Americana music has been most conspicuously represented in the last few years by songwriting, band-leading artists, including Jason Isbell, Sierra Ferrell, and Billy Strings. Flash back to the origins of the alt-country and Americana movement, and the conversation was more often about bands, such as Son Volt, Whiskeytown, and the Old 97s. Such outfits made well-written roots music that rocked with that collective commitment that makes bandcraft so fascinating. This week I present two veteran and venerable roots rock bands that came along in the second Americana wave, bands that have weathered changes and renewed their vows - Austin’s revived Uncle Lucius and Raleigh, NC-based Blake Christiana of Yarn.
Uncle Lucius launched in 2002 when Austin songwriter Kevin Galloway met bass player Hal Vorpahl. They formed a bond, recruited veteran guitarist Mike Carpenter and drummer Jason Armstrong, and took to the clubs of Austin like a gator to a bayou. Like their contemporaries in Band of Heathens, they became reliable draws at Antone’s and the Saxon Pub - on the strength of their heartfelt songwriting and just enough jam ethos to make their shows long and always fresh. They self released their debut album, Something They Ain’t, in 2006.
Fast forward through a lot of miles and shows and some personnel changes, and the 2017 version of Uncle Lucius was running on fumes. In this conversation, Galloway talks about the myriad issues that led to a farewell tour.
“For 100 different reasons,” he says. “You know, all the things: burn out, time to move on, time to do something different, something fresh. It was tough, but it was also amicable, and everybody understood, right? So we said, let's do this right. And for about seven months, we did a great tour, played great places, ended it at Gruene Hall, and we dropped the mic and moved on.”
Dreams die hard though. A few years later, during the pandemic when America was binging television shows, fan favorite “Keep The Wolves Away” from the career-defining 2012 album And You Are Me was picked up for the hit series Yellowstone (one of quite a few Americana recordings so used by that show). It caught fire and suddenly the band’s video of the song racked up tens of millions of views and the song went platinum by today’s complicated formula. That made a good excuse for a get-together over steaks and cocktails at an Austin restaurant. Galloway, who’d pursued a solo career and released an album by that point, says “we hung out for three hours and realized we really liked each other still. Catching up and, you know, celebrating this, started the talk of maybe getting back together, and it was about a year after that we said, okay, let's really do this.”
Galloway says version 2.0 of the band is just as stubbornly independent and still touring in an economical van, but there’s a “work smarter not harder” maturity, and a self-reliance that the fans relate to. That original bass player Vorpahl left the band after a van accident during the first Uncle Lucius run, but he remains a close collaborator, including producing the band’s comeback album in late 2023 Like It’s The Last One Left and the more recent real-time recording Live From Ear Studio, their favorite spot in Austin to lay down tracks.
The late August live-no-fixes release offered a chance to fuse what Uncle Lucius does in the studio and their famous stage show. That provoked questions to the other fellow in this conversation, keyboard player Jon Grossman, who proved a wry and charming fellow. Asked to describe what it’s like playing on stage with Galloway and company, he said, “It's nice because it's not totally controlled. It's a little loose. You know that saying about holding the fish too tight? We kind of hold it loosely. There is always some play in the joints.” Sounds like my kind of band.
Uncle Lucius just returned from an actual world tour - Australia, Europe and the UK. And they have dates around the midwest in the coming weeks.
On the final day of Americanafest, Blake Christiana swung by for what I thought would be a more casual conversation about his time leading the band Yarn. But despite Blake’s devil-may-care persona, he got into some heavy stuff almost as soon as I asked him how his year was going so far.
“I almost blew up the band,” he said, almost in passing. And to explain, he took me back a couple of years when he needed a break and to surround himself with different collaborators. He booked a solo show at the Down Home, the cozy roots music venue in Johnson City, TN and gathered some old friends to flesh out a band. And he wrote a bunch of new material rather than play Yarn songs without his band.
“We did a warm up show in Roanoke, and then we did the Johnson City show,” he recounts. “And it just felt like, not to sound cheesy, but a rebirth of my love of performing. Everything about it was fun, emotional, and just rejuvenating. And most of those songs, you know, or half of them, at least, are on the new Yarn record.”
That July release’s title Born Blessed Grateful & Alive suggests that Christiana’s bright outlook has carried on. It’s full of songs about tuning out what’s toxic and turning on healthy influences. In the hour I play the song “Wake Up,” which Blake said started as an admonition to his son during the dog days of the pandemic (he’d sleep at all hours) and became more of a mantra for himself and others to stay alert to life’s fleeting gifts and beauty. At the same time, the singer and songwriter admits that one of his perpetual challenges is battling imposter syndrome and ennui about the relentless business of playing live year after year.
“I'm a generally cynical, pessimistic human,” he says, one prone to mood swings around motivation and fulfillment. “I would occasionally go in these spells where like, I'm going to be grateful for every time I get a chance to step on this stage. Don't feel sorry there's five people in the room. Just be grateful you still get to do this. Most people don't get to do it for a day. You get to do it every day until it falls apart or whatever. But then I would sink back into the depression and just feel like I deserve more, which is such a horrible perspective…And my wife is super spiritual and believes in manifestation and just the discipline of life to reward you. So I've kind of taken on her persona a little bit on stage.”
We also touch on Yarn’s origins as a bar band in Manhattan in the mid 2000s and the slow realization that audiences farther afield held them in high regard among the new wave of rocking country bands. Christiana moved from New York to Raleigh, NC when he married his wife and started his family. We talk about that and about the close bond Yarn has made with its fan base over two decades, including their somewhat recent venture, the Yarnival, which brings the community together every fall. The three-day event just took place last weekend in Troy, VA.
