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Artist
El Capitan
12+ albums
americana
about
Twenty-something years ago, a group of folks—-healers, airmen, woodcutters, hunters, and members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir—give birth to five children in various locales. As the children grow, their folks force upon them Simon and Garfunkel, Beach Boys and Beatles, old country, bad lite-rock and Christian nursery rhymes, a little jazz, and a bunch of AM radio. The five kids are kinda weird; they get chased by things unreal through the woods and try to talk to airplanes with scrap metal. Time is spent at the altar, concussions are landed… They do things they’re not supposed to and bum the other kids out in choir and band class. They’re remembering, quite well, the music they’ve heard. The kids get bigger, doing more stuff they shouldn’t do—along with the skateboarding thing and the punk rock thing and the blues thing and the funk thing and the dub/reggae thing. They’re boys in bands, driving vans across the land for spare change, over and over forever, because that’s what kids in bands do. They keep growing and keep remembering, quite well, what they listened to when they were brand-new. More presently: Two of them, Nor’Easterners, find themselves along side the other two, NorCal natives, in San Francisco. The noise starts quietly (acoustics, banjos, piani, violins, brushes; 2003) in a Mission District kitchen and on a bedroom 8-track analog recorder closer to the Presidio. They start with harmony over melody, in the finest traditions of Americana, soul, reggae, and blu
