The Fathers of Country Music

I spent this weekend sifting through my record collection attempting to make a mix of the best songs by country music's forefathers. I listened to numerous tracks by everyone from Adolf Hofner to Johnny Cash to Elvis. But, no matter how much music I listened to, I kept coming back to two men: Hank Williams and Buddy Holly. Though not of the same era, or the same genre, both Williams and Holly created music that was innovative, immediately engaging, smart, and simple. I guess that's why folks like me are still listening to and talking about them decades later.

After two days of devoting myself to the boys of country, I headed downtown to the overstuffed Knitting Factory main space to catch openers Clem Snide and main act Luna. And the longer I kept my ears and eyes transfixed upon the band, the more evident it became as to why I adore Clem Snide. Singer/songwriter/guitarist Eef Barzelay credits Hank Williams with introducing him to the structure of the 3/4 waltz. And the men of Clem Snide are most certainly indebted to Buddy Holly for his fashion sense and rockabilly heart. But the sound of Barzelay and company is also very much their own, helping the band to emerge as startling sonic photographers who melt together pop references and old school musicianship with a healthy dose of self-deprecation and a beguiling degree of self-confidence.

In the Knitting Factory, a sparse song like "Chinese Baby" from 1998's You Were a Diamond came across as a poignant lullaby, while "No One's More Happy than You," a band-proclaimed song of hope, filled the space with old country goodness as Jason Glasser's cello and Jeff Marshall's stand-up bass sounded more badass and bombastic than any guitar. The set concluded with a rousing rendition of "Let's Explode," featuring fantastically developed dynamics and Barzelay's voice triumphantly whining "I don't want to know me better."

While Clem Snide was playing their first show in over eight weeks, Luna was playing their eighth show in New York in the last month. The band undertook this tour of the tri-state's finest venues in order to promote their forthcoming LP, Live, due out today. Decked out in a turquoise shirt with pearl-capped buttons, lead singer Dean Wareham proceeded to establish a laid-back tone with his relaxed guitar strumming, monotone voice (that was far more Johnny Cash than Hank Williams) and clever between-song banter. The crowd of mostly Luna devotees continually threw out requests during quiet moments in the evening, and Wareham laughingly batted all of them away.

Although I like Luna, I must admit that most of their songs sound alike. Virtually all of them consist of Wareham's deadpan nasal speak-sing, with the harmonic assistance of deliciously attractive bassist Britta Phillips, musing on everything from chimpanzees to Christopher Boyce to Bonnie and Clyde over a backdrop of jangly guitars. The homogeneity was irking me early on because I could not pinpoint what was causing it.

A third of a way through the set, I finally realized why most Luna songs sound so blatantly alike. They are all in 4/4 meter. Now, that does not necessarily mean that every song will sound similar, but throughout most of the night, drummer Lee Wall played straight-ahead downbeats and Phillips was left to lay down none-too-exciting bass lines. In contrast, the set standouts like "Bonnie and Clyde" and the encore ending "23 Minutes in Brussels" made use of syncopated drumbeats and dynamic bass parts.

All in all, the Luna lovers seemed satiated by the band's performance. However, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe Eef Barzelay could introduce Dean Wareham to Hank Williams' music. Who knows, maybe he would learn to write a song in 3/4 time.

Luna

Clem Snide

Knitting Factory Main Space

February 3, 2001