Canon Canyon

Canon Canyon
Sit Down and Listen
Rural Wolf Records

Was 2008 the year of the beard? Fleet Foxes, The Dutchess and the Duke, Cave Singers and other alt-soft-rockers did their part to bring facial hair back into the fold. Then again, Will Oldham, Devendra Banhart, and Doug Martsch have always sported a healthy dose of fur on their chins, so perhaps 2008 is merely the apex of the hirsute look. But if the beard has become synonymous with a new breed of acoustic pop then one thing is certain: a backlash is imminent. The beard may very well wind up the red flag of forced nostalgia, the symbol of post-millennial hippie rock. It’s a pity. While Witchy Poo asserted that everybody looks good in a helmet, I’ve always felt that half the population looks good with a beard.

Aside from the occasional stubble, Canon Canyon is a clean-shaven band. I’ll grudgingly concede that it may wind up being a wise move for them. Canon Canyon’s debut EP, Sit Down and Listen, takes a few cues from that particular era of indie pop that existed under the banner of “college rock” in the early ‘90s, but remains a singer/songwriter venture at its core. It’s only a few degrees of separation away from the Americana timelessness that a lot of bearded folks are aiming for these days. Personally, I’m all for the folk rock resurgence. I love Creedence. I love The Byrds. I love CSNY. But our cultural climate can’t wait to stamp a label on something and declare it over. Therefore, aiming for timelessness by deliberately sounding dated is a risky venture. I wish our culture would slow down long enough to actually spend some time with records instead of giving them a few listens and moving on to the next new thing.

This is why I find Canon Canyon so charming. They’re not fashionable. They’re not even fashionably unfashionable. If these men sported big bushy beards, it would be too obvious of a connection. And while they’d probably find an audience a lot faster with chin-warmers and vintage duds, their everyman-vibe will save them down the line when critical adoration is heaped upon a new breed of minstrels and cynical chides are directed towards anyone with an acoustic guitar. These Tacomans may continue their routine of digging trenches during the day, making four-track recordings at night, and playing low profile gigs around Pierce County for the remainder of their existence and it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. The ten songs that make up their self-released 22-minute-long Sit Down and Listen 10” aren’t flashy, gimmicky, or particularly edgy, but they’re damn-near perfect in their unabashed straight-forwardness. Michael Cooper—alternating between a reserved baritone and an assertive tenor—sings of unrequited love, the stateside tragedies of war, the urge to travel, and growing old. They’re the kind of themes that come across as cliché when touched upon by lesser artists, but carry the weight of universal truth when employed in such an unassuming and unpretentious manner.

This is Sunday-afternoon-drinking-beer-on-the-porch music. It’s long-cross-country-drive music. It’s the kind of music that makes me feel a little guilty for putting so much damn emphasis on innovation instead of embracing a little tradition every now and then. This is the opposite of beard-stroking music. There’s no over-thinking this kind of stuff. It’s music made for the pure satisfaction of making music. I may be wrong about the longevity of this indie folk revival. In fact, I kinda hope that I am. And I certainly don’t want to see the beard take on the same stigma as the goatee. But at the very least, I expect to see Canon Canyon continue to thrive in their humble existence. - Lineout-The Stranger Music Blog

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Canon Canyon hailed from somewhere more sun baked than Tacoma Washington. However, while the dusty voice of lead man Mike Cooper may evoke dreams of the south, Sit Down and Listen gentle folk is one of universal appeal. The kind of folk that—should you be inclined to go for the pun—might make you want to Sit Down and Listen. (I hate myself.)

Although introspective is a strong descriptor, Canon Canyon deftly skirts the dreaded “e” word—emo. Observations are realistic, emotional responses measured—the kind of reactions precious few of us ever really manage. In album opener “East Bound Train” the speaker laments, “I’m wondering which songs remind you of me.” before sincerely adding, “I wish you the best; I hope you’re doing just fine.” The profound, Bob Dylan-like observation “The friends you used to love turn into people you used to know” anchors album highlight “Travelin’ Souls” which—in the hands of a lesser band—would have amounted to a paean to self-pity. Nothing too feel too bummed about here though—just a mature and fun little folk-rock gem. - wearepanel.com

The cover of Canon Canyon’s 10-inch vinyl release Sit Down and Listen (October, 2008) shows a torn, empty couch flanked on both sides by guitar amps. A picture of John Wayne hangs on the wall beside a stuffed, crazed-looking bear. A guitar, a small lamp, a model sailboat and a beer bottle complete, but somehow don’t complete, the scene. A weird yellow light pervades.

It’s an arresting shot, for reasons I don’t quite understand. Maybe it’s the college-house feel, reminiscent of my own younger days. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of Duke and the bear with the flaccid sofa and beer – frontier meets frat, manifest destiny meets modern-day entropy. Maybe it’s the amplifiers and their suggestion of latent power, and the guitar-as-rifle leaning at the ready. Maybe it’s the vacancy. Or maybe it’s the sailboat. (That’s escape, right?) Or maybe it’s just the light.

Whatever it is, it’s unusual and wonderful, and it wouldn’t translate to iTunes or even to CD. Only on vinyl — only on the cardboard canvas of a record jacket — can one fall in love with an album before even hearing a track.

On the insert is the same picture, only now with two guys on the couch. They are David Bilbrey and Mike Cooper, members of Canon Canyon and founders of Rural Wolf Records, a Tacoma indie label that does what the majors just can’t seem to — advance the sanctity of the hardcopy album while embracing the digital future.

“Records are cool,” says Bilbrey. “They have their own sound and mystique.” Still, “Some people can only listen in the car on the way home.”

The solution? Sit Down and Listen comes with a wallet-size download card, as do recent vinyl releases by Lozen and Destruction Island, also on Rural Wolf. Printed with a reverse of the album’s cover shot, the card’s message seems to be, “The same thing, only different. Two sides of a coin.”

The music industry could learn a lot from Rural Wolf.

In the publishing industry, which shares the recording industry’s woes, modest independent presses — McSweeney’s, most notably — are surviving (even thriving) by crafting beautiful books that people want to hold, display, caress, and conspicuously read at Starbucks. Meanwhile, McSweeney’s titles are also available for download on Kindle. The formula has McSweeney’s founder Dave Eggers being hailed as a visionary.

Let me be the first to hail Bilbrey and Cooper.

Of course, I’m reaching. And why not? These days, to be a writer writing about music is to live in a state of uneasy suspension — a professional and personal limbo in which the past seems never to completely pass and the future seems forever around the next bend, resurrection and demise equally imminent. On the bad days (like today) you feel utterly unmoored and confused and you find yourself at your computer late at night with a whiskey, blinking madly, thinking that when things get really bad you can always go back to building houses, except that industry is tits up too. On the good days (like today) you look at people like David Bilbrey and Mike Cooper and feel awed by the possibility disruption creates.

When I met Bilbrey and Cooper at Puget Sound Pizza for breakfast recently, they sat side by side on a padded bench, Bilbrey on the left and Cooper on the right, just like on the insert, only different. Eating eggs, laughing — sunburned Cooper wearing a greasy cap — it was clear they don’t see themselves as industry saviors. Just two more soldiers in the dude revolution.

“The original idea was to put on big shows and put the profits from the shows into the label,” says Cooper. “We sold beer. We sold hotdogs.”

“We just want to put out our own bands, our friends’ bands, bands we like,” says Bilbrey. “We just want to break even.”

Breaking even is the new profit. And Rural Wolf is the new frontier. - Weekly Volcano

From Tacoma, Washington comes this appealing work of Americana-themed country-rock. Sit Down and Listen is an attractive 10-inch out on the aptly named Rural Wolf label (who also put out the solid Destruction Island album), and what a fine collection of songs it is. These three musicians are unassuming yet talented, particularly adept at crafting joyfully melodic rock songs.

Frontman Cooper's husky vocals are perfectly calibrated to the gritty Americana of this record. The instrumentation (guitar/drums/bass, what else?) is equal parts Modest Mouse, Uncle Tupelo, and Wilco, providing a solid, working-class atmosphere to the proceedings. "Sit Down and Listen" (as well as its prelude) is an exemplary song for Canon Canyon - it effectively balances country-rock sandpaper with impassioned melody, resulting in a strong composition. Also sterling are memorable "Unwanted Heroic News" and infectious "Sunny Mornings". With this one slab of vinyl, Canon Canyon cements itself as a band worth keeping an eye on; meanwhile, the Rural Wolf label is gradually making a name for itself as a fine purveyor of Washington State indie rock. - Indieville.com

[4/5]
An understated incarnation of the kind of rural rock 'n' roll these guys played in their former bands Roy and Some By Sea, Canon Canyon play simple and honest music. As connected to the city as the country with their mix of CSNY and Springsteen, vocalist/guitarist Mike Cooper's own baritone voice is what defines songs like the haunting anthem "Sunny Mornings." Sit Down And Listen is full of tiny gems that don't require overblown arrangements to make an impact. "Juan De Fuca" is the closest the band come to truly epic volumes, but at a mere two-and-a-half minutes, it's a brief, powerful moment that doesn't overstay its welcome. This is a record of moments like that: small, simple snapshots of big ideas and bigger dreams. (RURAL WOLF; myspace.com/ruralwolfrecords) Sam Sutherland - Alternative Press