Bluegrass For The Masses
The Road Reveals The Faces Of The Packway Handle Band
originally published May 23, 2007
Rich Merritt
Unfortunately for most music fans, all-access badges are not issued indiscriminately, and it’s difficult to find stories - even in the age of information overflow and overload - offering a proper fly-on-the-wall perspective of grass-roots performers. Instead we’re inundated with unauthorized biographies of unavoidable pop stars and the curiously famous, penned by gossip columnists and packed with revealing paparazzi photos, littering magazine racks and bookshelves.
To gain a better and more personal understanding of emerging artists these days, fans must cross fingers and hope that MySpace friend-requests are honored, or have uncomfortable (often inebriated) conversations at merch tables or in back alleys, as the trailer-toting getaway vehicle idles and the set is being struck.
Flagpole asked local bluegrass quintet Packway Handle Band for the ultimate fanboy experience, complete with the right to piggyback and the luxury of having a designated driver. In exchange they’d receive a glorious piece of real estate here in the pages. Thankfully, the 2006 Flagpole Athens Music Award-winning band held up its end of the bargain. Three of the band's many faces were revealed over eight days and several hundred miles within the intimate confines of a plum -colored passenger van and on stages of varying sizes and levels of import and prestige.
For those keeping score and painting mental pictures at home, here's who the Packway Handle Band is.
The swashbuckling, charismatic de facto frontman Andrew Heaton (violin and vocals) is an engaging storyteller. He's also the lone South Carolinian and non-lifer, having been in other bands before, most notably the increasingly scarce Calliope Fair.
Josh Erwin (guitar and vocals) is the lone non-Athenian, but his flat-picking makes his inside-the-perimeter Atlanta address more tolerable. He's a Harrison High School (in Kennesaw) alum like the next three dudes.
Ray-Ban invented its Aviator line of sunglasses for the former (nearly literal) tree hugger Tom Baker (banjo and vocals), but even if you’re unable to look him in the eye all the time he’s instantly familiar, cerebral and engaging.
Every band should have its quintessential rock star like Zach McCoy (bass), unafraid to call it like he sees it (on the record), with a penchant for good grooming, not afraid to share a smoke or admit to the band's innermost (albeit limited) dysfunctional tendencies. As the least organic element and the furthest removed from the performance semicircle, his job on stage seems toughest - and we don’t think he’d argue that.
The prolific and private songwriter Michael Paynter (mandolin and vocals) provides astute commentaries on and evaluations of everything from doomed relationships to the personalities of weathermen.
En route to Augusta, McCoy is at the wheel, blaring Frank Zappa’s Joe’s Garage and performing a variety of air-instruments while Baker plants the first seeds of doubt (or expectation) in our minds, mentioning the hit-or-miss nature of the band's previous experiences in town, and the fact that the group has never before performed at this evening’s destination, The Mission. He laughs about the fact that the music calendar on the venue’s web site was not as obviously updated and maintained as the section advertising the fact that the place is for sale. During load-in the band collectively notes the proximity to a Mellow Mushroom, and it is agreed that that can’t be bad… perhaps it’ll help draw a crowd?
The gutted and converted former thrift store has been stocked with bizarre works of art and heady brews. After soundcheck the band feeds at the Mexican joint recommended by the bartender when he learns that palettes will be satisfied only by cheap food. "Cheap " generally influences most culinary decisions, advises Heaton before the conversation turns to talk of the opening band, a roots-rock four-piece from Columbia, SC called American Gun, and the size of the keyboard they hauled in. “I thought we were playing with one of those Guitar Center bands,” confesses Heaton.
Ready to view Packway’s first face at the club, a space that would not be uncomfortable in downtown Athens east of Lumpkin (and not named Tasty World); the youth of Augusta have converged. They are an eclectic mix of the unshaven and exceptionally shopping-mall chic, taking the night off MySpace to drink paychecks, shoot pool and - naturally! - absorb bluegrass music.
Obviously, with their self-admitted many visages, the bandmembers have become mobile musical chameleons who can please even the most discerning or oblivious listeners. It’s just a question of which bluegrass camp will be represented when they roll through your town.
On this evening they, at least according to Heaton’s introduction, would premiere “Earl the Duck,” a song that will undoubtedly be a set-list staple regardless of venue or circumstance for years to come, and one that begs the questions: is this face of the band a beer-goggled version of bluegrass? Does the Packway bar show resemble shorts-on-stage jamgrass? While the subject matter (ducks enduring a gender identity crisis) may stray from the genre’s standard love/livestock/Lord formula and veer toward the surreal, the musicianship is never compromised. These Packway guys are professionals who rarely surrender to ill-moderated dalliances - their solos are tasteful, tight and for the most part concise. Thankfully so. Listeners can revel in the fact that they’ll be entertained, regardless of chemical ingestion, for as long as the club owner, festival time-slot or wedding reception allows - and they’ll play dozens of songs, culled from a canon of choice covers, clever originals and timeless traditional compositions. If doing it in flip-flops in front of drunks makes it jammy… meh.
On the way home we watch The Complete Truth about De-Evolution, a DVD that features dozens of Devo music videos, while the band discusses which of these criminally underrated songs might fit comfortably in their repertoire. Once again, if that’s jammy - sure, we’ll take it.
We continued to gather evidence a few evenings later on Legion Field in Athens where Packway was sandwiched on an interesting bill featuring Hope For Agoldensummer and Modern Skirts. The boys are dressed to the nines and unfortunately the weather is not quite as handsome, but even in a steady drizzle - which could not be coaxed into more as the band played “Downpour,” but ironically intensified during “Keep on the Sunny Side” - the band had feet tapping and children spinning.
Essentially, the five Packway Handle boys had the patrons as much in the palms of their hands as a getting-wet crowd could be in an alcohol-free environment. More than 100 miles from Augusta and 180 degrees from The Mission, the band is once again right at home. It is evident in their countenance.
The road goes on forever, or so it seems for this touring band - presently on the road in support of the recently released Live in 2006 EP Extreme, as less than 24 hours later it’s dusk in Dahlonega. Soundcheck for Heaton and Baker takes the form of an informal busking session a stone's throw from a fudge shop and this evening’s venue The Crimson Moon. The sun sets behind the west end of the town square, and the old Lumpkin County courthouse casts a shadow on a park bench, where an old-timer watches impressed, as the duo swells to a trio and then a quintet as Paynter, then Erwin join the fray.
Inside the Crimson Moon, a quaint and historic space - the second oldest building in downtown Dahlonega, equal parts general store, coffee shop and dinner theatre - the bandmembers prepare to reveal yet another side of themselves. The stage is ideally cramped and crowded; Heaton slips off the lip and almost into laps a few times early on, but soon enough everyone is comfortable. They joke of the small boulder that anchors the band's dual-condenser mic stand. Paynter suggests that this is what happens when a pet rock is overfed. The crowd eats it up - along with their salads, entrees, dessert and coffee, as the Packway sound captivates them for two sets featuring more than 30 songs, all throughout five courses.
A quick survey of those in attendance and we find a rather conservative collection of personalities. Given the choice, they may have passed on the chance to see Packway perform at The Mission or Legion Field, or honestly any place that wasn’t as simultaneously historic and sterile as The Crimson Moon. These are God-fearing folks, which begs another question: with an album like 2005’s (Sinner) You Better Get Ready, which features a slew of inspirational gospel tunes, can it be presumed (or perhaps, to a lesser degree, argued) the group represents the old guard of players performing on the less than secular tip?
Not so fast, flat-picker. While there's no question where Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder is on Sundays, there are plenty of questions and dashes of mystery, intrigue and progressive thinking in this Packway camp. Again, thankfully so.
Without belittling the merits of faith and piety, Packway performs with tongues that are firmly yet playfully placed in cheek. Listen to their earnest and exalting interpretation of that sophomore album’s title track and then seek out the delightful “Satan’s in Outer Space,” and you’ll understand and agree immediately - it doesn’t matter how you feel about something if you can aggrandize it with such skilled (yet humble) aplomb.
If they aren’t exactly jamgrass, grungegrass or old-guard traditionalists, then where, as is our journalistic duty, can we pigeonhole them? How's the following if/then statement: If you like Chatham County Line and/or The Avett Brothers, then you should catch this perpetually touring five-piece for a trad-absurdist experience delivered from exceptionally seasoned youths.
WHO: Packway Handle Band, The Hackensaw Boys
WHERE: Georgia Theatre
WHEN: Saturday, May 26
HOW MUCH: $8 (advance); $10 (door)
Boil It Down!
The Fleshtones' Garage Rock Is About As Essential As It Gets
originally published May 23, 2007
Anne Streng
The Fleshtones
Brother man, if you get to a Fleshtones show, prepare to sweat! Forget any notions of candy-ass garage revival schlock - this is one hard rockin' outfit, musically literate cats hell-bent on showing the folks such a good time that their story fills the pages of the forthcoming book Sweat: The Story of The Fleshtones, America's Garage Band by Joe Bonomo.
Since 1975 when they formed, they have pounded audiences with the same kind of adolescent fervor with which front man Peter Zaremba embraced the British Invasion as a kid. By simply playing music that felt good, the Brooklyn-based quartet unwittingly birthed the whole garage-revival movement. They're often hailed as the ultimate party band - it's easy to hear the Beatles, Yardbirds and MC5 in their sound - but the Fleshtones' unique style of shake and twist also draws heavily from soul, disco and bubblegum hooks as well.
"I like rhythm-driven things," explains Zaremba, who along with axeman Keith Streng, drummer Bill Milhizer and bass player Ken Fox, consistently dishes up a dynamic rhythmic soup, a notoriously ass-shakin' spectacle that more often than not ends up on the street with Milhizer pounding on a hefty tom while Zaremba howls the last strains of the night's entertainment.
The Fleshtones' physical stage show evolved from the very beginning as an effort to connect with the audience, explains Zaremba on the phone from his home in Brooklyn. "The people we liked - even before we formed the band - didn't respect the conventions of the artificial barrier between the stage and the audience," he says. "We liked artists that punched holes through that consistently." Instead of reeling off the expected list of jump-blues madmen, he names Iggy Pop, Jonathan Richman and Suicide's Alan Vega. "In the original context of rock stars, [Richman] was so amazingly unlike a rock star. He was like the anti-rock star. No platform boots. Didn't have feathers stuck to him."
This genuine desire to connect with people and show them a good time undoubtedly has contributed to the Fleshtones' longevity. They are the one single band from the New York City '70s punk and new-wave scene to have been active each and every year since their formation. Most of those early years included at least one gig in Athens, and they also came to town to record 1993's Beautiful Light with R.E.M.'s Peter Buck. And a few years earlier, Streng and Milhizer teamed up with Buck to form the Full Time Men, a side project that released a 12" single and an album titled Your Face My Fist during the late '80s.
They've also bounced around to various labels, starting with '80s indie powerhouse IRS Records and then signing with a variety of Southern labels like Ichiban, Redeye and most recently Yep Roc. "We've endured because we enjoy what we do. There's no one else like us," Zaremba states flatly.
Although the Fleshtones were the first to play what has become known as modern revival garage, their contribution often goes unrecognized by the very bands that privately thank them for the inspiration, a fact that doesn't sit well with them. "We are the band that builds the roads that other bands travel down comfortably," says Zaremba, and he laughs a bit ruefully. "Privately they tell me that we inspired them to get together, but when they talk to [the press], it's like, 'Oh, I was listening to the Yardbirds when I was eight years old…' and all this nonsense."
Once Sweat arrives in bookstores this fall, the significant role that the Fleshtones have played in rock and roll will be hard to ignore.
"They've always been dismissed as a mindless party band, or even more inaccurately, as a garage revival band of some sort," says Bonomo, the book's author. "In the 1970s, a lot of bands might have been influenced by the Stones or the Pretty Things playing R&B, but the Fleshtones went back to the original source material, to really obscure, small-label 1950s stuff. And look what happened. We can do a 180-degree turn now and look back at their career and see an interesting legacy.
"While weathering one trend after another over three decades, they've always plugged themselves into what they love about making rock and roll. It's a great story of perseverance and spirit and integrity," Bonomo says.
Although Zaremba lived it once, he's read it twice. "I had trouble reading [Bonomo's book]. It's hard to read something analytical about such a huge chunk of my life… not all of it is positive, but [Bonomo] is rather merciful."
No matter how merciful, reading about the band's infamous 1980 stint opening for the Police had to sting. Both signed to IRS, the Fleshtones openly mocked the headliners, ditched shows, and ended up getting kicked off the tour.
"That tour was so bizarre!" says Zaremba. "It was an opportunity that any other band would have capitalized on that we botched and subverted from the very first." Zaremba audibly cringes a tad as he recalls the last show of the tour at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. "We were walking face-first into a hail storm of nickels, quarters and pennies," he remembers. "I was screaming at the audience, 'Keep throwing! Throw more! Throw more!' I was lucky I wasn't arrested for public profanity. The filth that came from my mouth shocked me!" He laughs when someone suggests that that stunt showed the Alan Vega influence.
The release of the book should coincide with the new album on Yep Roc, their first release since 2005's Beachhead. Furiously writing songs in time for the summer recording sessions, similarly to Beachhead, the band plans to spend a week recording at home in New York with former Voidoids guitarist Ivan Julien producing and another in Detroit to again work with Jim Diamond who has also produced records for the Dirtbombs, White Stripes and the Compulsive Gamblers.
"Yeah, that's fast. Keith [Streng] is biting his nails," Zaremba says about the tight schedule. "but we know what we're doing."
When asked what he thinks of the modern garage scene, Zaremba makes no bones about where on the heap he wants to be. "As far as really new bands, I think it's more their job to like us than for us to like them… I would hope!" he says, and laughs at his own bravado.
But after surviving 30 years of miles and miles of touring and changing fashions in music, the Fleshtones have reached rock emeritus status, kings of the boss riff, never growing old and hardly slowing down.
Bonomo says it best. "It's pretty amazing to see the Fleshtones now playing with the same intensity and energy and spontaneity that they did in the 1970s… and with no pharmaceutical help anymore!"
WHO: The Fleshtones, Tiger! Tiger!, The Owen 4, 8-Track Gorilla
WHERE: Tasty World
WHEN: Thursday, May 24
HOW MUCH: $8
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