all photos: Anna Scialli

It’s funny how things come together – seemingly meaningless fragments of conversation tying themselves in tight little knots by evenings end. I turned to my right in-between sets to see someone I know and always enjoy talking with. Stealing away a few moments, we somehow veered into a conversation about the stages of courting and laughed about when you finally reveal your true self. She straightened up her face and looked me deep in the eye as I joked about no longer concerning your self with what you wear to bed or if you have face cream on at the end of the night. “But that’s real intimacy” she stated.

I stopped laughing and smiled a little smile. She was right.

Kitty Hawk ambled on as a white-clad duo. I was admittedly anxious to see them. So many people had mentioned to me that I would adore this band based on my tastes that they had unobtainable expectations. Much like when your tight circle tried introducing you to that common friend in matchmaker style, building up to what would inevitably be an awkward and heavy first hello. Their country drone drew me in immediately. We had each other’s attention from the first moment.

They were intoxicating and undeniably intriguing and I could see that with a little nudge they could really be beautiful. But like a first date, I found myself focusing on the negatives with the same degree of analysis as the positives. The truth is, that they were at times not in sync and as just two people – that can be hard to cover. Their occasional use of drum tracks only served to highlight this, as both were able to play to the click perfectly as opposed to finding one another. In dressing the songs past their personal capabilities they simply tried to do more than needed via percussion in an effort to create interest. It was an admirable quality but ultimately Kitty Hawk needs to be themselves and play to their strengths behind the kit and give the songs the coloring they deserve. They need look no further than the headliners to take some tips.

Parting ways I found them flawed yet gorgeous and pretty. I will make an effort to see them again.

Deleted Scenes moved us past the first date and right into that stage where you have an unbridled passion for someone and can’t keep your hands off them trying to discover every inch and exhausting yourself in the effort. Blowing off the haze of a Sunday night, fronted by the wiry charisma of Dan Scheuerman and his eyes that hang like he never sleeps, they brought a thumping big sound and tension to the proceedings. They show lots of DC influences in their playing, from Dismemberment Plan yelps and angles to Fugazi ragga and Jawbox rumble. However, it was when they hit the big radio-ready choruses (reminding me actually of Old 97s – a reference the band might cringe at) that they were the most interesting. Knocking into shape a little more and finding their own voice (trust those pop instincts and more synth – I know I know) and they could be big news soon.

As I drifted to the back to scribble notes I noticed a few “quiet” music fans defiantly standing with arms crossed refusing to embrace the rush coming from the stage. Their loss – I always treasure this part of a relationship.

“My Oldest Memory” shuffled in Bowerbirds as we settled into a familiarity with one another that few will share. Comfortable yet still interesting, a foil for your humor and darkness – Bowerbirds are intimate.

Phil Moore’s beautiful croak of a voice soon joined with Beth Tacular’s ray of hope as their delicate steely pick/strum is pushed gently along by the bass drum thump, like stomping on the floorboards. The crowd thins yet the cheering is twice as loud: Music for the dedicated.

They sing of not trying to reach the unobtainable but rather reminding you that you already have what you need. “…You own the stars, you own the thunder…”

Giving a quick rundown of the various hundred plus temperatures the group has been carrying and admitting to feeling a “little loopy” they stop and re-start “Slow Down.” Instantly the hushed crowd is returned to the closed circle as their intertwined vocals bring us in. Fading out, you can hear the clinking of the glasses and muffled chatter from the next door bar adding an unexpected romantic flourish.

Trading vocals, they seem to be from another time – like an Appalachian Richard and Linda Thompson. Trading smiles they sing “and we’re civilized… and we’re terrified…”

The off kilter rhythm of “Dark Horse” finds Moore shaking his head side to side, eyes closed and singing with that upturned corner of his mouth as he seems transported to the quiet of his home and far from the bar we are all standing in – transfixed on his swaying figure. We need him in a way that he doesn’t need us, but he is still willing to share.

They then play a Buckley-esque song that will serve as a bonus track on the re-release of “Hymns for A Dark Horse.” The tune is quiet and mournful. “Blisters on its hands from tying ropes all day.”

Slowly building to what might be the first tension-filled accordion piece. Tacular’s playing of the instrument is raw and emotional as it opens up the song to Mark Paulson’s beautiful violin. This alone will make it worthwhile purchasing the record again.

“The Ticonderoga,” spills out, taking on the persona of a body of water coaxing a ship to find its shores as a final resting place and then morphing into a hungry wolf taunting a crippled lamb. Pointing out your weakness in a matter-of-fact manner and painting the inevitable. It swings into “In Our Talons” and I find myself unexpectedly emotional as they sing sweetly “you’re in our talons now and we’re never letting go – you’re in our headlights now and you know we’re not stopping.” I am not alone, as the crowd sensing the high point of the set cuts the quiet with a burst of applause.

“Olive Hearts” serves as an apt send off in its sense of a party ending. Brought back by the calls for “Hooves” they give us more. They play unprotected and sick. Closing out the evening with the sweet sing-a-long of “Bur Oak” and its Shellyann Orphan-like jazzy interplay to compliment their rustic charm, they are soon gone and we are all the better for our moments shared together. True intimacy.

“He asks us what we have done for our souls lately.”