Things being quiet as they are, I spent some time turning over stones and found these clippings pertaining to Fw. 

Beginning with some Catherine quotes:

http://www.canoe.ca/JamMusicArtistsN/nashville_pussy.html.

But on the other end of that madness lies a talented, relatively quiet group of people known as Freakwater, their very name a last-minute decision before some forgotten deadline. The idea of a pit full of punks in front of them is as ridiculous as the band covering Sweet Home Alabama, Big Valley Jamboree-style, at the end of a gig.

Catherine Irwin answers the phone in a sleepy, playful manner. It's five in the afternoon in Louisville, Kentucky. "Something's on fire, I think; hold on," she says, calmly. This gives me a minute to talk about the band with you. Anachronistic is one way to put them, prehistoric Carter Family kind of tunes, little morality plays with dark endings, the way country used to be before pop ate it. Lately, they've picked up the pace, adding drums, which is to say adding to their already progressive style. They're rooted in the past, but the tree grows high. "Well, I can't figure it out. It smells like burning plastic." She's back. "Yeah, we have drums on the new album. The songs are about the same - the percussion used to be invisible - it was implied."

Freakwater, whose members live everywhere from Kentucky to North Carolina to Illinois, has added strings to a couple songs, a decision Irwin laughs at.

"Well, why not? It's our record, right?"

Irwin lives in Louisville, where Hunter S. Thompson roamed in his youth.

"It's basically a freak show down here," she says, explaining the warped journalist and her band.

I ask her who she'd rather play with, Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson.

"Oh, don't make me choose. I'd have to say Johnny, but I'd rather be on Willie's bus. There: I'd play with Johnny Cash on Willie Nelson's bus."

Then she admits the strangest thing. "But I would tour with Hanson in a second. I love Hanson."

Um, what?

"Really! Really!"

And if Freakwater wasn't around at all?

"We'd be sitting around in the kitchen."

Here's some tech notes for guitar techies:

http://www.acousticguitar.com/issues/ag66/gear66.html

Freakwater's Catherine Irwin loves the "really great twangy sound" she coaxes from her 1939 National archtop guitar. "It's got a sloppy and string-buzzing sound, not clean-sounding at all," she says. Irwin is thinking about using an on-stage amp to wrest control away from the various sound engineers she deals with, but she currently uses a Fishman pickup run directly into the PA. Janet Bean plays a Martin D-1, equipped with a Martin Thinline pickup. She describes the sound as "rich, bright, and chimey."

Max Johnston travels with a slew of acoustic instruments. He inherited his "loud and black" Reed resophonic from his father and runs the signal from its Barcus-Berry pickup through a Fishman preamp. His no-name fiddle, which he bought from a contest winner who'd earned a new one for himself, dates back to 1903, and his wide-neck 1919 Gibson A-style mandolin is another present from his father. Johnston also plays a 1980 Imperial banjo, which he says is the third one ever made. His fiddle, mandolin, and banjo are all equipped with Fishman pickups. David Gay also uses a Fishman pickup to amplify his Englehart upright bass and runs the signal into a red, sparkly Kustom amp. --Marc Greilsamer

This next section reminds me why Janet chooses to split her energies between Freakwater and Eleventh Dream Day, in case you live far from Chicago like I do and and can't feel the reverence many in the Chicago area have for EDD.  The bullets below are a very good summation of why EDD, Freakwater & Tortoise are important.

http://www.cedu.niu.edu/scied/staff/Ken_web/music/edd.html

ELEVENTH DREAM DAY
Friday and Saturday 8/31-9/1, Abbey Pub; Rizzo and Bean also perform Thursday 8/6, Empty Bottle.

You bet Eleventh Dream Day get recommended every time they play--after all, it isn't very often that they do, and what's more, they're seemingly incapable of putting on an uninspired show. Their 19-year story is the story of the Chicago underground rock scene in microcosm: they've survived major-label abandonment, fluctuations in fashion, marital trauma, and a couple of "side projects" (Freakwater and Tortoise) that outstripped the parent band commercially, all the while continuing to produce excellent records (most recently last year's Stalled Parade). Guitarist and vocalist Rick Rizzo, drummer and vocalist Janet Bean, and bassist Doug McCombs remain intimately involved in the Chicago music world, lending themselves to dozens of diverse projects--and the sight of Rizzo and Bean's young son bouncing up and down at their shows only confirms that rock 'n' roll is not some youthful passion to be outgrown but rather a way of life. If you missed the first part of the saga, now you can catch up: recently the Collector's Choice reissue label produced new editions of the band's turn-of-the-decade albums Beet and Lived to Tell. Those who were there say the records don't capture the ragged glory of the shows from that era, but they hold up well nonetheless. As he has for the past year, former Coctail Mark Greenberg rounds out the live lineup, switching between guitar, bass, and drums as needed. Friday, August 31, and Saturday, September 1, 9 PM, Abbey Pub, 3420 West Grace; 773-478-4408. Rizzo and Bean also perform, along with Bobby Conn, Manishevitz, the Nicole Mitchell Trio, and Terminal 4, to benefit the Inspiration Cafe (a restaurant and networking hub for the homeless) on Thursday, September 6, at 9 PM at the Empty Bottle, 1035 North Western; 773-276-3600. --MONICA KENDRICK

Chicago Reader, August 31, 2001

---

Rock review, Eleventh Dream Day at Empty Bottle
By Kevin McKeough

Rick Rizzo's guitar was wriggling in his hands as if he were handling a cobra, and the crying, squalling flurry of notes he was producing suggested a life-or-death struggle. Behind Rizzo, Janet Beveridge Bean was matching him with the violence she was doing to her drum kit, while off to the side, Douglas McCombs' loping bass groove provided the calm in the eye of the hurricane that was "Tarantula." It was a moment both familiar and increasingly rare, as Eleventh Dream Day performed for a capacity crowd at the Empty Bottle on Saturday night.

In the first 10 years or so after their 1983 founding, Eleventh Dream Day's incendiary shows were a staple on Chicago's indie rock scene, but the band has since weathered changes that have limited its appearances to a few hometown shows a year. Eleventh Dream Day lost its major label record deal, its members have become increasingly devoted to other professional interests, and last year Rizzo and Bean separated after 10 yeas of marriage.

These setbacks would be enough to put most bands out of commission, but Eleventh Dream Day continues on in its low-key way as resolutely as one of McCombs' bass lines.

After exploring abstract instrumentals and moody textures on its last few CDs, Eleventh Dream Day's new release, "The Stalled Parade," integrates its arty leanings with the churning guitar rock that's been the band's signature from the beginning. If the delicate instrumental "On Ramp" recalled past experimentation, it immediately lead into the exuberant rush of "Interstate," with Rizzo drawling an urgent melody over Bean's insistent drum roll.

Similarly, "Ice Storm" balanced the barking, staccato riff of the song's verses with its chorus' pummeling barrage. The new material broadened Eleventh Dream Day's musical palette as well. With Bean's dreamy singing floating over her shuffling backbeat and Rizzo's jangling riffs, "Bite the Hand" verged on pop, while "Valrico74" was Appalachian folk as a fever dream, with Bean's mournful warble wrapped in Rizzo's dissonant guitar sonics. The only down side to this daring was that the music seemed a bit diffuse, particularly as Bean and McCombs took turns on guitar, with keyboard player Mark Greenburg ably substituting for them.

If the newer music lacked the headlong rush older fare of such as "Tarantula" or "Watching the Candles Burn," there's no denying that Eleventh Dream Day is a deeper, more emotionally and musically complex band than in its youth.

The years may have tested its member's bond, but the strength of the band's musical relationship was evident as McCombs and Rizzo jabbed at each other like ninjas while producing white noise flurries on their guitars, as Rizzo and Bean shouted down a song together, or as McCombs anchored Bean's momentous drumming and Rizzo's squalling, furious solos.

The look of glee that crossed Rizzo's face at times made clear why Eleventh Dream Day has carried on despite obstacles, and their performance made one thankful yet again for their perseverance.

---

Eleventh's power: Perseverance has been the watchword for Eleventh Dream Day
By Greg Kot

The toughest task for a rock band is deciding when to pack it in. The second toughest is determining when to go on. For Eleventh Dream Day, playing a Dec. 2 show at the Empty Bottle (click here for more info.), perseverance and resilience are their own reward. Since 1983, guitarist-singer Rick Rizzo, drummer Janet Beveridge Bean and bassist Douglas McCombs have been making adventurous music of staggering vitality in a variety of guises.

Consider their accomplishments, separately and collectively. Then consider the possibility that this is one of the greatest bands Chicago has ever produced:
 

• Eleventh Dream Day's 1988 full-length debut, "Prairie School Freakout," prefigured grunge and the alternative rock explosion of the '90s.
• Bean has released a half-dozen albums as Freakwater with Louisville-based singer-songwriter Catherine Irwin. The duo's dramatic, minor-key ballads helped lay the groundwork for today's resurgence of hard-core country music in the rock underground.
• McCombs' work in Tortoise, the group he co-founded with John Herndon in the early '90s, has become a touchstone for the "post-rock" movement, incorporating jazz and avant-garde influences.

That these three friends and collaborators have sustained such a fruitful working relationship for so long has little or nothing to do with commercial reward. To makes ends meet, Rizzo, 43, is a Chicago public schoolteacher, and Bean, 36, works at a Loop law firm. Only McCombs, 38, doesn't have to work a day job, thanks to the success of Tortoise, which has sold more than 100,000 copies of its last album, "TNT." At its commercial peak, Eleventh Dream Day sold about 30,000 copies of its releases for Atlantic Records in the early '90s. Now it sells about one-third of that total for Chicago-based indie Thrill Jockey Records.

Yet the group not only perseveres, it continues to grow artistically. Most rock bands never make it to their 18th anniversary like Eleventh Dream Day has. Those that do often keep going for economic reasons; few continue making great records. Eleventh Dream Day is a notable exception. The group's latest album, "Stalled Parade" (Thrill Jockey), is among the finest guitar-based rock records of the year.

"All the bands I work with don't seem to be concerned with the overall musical environment or industry requirements, but Eleventh Dream Day take that attitude to the extreme," says Bettina Richards, whose Thrill Jockey label is one of the most respected indie labels in the world with artists such as Tortoise, the Sea and Cake, Freakwater and Bobby Conn, besides Eleventh Dream Day. "They take the approach that they don't have anything to lose. To them, there is nothing at stake except the music. It has to satisfy them, completely. I work with other people who are keen to do a bunch of advertising for a record, or express concerns about press coverage, or have discussions about whether they should hire outside publicists to help them promote themselves. Eleventh Dream Day just doesn't care about those things. They care about only one thing: making great music."

That attitude says as much about Richards as it does about Eleventh Dream Day. Few label executives would be content with a band that makes an album every couple of years and then does a handful of tour dates to promote it because the band members' work schedules and outside projects won't permit more.

"Sure, it takes a lot longer for people to find out about their records that way," Richards says. "But their records have a long shelf life. People are still finding out about and buying their previous record, 'Eighth,'(released in 1997)."

To non-believers, Dream Day may sound like an esoteric, willfully obscure art project. But one listen to the first few seconds of the "Stalled Parade" should quash those notions. This is monumental, surging, three-chord rock washing over a dream-like melody. "Save yourself," Rizzo pleads, while Bean's voice drifts behind him. "If you save yourself, you might save me."

It would be a song of heartbreaking beauty even if the listener didn't know its subtext. "Stalled Parade" could be read as a message from Rizzo to Bean, his wife of 11 years, from whom he is now separated.

"This record is really hard for me to listen to in that sense, because to me it's profoundly personal," says Bean. "His life is changing, our lives are changing. In a way all our songs are like that, they revolve around us, our lives, and they're releases for us."

Rizzo says "Stalled Parade" isn't specifically about his relationship with Bean, but acknowledges that "my songs always have to do with my life, and that song is about a guy looking at life clipping along when suddenly it just ... stops. That's how life felt to me at that point. This record is not about defeat, but it is an affirmation of getting older."

That emotional honesty peaks in the poetry of ambivalence and beauty that is "Ice Storm," another song on the new album. It was inspired when Rizzo was leaving his apartment one winter night to see the movie "The Ice Storm" by himself.

"Our son Matthew, who was about 3 or 4 at the time, couldn't understand why I would want to do that," Rizzo says. "He was crying, 'Don't go, dad. Don't go.' The movie has all these images of isolation in it before the family potrayed in it comes back together. I remember coming home, and all the Christmas lights were up in the city, and they looked like beads of ice on the trees. It was a beautiful thing. I like those little moments where the world outside and my inner emotions converge. Those connections are why I have to write songs."

That sense of excitement and discovery is why the members of Eleventh Dream Day rejoin forces every two years to make an album and play a few shows, despite their other far-flung projects and responsibilities. Even McCombs, who is touring or recording most of the year with other groups, finds that Eleventh Dream Day still brings out a side of his musical personality that can't be tapped elsewhere.

"First of all, no one writes songs like Rick," he says. "And I've never worked with a drummer quite like Janet. I learn things by playing with Tortoise that I bring back to Eleventh Dream Day, but we all bring in things from outside the band. Rick has grown as a songwriter; he's begun writing these melodies that float over more atmospheric, modal ideas rather than standard rock chord changes. We went from trying to make records that captured our live sound to making records with John McEntire (of Tortoise) that use the studio more as an instrument."

The low point for Dream Day came in 1993, after it was dropped by Atlantic Records. At that juncture, most bands probably would have called it a career. Dream Day used it as an impetus to make even better records.

"We refused to accept that it had to end because we didn't sell enough records to become commercially successful on a major label," McCombs says. "To the three of us, it didn't detract one bit from our thinking that this was a good band and it was worthwhile to still do it. For us it was much more important to keep playing together. And I think we've made better and more interesting records because there no longer was the pressure to churn out a record on some label's timetable."

Though Eleventh Dream Day's sound has evolved over its nine releases to incorporate more layers and nuances, lyrically and sonically it remains a go-for-the-throat garage band, riding on adrenaline.

"Eleventh Dream is a burst of emotion," McCombs says. "It's about conveying the idea of a song without being meticulous about presentation."

In that sense the band hews to its mid-'80s roots in punk rock, as influenced by Neil Young and Crazy Horse, Television and the Velvet Underground -- the holy trinity of Rizzo's youth as an aspiring guitar player.

"In a way, I never want to learn too much about my instrument, because I want it coming from the gut," Rizzo says. "Punk rock was my life, and it's not that way anymore. But then Janet will kick us in the butt in rehearsal and say, 'Turn that damn thing up to 10. Don't be afraid to blow up the amplifier.' After she does that, and I'm doing it, I'm in heaven."

Where do they go from here?

Bean shrugs off the idea that because she and Rizzo are no longer living together that their instinctive communication as musicians would suffer. On the contrary, she says, the band members appreciate one another even more now because Eleventh Dream Day is no longer the center of each of their lives.

"I've learned your world can change in a day," she says. "But every time I sit behind the drums and listen to Rick's guitar and Doug's bass, I think how heartbreaking it would be not to have this in my life. Just to watch Rick's face when he's in the middle of one of those solos -- that's more fun than anything. That beatific expression he gets, it looks like he owns the world at that moment. And I live for that."

Kot is the Chicago Tribune's rock critic.

. . .and this article reinforces to me understand why Freakwater belong with  Thrill Jockey rather than someone like Rounder or Sugar Hill

http://www.dailynorthwestern.com/vnews/display.v/ART/2003/01/23/3e3000ad3c117?in_archive=1

Close your eyes and imagine a music industry that actually cares about music. Yes, I know it's difficult. Think of an environment where creative artistry is paramount and profits are an afterthought. Where strict genres like rock and jazz all but vanish, replaced by a diverse sonic stew that consistently smudges the thick, inky-black lines often used to separate such categories. A world where the futuristic whirls of a synthesizer live in the same neighborhood as smooth, slinky jazz guitar lines and pummeling hip-hop drums. A place where groundbreaking musicians from Japan to Chicago can coexist peacefully and without question.

Although this innovative utopia may seem light-years away, it"s actually located in a neighborhood nestled between the southwest bend of the Chicago River and the West Side rail yards. Along with the best Mexican cuisine in town, Pilsen is the home of Thrill Jockey records, a bastion of quality independent music that celebrated its 10th anniversary in September.

Thrill Jockey is a modest establishment with its name placed on its door in letter stickers -- like those on a mailbox -- and a staff of seven. But in its 10 years it has amassed a loyal following and has more than 100 releases to its credit.

'I"m definitely prone to give a band more of a chance if they"re on Thrill Jockey,' said Ben Scully, the rock show director at Northwestern"s WNUR-FM (98.3) -- an award-winning station known for its diverse, religiously independent play lists.

'It"s their broad, non-genre characteristic that makes them so great,' said Scully, the dim amber lights of the station"s control room console accenting the moody, ambient noises leaking from the speakers. 'Their artists are scattered over disparate fields but all of them are the cream of the crop within their field. It"s inventive music, but instead of turning people off, they get more people into it.'

There are even added bonuses, Scully said.

'They"re much nicer than some of the other independent labels I deal with, and they"re not pretentious at all.'

SINGLE VISION

Thrill Jockey"s range of sounds comes from Bettina Richards, the very tall and very slim founder and president of the label. The word 'toothpick' definitely came to mind as I met Richards on a soggy October afternoon in the modest converted bar that is now the label"s world headquarters. The tidy warehouse/office space houses Richard"s six friendly workers, two large dogs and stacks upon stacks of CD"s.

Like the reassuring diplomas that hang in a doctor"s office, colorful promotional posters cover the drab grey walls of the open room. The youthful Richards reminded me of my best friend"s cool older sister who I always wanted to hang out with in high school. Hospitable but not boisterous, the label president tucked her hands in her sleeves as she talked about her unlikely beginnings in the music business.

'The driving force behind most independent labels is the person who runs it,' said Chicago Tribune rock critic Greg Kot. With that in mind, it"s not surprising that Thrill Jockey has enjoyed so much success for so long.

Richards, 37, did not have any type of master plan when she graduated from New Orleans" Tulane University in the late 1980s. 'I never set out to go into the music industry,' she said. 'It was one of those things where it was my senior year of college and everyone was interviewing for a job. I was a history major, and the music industry wasn"t something I was particularly interested in, but I couldn"t see myself going into an office everyday.

'After college I just ended up packing up all my stuff, selling my car and moving to Australia, where I got an internship at a record company,' Richards said. 'There, I was able to think about doing something for a living that I really loved.' Richards landed a job with Atlantic Records when she returned to the United States. The fit was close but not close enough.

'I was pretty na*ve about how the major industry worked and, fairly quickly, learned what I didn"t like about it and what could be done differently.'

REVISING AN INDUSTRY

During her brief stint at Atlantic, Richards was put off by the lack of communication between the artists and management, as well as the money-grubbing nature of the major label, which is currently responsible for new albums by artists such as Matchbox 20 and Phil Collins .

"Inherently, the structure of a major label is not something I'm comfortable with," she said unapologetically. "The label to artist relations are much more directive as opposed to cooperative. Financially, it's very unequal. I really believe the system we have is a much better way to go."

Richards' Thrill Jockey system involves a 50 percent profit share between the label and artist, which guarantees that the more albums artists sells, the more money they make. It also means that these artists don't have to sell millions of records just to break even. In comparison, according to Richards, most major labels offer at most 18 percent of profits to artists, with most new acts getting less.

"You work with an artist because you believe in them, and financially you're equal partners. With Thrill Jockey, it's not a directive thing as much as a mutual, conversational model," Richards said. "You make suggestions based on what they're comfortable with and in the end you agree on a plan for their record that works with who they are as people and musicians. A large corporation, by its nature, can't be that flexible. "

Kot from the Tribune, who has known Richards since the late '80s, said her choice to quit Atlantic and start her own label was brave.

"Let's face it -- she could have had a lot cushier life as an A&R (artist relations) scout at a major label," Kot said. "She could have made a lot more money and not waited tables for years while she was putting out records out of her tiny bedroom apartment.

She could have been traveling the world on somebody else's dime. Her decision was clearly for the love of the music and not her own financial well-being."

THE DECADE BEGINS

Back in 1992, Richards knew exactly what she didn't want to do when she started Thrill Jockey -- named after the delinquent posse in the 1959 film "Speed Crazy." But she was clueless about the amount of work she would have to exert to make her ideas of fiscal fairness and artist communication take off. Working out of her small apartment on 7th street and Avenue C in New York City, Richards was soon swamped by what she initially thought would be just a fun hobby.

"I had saved a little money and, honestly, I decided to do it because I didn't fully know what I was getting into," she said with a chuckle. "I though it was something I could do amongst a list of other things, but as soon as I got into it, I barely had enough time to do anything else."

In the last 10 years, the label has become arguably the country's most potent force in promoting challenging, exciting, off-kilter music. You'll probably never hear any of the artists on the radio while you're bopping away to your favorite Top-40 station, but that's not really the point, Richards said.

"If you're an active music listener, you'll find what you want at Thrill Jockey," she said. "But if music is something that you do in your car or something that you're marginally interested in--I don't think that's our audience."

For Richards, however, recreational listeners just aren't enough. "I'm not really interested in working with that disposable pop culture. I'm interested in working with music as art, and there's a strong audience for that as well."

Beyond the courteousness or the intelligence of a label's personnel, however, the ultimate fate of an organization like Thrill Jockey lies within the music and the artists.

On the surface, the music of Catherine Irwin, Fred Anderson and Eric Claridge doesn't seem to be connected in many ways. But, with their like-minded ideals and courageous attitudes toward the music they love, they have more in common than one may think.

SOUTHERN DRAWL

Sitting in the loft above Chicago's Hideout, a tiny bar/club curiously located in the middle of a warehouse-filled industrial area, Irwin's soft-spoken Kentucky drawl was as casual as it was sincere. Unassuming with her brown hair loosely pulled up in a bun and her dark doe-eyes underlined by world-weary creases, Irwin seemed like an affably shy country girl.

But then I noticed her pants. The shocking, bright red velour indicated that the singer, whose traditional country tunes are the soundtrack to a thousand broken hearts, might not be quite so timid. These suspicions were delightfully confirmed when, a few hours later, she teased her audience by telling them all about her underwear, or, more accurately, lack thereof.

"I usually don't wear any underwear," she told crowd members, who smirked and cheered. "But I tried to start because I thought it would make me more mentally together. Well, I just took them back off about a half hour ago. I don't think it makes any difference."

Irwin, 40, has been one-half of the country duo Freakwater for years, and Thrill Jockey recently released her first solo album, Cut Yourself A Switch. It features sparse, acoustic country music that recalls days gone by. Backed only by an acoustic guitar, a bass and the occasional fiddle, Irwin's creaking, twangy vocals are prominently highlighted to great effect on the album's old-time tracks. Each tune sounds like a relic of the past, only recently unearthed under the lonesome shade of a Kentucky afternoon.

But, even with bleak song titles like "Cry Your Little Eyes Out," "My Old Unlucky Home Far Away" and "Dirty Little Snowman," and dreary lines like, "The clear blue sky comes like a slap across my face / I want to close my eyes until the dark clouds roll in," Irwin's music has an intangible rawness and passion that makes it a joy to listen to.

"Basically, I made the album and I'm touring now so I don't have to go back to painting bathrooms," said Irwin, straight-faced. When she's not making money through music, Irwin paints houses to pay the rent. "It's contemplative," she said of her second job.

She may not show it during her live shows, but when we talked, Irwin seemed unusually modest and unaware of her obvious talents. Even after many years of performing, she still doesn't look forward to playing in front of people.

"I don't like people staring at me," she said, her slight southern accent peeking through. "We were going to call this tour the 'What Are You Looking At?' Tour and make T-shirts -- but we didn't."

"I once told my friend that I felt uncomfortable with people staring at me onstage and he said, 'These people paid $10 to get in here. They have the right to stare.'"

Irwin utters only kind words about her relationship with Richards and Thrill Jockey. "She's the best, smartest, most scrupulous label owner there is. Nobody tells Bettina what to do, and she doesn't have to answer to anyone. So the music that she releases is basically just what she likes. We've never had any problems with her at all, she's never told us we couldn't do anything," she said.

Toward the end of the interview, Richards strolled up the spiral staircase and entered the loft to wish Irwin luck before her show.

"We've just been talking about how great you are!" Irwin said.

"It's all lies!" Richards replied, a broad smile sneaking across her face.