Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band
9/18/08
Knuckleheads Saloon
Better than: Moonshine in a Mason jar.
By MATT SPENCER
The beautiful evening started with...nothing. According to Sean Hoots, this is traditional for opening band Hoots & Hellmouth. Their first number, which consists of standing and chatting with the audience, gets everyone comfy and family like. They burst into their set in a fast rhythm that sets the pace for a full run through bluegrass, soul, blues, and spirituals. Sean Hoots and Andrew Gray on guitars, and Robert Berliner on a really sexy mandolin form the core of the Philadelphia group, with a rolling cast of bassists and percussionists filling in the spaces. This tour, John Branigan thumped the bass, all members standing on wooden pallets with mic'd up tambourines bolted on provided percussion. The more the band stomped and kicked, the bigger the sound got, a unique and impressive solution that allows everyone to keep the guitar strings burning. As a bonus, the trains rolling by 50 feet away shook the patio like a 50-ton metronome.
Last February, when Rev. Peyton opened for Flogging Molly, a thousand punkers and Guinness drinkers found themselves in a swamp-porch rocking chair, stamping their feet and scaring the dogs right along with the good rev. Last night was a much smaller show -- maybe a hundred people -- but the music lacked for nothing. Rev. Peyton and his Big Damn Band snuck up on the crowd, beating a marching band drum and blowing a harp through a megaphone, and people cheered and hollered as Peyton took up his steel guitar.
The Peyton family played several songs off their new album, and pleased the crowd with favorites like "Your Cousin's on Cops!" and the callbacks of "Two Bottles of Wine." The Reverend spoke to the crowd about the pride he takes in keeping his songs honest. His wife's cousin was arrested on Cops, his daddy did get drunk and kicked out of his show, and somehow their drummer got banned from Canada. The crowd begged for details on that last item but were left wanting.
The Big Damn Band's country and blues sound is big, and they've got the visuals to match. Rev. Peyton is not a small man. His broad brow and beard are a chiseled edifice on the face of a guitar-picking mountain. Big, beautiful wife Breezy steams around the Reverend, her arms spinning like trainwheels across her worn washboard, and little brother Jayme hammers out the rails on snare, kickdrum, and 10-gallon plastic bucket. Towards the end of the set, a train engine pulled up next to the club to let the crew watch the show. That's right: Rev. Peyton's sound was so big it stopped a fucking freight train.
Critic's Notebook
Personal Bias: I had not realized it was an all ages show, and was a little sad I didn't bring my sons.
Random Detail: Someone's record collection died to decorate the bathrooms
By The Way: Train horns never seem to be in the right key.
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