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Starr Swill
by Cripsy Duck 1-2-01
(printed in C-VILLE Vol.13, No. 2)
THREE QUARTER SQUEEGEE
THE LARRY KEEL EXPERIENCE
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Wow. I used to write this music column, but... it's been awhile. I feel a little out of it. When you think about it, writing about music is kind of like drawing about painting. ("Here's a little sketch of what the piece looks like (to me), and down here I've drawn the artist in the corner, so you can see that, too...") Music is itself a very "high" form of communication. It is an emotive statement about itself and the people who create it and, accordingly, the people who enjoy it as well. Ultimately, writing about it is an exercise in eloquent redundancy. Imagine sitting at a show and actually writing down all of your ideas about the music itself. The result would probably read like a highway journal with every roadsign noted: Tulsa 15 miles-- last rest stop before Tennessee-- rippin' mixolydian guitar solo -- truck stop ahead-- road kill-- forgotten lyric, etc. Does that accurately represent the highway itself? Not even close. Music is so complex that it might normally take a full paragraph to describe what happens in a five second stretch of song. That's far too cumbersome to attempt in a column-- though some critics of classical music do succesfully accomplish variations on the theme. If my karma's firing on all cylinders, during the course of a normal show I'll glean some interesting insight into the band, the music, its followers or the venue, that the average attendee might not have picked up on. Or maybe something funny will happen. Or maybe a ridiculous fight will break out. Who knows? Any way, it's a long shot to relevancy when it comes to "music criticism." Still, your friendly neighborhood Duck presses on.... (Next Rest Area 650 Words)
12/28/00 Denizens of the Corner's bar scene may have had an opportunity to enjoy Biscuit's occasional soires at Orbit Billiards over the past few years. I never did, but I heard about 'em. At a time when Orbit had pretty much sworn off live music, Biscuit was still throwing big jams in the deluxe pool hall's chic interior. Well, the band is gone, but their guitarist still carries a torch he maintains in Washington, D.C.-- a little combo he's formed with Head Stone Circus' former bass player, calling themselves by the unlikely name of Three-Quarter Squeegee. To be honest, when I first saw the name, I thought they must be kidding. Sounds like a side-project-pseudonym/inside-joke kind of moniker-- not a name for a band attempting to build a following. But there they were, a real band. A rather tight real band. A rather tight real band that reminded me a hell of a lot of Indecision-- the '80's staple psychedelic rock outfit that used to regularly pack Trax and anyplace else they set up their full-size sound system and light show back in the final days of the Grateful Dead's ascendancy. A friend who'd come just to see Willie Walter's opening set (which I missed) strolled over to express his mild distaste. "Steely Dan wannabees." But I found it agreeable. Steely Dan and Little Feat laden, yes-- but still a very good little lightly-country-fried psychedelic pop/rock combo busting out the old school rock schlock with fat rolling beats and shredding guitar solos. They may be working from an idiom that saw its hayday over a decade ago, but they're still good, if not a little too reliant on covers of-- who else?-- Little Feat and Steely Dan. Oops!
12/29/00 I'd been suffering from party impotence since my father dumped his bones and body-- unable to catch a proper buzz, no less-- and my concern was growing, so I made up my mind to go to the Keel's show and "finish the job." It was easier than I'd thought. First, obtain $15. Next, use the money to buy beer-- preferably a pitcher of beer. Then, settle in for the Keel's merry brand of overhanded Appalachian folkisms, and prepare to don a smile.
Once again, the acoustic show almost didn't seem powerful enough for Starr Hill's massive space. Here were three very capable acoustic musicians and an electric bass player trying to fill a room the size of a high school cafeteria over the din of a loud and happily partying crowd. I resolved to stick it out, and-- if neccessary-- sit on the edge of the stage to enjoy the tunes. Luckily, by the second set a balance had been achieved and all was well. I'll be honest with you. For a person who's lived in Virginia since the mid-1980's, I've never developed a true "fan's" taste for the historic local idioms-- specifically bluegrass and "old time." While I definitely appreciate these musics and respect the accomplishments of their heroes and will sometimes fall deeply in love with the works of some of their acknowledged underdog masters (e.g. Doc Watson or John Hartford-- two of my favorites), I really tend to gravitate towards more African-American folk idioms: blues, funk, reggae, soul, jazz, rap, etc. (Maybe I'm a racist after all.) But Larry Keel has always held a certain enchantment for me. There's something soulful, dark and honest about the groups he gets together and the material they perform. His wife Jenny is a fine bass player with a sincere mid-range "prairie gal" kinda vocal style, and Larry himself is an undisputed fury on a six string guitar, and a resolutely desert-worn gravelly guru vocalist. Add to this the crisp crystalline tones of Billy Constable's banjo and the beautiful tenor vocals and souped-up mandolin solos of Mark Shimmock and you've got a relatively powerful experience by anyone's standards. The Larry Keel Experience. Long may they resound.
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