Read any biography on Ray Raposa, leader of San Diego band Castanets, and it'll mention how at the age of 15 he placed out of school and began traveling the country on and off for four years. And how a Castanets show, which graced the stage of George Washington University's Ivory Tower Community Center on Wednesday, relies on improvisation and chaos.
Raposa said in a recent phone interview that he relishes that freedom from structure. He doesn't like being tied down by school, geography, set lists, genre or this "free folk" movement, of which Castanets is generally considered a part of.
"I just don't think a movement, per se, exists," Raposa said. "I like a lot of that music, and I'm friends with a lot of those folks, but I don't know where a movement starts and where just a bunch of good records ends."
Indeed, some have been quick to slap labels on bands and musicians. But a man with an acoustic guitar is not necessarily folk.
"If you got all the groups playing 'free folk' together in the same room, I don't think many of them would even get along," Raposa said. "I don't think there's too much common ground."
Castanets have an eerie, open sound and a certain American folk-country spirit. Raposa's voice has a world-weary drawl, quiet and moving, which is representative of the band's sound. The band has mastered the art of tension and release for emotive effect. Castanets' live shows have always been "pretty sprawling, improvised, chaotic affairs," Raposa said. He enlists groups of friends with at least a vague knowledge of the material to help him out and improvise a lot of the songs.
"I can't imagine being in a band where you had to practice. ... It's always a really uncomfortable process if we try to," Raposa said. "There are so many factors you can't account for in a closed room while playing with a couple of friends for the sake of 'tightening up' and the feel of trying to play a song for a hundred Friday night drinkers."
This discomfort that comes with trying to tie down certain intangibles pervades both ends of the Castanets' music spectrum, from live performance to songwriting. "[Songwriting is] a thing that I do. And it's not always a thing that I do because it's really fun. Sometimes it's a thing I do because I feel like it's something I really oughta do," Raposa said. "Sometimes it's really, really, really easy. And sometimes it's really uncomfortable work."
You can hear that frustration and pain in the music. Without being too melodramatic, Castanets sounds almost tortured with thoughts. The lyrical themes go from loss to faith, from fear to family; the inherent feeling of the music gives a sense of some sort of organized confusion and chaos. These are feelings Castanets attempts to carry out in the band's live performance.
"You have these loose set of guidelines, a general sense of your limitations or abilities ... in an environment that you can't control," Raposa said.
The outcome, as many have witnessed, can be extremely powerful and entirely enveloping.
Castanets play intimate show at Ivory Tower
Imagine, if you will, a place where the fluorescent lights slightly hum and the bustle of the collegiate world is blocked by a thin pane of glass. Eager youngsters sit patiently and politely waiting for the soft acoustic guitar and hushed vocals of San Diego band Castanets.
Such a place existed last night at George Washington University's Ivory Tower Community Room. The audience of 30 or 40 student-age kids sat cross-legged on the coarse carpet, guitar cases from the bands and well-worn scarves lined the walls of the small room.
Opening bands Lazarus and Tiger Saw provided subdued and subtle introduction to the low-key set of Castanets.
"Thanks for being so polite, and for being here," Ray Raposa, lead singer, said having just come off a hard night in Baltimore. "Last night, they were definitely polite, they just weren't there."
The meager crowd showed them that D.C. was far more appreciative. Raposa played an intimate six-song set on the acoustic guitar, accompanied only by a single female voice and banjo. The latter also played auxiliary percussion, in the form of a small bell that was barely visible. Raposa's supporting musician's light tapping on the surface of her banjo added a rhythmic sound that seemed almost coincidental, as if the wind were rapping on a windowpane. Her diminutive addition to Raposa's whispered vocals and distinctive guitar playing tied together the subtle sound.
Highlights of the show included "Cathedral 2" from 2004's "Cathedral" LP and a cover of Bob Dylan's "New Pony," off the "Street Legal" LP. To make up for the small number of instruments, Raposa employed the use of looping pedals and an e-bow, which makes a beautifully mourning sound.
The space, though somewhat sterile, provided a strangely warm and comforting environment for the very personal artists to perform. Most of the time they sang without microphones and, towards the end of their set, Raposa came into the crowd, breaking down the artificial barrier that is so easy to form in the minds of the audience. This is an accomplishment in live music, where there seems to be a sizeable gulf between performers and spectators.
Falling just over the 20-minute mark, the set's length was fitting, providing a succinct taste of the Castanets' gravity of sound.
-CHRIS DEWITT AND JEN TURNER
