The Barflies
B.C. at Miller’s
We are flying high over the Downtown Mall with Barling and Collins, and we’re all about to die.
O.K, that’s an over-dramatization. But there is a certain air of desperation on the Mall by the time the acoustic duo, also known simply as B.C., goes on at Miller’s at 11p.m. on Sundays. At an hour when most Downtown bars and restaurants have locked up and the promenade is deserted, Miller’s opens its doors to the hard-drinking set and gives them the raunchy sounds of a bawdy singer-songwriter and “the world’s greatest rock cellist.”
“Yo-Yo Ma got the looks, but Brandon got the chops,” B.C. front man Stephen Barling jokes.
Brandon is Collins, a classically trained cellist who turned to the dark side in 1997 to play keyboard with Barling in the Cows, the duo’s plugged-in side project. On Sundays, his acoustic cello riffs and bass lines are the perfect accompaniment to both Barling’s jokey songs (e.g. (“That’s Right) I’m Looking at Your Girlfriend”) and more serious efforts like “Deeper Forest.”
“There are two strains to what we do,” Barling said. “Some are more songwriter-esque. They’re lyrically more abstract. Then there are the poppier songs, the novelty side of it. We’ve always had trouble with genre issues. We are all over the map—from aggressive and punky to silly and throwbacks to the ’30s.”
B.C. seamlessly transitions between the styles on Sundays at Miller’s as service industry-types trickle into the bar. Some are there to see the band. Some are just milking the last couple of hours of fun from their weekends. All of them know their way around a party.
“We have always favored Sunday nights,” Barling said. “There are no tourists out. It’s all people that work at bars or restaurants. Or people that just love drinking.”
Seriously, this airplane is probably going down. — Shea Gibbs
The Enigma
Red & the Romantics at The Whiskey Jar and Durty Nelly’s
For several years, Erik “The Red” Knierim was something of a mystery to the music lovers of Charlottesville. He appeared onstage rarely and irregularly, often unannounced, winning over crowds with his easy charm and home-brewed tunes, and then seemingly vanished into the woods. Rumors circulated about Red’s offstage life, and the difficulty of booking him on a concert bill—he had no phone or e-mail, he lived in a self-built log cabin without running water or electricity —and all of these were exaggerations of the truth. Red is such a unique and likeable character that the temptation to tell tall tales and make him into something of a mythical figure was understandable.
The only relevant truth is that Red writes and sings wonderful, irresistibly compelling songs about the virtues and perils of country living, and of attempting to woo the fairer sex. Singing in a goofy, swinging baritone croon reminiscent of Leon Redbone or a half-speed Hank Williams, Red is as tall and skinny as a telephone pole, and never without an ear-to-ear grin. His sincerity and genuine nature are contagious, and his songs are instant classics, to boot.
In the past year, Red has stepped up his professional game, and seems to be making up for lost time by assembling a backing band, releasing two fine albums (Franklin Street and Red Oak Express) just a few months apart, and signing on for not one but two local residencies, playing every Monday evening at The Whiskey Jar, and every Tuesday at Dürty Nelly’s. At The Whiskey Jar he plays for the dinner crowd, as Red and the Romantics, joined by Betty Jo Dominick on accordion and Steve Riggs on upright bass. At Dürty Nelly’s the line-up sometimes expands to a five-piece, and runs later in the evening.—James Ford