Wednesday, June 9, 1999 | 3:02 a.m.
This article first appeared in June, 1994.
My advice to you: go out right now - this very second - and get a copy of the Dave Matthews Band's "Under The Table And Dreaming," after which you may stop buying records forever. Rarely does anything touch you on such a personal level. Personally, I've been writing things like "What I want is what I've not got/and what I need is all around me" (from "Jimi Thing") in my journals for the past year, but Matthews and his compatriots say it better. And now I can dance to the sentiment, as well.
Matthews, a South African expatriate, relocated to Virginia some time ago and assembled what may be the most unique band you'll ever hear - a jazzy rock association that features Matthews on guitar and vocals, Stefan Lessard on bass, Leroi Moore on woodwinds, Carter Beauford on drums, and classically-trained Boyd Tinsley on violin. Despite Matthew's name on the marquee, this is a real five-man operation, with the players trading off in a manner more becoming jazz players than rock brats. These guys truly feel their craft.
And as such, they feel the world around them, and when it goes sour.
"It's real somber here," said Tinsley, calling from a tour stop in Oklahoma City, less than a week after the bombing. "I haven't really been around yet, but it's somber...when I reflect on the state of the world, I try to hold some faith, but I'm mostly sad." He paused a moment, considering the missing and victimized.
Much has been made of the group's uniquely distinctive sound. Every music journalist in the nation seems intent on pigeonholing it ("Imagine Michael Stipe fronting Blues Traveler," some gush, others seem intent on casting it into the "Adult Alternative" ghetto - neither camp is correct). How would Boyd describe it?
As it turns out, he wouldn't.
"I don't think there's one catchword that describes what we do. We're still evolving, still changing. We have a lot of different influences happening--from classical to jazz to rock to folk to country--and five different musicians going in and out of these various styles of music. I think that any attempt to label us kind of defeats the purpose of what we are."
He spoke generously of the other four "cats" in the band--all close friends, some from way back, in the days when Boyd might just as easily grabbed a guitar as a violin ("I wanted to be a 'rock guitar player.' I tried the violin just because it was there"). As for Matthews himself, Boyd offers a simple, warm assessment: "He's a great friend. And oh yeah, he's a musical genius."
The album was created with the assistance of former U2 producer Steve Lillywhite, "a constructive person and a really nice guy." The tracks run the gamut from the effervescent "What Would You Say," to the swirling "Jimi Thing," a song that is about "whatever vices get you through," Boyd quotes Dave. Boyd's favorite track is "Dancing Nancies," a sort of Flamenco march that ends with an impassioned violin solo, courtesy of Boyd.
"I love playing that one, with my classical background. It borrows a lot of classical phrases." And unlike the set rules of classical, the improvisational nature of the Matthews outfit allows for those phrases to change nightly: "Some songs change in the live performance from night to night. Yesterday's music is yesterday's music--today is a whole different ballgame."
For the band, touring has become like breathing - natural and nonstop. "We're on the road most of the year," he admitted. "I have a wife, and fortunately, she's still with me." Still, Boyd is obviously excited as we discuss the phenomena he's about to embrace: how did the band hook up with the Grateful Dead?
"They just asked us, man," he enthused. "I guess they can pick whoever they want. Seeing as they asked us," he added, chuckling, "we said yes."
Is the move from clubs and theaters to festival-size crowds going to change the groups' live sound? "Well, yeah," he laughed, "we're going to be louder."
As for the spiritual vibe common among those who follow the Dead, he will admit to being spiritual, but he's not sure of the specifics of that spirituality: "I'm still trying to discover that for myself."
Ah, but does that spirituality ever include a good, solid band argument? "I guess that's one of those questions you ask up-and-coming bands," Boyd chuckled. "Not really. The five of us are about the music, more than anything else, so that doesn't really apply.
"Not that we go pick roses together and all that shit," he chuckled. "We've got our focus."
Boyd's breakfast had arrived, and far be it from me to let the man's food go cold. I thanked him, and told him how much I had enjoyed their record; he accepted my compliments graciously, like a true gentleman. Even if he had picked up the guitar instead of the violin, it's doubtful he could have developed the smug, aloof rock star attitude.
"Hope to meet you when we come to Vegas, man," he said. This time, however, I believed it. How could a guy this friendly be this successful? Before we hung up, I asked him a favor.
"Hey, Boyd," I asked, "see if you can bring a good vibe to Oklahoma City."
"I'll do my best," he promised. "See you soon, man."
archive
