wowz
are in a wry sort of mood. Nevertheless, these two songs
rank among the band’s best, with the former being a
sweetly rendered love song and the latter being a
laidback stomper with a ’50s rock guitar flavor. There’s
also a cover of The Seeds’ “Mr. Farmer” and the reap-
pearance of the moody gem “He Wanders” from The
Wowz’ first album, Long Grain Rights.
Capping off an EP’s worth of new Wowz songs and a
solid selection of twangy instrumentals, the disc also
comes with bonus content when you stick it in a
computer: a music video for the album opener “America
the Usual,” a song which exploits The Wowz’ Everly
Brothers-like vocals to their fullest.
Music from the Documentary King Corn no doubt works
as a film soundtrack, but more importantly, it works as
an album. And, well, it’s poppy and leaves you hungry
for more. (reviewed by Justin Remer)
thewowz.com
Urban Folk XV ~ page 40