Band Profile:  Acoustic Syndicate

By Hunter Pope

I detest calculus. There's the x and y equations, logarithms, 10-step theories, blah, blah, blah. Simply put, I do not understand this method of irritable madness. I once told my teacher that I needed an apple to fall on my head so I could be like Sir Issac Newton and understand nonsense. The point is, I cannot see things in that way. It all looks backwards to me.        

Steve McMurry, of Acoustic Syndicate, sees music the same way. However, unlike myself, Steve enjoys the challenge.        

"I do it ass-backwards from everyone else," said McMurry. "I first get the tune down, and then I start to think in forms of verbs and syllables. I think linguistically, how it all falls down in place. In my finite little mind, the verbalization comes through."  Discombobulated or not, Steve's style has helped propel Acoustic Syndicate into a musical force that's just beginning to create seismic waves across the nation. Their blend of bluegrass, jazz, reggae, rock, and traditional music turns an unsuspecting music hall into an improv buffet.        

Need some diet tips? Here's my advice: Think about (and quickly forget) Richard Simmons ... ponder the Atkins Diet ... weigh the consequences of diet pills ... then, go with the real deal, the Acoustic Syndicate workout. You'll find your arm and fist going in a linear front and back motion as you scream incessantly for more.  Not satisfied, your feet will trampoline-jump in an exuberant manner. Don't worry, all newbies to the AS scene do this. The more experienced save their strength, warming their muscles with furious head-bobs. These energy managers save their strength for jam-monsters like the traditional "Brown Mountain Lights". Seek them out if you need dance advice. "It's OK," they'll tell you. "Don't try to stay up with the band the whole time."        

A wise man once said, "Never try to match foot speed with finger speed ... especially Acoustic Syndicate's." Ah, so true. Think of their superlative albums (a self-titled debut and "Tributaries") as a sort of movie trailer.  The real deal is the live show. Once you attend, all bets are off. Each song is an offering to the crowd, a piece of the quartet's heart. Surrounding this soul gathering in some of the tightest musicianship in the business.  Although the music is laden with improvisation, the reigns are always within reach.  This kindred knowledge of each other's jam direction is a result of ... well ... blood.  Steve is the cousin of brothers Bryon and Fitz McMurry, and their familial ties have never seemed obligatory.       

  "I worked for their dad on the farm," said Steve. "Pretty much, we've been together all our lives. We're not so much a group as we are a family."  The three have been able to achieve this high level of closeness despite working side by side almost every day. Furthermore, the trio resides in their stomping grounds of North Carolina's Cleveland County. "We have a lot fewer problems than many bands do," said McMurry. "The thing is we can have that time alone if we need to. Everyone needs to be by themselves from time to time."       

  This bond is especially helpful considering that the band's style of playing is to explore continuously. "It's all improv," said Steve. "When we're running pretty hard, you'd be amazed what happens. We all jump in the same pot and (we) all come from the same source. Everybody in the band seems to know where we're going."  This uncanny sense of soothsaying may have stemmed from a Christmas over 20 years ago.

"I was 12 when we all got instruments for Christmas. I got a fiddle, Bryon got a banjo, and Fitz got a guitar. Of course, that's all different now. I'm on the guitar and mandolin, Bryon stayed the same, and Fitz is on the drums."  Acoustic has been known to swap instruments, and the singing duties are managed by the triumvirate of McMurrys. It's hard to fathom that the boys began as a local treat eight years previous. "We've been a group since 1992.  We started on an extremely local level. In the last year, we've received some serious notoriety. Things have tumbled into place."       

  Their biggest achievement (and personal pat on the back) came from the heralded invitation to perform at MerleFest. The Syndicate played four times during the festival and had the distinction of closing the Midnight Jam. In addition, their second album, "Tributaries", was named the most frequently played album on WNCW (out of Spindale, NC) radio for 1999.       

  This album has become a magnet for the band, drawing in the ears of everyone affiliated with the sound. The groundwork for the LP started years ago, courtesy of a little venue known as Green Acres Music Hall in Bostic, NC. "I used to go to Green Acres before I could drive a car," said McMurry. "I had always gone there ... I saw Newgrass Revival ten, maybe a dozen times.  Anyway, years later, we were recording with Butch Carter on 'Tributaries'. Butch felt like we should take it somewhere else to mix it. During the recording time, we had been flipping through some magazines and came across Bill VornDick. He's engineered Bela Fleck's albums for the last 10 years. Bill's name speaks for itself. He's one of the most admired engineers in Nashville ... We all said, 'Wouldn't it be nice to get this guy!'"        

Enter Steve Metcalf, proprietor of Green Acres. The McMurrys just happened to mention their recording plight to Metcalf. "Steve said 'Oh, I know Bill VornDick. We go back 20 years,'" said McMurry. "Steve talked to him and Bill agreed to take a listen. I took the tape to him and he liked it and mixed the tape for us."  The band's relationship with VornDick has developed into a strong friendship. When talk of the yet-to-be released third album came about, VornDick put his hand up first. "He decided to make the new record for us.  He put us in a really nice studio, Masterlinks in Nashville could go on for days about how many projects have been in there (The Clinch Mountain Country album, a tribute to Ralph Stanley was done in there. Of course, Ralph is on every cut). Bill produced our album himself, and we're currently shopping around to some record labels."        

teve was crazy glue-mouthed about the album's title, but he did let a few internal secrets out. "The biggest difference is a drum kit. Fitz has gone from congas to a full set.  There's some really good tunes we all came up with. We revisited a couple of songs-- 'Believe' and 'Brown Mountain Lights'. We wanted to do these songs for a major label. It's all original Acoustic Syndicate and, well, we're pretty proud of it."       

  As the Syndicate expands, so does their repertoire. Their musical beanstalk has allowed the band to discover tangents like reggae, jazz, and rock-n-roll.  The only thing that's permanent is their approach to songwriting. Steve and Bryon do the majority of the lyrics, while Fitz helps in the arrangements.  Don't worry, their lyrical prowess is in a neck race with their steel-melting instrumental flurries.       

  "The main intent is to stay away from the cheesy love song. It just doesn't make sense to me. It seems to be sort of a drop into the normal furrow. We have no defining rule. We try to write about something amusing and things that have a profound impact on us. Of course, some songs of ours don't make any sense (like 'Pumpkin and Daisy'). There doesn't necessarily have to be an incident for us to write about it."        

What's so refreshing about Acoustic Syndicate is that they don't have to go into a metaphoric whirlwind to express themselves.  The words are straight up and get right to the point.  "People appreciate something they can relate to. If I can understand what a songwriter is saying, I can appeal more to him. Everything we do, we try to do live. If we can't make sense of it, we're not going to do it."        

Songs like "Sailor Suit" and "Rainbow Roller Coaster" are written with childlike enthusiasm. Both tunes are calls to transplant the innocence of childhood to the present way of living. "It's a good way to look at things," said Steve. "People are so wrapped up in never ending struggles. It's a relief not to have to worry about this all the time. The songs are saying, 'What if we could all have fun all the time?' I mean, realistically, we can't, but there's no need to be too serious about life all the time."       

  "Rainbow Roller Coaster" is imagination at its fullest. I wondered (aloud to Steve) if this was some in-depth personal exploration. "My best friend's niece had a picture that had won an art contest.  There was a picture of a rainbow with a roller coaster. The line underneath it said, 'What if a rainbow was a roller coaster?'  I knew that there had to be a song in there somewhere."

        Be forewarned. This band is readily able to steal a little portion of each concertgoer's heart. The only way to get this fragment back is to go to another Syndicate bash. The problem is that once you leave, the band has taken it back again. I have given into this pattern with unabashed glee.  They can keep the damn piece, or give it back. I don't care. I will be in attendance anyway. Just look for me in the back, bobbing my head.

Review:  Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons
7/26/00 - Savannah, GA

by Ryan Mohs

The sleepy coastal town of Savannah, GA was awakened Wednesday, the 26th of July, by a rowdy trio of fellas that hail from Portland, OR.  As one woman put it, "We don't get much talent thrown our way down here," but on this evening the sure-fire rock-n-roll of Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons was tossed right onto Bay St. via J.J. Cagney's.     

As Jerry, Junior, and Brad took to the stage for the first set, the bar was packed with a mix of those who came for the music and some that merely came to drown their sorrows with drink.  The strange vibe created by this conglomerate was reflected by the band throughout the first set as they tried to appease a crowd that didn't seem to know what it wanted.  The result was a showcase of the band's capabilities as they played a number of songs whose tempos switched from slow, to fast, to heavy and in no particular order.  They also managed to include a great rendition of the Beatles' Come Together.     

A late set break provided an opportunity to step outside to cool off. Upon my return I found that the room had cleared a little and now there remained folks that knew why they came to J.J. Cagney's that night.  As the second set began the vibe was now one of excited anticipation and Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons seemed to feel it.

  The boys simply poured through the second set without a flaw and without stopping once to catch a breath.  All the audience got now was the flat out, in your face, tightly jammed music that these guys have become known for over the past couple of years.  The highlight of the second occurred in the middle of the set with the songs Hearts Gone Blind, North, and Brother Michael, but one can't exclude the powerful encores when considering what were the hottest songs of the night.   

   After the show when I was talking to Jerry he seemed surprised that the band had played the second set straight through without stopping as that was out of the ordinary for them, especially after that weird first set.  At any rate, on behalf of all those in attendance on that Wednesday night, thanks to Jerry, Junior, and Brad for one hell of a show. When Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons roll into your town, definitely get out to see them because they got that punch to provide you with plenty of bang for your buck.

Review:  Jerry Garcia Birthday Bash Sunshine Daydreams -
Terra Alta, WV

'Where Have All the Jam Bands Gone?'

By Dan Meadows

As we stand at the precipice of a new century, a new millennium even, where are the truly creative, truly original, truly explorative musical minds who will lead us?

I've just come from a weekend getaway/music festival at a place called Sunshine Daydreams in northeastern West Virginia.  It was a Jerry Garcia birthday bash and camp out.  The spot was perfect, a nice hunk of real estate located snuggly in a valley, surrounded on all sides by rich, green rolling hills.  A large stage in one corner of the property served as the main showcase, and a graying old barn, beckoning from the days when the place used to be a working farm, was a second stage.

People piled in, cars in rows at first and then spreading out.  Fire circles sprung up, tents were pitched in almost every available spot.  It was just a cool and relaxed festival atmosphere if I've ever seen one. The line up for the three day musical celebration featured such jamband luminaries as Ekoostik Hookah, Leftover Salmon, Hypnotic Clambake, Stir Fried with Vasser Clements, and a host of others.

Myself, being a tape trader since my later high school days when a friend of mine introduced me to my first Dead tape, I had heard the music of some of these bands, and heard of most of the others by reputation.  The weekend was going to be my chance to get a true taste of the jamband scene in all its glory.

My question now is what happened to all of the glory?

I rolled in about midnight on Friday night, and popped open the first of many beers just as the opening strains of Hypnotic Clambake blasted across the fields.  After a couple of bluegrass-style numbers and some instrumentals that I can only describe as gypsy music, I gave up on setting up the tent for a while, and was drawn to the stage to check out the dancing scene. After a few hours of driving, I just had to let my legs move.

There were a few hundred people twirling about in the multicolored lights of the stage, and the groove from the amps was infectious.  The overall good vibes even let me ignore one of my least favorite things, ridiculously goofy lyrics, a la Phish (and some were especially goofy, like the one about the Rasta-Cyborg).

Anyway, when the show wrapped up, I was excited as much for what I had seen as for what was to come.  I'd had a good primer and was ready for a weekend of truly excellent jamming, all in the ever-present spirit of good ol' Jerry.  Unfortunately, I had a good while to wait for the next top notch playing.

After the late Friday night, Clambake wasn't the last act to go on, Saturday morning broke with a thick fog over the land.  It was nearly 10 before the sun burned off the white blanket that hung over the valley to reveal the true splendor.  I spent a good hour just lying in the grass, taking in the rolling hills on all sides-and I have a pretty good case of sunburn to show for it.

Around noon, the first of the main stage bands started playing, and their mix of occasional guitar riffs with a rapping lead singer made me reach for the band list to see who was up next.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about mixing styles of music, but in the context that I heard it here, the "singer" overwhelmed whatever good grooves were coming from the band.

I resorted to tossing a Frisbee around for a while, waiting for the better dancing opportunity I was certain was coming.  Unfortunately, the next two main stage acts were pretty straight-forward Dead cover bands, complete with lead guitars who were a tad too reminiscent of Jerry.

One of them, the Grinning Mob I think they called themselves, were pretty good though.  They enticed me to get to the stage and shake my bones a little to some familiar tunes and an always lively Lovelight, complete with Pigpen rendition.  There is always a time and a place for reminiscing, after all, just not every time and place.

After the disappointments of the main stage, I thought I'd try out the barn.  Inside the old building was a slightly raised stage at one end, and whose old wooden floorboards were covered with mix and match pieces of carpet.  You don't want barefoot, twirling hippies getting splinters, of course.

It was loud, refreshingly so from all the mellower sounds outside, and the acoustics kept the music bouncing around the small rectangle of a building. Immediately, I was impressed with the band on the stage.  I never did catch their name, but the lead guitar was playing his instrument like he'd built it.  The notes were bending and twisting, taking on variations you could tell were being invented as his fingers moved across the frets.  This was what I'd expected to see here, a rash of folks exploring new and different ways to use those six little strings.

Unfortunately, the band was hurried off after a short little set and a couple of hot Zeppelin covers (about 45 minutes), and the next band ended up being more of the same that I had seen outside.  This was another problem for the weekend.  I have since heard that several bands were hurried due to a time schedule, which seems kinda silly to me.  After all, no one had anywhere to go, and would any of us want Jerry pushed off stage after an hour and a half just to meet a schedule?

One band, Fat Apple I think it was, did find a novel way to beat the scheduling woes, though.  They just set up and played after hours, not firing up until well after 2 a.m. and jamming damn near to sunrise.

I picked up my disappointment, slung it over my shoulder, made my way back to the camp site and fired up the grill for some dinner before the main bands hit the stage Saturday night.  After a couple of hot dogs, some more beer, and passing some good old-fashioned concert preparation amongst our circle of campers, we headed back to the stage for what turned out to be the musical high point of my weekend.

Stir Fried with Vasser Clements kicked things off.  Finally, with Vasser’s ranging fiddle and Buddy Cage's slide work, I was seeing a band with truly virtuoso musicians.  They played a great set, with just a couple of Jerry covers, including a particularly nice Don't Let Go.  I bounced around the dancing crowd, enjoying the cool mix of sounds from the stage, and marveling a Clements.  His control of that fiddle was amazing, particularly for a man on the high side of 70 years old.

With the sun starting to slip behind the mountains as Stir Fried's set wrapped up, a band from New Jersey, Juggling Suns, took over.  With long, far reaching original dance tunes and one or two sharp covers-Viola Lee Blues!-this  was the top jam band I saw over the three days.  Their lead guitar, Mark Diomedes, played in a style all his own, with vast, rolling solos keeping the audience's attention, leading them twirling with abandon all the way, through the highs and lows of each jam.  This was the most fully-formed jamband of the weekend.  They played their own tunes with confidence, and covered songs in much the same way as Jerry used to, picking out a song they liked and proceeded to play with their own style and arrangement.

With darkness covering us all at that point, the Suns left the stage, much too soon for my way of thinking, clearing the way for Ekoostik Hookah.  I had heard a few good tapes and many better word of mouth reviews of Hookah, and was ripe for my first in-person experience.

But after nearly 3 ½ hours of constant dancing, Hookah's long, drawn out tunes and (to put it bluntly after the bands I'd just heard) rather flat solos caused me to drift away from the stage.  I was in dire need of another beer, anyway.  I spent the remainder of the evening propped up around a campfire, with Ekoostik Hookah as background music.  Good background music, but not good enough to entice me to dance.

Sunday morning rolled around and a couple of my group had to get going, having come from many hours away and having to work first thing Monday morning.  I, being one to have my priorities in order, chose to stick it out, feeling somewhat optimistic after the previous evening's good jamming experiences.

Unfortunately, like the day before, band after band of similar sounds took the stage, with rare few exceptions.  A band named Jello played a good show with a couple of nice jams in the barn, but that was about it.

There were some pleasant musical surprises over the weekend as well, but not necessarily from either stage.  A man parked not 30 yards from our camp site Sunday morning propped himself on the hood of his car with an old acoustic guitar and proceeded to strum and sing one of the sharpest versions of Jack Straw I've ever heard. It was easily as entertaining as anything I saw from any of the scheduled acts.

I hung in until Leftover Salmon took the stage to close out the weekend. But midway through their opening set, I found myself back at the car.  Most of my friends had long since bugged out, and now I was cleaning up and packing up to do the same.  I was looking at about a four hour drive myself, and nothing coming from the stage made me want to stay and risk falling asleep behind the wheel at 3 or 4 a.m. and driving off a mountain.

As I pulled out of Sunshine Daydreams, a place I will certainly return to soon, my jamband weekend was kind of a wash.  I'd had a blast camping, the weather was great, the company was good, and the tunes were, overall, pretty solid.  But I'd hoped to come away a fan of a new band or two, someone different to try to get tapes of.  The only thing I found was an eerie similarity to Phish and 90's era Grateful Dead to a lot of these so-called bearers of Jerry's creative flame.  I'm sure, taken on their own, each of these bands would have made a better impression, but here, piled one atop another, they all sort of ran together.

Hopefully soon, maybe when I return for Jerry's B-Day next year, some jambands will have found their own lights and be so much more than just copied guitar solos or song arrangements, and piggybacked on someone else's legacy.  Of course, if you have to piggyback, Jerry is as good a choice as any, and a better choice than most.

    During the weekend, I had a conversation with a friend of mine about the bands playing there.  We were sharing some more of that concert preparation (which also works nicely for post-concert relaxation) by the fire about midway through Hookah's performance on Saturday.

"Why isn't there a bluegrass band here?" he asked me.  "Why isn't there a blues band here?" I returned.  "How about soul music or R&B?" he continued. "Or some folk or reggae, even?" I finished.

What should have been a broad collection of various styles of music ended up being band after band playing in the style of the later-years Grateful Dead.  The exceptions were welcome but far too few.  It seems like the entire genre of jamband music has filtered down to one style.  What started as a hodge podge of everything has become lots of one thing.  And it was particularly galling to see it at a Garcia Birthday Party because, as my friend put it so eloquently, "Jerry played fucking everything!"

The whole point of the jam as I see it, is to take music to reaches no one else has ever heard or played before, and there was far too little of that going on in the hills of West Virginia this July.  It seems like we've started off the new millennium and all of its vast musical possibilities, with just more of the same.