Community is a word we are fortunate to hear a lot about in live music. There are communities of fans that gather around their favorite musicians, music festival communities, communities of tapers, and the list goes on. That word is bandied about a lot in music today but last night those in attendance at Don Quixote’s in Felton, California got to see the word in a physical manifestation. July 15th show was initially meant to be a three band bill consisting of Patrick Maguire, Hillstomp and local favorite The Naked Bootleggers.
Last week, though, a marvelous wrinkle in the plans developed. Konrad Wert, who plays as Possessed by Paul James, came into town to play a show at a beautiful little venue in Boulder Creek called lille aeske. The show sold out in minutes and a second show was added that sold out just as fast. In an attempt to give as many of those folks who wanted to hear Konrad and his special brand of American roots music the opportunity to see him, The Naked Bootleggers and Hillstomp added Konrad to last night’s bill. Konrad’s shows were remarkable and different each night. The first night was a raucous run through his tunes with a rowdy crowd stomping feet, yelling out in affirmation of the lyric that hit in just the right spot and praising their particular drink that night (apparently “TEQUILA!!!” was shouted out a couple times). Konrad’s show the next night was a quieter affair, the crowd was contemplative, pragmatic in the way they listened and hung on his every word. And when it was done the audience and musicians present parted ways into the warm California night with, “See you Saturday, because Saturday is going to be crazy.”
And Saturday got crazy.
It started out slowly (not to say that slow is in any way bad) with the thoughtful songs and playing of local boy, Patrick Maguire. While the dance floor remained empty for the larger part of Pat’s show (save his baby daughter who boogied her little heart out), it was not a dancer’s set. Instead, Pat’s music conjured up a simpler, more honest time of acoustic guitars on a front porch with family members listening intently. The music was strong and purposeful, it begged the audience to listen closely to Pat’s singular vocal style that delivered lyrics to the gut. This music begs for a real listen, in which one can hang on the words, feel the notes and think about what is being offered.
And then came Konrad. Any Possessed by Paul James fan will tell you that a Possessed by Paul James show wholly depends on the vibe of that particular night. In contrast to Konrad’s show at lille aeske the previous Thursday night, the vibe at Don Quixote’s was a different animal noticeable from note one. Konrad is a man that feeds off his audience. Time and again he will remind those to whom he plays that this is their show, that if they want to stomp then stomp. If they want to sing along then, by all means, sing along. If they want to shout and holler out, then, by God, do it!
This was a stomp and holler night. The dance floor was immediately full, the audience was well lubricated and a lot of them wore boots! Shrieks peeled into the ceiling rafters, back slaps and loud laughter rent the room, it became infectious both amongst the crowd and in the way that Konrad responded. Typical song tempos and structures were thrown out the window and the tunes were so fast that Konrad sawed right through the rosin on his fiddle bow three times. This is not to say that the set did not have its share of ballads, but those were not safe to the vibe either and they were sung with a passion that a veteran of Konrad’s work could see as totally unique. Konrad bellowed, dripped sweat down onto his instruments, he craned his neck on the high notes, punctuated lyrics with arm swings and always, always, stomped his feet to bang out a rhythm that brought the crowd to a frenzy. Konrad even made a song up on the spot, “Well that was just for tonight. I wouldn’t be able to remember what I just played even if I wanted to, so that was for you.”
It was raucously beautiful. Konrad was thankful for his appearance and visibly humbled, he constantly made sure, between songs, that he was not running over his allotted time. He told the crowd that the fact that he was playing that night was a testament to the unity in his chosen musical family. “We can travel all over the nation,” he said, “and the best part is that we have these pockets of people all over America that will take care of us, give us food, a place to stay and shows to play. We have one of those pockets here in Santa Cruz, but we also have them in Friendship, Indiana and other little spots. Wanna know some cool people in Indiana? Email me, I’ll hook you up. Unity, folks. Unity through music.” The crowd cheered in agreement.
Hillstomp came next and these two guys from Portland Oregon, Henry Hill and John Johnson, bring something rooted but just weird to the stage. Hillstomp can play some filthy frickin’ blues. R.L. Burnside is probably their spirit animal and they attack his style of music with teeth and claws while Junior Kimbrough spiritually smacks them around. They snarl and scream. Henry visibly aches with his guitar runs while John bangs out a beat on a trap set that is barely a trap set by definition. In addition to a kick drum and tom, his snare is a five gallon bucket. He has a couple cymbals but they are augmented by a cast iron skillet and, yep, a gold pan. John plays a washboard with spoons too and those spoons become drumsticks, hell, even the washboard became a drumstick! Together John and Henry create this melodic maelstrom of sound, it is a tornado that slices through the center of Mississippi but was born in freaking Portland! This band is more of a “must see to believe” situation as words simply cannot describe the scene they produce. Maybe it can best be put this way: toward the end of the set, there was a mosh pit forming – a mosh pit – in hippy fried Felton, California! And the band raged back on that! They laughed and shouted, almost daring the crowd to rowdier heights. Beer was spilt – for sure. Hillstomp is a real deal genre crusher, they are unapologetic music makers that will lay waste to your preconceptions. Check them out.
Finally, the last band to take the stage was Boulder Creek’s own The Naked Bootleggers. It was immediately apparent that these boys are loved in Santa Cruz County. At a past show there were a couple kids that hitchhiked all the way from Pescadero, up the coast, to the Santa Cruz mountains to see them play. They are a product of their mountain home. These guys play bluegrass with a touch more of the blues provided by some solid harmonica playing. While the old traditional pickers wore suits and played with straight faces, this band traded those suits in for flannel shirts and flip-flops while not compromising the strength of their picking. They come from a place where the state bird is the pitbull and the state flower is a gooey marijuana bud. The Naked Bootleggers played a long set that kept those folks still on the dance floor ON the dance floor (by midnight, this gig was clocking in at four and a half hours!). They sang about their hometown, they sang some bluegrass staples and they sang songs written by their friends.
Closing out the night, all the musicians, all good friends and, again, united in their love of music and respect for one another, joined together for a couple of tunes as The Possessed Naked Stompers. It was a fantastic way to finish it off, sharing vocals, swapping solos and trading smiles and hugs. This night at Don Quixote’s was a reminder of the power of musical community and shared experience, that together we are always better and that together we always have more fun. The world needs more of this stuff and you need to get out there and contribute to it. Bring your positivity so that it may breed into something bigger than you and stomp your feet and smile while you do it.
