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Cripply Duck
by Cripsy Duck 1-10-01
(printed in C-VILLE Vol.13, No. 3)
BEAU PRIE
MIKE SEEGER
MEDICINE MAN
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And there was much rejoicing. Interestingly, the Starr Hill Music Hall is turning out to be as much of a blessing for local talent as it is an intimate alternative to Trax for medium-size national acts. Recent local band showcases and CD release parties have yielded noticeably improved attendance for our neighborhood kids-- almost as though the compunded attraction of checking out the city's newest space can instantly triple a band's draw. Whetever the logic, it seems an act that might normally bring 50 people to any other local venue can easily pull 200 or more to the posh W. Main St. ballroom. So the Hill fills. Very cool.
1/5/01
Finally launching their reworked first CD with a bang at "the Hill," David Sickmen's art-pop quartet, Beau Prie-- the recent reincarnation of his popular '90's rock troupe the Ninth (different bass player and keyboardist)-- drew a nice if not reticent to get too zany crowd. The happy scenesters chilled toward the back of the room while the band lushly rocked out a set of the record's highlights. 'Twas nice to hear drummer Rod Coles back at the skins again, laying out his snappy rhythmic eclecticism with his usual finesse. The band sounded good and Sickmen seemed pleased with the results, and with rumors of the College Music Journal making inquiries into his other project, the knee-slappin' old-time posse the Hackensaw Boys, (or Hackensaws, or whatever...) he's sure to have his plate full for the near future.
1/6/01
A first-Saturday-of-the-new-year tradition at the Prism for many, many moons now, Mike Seeger, perennial folk paradigm and historic spokesman for the Appalachian groove, hauled his small arsenal of banjos, guitars, mandolins and autoharps into the Prism to lay down his smokey, authentically undusted tribute to the richness of this region's legacy. Between sets, Cathy Coleman's mountain tale of "Old Christmas" (celebrated on the sixth of January, no less), warmed us up for the tail end of another lovely old-time concert.
But not before the Prism's guiding force, Fred Boyce, set his 18-month-old son Sebastian on a chair with a ukelele while he made his obligatory round of announcements. The delighted infant, who has been growing up around Prism shows since his first weeks out of the womb, intuitively showed off for the crowd, plucking the strings, tuning 'em a little and gurgling something of a tune. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was a world record moment of sheer cuteness. But despite Sebastian's natural showmanship, Seeger wasn't at all outshone. He proceeded to lead the crowd on a warm backwoods journey with his clawhammer old-time banjo styles and weathery wiseman's voice. A very fine Old Christmas indeed. After the Prism, I knew I had more music in me, so it was over to the Outback Lodge for some of what sounded like it might be a hippy band, Medicine Man. "Where are these guys from?" I asked a friend already there when I arrived. He affected his best Wayne and Garth: "Waynes-boro! Waynes-boro!" Onstage, the band's props told much of the tale. The guitar rig was a full 6' Marshall stack-- stock hard-rock equipment since the day Hendrix stuck his guitar through one. But this one was powered by a Peavey amplifier. I know I'm a snob, but that's like a Porsche with a Volkswagon engine, dude! (Like, uh... the Porsche 914.) Eddie Van Halen may have sold out to Peavey, but that doesn't mean you've gotta buy their crap! I felt bad because the guy's tone wasn't that good-- kinda quiet and fuzzy, really-- and it must have been a bitch hauling that huge thing in there. But that was par for the crew from over the mountain. At the risk of offending a bunch of pretty tough-looking dudes, Medicine Man needed medicine, man. Strong stuff, 1000 c.c.'s, stat. There are no more platinum blonde big booty women slavering over out of shape middle-aged guys with mullets doing late-era Black Sabbath kinda material (Ronnie James Dio styl-ee)-- weakly. This stuff might be fun at a porno convention barbecue with too much Millwaukee's Best and a bunch of biker speed, but at the Outback Lodge I felt kinda sorry for them and quickly bailed out. Sorry, guys.
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