September 2010
David Garza
David Garza
Cactus Café
Austin, Texas
“The piano has been drinking,” chimes David Garza to the amusement of the Tom Waits-savvy audience when he shows them the wobble of the old, wooden Yamaha, which acts as the house piano for the Cactus Café in the University of Texas at Austin. Behind the piano, a velvety red curtain encircles the stage, furthering the saloon-like vibe.
The piano’s inebriation proves no challenge for Garza’s mastery over both it and his Taylor guitar, seamlessly transitioning between the two in many of the songs that he plays in his two-hour set. He leaps stylistically from folk to pop but always maintains a firm Latino influence in all, be it in his scales or his picking style. His intimate knowledge of the frets on his guitar is apparent to all who watch in anticipation of his next magnetic solo. His foot is often found tapping at a metronomic rate, supplementing the one-man act in ways which typically require another artist.
“Back on the Chain Gang” by The Pretenders, later re-named “Fotos y Recuerdos,” as performed by Selena, is covered by Garza as his second song. The audience hears his calls for their participation in a well-known “O-o-o-oh!” and responds accordingly; from then on, the show is marked by viscerally high energy.
The audience welcomes his light-hearted banter that fills the space between songs. Sometimes he calls them “a bunch of losers” for coming to his show dateless, other times he chides the bartender for being too slow with his drinks. One thing remains clear; his charisma has unrelentingly wooed them.
Despite his poking fun of Pat Lynn, a Nashville native, for her being a “weird old hippie lady,” he lets her play three of her own songs with his guitar and even accompanies her on the drunken piano from time to time. She sings a song about a goddess of the dawn that she created, a children’s song, and finally a modestly risqué song about a “Last Resort” hotel where couples go to re-ignite passions. He also sings a few duets with a woman known as “CB,” who truly treats her voice as an instrument, delicately deciding the appropriate distance from the microphone.
Garza finishes the show with a few upbeat songs followed by an extremely powerful acoustic version of his song “Blow my Mind.” He is accompanied by his friend who brings with him a suitcase full of maracas, tambourines, and other assorted rhythmic instruments. David is confident of the skill that he shows, and the audience loves every second of it.
by Aaron Walther
Cactus Café
Austin, Texas
“The piano has been drinking,” chimes David Garza to the amusement of the Tom Waits-savvy audience when he shows them the wobble of the old, wooden Yamaha, which acts as the house piano for the Cactus Café in the University of Texas at Austin. Behind the piano, a velvety red curtain encircles the stage, furthering the saloon-like vibe.
The piano’s inebriation proves no challenge for Garza’s mastery over both it and his Taylor guitar, seamlessly transitioning between the two in many of the songs that he plays in his two-hour set. He leaps stylistically from folk to pop but always maintains a firm Latino influence in all, be it in his scales or his picking style. His intimate knowledge of the frets on his guitar is apparent to all who watch in anticipation of his next magnetic solo. His foot is often found tapping at a metronomic rate, supplementing the one-man act in ways which typically require another artist.
“Back on the Chain Gang” by The Pretenders, later re-named “Fotos y Recuerdos,” as performed by Selena, is covered by Garza as his second song. The audience hears his calls for their participation in a well-known “O-o-o-oh!” and responds accordingly; from then on, the show is marked by viscerally high energy.
The audience welcomes his light-hearted banter that fills the space between songs. Sometimes he calls them “a bunch of losers” for coming to his show dateless, other times he chides the bartender for being too slow with his drinks. One thing remains clear; his charisma has unrelentingly wooed them.
Despite his poking fun of Pat Lynn, a Nashville native, for her being a “weird old hippie lady,” he lets her play three of her own songs with his guitar and even accompanies her on the drunken piano from time to time. She sings a song about a goddess of the dawn that she created, a children’s song, and finally a modestly risqué song about a “Last Resort” hotel where couples go to re-ignite passions. He also sings a few duets with a woman known as “CB,” who truly treats her voice as an instrument, delicately deciding the appropriate distance from the microphone.
Garza finishes the show with a few upbeat songs followed by an extremely powerful acoustic version of his song “Blow my Mind.” He is accompanied by his friend who brings with him a suitcase full of maracas, tambourines, and other assorted rhythmic instruments. David is confident of the skill that he shows, and the audience loves every second of it.
by Aaron Walther
Shelby Lynne
Shelby Lynne
St. David’s Episcopal Church
Austin, Texas
Shelby Lynne has made a career out of being a straightforward firebrand. Even when her sixth album, I am Shelby Lynne, earned a bout of recognition that helped her win a Grammy for best New Artist in 2000, she walked away from Nashville when the music hub seemed to betray her individuality. In a 2001 interview for the Guardian, she said, “I just don’t conform very well.” For an artist that has precariously lived outside the limelight since, she said in the same interview that “Sometimes you just have to walk away from it.”
Her latest album, Tears, Lies, and Alibis, is a milestone with a built-in story of emancipation. After 20 years as a recording artist, this is the first album in which she had complete creative control. She left her old record label, Lost Highway Records, to release her new album on her own label, Everso. Despite Lynne’s adamancy for independence, her intimate performance at St. David’s Episcopal Church was a relaxed affair with a view of Sixth Street and the night sky as her backdrop. Requesting to turn down the lights overhead, she explained matter-of-factly that “I already plucked my eyebrows today.” Mirroring the tone of her latest batch of songs, Lynne is backed by guitarist John Jackson, who carried the solos, and Brian Harrison on bass. Together, they created a subtle atmosphere and demonstrated restraint with the stripped-down arrangements.
Opener “Rains Came” jauntily rollicked as it thinly veiled Lynne’s tale of heartbreak. Despite her small stature, Lynne is an imposing vocalist, one unafraid to contort on stage as she wrestled with the emotional gravitas of a song. “Why Didn’t You Call Me” completed the one-two punch of pop that continued the opener’s out-of-love state. The set ran through Southern soul, blues and pop. For an artist that’s painstakingly honest in her songwriting, she whipped her blonde, short shock of hair, adding to the level of vulnerability she displayed on stage. “Like a Fool” was a naked ballad with Lynne strumming her guitar alone, singing, “I never knew. I never do how love controls me” before repeatedly sighing the song’s title as it ended.
A story with almost every song, Lynne’s broken-hearted lyrics didn’t detract from the humor that infused her show or her songs. Perhaps the standout was her ode to freedom in the form of an Airstream trailer. A slowburner, “Something to be Said” listlessly documents the restlessness that has defined Lynne’s career. Wanting to get away, she sang, “Guess it’s that time again, time to be free again.”
by Joshua Barajas
St. David’s Episcopal Church
Austin, Texas
Her latest album, Tears, Lies, and Alibis, is a milestone with a built-in story of emancipation. After 20 years as a recording artist, this is the first album in which she had complete creative control. She left her old record label, Lost Highway Records, to release her new album on her own label, Everso. Despite Lynne’s adamancy for independence, her intimate performance at St. David’s Episcopal Church was a relaxed affair with a view of Sixth Street and the night sky as her backdrop. Requesting to turn down the lights overhead, she explained matter-of-factly that “I already plucked my eyebrows today.” Mirroring the tone of her latest batch of songs, Lynne is backed by guitarist John Jackson, who carried the solos, and Brian Harrison on bass. Together, they created a subtle atmosphere and demonstrated restraint with the stripped-down arrangements.
Opener “Rains Came” jauntily rollicked as it thinly veiled Lynne’s tale of heartbreak. Despite her small stature, Lynne is an imposing vocalist, one unafraid to contort on stage as she wrestled with the emotional gravitas of a song. “Why Didn’t You Call Me” completed the one-two punch of pop that continued the opener’s out-of-love state. The set ran through Southern soul, blues and pop. For an artist that’s painstakingly honest in her songwriting, she whipped her blonde, short shock of hair, adding to the level of vulnerability she displayed on stage. “Like a Fool” was a naked ballad with Lynne strumming her guitar alone, singing, “I never knew. I never do how love controls me” before repeatedly sighing the song’s title as it ended.
A story with almost every song, Lynne’s broken-hearted lyrics didn’t detract from the humor that infused her show or her songs. Perhaps the standout was her ode to freedom in the form of an Airstream trailer. A slowburner, “Something to be Said” listlessly documents the restlessness that has defined Lynne’s career. Wanting to get away, she sang, “Guess it’s that time again, time to be free again.”
by Joshua Barajas
Caribou
Caribou
Emo’s Outside
Austin, Texas
Dan Snaith emerged earlier in the decade as a scrupulous producer of melodic noise. He has worked under the stage name Manitoba, but now goes by Caribou. Throughout his career, he borrowed elements from genres ranging from heady IDM (Intelligent Dance Music) to the 4/4 steady motorik beat found in krautrock. Up in Flames, his most critically acclaimed album, still invokes indistinct labels like “indie electronic” that fail to capture the complexity of Caribou’s pop structure. His last album, Andorra, was a 1960s psychedelic pop delight that also won Canada’s Polaris Music Prize. Laced with drum circle arrangements and moments of pure whimsy, the album never dropped its sunny disposition. But unlike its ebullient predecessor, Caribou’s latest album is rueful. Exploring yet another genre, Swim is Snaith’s fluid interpretation of dance music and, in the process, trades the fawning for tales of loneliness for a downcast affair. “Sun,” with an echoing vocal that repeats the word “sun” throughout the song, could be an invitation for the star to brighten the day or a lament of the sun fading into the night.
One could be forgiven for expecting a one-man production show in a live setting, with the musicmaker huddled behind the boards because Caribou expanded to a four-man band. On stage, the instruments outnumbered the musicians. The set-up included several guitars, keyboards, bass, glockenspiel, two drum kits and a video backdrop that added an acid-inspired visual experience to accompany the music. But part of seeing Caribou is watching Snaith, ever the multi-instrumentalist, switch instruments several times during the course of one song while singing.
Caribou opened with “Sundialing,” a track from the sun-kissed previous album that has one main purpose: to reintroduce the audience to the drums. While drums are an integral part in the Caribou oeuvre, recorded, they sound somewhat subdued in favor of the nuances found in the densely sequenced tracks. However, on stage, the drum kits were front-and-center while the guitars hovered in the back. “Sundialing” began with drumbeats that kept time with the 4/4 guitars, but then the drums started to shuffle toward a thundering peak once Snaith shifted his guitar to his back and started drumming too. An encapsulation of the entire show was captured here with drums demanding attention.
From there, Swim’s melancholy set in – the defeated “Jamelia” asked “What more could I give her? What more could I do?” Delivered in ghostly smeariness, the soft vocals played to the watery palette of the album throughout the night. But for an album obsessed with club culture, the audience still danced to the polyrhythmic “Odessa,” a track that culled a house piano line straight out of the ‘90s. “Leave House” playfully bounced with flute trills and the most straightforward vocal turn by Snaith. Snaith’s cavalcade of odd sounds appear and disappear much like in the aforementioned “Sun,” while “Kaili” managed to occupy beatless stretches with warm synth stabs and vocals that build on top of each other.
by Joshua Barajas
Emo’s Outside
Austin, Texas
One could be forgiven for expecting a one-man production show in a live setting, with the musicmaker huddled behind the boards because Caribou expanded to a four-man band. On stage, the instruments outnumbered the musicians. The set-up included several guitars, keyboards, bass, glockenspiel, two drum kits and a video backdrop that added an acid-inspired visual experience to accompany the music. But part of seeing Caribou is watching Snaith, ever the multi-instrumentalist, switch instruments several times during the course of one song while singing.
Caribou opened with “Sundialing,” a track from the sun-kissed previous album that has one main purpose: to reintroduce the audience to the drums. While drums are an integral part in the Caribou oeuvre, recorded, they sound somewhat subdued in favor of the nuances found in the densely sequenced tracks. However, on stage, the drum kits were front-and-center while the guitars hovered in the back. “Sundialing” began with drumbeats that kept time with the 4/4 guitars, but then the drums started to shuffle toward a thundering peak once Snaith shifted his guitar to his back and started drumming too. An encapsulation of the entire show was captured here with drums demanding attention.
From there, Swim’s melancholy set in – the defeated “Jamelia” asked “What more could I give her? What more could I do?” Delivered in ghostly smeariness, the soft vocals played to the watery palette of the album throughout the night. But for an album obsessed with club culture, the audience still danced to the polyrhythmic “Odessa,” a track that culled a house piano line straight out of the ‘90s. “Leave House” playfully bounced with flute trills and the most straightforward vocal turn by Snaith. Snaith’s cavalcade of odd sounds appear and disappear much like in the aforementioned “Sun,” while “Kaili” managed to occupy beatless stretches with warm synth stabs and vocals that build on top of each other.
by Joshua Barajas
Band of Heathens
Band of Heathens
Antone’s
Austin, Texas
Band of Heathens make forming a band look easy, even downright preordained. The story behind the Austin-based quintet’s formation began when three alt-country songwriters that shared a weekly bill at Momo’s – Colin Brooks, Ed Jurdi and Gordy Quist – began loosely collaborating on stage with each other’s songs. The spontaneity eventually gave way to a fully committed band that grew popular with Austinites and two live records that captured the spirit of a band better suited to an informal, live setting. It wasn’t until their third release did the band record their first studio album, the self-titled Band of Heathens, a structured format that seemed antithetical to the band’s proclivity for improvisation.
Part of the experience of seeing the Band of Heathens live is watching the vocal and guitar interplay among the three singer-songwriters. They are backed by a rhythm section with bassist Seth Whitney and drummer John Chipman and with pianist Trevor Nealon providing flourishes. The principal players dueled guitars throughout the set with each voice distinct from the other. Known for their jamming, free-wheeling tendencies, it was not uncommon to hear two extended solos in a song. Opening with the Hunter S. Thompson tribute, “L.A. County Blues,” the three harmonized on the chorus: “We’re burning down Las Vegas Town, had to sleep by noon.” But it’s less a pyrrhic statement than a story of a man perpetually in transit. And notice how the story begins outside of Texas, employing a focus that’s musically all over the map from blues and Americana to roots rock and rock ‘n’ roll. The band subverts what the detestable label, “Texas music,” could sound like.
The name Band of Heathens is also a bit of a misnomer. It conjures an ungodly group of rabble-rousing speed metal thrashers. Instead, the quintet makes Biblical allusions such as John 14:1 in the spiritual “Let Your Heart Not Be Troubled.” While not exactly a defining facet of their music, some songs are framed in a religious perspective. “Shine a Light,” for instance, is simply uplifting with its hymnal organ and call-and-response chant from Jurdi and Quist in the background. A song fit for a tent revival, Brooks sang, “You got to open up and shine your lovin’ light on me.”
All multi-instrumentalists, the main Heathens all share writing and publishing credits that allow the band to craft an array of styles and sounds on record and on stage. One would only need to look at the crowd’s t-shirts: among the Heathens superfans was an old man wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, another donning Led Zeppelin, and a minor wearing The Who as he lovingly sang the band’s songs to his girlfriend.
by Joshua Barajas
Antone’s
Austin, Texas
Part of the experience of seeing the Band of Heathens live is watching the vocal and guitar interplay among the three singer-songwriters. They are backed by a rhythm section with bassist Seth Whitney and drummer John Chipman and with pianist Trevor Nealon providing flourishes. The principal players dueled guitars throughout the set with each voice distinct from the other. Known for their jamming, free-wheeling tendencies, it was not uncommon to hear two extended solos in a song. Opening with the Hunter S. Thompson tribute, “L.A. County Blues,” the three harmonized on the chorus: “We’re burning down Las Vegas Town, had to sleep by noon.” But it’s less a pyrrhic statement than a story of a man perpetually in transit. And notice how the story begins outside of Texas, employing a focus that’s musically all over the map from blues and Americana to roots rock and rock ‘n’ roll. The band subverts what the detestable label, “Texas music,” could sound like.
The name Band of Heathens is also a bit of a misnomer. It conjures an ungodly group of rabble-rousing speed metal thrashers. Instead, the quintet makes Biblical allusions such as John 14:1 in the spiritual “Let Your Heart Not Be Troubled.” While not exactly a defining facet of their music, some songs are framed in a religious perspective. “Shine a Light,” for instance, is simply uplifting with its hymnal organ and call-and-response chant from Jurdi and Quist in the background. A song fit for a tent revival, Brooks sang, “You got to open up and shine your lovin’ light on me.”
All multi-instrumentalists, the main Heathens all share writing and publishing credits that allow the band to craft an array of styles and sounds on record and on stage. One would only need to look at the crowd’s t-shirts: among the Heathens superfans was an old man wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, another donning Led Zeppelin, and a minor wearing The Who as he lovingly sang the band’s songs to his girlfriend.
by Joshua Barajas
