“To get to authenticity,” Meredith Monk said, “you really keep going down to the bone, to the honesty, and the inevitability of something.” A group of Monk’s most unknown protégés, Lurch and Holler, make music so imminently sincere that it’s hard to do anything but just sit down and listen.
Liz Downing and Michael Willis, the folks behind the moniker, are from Baltimore and make music together on weekends. Since 1985, their songs, or “confessionals at the family picnic” as Downing likes to call them, are unpretentious, carefully written, and full of lyrical provocations, challenges, and stories.
Downing tells me that Hank Williams was a drinking buddy of her granddaddy’s, and I believe it. Clearly, this is a family with a rich performance history. Lurch and Holler started out as a performance art group called Lambs Eat Ivy, touring around, playing short musical plays with sets and costumes.
“A couple of our more successful plays were ‘Dance the Flaming Tongues of Carpet’ and Dream Bardo,’” Downing says. “’Tongues of Carpet’ was a reenactment of a faith healing that took place at my family’s motel, the Heart of Dixie, in AL. ‘Dream Bardo’ was of a librarian who fell off her ladder, broke her neck and went through the 49 days after death as instructed by the Tibetan Book of the Dead.’”
None of these eccentric themes seem lost in Lurch and Holler’s music. Their uncanny brand of songwriting seems unfounded at first, but a closer look at the storytelling and songwriting shows their experience. Distribution seems like a nonissue for the band, as Downing’s art teacher chops show on each beautifully handmade release. “At this point,” she says, “we would like to give our music to as many people as would have it.”
It was hard to only put up three songs from this prolific all-American band, but if the music gods are real, then Lurch and Holler will hit it big. This is Edith Piaf doing American cabaret, Joanna Newsom without a harp, or Anne Sexton confessing her most twisted daydreams.
Audio: Companion If You Please
Audio: Vertical Stripes
Audio: Walt Whitman’s Letter to Lincoln