Earlier this year, I hosted a fondue party at my house in Brooklyn.  Guests of honor: The Milkman’s Union. They showed up rockstar-style, with large appetites and no wine.   And one of them even stole my cologne.  So, it’s a testament to how FABULOUS their music is that the whole incident is wrapped up in my memories with a big pleasurable bow and filed under “great nights.”  The boys dragged themselves through the cheese; and then retired to the fabulous Capri Social Club across the street:

They treated us like Gods. And I know it was not my charms that greased the taps.

I am not alone in my enthusiasm for this band.   They have been steadily gathering acolytes over the past couple of years here in Maine, and are on the cusp of a debutante’s welcome in the wider worlds of the East Coast, with the upcoming release of their new LP.  Their bloom even reached New England’s The Deli music magazine, where they won the coveted  “Best of New England” fan poll.

…And now, it’s time for a confession: I feel that I owe this band my musical life.  When the Milkman’s Union played here in Denmark last year, they were our first foray into that “electric” musical sound the kids are so excited about.  And it should be no surprise that they brought the house down. if you were there, you know whereof I speak. They awoke in me a love for music that had lain dormant for a decade, reminding me that all that is great in life can be communicated by a guitar, drums, and bass under (exceptional) lyrics.

Now, they headline the DamJam.  Kismet?  Hardly!  When something this good comes along, the better part of discretion tells that you should hold it like magic.

So here you go: a couple of talismans, for your listening pleasure.

Amen.

They say that work is love made visible. If that is the case, than I can guarantee you this band loves you, cause nobody works harder to entertain. With a rigorous touring schedule that has taken them to almost every corner of Maine, this is one band can honestly claim a “local” following literally everywhere in the Pine Tree State. At their last outing in Denmark in 2010, folks traveled from as far away as Bethel and Rangeley to catch their show.

Which dedication, of course, begs the question: Why?  Simple answer: because they’re great.  The Toughcats play a manic, puckish brand of folk music that sounds as if a hillbilly, a glam-rocker, and a crooner got shipwrecked on a desert isle together, where, over the course of a couple hundred years, they  evolved a new civilization, for which this music is the soundtrack.  Witness:

…Oh, and as if I really need to mention: These guys know that “you got to have a party.”  I do believe they’ll be providin’ one, come July 21.

WACHOUT!!!!!

A year back, we had the pleasure of hosting Portland’s bestest belly dancer, Rosa Noreen, here at the DAC for a bellydancing workshop.  In tow was her boyfriend, Samuel James.—all 6’2 of him, sporting a curiously constructivist hairdo, and intent on having a swim.  As Rosa taught the denizens of Denmark to shimmy, shake, and move that thang, James could be seen, waiting, bored, playing his Nintendo DS  halfway up the stairs like modern update of that old AA Milne poem.  I ventured to introduce myself, and asked Mr. James that awful question, “What do you do?”  His reply caught me like a whiff of strong cheese: “I am one of the better guitar players  in Maine,” he said with an impish smile.  I will confess that a part of me harbored grave doubts.

Later that evening, after an excellent dinner, we returned to the DAC to hear the Press Gang perform and see a full-bore performance by Ms. Rosa.  As we waited backstage in the green room, Mr. James found an old, battered guitar.  It’s strings were lines of rust; its warped back more suited to Quasimodo than the blues.  But I’ll be damned if Mr. James didn’t prove his comment of earlier in the day, with nothing more than that beast and his nimble fingers.

I quickly asked him if he might be willing to jump into the evening’s lineup.  Ever the troubadour, he fetched his “spare” resonator guitar from the trunk of his car, and took the stage with this song:

Wow.  The rest, as they say, is history.

We are so very excited to bring Mr. James back for a full outing, at the Dam Jam this summer.  Those who were there last year—you know whereof I speak.  Those who are new to the man and his music, I can only say I envy your innocence—and it won’t last long.

If you wish to whet your appetite more, have a look here. 

And see you at the Dam Jam, July 21!

Jamie