Just a guy and a guitar - a sighting as frequent as an orange traffic cone.
Of the 30 guys with acoustic guitars in the Letts-Anderson quad, there are zero with talent. It's difficult to make the sparse sound good.
Now, there's a new wave of folk music called free-folk, and we aren't talkin' 'bout "A Mighty Wind." Many of the youngsters of free-folk live in rural areas, use bare recording techniques and grow beards. The movement is spearheaded by the humble yet eccentric Devendra Banhart, who considers himself a snail in the folk garden.
This new wave of folk musicians take the seemingly difficult task of picking up a guitar (or harp) and make it sound ridiculously good. As a media checkpoint for the movement, Los Angeles-based Arthur magazine has given these overlooked artists their much-deserved press, releasing a compilation, "The Golden Apples of the Sun," under its partner record label, Bastet. This compilation features songs by Joanna Newsom, Scout Niblett, Little Wings, Six Organs of Admittance and Vetiver, all hand-picked by the godfather himself, Banhart. It could be used as an educational tool to the genre. The fact that these folkies can carve more meaning into minimalism than any big-budget musician is a testament to their talent.
And now that orange traffic cone doesn't seem so mundane.
See how each of these artists fit into the free-folk milieu with our family tree and dossiers.
Devendra Banhart Devendra Banhart is arguably the most charismatic of the free-folk musicians. With long black hair, a flowing beard and a voice that sends shivers down spines, this 23-year-old is responsible for bringing the West Coast freak-folk scene to light.
In fact, Banhart is probably one reason they call this "freak-folk." He looks real creepy and sings like a '30s blues singer. His life is full of mystery and intrigue, and at times even seems legendary thanks to years of wandering and a near-homeless existence. Listen to his songs: His voice creaks with tension, and his delicately picked guitar winds its way around words filled with imagery and allusion, with everything a little off kilter from what we consider normal. Which indeed is part of its beauty.
Banhart's debut record, titled "Rejoicing in the Hands," was recorded entirely in an old plantation home in Georgia, a perfect complement to his ancient-sounding, bare-bones and even downright creepy sound.
At times, Banhart seems to be the hero of the nationwide free-folk scene. Ever since his discovery in last year, he has been hugely influential and sparked (or at least opened doors for) legions of free-folk musicians.
- Chris DeWitt
Joanna Newsom Newsom strums her harp with an intrinsic seriousness that defies conventional wisdom. She coos about catenaries and dirigibles and shrieks over the concepts of Camus. Her album, "The Milk-Eyed Mender," is one of 2004's finest, a striking amalgam of surprisingly un-tortured yet quite un-dainty folk vignettes. Newsom's just that kind of musician, making her instrument her muse, weapon and tool. She deftly alters it to suit the esoteric atmosphere of her songs.
The centerpiece of her album is "Sadie," a poignant depiction of quiet emotion, tumbling between her hushed murmur and jarring vocal jabs, all over a lilting harp line. Occasionally a harpsichord makes an appearance, yet the tone of her album is set by harp.
Newsom aptly crafts the folk song with such power and intelligence. She picks up where other female representatives of the free-folk movement leave off. She achieves what CoCo Rosie wishes it could, but rather than emphasizing her femininity (one could almost picture CoCo Rosie in lace slips and aprons, spending their day baking pies), Newsom is a creatively feisty presence. She is a defining matriarch for the entire genre.
Newsom is the intellectualization of the movement, a bright spot in whatever dim-lit Victorian basement the rest of the genre resides. She is to free-folk what Dorothy Parker was to the Algonquin Round Table, not afraid to slay listeners with quips like "your skin is something I stir into my tea."
Over the summer, Newsom toured with Devendra Banhart, and can also be found on the Vetiver album and "Golden Apples of the Sun" compilation.
- Jen Turner
Iron & Wine Build an environment of the utmost intimacy and isolation, and the fans will flock. From the psycho-babble shrieks of Xiu Xiu's Jamie Stewart to Elliott Smith's hyper-autobiographical lyrics, these admissions resonate among listeners who appreciate that they aren't the only ones feeling blue.
Film professor by day and troubadour by night, Sam Beam's subdued and hushed vocals on bedroom-recorded "The Creek Drank the Cradle" proved that polished riffs and a slick sound were for suckers, and the MOJO readers ate it up. His sophomore release, "Our Endless Numbered Days," propelled Beam from an opening-act where audience banter overpowered his voice to a headliner who gets respect. Now he's selling out shows and contributing to Hollywood soundtracks (of whack movies), and the audience reciprocates what he gives: quiet.
- Costa Caloudas
Will Oldham Will Oldham looks like he was borrowed from the Civil War-era South with the intention of never being returned: premature baldness, a big puffy beard, creepy piercing eyes and a voice that sounds like the saddest old man you've ever heard warble out a tune.
Oldham releases records under the names Palace, Palace Brothers, Palace Music and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. But don't let the nomenclature fool you: It's all Oldham, sometimes with friends, and each project has a different flavor, but deep down it's all the same country-tinged, classic-sounding folk. Comparisons could be drawn to the likes of labelmates Smog and The Silver Jews, as well as Cat Power and Nick Drake. His latest album, "Bonnie 'Prince' Billy plays Greatest Palace Music" (one Oldham band covering another Oldham band), recalls his native Kentucky.
Not only should Oldham be noted for his own contribution to this new movement, but he is also responsible for introducing the world to Joanna Newsom and others. So for that we thank him.
Labelmates with Joanna Newsom.
- Chris DeWitt
The Mountain Goats As the brainchild of folkie extraordinaire John Darnielle, the Mountain Goats quietly carved a cult following by religiously releasing cassette-only albums. And not unlike Daniel Johnston, Darnielle used the tape hiss and shit-quality to make the lo-fi works even more endearing. Their circumstantial economic situations - while hindering to most artists - further propelled their works into greatness. Darnielle's scattered cassettes, 7s and compilation appearances appeal to die-hard collectors, but those looking to spend less money can look to three compilation CDs, "Protein Source of the Future...Now!" "Bitter Melon Farm" and "Ghana." What makes Darnielle a marvel isn't his ridiculously catchy numbers, cathartic voice and glorious tape hiss: It's his way with words. Sample lyric: "There are no Pan-Asian supermarkets down in Hell / So you can't get Golden Boy peanuts."
Intimidated? Confused? Don't know where to begin? Take a gander at one of his lo-fi comps (like "Protein Source") and one of his vast studio works (like "We Shall All Be Healed") to get the big picture.
The Mountain Goats performed at the Black Cat last month with super-producer John Vanderslice. Despite competing against the ultimately ineffective Vote for Change, the guys pulled in a capacity crowd and put on one helluva show.
- Costa Caloudas
The Cherry Blossoms The Cherry Blossoms are a collective out of Nashville, Tenn., consisting of between three to eight members. They all play kazoo and everything from guitars and basses to kalimbas and tap shoes. Their brand of jammy, call-and-response folk harkens back to carefree old backwoods hootenannies, where family members and whoever else was around would play instruments, hit stuff and sing, and have a real good time. It's a truly idyllic picture.
Indeed, picture this: You're out in a little misty Appalachian town. Good friends abound and you play music all you want. You play shows at festivals and old folks homes, just making people happy. And that makes you happy. And sometimes, if you want, your band wears funny hats and you change your name to Clam Stand. Just for kicks. They haven't put out any records, in case you're wondering - just a bunch of MP3s on their Web site.
The members, led by John Allingham (you can read his poetry on the Web site), all have regular jobs and live on farms. In their music you can feel the passion, the kazoo, the good times and good friends. They're just a really fun band.
Beware: The Cherry Blossoms will make you want to sell everything you own, buy a farm and spend the rest of your days playing songs on your front porch. See www.thecherryblossoms.com.
- Chris DeWitt
Panda Bear Panda Bear (Noah Lennox) is one-fourth of Animal Collective, a Brooklyn-by-way-of-Maryland folk co-op (think free-folk's own Wu-Tang Clan) whose members will eventually all have solo albums. Panda is the first to stand alone, and his second effort, "Young Prayer," is an absolutely heartbreaking response to the death of his father. "Prayer" was recorded in the house where his father passed away, and all of the songs are untitled. We recommend making up your own. See also "Sung Tongs" on Fat Cat Records.
See Animal Collective in Baltimore on Nov. 19 at the Ottobar. Get tickets now, this show will sell out.
- Costa Caloudas
Sufjan Stevens Sufjan (pronounced "soof-yahn") Stevens began his solo musical career in 1999 after playing in various groups in his native Holland, Mich. His beautiful, often somber and sometimes euphoric (he doesn't deal in half-measures, to be sure) vocals are at once reminiscent of Iron & Wine's early, more hushed style, and renaissance madrigals. (Listen to "We Are What You Say" on "A Sun Came" if you don't believe that one. I swear he plays the lute.)
Stevens' music is highly conceptual. Though not directly symbolic, his songs all seem to convey his deep spirituality with their imagery and tone. Also, he has ambitiously set out on the so-called 50 States Project, which will document in album form all 50 of our fine states. (The first was 2003's amazing "Greetings from Michigan..." Next up is Illinois.)
And in keeping with the collaborative spirit of this new wave of folk music, Stevens donates his welcome talents to other bands and projects, in particular the work of fellow Christian folkies the Danielson Familie.
Point is, if the philosophy of Stevens' work doesn't get you, the sheer beauty of his melodies and words will.
See Sufjan Stevens at the Black Cat on Nov. 24
- Chris DeWitt
Songs: Ohia Songs: Ohia fits into the free-folk movement's family tree as something of the working class, blue-collar uncle who spends too much time at the coal mines, yet can't imagine a different life for himself. Days are rainy and bleak, yet there is an unpredicted sense of hope. It's not exactly fair to classify Songs: Ohia as "folk", "free-folk" at that, because they definitely employ the electric guitar with gusto. Yet the narrative content of their songs far surpasses the stereotype. Singer Jason Molina writes about poverty, pain and the art of simply getting by.
Their catalog is extensive, but the album that encompasses their themes the best is "The Magnolia Electric Co.," and the song on that album that sums it all up is the opening track, "Farewell Transmission." "The real truth about it is, my kind of life's no better off," Molina moans. To really get the feel for Songs:Ohia's folky roots, track down the "The Magnolia Electric Co." demos. Titled "Long Dark Blues," the demo for "Farewell Transmission" broods over the working class blues, "working in the hot mill steam," with sadness and meaning completely unheard of anywhere but the free-folk movement.
- Jen Turner
