Do Wrong Right

I didn't know what folk punk was, but I was willing to find out.

So I recruited a musician friend and we reported to Capital Ale House to find out.

We discussed that either of us had researched the band to better understand their sound, preferring to experience the music without preconceptions.

Well, except for the confusing folk/punk part. That much we'd read.

Arriving before he did, I found an eclectic crowd of young, old, hipsters and hatboys.

And more people than you'd expect in visors. At night.

I saw one girl with half black hair and half blue. I had to assume that the black side was the folk side, the blue the punk.

There were some Jackson Ward neighbors, who posed the question to me, "What's a folk punk mosh pit like?"

No idea, but willing to find out.

When my friend came in, newly-purchased ticket in hand, he had a look of relief on his face.

"I heard them say there were less than 22 tickets left," he said of not buying ours in advance.

Looks like we'd just squeaked in under the wire.

Almost all the tables had been cleared, something I'd never seen at any of the Cap Ale shows I'd been to over the years.

But servers were roaming the room and delivering adult bevvies to wherever people stood, so the lack of tables was no hardship.

We set up camp near the brick wall, me in a bar stool and my tall friend standing next to me.

Opening was Philip Roebuck, a one-man band with a drum on his back and a banjo in his hands.

"Dick van Dyke," my friend observed of the initial impression, recalling the chimney sweep from "Mary Poppins."

Roebuck, as this one man show was known, said, "I only live in Norfolk and I never play in Richmond."

It was a lot of sound coming from just one guy.

He was personable, responding to the crowd's calls in between strumming his banjo.

Some men got money
Some men got charm
But I ain't got nothin'
Without you on my arm

When our server delivered two glasses of Trump Simply Red, my friend raised his to mine, saying, "Here's to visors."

Meanwhile Roebuck paused to quaff his Guinness, asking, "Any questions while I sip my beer?

For his last song, he explained, "I originally wrote this song on the fiddle  but my fiddle broke on the last tour, so I had to figure it out on banjo and it was really hard!"

And even my musically ignorant ear could pick up on how the banjo evoked the sound of a fiddle, so he'd done a fine job figuring.

During the break, the crowd moved forward, meaning even more tall people clumped in front of the vertically-challenged like me.

Fortunately, I had my bar stool to kneel and stand on when necessary.

The Devil Makes Three was a trio of a banjo player with two braids halfway down his back and an impossibly long beard, a guitarist with a vest and tie and an upright bass player who was female.

I can't tell you how satisfying it was to watch a girl slap a bass, although probably not half so appealing as it was for my bass-playing friend next to me.

It didn't take long to discover that "folk punk" meant a mixture of bluegrass, ragtime, rockabilly, old time music and country.

In other words, a lot like the Hot Seats without the familiar faces or the Two Man Gentleman Band without the fabulous wardrobe.

It's just that no one had ever told me those bands were folk punk.

Live and learn, Karen.

Which means there were funny lyrics and songs, things like, "I'm gonna drink till I don't know the meaning of alone."

What was interesting was the crowd reaction, which was split between die-hard fans (these guys already have four albums) and people who had clearly never experienced this kind of music before.

"How you doing?" singer Pete asked of us. "Welcome to our first sold out show in Virginia!"

So those last 22 had sold.

"Old  Number 7," a song about Jack Daniels and Tennessee whiskey got everyone moving.

Based on the number of shots that came out immediately afterwards all around us, I have to assume it also helped liquor sales of Old Number 7.

But there were also story songs, humorous songs, and songs with all three voices singing.

I wanna tell you a story
It ain't got no characters but me

As the set progressed, I saw men doing jigs to the music. One had his visor on backwards and another looked eerily like Greg Allman.

There were many songs that had people in the crowd singing along, so clearly serious fans were in the house.

And, I'm willing to bet, a whole lot of converts by the end of the show.

My friend and I were scratching our heads at how into the music some people were, as if they were hearing folk punk for the first time.

If you're gonna do wrong,
Better do wrong right

Amen, DM3. Doing wrong right is an art form.

So if you're gonna do folk punk,
Better do bluegrass, rockabilly, old time and country right

Any chance of a mosh pit next time?