The ladies showing the love.

By my way of reckoning, there's nothing like the call of the drum, and in downtown Ashvegas, we've got the regular Friday night drum circle and a very active drumming scene.

I've heard the group outside the drum store on Eagle Street before, but last night I stopped to check them out a little more closely. I didn't get the chance to talk to the drummers, but it seems like the group is pretty tight and plays together often.
I heard the echoes banging off the downtown buildings after having a couple of brews and slices at Barley's with friends from out of town. The sound pulled me up Biltmore and over to the little Eagle Street storefront. Others followed.

Tourists stopped and stared. Some bounced their heads. Others snapped photos. Moms tried to keep control of their babies, who feel and react to the call of the drum instinctively. They hop and bounce and run and twirl. What is it about human nature that finds the drum so intoxicating?

I don't know, and I'm going to stop questioning it, because it speaks to me in a way that, if spelled out, would lose its magic. At least that's my fear.

The leader of the bunch on Eagle street is a dreadlocked, sinewy dude who charismatically interacts with his fellow musicians and unabashedly plays to the crowd. He sure is fun to watch.

I'm sure they'll be playing Goombay later this month. You definitely need to stop by and check them out. Don't deny yourself the call of the drum.

Our Ashvegas air guitarist didn't win the U.S. Air Guitar championships this past week. Charlie "American Breeder" Wilson gave it his best, but in the end it was Fatima "Rockness Monster" Hoang who took the big prize and will be competiting in Finland for the world title. Oh, well. There's always next year.

As you, my loyal readers, may recall, I "covered" the air guitar contest over at the Westville Pub a few months back. Ashvegas was one of a handful of cities (all of them much larger than Ashvegas) to hold regional competitions to see who would be competing in the U.S. Air Guitar Championships.

Well, that day has come. The competition is Thursday in LA. This story in Sunday's New York Times reminded me of the event, and of just how seriously these people take this shit.
And the All-American Breeder will be proudly representin' A-Town. (The Breeder said his name comes from his background growing up and working to breed cattle. I'm not sure, but I think he actually had to jack off the bulls, collect the sperm, and inseminate the cows. A perfect upbringing for an artist learning to make love to an audience.)

The local contest was a blast. Here's a little flava of what I wrote at the time:

I never realized what an imaginary masturbatory pleasure air guitaring is for performers, thrusting their hips forward and strumming their groins wearing their best orgasm faces. It must be quite a thrill.
The Breeder rocked his nads off. It came down to him and another guy. Both were bouncing around the stage and ripping each other's clothes off. They air guitared "Paradise City."

The winner this week in LA will go on to fight for the world crown. That ax battle is in Finland.

But I'm here to tell you, the competition is about to get nasty. Here's the NYT writer, an air guitarist himself, talking about what it takes to win:

Wearing a silver jumpsuit and star-spangled armbands filled with dry ice, and rocking under the moniker Björn Türoque (pronounced tu-RAWK), I froze out the other contenders with my explosive rendition of "Set Me Free" by Sweet (an obscure yet classic glam-rock anthem). Advanced airmanship to be sure.

Air guitar is not about pretending to be a rock star. You must be that rock star. You might not need to put dry ice in your armbands to create smoky contrails as you strum, but it helps. As far as other wardrobe options go, nudity is an obvious attention-getter and has become a performance staple, but so far it hasn't won any competitions. And to paraphrase Twain, clothes make the air guitarist.

Another key component is your stage name. Puns are good, like Air Lingus (an Irish-American competitor), Air-Do-Well, and Air-satz. Something simple and to the point, like the Shred, works too. And don't go with a slow song, as I mistakenly did last year with Air Supply's ballad "Making Love Out of Nothing at All," which, when up against the lightning-fast licks of "Queen in Love" by Yngwie Malmsteen, quickly deflated. You may want a track with which the audience is familiar, but avoid clichés like Van Halen's "Eruption" (the air guitar equivalent to playing "Stairway to Heaven" in a guitar store) or Jimi Hendrix's rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner."

Finally, air guitar is an instrument, but it's an entirely different instrument from the so-called "real" guitar. So don't focus on your fingering too much as you play. Remember, if you hit a bad note only you will know. Instead, engage the crowd: make eye contact, perch yourself on the monitor and flutter your tongue; make fans get out their air lighters.

Breeder, good luck to ya. You're gonna need it.

Ashvegas music correspondent McFly did Ashvegas after dark Wednesday night and filed this report:

The head banging was the same, but the hair was a bit shorter. And though we could see Jim James' face this time, we still couldnt understand most of what he was singing.
But like fellow cryptographer Michael Stipe, it really doesn't matter what James is saying - the audience connection is still there. James' band My Morning Jacket was back at the Orange Peel last night, where the group of Kentucky headhunters worked their way through another strong set of feedback-rich, atmospheric jams, which included the band's trademark heavy reverb on James' voice.

"People always told me that bars are dark and lonely, and talk is often cheap and filled with air," James crooned during the more decipherable "Golden" from 2003's "It Still Moves." Tunes from that breakthrough album formed the backbone of the set, but the band also broke out a loose cover of Dylan's "Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You" that the Rolling Thunder Revue would have certified.

MMJ heads to Knoxville today, before returning to this weekend's Bonnaroo, where blissed-out fans will likely appreciate the visual addition of a Beethoven-wigged conducter who waves a baton at the band throughout the show.
Fans who soaked in the Louisville-based band's dense sounds last night benefitted from a new prop at the Orange Peel: a helicopter-sized ceiling fan that swirled the indoor air. Motioning to the fan early in the night, James said the stage would slowly rise until the show peaked with the resulting carnage. Mercifully, he was just joking.

- McFly

This from Ashvegas music correspondent MicFly:

Truck Stop: Patterson Hood in Town

When guitarists for rave-up rock bands do one-off solo shows, it's often time break out the acoustic guitar and visit the softer side of life. Drive-By Trucker Pattersoon Hood brought an acoustic with him to Asheville Pizza & Brewing Co. on Friday night, but still couldnt let go of his Les Pauls.

Calling for beers and bar towels, Hood plugged in and cranked out a loose and loud set of solo and Truckers tunes for an several dozen devoted fans. Joined on-stage by Truckers drummer Brad "Easy B" Morgan, Hood worked up a sweat three chords into "Tornadoes," from the band's latest, The Dirty South.

Introducing "Dead, Drunk and Naked," as the oldest cut on the Trucker's landmark double album "Southern Rock Opera," Hood belted out the tune with customary vigor. "Me and old Jack Daniels, become the best of friends; we got all them Baptists to die for our sins," he sang.

Hood bantered with his fans throughout the evening, announcing that he and two decade-long collaborator Mike Cooley would soon undertake their own retrospective tour, playing songs running back to their first '80s band, Adam's Housecat.

With members of the Truckers in Western North Carolina over the weekend for a friend's wedding, several fans hoped to see an impromptu DBT set Friday. Those hardy enough to trek to the Watershed early Saturday morning got some satisfaction, as Hood joined newest Trucker guitarist Jason Isbell about 1 a.m. for a few set-closing songs at the Black Mountain club.

From a true Ashvegas audiophile - hell, le'ts just call him Audiophile for now. Here's his take on last night's Ryan Adams show at the Thomas Wolfe:

Grizzled Adams

Ian Stewart would be jealous. Even the tenured Stones sideman didn’t get to bust out a hushed, solo version of Brown Sugar on piano during a show.

Alt country poster boy Ryan Adams’ can follow his bliss, however, and his brooding, slow jazz version of the tune was a highlight of his show last night at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium. "That was scary, man," murmured one spectator. "Play whatever the fuck you want to," shouted another approvingly from across the venue.

Although the show did not sell out, the members of Asheville’s faded T-shirt crowd who ventured out on a Monday enjoyed a compelling if occasionally erratic two-set performance from Adams and his current backing band, the Cardinals.

After opening with a string of riff-heavy tunes from his new double-disc Cold Roses, Adams looked lost before abandoning his guitars for the piano. "Jesus Christ" he announced as he sat to play a soulful "Rescue Blues" to loud applause. Mercifully, no one shouted for "Summer of ’69" during the pause.

A Tar Heel native, Adams long ago left Eastern North Carolina for the hipster vortex of Manhattan’s East Village. But he showed his native land (and Andie McDowell) some love toward the end of the night. "Its really humbling to come back and play in this state," he said. "In my humble opinion Asheville is a pretty great place."

In the second set, Adams ran the band through "To Be Young" and "My Winding Wheel" from 2000’s Heartbreaker before closing with a solo acoustic performance.

After dismissing the band, he muttered an extended apology about having to rush through the encores before curfew. But Adams managed to avoid smashing his acoustic guitar, as your AshevilleBlog music correspondent watched him do during a Whiskeytown gig in Charlotte years ago.

This time, he set the instrument face down on the stage and walked off.

All hail His Airness.
That would be the winner of the Ashvegas regional of the Air Guitar World Championships.

That would be the dude (shown here) who dubbed himself the All-American Breeder and proceeded to rock the Westville Pub in West Ashvegas last night. He won himself a free trip to LA and a chance to compete for a spot in the world competition held in Finland.
The event was sponsored by Mountain Xpress, and the Westville was packed to the gills. The crowd was hyped. Chicks love guitars (even air guitars, apparently) and the place was packed with 'em, even it was Ashvegas and most of them were lesbians.
I never realized what an imaginary masturbatory pleasure air guitaring is for performers, thrusting their hips forward and strumming their groins wearing their best orgasm faces. It must be quite a thrill. (Even Scott Wickersham gave us a taste of his on Friday during some happytalk with Tammy between news reading on WLOS. Scott, I knew there was a secret Edge in there just dying to get out.)

On the downside, the organization of the competition (the only regional not held in a big city like Boston or chicago or New York) sucked. Royally. Round one dragged on when three people decided at the last minute they wanted to enter (including the Breeder) and round two didn't get started until after midnight.

The crowd was sloshed. The performers were well into their cups. And the MC had plenty of time to smoke his cigs. (Lame MC joke of the night: How dumb is George Bush? He's so dumb he thought Social Security was armed guards at a barbecue. Ha. Ha.)
Still, it was goofy fun when the wannabe Stevie Rays and Anguses and Jimis hit the stage. Judges rated stage presence, technical merit and the ever elusive "airness." I have no idea who the judges were, although they commented, American Idol-like, after every performance.

The All American Breeder definitely commanded the stage. In his first set, he took the stage, turned his back to the crowd, stripped off his shirt, slung his air guitar over his shoulder in perfect pantomime, and rocked.
The judges weeded out the fakes by picking songs for the air guitarists in the second round. They hit 'em up with some Zappa just to see who could hang.

It turned out to be a two-man duel in the finals. The judges cranked up "Paradise City" and let the Breeder and the other guy windmill their way through the entire song. They were ripping off each other's clothes, bouncing off the walls in the little pub. They rocked it.
All hail the Breeder.

By the way, the event raised hundreds of dollars for Parkinson's disease research.

Ashvegas and the surrounding mountains will be alive with the sound of music this week. Check out this line-up:

Tomorrow, country act Montgomery Gentry will hit the Ashvegas Civic Center. They're hot right now with a couple of tunes getting a lot of airplay.

The Black Crowes hit the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium stage Saturday, while The Shinns take command at the Orange Peel.

Meantime, I'll be checking out Flook at the Diana Wortham Theatre. They're an international group of flute players that belt out Celtic folk songs. Bring it on!

They sound familiar.

The coppery tones of the Go-Gos. The chirpy rap of Blondie. Funky strains of the B-52s.

It's all there, mixed up in 13 Stories, an Atlanta Band I saw play Saturday night at the Westville Pub in West Ashvegas. It's the first time they've played in Ashvegas. (btw, the Westville Pub celebrates its third birthday next month, but more on that in another post.)

It's usually not my scene, a pop band on a Friday night, what with some great basketball to be devoured. But on the recommendation of the Beer Guy, I decided to give them a shot. I have to say that for my $4 cover, I certainly got my money's worth.

The band is obviously young. They just go by their nicknames - Cheri D fronts the band, with guitartist Cat and bassist J3 and drummer Max. They hail from all over the US and they've got day jobs.

Cheri D, from Detroit, is a psychotherapist and licensed clinical social worker. Cat is an inline skating coach originially from Massachusetts. J3 deals with furniture as a purchaser and is from Birmingham. Max intalls expensive audio equipment and comes from Oklahoma. For a full rundown on the band, see what the Beer Guy wrote. You can hear some music clips, too.

As I was saying, the band is young. You can see it in their stage presence, solid but could be better. Cheri D engages the crowd, and her energy clearly sets the tone for the rest of the group.

But her interactions with bandmates comes off as forced sometimes. It's a sign that the band still searches from some chemistry - Cat is the newcomer.

The group could use a little coaching on costuming, too. There's no identity, no style, no statement to their on-stage fashion.

Those nitpicks aside, 13 Stories can jam. Saturday night, they covered Michael Jackson, R. Kelley and even Morris Day and the Time ("Jungle Love,"- Cheri D. said it was the first time the band played it live and they weren't quite sure when to quit).

Their original tunes were groovy and very danceable ("You'e my after school special" was a personal favorite), mixed in with more ballady stuff.

All in all, it was a very fun show. You can sense that the band has fun with what it's doing. They even shared three photo album scrapbooks with the Beer Guy during their intermission.

We'll see just how far they go. (If you like these photos, see my photo gallery.)

Hot breaking music news in Ashvegas - the big Bele Chere lineup for '05:
Susan Tedeschi
Derek Trucks Band
Karl Denson
Sam Bush
Dirty Dozen Brass Band
Drew Emmitt
Dottie Peoples
Drive-by Truckers
Grease Factor
Porter, Batiste and Stoltz
Larry Keel
Xavier Rudd
Tinsley Ellis
Bonerama
The Codetalkers featuring Col. Bruce Hampton
Corey Harris
The Greyhounds
Tishamingo
Blueground Undergrass
Lil' Brian and the Zydeco Travelers
Al Petteway and Amy White
Billy Jonas

It's always interesting to try and get into the heads of the committee that makes these picks, a group made up of local Ashvegas movers and shakers. It's a huge festival, and a huge undertaking in terms of trying to pick the music. I know the committee gets innundated with tapes, CDs and requests from a zillion bands who want the exposure of the big fest.

Much has also been made the past few years regarding how the festival has grown. Some think it has gotten way to big for its britches, and away from the homey roots from which it sprang.

Looking at the music is a good barometer of that. Looks like this year, the committee is shooting for a younger demographic. It's also obviously shooting for local and regional flavors. They try to do that each year of course, with varying degrees of success. This lineup is about average.

There's usually one semi-big name that the committee will announce closer to the festival kick-off. The committee has gone back and forth on that - it's usually a country act with mass appeal that will play the festival's Saturday night gig, although it has veered off with some old rock and blues acts, too. Guess we'll have to wait and see if there is more to come.

If you like country music, Kenneth Brian is your guy.

Country, like Hank and Dwight and the old rockabilly boys of the '50s did it. Real country music. Not the crap you hear on the radio these days, although there are a few artists I enjoy.

I was showing a couple of visitors around town Saturday night and we ended up at the Jack of the Wood. We ran into Kenneth, jammin' with a badass bassist, guitarist and hammerin' drummer.

Kenneth, all leather fringe and 10-gallon hat, crooned and yodeled and rocked. The kid ain't but about 25, 26. But he sure did sound a lot like Dwight Yoakum, one of my all-time favorites. And he played plenty of homage to Hank Williams. But he had a few songs all his own, and I have to say that it was refreshing to hear some real roots country music.

Keep your eye on this guy. He's got a new record out in April and he's touring like a madman. This kid could be going places - I hope.