Hawks

We’re #2 on X COUNTRY on XM satellite radio, and need your help to hit #1.

Even if you don’t have satellite radio, we’d love it if you could call 1-866-964-8439 or email xcountry@xmradio.com to request your favorite song off “Grapevine.” Listen in on XM channel 12, Cross Country.Thanks for getting us up this high.

                       W.M. Smith, No Depression 

                       Philip Van Vleck, Village Voice                       Freeform American Roots DJ Poll (#7)

                       The Music Never Stops, Barry Smolin, KPFK                       Bliss, Pasadena Weekly (#1)    

                       The Miller Tells Her Tale, SpydaRadio (UK)                       WNCW Listener’s Poll  

                       Insurgency Country (Germany)                       Lost Saloon, WRIR (#1)

                       Music Without Boundaries, KPRI                       Freight Train Boogie Listener’s Poll
                       Kay Clement, Don Grant, Freight Train Boogie.

FREEFORM AMERICANA ROOTS DJ POLL
ALBUMS OF THE YEAR

1. ELIZA GILKYSON: LAND OF MILK AND HONEY (Red House)2. James McMurtry: Live In Aught-Three (Compadre)

3. Loretta Lynn: Van Lear Rose (Interscope)4. Buddy Miller: Universal United House Of Prayer (New West)

5. Steve Earle: The Revolution Starts Now (Artemis)6. Tom Russell: Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs (Hightone)

7. I See Hawks In L.A.: Grapevine (Western Seeds)8. Chris Stuart & Backcountry: Mojave River (Backcountry)

9. Neko Case: The Tigers Have Spoken (Anti/Mint)10. Dave Alvin: Ashgrove (Yep Roc)
http://www.accd.edu/tcmn/far/far_best2004.ht.

From the diary of James Taylor at New Lexington, Ohio, July 4th, 1876:
“One hundred years ago to-day, the sun in his course looked down
upon no spot of earth more picturesque and lovely than the territory
now known as Perry county. The entire area from east to west, and
from north to south, was covered with the primeval forest, “planted by the Lord at creation’s dawn”–a wild paradise, an untrained and unpruned Eden, to which our first parents, condemned in just retribution for their disobedience, to spend their day and centuries of life amid the arid deserts and on the barren hills of Asia, would have been glad to have gained an entrance. Here the Arcadians could have tended their flocks on greener pastures, in a happier climate, and in more impenetrable shades than in their native land; here could have been found the realization of the poet’s conception of a “boundless contiguity of shade”; and here, if man had remained in his fabled simplicity and purity, Utopia might have found “a local habitation and a name.”
The valleys, slopes and hilltops bore unmistakable evidence that the
tenth, and perhaps the fortieth, generation of trees was then standing, each of which had withstood the lightnings and storms of a thousand years. Upon the summit of the water-shed between the Muskingum and the Hocking, where now stand Somerset, Bristol, Oakfield and Porterville, there then stood white oaks, and perhaps other trees, which may have been in the green before the enunciation of the Sermon on the Mount, and before Paul preached on Mars Hill; which were goodly trees prior to the battle of Hastings; and which were giants among their fellows before Columbus dreamed of or discovered the western world, and before John Cabot set foot on the shores of North America.
From April till November the ground was covered with wild pea
vines, which afforded pastures as green, as luxuriant and as nutritious as our best fields of clover. At the approach of winter it dried up, retaining its foliage and nutritious properties, so that in summer it afforded pasture, and in winter hay and grain for the herds of buffalo, elk and deer, as well as food for swarms of wild turkeys, pheasants, quails and pigeons, which fed and fattened on the wild pea, and the fruit of the juneberry tree, the black and the red haw, the wild cherry, the dogberry and the gum, the beechnut, the chestnut and the acorn; the birds sharing their fruit with the bear and the beaver, the raccoon, the opossum, the hedgehog and the woodchuck, and gray squirrels, equal in number to the promise of the seed of Abraham. Nature prepared the food, and the herbeating and graniverous beasts and birds fattened themselves to fatten the panther, the catamount, the fox and the wolf, the eagle, the hawk and the owl; while the feathers and skins of the latter were made to do service in adding to the comfort and adorment of the cabins and persons of the wild men of the woods.
In summer and winter, at morning, noon and night, the forest was
vocal with the chirpings, twitterings, calls, cries and songs of birds, of which there was almost an infinite variety, and in numbers beyond calculation or estimate—eagles, hawks, owls, ravens, crows, robins, bluejays, anteaters, tomtits, woodpeckers, thrushes, sparrows, snipes and swallows. From May to August the night air seemed to vibrate with the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill; throughout the year, and all the night long, the laughing and talking owls (species now extinct in this region) met in companies to chatter, laugh and scream, imitating the human voice in conversation, in laughter and the Indian war-whoop; orioles of many varieties, with plumage of orange, blue and gold, abounded everywhere; and myriads of flying squirrels, inhabiting the cavities of trees, excited the wonder and admiration of Europeans and inhabitants of the trans-Alleghany States.
In spring the blossoms of the wild plum, the crabapple and the
grape, perfumed the air, and in autumn brought forth their green,
golden and amber fruit for the use of the red man and for beasts and
fowls.”

Super 8 Motel, Yucca Valley Gramfest 2004, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Oct. 4, 5, 6

We’ve come to celebrate the death of Gram Parsons in the great California desert. It’s a short trip but a trip nonetheless. The Hawks are back on the road. Not much has changed in the last few weeks. John Kerry and George Bush are still staring each other down meaninglessly. Gas prices are higher than ever. The war in Iraq continues to spiral downward into a bloody pit. America is busy trying to forget it but, folks, we’re knee deep in guts and it doesn’t look likely to end anytime soon or not soon. On a brighter note, it looks like Mount St. Helens is going to blow up again. Steam and ash are escaping that old crater. It’s like ’81 all over again. Gramfest night one was a mildly cursed series of near hits and misses that were actually okay. Paul L’s amp blew up again, there’s a deep electronic ghost in the Deluxe tube maze. Rob lost his ATM card and his garage door opener. So he couldn’t bring CDs, his sweet California Blonde acoustic guitar amp, or get cash at will. On top of that, it was a terrible food day.

We did an early set at the lovely and intimate Hi Desert Theater, right on the highway, with San Diego drummer John Kuhlken, who did a fine ESP job. Our set ended before Victoria could rock on “Humboldt,” but tonight might be a different story. The Burrito Brothers alumni band was similarly a disjointed experience, couldn’t hear Sneeky Pete despite crowd urgings to turn him up. But it was good to tread the sand and breathe the 2700 foot high air. The Gramfest poster is amazing.Yes, it’s Gramfest night two, Saturday, and we’re hanging at the Motel 8, about to head out for a hang with our band pals and our hopefully not later than 2 a.m. show. Victoria and Paul had a good little hike in Joshua tree, had a picnic and were visited by a huge white hawk which symbolized PLs untimely, Gram Parson’s-like death, bats flitting around their heads, a very fast and paranoid jackrabbit, and two big coyotes who wandered by, looked up solicitously to their rock perch for a meal and a cup of coffee, kept on walking when they didn’t receive. The signs say don’t feed them, and PL reluctantly agrees. We don’t need another species on the mass grid.
Like always, we’re watching the weather channel with the sound off. It’s 43 degrees in Cleveland.

[continue reading…]

“It’s funny that the left coast figures the group I See Hawks In L.A. as part of the city’s growing underground scene. Listen to them, especially their latest, Grapevine, and I swear I’d put the group from somewhere in the South. Sure it plays tricked-out traditional country that has that polished sheen that screams Nashville. But its combination of pedal steel, fiddle, soaring harmonies and rough-hewn Roger Miller baritone gives Grapevine enough cred to make any traditional country fan smile. But I See Hawks In L.A. comes at it from a different tack. Grapevine doles out tunes about lost love, muscle cars, the Book of Revelation, marijuana and idyllic Western scenes that read like poetry.”
— Jeri Rowe, Go Triad (North Carolina)

“A fantastic fusion of twang and pop sense.”
— Dave Menconi, News Observer (Raleigh/Durham/Cary/Chapel Hill)

“A country-rock band from southern Cali that play a Neil Youngish country-folk mixed with a Springsteen-leaning lyrical take. The key word is California here as the laid-back style overrides the ever-present Nashville infestation of country music. The new record Grapevine is filled with a moody vibe and bits of psychedelic flourishes, cryin’ fiddles and acoustic and slide guitars. Hell, there’s even some rip-roaring bluegrass, replete with soaring harmonies, thrown into the mix.”
— Shukla, Creative Loafing (Charlotte, NC)

“Seemingly from out of nowhere, I See Hawks In L.A. have roared out of the scrubby Western terrain to claima stake on the Americana scene. Poetic, introspective, and superbly talented, they’re just what the nation needs.”
— Andria Lisle, The Memphis Flyer

“Occasionally a band manages to make sense of the moniker alt-country, and I See Hawks In L.A. fits the bill. Harking back to the early sound of the seminal country-rock thing, on Grapevine, I See Hawks captures the magic that flowed from the Byrds’ Sweethearts Of The Rodeo and the two Gram Parsons solo albums. It’s not ‘pure’ country, but rather a unique yet indentifiable style filtered through the casual easy living mentality of Southern California.

“Anchored by longtime veterans of the L.A. music community, the band features rich harmonies led by Robert Rex Waller Jr., whose voice bears an uncanny resemblance to the Monkees’ Mike Nesmith, an often overlooked alt-country pioneer. With Paul Lacques’ fine steel playing and Brantley Kearns’ smooth fiddle, the band would be right at homoe on the Opry stage. But there’s a sly undercurrent that indicates a different perspective. In the edgy ‘Humboldt,’ the band sings of a pot deal that takes a strange twist, and the swet, loping ‘Hitchhiker’ recalls the ’60s free spirits. An afternoon with Grapevine is like a pleasant road trip through the desert, with a flask of wine, a bag of gold and a pretty girl. Life was good then.”
— James Kelly, Creative Loafing (Atlanta)

“This California-based country-rock outfit skews harder toward the rock end of the equation on its second CD, ‘Grapevine.’ Wry, cheeky lyrics (including ‘Humboldt,’ an amusing ode to marijuana), gratifying unpolished delivery, and a sound that updates the languid template of the Flying Burrito Brothers with a lean, melodic sensibility helps these Hawks stand apart in a crowded field.”
— 99X Sound Menu, 99.7 FM Atlanta

“The mission of I See Hawks–chock-full of some of the most in-demand roots music session cats in L.A.–is to underline the ‘Southern’ in Southern California. Orange groves, check. Dusty highways, yep. Beating hot sun, uh-huh. Sounds like country music to me–and hold the ‘alt,’ thank you very much. Sure, flashes of modern life pop up in the lyrics, but the sound is pure classic twang, and all the sweeter for it.
— JR, Willamette Week

“Members of a Los Angeles band called I See Hawks In L.A. apparently have true country-rock blood pulsing through their veins. Someting of an all-star band in the Southern California country scene, the Hawks revolve around the songwriting of Robert Rex Waller Jr. and Paul Lacques. On their album Grapevine, they do harmonic meditations on the state of the city and the state of themselves, and come up nothing but golden.”
— Rob Kelley, The Oregonian

“These cowboys make it clear that their focus is cosmic, but from a very L.A. viewpoint. From the languourous strains of ‘The Beautiful Narcotic Place I Reside’ to their debut album’s eponymous title, ‘I See Hawks In L.A.’ (a call for California to fall back in the ocean and let the snakes take over), this Burrito Brothers update run by a group of self-proclaimed eco-radicals rattles the cage of country with psychedelic overtones and Byrds-like harmonies.”
— Grant Britt, Independent Weekly (Raleigh, NC)

“Along with Beachwood Sparks, I See Hawks In L.A. are credited with reviving the Southern California cosmic cowboy sound. Their freewheeling, poetic style is in direct contrast to the one-dimensional Americana artists that currently can be found on every L.A. street corner.”
— Nashville Scene

“This LA band caught my ear straight out with their tight, eerie sound that plays into songs sounding straight ahead country, LA rockin’ and bluegrassy. This is west coast rock with a distinctive Southern California feel to it with space between the layers of sound that allow you to move along at your own pace. Fine guitar work with pedal steel, dobro, & electric from Paul Lacques, strong satisfying vocals form Robert Rex Waller and with the talented Brantley Kearns on fiddle and Paul Marshal on bass, this is a band of serious talent.”
–Kay Clements, Freight Train Boogie

Hempfest and the Seattle sky presented the Hawks with a cosmic gift:  as we finished our last song, “Wonder Valley,” the skies opened up and the rain did fall.  Pleased not to be electrocuted, we jammed out to a stadium rock conclusion, feeling like stadium rockers, and then the sky really dumped, and we scurried offstage, the crew covered the gear with sheets, and that was it for live music for the day.  We wandered around the very stony fest, and at 4:20 the crowd gathered for a smokeout:  thousands of furry freaks huffing at bongs with all their might, and a THC cloud hovered above the Seattle waterfront lawn. 
 
Victoria had a nice chat with Eddy of Eddy’s Medicinal Gardens, world’s largest (and busted) medicinal herb garden.  The Hawks wandered the lanes and byways of Hempfest.  Rob donned a plaid blanket that transformed him into a Redneck Superhero, and he and Shawn handed out the new Hawks sticker to Festgoers.   Paul Marshall stopped by the Kerry Edwards booth and bluntly asked them if Kerry was going to decriminalize drug use, and the Dems hemmed and hawwed as only a modern Dem can do.  Go, Ralph! 
 
It was time to leave.  We packed up our damp equipment and caravanned to the Continental Hotel, overlooking one of Seattle’s many waterways, and had a fun hotel campout with brother Hawk Dave Zirbel.  In numerous skits performed in the party room, Shawn revealed himself as a brilliant comedian/improviser, available for TV/film through this website.  Thanks to Matt Lacques for an excellent bottle of 100% Agave tequila anejo, you rule, hermano.
 
When Paul and Victoria took off the next morning, their fellow Hawks had flown the coop, somewhere far down the 5.  Sad.  P & V hung out with the distinguished Jack Slater and wife Deborah, saw the bohemian sights of Seattle, and headed south.  Wandering roads took them through infinite blackberry patches, rain with the sun shining, rivers and riverside farms, and a smoldering forest fire’s black soil and hillsides, smoldering still under a torrential rain.
 
Ashland is civilized.  Highway 99 gives you roadside fruit stands and crazy junk stores, 5 gives you speed. The choice is clear. 
 
Paul M. and Shawn powered to Marin, dropped off man of Steel Dave Z., powered next day all the way home, meeting Sherrie at the 152. RW dissappeared at dawn, onto a jet airplane, and back to his secret life somewhere deep in the geographic center of Los Angeles.
 
Sacramento has accordionist extraordinaire Richie Lawrence, wife Katie, and magical family, and damn good coffee.  Modesto has scary tofu teryaki and a slacker espresso bar where the kids hang around and buy nothing.   The south end of the San Joaquin Valley on 99 is a bit sinister, strange industrial smells and mysterious big machinery among the fields, the loneliest sunset you’ll ever see.   Past Panama Lane south of Bakersfield, Paul L’s O’hare family homestead since 1870, now crowded by creeping subdivisionism, and it’s into the home stretch.
 
A last trip over the Grapevine, psychotic driving resumes at the L.A. County line, right on schedule, and the Hawks are back.  See you at Coles.

Here is a symbol in which
Many high tragic thoughts
Watch their own eyes.
This gray rock, standing tall
On the headland, where the seawind
Lets no tree grow,
Earthquake-proved, and signatured
By ages of storms: on its peak
A falcon has perched.
I think, here is your emblem,
To hang in the future sky;
Not the cross, not the hive,
But this; bright power, dark peace;
Fierce consciousness joined with final
Disinterestedness;
Life with calm death; the falcon’s
Realist eyes and act
Married to the massive
Mysticism of stone,
Which failure cannot cast down
Nor success make proud.

*Thanks to Randall for adding to the Hawks’ Jeffers collection.

We’re listening to Toots and the Maytals as we head north on I-5 toward our final gig of the tour, The Seattle Hempfest. Damn, Toots can sing.

Last night we played at Mississippi Studios in Portland. It was a blast. This is a great room. It’s set up like an old church — pews as the seating and a tall stage like the pulpit from the film version of “Moby Dick” with Gregory Peck as Captain Ahab and Orson Wells as the seafaring minister. We got some good press and it fillecd the place up. Funny how some press can do that and some can’t. Folks were standing in the ailses and the band just sounded great. The harmonies were right on, the band was all right, and the spirit was flowing into each of us. And it wouldn’t have been quite complete if there were not a great meal attached to it. But there was! HAWKS NON CORPORATE FOOD RECOMMENDATION. Bold Sky Café on Mississippi. Fancy, fine dining at a reasonable price. We had Wild Salmon , Heirloom Tomatoes, Wild Mushroom Risotto, A Skillet Dip (new to us) of Chicken Apple Sausage, Carmelized Onions, Figs, and Blue Cheese. All for about $10 a piece. Check it out next time you are in the city of one thousand bridges.