Publicity jobs

Marshall and the Fro album launch bio

Marshall and The Fro are a household name these days, on the roots festival circuit and in their home, the North Coast surfing mecca of Lennox Head, NSW. They’re known for their powerful, pulsing roots music, the soundtrack to the summer for many a carefree festival freak.

Their songs feature on cult surf films like David Bradbury’s Going Vertical and in Billabong ads. Having played virtually every big festival in the land, they’ve also had tracks on Australian TV shows like East of Everything and No Way San Jose. And they’ve just completed a new album, ‘title’, that looks set to eclipse these landmarks.

Marshall Okell, driving force and songwriter, recently recruited his newest member, Fergo, on bass. The big, affable redhead has a five-octave range that lifts their dual choruses into deep space. Their drummer, known affectionately as Poodle, is a hugely likeable unstoppable force, who pummels the kit like it’s his little brother and has done so previously for the likes of Pete Murray. Marshall reckons he’d jump in front of a bullet for either of ’em.

This tight-knit outfit have just spent three months hunkered down with producer Anthony Lycenko (ARIA Nominee, Pete Murray, U2, Beautiful Girls, Xavier Rudd) at 301 and Rocking Horse studios in Byron Bay. Together they’ve garnered an enormous, tempered and timely record that reveals an artist and band in permanent progress.

The band’s first, self-titled release was a party record, the sound of young bucks on the hunt. Get Up and The Player were aimed smack bang at the heaving throng in the Far North Coast, the epicentre for grooving grommets and geishas. Yet even on tracks like the much-covered Thongs, a bouncing, full-blooded tribute to the surfer’s footwear of choice, OKell sang like he meant something else, something important.

On ‘title’ he establishes his intent beyond doubt, with a potent collection of songs that defines an artist and band in a blazing trajectory – but still firmly anchored to their roots.

Friends for Life is the breakthrough – a life-affirming festival romp bound to be a massive hit on the circuit. The anthemic chorus, “We came here with an open mind, we leave here, friends for life …” will be on every summer pilgrim’s lips come November.

The chunky descent of We’ve All Got Something To Say owes as much to heavy rock as the Chilli Peppers’ staunch funk attacks – this is the kind of onslaught that fans of the band are itching for.

Bleeding Hearts is a gentle ballad in the mould of Ben Harper. Deft touches of mandolin and bittersweet harmonies underscore a radio-friendly regret for lost innocence.

Back to business as I Don’t Mind features OKell’s trademark blizzard of slide guitar reinforcing the urgent refrain, “You took too much, it ain’t ever comin’ back”, a gentle warning to naysayers of the power of boogie.

In the big drums and gospel chorus of Crocodile Tears there’s a measured lament laden with cracked emotion, and a nod to the righteous accord of the Living End. One of the album’s truly soaring moments.

The funk-on of White Collar Thieves co-opts hip-hop cadences as a call to arms against the depredations of gun-happy goons with monied credentials – there’s no roots music festivals in Iraq, kids.

Meanwhile Tall Poppies is another formidable radio ballad with a tactile melody that winds itself around the tongue. It evokes the classic beauty of superbly handled slide guitar against a declaration of artistic and emotional sovereignty; “Tall Poppies grow just high as they can, why cant I go with your wishful consent, its the tribulations of the grateful dead, where tall poppies grow just as high as they can” – the most pop moment, and a truly definitive one, on the album.

OKell’s voicing is extraordinary – powerful and wild, it chimes with restless, taut guitar and over the neck slide virtuosity which the band meets, blow for blow.

Press reactions for the first disc were effusive, with Sam Fell of Rhythms magazine declaring the album “infectious as hell’ and Brisbane’s Courier Mail embracing “a stunning display of musicianship from the tight-knit trio.”

Three years down the line, Marshall OKell is a different animal to the man who roared, “I’m a player and I share it around, I take a dollar when I’m bringing you down …”

He’s toured hard, playing 200 shows in 2009 alone. Three East Coast Blues and Roots Festivals bookend a whole swag of tours and altered states. The miles have left their marks on him.

“This album draws on different experiences and emotions to the last one,” he admits. “It’s not as happy – there’s heart-break and loss in it. Like everyone I’ve been broken down, had to bounce back up.”

It reflects the choice of music in the band’s touring van; Them Crooked Vultures, Karnivool, Muse, Xavier Rudd, Keb Mo, Derek Trucks Band, Miles Davis …

“It’s an honest take on my life over the last 3-4 years. It’ll drop ya down and then pick you up, remind you of who your real buddies are and hopefully scare off the succubus.”

Steeped in quieter, contemplative moments , it also buckets and roars like the progressive roots music of say, Ash Grunwald or Dallas Frasca.

“It goes from straight out hillbilly rock to deep roots/rock ballads. There are fun festivals songs and songs about heartbreak.  We used Marshall stacks and Fender twins on 10 as well as mandolins and 1930s Gibson acoustics with brushes … it’s totally honest music.”

To be released in May 2010 with a nationwide tour, the album is eagerly awaited by a nation hooked on independent, home-grown Aussie music.

“We can’t wait to get back on the road,” grins OKell. “We’ve spent almost 4 months making the record and ‘Mad Max’, our tour van, has been calling us. We’ve got 30 shows booked around the country in 8 weeks, that’ll sort us out.”

Okell learned all about excess the hard way, growing up in Dad’s touring guitar cases, soaking up rhythm & blues and the rules of the road. He was born, truly, on a full moon on Friday 13th, to a musician father and a music-loving mother.

Reared in rental properties in tough West Ballina he mixed it with Aboriginal kids from the Bunjalung Nation, who taught him to move quick and respect the original custodians of the North Coast. With three Koori godchildren and years working in high schools he became as much a part of the coast as the surf. Studying social science at nearby Lismore University he’d hitch-hike to Uni, then rehearsals with his first bands, where he developed his mighty voice and devastating guitar hands.

Surfing informed his music, and vice versa. The band’s first album had immense exposure in the surfing industry, including songs on Surfing Life compilations, surf movies and appearance at a Quicksilver pro show. An avowed supporter of the Sea Shepherd, Marshall is always picking rubbish off the beach after a surf.

Meanwhile, his performances are igniting fervent reactions up and down the country. He displays the ability, like all great performers, to go inside his music, and inhabit it like a shaman.

“I go somewhere in the cosmos when I play, time stops and I really don’t know how long I’m out sometimes.

“When a massive crowd loses their shit I go a step further, I’m excited to find out how far a big explosive crowd can push me or tip me over the edge.”

Wherever he goes, it’s working. Marshall and the Fro are set to ride into the big leagues and the release of ‘title’ is the tipping point. Once that wave rolls they’re in for a helluva ride.

Publicity jobs

Jimmy Willing album Review

Jimmy Willing and the Real Gone Hick-Ups have finally released their debut, self-titled album, a landmark rustic masterpiece containing 13 joyful, rambunctious songs.
Hearkening back to old time epics by the likes of Hank Williams, Leadbelly and Woody Guthrie, it’s an eclectic carousel of lovesick sailors and dipsomaniacal rodeo clowns, singing dogs and satanic cardsharks that co-exist in a compact disc sounding like it was made in Sun Studios sometime in fashionable antiquity.
Jimmy has been extremely canny in selecting his musicians, a well-drilled squad of unlikely hillbillies who have adapted their talents to his backwoods ballads with charm and poise.
Clancy Robinson has been playing with Jimmy for 15 years now, a Faustian pact that has seen Clancy, already a superb hardcore rock drummer, develop his playing to incorporate the archaic waltzes, jigs and shuffles that distinguish Jimmy’s songs.
Likewise Tom Jones, who came to the band a slick electric bass player, had to dig deep to gain proficiency on old-school double bass, but now he swings it around like a Grand Ole Oprey sessioneer.
Dave Ramsey, already a veteran blues and folk balladeer when he joined the band, lends a powerful presence and bona fide hillbilly chops on rhythm guitar, but it is the unassuming Dan Rumour on electric guitar that provides Jimmy’s songs with their most telling motifs.
Dan is of course the lonesome guitar voice of the sadly departed Cruel Sea and his concise, scientific playing is none the less as lyrical as the likes of Link Wray and gives the songs a weight and authentic lustre that helps make this album a genuine alternative country classic.
Then there are the incomparable contributions of the album’s two guest star diva appearances. Glenys Rae Virus, a former Toe Sucking Cowgirl and current leader of the Tamworth Playboys, is a virtuoso on country fiddle and squeezebox, and she plies her weapons with consummate skill and bawdy finesse, while Christa Hughes, Queen of cabaret and seamless one-liners, struts about her duet ‘Catfish Fishin’ with all the saucy panache of a hussy born to the hills.
With the contributions of these luminaries wedded to Willing’s saucy prose and simple, addictive ditties, this album has landed intact as the new word in hillbilly music. Available via jimmywilling.com or at any of the band’s shows.

Northern Star Column

Blues mutterings

Big ups to our very own Lennox-based blues bawler Dallas Frasca, who just took out MusicOz Artist of the Year and Best Blues and Roots song at their Awards last Friday night. Also of course to her right hand man, Eumundi’s very own Jeff ‘Goat Boy’ Curran, the filthiest chicken-pickin’ dobro hand this side of the Beyond. These two have worked their arses off for years now and righteously deserve the plaudits.

And onto the Blues itself. Checking out the programme, I don’t know where to start. In no particular order, tent or time, here’s who’s what.

Jools Holland; – absolute must see. Jen Cloher and the Endless Sea; fulsome songwriter, enduring voice. Jeff Beck; mate of Ronny Wood. Hat Fitz; another barbed wire bluesman from Eumundi, living. Lyle Lovett; all class, all country, Johnny Greens Blues Cowboys; Australia’s authentic blues survivors. 10CC; Don’t like cricket? I’m your man. Kev Carmody; the black Bob Dylan is still angry, potent and prodigiously important. Justin Townes Earle; Son of Steve. Gogol Bordello; genuine gypsy trouble. The Wilson Pickers; all I know is Sime Nugent is in ’em. Nuff said.

Northern Star Column

Yackandandah

By the time you read this we’ll be soaring overhead to Yackandandah Folk Festival. Where the hell is Yackandandah? About 40 klicks from Albury, where I grew up. I used to ride my pushy out there when I didn’t feel like fighting the Leaney Lads down at the park.

A folk festival? Well, yeah, it’s not often we get asked to play them, we’re considered too rock’n’roll, but they must have liked the idea of banjo and bushranger ballads. So Tom Jones is jetting in from Darwin, Al from Sydney, while Uncle Burnin’ Love and I hotfoot it from the Gold Coast. He’s just back from a huge grunge revival festival in Sydney, where his old band, Nunbait played alongside such dirty rock outfits as The Meanies, The Hard Ons, The Hellmen and the Celibate Rifles.

So anyway, we’ll be hooking up with Truckstop Honeymoon, from New Orleans, good friends who we’ve played with a number of times, and Lucie Thorne, in Yackandandah. Good word isn’t it? Yack-an-dan-dah. Rolls off the tongue. Bloody long way to go though.

Northern Star Column

Post-Nymagee Column, 3/11/09

This weekend just gone was Nymagee Outback Music Festival, the annual gathering of the country rock and roll tribes from all over Australia. In the geographical centre of New South Wales, a little to the left of Condoblin, little to the right of Cobar, but nowhere near as back as Bourke.
You had the Junes from Melbourne, theGibbo and the Fugs from Tamworth, Neil Murray from the Endless Road, Den Hanrahan from Canberra, Leah Flanagan from Darwin, Jackie Marshall from Brisbane, Liz Stringer, Dangles the Air Guitar Champion Apparent and of course Hully and Tonchi, Directors from Bourke, spearheading the Lonely Horse Band.
The Re-Mains came from Coonamble, where we’d played the night before, myself in the red acrobatic plane built by Steve Reynolds in the States and flown over specially. Executing tight rolls over the tiny, one-pub and a couple-of-shacks township, boasting more burrs per square inch than a Lightning Ridge wether. And there was The Australian Beef Week Show, a living tribute to country rock and roll.

The line-up was tremendous, the performances ebullient and dramatic – the punters flocked from as far afield as Goonengerry and Wilcannia. We made it home Monday, weary, but revitalized by the family reunion.

Next Saturday night I’m playing two songs solo at the fabulous Blue Moon Cabaret in Nimbin. Another colourful, dramatic occasion that the world needs more of.