The Saga of The Scarlet Furies
Their sound is at once clear, immediate and direct, a kaleidescope, a tapestry, rich, deep and venerable, frosting on the beater. The quality of feeling they are after is living room intimacy with rough edges intact. Warmth and comradeship apparent. Their songs, a musical affinity of nerve, grace and gusto, broad range and flexibility, faith and trust, some very pointed themes, obligatory escape and homecoming, owning up,the settling of old scores past due, the stuff of slow uncoiling menace, hearts broken, unassuming passion, carnal bewilderment, pure unbridaled joy, dark pastoral imagery, comic horror, ships sunk, rebirth and resurrection, and all with a smile and not taking themselves too seriously.
There’s a feeling of age, the mystery of tradition, cryptic and earthy, deep black waters that draw you in, yet straight from the heart, the uneasy romance of angels and demons, American southern gothic and rootsy. The sounds of tears, the sounds of smiles, the sounds of lies. An absolute committment by the singers and musicians
to the material. Some serious business going on between the laughter and what is taking shape as they write and develope the songs, in less of a style than a spirit- a spirit born in the delight of friendship, creation and invention.
Live, their performance seems to capture the essence of what they were always meant to be, not just the vocals and music, at once driving, yet sparse and haunting, but the spirit of the songs, straight forward, fueled by vitality and spark. They all share a musical sympathy and kind of openness, sounding at once like they are testing and discovering, a unique voice with stories to tell, steadily gaining ground and generating quite a buzz.
It’s a fine day in Scarlet Furyville.