Moral Panic and The Twaynes at The Gardens

I had received a text from my roommate asking if I was still coming when I remembered about this show. He had mentioned it as an acoustic show  Practicing in the local Gamelan at the time, I let him know I would be making it late, apologizing to both him and the members of the Gamelan for being skimpy before slipping my shoes and coat on and dashing off in my car to the Union Building. 

Surprisingly, I found parking quickly in the usually crowded lot and stepped outside again, shivering and unprepared for the upcoming winter before finding heat in The Gardens downstairs, the university bar hosting weekly shows of music and stand-up through the student-run StudioWYO organization. The stage-area is fit with partitioning speaker-monitors in front of performers, a collection of rotating multi-colored stage lights situated on an aluminum frame, and a dark curtain backdrop, often lit purple or green. This is further accompanied by a wordless television playing advertisements and football, a series of pool tables, an assortment of tables, chairs, railings, and old and young people filled with at least two beers each. 

I found my roommate, who immediately began asking me ideas for some "live tweet" assignment or something the whole show. The constant buzz of conversation and the clatter of pool balls and glass cups filled the silences between the notes of the performance, not entirely dissonant to the casual music.

The Twaynes

The Twaynes are the father and son duo of Jack Wallace on fiddle and Shane on an acoustic guitar plugged directly into the mix. They were dressed straight in tuxedos with hair slicked back and glasses fit snugly to read what may be sheet music or a loose fake-book from the stand before them.

My roommate tells me I missed two songs, but after a few songs, I wonder if this was really so significant.. Each song consists of the fiddle player making a tone cry from the strings, often mellow and bittersweet over a series of bumbling cowboy chords, played in a plucked or root-strum sequence and circling around some standard American-folk progression. The guitarist's voice is a deep bass, while the fiddle's a higher, older croaking.

There is some old-time influence, some occasional swing renditions, some Holy Modal Rounders at times maybe. It seems to be a fairly general and restrained folk sound, and I'm not even sure if any of the compositions are original honestly. The band plays a cover of the Loy Clingman murder ballad "It's Nothing to Me," taking a couple pointers from embellishments found in Jim Reeves's version. The stripped down fiddle-guitar pairing behind the deep warbling drawls of "I see the way he looks at yoouuuu" makes for an emotionally potent experience, and minor key walk downs are extended to make for what must be one of the saddest covers of this song I've heard.

The general air of the room is relaxed, the songs bumbling along and broken by jokes like "We're not used to light shows, playin' in them" accompanied with awkward laughter before starting into a surprise bouncy gypsy-jazz piece. Jack's fiddle renditions are pretty skilled, squeaking a little in tonight's performance on some faster parts, but displaying decent finger work and a well-placed variety of notes. His face was incredibly stern with aging lines frowning across his forehead, but I imagine he still has fun.

The execution is particularly phenomenal on the final song, a piece decided after the audience responded the obvious to Shane's "Do you want kinda spectacular, or spectacular?" Shane sits on one chord much of the song as his father aggressively stabs his bow across the strings, sometimes drawing the notes out in dissonant slides, making the fiddle growl at one point, before galloping away into another bouncy fiddle-line at a breakneck pace. Jack is not making this look easy, and the effect is pretty dazzling. He even briefly carries chords to give Shane space for a few elegant guitar licks.

By the end of the show, the audience has been a little more engaged, and the response is casual and pleasant. I walked forward to thank Jack for his performance, who charismatically delved into his past playing music in Wyoming. He lamented the decreased interest in such music recently, remembering a recently canceled Shoshone festival and a six-piece he played in in the 60s and suggesting such a setup would not be sustainable nowadays. He states that "I was raised in Wyoming, I play Wyoming music, and its what I enjoy." He asked me if I played, to which I referred to playing drums in the grungy, short-lived Smoked Ham Club. He reiterated the importance of restraint, especially in playing drums, and advised me to keep practicing and playing however I can. I walked away more than a little inspired from his open attitude and perspective in spite of the generational gap.

Listen to their music here.

Moral Panic

Moral Panic is the local folk/acoustic rock band fronted by professor Caskey Russel (Introducing himself as "Dwayne Stevens") on vocals and guitar and accompanied by Ken Gerow on Bass, Julia Obert on fiddle, Jascha Herdt on drums, and Bob Moore on an assortment of auxiliary percussion, particularly a washboard with "Sunnyland" burned into the wood hanging from his neck. The band began playing the song as Caskey holds his guitar a little punky on his hip and asks his bassist "What's this song about? Oh, classy girls don't kiss in bars," as the whole band cannot keep from laughing, clearly a couple beers down. Caskey wanders off the stage, facing his back to the audience. The song is a standard I-IV-V with a turnaround to end Lydian, played upbeat and fun, a trace of campfire playfulness (I think of Microphones, but much more country and less messy) throughout and sung out in a sweet tenor voice.

I go to the counter to get a Pabst at this point as Julia remarks at the song's end that it was the "Longest he's ever lasted," to which I proclaim an immature "That's what she said!" and the band can barely keep any composure as Caskey acknowledges "a complement." He states they're only playing a three-song set before continuing on to another upbeat song, the drums tight and vaguely "Morning Bell" with its fills. The beer is cool and woody on my tongue and fits the room's atmosphere perfectly. An older couple is dancing in the corner by the speaker, and the band sustains good energy, Caskey keeping a smile plastered to his face as he sings.'

Restraint became a common theme in this music as well, the standard formed verse-chorus structure almost getting a little repetitive. But this structure allowed the band flexibility, breaking from bluegrass Americana to the country-protopunk romp of Dylan's "Tombstone Blues." One song sounded vaguely like a bar shanty, while a preacher-megaphone performance from Moore even felt like the wild style of the drawling vocalist in some Residents. This was all very subtle, however, and a Bright Eyes alt-folk simplicity unifyied the sound throughout.

The choruses distinctly created a quiet-loud dynamic with the verses, and angst persisted in lyrics like "There's nothing left/but lust and sex/but I can't tell the difference anymore" in "Nihilistic Drinking Song." I was reminded of Caskey relating his past-life in Seattle playing grunge in The Village Idiots (okay...the link is not actually his band, but it would be funny if it was). He also mentioned the opportunity of bumping into Kurt Cobain at a surprise underground secret show. When I asked him about his old band after the show, he said he had experienced extreme tinnitus, making this band a relaxing alternative for his ears.

Their Facebook page with short videos of some music can be found here.

The band covers Simon and Garfunkel and "S.O.B." as the night goes on, but I find myself running into the typical issue of small-time singer/songwriter acts and find the songs blur into one another after a while. I join my friend in a game of pool and blend in with the distanced crowd as the music hung over our heads, becoming a smaller part of the air and sounds around us.

The particular thing I enjoy more so about these bar and open-mic shows is a sense of community. Each song carries a story and particular sound, but the emphasis lies more in engagement with each other and feeling the relatively social atmosphere in the room. One can have a beer and casually have a beer and talk to the bartender or dance in the corner, it doesn't matter. The music, more than anything, provides a good excuse to come together and go out for a fun, casual night.