This past weekend the Avett Brothers animated the Hangout Festival. Here’s a look back at our feature on the group from the August/September 2009 issue of Relix…

This music waits for no one. Sorry. The lawn may be half empty, the sun may be shining full like high noon itself, but the ticket says that the show starts at 7 p.m. So all of you late-comers stalling for bathrooms and beers, fumbling with tickets and finding your seats, y’all will just have to catch up. And quick. Because the Avett Brothers are fast plucking the first notes of a magic night. An opportunity that could help launch them toward the big time – or just leave them rocking in relative obscurity – which is good. Because whether it’s emotions like love and hate or styles like punk and ragtime, it’s always that battle of opposing forces that propels them forward.

In this case, it’s driving them right to the edge of the stage, lined up mere feet from the precipice as if they might tumble into the audience. Sporting cardigan sweaters, three-piece suits and combed hair akin to a 19th century tin-type photo, they purposely steal an old-timey look to go with the upright bass and cello, acoustic guitar and banjo, plus a single kick drum – only to come to life in a blast of modern vitality that broadcasts to the back of the amphitheater’s lawn. No need for Jumbotrons or lightshows or other big venue trappings. Just four dudes. Five instruments. Two poignant, pleading voices.

“I remember seeing them for the first time playing in the doorway of a gallery,” says Nicole Atkins, a self-described psychedelic/alt/folk rocker and friend from their college days in Western North Carolina. “At the time they were still doing Nemo, their rock act. But this was just so different. I was like, ‘Forget that other band, you should do this.’”

They’ve done it for roughly 10 years, just as many studio releases and have a ballooning tour schedule that now hits 200 shows annually. In the past 30 months, they’ve played SXSW, opened for Widespread Panic and appeared on Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Last summer, they sold out a 7,000-seater. Last week, they opted for a Chattanooga record store. Tonight, the Concord, N.C.-born band is warming up the Raleigh crowd for Dave Matthews Band, the first of six openers at his invitation. And possibly the Avetts biggest show yet – depending on how you look at it.

“We did this country festival once where played to the backs of about 10,000 people,” laughs a freshly shaved Seth Avett. “But we’ve never played a venue this big.”
“And this is certainly a big opportunity,” adds brother Scott. “And it’s an honor because [Matthews] is so selective.”

Seth’s the lankier, younger, guitar playing brother and looks the part – swapping vintage vest for a hard-rocking headband and fresh shave. Scott, still-bearded, leans toward trucker hats and rambling, country metaphors – much like his banjo. Both share a habit of finishing, and sometimes volunteering, each other’s thoughts – in person and in song. And all three, even upright bassist Bob Crawford – a clean-cut Jersey boy who joined the band in 2002 – behave like perfect Southern gentleman. As humble and polite backstage as they are between songs, where “thank yous” and “we love yous” punctuate almost every pause. That combo of hard work and sincere appreciation makes you want to root for their success more. And with a release out in August produced by Rick Rubin – also at his request – this so-called “college band” could quickly slip from underground indie favorites to full-on superstars.

So is this summer a change of seasons that plunges them full-on into the mainstream? Or is it merely a chance moment where two bends, in two rivers, briefly combine and then meander on in opposite directions, carrying the Avett Brothers back into dark woods where harmonies, screams and banjos drift along?

“Well,” Scott says shrugging, “the mainstream sort of decides that.”

So let’s step back to the show itself and its audience. Old fans are here. And some new ones. And most certainly some soon-to-bes. There are laced-up businessmen and loose, same-sex couples. You’ve got graybeards in worn tie-dyes and teenagers in brand new Ramones shirts, barely old enough to remember Joey’s death, much less see them live. It’s a clash worthy of the band’s musical styles and history, a volatile mix of ragtime, old-time, bluegrass, indie and pop. While their studio efforts are often low-key, mellow boutiques of careful arrangements, onstage the Avetts juggle these same treasures like a drunken yard sale, spilling tender ballads and frantic outpourings. It’s a genuinely odd mix that may confuse programmers and promoters but not listeners. And certainly not the band.

“If [music] is good, it’s good,” says Seth. “Some of our most hardcore, straight-edge punk buddies love Otis Redding. They don’t care if he’s ‘punk’ or not. The songs and the product go way past the marketing of the product.”

Scott concurs: “It’s like why can Hank Williams III do a super heavy set and then a country set? It’s kind of a young person’s mistake to champion only one genre.”

Perhaps that explains why the bottle-blonde pom-pom squad who came to cheer only for Dave are vapidly texting “OMG so weird.” Meanwhile their cougar moms prowl ever closer toward this fresh, new sound. A piece of strange constructed on instruments and styles that are centuries old but purr with modern energy. So powerful that headbanging sideman Joe Kwon’s cello starts to levitate with each whip of his hair. Bob stands erect, as always, bass-lining glue for the twangy glitter. But Seth and Scott stutter with body language – random fist pumps, points and waves. Seth swings his guitar neck around while Scott, when not kicking the drum in front, kicks the air behind. Still, it’s the voices that carry most of the current with howling harmonies, exclamatory screams and periodical hoots, amplifying every lick as if the microphones are mere props.

“That’s something Seth and I fell into once we stopped playing rock stuff,” says Scott. “You realize that an acoustic guitar becomes more powerful than electric. When a guy’s not hiding behind distortion, he’s just cutting through it, it’s like, ‘Oh shit, this is real deal stuff.’ We had to stop whispering; we had to project .”

Seth adds, “Scott has a very explosive kind of personality. And the banjo has the same explosiveness to it. It makes sense that he’d be drawn to this instrument because it gets your attention.”

But not everyone’s necessarily drawn to the energy. Before attending the show, a close friend of this writer – a lifelong Phish-follower, taper and Merlefest attendee – commented, “I hate those guys, too much stomping and shrieking.” So, in another of the band’s great ironies – the bluegrass act that ain’t really bluegrass, the country act that ain’t rally country, the rock act that ain’t really rock – you can add, “the jamband that ain’t really a jamband.”

There are no extended, melodic exploratory improvisations played with supreme precision. No goofy throwaway choruses to con you into catching the next runaway solo. The Avetts write tightly structured, concentrated packages of raw purpose. Not only that, they start with the words – not just words, but poems – then make music to convey the meaning. So while they may not play punk anymore per se, their whole approach is as punk as it gets: message-first, notes second. In fact, it’s almost a rebellious middle-finger to the whole modern jamband ethos.

“I don’t think it’s a conscious reaction,” Seth explains of the anti-jam mentality. “Because we appreciate the best of [the jamband] genre for sure. We just tend to be drawn to a lot of music that has more punch and has narrative and is understandable to an extent. I mean, not a lot of Soundgarden songs noodle on for 10 minutes,” he laughs.

Or as Bob – the band’s only trained musician and Dead fan – puts it, “As someone who used to play that style of music, I’m always impressed on how well-received we are in those circles. I can’t believe it, actually, because we’re really the polar opposite.”

While the Avetts may not be technical, they’re certainly tight. After the acoustic set, Scott jumps behind a five-piece drum kit. Seth hops on piano. Bob plugs in. And within three beats, they’ve seamlessly leapt from raggy-old-time to raging pop. That’s what 10 years of constant playing and recording will do. But it’s not the security of consistency that keeps them alive – it’s the risk of chaos.

Like when Scott breaks two strings during two songs. The tech’s still busy changing the first, but no biggie: Scott just beats the canvas and howls, calling and responding with Seth until the emotion pours out of their mouths and fills whatever space may be empty, pulling the crowd together.

“The way they play and sing their instruments,” says Atkins. “It’s like the greatest love of their life – and something they want to kill. It’s heartfelt and punk rock at the same. Listening to their songs, and their lyrics it makes me,” she pauses. “It makes me… want to be a better person.”

And that’s the trick: the Avetts don’t just build a wide, diverse audience – they create intimate relationships. Show by show. Fan by fan. Song by song. Word by word. All uniting around universal concepts and microscopic comments about the human condition. Life and death. Shame and joy. Pretty girls and ugly fights. New twists on the same timeless subject matter that connects William Shakespeare with William Burroughs with will.i.am. So can their next release – the big one – live up to that same tradition?

Seth pauses, saying: “This is not to sound cool or anything, but I haven’t even thought about it ‘til you just mentioned it. Haven’t thought about it in the least. So that’s a good sign.”

Of course it is. Their whole career’s based on spontaneity, sincerity and speed. Constantly moving from one passion to the next. In 2007, the band’s tenth record, Emotionalism, rocked the indie charts. The Second Gleam – an EP released just two months later – is still garnering airplay. But those are self-made attempts with a single focus: the music. Adding a big label like Columbia and a producer like Rick Rubin – the original founder of Def Jam who has worked with everyone from the Beastie Boys to LL Cool J, the Chili Peppers to Johnny Cash and put him on Time magazine’s list of “100 Most Influential People.” It automatically adds huge expectations. And once again, it’s a paradox waiting to happen. Sure, the band’s whole catalog consists of ear-pleasing songs that last less than four minutes – but they infect your soul slowly over weeks and months, connecting themes across several albums. How will that play to an audience with attention spans shorter than Britney Spears’ hotpants? And were they worried that they’d be forced to try?

“Rick gave us a lot of respect,” says Scott. “One thing he made clear over and over again was: when you’re picking songs, take your marketing hat off. Don’t think about which songs will sell – think which songs you love. Let’s talk that language.”

At press time, no advance music was available of the new I and Love and You, but the band continues to release fresh cuts onstage. The tender title track is easy to pick out. But the standout is a song that fans posted on YouTube as “Heart Like a Kickdrum,” a high-pitched, pop piano-banger that pumps like The Buggles high on an eight ball of blow – but in a good way (if there is such a thing). Both feature more keys than strings. But as to which personality is more reflective of the album, the band’s not telling. Or at least not much.

“I think there will be some surprises,” Seth slyly drawls. “I’m not gonna say a number, but the banjo is in way less songs.”

You heard him right: less banjo. The five-stringed favorite that helped craft their sound and appeal is taking a little break – likely to some fans chagrin. That’s the problem with thriving on conflict and balancing acts: Every time you choose a side, you risk alienating the other. What if the big release bombs with their base? Or even scarier: what if it connects to a whole new audience, granting the type of international success that few indie acts ever achieve? What will the expectations be then? And do they even care?

“We’re gonna make another record either way,” says Scott. “And we might have to make a bad record to make the next good one. And we don’t have a problem with that because we want to make art. So the risk of having to repeat success – I think we’re a happy with that. What I don’t want is to not be able to walk around without people bugging you. Like, I wonder: Can Dave Matthews just go into Lowe’s and buy a two-by-four?”

And Seth deadpans, “Lots of people will listen to it, lots of people won’t.” And either way, we’ll just continue on a path."

Bob agrees. “All of it’s just exciting. Today is an exciting day and an exciting show to play. But we felt natural – like we’re playing every other show before and after. A lot of what you see is the way it’s been since we started. But we’ve always been moving toward something and we just keep moving. And we never quite get there, but we get… somewhere.”

For now, the Avetts are here. And the audience – their audience – is right here with them. In that short span of just 58 minutes, the performance stops being two voices, and starts being hundreds, then thousands. Watching them, in some way, they seem too small for such a large venue; in other ways, too big for a small one. And in some ways, they’re still just a bunch of guys playing in some doorway. Only the doorway just keeps growing. Man, is it growing.