Thursday, October 14, 2010 (updated , 2010 3:00 am)
By Carole Perkins
Bruce Piephoff pauses midway through the set he’s playing at the Tate Street Festival Sept. 25 in honor of his recently deceased musician friend, Dakota Joe. Lowering the microphone, Piephoff invites 11-year-old Ranford Almond to play a couple of songs while he repairs a broken string on his acoustic guitar.
The crowd surrounding the stage grows silent as Ranford strums the first chords of Townes Van Zandt’s classic song “Greensboro Woman.” Camera’s flick and videos roll as Ranford sings about “Texas lovin’ laying heavy on my mind.”
The audience grows by the time Ranford sings the Piephoff-penned “Rosalita.”
One encore later, Almond exits the stage to the roar of “One more song!”
UNCG student Lauren Plank, 22, points at the bumps on her arm.
“He’s good not because he’s so young but because he’s so GOOD!” she exclaims.
Although there is a 50-year age difference between Piephoff and Ranford, their love of music transcends generations. Music instructor Rex Griffin, who taught violin to Ranford for years, recognized his student’s interest in songwriting and nudged him to study with master songwriter Piephoff.
Piephoff, who has 20 CDs to his credit, knew Ranford had something special from the first song he played and invited him to appear onstage at some of his shows. Their relationship has grown from student/mentor to one of friendship.
Sitting on the front porch of their Browns Summit home, Danielle and Dave Almond reminisce about how much their son has always loved music. Dad calls his son an “old soul.” Mom believes he was like that even in the womb.
“Every time I played Jerry Garcia, he’d start moving all around in my belly,” says Danielle Almond, motioning with her hands above her stomach. “He sang his first song, 'Hand Me Down Your Walking Cane,’ when he was 4 years old riding in his car seat.”
Ranford sways on the porch swing, tapping his flip-flops to the rhythm of Piephoff’s song “Big Foot in the Door,” which he has just learned. Piephoff prompts him kindly when Ranford trips on a lyric.
“You’re sounding good kid,” Piephoff says. “Nice instrumental work there.”
Ranford moves to a stool while Piephoff takes the swing. They chuckle as they attempt to find a key that’s not too high for Piephoff or too low for Ranford.
Danielle Almond rushes to grab her video camera, pleading for them to wait until she returns.
Too late. Piephoff is already singing.
Ranford, strumming his own rhythm, sings the next verse.
Now that they’ve started, they don’t want to quit. They’re two old souls singing about prison, love and weariness. They’re happy to share a penchant for songs that evolved in the 1960s with poet/songwriters such as John Prine, Guy Clark and Kris Kristofferson.
As Piephoff packs his guitar away for the night, he caresses the supple leather on the strap. Billy Ransom Hobbs had given this to Dakota Joe before he died two years ago. Joe, in turn, passed it along to Piephoff before he died.
“The beauty of music is that you can always take it with you,” Piephoff says. “I feel like I have a wealth of experience I’d like to pass along, and Ranford has already experienced the gift of giving back to people through music.
“It’s a gift he can enjoy the rest of his life.”
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Eternal Optimism Musician Brian McGee has it
Thursday, October 7, 2010 (updated , 2010 3:00 am)
By Carole Perkins
Asheville rocker Brian McGee kicks the leaves that accumulated in his backyard while he was honeymooning in Italy and Spain. Tons of coffee mask his jet lag and fuel his energy to play at a popular music festival the next day.
McGee has plenty of time to travel and play gigs these days, having been laid off last spring from his job as a woodworker in a custom cabinet shop. But not even the stress of unemployment can dampen the spirit of his eternal optimism, a theme woven into every song on his new album, “The Taking or the Leaving,” due out Oct. 18.
Looking the part, McGee’s James Dean combed-back hair and long sideburns reflect his love of 1950s rock ’n’ roll as well as his what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude on his new album. In a hybrid ’50s style of rockabilly with a little bit of country and a whole lot of rock ’n’ roll, McGee revs the engine of his all-American Springsteen-style songs about everyday struggles conquered with hope.
With galloping rockabilly romps such as “Hold Sway,” with lyrics “Well if we hold and sway/ We’ll go round and round ’til we beat everyday/ If we hold and sway and hold,” and a voice-cracking ballad “Walking Back to Love,” McGee cuts to the quick, wearing his heart on his sleeve with songs about overcoming desperation, finding love and welcoming new celebrations.
“I like this album because most of the songs are short and concise and get straight to the point,” McGee says. “It’s like Tom Petty once said, 'Don’t bore us, get to the chorus.’ ”
McGee picked up his first guitar at age 12 and played in punk rock bands in the 1990s until he discovered the banjo and started leaning toward the music of Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie.
When asked about his evolution from punker to rocker, McGee says it doesn’t matter what you call it, he just plays what he likes.
“I like upbeat, downbeat, three-chord music, whether it’s Hank Williams, The Ramones, Wanda Jackson or Sam Quinn,” he says. “That’s what I like, so sometimes things get louder than others, but the soul is still intact.”
Produced by McGee and Pete James of The Honeycutters, McGee was joined in the studio at Echo Mountain Studios (The Avett Brothers, Band of Horses, Smashing Pumpkins) in Asheville with a star-studded cast of friends, including Sam Quinn, former front man of the everybodyfields, on backup vocals on McGee’s dream-inspired song, “Fire.”
Quinn says he was en route from Charlotte to Knoxville, Tenn., when McGee called, asking him to stop by the studio. Quinn says he was really sick but agreed because McGee is a friend.
“The first thing you should know about Brian is that he’s handsome,” Quinn says. “The other thing you should know is that he’s the salt of the earth, a very solid dude, and that’s why I like him.”
Also contributing to McGee’s sophomore album are Mary Ellen Bush from Ménage, Amanda Anne Platt of the Honeycutters and Pete James on lead guitar.
With a November tour planned from Nashville, Tenn., to his home city of Philadelphia, McGee is taking this time as an opportunity to sink his chops into his music full time. Putting a spin on a otherwise desolate situation, McGee is making the most of it.
“Not having a job means playing music is my full-time job now,” he says. “It’s a gamble, but we’ll see how it settles in the end.”
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
By Carole Perkins
Asheville rocker Brian McGee kicks the leaves that accumulated in his backyard while he was honeymooning in Italy and Spain. Tons of coffee mask his jet lag and fuel his energy to play at a popular music festival the next day.
McGee has plenty of time to travel and play gigs these days, having been laid off last spring from his job as a woodworker in a custom cabinet shop. But not even the stress of unemployment can dampen the spirit of his eternal optimism, a theme woven into every song on his new album, “The Taking or the Leaving,” due out Oct. 18.
Looking the part, McGee’s James Dean combed-back hair and long sideburns reflect his love of 1950s rock ’n’ roll as well as his what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude on his new album. In a hybrid ’50s style of rockabilly with a little bit of country and a whole lot of rock ’n’ roll, McGee revs the engine of his all-American Springsteen-style songs about everyday struggles conquered with hope.
With galloping rockabilly romps such as “Hold Sway,” with lyrics “Well if we hold and sway/ We’ll go round and round ’til we beat everyday/ If we hold and sway and hold,” and a voice-cracking ballad “Walking Back to Love,” McGee cuts to the quick, wearing his heart on his sleeve with songs about overcoming desperation, finding love and welcoming new celebrations.
“I like this album because most of the songs are short and concise and get straight to the point,” McGee says. “It’s like Tom Petty once said, 'Don’t bore us, get to the chorus.’ ”
McGee picked up his first guitar at age 12 and played in punk rock bands in the 1990s until he discovered the banjo and started leaning toward the music of Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie.
When asked about his evolution from punker to rocker, McGee says it doesn’t matter what you call it, he just plays what he likes.
“I like upbeat, downbeat, three-chord music, whether it’s Hank Williams, The Ramones, Wanda Jackson or Sam Quinn,” he says. “That’s what I like, so sometimes things get louder than others, but the soul is still intact.”
Produced by McGee and Pete James of The Honeycutters, McGee was joined in the studio at Echo Mountain Studios (The Avett Brothers, Band of Horses, Smashing Pumpkins) in Asheville with a star-studded cast of friends, including Sam Quinn, former front man of the everybodyfields, on backup vocals on McGee’s dream-inspired song, “Fire.”
Quinn says he was en route from Charlotte to Knoxville, Tenn., when McGee called, asking him to stop by the studio. Quinn says he was really sick but agreed because McGee is a friend.
“The first thing you should know about Brian is that he’s handsome,” Quinn says. “The other thing you should know is that he’s the salt of the earth, a very solid dude, and that’s why I like him.”
Also contributing to McGee’s sophomore album are Mary Ellen Bush from Ménage, Amanda Anne Platt of the Honeycutters and Pete James on lead guitar.
With a November tour planned from Nashville, Tenn., to his home city of Philadelphia, McGee is taking this time as an opportunity to sink his chops into his music full time. Putting a spin on a otherwise desolate situation, McGee is making the most of it.
“Not having a job means playing music is my full-time job now,” he says. “It’s a gamble, but we’ll see how it settles in the end.”
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
A Band of Brothers
Thursday, September 16, 2010 (updated , 2010 3:00 am)
By Carole Perkins
Mark Dougherty reaches over the table to pet an 80-pound mutt as the three members of his band, The Lake Isle, sit politely waiting their turn to speak.
Dougherty, a Greensboro-based singer/songwriter has declined a one-on-one interview. He has performed alone too long, finally finding peace and unity in this band of brothers.
After years of playing Greensboro as a solo act, Dougherty yearned to be in a band.
Once his music label fell apart, Dougherty began playing with an acoustic group that saw early success.
So Dougherty moved on with a firmer resolve to take his music more seriously.
That eventually led to Dougherty reinventing himself.
“I gave myself a rebirth under the name The Lake Isle, after Yeats’ poem about a man searching for his inner peace in a world of chaos — the theme of all my music,” Dougherty says.
He had a band name. Now, all he needed was some members. And on a night last spring, he found the first one.
That’s when Dougherty met Shawn Smith, drummer for Filthybird, which was playing its last gig together.
One of the band members mentioned that Dougherty was looking for a group so Smith approached him, and they started playing.
Smith recorded Dougherty’s guitar and vocals and later added drums, bass and keyboards.
“I had no real direction in mind, just trying to let things float out of me, and we kind of created a sound,” Smith says. “We tried a few guitar players, but they weren’t willing to take that leap into that sonic realm.”
Hoping to make the songs more interesting, Smith decided to play guitar himself.
Andy Foster, formerly with the Raving Knaves and Manamid, came on board as a percussionist. Chris Micca, a longtime bass player and backup vocalist to bands such as Crystal Bright, completed the group.
During a recent rehearsal, Foster can’t constrain himself between songs, ripping his drums every chance he gets.
“Andy’s a loud drummer and we will have to base everything behind that,” Smith deadpans.
Foster’s sticks clack as Dougherty steps to the mike to sing the lyrics to the haunting “Steel Rails,” the first track on the band’s new album, “Wake Up.”
“I should know, oh I should
that it’s all about letting go
but these old ways, oh they burn
these lies that come over and over me.”
With Micca’s expansive harmonies and tight thumping bass, the band is creating the “warm, sonic pallet,” that fuels Dougherty.
Micca and Foster exchange smiles as the song ends.
“The songs get better and better all the time, especially the new ones,” Smith says. “It’s working, it’s really working.
“S’working,” Foster says, nodding.
Dougherty says the difference in being in a band like The Lake Isle versus playing solo is that there is no agenda other than to play the music.
“It’s about looking around at every person practicing music in this room and seeing a look in their eyes that says they love this music.
“I call it a brotherhood. It’s something really magical and great.”
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
By Carole Perkins
Mark Dougherty reaches over the table to pet an 80-pound mutt as the three members of his band, The Lake Isle, sit politely waiting their turn to speak.
Dougherty, a Greensboro-based singer/songwriter has declined a one-on-one interview. He has performed alone too long, finally finding peace and unity in this band of brothers.
After years of playing Greensboro as a solo act, Dougherty yearned to be in a band.
Once his music label fell apart, Dougherty began playing with an acoustic group that saw early success.
So Dougherty moved on with a firmer resolve to take his music more seriously.
That eventually led to Dougherty reinventing himself.
“I gave myself a rebirth under the name The Lake Isle, after Yeats’ poem about a man searching for his inner peace in a world of chaos — the theme of all my music,” Dougherty says.
He had a band name. Now, all he needed was some members. And on a night last spring, he found the first one.
That’s when Dougherty met Shawn Smith, drummer for Filthybird, which was playing its last gig together.
One of the band members mentioned that Dougherty was looking for a group so Smith approached him, and they started playing.
Smith recorded Dougherty’s guitar and vocals and later added drums, bass and keyboards.
“I had no real direction in mind, just trying to let things float out of me, and we kind of created a sound,” Smith says. “We tried a few guitar players, but they weren’t willing to take that leap into that sonic realm.”
Hoping to make the songs more interesting, Smith decided to play guitar himself.
Andy Foster, formerly with the Raving Knaves and Manamid, came on board as a percussionist. Chris Micca, a longtime bass player and backup vocalist to bands such as Crystal Bright, completed the group.
During a recent rehearsal, Foster can’t constrain himself between songs, ripping his drums every chance he gets.
“Andy’s a loud drummer and we will have to base everything behind that,” Smith deadpans.
Foster’s sticks clack as Dougherty steps to the mike to sing the lyrics to the haunting “Steel Rails,” the first track on the band’s new album, “Wake Up.”
“I should know, oh I should
that it’s all about letting go
but these old ways, oh they burn
these lies that come over and over me.”
With Micca’s expansive harmonies and tight thumping bass, the band is creating the “warm, sonic pallet,” that fuels Dougherty.
Micca and Foster exchange smiles as the song ends.
“The songs get better and better all the time, especially the new ones,” Smith says. “It’s working, it’s really working.
“S’working,” Foster says, nodding.
Dougherty says the difference in being in a band like The Lake Isle versus playing solo is that there is no agenda other than to play the music.
“It’s about looking around at every person practicing music in this room and seeing a look in their eyes that says they love this music.
“I call it a brotherhood. It’s something really magical and great.”
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
Departing for college: It's tough on moms
Sunday, September 5, 2010
(Updated Monday, September 6 - 6:18 am)
By Carole Perkins
Special to the News & Record
It’s Sunday morning on the day our oldest daughter, Caroline, is moving into her college dorm. My husband is behind the wheel of our red Suburban. I ride shotgun, and our middle daughter sits in the back. Caroline and her boyfriend drive her SUV, packed with the staples of college dorm life: a desk light, fan, office chair and clothes.
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We meet just outside Raleigh, where Caroline will be a freshman. She glances at me over the sub she is eating and says, “What’s wrong? You’re acting funny.”
Tears well in my eyes. I swallow hard, unable to speak lest the dam breaks, despite having taken a snippet of a “mother’s little helper” to get through this day.
“This is hard on your mom,” the boyfriend says, explaining the obvious.
Up and down we ride, packed like sardines in elevators filled with excited young faces. In the hallway, a mother brushes away tears like annoying gnats. I’ve planned my crying time in the car on the way home after months of staying so busy I wouldn’t think about Caroline leaving home.
To me, it symbolized an end of an era when the family was always together. A chapter of my life as a mother was ending. Tomorrow, I will set two places at the breakfast table with Nana’s rosebud china instead of three.
The boyfriend is taking this harder than anyone expected. Caroline pulls him over to a bench and pats his knee, whispering consoling words. Finally, we get into the car to go back to Greensboro. The boyfriend sits in the back and puts his head in his hands saying, “I can’t believe this day is finally here.”
I turn around in my seat to look at him. My voice shakes, and I plead, “Please don’t get me started.”
My plan to cry all the way home is thwarted. With the boyfriend so upset, I assume the role of the stoic parent. Besides, I have never mastered the fine art of weeping in a ladylike fashion. No, sir. If I am going to cry, I will sob, snort, and pound my chest. So, mentally, I stick my finger in the hole in my heart like the legendary Little Dutch Boy did to stop the dam from overflowing.
I travel to Raleigh the very next day under the pretext of taking our youngest daughter to visit. I go back on Wednesday to take Caroline to lunch. A week later, I return with her freshly washed and folded laundry. The following week I’m back with her boyfriend’s laundry that I shamelessly offer to wash.
And so the fall of freshman year passes. I learn the fine art of gentle weeping. I might be in Harris Teeter studying soup labels and the tears will roll down like a sprinkler on a timer. One day after wandering the town in such sadness, I run into a friend whose daughter has gone to college that fall.
“How are you?” I ask, touching her shoulder like a comrade in arms.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she chirps. “Lauren loves college, and she’s really happy.”
Cheated out of a bonding moment with another mom in misery, I drive away muttering to myself. How can she be so chipper, so positive about how happy her daughter is? Doesn’t she have a hole in her heart, too?
Christmas break for Caroline’s school is almost a month long. She fills the house with her friends and her big personality . One day toward the end of the break, I actually find myself for half a second relishing the thought of having our house just a little calmer. It is getting easier to let her go.
Two years later, our middle daughter, Virginia, is a senior in high school. One day while looking through some old photos for her senior page, some unforeseen force punches me in the stomach with the realization that she, too, will leave for college in a few short months. I sink to my knees and sit cross-legged on the floor, tucking my muffin top into my jeans as unconsciously as tucking my hair behind my ear.
I hold the photo of Virginia’s first day in kindergarten, standing with her sisters in front of the woody station wagon dubbed The Old Gray Goose. I smile through my tears at her as a toddler sitting in our driveway with a plastic shopping cart upside down on her head. The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” plays in my head as I imagine myself as the mother in the song “standing alone at the top of the stairs/she breaks down and cries to her husband/Daddy, our baby’s gone.”
Most of Virginia’s friends have left by now. I have a few precious days with her until we pack her up and move her almost three hours away to Spartanburg, S.C. It’s too far for lunch or laundry runs, and I’ll have to figure out how to manage a maddening condition whereby one’s buttocks kill after sitting any longer than an hour.
Such is the passage of time. One minute, all three daughters are piled in the bathtub at the bewitching hour of 5 p.m. Fresh, clean-smelling little girls in matching cotton nightgowns snuggle on the sofa watching Wee Sing tapes, and the next minute Father Time plucks them away one by one to lead lives of their own. As it should be.
So, when Virginia goes to college, I’ll try to celebrate a new chapter in her life as I struggle with painful buns, a spreading muffin top and a fresh hole in my heart. I will kiss her and hug her and turn for one last look. She’s leaving home. Bye-bye.
Carole Perkins is a freelance writer living in Greensboro. Contact her at CPGuilford@aol.com
(Updated Monday, September 6 - 6:18 am)
By Carole Perkins
Special to the News & Record
It’s Sunday morning on the day our oldest daughter, Caroline, is moving into her college dorm. My husband is behind the wheel of our red Suburban. I ride shotgun, and our middle daughter sits in the back. Caroline and her boyfriend drive her SUV, packed with the staples of college dorm life: a desk light, fan, office chair and clothes.
Advertisement | Advertise with Us
We meet just outside Raleigh, where Caroline will be a freshman. She glances at me over the sub she is eating and says, “What’s wrong? You’re acting funny.”
Tears well in my eyes. I swallow hard, unable to speak lest the dam breaks, despite having taken a snippet of a “mother’s little helper” to get through this day.
“This is hard on your mom,” the boyfriend says, explaining the obvious.
Up and down we ride, packed like sardines in elevators filled with excited young faces. In the hallway, a mother brushes away tears like annoying gnats. I’ve planned my crying time in the car on the way home after months of staying so busy I wouldn’t think about Caroline leaving home.
To me, it symbolized an end of an era when the family was always together. A chapter of my life as a mother was ending. Tomorrow, I will set two places at the breakfast table with Nana’s rosebud china instead of three.
The boyfriend is taking this harder than anyone expected. Caroline pulls him over to a bench and pats his knee, whispering consoling words. Finally, we get into the car to go back to Greensboro. The boyfriend sits in the back and puts his head in his hands saying, “I can’t believe this day is finally here.”
I turn around in my seat to look at him. My voice shakes, and I plead, “Please don’t get me started.”
My plan to cry all the way home is thwarted. With the boyfriend so upset, I assume the role of the stoic parent. Besides, I have never mastered the fine art of weeping in a ladylike fashion. No, sir. If I am going to cry, I will sob, snort, and pound my chest. So, mentally, I stick my finger in the hole in my heart like the legendary Little Dutch Boy did to stop the dam from overflowing.
I travel to Raleigh the very next day under the pretext of taking our youngest daughter to visit. I go back on Wednesday to take Caroline to lunch. A week later, I return with her freshly washed and folded laundry. The following week I’m back with her boyfriend’s laundry that I shamelessly offer to wash.
And so the fall of freshman year passes. I learn the fine art of gentle weeping. I might be in Harris Teeter studying soup labels and the tears will roll down like a sprinkler on a timer. One day after wandering the town in such sadness, I run into a friend whose daughter has gone to college that fall.
“How are you?” I ask, touching her shoulder like a comrade in arms.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she chirps. “Lauren loves college, and she’s really happy.”
Cheated out of a bonding moment with another mom in misery, I drive away muttering to myself. How can she be so chipper, so positive about how happy her daughter is? Doesn’t she have a hole in her heart, too?
Christmas break for Caroline’s school is almost a month long. She fills the house with her friends and her big personality . One day toward the end of the break, I actually find myself for half a second relishing the thought of having our house just a little calmer. It is getting easier to let her go.
Two years later, our middle daughter, Virginia, is a senior in high school. One day while looking through some old photos for her senior page, some unforeseen force punches me in the stomach with the realization that she, too, will leave for college in a few short months. I sink to my knees and sit cross-legged on the floor, tucking my muffin top into my jeans as unconsciously as tucking my hair behind my ear.
I hold the photo of Virginia’s first day in kindergarten, standing with her sisters in front of the woody station wagon dubbed The Old Gray Goose. I smile through my tears at her as a toddler sitting in our driveway with a plastic shopping cart upside down on her head. The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” plays in my head as I imagine myself as the mother in the song “standing alone at the top of the stairs/she breaks down and cries to her husband/Daddy, our baby’s gone.”
Most of Virginia’s friends have left by now. I have a few precious days with her until we pack her up and move her almost three hours away to Spartanburg, S.C. It’s too far for lunch or laundry runs, and I’ll have to figure out how to manage a maddening condition whereby one’s buttocks kill after sitting any longer than an hour.
Such is the passage of time. One minute, all three daughters are piled in the bathtub at the bewitching hour of 5 p.m. Fresh, clean-smelling little girls in matching cotton nightgowns snuggle on the sofa watching Wee Sing tapes, and the next minute Father Time plucks them away one by one to lead lives of their own. As it should be.
So, when Virginia goes to college, I’ll try to celebrate a new chapter in her life as I struggle with painful buns, a spreading muffin top and a fresh hole in my heart. I will kiss her and hug her and turn for one last look. She’s leaving home. Bye-bye.
Carole Perkins is a freelance writer living in Greensboro. Contact her at CPGuilford@aol.com
The Brand New Life
Thursday, August 12, 2010
(Updated 3:00 am)
By Carole Perkins
Special to the News & Record
Standing outside The Green Bean in Greensboro on a steamy summer night, four musicians from The Brand New Life serenade downtowners with flute, sax, tuba and bells. Luring the gathered crowd inside, they take the stage with the rest of the seven-piece band to create a primeval rhythm that stirs couples to jitterbug and dancing girls to sway hips with arms overhead.
As saxophone players Casey Cranford and Walter Fancourt find their groove, Jared Mankoff's sonorous tuba invites the audience to listen. Congas player Evan Frierson (performing barefoot) creates African beats accompanying Daniel Yount's pulsating drums. Ben Ryle's electric guitar riffs slide over Seth Barden's thumping upright bass.
A few gray-haired audience members bob and do the chicken-neck jerk, but most of the crowd reflects the youth of The Brand New Life, whose ages range from 18 to 23. They're also all graduates of Grimsley High School.
According to Cranford and Fancourt, two people were instrumental in forming the band: Fancourt's neighbor Devin Foust, a musician whom Fancourt describes as having a "spirit that is indefinable," and Grimsley band director Stephan Stuber, who taught six of the seven members. Stuber described them as hard workers with supportive parents.
"They were very self-motivated and a special group of guys," Stuber says. "It's very rewarding to see them play together."
The Brand New Life's instruments, improvisations, solos and musical influences such as Sun Ra, Miles Davis and John Coltrane might suggest a jazz band, but don't be fooled. Its new self-titled CD, due out this month, was recorded at Hillcreek Studio in Asheville with Russell Anders, as well as at Greensboro's Quetzal Recording Studio. The album is a confluence of African and European music traditions with funky instrumental rhythms and occasional psychedelic overtures. Jungle calls and trills combined with indecipherable words and indefinable instruments spell adventure.
"We have a great time together on and off stage," Yount says. "We are always hanging out, trying to be creative. Our material is all original. You might hear us play a cover, but it will probably be obscure or maybe humorous like 'Yackety Sax,' by Boots Randolph."
When the discussion shifts to musical technique, Cranford and Fancourt grow serious. Cranford demonstrates a polyrhythm, a technique where one rhythm is played over another, by beating his fingers on a coffee table in Fancourt's living room.
"We tie syncopation in with polyrhythms," Fancourt says. "It gets people going crazy."
Although The Brand New Life, whose name came from a song written by Mankoff with the lyrics, "Open up your head/Clear out your eyes/This is now your brand new life," has steady gigs around the Triad and is booking its own shows across the state, its goal is to expand its touring range and play larger festivals such as Shakori Hills in Silk Hope. Although the band has played in smaller festivals, including Fun Fourth Festival and Summer Solstice (both in Greensboro), Cranford and Fancourt say it is a daunting task to organize seven young members, adding that they could use some help with booking and management.
In the meantime, The Brand New Life's goal is to have fun sharing its music and getting people up on their feet.
"I think the idea is to get down or sit down," Fancourt says. "You can sit and enjoy our music, which is fine. But the more people moving around and going crazy the better we play. Sharing with people and giving them a good time is what it's all about."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
(Updated 3:00 am)
By Carole Perkins
Special to the News & Record
Standing outside The Green Bean in Greensboro on a steamy summer night, four musicians from The Brand New Life serenade downtowners with flute, sax, tuba and bells. Luring the gathered crowd inside, they take the stage with the rest of the seven-piece band to create a primeval rhythm that stirs couples to jitterbug and dancing girls to sway hips with arms overhead.
As saxophone players Casey Cranford and Walter Fancourt find their groove, Jared Mankoff's sonorous tuba invites the audience to listen. Congas player Evan Frierson (performing barefoot) creates African beats accompanying Daniel Yount's pulsating drums. Ben Ryle's electric guitar riffs slide over Seth Barden's thumping upright bass.
A few gray-haired audience members bob and do the chicken-neck jerk, but most of the crowd reflects the youth of The Brand New Life, whose ages range from 18 to 23. They're also all graduates of Grimsley High School.
According to Cranford and Fancourt, two people were instrumental in forming the band: Fancourt's neighbor Devin Foust, a musician whom Fancourt describes as having a "spirit that is indefinable," and Grimsley band director Stephan Stuber, who taught six of the seven members. Stuber described them as hard workers with supportive parents.
"They were very self-motivated and a special group of guys," Stuber says. "It's very rewarding to see them play together."
The Brand New Life's instruments, improvisations, solos and musical influences such as Sun Ra, Miles Davis and John Coltrane might suggest a jazz band, but don't be fooled. Its new self-titled CD, due out this month, was recorded at Hillcreek Studio in Asheville with Russell Anders, as well as at Greensboro's Quetzal Recording Studio. The album is a confluence of African and European music traditions with funky instrumental rhythms and occasional psychedelic overtures. Jungle calls and trills combined with indecipherable words and indefinable instruments spell adventure.
"We have a great time together on and off stage," Yount says. "We are always hanging out, trying to be creative. Our material is all original. You might hear us play a cover, but it will probably be obscure or maybe humorous like 'Yackety Sax,' by Boots Randolph."
When the discussion shifts to musical technique, Cranford and Fancourt grow serious. Cranford demonstrates a polyrhythm, a technique where one rhythm is played over another, by beating his fingers on a coffee table in Fancourt's living room.
"We tie syncopation in with polyrhythms," Fancourt says. "It gets people going crazy."
Although The Brand New Life, whose name came from a song written by Mankoff with the lyrics, "Open up your head/Clear out your eyes/This is now your brand new life," has steady gigs around the Triad and is booking its own shows across the state, its goal is to expand its touring range and play larger festivals such as Shakori Hills in Silk Hope. Although the band has played in smaller festivals, including Fun Fourth Festival and Summer Solstice (both in Greensboro), Cranford and Fancourt say it is a daunting task to organize seven young members, adding that they could use some help with booking and management.
In the meantime, The Brand New Life's goal is to have fun sharing its music and getting people up on their feet.
"I think the idea is to get down or sit down," Fancourt says. "You can sit and enjoy our music, which is fine. But the more people moving around and going crazy the better we play. Sharing with people and giving them a good time is what it's all about."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Songs of Water wants to thrive in hometown's creative scene
Thursday, June 3, 2010
By Carole Perkins
Special to Go Triad
Although Songs of Water packs theaters in Charlotte and fans in Norway and Sweden feast on their CDs, Greensboro has been deprived of their delightful smorgasbord of music, featuring instruments such as the Irish bouzouki blended with bluegrass icon Ricky Skaggs' fretless banjo.
But that's about to change.
This summer, Songs of Water returns to their Greensboro roots for the release of their second album, "The Sea Has Spoken," featuring guest appearances by Skaggs and tuba player Mark Daumen from Chapel Hill band Lost in Trees.
"The Sea Has Spoken" is a brilliantly crafted musical journey where indigenous sounds from myriad cultures blend in otherworldly harmonies that are somehow familiar.
Founder Stephen Roach is a self-taught hammered dulcimer player, guitarist and African percussionist, as well as vocalist and songwriter. His blood runs rich with musical DNA from a large family of bluegrass musicians. His cousin, Tony Rice, played with Skaggs in the 1980s, inspiring the song "The Family Tree," about the coincidence of Roach playing with Skaggs some 20 years later.
"I had a conglomerate of musical backgrounds that I wanted to do something with," says Roach, who started playing and writing with his friend and co-founder of the band, Jason Windsor, in 2002. "I had the idea to do an instrumental album using all these instruments and cultural backgrounds, so we did our first album together, and the band came out of that."
Roach met Skaggs' son and daughter, Luke and Molly Skaggs, on tour in California, and Luke Skaggs joined the band, taking it to a new level. Ricky Skaggs became a big supporter and offered his studio, Skaggs Place Studio in Nashville, Tenn. Most of the main tracks were recorded there by Charlotte producer Joel Khouri who finished the album at his Bright City Studios. Wake Forest University allowed the band to use its instruments for the recording.
"We worked on this album almost two years to get it the way we wanted it," Roach says. "We wanted 'The Sea Has Spoken' to be a work of art. Like classical music, it has different movements inside of one larger body of work. You almost have to listen to it as a whole work. It's such a journey from beginning to end."
The eight members of Songs of Water are as eclectic as their music. Classically trained violinist Marta Richardson, cellist Sarah Stephens and guitarist Windsor complement Roach and Luke Skaggs' folk, bluegrass and world music studies. Guitar player Greg Willette offers Eastern European gypsy influences; Molly Skaggs contributes Appalachian folk music roots. Michael Pritchard's polyrhythmic drum textures anchor the band with a tasteful and experimental style.
"We're constantly searching out new sounds and new ways to express creativity in our art and music," Roach says. "But the music is not so much world music as it is American music in the truest sense because there are so many cultures represented in this area, it's a natural transition to incorporate those sounds and then employ them into instruments. We'll do some old spirituals from the Appalachian Mountains but then accompany it with something from Africa."
Roach says the band's live performances are where most of that energy comes to life by causing audiences to fall silent while playing in theater settings or whipping them into a frenzy at larger festivals.
Because 75 percent of the music is instrumental, the audience is invited to create their own story about what the song is about. Some of the songs are named by the audience members who sometimes bring their own canvases or writing journals to express what they hear.
Songs of Water continues to stretch musical imaginations with national attention on the top 20 list on the NPR syndicated radio program "Echoes" and guest appearances on several local radio shows, including WFDD (88.5 FM). But Roach says they want to focus on becoming a voice in their hometown of Greensboro.
"We love Greensboro," Roach says. "Most of the band is from here, and we really believe this place thrives with music and art because there are so many creative people here. I think people are looking for something new and different, but they are also looking for something authentic. That's what we want to give is an authentic expression."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
By Carole Perkins
Special to Go Triad
Although Songs of Water packs theaters in Charlotte and fans in Norway and Sweden feast on their CDs, Greensboro has been deprived of their delightful smorgasbord of music, featuring instruments such as the Irish bouzouki blended with bluegrass icon Ricky Skaggs' fretless banjo.
But that's about to change.
This summer, Songs of Water returns to their Greensboro roots for the release of their second album, "The Sea Has Spoken," featuring guest appearances by Skaggs and tuba player Mark Daumen from Chapel Hill band Lost in Trees.
"The Sea Has Spoken" is a brilliantly crafted musical journey where indigenous sounds from myriad cultures blend in otherworldly harmonies that are somehow familiar.
Founder Stephen Roach is a self-taught hammered dulcimer player, guitarist and African percussionist, as well as vocalist and songwriter. His blood runs rich with musical DNA from a large family of bluegrass musicians. His cousin, Tony Rice, played with Skaggs in the 1980s, inspiring the song "The Family Tree," about the coincidence of Roach playing with Skaggs some 20 years later.
"I had a conglomerate of musical backgrounds that I wanted to do something with," says Roach, who started playing and writing with his friend and co-founder of the band, Jason Windsor, in 2002. "I had the idea to do an instrumental album using all these instruments and cultural backgrounds, so we did our first album together, and the band came out of that."
Roach met Skaggs' son and daughter, Luke and Molly Skaggs, on tour in California, and Luke Skaggs joined the band, taking it to a new level. Ricky Skaggs became a big supporter and offered his studio, Skaggs Place Studio in Nashville, Tenn. Most of the main tracks were recorded there by Charlotte producer Joel Khouri who finished the album at his Bright City Studios. Wake Forest University allowed the band to use its instruments for the recording.
"We worked on this album almost two years to get it the way we wanted it," Roach says. "We wanted 'The Sea Has Spoken' to be a work of art. Like classical music, it has different movements inside of one larger body of work. You almost have to listen to it as a whole work. It's such a journey from beginning to end."
The eight members of Songs of Water are as eclectic as their music. Classically trained violinist Marta Richardson, cellist Sarah Stephens and guitarist Windsor complement Roach and Luke Skaggs' folk, bluegrass and world music studies. Guitar player Greg Willette offers Eastern European gypsy influences; Molly Skaggs contributes Appalachian folk music roots. Michael Pritchard's polyrhythmic drum textures anchor the band with a tasteful and experimental style.
"We're constantly searching out new sounds and new ways to express creativity in our art and music," Roach says. "But the music is not so much world music as it is American music in the truest sense because there are so many cultures represented in this area, it's a natural transition to incorporate those sounds and then employ them into instruments. We'll do some old spirituals from the Appalachian Mountains but then accompany it with something from Africa."
Roach says the band's live performances are where most of that energy comes to life by causing audiences to fall silent while playing in theater settings or whipping them into a frenzy at larger festivals.
Because 75 percent of the music is instrumental, the audience is invited to create their own story about what the song is about. Some of the songs are named by the audience members who sometimes bring their own canvases or writing journals to express what they hear.
Songs of Water continues to stretch musical imaginations with national attention on the top 20 list on the NPR syndicated radio program "Echoes" and guest appearances on several local radio shows, including WFDD (88.5 FM). But Roach says they want to focus on becoming a voice in their hometown of Greensboro.
"We love Greensboro," Roach says. "Most of the band is from here, and we really believe this place thrives with music and art because there are so many creative people here. I think people are looking for something new and different, but they are also looking for something authentic. That's what we want to give is an authentic expression."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com
Where poets meet
Thursday, April 22, 2010
By Carole Perkins
Special to Go Triad
Alfred Harrell steps onto a small, square stage tucked in the back corner of Tate Street Coffee House.
"All right, everybody," Harrell says into the microphone. "Tone down your adult language. We have teens speaking tonight, and this meetup will be family-friendly and upbeat. This is your home, your play house, so let's go."
Tonight, a record-breaking crowd of 28 people have gathered to read their poetry as part of Triad Poetry Meetup.
Harrell holds his poem on a clipboard in his left hand and gestures emphatically with the other. His nervous laugh is replaced with the deep voice of a seasoned orator as he reads his poem about his desire to be free from his jobs to spend more time as a poet and community volunteer.
"To myself I say NO MORE," he says as his cell phone rings in his pants pocket.
"Here I am the host, and I can't remember to turn my own cell phone off," he says, shaking his head.
Harrell is the organizer of Triad Poetry Meetup, a social network group where participants can freely express themselves through poetry or the written word without criticism.
He also organizes Triad Teen Poetry Meetup where young people can improve their self-esteem through poetry readings.
By day, Harrell works as a sanitation worker for the city of Greensboro, but by night, he is a poet and blogger of Verbal Xpression (www.verbalxpression. com).
"My jobs are what I do for money, but what defines me is the work I do concerning meetup-related issues," Harrell says. "In any given day, I wear the hat of critic, organizer, adviser, planner, shoulder to lean on or just plain poet. Poetry is the cooling rain of my life."
* * * *
Harrell's day begins at 5 a.m. when he checks e-mail concerning the poetry groups before heading out at 7 a.m. By 7:30 a.m., he is slipping on rubber gloves and slinging garbage bags of yard waste into the back of the sanitation truck.
In addition to his day job, he works two nights a week in the produce department at Wal-Mart in Greensboro. He then stays up late at night posting on his blog or writing poetry.
Harrell uses his own money to cover expenses from the meetup groups. Though he would like to find sponsors, Harrell volunteers because it's his passion.
"I do this willingly in the volunteer spirit set by my mother who, when she was alive, was always there for other people, even when she was in dire straits," he says. "She was not a writer, but her love for people is written in my soul."
Harrell joined the original Triad Poetry Meetup in 2008, and after a few personnel changes, he took the helm last June. Inspired by Piedmont Slam, a similar group in Winston-Salem, Harrell and then co-organizer Janelle Strickland had a vision to improve the lives of others through poetry and reading.
"For me, Triad Poetry Meetup is an extended family with whom I express my greatest joys and sorrows through the form of poetry, which gives me great peace of mind," Harrell says.
Harrell wrote his first poem in high school as an escape from domestic violence and sexual abuse in his home.
He worked manual labor jobs after graduating high school, and his tenure as a firefighter inspired him to write a poem about being part of the rescue of a little boy.
In 2002, Harrell started writing seriously, finding courage and comfort in his religious beliefs. He drove faithfully from High Point to attend poetry meetings in Greensboro.
"I decided to use my pen like a surgeon's scalpel to start a true personal healing and to make a difference in my life and in the lives of those who would read or listen to my words," he says.
* * * *
Tonight at Tate Street Coffee House, Harrell is saddened with the news of a death in the family of one of the members. He has spent most of the afternoon making phone calls and sending e-mails to alert other members before the meetup. He also asks the crowd for a moment of silence to pay respect to the family.
Sitting in a corner booth like a queen on her throne is assistant organizer Deborah Streeter, otherwise known as the "Princess of Poetry." With a dignified walk, she approaches the mike to break the silence.
She recites her poem about lying in a hammock in the sunshine.
"I enjoy performing in front of crowds and meeting poets to share our works of art," she said. "Poetry gives me time to vent what's on my mind on any given day."
Sean Dowell, 34, a classically trained poet and executive vice president of Cushman and Wakefield real estate company, read his poem "But Memories."
As a teenager, Dowell was attacked by a gang at his school. Aspirations to be a professional artist were ruined after the attack, so Dowell turned to poetry as a way to express himself.
"I associated the rage and injustice I felt with art, so I never picked up a paintbrush again," he says. "I started writing poetry because I needed a way to get those feelings out. I've taken it to the next level now by studying poetry as a craft and not just writing because I need to.
"At the end of the day it's who else you can help. Poetry is lonely. To get affirmation through poetry in the dark night of your soul will keep you going."
Rosalyn Marhatta approaches the mike with the gentle air of a librarian. In her breathless voice she recites "Sculpting Shayna," a poem about an ice sculpture devoured by the sun. Marhatta, who says she started writing poetry seven or eight months ago, had never performed her poetry until she joined Triad Poetry Meetup. Formerly an assistant organizer, Marhatta works on computers at N.C. A&T and developed the idea of a critique group for the meetup.
"Poetry is about the beauty of words, it's almost like music. I get my feelings out and make it make sense to others," she says. "Coming to Triad Poetry Meetups keeps me wanting to write new stuff. It keeps me going.
"Alfred Harrell has been a force for poetry and uniting poets in the Triad. He has been personally encouraging to me about my poetry and I'm writing a lot more than I used to."
Harrell returns to the stage to recite a poem about sexual abuse. He says he chose the poem because he sensed someone in the audience needed to hear it.
"Writing poetry is a healing for some of us," he says. "My vision is to unite myself and other people who have had the same experiences I've had and uplift them."
"It's his passion, his calling," says Dowell. "Alfred is the voice of the community that brings people in."
But Harrell is quick to credit his volunteer staff for the overwhelming success of Triad Poetry Meetup and Triad Teen Poetry Meetup.
"We have a strong team of unrecognized men, women, and teens who open their hearts through poetry to make it all possible," Harrell says. "I'm just the choreographer who goes without sleep to orchestrate this dance."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com.
By Carole Perkins
Special to Go Triad
Alfred Harrell steps onto a small, square stage tucked in the back corner of Tate Street Coffee House.
"All right, everybody," Harrell says into the microphone. "Tone down your adult language. We have teens speaking tonight, and this meetup will be family-friendly and upbeat. This is your home, your play house, so let's go."
Tonight, a record-breaking crowd of 28 people have gathered to read their poetry as part of Triad Poetry Meetup.
Harrell holds his poem on a clipboard in his left hand and gestures emphatically with the other. His nervous laugh is replaced with the deep voice of a seasoned orator as he reads his poem about his desire to be free from his jobs to spend more time as a poet and community volunteer.
"To myself I say NO MORE," he says as his cell phone rings in his pants pocket.
"Here I am the host, and I can't remember to turn my own cell phone off," he says, shaking his head.
Harrell is the organizer of Triad Poetry Meetup, a social network group where participants can freely express themselves through poetry or the written word without criticism.
He also organizes Triad Teen Poetry Meetup where young people can improve their self-esteem through poetry readings.
By day, Harrell works as a sanitation worker for the city of Greensboro, but by night, he is a poet and blogger of Verbal Xpression (www.verbalxpression. com).
"My jobs are what I do for money, but what defines me is the work I do concerning meetup-related issues," Harrell says. "In any given day, I wear the hat of critic, organizer, adviser, planner, shoulder to lean on or just plain poet. Poetry is the cooling rain of my life."
* * * *
Harrell's day begins at 5 a.m. when he checks e-mail concerning the poetry groups before heading out at 7 a.m. By 7:30 a.m., he is slipping on rubber gloves and slinging garbage bags of yard waste into the back of the sanitation truck.
In addition to his day job, he works two nights a week in the produce department at Wal-Mart in Greensboro. He then stays up late at night posting on his blog or writing poetry.
Harrell uses his own money to cover expenses from the meetup groups. Though he would like to find sponsors, Harrell volunteers because it's his passion.
"I do this willingly in the volunteer spirit set by my mother who, when she was alive, was always there for other people, even when she was in dire straits," he says. "She was not a writer, but her love for people is written in my soul."
Harrell joined the original Triad Poetry Meetup in 2008, and after a few personnel changes, he took the helm last June. Inspired by Piedmont Slam, a similar group in Winston-Salem, Harrell and then co-organizer Janelle Strickland had a vision to improve the lives of others through poetry and reading.
"For me, Triad Poetry Meetup is an extended family with whom I express my greatest joys and sorrows through the form of poetry, which gives me great peace of mind," Harrell says.
Harrell wrote his first poem in high school as an escape from domestic violence and sexual abuse in his home.
He worked manual labor jobs after graduating high school, and his tenure as a firefighter inspired him to write a poem about being part of the rescue of a little boy.
In 2002, Harrell started writing seriously, finding courage and comfort in his religious beliefs. He drove faithfully from High Point to attend poetry meetings in Greensboro.
"I decided to use my pen like a surgeon's scalpel to start a true personal healing and to make a difference in my life and in the lives of those who would read or listen to my words," he says.
* * * *
Tonight at Tate Street Coffee House, Harrell is saddened with the news of a death in the family of one of the members. He has spent most of the afternoon making phone calls and sending e-mails to alert other members before the meetup. He also asks the crowd for a moment of silence to pay respect to the family.
Sitting in a corner booth like a queen on her throne is assistant organizer Deborah Streeter, otherwise known as the "Princess of Poetry." With a dignified walk, she approaches the mike to break the silence.
She recites her poem about lying in a hammock in the sunshine.
"I enjoy performing in front of crowds and meeting poets to share our works of art," she said. "Poetry gives me time to vent what's on my mind on any given day."
Sean Dowell, 34, a classically trained poet and executive vice president of Cushman and Wakefield real estate company, read his poem "But Memories."
As a teenager, Dowell was attacked by a gang at his school. Aspirations to be a professional artist were ruined after the attack, so Dowell turned to poetry as a way to express himself.
"I associated the rage and injustice I felt with art, so I never picked up a paintbrush again," he says. "I started writing poetry because I needed a way to get those feelings out. I've taken it to the next level now by studying poetry as a craft and not just writing because I need to.
"At the end of the day it's who else you can help. Poetry is lonely. To get affirmation through poetry in the dark night of your soul will keep you going."
Rosalyn Marhatta approaches the mike with the gentle air of a librarian. In her breathless voice she recites "Sculpting Shayna," a poem about an ice sculpture devoured by the sun. Marhatta, who says she started writing poetry seven or eight months ago, had never performed her poetry until she joined Triad Poetry Meetup. Formerly an assistant organizer, Marhatta works on computers at N.C. A&T and developed the idea of a critique group for the meetup.
"Poetry is about the beauty of words, it's almost like music. I get my feelings out and make it make sense to others," she says. "Coming to Triad Poetry Meetups keeps me wanting to write new stuff. It keeps me going.
"Alfred Harrell has been a force for poetry and uniting poets in the Triad. He has been personally encouraging to me about my poetry and I'm writing a lot more than I used to."
Harrell returns to the stage to recite a poem about sexual abuse. He says he chose the poem because he sensed someone in the audience needed to hear it.
"Writing poetry is a healing for some of us," he says. "My vision is to unite myself and other people who have had the same experiences I've had and uplift them."
"It's his passion, his calling," says Dowell. "Alfred is the voice of the community that brings people in."
But Harrell is quick to credit his volunteer staff for the overwhelming success of Triad Poetry Meetup and Triad Teen Poetry Meetup.
"We have a strong team of unrecognized men, women, and teens who open their hearts through poetry to make it all possible," Harrell says. "I'm just the choreographer who goes without sleep to orchestrate this dance."
Contact Carole Perkins at CPGuilford@aol.com.
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