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JAMMING:
We started out as a jam group – like a lot of bands – and caught some breaks. A lot of musicians in the DC area, not a few of whom dropped in from time to time at the Silver Spring studio of guitarist Mark Kreiser. These souls included Ray Thibodeaux, poet, musician, writer and resident of Takoma Park - first nuclear free zone in the United States. . . that's right, we're not Republicans. . . Ray's songwriting created the foundation for the band and we went with it. It's been about ten years now, and we're having as much fun as ever.
THE PRODUCER:
Around 1996 we met Baltimore producer Jeff Order. With Jeff at the console the band released a collection of originals entitled Salt. "Wow", we said, "this stuff ain't bad." Amazing what the right producer can do. Good reviews, better gigs, some airplay – including a feature on XM Radio's Unsigned Bands program, and. . . nada. No label interest in a thirty/forty something non-grunge, non-hip hop, non-deathmetal band that doesn't tour. Still, we want to be heard. We want to be an overnight success, but we've only put in about 10 years. We're patient, and we're having fun.
CHANGES:
Winter, 2002. Enter Sam, a keyboardist in search of a band. Then, love, marriage, and war correspondence take Ray to West Africa where he now strings for the Boston Globe and Voice of America, wife Emily filing eloquent stories for the Washington Post. He's still writing songs and we still get the tapes in the mail. He's just not showing up for sessions all that often. So. . . enter front man, Eric Lloyd of D.C.'s FOE. . . .in your face soul. Great mix, post punk angst and classic rock.
LATEST PROJECT:
After more than a year of writing and arranging, Big Sur released its latest effort Hold On in January 2004.What do we sound like? Samples are two clicks over. You tell us. THE NAME: In a scenario some might find familiar, settling on a name for the band turned out to be the really hard part. After much fruitless and disruptive haggling, Mark K. said "I'm gonna turn around and put my finger on one of the books behind me, and we go with the title whatever, agreed?" So, for a few painful weeks the band was called "Uncle Oswald" (apologies to Roald Dahl). And nobody was happy. Finally, a poster behind the drum kit provided the name, advertising a show of Henry Miller's paintings at the Big Sur Gallery in Northern California. An extraordinary stretch of coast line, dramatic cliffs, spectacular scenery, hidden beaches, and a winding road just made for fast cars, provides the right vibe for a rock and roll band with poetry in its heart and a revved motor in its gut. At least it ended the squabble.
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