The new year has already brought us a lot of interesting new music in unexpected ways. Scott Helland’s career has taken him from hardcore punk to thrash metal, to folk-punk cabaret, to working with J Macias (Dinosaur Junior), and more; he never fails to surprise with his continuous evolution as an artist.
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Though 2020 has been a year of noxious politics, dizzying precaution, and dispiriting inaction, anyone tapped into music culture has been thankful for artists like Baltimore-based June Star, artists without whose honesty, heartfelt storytelling, and outright kick-ass songs make the worst of times more manageable. Luckily, despite the heaviness of the moment, Andrew Grimm’s recording project June Star buoys souls with aching vocals and plaintive folk arrangements. Paired with his literature-indebted perspective, Grimm comes off like Smog-era Bill Callahan if he had chosen to dive inward or The Jayhawks if they were more keen to stark emotional realism. June Star brings a time-honored aesthetic to his unique tales of fractious love, quixotic anxiety, and the looming shadow of death.
Coming off a dizzyingly prolific run of releases – this will mark his 11th full-length record in six years – June Star’s forthcoming 2021 release How We See it Now came about by breaking through the social-emotional chokehold that 2020 strapped the world with. Though these songs were not written for or during the lockdown (for that see Grimm’s 2020 solo release A Little Heat), they were born from a flurry of creative output. Grimm holed up at Magpie Cage Studios in Baltimore, MD and culled together a ‘best of’ from his past three years worth of Bandcamp output. When he finally sat down to listen to years worth of material, these were the songs that stood out as surefire winners.
Listening through, it’s easy to hear what was so special about these twelve tracks: pedal-steel laden laments sway drunkenly next to folk-rock foot-stompers and his vocal performances ache with the same existential doubt we all feel at the moment. But where some artists wallow, June Star searches for hope. On songs like “I’m Not Afraid of the Fall” his romantic resignation comes off not like a forlorn sigh, but a deep breath, prepping himself for all the joy and pain that comes hand-in-hand with love and existence.
Grimm’s elegiac and bottom-heavy tenor opens the album by hopefully intoning, “If we get any better/Would you respond next time?” The impressionistic nature of this sentiment – both sanguine and dejected – rubs elbows with bittersweet cello and effervescent chorus-laden guitars, recalling a familiar jaded pop prowess (like if Jeff Tweedy were indebted to Johnny Marr rather than Gram Parsons). Elsewhere, the insistent thrum of the titular track disarmingly nails the marriage of modern Americana with the sticky harmonies of late-90s pop rock ala the Gin Blossoms and Old 97s. Regardless of where the needle lands, Grimm is there with his guitar and a very talented group of folk-rock musicians anchored by Dave Hadley’s expert pedal steel playing. Deftly produced by Bunky Hunt, the entire album emits a warmth not just from the traditional instrumentation, but also the way Hunt seems to capture the energy of live performance and highlight the rapturous details that make the distinction between an album and a classic clear.
Grimm, who has been plugging away on the scene with June Star since 1998, doubles as an Academic, teaching college literature courses during the day, while crafting songs in his spare time. In essence, Grimm has been producing albums since 1998, though he humbly claims that he has only mastered it in the last decade. As Grimm’s writing has matured and grown, he’s learned to focus his lyrics and narratives on the external, even going so far as to write an entire album focusing on his neighbors on 2018’s East on Green. Adopting this new ethos has engendered a myriad of songs culminating in How We See it Now, which expertly melds the lyrical punch of his literary inspirations with the down-to-earth, no bullshit naturalism of Paul Westerberg.
And while the world anticipates the return of live music with bated breath, Grimm is taking full advantage of his free time continuing to plug away at his songcraft and capturing the precarious spirit of modern times. Luckily, while the world awaits egress from hibernation, we have records like How We See it Now to suture the cracks in our collective hearts.
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Like the local dive bar’s perennial drunkard, Parker Smith’s music has that rare ability to thrive while at its scrappiest. All aching pedal steel and cigarette-soaked pleas, Smith seems to put his own spiritual turmoil in a chokehold, elevating it until he squeezes out the elegant songs that make for his forthcoming sophomore LP, Underground. Unlike most of his peers in the Americana community, Smith manages to defy being pigeonholed by inflecting his music with touches of blue-eyed soul (“Fray”), Asbury Park-indebted blues-rock (“Holy Water”), and even Gordon Lightfoot (“Arrowroot”).
Though Underground might technically fall under the umbrella of a “quarantine album,” these songs differentiate themselves from Smith’s oeuvre in their raw, confessional nature and their hummability: these are songs not easily shaken from memory. And aptly so, as the album itself deals with the pain, guilt, and heartbreak inherent in engaging with some of your deepest memories. This theme is most concisely captured on “Arrowroot” – another name for the invasive plant kudzu – where he slyly recounts the disruptive nature of memory itself and, as Smith himself tells it, “trying to clear your head when all of that [memory] is weighing you down.”
However, most poignantly adhering to this motif is the tragic balladry of “Company Man,” which recounts his own father’s licentious perfidy and subsequent exposure at the hands of Smith’s mother. Rather than revel in self-pity though, Smith adopts his mother’s point-of-view and transforms a story of a marriage’s defeat into a triumph of his mother’s spirit: “They checked in to different rooms/But he never unpacked in room 402/Dropped his suitcase in 403/Son of a bitch underestimated me.”
Elsewhere, on the aforementioned “Holy Water,” echoes of Smith’s struggles with faith haunt the songwriter – “Try to unravel/This heavy tome/That I carry around in a box” – before he intones that even his spiritual plight can’t hold him down – “No holy water will smooth this rock.” All the while, the glam-turned-Americana riff accentuates Smith’s swagger and confidence before ceding the floor to a searing sax solo courtesy of Zac Evans.
Of course, this album wouldn’t have been possible were it not for the crack-team of artists and players he assembled. Colin Agnew and Noah Kess both lent their production and mixing talents, while Colin also played drums and percussion and John Kingsley (pedal steel), Mimi Naja (backing vocals), Chris Case (keys), and Kelly McFarling (backing vocals) round out the supporting cast.
Parker Smith (FKA Parker Smith and the Bandwith) grew up in Atlanta, Georgia and though he hails from a non-musical family, his abilities and passion for playing seeped through at a young age. After nurturing his interest in middle school, high school saw Smith involved in numerous garage bands. Following his passion through college at the University of Miami, where he played in a Songwriting Ensemble – one founded by the Bruce Hornsby. It was here, in this ensemble that, after inspirational work with musicians from all over the globe, he began considering a career in music. Smith eventually became a music teacher at all levels of schooling before earning a graduate degree in music education from the University of Texas. Finally, moving back to Atlanta in 2015, Smith quickly found himself absorbed in the music scene, channeling his disparate influences – The Allman Brothers, Miles Davis, Randy Newman to name a few – and passion for music education into opening Guitar Shed, a music school for young aspiring musicians. As if juggling his own business wasn’t enough to satiate the artist’s appetite, all the while, Smith has kept a steady foot in the Atlanta music scene by playing out as often as possible.
Ultimately, Underground is the sound of living and of life, of the ways we grapple with our pasts, and of the ways we forge through the murkiest depths of the current. All told, Underground stands as a breathtaking work of Americana and the American spirit in 2020, perennially sinking, but always moving forward.
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BEN HARPER : “Mississippi to Sahara is a great record. I love it, and I love how it sounds. I can only imagine the wonderful songs
to come from Farees in the future”
TAJ MAHAL : “This is extraordinary work. Farees has grown so incredibly strong! The new record is nothing short of outstanding!!”
JOEY BURNS OF CALEXICO : This is an important album at a crucial time. I am drawn into the circle of his guitar and voice that is both meditative and inspirational. This is an essential album. Get it now!”
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“Oh, you were in Deep Wound?”: an FAQ for punk roots thrasher Scott Helland, whose prolific songwriting has yielded over 30 records since the ‘80s, ever since that fateful flyer fell into the hands of lo-fi heroes, J Mascis and Lou Barlow.
No stranger to DIY venues and seedy dive-bars, Helland once had a gun pulled on him and his brother Vis, who went to settle up with the owner at the venerable punk rock club Electric Banana in Pittsburgh, ca. 1984. At the time, he was in Outpatients, opening up for Battalion of Saints. The hard-luck dues paid off later for Helland, who has since opened for many great rock bands, including Hüsker Dü, Black Flag w/ Henry Rollins, Cro-Mags, COC, 7 Seconds and more.
Growing up with parents who were deeply entrenched in the world of academia, Helland was accustomed to frequent visits to jazz concerts and art museums. “I remember the first music concert I ever attended: it was The Count Basie Orchestra. I had a great relationship with my father, and my mother too. They were both very progressive,” says Helland. “I recently inherited my dad’s 400-album jazz record collection.”
Harking back to freshman year in high school, Helland’s father passed suddenly, after enduring an ongoing headache that plagued him for two days. “My brother took him to the hospital while I was in school, and about an hour later, he was in a coma. The next day he died from an aneurysm, just like that,” Helland recalls.
“It was a huge shock and we were torn apart – an empty seat at the table – and I thought, ‘wow, life is gonna be tough… maybe let’s not let people in too much.’ So punk rock pushed me through, just going crazy on stage, thrashing around with this sort of exorcism of stress and sadness and anxiety,” says Helland.
Further immersed in the open arms of like-minded, yet big-hearted thrashers, Helland kept up with Outpatients in ‘84, as Deep Wound morphed into Dinosaur Jr. Helland became obsessed with the ever-important aspect of getting lost in a space where one feels unique kinship.
From one extreme to the next, Helland jettisoned punk rock and thrash metal in the ‘90s, picking up an acoustic that he began strumming and chasing after atmospheric melodies and the songs that came with it. Helland relied on looping and self-sufficiency, which eventually led him down a path of spy-noir instrumentals, inspired by The Rockford Files, The Man from Uncle, I Spy, and others from childhood immersion.
In the tight-lipped, complex, and solitary characters celebrated in those shows, Helland finds an analog for his own go-it-alone forays into stylish post-punk guitar composition. “I like the thought of providing music for a movie inside someone’s head,” says Helland. Thus, his solo career under the moniker, Guitarmy of One, was born.
On his forthcoming LP, The Spy Detective Collective, Guitarmy of One looks to the crime and intrigue of shows of the ‘60s and ‘70s for inspiration as well as for dashes of melodic and cultural source material. In a bit of coded intrigue, Guitarmy of One’s song titles all contain the word ‘one’ buried in them. Some songs are dedicated to singular heroes of the genre: the ominous riffage of “Perry Mason Exoneration” and the moody, Eastern-Euro tinged spy rock of “Emma Bella Citronella,” an homage to Emma Peel of The Avengers. Other songs conflate multiple titles and characters, leaving a referential riddle for the listener: the shimmering, tuneful “Overtones of Hercule and Holmes,” the brash and driving album opener, “I Spy the Prisoner.”
Described by The Big Takeover as “an accomplished ex-punk who has made the striking transition to atmospheric soundtracks,” Helland weaves his mysterious and generous acoustic-electric melodies over propulsive spy riffs and electro beats, layering and building patiently toward engrossing payoffs.
Helland hasn’t ditched his punk roots altogether though, still going strong in Euro-American acoustic alternative, post-punk cabaret duo Frenchy and the Punk, with Samantha Stephenson. He’s also been keeping up with J Mascis in an all-covers band called The Growers, which also features Kurt Fedora (guitar), Mark Mulcahy (vocals) and Don McAulay (drums).
“About 70% of these songs were written over the last few months during this pandemic,” he says. “Engulfing myself in the writing process has helped me to deal with the strange reality of not being able to tour and play shows, which has been my livelihood for so long. The confusion and uncertainty of this time may very well be what birthed the whole spy theme. It gives me the chance to be serious about being silly, and vice versa.”
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The pop/funk/R&B/soul singer and guitarist that is Dylan Chambers has journeyed from Arlington, TX to Los Angeles, where the powerhouse vocalist has dug his heels in, coming a long way since the singer-songwriter tact of his debut EP, while expanding his oeuvre to meet the crest of a fuller, more robust sound rooted in soul. Spinning up a string of new singles with longtime producer, Stefan Litrownik (Boyz II Men, Andy Grammer), Chambers is raring to garner the charm of timeless classics, having no scruples about citing modern stalwarts such as Vulfpeck, Jacob Collier, Devon Gilfilian and all who are concerned with preserving the sanctity of soul. In the past, he’s collaborated with producer John Alagia (John Mayer, Herbie Hancock), critically acclaimed singer Haley Reinhart (American Idol, F is for Family), Mark Ballas (Dancing with the Stars) and Grammy Award-nominated, multi-platinum jazz artist Dave Koz.
Chambers’ new single “Breakdown” – an infectious mantra that reflects the singer’s emotional fatigue during lockdown – was the catalyst for its counterpart, “Some Kind of Happy.” Both new singles harness a lifeforce that demonstrate Chambers’ resilience as a songwriter, and an uncanny ability to cast bright and bold melodies, enlivened by the singer’s impressive vocal range, grimy synth bass and electric guitar rhythms beholden to Prince. Creating a party atmosphere, even when the narrative is centered around having a nervous breakdown, is what Chambers is all about. “We’re always thinking about what’s next, constantly moving and not allowing ourselves to feel vulnerable, or just not making enough time for it. So lately, I’ve been focussed on the intention of feeling good and feeling happy, and so I’ve been checking in with myself and thinking, ‘look, life is passing you by,’ so what can we do to make ourselves feel better? Time is slipping,” says Chambers.
Chambers moved to Los Angeles in 2011 with his roommate, resident choreographer of RuPaul’s Drag Race and American Idol finalist, Todrick Hall. Hustling quite a bit at first to keep up, he worked as a barista by day and performed open-mic nights at The Parlor on Melrose, while also taking up various residences around Hollywood. Pretty soon, he met and became fast friends with Mark Ballas of Dancing with the Stars, which led him to performing on the show and joining the national DWTS tour as a featured singer and guitarist in 2014, performing with that season’s winner Alfonso Ribeiro (Carlton on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air) and many more.
While his spiritual framework remains intact, with the acknowledgement that serendipity is a universal truth and a language in its own right, Chambers also realizes that he has to step out and make his own luck: “People aren’t gonna change your life. It’s not their job. They’re trying to change their life. You’ve gotta change yours. Do everything you can to do it. And if you have a life that you really wanna live, that’s full of adventure and wildness, or whatever… that’s up to you. You gotta create that atmosphere for yourself, ‘cause nobody else is gonna do it.” And that’s where one of Chambers’ last singles came from – “I Can Do it Myself” – exuding confidence and rivaling Bruno Mars.
“I’ve learned in spirituality that, whatever the goal is, you almost have to run in the complete opposite direction to get to it. And it makes sense to me, now. I think I’ve kind of been doing that for a long time. It just didn’t hit me until recently. You’re not going to get what you want, immediately, if it’s worth your time in the long run,” says Chambers.