Deer Tick & Friends

New Year's Eve with...

Deer Tick & Friends

J. Roddy Walston and the Business, Dead Confederate, Virgin Forest

Sat, December 31, 2011

Doors: 6:00 pm / Show: 8:00 pm

This event is 21 and over

For more information on our spectacular New Year's Eve packages, please email Event Director Dana Bartle at dana@brooklynbowl.com.

All advance tickets are sold out. There will be a limited amount of admissions available at the doors. All admissions are first come first serve with with no re entry. $45 in advance, $50 day of show cash only.

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Deer Tick presents "Deervana" (performing "In Utero" in its entirety)
Deer Tick presents "Deervana" (performing "In Utero" in its entirety)
From the band that’s been both accurately and inaccurately labeled just about everything this side of Top 40 comes a true-to-form rock-n-roll record. Scratch that, true-to-form is not Deer Tick’s style. Let’s start over…
Naturally, after so many years of critics praising [and making fun of] them for their “folk” and “country” sounds and hardly ever mentioning the fact that they’ve also recorded virtually dozens of other kinds of music, the band wanted to make a record that was truer to their live set (which has gained some notoriety): raw, loud, heartfelt, and completely uninterested in whatever the hell the rest of the music industry is up to.
To produce this record, the band recruited the team of Adam Landry and Justin Collins, who produced McCauley’s side-project Middle Brother’s debut album. The results are unlike anything you’ve heard on a Deer Tick album, but Deer Tick achieves something that is a lot more accurate to their live sound. Distorted guitars are aplenty, guitarist Ian O’Neil and drummer Dennis Ryan take lead vocal duties for the first time on record. Man, you can practically smell the sweat and the beer! Shit, you may even hear a guitar or two break somewhere in there! It’s got a little Exile, it’s got a little In Utero, it’s got a little Nilsson Schmilsson, but it’s 100% Deer-Fucking-Tick in their purest, and most carefree form… perhaps that’s because this is the first record they’ve recorded in their home state of Rhode Island… GAH!!! No need to over-think this shit!!! Moving on…
The songs are there. The delivery is in your face. There’s no studio magic. There’s no hiding the fact that Deer Tick is just five regular dudes. This record may rattle your thoughts, and it may make you think differently about Deer Tick, but at least they didn’t make the same album four times in a row, right?
J. Roddy Walston and the Business
J. Roddy Walston and the Business
j roddy walston is not soft like someone born into privilege, but he does bear the hesitant scars of a man who fought his way out of a pedigree.
yoked from day one to a musical lineage that included “both kinds of music – country and gospel.”

he was told with regularity that it was close to sin to play either for any reason but God and Family.
and that when the city comes courting with contracts and such he was expected to follow tradition…and walk away.

“a weight is kindly put upon you with a heritage, and a choice comes to you in time, at that point you can just become an extension or you can get born and grow legs of you own.”

it is a stranger south that j roddy walston lived in, a place where radio gave equal ear to classic rock, hell-fire evangelists, and the elephant six.
powered and inspired by this mixture of art, spirit, and temptation he left home, in as much an attempt to bring his kin due credit as to rebel against the very things they had stood for.

he followed a girl north enough, and landed in baltimore with a low budget sense of manifest destiny and a handful of high dollar songs.

an undecided magnet started to draw to him a group of players. first came the challenge and compliment of billy gordon a musical mirror-image of j roddy and then steve colmus a sportly southpaw with a heavy snare hand. in them raw power met story and neither would compromise.

they felt a city squeeze. they formed an intangible thumb, and they them turned into a fist.
knowing good and well that you can predict a purebred, j roddy walston and the business opted to create a monster of the unknown, they threw what seed and egg they had into an american grab bag and hit the road. bending highways and rearranging maps to their fancy, making a different america for itself.
vision casting a strange view of the states to all who would listen, their agenda seems to be some sort of anti-secession, a growing over, rather than a breaking away.

Dead Confederate
Dead Confederate
Dead Confederate take a post-grunge approach to their music, which also leans heavily on the group's psychedelic and Southern rock influences. Seeds for the band's formation were planted during the late '90s, when future bandmates Hardy Morris (vocals, guitar), Brantley Senn (bass), Walker Howle (guitar), John Watkins (keyboards), and Jason Scarboro (drums) bonded over a shared affinity for Pink Floyd and Black Sabbath. Although hailing from Augusta, GA, the quintet relocated to Atlanta following college graduation. A second move quickly followed, this time to Athens, where the group doubled its touring efforts and caught the attention of former Capitol Records president Gary Gersh. Impressed with the band's haunting sound, Gersh signed Dead Confederate to his new label, The Artists Organization, and issued their debut EP in early 2008. A full-length album, Wrecking Ball, followed in September, and the group returned two years later to release its second record, Sugar.
Virgin Forest
Virgin Forest
Ex members of Castanets, VIRGIN FOREST members currently play in Phosphorescent. Countless tours and shows with those outfits have helped to forge fluidity and musical rapport seldom heard in bands today. Virgin Forest and Phosphorescent both offer a unique take on traditionally "American" music but the similarities end there. Virgin Forest's debut LP, "Joy Atrophy," like Fleetwood Mac's "Rumors," is the sound of love being pulled apart from the inside. Few modern recordings offer both perspectives on a breakup performed essentially in real time. Just as songs on "Rumors" act as barbs/parting shots/goodbyes, rendered all the more heartbreaking by the complicity required of the aggrieved parties, so do Virgin Forest's offerings. The LP stands as necessary culmination of protracted and self-destructive love, laid bare in aching but poker-faced vocal harmonies. In its economic and punk 27 minutes "Joy Atrophy" effortlessly updates one of the oldest and most fundamental narratives people choose to set to music.