16 Horsepower in Concert
7th Street Entry, Minneapolis
Thursday, July 8, 1999
by Haavar Wold
It is with a kind of unexplained uneasiness that one lines up in
a small club to see one of the most unique and strangest music acts in
today's fast-changing musical landscape. Sixteen Horsepower is not a band
to take lightly to heart. As something of a crossover between country
music and rock with a twist of folk mentality, this Denver-based outfit
is one of the most intense live-acts to tour in the nineties.
On my way to purchase a ticket for the evening's gig at The 7th Street
Entry in Minneapolis, front-man David Eugene Edwards steps out of the tour
van in way too short black pants, a white shirt, and a metal chain that
ends up in his pocket. He's been characterized as a man that doesn't feel
at home in the nineties, as somewhat out of touch with the current waves
of culture. That might very well be true, but my glimpse of him was too
brief to ever confirm that kind of unnecessary stereotyping.
His band, on the other hand, is something of a strange gang of minstrels.
Not strange in the sense of weird--more in the sense of scary. You don't
go to a Sixteen Horsepower show to amuse yourself, at least not in the
conventional meaning of that word. The band's message and agenda
aren't well defined, but one cannot help getting in touch with one or two
bizarre emotions as the music rolls along. Although he does not hold a
strict interpretation of Christian Fundamentalism himself, Edwards, the
grandson of a traveling Nazarene preacher, brings a lot of the old fire
and brimstone energy to his lyrics. Despite the fact that Sixteen Horsepower
is closely connected to the Christian message, please don't make the mistake
of lumping them together with the CCM crowd. That would be missing
the target completely. There is no cosy evangelism here, just the harsh
realities of life observed from a Christian worldview. Sixteen Horsepower
is like a ghost from the past that has borrowed some clothes from today--a
group of people slightly outside of time yet on the fringe of modern culture.
A squeeze box/accordion and a banjo are in the collection of instruments brought onto the stage. Edwards is also known for playing the Hurdy Gurdy, but it wasn't featured on this night. He also has a double set of microphones set up. One is for his regular voice and the other for his singing style that demands "a voice coming from far away."
"We want to dedicate this evening to Mark Sandman of Morphine." Edwards's opening statement is a salute to the late vocalist and songwriter for the Boston band who died from a heart-attack in Italy the week before (Saturday, July 3rd). Morphine was another band of lone rangers similar to Sixteen Horsepower in style and context.
The concert opens with "I Seen What I Saw," an intense piece of music
that has the band swaying along to their own rhythm. The bass player, Pascal
Humbert, keeps switching back and forth between his regular bass and an
old double bass. As he points one of his fingers up at the ceiling
in a swift movement (ala Stryper - Editor's Note), I wonder if he is making
a reference to the song's Christian content. It turns out he is only signaling
the sound technician to crank his monitor up a little higher.
Along comes another tune that is just as gripping and nerve-wracking.
With its haunting lyrics, "Haw," is a low key thunderstorm set on ground-level
that has Edwards producing some solid sweat from his forehead. The club
is getting very steamy indeed, and some of the people present display
the energy of very avid fans. In spite of a young girl's constant demands
for "Black Soul Choir" from the Sackcloth & Ashes album, Sixteen
Horsepower won't be playing that one this particular evening, but other
highlights include "Low Estate," "Black Lung" and "Scrawled in Sap."
The band is not very talkative except for the regular acknowledgments
of audience response. The music speaks for itself. "Hang My Teeth On Your
Door" from Low Estate slowly comes to a stop as the final note in
a one and a half-hour display of Americana by these gothic cowboys
from Denver, Colorado (and France). And an enthusiastic audience drifts
out of the club after a curious evening slightly out of touch with the
urban modernism of downtown Minneapolis.
