The Devil Makes Three + Brown Bird – Wonder Ballroom (Portland, OR; Apr. 24, 2011)

On Sunday night, less than a league from home, I hitched my wagon near the entrance of the Wonder Ballroom before a barricade of desperate rain-soaked beggars standing on the curb. They were begging not for food or money or work, but for tickets to see acoustic-juke-band-blues heroes, The Devil Makes Three. One such peasant with black mascara pooled under her eyes rejoiced as I walked toward the door, for she had just exchanged $60 in panhandled silver coins for a scalped ticket. Hiding my shock, I commended her devotion. Behind me, an envious gentleman wearing a soggy duster bore a makeshift brown-bag sign with something like, “Money for the Devil…” scribbled across it in runny blue ink. I looked back at him hesitantly, apologetically, and shrugged, handing my little coveted red ticket to the doorman. Suddenly hardened and eager to escape the incoherent mumbles of the ticket-beggars, I rushed inside. My pocket watch read half-past seven. With nearly an hour ‘til show-time I headed to the saloon for an interlude with some boiled mutton and a shot of whisky.

Hovering over my refreshments, I watched a thousand lucky patrons gradually populate the dance floor and contemplated the band who some traveled cross-country on horseback to see.
The Devil Make Three are Vermont-native Pete Bernhard on guitar and dead-on country vocals, Cooper McBean on various exquisitely plucked instruments and vocals, and Ms. Lucia Turino on the only stringed instrument taller than my horse – the upright bass. Friends since grade-school, Cooper and Pete conspired to make music together that both emulated their country and blues idols and made damn certain that people would dance to it like a bunch of possessed revivalists. They recruited Lucia after a night of heavy drinking and a bet involving a full tobacco spittoon and some slur about women being incapable of handling large instruments. We’ll reckon she won that gamble. The group’s first eponymous album, released in 2002, brought them to the stage of worthy young country bands. An eight-year gap, a comparatively overlooked sophomore album, and some major growing up– including the jettison of their first album’s solemn tone–yielded 2009’s Do Wrong Right, a whip-smart constellation of their strongest and funnest (why is this not a word?) material.

Speaking with Pete and Cooper before the show, they informed me that bluegrass purists refuse to let DM3 into their club. Separating the genres of folk, country, bluegrass, rock, and blues that an increasing number of bands like to blend together, they explained that solos, technical fiddle licks, and perfect four- and five-part harmonies typical of southern bluegrass (which I mistakenly pegged them as) are not their thing. “Bluegrass as it comes from the south? That’s not where we’re coming from … at all,” said Pete Bernhard. “What we do is take what they did and twist it,” said McBean. It’s more akin to country, string-band, square dance bands. “But people see a banjo and an upright bass and they think, ‘Oh, bluegrass!’ That’s just not what we do.” “We’re from Vermont and Santa Cruz. That’s what makes us different. We’re not purists by any means.” “What we play is waaay more based in blues and western swing than bluegrass.” Traditional bluegrass bands won’t play with DM3, labeling them, rather, as just another rock ‘n’ roll band. They have bluegrass-y songs, but they’re not bluegrass musicians, per se. “We play rock clubs.” “Bluegrass shows? People sit.” “And it’s not the way the music sounds, it’s more in how the songs are written,” Bernhard explained. “It’s all derived from the same thing. But bluegrass is very specific. We’re taking country music in a different direction and so are a lot of other bands.” So, to answer the question that started all this, yes, Bernhard does like the direction roots music is going with rock and indie rock. And no, The Devil Makes Three is not bluegrass. But they won’t judge you if you call them that. “There are just two camps – those who want to preserve the old-time roots and blues, and there are those people who take that and do their own thing, to see what they can make out of it, and I’m all for that,” said McBean.

The gentlemen also wanted to clear up the myth that any of them had ever had a drink of alcohol in their lives.

Fellow New Englanders, Brown Bird, provided ample warm-up material to which everyone got good and liquored (except for the almighty kings of sobriety, McBean and Bernhard, of course). With slight reworking of the number of members and instrumentation, the band complemented the headliner’s roots-rock style perfectly. Performing that night were two of the band’s revolving door of talented musicians, David Lamb on banjo, guitar, and kick-drum, and MorganEve Swain on upright bass, cello, and fiddle. Though known for their dark and haunting mood, Brown Bird kept things light and foot-stompy throughout their set, inspiring stage-front hand-drumming and cat-calls from boys in the audience mesmerized by MorganEve’s cool beauty. To be fair, and momentarily superficial, they were both as kind on the eyes as their music was on the ears. One man in the front row had it right when he yelled at David, “You are fantastic, sir!” To which David graciously replied, “You are fantastic, too!” The gush fest abruptly ended when front-row man crossed the line and offered to bear David’s children. No word yet on plans for future collaborations.

With an empty glass and a cloudy head, I found a cozy spot to not-sit near the stage. With little more than a quick howdy, The Devil Makes Three grabbed their instruments and did their (not bluegrass) thing. Just like the album, they started out energetically with “All Hail” from Do Wrong Right – an instantly likeable caffeine-buzz of a song about the world going insane, crack-mamas, miracle pills, and mid-week super-sales. The crowd from this point on oscillated between hyper-as-hell and totally pissed. Anyone who tried to squeeze through to the front was promptly berated by an otherwise happy dancer and shoved back. Then when that person fell into someone else, they got pissed, and so on. Alas, security ushered the quick-draw shootouts outdoors, allowing the hyper-angry-happy ho-down to continue inside. Onward into the evening we were blessed with selections mostly from their self-titled album and their most recent release, but a speedier version of the Misssissippi Sheiks song, “He Calls That Religion” gave me pause. Blending of genres isn’t complicated and certainly not rare; the complicated part is listening to someone’s record and correctly identifying what or who their influences are. So, at that point I had a clearer understanding of how bands could, in the words of Bernhard, “Do their own thing” with roots music; by shaking up the tempo, the words, the delivery, and the attitude, it’s dug up, dusted off, and replanted in fertile soil. 

But just as I started getting it, they threw a curve; they added yet another related genre: doo-wop, rhythm and blues style. It was at least a prominent element in one of their new songs that stood completely out from the rest. Could it have been a love song? A hint toward a new direction? Either way, I’m looking forward to whatever move these guys make next, especially if it’s just doin’ the same damn thing. And even if it’s wrong, I have faith that The Devil Makes Three can do wrong right.

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