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fayewonglibrary · 5 years ago

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Viva the Divas! (1996)

FROM AMERICA TO ASIA, STYLISH WOMEN SINGERS ARE FORCING THE BAD BOYS OF POP MUSIC TO STEP ASIDE

BY: RICHARD CORLISS

There was something feminine about Elvis. His mouth formed the pout of a sullen schoolgirl; his hair was swathed in more chemicals than a starlet’s; his hips churned like a hooker’s in heat. Presley was manly too, in a street-punk way. For him, the electric guitar was less an instrument than a symbolic weapon–an ax or a machine gun aimed at the complacent pop culture of the ‘50s. Performing his pansexual rite to a heavy bass line, Elvis set the primal image for rock: a man and his guitar, the tortured satyr and his magic lute.

He also established the androgyny of the male star. When a guy could provide his own sexual menace, long hair, coquetry and falsetto singing, who needed women? Oh, they were allowed to scream in the audience, or maybe sing backup, but not to rock on, down and dirty, with the big bad boys. Even today girls are no more encouraged to pick up a Stratocaster than to pilot an F-16. They are expected to play only one instrument: the voice.

And do they! After nearly 40 years as second-class citizens, women singers are staging their own revolution, The upheaval may be demure, even ladylike; Miwa Yoshida does not froth on the concert stage, nor is Faye Wong likely to trash a hotel room. But they have stormed the barricades where it counts: on the charts of best-selling CDs and in the hearts of a billion or so fans around the world. They have reconfigured pop music. This is the era of the pop diva.

Diva means goddess. The dictionary definition is more modern: “an operatic prima donna.” Let’s fiddle a little with those words. “Operatic”: note the strenuous, hyperemotional, aria-like feel to many pop ballads. “Prima donna”: remove its suggestion of imperious temperament and translate it literally as “first lady.” Voila! Celine Dion or Gloria Estefan, Whitney or Mariah, Madonna or Enya, Miwa or Faye, Toni Braxton or Tina Arena, Annie Lennox or Alanis Morissette. They come from the U.S., of course, but also from French and English Canada, from Cuba, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Australia, Japan and China. In every country, in any language: la diva.

Like so many other forms of popular culture, the diva genre exists both locally and globally at the same time. Dion, from French Canada, alternates albums in French and English. Estefan, born in Cuba and raised in Miami, records in Spanish and English. Dion was chosen to open the Olympic Games in Atlanta with a pop hymn, The Power of the Dream, backed by a 300-member gospel choir, and Estefan was there on closing night to sing her anthemic Reach. Both singers embodied success stories as potent as any come-from-behind Olympic fairy tale: Dion, the youngest of 14 children who has become this year’s Diva Deluxe; and Estefan, brave survivor of a 1990 bus crash that broke her back, who is now back on top. “So I’ll go the distance this time,” she intones, “seeing more the higher I climb.”

Divas can’t climb much higher. They nestle at or near the top of their country’s music charts. Some, like Dion, Houston and Mariah Carey–not to mention, for the moment, Canada’s crack-voiced outlaw diva Alanis Morissette–have been on the Top 10 lists in Europe, the Americas and the Pacific Rim simultaneously. More important, most are damn fine singers. They are a link between the great voices of the past (think of Ella Fitzgerald, Ethel Merman, Edith Piaf) and the ears of people who can’t get attuned to the howling self-pity of much contemporary rock but aren’t ready to give up on pop music.

Like the Olympic spirit, the divas’ internationalist impulse reflects both a curiosity about other cultures and a nose for smart marketing. To spur Japanese sales of her Colour of My Love album, Dion added a new song, To Love You More, from the Japanese TV mini-series Lover, backed instrumentally by the Japanese ensemble Kryzler & Kompany. Dion sang it in English, but the locals didn’t mind: they bought 1.5 million copies.

A diva needn’t be Western to have the international flair. Nothing forces Yoshida, the soul-jazz sensation who fronts the band Dreams Come True, to go west to increase her Japanese fan base. She still writes and performs songs in her native language. Yet she usually records in Britain, and she cut her first solo set, Beauty and Harmony, in New York City with some top American sidemen. The collaboration produced vocals that were more precise, more regimented, than her past work. But it showed the need for even top regional artists to prove their chops in the U.S., which is still revered as the big leagues for singers.

Some stars of the Pacific, like Tina Arena, have long set their sights on America. An Australian who has sung publicly since she was five, Arena has an easy authority as vocalist and songwriter; her cool-teen voice matches her rock-easy compositions, which are so infectious that six-year-olds would learn them instantly and so familiar that you might think they were big hits a decade ago (they’re all new, all hers). When Arena gets precision and voltage into the songs–Heaven Help My Heart, Greatest Gift, Standing Up–she sounds like a kid sister to Elaine Paige, superb star of London musicals, who introduced such instant standards as Don’t Cry for Me Argentina (from Evita), Memory (from Cats) and a quite different Heaven Help My Heart (from Chess). But England is not Arena’s destination. She’s moved to Los Angeles because, like a lot of divas, she may believe she can’t be a star until she’s an American star.

Wong is too cool to entertain those ambitions. Indeed, she prefers to record in her native Beijing, where she can concentrate on her music, rather than in Hong Kong, where for years she was a formulaic Canto-pop singer known as Shirley Wong. Her striking, angular looks–think of an elongated pixie who moonlights as a sorceress–made her a natural for movies, but her debut made few notice; in Beyond’s Diary she played the girlfriend of a pop musician.

Gradually she found her own style, on records and on film. Her second picture, Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express, made her a hip pinup to sophisticated moviegoers on both sides of the Pacific. The film also internationalized her choice of music. She plays a dizzy waitress in a fast-food restaurant who is obsessed with going to California and playing, over and over and over, the 1966 California Dreamin’ by the Mamas and the Papas. Over the end credits she sings a Cantonese cover of the Cranberries hit Dreams. And now, on her Restless CD, she meets the international market on her own terms: five of the songs have no intelligible lyrics at all, and two irresistibly obscurantist cuts were written and produced by Scotland’s Cocteau Twins. Wong remains the spooky gamin of Chinese music, and Restless is a wondrous blend of Canto-pop and lollipop.

Wong’s approach alternates between a blissed-out whisper and bright piping in a register so high only Pekingese pups can hear it. That puts her squarely in one tradition of divadom: the vocal virtuoso. For decades, two Americans defined this style. Patti LaBelle, a gospel-trained ranter, has enthralled the faithful with her mad-woman riffs. Bette Midler, known internationally as the blowsy star of movie comedies, built her career as a throwback singer who could evoke Sophie Tucker’s bawdiness and Bessie Smith’s soul-in-hell emotional exhaustion with equal power and facility. The virtuoso mode can also be heard in the florid, world-weary style of France’s Catherine Ribeiro and, with glances back to the glamour of Piaf and Dietrich, in the bitter brilliance of Germany’s Ute Lemper. Though their styles were unique, all these women kept bright the flame of the traditional torch singer.

But none of them became international superstars or encouraged others to do the same. For that you can thank Houston (and her mentor at Arista Records, Clive Davis). It was an old recipe–great chops, exotic looks and a clever choice of material–that served Lena Horne, Abbey Lincoln, Eartha Kitt, and Houston’s cousin Dionne Warwick. But in the harsh prevailing winds of mid-'80s rap and heavy metal, Houston was a welcome spring breeze. Her delicacy of phrasing made songs like Saving All My Love for You and The Greatest Love of All easy listening in the best sense. Her prom-queen glamour made her an ideal star for the early video era, an antidote to Cyndi Lauper’s goofy-girl atavism and Madonna’s bad-girl sass. Her first album, Whitney Houston, sold 10 million copies.

Houston has retained her eminence, if not pre-eminence, while curtailing her output: she has released less than a single regular album’s worth of songs, only 10, since 1990. But her example and her relative quiescence have spurred a dozen divas-in-waiting. Many noted the structure of Houston’s big hits–a slow-tempo devotional tune that escalates from the foreplay of whispers to the explosive orgasm of wails and whoops–and made the mistake of imitating it. (Houston made that error too.) Dion’s early English-language albums are almost touching in their fidelity to the Whitney formula. It took her a while to realize she could relax on record.

Today’s top Whitneyesque star is Mariah Carey. Like Houston, she’ll mix ballads with synthesized dance music; she’s a handsome woman with a video flair; she has a patron in Tommy Mottola, boss of her record company, who is also her husband. Carey has even outsold Houston in the '90s, because she releases albums at a busier pace.

One big difference: Houston sings straight soprano with some church inflection; Carey is a coloratura. She could even be called a cubist, for she appraises nearly every note in every song from a dozen or more angles. In When I Saw You from her current Daydream CD, Carey breaks the word knew into an amazing 26 separate notes (this is only an estimate: we played these four seconds over and over, and got up to 26 just before we went mad). Her jazzy riffs suggest demon virtuosity, but it could also be musical browsing. Maybe Carey can’t decide which interpretation is the right one, so she tries them all.

Like Carey, many female singers co-write their music. Many others don’t, and are thus handicapped by pop’s 30-year tyranny of singer-songwriters. Hey, if you don’t write, you’re not an artist. “Vocal interpreter” used to be an honorable job description–good enough for Ella, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. Now the epithet is often an insult. It conjures up images of a Las Vegas lounge singer crooning Feelings.

All right, maybe the top pop songwriters of the day–Babyface and David Foster (who collaborated on Dion’s The Power of the Dream) and Diane Warren (who helped Estefan write Reach) aren’t Gershwin and Stephen Foster and Harry Warren. But they can write good songs for good singers. These three composers all had a hand in Toni Braxton’s fine Secrets CD–dusky, mellow, infectiously commercial, like a grownup Tina Arena.

And there’s plenty of other good music to record. Alison Krauss, a child fiddle prodigy from Illinois and later a world-class bluegrass singer with her band Union Station, became a star with her 1995 compilation Now That I’ve Found You. The set puts Krauss’s mountain-stream soprano on pretty display. She caresses standards from R. and B. (the title song), gospel (the soul-lifting When God Dips His Pen of Love in My Heart) and the Paul McCartney catalog (an elfin I Will). Think of it: a singer with no gimmick but a passionate talent and a great, rangy taste in music.

If there’s a knock on the modern divas–whether pop, like Carey, Houston and Dion, or pure, like Krauss–it’s that their material is just too amiable. Much of their music is not just middle of the road; it tiptoes on the white line in the middle of the middle of the road. Dammit, they sing like girls! And in social norms, the pop diva adheres to the proper side of the gender split in music. She is expected to be a sister before a lover; the operative slur word is “nice.” Pop is the boarding school where the good girls live. Rock is the shooting gallery where the naughty boys hang out.

Somewhere between these extremes there should be an outlaw diva. She can do cool-guy things: write songs about malaise and disorientation, play a harmonica, take herself very seriously, sell 16 million copies of her first big CD. Why, she could be Alanis Morissette–the anti-Whitney, the pariah Mariah, the outre Faye, the mean Celine.

Anyway, that’s how the 22-year-old comes across on a first listen of the Jagged Little Pill album. Morissette’s songs sound aggressive, grudging, desperate. Her alto lurches among the octaves, from growl to shriek. A typical phrase will end in a gasp, as if one of the emotional inferiors in her songs had suddenly retaliated by pressing thumb and forefinger on her windpipe. The voice of Sinead O'Connor, you imagine, in the mind of Patti Smith.

But Morissette is not that simple. A former teen star in her native Canada, she’s smart enough to give her choruses sing-along melodies–the likely contribution of co-writer Glen Ballard, who formerly produced Wilson Phillips, the trio of cool-harmonizing, second-generation pop stars. In the perkier tunes (You Learn, Head over Feet), the singer overdubs tight harmonies that might have come from Wilson Phillips. And that is Morissette’s dirty little secret: inside her edgy plaints are craft and a yen to please. She’s a mainstream diva in spite of herself.

Morissette may soon discover that the rock machismo she approximates is often just an acid flavor of the month: a hit, a burnout, a trivia question. But being a diva is a life’s work. The Scottish Annie Lennox has been at it for 20 years, developing a husky voice and a gift for weaving a dramatic spell that is almost visual. Her 1995 Medusa album has 10 old and new songs written by others. The opening cut, No More “I Love You’s,” relies on Lennox’s evocation of love’s demons–“Desire, despair, desire, so many monsters”–and her conjuring up, in a mid-song monologue, of a little girl for whom these monsters come to life. A woman’s bed of sad passion has telescoped into a child’s bedroom fears at midnight.

The final number on Medusa is Paul Simon’s 1973 Something So Right. In Lennox’s gorgeous reworking, she answers the pessimism of No More “I Love You’s” and completes the album’s circle. “Some people never say the words I love you, / But like a child I’m longing to be told.” Again a girl in a woman’s supple voice, Lennox finds salvation foraging in a child’s garden of cries from the heart. Lennox might be Piaf here–there’s that eerie understanding of a lyric–but with the fever adjusted to room temperature.

Piaf is still an icon, both for her poignant life story and for her ability to hurdle emotion over the language barrier. But in the world market of the '90s, when virtually every album with gigantic global sales is in some form of English, what’s a diva to do? Cultivate her own garden, for the worldwide boom in CD sales means there are more people searching for something different. Morissette’s album is bubble-gum music next to Tori Amos’ Boys for Pele, with its forbiddingly opaque lyrics, a voice that runs amuck over the octaves and the famous inside photo of Amos with a suckling piglet at her breast. Yet the album has sold millions. Moral: You can’t be too weird. You must be you.

That is the message attended to by Wong in her recent take-me-or-leave-me mode, and by Yoshida in her American experiment. It surely applies to singers who harbor nations within themselves. Enya, the Celtic lass whose ethereal soundscapes might have emanated from a very gentle UFO, sings in Gaelic, English and Latin–the languages of family, school and church. Her melodies are so mellow as to seem downright shy, yet they’re so popular that an entire genre of new music is known simply as Enya.

By that standard, the pop brand of Cuban-American music should probably be called Gloria. With time, the Estefan sound has grown full and wise, Latin rhythms accompanying rather than defining the melody. Estefan has also learned to write for her voice and disposition; on her latest album, Destiny, she has taken her own advice. Reach–higher.

And Celine Dion has reached inside. The Falling into You CD, a supercharged superproduction, will yield perhaps half a dozen smasheroo singles, and it’s a treat to hear her belt a song to bits. But a bigger piece of her heart can be found on The French Album. There the girl from Quebec sings in her mother’s language and in a voice so ardent and discreet it reminds you of Elvis in the intimate ballads he recorded in his time off from creating the bad-boy iconography of rock. Murmuring like the heart just before sleeping, Dion’s voice summons the power and the glory of the diva.

–With reporting by Charles P. Alexander/Montreal

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SOURCE: TIME MAGAZINE

#1996

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immersedinm · 6 years ago

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Just a week ago today….

A good night’s sleep after a day of travel and a night filled with music can completely rejuvenate me. Savannah is such a beautiful welcoming city. The weather was perfect for the entire weekend and each venue was within blocks of each other. After a hardy meal and popping around in local Savannah shops, it was time for the music to begin. I began the evening early at 5pm with Esther Rose at Service Brewing Company. They were a new sponsor to the Festival and provided a wonderful wide open space for sipping and listening.

Friday

Esther Rose

Having Esther Rose begin my Friday festival experience was a nice choice. It helped me ease into the schedule of the many bands on my list to see. For Esther, living in New Orleans influenced her songwriting and some have dubbed it “the happiest saddest music.” She has a way of presenting simple, timeless country songs, with quality. Rose is a songwriter that captures feelings and emotion, peppering them with a good ol’ fiddle. The combo becomes easy listening at it’s best. Favorites of their set were “Jump Down Baby”, “The Money Tree” and I am not sure of the name of the song I captured in my snippet video clip, maybe new music or a cover….but I liked it!

The Holy Knives

The lead singer for The Holy Knives was dripping with charisma and had a voice that made me stop and take notice. Honestly, I didn’t plan to slow up from my next allotted band, but I couldn’t help it. So, I stepped inside the lovely outdoor courtyard of the Congress Street Social Club to listen. The Holy Knives have a debut album out now, which is sultry rock and roll, Year of the Black Dog. Brothers, Kyle and Kody Valentine, have the perfect combination of one providing nice guitar work, and the other deep brooding baritone vocals. Be sure to check out my short video clip.

William Tyler

When I was planning my Stopover schedule, I knew this was going to be a once in a lifetime experience. William Tyler’s guitar work echoes quiet thoughts of genius. He can pluck the strings a multitude of times while you simply blink. It is beyond phenomenal to experience live, because you can see the depth of concentration on his face and the sharp angled knuckles on his fingers created by years of practice. I will forever be in awe.

Performing alone, in a small room right beside a hip, upscale bar, he quieted the room. I almost felt cheated if I heard a whisper, or if someone quietly shuffled from the stiffness of sitting on the barren, glossy cement floor. I sat frozen in wonder unable to move. I wanted to simply listen and soak in the moment.

When Tyler would play guitar for a moment, then bend down to work on the loops, it was a mesmerizing interruption. I listened intently, hoping to somehow separate the live guitar with the recorded loops. It proved to be impossible, due to the layers and layers of guitar work and my inability to see the fast plucking of his right hand.

But as you will see in my very short video, both of his hands are in constant motion. His newest album, Goes West, is one for the ultimate guitar lover or a quiet Sunday morning meant for reading and broadly expanding the mind.

Dead Soft

Dead Soft was another band I accidentally stumbled upon, as I was traveling from venue to venue. I rushed by the outdoor stage, and as I listened, I had to stop. Dead Soft has the power to combine a punk-like rock with a pop sensibility making their music catchy and satisfying, but exposing wonderful, gritty edges. Check out their latest single release, “Porch”.

DJ Set

Here is the lovely view of the moon sliver shining over the Ships of the Sea outdoor venue. Their gardens are beautiful, even in the very early stages of spring. I am a nature and plant lover, so I notice every statuesque tree and every flowering bush.

There was a DJ playing a set in the main outdoor area. It was perfect listening for grabbing a drink and dinner from one of the food trucks parked behind the main stage. I was able to grab a quick bite and actually chat with some new found friends.

I loved that I would see some of the same people from venue to venue. We became quite chummy. I almost wish I wasn’t working at times because I would love to get to know them all a little better.

Case in point is the adorable gal who was wearing the bold mermaid bell bottom pants. I couldn’t help but notice her radiant smile and beaming confidence. I only wish I was able to capture the emerald green color which made them so fun. It was a quick photo, so I missed the opportunity, but had to post the aura of silly happiness! Rock on, Breanna!

I am not sure if any music writers really talk about all of the equipment these bands bring with them when they tour. It is incredible and it hurts my back just to imagine hauling it day in and day out. In my opinion, a band “makes it” when they can afford to hire others to help them with all of their equipment. I always wonder, how do they have the time to explore and develop their music? Blows my mind sometimes.

While I am on the subject of equipment….holy cow! This is just one tiny area of a complicated do-hicky. It is crazy to think these bands can perform without a hitch. There is so much which can go terribly wrong. Power to the stage builders, the power people, light controllers, the roadies, and the sound engineers.

Faye Webster

Faye Webster has a lush, silky sound meant for listening and maybe secretly shedding a tear or two. She has the uncanny ability to put modern day relationship woes into sultry soothing alt-country folk-pop. That is a few genres to describe her music, but it is difficult to actually describe. It is meant for listening, experiencing, and finding emotional connections.

The slide is her thing. Every song seems to have a solo slide performance, or a highlighted choral background. Faye Webster has a new album, Atlanta Millionaire’s Club, out on May 24th. There is no denying her love for Atlanta, with her Atlanta Braves jersey, the tomahawk chop chant as they entered the stage, and her connection to the Atlanta hip hop scene. Makes me Atlanta proud.

With all of the sweet vocals hinting at serious angst lyrically, it was a happy welcome quirky relief to watch her yo-yo on stage. She proudly declared she learned how to ‘walk the dog’. I never actually saw her accomplish it, but enjoyed watching her brother and bandmate’s face as she made multiple attempts.

The yard was packed!

Love this satisfied smile. Faye Webster is a force to be reckoned with and an artist to watch for 2019. She is going to blow things up!

Loved bumping into a friend of a friend at WUOG (Athens, UGA radio station has a strong pulse on the music of today). Will, the newest music director at WUOG, enjoyed Faye Webster’s set enough to allow me a snap of him with the setlist.

Deer Hunter

The Atlanta band, Deer Hunter, has been on my radar for many years. So, I can’t explain why I haven’t seen them live. My bad. My bad bad. Known for their experimental, thought provoking heady, psych rock which has an unusual lean into the catchy mainstream, they dominate the indie airwaves with their tunes.

Having them as a headliner at Savannah Stopover sweetened the deal for attending and covering it. Word on the street is they have been asked to visit Stopover for years, it was an impeccable fit. The timing couldn’t be better, so this year it was meant to be. They recently released their newest album, Why Hasn’t Everything Already Disappeared.

Crazily, they make the ultimate musical art out of decay and brokenness. Somehow it works magically, soaking me in, and helping me to lose time and place. Frontman Bradford Cox is the epitome of cool, thoughtful, and arty songwriting talent.

The concert began with trippy sounds and loops manipulated by the band and Cox. We all stood in awe, hushed and listened. Then “Cryptograms”, a retro 80’s jaunty chant, broke out. A 2007 charm which impressed the serious fanatic fans, of which there were many.

They soared the music to today and played their latest, “Death in Midsummer” to an eager young audience. Pleasing listeners across multiple generations, they began their set with a punch and we were all enthralled.

Deer Hunter has an incredible lead singer, but the entire band is truly a collective of talent and ingenuity.

One of my favorite photos of the weekend. I watched him play so solidly, quietly, behind the scenes and a giant speaker. He was almost hidden, but playing and working his craft deftly. Something to behold.

So for my dear friends and supportive family, I post this one for my other half. The guy in the shadows appreciating everything about my dunking him with crazy music, and his loving help and encouragement. He (the guy with the hat) waits in the shadows listening and letting me be strong and I love him for it.

Bradford Cox spoke to the attendees about their long tour schedule. They were coming to the end of a pretty grueling one. He spoke about his puppy at home and missing him terribly. Just one of the many things we take for granted. I understand on the Deerhunter rider (the band’s request of little extras) they requested a puppy to hold and pet. When I heard that, my heart grew three sizes that day…..

Well Wisher

It was a very quick visit to see Well Wisher, but worth the racing around. A punky rock, hip sound that is now….I only have a small clip of their set (“I Know Better”). Just know that her vocals are much stronger in their recorded music. My video is extremely poor quality. Go listen, I highly recommend.

Super Doppler

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What an incredible Virginia band and sound. I loved every minute of their set. They have a solid throwback sound catapulted to today. Poppy and Beatlesque they tend to please a crowd with their tunes. So well, that I witnessed a gal fawning on the lead singer so much she was a serious problem. Not pretty….It took multiple people to eventually escort her away. But in the fray, I witnessed a band trying their best, to be their best in a bad situation. They were awesome. Their music is a must listen.

Sun Seeker

Fairly new on the seen, Sun Seeker has a stage show that brings the listeners. Despite being from Nashville, they aren’t country. They are more pop/rock and produce amazing toe tapping worthy tunes. Totally enjoyed their set. Best song of their set is their newest release, “Good Year”. I am totally hoping it is off an album in the works.

Empath

Wishing I had more to welcome you to the ‘surf wave of noise’ that is Empath. They have a fuzzed out, trippy punk sound which is weirdly catchy, but incredibly edgy. They embody a sound you need to hear.

Pip the Pansy

Pip….I want to say trip. This moment in time made me feel like the world was tripping and not on its axis. Disco/Electronica in genre, she defied any pigeon holing. Purely dance joy and fun, I also witnessed incredible talent.

This gal could handle and sing NYC musicals or even Broadway. More power to her convictions in a struggling world. I only wish more were up late to experience the wildness. She possessed a vocal range which wowed and a performance which made me scratch my head a bit. Did I mention her magic flute?

I can’t help but share another video of Pip The Pansy. Behind her back she carried a flute in an archer’s pouch. When she pulled it out to play it was a curious fun addition to their unusual show.

Pinc Louds

Awwww Lawd, this wild group closed the night and brought the house down. Dancing, singing, jumping, and clapping, I saw it all and relished in a happy closer for the stellar day/evening of music. I knew to rip off any expectations and just experience their talent.

Part skit, mostly music, it was a wild evening moment. Watch and let me know your thoughts.

Dance fans also stealing the show.

On my long trek back to the hotel, I walked by the happiest bird. It was 1 am and that sweet bird was singing it’s heart out. Finale music that made my heart sing.

Listen.

What a day! One more day left to go, and the biggest day of the three…..I am so excited to share my final Stopover experiences. Stay Tuned!

Fab Friday at Savannah Stopover- Review and Photos of Deerhunter and 11 Other Bands You Should Hear #happystopover Just a week ago today.... A good night's sleep after a day of travel and a night filled with music can completely rejuvenate me. 2,225 more words

#HappyStopover #Dead Soft #Deerhunter #Empath #Esther Rose #Faye Webster #Indie Music Festival #indie rock #Pinc Louds #Pip the Pansy #Savannah Stopover #Sun Seeker #Super Doppler #The Holy Knives #Well Wisher #William Tyler

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