The Hawks, Kip Boardman, and Tony Gilkyson exit the Beehive Pub, Swindon, England — Summer Tour ’06.

Hope yours was as action packed as Paul Marshall’s:

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The day after our folk frolic at the Sacramento-adjacent Marriot, Paul, Victoria, Richie of Loose Acoustic Trio, and his lovely wife Katie motored west through orchards and mist to Berkeley to see old pal Stew’s musical Passing Strange at the Berkeley Repertory Theater.

We’ve done shows and recordings with Stew and Heidi and The Negro Problem over the years, and know well their talents, but seeing this play is like waking up and realizing your roommate is Beethoven. It’s scary. Stew is scary. This play is funny, pure poetry and sardonic nihilism, dense with political and social commentary, and it makes you cry repeatedly, and then laugh, and then cry some more. The best American play of the last 20 years? Undoubtedly. Go see it. It’s moving to New York soon, where it will RULE. If there is a hero to slay the rotting hacks of Broadway, this is it.Oh, and the cast–they’re amazing. How can people be this talented? And SpyCar cohort Marc Doten does beautiful keyboard work, rising from his own private pit onstage and descending at key moments. You must see this.

The Hawks awoke at last from their post-Hollywood nightmare early Friday morning with a drive up the 5. Uncharacteristically ignoring gas prices and Peak Oil concerns, Rob, the two Pauls, and Rick Shea climbed into four separate cars and headed for the Far-West Folk Alliance Conference at the Sacramento Mariott Rancho Cordova.

The drive up the 5 was brown and gray. Tule fog hung over fields of rotting pumpkins, dormant grapevines, and apricot trees waiting to bloom. At the 580 turn off we took the unfamiliar road east toward the capitol, where green and fall colors percolate into the landscape, and lots of big migratory birds grooving among the many swamps surrounding Sacramento. Or rather, Sacramento is a swamp, a big one, temporarily occupied by humans on a fragile concrete and asphalt platform. Schwarzenegger wouldn’t dare to move here, but folkies from across the West Coast are converging for a chance to commune with each other among acoustic instruments, candles, and herbal teas packed into hotel hallways and rooms.

Rancho Cordova is a 15 minute drive east on Highway 50, clogged with Sacramentoans escaping to Reno for the weekend. We’ll spare you the usual Hawks rant on the suburbanization of our farmland. Welcome to the Marriot.

It’s a little scary at first being thrown into this folk music soup of ponytails, guitar cases, and showcase flyers floating in mauve corporate carpeting. A four dulcimer jam session and a bluegrass session are already rocking the lobby. Hundreds of musicians, bookers, folk DJs, and fans mill about, a big reunion. We realize that we’re not really folkies, just as we’re not really a country band or an Americana band. What the hell are we?

We take refuge in Room 604 to fortify ourselves with whiskey and friendship. Adequately oriented, we descend to the ground floor convention rooms for our first set. We’re following Sourdough Slim, a real deal yodeling cowboy. He’s glad to see us come in the room, doubling his audience, and perks up a bit, livening up his schtick with dandy prairie-style jokage and taking yodeling into the 21st century with some Tuvan type overtones emerging from a trill. Sourdough Slim might be the best yodeler in America.Our first set is a bit stiff. There’s no vibe in this flourescently lit corporate conference room. This is a place suited to real estate seminars, motivational speakers, and doomed weddings. It’s just not suited for music. But we do our thing for some folks who come down to see us and then we’re on our way to the guerrilla showcase floor.

Many are called to headliner status, but few are chosen. We barely missed the cut for the main stage, but we’re alternates, and listed in the program. If Utah Phillips misses his plane, we’ll be on the main stage. He doesn’t. Nor does Voco, who do a remarkable performance of Celtic based world music and Moira Smiley’s great original songs. Don’t miss them!For unchosen performers, the guerilla room is an ingenious way to get seen by the folk movers and shakers. Bands and solo acts, labels and house concert promotors rent out rooms and host performances. What a scene.

This year the entire fourth floor of the Sacramento Marriott is devoted to this sea of folk. It’s like a college dorm. Every door is open, every room is decorated with Christmas lights, posters, some with major foodage laid out to lure the hungry passerby. Our first stop is in the Big Ol’ Tumbleweed Room of our friends Steve Werner and Fur Dixon. We roll in, jump on their bed and listen to them do some of their great tunes. Then we do a set. Folkies wander in and out. We play another set down the hall, then the Folk In A room, and then another by the stairway in the Motel Calfiornia room. Folk music plays on and on and on through the night. Day Two arrives and tonight we’ve got our own performance room with our buddies The Loose Acoustic Trio and Rick Shea. Victoria and Richie’s (of Loose Acoustic Trio) wife Katie decorate the room with our own Christmas lights and a cool sign announcing our FRUIT OF THE BARLEY themed room. The best part of our room is the whiskey bar, with a Balvenie 16 year old scotch and Glenlivet courtesy of Richie, a bottle of Jameson’s, and a motley collection of shot glasses. The Hawks are never far from this hallowed zone. We take turns doing sets with Rick and the Trio. Our friend Moira Smiley of Voco comes by and blows us all away with a largely acapella set of gorgeous tunes from Ireland to America. It’s truly moving and a highlight of the trip.

Another highlight is the late night Fruit of the Barley jam. It’s great to play tune after tune with old friends and new with no bar time deadline, no mics, no lights, just songs. It’s a fine closing ceremony.

Outside, Sacramento’s a foggy, foggy land at 3 a.m. Author’s note: thanks to all those who sent messages of encouragement and outrage following the events of Nov. 14th. You are all very kind. The Roxy continues its pay to play policy, which has led to its collapse as an L.A. cultural beacon but is making money for someone.

Further author’s note: Sacramento has badass coffee. Badass. Check out Naked Coffee next time you’re up there, $6 for the best beans you’ll ever brew, and baristas that beat Peets, no mean feat.

It had to happen eventually. We Hawks have had a great streak of live shows since we first ventured onstage at Anastasia’s Asylum and the Silverlake Lounge in ’01. Our fans are the best, and we usually win over a few strangers by the end of a night.

Last night we bombed. Ka boom. We played to a roomful of an alien tribe and the results weren’t pretty.It had seemed like a good idea to accept a gig offer from the Roxy to open for Eric Church, a new Capitol recording artist. There’s a picture of him drinking whiskey on the cover of his record so you know he’s the real deal. We figured we’d blow the Capitol executives away with our sensitive version of alt country and get signed to a fat record deal.

Actually, the Roxy offered us $250 without having to play the “sell tickets or die” game, so against our better judgement about gigs on the Strip, we bit. $250 guarantee? OK. The Roxy is a cold and dark room until the humans show up. We arrived on time for sound check, kind of an early blunder, and sat around in the cavernous chill. Eric Church’s gear was set up onstage. Pretty impressive: one electric guitarist’s pedal board had two tuners, and a compressor and graphic EQ, and their own computer mixing board sits right onstage.

The young Roxy house sound guys were the first humans to join us. They quietly freaked at our request to mike all our instruments instead of using pickups and amps, but manfully took on this novel task. It’s not that easy to put microphones in front of guitars and get a good sound. So next time you see Gillian Welch, or Del McCoury’s band gathered around a single condensor mic, bow down to their sound person. Our Roxy crew got what they considered a passable sound and threw in the towel. We feigned our appreciation and waited for the masses to arrive.

Things looked up as the bar opened and the bartender agreed to give us Woodford Reserve bourbon for the musician drink tickets. Extraordinary! The Eric Church fans filtered in. Uh oh. More white straw cowboy hats per capita than we ever remember seeing, Jack Daniels bandanas, whoops and hollers from the young, well fed crowd. These folks came to party and outlaw things up. Seven bucks for Roxy adjacent parking and they were ready to blow off some steam.Retreating to the upstairs dressing rooms, we revised our set list, removing some of the more sensitive/spiritual type tunes. To no avail.

At 8:32 the curtains raised, and hugging the stage were the Eric Church acolytes, at our feet in aforesaid urban cowboy gear, willing to endure the opening act’s extreme proximity to keep that proximity for their beloved headliner. Have you ever been on a hike far from the trailhead and sliced your foot open, bad, and wondered if this would be the time things actually didn’t turn out well? That’s the kind of adrenaline high the Hawks achieved as their first acoustic number, with their quiet guitars, subtle lyrics, and strange and foreign intimate acoustic sound hit the chattering young outlaw new country fans. Halfway through the second song, the well fed lasses in the dread white hats dealt with their boredom by talking to us as we played. Paul M was the object of some heavy flirting by a particularly well fed Jack Daniels lass.

A large and dangerously drunk lad in a black leather cowboy hat began screaming, “You suck!! You’re fired!!” before security deprived him of his first amendment rights and hauled him away. The lightheared indifference continued. We desperately switched to our cache of drinking songs. Mild interest, but the crowd’s attention wandered. Okay, how about some marijuana songs? Hmm, they don’t seem to smoke marijuana. Meth, perhaps. “Who are you!” “David Allen Coe!” “Play Family Tradition!”We played our hearts out, which was probably the right thing to do, but who knows, maybe we should have expressed our inner thoughts and started a melee. At least then we would’ve ended up in the paper. We rushed offstage as our required 50 minutes expired, to a smattering of applause that halted in mid-smatter.

Our four loyal fans (other Hawks fans were wise enough to avoid the bummer and hassle of the Strip) in the audience told us that the sound mix was a few decibels shy of anemic–but this was about tribes. Music culture is completely balkanized today. There was a consciousness gap going on here that just couldn’t be bridged at that time, under those circumstances. It was surreal, like giving a speech to a roomful of people who hate you in a language no one can understand. Or maybe we just sucked. And Eric Church rocks. Twin metal guitars, heavily drawled vocals, tattoos. He rocks. Rock on.

In the cold light of today, the surreal Sunset Strip saga continues. Here’s an email from the Roxy promotor: Hey Paul,
How are you? Can you please call me so we can discuss the show last night. I was bummed to hear you guys only brought four people. I know we all put in a lot of work to promote for you and I just need some answers. I also am going to ask
for some of the money back. If I had thought you would bring four people I never ever would have given you the show, let alone agreed to give you 250.00. I think it would be only fair if we got back some of the money. Please get back to me so we can talk. Thank you.

Scott* Normal Accident Theory (NAT) is the label for a school of thought that considers accidents in complex systems to be inevitable. A “normal accident” is defined as “an event that is unintended, unfortunate, damages people or objects, affects the functioning of the system of interest, and is non-trivial.”

Rob and Paul L from the Hawks hosted the first class in their
brand new Outdoor Eco Songwriting Seminar series ($300 for six meetings, includes lunch), and it was a great success.
We began by leading our eight students on a rather grueling
hike, leaving the marked trail in Topanga Canyon for a vertical
scramble through chaparral, guitars on our backs. After three
hours we were scratched, winded, and sweat soaked, but the
view alone was worth the effort: the blue Pacific in all its glory.
Next, we instructed our students to take out their guitars,
pair off, and sit in lotus position facing each other. The goal:
to stare into your partner’s guitar, clearing your mind of all
thoughts. We had to slap a few note noodlers, notably Randall,
but soon silence and calm prevailed on the wind kissed upper
slopes.
After a light lunch of ahi tuna panini and chocolate chip
cookies, we began our trek back to the trailhead, this
time taking the trail. All agreed that it had been a memorable
experience, and we were already better songwriters than the
10 who headed up the trail that morning.
Next week: a chanting session in the DJ/lighting department,
Guitar Center Sherman Oaks.
For more information or to reserve your spot in our Winter Session email us at stonecutter@iseehawks.com

Click HERE for Swedish review.

Review from Spain:

I See Hawks In L.A.: California Country

Once in a while, in the world of music, the unexpected surprises us. The unfamiliar enters our reality, and surprises us with something that we cannot even describe. At the same time, we savor the beauty of this music that arrives from unknown artists.

The band, I See Hawks In L.A., is delightful surprise. Curiously enough, they are indirectly well known in certain circles. Let me explain: everyone who has seen the San Miguel beer commercial (where there is a band playing at a highway honky-tonk joint in front of a very bored audience) has seen the band. In the commercial, the audience perks up when the San Miguel beers enter the scene. Suddenly, the audience is inspired to get up and dance to El Paquito’s el Chocolatero. The band playing in front of the bored audience is I see Hawks in L.A.

A strange way to be introduced to this band. The band was formed in 1999 in Los Angeles by Rob Waller and Lacques brothers Paul and Anthony, so they already carry a lot of experience and history on their backs. They have produced 3 CDs: I See Hawks in L.A. (on the already defunct Ethic label in 2001), Grapevine (on Western Seeds Records in 2004) and the last and magnificent California Country (in 2006 also from Western Seeds Records). They have proven that the old fashioned sounds of Country Rock from the 1960’s are not dead. Artists like Dillard and Clark, Flying Burrito Brothers, etc. have left a clear influence on the Hawks’ sound. Their music is seasoned with bits of folk music and brush strokes of Bluegrass. The result is that this band immediately reels you in.

What started as an entertaining idea over a couple of beers has become, with the passing of time, a way of life. Awarded Best Country Band in 2002 and 2003 by the prestigious L.A.Weekly publication, the band has captured a devoted fan base in Los Angeles. In a region such as California, where film is one of the principal industries, the band has been selected to compose the soundtrack for a number of documentaries, movies and T.V. shows, in addition to solidifying their spot on the American Sound charts with their second CD, Grapevine, becoming very well known in the area.

Back to the magnificent California Country, by far their best work; work that propelled them to became known outside of the limits of California. Most of the songs are written by Robert Waller and Paul Lacques (both perform duties on guitar and dobro, vocals and production), Dave Zirbel plays steel, Cody Bryant on banjo and Rick Shea on mandolin and acoustic guitar, along with the collaboration of the legendary Chris Hillman on mandolin. The final product does not disappoint.

Motorcycle Mama, Raised by Hippies and California Country are examples of the Hawks knowledge of medium tempo seasoned with slow tempo and magnificently demonstrated on Midnight Orlando (my favorite song on the disc) or the precious Take My Rest and Hard Times? ( the latter a prime example of the influence of the hit single Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson).

In August, 2006 they will tour in the United Kingdom. What a joy it would be to hear this band there, this band that comes from the depths of the unknown, without any promotional support, but, little by little, and armed only with their vast quality and style, they will arrive to catch a little bit of stardom. They are obviously fixed in the charts of American Sound, but no one thinks they can enter the official lists and orthodoxies governed by Music City.

I See Hawks in L.A. is a band that gives us hope and confirms our faith in the genre of Country Music, a genre more alive today than ever.

Review from Holland:

Wat begon als een flauwekulbandje om muziek te maken op de veranda, eindigt (voorlopig) als een hooggenoteerde act in de US countrylijsten. Een komische groepsnaam van een humoristisch annex sarcastisch gezelschap dat op hun 3de album California Country zo ongeveer het hele countryspectrum – van traditioneel tot alternatief- behandelt. De belangrijkste leden van I See Hawks In L.A. zijn Rob Waller (leadzang, akoestische gitaar) en Paul Lacques (gitaren, lapsteel, Dobro en 2de stem) die – op één nummer na – alles samen componeerden. Beiden zorgden voor een melodierijke stevige rocksound dat in veel gevallen de basis vormt voor de 13 nummers. En ook de teksten mogen niet onvermeld blijven, want die vertellen quasi grappig over van alles en nog wat. Luister bijvoorbeeld naar opener Motorcycle Mama (helemaal klaar voor een lekker ritje, maar dan weigert de motor dienst) of naar het bijtende Slash From Guns N’Roses met heuse Slash- venijnige gitaarsolo. Ook ervaringen met Californië, Disney/Orlanda, de romance in Houston, the summer of love in Raised By Hippies, het gouden meisje of cannabisgenot in Barrier Reef, werden spitsvondig opgetekend en ouderwets goed muzikaal vormgegeven. Een handvol muzikanten droegen aan de opnames een steentje bij met, als meest bekenden, oudgediende snarenspelers Rick Shea en Chris Hillman. Boven op dit alles moet dan nog de kleurrijke meerstemmige samenzang vermeld worden en dan zijn alle relevanties over het mooie California Country genoemd. Voor een hoge verkoopverwachting zie ik echter veel beren op de weg in ons kikkerland.

— Huub Thomassen, Real Roots Cafe, Holland

GOOGLE Translation:

What started as a rubbish band make music on the veranda, finishes (provisionally) as hooggenoteerde act in the US countrylijsten. A comic group name of humoristic annex sarcastic gezelschap that on their 3rd album California Country this way approximately the complete countryspectrum – of traditionally to alternative treats. The most important members of I See Hawks in L.A. to be Rob Waller (leadzang, acoustic jet ear) and Paul Lacques (jet ears, rag stalk, Dobro and 2nd voice) that – on one number after – together composed everything. Both ensured melodierijke firm rocksound that in many cases the basis form the 13 numbers. And also the texts cannot remain unmentioned, because those tell seeming funny of everything and still what. Lustre for example to more open Motorcycle mummy (entirely ready for nice ritje, but then) or to the caustic Slash From Guns N Roses with heuse Slash- refuse service to the engine virulent gitaarsolo. Also experiences with California, Disney/Orlanda, the romance in Houston, the summer or love in Raised By Hippies, reef gouden the little girl or cannabisgenot in Barrier, clever were noted down and old-fashioned well musical were formed. Hand-full muzikanten contributed a steentje to the prerecordings with, as most acquaintances, oudgediende snarenspelers Rick Shea and Chris Hillman. On top of all this then and then its all relevances still the coloured polyphonic samenzang mentioned concerning the beautiful California Country must become called. For a high sale expectation to see I however much roaring on the way in our frog country.

by Doug Miller

The cover of I See Hawks in L.A.’s latest album, “California Country,” provides appropriate art for the beautifully baffling topography of a state where millions upon millions still rush in search of their versions of gold.

It befits the “progress” that has led us to 2006: A sad and lonely gas station in the middle of the night, perhaps right off the I-5 corridor, with a cool wind blowing from the desert through the valley and out to the rows of McMansions overlooking the chilly Pacific.

When asked to describe the message of the album, Paul Lacques, the Los Angeles-based country rock band’s co-founder and multi-instrumentalist, recalls a recent trip near his boyhood home in Southern California’s high desert.

::READ ON::