Category Archives: Artist/Band to Watch

Images courtesy of Adam Birkan

Over the past couple of days, I’ve become quite enamored with the music of Elia Goat and his Natural Horns. I have our lost writer Zohair to thank for this, as he got me to join him a car to a sequestered countryside a few miles outside from the heart of Cincinnati to see them record in an anachronistic farmhouse that seemed to survive the city becoming, well, a city. It was a night unlike most for me and I have to admit I took it all in with a silent, wondrous appreciation.

We spent half an hour trying to find the mysterious little commune where the recording was to take place, stopping at one point in the parking lot of a high school while the sun’s set seemed to tell of an impeding time crunch. We weren’t late, but we had taken a wrong turn. No one knew the address or where, exactly, this place was. The only clue we had was the street name. It was, as they say, off the beaten path.

When we finally found the road we were searching for, we drove rambling over a gravel road–itself barely worth of the name we had tapped into our phones to find it–unsure of whether this was the right place. There was a wide expanse of field, some burnt-out buildings, and a latent feeling of being much farther out from Cincinnati than we actually were. When we saw all the cars parked it was, admittedly, a relief. We would later joke that we’d stumbled across Narnia or, perhaps, Brigadoon.

A couple more groups showed up until the total came to about 25 people. A few tacit introductions were shared, but most everybody knew everyone else. This was an intimate affair of friends and I knew at once that I had lucked into something special. Everyone was excited about where we were, this little oasis of nature. Someone told us there was a fire going and we immediately went over to sit around it. There everyone would switch from relaxing contemplation to excited conversation until the sun was gone and only the fire lit our faces. This was all while the dog that zcampered about the property tried to hump whoever was closest–exhibiting a bit too much enthusiasm towards me. I have to admit that I still wasn’t sure why I was there at that point. Zohair had been excited, talking of an impending night to be remembered but where Zohair is enthusiastic I am usually cautious. I had known that we were seeing a band but not who or what they sounded like.

I liked meeting Zohair’s friends and hearing their conversations, and I sure couldn’t complain about relaxing in front of a fire in so beautiful a place as we’d found hidden here, but I was waiting for something. Zohair had built expectations that wallowed just under the surface while the dog tried once again to hump me.

There were small hints, of course. Someone talked of recording equipment, a missing wire, and a slight change of plans. “Elia, could you go on second? We need to wait until we have that wire.” It was, of course, no problem at all. What this ultimately meant was that we’d all pile into the gorgeous wood house packed with knick-knacks to hear Lil’ KK, or Krystal, the owner of that quaint little house play her own songs into the array of microphones. Fittingly, half of her songs were sweet children’s songs, sprightly and sunny and even quite funny, worthy of the rustic, rural environment that was so quietly enchanting. Here, Elia played back-up on a big old double bass giving a thumping pop to the songs. We all sat around on the floor cross-legged and Indian-style like Kindergarteners and we were told to be quiet, if we could, since this was a recording and the microphones would pick up any little chatter. When the songs were turned from the children’s to the adult’s, any children present were asked to leave. Someone did.

After the enjoyable little show we were moved again outside, where night had fallen firmly and the fire still sat burning orange in the dark. The band would need to soundcheck, so again everyone sat around the flame and talked and smoked. The only hint of the oncoming proceedings was a saxophone crooning out from the house through the air, just like an old noir film we joked. Gradually more sounds came from the house until it sounded like a full band was playing. Worried we might have missed the big show, we all left the fire to hear what the commotion was all about.

It turns out they were still soundchecking, but we’d showed up just in time to hear the beginning of the set. It was going to be a one take shot, recorded for the group’s upcoming album.

Packed into the house’s small little living room was the band, surrounded by microphone equipment and their own instruments. Elia stood in front of a rack of DVDs and a big-screen TV with a black acoustic guitar. The rhythm section, consisting of a saxophone, a euphonium, and a clarinet–the Natural Horns, as it were–sat wrapped around the living room couch, breaking into the area between it and the kitchen, where the audience sat cross-legged once again. Somehow, I got the best seat in the house, sitting smack in the middle of the band on the living room couch, with the band sprawled all around me.

Now, it’s worth mentioning Elia (pronounced like The Iliad without a ‘d’) himself at this point, as he stood right in front of me. He wore a simple grey wifebeater and some rolled up grey pants. He wore glasses that your dad probably wore in the ’70′s. I hadn’t seen him wear shoes the entire day and his heavy beard and mass of hair seemed to suggest that he’d taken to the hobbit ideal strongly. His teeth shone through every time he grinned his happy grin and he did seem to always be happy. Maybe I caught him on a good night, but I like to imagine that there isn’t really much that can keep this guy down for very long. I wasn’t terribly surprised when Zohair told me he had hitchhiked all over the west coast. I imagine he did that barefoot, too.

But then the set started. And this, friends, is where I can tell you why I’m writing all of this. Elia Goat and the Natural Horns are really good. I sat on that couch in the middle of them, while Elia wailed, and lamented the fact that the camera I had brought didn’t have enough memory to capture even a single full song. And, truth be told, even what I was able to set to tape didn’t capture what was so encapsulating abound this performance. (And surely, these words will fail just as much.) I have since sent those videos on to Elia in the hopes that they may be synced to the sound that was recorded that night. Maybe that will be enough to capture it. More likely, though, this is a group that microphones, lenses, and words just can’t pin down.

The band has a unique sound. Elia can wail as hard as any frontman should be able to, pouring out a torrent of emotion in every song, and while it’s true that he could likely be an excellent solo performer, by adding in such a unique rhythm section every one of his songs has a multitude of gripping components that, well, click. Hearing the songs as they stand now, you may expect that a live show would be a fairly straightforward singer-songwriter affair, but every other musician there, at one point or another, was able to show off their unique talents. The swinging clarinet solos from Annie Brant would fit well in a New Orleans jazz band and Jason Swann’s saxophone, which we’d joked about earlier, made for an easy reminder of why the instrument has so many well-known greats. Even Adam Nurre’s drums felt spicy and unique with the inclusion of bongos.

To be truthful, the band’s unique arrangement most reminded me of the Beatles. That’s something of a lofty comparison, but what I mean by it is simply that hearing them is novel in the way that hearing that piccolo trumpet on “Penny Lane” is novel. It just doesn’t sound like anything else and its newness makes it a joy to hear on just a surface level. It’s the kind of sound a band comes up with when they’re four albums deep and need a hook around which to reinvent themselves. Indeed, I would feel bad about the Beatles comparison if the arrangements themselves weren’t so strong–at times, it’s hard not to think of the fifth Beatle, George Martin. Certainly, the group doesn’t really sound like the Beatles. Their brand of Americana is a lively, warm one; the kind that sets the heart at ease.

It’s hard to pin down Elia’s songwriting though, which is deceptively expressive. They’re songs that read as well as they’re sung. It may very well be that Elia could have just as easily been a poet (I’ve heard that he has, from time to time, read his lyrics at a few open mics). Each of his songs all grounded fairly strongly in the expression of the human spirit through location. “My Ohio” is, perhaps, the only song to ever exist that besmirches the grand ideal of California in lieu of our fair Midwestern state, expressing a longing that runs throughout many of his songs. “Stars in California” follows a similar approach, grappling with the all-encompassing and overwhelming feeling of being small in the grand expanse of nature. And, of course, there’s the indelible “Strangers,” wearing its meaning on its sleeve. It’s a simple song, but it’s elegant and serves well as a starting point for the group. Its catchy, distinctive hook helps, too of course.

The set wasn’t a long one, coming in at only eight songs. But, as the best sets do, this was one that ended all too soon. We all chatted afterwards, everyone rightly complimenting the small little show and its performers while humming that last little horn part that was stuck in their head. It was a fitting sojourn. The getting lost, the converted farmhouse, the bonfire, the friendliness of everyone, even the humping dog, it all felt like something in one of Elia Goat’s songs. True, it may be that I simply stumbled into a part of his inspiration, but I prefer to think that for that one night we all were transported to his little world of melody, with his Natural Horns serving as our complimentary guides.

Thankfully, this was one show that had been set to tape meaning that soon enough you’ll be able to hear it as well.  Maybe the recordings won’t capture Elia’s bare feet, stepping up and down with the beat, but the songs will be there and so will the manic energy behind them. This is truly a band to watch.

(Hell, they’ve even got a great song about Ohio. And I mean, c’mon, we need more of those.)

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You can listen to a snippet of “My Ohio” being recorded (featuring a boss clarinet solo and a boss sax solo) I was able to video {here}.
The sound’s not great, but it’s the best excerpt I’ve got to show you why I was so infatuated with this little session.

Most of the pictures here came from Adam Birkan. You can see more of his work from that night at his photo blog.

Below are the studio recordings previously uploaded to the group’s Bandcamp. They’re not the ones I heard recorded, but they give a solid–if a bit tame–idea of the group. It still makes for a great listen, but we’ll update you when the live recording comes out.