Working under the moniker Horse Feathers, singer Justin Ringle and multi-instrumentalist Peter Broderick have crafted two albums of whispery folk, soft compositions that center on Ringle's high voice surrounded by spiralling strings, acoustic guitar and banjo. The two albums, 2006's Words Are Dead and 2008's House With No Home, have been quiet, subdued affairs. Ringle's words break and stall as his voice climbs higher and grows louder, then pulls back suddenly. Urgent strings propel the songs.
The piano bar next door was empty, the parents of this weekend's graduates having migrated back to the suburbs. The show was quiet, the crowd polite. Two industrial-size fans clattered in the background. A disco ball scattered light across the floor. A small group of people sat down on the floor beside the stage to watch Horse Feathers, playing the night as a four-piece. A banjo pickup stopped working, a mic did the job. Horse Feathers went right on with the show.
Every so often the band would break into a spirited stomp, the banjo player would pick up mallets or brushes and a beat would form behind the swirl of strings. The cellist whispered backing vocals throughout the night, adding another paper thin layer to singer Justin Ringle's delicate voice. The violin player, sporting those stylish black X's, added wonderful violin lines and on one song climbed a scale on a saw, bending and bending it until it looked like it could snap at any moment. The set was understated and well-played, and the song "Curs in the Woods" (second in the set, first on their myspace page) was my favorite.
In the tradition of fellow scratchy-voiced Chicago singer-songwriters such as John Prine and Steve Goodman, Joe Pug opened the night with a set of spirited acoustic songs. Even if they weren't yet sing-a-longs, the melodies were catchy and the harmonica playing was better than most. The songs were alternately personal and political, and Joe Pug played 'em like he meant every word.
By the way: Horse Feathers, as everyone knows, was (possibly) named after the Marx Brothers film from 1932 starring the brothers as college football players and somehow relates to Darwin, Prohibition and shady dealings in college athletics. While my favorite football scene in movie history is most certainly the part in Any Given Sunday when the player's eye pops out, Any Given Sunday sounds more like the name of a metal band. I can't blame Ringle for going with Horse Feathers.
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A "horse feather" or "horse feathers" is also a cocktail: bourbon, ginger ale, dash of bitters, I believe. That may explain the Marx bros' use of it.
It certainly explains Arthur Dodge's use of it for the name of his longtime backing band (though, in that case, it's one word -- "Horsefeathers").
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