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The best kept secret in music


""Stars No One Else Sees" review"

(note: Until recently, Cloudsplitter went by the name ClubFoot Sandwich, and it was under that band name that the "Stars..." CD was reviewed.)

“It's a tenuous argument, but a case could be made that the first hip band wasn't Uncle Tupelo and its stylized updates of Gram Parsons, but REM and their Byrdsy neo-folk jangle. Evidence? PDX roots-rockers ClubFoot Sandwich, who stitch their Americana flag with equal parts Allmanized Southern rock churn, sunshining lazy-day Garcia/Grisman folk strum and, yes, the crisp electric arpeggiations of a young Peter Buck. While the vocals on the band's new disc, Stars No One Else Sees, occasionally miss their tonal targets, multiple lyrical references to the drink/drank/drunk lifestyle hint that their interests lie in places far from the sterile recording studio.” (JG) - Willamette Week

""Stars No One Else Sees" review"

(note: Until recently Cloudsplitter went by the name ClubFoot Sandwich, and it was under that name this album was reviewed.)

“Let me first define what uneventful is to me: A tried-and-true concept, like, say, The Simpsons or playing touch football on a Sunday afternoon. Not a bad way to idle away an hour or so, but it won't change your life. Clubfoot Sandwich hosts the release of their first CD--a solid, but uneventful collection of one-two-three drum beats, tinny guitar chords, comfortable imagery and well-practiced vocals.” PHIL BUSSE - Portland Mercury


Best place to find our music is at our web site,

Four songs in frequent rotation.


Feeling a bit camera shy


The name "Cloudsplitter" refers to a mountain in upstate New York. It's where two of us come from. But considering the mountains and the rain out here, it fits, for all of us. Reminds me, actually of a show we played not too long ago.

Seems like some of our favorite places to play aren't around anymore. Like the Trout Lake Country Inn. It's at the end of this dusty little road, and just looks like an old farmhouse. Probably used to be, and from what the looks bands get from the neighbors, some would’ve rather it had stayed that way. Maybe that's why it's not having shows anymore, I don't know.

So judging by the historic marker by the door, and the creaky old floors, it's been around a while. The folks who ran it were great. The main bartender, Jimmy, actually used to play around the NW in the '90s in a band you would've heard of, if you'd been here then. I'd mention them, but I got the feeling he headed to Trout Lake to keep a low profile. He had a buddy with him, who played piano. They'd both hop on stage to play with the band, if you let them, and we always would. Jimmy could scream on guitar and his buddy - since the piano was way too far from the stage to play on - would bust out the accordion. Anything with four chords or less was fair game. One time we played there, Jimmy was leading us through old Little Feat tunes. I remember busting out Dylan I thought I’d forgotten. For hours, locals and friends of Jimmy's came and went, while we played. I remember getting tired, and then getting refueled by faking some old Motown thing or a Blues Traveler song that the accordion guy knew.

Eventually, the crowd started dwindling, and the guitar strings were getting so nappy they stuck to our fingers. I don't remember how it ended, other than I think Jimmy didn't come back from the men's room.

You crash there, in a heap. The rhythm section, Yates and Skully, wound up sleeping next to the stage. Next morning, they woke up to a frenzy of flies, courtesy of the half-empty beers that Jimmy probably figured the band was going to finish off.

Chances are, if you played there and stayed over like we did, you woke up before Jimmy, or anyone, showed up to open. They were all at the show the night before, it seemed like. I guess if you wanted a wake-up beer to kill your hangover, you could've helped yourself, and maybe left a couple bucks. I don't remember doing that myself. What I do remember is seeing Mount Adams through the upstairs window. And once I staggered downstairs, there it was again, reflected in the lake down the road. The view was pretty good consolation for the fact that we weren't going to get a cup of coffee without starting the haul back to Portland. I guess we could’ve stuck around a while, and seen when folks started showing up again.

For us, playing Trout Lake was one of those road-trip odysseys, where you know that something exciting is at the other end - but a big part of it is up to how you deal with some guys wanting to get on stage, or the kitchen being a grill on the front porch, or the sleeping arrangements amounting to a couch next to the stage. For us, it was alright. Seemed OK, for the proprietors, too.

Trout Lake was one of those shows that would wring a lot out of us, but it was a beautiful, if hazy, exhaustion. Wouldn’t change a thing. OK, one thing: it would’ve been great to see the morning shift, because if we're going to play four hours of music - we're at least going to want to say "thanks" to someone.

Here’s hoping for a next time: We'll be there to toast the view, with a cup of joe.

Rob, Cloudsplitter, June 2007.