Mike Futcher

Writer

Month: August 2024

One of These Days: Kassi Valazza Live in York

August 29, 2024 /

Sunday 25th August 2024

Bluebird Bakery, York, England

If I could sit down and write a long review it would have everything in it. The Bluebird, a working bakery converted into a music venue at night, with black sheets covering the windows to keep out the plainness of the road outside; a sign saying closed tonight except for ticket holders; the low, warm light from the candles which are lit in glass jars on the tables; the beautiful, dark-haired woman at the door. It would have the cool breeze that comes in when the door is opened to admit latecomers and it would have the bottles of wine and beer on the tables and the applause between songs and the guitars waiting patiently in their stands on the stage before the music begins.

It would have, if it were possible to write about music without killing what is good in it, the sound of Kassi Valazza as she sings of a “castle of stone” in ‘Roll On’, a mile from the ancient walls of York. It would have her crystal-clear voice as it sings of canyon lines and spinning circles and the small town of Chino, Arizona, and it would be able to describe the way she blends the lyrics with the melody so each song sounds purer than the silence it replaces. It would have Lewi Longmire’s slide guitar making ethereal chirruping noises as the song ‘Birds Fly High’ builds to open the night and it would have Tobias Berblinger silent behind his keyboards as he closes his eyes and constructs the soundscapes that allow Kassi and Lewi to roam. It would have Kassi switching between her two acoustic guitars and plucking a deep, mantra-like rhythm on the willing strings, and it would have her tapping out the rhythm in her thick-heeled leather shoes. It would have Lewi’s harmonica strung around his neck as it blows out a yearning, lonesome note on ‘Room in the City’ and it would have the classic Californian folk-rock sound coming from his electric guitar; a gorgeous vibe that no one seems to want to make anymore and which in every resounding note makes you wonder why.

It should make clear the chord changes and the fragile texture and composure of the songs and the way they fit into the gentle ambience of the night; and it would also show how they don’t simply belong to that ambience but also move it and shape it, as Kassi, ten years removed from her job in a bakery in Portland, finds herself in another bakery taking the material she has and kneading it with her fingers and making it rise. And alongside the music as it swells the review would also have the small and banal things; the white t-shirt Kassi wears bearing the face of her friend Chris Acker, the black t-shirt Tobias wears bearing the name of their tourmate Vincent Neil Emerson. It would find a way to mention in passing that I plan to see Kassi again a couple of days later alongside Emerson in Manchester, where I live, and that I drove over the hills of the old enemy to York only to hear her music at every possible opportunity, just as I travelled down to the Biddulph valley to hear it last year in a church in Staffordshire.

But above all, if it were good writing it would be able to describe the final song of the night when Kassi Valazza takes the stage for an encore and, singing alone, provides the purest moment. As her two travelling friends sit and look on in admiration from off-stage, Kassi strums her guitar and, closing her eyes, sings ‘One of These Days’ by Neil Young. One of these days, she sings, she’s gonna sit down and write a long letter, to all the good friends she’s known. And she’s gonna try and thank them for all the good times together, though so apart they’ve grown.

And the review would be able to explain only at great length what the singing of that song is able to communicate intuitively in a single moment. It would explain the hushed silence in the room from the audience; silence in the room, for the sound of Kassi and her guitar comes from another place. The writing would be able to press into the mind of the reader the thought that comes to the writer of the review with vivid clarity in the moment he hears the song, pressed as gently as Kassi presses it; the feeling of gratitude from the artist at the troubadour life they’ve chosen to lead, and a weariness tempered by sweetness, and a feeling of gratitude from the listener also as you experience the special moment that draws you to these artists in the first place, where they provide you with something you always wanted and perhaps needed but did not even know existed until they shone their light on it.

The writing would be able to evoke all the various memories which flood effortlessly through the mind as this song, lasting a few minutes, spreads itself out over an eternal time. The various memories made possible only because of the sacrifices these artists make, most of whom play small venues to a few dozen people and earn little to no money for the effort, and still decide to leave home for weeks and months and travel across an ocean to play and sing for people simply because people wish to hear them play and sing. And it would mention all those memories made in choosing to follow these artists to York and London and Staffordshire, and to hear them play at home in Manchester, and it would not just be memories such as Kassi playing in St. Lawrence’s Church in the darkness under pools of light, her song ‘Rapture’ soaring high into the eaves, but memories made possible by the decision to go at all, such as cresting the Biddulph valley in my car in the dark of the autumn night and seeing the town lit up in lights below; and finding my way to the church and walking up its path into the welcoming porchlight; or through the window of the train back from London the day after hearing Tyler Childers when I saw a red horse turn in a field and begin galloping, that I intended to put in a story somewhere; or spending the day today in York, walking its close, cobbled streets up to the skyscraping stone marvel of York Minster. And if it were good writing it would not invent anything but would mention how by the time I arrive in the late of the afternoon the cathedral would be closed to visitors, but that I would hear through the open doors the Minster’s choir sounding like angels beckoning to a better place, and yet I would know it would not be the sweetest music I would hear before the day was finished. And it would mention how I could not see the choir, only the darkness of the door and the candlelight within, and it would be able to show how truly this was enough.

If the writing were able to hold it all, it would recall in that moment Sierra Ferrell in Birkenhead with flowers in her hair, looking like she had stepped out of an Alphonse Mucha painting, and it would have Nick Shoulders with a head cold playing in a pub a few days after Hallowe’en, laughing at the toy spider decoration still spinning on a ceiling fan. It would have Charley Crockett leading his band into a blistering version of ‘Trinity River’, and it would have Billy Strings finding his way through ‘Hide and Seek’ as the song builds and builds and then breaks, the crowd thrashing like sharks around blood. And it would have space for the opening acts who are sacrificing more, perhaps, because their day is yet to come; for Tommy Prine singing a song about Gandalf all in white that I’ve not been able to hear again; for James Shakeshaft opening for Kassi tonight with a polished croon in his voice and a setlist of mostly unreleased songs which suggest his own best is still ahead of him; for Josh Beddis who opened for Sierra and for Mike West who at first I thought was a roadie gone rogue when he opened for Nick Shoulders in that pub in Bolton but who surprised me with his songwriting. It would have Mike and the Moonpies, who call themselves Silverada now; the metal shutter on the bar of the cellar where they play coming up like an ambush; the bassist Omar Oyoque leading the claps in ‘Beaches of Biloxi’; the two young bartenders dancing together during ‘Dance with Barbara’. It would have the crowd spontaneously singing the entirety of ‘Rich Men North of Richmond’ to a bashful Oliver Anthony the moment he steps on stage at Manchester’s Albert Hall; the London crowd singing along to ‘Shake the Frost’ with Tyler Childers; Tyler swearing as he calls out a fight developing during ‘Country Squire’. It should have him refusing as he is heckled yet again for ‘Whitehouse Road’, and it should have the look on the hecklers’ faces if they could have known, then, that he would play the song in Manchester the following year. And though I would wish it didn’t, it should have those who drowned out Tyler’s songs with their chatter in Manchester, and it should have John R. Miller if those same ignorant people that night had allowed me to actually hear him. It would have 49 Winchester and the Red Clay Strays showing that rock music was not dead but was instead being sheltered by country; it would have Isaac Gibson singing ‘Russell County Line’ and Brandon Coleman leading the audience in ‘Hey Jude’ simply because the Beatles once played there.

And what else should it contain about the music you have heard and which you love? It should have Charley Crockett’s amp blowing on stage and it should have the paper planes Oliver Anthony sent flying into the crowd. It should have John Hall of the Red Clay Strays getting a piggyback off the stage and Sierra Ferrell throwing flower petals as she steps onto it. It should have Billy Strings flubbing his lines on ‘Heartbeat of America’ and somehow making it work. It should have all those other people who went to hear the music with me, the forty or so tonight for Kassi and the thousands of others, who roared and clapped and sat quietly, and who all took away different memories from those nights and found a chord struck with a different song. It would have Billy Strings speaking to my friend after his show as she tells him what his song ‘Secrets’ means to her and it would have Kassi speaking to me after hers. It would have Billy and Kassi and Mike West reaching out later to thank me for what I wrote about them, though they had made the writing of it easy by doing it so well, and it would have the promoter Nick Barber referred to as a staff member because I didn’t know any better and I would correct it later. It would have Mike West carting his gear down a quiet road after opening for the Moonpies and the close heat of the Charley Crockett gig during a heatwave, so warm you forgot it was warm and just accepted it, and it would have the coolness of the evening at night’s end when a car turned out of a sidestreet in the Northern Quarter and a man played a trumpet through its open window. It would have the many drives home afterwards when the music I play through the car stereo cannot replace it and when I hear the songs afterwards they are always enhanced by the memories of hearing them live. And it will have these moments because it will never be the same again, even if the song or the setlist you hear the next time remains the same.

But above all if the writing were good it would have Kassi Valazza singing it won’t be long, it won’t be long, it won’t be long, because that moment contains in it all the other moments, and if the writing had that then you wouldn’t need to write it at all. The music would be it already. You would let the music play and you would listen to it and hear it and write about it if you had to, but the music would survive even if you didn’t write it and the moments would continue to be made by the musicians who travel the world for their daily bread. And because of that, you will feel it deeply as Kassi ends with that Neil Young song, even if you cannot describe it, and having felt it all you will always look to go and hear it again. While the writing cannot say all that as simply as the song plays it in that one pure moment, you can still sit down and write a long letter and then you can be sure it has been said.

Setlist:

(all songs from the album Kassi Valazza Knows Nothing and written by Kassi Valazza, unless noted)

  1. Birds Fly High (unreleased)
  2. Room in the City
  3. Rapture
  4. Johnny Dear (from Dear Dead Days)
  5. Watching Planes Go By
  6. Canyon Lines
  7. Song for a Season
  8. Roll On (unreleased)
  9. Welcome Song
  10. Early Morning Rising (single)
  11. Weight of the Wheel (unreleased)
  12. Wildageeses (Michael Hurley)
  13. Chino (from Dear Dead Days)
  14. Encore: One of These Days (Neil Young) (unreleased)

My concert reviews, including all of the gigs mentioned above, can be found here.

Happy Birthday, John Hall: The Red Clay Strays Live in Manchester

August 24, 2024 /

Wednesday 21st August 2024

O2 Ritz, Manchester, England

The first singalong of the night belongs not to the Red Clay Strays, nor even to Nolan Taylor, who opens for them tonight, but to the Gallagher brothers. By the time ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis plays over the sound system, the dance floor of the Manchester Ritz has filled. The choicest spots have already been taken along the wooden rails of the upper-level balconies that ring the venue, so I find a place by the metal rail at the front of the floor, just to the left of the stage. The bustling crowd, which had overlooked earlier gems like Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ and ‘Are You Sure Hank Done it This Way?’ by Waylon Jennings, combines to sing along to the nasal strains of Liam Gallagher, the song perhaps the only thing more Mancunian than the rain that has begun to fall outside.

It’s followed by the instantly-recognisable earworm ‘Spirit in the Sky’, and the Red Clay Strays choose this as their entrance music. As the song continues to play, the band take the stage. The Strays are an interesting picture, a mix of styles. Lead singer Brandon Coleman, seemingly a foot taller than anyone else and instantly recognisable with his slicked-back Elvis-style hair, is reliably dapper in a grey suit jacket and formal shoes. He looks like he’s stepped out of the Sun Records office in 1955 and sings like he’s stepped into Muscle Shoals.

Drummer John Hall and guitarist Zach Rishel are more contemporary. Hall, his energy barely contained behind his Ludwig drum set, is casual in a white t-shirt and reversed baseball cap, while Zach, in cap and jeans and carrying a sky-blue Fender guitar, will find time tonight between songs to hit a vape. Bassist Andrew Bishop and guitarist Drew Nix, meanwhile, embrace Americana with Western shirts and belts – Drew goes all-in by adding a big brown cowboy hat, worn as easily as if he’d been born in it. Meanwhile, the bearded, long-haired Sevans Henderson, the most recent addition to the band, looks like he’s been poached from the tour bus of a Seventies band to play keys for the Strays.

But regardless of the eclectic look of its members, when the music starts, these Strays come together into a pack. They tear straight into the frantic rock energy of ‘Ramblin”, moving the needle to 11 the moment they’ve switched on. The song, a studio jam from their recent breakout album Made By These Moments, is followed by the groovy bass notes that announce ‘Stone’s Throw’, from their previous album Moment of Truth. Both albums will find equal representation in the setlist tonight.

It’s a busy stage tonight, and from my position at the front rail I can see that it’s very much a family affair. Brandon Coleman’s wife Macie is among those recording the event, and she seems as big a fan of the Red Clay Strays as anyone. Glamorous in a long, fur-lined leather coat, she is later obliged to remove it due to the heat of the venue, and continues to seek ideal vantage points from which to film.

Also filming is Brandon’s brother Matthew, wielding a professional camera and moving around, often in between the six members of the band on stage during the songs. If this were anyone else it might feel intrusive, but Matthew is a key part of the band and its success – as much a Seventh Stray as there was a Fifth Beatle. Later tonight, Brandon will stand before the mic and attribute much of the band’s viral popularity to his brother’s efforts.

Matthew is also an artist in his own right, writing a number of the band’s finest songs. That’s proven now on stage, as the band follow ‘Stone’s Throw’ with two songs penned by Matthew, the vulnerable, confessional ‘Forgive’ and the tough, strutting ‘Disaster’. “If you’re looking for a prophet, I tell you I ain’t,” Brandon sings in the latter, “but I know when it’s gonna rain.” That might be no great prophecy in the northern city of Manchester, where it rains even on this August summer evening, but it sounds great. ‘Disaster’, telling obliquely the story of biblical kings, is tonight’s first marker for one of the Alabaman band’s most remarkable features: their bold fealty to a Christian mythos and spirituality that never feels preachy or uncool.

This fealty is so measured and relaxed that, for an embarrassing minute, I don’t even register that Brandon is singing “good God Almighty” in the next song, a lusty ‘Good Godly Woman’. My brain registers it as “good dynamite”, although, as the Strays’ songwriting may suggest, it’s not clear which of the two can be the more potent explosive.

For the next song, Brandon invites Nolan Taylor back to the stage. The bearded singer-songwriter from Ohio had opened the night with a fine ten-song acoustic set, delivered in a penetratingly clear voice. Highlights included the lyrical ‘Wicked Ways’, ‘500’ and ‘Driving You Home’ – the latter his contribution to the recent Twisters film soundtrack. (The Red Clay Strays decide not to include their own contribution, the country-rocker ‘Caddo County’, in their setlist tonight.) However, the self-proclaimed hillbilly’s finest song had been ‘Darkness’, written when he was suicidal and “not feeling happy or sad about it”. Its plaintive emotional honesty, punctuated by a haunting whistle, is in keeping with the Strays’ own ethos.

Now his finest moment comes as, following Brandon’s lead, Nolan takes the second verse of ‘Moment of Truth’. Backed by the amplified sound of the Strays, Nolan’s voice soars even further than during his own set, and when he leaves the stage at the song’s end it’s to deserved cheers from the crowd.

As the Strays prepares for their next song, Brandon shakes his shoulders and looks up to the ceiling. He exhales deeply, as though preparing, before taking on the soulful vocals of ‘Heavy Heart’. The song, penned by his brother, is followed by two written by guitarist Drew Nix, ‘Drowning’ and ‘Devil in My Ear’. Both are singles from the recent album, and address directly what has become an integral mission statement from the band.

Brandon introduces the latter by speaking to the audience about the problems of mental health, of feeling depressed and alone and, well, drowning. It’s an important subject and one not often adequately addressed, particularly among men. It’s something I’ve attempted to tackle myself in my own writing, with my novel Void Station One following a man who decides to commit suicide by black hole, and the Strays are articulating it as well as anyone. ‘Drowning’ gets some suitably raw, torn vocals from Brandon, while the moody, bluesy ‘Devil in My Ear’ wraps itself in Sevans’ swarming organ sound and is punctuated by some fine slide guitar from its author, Drew Nix.

At this point, following the early example of his wife, who continues to roam around in her floral-print dress, Brandon removes his suit jacket. He also unslings the sunburst electric guitar he’s been playing for most of tonight’s songs, and takes a seat by Sevans Henderson at the keys. Continuing the themes by which the Strays draw much of their strength, Brandon introduces the next song as being “about feeling hopeless but trusting in Jesus anyway”. Penned by his brother Matthew, ‘Sunshine’ is a heartfelt, classic soul song, its nexus of mental health and spirituality illustrating the importance of the Seventh Stray to the band’s art and message.

‘Sunshine’ is followed by ‘Ghosts’, Brandon getting up from the keys to take centre-stage once again. Just when it feels like it’s over, the song is given a second wind, the band turning it up a notch and drummer John Hall banging away like Keith Moon incarnate. Hall’s been a busy man tonight, frequently wiping sweat from his face, bashing maniacally on his drums, leading the audience in singalongs – standing to do so, as in ‘Sunshine’ – and just all around giving the impression that he’s a man in perfect time, enjoying life in the moment.

He has even more reason to be enjoying tonight; Brandon announces to the crowd that today is John W. Hall’s 31st birthday. The drummer graciously accepts the candle-lit cake that is brought on stage, and the band enlist the crowd to sing along to ‘Happy Birthday’.

We’re halfway through a fantastic, high-energy show; with 21 songs over nearly two hours (not counting the ‘Happy Birthday’ song), the Red Clay Strays certainly provide good value for a night of live music. To the delight of the crowd, the band now step it up a notch, Drew’s slide guitar announcing ‘Wanna Be Loved’, the lead single from their new album. As Brandon strums gently on his sunburst electric guitar, the crowd sings along with him. The song is already a fan favourite.

The vibe of the next song, ‘No One Else Like Me’, is like that of Seventies road-trip music, and it is interesting to see the band shift into the lazy, good-time ease of this different gear. They soon change up, however, giving the song a mad, rocking end. While the crowd roars, Brandon takes the opportunity to swap his electric guitar for his acoustic.

Introduced as a gospel song, ‘On My Knees’ is a kinetic highlight of the night, full of praisin’ and testifyin’ as the crowd claps the rhythm. Brandon lets go, dancing energetically on the spot, his hips moving as vigorously as his legs. In such moments, you remember that American rock ‘n’ roll was once a blend of many styles, of R&B and soul and gospel and country, that Elvis was more than just a haircut and old-time America had a sense of fun and energy to its music, and that the Red Clay Strays are bringing it back. The song’s a throwback that hits home.

It’s at this point, slinging his sunburst electric guitar back on and plugging it in, that Brandon praises his brother Matthew for growing their online audience. Introducing the last Matthew-penned song of the night, the Coleman brothers have left the best for last. ‘I’m Still Fine’ is one of those songs that, in the best possible sense, sounds like you’ve heard it before. Its melody compels instant affection from the listener, and Brandon does his brother’s soulful lyrics proud, sounding like Otis Redding if Otis sang rock ‘n’ roll.

The band as a whole have been a triumph, and as they power through the rocker ‘Doin’ Time’, Brandon replaces many of the lyrics with tributes to each member of the band. The song feels like a closer, and at its end the band leave the stage, though the crowd stamps and roars for an encore. We’re still far from the end, however. For while strong songs like ‘Moments’ won’t get an airing tonight, we still haven’t heard the band’s most viral, vital song, and it’s inconceivable they’d leave the Manchester Ritz without singing it.

Brandon Coleman comes back out on stage alone, and delivers a fine acoustic rendition of ‘Will the Lord Remember Me?’ After it ends, the rest of the band come back out to join him, and Brandon relates the band’s struggles before and during the Covid times. Testifying again to their sense of purpose, the band breaks into ‘God Does’, an overt, unashamed ode to spiritual conviction. Penned by Drew Nix, it offers the guitarist another moment to shine as he breaks out the harmonica, drawing roars from the crowd.

It’s time for that viral song, and every phone is out and raised high as Brandon sings the familiar opening lines to ‘Wondering Why’. This is the song that, for one reason or another, has caught fire more than any other, though the band’s collective songwriting is so strong it could easily have been a number of the others we’ve heard tonight. Drew Nix is the one officially providing harmony vocals, along with some keen notes on his slide guitar, but everyone in the building is singing along. Behind the drums, birthday boy John Hall is singing too, and his tasteful playing shows he’s more than just a wild animal behind the kit.

It’s time for the band’s natural closer. ‘Don’t Care’ is the Red Clay Strays in their groove. The self-penned lyrics are the perfect fit for Brandon’s vocal style, and the song allows Drew and Zach Rishel to build some epic guitar sounds. The song allows John Hall to cut loose, the drummer feeling free enough to throw his sticks in the air at the most cathartic moment. This is a band in their element, when all the years of work coalesce and the end of a long, hard road must feel easy and effortless in the final moments of a song.

But we’re not done yet. “That’s usually our last song,” Brandon says, telling us “we’re in new territory now.” He heads over to join Sevans Henderson on the keys again. “We’ve been told the Beatles played here,” he says, “so we’d like to sing you a Beatles song.”

As an avid Beatles fan, it’s a special moment for me, just as it was when Billy Strings sang ‘And Your Bird Can Sing’ in Manchester last year. “We don’t do this a lot,” Brandon says. “We might mess it up, we might not – don’t judge us.” I find myself thinking what song it could be, and I realise that, such is the versatility of the band and the various influences they incorporate, they could do justice to any number of them.

“Hey Jude,” Brandon sings, piecing together the famous notes on the piano. The crowd picks up on it immediately, and sings along. It’s a rough-and-ready version of ‘Hey Jude’, and as everyone joins in on the famous extended ‘na-na-na-nah’ outro, Brandon’s voice proving well-suited for Paul McCartney’s scat-singing, the Red Clay Strays put their own fingerprint on the song. The tempo increases, with Zach providing a wailing guitar solo and John thrashing his Ludwig drums as Ringo never did. While the other Strays continue to stoke the fire, Brandon gets up from the keys and bows separately to each side of the stage, taking in the applause of the crowd and waving as he does so.

The band play on, the crowd continue to sing, but all good nights of music must end, and at some point it stops. The band bow and wave as the crowd cheers and applauds, and they leave the stage. John Hall, the birthday boy, turns gift-giver, leaning forward from the front of the stage and handing one of his drumsticks to someone a few feet away from me. He raises his beer in salute to the crowd which is now filtering out into the night, and jumps on the back of a roadie. The obliging roadie gives him a running piggyback off the stage, to the cheers of those of us who remain.

But these guys don’t need to be carried. The Red Clay Strays are flying.

Setlist:

(all songs from the album Made By These Moments, unless noted)

  1. Ramblin’ (The Red Clay Strays/Dave Cobb)
  2. Stone’s Throw (Drew Nix/Eric Erdman) (from Moment of Truth)
  3. Forgive (Matthew Coleman) (from Moment of Truth)
  4. Disaster (M. Coleman)
  5. Good Godly Woman (Brandon Coleman/Nix/Brandon Rickman) (single)
  6. Moment of Truth (M. Coleman) (from Moment of Truth)
  7. Heavy Heart (M. Coleman) (from Moment of Truth)
  8. Drowning (Nix)
  9. Devil in My Ear (Nix)
  10. Sunshine (M. Coleman) (from Moment of Truth)
  11. Ghosts (Nix) (from Moment of Truth)
  12. Happy Birthday (Patty Hill/Mildred J. Hill) (unreleased)
  13. Wanna Be Loved (M. Coleman/Dakota Coleman)
  14. No One Else Like Me (B. Coleman/M. Coleman)
  15. On My Knees (The Red Clay Strays/Cobb)
  16. I’m Still Fine (M. Coleman)
  17. Doin’ Time (Nix) (from Moment of Truth)
  18. Will the Lord Remember Me? (E. M. Bartlett) (single)
  19. God Does (Nix)
  20. Wondering Why (B. Coleman/Nix/Dan Couch) (from Moment of Truth)
  21. Don’t Care (B. Coleman) (from Moment of Truth)
  22. Hey Jude (John Lennon/Paul McCartney) (unreleased)

The novel mentioned in this review, Void Station One, can be found here.

© 2024 Mike Futcher

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