Brian Harnetty: Paste's "Artist of the Week"

I've written about Brian Harnetty before, so I won't go into a long preamble about him. But he's a talented dude from Columbus, and I was happy Paste let me write about him for its website's "Artist of the Week" feature. You can read it here.

Silent City, Harnetty's new album featuring Bonnie "Prince Billy, is out tomorrow on Atavistic Records.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy - Beware

Will Oldham is an unpredictable, eccentric fellow, but it’s probably safe to say that after 10 years and 12 albums (including live records), the Bonnie “Prince” Billy moniker is his primary means of musical output. Previous pseudonyms--all variations on the word “Palace”--haven’t surfaced since 2004’s Bonnie “Prince” Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music.

As BPB, Oldham has prolifically traversed Americana terrain, dabbling in Nashville country, Southern gothic, Gram Parsons country-rock and hauntingly spare folk. His voice has matured along the way, but still retains a laconic, warbled quality.

Oldham said in a New Yorker profile a few months back that Beware (out now) would be his “big” album, meaning he would promote it with singles, photo shoots, etc. “I am Goodbye” is the first single, and it’s a good primer for the rest of the album--a downright zippy tune that revels in the concept of goodbyes using swirly guitar and mandolin.

It’s the next logical step after last year’s In the Light, a strong album I overlooked until this year. It’s a sunny record, full of arrangements that could be considered elaborate compared with the quiet starkness earlier albums like Ease Down the Road and Master and Everyone. Beware is even more elaborate, working in a full roster of musicians contributing all sorts of bits and pieces to the whole. In the final track, “Afraid Ain’t Me,” you’ll hear a flute solo, hand claps, horns and bongos, to name a few.

It’s too big for Oldham, but only slightly so. While the arrangements can sometimes serve as roadblocks (the vocal echo, strings and choir on “Heart’s Arms”), often they enhance (the marimba and pedal steel on “You Can’t Hurt Me Now”).

The more barren “There is Something I Have to Say” hearkens to those earlier albums, serving as a nice rest before ramping up again. And there’s still Oldham’s words that’ll creep you out or make you laugh. Or both: “I want to be your only friend. Is that scary?”

He can also be ominous and a little confounding, as on “Death Final”: “In a pit of bodies I am loved by all/ By ham hock and by handkerchief, by damsel and by doll/ An angel warns us with its unfinal call/ It was not death final, it was only fall.”

Referencing a ham hock in a song about death is unexpected and a bit jarring, but keeping us guessing is something Oldham has down to a science.

(Also at The Other Paper)

Brian Harnetty - Treehouse, 1/16/09

It’s amazing what can fall through the cracks.

The Other Paper (and this blog) dedicates a fair amount of increasingly valuable print space to local musicians, either trumpeting their fine contributions to the Columbus scene or providing some (hopefully) constructive criticism that readers can digest as an intriguing analysis, helpful caution or yet more proof that we’re a bunch of buffoons who must have been at a different show or listening to a different album.

But Friday’s show at the Treehouse just proves there is always more to discover in this city. Before a few weeks ago, I had never heard of Brian Harnetty, even though he released a well-received album on Chicago’s Atavistic Records in 2007. His stuff is utterly unique, though I should probably stop being surprised at Columbus artists who are doing things unlike anything I’ve heard before. Harnetty takes found sounds and archival material and weaves them together with his own instrumentation. For American Winter, he immersed himself in the Berea College Appalachian Sound Archives in Kentucky, eventually coming up with a composition comprising old field recordings of songs and interviews, plus radio addresses and other various sounds, combined with live instruments that unobtrusively thread it all together like gossamer connective tissue.

Harnetty rarely plays live, so experiencing his too-short set at the Treehouse felt like a privilege, and the venue’s naturalistic, homey setting was the perfect spot for the intimacy of these songs--except for the frigid temperatures in that back room on one of the coldest nights of the year. Brrr. It wasn’t a scintillating stage show by any means, nor was it intended to be--just the tall, unassuming Harnetty seated below the Treehouse Christmas lights with his gear and occasional sparse accompaniment from others on drums, xylophone, etc. It was a stark contrast of new and old, with a laptop and various knobby devices settled next to an acetate-spinner playing worn, scratchy vinyl, full of authenticating hisses and pops.

Listening to Harnetty’s pastiches feels like eavesdropping on the past. He often includes the moments just before or after an old recording of a tune, capturing revealing comments about songs, or just highlighting the ponderous and sometimes awkward moments when the singer finishes singing--to great effect on “That’s Drunkard’s Dream, Nearly Everybody Knows It.”

Harnetty never overpowers the source material. His subtle accompaniment on the keys and various digital devices lends a sense of deference to the recordings. It’s music to drop your head and close your eyes to. Most of what he played was from the coming Silent City, which will be released on Atavistic this spring. The exciting wrinkle to these new songs is that they sprang from a collaboration with Will Oldham (aka Bonnie “Prince” Billy), who sings over the new arrangements in a way that feels consistent with Harnetty’s previous work. It’s still dreamily Appalachian, and all the lyrics are folk-song fragments combined with phrases from Oldham and Harnetty.

This collaboration with Oldham, whose fans tend to obsess over his prodigious output, could bring Harnetty a new level of exposure, and for good reason. Judging by the tunes he debuted on Friday night, the new stuff is just as strong, if not stronger, than American Winter, retaining that archival quality while inviting a talent like Oldham into his ghostly world.

mp3: Brian Harnetty - That's Drunkard's Dream, Nearly Everybody Knows It

(Also at The Other Paper)