I knew soul was messy, but I hadn’t seen firsthand how beautiful and messy it could be until last week’s Friday Cheers.

Rain fell all day long, leaving the ground on Brown’s Island a soupy wreck, and when Mrs. YHT and I finally walked across the pedestrian bridge onto Brown’s Island — we’d spent the preceding half hour in the car, delaying our inevitable drenching — I did not expect that the show would actually happen. The original start time had lapsed and the entrance fee had been waived, yet I didn’t see a single spectating soul until the front edge of the stage was in view. There, a dozen or so umbrellas were huddled, the people under them watching Charles Bradley’s backing band – in this context you’d call them Bradley’s “Extraordinaires,” but without Bradley they’re known as Menahan Street Band – tune up. (I imagined that the band was having their own version of the “Is this thing actually going to happen?” conversation.)

Some friends had taken refuge under an unused radio station canopy across from the beer truck, and we joined them and learned that (good news) people were being allowed backstage, but (bad news) Bradley was rumored to be held up in traffic. We didn’t go backstage, but amazingly, just a short time later, we heard Bradley’s Extraordinaires playing what sounded like organized notes, and a few instrumental numbers later (“Summer In The City” being one) there he was. The Victim of Love. The Original Black Swan. The One and Only Screaming Eagle of Soul. (His extended intro, voiced by the band’s keys player, was a show unto itself. It felt more like a wrestling introduction, like how Paul Bettany introduced Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale.)

The rest of the evening was pure magic. The band sounded great, Bradley’s voice was every bit the wonder I’d hoped it would be, and the small group of us that crowded the gravely area near the stage made enough noise for an audience 10 times our size. And while the music was outstanding (the rendition of “Confusion” embedded above was a personal favorite), what Bradley did between songs was most memorable.

I’d read before the show that his road to success in the music business was… bumpy, to put it mildly. I also saw in Sounds of RVA’s wonderful profile of Bradley that he has a deeply humble and refreshingly circumspect outlook on that success. But reading about these things is different from experiencing them for yourself, and if there was ever a test of a performer’s humility, this show, with its minuscule crowd and dismal weather conditions, was it. But Bradley’s warmth overpowered the circumstances, his between-song banter showering us with thanks, love, and assurances that “If there’s one person out here, I’m gonna give you a show.” It all fit perfectly with the idea of him I’d formed in my head, and as the show neared its end, that cognitive agreement began to transform into a happy lump in the back of my throat.

Watching happiness in motion is powerful. There’s always a chance that smiles mask something darker, but it’s hard to avoid getting sucked in to a story like Bradley’s, especially when he hops down off the stage and gives giant, soaking-wet, 10-second hugs to the entire front row. That really happened. (Quick point of clarification — the wetness was an equal exchange. We were wet from the rain, he was just as wet from sweating his way through a truly impassioned performance.) I was right there, watching the look on his face and the looks on the hug recipients’ faces. It was love. There’s no other word for it. Call me sentimental or naive, but I have a hard time believing that someone could spread genuine love that freely without having found a powerful, hard-earned happiness within him/herself.

That’s what I took away from Friday’s beautiful mess of a show. Charles Bradley has the answer, and I intend to keep listening to his songs so that next time it rains — literally or figuratively — I can be the one giving out 10-second hugs to strangers. Check out “Confusion” above, “Strictly Reserved For You” below, and click here to buy his outstanding recent album, Victim of Love, from iTunes.

See you at tonight’s Kishi Bashi show!

Charles Bradley — “Strictly Reserved For You” [Spotify/iTunes]

In case you couldn’t tell from my post about Golden Rules for Golden People, I’m rather fond of Pretty & Nice. I’m extremely happy to report that I had the chance to interview them a few hours before their recent show at Strange Matter, and the interview just went up over at rvamag.com. I hope you’ll take a few minutes to look it over and learn a little more about how their amazing new album came together.

Just for fun, here’s the Us You All We track I mentioned in the interview, along with its remix.

Pretty & Nice — “Dan’s Heart” [Spotify/iTunes]

Pretty & Nice — “Dan’s Heart” (The Mathematics Remix) [Spotify/iTunes]

BK Music is one of my happy places. I could give you a slew of reasons why (Record Store Day acquisitions would definitely rank among them), but there’s a single, indicative vignette I want to share with you today:

Last Tuesday, I headed to BK on a mission. I found out via Facebook that the store had gotten in a “very limited quantity” of advance vinyl copies of Jason Isbell’s new album, Southeastern, and I wanted a piece of the action. Bad. Not only was this a chance to hear the album a week early, it was also a chance to own a one-of-a-kind version of it. These “Indie Exclusive” LPs don’t have the same glossy album art as the copies that are due out tomorrow; they’re more… rustic, I guess you might say. They have plain cardboard jackets, lettering that was applied via stencil and spray paint, and a hand-written number indicating which of the 500 copies in existence it is. I’m a sucker for quirky versions like this. (They actually represent an essential loophole in my elaborate and self-imposed record-buying rule system, which is the only thing standing between Mrs. YHT and me and certain bankruptcy.) In fact, I’d gotten something similar at BK when The Alabama Shakes’ debut full-length came out.

When I made to the BK parking lot, another car was pulling in just in front of me — an older couple in a Buick or Lincoln or something — and of course, because I’m me, I exited my Honda in an outwardly quiet panic about whether they were on the same mission. Did I want to rush to the door first and turn my back on the couple and every available shred of decorum and dignity? Yes, yes I did. Did I rush said door? No I did not. But boy was I relieved when the older man started heading in the direction of the wall of guitar strings, and I was even more relieved when, just a minute or so later, I had my hands on the store’s last limited-edition copy of Southeastern. Mission accomplished.

These victorious moments keep adding up, and they’re a testament to how wonderful it is when you find a place — could be a bookstore, restaurant, concert venue or anything else — that just seems to be on your same wavelength. I don’t know whether it’s the thought that someone out there likes the same stuff as you, or just that you have a streak of good experiences somewhere, but it certainly doesn’t happen every day, and when it does, it’s unmistakable and incredibly meaningful. Many thanks to BK for doing such a great job getting stuff like this in, and for making my trips to Midlothian Turnpike so consistently rewarding.

While I was there on Tuesday, I also found out about an exciting in-store performance they have coming up. Surfer Blood’s new album Pythons comes out tomorrow, and the band has chosen to spend a chunk of the release day at BK, with a special acoustic performance at 6 p.m. and a signing session directly afterwards. Check out Pythons track “Demon Dance” below and get ready for what’s sure to be a memorable Tuesday evening.

Surfer Blood — “Demon Dance” [Spotify/iTunes]

I must have run across The Dixie Cups’ version of “Iko Iko” at some point in my 29 years on this planet, but I really listened to it for the first time a few days ago, and I think I’ve listened 15 or 20 times since. It’s totally brilliant. The spareness of the arrangement and the calmness of their voices contrast so nicely with the (literally) incendiary lyrics. It reminds me of how my dad loved that Back to the Future was set in a town called “Hill Valley” — the oxymoronic name creates a sort of void, like the thing cancels itself out and doesn’t actually exist. (He was big on postmodernism in his academic work, and he had a field day with BTTF.)

The crazy thing — ironic, maybe — is that The Dixie Cups’ version of “Iko Iko” almost didn’t exist at all.

They story goes that they were messing around in the studio, singing the song for fun and banging drumsticks on ashtrays, oblivious to the fact that producers Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller were recording. (The a cappella version makes it sound like they stopped and started again at one of the producers’ prompting, so the end result was staged on some level, but still…) Isn’t that amazing? Just imagine if Leiber and Stoller had been out of the room? The song might not exist. But it does, it was a hit, and after so many listens, it’s part of my brain now. It’s literally a part of me.

It brings into perspective how precious music is. Songs don’t have to exist. As a species, we seem to need music, as evidenced by the fact that nearly every single culture comes up with its own form of the stuff, but individual songs are like little miracles. Additions to an experience that’s already kaleidoscopic beyond measure. Every single one.

The same goes for us. We’re all here, adding something to the lives of the people around us, despite the fact that the world could (and eventually will) keep going without us. That may seem morbid, but to me, it’s a beautiful thought. Makes me feel very lucky.

Happy Friday, folks.

The Dixie Cups — “Iko Iko” [Spotify/iTunes]

The fact that it’s a first world problem doesn’t make it any less true — coming back from vacation sucks. The better the trip, the harder the fall. I don’t know about you, but I can usually sense with bitter consciousness the spell slipping away in the days after getting back, like watching smoke dissipate when someone turns on a ceiling fan.

If you caught my musical away message, you already know that I spent last week in Greece. (And if you actually listened to that Yanni song I posted — wasn’t it kind of fun?) Mrs. YHT and I took something of a second honeymoon, splitting time between Athens and a pair of islands that were just obscenely beautiful. I mean look at that. It’s unreasonable. It’s the kind of vista that makes you feel unworthy. I bet the seagulls even feel lucky to live there. Leaving wasn’t easy, and memories of the near-pornographic views, the absurd amount of feta cheese I ate and the ocean of pleasure reading time I left behind have made for rough reassimilation.

But sandwiched between yesterday’s serving of “welcome back to the real world” reminders was a momentary reprieve — a lightness when the weight of routine and responsibility was settling back onto my shoulders. It came while I was taking “Central Time” — the lead single off Pokey LaFarge’s day-old self-titled album — for a test drive. For a short time, it felt like the tremendous gravity of everyday life didn’t apply to me. The song ended, and I went back to coming back to things, but that weightlessness felt so real, and it seems to me that there’s more at work here than just a happy-sounding song.

For one thing, the lyrics offer up a sturdy message of spacial self-determination. The narrator’s seen both of our continent’s longitudinal extremes, but prefers to “get by on Central Time” and sounds damn pleased with his decision. For someone who’s trying to shed jet lag and settle back into his own time zone — an adjustment that’s almost always imposed rather than undertaken with gusto — that type of satisfaction with one’s station is enviable, to say the least. But time zones aren’t the real reason “Central Time” seemed so antigravitational. Well, they are and they aren’t, I suppose.

Whether you’re going on an action-packed adventure with a group of friends or absconding by yourself to a mountain cabin to do nothing but read for a week, the important thing about a vacation is that you’re getting away. Going from here to there. This to that. And in some ways, Pokey’s brand of riverboat roots music feels like an escape from the present. If you wanted to be especially cynical, you could say that it’s nostalgic. A revival of something that’s been dead for decades. (I desperately wanted to link you to the scene from PCU when Jeremy Piven scolds the Sanskrit major for studying “a 5000-year-old [sic] dead language,” but the clip somehow isn’t on YouTube. You’ve failed me, Internet.)

Setting aside for a moment that Pokey’s songs would sound great no matter how they were drawn, I think it’s unfair to say his style is borrowed from another time. Different genres may have their heydays — see Age, Jazz — but carrying on a lapsed tradition doesn’t have to feel like a resurrection. Music isn’t technology. It doesn’t become obsolete. You can employ whichever style works for you, be that riverboat, classical, funk or folk — as long as it flows through you genuinely and you have something to bring to the table.

In that sense, Pokey isn’t departing from anything. He’s exactly where (and when) he wants to be. He floats through each song, oozing confidence and contentment that I’d kill to have implanted in my brain. When you think of the way Pokey’s taken the past and made it his present, “Central Time” becomes a brilliant metaphor that marries space and time and trumpets one man’s mastery of both. To me, it’s an incredibly inspiring message. If he can do it, so can you. We all have a “Central Time,” it’s just that some of us haven’t found it yet. It reminds me of the adage that “If you do what you love, you never work a day in your life.” I’m looking forward to finding my own “Central Time,” where (and when) the vacation never ends.

Preview the song below and click here to snag the album from iTunes.

Pokey LaFarge — “Central Time” [Soundcloud/iTunes]

On July 14 of last year, when I was speeding down Monument Avenue on the way to Gallery 5, the air in my Honda Fit was thick with suspense. I was eager to see The Snowy Owls, a band I’d been listening to but hadn’t seen live, and I was just as eager to get my first taste of “WRIR and The Commonwealth of Notions Presents.” Last year was the second for the Shannon Cleary-curated WRIR fundraiser, and it proved to be a dynamite day and night of music, with 10 local bands, multiple stages and perfectly staggered set times. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the Richmond music scene better at last year’s event, and it’s become clear that this year’s is going to be even more rewarding.

If Volume 2′s format provided a steady stream of sets, this year’s is more like an angry river that’s going to crest on four consecutive nights at four different venues around Richmond. And while we know the where and when for WRIR and The Commonwealth of Notions Presents: Volume 3 — things kick off on Thursday, July 18 at Strange Matter, followed by Balliceaux on July 19, Gallery 5 on July 20 and Bandito’s on July 21 — the who has been kept secret until the last few days, whereupon RVA Playlist, Sounds of RVA and One Way Richmond began revealing the bands who have signed up to participate.

Today, I’m honored to announce three more puzzle pieces — Wolf//Goat, Way, Shape, or Form, and Heavy Midgets. The dates and venues are listed below, along with some sample tunes to get the anticipation flowing.

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July 18 at Strange Matter
Wolf//Goat

Wolf//Goat — “Lobocabra” [Bandcamp]

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July 20 at Gallery 5
Way, Shape, or Form

Way, Shape, or Form — “Tenants” [Bandcamp]

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July 21 at Bandito’s
Heavy Midgets

Heavy Midgets — “Golden Cow” [Bandcamp]

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Keep an eye out for more announcements, including information about a very special mystery artist who will be returning to Richmond to perform at Balliceaux on Friday, July 19.

Hope to see you there in July!

Yanni — “Santorini” [Spotify/iTunes]

Between the high of No BS! Brass Band’s record release show on Friday and the low of the Toots & The Maytals incident on Saturday, I spent a fair amount of time this week talking about the Richmond music community. I still consider myself somewhat new to that community, and I definitely don’t make it out to as many shows as I’d like, but the musicians who call Richmond home have come to mean a great deal to me, as have the bloggers who work hard to shine a light on the city’s amazing pool of musical talent. This coming Wednesday, May 29, at The Camel, we’ll have an opportunity pause and say thank you and happy third blog birthday (Blirthday? Yeah? No?) to a blogger who truly understands the meaning of the word “community” — Andrew Cothern of RVA Playlist.

Through his dedication, generosity and genuine love for Richmond, Andrew has contributed more to the well-being and success of our city’s music scene than one night can possibly repay… but we can certainly have a kickass time trying. He’s put together a dynamite lineup, with sets by Anousheh, Long Arms and Horsehead on tap, and the fun doesn’t stop there. There’s so much to get excited about, I’m clearly going to have to switch to bulleted list mode:

• Before the show even starts, a special, acoustic set will be performed by James Menefee of Long Arms and Ward Harrison of The Hackensaw Boys. Fun fact about Harrison — he once did a substantive interview about music on a podcast called “It Burns When I Pee.” It’s a great interview, well worth a listen if you have a few minutes.
• Prizes are involved, meaning that you could walk away from someone else’s birthday party with gifts. Not a bad deal, right? Contributors to the prize pool include Blanchard’s Coffee, The Camel, Friday Cheers, Triple Stamp Press, Steady Sounds, and more. (The “more” part is crucial, because who knows what it includes. Maybe the estate of Elvis Presley contributed a golden toilet or something. I haven’t heard that they did, but I also haven’t heard that they didn’t. It’s best you show up, just in case.)
• Wednesday’s show will double as a record release show, as Horsehead will be releasing their 2012 album Sympathetic Vibrations on vinyl. Attention record nerds — this is no ordinary album. The cover is glow-in-the-dark. I repeat. The cover is glow-in-the-dark. As a sucker for creative packaging, this makes my heart do a little dance, wholly independent of the fact that the record itself is a fantastic collection of rock and roll songs. In short, I want.
• Cake. No explanation needed.

I’m sad to say I’ll be out of town on Wednesday, so I want to take this opportunity to say thank you to Andrew for all that he does. From keeping us informed about album releases and concert dates to helping bands get their names out there and always being that friendly face in the front row at shows, he’s been a true friend to the Richmond music community — and to me — and I hope you head to The Camel on Wednesday and thank him in person for me.

Here’s the event’s Facebook page, in case you need a reminder of the start time (9 p.m.) or the cover charge, which doesn’t exist, because this is a free event.

Happy third birthday, RVA Playlist!

Anousheh – “Halos For Hellfire” [Spotify/iTunes]

Long Arms — “Leave The Best Behind” [Spotify/iTunes]

Horsehead — “God Damned The Rain To Fall” [Spotify/iTunes]

I snapped the picture above a little after 10:00 p.m. on Saturday night. A light rain was falling on Brown’s Island and Toots & The Maytals were a few minutes from performing their rendition of John Denver’s “Country Roads,” having already made their way through “Pressure Drop,” “Reggae Got Soul” and a handful of other classics. About 15 minutes later, when “Country Roads” was winding down, someone in the audience threw an empty liquor bottle at the stage, striking frontman Frederick “Toots” Hibbert in the forehead. He was immediately taken to the hospital, and guitarist Carl Harvey announced that the show was over. A few paralyzed minutes later, Mrs. YHT and I started a long and quiet walk back to our car.

There were so many things that I wanted to say then, and there are so many things I want to say now.

Articulating them was and is difficult because a diverse and potent mix of emotions rushed in with the concern that arose from seeing that bottle fly above the crowd and hit Toots. When we were almost home, Mrs. YHT and I traded a few of those emotions. She said that seeing it made her feel vulnerable, like something like that could happen to anyone, anytime. I told her that it frustrated me, because I try extremely hard to be an optimistic person, and seeing it was like starting back at zero after making progress on something.

The strangest emotion that came after Toot’s injury was guilt. I didn’t throw that bottle, but I still felt awful. Knowing that the crowd worked with police to apprehend the thrower helped, but a sense of collective culpability still hung in the air. This happened here. In our city. It was the focus of the night’s social media conversation, and it factored prominently into Carl Harvey’s announcement. He said that he’d be doing this for 30 years and talked about the places they’d played, mentioning Eastern Bloc countries specifically. In doing so, he connected what happened to this place, and a thick sense of shame settled in for those of us who hadn’t yet tucked our tails between our legs and turned to leave.

It felt fair and unfair at the same time. It reminds me of a story my mom likes to tell me, often in the presence of other people, and its flattery is counterbalanced nicely by embarrassment. She says that I came home from elementary school crying one day, not because someone had been cruel to me but because I’d seen one classmate be cruel to another. I just couldn’t process what I’d witnessed. I felt that age again on Saturday, and I imagined Toots asking himself why this had happened, and why it had happened here.

Look at it from his perspective. He travels all over the world, a 70-year-old legend from Kingston, Jamaica who distributes a pure and soul-replenishing brand of music. He only has an hour or two to get to know audiences, yet he tells each one that, by being in attendance, they are now his friends. Seriously. I saw him at Bonnaroo in 2005 and he said the same thing. It left such a strong impression that, before Mrs. YHT and I left for the show, we talked about whether he’d offer the same hand of friendship here, and I was so happy when he did. It’s not a recycled crowd-mollification tactic. It’s a philosophy, and it’s a warm and good one. How would you feel if that warmth was thrown back into your face in the form of an empty vodka bottle? What kind of friend would do that?

When Toots & The Maytals cover “Country Roads,” they substitute “West Jamaica” for “West Virginia,” bringing into focus how universal the song’s message is. Your hometown is your sanctuary, and being away from it is hard. Bands who perform here, whether they hail from Kingston or Oregon Hill, should be able to take the stage, play their hearts out and feel safe while they’re doing it. Richmond is a friendly town. People say thank you to each other every day for the tiniest acts of kindness. This shouldn’t be the place where touring bands go to dodge projectiles. It was especially incongruous coming off Friday’s No BS! Brass Band record release show at Balliceaux. That performance was a euphoric celebration of the best a city has to offer. Their new album is called RVA All Day, and the title track communicates the energy and positivity of the Richmond music community as accurately as anything I’ve heard. That song, the band in general and so many other groups who call Richmond home make me feel proud to live here.

I love Richmond, and I’ve been part of audiences that have contributed to magical nights of live music. But when something like this happens, despite the fact that it’s just one person doing one stupid thing, it’s no less a call for collective introspection. We can’t undo what happened, but we can try to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again. We can ask questions, reassess how alcohol is sold and take corrective actions. We can resolve to keep an eye on friends who are drinking too much. Bad people will always do bad things, but we have to do what we can. That’s what being part of a community means. Working together to be better.

I was happy to read that Toots had been treated and released from the hospital, and like many other Richmonders, I hope his wounds, seen and unseen, heal as quickly and completely as possible. I haven’t yet been able to bring myself to listen to Toots & The Maytals’ studio version of “Country Roads,” but I’m posting it below anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever hear that song the same way again. I’ll try, though, because no one person gets to ruin something so beautiful, and its message doesn’t deserve to die on Brown’s Island, for Toots or for anyone else.

Toots & The Maytals — “Country Roads” [Spotify/iTunes]

Early Friday evening, Mrs. YHT and I met up with Bandmate 4eva Doug, his wife and guest poster Gormie outside the Squirrely Gates of The Diamond and headed inside to watch the Richmond Flying Squirrels do battle with the Altoona Curve.

For three of us, it was our first game of the year. But for Doug and his wife, who recently moved back to Richmond after a few years away, this was their first time seeing the Squirrels (and their spectacular marketing team) in action. I was practically giddy. OK, whatever, I was giddy. I get a huge kick out of showing newcomers the clever branding, squirrel puns and general silliness. Some of that has to do with being fond of bad jokes, some with the fact that my day job is in marketing, but mostly it’s because I derive a sense of pride from what baseball in Richmond has become. I like being able to say to people, essentially, “Look at what we have here! Isn’t this great?!?” It’s a flattering (I think) reflection of what our city looks like at its most creative and enthused, and I can’t help feeling lucky and proud.

I feel the exact same way about No BS! Brass Band.

After the game — a speedy 2-1 loss — the five of us reconvened at Balliceaux, which was quickly filling up for the first of this weekend’s back-to-back RVA All Day record release shows. I have to confess, I have a love-hate relationship with release shows. I find them to be… overwhelming. Have you ever seen a dog with a tennis ball in its mouth chase down another tennis ball, only to get massively confused when it’s time to pick the second one up? That’s me at a record release show. On one hand, I’m watching an exciting and momentous performance. On the other, I’m being given a brand-new record that I’d like to take home and start spinning immediately. Live music. New record. Live music. New record. Tennis ball #1. Tennis ball #2. Too. Much. Excitement.

Of course, this is a great problem to have, and I enjoyed every minute of the crowded, rowdy and celebratory set that preceded RVA All Day going on sale for the first time. Starting with the album’s title track, No BS! took the back room of Balliceaux for a joyous, hour-long tour of their new wares, putting on display both an increased focus on vocals and a familiar flare for instrumental fireworks.

I’d read that hip hop would play a greater role in the new album, and that the vocals wouldn’t be constrained to group utterances as they had in the past, but I was taken aback by how confident and natural Bryan Hooten’s work on songs like “Run Around” sounded. Singing, rapping, pumping up the crowd — it all felt right, like the final pieces of a puzzle being placed right where they’d always belonged. No BS! shows have always been genre-busting affairs, with wonderfully varied originals and covers, but the additional vocals bring a whole host of styles within striking distance, rendering the group’s firepower even more formidable. In that light, RVA All Day looks less like an endpoint than a new beginning — the start of something that will be fun to follow as the group continues to evolve.

That being said, the group’s jazzy numbers still managed to steal the show, with Reggie Pace, David Hood and other soloists taking turns in the spotlight, trading improvisational bursts and ratcheting up the set’s intensity. In my mind, this remains No BS!’s greatest musical achievement. They may not call themselves a jazz band, and I certainly wouldn’t limit them as such, given all the other genres they pull from, but they have a way of drawing people in and bringing elements of jazz to ears that may not spend many other Friday nights under the spell of trumpets, saxophones and trombones. It’s no small feat, and their passion and proficiency are two big reasons why this gravitational pull exists. But it’s not just about notes and solos. Not by a long shot.

While they’re helping people connect with jazz, they’re also helping people connect with each other. There’s an unmistakable feeling of togetherness you get when scanning the room at a No BS! show, with smiles, dancing, attentiveness, and ranges in age and race that make you want to take a 3-D snapshot of the entire scene and cart it around as a model for how things should be. Call me sentimental, but I think their love for the city of Richmond — as explicit as ever thanks to the new album’s title — is the secret ingredient. By shouting “RVA ALL DAY!” in unison, they’re both exalting and creating a sense of community, generating a feedback loop of support that goes way beyond music or entertainment. Essentially, they’re saying to each and every person in attendance ”Look at what we have here! Isn’t this great?!?” — with extra emphasis on the we.

I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I failed the tennis ball test, buying the album at the midnight set break and heading home to put it on the turntable right away. When I did, there were two songs I had to play right away — “Run Around,” because I’d enjoyed it so much in the live setting, and “Thriller,” which features a drumline assist from the Varina High School marching band. Listen to both below and start getting excited for the album’s official June 14 release date.

No BS! Brass Band — “Run Around” [Soundcloud/iTunes]

No BS! Brass Band — “Thriller” [Soundcloud/iTunes]