My maiden trek into the Appalachia was explorative. Beyond explanation, I answered a badgering whisper and left home. Melanie showed her support despite the lack of details. There weren't many other than drive and write. My band was understanding. The extended break in our touring schedule offered the chance to rejuvenate. I kept a loose plan to spend some time in Nashville but it was the unforeseen connection to the hollers and hills southeast of Lexington that had me plotting my return. Predominantly to a family-ran music festival outside of Irvine, Kentucky.
I stumbled my way into Kickin' it on the Creek by suggestion from W.B. Walker, a guerilla-radio hillbilly tastemaker - arguably responsible for the early growth of Colter Wall throughout the Appalachia. Given my Saskatchewan connection, W.B. began showcasing my material on his radio show and developing a friendship.
"I'll tell ya what, brother Blake, if I were able to make it, I wouldn't be anywhere else than spending the weekend at Byron's. It's sold out but just show up and tell them that W.B. sent ya. You'll be good."
So, that I did and the welcoming was surreal. The hyper-local line-up was its own community and I immediately felt included. Introduced to the likes of The Wooks, The Horse Traders, Angela Perley, John R. Miller and Tyler Childers. It was suggested I return with my band in tow. A few weeks later, I made it back to Saskatchewan and began planning an album release and American tour.
As our departure date neared I became increasingly excited for the shows that were to transpire. From Alabama to New York we also provided support in Lexington, KY, for Jason Eady, in Greensboro, NC, for The Dead South, and in Charlotte, NC for Colter and Tyler.
I was as excited for the audiences to hear Bryce.
In fact, the realization while having spent six weeks watching live music throughout the States was that nobody played like Bryce. An assertion that recognized him for his genuine approach. Appreciated for his genuine demeanour.
We returned to the hills of Kentucky and Bryce was adored.
Amidst an introduction he found himself in a clash of accents:
"Bruce?"
"No, Bryce."
"Rice?"
"No, Bryce."
"Ohhh...Braaaaaaass"
It stuck. Brass Lewis.
When the first visa expired, we applied for the second and continued our run throughout the United States. From festivals and conferences to honky-tonks and dive-bars. Our outfit's atypical instrumentation; two acoustics, one electric and a drum kit. The missing bass rarely acknowledged. If ever the inquiry arose, my response was coy...
Who needs a bassist with a thumb like Bryce's?