The Old One-Two is a blues/rock trio which sounds a lot older than they are.  I don’t mean because they haven’t been playing together for long, or because they are barely old enough to drink in the places they play, but because they channel Son House, Robert Johnson, R.L. Burnside, and old gospel tunes in the vein of the Black Keys or the White Stripes or Langhorne Slim, or later R.L. Burnside.

They play with passion, conviction, and a self confidence that exudes from them on stage.  Talk to them for five minutes and you will find they are not cocky, but rather modest and polite young men.

Their stage show reeks of excitement and energy, even when Hawke sits down with his bullet microphone.  He wails, almost distorted, from a little Marshall amplifier.  During Nathan’s guitar changes, Hawke will holler out an old song, like John the Revelator.  Chad sings along from the drum set, as does Nathan after he gets his guitar situated, both with no microphones.

Nathan’s guitar skills much surpass his age, and are deeply rooted in the blues slide style of playing.  Chad hammers at the drums like the Muppet Animal would if he were a real boy.  Some day, Animal, some day.

The three come together like eggs and toast, salt and pepper, coffee and cigarettes, wine and cheese, and Driveway and ginseng eye-drops from Japan.

They will be playing in Greensboro on January 22nd with Israel Darling and Come Hell or High Water at the Green Bean.  Not to be missed.

Start from the start : Tales of the Scrimshaw Kid Chapter I.

We had a crazy week.  All of us here at Monkeywhale Studios were exhausted by Saturday night.  I was the M.C. that night, and I was singing and playing accordion on the sidewalk with Katharine Whalen, rehearsing, when someone firmly grabbed my shoulder.

I had lipstick on my face like war paint, and a huge sombrero (monkeywhale’s lucky sombrero, in fact) on my head.  The hand on my shoulder startled me, and at first I thought it was the door guy getting fresh.  What surprise must’ve been on my face when I turned to see Burdett.  What astonishment!

The last time I saw him, he was with a bartender named Betty, and he just started explaining to me his reasons behind finding us here at Monkeywhale Productions- his sighting of a Save the Monkeywhale sticker on a car on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

His friend and mine, Davey Wilson (the man responsible for getting Burdett in touch with us), was driving Burdett around the mountain highway, showing him the sights.  Wilson was pointing out a cabin on a cliff where he used to live when he smacked into the back of a Volvo.  Everyone was okay, and while both drivers exchanged information, Burdett looked away from the mountains to examine the damage when he saw the sticker.

Save the Monkeywhale.  His family had hunted monkeywhales.  He had EATEN monkeywhales.  He had made scrimshaw out of monkeywhale bone.

Upon asking, “what the hell does that mean?”, Burdett was referred to our website, and learned the truth.  There are only around seventy monkeywhales left on the planet. (Click here for the facts.)

“Oh my Gandhi!” I exclaimed upon seeing the Scrimshaw Kid in front of my face on the sidewalk at the Save the Monkeywhale Festival.  “What are you doing?  Where have you been?”- and then Katharine and I had to get up on stage.

I didn’t see him again that night.  With all the hubbub and festivities and M.C. duties and what have you, I lost him in the crowd.  Maybe he never came in.

I still haven’t had a chance to speak with him extensively, only one short phone call.  It turns out Burdett decided to stick around here.  He said something about living somewhere with someone in Summerfield, NC, just outside of town.  At least that’s what I think he said.

We are planning to meet this weekend, so I may finally record an interview.  February 14th of last year was when I first met Burdett and the first time I tried- unsuccessfully – to interview him.

Wish me luck.

To be continued…

First up was Wyndy Trail Travelers (pronounced “windy”).  They were very nice fellows.  In the vain of traditional bluegrass, but with a hint of the new grass feel, their set was polished.  However, like for Amelia’s Mechanics- the openers Friday night- the audience was slender.  We’ve got to get some bodies out there next year, World.  I’m telling you, it’s plenty worth the price of admission.

Next up, The Virginia Dare Devils.  They were probably the most traditional of the festival.  Good old flat picking guitar, fast as hell, sick mandolin playing and lovely harmonies.  I advise you to check them out.

Greensboro’s own Milltown performed Saturday afternoon as well.  Another old-timey bluegrass act with class, Milltown joked with the crowd: “How many bass players does it take to change a light bulb?”  The answer they gave a stumped audience was, “One five one five.”  I laughed.

Haw River Ramblers played a great set, despite the fact that they were a man down.  They said that they were the Slaw River Ramblers that day.  They had an accordion player, and I am very fond of the accordion, so I listened to them warm up by the campsite.

The headliner, if you will, was the Ralph Roddenberry Trio with special guest (and friend) Scott Mecredy.  When the band pulled up, I approached a stocky and sporty gentleman and asked him which act he was with.  He confidently and politely stated that he played with the Ralph Roddenberry Trio.

I later found out that the fellow I accosted was Ralph Roddenberry himself.  I thought that was pretty nifty.

I ended up staying up all night with those cats.  They were working on a song about side effects.  It was really funny.  Scott is the one pictured with bunny ears.

I hope I have done my job here.  That job being turning you lovely readers from folks who didn’t attend the Deep River Music Festival into folks who are attending next time around.

When Barry Staples and I pulled away from the campgrounds Sunday afternoon in the monkeywhale moblie, we waved and blew the horn.

We had a tear in our eye and I seriously missed the people we had met and the times we had before we hit the main road.

I was using the camera, manipulating light, like I never have before.  I don’t know if it was the energy of the people (and the dogs) at the Festival, or all of the quartz in the ground below us, or the Native American land, or the ghosts of the Native Americans who used to roam and fish said land.  I’m not even sure if there are ghosts there, but it would be cool.

I’m not saying these are amazing photographs, or remarkably original, or correct, but these are my favorites.  Save it up.

Vans / tents of Eating the Invaders

Jim Brooks, the man behind the festival

Haw River Ramblers warm up.

Grace Schanilec

Grace Schanilec

Barry Staples

H20tiedyes.com

Driveway ran sound for 11 and a half hours on Saturday alone.

H20tiedyes.com

Next up: Milltown, Haw River Ramblers, Wyndy Trail Travelers, and the Ralph Roddenbery Trio with Scott Mecredy.

The Deep River Music Festival: Backstage

Amelia’s Mechanics at the Deep River Music Festival

Amelia’s Mechanics was the first group of the two day music festival held in Franklinville, North Carolina.  Their outstanding original set was seen and heard only by the small audience lucky enough to have been there at the beginning of the festival.  We were lucky indeed.

The set was awesome.  The viola sounded like a viola.  Greensboro’s own Amelia’s Mechanics were loved by all.  They told stories and jokes while the others tuned their instruments.  Molly McGinn told a joke, and afterward said that her mother would kill her if she ever heard her tell that particular joke.  It was hilarious.  But I can’t repeat it.  I remember it, but my mother would kill me.

We had a great time.  I took a lot of pictures.  Obviously.

There were excellent performances on Saturday, too.  Coming soon : part three of the Deep River Music Festival featuring Greensboro’s Milltown, the Slaw River Ramblers (I’ll explain later), and a mandolin player from Atlanta who wore bunny ears and stayed up until the sun came up, with me and a few others.

The Deep River Music Festival:  Backstage

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A note for the photograph geeks out there:  (I say geek in the nicest way possible) All of these photographs are not edited.  I stopped doing that.

save the monkeywhale.

We were at the Deep River Music Festival this weekend.  I rode down with Driveway and all of his sound and lighting gear Friday afternoon.  When we arrived at 3pm, there were people decorating the barn-type rec hall where we would be playing later that evening.  Hay was being spread over red clay mud.  The structure was an amazing sounding, huge church-like building with exposed rafters, glassless windows, unfinished and beautiful.  And it sounded amazing.

I helped Driveway unload the van and place speakers around the concrete stage.  The building had a large wooden dance floor in front of the stage and freshly spread gravel covering the dirt from wall to wall.  The hay bails that lined the walls turned into seats as one by one, the volunteers finished up and waited for the festivities to begin.  The man of the hour (who invited us to come out and play music), Jim Brooks, took some of us through the trails to see the the Deep River and the Native American fishing weir.

When we returned, folks started showing up, the other half of our band included.  Porta-potties rolled in, a kitchen was formed downstairs, water was run, hand-washing stations were erected, and I was given an artist badge to wear around my neck.

From a performer’s point of view, the festival was outstanding.  My artist badge enabled me to eat food in the kitchen, drink free delicious pale ale, and pretty much just feel cool.

Soon after this, the members of Amelia’s Mechanics (the weekend’s opening act) cruised up the dirt road and began unloading and setting up to play.  They messed around with an adorable 6 week old puppy named Stella and sampled Rodger Lenhardt’s ElderBerry Juice and Cough Syrup.  I’m pretty sure they bought some, too.  It was divine.

Tents were put up, kegs were tapped, and we were about to be on our way.  Amelia’s Mechanics kicked off the festival, then Eating the Invaders, and Holy Ghost Tent Revival closed out Day One.  I had so much fun that Saturday morning, I fell for the old “wake up, it’s one o’clock and the bands are about to start.”  It was really about 10:30am when Driveway and Barry woke me up.  It took me about an hour to realize it.  They thought it was funny, and I suppose it was.

Part two coming soon.  The Deep River Music Festival: Amelia’s Mechanics is being worked on now.  Cool pictures to follow of the lovely ladies, thanks to Driveway’s lighting.

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