Transfigurations II “I just nodded my head and said, ‘Yeah dude, right on.’”

Harvest Records’ Mark Capon and Matt Schnable are bold dudes. I mean, dudes opened a record store in 2004, the same year that every single person went digital. That’s just their style: an aged, mature ownership of a distinctively Appalachian work ethic. They’ve got gumption. Japanese aesthetics refers to this kind of rich, stewed coolness as “Wabi-Sabi” — a visual quality wherein an object appears to be returning to the earth, taking on a natural, fermented beauty. As such, Capon and Schnable are “Wabi-Sabi music lords”: tight businessmen, aloof, and naturally cool — dudes with an effortless kindness that can be found in their record store, their vibe, and really the best parts of Asheville, NC, altogether. Meet them and they’ll remember your name, invite you to a BBQ, and, with a few fist bumps, tell you about how they managed to independently organize one of the most aesthetically focused festival lineups in the Southeast.

Transfigurations II is the second installment of a festival aimed at celebrating Asheville’s music community and Harvest Records’ pivotal role in nurturing that community. The fest took place at venues around Asheville (The Mothlight, The Grey Eagle) and on Blannahassett Island, a chunk of wooded land in the middle of French Broad River in Marshall, NC. (Bold.) In honor of Capon, Schnable, and the entire Harvest brand: here are my experiences with artists that were particularly bold.


Pete Swanson

I cried on my way to this show. I arrived late due to the unfortunate fact of having to live in a “money” world where you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do to survive. Swanson played Thursday as a part of a specialized “electronic” bill showcasing visceral synth stylings. After missing Profilgate, Bitchin’ Bajas, AND Container, I dried my tears with money (small bills) and walked into The Mothlight, an all-around swell place that’s become my favorite spot for live performances in Asheville. Swanson already was wailing, wearing a Scott O))) shirt and a military cap, two style choices that immediately let everyone know what was “up.” The set was similar to having a spritz of habanero oil squirted right into your inner ear — riveting, if not strangely erotic. Oddly, the extremely new term “EROTIC-MACHINA” kept floating around in my head, bouncing to a consistent four-on-the-floor rhythm accentuated by the occasional blast-beat of synth modulation. Shit was LOUD, completely brutal. It had me visualizing the metallic legs of a Gundam™ propped up high on the dashboard — a visual that made energy of the room hot and physical. Straight-up noise started to sound like proper dance music, but the steaminess was coupled with a focused rigidity that helped things stay non-oppressive. #Bold.

Fountainsun

Fountainsun (Daniel Higgs + Fumie Ishii) were an oddball, pleasant surprise. They kicked off my experience at the “big day” of the festival — a 12-hour long marathon of artists who actually are “authenticallly” talented instrument players, songwriters, or total weirdos. Aptly, caution tape and signs saying “NO ALCOHOL BEYOND THIS POINT” marooned these crazies on a literal ISLAND with other geeks who love seeing live music. Higgs, then, came across as the impromptu guru for these freak-folks. Dude was wearing an amazing woolen rainbow toboggan and all-denim, I kid you not. He came across as an ascetic Steve Zissou, a look that made his deadpan statement, “When you hear this song, you’ll know it’s Fountainsun time” completely hilarious. I’m a big fan of Higgs’ work. I loved Say God specifically because of this sort of transcendental, off-the-cuff honesty. Not everyone can convince you they’ve “spent a long time on a song,” to the point where you actually believe said song was most likely written while Higgs and Ishii were nailed to a conceptual cross for three years. Well, Fountainsun had Higgs playing improv banjo accompaniment over the excellent, sparse percussion of Ishii. Ishii’s playing was subtle and groovy. Occasionally, she contributed whispery vocals and hushed guitar work that perfectly contrasted Higgs’ bombast. The project seemed new and exciting for the two; I got the impression they were relishing the opportunity to improvise loosely. Their laid-back attitude set up a comfortable atmosphere, to the point that the heavy, spiritual aphorisms of Higgs didn’t psychologically ruin you (as they very well could). Instead, I just nodded my head and said, “Yeah dude, right on.”

Sir Richard Bishop

There were a lot of guitars at this festival. It seemed like every festival-goer was either slightly famous or a guitar enthusiast (Richard Bishop happens to be both). In fact, there were three main demographics: the beer enthusiast (not your regular beery-eyed, can-swigging amateur; this was a crafty bunch…), the cigarette enthusiast (classical ruffians), and the guitar enthusiast (everyone). I’m (occasionally) a guitar player myself, so I can empathize with the pursuit here (lol). Bishop takes the guitar far out; but, there also is the insane dexterity of his playing. We hear the totally clean tone, the occasional skronk — but mostly just one man’s solitary pursuit in mastering a craft, honing in on objective compositional and performative abilities. I respect the shit out of that. His work had all the exotic tinges of a pan-cultural world lute; he wasn’t just playing a guitar, his performance was a formal embodiment of the “stringed” instrument, and we were hanging out, participating in that historically loaded, singular experience. Occasionally a flamenco lick or Middle-Eastern accent would creep in; he even threw in a Sun City Girls song somewhere. These were gestures that helped age the performance into a ritualistic mood that embraced the “Chaos Guy” attitude apparent in Bishop’s demeanor. By the end of his set, he had everyone speechless, sweaty, and ready to get into more chaos. Oddly, there were no cigarettes… He vapes now. Anyway, I think he just wenton tour with Tashi Dorji — so if he’s in your town, see him.

Mount Eerie

Bummer time. Apparently Mount Eerie performed the entirety of his new album, front to back. I guess it’s called Sauna (love that title). I’m sure the recordings will sound different, but Phil Elverum sure does seem like some sort of sitting rock with a sad face plastered on it these days (see: my interpretation above). Dude is constantly toeing the line between, “This is how I actually feel,” and, “I am totally jaded and enjoy making people feel shitty and uncomfortable.” I’m not trying to be harsh — I’ve seen Mount Eerie perform sets that were genuinely moving; I love some of his records and see them as incredible sonic phenomena. But Elverum had an entire high school gymnasium filled to the brim with folks carefully excavating long-forgotten personal mythologies that seemed painful to bring to light during the weirdo PARTY that was going down on Blannahassett Island. Elverum was playing solo with an organ keyboard, droning out while whispering sweet nothing’s like: “What’s in my bag? More Emptiness.” OK man! Occasionally he would arbitrarily hit a few drum sounds on a drum machine attached to his little organ. I was tempted to treat the whole performance as a fantastic conceptual vision of the classical “Sad Man,” a motion that was partially inspired by how much I dug Mount Eerie’s strange auto-tune record he put out last year. That record had a pretty fucked up sense of humor about it — a sense of humor that I caught whiffs of during his set. However, it was coupled with a downtrodden “woe is me” attitude that I was just not down with.


Despite sad, weird Elverum, the festival was the BOMB. The fest’s success demonstrates how instrumental Capon and Schnable have been to rendering Asheville such a sweet music town. It’s clear they’re super-appreciative of the all the love the town gives ‘em (the city purchases thousands of pounds of vinyl from them yearly), and they gave back by offering the town an incredible, relevant music festival without ANY B.S. I only wrote up a few experiences, but I was able to see some incredible acts during the fest, among them Michael Hurley, Lee Fields, The Clean (RIP Peter Gutteridge), William Tyler, and Angel Olsen. I’ll let those experiences settle naturally, but let me tell you, they were sweet. If you’re ever passing through Asheville, be sure to stop by Harvest Records for god’s sake.

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