You know I’m a sucker for a medley.

And I was in luck when I caught Accidental Charm’s show at the Music Cafe in Damascus, Md. It’s a charming place, if a bit of a haul — especially in a downpour like this Friday night.

The evening was a mix of originals and covers, the originals being delightfully poppy and the covers being surprisingly diverse. Each of the four guys sing, which is rare, and rarer still the harmonies are sweet. The band dared a cover of CSN’s “Carry On” and it sounded better than the originals have managed to perform it since about 1974.

The band also dared to perform a couple medleys, not always the “cool” choice. But it worked this night. For instance, the group’s instrumental “See-Ya-Later-Bye,” is snappy enough, but then it segued into an extended and utterly unexpected medley — including several tunes so unexpected that I can’t recall them now. But part of the medley was a song I never expected to hear live: the Albert Hammond soft-rock anthem “It Never Rains In Southern California.” So random. And then it was back into “See Ya Later,” then into “Live & Let Die,” a bit of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and finally Cheap Trick’s “Dream Police,” before finishing with the instrumental. A bravura performance. Jolly.

The group is Tom Godsman (guitar,vocals), Rob Isele (guitar, keyboards, vocals), Jack Albert (bass, guitar, vocals), and Brad Davis (drums, vocals). Sadly, this was probably Rob’s last show with the band. He’s concentrating all his musical efforts on his money-making Beach Boys tribute band, Still Surfin’. While we wish him success, we must insist that Accidental Charm not break up. America demands good pop bands. (It’s all we have left.)

Here’s “It Never Rains,” in case you had banished it from your ears. (Later, the band also played a straight-faced cover of “Treat Her Like a Lady” by Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose. Don’t hear that very often, either. Here’s the group’s own video of the song, which is much better than my guerilla clip.)

UPDATE/CORRECTION: Tom Godsman writes in to point out that the medley “was actually part of ‘Who Made the Rules?,’ but I think we played it pretty close in the set list to ‘See-ya-later-bye,’ so it’s an honest mistake.” We honestly regret the error.

Went to see the British Walkers reunion at Winston Billiards Cafe in Rockville on Saturday. For those who missed the British Walkers phenomenon the first time around in 1965 — and I missed them, too — they were a D.C.-area band that wore Redcoat-style outfits, spoke with British accents, and played Beatle songs, Beatle-type songs, and generally did a bang-up job of cashing in on the whole Beatle thing. Though I never witnessed the magic first-hand, I’d heard the band name and that of its charismatic leader Bobbie Howard whispered reverently often enough over the years. After all, Roy Buchanan was the band’s first guitarist.

So I don’t know what I was expecting — perhaps the Redcoat suits? At the least, I was hoping for some Beatle-y teen-club nostalgia.

What I got was the worst double-bill since Hendrix opened for the Monkees.

For some reason, Joe Lee, mastermind of the event, booked an opening act, the Mustangs, an 11-piece soul band, complete with horn section and four lead singers. Some of the group were part of Wilson Pickett’s last band. And, damn. They totally rocked the joint. Opening with a Sly & the Family Stone medley, the group perfectly captured the Staple Singers, Etta James, and James Brown, and gave the terms “bar band” and “cover band” a bright sheen of respect.

The crowd — not surprisingly, mostly aging white folks — screamed for an encore, which the Mustangs were happy to play.

The only way the Walkers could have followed that was if they were the actual Beatles. And even then, I’m not sure.

It did not help that after the Mustangs cleared the stage there followed an interminable amount of tuning up and microphone feedback. Hello, sound engineer: you just had 11 musicians onstage, now you’ve got five. Remove six mics and don’t screw with anything else. Hello, band: Tune up offstage. They make portable tuners for just this purpose. Buy some.

Howard is now 67 and he still has the mod hair and looks sharp in a Carnaby Street suit. But, unlike the stylishly-attired Mustangs, the other Walkers opted for a mishmash of jeans, ball-caps, and whatever Elvis-meets-David Byrne outfit Billy Hancock was wearing.

And what was Hancock doing onstage anyway? He was never a member of the band. Though everyone else onstage had, at one time, been a member of the British Walkers, this particular lineup never existed. Guitarist Geoff Richardson never played with Bobbie, according to Hancock’s liner notes to the reissue CD. (OK, that might explain why he was there.)

The band started with a cover of Sam Cooke’s “Shake,” also one of its local-but-not-quite-national hits. And right away it seemed that the British Invasion legend was more myth than reality. As Joe Lee told the Post’s John Kelly, “The band was as much a rhythm-and-blues group as a rock group….They looked like a bunch of guys from England, but they listened to all the same soul stations as I did in the ’60s.”

Howard said after the third song (”Knock on Wood”) that his voice couldn’t handle an entire night of singing anymore and introduced Hancock, who launched into one of his usual rockabilly songs. And I felt whatever good will I’d come with evaporate. I can see the Billy Hancock show any time. Plus, I just felt embarrassed for the band.

I left while Kelly, the nicest man alive, frugged valiantly on the dance floor, doing his part, at least, to keep that ’60s magic alive.

You be the judge: Here’s the British Walkers, followed by the Mustangs.

The Music Master Class organized by Silverdocs’ founding director (and my new best Facebook Friend) Nina Seavey was truly an eye- and ear-opening event. The premise: bring three different composers together, ask them to score the same piece of footage, examine the results.

The composers represented a broad mix of disciplines. John Califra is classically trained and specializes in full orchestral scores. DJ Ion Furjanic (Jesus Camp) is a computer-based sample jockey. And Brendan Canty was the drummer in Fugazi. (And, of course, created the wonderful Pancake Mountain theme, in addition to other TV work.)

The footage each was given came from Mick Angus‘ hipnotic short Salt, which Seavey called “the most visually arresting” entry into this year’s fest. (NOTE: Her assessment proved correct; Salt received an Honorable Mention award in the short film competition.)

Salt is a portrait of Australian photo-artist, Murray Fredericks, who each year spends several weeks in the desolate salt lake region of southern Australia. The scenes used for the class involved lightning storms, torrential rain, mud, and gloriously bizarre, empty landscapes. Califra said that when he first viewed it he thought it was “video of another planet.”

After each screening, the composers explained their choices and discussed how they work with directors, including the issue of working with people who cannot articulate a musical vocabulary. Califra said it came down to discussing two factors: style and emotion, with emotion the more important. Furjanic advised non-musicians to use descriptive words to get at what they want: “hot,” “pine needles.” He also prefers someone with a strong but not overwhelming vision of what the music should be.

All agreed with editor Sam Pollard, who said that temp scores are a bad idea, and that the soundtrack must serve the picture — not the other way around. “The picture shapes the form” of the score, said Califra, explaining how musical decisions he’s made to fit images would never have occurred to him in writing a concert piece. Scoring for film rather than performance “really did change my idea of how musical form can work,” he said. Canty declared that “a well-edited piece has an arc” to follow which informs his work. Bad editing, he said, “leads you rambling in the woods for days on end.”

Canty added a caution about using particular instruments as themes for a character. One can fall into the trap of supporting stereotypes. To that end, Furjanic talked about a project where he asked permission before using classical Iranian folk songs. Then it was “chop-chop-chop” to “get around any problem” of ethnomusical chauvenism.

The composers acknowledged that this stunt differed from their usual practice, where they prefer to be involved even before shooting or at least editing, to get a sense of what the film is about. What was so hard about this task said Furjanic, was “not being in the story.” “You’re trying to create an analog to the world the director has made,” explained Califra.

Canty represented the pop music genre well with a score of drums, bass, and guitar. He said he thought of Sigur Ros when composing. He also noted that guitar competes in the same sonic range as the human voice and should be avoided whenever someone is speaking. All agreed that dialog is, as Califra put it, like the “soloist” in the concerto that is the score. Furjanic added that people speak in rhythms, which can be a cue for the composer and which the score must support.

Califra’s piece was concieved for an orchestra, but obviously was done with synthesizer — which he doesn’t much care for. One “cannot emulate a symphony with samples,” he said. Real instruments offer a “depth and life that can’t be emulated by electronics.” His version took cues from the natural world: long lines or just a simple pulse, and dischordance.

In good-natured contrast, Furjanic joked about his ADD style, explaining that he works in “looped seconds,” compared to Califra’s live and lengthy performance-based work. He admonished other computer-based composers “Don’t do Kraftwerk over everything.”

It was fascinating to observe that all three scores basically worked, imbuing the same footage with subtly different moods. But if anyone thought they truly understood what they had heard, Furjanic blew the room away when he “showed his work.” He opened up Pro Tools and displayed the project files. His entire score was derived from one tiny sample of a loon chirping. A loon. That’s a bird.

From that single, odd, source, Furjanic created airy synth washes, high-pitched stinging sounds, deep thumping percussion. Chop-chop-chop, indeed.

This drew a deserved ovation.

But the surprises weren’t over. Angus took the stage to show the same clip as it appears in his film. He said he hopes for sound that captures the “Chewbacca moment,” that space between euphoria and despair: (Cue Wookie SFX: “Aaagh!”)

Musically, the actual Salt score fell somewhere between what Furjanic and Califra had come up with, symphonic yet electronic. But here’s the Irony Alert: There was no composer. Everything came from the CD of a band Angus happened to hear and like, Harmonic Spheres by Melbourne-based trio, Aajinta. The tracks were simply added to the timeline and, like Dark Side of the Moon and The Wizard of Oz, everything synched.

One of the lessons I took away was that it’s hard to go wrong when the footage is good.

Listen to DJ Ion Furjanic demonstrate the many sounds he produced from a single bird call:

While wandering aimlessly through downtown Silver Spring, I happened upon the following scene. A tech guy said the group was the Battalla Drummers, but even the mighty Google failed to provide confirmation or clarification.

UPDATE: Finally learned the identity of the Mystery Marching Girl Band. It was in fact the Batala Percussion Band (spelled correctly here), part of the “larger Batala family created in 1997 by Giba Gonçalves.” Savvy fellow, Giba. The D.C. branch is the newest of the international organization and the women are called “batallettes.” Watch more videos here.

Shot with my Canon Powershot A590, which is a handy device but doesn’t come close to capturing the chest-rattling intensity of the march. As Sun Tzu said, in a different context, “Make much use of drums and banners; a whole army may be robbed of its spirit.” Truly, the sound was at first rather ominous, but ultimately the spirit was absolutely enthralled.

Note that you will see me quite a bit in the downtown area next week, as I will be blogging (and vlogging!) Silverdocs, which has a very good slate this year—do check them out, won’t you? And, as always, should you enjoy any of this, feel free to click on the “Pay Me!” link and do just that. You are so welcome.

Andy Zipf’s recordings are cleverly experimental, adding vocal washes and swirling soundscapes to solid songcraft. But the live Zipf experience is full-on rock show. Backed by Kevin MacIntire’s fluid bass and Pete Lim ably switching between both drums and keyboards (surely a first?), Zipf presented an appealing overview of his catalog at Iota on Monday. While I was expecting some of Zipf’s trademark onstage performance art — using iPods and old radios to filter his music — this evening was mostly about bringing it, hard. Which was a pleasant surprise.

For instance, on record, “What We Do Not Know” features a rather haunting cello and multitracked vocals. Live, Zipf stripped down to acoustic guitar and his one voice, but the austerity found nothing lacking. Indeed, the set moved easily between the acoustic simplicity (”Nothing’s Wrong”) to flat-out rocking (”Last to Know,” “Lay It Down”).

Zipf’s high tenor can seem ethereal, angelic if you will, and there was a gospel flavor throughout the evening. The most dramatic, and unexpected, example of which was Zipf’s solo acoustic rendition of Marvin Gaye’s signature song, “What’s Going On.” While the crowd was supportive all evening, Zipf’s quiet intensity cast a reverent hush over the room, which served to reinforce the song’s power. One hopes Zipf’s version will appear on an upcoming release.

The insistent “Find You” was another standout. It’s perhaps an unfair, but I kept thinking how perfect this tune would be in the next Say Anything-type movie; it’s a perfect anthem to longing, desire, commitment.

The audience was sincere in demanding an encore, and Zipf obliged. Lim kicked it off with a Gene Krupa-esque floor tom beat for a rave-up version of “Your Fire,” sending everyone dancing into the streets.

Andy Zipf’s new release is the DVD The Long Tail, which features The Long Tail and Lay It Down EPs, and the video Pfriends on Pfilm.

The sad news comes that Mitch Mitchell is dead at the relatively young age of 61. When you factor in the years Mitch played drums with the Jimi Hendrix Experience, I suppose some kind of dog-years math comes into play. So in rock years, Mitch was 207.

What’s interesting about Mitchell’s drumming is how clearly jazz-influenced it was. Of course, rock was still fairly young in the mid-to-late ’60s, so that was not unusual. But Mitchell added a frenetic energy to traditional technique, which perfectly complimented Hendrix’s guitar. A good example is the 3/4-time “Manic Depression,” almost a straight jazz waltz that Mitchell psychedelicizes, if that’s a word. Here’s some guy demonstrating how the song is played. He does a good job, though the video fails to capture the magic of the original.

Mitchell’s passing closely follows that of Earl Palmer, who arguably invented rock drumming, with Fats Domino, Little Richard, and other Nawlins greats. Palmer became one of the most sought-after L.A. session men, giving “most-recorded drummer” Hal Blaine a run for the title. Here’s Palmer explaining and performing the classic Professor Longhair tune “Tipitina.”

Palmer also wrote a fascinating autobiogaphy, Backbeat: Earl Palmer’s Story. As this Amazon link suggests, I highly recommend it. I mean, check the photo—the man’s the king of cool!

I already miss the Grog and Tankard, even though I haven’t been there for a long time. Here’s the City Paper cover story I did, still the definitive piece on the place. Well, I haven’t seen much else written. (That quote in today’s Post from Vertical Horizon singer and guitarist Matt Scannell was pulled from my story.)

A sad week for music lovers, and though I realize I’m a bit late, I simply must post this wonderful bit of Hayesiana found floating on the aether. It is offered in honor of Mr. Hot Buttered Soul. He shall be missed.

Hayes’ signature tune (and one of the undisputed greatest recordings ever made) is performed by the South Australian Police Band, under the able direction of conductor Ernest H. Alderslade, pictured here.

Enjoy.

“Theme From Shaft“

Ray Wallace, the Troubled Troubadour, was displeased with the previous version of what many will surely call his signature song, “Isaiah 53 Revisited.” And so we returned to Sligo Creek Park and communed with nature and some passing bikers. Again, Ray channels Bob Dylan via Pete Seeger for this “Song of the Suffering Servant.”

Watch it at YouTube, as I haven’t uploaded it here yet.

Updated my review of “make-out” music with examples of said tunes. You may listen freely here. But a caution: These songs are from a collection called “Music for Love.” You may find your inhibitions under attack.