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Those Darlins: Oh, the Places They’ll Go

“In a nation of frightened dullards, there is always a sorry shortage of outlaws, and those few who make the grade are always welcome.”– Hunter S. Thompson

This is a story about kindred spirits. It’s a story about small-town chicks with big-city dreams, a story about the evolution of a band, about grit and determination. It’s a story about campfire sing-alongs and beer-soaked jamborees. It’s a tale about strangers coming to town, about true believers embarking on a journey. This is an age-old tale with a modern twist… one that takes the grand tradition of country and folk and infuses it with rockabilly blues and backwoods swagger.

This is the story of Those Darlins, and it begins in Murfreesboro, Tennessee—home of the Southern Girls Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp—in the summer of 2003.

by: Bob Hill

published: July 20, 2009 in column: Introducing

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The Renaldo The Ensemble’s Beguiling Beauty

by: Ben Westhoff

Courtesy of The Renaldo The Ensemble Aldo Perez speaks in an extremely dry manner, so it’s often difficult to tell when he’s joking. When asked if his father attends many of his performances, for example, Perez responds: “He’s currently decomposing, so thanks for bringing that up.” Like the lyrics in his band/theater troupe The Renaldo The Ensemble’s songs, there are elements of truth, sadness, and comedy in almost everything he says.

Though largely under the radar, the group has received rave reviews from the few critics who have seen them perform, including representatives from The New York Times and Time Out New York. They maintain a small—but loyal and obsessive—following.

It’s not hard to understand their fans’ enthusiasm, considering the New York-based act is composed largely of conservatory-trained musicians and plays at a near-virtuoso level.

by: Ben Westhoff

published: June 15, 2009 in column: Introducing

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Deciphering Slim Cessna’s Auto Club

by: Gregory Daurer

Slim Cessna's Auto Club: Photo by Gary Isaacs In the song “Mark of Vaccination” by Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, a confused and slow-minded bumpkin of a narrator confesses, “I cannot cipher, I cannot read.”

He’s not the only one who’s perplexed.

Slim Cessna’s Auto Club puzzles people. Does the Denver-based sextet play country and western? Or alt-country? Gospel? Or, essentially, cabaret music to drink by? While there are traditional elements within the arrangements, what to make of the occasional banjo-feedback solo or bowed and distorted pedal steel guitar? The stand-up bass weaves melodically, not in thunka-thunka fashion. The drums—not limited to one-two, one-two beats—add exuberant polyrhythms. The music undulates like a bull whip. Lyrics, akin to literary short stories, waver between the sacred and the secular, the goodhearted and the gothic. Among his endearing vocalizations, the band’s namesake coos and yodels. Altogether, it’s a mixture of high art and cornpone.

by: Gregory Daurer

published: May 14, 2009 in column: Introducing

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