redwinging

Into my winter distraction comes music: recently I've been listening mostly to hip-hop, bhangra, dancehall, kwaito, and such, vibrant beats to busy the mind and the body, and form a barrier against the bitter months. But last month I went to a party and heard something marvelous on the speakers, and some time later received a disk full of songs from one of the party's hosts. It's immersed me again in an entirely different kind of music, one I've loved for ages, the rough overlap of folk oldtime alt-country indie appalachian, whatever name you want to put to it: salvation offered in the form of fiddles and steel guitars and searching voices.

I've been listening to old favorites, but center-stage is the new discovery from that night, a Brooklyn-based "countrypolitan" band called Hem. Their songs are mostly original compositions, but blend in seamlessly with the occasional tune remembered from childhood. And Sally Ellyson's voice is a marvel--go listen to "Half-Acre" on their myspace page, or "We'll Meet Along the Way" from the new album Funnel Cloud. Or better yet, watch "Redwing":



I love that video, too--all shadows and shafts of light, with glancing, partial views of the musicians—a hand at the strings here, the curve of the singer's cheek, a foot in a battered sneaker flexing to the beat. At the end, a man is visible through the glass of the recording booth; as the singer moves through the final syllables, we see him, caught halfway between conducting and singing along, and the look on his face is everything I miss about making music.