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.
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The New LA Folk Fest Desert Weekend
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