C.J. Chenier Feature-Virginian Pilot

C.J. Chenier doesn't get it.

"I can't understand why the music industry doesn't take zydeco music seriously," said the musician during an early-morning phone call from his home in Houston.

In case you're wondering, Chenier is a zydeco musician, specializing in the accordion.
Just the night before, Chenier and his Red Hot Louisiana Band had performed their feel-good, accordion-driven music to a raucous, sold-out audience.

"You see shoes flying off and 8-year-olds dancing with 80-year-olds," said Chenier, 55, of a typical gig.

It's all the more reason to wonder why zydeco hardly manages a blip on the pop culture radar outside of Mardi Gras season.

"I don't understand why it's so low on the totem pole as far as the business end goes," Chenier said. "They should be promoting it more because people love this kind of music."

Born in the bayous of Louisiana, the genre may not be a mainstream regular, but, with a rhythm and style that can get a crowd jumping like crawfish in a pot of boiling water, it certainly has a substantial following.

"I call it happy-feet music," said Chenier, who plays the Corner Pocket in Williamsburg on Saturday. "You don't ever see a sad person at a zydeco party."

Chenier's father, Clifton, was known as "The King of Zydeco." Chenier didn't plan to follow in his father's footsteps. Growing up, he played the saxophone and listened to funk music. He earned a music scholarship to Texas Southern University, but his academic career was short-lived.

"I was the type of guy who needed my mama to wake me up for school," Chenier confessed. "I missed all my morning classes because I was in the band and we had to practice from 5 at night until 2 in the morning. I was not doing all that well, so I decided to leave."

Chenier was working on an oil rig when his father called him with a more enticing job offer.
"My daddy asked me to play the saxophone in his band, so I decided to go on the road," he said.
That first tour proved to be significant for the younger Chenier.

"It was life-changing," he said. "The whole world opened up to me. I had never been anywhere but the South. I never even left Texas except for a couple trips to visit relatives in Louisiana."
By 1985, Clifton Chenier's health was in decline. He could no longer manage his 40-pound accordion, so his son took up the squeezebox. After Clifton passed away, C.J. assumed leadership of the Red Hot Louisiana Band.

The group, now widely considered to be the reigning kings of zydeco, was nominated for a Grammy for its latest release, 2011's "Can't Sit Down." The disc includes covers of music by artists you wouldn't expect to hear in zydeco mode, like alternative king Tom Waits and funk legend Curtis Mayfield.

"No matter what type of song it is, I can zydecorize it," Chenier laughed. "The thing that made me fall in love with this music is that you don't think about it, you just feel it."
Chenier wants his audience to embrace that carefree philosophy, especially on the dance floor.
"I'll tell you the truth, when I'm onstage I hope that people don't start two-stepping," he said of the popular country and western dance.

Is that because the steps involve more head than heart?

"That's it exactly," Chenier said. "When people two-step, they feel like they have to figure out how to do it right. If people are just learning, I have to adjust my playing to make sure they can count their steps. I want people to just let go. I promise you we will all have a lot more fun."

Sixpence None The Richer Feature-Virginian Pilot

If you made your sweetie a mix tape/CD in the late '90s, chances are the playlist included "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer.
The sugary audio valentine, featured on the pop rock band's 1997 self-titled release, was an inescapable radio hit in the back half of that decade; and was featured in the TV teen drama "Dawson's Creek" as well as being the theme song for the romantic comedy film "She's All That."

So, what's it like to be the voice that launched a million high school romances?

"It's a bit of a double-edged sword," said Leigh Nash, the woman who sang the track. "It's an adorable song, but it's kind of taken on a life of its own. So it's sort of become this albatross."

Ironically, the band's best known tune almost missed the cut on the album.

"Matt didn't even want it to be on that record," Nash said of her partner, guitarist Matt Slocum. "The song didn't really fit with the rest of that album, but the label insisted for what became pretty obvious reasons."

Despite worries over being perceived as one-hit wonders, Nash says she understands the pop culture relevance of "Kiss Me."

"It's wonderful that the song still means something to people. We're certainly not embarrassed by it."
And it's not like Sixpence None the Richer vanished from the radio charts after its first monster hit.
The group, which plays The Attucks Theatre in Norfolk on Friday, went on to record such candy-coated pop favorites as "There She Goes" and "Breathe Your Name."

There's every reason to believe the hits would have kept coming had Sixpence None the Richer not decided to call it quits in 2004.

By then, Nash and Slocum were ready to move on. The pair started the band as teenagers, and young adulthood brought new priorities. Slocum's wife was pregnant with their first child; Nash was newly married. It felt right for them to take some time to focus on their family lives.

Four years later, Sixpence None the Richer's two central figures reunited for a Christmas album, and in 2011, Nash, a devout Christian, released a solo album, "Hymns and Sacred Songs." Although spiritually fulfilled, Nash still felt a void.

"I missed the camaraderie," she said of working with Slocum. So last year, the longtime friends released "Lost in Transition," their first new album of original material in 10 years.

"I think it's very pure," Nash said of the duo's musical connection. "There's something interesting about the way his writing and my voice mix together. We both consider it a gift that we happened to grow up in the same town. We formed a partnership as kids, and now we're in our 30s and we're still making music."

Still, Sixpence None the Richer's second act isn't without its challenges.

"I've gotten discouraged about what I do for a living plenty of times," Nash said. "I didn't go to college, because I was on the road or making records. It's hard to make a living at this, so it's a financial issue, not because it's so hard being a musician."

Even so, Nash believes payment isn't always monetary.

"I had a woman tell me her brother had not been out of the house in years. I'm not sure what his issue was, but he came to our show. She was tearing up when she told me. It was pretty overwhelming," Nash said. "Just recently I had a father come up to me after a show with his two girls. He said, 'I want you to know that your music has been the soundtrack to my daughters' lives.' Those kids have been listening to my music since they wore born. That's an incredible feeling."

Churchill Feature-Virginian Pilot Newspaper

It might be easy to assume that a young band getting airplay on alternative radio would display a healthy dose of hipster swagger.

Not with Churchill.

"We aren't very cool," laughed the band's singer and guitarist, Tim Bruns. "Actually, our goal is to not be hip at all. The last thing we want to do is get caught up in any kind of trend. We want to make music you can still listen to 20 years from now."

Despite Bruns' modesty, it's tempting to argue for Churchill's hip appeal.

With its unique hybrid of folk, rock and pop, the band is part of a Denver, Colo., music scene that's becoming increasingly cool and relevant to the national stage.

As proteges of fellow Mile High City act The Fray, Churchill consistently sells out shows in its hometown, and its song "Change," was recently named a "Single of the Week" on iTunes. And like another fellow Denver act, The Lumineers, Churchill blends contemporary pop appeal into songs crafted by folk and old-timey instrumentation. And, like its Denver band peers, Churchill is reaping some radio play with the style.

"We just played in Tennessee, and someone came up to us and said they had just heard 'Change' on the radio," Bruns said. "It's weird, but also awesome, that our music is being played in all these different cities."

That happens when your sound has been favorably compared to the current folk rock king, Mumford & Sons.

"We don't think of ourselves as really similar, but we're certainly not offended if someone else does," Bruns laughed. "I saw Mumford & Sons last summer, and it was an incredible show. I left just ready to take on the world. That's what we want to do: leave people pumped up and hopeful."

Bolstered by the male/female vocal interplay of Bruns and Bethany Kelly, Churchill is actually more reminiscent of a classic rock band formed decades ago.

"We are big Fleetwood Mac fans," Bruns said. "They are probably our biggest influence. 'Rumours' is our all-time favorite record."

In fact, Churchill, which plays The Jewish Mother in Norfolk this Friday, often manages to bring down the house with its mandolin-fueled version of Fleetwood Mac's hit "Go Your Own Way."
Churchill's reputation for high-energy, charismatic performances has been a work in progress. When the quintet first emerged on the Denver scene in 2009, it wasn't as comfortable onstage, and it showed.
 One negative review in particular compelled the band to step up its game.

"It wasn't very flattering," Bruns said of the critique. "Since then, we've put in a lot of work on our live shows."

From Michael Morter's show-stopping instrumental dexterity on the mandolin, to band-led crowd singalongs, Churchill aims for an interactive performance.

"Personally, I don't have a lot of fun at a show if I feel like I'm watching a presentation," Bruns said. "I want to feel like I'm a part of it."

Churchill is putting the finishing touches on its first full-length major label album, slated for release in late spring. If the band has its way, the record will find its audience, but it would be just fine if it doesn't become a monster hit.

"We want to keep growing as a band, and that takes time," Bruns said. "I think if you're willing to be patient, it's usually better than trying to blow up right away."

Inner Circle Feature-Virginian Pilot Newspaper

At the peak of its popularity in Jamaica, Inner Circle was on par with Bob Marley.

Three decades later, the reggae band is perhaps best known for "Bad Boys," the memorable theme song for the TV show "COPS."

Despite the instant association to a touchstone of TV culture, Inner Circle is widely regarded as an icon of reggae music. On Saturday, the Jamaican-bred Grammy-winning act will headline the Hampton Reggae Fest at the Hampton Coliseum.

Formed by brothers Ian and Roger Lewis, Inner Circle is now based in Miami, where the siblings own and operate a successful recording studio. Bassist Ian Lewis recently took a break from work on Inner Circle's latest record for a freewheeling phone chat that meandered from the birth of reggae to the real meaning behind the band's biggest hit. Here are a few of the highlights.

The end of colonialism
"At its essence, reggae music was born from sufferation. When people think about Jamaica they think of a sunny Caribbean island, but there is an underbelly. After the British left Jamaica we celebrated our independence. At first the music was happy, it was ska music, which is very fast and based on the boogie-woogie. But after we danced for a while, reality set in and we realized we were hungry and thirsty. This is when the social consciousness of the music was born. Basically it is music of the ghetto."

Natural mystic
"We worked with Bob Marley. He had a high level of consciousness. For all the riches Bob had, he never enjoyed it because he gave it away to the people. I saw that with my own two eyes. He would sit on his veranda and listen to the cries of the people. He wasn't a materialistic person. If he was he would have been driving a Rolls-Royce. That's why he's immortalized today; because his spirit was a true spirit. If he lived he would have made a change in the consciousness of the world."

A healing in Georgia
"About five years ago we played a show in Albany, Ga. This club usually had country bands, and the owner was really checking us out. I heard him ask the promoter if he had good security. That night we played for about 500 people. When we were finishing we played 'One Love' and I told everyone to hold hands. It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. There was a separation, the whites on one side and the blacks on the other. I said 'Hey, hold hands with your brother; this is why we are here,' and then it started happening. At the end of the night the owner came over and said, 'Man, I'll tell you boys something, I've never seen anything like that before.' "

Bad boys, not cool
"'Bad Boys' is really about a kid giving his mother and father a hard time. The original line at the beginning of the song is 'whatcha gonna do when life comes for you.' That word got cut out. The song is really saying that no matter where you come from, don't do the wrong thing. Respect your mother and father. It is not about cops and robbers. I don't understand the criminal. If you go into a store and rob a clerk, that person is not rich, that person is working. How you going to hurt an innocent person? That's not cool, that is stupid. Use your mind, come up with better solutions."

Eddie Murphy's ego problem
"We are not about hype. Don't put us in a limousine; you'll get the worst show ever. That comes from the ego. I'll tell you a story. Once when we played the Montreux Jazz Festival, we were walking to the venue and we see this guy on the road. This guy looks so familiar. It was Quincy Jones, man! We stopped and introduced ourselves. He was so personable. So then we get to the venue and in walks Eddie Murphy, who's headlining that night. He comes in with 10 bodyguards and they're pushing people around. We were like, 'Damn, it's like that?' So we have Quincy Jones, a musical maestro, just walking by himself down the street and Eddie Murphy surrounded by all these bodyguards. This isn't even a movie set. What does that tell you?"

Music of the people
"Every generation will have its own music. Dancing is good; I like to dance, but as Bob Marley would say, 'Our bellies are full, but we are still hungry.' For me, reggae music comes from the struggle of the people.
It is a feeling, music. It leaves something in you that's fulfilling. That is what's lacking in today's reggae music. We are losing our culture. We must mentor young people so they don't forget their roots."