Brandon General is a busy guy. I can't even quite pin down what he's working on sometimes, he's firing in so many directions. He was one of the founding members of The Human Orchestra, but he's moved on to other things. He's in a duo. He's in a trio. He's a singer. He's a producer. He's playing folk music. He's playing pop. But at the core of everything he does is a commitment to songcraft, to melody, to crisp arrangements, to great guitar sounds anchoring layers of texture: in short, he's committed to making the air in your ears do the dance of joy. 

Check out his reverbnation page. His divergent creative energy is on ample display. This is a guy with a lot to say, and a lot of ways to say it.

I had great ambitions for April. I was going to shut out all non-diegetic music, and just listen to Hamilton. I was going to write an album review a day, every day, for 30 days. I was going to interview tons of musicians, and podcast about local music, and generally be a hive of activity and a hub of culture, all unto myself.

That was the plan, anyhow.

And then, eight or nine days in, I paused and looked around.

I had all this great stuff to say about Redanda's debut EP, Christian. Had. Past tense.

I was going to talk about the loose, friendly vibe, the stellar interplay between drums and bass, the swooping, off-kilter vocals of "W.A.Y.T." that remind me (in the best possible way) of Shannon Hoon leading Blind Melon.

I barely know Dave Gould; it's baffling, considering how many chances I've had to meet the guy: he generally seems to be involved with everything, all the time. I can't wait until he gets back from his tour of the high Arctic to actually meet up with him.

Dave is a drummer and percussionist, a singer-songwriter, and an all-purpose man about town.

It's not so tough to give up music from outside the city. At least, it's not so tough to voluntarily turn off my own music.

It's a whole lot tougher, though, to turn off everyone else's music. It's a little like second hand smoke. A little like farting.We don't notice that our music creeps out into the air and becomes everyone else's music, too.

We don't notice the radio in the office tuned to lite rock all day long.

We don't notice the kid with the headphones turned up way too loud.

I don't know much about Quails in the Nest. They're new to me. I haven't seen them live yet. They only have a 3-song EP available for listening.

But I love what I've heard, and can't wait to catch their set tonight at the Casbah as part of the Kristen Archer Birthday Bash show.

Quails in the Nest is part of the growing trend of guitar-drum duo acts that seem to be proliferating--locally, we could also point to Beard and Two Peace Extra Spicy as rockin' good examples.

There's just not enough Dawn & Marra to go around. This delightful duo burst onto the Hamilton scene in 2010, winning the HMA Rising Star award for their engagingly minimalist folk-pop sound. They released the charming single "A Love Letter" shortly thereafter. There are three songs on their soundcloud page, and a handful of mostly live mostly covers on their youtube channel. And there are over 1300 fans on their facebook page...all waiting for the album that was announced over a year ago.

Andre Bisson is a long-time fixture on the Hamilton scene: he and his band The J-Tones are regulars at Stonewalls and anchor the Motown Nights at The Augusta House. Make no mistake, though: Andre's talent goes beyond his great live show and deep bag of classic covers. He is a rare triple threat: a smokin' blues/r&b guitarist that can not only sing, but also write.

His latest album, Till the Real Thing Comes Along,  finds him in top form and good company.

I've been a fan of Tiny Bill Cody since...ohh, about1994. A friend dragged me out to see this band at The Casbah (the old Casbah, back when it shared one space with La Luna, a little farther down King Street) and I had a transformative experience.

There are urban legends of chicken eggs gone wrong and hatching out dinosaurs: weird, monstrous genetic throwbacks; dangerous predators from a wild and untamed time before manscaping and lattes, before auto-tune and the whammy pedal.

Greg Preston and the Great Machine are that sort of a band. There's nothing pretty about them. No feathers. No wings. No chirpy little songs. But they do have teeth. And claws. And huge, scaly tails to help them balance while they run you down and devour you.
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