The Henhouse Prowlers, 08/23/10, Denver
The Henhouse Prowlers performing in 2009
The tightly-packed, and questionably sticky, dancefloor at Sancho’s Broken Arrow was a flurry of moving feet, as hippies scooted sideways with beers raised high towards the painted ceiling. We’d already stomped Monday down into bar dust, and now Tuesday was coming on strong, the clock creeping up to 1am. I thought about what the bouncer said as he took our dollar cover charge for this show, the last of three gigs The Henhouse Prowlers had played here this summer. “This is probably going to be the last time they play somewhere this small in Denver,” he said, as he waved his hand towards the cozy, steal-your-face-emblazoned cavern of Sancho’s.
With a Chicago music award and first place at the RockyGrass band competition under their belts, 2010 has certainly been good to The Prowlers. I had spoken to bassist John Goldfine before the show about the RockyGrass win. “Something like RockyGrass kind of gives a band instant credibility,” he said. “We’ve definitely gotten more booking inquiries and more press inquiries since winning. [But] we’re also doing a lot more, like we’ve increased our publicity, to try and make the most of it while we can.”
HHP at Sancho's
Awards and accolades certainly help on the rocky road that is a musician’s life, but those things will only carry you so far. It’s the work you put in that ultimately matters, and on this front, HHP are definitely punching the clock, both in the studio – where they are currently working on their third album, with Sally Van Meter producing – and the stage. At Sancho’s they came out hungry and ready to win over the room, even if this particular stage was simply speakers and monitors set up on the bar room floor, and the crowd was on the loud and spongy side. They drew the crowd in with a slow burning “California Cotton Fields” opener (from their 2007 self-title album), then took off with a raging “Bringing in the Georgia Mail,” eliciting excited whoops from the pool table hangers-on. It was this mix of can’t-argue-with covers and compelling originals that kept the crowd moving all night.
When it comes to their songwriting, HHP has a ear towards the classic in instrumentation, but holds a refreshingly modern lens to their lyrics. Take the dryly-delivered “Syracuse,” about a spoiled “mama’s boy” with a drug habit who’d rather be partying in his SUV than settling down with wife and baby in the suburbs. It’s a damning character study that’s rooted in the problems and privileges of the here-and-now, rather than nostalgia for an imagined simpler time. It’s a relief when a bluegrass band living in this day and age doesn’t try to pretend they are from rural Appalachia and it’s still the 1940s. Instead HHP’s songs travel into shadowy, wry territory that comes from a decidedly urban – and urbane – point of view.
This keeps their music true to their experience. As Goldfine explained, describing the bluegrass scene in Chicago, “It’s there, but it’s small. You gotta look for it if you want to find it. But it’s there. Everyone who plays bluegrass in Chicago knows everyone else. And as far as how [an urban environment] affects our songwriting, and song selection - we can sing all we want about living in the country, and a lot of bluegrass songs are about that, but that’s not the world we really know. Our original material is definitely a little edgier. We really like singing those dark songs.”
HHP at Sancho's
The songwriting and dark suits may spell serious business, but you come to an HHP show ready to move, not to sit down and clap all polite-like. There’s flesh and blood moving in those shadows, unafraid to show their rough edges to the light and let their limbs stretch. Things got sweaty and loose in the second set, especially during “Midnight Moonlight,” which was met with cheers from the crowd, and feedback from the speakers. HHP pushed on through the technical hiccups, and then let the jam out of the song breathe, fiddle player Ryan Hinshaw unraveling the outro with some ribbony notes, leaving the door open for Eric Lambert‘s leggy guitar to come casually strolling in, then Ben Wright‘s banjo to charge forward with gusto.
The four wove in and out around the single mic, the enthused dancers in the front encroaching ever-closer towards the monitors. At one point a fuzzy kid spun sideways in his enthusiasm, bumping the mic with his shoulder. It noticeably tottered, threatening to head floor-wards, but Hinshaw quickly nudged it back with a laugh. As the Prowlers played on, nudging the curfew, I had no doubt that the bouncer was right on. I also see great destinations in this band’s future. But no matter where they find themselves, one thing’s for sure – they are sure going to have a hell of a lot of fun on the trip.
The Henhouse Prowlers are on tour now, check the dates here.
