B&B’s Lastest Song of Their Lastest Show Ever!

As you know, Barefoot & Bankside had their last show ever, what with Jamey “Brother” Hamm leaving for Alabama and all. I recorded their closing song with my phone and futzed with it in some editing software as a learning project, and decided to show off my rudimentary skillz. So, please enjoy the very last performance of fan favorite “Make Me Stay” by Barefoot & Bankside.

Y’all have a good’n!

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Friends And Lovers And Sisters And Mercy

I started this blog because I found a New York music scene that isn’t being written about a whole lot. I had been meaning to start a blog for a while, but couldn’t find the right niche to separate myself. Then I heard Amanda Neill from Barefoot & Bankside sing for the first time. Also, I began this for self-promotion. It’s something I’ll be putting in query letters to agents as I shop my first novel. My hope is that this blog will gain a decent following and the writing quality be exceptional to a sufficient degree so as to show off. In that regard, I’m ostensibly here to piggy back on very talented hard working people for my own gain. Truth be known, truth be told—as the Barefoot & Bankside song goes (and whoever else said it. Jesus, maybe? And who knows who He stole it from.).

I started writing because I thought I could be a beacon. I thought I might put a signal out there to all my lonely kin, and cull them in, so that I might be less alone. When I started I didn’t know that was why. I thought I was being a badass like Happy Harry Hard-on, Christian Slater’s character in Pump Up The Volume. That movie lit me up. That soundtrack may have been the ignition switch to launch me ever away from that trailer park. I mean, every piece of music played in the film was a revelation. Beastie Boys, Richard Hell & The Voidoids, and Was (Not Was). It was the first time I heard that slow cover of The Pixies “Wave of Mutilation.” And the very first time I heard the voice of Leonard Cohen. In my younger, dumber days I fancied myself a spiritual student of L. Cohen, and self-professedly his most apt pupil.

I started this blog because I needed to. Desperately, even. I’m not a joiner. That girl, the one whose heart I loved best, the one who up and died, she joined in on everything. I only ever wanted to go to bars and shows and drink and joke and be debauched. She wanted community. She sought to help and support others, and she embraced the help and support of others. Then she died, like people do. I was set adrift, which is a natural state for me. To be aimless, to wander, brings me a measure of comfort. I wasn’t paying attention then. I thought her desire for a herd was weakness. I wasn’t foolish for thinking her inclination toward communion was needy of her. I was foolish for thinking that I am above that neediness. I am not.

Last week Mary-Elaine Jenkins pulled me aside to thank me for the post about her. After my interview with Amanda Neill (post forthcoming), Amanda and I went back to her place. We hung out. She eagerly showed me her song journal, and some ridiculous costumes her husband wanted the Roots Café employees to wear on Halloween. She asked what started me writing. I played that first song I ever heard of Leonard Cohen. She’s (slowly) reading my novel. Intrepid photog, Andreea who is invaluable in her contribution to The Road Southern, has told me both drunkenly and sober how thankful she is to be a part of this blog. I have since almost the beginning of this endeavor considered her its other half. And it is a favorite thing of ours when we get together to discuss the goings on of these BK Country artists’ lives. But, who put me on this thanksgiving jaunt was Miss Trisha Ivy.


I’m not sure how Trisha became a touchstone for me and this blog. Maybe because we share the loss of a loved one whose life was cut short. Maybe because I’ve looked at life as through the window of a moving car and for this brief moment there she is looking through her own car’s window. She’s hard to gauge. She’s told me she doesn’t mean to be, but one still wonders. I believe we are friends. We are friends. I know it because I went to see her at Friends And Lovers. Twice. I thought she was playing one cold, rainy Wednesday night, and I busted my ass to get to her set on time. She wasn’t even playing that night but the next Wednesday. I wrote it down wrong. That following Wednesday was just as cold and rainy, and I busted more ass to get through it. Her gig was part of the CMJ showcase. I wasn’t even going for the blog. I just wanted to be in the audience. One amongst others. I was joining in for support. I realize I’ve been doing this for all of them. The last Mary-Elaine show was just to be there. The same with B&B, and subsequent Alex Mallet sets, or Dylan Sneed.

I hung out with Trisha after that Friends And Lovers set. I believe this was the first time she and I did so, and with drinks. You know, like people do. I went outside with her while she smoked her clove. I was not dressed for the cold. Amanda and I have talked about how cool Trisha is, how intimidating her persona can be. She was wearing a black jacket, long dark dress, and boots. Her big blond tendrils licked in the wind as if she were under water. She was looking something lovely and dark. Though I’m older than she, I felt like a high school freshman allowed to hang out with a bad girl senior. She will say that she is not that cool—when she comes into Roots Café in frumpy, comfy clothes and hair pulled back. But she doesn’t know that’s cool, too. We talked about how Amanda shits artistic gold, and Mike Beck’s (her guitar player) love life. Trisha is exceedingly animated when she tells stories. She seemed the most at ease that I’ve seen her. She told me that night that I should loosen up. The gist was that I’m no longer an outsider to the Roots Family & Co. I believe she actually said that I’m “in.” Then in reference to the blog she said quite kindly and clearly, “We’re paying attention.” And I am made less alone.

I can’t imagine what these pickin’ and a’singin’ folk think if they chance to notice me among their audience, sitting still, looking down at my notebook, or stern face (I have a resting hostile face though I am an absolute sweetheart) lit up by my phone, which I also use to take notes, but I’m listening.

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Coming Soon!

Been off the grid for a bit. Will be coming at you with the newness soon!

Things to look forward to: You’re gonna see our coverage of the Rotten Apple Roots & Bluegrass Halloween show at Union Hall, and it’s gonna make you feel soooo dumb for not being there! And if you were there, you’re gonna feel so rad!

Also, a new musician to TRS, the lady blues singer, Mary-Elaine Jenkins and her smoky voice.

This lady sings the blues, y'all!

This lady sings the blues, y’all!

AND some highlights of a candid conversation I had with Ms. Trisha Ivy, that she is unawares I’m reporting on!

Bridge Building

BridgesDylan Sneed organized an event called Bridges all by his damn self. That man will cull much magic into Brooklyn. You’ll see. Neither of us at TRS new exactly what it was going to be. Nor did most anyone else. Dylan’s description to me was that it would be akin to, let’s say, VH1’s Storytellers, or whatever. And I mean “whatever.” Because Dylan didn’t fully know. The first subject of the Bridges series was Chris Q. Murphy who I happened to run into at Roots Café. I asked him. He gave me the same “Storytellers” description, and a shrug of the shoulders. Intriguing.

Bridges 2My first encounters with Mr. Murphy were he playing along with other acts. I was introduced to him personally at Roots Café, and learned he is a music teacher in Brooklyn. It was also at Roots Café’s monthly evening of music that I finally heard Chris Q. Murphy. I attended because I was actually interested in someone else performing that night. I can’t remember who. I remember Chris and his guitar and his songs.

Chris Q. is a balladeer. He tells stories, and finely so. In this country/Americana scene in Brooklyn his music was the first I could connect with legitimately, technically. I don’t play no instrument, and cannot carry a tune in a bucket, so a large part of my witness to these talented musicians is that of wonder. But narrative I get. Narrative I’ve worked with, and work with for this here blog. So, hearing a complex narrative not only made plain and concise, but also set to music is its own brand of wonder for me. Also, strangely, it’s not something I normally go for in my listening life. In the thousands of songs I’ve amassed in my digital library, only a handful would be considered narrative or ballads (Ballad in its strictest definition, not 80s power ballad type stuff.). Perhaps because my life is centered around finding and working within a structured narrative that I go to more abstract or impressionistic lyrics when I go to unwind and have respite in a song. But when a story is good it’s good. Chris’s songs find significant literary achievement. He’s also fucking awesome on guitar.

Bridges 3So, I was eager to attend Bridges. It was held in an office space, which also contained a small record shop in the back—for some reason. Really, to get to Permanent Records vinyl record shop one must go into the office building, get to the second floor, and walk past a series of desks around to the back for the small makeshift record store. It’s literally playing hide-and-seek with you. A bit of this office space was cleared out and reset with café style table and seating arrangements. Music was first and foremost, but in between songs Chris engaged with the audience. He discussed the merits of a listener knowing whether or not the subjects in his stories were fictitious or lifted from real life. He passed out little notebooks and pencils and asked the audience to compare and contrast two songs that share themes but mete them out in different tempos and points of view. It wasn’t a class. Dylan and Chris had turned the concert into a conversation. Chris, a funny man, did well to make it breezy and natural. There was no PBS pretention of doling out lessons in appreciation. By the end he had everyone singing along.

It would seem that Bridges made its destination and was a success. TRS looks forward to more of such shows. Cheers to Dylan, and cheers to Chris, y’all!

Banjos & Guitars at Pianos

The other night intrepid photog and I caught Alex Mallett and Dylan Sneed playing solo sets at Pianos on the LES. What was heard was awesome! What was had was fun!

I very much enjoy Alex backed by his band, but this night I was entreated to just the man and his banjo, and sometimes guitar. I’ve noted on this blog before that the banjo makes my favorite noise in this world. Better than the bird’s song it is. Better than the laughter of a child it is. Better, even, than a whispered “I need you” from a fine-ass lover who lays bare naked, biting her lip, and ready to go. Yes, better, even, than that.

When it comes to the ol’ banjo, I like it best when it’s up front and in charge of the show. I enjoy to a lesser extent when it is relegated to the background and its purpose is to harmonize and provide a little rattle. And when that ol’ banjo is front and center, I like it two ways. The first, when it’s a slow dripping pluck like Dock Boggs. Secondly, damn it, I like when that tinny li’l sumbitch is banged on. Alex Mallett is a banger. I may have been sitting but I couldn’t stop my foot from stomping in time.

Sammi, Alex’s newly wedded wife, sang a couple of numbers with her man. It was a sweet noise, I can swear to you that. It was a sweet sight, and Andreea’s photos will prove it.

Pianos 1 low res

Dylan Sneed seems to have won over everyone in the Roots Family scene. I met him as a barista at Roots Café. He’s a funny man. Supremely easy going. There is a profundity to the breeziness of his conversation, and the soft handed acceptance of all ideas put forth to him. The more I come to know him, the more of the Buddha I see in him.

Pianos 2 low res

His songs are uncomplicated. This is a feat that usually comes from the studious, and the obsessive. When I think of Dylan’s sweet, James Taylor-esque tunes, I think of the main character in Kurt Vonnegut’s “Blue Beard.” The main character, Rabo Karabekian, is an artist who in his early career could paint photo realistic scenes masterfully. The artist didn’t find fame and fortune until he started doing more abstract expressionist pieces. At a gallery a man approached him. The man was unnerved and asked why Karabekian bothered with such “easy” pieces, and that his five year old child could paint this abstract stuff. Karabekian agreed, and said but the child could not paint this, and drew to a wonderfully detailed degree a real life scene. He then referred back to his new work on display, which was just a couple of colored lines on blank canvas, and said he paints this simple way because he has options.

Dylan has options, y’all.

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All Work and All Play

It is not just out of laziness that I keep this post short, but the intrepid photographer, Andreea, kicks so much ass that I want her pics to run this entry. Enjoy!

montage 1

B&B Pre 1

Amanda was seriously fretting that her outfit was too revealing. Bless her heart!

The Road Southern caught another Barefoot & Bankside and Trisha Ivy set at Rockwood Music Hall, and it should be a surprise to no one that both sets were phenomenal. They let us hang around with them before the show. I got to hear Trisha Ivy, Mike Beck, and Amanda Neill practice a song in the green room. In that small room I found myself in a moment I had been hoping for since starting this blog. I got to witness a bit of the “work” that makes a show. Listening to their first play through, I thought it immensely pleasurable to watch them correct each other on notes that my lay ears thought were executed perfectly, then they corrected, and I thought, oh, Jesus, damn!

montage 2

To test out how good the sound quality is on my voice recorder I recorded Amanda Neill and Jamey Hamm rehearsing their cover of Shovel & Rope’s “The Devil is All Around.” The quality is on the low to mid side of decent. The recording doesn’t come close to the actual performance of the song, of course. I really love the feeling I got witnessing them ironing out any kinks before the show. Amanda and Jamey were about two feet apart facing each other. Both were keeping a close eye on the other. Myself and others were in the room, but Amanda and Jamey were in the song. Something about how quickly they correct themselves toward the end was where the bit o’ magic was for me. And, of course, I like the smart ass comments by band mates.

montage 4

What did give me a surprise was opener Dylan Sneed. I’d seen him play at Roots Café where it was just himself a couple times. He’s a great song writer, and exemplary on guitar. At Rockwood he had a full band backing him. They blew me and everyone else away. I knew he could sing and play, but it was something else to see him rock!

montage 3

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