Dear Abby (Lee)...

{Author’s Note: Readers, Let me say this first: Abby Owens is amazing. A beauty. A tremendous voice. Presence on stage. My opinion of her is entirely biased. Go see her show for yourself and form your own opinions.}

Dear Abby,

I think I might be your biggest fan. I’ll be Kathy Bates. You be James Caan. There’s no snow embankments near my house for you to drive into, but we can sort out the fine details later. I’m your number one fan. Since I heard your original tunes, since I saw your swagger on stage, since I saw you down half a glass of Jack Daniels in a single swig, I’ve been… well… impressed. You have chosen a worthy mentor in Vic Stanley, and thankfully, his place, the Hummingbird, has now become ground zero for your voice. This voice, so angelic, with such raw purity that emerges only once every decade (See: Janis Joplin, Stevie Nicks, Pat Benatar, Mary Gauthier, Bonnie Bishop) is a gift to ears that embrace it.

Love,

Cody

Thus far, I have seen two Abby shows at the Hummingbird. The first featured Abby with her band, and later, I was able to see her with Sonia Leigh, Levi Lowery, and Vic Stanley, all trading songs across the stage. Each of these artists is amazing—when they are doing their shows. (Levi Lowery will dictate your heart rate.) However, as adept as each of these players are, Abby’s voice alone was enough to plow them off stage. Even as she harmonized with Stanley on Gram Parsons poetic songs, the sanctity of her voice felt adulterated by his presence.

Abby Owens is a name that American lungs will breathe. She will play outdoor festivals where people stretch to the horizon and stadium shows where faces stretch to the heavens. She will win awards, and she will changes lives. In the future, people will look at you funny if you do not know her name.

Middle Georgia: here’s your chance. I am not sure how long we will have this gift of Abby’s presence at the Hummingbird, but while we have this opportunity, embrace it and go see her show. See you there.

Cody Oxley is a freelance music writer living

in Dublin, GA. He's written for the 11th Hour
before, and was once forcibly removed from
a paper mill because he passed serious gas.

The Weekend of October 25

Where Brad Evans is Headed:

Thursday Night
I'm headed to a Meet Robert Reichart event at the Blacksmith Shop. Everyone is invited. After that we've got Thriller Dance Practice, and I'm needed to yell at the slackers. After that Justin Townes Earle, son of Steve Earle is playing at the Hummingbird, and you can bet I won't be missing that.


Saturday Night:
After the Thriller Dance I'm going to be splitting my time between the Unknown Hinson show at Treas in Season's last gig at 550 Blues before Tim heads out for Colorado.

Long Overdue: the review of Aurelia Aurita

It isn't as if I didn't want to say something about Aurelia Aurita, I just got behind, and of course, there was that whole kazoo thing too. See, the thrust of what I wanted to say is almost exactly that after hearing Aurelia Aurita, there's a lot to say.

They were the third or fourth band/performer I've seen at the Golden Bough, which has quickly become my favorite place for music. It is quiet and intimate and casual, and that's a good thing. For now, in fact, it is exactly where I want to be.

The double-edged sword is that there are usually a lot of friends and friendlies so getting from the front door to the back can sometimes take a while. This time, I missed the entire first set. Actually, I heard a few sounds from the first set even though I was standing in the middle of the store instead of the back room. It was a howling, clanging thing, and I honestly thought they were just warming up when I heard it.

Then Ty Manning (Barefoot Hookers) came out and said, "I liked it. Makes me want to get naked and paint a chicken." He said he missed art school and left.

The first song I heard was a slightly melodic number, just off-center and delivered so stoically that it lent an unusual gravity to the song. At the end, they meowed. Off and on, their performance was like that. It was odd and adventurous. They endeavored to make and present music that isn't heard in Macon, the stuff so far from commercial that its chief beauty is in the wide boundaries it creates. Most music bounces within a few similar sounds, adhering to a genre in some way even if it tries to advance or escape it. Aurelia Aurita doesn't abide by a paradigm.

That is the good and the bad of it. The music (and its performance) is -- or at least feels -- completely undisciplined. That doesn't mean they haven't worked on the songs, just that the path that each song takes feels so uninhibited that you don't know where it is going. That is freeing in the specific sense that this is Macon and everything tends to sound way too familiar. It is limiting in the experience, too, because as a listener, we eventually gravitate towards something that has certain boundaries. We do that because it allows us to explore the space between the beginning and end of a song without having to worry about how far to the right and left we'll have to go.

Regardless, I count this as one of my most memorable experiences with local live music. It was so damn nice to hear something different. I bought the CD, too. When I need to unbind myself, I put it on.

UFO's Over Denmark @ 550 Blues

There’s a sub-genre of music in Macon that has nothing to do with the way the music sounds: bands with bartenders. Add to this list, UFOs Over Denmark, headed by Brian Nolan who I once slurred and stammered at in several drunken nights at 550 Blues where he was playing, where he used to bartend. And now with that full circle complete, I’d like to get on with the review.

It’s a First Friday, and I know where a good many of my friends will be but I’ve been waiting to hear UFOs for months, missing every other opportunity to do so until I simply decided to forego these other options, walking through a still familiar crowd to the bar at 550 as the band gets halfway through its first song. Look out, or you won’t see them coming.

It was what I expected, which is, something that didn’t sound like other music being made in Macon and Middle Georgia, wasn’t so damn bound to the music that had once been made here, particularly the stuff of the Capricorn Era (god bless its soul). I can’t say I know what to call it, but it was rock for sure and it was different, and the normally reserved Brian is a mad man of movement on stage. He’s like a little bitty Joe Cocker the way he gets excited. He struts like a guy, but he screeches just like Kathleen Turner. It’s a dynamic performance.

It helps he has some good company up there. Pat Yoe and Scott Rainwater of Revival (who headlined that night) play bass and guitar respectively, and of course they’re solid. But the other guys – dudes I can’t recall ever seeing before – were really tight. I don’t know their names, but I know that I’ll learn them soon enough. If they’re from around here, my question is where they’ve been hiding.

This new crop of local bands, new local music… Look out.