The Theater Fire
Matter and Light
(NothingTooMuch, 2008)
The Theater Fire is a country band from Texas, the state that gave us Bobby Fuller, Janis and Scott Joplin, Waylon Jennings, Buddy Knox, Moon Mullican, Ernest Tubb, Jimmie Rodgers, Townes Van Zandt, and Bob Wills. You can hear echoes of all these folks in the music of the band, and while the Theater Fire is definitely in the country pocket, their influences range far and wide. Pop, rock, folk, vaudeville oompah, zydeco, bluegrass, mariachi, gospel, R&B, and more seep into the music made by this seven-man gang of fun-loving multi-instrumentalists. Their lighthearted, cosmic stew is a welcome antidote to the serious navel-gazing and mid-tempo dirges that fill most of the CDs that pass through Reviewerland.
As regular Crawdaddy! readers may know, I tend to like music from the dark side, perhaps as a bulwark against the failing light of Western civilization, or more probably to exercise or exorcize my own, more sinister impulses. But I was once a real live boy who loved the Beatles and the Lovin’ Spoonful. Now, I’ve been at the rock crit biz long enough to know that using the “B” word when describing a new band can be the critical kiss of death, but the Theater Fire takes me back to a simpler time, or simpler frame of mind, when artists sung about serious things without getting freaked out or dressing in black, or by trying to convey their seriousness by mumbling the lyrics in a tedious monotone. This band is bright, both musically and mentally, and they make a joyful noise that’s as pleasin’ as pappy’s corn squeezin’s—to plagiarize a line from another great Texas country singer—without completely ignoring life’s grim realities.
The first thing the average fan is going to notice when they pick up this CD, or look over the set list in iTunes, is “The Testicle Song”, so that’s as good a place as any to start actually reviewing this album. No matter what you expect from a “Testicle Song”, this little ditty is going to surprise you. It has a pretty melody, sprightly banjo pickin’, minimal acoustic guitar, and rippling marimba accents that give it a happy-go-lucky feel. Curtis Heath, one of the band’s main songwriters, croons the tune in his most laid-back tenor. The tune is, indeed, about his balls, and implicitly about sperm, lust, love, and lovemaking, as well as the predilection of young folks to name their private parts. He pulls this off (pardon the unfortunate metaphor) without sounding smarmy or licentious. There’s no male braggadocio, just a simple song about his body parts that’ll have you grinning with its good-natured, understated humor. “Dahl Parts”, another Heath song, is also about body parts, with another sprightly marimba line and an acoustic guitar supplying reggae up-beats to complement a lilting Texas waltz. The melody sounds like a familiar children’s nursery rhyme, while Heath sings about visiting a butcher shop where he gets shackled, hung upside down, and has his throat cut. The music remains upbeat and lively, then morphs into a dark Eastern European tango with dissonant horns, ominous bass notes from a piano, and rumbling funeral drums. And yet, the tune isn’t at all depressing—no mean feat.
Donald Feagin, the band’s other songwriter, sings “God Was a Child” with an understated grace. His tenor is a bit lower than Heath’s: A gruffer, more traditional country voice, with its own laid-back, down-home character. “God Was a Child” is a creation myth, set in the time when light was first coming out of the darkness. Measured bass, sparse banjo, Rhodes piano, and acoustic guitar arpeggios lay out a soft bed of sound with shimmering high-end notes from the piano, suggesting new stars popping into existence as the baby god wonders what he’s created. Feagin’s “Uncle Wayne” is an epic country song, the tale of two boys who grew up best friends, spent a childhood raisin’ hell, and then drifted apart, the reminiscences spurred by the singer learning about the death of his old buddy. Songs of this kind are usually overly romanticized claptraps full of weepy sentimentality—the kind of country songs that give people who hate country music reason to maintain their hatred. Feagin defies all expectations with a warts-and-all story of working class childhood that starts out with his pal in a body cast and ends with a car crash, delivered with a deadpan panache over a folky, rolling tune that bounces along with some fancy banjo picking, tack piano, honky tonk trumpet, slide guitar, and accordion. It’s a short story set to music that leaves you smiling despite its downbeat ending.
“Swashbuckler’s Blues” is just that: A Piedmont-style, syncopated tale of a kid who grows up to be his dad, despite all his best intentions to be Robin Hood of Ivanhoe. Heath’s John Hurt-style guitar is complemented by the chiming of a celesta that underscores the melancholy lyric: “I’d like to rob from the rich and give to the poor, but I’m too lazy… it’s strange how I am my old man, despite all attempts to be Errol Flynn.” Feagin’s “It’s a Secret” closes the album with a raga-like bit of what John Fahey called “American primitive” music. Cello, piano, bowed guitar, found percussion, and a chorus of friends all contribute to this simple song of love that’s finely balanced between passion and sorrow. It perfectly captures the aching indecision of new, young love.
The Theater Fire could be a modern American version of the Kinks with their deadpan humor, fine musicianship, and upbeat, slightly skewed vision of the world. Their all-acoustic sound is timeless, and with arrangements that condense the last 60 years of pop music into tasty, easy-to-swallow nuggets, they should be around for a long time. Despite “The Testicle Song”, this is music that the whole family can enjoy from kiddies to grandmoms. Let’s hope they make some national noise in the near future.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Read more articles like this:
Crate Digger: For All the Honest World: Townes Van Zandt
My Life Is the Road: The Kinks: Demon Alcohol
East Nashville and the New Country Outlaws of Music City, U.S.A.
Jay Reatard
Thee Oh Sees
R. Stevie Moore
Say No! To Architecture
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The Theater Fire
by: j. poet
Matter and Light
(NothingTooMuch, 2008)
The Theater Fire is a country band from Texas, the state that gave us Bobby Fuller, Janis and Scott Joplin, Waylon Jennings, Buddy Knox, Moon Mullican, Ernest Tubb, Jimmie Rodgers, Townes Van Zandt, and Bob Wills. You can hear echoes of all these folks in the music of the band, and while the Theater Fire is definitely in the country pocket, their influences range far and wide. Pop, rock, folk, vaudeville oompah, zydeco, bluegrass, mariachi, gospel, R&B, and more seep into the music made by this seven-man gang of fun-loving multi-instrumentalists. Their lighthearted, cosmic stew is a welcome antidote to the serious navel-gazing and mid-tempo dirges that fill most of the CDs that pass through Reviewerland.
As regular Crawdaddy! readers may know, I tend to like music from the dark side, perhaps as a bulwark against the failing light of Western civilization, or more probably to exercise or exorcize my own, more sinister impulses. But I was once a real live boy who loved the Beatles and the Lovin’ Spoonful. Now, I’ve been at the rock crit biz long enough to know that using the “B” word when describing a new band can be the critical kiss of death, but the Theater Fire takes me back to a simpler time, or simpler frame of mind, when artists sung about serious things without getting freaked out or dressing in black, or by trying to convey their seriousness by mumbling the lyrics in a tedious monotone. This band is bright, both musically and mentally, and they make a joyful noise that’s as pleasin’ as pappy’s corn squeezin’s—to plagiarize a line from another great Texas country singer—without completely ignoring life’s grim realities.
The first thing the average fan is going to notice when they pick up this CD, or look over the set list in iTunes, is “The Testicle Song”, so that’s as good a place as any to start actually reviewing this album. No matter what you expect from a “Testicle Song”, this little ditty is going to surprise you. It has a pretty melody, sprightly banjo pickin’, minimal acoustic guitar, and rippling marimba accents that give it a happy-go-lucky feel. Curtis Heath, one of the band’s main songwriters, croons the tune in his most laid-back tenor. The tune is, indeed, about his balls, and implicitly about sperm, lust, love, and lovemaking, as well as the predilection of young folks to name their private parts. He pulls this off (pardon the unfortunate metaphor) without sounding smarmy or licentious. There’s no male braggadocio, just a simple song about his body parts that’ll have you grinning with its good-natured, understated humor. “Dahl Parts”, another Heath song, is also about body parts, with another sprightly marimba line and an acoustic guitar supplying reggae up-beats to complement a lilting Texas waltz. The melody sounds like a familiar children’s nursery rhyme, while Heath sings about visiting a butcher shop where he gets shackled, hung upside down, and has his throat cut. The music remains upbeat and lively, then morphs into a dark Eastern European tango with dissonant horns, ominous bass notes from a piano, and rumbling funeral drums. And yet, the tune isn’t at all depressing—no mean feat.
Donald Feagin, the band’s other songwriter, sings “God Was a Child” with an understated grace. His tenor is a bit lower than Heath’s: A gruffer, more traditional country voice, with its own laid-back, down-home character. “God Was a Child” is a creation myth, set in the time when light was first coming out of the darkness. Measured bass, sparse banjo, Rhodes piano, and acoustic guitar arpeggios lay out a soft bed of sound with shimmering high-end notes from the piano, suggesting new stars popping into existence as the baby god wonders what he’s created. Feagin’s “Uncle Wayne” is an epic country song, the tale of two boys who grew up best friends, spent a childhood raisin’ hell, and then drifted apart, the reminiscences spurred by the singer learning about the death of his old buddy. Songs of this kind are usually overly romanticized claptraps full of weepy sentimentality—the kind of country songs that give people who hate country music reason to maintain their hatred. Feagin defies all expectations with a warts-and-all story of working class childhood that starts out with his pal in a body cast and ends with a car crash, delivered with a deadpan panache over a folky, rolling tune that bounces along with some fancy banjo picking, tack piano, honky tonk trumpet, slide guitar, and accordion. It’s a short story set to music that leaves you smiling despite its downbeat ending.
“Swashbuckler’s Blues” is just that: A Piedmont-style, syncopated tale of a kid who grows up to be his dad, despite all his best intentions to be Robin Hood of Ivanhoe. Heath’s John Hurt-style guitar is complemented by the chiming of a celesta that underscores the melancholy lyric: “I’d like to rob from the rich and give to the poor, but I’m too lazy… it’s strange how I am my old man, despite all attempts to be Errol Flynn.” Feagin’s “It’s a Secret” closes the album with a raga-like bit of what John Fahey called “American primitive” music. Cello, piano, bowed guitar, found percussion, and a chorus of friends all contribute to this simple song of love that’s finely balanced between passion and sorrow. It perfectly captures the aching indecision of new, young love.
The Theater Fire could be a modern American version of the Kinks with their deadpan humor, fine musicianship, and upbeat, slightly skewed vision of the world. Their all-acoustic sound is timeless, and with arrangements that condense the last 60 years of pop music into tasty, easy-to-swallow nuggets, they should be around for a long time. Despite “The Testicle Song”, this is music that the whole family can enjoy from kiddies to grandmoms. Let’s hope they make some national noise in the near future.
Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]
Read more articles like this:
Crate Digger: For All the Honest World: Townes Van Zandt
My Life Is the Road: The Kinks: Demon Alcohol
East Nashville and the New Country Outlaws of Music City, U.S.A.
by: j. poet
published: December 10, 2008 in column: Reviews
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