Tuesday, May 10, 2005

chatterton, scott copeland, woodeye

in his unassuming way, scott davis kinda defines "musician's musician." since he blew in from houston as an early-'90s tcu undergrad with his high school bandmate jared blair in tow, he's provided much of the musical muscle behind two of the greatest songwriter's band's this town has produced: woodeye (which he joined at age 21 -- he's 30 now -- after experiencing an epiphany while opening for slobberbone with his high school band crinkleroot and realizing, "wow, the band i'm in really sucks") and chatterton (the band formed by ex-brasco frontguy and longtime woodeye pal kevin aldridge when _he_ returned from nine tempestuous months on the west coast).

scott's rough-hewn but melodic guitar has always ensured that woodeye is the most rockin' of y'allternative outfits, while his keening lap steel keeps the grit and soul in their roots. in the studio, he's broadened the band's sonic palette with plaintive harp and keyboard flourishes that finally found their full fruition in chatterton, where (with two other guitarists available) he's been able to channel his inner benmont tench. you can tell that scott (and journeyman drummer kenny smith) have been having fun helping shape chatterton's material, and that spirit has spilled over into woodeye, where the performance dynamic has shifted from days gone by when most of the onstage animation came from bassist graham richardson's coiled-spring presence.

having busted their studio cherry with jordan richardson at first street audio (surprise surprise, a _rock record_) and matt barnhart at the echo lab (most indie-licious), lately the chatterton boys have been laying down tracks at scott's house, where a coupla judiciously-placed mics and a stripped-down version of pro tools have given them a sound that's as ambient as a classic '60s side -- you can hear the room where they're playing, and that's a good thing. in a world where there were still real country stations, "you will see" -- on which kevin harmonizes with scott's wife kristen davis like a pair of, um, grievous angels, in a tandem that sounds a lot more organic than emmylou did with that kid from omaha with the funny haircut -- would be a massive hit. (note to self: must make an oppo to hear scott and kristen's "side project" band, quaker city.)

scott knows something about radio, having been on-air on ktcu back when that station sounded more like, well, a _college_ station and less like an amalgam of every clearchannel monstrosity, when the talent had something more intelligent to say about the music they played than, "um, that was the beatles from, uh, the '60s or '70s or something" (in the name of god, people, have you never heard of the all music guide?).

yeah, chatterton's sound comes from the confluence of musos who've gotten to know each other's riddim well enough to instinctively fill the right space, without clutter. (for proof, hear "rainbows and open bars" -- also proof that kevin's cynicism hasn't deserted him.) and that's with less than a year as a band under their belts. woodeye's had, um, _eight years_ to perfect their special thang, going through drummers like they were spinal tap or something until kenny smith finally came on board to lend some stability to the percussion seat. in the last year, their stage set has expanded to accommodate keyboards (and kevin aldridge) before returning to the four-piece format their fans have come to know and love.

at the wreck room's eighth anniversary bash, from their opening "what's the matter with me?" to their closing "fearless," they proved that it's unwise to take old standbys for granted. carey wolff's songs remain some of the most evocative around, and his voice -- a blend of phlegm, bile, whiskey, and nicotine -- is the perfect instrument to put them across. the years may have mellowed him a bit, but they've hardly softened him. and scott davis -- who, earlier, had joined scott copeland's new electric band onstage to play some blistering lap steel -- raised his guitar over his head like the rockstar you always knew he was, as if he was graham or something, as he blazed away into the night.

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