words,  photos and video by Stephanie Augello

Exposition

This past July, a close friend of mine suggested that I go to a Sunday night show at the Sentient Bean.  Some guy named Dare Dukes was slated to perform.  “It’s going to be really good,” she said, so I took her advice.  I arrived at the show to find my friend Kat running the door.  I was pulling my camera from its bag, when she handed me another one and said, “While you’re at it, can you take some pictures for Dare?  This is his camera. “  My anxious mind is immediately confused by this: “Two cameras?  Impossible!”  I offered to take his pictures with mine.  Kat says, “Talk to him.  There’s certain stuff that he wants.  Oh wait!  He used to live in NY.  You guys would totally get along.  His music is awesome.”  My anxiety level creeps to about 75%.  I now have two job functions, and have to converse with the mythical main act-a guy whose name sounds like it was plucked straight from the pages of a Truman Capote novel.

When Dare and I were introduced, it was immediately apparent that he knew what he wanted.  “Make sure you get shots of the whole band, especially when the trombone player is onstage.  And the audience.  But the trombone player.  That’s really important.”  My anxiety climbs to 85%.  I had to deliver for someone whose music came highly recommended by more than one trusted friend.

Style is the Answer to Everything

When Dukes began to perform, he immediately struck me as a well-educated, urban poet.  Imagine if Holden Caulfield had only been slightly jaded, leaving him with the natural reflective charm of T.S. Eliot.  Something about his organic persona piqued my curiosity.  Perhaps it was his classic style of dress-wing tip shoes, and a suit accented by minimalistic color; or maybe it was his guest collection of young musicians; or really, it could have simply been the weather-beaten shoelace he used as an extension of his guitar strap.  The whole package created intrigue, but it was that shoelace that stood out the most.

Dare Dukes brings a sense of symbiosis and generosity to this city.  His stage manner is that of a mentor.  Amongst his varied group of performers, known as the Blackstock Collection, he has instilled a notion of harmony and teamwork.  He is also keen at inviting a variety of talented touring acts to share the bill with him, thus serving as a musical highway to and from the city of Savannah.  He always openly thanks them, and is never too prideful to acknowledge how lucky he feels to work with such wonderful musicians.

Live!  Tonight!  And Sold Out!

After spending the latter part of the summer touring, and then recording up in Athens, Dukes came back to the Bean on September 11th to play alongside Atlanta’s Blair Crimmins & the Hookers, as well as town favorites General Oglesthorpe & the Panhandlers.  Crimmins and his men brought the fever of Dixieland jazz to Savannah, and the evening was further elevated by the energy of General O and Dukes himself.

Prior to that night’s performance, I was fortunate enough to have been invited to attend the band’s rehearsal, where they tuned together and tightened up an already vibrant sound.

On the 19th, Dukes and his wife, Susan Falls, hosted a potluck party and performance at their home.  Friends were treated to Dare’s own melodic musings, as well as the styling of Athens-based storytelling guitar man Jim White.  Being entertained by White is an immersive, intimate experience, as he offers up both philosophies and stories from his own trials and travels.

Impetus

I had wanted to learn more about Dare Dukes since I first noticed the shoelace attached to his guitar.  Eventually, I fielded some questions at him.  Influenced by William Faulkner and Samuel Beckett, Dare holds an MFA in Creative Writing from New York’s The New School.  It is my pleasure to provide you with his answers, phrased in his own words.

Q. Describe some places you’ve lived.  What did you do?  What did you create?

A. I was born in San Jose, CA-a deeply strange, exurban landscape, where new glittery franchised sprawl collide with some of the most stirring natural beauty in the world.  It’s constantly changing and eating itself.  The nature of that disposable landscape very much influences my creative work.  I can’t seem to stop writing songs about it.  From a Plane and The Equipment is Fine from Prettiest Transmitter of All are both directly about it.

I was a quiet and morose kid.  Everything scared me-even red utility balls and sweet old teachers.  I loved closing the door and listening to music.  I discovered AM radio while playing with Legos one Sunday when I was 4 or 5.  I was mesmerized and amazed by anything that came out of that box after that.  When I was very young, I was obsessed with Genesis (especially Peter Gabriel), and progressive rock in general.  I loved Neil Young-always have, and always will.  Later, I was completely enamored of the British Invasion that was Punk and New Wave.

I moved east to go to Holy Cross, in Worcester, MA, which is about 45 minutes west of Boston.  It’s an old mill town that effectively died after World War II.  It’s a very different landscape than the one I grew up with-old buildings with tons of history; derelict 19th C. warehouses made of brick and steel, with maple trees growing through collapsed roofs.  I was swept away by punk rock while I was there; indulged in flock-o-seagulls haircuts, and never took off my Doc Martens.  I drank too much and misbehaved.  The school was a very repressive place, but the faculty was supportive of sour-pus weirdos like me.  The conservative culture and politics of the place gave me a useful foil-something to push against.  I’ve always thrived with tight boundaries.

I moved to Boston for several years.  I was a performance artist, doing site-specific, non-narrative theater pieces in odd locales, like on an island in the middle of Boston Harbor.  I played music with friends, and once or twice, we played shows.  We laughed a lot, and named our Nick Cave-influenced joke band Bundestag (After the lower house of German Parliament.  It sounded funny.)  I fell in love with the Pixies at this time.  I also discovered all that blues-based music of the 60s, 70s and early 80s that I’d ignored cuz I was a punk rocker.

I moved to Minneapolis to get an MFA in Theater, and formed a band called the Penelopes.  We were very derivative of the Pixies.  I had to work to not write songs that were bad Pixies rip-offs.  We had a passionate following of about 3 people.  Though the scene there was incredibly active, it always felt to me like an iterim aesthetic moment.

Then I moved to NYC in 1993, and lived there for 15 years.  By some fluke of thought destiny, I got the bright idea to not play music there.  I was writing my first novel, and was terrified I couldn’t finish it.  I forbade myself from doing other creative things.  I fell into the habit of getting up at 4am to write through dawn in a semi-dream state, which I still pretty much do.  Eight or so years later, I finished the novel, got an agent, and watched rejection letter after rejection letter come in.  I was crushed.  After two years, I began working on a second novel, and hit a wall.  In search of relief from the lonesome misery of writing a novel, I gathered some friends who were pro musicians, and started playing out again.  And here I am.

Q. Talk about an experience that you had in NY, which you have brought to Savannah, and subsequently apply to your music.

A. I think it’s critical to know how to make mistakes.  Good artists know that there are no such things as mistakes-just unplanned moments.  How the artist deals with the unplanned moment can invite or crush the life of a piece.  Also, specific to NYC, there’s that sense of heavy lifting required in making art.  These days, in music, when there are more possibilities than ever for DIY success and listenership, this is truer than ever.  Your stuff has to be good, but artists have the power to create their own audiences in the digital age.

Q. Please expound upon the lifestyle of “community giving” that I feel you contribute to Savannah.

I’m curious where you got this idea.  Just from watching me?  When I’m my eyes are open, I try to find ways to be of service to other people.  I think that small, incremental acts of kindness can reduce suffering.  I came to this realization through a lot of mistakes, and through the help of great friends and family.  I am the product of the generosity of my community.  To not pass on this vast goodwill would be deeply messed-up, and bad for the digestion.

I want to see the music community in Savannah thrive, and participate in regional and national cultures.  Right now, it’s pretty much invisible to touring bands.  In my opinion, what Savannah needs is a community of artists who like living here, and like how the city witnesses and feeds their art-making.  For this, we need artists to stay, and other good artists to pass through and interact with those who are here.  A couple of local bookers are working very, very hard to bring touring bands to Savannah.  Where the venues drop the ball, people are starting to throw house shows.  This is evidence of an underground, and the underground is where things grow.

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I had sensed a grassroots spirit in this man, but my observations had been largely abstract.  After reading that final sentence in his response to my questions, I felt that Dare Dukes had provided me with what I’d been seeking since first sighting that shoelace.