Barr Brothers and Milk Carton Kids, or: all the things you can do with a few strings

On Monday night, for The Barr Brothers‘ first ever performance in the East Bay, and for the grand return of The Milk Carton Kids to Berkeley since their Greek Theatre show in 2016, every tier of the UC Theatre was covered in chairs: most of the audience seemed to have decided to sit down for this live show. On the parterre area, only a small, disjointed crowd of eager, standing people could be found. But there was nothing to complain about: with the stage just a few steps away, and with no heads to cover the view, it felt like an intimate concert for a group of friends.

The Barr Brothers discreetly took the stage, picked up the instruments and, without a word, began to play. Brett Lanier’s mystical sounds on the pedal steel guitar filled the room, transporting everyone to a land of dreams. They opened with “Look Before it Changes” with Brad Barr at the front, sporting a Brian Eno t-shirt, bandana on his head and ukulele in hand, alternating between playing the harmonica and singing. Morgan Moore’s double bass and Andrew Barr’s drums were in conversation, and, with the impressive acoustics of the UC Theatre, the sound travelled through the ground, walls, and ceiling, embracing the audience from every side.

Now, a magic trick: Brad Barr takes a string of fabric and pulls it in between the guitar strings while changing chords with his left hand, capo on the fourth fret; the sound, fragmented yet elegant, introduces their second track, “Even the Darkness Has Arms.” The pedal steel guitar once again provides the backing sounds which ensure the permanence of the venue in a realm separated from reality; we are maybe in a desert, maybe on a cloud. Lisa Iwanycki-Moore’ quiet harp helps amalgamate the sounds together, as Brad Barr sings: “but what does that prove? / Sometimes I worry I don’t know how to love you.”

During this song, I remembered seeing the Barr Brothers live once before in a small venue in Birmingham, England. We were all sitting on some foldable chairs, facing the low, small stage in the middle of the room. The atmosphere was different: their music took over the entire space. The embrace was even tighter: there was no room for worldly concerns. The UC Theatre is an imposing venue, and for however small the crowd, the feeling was still not quite one of familiarity. One could not help being aware of the distance between the artists and the audience. Although, that doesn’t necessarily make for a worse show — just different.

For the next track, Brad’s electric guitar and Morgan’s double bass challenged each other: one after the other in a heated argument they exchange sonic blows, fingers moving fast on their respective strings. They pick up the pace, preparing for the beginning of “Half Crazy.” It’s a hunt, or a chase. Then the drums come in, and the song bursts through the speakers and shakes the chairs of the seated audience members.

Brad takes a moment, then, to finally say something to those at the concert: “Glad to see so many folks from my parents’ graduating class today,” he begins. This spurs a roar of laughter: he’s not wrong. For a city full of students, very few made it out that night: only the older generations seem to have left their warm nests to wander into the breezy night for a concert. He continues: “Don’t worry about these kids here. They haven’t seen what you’ve seen: a rock and roll revolution.” He then moves on to address us youths: “They might have dropped acid and saw Hendrix, but they didn’t get Björk.” The crowds cheers, laughs, and looks inquisitively towards the stage, turning around to consult friends or concert neighbours: “sorry, who’s Björk again?”

Their set reached its end with “You would have to lose your mind,” with its sumptuous electric guitars, after fifty minutes of pure exhilarating musical wizardry. Waving goodbye, they left the stage as fast as they first climbed on it. More people decided to join the standing mass on the parterre before The Milk Carton Kids; more beers were bought, the excitement grew.

Bandanas seem to be a popular accessory: walking on the stage, Kenneth Pattengale parades a white bandana on his guitar neck, a signature look, and Joey Ryan follows right behind. No time is wasted: just the time to settle in front of their respective microphones and begin to play “Hope of a Lifetime,” a gem from their 2013 album The Ash & Clay. Joey, fingerpicking, provides the rhythm, which Kenneth then builds on with his energetic and dynamic flatpicking. Their live version is faster, more animated than the recorded version as they sing “that’s the way they used to find their own way home, / by the stars, / on the road.”

Then, for “Mourning in America,” the whole band joins them on stage: keyboards, a violin, a pedal steel guitar, drums, double bass, the more the merrier. Or maybe merrier isn’t the most appropriate word to use: the song utters “woke up to a funeral song,” and continues, “everything I knew was gone.” “No Hammer Told” rides the same wave: “everything is better in my dreams,” cry Kenneth and Joey together, as the song calls for some moments with just the two guitars and the double bass and others with the full band engaged.

One has to admit to themselves that their songs do mostly sound all similar, but they make for a coherent and placid show. Plus, their humour, charmingly self-deprecating, and their amicable chatter from the stage with the audience, manage to keep everyone entertained. Joey soon admits, “Barr Brothers are so good, and we have to play after them every time.” The audience cheers and whistles: who could deny it?

“Brad plays the same guitar as I do, the same guitar,” he exclaims, shaking his head and looking down at his own instrument. Commenting on Brad’s magic trick, the fabric string pulled through the guitar strings, he declares: “I don’t understand physics.” Claiming to have asked Brad what that “voodoo thing” he does is, he laughs and tells the audience he replied: “who are you?”

For “Girls, Gather ‘Round,” in which the country roots of their music can be heard in full swing, all the band crowds the centre of the stage, the drummer strikes his drumsticks on the back of the double bass, improvised percussions. They then digress in conversation, interacting with screaming audience members. Joey attempts to explain how Jenna’s 5-string violin works: it plays “25% more notes than a normal violin,” but with only four strings it would lose only “20% of those notes.” Shrugging his shoulders, he asserts: “violins are fucking weird.” Someone screams: “science.” And the conversation goes on, with debates on Berkeley’s tendency to hold extreme beliefs, and the local communist hot dog restaurant Top Dog, which Joey used to frequent as a student at Berkeley.

Later on, they move on to play “A sea of Roses,” before which Joey attempts to recount a story about his two kids, one of which, the first one, is visibly prettier than the other. Last time they played in Berkeley, his wife went into labour: he jokes, “every time I play a show here I think I’ll have a baby.” They then attempt to bring the focus back to the song, but inevitably digress again, until Joey says, quickly, in an attempt to get the next song going: “A year ago Kenneth had cancer, but he’s fine now,” and they begin to play. Members of the audience hug, as others swing from side to side at the rhythm of the song, and Kenneth sings: “Lay me down into the ground, put me back into the earth.”

For “All the Things,” Joey picks up a bass guitar, and only Kenneth sings. This song is slower (believe it or not), and almost a ballad: intimate and delicate. Coming back on stage after the encore, Joey thanks the audience for the applause: “It’s most unexpected, thank you” and laughter fills the room again. Their set ends with “Promise Land,” as everyone in the audience raises their hands and joins their singing: “I raise my hand, raise my hand / I raise my hand to the Promised Land.” After, they wave goodbye, and leave the stage.

Most concerts end on a bittersweet note: this time, instead, everyone walked out of the venue with the pure and untainted sweetness of hope left in their hearts and minds. The live show was a purifying experience.