Shake, Don’t Shatter

Quiet Hounds new record, Shake, Don't Shatter, is a conversation between musical brothers that you can't stop listening to.

Quiet Hounds new record, Shake, Don’t Shatter, is a conversation between musical brothers that I can’t stop listening to.

Every once in awhile, life throws you a huge curve ball. Yesterday, I found out that the company where I have worked for 17 years – the better part of my adult life – is being sold. The future, for right now, is up in the air. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared and apprehensive about what comes next.

So it seems almost cosmically divined that one of my favorite bands, Quiet Hounds, released their new record, Shake, Don’t Shatter, on the day all of this craziness in my life went down. Hollywood couldn’t have scored a soundtrack better. Why? Because this album is a journey of self-discovery. A collection of songs about realizing what those unbreakable threads are that tether you to the people you love most. It’s a record about learning the strength you have to keep it together when everything around you seems to be crumbling.

There’s no doubt that this record is personal. For the first time in the band’s four-year history, the relatively mysterious quartet has given listeners a peek behind the literal masks. For a month leading up to the album release, they teased the story behind these songs. When life circumstances relocated the band’s lead singer to California in 2013, leaving behind the rest of the band in Atlanta, the future of Quiet Hounds was uncertain. But, they persevered, recording melodies and vocals and sending them back and forth via Dropbox to one another, finding creative solutions for problems that might stymie other bands (like recording vocals in a Toyota Prius when no other alternatives were available). In a series of emotional videos and blog posts, individual band members told their pieces of the story, sharing their thoughts behind the separation, intimate glimpses into their songwriting process, and more.

“These songs mean more to me than any others we’ve created. They’re about us. About struggling in the dirt and the mud. About being afraid, but never doubting. About what it means to be an artist, one that can’t live without the songs and the people that you create them with,” M Hound says in one of the videos, a simple yet intensely powerful statement about the deep bonds of friendship and camaraderie that develop in making music together.

That sentiment is at the very heart of this record. The separation, which continues today, resulted in six songs that, through metaphor and analogy, are a conversation among friends, a catalog of a musical brotherhood. In reading their preambles to the album, it’s clear that there’s an incredible amount of respect not just for the craft of making music, but for what each of them bring to the table in the band.

In my imagination, I see the band working out songs, sans lyrics, and sending these blank canvases of music across cyberspace, waiting for them to come back with vocal paint, messages from their friend 3,000 miles away. It’s an incredible frame for these gorgeous songs, but it should be noted that it is my singular interpretation of the album, and in no way do I know the actual meanings behind these songs.

“Gentlemen, believe we’ll do what we must, we hunt at all costs. So my friends, take heed, my hunter we trust, my hunter we trust. Don’t don’t don’t don’t stop stop stop stop stop, every time you fall, I pick you up.”

The chorus of the album’s opening track, “Hunter Gatherer,” is what lead singer E Hound called “a letter to my friends back home” to express his homesickness, expressed through the imagery of earlier times and the struggle for survival. The melancholy is palpable.  It is a call to be heard, even across the miles. It is from here that the album takes off, and we watch the Hounds struggle with their new reality.

We hear E Hound roaming the California countryside, looking at estates and sprawling hills, but mocking the overindulgence in the Beatles-esque “Mansions.” He beckons his friends to “come and join me here someday, in artificial structures we can play.”

On the first single, “Magnolia,” the Hounds are truly at their best, with an almost orchestral number that illustrates their musical prowess that oscillates between gauzy, questioning verses and an upbeat, percussion-punctuated choruses that answer back, before closing with a bevy of strings that will make you swoon.

By now, you’re fully immersed in the Hounds story, and if you aren’t prepared, “Tidal Wave” will knock you off your feet. There’s an underlying current (pun intended) of complete defiance from E Hound, wrapped in the picturesque scene of California surf, as he seems to address the very real possibility that the band might not weather the distance between them. “You keep on talking bout the end…/These things I can’t even pretend…”

And then we come to my two favorite tracks of the record. The dreamy “Bright Matter” is the source of the album name, a celestial-themed number full of buzzy melody and animated drumming that uses the stars as a metaphor for connection. Given the way that these songs came to fruition, zipping across the miles through routers and servers and wires, it’s a particularly apt one, and as E Hound sings, “Hey, bright matter, you keep me safe, you keep me moving along/Shake, don’t shatter,” you get the feeling that the foundation that this band is built on is unbreakable.

The closing track, “Still Phantoms,” is like “Weathervane,” the final track on this album’s predecessor, both a message of resilience and a portending of what’s yet to come. Although sparse, it is arguably the richest track on the album, showcasing each of the band members individual musicianship in a way none of the other tracks do. (Don’t think I missed the double entendre in some of those lyrics, either.) As the song reaches a crescendo, layered vocals overlap and bleed into one another, and the four individual voices of the band come together as one.

Selfishly, I want this record to be longer than six songs. I want it to go on forever. But even in its brevity, Shake, Don’t Shatter is perfect because of the connection it inspires between the listener and the artist. If we are lucky, we’ve all felt these things: loss, homesickness, strong bonds with our friends, a “never-give-in” moment where we know for certain what it is we want to do.  In the end, that is what it is all about, isn’t it? Music – and all art, for that matter – is a reflection of what it is to be human. It can be a celebration of our hopes and dreams, a conduit for our sadness and grief, a confessional for our fears and guilt, a way for us to express our love and gratitude for others, and a vehicle for finding our strength to hold on when the ground we know seems to be falling out from under us.

As for me… I’m more uncertain than I’ve been in a long time about my future. My job, my company, are so much a part of who I am that the idea of losing them makes me feel like I’m going to be left with a big black hole in my center. I don’t know what’s coming around the corner, and probably won’t for a little while. That’s really scary for me. So I’m going to need you all to remind me – and need to remind myself – that it’s okay to be lost for a little while, because I’m strong enough to find a new path back to solid ground.

Shake, don’t shatter.

More Quiet Hounds:  Web | Facebook | Twitter | Buy Shake, Don’t Shatter direct from the band

A Dance in the Ether with Quiet Hounds

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“Some things supersede order. Sometimes you need a harmony outside ­- and in. I ring that note. We are a crowd here tonight seeking just such an elixir. Something to soothe, yes, and to heal. But also to excite… We are mixed crowd of many different needs, but we’ve come here tonight with a singular want. To be elevated, to be lifted up, just for a moment, out of our daily doldrums our aches and pains, this Snake Nation shanty town spirit that shackles us all too often. We want just for a night, just one night, to dance in the ether and get rid of order.” – Clark Stanley

Quiet Hounds rebuilt Snake Nation for an evening last weekend in Atlanta.

Quiet Hounds rebuilt Snake Nation for an evening last weekend in Atlanta.

On Saturday night on a stage inside a late 19th century industrial building on the edge of Midtown Atlanta, a battle for the ages occurred. Authority and morality clashed with rebelliousness and creativity, a tempest set afire by Atlanta’s paradigm-smashing band Quiet Hounds. “The Last Days of the Snake Nation” was part concert, part historical lesson, and part grand fiction ­– and if you listened closely, if you soaked in all of the evening’s intricate trappings, you may have walked away inspired or cautioned by what played out on stage.

As you approached the entrance for the show, a man in a top hat and tails awaited your ticket – the first clue that something may be different about the night. Behind him, men and women in late 19th century period costume milled amongst arriving concert-goers. At the doors of the performance hall, a program was handed to you with a flourish and a dramatic red velvet curtain was swept aside for you to enter the world of the Quiet Hounds.

Leading up to the event, the band’s social media pages had flashed cryptic calls-to-arms and images: tin-type photos and introductions to two characters, Jonathan Norcross and Clark Stanley. Unless you’re a history buff, the names may mean nothing to you. But the Hounds intended to resurrect these historical figures and bring them to life.

A brief history:

Norcross, the fourth mayor of Atlanta, is often seen as the man who helped to shape the thriving young city by establishing many of its laws and instituting order. In his successful contest for mayor of the newly named Atlanta (previously known as Marthasville), he became head of the Moral Party and ran against Leonard Simpson, the leader of the Free and Rowdy party, which supported a more creative, less restricted lifestyle. In his role, Norcross also served as head of the police, and worked deliberately to drive out the city’s “undesirables.”

Clark Stanley was a cowboy from Texas who was literally a snake oil salesman. After spending time studying with a Hopi medicine man, he bottled and marketed his snake oil liniment as medicine. He traveled from state to state, selling his liniment with an elaborate act that included live rattlesnakes. Eventually, the government examined Stanley’s solution and declared that it was not medicine, instead mostly mineral oil. The term “snake oil salesman” arose out of Stanley’s downfall.

The Goat Farm Arts Center’s Goodson Yard performance hall had been turned into early Atlanta’s Snake Nation, an area of the city that was (to quote Atlanta Magazine) “an enclave of log cabins and wood huts along old Whitehall Road (now Peters Street). It reportedly earned its nickname from snake oil peddlers, but was home to far more unsavory characters.” The inhabitants of Snake Nation sided with the Free and Rowdy party. These individuals, along with residents of similar areas Murrell’s Row and Slab Town, were the types that Norcross felt threatened the burgeoning young Atlanta.

There’s no record that Norcross and Stanley ever had direct interaction, but in 1850 and 1851, there was an ongoing struggle between the Morals and the Free and Rowdies, one attempting to help the city flourish through capitalism and order, while the other sought to hold on to the young city’s individuality and their own free spirit lifestyle. Later that year, citizens of Atlanta who sided with the Moral Party disguised themselves (in white caps) and invaded Snake Nation, whipping the male residents and chasing them off, as well as “rounding up” the women to shuttle them off to outside of the city where they were released with a warning to not return. Snake Nation was burned to the ground, and it was years before anything was built there again.

As concert goers filled into the performance hall, costumed actors milled about, arm wrestling and talking loudly about the state of politics in young Atlanta and Snake Nation. “Loose women” hung on men’s arms, and laughter filled the air. Areas of the hall were set with period furniture, and Clark Stanley’s snake oil wagon even held down its own corner selling its wares (and doubling as a merch boothIMG_3045). The stage was set ­– literally and figuratively ­– for a night in Snake Nation. The program had a simple list of four acts: Elixir of Truth, Of All That Is Possible, The Clash, and finally The End of Snake Nation, accompanied by a “report” on the “candidates,” Clark Stanley and Jonathan Norcross.

 

Exactly at 9 PM, a contingent of well-dressed men entered the room, talking loudly, trailed by the band, bedecked in their customary masks. This was the beginning of Act I, Elixir of Truth. Here was Norcross, making his way from the back of the room through the crowd, shaking hands and petitioning members of the audience to vote for him. As he made his way to the stage, he commanded a scribe to “write that down,” and began his stump speech, calling for refinement and structure. As he railed against the Free and Rowdy party, whores, pimps, and bums, a small number in the crowd called back in support, with others booing him. Suddenly, he was interrupted by another group, making its way to the front of the room, laughing and mocking the pulpit-like speech of Norcross. Clark Stanley jumped onto the stage, bantering with the audience in a bawdy fashion, telling them about his snake oil liniment, but more about what the forced implementation of order and structure could mean. For nearly 20 minutes, the Stanley and Norcross went back and forth, and the argument peaked, with Stanley offering a “balm” in the form of song, “proof of what Snake Nation is made of.”

The band appeared on stage, launching into a refrain to begin Act II. The lead Hound made his way to the stage through the crowd, carrying a lantern. Once he clambered onto the stage, the band members shed their masks, and moved into a blistering set, rattling off older songs interspersed with songs from the band’s latest album, The Wild Hunt, including “Calling All Gamma Rays,” “Good Bones,” “Night Parade,” “Worn Crush Corduroy,” and the well-loved “Southern Charm.”

A second drummer, Julian Dorio from Athens band The Whigs, was introduced (with a hilarious joke about the Whig political party that I’m sure not everyone in the crowd caught) for part of set, just in time for some of the night’s more up tempo songs, including “Young Clover,” my personal favorite, the percussion-crazy “Dangerlove,” and “Hemlock.”

After “Hemlock,” Norcross and Stanley retook the stage and begin a heated argument. Stanley made a fool of Norcross by joking with him about his relationship with a noted prostitute, and the two men engaged in a brawl that moved off stage. They were followed by the lead Hound. As the music escalated, above the stage, the audience could view see shadows of the Norcross and Stanley in an embittered fight, ending with Norcross standing over Stanley’s still body.

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Meghan charming the crowd.

Quiet Hounds have always surrounded themselves with an amazing cast of musicians, including an exceptional brass section made up of Dave Daly (who also assisted with some arrangements on the band’s latest album, The Wild Hunt), Russell Sauve, and Umcolisi Terrell. They’ve officially brought another one of those accompanying members, Meghan Arias, into the band, making their number six. The newest member’s presence in the band was noticeable, adding a dimension to both the performance and the music itself. She took lead vocal on the song following the brawl, “Art of War.” She proved her mettle when her mic went out at her keyboard in the first lines of the song. She didn’t hesitate to step forward, grab the lead mic, and completely floor the crowd with a new rendition of the song.

Norcross attempts to hang himself while a divided Stanley looks on.

Norcross attempts to hang himself while a divided Stanley looks on.

Following this dramatic scene, the stage darkened, the band stepped into the shadows, and a bloodied Norcross crossed the stage, fashioning a noose from a rope hanging from the ceiling. The lead Hound followed him with an acoustic guitar, singing “Weathervane,” the closing and most emotional track on The Wild Hunt. After slipping the noose around his neck, he stands, staring at his hands streaked with blood, rubbing them together. Before Norcross can hang himself for his actions, an equally bloodied Stanley comes up behind him, knife in hand, evidently of two minds about what he should do. In the end, he cuts the noose down, and the two quietly exit the stage together.

The near-end of Norcross also signaled the near-end of the set, and the band closed out the performance with “Wild Light” and a rousing new song, “If the World.”

The incomparable Quiet Hounds and troupe.

The incomparable Quiet Hounds and troupe.

As they closed the song, the band introduced the actors that played Norcross and Stanley, “distinguished guest drummer” Dorio, and the horn section, thanking the Goat Farm for hosting, and the crowd for attending. Then all the players and band stepped up, sharing hugs and handshakes, joining hands, and chorusing out into a well-deserved bow. It was a defining moment for Quiet Hounds, a group that have found their purpose, who are clearly in love with what they are doing. You could see it in their faces and smiles – and they want to take us along on this adventure with them. To quote one of their songs,”we’ve found our place, so come along, we pave our way, our own parade.”

It’s exhilarating to watch it and be part of this movement. The performance was, from this viewer’s perspective, the best they’ve ever been on stage. The music was richer, the band was in sync, there was more banter with the crowd.The story of Norcross and Stanley well-acted, enhancing the music, and defining a purpose for the evening. And it was impossible not to see that the band was having a blast. This is what the future of music should look like. The elaborate theatrics, the historical backdrop, the hours that went into prepping all of the small details – all of these things are the hallmark of a group of artists intent on shifting the conversation about art. About creating art that engages and lifts us up.

So what’s the meaning of the night? Do you side with the Morals or the Rowdies? You’re left to determine it all for yourself. But if you were listening, the message was there. One of the Hounds said it best during the set. “You know, some of us Hounds feel right at home here in Snake Nation. Some of us, not so much. I’d like to think we all get along pretty good. Some of us may disagree and burn like a beacon sun in the distance, angered, imprisoned, frustrated by the discourse that surrounds us. But we know we’ve been here before. We’ve seen this before. And we remember a place and a time where we didn’t always have the choices that we have today…and we know deep down inside, we always find a way to come out clean in the end.”

If there was one thing to mar the evening for those of us there to hear the music, it was the unbelievable level of crowd noise and disrespect for the performance. Ironic, actually. Here QH is putting on an incredible event about extolling art and creativity, about finding balance between conformity and individuality, and at times you could barely hear them above the din of people who were clearly not there for the art. (We won’t even discuss the guy who climbed on someone’s shoulders in the front row so that his friends could take a photo of him in front of the band right in the middle of the show.) Nowhere was the utter disrespect of all the damn talking more present that when the lead Hound indulged in a bit of uncharacteristic sentimentality to introduce their historically-influenced song “Beacon Sun.” By the way, this song is a tribute to the thousands of soldiers who died in a Civil War interment camp – if any song in the entire set deserved a few moments of silence, it was this one. One of the band members even issued a frustrated “Shhhh” into his microphone as they began playing it. Unbelievable. This isn’t the first concert I’ve been to recently where this has been a problem, and maybe I was just more sensitive to it at this show because I’d literally been looking forward to this show for months. I typically stay away from poking the sleeping bear on my blog, but SERIOUSLY?

Music, art…these things are personal. What moves each of us is different. I try to keep my feelings out of it when trying to write quasi-legitimate reviews. But sometimes, it only seems appropriate to add that personal element in.  I’ve been a rather vocal proponent of this band since its early days – I was lucky enough that a friend (love you, Allison!) clued me into them. I’m not sure that I can appropriately put words to what this band’s music has done for me. It came into my life when a lot of things were a mess, and when I felt pretty lost and uninspired, emotionally drained by the serious illness of one of my parents. I pride myself on my ability to write, to “create” things, and I was at a point where I was completely empty. For me, there’s nothing more devastating to feel like that well is dry, to feel like you’ve lost the very thing that defines you. Quiet Hounds played a big role in reinspiring me. The lyrics, the music, the performance, but more importantly, the thoughts behind it all, their camaraderie, their singular purpose to change the way people view music and art… For me, those things are incredibly meaningful and powerful. They move me to find ways to contribute to something greater. And that’s really what it’s about, right? So on this Thanksgiving, let me say a public “thank you” to this collection of artists who has brightened my life with their music.

Quiet Hounds have graciously made the entire Last Days of Snake Nation performance viewable on their website at http://www.quiethounds.com.

Quiet Hounds & The Wild Hunt

Quiet Hounds The Wild Hunt

The Wild Hunt, the latest album from Atlanta’s brilliant Quiet Hounds, drops on August 9th.

I am turning 40 next week.

It’s a big birthday, and to my credit, I am not freaking out about it. That said, the milestone has me doing a bit of serious reflecting ­– where I am versus where I thought I’d be, the things I’ve cut from my life in recent years and the things that really are important, and mostly where I go from here. I think a lot of people do this, don’t they? Because no matter how happy we are, I think it’s human nature to always be on the hunt for that next big moment, the new best thing…

Amidst all this ruminating and nostalgia this week, the new Quiet Hounds album, The Wild Hunt, landed on my desk. My admiration for this band hasn’t been much of a secret; I’ve put their music on a bit of a pedestal. I have an insane amount of respect for the way they’ve struck out to create music that is a deep and reflective experience ­– to challenge the “accepted” way of doing things. They’ve been uncharacteristically quiet as of late, so when The Wild Hunt arrived this week, it was an unexpected surprise and I dove in with pretty high expectations.

The experience begins before the first note even sounds, with the album preamble, where the Hounds set the stage:

Mystical creatures crafting story.
Personified in song and otherworldly experiences.
The Quiet Hounds find themselves amongst the souls, the embers, the lights of a new journey.
A seekers chase, a race to find the questions and to build the answers. The past, the future, the present. They all have their role.
And so the Wild Hunt begins…

A story of hardship, of life and of love. The weary traveler’s tale can only be sung. Though the cities have yearned, the path has been long and the wanderer takes on a life of his own. So listen close for his language is old but his message is burned into the deepest of souls. May you smile or may you cry, be you lifted by the light, share this tale with all kin in sight.

The record is, as I’ve come to expect from this sextet of artists and their compatriots, masterful. A few factoids on the actual recording: the album was tracked in a number of places around Atlanta, including the famed Southern Tracks studio. It was mastered to analog tape, so if you’re a critical listener, you’re going to notice the richer tones and slightly fuzzier sound (with all the percussion and low-end in this record, it sounds pretty fantastic.)

At 33 minutes, it is the longest of the three QH albums. There are nine tracks in total, and eight full-length songs, making it the deepest dive the band has taken to date. That’s not the only difference fans will notice. These songs seem decidedly more personal; while the lyrical poetry that is a QH hallmark is still at play, the fantastical and historical elements that peppered earlier songs are toned down in The Wild Hunt. Instead of an exotic adventure through lands foreign to us, this record is much more of an emotional journey ­­– and if you’ll forgive the metaphor, a lot like real life.

The album begins with an outtake from a later track, and then kicks off hot and heavy with “Good Bones,” a youthful, angsty, rebellious song loaded with clapping, buzzy bass, wicked drumming and cymbal smashes, and even a howling hound. “Wild Light” continues this theme of youth and adventure, of striking out to create yourself, no matter the risk. The horn arrangement that dominates the last minute of this song is pretty damn spectacular.

Things settle down a little bit with the hazy, sing-songy “Cove Noises,” the closest thing to an outright love song I think the band has done. That is followed by a tremendously upbeat “Young Clover,” which could easily be a breakout single for the band, with its snappy staccato percussion and stick-with-you chorus. Is this a song for a lover or a new spouse?  A song from a young parent to their child, or an aging parent to their adult child? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but this song just fits here. (Watch a live takeaway of Young Clover here.)

A pair of rockers, “Underwater Listening” and most likely my favorite Quiet Hounds song of all time, “Dangerlove,” team up to form what I’ve been calling the “midlife” songs: doing the work it takes to keep the life you’ve built, fighting for your identity and for those that you love, questioning your decisions, and pushing through the tough times. [Aside: Word from the QH camp is that “Dangerlove” barely made the cut for the record, so I have to say a little “thank you” to the band for bringing it to life.]

If this record is the tale of a life’s journey, then the closing two songs are reflective, looking back at life, teaching lessons to those of us yet to get to those later years. “Stand and Stare” is the carpe diem anthem, the one that chides us with quiet snaps not to waste and to not be held back, with a particular warning for our technology-obsessed society. “Making time to listen is an accident / we fall into our boxes, so hollow / Making time to turn away and lift our heads into the atmosphere/ oh, I follow.” The capstone of the album is “Weathervane,” an orchestral number rich with strings and timpani that reminds us that wherever our wild hunts may take us, we must seek out the things that truly bring us joy and comfort. It reminds me of Whitman, telling us “In things best known to you, finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest/ Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place, not for another hour but this hour.”

The Wild Hunt reveals another dimension of this mysterious band of brothers,  the next phase of the continuing evolution of Quiet Hounds. They’ve made an album that allows their audience to find a bit of themselves in every song. It’s that type of emotional connection that makes art the most meaningful, and that – at least for this fan ­– makes The Wild Hunt the best of what Quiet Hounds have created so far.

And as for me, I’m feeling a little inspired. I’m thinking that 40 might be my best decade yet.

The Wild Hunt will be released on August 9 to the public, coinciding with Quiet Hounds opening for Rodrigo y Gabriela at Chastain Park in Atlanta. For you vinyl enthusiasts, the album was also recently cut in Nashville, so expect an actual record to be available within the next few months.

More Quiet Hounds:  Web | Facebook | Twitter | Buy Megaphona or Southern Charm on iTunes

New Quiet Hounds from IndieATL

New music from Quiet Hounds is definitely on my Christmas wish list. So I was pretty happy when the fine folks at IndieATL rolled out a video from the Swans and Embers event this afternoon. The Hounds played several new songs at the show in October, and “Good Bones” was at the top of my list. Although nothing could capture the magic of this night, the video is amazing and gives you a good sense of the atmosphere.

This band just inspires me. Merry Christmas to me! Thanks, IndieATL!

More Quiet Hounds: Web | Facebook | Twitter

Communing with the Spirits: Quiet Hounds Swans and Embers

I have struggled for the last four days about how to write an unbiased “review” of Quiet Hounds latest event, Swans and Embers, held outdoors on perfect Indian summer night on the lawn of an architectural landmark in Atlanta. After reading a few other reviews, I decided I didn’t want to be unbiased because it comes off sounding like arrogant, pompous BS.

So here’s the truth:  I love this band and everything that they are doing. And now that we have that out of the way…

As I’ve come to expect from these artists, the smallest details were covered from the time you set foot on the grounds of the Atlanta History Center, an unusual venue for a show, to be sure, but not at all out of the ordinary for this band. Pathways marked with metal-worked Hounds aflame. Programs for the evening handed out upon entrance. Hand printed posters of the event available. Even a signature drink for the evening (a Drunken Hound!). But it all paled in comparison to the location.

Swan House after dark before the crowd arrived.

Swan House after dark before the crowd arrived.

Swans and Embers was held at The Swan House, a neo-classical architectural home built in 1928 for the Edward Inman family. It is an impressive structure, but even more impressive are the grounds. Walled off from the city by beautiful gardens, winding paths, and huge trees, one can almost imagine what it was like to stand here before the drone of planes overhead, and the constant hum of an electrified city.

As 8:30 neared, the audience gathered around the front of the Swan House, and the Hounds stealthily dispersed themselves among the crowd. An actor (David Rogers) mounted the stairs, and perched himself on the landing, casually draping himself over the railing and taking on the airs of a Southern gentleman, charming the crowd with witty banter. He was a Guardian of the home, the ghost of Edward Inman we were to believe, there to welcome us. As he spoke, the Hounds called out questions from the audience.” Are you an Angel?” the hound nearest me standing probed the spirit.

Soon, a second figure entered the scene, placing herself much lower on the stairs. Bedecked in a peach gown reminiscent of Gone With the Wind, singer Meghan Arias, who has come to be known as a sister Hound, played the role of a confused spirit of the past, not sure of her location. Listed in the program as “The Phoenix,” the character was lost in time, recalling a fiery past.  The Guardian referenced The Phoenix being from 1864, the year when Atlanta was set ablaze by Union General William Sherman in the Civil War and much of the city destroyed (A second interpretation could have been taken, as well: those who studied up on The Swan House would know that the Inman family had the house built in 1928 after their original house burned down in 1924). “1864,” of course, is also the title of an instrumental piece Quiet Hounds performs (which leads perfectly into their reverential ode to Andersonville, “Beacon Sun”… Although released at different times, the two songs were clearly meant to be listened to in succession).

As The Phoenix continued to ask where – and when – exactly she was, The Guardian answered her, “You are where you’ve always been,” a hat tip to Atlanta – and by extension, Swan House – its resilience, and its sense of Southern tradition, no doubt.  The Phoenix sang a bit of an aria, and although Meghan was not wearing a mic, her voice rang out as the shushed crowd watched this dramatic opening unfold.

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Act 1, City in Ashes

By now, the Hounds had mounted the stairs, and answered in rousing chorus as they prepared to take the “stage” for the first act, City in Ashes. With a regalia of snare fir for a military outfit, the fellas jumped into the first of four songs, “If the World,” followed by the Southern Charm bonus track “It’s Alright,” and then two additional newer songs, “Weathervane” and “Like Animals.”

As they wrapped up the first act, horns called the crowd to attention, beckoning us and the band to turn and head down the stone stairways to the second lawn level and the cascading fountains. Once there, the band faced the house (which, in turn, turned the crowd to face the house) and played a short musical interlude. Called “Time Gone” in the program, it felt like an homage to the building and its art, a sort of acknowledgement and thanks to the spirits of the past for the evening’s intrusion into their space.

Act 3, Reconstruction

Act 3, Reconstruction

Then, the band turned in lock step and began walking down the sloping terrace to the lower lawn. Fans paraded with them, symbolically moving from past to present day. As the band took their places on a dimly lit stage, the crowd settled in, and Swan House glowed in the background. Then the music took the attention and the band launched into Act 3, dubbed “Reconstruction,” with the high-energy “Night Parade” and followed it up with “Southern Charm.” Then they debuted my favorite new song of the night, the spirited “Good Bones.” The momentum continued to build as The Hounds rolled off several upbeat crowd favorites, and another new song, “Young Clover.”

[ASIDE: I could spend a lot of time talking about the music itself, but if you’ve read this far into this rambling review, you’re in tune with (or interested enough in) what the band is doing and don’t need me to give you a primer.]

Act 4, We Burn, We Rise

Act 4, We Burn, We Rise

All too soon, it was Act 4, “We Burn, We Rise,” and the four songs that remained set a more somber tone, beginning with “Beacon Sun.” The highlight of the evening for me was “Danger Love,” by far my favorite QH song, a bold profession of committing without losing oneself that comes complete with one of the best multi-drum solos you’ll ever hear…I like to refer to it as the heartbeat (two small Instagram-sized snippets below for your enjoyment). Then, the fellas rolled off the last new song of the evening, “Wild Light.”

It was a gorgeous evening. Even though it was about to end, I could not wipe the smile off my face.

Whether or not it was intentional (knowing these guys, most of it was), there were messages to be heard beyond the music. You can’t overlook that the band selected a venue nearly 100 years old, linking themselves to a time when art was respected and deeply valued… playing incredibly poetic and powerful songs against a backdrop of an artistic masterpiece and commanding their audience to recognize this beautiful past. An English major to my core, I also saw deep symbolic meaning in the swan itself, found in stone all over the property. Long a powerful, graceful creature in mythology, swans represent a number of things: eternal love, holy light, and of course, the idea of a glorious final “swan song” and its aching beauty.

These five gentlemen, their like-minded artisan cohorts, and the music they make have come to represent many of these very things to me. They are a rarity in today’s overcrowded, oversaturated, careless rush-to-be first, emulate everyone else music industry. They don’t want or (more importantly) need people to know their names or faces. They’ve bucked every convention for the sake of making great music. And it is truly incredible music, stunningly beautiful, hopeful, and graceful.  They want to call attention to the past, particularly the Southern past, to remind us from whence we come. But more than that, they have slowly and quietly built a community of fans that truly value art. And that is the real power of the Quiet Hounds. They are a beacon of what once was and, I hope, what is to come, in music.

As the night closed out with “Hemlock,” a song I described two years ago when I was first introduced to the band as the soundtrack to someone running through the woods toward an abandoned castle, I looked up to see the night sky ringed by tall trees..and there I was looking toward a well-preserved but abandoned mansion, if not a castle, awash in a lighted Hound insignia.  It was a glorious swan song that brought everything full circle for me. I looked around at the crowd of 500+, individual souls who chose to adventure to a historic site nestled in the heart of Atlanta to spend a night among friends, strangers and Hounds. They were as enamored with the music as I was, and it struck me that we were all linked together in this moment, by the music, the setting, and the magic. An audience among which many know the artists but choose to keep their identities shrouded… a feat in an internet world where nothing is sacred.

We were a community sharing in the secret greatness of the Quiet Hounds.

It was perfection.