Autumns in the Trees: A History and Analysis part 1

A Brief History and Analysis of “Autumns in the Trees”

Most of the time I try to avoid analyzing my own music, for fear that it leads down that old well-worn path of self-consciousness, second-guessing, and an overall creatively stifling frame of mind. (This effort usually fails, by the way)  But now that the piece is “in the can” so to speak, all writing, arranging, performing and recording complete, I suppose I can turn around for a moment and make attempts at intellectually musing over possible origins of my bandmates’ (and my own) inspirations and craft that resulted in these particular four minutes and twenty-eight seconds sounding the way they do. This is not meant to be any kind of proper formal analysis, only my own musings on the construction of the notes in my own way of thinking about music, and my own experiences in helping to create it throughout the song’s history for those (fans, friends and family) who might be interested.

Like most of our compositions, it is fair to begin with the songwriting. “Autumns in the Trees” is the oldest song on the record, and if my memory serves, Julian initially wrote the chords, lyrics and melody in the fall of 2005, soon after our grand “Girl from the Northern States” tour and during the first couple months of our sophomore year at Berklee. The chord progression is a slight variation on what I call the classic “kings cross” progression, (a more official name for it I can’t seem to find) which dates back to medieval times, an anthemic yet melancholy collection of 5 to 1 chords that triumphantly modulate from relative minor to major key, before resolutely plunging back to the initial Aeolian conflict. Julian only substitutes the dominant resolution into the relative major with a sub-dominant one; it achieves nearly the same effect while being a bit less jarringly bright. The subject matter in Autumns does lean more towards the melancholic end of the lyrical spectrum than anthemic, afterall, no? I am enough a product of my harmonic time to be an unabashed lover of liberal interchange between relative minor and major keys, and this progression is a lovely example. It can also be found in the popular Wilco song “Jesus Etc.” But Julian adds a tasty and emphasized (and for its time, quite progressive) vii-7 b5 chord afterwards, pausing the forward momentum, before making amends with an additional resolution of a major V to I. (And perhaps making up for the inherently partial satisfaction of the earlier IV-I variation, as well as staying true to the modulative intentions of the original “Kings Cross” progression, and allowing for that always-dramatic direct plunge from I to relative i to begin the new phrase) To this day, Julian specifically mentions that chord, as well as the modulation into the repeating 7th chords of the instrumental section, as being new harmonic ground for him that was influenced by the Jazz harmony classes he was  attending.

The melody is very representational of a couple notable ideas Julian had been kicking around during that sophomore year. It was a troubled couple of semesters in some ways for him, and in general there was a slightly darker and dramatic hue which began to creep into his output. (A tendency I always support) A few songs during this time began with a i-v (or on those days with an inclination for leading tones, i-V) progression, including Paper Ships, Girl in a Cemetery, Bows in Your Arms, She’s Not Waiting Here This Time, as well as Autumns. Julian’s melody boldy begins with a minor 6th intervalic jump down before circling to rest on the 3rd of the v chord. These sorts of jagged intervalic distances were rare in his early output, and perhaps were indicative of his developing vocal control during this period. Listen to the first lines of “She’s Not Waiting Here This Time” and “Autumns in the Trees” and you’ll hear what I’m talking about. To my ears, no interval signals sadness like the minor sixth – I can’t listen to the Stones’ Under My Thumb without feeling a touch of tragedy.

The next idea added, forming the rhythmic backbone, (and one that is quite exposed) is Chris’s bass line. The basic concept is simple enough, outlining each triad in classic dotted quarter + dotted quarter + quarter fashion, that he himself labels as “pseudo latin.”  Its a textbook case of simple contemporary syncopation and resolution, with the oddball and-of-2 lending interest whilst the 4-1 each and every bar assures the downbeat. He began playing the pattern when the band initially arranged the song in the spring of 2006, yet when pressed for potential insights as to his thought process in crafting the part, he coyly parries that “I can’t really remember to be honest.” Sly devils, those bass players.

The initial arrangement was made during what I term the “2nd Period” of the Young Republic, (Post Girl from the Northern States Tour, pre Jon Lee’s departure) and is representational of our lineup at the time. There survives a live recording of our original electric version, made at the “Rutyard Kipling” restaurant in Louisville, Kentucky during our Take the Moral High Ground Tour in May of 2006. The quality is imperfect, but you can hear that Chris’ bass line, and the tambourine strikes, are about the only elements of the arrangement that made it on the Balletesque version 3 years later. Hear it here:

For those of you hardcore fans that are curious, in order of appearance: Julian on vocals and electric guitar, Kristin on violin (sometimes even my Viola for this one), Katherine Neis on flute, “MJ” on piano, Chris on electric bass, Mathew Smith on drum kit. I (Nate) am hitting the since-retired war-tom with a mallet made from a branch from my backyard wrapped in old t-shirt scraps and duct tape, while also striking our plastic tambourine with the wooden end. Jon Lee plays the muted trumpet, and Bob is on pedal steel (though playing a part pretty different from whats on Balletesque) The instrumental section is primarily improvised, with some beach boys inspired percussion interplay, a band Bob at the time was pretty obsessed with.

There was also an acoustic version we had worked up, and made a recording of that about a week later on that same tour in May of 2006. We were in my grandparents’ home for the night, right on the banks of the Mississippi river in Wabasha, Minnesota. We had the whole house to ourselves, and the performance was just after a dinner Katherine had prepared of some sort of tasty submarine sausage sandwiches. You can hear it here:

For the acoustic version, a few necessary modifications were made: its Julian on acoustic guitar. Matt Smith is playing my old, since-retired Doumbek. (the silver chalice-style model I once celebrated our first all-girls-school-show with by drinking a soda out of it in a chinese restaurant) Bob is playing his grandfather’s 100-year-old german banjo he tuned like a guitar, MJ is playing an old accordion she lugged around on a little metal cart for acoustic shows.

Stay tuned for part 2: The making of the “Balletesque” version

Sountrack to Julian’s Life & Some New Press Pics

http://www.thisisfakediy.co.uk/articles/soundtracks/the-young-republic

Tomato Festival and Birmingham Welcome-Back

Of course its been 2 weeks off from the band for summer break, and the moment we reconvene there is like three thousand shows we have to play that very weekend. Not that I’m complaining! The first, opening for “How we became the Bomb” in Knoxville, I was unable to attend due to Violin teaching obligations. (in the life of a struggling rock musician, one is occasionally forced to opt for the paying gig, especially when the paying gig has already been forced to rescheduled 3 out of the last 4 weeks…) But I heard it was a doozy, what with a single rehearsal’s worth of preparation, an eight hour drive, zero audience attendance, and the van stubbornly refusing to relinquish first gear on the journey home. Safe to say, in rehearsal the next day at noon, my friendly advances and curious inquiries to my bandmates were met with uncommunicative, vacant looks of exhaustion, the very life in their eyes virtually extinguished.

The next show, (or shows, rather) 2 days later proved to be a far more rejuvenating affair. The great east Nashville tomato festival, a bubbly assemblage of organic street-side attractions and lycopene-rich gallivanting, had invited our band to play their stage at 5 corners. We actually had a pretty choice slot, right after dark and just before the street directly in front of the stage was reopened, transforming audience rows 3-10 back into an automotive thoroughfare. The response was positive, and it was a good feeling to be playing out in the open again, and in our hometown. Wes joined us backstage, dapper and dashing as ever, and went with Bob in an investigation of a Pedal Steel player performing down the way. Julian ran into old friends, Logan shepherded real estate deals, Chris spoke at lengths in his flashy black suit with shady, unidentified bearded individuals, Kristin mowed-down hippies with her brawny utility vehicle, and I had one of my students and hiking-pals come to the show! Later we moved our stuff down the block to the Post-Depression theater, and played a more laid back late-nite set to an intimate group of longtime fans.

And the next night it was Birmingham! The damned van was left at home to wallow in its own dysfunction, and we split into two groups for the drive down I65. I was with Bob and Logan, who had worked each other into a a frenzy over a pop record called “So Much for the Afterglow.” The hype for this CD was so energetic, my fellow passengers nearing the edge of such hyperbolic hysteria, I braced myself for what would undoubtedly be a singularly seminal classic 90s rock album. What felt like 3 hours later of listening to the same sort-of catchy, mind-numbingly uninteresting song over and over again, I allowed myself the chance to be reminded of my own treasured opinion that the validity of music is not in the notes themselves, but in the listener’s god-given perception of them. I proceeded to make my best efforts to share in the enthusiasm, if not the source. And hey man, I listen to The Big 80s eight hours a day, four days a week at work. This kind of grin and bearing is child’s play for me.

……..and then I was treated to “The Offspring”…….

Things soon looked up however when we arrived at our venue in Birmingham and it turned out to be a rusted-out, comprehensively decrepit, and surely long-abandoned iron and cement bunker ridden with bullet holes and habitual vandalism, far within the condemned confines of the fiercest, most harrowing ghetto I have ever bore witness to. Desperately pleading there was some kind of gross miscalculation committed by our navigator, our deepest fears were soon confirmed when we were able to make out a shattered, post-apocalyptic excuse for a marquee, which, sure enough, in mispelled, mangled letters, displayed “H0M l Pecam the B wb w/Te oung Rip blic.” Looks like it was going to be one of those shows.

After nervously waiting in locked vehicles, at about 11 at night the bartender finally arrived, bolting for the iron-clad door which was literally coming off its hinges, sporting a bandana and kevlar vest. Struggling to hear him over the omnipresent sirens and gunfire, he cheerfully informed us the local band, known as “Dead Lung,” was not going to be able to make the show. Apparently, this gig was too hopeless of an affair for a group of people who call themselves “Dead Lung.”

“How I Became the Bomb” showed remarkable morale and constitution in the face of this hardship and life-threatening danger, who in addition to presenting an enjoyable 70s flavored indie-pop set, also doubled as a supportive, if understandably smallish crowd for our own performance. (A role we in turn reciprocated) Go figure the sound was actually pretty decent in there, and it was likely our best performance since break.

Making a military-style evacuation for our vehicles while dodging the crossfire, we gunned for the interstate and a chance to make it back home alive. It was now 5AM Monday morning, and it really felt like we were back in the YR groove again.

Forecastle Festival, Louisville Kentucky

The van was already packed by the time I pulled my smokin’ red plymouth neon into it’s familiar spot at Sky Lodge Studios. The band was lined up in formation along the edge of the pavement like the motley regiment of american musician warriors they are. The destination for the day was none other than Slugger Field in Louisville Kentucky, where Chris’ always generous parents had bestowed to us tickets to see Johnny “Cougar” Mellencamp, Willie Nelson and the very man himself, the perpetually venerable songmaster Bob Dylan. As we took our seats along the first base line, the sky was gray but calm, and the temperature was at near-optimal comfort. Within a few minutes The Cougar took the stage, and launched into his anthemic brand of radio-friendly americana rock. “I wrote this song when I was 22 years old and my wife was 12″ was a typical introduction. He hit four out of five hits, with an abundance of sun-weathered beer-nursing middle-aged attendees singing along and hollering their encouragement. Although not the sort of music I spend an evening alone with listening to with the lights off and my eyes closed, I couldn’t help but appreciate the clarity with which Mr. Mellencamp related his ideas. There is no way anyone could not hear any 10-second excerpt of “Smalltown” and not know exactly what it is about. The melodies were short, simple, catchy, and repeated often. The chord progressions predictable and natural. In short, it was quality pop music, the sort of music you don’t have to study to understand, or concentrate to enjoy. The sort of music that speaks for a lot of people, and doesn’t speak to them.

The sun revoked its shine, the lights switched off, and Bob Dylan took control of the stage. This was another animal entirely. The band immediately launched into a smooth steady groove of slow-burning blues, a style that would remain for nearly the entire set, unfazed by the diversity of the towering array of song-writing history it accompanied. We were sitting a baseball’s field away, but you didn’t need to be up close to admire the sharp angular suits that adorned the performers, lined up like sentinels across the stage, answering to one man and one man only. Dylan’s voice was an enormous, shattered, ravaged monologue wielded as an inscrutable, rasping texture across the proceedings.  One of the few performances I’ve ever seen where it feels like the artists are playing not for the audience, but are driven by a motivator far more intangible and cryptic.

We crashed in our respective spots around the Miller house that night, myself on the floor of the basement, Kristin on an air-mattress that tragically deflated, Bob and Logan on the couch in the living room, (until Bob retreated in bleary-eyed horror from Logan’s strident snores to the floor of the adjacent dinning room) Julian exercising squatters rights in Julie’s (Chris’ sister’s) room, and Chris, well, in the very room of his own.

The next day was a return to our old friends over at WOXY radio situated in a little corner of a giant brick warehouse in the Queen city. Our…..fourth? (have to take a moment to count it!) lounge show for them over the course of four years, it was as pleasant as ever. Everyone even has their familiar corners of the “lounge” they set up at. Shiv gave greetings from behind the shelves of CDs in the DJ booth, and Mike’s now familar voice made its annual inquiry into YR land. I’d type more, but why not just see and listen to it HERE.

After photos and handshakes we headed south, boring strait into the very heart of Kentucky to the humble but vibrant city of Lexington. This was postponed however. Predictably disaster soon struck for our troublesome van; a front tire with a broken valve, hissing air into the atmosphere like a juvenile whine for attention. This led to an hour of killing time in the expansive parking lot at the local Wal-Mart. Kristin gave me a daring ride in an oversized grocery cart, and a  laterally-charged dance routine was invented while encircling the premises. (You must see it to believe it!)

The Green Lantern, where we performed that night, was a charming midwestern-style bar in a laid back corner of Lexington. Our show had a moderately sized but appreciative audience, and one that had more than its fair share of intriguing personalities. At one point pre-soundcheck I was sitting on a couch with a very engaging professor of musicology (who flatteringly had come from Ohio to record our show) discussing obscure 19th century unpublished American composers, though being nearly drowned out by the nearby obligatory loquacious life-long counterculture devotee rattling off reminisces and vaguely inappropriate remarks behind copious white facial hair, while to my great distraction on the other side of the room a vivacious young lady was performing beguiling physical feats with a neon-lighted hula hoop. Not bad, Lexington. Not bad.

It was 1AM by the time we finished our two sets, but our audience was still present and encouraging… a tall, intoxicated, amiable young man by the name of Christopher was telling Logan and I he had watched the Modern Plays video 12 times earlier that day, and our show had made his week. Its what we try to do, Chris.

The six of us found ourselves the next afternoon dashing around the posh lobbies of a skyscaper in downtown Louisville, looking for the Forecastle festival check-in. Running around a big hoity-toity office building as a bunch of kids in a rock band always feels so right to me. In this confusion the band was split up, but an hour later I heard Kristin and Julian answering interview questions over a giant speaker in the middle of the festival grounds, followed by our song “Napoleon Roses.” Thus followed the always surreal experience of anonymously observing the crowds of people that are all hearing your little creative baby gift to the world, wondering if any of those moments of inspiration are registering in any tangible or intangible way upon the souls of the masses. Well, damned if I could tell, but its the wondering thats fun.

The show itself was on a great multi-story river front esplanade, which was alongside the “extreme outdoor adventure park;” a plywood fun-zone inhabited by some oddly proportioned bicycles ridden by pirates. The set went well enough, the crowd growing to a respectable number by the end. At a festival, a band kind of advertises itself to the crowd rather than giving them what they came for, so a casual or even tepid response is not really a disappointment. And might I add there was a plethoric assortment of strangely-titled water beverages backstage?? When it comes to brightly colored free shit, you can’t beat corporate sponsorship.

Unloading through a maze of concrete infrastructure, we played our last gig of the weekend back at the Miller house. We set up on the driveway, our audience scattered about the back deck and porch. It was oh so humid and muggy, and we got to play all of our more peaceful, folky music, the real Southern stuff, from a new Band cover, to some of the more rootsy tracks off of our currently being recorded album “Talabesque”, to old favorites like Girl from the Northern States, even a couple lost gems like “Everybody Looks Better in Black and White” especially for Julie. Our old college records were being played by the Parents throughout the house, sending us into fits of nostalgia, and before long we packed up the great big maroon van yet again and were back in Nashville by the morning.

The YR takes New York in 60 Hours

New York CIty in 60 hours. The last time we took Manhattan under the YR flag, it was in an amateurish 96 hours, and launched from a base mere hundreds of miles away from the target in Boston. This time was longer range, and with a shorter window of opportunity. We would be assaulting the empire state from Nashville, a feat never achieved by even the most ambitious of confederate commanders. Across mason-dixon lines, across time zones. We had not one show but two; one deep in the foreign backwater trend-setting jungles of Brooklyn, and the other right in the heart of it all on the island stronghold of Manhattan. Our big marroon 15-passenger battleship sailed from Sky Lodge harbor at approximately 19:00 hours on Thursday, and Kristin had a shift at her bookstore beginning no later than 13:00 Sunday. There would be no time for prisoners.

Obviously, our fearless driving A-team captain Bob Merkl would handle the initial push. Raised on a testosterone-laden diet of classic 80s action films in the nutrient-rich womb of South Jersey, he was obviously the man for the job. Behind impenetrably opaque aviator sunglasses, reflecting the last dying glare of the evening’s setting sun, Bob uttered in gravely tones his legendary, no, ICONIC personal mantra. “Give me some.”

It was well into Friday morning before Bob even hesitated to go further. On the eastern side of the Appalachians the day dawned gray and wet; once again the weather historically expected for any true Young Republic performance. I was called out of a light and road-weary sleep to wing-man Julian through the slow going of Washington D.C.’s morning rush hour. While circling the nation’s capital we were given the luxury of listening to the sprawling entirety of the Beatles’ White Album, Julian lending his expertise as we explored the multifarious and often powerful depths.

In Baltimore we picked up Julian’s old friend Suzanne, who treated us to a hearty breakfast in a charming scholarly neighborhood This bewildering Bob, who after obsessively watching all seasons of The Wire swore up and down we would only be met by dangerous drug-ridden crime and squalor. With our newest companion we pushed on to Bob’s house in New Jersey, which we hadn’t visited since the Take What You Can Get tour two years prior. After re-energizing with some delicious ribs supplied by Bob’s grandfather, we began the final assault into New York. Logan’s capable hands lead us well within the canyons of Manhattan, but soon after entering the labyrinth of Brooklyn, the GPS system began overheating with megalopolis-induced stress, and we were on our own before finally reaching the club. A little late, but we made it. After pulling our exhausted selves through the set, we mostly went our separate ways into the limitless hullabaloo. Everyone knows someone in New York. I took the town with my family, led as usual by Squee. (you really need to meet him to know who and what he is) Logan and our loyal fan Katie joined us as well. The experience was decidedly not YR-sanctioned.

The band reconvened again in the upper east side the following evening for our second and final show, and Julian’s little brother Adrien made a surprise and welcome appearance. Most of the audience were waiting for the dance party that took over the club after our set ended at 2AM, (Apparently thats when the party really gets started in this town) but we had our own little northeast contingent of old fans, making it feel like the old Boston days a little bit, and surprisingly intimate. Supposedly loads of industry insiders were going to be there, and upon leaving the stage we would be mobbed with recording contracts at every turn. Not sure if I saw any of them there, but I was more than happy being able to reconnect with those who I care most to impress.

Outside we were once again inundated by the omnipresent sea of urban cacophony while loading the old battleship back up for an immediate retreat back home. Intoxicated locals lent their unique brand of spirited, unannounced and deceivingly antagonistic conversation, the crazies begged for money, and over the background roar longtime members of the YR sphere gave appreciative goodbyes. The YR may not have conquered NYC, but we still found our little niche.

Enjoy these videos Katie made of our performance:

Taylor Swift Hearts The YR

Check out the video our friend did for our show on Tuesday at Edgehill Studio Cafe

Recession Special Available Now!

Recession Special

The ‘Recession Special’ is available now!  You can pick up your own copy by heading over to the YR store right now!  Give it a listen and start getting excited about Balletesque (due out September 14th in the UK).  Look below for an exclusive interview Julian did with DJ Ben Easton about the Recession.

‘Recession Special’
1. The Alchemist
2. The Wolf
3. Sam Clemens
4. Balletesque (Pre War Version)
5. Shine On Harvest Moon

Julian Saporiti of The Young Republic in conversation with Ben Easton (WRVU-FM)

5:00 PM, Tuesday, May 20th, 2009

Front Porch, Sky Mountain Studio, Nashville, TN

Ben Easton: Do you think this new EP is a manifesto for where The Young Republic is right now as a band?

Julian Saporiti: Yeah, I think so. The three songs here that are also on the new album [Balletesque] are a good indication of what we’re doing musically in terms of composition and our range. The two additional tracks, SHINE ON HARVEST MOON and the reworking of BALLETESQUE — are more of what we do when we’re playing for fun and not trying to make some grandiose artistic piece of work.

BE: Besides the material, though, this EP in particular seems to be sort of a split between songs that revolve around personal narrative–songs from experience– and songs that tell fictional stories. How intentional is this balance?

JS: Anytime we write, there’s a little bit of personal stuff. Our former bandmates and the big shift in YR personnel we had in the last couple of years, that’s been in the songwriting in some way or another. But it might just be an impetus for a song– one of the colors we use. You can start writing a song about something, and then it can just take a fictional turn. If you take a look at our songwriting, everything is rooted in the first-person, but hopefully people don’t infer that this is like a diary entry for us. It’s supposed to be fictional.

BE: In a song like THE ALCHEMIST, the lyrics are more of a fictional account, you can definitely hear the turmoil and the real-life aspect coming through in the chords and the music.

JS: Definitely. I think turmoil and isolation are very real notions that all people go through. That’s what I think THE ALCHEMIST is about, more than anything. Turmoil is an eternal notion, but it’s especially prevalent for people our age. Maybe moving out of a city or moving to another city, dealing with young relationships or the transplant of going to college in a new place. So yes, THE ALCHEMIST is real, but its also storytelling. The song is the centerpiece of the upcoming album, certainly this EP, and essentially everything we’ve done so far as a band. This is what we’re about, this is what we’re doing.

BE: It seems like you guys are working to balance older sounds–traditional folk and country, for example–with innovation and rock n roll.

JS: It’s just sort of how we’ve all always been. Though we are a rock n roll band, I still fancy what we do as part of the American folk music tradition, in a really, really warped way. If you just play THE ALCHEMIST on an acoustic guitar, it’s just a folk song. It’s long, it has tons of verses, it tells a whole story from start to finish, just like those old endless Appalachian songs. If you’re going to play rock n roll, you’ve got to go back to where it started– Sun Records, Chess. The basis for a lot of bands’ music these days are groups like the Pixies. They’re a great band, but if that’s it, there’s not going to be a wide enough palate to make sustainable music. You might write a few cool songs, or have a cool act for a little bit, but you really have to go farther back. That’s what we do, just in a few styles of music–even in classical, which obviously goes beyond this century. Kristin plays all these fiddle tunes, which go back hundreds of years to Ireland and England. Bob and Chris listen to jazz a lot, which has its own history and tradition. We try to combine all those elements. We don’t try to make something new: we just try to make something good out of what we like. We’re just making American music, but hopefully a little different than just the stuff we’re building off of.

BE: Where have you guys been playing around town?

JS: We’ve played all the typical rock clubs–on a couple of tours we came through and played the Basement and the End. We’ve played the Mercy Lounge. Unfortunately, the way the rock clubs work is they don’t want you to play more than once a month. We’re the sort of band that wants to play five times a week, three hours a night. If we can play a whole set of 60s covers or jazz, that would be awesome too. We don’t really feel too connected because a lot of clubs will turn us down without hearing the music. In Nashville there’s a thousand different bands, so if you don’t bring enough drinkers to the bar, it’s a hard sell. In other cities, there’s a knowledge of who the top bands are in town. In Nashville, there’s no real consensus. There isn’t much of an infrastructure.

BE: Do you have a greater respect for the honky-tonk players on Broadway, then? They’re the guys who are playing regular three-hour sets every night.

JS: That’s who we love to see. We go to see the Don Kelly Band at Robert’s Western World at least once a week. Their guitar player, J.D. Simo, rocks our socks off. Playing shows like that–flexing our musical muscles–is what we like to do. We’d be wasting our degrees if we weren’t writing the actual notes down on paper, studying Booker T and the Band, listening to their rhythms and their grooves, and trying to replicate that. The stuff that appeals to us are the older guys who can really play their instruments.

BE: Do you and the band think that being from Nashville plays a large part in being so rooted in your influences?

JS: Growing up here, I think I have a certain musical personality that many Nashville musicians find after living here for a long time. A lot of local rock bands totally shy away from the traditional country and folk stuff because they think its really lame. They’re trying to shy away from the city they live in, and that’s why a lot of those people get out. When they go to school, they don’t come back. I’ve always appreciated growing up here. I like things like WSM and the Grand Ole Opry. The honky-tonks and the session players, old Middle Tennessee music like Sam and Kirk McGee. I don’t even mind the whole country music establishment these days. The whole Nashville sound in the 60s or 70s, Roy Acuff and all that jazz (or country)–that’s stuff I really appreciate. I feel lucky to live here. Its sort of like if you’re born in New Orleans: even if you’re not a musician, you still can sort of identify with the music and the identity of the people who make music there.

BE: You guys have set down roots at your studio, Sky Mountain. Has the scenery of where you guys record and create here had an impact on your music? Is it stimulating?

JS: We’re lucky to be in the middle of these beautiful hills of West Nashville. Just green and blue, a hundred different birds as far as you can see. Deer, foxes, turtles, rabbits, squirrels, coyotes. All that stuff. It’s like recording in the middle of one of the Warner parks. If you’re trying to make music that feels natural and organic, it’s good to be in a place that’s so green. You can come outside for a breath of fresh air and see 50 trees that are all 60 feet tall, right in front of you. A canopy above your head. And having your own gear anywhere is a blessing. We spent four years at music school squatting with a digital recorder box in abandoned basements of apartment buildings and practice rooms and percussion closets. We had a little box and a couple of microphones. Here, it’s allowed us to have a nice big room with a bunch of pianos and guitars and drum kits. We can set up and just practice cutting records together, being a real band. Cutting it live instead of doing it piecemeal, guerilla-style.

BE: Mojo Magazine recently described your music as sounding like if the Pixies made country music. This seems more like a hook and a journalistic quip, though. How would you characterize your music more appropriately?

JS: I think of things in a more classical vein of categorization, in a more nationalistic way. I would say its modern American music–modern American folk music, modern American rock n roll. We’re not people living in the 60s. We want to make music of the exact time that we’re from. Music that’s fresh, and representative of exactly who we are.

Video : Sam Clemens (Percy Warner Version) and a couple from SXSW

Sam Clemens (Percy Warner Version)

Black Duck Blues and Napoleon Roses @ SXSW
Thanks to Humble Soul and Denis Jones at Wasp Video for these

Balletesque (Pre War Version) – The Video

This track comes from our forthcoming EP entitled ‘Recession Special’ (lovingly named for the meal at Robert’s Western World).  That particular record is not available as of right now, but if you come out to our show this friday (May 29th) at The Post Depression Theater in East Nashville (107 N. 11th St to be exact) you can be the first girl/boy/man/women to pick up your very own copy.  The cover is 8 dollars and it includes a copy of the EP and the show should be starting around 8PM.  Bring two friends and you get in free!

The Recession Special

Release Party on May 29th

The great rolling thunder of our album Balletesque, still lying in wait for widespread release, will at least be partially unleashed to our Nashville followers at the end of this month. Entitled the “Recession Special,” we have prepared a 6-song EP of choice Balletesque cuts and will be debuting it to the world May 29th at the aptly-titled Post Depression Theater, 107 North 11th St, East Nashville at eight o’clock. The cover is eight dollars, but understanding these economically uncertain times, we have made that flat price also cover a copy of the CD. So eight dollars will get you a full-fledged Young Republic performance AND your very own take-home audio souvenir. In addition, the acclaimed local duo ‘Quote’ will be opening for us.

There are also two “Recession Special” exclusive cuts on this disc. For you admirers of the VERY early 20th century pop scene, we have crafted a cover of the  classic “Shine On Harvest Moon.” You’ll hear my neighbor and lovely clarinetist Katherine, and the Young Republic bring our best old-timey. The other is an acoustic version of Balletesque’s title track, whittled down to an angry lo-fi core. Arranged and a recorded live in only a few vengeful hours, it is based around a stomping groove decorated with angular diatonic stabs and shouted accusations.

Balletesque (Pre War Version)

Hear us make it happen in front of you on the 29th, in East Nashville.