by Bill Repko
While jogging through the boonies, a rather inane practice I subject myself to (confessions of a binge smoker), I stumbled upon Coahoma Soul. A local cadre of people assembled under gazebo canopies selling knick-knacks, preserves, and tarnished antiques and thought the allure of a contemporary blues-folk hybrid band could offer some assistance in drawing people towards the market. They were half-right.
Approaching the band, I expected to hear an elegiac whining, but was pleasantly surprised with a folk-twang draped in gruff eminence – a sort of recognizable sound, but spun with a distinctive tone. The crowd was sparse, either from the pitfalls attached to a blistering sun, or from the expanse of land that separated the denizen of Fleetwood from each other, but Coahoma Soul still played on.
The band of four: Zach (vocals, guitar), Tim (drums), Alex (guitar, keyboard), Dillon (bass), mixed covers and original songs together, mingling old academia with new school music. With the venue being where it was, I had the distinct impression I was involved in a grassroots movement campaigning for bluegrass music. Nudged between a barn and a sprawling oak, fringed off by busy roads, the surroundings offered some poetic justice to their sound. As a few of the canopy shoppers – since no windows existed, dubbing anyone a “window shopper” would be an inaccurate statement – looked over the blackberry preserves and wooden figurines, they turned their attention to a band soulfully shouting classic songs in youthful reprisal. And in their own songs, they channeled an alchemical lilt of Bright Eyes, Black Keys, and The White Stripes.
They incorporated pieces of the southern-rock element into “Cast Iron,” starting, at first, with a mournful melodic tune, which eventually erupted into a contemptuous mock-anger that bled into both the lyrics and sound – the harmonica was a nice touch too. “Oklahoma” weaved a story reminiscent of something the Fleet Foxes would have sang about – a song, even keeled with occasional sharp crescendos. And though I had forgot my wallet and the sun was trying to make a Pennsylvania raisin out of me, I liked to think it was the music that made my mind wander off to some bizarre scenario where I was hitchhiking across vast salt plains. In retrospect, it may have been a combination of the music and a heat induced mirage. (Note to self: stop leaving the house on hot days without a wallet. The sun is not a friend; it’s a giant ball of ignited gas that the Earth foolishly tries to buddy up to every so often when it feels cold.)
I thought “Soul” capped off the set well. Again, they fashioned their sound after rising tides; slowly building up. Towards the end, Dillon abandoned his bass and exchanged it for a drummer boy’s battalion instrument and feverishly brought the song to its end. However, when they decided to play one more, I was introduced to what I can only describe as a Dylan-esque barbershop quarter – “We’re all gonna sing on this one. It might not necessarily be a good thing.” Using nothing more than vocals and gathering a few of of the fringe instruments usually associated with setting ambiance, the band stood beside one another singing some unplugged rendition of what I could only assume was a song they were still fooling around with.
After the performance, I approached Coahoma Soul with a few questions: Would A1 taste good on salads? What the hell does ecosexual mean? Would you rather be a hero in hell, or a villain in heaven? I didn’t actually ask them any of these questions, but there’s not a day that goes I’m not searching for these answers. However, I did speak a little with them about where they drew their style from and how they came together.
After playing for separate bands, they decided to gather their separate tastes in music and combine them together to conform under a unique hybrid. This, of course, had been done before, but not with their voice. They independently hashed out specific variances; Zach and Tim assembled the skeleton, while Dillon and Alex fleshed it out. From strong vocals to inventive guitar work, each trait came together and assembled a full body of work. They all agreed with each other on staying away from purely acoustic music, wanting rather to evolve music within their genre, not strip it down. The last thing this band wanted was to be trapped within the confines of only a few songs, repetitively played at every show. They wanted to introduce something new to the audience at every performance.
Coahoma Soul tries to keep each show fresh with cover songs and alternating instruments. With a show lined up on July 16th at The Grape Room in Manayunk and an EP release sometime in mid-August, Coahoma Soul wants to keep things fresh. Their fledgling catalog can be found on Bandcamp.com, and while nothing significant has been produced yet, I hold little doubt a good product should manifest itself by the summer’s end.
In conclusion, blackberry jam is bad; Coahoma Soul is good. And everything in between those two things…well, I couldn’t tell you, because I’m too busy trying to get the taste of blackberries out of my mouth.
