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Can You Relate?

If you were searching for thumbtacks and started digging through the kitchen junk drawer only to find there were no thumbtacks, the only thing you would come away remembering is that there were no thumbtacks. The drawer’s contents would typically escape most of us. What one takes away from an experience is simply the part that matters. The reason for your being there, your talent or cause, even your name… none of this can be recalled unless they walk away feeling as though something of significance occurred. Relationships are built upon this principle and are what allow us to relate to one another. Commonalities are significant. In order to form a connection with your fans, they must be able to relate to you.

For a musician, the desire for expression is typically the impetus for engagement. But the creative isn’t always comfortable or proficient in social settings. Wearing their heart on their sleeve is the price they pay for nurturing a following. The best one can hope for is a bohemian milieu and a receptive crowd. My word to the introvert would be simply, “this could go well, if you let it”.

Taste may be subjective, but musicians often live, eat, breathe, and sleep their respective genres. They hold that land sacred and can be protective or objectionable at times. Their craft is a point of pride. But remaining amiable is necessary to accessibility and like-mindedness; two essential elements of the engagement a fan seeks. In our interview, New Orleans, Louisiana lyricist Alfred banks said, “I always like to move with the culture in mind. I’ve always been the guy that is the introduction to a bunch of people that don’t normally indulge in hip hop. It’s a gift and a curse. It’s a gift because I am their intro to hip hop. And I am a pretty good variation of hip hop. I want people to hear the best that they can hear. And I am the best that they can hear. It’s a curse because people don’t know how to indulge in hip hop. Because they don’t normally encounter hip hop. So, I am in a space where people say shit like ‘I don’t really listen to rap. But if I do I listen to you.’ That is an insult. Listen to hip hop. What are you talking about?”

Being so ingrained in the culture, he took those words as a personal slight. This is a revealing look at one of the challenges musicians face. The beauty overshadowed here is this: To be the ambassador for something you love is like being the unsung hero. Because you’re sharing a piece of something you love with a person you don’t even know. Alfred, at this point in his life, is a seasoned veteran whom undoubtedly handles these situations with grace. But it pains me to know how interactions that should be received as uplifting compliments can sometimes become a discouragement.

I interviewed Chris Leblanc, a guitarist and vocalist out of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He described the words of a friend goading him to release new music. “Why haven’t you put out another record in a while?”, the friend inquired suggestively. Chris’ immediate feelings on the matter were less than agreeable. “Go listen to my last records”, he replied. Chris later explained his perspective to me, “I’ve got to put this out because my fans are waiting on it? No! Nobody’s waiting on nothing. There’s billions of songs out there.” In his mind, he’d set the bar high up to this point and delivered. To align his releases with, what was in his eyes, a nonexistent public demand would be a compromise of integrity. He also reminded everyone in our interview, “There’s no money to be made in releasing records right now. But it still costs money to make records”.

In this instance, a friend implied with sincerity that fans were anxious to hear something new from him. But that friend couldn’t possibly know the circumstances that Chris and many other musicians face. What was once a more musician-friendly landscape governed by physical relationships and tangible products has now morphed into a digital terrain where the only thing we see, touch, or interact with is electronic devices. And to cap off this chilling stratosphere, statistics on new music releases are staggering. According to recent data, approximately 100,000 new songs are released on streaming services every day, with some reports stating the number is closer to 120,000. The majority of these come from independent artists like Chris. All musicians must reconcile with this harsh reality. But again, in that moment, the musician is supposed to suppress a dismal truth in order to remain in the good graces of a fan and friend. If any musician can find light in the “compliment”, well, that’s lagniappe.

To the musician, I might suggest disseminating pieces of yourself, enabling fans to parse out which parts of you they connect with. It serves the musician well by both retaining current fans and gaining new ones. Efficient avenues like magazines or websites are tethered to podcasts, Youtube channels and blogs. Tales From the Riff, Mixed-Alt Mag, Musicians Mentor, Local Riffs, and Paranoize Magazine are a few local examples of entities whom I have found to be approachable and genuinely interested in our local scene. There are also data aggregators like Feedspot.com that, for free or a fee, can supply you with a list of these independent media outlets cross-referenced with their respective social following and contact information. With these options, you (the musician) can curate a more personal side for the deserving. And it’s good practice in speaking with others about your day or about your life.

There’s something special about being able to connect with a musician. Before his set, I met vocalist Mike IX Williams (Eyehategod) out in the crowd at Chelsea’s in Baton Rouge. He was hanging out in the back watching some of the opening bands perform. I later went on to interview him and found him to be both passionate and genuine. He was interested to learn about Neworleansmusicians.com and thanked me for my efforts. Similarly, I interviewed metal guitarist Johnnie Lagrange who related an instance where he was approached out in the parking lot of a bar by vocalist Kyle Thomas (Exhorder). The two shared stories and spoke like old friends. These are people who have toured the world several times over, playing for thousands at a time. The gravity of such an encounter makes those five or seven minutes live on in the minds of others for an eternity. To be gracious in the moment cements musicians as “one of them”.  

Speaking personally, in my lifetime I have witnessed the collapse of all major institutions whom I was raised to trust. Our politicians, our religious figures, our leaders in healthcare, and the branches of our government have all failed us. Uncertainty has festered into an all-out anxietous infection and for all of us, I’m sure, our paths have been bittersweet. But music has never, ever failed me. Fans are people searching for truth. I believe extreme music takes things a step further in that, like the music, fans exist on the fringe. They are those that will not accept comfortability with this current Instagram filtered, untrustworthy existence. This is what makes authenticity so important to the empath. Connections shore this foundation. Being able to relate to someone, and so believing in someone, is of the highest importance.

In every profession there is an initial period known as paying your dues. It is weathered with the promise of coming out on the other side to an elevated sense of existence; one where you are seen, heard, appreciated, and compensated for your talent. Countless musicians spend their entire career in a purgatory of paying, and paying, and paying, never to see the precipice of recognition or comfortability. Over time, this can wear on whatever kinship they strive to feel with music listeners. Throughout, there is no revelation. Only the music itself is divine. And digital indicators merely serve to muddy the waters surrounding the mainland. Meanwhile, a single release-focused world is forcing the hand of true storytellers to part out pieces of their soul. If I could impart a bit of perspective to both the fan and the musician it would be this. A meeting of the minds is just as rare and precious as a random compliment. It’s hard for a fan to know the right words to say. And it’s hard for a musician to recognize a compliment for what it is. But any attempt at reaching out is a show of mutual support for the expressions of one another. Above all else, our ability and freedom to do this should be held in the highest regard.

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansusicians.com

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    Alfred Banks

    The folds of oak leave no room for compromise. The tree, along with every fiber of its being, is a physical manifestation of intention. It grows with strength reaching down to its core and provides for those around it. For the amount of time it took to become all that it is, you’d never know the challenges it faced. Nor would you fathom its path was ever in doubt. From the time he was a small child, Alfred Banks was intent on being an orator. His words cleared paths fraught with challenges of their own. The youngest of three, he derived inspiration from both the passions and pitfalls of his older siblings. Scarface’s album, The Diary, brings him back to times spent riding around in his brother James’ big blue Lincoln. This is where his introduction to freestyling occurred. And efforts into perfecting his penmanship harken memories of his oldest brother, Orlandis. The one-on-one moments spent with people he looked up to are ones he will forever cherish. From both, he experienced introductions to rappers like Tupac Shakur and Busta Rhymes. Inside the house, their mother played the gospel music of artists like John P Kee and Hezekiah Walker. These influences were the seeds from which Alfred’s career would grow.

    With both brothers striking out on their own, a young Alfred would become an only child for ten years. Under the watchful eye of his mother, he was not permitted to run the streets at will. He spent the bulk of his time inside, in his own mind, playing out the possibilities a life in entertainment might hold. Memorizing James Brown moves or dressing up like Will Smith and Martin Laurence in Bad Boys would be the activities that filled his days. As time went on, he could see himself alongside Redman in the I’ll Be That video. He envisioned an existence keeping lyrical pace with Busta Rhymes in the Gimme Some More video. And it was easy to image his place in Jay-Z’s Hard Knock Life video. Watching Mtv and BET, emulating, writing; he was the star of the show in his mind.

    At some point his oldest brother Orlandis briefly returned from the Marines. Alfred recalls one of few family reunions he experienced as a child on the lakefront of Lake Pontchartrain. “This had to be like, 2000. He had a Mazda 626, a green one. I remember that. And he had this big ass binder of CDs, back when that was the thing to have. And I remember him playing instrumentals in the car, those single CDs that they used to have, the record, the censored version, and the instrumental. So, he had a bunch of those and he would just put the CD in and just play instrumentals. We’re on the lake and I remember I’m nine years old. James is freestyling, Orlandis is rapping, and I’m freestyling. And everybody is just so impressed with me because I’m rapping at nine years old.” Alfred also associated this craft with a certain degree of respect. He’d recognized this on an outing with Orlandis to a recording studio once. He observed the resulting camaraderie and rappers’ abilities to move crowds as a politician or pastor might possess. Though the next few years would see him experimenting with basketball and wrestling, lyricism would never leave his mind. He was good at it. He didn’t care much for all the rules of basketball. And he tried his hand in two backyard wrestling matches, knocking himself out. He longed to impress his brothers and rapping held the key.

    At fourteen, his focus was final. He heard Food & Liquor by Lupe Fiasco and he knew he was going to be a rapper. With no way to make beats of his own, consulting his brother Orlandis gave him the idea to draw from the CDs in his house. A metamorphosis began to occur here in that, where once he was writing rhymes to impress his family, now he was writing rhymes to battle the rappers on these CDs. The question of IF had vanished and an imaginative boy was becoming more sure and more serious, measuring himself up to the likes of Marshal Mathers.

    Like many with a small stature, Alfred was teased a lot in school. Moving several times meant new schools and seemingly more foes than friends. These developing verbal skills would enable him to shoot back at schoolyard taunts. At some point Alfred remembers feeling, “different”. He recalls trying to explain this to his mother. He was unaware of the existence of conditions like bipolar or depression at that time. He was unsure why he sometimes felt like he wanted to die. His mother would do her part to get him help. But with him, as in the past, his pen would surely escort him through these times. Through this, another facet of his lyrical style would develop, emotional vulnerability. This is one I believe to be the most valuable, one that elevated his repertoire and made him salient. Because the industry, let alone his atmosphere, was wholly intolerant of such a characteristic in MCs. The court of public popularity spared little reprieve for conscious rap, a style of lyricism denoted by introspective thought. The emotional and intellectual content sought to reveal another dimension of an MC’s ethos outside of what had become a redundant discussion of material wealth, violence, and machismo. MCs like Common, Black Thought, and Talib Kweli enjoyed some commercial success. Conscious collectives like the Lyricist Lounge were inching up the bottom of Billboard. But these instances were anomalies back then.

    For Alfred to choose a path less travelled was a brave step in my opinion, and an unlikely one. We develop socially in the presence of others. Judgement is abundant, weighing heavily on youth. The two musical factions seldom comingled. One lyrical style had become the media darling. Still, he chose the other. And I suspect it was because it mattered that much to him. His deep respect for the art implored him to fill his notebooks with matters that hit close to home. Delving into his catalog, fans will find bits of his personal trials scattered throughout. One example was preceded by an eight-to-ten-year span where he did not hear from his oldest brother Orlandis. He later found out it was due to schizophrenia, which ultimately resulted in Orlandis’ death. Alfred’s album, Beautiful, released in 2017, was a concept album conceived on the car ride leaving that funeral where he develops schizophrenia and experiences the illness firsthand. Fights at school, alcoholism and altercations at home, and relationships plagued by turmoil all were revisited with his pen. He wasn’t sure how to put the experiences into words. So, he wrote about the feelings emerging from those experiences.

    Personal revelations like these on record nurture humanity and champion the importance of discussing the traumatic experience over a braggart’s tale. In this, Alfred has created value through connections to his fans. Over time, he’s seen them drive from states away to attend his concerts, bringing gifts and stories of how his works have affected them. In our talks, he expressed his unwavering appreciation for these moments. He was also careful to point out the distinction between real life interactions like these and vanity metrics on streaming and social media. But he can’t help but acknowledge the hindrance delivered to him by a less-prevalent sect of rap music in a town with no clear organization or stronghold on the industry. Alfred has been in active pursuit of his rap career for fifteen years. During that time, he’s toured from the west coast to Europe, he’s charted on iTunes and Billboard. His songs have been featured in movies and television shows. He was even nominated for a Grammy. He’s ghostwritten for some of the most legendary artists in New Orleans. He’s shared stages and received praises from big names in the industry. But still the efforts extended have often times fallen short of the financial reward.

    He’s lived through the highs and lows that come with being an entertainer. As Alfred explained, “I had to grind tooth and nail to make the name that I have. Lots of shows in New Orleans being disappointed where it’s like, fifteen people show up. You’ve been promoting for a month and a half, two months, and then like thirty people come out. But then the next day you perform at Voodoo Fest, opening for Kendrick Lamar.” He explained further, “You’ll be big one moment and then be reminded how big you aren’t literally the next day. Like, performing at Bayou Boogaloo and then the next day clocking in at my day job; all these different struggles that I’ve had to go through. Or, having to run in a room and having to out-rap everybody in a room. In every room I’m in, I’m having to prove myself. Every space I’m in I have to show everyone ‘cause I’m always the least known person in every room I’m in.”

    The fickle nature of success can be just as fickle as the spectators that gather to see what he brings. Recently, he’s experienced a refreshing response from his alliance with twice Grammy nominated musician Albert Allenback, currently of Tank and the Bangas, in a project known as SaxKixAve. To the equation, Albert presents as a multi-instrumentalist both inspiring and challenging Alfred. The two have gone viral several times over and have made appearances at The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, the French Quarter Festival, and in a Popeyes commercial. The lyrical style of Alfred’s solo career was more embodied by heavy, personal content. For putting all those all those hardships to paper, he didn’t catch the gleam of commercial success for the first eight years, about the time he was named the face of Volkswagen in their Polo/Beats by Dre Commercial Campaign. And it was just two years ago was when he felt like he had finally created a name for himself. In contrast, SaxKixAve comes along and within three years is performing in Aspen, Colorado at the X-Games. And lighthearted songs, like a recent one about hashbrowns is rapidly enjoying great success. Does that bother him? Alfred offers this resolve, “Here’s the deal. With SaxKixAve, after we went viral man, we’ve been doing shows across the U.S. People are coming out, dude. Like, people are buying tickets to see us. They’ve never seen us before. They’ve only seen us on the internet. And we don’t even have a hit record or nothing. We have songs, two songs specifically, that have kinda done well. But we don’t have a hit. And, so like, these people are taking a chance. And what we’re finding is, they like the deeper stuff more than Hashbrowns.”

    In retrospect, the lyrical levity and dry-humored oddity of their videos on social media has simply been what’s sparked initial interest. While the musicality and verbal depth is what cemented their appeal in the minds of the public. At no time, though, has Alfred bowed to the communal fixation on nonsensical antics. For him, this is a point of pride. And rightfully so. We’ve all rolled our eyes at the extent to which people are willing to go to get those likes and shares. Aside from being ridiculous, content like this is not born out of the genuine creative value of an artist. It is the result of efforts spent pandering to the faceless consensus. Alfred Banks exists devoid of vanity or falsehood. And, by all means should he be held as a wellspring of creative dignity. His spirit is the very embodiment of the independent New Orleans musician.  

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Alfred Banks: https://www.underdogcentral.com/

    SaxKixAve: https://www.saxkixave.com/

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    Johnny Lagrange

    If you head up the Mississippi River from New Orleans roughly forty miles, you’ll find yourself in Garyville, Louisiana. Here, the soundscape swirling in the waters is what makes them muddy. French influences of La-La and Zydeco meld with traditional country and other roots music. Like many, guitarist Johnny Lagrange holds fast to his origins in these genres. As a child, his first experience was seeing live music at a fair with his older cousins. Where chatter amongst the crowd was spoken in French, and Charles Sonier played the fiddle on stage.

    At home were two older sisters and an older brother with tastes of their own to fill his ears. He gravitated toward his sisters’ pop music of the day like Madonna and Tears For Fears more so than the rap music to which his brother listened. Radio delivered his appreciation for musicianship with artists like Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, and Stevie Ray Vaughn. A six-year-old boy would many times attempt to play these tunes on his little plastic guitar. Though he stood worlds away from creating the music he heard, he loved giving rise to sound. His foundation was already filled with many elements. As Johnny put it, “But then, you get your first blue jean jacket. And you get turned on to Testament and Iron Maiden. These guitarists are amazing!” The flood gates were instantly breached. Any membrane that disjoined traditional genres from the new style of rock had been permeated by the likes of Steve Vai and Yngwie Malmsteen.

    Suddenly, the divergent interests of his original footing and heavy metal ruled radically different. Though they seemed to occupy equal parts in his mind at the time, it was the guitar that swayed him. Heavy metal, and thrash music for that matter, explored the possibilities of sound with guitar. Johnny grew fond of doing the same. As we spoke about this time in his life, I asked about his first “real” guitar. He smiled and pointed to one that sat on a stand behind me. He was fourteen years old when it came into his life. It would become his muse for the next few years and lead him to form a band called Seveth. Being underage, his band mates would sneak him in the back door of a bar out in Laplace just so he could perform, exiting the same way he came. Covers of Poison, Whitesnake, and Warrant, and a few of his own originals escorted him into maturity. But in all honesty, he was just a kid having fun. His interests would waver at times and hot rods did steal him away briefly.

    Until one night when a friend directed him toward an open mic session at a local bar. Arriving with no set material or plan in place, he simply got up on stage alone and played every scale, every chord, and every shredder piece he knew. He will admit the performance was less than impactful. Being an unknown, the house band didn’t want to back him up. But it did grab the attention of their drummer. The two would go on to form the band Headrush. Johnny, in his twenties by this time, had picked up a drug habit along the way. And this became the fire that fueled a songwriting frenzy between them. In three months’ time, they wrote approximately ten hours-worth of originals. This pace and his lifestyle were both unsustainable though. In time, the consequences began to overshadow the benefits. He became a full-blown alcoholic and drug addict. No one wanted to play with him, and his life became consumed by his vices. He set down the guitar to get his life back in order and checked himself into a rehab facility.

    During his path to sobriety, his wife brought him an acoustic guitar once owner by her father. For the longest time, he hadn’t even laid eyes on a guitar. He did still have a Peavy, somewhere, in a closet with no amp. But sobriety created a void, as it does in many, when a life in pursuit of intoxication no longer existed. The arrival of many introspective thoughts and questions filled him with a desire to express himself. The acoustic guitar was preceded by countless pages in a notebook of these questions, of lyrics in their most rudimentary form. Whether he realized it or not, he had been charged with finding himself on paper, in isolation. A time in his life where he felt as though he possessed direction or meaning of any sort had left him long ago. Things began to come together for him as he lifted those thoughts from paper and put them to melody using that that acoustic. The Bald Dog Project was born and a memento from his inner turmoil became known as the Begging for Change album. Johnny recalls, “Probably 95% of all Bald Dog Project songs are personal. All of the lyrics on the first two albums, that one (Begging for Change) and the (following) one with the full band… every one of those lyrics are poems, just pissed off and my healing so to speak, that I was just writing down. And then I took it and formatted it into songs. So, a lot of it is some real personal shit. When I was in rehab, that’s when I was healing, making amends to myself.”

    During the early stages of Headrush, before the band had a name, his suggestion was that they call the band Bald Dog. But the other members objected. They resolved to put names in a hat. Guess which name was picked? Bald Dog! Yet they still protested, and the name Bald Dog was thrown out. Now that it was just him, that name would finally come to be. Johnny laughed as he explained, “Ain’t nobody but me. So, I have no fucking arguments. I’m naming this mother fucker Bald Dog! And just to piss them off, it’s going to be The Bald Dog Project. It’s like, how you gonna have a project with just one guy?”

    The appeal of The Bald Dog Project lied within a unique sound facilitated by a deficit. Johnny couldn’t sing in a tone that was appropriate for acoustic music. It always came out with a definitively heavy metal tone. The mood set by his lyrics dealt with heavy emotions. And he had always been a fan of the metal genre. A friend by the name of John Walden, hearing the merit in this combination, gave words of encouragement. Walden, a drummer and bassist, invited Johnny to come open for his band at a gig. Alone again and having not been on stage in over ten years, a nervous Johnny took the offer. He recalls it as a terrible performance. But Walden still felt as though Johnny had something. He reassured him, and recommended he gather a drummer, a bassist, and a second guitarist. Johnny moved quickly, reaching out to Tommy Cox (Konstricted, Nothing Sacred) to join with an acoustic and he agreed. The two, joined by bassist Glenn “Chookie” Grady, began playing shows without a drummer.  Finding their sound and gaining momentum, John Walden soon joined in on drums.

    I interviewed Kirk Windstein once and he explained his own version of what he considered to be heavy. As Kirk clarified, “To me heavy is emotion. To me one of the heaviest Black Sabbath songs is Solitude. It’s just a two chord with a flute. Sonically, it’s not heavy at all. It’s a clean guitar, and you know, a flute. To me, heavy is not just volume, distortion, whatever. It’s emotion.” Explorations and reparations to make oneself whole again were the founding sentiments of The Bald Dog Project. In my opinion this would near top the list of weighted thoughts. Deeper into this vein, Johnny has begun pursuing a second concept by the name Blackwall Symphony. The songs currently being recorded enlist heavy metal components and fuse them with orchestral pieces. Choir, violins, horns and flutes all accentuate distorted, thrashing electric guitars. He said they have eight of the planned twelve songs down. And when they’re all complete, he will reveal them in a live performance. I look forward to feeling my pulse quicken as this spectacle thickens into a rich audio experience orchestrated by Louisiana’s own, Johnny Lagrange!

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

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    Sean Riley

    Often times musicians have a way of letting emotion be the divining rod. And the good ones manage this at no expense to their goals. Sean Riley wasn’t always like this. Many miles and many crowds have since subdued the fifteen-year-old in him that was a bit on the shy side. Back then, he kept playing and practice to himself, emerging occasionally to strum a few chords of Smoke on the Water or Layla for friends. Words of encouragement, coupled with desires to be like what he heard, are what kept him going.

    He knew what the end result was supposed to sound like. Saratoga Performing Arts Center was located in his hometown, and he’d seen acts like The Allman Brothers, The Grateful Dead, and Steely Dan. He also listened to Roy Orbison, Beach Boys, and Waylon Jennings when his parents played those records. And he knew where the sound came from. His aunt gifted him an old Stella parlor guitar when he was a child. He would often marvel at it where it hung on the wall in the living room. Connecting the dots between those stage shows and this, until now, wall art meant pulling it down and seeing how it felt. Sean recalls, “I didn’t know how to tune it. We didn’t have those tuners you plug in back then. It was tuned to a piano. And I didn’t have anything. So, I had to learn from… I bought one of those what looks like an old harmonica that’s got a little tube. You blow the E and I would tune it. That’s when I got my first lesson. I was like, I gotta learn how to tune the damn thing. But when I first picked it up, I just loved the feel of it.”

    I found that, throughout our discussion, he would speak frequently about taking lessons. Although he did take formal lessons for a short period of time, there were a myriad of things that he referred to generically as lessons. This experience was one. And you’ll hear about more later. I specify this because within him, as should be any aspiring musician out there, lived the drive to master the art. Existing in this mindset means that lessons come from all areas in life. This perspective inevitably leads one to greatness. His dedication did not go unnoticed. After spending countless hours with that Stella, his father agreed to buy him an electric guitar. Formal lessons were a condition of this gift.

    From a wall amongst many, this self-described late bloomer grabbed a ‘73 SG at an old guitar shop because he liked the way the thing looked. But the esthetics began to shift focus within him and it may not have been noticeable at first. As many children do, he listened to most genres back then. From punk to hip hop, a blues/rock spoke to him louder that the rest. Wherever this voice came from, it was naked and undecorated. He didn’t want to be famous. He didn’t want to be rich. He wanted to play that guitar on stage. And he wanted to do it right. So, whenever the voice spoke, he listened.

    The rudiments were found in a few places; tab books, instructional DVD’s, and “The Guitar Grimoire: A Compendium of Formulas for Guitar Scales and Modes”. What he learned would be put to the test whenever a friend could come over and play along. He laughed when he remembered how amateur they all were but maintains he will never forget that initial feeling. Loosely associated jam bands would form and dissipate. Whenever he encountered those with less drive or interest, he would simply revert to playing in his room.  As he got older, he was able to get more of those lessons going to local pubs to see shows. Watching the guitarists pick things out and hearing how it sounded taught him a lot. College became a good place for meeting musicians and getting more of these lessons too. He explained a time at college when he played for someone that he felt was better than him. The guy said, “you’re good, but you’d be better if you learned theory”. That one statement impacted him, compelling him to seek formal lessons once again.

    From here, advancement took him from playing in a basement with roommates to bars and frat parties. He teamed up with guys from the college jazz band, playing what the Allman Brothers covered.  Elmore James and Junior Wells became his expression of a strong love of the blues. Lessons still came from local pubs. He would see a band playing and think to himself, man we can do that. But the lack of ambition from other members always seemed to stifle growth. Taking a semester break and travelling to Europe would definitively end the college band days. It would be the genesis for him to strike out on his own in new surroundings.From there, he returned for a work study program in New York City. It was there that he would remain for the next fifteen years.

    It was the early 2000’s and the Black Keys had just come out. Sean played anywhere and everywhere, bringing with him that stripped down blues rock style that he loved. His background in graphic design gave him something to fall back on during leaner times. A bottleneck in music commerce had become noticeable. Rates were on the rise and some of the larger venues were closing down in Manhattan. But across the river in Williamsburg, things were booming. So, he would take the L Train to a patch of small, underground places and DIY house shows that garnered a good crowd and sometimes hosted small label reps. He would play rhythm guitar in funk bands, sound off in indie rock bands, and cater to the booking agents that loved the blues. This was the mix of the day. And there was a decent folk music following at places like Jalopy Theater in Red Hook, a southwest Brooklyn town with a diverse, laid-back community.

    So, how did Sean come to live all the way down in New Orleans? The Jazz Fest sold him on the place. He travelled down for the event once or twice before and was captivated by the music, the food, and the night life. One too many cold nights up north were enough for he and his wife to make the move ten years ago. He’s certain his career has benefitted from this and cites the city as inspiration for his writing. He began by busking on Royal Street and, after meeting a few people, was able to get a gig on Frenchman Street. He sees the main contrast between New York City and New Orleans being the communal aspect. Things seemed clicky up north. He’s had to remain versatile while here, playing from uptown to the Bywater and playing with many different people. His band, Sean Riley and the Water, was actually named for this. The water represents the constant flow of players passing through the band.

    He does have a couple of musicians with whom he plays often, bassist Dean Zucchero and drummer Mike Barras. Sean explained, “Those guys I’ve been playing with a lot throughout the years. So, I would road test the songs with them. That was one tight unit that I felt comfortable with.” And when it came time to record his new album, Stone Cold Hands, he played with those guys and invited a slew of Louisiana locals to contribute. This ten-track body of work has charted in many places, including Billboard, and features Bruce “Sunpie” Barnes, Waylon Thibodeau, Phil Breen, Tiffany Pollack, Megan Harris Brunious and Whitney Alouisious. It is his sophomore effort, released on Dean Zucchero’s label Pugnaceous Records and recorded at RiverShack Studios, and is preceded by one 7 song EP, Biting Through, released in late 2019 under name Old Riley and the Water.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Seanrileyandthewater.com

    @Seanrileymusic on IG

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    Dean Zucchero

    It’s funny how things came about. Post World War II families raised their children in the burrows of New York, eventually seeking a better life in the suburbs. Their children, however, would eventually come of age seeking the artful bohemia of cities like Manhattan. In the 1980’s, the East Village became a creative epicenter where people like bassist Dean Zucchero would cut his teeth. The industry was thriving back then with hundreds of clubs for bands like his. Notable destinations for live music included The Bitter End, The Cat Club, and later on, The Mercury Lounge. These clubs were on and near Bleecker Street, a two-mile stretch filled with live music venues connecting the East and West Villages. Dean’s band, Anastazia (later, Major Domo), was gunning for success back then. Each member would spend hours a week crafting and distributing mailers and fliers by hand, cultivating a following.

    For a relatively unknown, original band in a sea of the same, some venues weren’t an option. But after landing a manager who was connected, they were able to play the famed CBGB’s in the East Village. Even with a high postured manager, this was no easy feat according to Dean. Monday auditions amongst ten other bands were a challenge and the owner was particular. Times like these seemed to always hold success just around the corner. Dean recalled one such occurrence, “The President of MCA flew in from L.A. to see us because his A&R guy said ‘you gotta see this band’. And then, as the night progressed, his partner got drunk and passed out at the table. So, he left early. And then when our manager got in touch with him the next day and said ‘what did you think’? He goes, ‘eh, I liked them but it wasn’t that great’. And he passed on the band.” But they kept trying, eventually finding an indie label that would sign them and invest a considerable amount of money. With this, the band could afford tri-state and east coast tours. It was fun while it lasted. But tight sets with four-part harmonies and a history nearly a decade long wasn’t enough to keep them together.

    At this point Dean began to question why he was in this. Was it for the money and the fame? Sure. Was it for the women? Sometimes. But of himself, a man now in his early 30s wanted to know what aspect of being a musician truly interested him. He wanted to know how to pursue that. So, for the immediate future he would take a step back from writing and recording trying simply to be a working bassist. In this, Dean would find happiness, humility, and a better sense of the word “success”. A departure from living a transient lifestyle and constantly contending for attention brought him comfort. And a lineage that included some of the more prominent clubs in New York brought him an abundance of gigs.

    Prior to all of this, before he ever picked up a guitar, Dean fantasized about being a musician. He wanted this before he ever knew what it meant to be such. So, finding a glimmer of direction in this transitional moment was serendipitous. It could have been on account of his brother exposing him to his record collection. It contained such influential albums as Led Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy”, Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid”, or Cat Stevens’ “Tea for the Tillerman”. He will affirm that his brother’s album “Who’s Next”, by The Who, is still his second favorite album of all time. He was a kid that wanted to rock. And he managed to do this at a level that most of us dream of. But The Beatles and Elton John, from his parents record collection, seeded in him a long-since unaddressed love for the blues. Now that Major Domo was no more, the urge to pursue this further resurfaced. His tastes were as a painter’s palette. And his shade of blues came more from Jimi Hendrix than, say, Muddy Waters. He dissected this succinctly by saying, “I think for blues, I don’t like hybrid music so much. I like blues-rock. I like blues in any music. But I don’t like jazzy rock. But I love blues-rock. And I love jazz. I love jazz infused with blues, but not really blues infused with jazz. So, I think blues is always a good ingredient to use in any style of music. It adds some color to it.” This statement stuck with me after the interview. You may need to read it a few times to get the gist. But being in the room with him at that moment, hearing him explain this, it made perfect sense. 

    After some time assuming his role as a working bassist around town, he landed a high-profile gig. Suddenly, stages in small blues bars were traded for crowd-front platforms with tens-of-thousands of eyes and ears looking on. And local real estate was dispensed with for all of Europe. Sadly, this was to become a breath of fresh air that would soon sour. He found that he did not care for the person he worked under. As this became more apparent, a relationship in his personal life floundered simultaneously. These once intoxicating potions had become too much for Dean. And we’ve all felt that moment when we start to realize that we have imbibed too much. Our immediate reaction is to begin brainstorming as to how to make our exit. Our brains struggling to reason through the fog of disenchantment. The situation bore feint similarities, in part, to what became disheartening with Major Domo. Only, this time the road was thousands of miles away from home.

    He resolved to leave it all behind, returning home and once again shifting focus. He went back to NYU to pursue a career in entertainment law, taking a job at a law firm. His hope was that he could get into NYU law school. But the radical lifestyle change rubbed him the wrong way. Dean recalls, “I was playing while I was in school. But when I got the job at the law firm, I wasn’t playing so much. I was pretty busy and you’d have to work late hours. You had to be on call all the time. So, I said I’m going to put that (performing) aside for a little while.  And then, slowly but surely after about eight months to a year, I started peeking in at some of the jams, seeing my friends playing. I started showing up with my bass. I just kinda got back into it. And then I just decided that’s it, I’m a lifer.” This was not at all time wasted. Through these times he was able to gain useful knowledge of the entertainment industry, as well as find his voice due to the demanding requirements of writing. It might seem hard to believe, but some of this writing he viewed in a creative light. In any argument, you must choose a perspective, then paint a picture to which your audience will be compelled to relate.

    Returning to playing locally once again furnished Dean with that sense of familiarity and comfort. He placed much of the ill-fitting experiences in Europe on touring in general, dismissing the singular causations of an at-odds band leader and/or a withering love interest. Both of which are the very definition of resolve. While this might have spelled relief in some ways, restlessness would soon creep in. In 2004, while on break one evening from a gig, he ran into an old guitar player friend on Bleecker Street. The guy mentioned that he was about to go on the road with another musician. Piquing his interest, Dean told the friend to relay the message that if a bassist was needed, he would be interested. The next morning, the phone rang and it was his friend asking if he would be interested in going to Shanghai. Dean responded with “gimmie one hour”, and he was off across the water once again. He played in a band out there for three months, and Zurich, Switzerland would follow. He would spend roughly four years playing out there, even bringing Thomas Bucknasty over, whom he played with during his time in The Healers back in New York.

    Dean then travelled to and lived in Italy for the next three years. The bands he played in during those times included one formed by American ex-patriots and a couple of European jazz bands. Dean cited a point of interest here which was, in all of Europe, the atmosphere differed in that people attended to see a show. He said this to illustrate that patrons would sit and pay attention. There was no background chatter or distraction. His success was, in part, due to his ability to deliver authentic American blues. He ultimately landed a gig with pop-jazz band Sugarpie and the Candy Men, playing with them for some time. The plan was to return to the U.S., finish recording their album, then go back to Europe for their tour. But as the album was completed, the tour began to fall through. By now, he’d spent so much time abroad that he no longer had a residence in New York. So, after three months of living in his brother’s basement, he decided to come down to New Orleans and see what it was all about. And this is how we have been honored with his talent and presence.

    He’s seen Europe again since then, touring with Ghalia Volt and Mama’s Boys, as well as Cyril Neville. He’s played Jazz Fest with Cyril four times and went on tour to Africa with him. He even touched down in Australia with guitarist Sean Riley playing and touring. Back in ’89, Dean came to New Orleans for Jazz Fest. One of the records he purchased while in town was Uptown Rulers: The Meters Live on the Queen Mary. Imagine a world where, two decades later, he’s playing on stage at the Jazz Fest with Cyril Neville. This guy just hasn’t stopped. While acting as program director, promoter and house bassist at Bratz Y’all in the Bywater, he’s released an album, “Electric Church for the Spiritually Misguided”. He also produced, co-wrote, and performed on several tracks for Ghalia Volt. These works have landed him on the Billboard Blues Charts several times over. He released his album on his new label, Pugnacious Records. He then acted as producer and bassist to Sean Riley & the Water’s “Stone Cold Hands”, which also debuted on the Billboard Blues Charts. We went on to speak about his producing techniques and the musicians he has worked with since residing in New Orleans. My time with him was insightful and candid. So, I do hope you tune into the podcast to hear what it was like to walk in his shoes across continents. Famed bass player Charlie Haden once said, “The bass, no matter what kind of music you’re playing, it just enhances the sound and makes everything sound more beautiful and full.” Without a doubt, for the lives of so many around the world, Dean Zucchero has done just that.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    https://deanzucchero.com

    https://pugnaciousrecords.com

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    Adam Pearce

    From the outside looking in, one would not have guessed Adam Pearce would be the musician he is today. No one is his family played an instrument. His parents weren’t what he regards as music fanatics. And in high school, he spent his free time playing sports. Yet at eighteen, he found himself in the Silver Dollar Pawn and Jewelry store picking out a guitar. You may recognize that name, as it was the centerpiece of a show on television called Cajun Pawn Stars. With graduation on the horizon, he realized most people didn’t wear their class rings in the years following and figured he would get more use out of an instrument. So, his father agreed to let him get a guitar in leu of the momento. Two-hundred dollars landed him a pretty little thing off the wall, and away he went. He would attend the Alexandria branch of LSU for the next year and a half. And any spare time he came across was spent on that guitar. He picked up pointers from his father’s friend, his brother-in-law, and Youtube. He began writing almost immediately, assembling four of the five chords he knew to perform a song for his family. Seeing them impressed with what he composed fueled his newfound passion. And that guitar would accompany him on his move to LSU campus in Baton Rouge.

    Though music was always at the forefront of his mind, he realized it would probably never pay the bills. So, college was just his way of going through the motions to secure some sort of future. Ironically, campus life provided him with the members he needed to form his first band, Black Magnolia. They scored their first gig at a bar called Bogies, frequented by fraternity and sorority members. And the band did well, performing around town often. With performances under their belt and a solid group of songs, the logical next step was to put out an album. Painting a typical picture, life rendered a passionate musician with small funds and big dreams. Paying for studio time was out of the question. So, he found a house for rent with a garage, obtaining permission from the owners to craft a studio in that garage. This process took roughly two years to complete from beginning construction to completing his album, “Fields Are Burning”. But this course was anything but smooth. At some point, he walked away from his job specifically to pursue a career in music. There was also a falling out between band members during the span of time following construction and preceding recording. He would be left with himself and his bass player. What little money he did have was reserved for an audio engineer. This meant he had a deadline to meet. The week before the album was due, he counted eight ulcers in his mouth. No doubt this was stress related. He scheduled a release party at the House of Blues in New Orleans which was supposed to coincide with his completed product. Though the album was completed, the physical CDs had not been pressed in time. So, he spent countless hours burning copies in the days leading up to the show. He stamped them all with the words, “redeemable later for a real album”. When people showed up to subsequent shows and presented that copy, he gave them a real CD free.

    The following year held some big changes for Adam. He got married and moved from Baton Rouge to Jefferson, Louisiana. Within him lied an undercurrent of fear, seeded by a sense of urgency. He shuddered to think of what he might become. In his mind flashed the stereotypical musician, falling short of making ends meet and allowing his wife to support him. So, being both driven and tech savvy, he began to beat the internet down searching for gigs. Adam will tell you, even though he was realistic with his expectations, and even though he took a calculated approach, it was a lot harder than he expected. “Like pulling teeth” were the words he chose to describe the experience. He figured out early on that if he pitched himself as a solo acoustic performer, he could get more gigs. This dispensed with the scheduling issues common to bands with several members, as well as having to divvy up what little money venues paid. It also allowed him to perform smaller spots on weekdays, leaving his weekends open for larger venues. “My first gig that I got after I moved here. I was pumped about it. And they offered some BS bar ring deal; like twenty percent of the bar ring or whatever. Those are almost always BS deals. I don’t take that anymore. And I went and played three and a half hours, and I made twenty bucks. And I’m pretty sure I had a bar tab too, that I had to pay for.” Still, he persisted in blowing up the phone and devised an ingenious method on Google Maps for keeping things organized. “I would zoom out and I would have all these bars, little pins. And I would mark them red, black, green, or yellow. So, red would mean that was something open. I never even messed with it. Green was a gig that I had. It was like that’s a solid gig. And you could click on the little dot and put notes. So, it’s like, Rivershack Tavern, I got that gig. Here’s the contact, follow up with them to book a gig every once in a while. If I labeled it black, that was a dead-end gig. Like, it’s not gonna happen. I’m never gonna play there or the bar is closed. Yellow were all my (prospective) gigs. So, it’s like call back on Thursday between ten and twelve and speak to Rob or something. Most of my pins were yellow. So, I would get on there a few times a week… ok, I need to convert ten yellows to either green or black.” The visual element was something he enjoyed, and it helped to lend perspective in his efforts, offering focus. It also quickly shed light on what areas he needed to increase his presence and the areas in which he approached saturation. 

    Upon reflection, these things were apparent to me. First, college was and will always be a transient location. Some people maintain contact in the years following. But many go their separate ways. And this would probably happen regardless of any falling out he had with bandmates. Two, in speaking with Adam, I picked up on the fact that his level of dedication during the Black Magnolia era was unmatched. There was more to the story mentioned in the podcast interview that you can seek out below. But to think that he would’ve remained content with that arrangement for any amount of time is unlikely. Holding others to one’s own standard is a recipe for disaster. And he concedes that this happens with most bands. Burnout is compounded when you bear the brunt of this. But serendipity would step in when he received an email inviting him to try out for a popular television show, The Voice. He realized that people drive cross-country for an opportunity like this. And these tryouts were happening eight minutes from his house. So, he gave it a shot. Adam explains, “We’re in a room, like, the waiting room before you can go in and audition. So, we can hear everybody ahead of us auditioning. They get, like, ten seconds of singing and they go (clapping) ‘thank you for coming, bye’! They’re just cutting people. So, everybody in the waiting room is hearing everybody get axed… They know immediately if they’re not going to make it. So, that’s a little nerve wracking. You’re just hearing everybody get butchered.” Pushing his nervousness aside, he walked into a room with one person, a camera, and a square on the floor. He didn’t have a strap for his acoustic that day, but he spotted a stool in the corner and grabbed it fast. He belted out “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. At two minutes in, he was cognizant of the fact that they were still listening. He would be asked to play a second song, and then a third. Ultimately, he received a call-back and was flown to Los Angeles to audition in front of the executive producers.

    After making it past these hurdles, Adam appeared on Season 12 of The Voice, performing in front of a live audience and judges That year was Adam Levine, Gwen Stefani, Alesha Keys & Blake Shelton. He didn’t get a chair turn. He cites being given “A Whiter Shade of Pale”, by Procol Harum, as one unfortunate circumstance that contributed to his demise and points out people don’t realize the contestants can’t choose their own song. He affirmed, “I was super pissed-off. If you go back and find that (footage), you can see it in my face. They were like, talking to me and giving me advice. And I just remember thinking y’all can all shut the hell up. I’m ready to just walk off this stage. Gwen Stefani is talking to me like, being all supportive. And I just wanted to be like, shut up. I was so angry, just like seeing red.” But that marked the end of the road for him. And, in case you’re wondering, I did ask, and he did say what stopped him from telling all of them to kiss his ass was the fact that seventeen million people were watching. He had to keep it together. Adam Levine was giving him advice. Carson Daily was all over him. All the while, he was just looking for the way out.

    In a rare occurrence, he was one of three invited back the following season. And he was the only one to make it onto the show. This time he was given “Hot Blooded” by Foreigner, a much better match for his style. He made it four rounds into the show, landing him in the top twenty, but ultimately did not win overall. For him though, the whole experience was a victory. Bringing a silver lining to the picture, Adam said “I got a ton of publicity. All of my performances were at the end of the episode. And they built them up, showing little clips. And I never got montaged. So, some people that made it further than me in the show got less air-time than me because their performances got montaged.” He stressed what a great time he had, enjoying five full-length performances that aired internationally. He laughed when he admitted he snuck whiskey backstage, sipping after he got cut. He made it known to producers announcing, “I just wanna let y’all know I snuck whiskey back here. What are y’all gonna do, kick me off the show?” They directed contestants that didn’t make the cut to sit before a psychologist, then sent them on their way. He could see the importance of such a practice, being that for so many, this is THE make-or-break moment in their minds. Immediately following, Adam Levine invited Adam to perform with him for George Clooney’s Halloween party. He got to dress up in costume and sang with the celebrity. Sammy Hagar sang a song with him too and would later stick around to get drunk with Adam. His description of these experiences was priceless, and I do hope you tune into the podcast. Because no one can describe those moments like he did. I could not stop laughing!

    After appearing on The Voice, the television show America’s Got Talent showed interest. And he got offers from the show I Can See Your Voice. But Covid effectively cancelled those opportunities. The show Don’t forget The Lyrics has also come calling. It appears as though he’s now in some pool of talent for TV appearances. In a strategic move, Adam dropped the Black Magnolia moniker directly following all of this, opting to seize notoriety by performing under his own name. And he launched a Kick Starter, raising twenty-three thousand dollars to fund his next album, Warbird. Overall, his attitude toward all of this has remained realistic and healthy. He recognizes those appearances as giant ads for his brand. Aside from his solo project, he plays in Mothership, a Led Zeppelin tribute band, four to five times a year. He puts out original music every few months and maintains a Youtube channel where he posts weekly.

    In the weeks leading up to this interview, I took a poll asking followers on social media who they would like to see get interviewed. There were over one-hundred and fifty respondents; several of which named Adam Pearce. One in particular, Paula Belmont, stood out. After only a few days of having suggested Adam (and while the poll was still running), she asked “So, are you going to interview Adam or what?” The words on my screen made me want to retort with a “look lady…”. But I explained the polling and interviewing process and made clear my intention. She never left my mind. And when I finally did interview Adam, I mentioned the lady whose name escaped me at the time, describing our interaction. Adam instantly chimed in “Paula Belmont!” He went on to explain that she could best be described as a ‘super fan’ of his. I made it a point to message her when his podcast interview aired. Surprisingly, I did not hear from her. I later learned through a family member that she had passed away. So, I’d like to dedicate this article to Ms. Paula Belmont. My heart goes out to her family.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Adampearcemusic.com  

    Youtube.com/adampearcemusic

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    Music Distribution Wormhole

    For most of us, the first thought that comes to mind when someone mentions streaming music is the majors: Spotify, Apple Music, and Amazon Music. But what about Youtube Music? And have you heard of Tencent? I suggest you find out because, at over thirteen percent of the market share, Tencent rivals Apple and Amazon. We’re going to discuss all these things. We’ll hear from bands speaking on how they get featured on playlists and talk with a playlist curator as well. Amidst this smorgasbord of music circulation, you will also see sprinklings of Bandcamp. All of these things are intertwined, trust me.

    This article began with the discovery of a compilation that featured metal musicians from Louisiana. With forty bands totaling a nearly four-hour long album, I was happy to soak in every riff on my long drive to Houston. Somewhere along the line, I started to recognize some of the tracks as being from bands that are members of my free networking website, Neworleansmusicians.com. Brethren Hogg, Vermillion Whiskey, Pious, Electric Age, 4Mag Nitrous, and Totem are all current site members and were amongst the bands featured. I could not have been more elated! I wanted to know more about Weedian and how my members were able to get on this list.

    As it turns out, Weedian is on Spotify, Youtube, and Bandcamp. Their Youtube channel enjoys over thirty-five thousand subscribers and has published nearly fifteen-hundred videos. On Bandcamp, where you’ll find all of their compilations, their work really gets to shine, complete with descriptions and unique album art. In January of 2019, they published their first, titling it simply “Volume 1”. According to a person only known as “The one and only Weedian” (who I would later find out is Walid Ajraoui), “Weedian was started because I love music and most especially underground music. I wanted a way to be able to find and share cool bands with people who had the same taste in music that I do. So, after a lot of thinking and some talking, I’ve decided to make a compilation of songs from some of my favorite bands, and Blues Funeral Recordings was cool enough to partner up with me to help bring it to you. This will be the first volume in the Weedian comp. series. I chose these bands because these are who I’ve been digging a lot lately. Although it’s pretty heavily tilted towards doom, there are some stoner and other styles of bands in there. I hope that you enjoy the music and the sick artwork by Brouemaster who has been churning out some incredible stuff lately.”

    They would go onto publish fifty-eight of these compilations. Barring Roman numerals I through IV, two Halloween volumes and two 420 volumes, the remaining have been centered around states in the U.S. and places all over the world like New Zealand, Denmark, Argentina, and Portugal. They’ve used Instagram to commission the bulk of their cover artwork. In January of 2024, Weedian’s “Trip to Louisiana” compilation came into existence. Mike Dawsey from the band Pious said, “I’m not 100% sure how they originally found us. JJ at Obelisk, Rob Hammer, and George Kellamis (aka Mrdoom666) were sharing some of our stuff. Both were working with Doom Charts. We randomly got a request for submission for the charts from the guy at Weedian. Nothing came of it and we didn’t hear anything for a while. Out of the blue he hit us up asking if we wanted to do the trip compilation.” While there wasn’t any compensation reaped as a result of their feature, they did see positive results. Their band name started popping up in online tags, and fans began messaging them about where Pious was showing up. Mike went on to say, “Since that (compilation) came out, multiple people have rearranged it for their own versions and a few online and on-air stations have put it in their programs.  Mostly in Europe, but they still appreciate most forms of metal over there. So far, the UK, Germany, and Russia seem to be the most responsive.”

    I spoke with another Neworleansmusicians.com member that was also featured in the Louisiana compilation, Brethren Hogg. This time, the band’s inclusion was an intentional result of networking online. Chris Posner had this to say, “When we release an album, we have a list of Youtube content creators that we hit up for reposting. We look for people/groups that have more than 10k followers for maximum exposure, but we’ve also been approached by smaller creators asking permission to post, which I usually give 99.99% of the time. I hadn’t heard of Weedian when released our first record, but when the second one dropped, a friend of our drummer clued us in. I emailed them (I guess it’s more than one person???) and once they listened to the record, they reposted. About a year and half later they messaged me saying they were putting together “Trip to Louisiana”, and asked if we were interested, and which track would we wanted featured. We’ve seen a decent bump on both Spotify and Bandcamp in the last month. Not as much as if we had a new release, but new listeners are definitely being reached. To be frank, we were honored and surprised to be a part of this because there so many other great metal acts down here, they could easily put out a Volume 2. Weedian’s a bit mysterious…I don’t who they are and I’m pretty sure they’re located in Asia, but God bless ‘em for the work they do.”

    With a shared ecosystem already established between Youtube and Bandcamp at this point, I reached out to a guy Mike Dawsey (Pious) mentioned earlier, Rob Hammer. In the past, Rob had put out a ten-track stoner/doom/sludge/psych compilation as part of a joint venture with Off The Record Label. 750 CDs were pressed with 50 going to each band featured. But his mainstay is his Youtube channel, @Rob.DOOM.Hammer. Approaching thirty-thousand subscribers, he’s a prime example of what bands like Brethren Hogg are using to push their music online. He described himself as a European mainlander that spreads and promotes doom, stoner, and sludge metal as a hobby. He follows over twelve-thousand bands on Bandcamp, finding music to post on his channel. He also finds them via his Facebook page and through bands that contact him directly. Like Rob, there are many people curating playlists on Youtube and it will be up to the bands to hunt them down and amass their own lists. But the main takeaway is that these people are fans at heart. They’re not some huge record label with layers upon layers obscuring a stubborn front door. I found Rob to be extremely approachable with a genuine interest in spreading the kind of music he loves. From the perspective of a consumer, these curated channels are a great way to learn about bands you might not have heard before. I like to run through these gems on my phone while I have my favorite streaming platform open. When I hear something I like, I swap over and save the song to my streaming platform playlist. From the perspective of a musician, this is a D.I.Y. method worth perpetuating. If gaining fans and song plays is the goal on streaming platforms, then getting your music on playlists, no matter the platform, should be your first consideration.

    There is one last thing I’d like to touch on concerning Youtube. I’m sure you are all aware that Youtube and Youtube Music are two separate online destinations. For bands, the former would serve you in the form of a regular Youtube channel created with the selected type “musician”. The latter refers to a music streaming service with an interface that operates like Spotify and others and is driven by Youtube’s infrastructure. There’s plenty of information already out there about this. So, I won’t get into all of that. You can investigate the differences and what that means for your band’s work. As far as the user experience, I would like you to consider a few tidbits. Having a Youtube channel allows musicians to connect with fans on a more personal level. They can see things like your music writing process, impromptu jam sessions, footage from shows, and an overall look into your life as a musician. Youtube Music has its pro’s as well. It offers a higher bandwidth than the normal Youtube app on mobile, allowing lossless quality (up to 256 kbps AAC audio) for the user. And they can also lock their phone while listening on this subscription-based app. Their music platform audience recently reached 100 million subscribers, making this means of distribution worth pondering.

    Last, but definitely not least, is Tencent. Tencent Music Entertainment Group is the dominant online music entertainment platform in China. For musicians looking to publish their music in China, know that this company consists of three music streaming apps: QQ Music, Kugou Music, and Kuwo Music. While perhaps not on the radar in America, Tencent is bigger than you may realize. They own a stake in Spotify, own a music label with Sony (Liquid State), and they have 594 million listeners as of the third quarter of 2023. Although it is not a must, you may want to consider a distribution platform to assist you in publishing on Tencent. Because, while Google has a site translator to overcome the fact that their site is in Chinese. It is said that the instructions walking you through the process can be a bit confusing due to the gap in translation. Sugomusic.com is one of the services out there that, among the more familiar platforms like Spotify, Apple, Youtube, etc., includes Tencent amongst a distribution plan that boasts 200 streaming and download platforms. There are costs associated with this down the line. But set up and submissions are free. They are the oldest distributor in digital music. And case studies are available online showing organic traffic, keyword rankings, and sales increases considerably when using their platform. Amuse.io is another available distribution platform. They offer a three-tiered membership with the entry level being free. Using Amuse, you are able to select from a variety of music streaming services, including majors like Spotify, Apple Music, and Google Play to complete the process of getting your music on Tencent’s various streaming platforms. There are many out there that can accommodate you when trying to get your music both overseas and in the U.S. This would be another instance where you will have to do your own research to find what suits you (and your budget) best.

    Streams, no matter the platform, help grow your audience at shows and make them more receptive to your social postings. They can also show merit in the eyes of concert and festival talent buyers, record labels, and other bean counters in the industry. Likewise, the number of places your music can be found can serve to polish your image. Because of the data that sometimes accompanies your streaming numbers (think dashboard where you publish), streaming platforms can also help a band book shows where an audience is most receptive to their music. So, having more of these in your corner can only serve to make your next move more impactful. I know this is all a lot to take in. But I hope that I have helped to open your eyes to the importance of these options and what they could mean for your music career.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
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    Silver Dose

    Growing up in Santo Andre, a city in Sao Paulo, Brazil, Gustavo Andrade would see a vendor near his school selling CDs from a cart on the street. Although within eyesight, it wasn’t on his walk home and at twelve, he dared not stray from his assigned path. But a budding curiosity and growing enthusiasm for music seeded a plan in his mind. He would skip lunches, saving up his lunch money, run down the street to the vendor, and score a CD unbeknownst to his parents or teachers. The album he chose from the cart was a bootleg of Nirvana’s “Nevermind”. He had heard about Nirvana from kids in the schoolyard when their older siblings put them onto the sound. His older sister had a collection of more rock, showcasing the crunchy guitars and chaotic drums in which he was interested. But he now had something of his own that he could study. At this time in his life, he only heard English being spoken in movies. He could not speak it, nor could he fully understand what was being said. But as a tattoo can appeal to someone not knowing its meaning, the sonic design was something he was drawn to naturally. And though he would beg his parents for a guitar, he didn’t understand that these guys were plugging into electrified amplifiers and using effects pedals to get that sound. He didn’t have a radio and Nirvana wasn’t on the public access stations on his family television. You can imagine his surprise when he finally got a guitar and it was an acoustic.

    The discrepancy in sound he heard did not deter him from his newfound love. Soon, he would quit soccer, which was a big deal where he was from. Every day after school, he would spend his time trying to replicate what he heard as he explored his tastes in music. The advent of the internet had yet to shape the way he learned. Buying rock magazines and tab books from a local newsstand helped to propel his efforts, and physical copies of albums mentored his evolution. Releases by bands like Kiss and Iron Maiden soon added to his collection. And he would be fortunate enough to get lessons from a guitar player in his neighborhood. The true litmus was in his actions and how they began to change. He was obsessed. While other kids his age were playing video games, he was trying to write music. He dreamt about learning and playing guitar. He had yet to think about an actual career in music because he didn’t see performers like that around him.

    At just fifteen years of age, he got the opportunity to open for his local instructor in a bar. This marked the first time he heard any actual criticism. But the curiosity and enthusiasm within him somehow drowned out those sentiments as well as any self-doubt they might have caused. Guzz recalls, “I think early on I tried to listen by ear because I also didn’t have many tabs for some of the songs I like. Or sometimes they were wrong. Or they were in a different tuning and I didn’t even know you could change the tunings of your strings; for a long time I didn’t know. So, I think I learned by seeing other people; going to see other people playing, as well as borrowing video tapes from friends… a copy of a Zack Wylde guitar lesson. It was instructional, like some pentatonic stuff. I started catching a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” His head was so much into rock and roll, it was almost as if it had become an entity unto itself. His musical sense of self-identity had yet to even occur to him.

    Guzz had a cousin that was into playing music. The two would trade cassettes back and forth, sharing ideas and forming a sound. Being under eighteen (and unable to drive by law in Brazil), transportation was a challenge. But the two formed a four-piece band they named Cycle Love. They played wherever they were allowed, lugging equipment on and off trains and buses to get to gigs. He would push this for two years, but the momentum eventually died. His next band was what he considers to be his first serious project, Vulgar Type. He formed this one with more experienced friends while in college. And when the band still lacked a singer, Guzz began to try his hand at it. He took up lessons with a guy by the name of Nando Fernandez, whom you might have recently seen on stage singing with Lynyrd Skynyrd in Brazil. Things began to get more serious, and he was able to put out a three-song EP, which is still streaming on all platforms. That same cousin would this time serve as their videographer, enabling Vulgar Type to produce music videos as well. Guzz was seeing EP sales in both the U.S. and Japan. And the experience furnished him with opportunities to form connections on both continents. Throughout this time, he was charged with figuring out logistics for album sales, marketing, and networking; tools he uses to this day.

    Through all of the cross-continental communications, Guzz also landed a significant other in the states. She began to visit him, and he would come to the U.S. to visit her as well. This is how he ended up living in Louisiana. His reflection on how fast the time seems to have flown by is earmarked by the changing technology. The limited capabilities of his youth quickly evaporated as he matured. He went from buying bootleg CDs through street vendors, learning what he could through magazines and the occasional VHS tape, and tuning his guitar using the dial tone to now being able to access anything he wanted on a cell phone. Tab books gave way to Youtube, where not only could theory be learned, but the cultural heritage and influence behind the music could be understood. And speaking of culture, Guzz also reflects on how much of it surrounded him as a child. For many years he was so focused on one thing that the resulting tunnel vision obscured his overall view. He has taken to going back and rediscovering the culture and genres of that time and place in his life.

    Since moving to Louisiana in 2018, he has formed his current band, Silver Dose. In realizing how rich Brazilian culture was, his mind is now more open to incorporating thoser rhythms and influences. Being receptive has also led him to look toward American, British, and German bands for influence with this project. Obviously, his life has been about growth and change. But this could be said about life in general. Perhaps unbeknownst to Guzz, his life has actually been about preserving that child who never stopped to think about who he was or where he belonged in the scheme of things. He was releasing new music for Vulgar Type while moving from one nation to another. Friends from back home ask if being in the states has presented more opportunities for him as a musician. And he tends to say yes. But stepping outside of any religious connotations, I’d remind everyone of the saying “God helps those who help themselves.” And even when resources were scarce, Guzz was helping himself. From that moment on the street when he bought the Nirvana bootleg to where he stands now, he has embodied perpetual motion, when we all realize there is no such thing.

    On a side note, he mentioned that shortly after this interview, Silver Dose was going to play a benefit show for The Marsh Room, a venue which had recently caught fire. He said they did that sort of thing all the time, that he was always interested in helping his brothers and sisters in the music community. His drummer stopped by after the interview, and the first thing he said to Guzz was that he had a line on another upcoming benefit. I couldn’t help but think how it was things like this that thrust a band forward more than they may realize. His heart is worthy of your attention. And his talent speaks for itself. Knowing what you all know now about his life is proof positive. I do hope you check out the podcast interview (streaming links below), as there are more opportunities to see how he has chosen to navigate through life as a musician and a human being. Thanks to you all for your interest!

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Silver Dose: https://neworleansmusicians.com/musician/198

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
    • Please check out our show, Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast, wherever you stream. Thanks!
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    Steve Mignano

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    Drab has rich soundscapes. There seems to be a thirst lately for bands with driving basslines whose guitars saturate the aural soundscape with lavish, soulful melodies. That may sound elementary, but the truth is that too many bands these days are trying to find the next direction with compositions that have shed elements of the tried and true. For me, Drab’s sound harkens back to an era when grunge rock was mighty. And music like I’m hearing from these guys was the tasteful counter to that movement that somehow found a way to compliment it simultaneously. It was anything but pop, super original, and slightly unpolished in its own right. A band like Drab is tipping its hat to this notion that there exists a space between extremes that does not lend itself to popularized conformity. In other words, you don’t have to commit yourself to either death metal or typified pop extremes to express a deviation from the norm. There’s a vein of rock that maintains an edge slightly left of center that is still respected by those that would normally find their comfort zone right in the middle. For his whole life, Steve Mignano has been able to move freely throughout these spectrums due to his lust for movement and change. And his ability to achieve accuracy amongst chaos affords listeners a guide through these waters. You can’t understand the plot if the acting sucks. And you can’t get a feel for a sound if it’s not in tune or on time. Now Garguts, Steve’s second project, pushes the division between what works and what doesn’t. They take the above notion of “unpolished” and kick it in the teeth. But again, Mr. Mignano embraces change here while feeling his way through at the top of his lungs. Because for this project, Steve isn’t holding a guitar. He’s strictly singing. Dylan Hemard (Green Gasoline) checks the axe for him, allowing him the freedom to roam. This band delivers the reassurance that can be sometimes felt in extremity. Because oddly enough, you can here a bit of Zeppelin in the beginning of their song Miller High Death. But then the kicking starts, giving listeners a bit of “oh yeah, I remember that” followed by “oh sh*t!” We will get into the line-up of this band later. But trust me, we’re all in for a wild ride with this one.

    Originally, Steve is from Toledo, Ohio. His dad played guitar in bands and owned a guitar store in Westfield, Michigan. It always felt like guitar was his first language. But his eyes really lit up when he saw the movie Back to the Future. Seeing Marty McFly transform into a rock star at the high school dance struck a chord with seven-year-old Steve. Funny enough, he didn’t realize how deep that chord would carry at the time. But it was enough to get the ball rolling; well, that and countless air-guitar solos. His dad agreed to furnish him with lessons and Johnny B Good was the first. But unfortunately, a rambunctious Steve collided with a bit of attention deficit disorder and the guitar idea was soon shelved. By eleven, he returned though. And by fifteen, he had become serious, practicing daily. Being around his father and the musicians in his bands facilitated an accelerated learning rate. At this time, Youtube didn’t exist and real, human experiences still reigned. He would be at his father’s performances as a pre-teen and by the age of twelve, he was attending concerts. He recalls fondly being at shows for bands like Soundgarden and Megadeth. In a word, his sixteen-year-old self would say the Rage Against The Machine concert he saw at the Palace of Auburn Hills in Detroit was…. intense!!

    There were three main radio stations where he grew up. Classic rock was on 104.7, Buzz 106.5 was an modern alt-rock station, and pop music played on 92.5. Classic and modern rock would escort him through his formative years. Bands like Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Metallica, and Alice in Chains would not only influence him sonically, but furnish him with a sense of identity. Back then he also relied on tab books to further his music education. He would save up money to buy a book, learn the contents, then pass it around amongst friends. Nirvana’s In Utero, and Countdown to Extinction by Megadeth were a couple he remembers. He learned Nirvana, but he still struggles to this day with those Marty Friedman solos. There was also his parents’ album collection to help guide him down the neck of his path. He still has some of these records. His first love on vinyl was the blues master B.B. King. And he remembers how the haunting ballads like The Messiah Will Come Again and Sweet Dreams by Roy Buchanan sounded even creepier because that record had a slight warp to it. His father was into many styles of music. So, to appreciate different genres seemed natural to Steve. And this open mindset allowed him to see the similarities between the genres. While absorbing these sources; lessons, tab books, concerts, and records, Steve was playing in a garage band with friends. They would learn together, playing covers like Black Flag. One year, a band mate’s mom gifted him with studio time for his birthday. The band would record a two-song demo and instantly be famous in their own mind. The drum line at Steve’s high school would be his first experience performing publicly. They needed a guitar player for their rendition of Change of Seasons, by Dream Theater. He tuned his low E down to a low B so he could resemble the seven-string played originally in that song. Cranking up the amp and flexing his chops for a sizeable audience excited him so. He got to see the impact of loud guitar on his peers. Any fear quickly gave way to understanding within him. “It’s like when you’re standing in front of an abyss, and like there’s nowhere to go, you know, jump. And once you do it you begin to realize, oh well that’s not so bad. It’s not going to kill you. So, it gives you courage. It gives you more confidence. And you come back and you look at it. You can examine; oh I could do this better. This was awesome. This was my favorite part. Playing music is the most exhilarating thing in the world man. And um, it starts with a spark. But, you know, if you nurture that spark it grows into a fire. And, as I’ve gotten older, it hasn’t diminished at all man. It’s just gotten more complex. It’s like turning into this lotus flower of fire now”, Steve imparted.

    He got good grades in school and was academically inclined naturally. But many of his friends in music would go onto vocational schools, leaving him a bit isolated. He resisted private school urgings from his parents, becoming more withdrawn and studying music during this time. He focused on listening to the elements contained within the music and began to think about what he wanted to do with his life. Music was the obvious vision. He also had an interest in film. He figured he could work in film while trying to launch a career in music. The day after he graduated high school, Steve packed all his stuff into his car and pointed the wheel toward Los Angeles. There was no plan in place or reason for that destination. But the town’s reputation for being a hot bed of cinema and ground zero for the recording industry was calling his name. This adventure, however, was short lived. He was in and out of bands while there. But he concedes his expectations were ridiculously high. And though he attended the Musician’s Institute for a semester, ultimately the cost of living would ground this flight. Steve would be back home in Ohio nursing his ego before he knew it. For the next three years, he worked in his father’s appliance parts warehouse. He would bring his guitar and practice every chance he could. Listening to records, transcribing solos, and trying to learn new chords kept the pilot lit for now. One day a friend reached out to him telling him about auditions happening nearby. The gig was with Johnny Reed, a Chicago style blues harp player. Steve was familiar with this artist through his dad’s record collection. The man’s stellar reputation made this proposition intimidating. But Steve muscled up the courage and went down to try out. He played two songs and was hired on the spot! For the next three years, Steve would tour the U.S. and Canada, playing counter to, and being coached by, Johnny. Though he had crawled many miles of paper in theory, nothing could prepare him for the techniques and methods involved in running with a band of this caliber. The experience would be the education. And he was cognizant enough to experience the revelation. He recalls, “I can’t remember exactly what festival we were at. But I remember it was on a large outdoor stage. And I remember listening to Johnny soloing. And what occurred to me is that he wasn’t just playing his harp. He was playing the whole stage. He was listening to the environment. He was listening to how his tone was coming through the speakers, how it was resonating. I remember being on stage with him and that occurring to me at that one moment. He was taking the environment and making it work. He was making adjustments on the fly to make sure his tone was cutting through.” Steve was coming to the realization that there was no one set of rules or standards for this. To show up at every performance, regardless of the venue, and play as you did at another time and location just wouldn’t have the same impact. What he witnessed was a musician making the stage resonate with his instrument. Through focused reflection, he’s been able to grasp these elements and affix them to his target as a professional musician.

    After playing with Johhny Reed, Steve would move to Denver. And before long, he landed another gig playing with Cassie Taylor, a native of Boulder and daughter of well-known blues musician Otis Taylor. From 2010 to just before 2013, Steve toured the U.S., Europe, and Canada with Cassie’s band on her neo-soul release, Out Of My Mind. Getting this gig was different than how he got the Johnny Reed gig. With Reed, the slot was one that had been filled many times before. The style of music was rooted in traditions of a certain vein and the phrases were already mapped out. With Taylor, he was given songs that lacked his part. It was up to him to find what fit. He pulled from the many years he spent studying theory. Knowledge of the language allowed him to become versed in this variety. He also drew from his time studying technique. The books from his dad’s shop were filled with the rudiments of this and did not adhere to any particular genre. A book by Pat Martino taught him chord inversions and chord voicings. The CAGED system (author Bill Edwards, 1983) also expedited his progress. Once he learned those patterns it became easy to learn scales and chord voicings all over neck. Steve would use the literacy to express his newfound creative freedom with Cassie. And if you look, you’ll find what author Andy Ellis of Premier Guitar said about his work to be commendable. “In guitarist Steve Mignano, Taylor has a perfect foil. His long, searing bends and snarling riffs wrap around Taylor’s latte voice like a well-worn leather glove. Tone for days, deluxe dynamics, spirited delivery—Mignano has it all.”  

    While still touring with Cassie, Steve went on vacation to New Orleans and was struck by its indelible charm. He would ultimately move here on the conclusion of that tour. Absorbing the indigenous music and becoming a working musician in this environment satiated him. He was previously familiar with a reputation the city had amongst musicians. Of the territories surrounding this far-reaching microcosm, Steve says, “This is my favorite city in the world, man. I love everything about it. I love the food, love the people, love the music, love the atmosphere; everything. You know, I feel like it takes a particular kind of savage to live here. But I am that savage. I feel like it’s in my DNA in a way. Some of us belong here. And I feel like I belong here.” Together, with Casey Freitas on bass, Aaron Levy on drums, and Jacob Fitzmorris on guitar, Steve has formed Drab. They dropped a self-titled album in 2022. And their most recent single, Blacklight, is a dead reckoning for the grit between your toes. You know life put it there to disrupt you. But you begin to rub it around, and you come to like the sensation. Blacklight is evidence of the recent shift within the band’s sound. Casey Freitas was a newcomer on this imminent work. So, the inner mechanics of their line-up have changed as well. There is a new single on the way, Open Wound. But when this album drops, you’ll hear the movement toward a murkier, more malignant sound, doubling down on their freshman effort. With his second band, Garguts, Steve has set down the guitar to concentrate solely on testing the limits of his vocals. On indefinite hiatus, Green Gasoline’s Dylan Hemard (guitar) and Jon Castiex (drums) have aligned with Steve and Sterling Anderson (bass). Where Drab had become a comfortable grit, Garguts has created an annoyed flesh wound. Their sound penetrates while possessing the sensation of a rowdy garage band experiment. Rhythmic changeups, amp distortions, and effects quickly usher the listener into a chaotic bliss. This band will let our frustrations breathe. I do hope to see many of you tune into Steve’s podcast interview. As he and I discussed how these projects came about, how their first shows have been, and what the business end of these creations has taught him. And hearing him describe his experiences with Johnny Reed and Cassie Taylor was truly exhilarating. I thank you all so much for your continued interest.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
    • Please check out our show, Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast, wherever you stream. Thanks!
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    Pious

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    Genres have veins that are fed by the lives we live. We gravitate toward these genres just as we are attracted to the lifestyles that come with them. The two are part in parcel. The consequence of this is that, in order to truly represent these genres, you have to live them. Through their band, Pious, Eric Fox (guitar/ vox) and Mike Dawsey (bass) could not better represent this abstraction. A character of youth is that we move toward many things at once. Due to age, we gain and lose focus quickly. But over time we stick with what suits us. Pious’ main objective in the sonic space is to accomplish this in a manner that both draws from and builds upon tried-and-true arrangements in the rock genre. This is what they thrive on. It is a slow, meticulous process that requires a great amount of time and introspection. Not only for the desire to appropriately pay homage to the greats they were raised revering. But to build upon that in a way that expresses their own individuality. There is a sense of permanence that comes with recording a song. And publishing it with your name on it signifies not only that it has been finalized, but that it is your eternal contribution to the artform. It is no wonder that both of them are tattoo artists. The deal is inked. As you walk out that door, just as with music, you are a living, breathing representation of what they are made of.

    Mike and Eric met in high school in Slidell, Louisiana. Eric, a freshman and a transplant from New Orleans, stuck out like a sore thumb. There was suddenly a lack of people and an abundance of trees in his view. And I’m sure we can all remember back then the daunting task of finding one’s tribe. Meeting Mike made things a bit easier. The two shared interests in the creative arts and had a mutual friend. Bobby Carney (singer, Mule Skinner, R.I.P.) was a few years older than Eric and Mike and was already a regular in Slidell’s hardcore scene. Mike would play in a band with Bobby in garages and wherever they could find a space to jam. Now, at the time, the caliber of player Mike was, generally speaking, was as a student of the art. And I realize you’re always a student. But Mike’s strategy was to make noise until it made sense. He was especially focused on how bands layered multiple instruments to result in something that congealed. Getting together to jam would suffice through high school. But for Eric, graduating high school became a catalyst of sorts. He knew he wanted to continue to play. And a part of him wanted more for himself as a musician. So, in ’98, he formed Captain Howdy with friends Michael Ball (guitar), Donald Albanese (drums), and Damon Morse (keyboard). This band, by name and line-up, would soon change though. Keyboardist Damon Morse would leave and be replaced by bassist Mike Dawsey. And anticipating copyright repercussions from Hoya Productions and Warner Bros. for the character’s namesake in The Exorcist, the band’s name would change to After Human. Eric’s plan was to try to grasp what other bands were doing and implement those components into his own sound. Wanting to “make it in the industry”, his interests lied with what was new, and how he could get out in front of that curve. The coming years would deliver advancements in their exposure. They were able perform often during this time. The early 2000’s era was their big heyday, so-to-speak. Nu-metal was abundant, and they played a lot on the gulf coast, most notably at CPR Fest.

    As the dust settled, maturity began to take hold and Eric would embrace a shift in priorities. “Making it” no longer held top appointment in his eyes. And the glimmer of what was new had begun to pale. The friends he played with had remained with him all this time. And his influences well before the Nu-metal phase had done the same. Conjecture leads me to believe these things had an influence on his line of thought. He started to concentrate on what stood the test of time in music. Never mind fads. What bands had made an indelible mark on the world of rock? Who were the ones that everyone’s sound seemed to be rooted in? I could pause here. And we could split hairs on who were “the greats”, and who was a predecessor of whom. But I’d prefer to zoom out a bit. Because what was happening then, and what is happening now within Eric, was a negotiation of sorts with himself. When you’re young, you get involved however you can and delve into the existence of the scene around you. These are the times when a musician is recognizing his or her capabilities. But one of the many markers of a departure from adolescence is both the realization and movement toward an explicit set of characteristics; ones that aptly represent one as an individual. Assimilation to the environment is second best at that point. Ironically, integrating oneself and one’s desire then becomes easier because it is the very act of being genuine. Sonically, and socially for that matter, the manifestation of self becomes less contrived, more natural. And suddenly both you and your music seem to make sense to those around you. This is a testament to individuality. And in music, it is spoken of as “bringing something new to the table”. It’s how one adds lasting value to their contributions. Eric wanted timelessness. For that, he poured over decades of music, filtering out everything he’d pursued in the recent past. Going back in time would be the study of a universal language everyone spoke, both then and now, positioning him closer to the source.

    The embodiment of these ideals would become Pious. Being there since day one, this is what makes the most sense for Mike. As he explained, “I quit school really early. And I told my parents I was going to be either an artist or a musician. I set out not to give myself another choice. It’s a lot like what he (Eric) is saying. You reach a certain point where it’s like, it would still be nice to be able to consistently make a living playing music. But it really doesn’t matter. The only thing that really matters is trying to make something that is solid. You can follow trends. You can do all this other stuff. But what are you really doing? This is just my opinion. But it really needs to be more natural. It needs to be more you as an individual.”  It’s an overused concept but, everything functions in cycles. Back in 2015, this band was formed on the grounds that it would bring value to the world of music by offering something as eternal as music itself. At the time, for both Eric and Mike, this meant a deviation from the previous aspiration of wanting to become what was present. Fast forward to 2021, I am of the opinion that it’s been happening all over again. There has always been a respected element of diversity within the band. Mike and Eric have always shared interest in heavier music like Suffocation, Deicide, and Terrorizer. But their drummer, Donald, had an affinity for bands like Beck and Modest Mouse. Michael Ball, on the other hand, preferred alternative rock bands like Jesus Lizard. The absence of egos not only permitted this, it capitalized on it. And now, those sentiments are being amplified as history repeats itself. They have sharpened their skillset all these years in their ode to the masters of the past. But they have reached further outside even their genres of choice, pushing the envelope of continuity. The result has been a highlight of commonalities through the lense of something heavier. And it works. Case in point, their choice of covering Tom Waits’ Going Out West on their album, Crawling Head. The original, although dark and experimental, was never seen as hardcore. And it probably never would have been. But for guys like Eric, Mike, Donald, and Michael, the acceptance they shared amongst their own tastes enabled them to see past what was merely present and into what could be permanent.  

    Their current project, on the cusp of completion, addresses a meeting of the minds on so many fronts. The EP will be a collection of just three songs at eight to ten minutes a piece. In a world where singles are king and full albums are losing ground, this is a perfect fusion in format. And as for its sound, the phonic qualities deepen the connection between what has been solid in the past and what can possibly be of the future. As Eric explains, “We really delved hard into, I guess, more of our influences than just the Sabbath, Zeppelin aspect of things, to pulling out from everything we know…. and just letting anything fly. And we created, as far as I’m concerned, three of the best songs we’ve ever written. And to just compile that, it’s going to be more of a themed album. It’s changed themes over the past; since 2020. It’s gonna be a stable of everything we’re able to do. We wanted to lay the smorgasbord down.” Mike backed this by saying, “You could say it’s more melodic, but it’s dirtier. It’s got more atmosphere to it. But it’s heavier. Like he said, it’s more of everything.” The heavy parts are heavier. And the softer parts are softer. Auditory elements presented in contrast only serve to expand upon what makes them different. If all you listen to is soft, you never realize just how soft it is until you hear something hard. So, to present them both in the same body of work really drives home the amount of expansion Pious has conducted. The music has always come first. In the periphery are the possible ways in which it will physically manifest. There have been talks of vinyl pressings. And the idea of assembling these few songs with others to form more than an EP is still a possibility. Though Mike has always done graphic art for the band, Eric is contemplating a foray into acrylic for this album’s art. Both are resident tattoo artists at Eric’s shop, Turning Point Tattoos, located in Mandeville. And don’t quote me on this, but it is rumored that the album’s name could potentially be Black Magic and Robots. You can find Pious’ present works on Neworleansmusicians.com and all streaming platforms.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
    • Please check out our show, Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast, wherever you stream. Thanks!