Nu Folk--Not So Loud and Not So Mellow

Los Angeles has been host over the last decade to two rock movements rife with youthful turmoil and social upheaval: Punk and heavy metal.

Shock waves from each explosion have reverberated not just in the rock world but throughout pop culture as sensibilities and fashions stemming from the movements spilled out of the local clubs and onto the streets.

The name Nu Folk doesn’t exactly conjure the same kind of images. It hints more at connections with the ‘60s folk and folk-rock booms--of which Los Angeles was also a headquarters.

And yet Nu Folk--the name that has been given to a new crop of mostly (but not exclusively) acoustic, song-oriented performers--has become a major force in local clubs and may be on its way to joining punk and metal in L.A.’s rock legacy.

“Maybe it’s a response to the heavy metal,” suggested Bruce Solar, who until recently managed L.A.-based folk singer Cindy Lee Berryhill and now is booking shows at the Lex, a new Hollywood club patterned after the defunct Lhasa Club that is mixing Nu Folk acts with rock and arty stage productions.

“It’s do-it-yourself--you don’t need tons of amps,” he continued. “I guess maybe artists are becoming more aware of songwriting and interested in writing about something that matters. The punk movement was about that too.”

David Swinson, who books the music at Bogart’s in Long Beach where he has instituted a regular Wednesday night acoustic showcase, has watched and supported the rise of Nu Folk for some time.

“I think there’s definitely a new attitude for acoustic music,” he noted. “In the past there were artists like Peter Case who have turned to a more simple kind of thing, but then you’ve got people like Milo Binder and Mark Davis and it’s a whole new attitude.”

At first glance, Nu Folk might not even appear to be a very unified movement. The performers range over a wide spectrum, from solo acoustic singer/songwriters like Binder (a droll satirist) and Davis (a more spiritually intense and romantically oriented singer) to the quirky folk/pop of Different World and the folk/funk of the Beef Sisters to the rock orientation of Harvey & the Lifers and vocal harmonizations of the Life Is Grand Band.

Yet L.A.’s Nu Folk is gathering momentum quickly. Its growth comes in the wake of Case and other local rockers’ turn to acoustic settings and parallels the rise of Suzanne Vega and Tracy Chapman and the advent of a similar acoustic scene in New York City,

“Not everyone in town plays the same kind of stuff,” said Binder, who coined the term Nu Folk along with his manager, John Schillaci, and Different World leader Andy Robinson. “But I am noticing there’s getting to be a community. Even if people are in opposition on musical ideas, they’re supporting the fact that other people are doing this. I go to four or so shows a week just to support people and schmooze.”

Robinson concurred. “I wasn’t sure what to call what we were doing,” he said of his band, a quartet that employs such odd instruments as kalimba and mountain dulcimer.

“It became more of a problem when I met Milo and we formed a mutual admiration society. Even though we don’t sound alike, there’s a spark there in acts like Milo and Life Is Grand that kind of unites us more from the fact that we all like what each other is doing and saying and no one else is doing it.”

Added Binder: “When I started three years ago there was nowhere to play and you had a hard time convincing people you’re not going to sound like Cat Stevens. Now the ground is broken, you’ve got Be Bop Records, and I can play the Music Machine now, which I could never have done a few years ago.”

Other clubs regularly hosting these shows include newer entries like the Breakaway, a Mar Vista restaurant with a monthly “No Amp” night and weekly open microphone talent nights and songwriter showcases.

The biggest hurdle for Nu Folk could be the name, which conjures images of the neo-bohemianism of the ‘60s folk boom and the smug self-absorption associated with ‘70s singer/songwriters. It also evokes L.A.’s New Wave explosion, which had a sudden rise to the top of the charts and just as sudden a fall into obscurity.

Even the team that coined it admits some concern about the term Nu Folk.

Said Different World’s Robinson, “Some of the things I don’t like are the connotations about folk singer: Some mellow guy with a guitar. None of us really fit into that.”

“We’ve had people think they shouldn’t get into it because it had ‘folk’ in it,” Schillaci said.

Added Binder, “It was like I was going to be up there singing ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane.’ ”

And yet there is a legitimate “folk” quality to this movement in the sense that the themes these artists deal with spring from their own lives and experiences--often with a wit and humor that’s distinctly Angeleno.

Binder’s songs range from digs at ex-girlfriends to attacks on intolerance, while the Beef Sisters are equally at home with an ode to Patti Smith (a big influence) and a sweet impression of Rosh Hashana that sounds like what the Roches might sing of if they’d grown up on Fairfax.

But there’s also a seriousness and a desire to sing about things that matter--be it personal or political--that links the Nu Folkies to traditions that run from Woody Guthrie through Bob Dylan to Peter Case. Mark Davis in particular offers an intense passion in songs about personal and spiritual struggles that reflect influences from Dylan and Van Morrison.

“I figure the songs you hear most of the time lie so much,” Binder said, explaining his writing interests. “In those songs they’ll tell you about love and how yesterday is a faded memory and all that, but in those songs no one ever goes to the bathroom or stubs their toe or gets canker sores. I want to write about canker sores, ‘cause they’re real to me.”

Another aspect of Nu Folk that seems to rub some people the wrong way is the perception that the movement was consciously created and not a spontaneous development. The group Balancing Act, wary of being typecast, has deliberately distanced itself from the term, though its members have recorded with Binder (as has Victoria Williams, another archetype in Nu Folk’s development) and other Nu Folkies.

That’s not the case, insist the performers. Nu Folk is not a conscious creation but a truly spontaneous phenomenon.

“Five years ago when we started and were playing ‘no talent night’ at Al’s Bar, we said we were folk and people didn’t know what we meant,” said the Beef Sisters’ Stephanie Shayne, recalling how she and fellow UCLA student Susan Ackerman began as an acoustic duo. “No one else was doing this kind of stuff.”

Added Ackerman: “When we started we really wanted to be a funk band, but I only played five chords and didn’t know anything about rhythm.”

Different World’s Robinson, who saw how the New Wave movement self-destructed while he was a member of the early-’80s band Elton Duck, knows that there are pluses and minuses to being perceived as part of a movement.

“Movements come and go, music comes and goes, the good stuff lasts--that’s the way I look at it,” said Robinson, who at 36 is one of Nu Folk’s older members.

“But now if this is a movement, it’s generally good for the artists, because people can focus on something. Not everybody has time to listen to a long explanation of what you do, so if you can say it’s that Nu Folk kind of thing it’s practical. If everybody decided to call it Monster Mash Music From Hell, as long as people were listening we’d be happy.”

How far can Nu Folk go?

It’s still too early to tell--the Beef Sisters’ recent debut EP is the only record released by any of these acts thus far. Yet there seems to be reason for optimism in the light of the successes of Vega, Chapman, et al.

“It seems because of the new visibility, labels are going to be looking for stuff like that,” Davis speculated. An informal survey of record company talent scouts confirmed a general interest in singer/songwriters, though the Nu Folkies are still largely unknown in the industry.

And the truth is the Nu Folkies themselves have set goals as modest as their music.

“Certain people are destined to be acquired tastes for select audiences,” Binder conceded. “I’d like to be playing halls the size of, say, the (1,370-seat) Beverly (Theatre). I don’t see things getting much bigger and I don’t see wanting them to get bigger.

“But it’s great to see all of us up there doing it in the face of almost certain commercial disaster. That’s your bond, when you know the next person has reasons for doing this besides selling records or having their face on T-shirts.”