Tag: punk music

Vandoliers Drop the Banter to Develop a Sound Shaped by Country and Punk

Posted on by Editor

Right now, no band is blending country and punk music better than Vandoliers. Although that mash-up has been attempted for decades, it’s rare to actually find a band that disregards the rules completely and still sounds like they just might belong in a late-night honky-tonk. For years and years, that’s likely where you would find this Dallas/Fort Worth-based band. And if you’re gonna play in Texas, as the old country song goes, you’ve gotta have a fiddle in the band. While that instrument does provide a definitive fire to their show, it’s just one component to an invigorating sound that sets them apart on the local landscape.

However, the band has tapped into a market well beyond Texas, hitting the road with artists like Flogging Molly, Lucero, Old 97s, and their own personal heroes, Turnpike Troubadours. When the group’s European tour kept getting delayed during Covid, a disc jockey in Spain kept playing their songs anyway, and by the time they wound up in Madrid, they were selling out clubs to crowds who knew every word. Beyond just singing along with “Every Saturday Night,” which they’d heard on the radio for years by this point, the Spanish fans were almost certainly responding to the blasting, somewhat unexpected trumpet solos that punctuate anthemic songs like “Before the Fall.”

Most impressive of all, they managed to bottle up their on-stage energy and inject it into their first album in three years, The Vandoliers. While the band had a day off in Lawrence, Kansas, lead singer and principle songwriter Joshua Fleming filled us in about their first time at the Ryman Auditorium, kinda learning how to play guitar, and the unmistakable influence of country star Marty Stuart.

BGS: When I saw you at the Ryman, what struck me the most was your showmanship. You guys were full throttle from the moment you walked out there. What does it feel like in those moments before the stage lights hit you?

Fleming: We play this song [backstage] called “Urban Struggle” by the Vandals, and it’s an old punk song from the ‘80s. Evidently there were two clubs — a punk bar and a country bar — that were right next to each other, and that song is about the fight that would ensue because of that. Every time that comes on, we all just get super excited. It’s really those moments of excitement. Like at the Ryman, I had a moment where I went out back and hung out in the alley where all the musicians hung out before the show. I’ve been doing this thing where I’ve been writing a tour journal, and I wrote a little paragraph. Instead of posting it on Twitter or Instagram, I have this little book that I’ve been writing in, just trying to gather my thoughts, because there’s been those moments.

Like when we first started, when people would tell us we weren’t country enough, which they were probably right, you know? But we love that music so much and we love that heritage and we love that legacy. This is just how we get to be a part of it, by sounding like this, because that’s just where we’re from. I’m not from the hollers or the hills of Kentucky, or anything like that. I’m not from Nashville, Tennessee. I’m kind of stuck in the middle between Fort Worth and Dallas. … That’s where I grew up, so this is just the sound that I love, and these are things that remind me of Texas and where I’m from. When you get to play at the Ryman, especially for a band like Turnpike, who’s been a massive influence on us, and being accepted by your peers after seven years of kind of being the red-headed stepchild, it’s really surreal!

Do you have any influences in terms of the way you present yourself on stage? Did you ever see a band and say, “THAT’S what I want to do!”?

All the time! We’ve played a lot of empty bars and had to get people out of their chairs to get the excitement. We’ve also gotten to learn tricks from Old 97s, Lucero, and Flogging Molly, and those bands kind of taught us and showed us the ropes of how to put on a show and get people moving. When I was out with Flogging Molly, Dave [King, the lead singer] just completely commands not only the crowd’s emotions, but also their bodies. He can get their hands up, waving, and they can get people moving. And with Lucero, every Lucero show is just the crowd singing Lucero songs with Lucero. I saw that and I was like, “THAT’S the kind of show I want.” What I really want is a cathartic release and if I’m lucky enough to write some songs that people want to sing with me, that means a lot.

This was my first time seeing you and I noticed you don’t spend a lot of time on stage banter.

Oh yeah. I hate banter! I come from the Ramones school of “1-2-3-4, ‘Good night!’” I want every song to sound like they run into each other. I don’t want that energy to stop. I don’t want to shut the crowd out; I just don’t want to turn it into this soapbox because I want to play as many songs as possible.

I was very surprised that Turnpike gave us an hour at the Ryman. I had [prepared for] a 45-minute set so I actually got to add songs instead of take away, and that was super fun. But I shoved 16 songs into an hour. I think I gave myself three minutes to say our band name. And tune. [laughs] And to say thank you to Turnpike because they’re the reason we were there. It was really great that they allowed us to be a part of their coming back. We played their first two shows at Cain’s and those were amazing. But playing the Ryman, I mean, it was their first night at the Ryman, too, so we got to share that feeling together. That was such a cool bro thing to do. [laughs]

I read an interview where you said Marty Stuart was the reason you started the band. What did you mean by that?

I mean, I’m constantly learning and there’s so much music I don’t know. And when I found Marty Stuart, it was this perfect time. Hank III was on his show and I just gotten into Hank III. Marty Stuart is a Hall of Famer and absolutely brilliant but he wasn’t quite as in-your-face as other artists I had seen and heard all my life. So, when I discovered him, it was through The Marty Stuart Show. I watched the episode with Hank III, and I was like, “This is RAD! This is rockin’!” There’s an electric guitar up there and he’s ripping — Kenny Vaughan is up there, just crushing. And their harmonies were perfect. Harry Stinson is of the best singers ever while also being one of the best drummers. It’s really unfair that they’re so talented!

My wife and I, one of our favorite bands is T-Rex, so that glam rock thing was very fresh in my mind at that time, because we had just met and I was showing her these records. We walked down the aisle to The Slider and “Metal Guru” was the song. I really love glam rock. So, anyway, I see the glam in Marty. I see the talent. I see the stories. It was everything that I loved from all of these different genres, and also very traditional and amazing.

So, I run in to find my wife, who’s a huge country fan, and I’m like, “Look at this guy! He looks like a country Marc Bolan!” She’s like, “Oh, that’s Marty Stuart. He’s awesome.” And goes back to bed like it’s no big deal. [laughs] I got obsessed and watched every episode of that show and bought records and tapes and CDs. And one day I got to open for him, going out with them for three shows with him in Texas, and he was one of the kindest people in the world. He is so cool and everybody in that band is the coolest. If Marty Stuart can accept me and be kind to me, then the sky’s the limit, right?

When did you learn to play guitar?

I started banging out chords when I was, like, 11. I wasn’t very interested in being a virtuoso, like a guitar-solo guy. I was more into that outlet to speak and write my feelings out. And I also really liked the idea of being in a band. I played sports but there was always somebody on the bench. No one’s on the bench in a band. Everybody gets to play and it gives you a little bit of a social scene, too. Those were the things that I was really interested in at the time. I started my first band when I was 12. I played roller rinks and movie theaters and little DIY shows for all the kids in my middle school. And then I moved to high school and I played all-ages clubs and theaters with my ska band. Then I moved into cutting records and learning about recording and going to school for recording. It’s been a long journey.

So, did I “learn guitar”? Kinda. I learned how to write a song and I learned how to be in a band — and it’s been great! I think that’s why I liked punk in the beginning because it made me feel like I could do it. I didn’t have to worry about having some pedigree. I didn’t have to be the son of some famous dad. I was from a small town very far away from L.A., Nashville, New York, and Chicago. It was more of just me being able to have a little place in my social scene and it kind of grew from there. Then I started touring and traveling.

Is that where the song “Sixteen years” comes from?

Yeah, that’s actually exactly it. You can take it any way you want, but in the song, story-wise, my dad’s not a preacher. That’s actually referencing one of my songs from my punk band, The Phuss. Like, “A poor man’s song that no one wanted to hear” was “Bottom Dollar Boy,” which we re-recorded for Bloodshot, but it came out on our first EP that didn’t sell very many. [laughs] I wasn’t famous because of that song but I really love that song. It’s just referencing trial and error, trial and error, trial and error. And it’s not about being successful. It’s just about doing it. So, even if it takes me forever, I’m still going to do it. And even if I don’t even make it, whatever that means, I would still do it. I love it so much.

Photo Credit: Rico DeLeon

Basic Folk – John Doe

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

John Doe’s career has gone from poetry to punk to country to acting to punk to folk and back again several times. Frontman for the extremely influential LA punk band X, John was there at the dawn of West Coast punk and has written about it (twice) in his books Under the Big Black Sun and More Fun in the New World. He actually sourced out most of the books’ chapters and had his friends and other people who were there give accounts, which makes them both pretty well rounded.

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John grew up mostly in Baltimore, under the influence of John Waters and Divine. He worked odd jobs and ran a poetry group there. He’d moved to Los Angeles in the mid 70’s and met his future X bandmates Exene, Billy Zoom and D.J. Bonebrake. John’s been in countless films and TV shows since 1987. He kind of stumbled into acting by getting an agent after he was in the indie film Border Radio. You may have seen him in films like Road House or Boogie Nights or series like Carnivale. He’s lived in Austin, Texas since 2017 and loves to tell people it’s terrible, so that no one else moves there.

John Doe’s latest album Fables in a Foreign Land takes place in the 1890’s and surrounds a young man who’s found himself alone in a cruel hard world. The album’s sound was developed through weekly jam sessions in his bassist’s backyard. This time around, John’s played up his interest in folk and roots music, all the while keeping that punk sensibility. He says, “These songs take place alone, wandering, searching and hungry accompanied by horses not machines.” And speaking of horses, John’s got a couple and it seems they’ve kept him grounded especially during the pandemic, so yeah, I ask the guy about his horses. That and we also talk about controlling the ego, listening to intuition, taking care of your physical health and his cameo in The Bodyguard (yes the Whitney Houston movie). Thanks Joe Doe!

Photo Credit: Todd V. Wolfson

On ‘I’m With You,’ William Elliott Whitmore Puts Family Wisdom to Use

Posted on by Editor

Over the last few years, William Elliott Whitmore has been thinking a lot about how we – as individuals and as a society – have a tendency to repeat our mistakes, and how we’re always trying not to. Yet the tone of his new album, I’m With You, is still infused with optimism, which often stems from the wisdom he’s learned from his family.

I’m With You is Whitmore’s first album of new material in five years, though its material wouldn’t sound out of place alongside his early songs like “Old Devils” or “Don’t Need It.” As always, his banjo and guitar are central to the album’s sound, while his raspy singing voice remains an effective tool at getting his point across.

Though the album does have some heavy themes, Whitmore often points out the silver lining in a situation, and moreover, he’s comfortable chatting up a stranger — a trait not uncommon to the Midwest. He spoke with BGS by phone from his farm in Lee County, Iowa, where he’s quarantining with his wife and their six-month-old baby.

BGS: There are several family relationships that you reference in the album’s first song, “Put It to Use,” and you’ve had family members as characters in your songs for a long time. Why is that bond with your family so inspiring?

Whitmore: Yeah, the bond with my family has always been inspiring. I’m pretty lucky in that I’ve got a big family that’s close by. Aunts and uncles and cousins. My folks were great people, full of wisdom and just caring, beautiful people, but through different circumstances they passed away when I was in my teens. So, that’s when I started writing songs, and in fact, that’s what made me start doing that — to codify what they had always been teaching me. And as a way to deal with it and not just go off the deep end. They pop up in songs a lot, and have since the beginning.

I don’t have them here, so I just think about their words of wisdom and lessons. I think we all get those lessons from someone, whether it’s your folks and a grandparent or a neighbor or a cool uncle or aunt. That cool person down the block that introduced you to The Ramones when you were a kid. [Laughs] It’s like, “Hey, check out Black Sabbath!” So you go, “I should listen up.” Not just music, but lessons, and we can gather that from anywhere. “Put It to Use” is about, OK, you’ve gathered all this good information. Now, put it to use. And more than just music — let’s try to love each other.

Was it someone in your family that introduced you to banjo?

Yeah, both of my grandpas played the banjo. One of them passed away when I was one year old, so I never knew him, but I actually have his old banjo. And one died when I was in my teens, and he was a banjo picker from the Ozark Mountains down in Missouri. My folks loved country music. My mom loved Willie Nelson and Charley Pride – those were her favorites. And in fact, my parents’ first date was a Charley Pride show at a county fair.

But [my interest in] the old-time stuff, Appalachia music and Ozark mountain music, came from my grandpa, and he played the banjo. When he passed away, I got his banjo because I was into playing guitar. I was like, “Oh, the banjo… it’s not THAT different than a guitar.” And I inherited all of his old records. He loved Roy Acuff and the Stanley Brothers. Again, it’s getting that influence from wherever you can.

Were those records your gateway to bluegrass? How did you become aware of bluegrass?

Yeah, those records. … He had a lot of compilations with 15 different artists on one record. You’d find out about a bunch of different stuff, like how Bill Monroe pretty much invented bluegrass by playing old-time music faster than everybody else. [Laughs] And the subtle differences between that and the old-time, slower stuff. A lot of it does have to do with tempo. The feeling is there for all of it, but Bill Monroe kicked it into that next gear.

It’s this whole rich history that’s really cool, and there’s still a lot to learn about, too. So I took that bluegrass influence, but I also liked Minor Threat and Bad Religion and Public Enemy, growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s. There’s a theme running through all of this — punk and country and bluegrass and blues. Using simple tools to convey a message. No matter where you come from or what color you are, there’s a way to do this.

One thing you do well on this record, in my opinion, is setting the scene. While a lot of songwriters write primarily about themselves, or about love, you are writing about what’s around you. When did you become interested in environmentalism, for example?

That’s a great compliment, first of all. I’m right here on the farm I grew up on, and I’m very lucky to have that. So, the woods and nature and planting gardens — my folks were both naturalists. They wouldn’t have had the word for that, but they loved the land and they appreciated nature. That was passed on to us kids, the appreciation for the trees and the plants and the deer out in the field, and how we live among them and we’re part of it. We’re not above them. The grass in the meadow, the flora and the fauna that we see all around us, we’re just a part of that.

So it just doesn’t make sense to me, as an adult, why anyone would want to pour oil in the water, or level a whole forest, and cut every old-growth oak tree in the forest, just for the money! You want to live in harmony with nature, and sometimes you do have to cut a tree, but you want to be selective and do it in a smart way. … There are so many ways to do it mindfully. That’s my slant on it, and it all comes from living in the woods and living on a farm, and being instilled with those things at an early age.

Listening to your older records, I was struck by how much your singing voice has become more commanding. Did that come from you having to sing on stage, and use it as an instrument? At what point did you sense that your voice was becoming stronger?

That’s another great compliment. I didn’t even know if it was, but you know, it’s funny how things change over 20 years. I first started touring — gosh, it’s been over 20 years ago now. I used to smoke a lot of cigarettes and a lot of weed. … Well, maybe don’t write down “weed.” Oh, whatever, I don’t care. I just had a fucked up voice, but it was all I had. I was like, I wish I could croon like Dean Martin and Morrissey or Ralph Stanley, and have a beautiful voice, and I could never quite get there. So you just work with what you got, right?

So, I quit the cigarettes – and only the cigarettes. [Laughs] My voice changed after that, maybe, but it did come with playing a couple hundred shows a year, for years, and just being on stage, at least in the beginning, where they didn’t know who you are. It’s hard to be a presence when you’re by yourself. I was doing a lot of punk clubs and DIY spaces and bars, where they might not even care that you’re there. So you do have to make your presence known. I had to be more commanding. I am a loudmouth anyway, so it was natural. Put a microphone in front of me and I’ll make you listen! [Laughs] “I’m gonna start singing and you’re gonna wanna listen!” was my attitude, which is funny now.

But that did help me use it as almost a cudgel. Over the years, I’ve tried to sharpen that and make it more of a surgical thing and not a blunt instrument. [Laughs] I mean, I’m only dealing with guitar, banjo, and voice, and a beat — a kick drum now. Each one of them has to count. Any would singer would tell you, you take the time to write these lyrics, and in a live setting they just get lost. You’re just hollering. You have to learn to cut through. … Now it’s a bad habit to break because I’ll be singing in a quiet place, where everyone’s sitting down and listening and no one’s talking, and I’m just yelling like someone needs to hear me ten miles away. It’s those years of screaming over a bar room. I can’t shut it off.

Photo credit: Chris Casella