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BIO:
Andrew Anderson is a 23-year-old Idaho-native who is new
to the Austin music scene. On his new album, As Long As
This Thing’s Flyin’, he captures the rebellious
independent - an American in the unspoiled west who
wrestles with nature, with God, and with his own
unfortunate plight; someone perpetually foiled in love and
righteousness, and trapped in a corrupt world.
In “Necessary Casualties” Andrew tells of loss and
poverty, the effects of family away at war, and a country
torn for self-serving motives. He rebukes the country’s
leaders, “I don’t see your sons heading off to war. All
I see are the sons of the laid off, the jobless, the
poor,” and mentions his own parents and brother. He
sings with such vulnerability that no one could mistake
his cowboy attitude as an act.
Andrew would cite the melancholy of Townes Van Zandt and
Chris Thile’s artful blend of folk and rock as
inspirations. But his music also recalls David Bazan’s raw
composition and Adam Duritz’s soulful, if imperfect,
vocals. One thing is certain, he dominates on the
mandolin.
Andrew began playing mandolin at age 15, inspired by
Thile's music, and entirely self-taught. His record for
writing and playing his own music goes back much farther
thanks to a musical family and access to his mother's
piano and his father's guitar. He attended Berklee College
of Music in Boston, MA for mandolin performance. His
guitar playing is good, but his fingers are so fast on the
mandolin, it makes your eyes water.
The nomadic life of a songwriter has traced his road from
Idaho to Seattle to Boston and back again. Boston didn’t
poison his imagery with ivy halls, or city lights. His
songs paint lonesome highways that stretch into nowhere, a
neighbor with a gun, and a dame he can’t win. The world
through Andrew’s eyes is one where all lessons are learned
from mistakes, the ghosts of which still haunt him. In
“Fists up, Chin Down” he sings, “I left her. I’m not
saying I regret it, but I’ve paid dearly for it. Now what
am I to do?”
Andrew would like to be the next Hank Williams, but, he
says, “I don’t want to die in the back of a car.” Sure
enough, he sings about hiding his demons from his mother
in “The Hawk”. “Momma, I just don’t want you to worry.
Momma, I just don’t want you to cry. So, Momma, it’s just
best if you don’t see me when I die.”
Andrew’s music ranges from full band, pulsing blues-rock,
to the lightest country croon. Every song is made with
wooden instruments and sounds as though it could have been
recorded 50 years ago. That’s Andrew’s real charm, the
feeling that he might have traveled from a simpler time
when life really was just broken hearts and an old dusty
trail.
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