One of the first Christmas presents that Brad and Andrew Barr received were two pairs of red boxing gloves. They set up a makeshift ring in their basement in Providence, RI and hung a bell from the water pipes. When the bell rang, it was the signifier that all rules of decent brotherly conduct were suspended for 3 minutes. It was the one time they could unleash the latent fury of being bound to each other without the threat of mom and dad coming to break it up. Anything goes. No noses were broken, no ears bitten, but by the end of each match, the impact and recoil, there was always some blood left on the floor. Within a year or so, the gloves were nothing more than nylon rags covered in ripped plastic. Brad and Andrew, in search of a new outlet, discovered rock n' roll. It was 1983.
They taught themselves how to play, at first on cardboard boxes and home-strung imitation guitars, then on actual, zebra-striped electric guitars and drums. "Wipe Out" and "Johnny B. Goode" were among the first songs absorbed into the repertoire. With the same energy they used to attack each other with boxing gloves, they attacked the popular hits of the day and old blues songs they found in their father's record collection. A healthy diet of classic and esoteric rock paved the way to the discoveries that lay ahead.
Skip ahead to 2004. The brothers had spent most of the previous decade criss-crossing North America, playing music with their spirited, improv-based rock trio, The Slip. That Spring, the band was playing a small club in Montreal, QC when a fire broke out in the venue. They grabbed a few guitars/drums and rushed out onto the rainy street with the rest of the concert goers. As the club's mezzanine was swallowed by flames, Andrew offered his coat to one of the waitresses from the bar. One year later, Brad and Andrew Barr were living in Montreal. That waitress is now one of their managers.
In his first apartment in the new city, Brad shared an adjoining wall with Sarah Pagé, a classically trained harpist from Montreal with a propensity for the experimental. As tender and visceral as she is virtuosic, her melodies would seep through the cracks of the wall and into the music Brad was writing. From this nebulous relationship, a friendship developed and the brothers, with Sarah, began recording and performing around Montreal. Soon, their friend and multi-instrumentalist Andrés Vial was brought in to lend his wide array of expertise to the outfit, playing keyboards, bass, vibes, percussion, and singing. They called themselves The Barr Brothers. With Brad's songs setting the context for the agile imaginations of the other musicians, a unique sound was born, one reliant on interwoven string arrangements, wide open spaces, and a multitude of musical traditions.
Though the boxing gloves have been long since retired, and the music, for the most part, is more refined than clobbering, there's always room for some blood on the floor.
La salle en surchauffe assiste à un grand moment de complicité entre les deux frères, sans pour autant que soient effacés les autres membres du groupe; au contraire, l'osmose entre les musiciens est parfaite. Sarah, Andrés, Andrew et Brad partagent leur plaisir de la musique avec les spectateurs, transmettent une émotion non dissimulée et leur jeu s'en ressent: guitare et harpe semblent pleurer sur Kisses from Chelsea.
Ce que confirme, par-delà l’évidente félicité scénique émanant de leur complicité - avec un xylophone et une roue de vélo qui complètent la panoplie ! - le premier album de The Barr Brothers, sorti en septembre aux Etats-Unis (où ils ont déjà gagner des points au Late Show with David Letterman) et au Canada. De simples prolégomènes, sans nul doute.
It was a powerful, moving piece about death that ended with a surprising twist: the lead singer pulled out a lighter and burned the threads that were making the noise, ending the song with two concluding notes. It was a perfect end to an absolutely incredible set: the band received a rightfully-earned standing ovation.
On the last song of the main set, the gentlemanly singer-guitarist Brad Barr faced the harpist Sarah Page. The two of them engaged in a gentle call-and-response, plucking their strings and feeling each other out harmonically. It was a dance of sorts, or perhaps a musical mating ritual. It wasn’t so sexual, but a fellow from the crowd bellowed for the pair to “get a room” anyway.
Natives of Providence, Rhode Island, the brothers Barr (Brad and Andrew) unsurprisingly form the spine of the latest musical sensation to come out of Montreal, The Barr Brothers, who appeared on an early January episode of Late Night With David Letterman after their critically acclaimed self-titled debut dropped in October 2011.The story of how these brothers ended up in Montreal, though, is an intriguing tale of fate, fire, a dash of love interest and a mysterious harpist.
Hailing from Montrea (via the U.S.), The Barr Brothers released their long-awaited debut album late last year and have been touring and gaining notoriety as of late, including an appearance on Late Show With David Letterman in January. Best known for their energetic and improvisational live shows, the band — Brad and Andrew Barr along with Sarah Page and Andres Vial — checks into Queen West's The Great Hall tonight in support of their self-titled debut album out now on Secret City Records.
If only Ray and Dave Davies or Noel and Liam Gallagher had been given boxing gloves as kids.
The list of rock ’n’ roll siblings who get along is not impressive, but Brad Barr and his brother Andrew appear to be exceptions. Where their predecessors might find separate continents too close, Brad actually followed when Andrew moved from Boston to Montreal. Not long after that, they formed the Barr Brothers, a group that recently released its self-titled debut.
The jury will forever be out on whether any of it would have happened without the gloves.
By now, The Barr Brothers’ Brad is so used to telling the story, he just assumes that everyone’s already heard it several times.
In 2004, he and his brother Andrew were in a band in Boston called The Slip.
They were booked to play the Montreal club called The Swimming, but a couple hours before curtain, the club caught fire. Huddled together in front of the burning building on rue St-Laurent, Andrew, the percussionist in the band, noticed a waitress shivering in the cold. He offered her his sweater.
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