madrex

by Bryan Thomas

When You Awake: I wanted to start off by asking you about the new album, of course, which is a mostly all-acoustic collection of songs, the first one you’ve released in your long history as a band. Was there a particular reason for doing it now?

Paul: Several of our earlier recordings started off acoustic, but we could never resist the lure of the pedal steel and Telecaster.  This time we took a vow of no electricity, and managed to go cold turkey.  Scary at first, then quite rewarding.

WYA: I remember the first time one of our mutual friends, Doran, told me about you guys playing a longtime residency in the basement of Cole’s Bar, 6th and Main, east of downtown L.A., often with fiddle player Brantley Kearns (ex-Dave Alvin’s and Dwight Yoakum’s bands) sitting in on a regular basis. Is this new album in any way an attempt to recreate or recapture those Wednesday night shows?

Paul: Not consciously, but quite likely. We played once a week at Cole’s, for three years, unless we were on tour, and that honed our acoustic sound.  There’s an immediacy to the lyrics and the emotion of the song when it’s stripped down, and the notes die out more quickly. [continue reading…]

I See Hawks In L.A.
New Kind of Lonely
By Gerry Gomez, Staff Writer, Turnstyled and Junkpiled
Los Angeles’ reigning kings of Cosmic American Canyon Country Rock must be easing into a comfy chair atop a shag carpet right about now, enjoying a smoke and a toke as they celebrate their sixth release, New Kind of Lonely. Continuing the tradition of mellow, Folky-Psychedelia, paired with warm vocal harmonies, the group’s dynamic brings chief-songwriter, Rob Waller’s, rich, illustrative, socially poignant lyrics to life again with a sound only they can produce.

Long at the top of hill of the local batch of folk infused country rock bands that re-sparked in the canyons over a decade ago, I See Hawks in LA prove with New Kind of Lonely, why they are so beloved and also why lyrically, they stand for something larger than themselves. Musically, there’s no denying that the Hawks have honed a tight bond over their twelve years as musicians and brothers, with Paul and Anthony Lacques forming one of the most consistent and cohesive outfits in the local genre.
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I See Hawks in L.A.
L.A. Weekly
By Mikael Wood
Longtime purveyors of what Gram Parsons called “cosmic American music,” I See Hawks in L.A. go all-acoustic for their latest, called New Kind of Lonely and due out March 6. It’s lovely, beautifully harmonized stuff (with some sweet fiddle action by Gabe Witcher of Punch Brothers), but what distinguishes the record from others by any number of history-conscious roots acts is the Hawks’ taste for the less-than-lovely, as reflected in the title track, where Rob Waller recounts the time “Randy went out, got wasted with the boys, chasing skirts and getting hurt”; later, he spins a tale in “Big Old Hypodermic Needle” you don’t need me to unravel. Tonight they’ll celebrate the album’s release amid the appropriately instrument-jammed environs of McCabe’s, with former Lone Justice/X dude Tony Gilkyson as support.
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Twangville
NKOL REVIEW
by Shawn Underwood
Driving east out of Bakersfield you see it long before you get there, the heat shimmer distorting lines and colors, and yet somehow it kind of sneaks up on you.  One minute you’re in civilization, the next…nowhere.  California’s high desert has inspired musicians from Gram Parsons and the Eagles to Ted Nugent and Queens of the Stone Age.  I suppose it’s the way you feel so achingly cold and alone in the middle of a 100 degree sunny day.  Or maybe it’s the carefree feeling you somehow experience in the middle of a freezing cold, moonless night when half the creatures you may run across can kill you.  Emotions and circumstances between Mojave and Barstow carry no relation to each other and reality blurs.  That’s the conflict I See Hawks In L.A. has managed to capture in their latest release, New Kind Of Lonely.
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Michael Doherty’s Musiclog
NKOL REVIEW
Known both to fans of the jam band scene and to country music fans, I See Hawks In L.A. is a Los Angeles-based band that features excellent vocals and songwriting. And what’s more, these guys are damned good musicians. Their new CD, New Kind Of Lonely, is an acoustic album. Fans of Wilco and Son Volt should take special notice of this CD, particularly because of the vocals. The acoustic work makes this one feel intimate.
My favorite Grateful Dead records are the acoustic ones – American Beauty, Workingman’s Dead and Reckoning. Similarly, this might be I See Hawks In L.A.’s best album. This album, even more than the others, really demonstrates what a great, emotional and wise voice Rob Waller has. Plus, this group has great harmonies, which you can hear on basically every track, but especially in a song like “Mary Austin Sky.”

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NKOL Review
Blog Critics
by David Bowling 

I See Hawks In L.A. may be an odd name for a band, but it is one of the best alternative country bands, in concert and on stage, working today. The name actually comes from a diffident gesture: “If you see hawks, then maybe we should talk.”

The band was formed in 1999 by Bob Waller, plus Paul and Anthony Lacques. When this album was recorded, the core members consisted of guitarist/lead vocalist Waller, guitarist/dobro player Paul Lacques, and bassist Paul Marshall. They are supported by fiddle player Gabe Witcher, banjo player Cliff Wagner, drummer Dave Raven, and accordion player Richie Lawrence. The group has released five albums of what can be best defined as psychedelic/electric alternative country music. The guitars were the prominent instrument, with a thumping rhythm section in support.

Their sixth album, A New Kind Of Lonely, travels in a very different direction. The band’s acoustic sets have always been well-received, so now it has recorded just about an all-acoustic album, with only a dash of electric bass. The acoustic guitar sound of Waller and Lacques is now more subtle, as the fiddles, banjos, stand-up bass, and accordion take the overall sound in a more traditional country direction. What remains intact are their incisive lyrics, which deal with the environment, death, loss, and scathing social commentary. Also still present are the exquisite three-part harmonies which add a shimmering glow to their sound.

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Grassroots Band Spreads Gospel of Country
I See Hawks In L.A. plays Friday night at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica.
By Peter Gerstenzang, (Santa Monica Patch)
Have you been Lady Antebellum-ed to death? Sugarland-ed within an inch of your life? Band Perry-ed until you can’t think straight? In other words, assaulted with so much pleasant pop-country, you can’t take it anymore?

Well, pardner, sounds like you need to be de-programmed.

Mosey down to McCabe’s Guitar Shop on Friday and check out I See Hawks In L.A. These dudes do not wear cowboy hats or string ties, nor do they have southern accents. But they possess the spirit of country, more authentically than just about anyone else out there.
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On Friday night at McCabe’s, I See Hawks in L.A. played a release show for their new album New Kind of Lonely. Joining them on the bill were their like-minded compadres, Old Californio.  Both bands write and play songs about the beauty, past and present, of living in California.  While both are exceptional electric country rock bands, Friday night was a stripped down acoustic format.  With its walls of guitars and its performer-friendly sound system, McCabe’s was a fine choice in which to go unplugged.  Onstage, the joining link between the two bands was Paul Lacques, a founding member of the Hawks, and a true MVP who also sat in for the entire Old Californio set on dobro.

What’s in a name, anyway?  Consider I See Hawks in L.A.  Not that long ago, but certainly a world of change earlier, the L.A. basin was rural farmlands, orchards, creeks, groves and mountains with little or no development. It was a great place to live as a soaring, predaceous bird.  Though the landscape has certainly changed, there are still hawks in L.A.  We don’t often catch a glimpse of them but when we do see one above the freeway or a business park, it’s a keeper moment of the day.  An intrepid hawk reassures us that the bigger picture is still intact; it is a fleeting link to an impressive past.   This sentiment surely powers ISHILA’s songwriting.

I See Hawks in L.A.

One of the first things one hears with the Hawks is that they sing together seamlessly.  Lacques’ and Rob Waller’s voices mesh tightly and Paul Marshall covers the top end to assemble a sweet, accent-free three part harmony.  Waller’s lead vocals sound very familiar, evoking a host of different midrange singers but, happily, he always sounds like the singer of the Hawks.

For New Kind of Lonely the Hawks decided to go very close to all acoustic, and for this show the lineup was Lacques on lead guitar, vocals, and dobro, Waller on lead vocals and guitar, and Marshall on upright bass and vocals.  The percussion for the bulk of this set came from their picks, fingers and strings. Interestingly, neither guitar was plugged in, just miked, old school.

The sound on Friday was crystal clear — enough room for the guitars to intertwine while sounding distinct, and nice separation on the bass.  Lacques had all kinds of room to embellish and he was on his game, approaching his fills from many tasteful angles.  Mostly he played flat-picked bluegrass runs, but he also ornately colored his tone with two note chordal runs and timely flourishes.  He didn’t show off with speed or any of the usual guitar trickery — that is just not his approach, though when he needs to be he is very quick.  His style was all about using what works best to bring a song vividly to life.

New Kind of Lonely is loaded with strong material, so the night was filled with rich moments.  While they do juxtapose urban images with their considerable appreciation for mountains, sky, and the sacredness of the desert in songs like “Mary Austin Sky” they also go further.  “The Spirit of Death” was a beautiful song inspired by and dedicated to local fiddle sensation Amy Farris, whose death hit the group hard. “I Fell in Love With The Grateful Dead,” was a light-hearted, descriptive set of recollections, but it was also an interesting piece of music to listen to.  Towards the end of the song the Hawks turned on a dime, much like the Dead might have, headed into a jazzy segue for a tasty several moments, then back to the original feel.

The Hawks served up another nice contrast when “Highland Park Serenade” transcended from a fondly wistful, yet resigned present tense description of HP to a marvelous Spanish chorus and instrumental section where you can nearly smell the carne asada cooking as the sun sets.  On Friday, Richie Lawrence was on hand (from the deepwater port of Stockton, no less!) to further color the song with his accordion.  Lacques’ sounded nothing short of beautiful over the swirl.

About half way through the set the Hawks brought out their charismatic buddy Cliff Wagner, in blue denim overalls, with tats on his forearms, and looking like he might have walked in out of the West Virginia night.  He tore it up on the most hillbilly leaning song of the night, “Hunger Mountain Breakdown.” It seemed altogether fitting that he played a banjo with fish inlays down its fret board.  No doubt about it, the interplay between Wagner’s banjo and Lacques’ dobro satisfied mightily.  And it was fun to watch Lacques dip the slide into a finger picked chord to spin it along.

These are tough times for a talented band struggling to be heard.   The internet is an easy place to be heard or downloaded, but it’s very hard to get paid for your music there.  In order to finance New Kind Of Lonely the Hawks reached out to their loyal fan base much like public radio does.   They offered a creative series of premiums ranging from a day at the shooting range to lessons in composting and terracing techniques with the different band members…and it all worked out.   You just have to root for a band with this much talent and adaptive skill to beat the odds and reap some success.

Old Californio went with two acoustic guitars (Rich Dembowski and Woody Aplanap), piano (Levi Nunez), electric bass (Jason Chesney), dobro (Lacques) and an improvised drum kit (Justin Smith on a snare and a suitcase!). Their set was only about a sweet half hour long, but it left us wanting more.  It just goes to show that if you have strong tunes they will shine in any format.  A good batch of songs is just that!

by Bliss
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I See Hawks in LA won’t be holding a proper release party for “New Kind of Lonely” until its Feb. 24 show at McCabe’s in Santa Monica. But local fans can get a preview of the new tunes this Friday when the Hawks return to the Coffee Gallery Backstage.

Cut live in the studio around three microphones, “New Kind of Lonely” is an acoustic project that highlights one of the trademark elements of the Hawks’ sound: the tightly woven harmonies between frontman Rob Waller, dobroist Paul Lacques and bassist Paul Marshall. As a band, they’ve long since proved they can rock the house, particularly during more anthemic numbers like “Humboldt,” a staple of their club sets. But their acoustic shows have generally fostered an intimacy that audiences have also relished, and those fans are likely to respond warmly to the new recording. The open space in the acoustic settings directs more attention to the richly poetic, thoughtful lyrics, which balance humor with a pervasive sense of mortality and loss. [continue reading…]

by Chris Griffy
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I See Hawks in L.A. is a band that has won over a ton of fans with their seamless blend of California Country-Rock and Psychedelia on their five previous albums, as well as through their strong live performances.

Of late, I See Hawks in L.A. have increasingly flirted with all-acoustic shows, hosting a one-mic acoustic series in Los Angeles’ Cole’s bar and with acclaimed tours in support of Americana superstars like Ray Wylie Hubbard, Dave Alvin, and Chris Hillman.

After years of teasing fans with glimpses of a what a stripped down I See Hawks in L.A. sounds like, the band has finally pulled the trigger on their first all-acoustic album, titled New Kind of Lonely, releasing March 6. [continue reading…]

We’re excited to announce that our CD Release show for “New Kind of Lonely” will take place on February 24th at McCabe’s in Santa Monica. Come on out!

For more info on buying tickets, etc visit www.mccabes.com

This is super drummer Dave Raven’s first trip with the Hawks, and it’s been so great that we fear we’ve set the expectations bar a bit high for him. “It’s not usually this cushy, bro.” Our third day extended and heightened the mellow dreamlike nature of our northern wandering.

We took the 5 South of course, back on what our friends Old Californio might call The Mother Road**

Then westward on Highway 20 and some beautiful hairpin mountain roadage that transformed the landscape from dry grass and oaks to lush vineyard — ringed by dry grass and oaks. Southward through mysterious valley to edge of bustling Napa prosperity. The streets are jammed with Ferraris and tour busses. It’s a cross between Park City in the winter and Yosemite Valley in the summer. The highway becomes Main Street, St. Helena, mysterious St. Helena. New and old wealth manifested in immaculately kept Victorian and Craftsman houses on huge redwood shaded lots.

We pull up to our host Joanne’s turn of the (last) century two story wood frame house, yard drenched in balmy afternoon Napa sunlight. This party is a mini-summit of local vintners and friends, and the tree shaded lawn is action packed, local wines and cheeses laid out on long tables as the guests filter in. Paul Marshall, whose lovely and cool wife and daughters are also here, is in oenophile heaven. The vintner’s wares are sampled, to much earnest discussion among the imbibers. This is indeed wine country. There’s a refreshing and earthy Viognier. An elephantine old vine Zin. A Pinot Egregious just coming into its own. A not overly-oaked or malolactic, lean, crisp Chardonnay. Paul Lacques seems to randomly favor the Chablis, which he pronounces “cha-bliss.”

We do two electric sets alternating with funky folk rock jazz combo Free Peoples, a quintessential northern California band, with a fat groove, great playing, a phenomenal young violinist (or is he a fiddler?) named Karl, who sat in with us, to most beautiful effect. A blast was had by all, perhaps us Hawks most of all. The dream state continues.

** note: Old Californio’s Mother Road is Route 66, they’re all Pasadena/Temple City locals. The only truly all-locals band in the Southland?

The Hawks have grown and thrived in the same time frame of the spread of capuccinos to rural American culture. We have witnessed the grand opening of a Starbucks in Provo, Utah, sampled sophisticated single source brews in blue highway towns, stood behind bearded mountain men as they enquire into croissants and scones, their trucks idling in the gravel parking lot. The nasty swill that was a pillar of rural Americana is being knocked over town by hamlet by town square. Change is as possible as it is unlikely. Yes we can.

Could left wing organizations win America back via coffee culture? Let’s not forget that this was a land of radicals, Wobblies, Communists, socialists, beats and bohemians, powerful labor unions that delivered the vote for representatives who feared and served the people and the common good. The collapse of this commonality has been breathtakingly fast. We live in its rubble now. The average working man now votes Republican, watches Fox News, and thinks teachers are overpaid. Will green shoots rise from these ruins? What if the funds donated to Moveon.org and their now tedious and salaried dance with the power structure went towards a chain of socialist free trade coffee houses staffed by sexy and brilliant eco aware youth handing customers a copy of Counterpunch with each impeccably pulled ristretto? Could Environmental Baristas For America (modeled after Teach For America) recruit the best and brightest to serve high end espresso to under-served middle America? Cafe begets outdoor farmer’s market begets local small farming vegetable swaps, bicycling, political discussion groups, local activism and cultural happenings. Rural America finds the balance of 1936, or 1926, or 1876. Facebook falters. Twitter withers.

We get ideas. On this post-wedding morning we walked across the street from our Town of Mt. Shasta modest motel, the Alpine Lodge, to an enticing stone storefront espresso establishment, Seven Suns. Jackpot! Excellent breakfast burritos, scones like big cookies, Americanos and soy capuccinos a cut above decent, reggae wafting through cool subdued lighting back rooms. Hence the above speculation on the rebirth of American culture. It’s not impossible.

We get more ideas: The death blow to wind and solar generated power in any eco debate is the lack of power storage. Winds often blow strongest at night, when electricity demand is down. Solar power declines in winter. Giant batteries aren’t practical. How to store electrical energy? Well–how about mechanical storage? The new 1776 foot high World Trade Center could be built on a hydraulic platform. Excess electricity from wind turbines and solar panels now covering every square foot of Manhattan rooftop can be routed to motors that raise the hydraulic platform and the World Trade Center 200 feet in the air, raising its peak height to 1976 feet, making it even more height prestigious and bolstering America’s deflated self esteem. When Manhattan’s electricity demand exceeds solar/wind output, the platform lowers, the Trade Center’s massive weight driving generators that light up the Great White Way.

The presidents of Mt. Rushmore could be similarly jacked up, the gigatonnage of a mountain top storing a whole region’s worth of electricity. The ruined coal mountaintops of West Virginia could be converted to energy storage platforms as they’re being cosmetically rehabilitated. Let’s jack up all of Las Vegas as its population flees for more rational places to live. Put our wastelands to good use. Phoenix. And West L.A.

Not all our ideas are good ones. A chain of Nevada brothel/medical marijuana clinic/gas station centers called Ass, Gas, and Grass (Kids Eat For Free) might create more problems than it solves. But noted in the interest of not spurning The Muse.

Saturday morning, hard clear blue skies, we do indeed rise at 7:30 a.m., load up, are treated to a hearty eggs and espresso based breakfast at Evangeline’s, more thanks upon thanks. The Yukon powers over hills and county lines to Nevada City, a picture postcard Gold Rush town gracefully tucked into wooded ridges, rows of beautifully preserved 19th century buildings. We pull off a pretty solid ungodly hour live show in the radio KVMR studio, with erudite host Larry. KVMR has played us generously since our first CD and are a big part of our Sacto adjacent family. Long may they enlighten the airwaves.

We power north on the 99 through Functional Country, earthen dams, water pumps, giant power line, dry olive orchards with metal square barns. This passes, and we find gentle rurality, sight Shasta towering white through haze in the distance. We are in the Land Of Interesting Topography, lava based. Is Shasta volcanic?

Yes it is. According to Wikimassbrain.com, it’s actually four separate volcanos merged together. We exit the 5 amidst tall trees and mountain ridges. We’re playing a wedding. About once a year we play a wedding if, and only if, the bride and groom and their families pass our stringent screening exam. The Shasterians excelled with honor and distinction. Not surprisingly, the groom is a geologist (another fated Hawks geology encounter). We like rocks, and rock gardens.

All signs point to a memorable evening. The wedding tables and home made huppa are bathed in the beautiful light of a meadow surrounded by tall trees, with Mt. Shasta’s snow packed whiteness beaming down in the near background. Tables are named after rock classifications and we’re seated at the igneous table. The centerpiece? You guessed it: rocks. The soundman is a mellow young dude mit ponytail in three piece flannel suit, the stage was built by the groom, kegs of beer and roasted carrots are waiting. Sound check, long restful hang in the meadow, and the coolest wedding party in our memory filters in. Cool as in mellow, unpretentious, totally relaxed, dare we say very very happy? The groom’s dad is a classic Louisiana man from deep in Cajun country, the bride Michelle’s family has lived a half mile from the meadow her entire life. This is a zone sheltered from the uprooted angst of our Too Young Republic. We eat, we play music, we mingle with the families as the bride and groom take the stage for their own family and friends bluegrass band, damn, they’re pretty good. We do a few more songs, depart into the night, partied out. Was that work?