The man himself, Tommy Santee Klaws, has a brutal, quavering wail. At one moment, he's threatening, a well-reasoned exponent of dread. The next, he's the spokesperson for failed animals (think the weaker elk who did not win a mate, or a caterpillar with parasitic wasp larvae eating its guts.) The band provides a commotion of agreement, punctuating the peaks and valleys like patches of forest. When they sing together, their voices harmonize like clouds in different weather.
The New LA Folk Fest Desert Weekend
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