I don’t watch television. We have 5 channels and that makes me happy. I do not know who the latest Bachelor is, I do not know of these Kardashians you speak, and the Oscars are as foreign to me as the foreign film nominees are to you. We get three PBS channels and like, something else. Weather, I don’t know. We watch a lot of Martha (a cartoon about a talking dog), okay. And that’s it. Aside from Happy Endings which I love but frequently (read: EVERY GODDAMN WEEK) forget to watch, it’s pretty much educational kid’s stuff and NOVA up in this piece.


Confession time: I might be mildly obsessed with Hart of Dixie. I don’t know what my fucking problem is. It’s not like I watched The O.C and have some affinity for Rachel Bilson (though holy shit, you guys, she is as adorable as a sugar glider carrying around another little sugar glider doll and staring at you with tiny eyes whilst eating a bag of Skittles). It’s not like I was into Scott Porter on Friday Night Lights (although, it occurred to me not long ago that Shakey Graves used to be on that show and so was Porter (IN A WHEELCHAIR!) so basically, I’m friends with the latter now and also, he totally looks and acts like my son’s father in a way that’s so accurate it’s slightly creepy). And it’s not like I care about what goes on in fictional but charming small towns in Alabama. Do I? Oh wait, I do. They all have adorable accents! Everyone has a quirky name (Tansy, Lemon, Brick, Magnolia, Clora, and a dog named Dolly Parton)! And Zoe Hart does get herself into some antics. There’s a bar called the Rammer Jammer! There’s Lavon, the former NFL player turned mayor of Bluebell! There’s Wade, the resident hot redneck, and Lemon (left at the altar)  who wears the weirdest things that I kind of want to actually own, and fucking Carl Winslow. FUCKING CARL WINSLOW, you guys.

{I am over here objectifying these two men and I don’t feel even remotely bad about it.}

And then, there’s the music. I want to high five this show’s music supervisor and also ask s/he if they’re perusing my / my friends blog(s). In the last season they’ve featured Carolina Story, Blind Pilot, Whiskeytown, The Dirt Daubers, The Head and The Heart, Quiet Company, Michael Trent (of Shovels & Rope), and The Lone Bellow, just to name a few.

The other night I was watching and feeling all bad for Wade (the aforementioned hot redneck) because his life’s dream is to open his own bar and he’s got some deep rooted self esteem issues so it ain’t happening. His girlfriend, Dr. Zoe Hart, made him a neon sign for said bar before he went onstage at a Battle of the Bands thing and then he fucking sabotaged the whole thing by getting drunk and taking home some country skank (WHAT IN THE FUCK, WADE?!) and at the end of the show, I heard a song. And I was all tapping along with my toe and sort of rocking out and then holy shit, that’s Carolina Story! We wrote about them once, in August of year last.

Anyway. I’m rambling about a television show. The point is, Hart of Dixie has good music (and good lookin’ men and good clothes and good little jokes here and there). Case in point: Family Wagon, who I discovered via what is apparently my favorite show.

Family Wagon’s Last Drag EP is 4 tracks of stellar indie rock. We highly recommend this EP and a keen eye kept on this band.




Cal Folger Day is a totally rad name and I want it. Cal Folger Day once played something called the Depresstival and clearly, that is my scene. Cal Folger Day seems like a lovely lady and I pretty much want to be friends with her. Like, in real life. I will buy a piano and a bass drum and she will come over and we will have wine (even though I don’t even like wine) and she will sing in my house and we will make adorable collages out of found objects and old maps. We will probably open an Etsy store and sell our wares there, along with a whole bunch of 7″ vinyl albums which she will inevitably record on a reel to reel I’m also going to buy to facilitate our friendship. We will make a ton of dollars and Pitchfork will review one of those albums and give it a 10.7 and we will drink more wine and just laugh in the living room because Pitchfork, we’re too cool for you, we don’t even care!

Anyway. I like this Cal Folger Day song. Maybe you will, too. Come to our wine party next Saturday.



Dude, look at us with all the ladies up on this here blog in the past week! We’re on a roll or rather, the girls are on a roll.

It is stereotypical thinking on my part to assume that perfect bluegrass tinged music cannot come out of Brooklyn. I should know better at this point.

Learning lessons over here daily, y’all: I do in fact like female lead singers and good Americana can indeed come from the big city.



BUY Shine

To say that I am consistently surprised and constantly in love with the output from Tyler Lyle would be an understatement.

There’s a couple things here: This fucking guy is young. By all accounts, it’s unlikely dudes his age are ever this talented. The kind of knowing so prevalent in Lyle’s songs usually comes with age and experience but there are things in the subtlety of every song and every album he releases that defy his years.

I do not and usually am not moved by a song of begets: My dad was born in ’58. His dad was born in ’29. His dad was born in 1895. But here I am, singing that line over and over with love and a feeling that it is my own story (though it is not — mine goes ’56, ’17’, 1883).

I do not and usually am not moved enough to leave the first song on an album on repeat with a total disregard what good might lie beyond it. After a full night of Saturday listening and a lazy Sunday morning of learning the words, only then was I able to move on from “Medusa”. And unsurprisingly, every new song is as good as the one I just fell in love with and had dubbed to good to beat.

In short, this guy. THIS FUCKING GUY. He is making music that every time sits me down in front of speakers and invades my soul so hard that I must tap out the rhythm on my chest to keep my heart still.

I make it a habit to not regurgitate here what an artist or PR label says about their own songs or records but in this instance, I cannot sum up the gist of Expatriates any better than Lyle himself does: This is for the last few dark cold days of winter when the books are heavier, the thoughts are stranger, and the light is more foreign.

[Just an odd side note: At 4:07, listen. A loaded gun and a pocket mirror. Lyle’s lyrical phrasing of the word “mirror” gets me every time. Anybody else would have sang that word higher and I never would have noticed it. This is the nuance I’m talking about. It doesn’t seem like much, it’s just a single word, but it is a single word in a fucking brilliant song that for some reason catches my attention. It’s just perfect. It’s fucking perfect, the way he uses it. I’m rambling. Shit.]



BUY Expatriates :: FACEBOOK

I do this thing: Like, once a year, maybe once every two, I’ll hear a song that takes less than 5 seconds to enter my soul. I mean, I like a whole lot of songs (obviously) but there are some, there are few, that get in my bones within the first few chords. It’s such a rare but beautiful feeling when that happens…

You guys, it just happened. WILLY MASON. Willy fucking Mason.

willyGo now to Noisetrade and get these four  wonderful, perfect, stellar, I CAN’T EVEN FIND OTHER SYNONYMS THAT ARE GOOD ENOUGH HERE, jams. There is just the right amount of weird here and there are no words that will bind and explain my love for it. Go. Just…go.

When you lift me up, I jump…

When the road goes on, you sail. When it cracks and burns, you bail.


Willy Mason :: Talk Me Down [mp3]


We are young. We are golden. We are having a house show with a stellar band and you’re invited.

smooth hound smith

There is a duo of folk, proper named Zack Smith and Caitlin Doyle, that make stomp music. Their brand of jams, filled to the brim with swampy harmonies (that’s good, don’t worry, you’ll see) and ample opportunity to let music totally make you day and save your night, are right up our proverbial alley. The band offered to do a show, I said, “Wait, are you shitting me with this?!”, they replied in the negative and now we’re a go.


24 May there will be song. There will be barbecue in copious quantities, there will be booze. I’m hopeful I can find camouflage Busch Light cans somewhere. There will be friends and there will be Jarred and Ryan, kindred spirits this town has anointed as Honorary Rednecks, from Show Me Shows. There will be a crowd in the woods right in the middle of town, clapping along and falling in love (just as I have) with Smooth Hound Smith.

The next day we will head off into the Ozark woods and paddle canoes down a river. I can’t even wrap my brain around this much epic.

And what about you? Well, you’re invited of course! RSVP here, if you’re so inclined. Show is free, food is free (though it is standard in our circle to show up with a covered dish, if ‘ya don’t mind). Bring money, buy a record, tip the band as if they were your first cousin waiting on your table at the local truck stop.

Come. We would love to have you.




Here at the Hive, we love Vandaveer.

But we really love Vandaveer with a banjo. WITH A FUCKING BANJO, Y’ALL.


If the first single released from the band’s upcoming album Oh, Willie, Please is any indication, this album shall be a barn burner. Songs of murder and self ruin are said to abound and in regards to the latter, we’re sure that this album will take over our hearts (as self ruin is a favorite here, please see that Autobiographical Music Blogging tag to the side over there, ahem).

Oh, Willie, Please will be released 30 April via Quack!Media. Hit up that stream below and download the single. Your psyche implores you!

(Also, support the album via Pledge Music, which is a thing we think you can still do. And should. You should do that.)