500 Miles to Memphis

The opening track of 500 Miles to Memphis' 2007 album Sunshine in a Shot Glass starts with a fiddle and feet stomping and bottles clinking, and then an arena-sized power chord jumps in. While most folks have heard fusions of country and punk for decades, it's a little startling to have them not blended but standing next to each other, their identities clearly intact.

The Cincinnati-based band, playing at the Redstone Room on Tuesday, is led by singer/guitarist/songwriter Ryan Malott, and all aural evidence to the contrary, he didn't grow up with alt-country acts such as Uncle Tupelo and the Old 97's.

He would hear those comparisons and think, "Who the hell are these guys?" he said in an interview this week. "Had I heard those bands before I started 500 Miles to Memphis, it might sound different. ... I might have been more cautious with what I wrote and how I sounded."

Malott's influences were more direct: outlaw country (Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings, for example) and punk. Those opening 10 seconds of Sunshine in a Shot Glass, then, illustrate from where the band came.

Jason Ricci

Twenty-three minutes into our interview last week, Jason Ricci was talking about The Misfits' "I Turned Into a Martian," which his blues-fueled band Jason Ricci & New Blood covers on its April release Done with the Devil.

"It's a song about demonic possession, which is a subject I relate to and have some experience with directly," said Ricci, who will be performing on Sunday at Blueport Junction.

So far, we've touched on Ricci's drug addiction (crack, alcohol, barbiturates, and more), his recovery (he's 11 years sober), and his year in jail for a drug-related strong-arm robbery. Prior to his incarceration in 1998, he said, because of his drug problems "I could no longer perform. ... Nobody wanted to hire me. I was very grandiose at the time. I thought it was because people were afraid I was going to blow them off the stage. But the real reason was something much more mundane, like I just smelled really bad."

I took his reference to demonic possession as a metaphor. We moved on.

Eleven minutes later, I followed up.

"I mean it literally," he said. "I believe in demons. I believe in angels. And I believe in anything that people have believed in enough to impregnate it with the energy it needs to be capable of existing. I believe that the psychological and spiritual mind overlap, and we are capable of willing into existence entities, elementals, gods, demons, angels, whatever. Bigfoot. You name it. Ghosts. Whatever. I believe that perception is key, that reality is subjective, and that those two things can become one and the same."

He thinks people can physically conjure Bigfoot? "It's possible we can will Bigfoot into existence," he said. "Literally."

Gary Jules

Despite being an internationally known singer and songwriter, Gary Jules -- performing on Sunday at Huckleberry's in a Daytrotter.com show -- has neither a manager nor a publicist.

He did at one time, riding his and Michael Andrews' version of Tears for Fears' "Mad World" to the top of the UK pop charts in late 2003.

But the success, he said in a phone interview last week, led to "a lot of stuff I considered to be, I don't know, pork-barrel spending, fat that needed to be trimmed. ...

"I ended up in a lot of situations that I wasn't comfortable with. ... This is not what I started doing music for. A lot of those things were generated either through the people I had hired or the miscommunication between me and them."

By uncomfortable situations, Jules doesn't mean hookers and drugs. ("I'm totally fine with hookers and drugs," he joked.) But managers and publicists would try to get him in Rolling Stone and Spin and other major music magazines, while Jules felt his audience was more likely to read Dwell.

"You can spend a whole lot of money on traditional music-publicity stuff without ever really getting anything done ... ," he said. "There are a lot more interesting ways to do publicity and to have a career these days."

Jules would know. He had the happy accident of "Mad World," used at the emotional climax of Richard Kelly's 2001 cult-classic film Donnie Darko, other successes in film and television licensing, and the on-air support of influential radio hosts Nic Harcourt (of KCRW in Santa Monica, California) and Bruce Warren (of WXPN in Philadelphia).

Images by photographer Chris Jones from The Young Dubliners' show, September 17, 2009, at the Capitol Theatre. Click on any photo for a larger version.

ProntoListening to the debut album from Pronto, the quartet fronted by Wilco keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen, the inescapable reference point is the singer/songwriter genre from the 1970s -- warm, organic, a little hazy, and mostly ready for AM radio. One can't avoid, for instance, Randy Newman's influence on "What Do You Know About You?"

Jorgensen, in a recent phone interview promoting his band's September 18 show at RIBCO, sounded tired of the comparison -- "We didn't set out ... [to] make a record that everybody's going to say sounds like the '70s," he said -- but he didn't deny its accuracy.

All Is Golden is not all soft-focus AM-radio fare. "Monster" has the muscle of power pop, while "I Think So" belies Jorgensen's love of experimental music as it devolves into a coda of sax and electronics and noise. But even when the songs themselves don't fit the decade, there's still a pervasive vibe.

The surprise is that Jorgensen is a relatively recent convert, for a long time not being a fan of the era's musical giants -- Neil Young and the Rolling Stones, for example -- or even the premise that lyrics are a meaningful vehicle for musical expression. He and his collaborators on previous experimental, instrumental music projects dismissed lyrics as merely "a vehicle for the melody."

Richard Buckner

Meadow, the 2006 album bearing Richard Buckner's name, is not the record that the singer/songwriter would have made. But that was the point.

After his hands-on production approach to Impasse (2002) and Dents & Shells (2004), Buckner enlisted producer J.D. Foster to make the creative decisions for him.

As Buckner explained in a phone interview last week in advance of his September 20 Daytrotter.com show at Huckleberry's: "As an experiment to myself, I just thought, 'I need to see how much power I can put in someone's lap and just let it go. Even if I think it's wrong, just let it go. Every idea. Just give them what I have and see what they can do with it.' ... Give it away instead of driving myself crazy with production-y things."

Karl DensonWhen saxophonist, flutist, composer, and singer Karl Denson discusses Brother's Keeper, the new record from Karl Denson's Tiny Universe, you could be forgiven for thinking he's talking about essays instead of songs.

After he finished the first drafts of the songs, he sent them to Tiny Universe keyboardist David Veith, who did what Denson called "revisions." Switchfoot's Jon Foreman also helped out with vocals and some melodies. "I wanted to get some depth as far as not having it just be my ideas," Denson said last week in a phone interview.

Three months of "revisions" resulted in the record being extraordinarily exact, particularly for the funk/soul genre, yet Brother's Keeper never sounds insular or overworked; the grooves not only survive but often sing.

"You think of writing songs as just sitting around the campfire, and everybody has an idea, or you have a great story you tell with a guitar," said Denson, whose six-piece band will perform at RIBCO on Saturday, September 19. But certain types of music -- to be done well -- require time and sweat. "The idea of more pop records or even a great classical piece -- there's always revision going on," he said. "The best way to do a record is to do it at least once and possibly twice before you actually record. That was the process with this record."

Instructor Lars Rehnberg at The Sound Lab

As students sit around computers, microphones, and mixing tables, they ignore the technology and listen intently to Newton's laws of motion, learn an equation to find the frequency of a room, and see what a wavelength looks like. In audio engineering 101, on the second floor of the River Music Experience (RME) on the last Saturday in August, half a dozen beginners are being taught the fundamentals of acoustics.

Jesse Topping, 17, is one of these students. He grew up in a musical household; his mom played the cello since she was little, and Jesse plays piano, bass, and guitar. He has a computer recording program but is taking this class to better understand how to use it.

"I love the expression, the limitless possibilities of what you can do with sound as art," Topping said.

The class is a part of The Sound Lab, now in its fourth semester. The program offers three courses for aspiring music producers as well as for musicians who want to learn more about the recording industry.

Noëlle HamptonLike many other singers/songwriters, Noëlle Hampton moved to Austin, Texas, to make music. What she didn't expect is that it would stop her career cold.

It took five years, but Hampton is back, with the album Thin Line and a fall tour stopping at the Redstone Room on September 18. With an expressive, soulful, and purposeful voice as comfortable in rockers as it is in ballads, Hampton sounds right at home in the record's unforced and well developed (if somewhat generic) tunes.

Andrew Landers

Andrew Landers' online biography states that the guitarist, singer, and songwriter is "unafraid of complicated topics and looks beyond the easy sentiment."

So the lead track on Beautiful Depravity is titled "Not in My Backyard" and faults folks for keeping a safe distance whenever possible from the horrors of the world: "You might fall into / Someone else's bad day / 'Sorry I can't stay.'" And in the rush of a verse, he sings: "Tell me again / What would Jesus do? / In fact, what will you do?"

It's a risky directness, and the most confrontational track on the whole record. But it's sweet medicine - propulsive, funky folk led by Landers' detailed acoustic guitar and a bright piano - and it's nearly impossible to begrudge the man's preaching. Crucially, the lyrics don't exclude their singer, and in the brief liner notes, Landers writes: "These songs reflect both who I am and what I want to become."

That humility is evident in these 17 songs. On "Lowercase Prophet," for example, the narrator is honest and weary: "Laying here staring at the ceiling / So tired I'm awake / Trying to unravel my latest mistake."

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