Having just returned home from a major 10-week U.S. tour, the bluegrass troubadours of Athens, Ga’s Packway Handle Band rounded up their local junkyard minstrel compatriots Hope for agoldensummer for an old time homecoming at the 40 Watt Club on this crisp and cool Saturday night. As I walked into the venue about thirty minutes before show time, there on the stage already stood the many instruments that served as the wands with which Hope would weave their earthy magic on the crowd. Both groups are common headliners locally, but the petty politics of who-plays-when had no place in the 40 Watt this evening. This show was a solid double-header, not a setup for one particular act over another.
When Hope took their seats on the stage, most of the crowd was seated as well. Those who were standing were doing so at the bar ordering drinks, and much of the room was similarly engaged in chatter that congealed into a white noise bouncing mercilessly throughout the 40 Watt, often above the band’s inspired take on group folk. However, Hope fought this noise gracefully simply by playing with the invigorating passion that is their hallmark.
A heavy focus was placed on material from their forthcoming second album, much of which left cellist Will Taylor sitting with legs crossed sipping a beer but looking satisfied. This wasn’t surprising, for as more people trickled into the club and seating space diminished, a standing crowd swelled at the foot of the stage. In this city, which is often and ironically so ambivalent toward music despite it’s reputation as a “music town,” actually drawing people toward the stage can be a major accomplishment. The Campbell sisters Claire and Page even managed to silence the background buzz during their show-stealing a cappella-plus-schoolyard-handclaps song “Time Will Tell.”
In the relatively short time between the two acts, an interesting thing began to happen. Many of those who had been so enraptured and attentive during Hope’s set either withdrew from the stage or left altogether. The musical differences between Packway and Hope are not dramatic; while Hope are more experimental and ambitious, falling closer to contemporary folk territory than anything country or bluegrass, and Packway are as retro a throwback as young bluegrass musicians are likely to get these days, both rely on stripped down, organic instrumentation and lush vocal harmonies to convey their heart’s desires.
The disparity in crowds is probably explained in presentation and appearance rather than anything musical. Hope’s crowd included many disheveled, angular-haired types that give greater reverence to an overall DIY aesthetic than any particular musical qualities, reflecting to some degree the scruffy, come-as-you-are appearance of the band. The dapper Packway boys in their full suits played to more Polo shirts and Bulldog apparel than Hope have likely ever seen in one building at the same time.
And play they certainly did. Packway’s crowd arrived ready to have their feet moved rather than their hearts. The band’s playing was flawless, and aside from electric bass in place of upright, utterly authentic. Specializing in uptempo barnstormers, Packway only faltered when pandering to that sizeable sector of their crowd that for some reason tends to get excited about gimmicky bluegrass renditions of contemporary songs, in tonight’s case a flat take on Joe Cocker’s “Never Tear Us Apart” that had the audience singing along regardless.
Still, Packway were genius this evening, and that genius rested in their ability to craft truly effective ebbs and tides in the pace of their lengthy (nearly an hour and a half) set. Whenever the crowd seemed to be getting tired, the band recognized this and obliged them with slower tunes for a while before building things back up into a frenzy. By the end, there was nary an unshuffled foot or unjigged knee in the house.
With a chill in the night air, the classy, down-home sounds of each group perfectly complimented one another like apple cider and pumpkin pie. Walking outside, I took in a breath of autumn decay and realized that this was an event tailor-made for the perfect month of October.
When Hope took their seats on the stage, most of the crowd was seated as well. Those who were standing were doing so at the bar ordering drinks, and much of the room was similarly engaged in chatter that congealed into a white noise bouncing mercilessly throughout the 40 Watt, often above the band’s inspired take on group folk. However, Hope fought this noise gracefully simply by playing with the invigorating passion that is their hallmark.
A heavy focus was placed on material from their forthcoming second album, much of which left cellist Will Taylor sitting with legs crossed sipping a beer but looking satisfied. This wasn’t surprising, for as more people trickled into the club and seating space diminished, a standing crowd swelled at the foot of the stage. In this city, which is often and ironically so ambivalent toward music despite it’s reputation as a “music town,” actually drawing people toward the stage can be a major accomplishment. The Campbell sisters Claire and Page even managed to silence the background buzz during their show-stealing a cappella-plus-schoolyard-handclaps song “Time Will Tell.”
In the relatively short time between the two acts, an interesting thing began to happen. Many of those who had been so enraptured and attentive during Hope’s set either withdrew from the stage or left altogether. The musical differences between Packway and Hope are not dramatic; while Hope are more experimental and ambitious, falling closer to contemporary folk territory than anything country or bluegrass, and Packway are as retro a throwback as young bluegrass musicians are likely to get these days, both rely on stripped down, organic instrumentation and lush vocal harmonies to convey their heart’s desires.
The disparity in crowds is probably explained in presentation and appearance rather than anything musical. Hope’s crowd included many disheveled, angular-haired types that give greater reverence to an overall DIY aesthetic than any particular musical qualities, reflecting to some degree the scruffy, come-as-you-are appearance of the band. The dapper Packway boys in their full suits played to more Polo shirts and Bulldog apparel than Hope have likely ever seen in one building at the same time.
And play they certainly did. Packway’s crowd arrived ready to have their feet moved rather than their hearts. The band’s playing was flawless, and aside from electric bass in place of upright, utterly authentic. Specializing in uptempo barnstormers, Packway only faltered when pandering to that sizeable sector of their crowd that for some reason tends to get excited about gimmicky bluegrass renditions of contemporary songs, in tonight’s case a flat take on Joe Cocker’s “Never Tear Us Apart” that had the audience singing along regardless.
Still, Packway were genius this evening, and that genius rested in their ability to craft truly effective ebbs and tides in the pace of their lengthy (nearly an hour and a half) set. Whenever the crowd seemed to be getting tired, the band recognized this and obliged them with slower tunes for a while before building things back up into a frenzy. By the end, there was nary an unshuffled foot or unjigged knee in the house.
With a chill in the night air, the classy, down-home sounds of each group perfectly complimented one another like apple cider and pumpkin pie. Walking outside, I took in a breath of autumn decay and realized that this was an event tailor-made for the perfect month of October.
—Jace Bartet
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