If I am dumb beside your body
while silence blossoms like tumours on our lips
it is because I hear a man climb the stairs
and clear his throat outside our door.
-Leonard Cohen
Hej,
As most of you may know, 1993 was the busiest year of our lives as members of
the fledgling musical convergence known as Over the Rhine. The ever elusive
major label recording contract was obtained, we played over 125 concerts in
five different countries and yet somehow managed to reap a reasonable harvest
in The Imaginary Apple Orchard. (We were away from home over 180 days(!).)
Most of the trees stand naked still (hence the blushing of the leaves last
Autumn) and February has Ohio all dressed in quiet shades of grey. It is
possible to go for a Sunday afternoon drive East along the Ohio River and
feel as if one is playing some role in a black and white film...
The four of us in Over the Rhine piled out of our large white rabbit of a van
last December after seven weeks and 37 concerts opening for English pop band
Squeeze. We literally ran in four different directions, suitcases and
blankets dragging along behind. We were home!
It was Christmas and New Year. It was tired smiles and "watch me disappear."
The spinning in my head began to slow and I began the process of adapting to
a less frantic pace. I would try on solitude like an old favorite shirt
which had hung for too long in a quiet closet, and feel once again the
comfortable cloth against my tired skin...the lighting of the gas heater in
the bedroom to scare away the permanent chill which finds unused winter
rooms...opening a pantry door gently so as not to disturb a family of rabbits
which may have found shelter there...The water has evaporated out of the
porcelain toilet bowl and the spickets hiccough a few times when I turn the
handles as if being startled awake from a long nap or daydream.
When we drove out of New York City after that last show it was like going out
of a crowded noisy room into the night, the activity and clamour growing more
and more faint. I personally countered the former frenzy with self-imposed
tangible quiet. I spent the New Year in solitude beneath some friendly elms
near my parent's home. My father has an old camper from the fifties
(affectionately referred to as The Beehive) which he fixed all up and I saw
the year die quietly with a few simple books, a good fountain pen, walks
through quiet snowy moonlit woods and my gentle mother's Amish cooking. I
began to lose the numbness and feel joy. It was good to walk back through a
year so brim full and remember...sounds, faces, days, dreams, fear,
silliness, perhaps you.
At the moment I'm remembering well how Ric and Brian took a liking to the
saunas and hot springs of Finland and raced naked with new acquaintances
through the predawn forests into the ocean to cool off. I had been
corresponding with a bright boy in England who whisked Karin and I off to
Laugharne, Wales for a day and a half of rebirth that felt like a magical
week. We finally got to see the writing shack where Dylan Thomas wrote and
we swam in the cold Wales ocean and became children.
But I shouldn't make it sound too glamorous. Travelling can be lovely but
the life of a touring musician involves much tedium. I didn't realize how
depressing hotel rooms can be. But there's much to be thankful for...
We played the music industry game and I guess we won because we get to record
a new record. It has been too long (almost three years since we commenced
Patience.)(!) We are thinking of renting an old house here in Cincinnati
(ahem, make that an older house in Franklin, Tennessee.) and using the month
of April to bring additional songs into the fold. In the meantime we will be
playing 8-10 concerts, mostly close to home, and you can expect more on that
later.
Thank you for the hundreds of letters and tiny gifts and many wonderful
words. It's going to take a while to catch up on the mail. Patience...
Your eyes are lovely dark and deep
But we have promises to keep
And miles to go before we sleep... Bon Courage!
Return to the beginning
I'm sitting on the Serpentine Wall looking like a fool at the dark waters of
the Ohio River as if they might hold some secret I've been trying not to
tell. I've grown fond of this river. She never has much to say but when she
speaks...
eve, we've made a record. (This is supposed to be some sort of Over the
Rhine newsletter. Sometimes I forget and just start rambling like a St.
Clairsville coal miner on Sunday.) When we performed last Spring at the
Emery Theatre on Walnut Street we promised we were going to spend some time
in Franklin, Tennessee and return with an armload of new songs.
We lied.
By a bizarre twist of fate, that scenario proved to be doomed and like
whirl-winded Dorothy, we ended up underneath blankets of stars on a 175 acre
farm in rural Massachusetts. We recorded eve in a barn with weather beaten
farm cats and blinking horses that nipped.
As if that wasn't dreamy enough, we mixed eve down in the French Quarter of
New Orleans in a delightfully dark, ghost-hosting mansion on the corner of
Esplanade and Chartres.
I still remember writing our first newsletter four years ago after finishing
a handful of songs in a borrowed Sunday School room. Granted, we may have a
long way to go, but come to think of it we've covered a lot of miles between
then and now.
But back to eve. I.R.S. Records sends eve forth into the world like a young
school girl on August 23, 1994. She has to get on the bus with all the other
children: the mean sixth graders, the Gloria twins who are always dressed
perfectly... Believe me, it can be awfully hard to find a seat on that bus.
But eve is a good child. Oh she throws a tantrum occasionally, or gets a
little bored or sentimental even. But someday she's going to be someone's
full-grown woman with her own private fires and ideas. She's part angel part
demon right out of your past.
(Why does he write all this stuff?)
RHINELANDER TANGIBLES (or stuff made in The Imaginary Apple Orchard)
'some call it obsession, I call it commitment' J.G.
Please note: stay tuned for eve baseball caps, bumper stickers, bikinis and
firecrackers. Also eve fuzzy slippers.
Write: Over The Rhine, Post Office Box 2572, Cincinnati, Ohio, 45201
Money Order's/Checks payable to Over The Rhine. Do not send live animals or
Jello casseroles. The Jello tends to melt. *Please include $2 to help
defray 1st Class Postage, $3 Foreign.
A few teasers. Please join us on the eve of eve's release (Monday, August
22) at 8pm here in Cincinnati at the Seasongood Pavilion in Eden Park. Under
tall trees we'll careen through some familiar songs and help the sun go down.
It's free. All ages are welcome.
8pm Saturday, August 27, Fox Theatre in Boulder, CO. w/Seal at the Gavin
Convention.
Tuesday, August 30, Luna Park, Los Angeles, CA (call club for details)
Sunday, September 4, Louisville, KY, sponsored by WQNF (call station for
details)
You know Donna, that nice lady that sells our T-shirts? Give her a call if
you have a question about an Over The Rhine concert. She'll try to help.
513 868 3050. You can also e-mail Shelly Ross: OTRhine@AOL.COM. She'll
chat w/you and send riff raff...
Post Script: So many of you have written to us or sent prizes. Thank you.
We are so behind on the mail it's laughable but we've kept every last
letter. Someday. Many of you ask how you can help Over The Rhine. I'll be
brutally frank. No I won't. Yes I will. No, well, OK. Here are a coupla
things. Pretty obvious really. If you're definitely going to pick eve up,
go ahead and get her the first week she's available. This helps people
notice that she's around and besides she'd rather be home with you than on
some shelf somewhere. If she's not in a record store where you normally like
to buy records, take a minute to let someone know you were hoping to find
her. And of course if there is a radio station that you like, let them know
you'd like to hear eve and pat them on the back when she comes over the
waves. Thanks to Kyle for 28 reams of recycled paper. Thanks to Todd for
rescuing our office. Shelly, have a great trip to the Reading Festival.
Peace to all of you.
Return to the beginning
Just a few words to you via a bunch of wires and a video monitor. Call me
archaic but I like the heft of a good fountain pen in my hand and the only
keyboards in my house belong to my upright piano (which I've been playing
more) and to my 1957 Smith Corona typewriter (a gift from my father.) Some
nights you can find me like a man possessed, smoking like a dimestore
detective, punching out noisy poetry on this machine, waiting for the bell to
ring at the end of a line. We've lost a lot of tactile interaction with our
world since we've gone electronic. So the next time you drop a quarter into
a parking meter, take time to enjoy the twist of the knob which causes the
coin to plunge forever out of reach. (Remember the old pop machines where
you got to actually pull the bottle from a mechanical womb of sorts? The
clatter and release of a cold Coca-Cola?)
Shelly prints out your notes for us every so often and you all sure say a
lot of kind things and ask all kinds of questions. Maybe you could send your
most nagging question to Shelly and I could gather about 25 of them and be
uncharacteristically candid all of a sudden and send you all the answers.
Is this like a secret club?
I thought I would divulge my reading list of 1995 in case any of you are
interested. The books that have been notated with exclamation points, I've
completed. Those with asterisks, I'm currently reading. Wendell Berry has
been the find of the year thus far, and has fueled my dream of purchasing a
small farm some day soon. The Carson McCullers book is one of the most
haunting, beautiful pieces of heartache and hopefulness I've read in a long,
long time. Anyway, here goes.
Linford's 1995 Reading List
It is a little unusual for me to have such a complete list at the beginning
of a year, but I'm trying to learn to begin with the end in mind. And I'm
always free to add to the list, but at least I know the ground I would like
to cover, i.e. discover. Or rediscover.
I've been delighted and horrified by the Old Testament thus far: it's all
raping and madness and the blinding light of hope. Good heavens, what tales.
Karin and I have rooted around in our attics and closets and since we have a
weekend off, we are going to gather up our quivers and arrows and what not,
and actually go be gypsies and sell a bunch of stuff (hopefully) at a flea
market this Saturday. If I could only shop for groceries and at one other
place, I would choose the Hartville Fleamarket in Hartville, Ohio, and I
could find everything I need and infinitely more there. And the people are
magnificent in their diversity.
Brian and Ric seem to be happy. I really don't see them all that much but
that will soon change I think.
You may have heard that I.R.S. intends to release 'TIL WE HAVE FACES this
year. So the independent Scampering Songs edition that we've sold so long
out of our suitcases will soon be retired. And there is already talk of our
next record.
It's been good to take time to reflect on the past five years this Spring.
I actually disappeared for the better part of a week to a Monastery in
Kentucky and when I wasn't roaming the Abbey's woodlands or fields, I was
alone in a 'monk's cell'. I found the silence to be very healing, although
of course I was exceedingly restless that first day. I made a note to
myself:
Be careful of the din of the world. The clamor is so constant
that we learn to live comfortably with the ensuing deafness.
That the four of us in Over the Rhine can weave together a few pop songs and
thereby be invited into many homes and bedrooms and car stereos and dormitory
rooms and via the music become a small part of the days and nights of people
like you is a tremendous gift. It's all a bit mind-boggling, really. Smacks
of the miraculous.
But before I wax obnoxiously philosophical let me just say that I'm glad
we've discovered each other. I know life is a little better for me because of
you, and I hope the same is true for you.
Later this April I'll be flying to France and England for a coupla weeks.
In France I'll be attending something called PRINTEMPS DES TROUBADOURS.
Imagine my surprise when I was invited to attend this affair which takes
place at a castle in Southern France on an unspoiled 270 acre estate.
Basically a handful of songwriters from around the world gather to
collaborate by day and at night partake of grand torchlit wine-glittering
dinners. I'm not sure who all is attending but past participants have
included Cher and other walking institutions. Gee, think I'll fit in?
But of course, I'm looking forward to another week in England and am
planning to see some good Anglo-friends and do a little book shopping and
maybe disappear to Wales on an overnite trip.
All that to say I'll have to tell you all about it when I get back.
In the meantime, we'll probably play a few spontaneous shows this Spring,
and hopefully we'll see you there.
Well, I need to go do laundry.
Surprise yourselves. Do something out of character occasionally. Pay your
taxes. And don't forget to pray.
Sincerely yours,
Linford Detweiler
Return to the beginning
It's been a while. This is s'posed to be a newsletter. I'm better at just
writing letters...
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: THE BEATLES
I just came back from seeing The Chieftans perform down by the river. I
don't get to be part of an audience as much anymore - to just sit back and
listen... It was heaven.
I remember fantasizing about performing. One of the few preschool memories
that even now lingers is me standing on my Mom & Dad's bed on summer
afternoons singing to countless invisible listeners. Of course I imagined I
was in church because that's the first place I saw music performed. Church
was always a great opportunity to check out the piano player. Of course I
didn't realize at the time that I was also soaking up some strange and
wonderful literature, thanks to the King James Version of the you-know-what.
Of course.
It never ceases to amaze me how many performers in indie bands or
alternative music - pop music in general - were preacher's kids or had pretty
intense childhood church backgrounds. People don't talk about it all that
much, but they're (we're) everywhere. There are two PK's in our band for
starters.
I mean it makes sense. There's always music of some kind, plenty of talk
about love, plenty of deep dark secrets, an all-important emphasis on words
(The Word) and a consuming quest for truth. Sound familiar?
It's a shame that so much of what passes for church these days is so
irrelevant to so many. Children should not be deprived of mystery...
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE
My dad had an ancient, portable reel-to-reel tape recorder and an assortment
of small microphones. After dark he would walk the ten minutes down through
a wooded area to a large swamp and record the sounds that he grew to
love...frogs, insects, waterfowl, the sound of the creek, the occasional owl.
All those sounds in the background as we ate breakfast.
I grew up foolin' around on the piano. For some reason, I could always
write and improvise stories as well. I sort of got unofficially elected into
the precarious position where I was responsible for telling my little brother
and sister (Myron and Frances) bedtime stories.
So I came up with these two characters named simply, Bill and Joe.
Bill and Joe were pretty average guys who ended up in countless shocking
situations at home and abroad. There were plenty of lovely, imperiled,
willowy maidens. Wild animals which had developed a fondness for human flesh
figured prominently. I also had a fixation with cannibals, probably because
of a book in the church library that I would look at after most services.
The book contained not only plenty of tribal nudity, but some incredible
skirmishes - natives armed to the teeth - and positively spooky rituals full
of low-hanging clouds, body-piercing and shrunken heads. Some missionaries
had photographed all this stuff.
Night after night: Bill and Joe stories. I remember one young unsuspecting
neighbor boy who came to spend the night named Little Jimmy Wilson wetting
his pants (pajamas) during a particularly tense situation where Bill and Joe
hovered near certain brutal extinction. But there were plenty of redemptive
moments too.
The Heat - oops - THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER
My friend Jeff tells me that story-telling is a noble profession. But as I
grew older (you know, adolescence, FINALLY) I began to run from music and
stories. It began to get harder and harder to access the inside room where
all this stuff lived. Part of the detour for me was the awakening dilemma,
the allurement of all things female, or put simply, girls. Not that I had
lots of girlfriends. There seemed to be a chasm between me and them. I
would release a white dove and it would bring me back a fig leaf or some
nebulous, remote token of sure-footing. But that's as close as I could get
to them for years. Little did I know that a desire for female companionship
is basically a desire to share deep music and good stories. And now
occasionally when I feel like I should DROP ALL THIS and go search for God, I
begin to remember that a desire for God is probably a desire to be made into
someone who can hear an even deeper music and even more mysterious stories.
Ever wonder why the world is so noisy?
But back to the inside room. I s'pose one of the reasons I studied piano in
college was so I could focus on THE GREAT COMPOSERS and not have to worry
about my own stuff. But then I met a young Theology student named Ric who
defected to the Music Wing and began to cause trouble with his Les Paul and
then I met Brian and then when Karin sang at her Junior Recital I saw people
crying after she sang an aria from 'Samson and Delilah' - 'Samson. Samson. Je
t'aime!' with all kinda descending chromatic motifs.
Uh, oh. I just realized that this is gonna take a whole lot more than one
more page. And everything I just said was probably pretty far off the
subject. I'm going to have to write real small. That isn't going to solve
the problem. Oh well, OCKHAM'S RAZOR, big time...
MY HOW THE NEIGHBORHOOD HAS CHANGED
To make the story shorter, I'll just say that I was 23 years old and it was
becoming clear that the door to the inside room was either going to close for
good (double-bolted) or I was going to have to find people and something to
do which would force it open.
The following Spring, something came together like a little puzzle. Karin
and Ric and Brian and I, along with a friend named Tim McAllister made a
little batch of songs that became a sort of something tangible which could be
used as a doorstop. A lot has happened since then, which if you've read this
far, obviously involves you. * * *
We've actually sort of come full-circle. Something that makes us very happy
is the fact that this first little doorstop-project, that we've ended up
calling TILL WE HAVE FACES and which we've peddled door-to-door out of our
suitcases for so long, flaws and all, is actually going to have a chance to
go out into the world on its own and fall into the hands of strangers and
friends alike. I.R.S. Records is re-releasing it Tuesday, August 15. It's
basically the same record, but there are enough changes that I daresay the
plot thickens somewhat: a haunting and oddly sensual guitar solo that Ric
recorded on Orchard Street shortly after we moved into the neighborhood, a
closing trifle for piano and voices, some 'live' things, additional notes.
The Scampering Songs edition is definitely different, definitely extinct,
and people seem to think it fits the definition of a collector's item.
Farewell. I will say without hesitation that if you've been meaning to
introduce Over the Rhine to a friend, the I.R.S. version of TILL WE HAVE
FACES is an obvious choice. They get to start at the very beginning, (a very
special time in our history), and they get a pretty good peek at what a
concert might feel like.
OH BY THE WAY
We're playing at The Cincinnati Zoo Pavilion, Wednesday, August 16, the day
after the re-release. Your ticket is good for admission to the Zoo as well.
Showtime: 7:30. Come see us. Bring some children. Plenty of wild
animals...
We're leaving the following day for Holland and England for a few weeks to
play some festivals and to celebrate in our own weird way.
I'm happy to report that the door to the inside room is presently open. We
plan to make our fourth record this October and November. I wish I could
foreshadow...
We still have plenty of stuff available in The Imaginary Apple Orchard Gift
Shoppe. We hope to put together a mini-catalogue soon. Feel free to write
us at the P.O. box or email us: OTRhine@AOL.COM.
I trust this rambling affair is somehow relevant. Let us know what you
think.
Peace,
Linford for all of us...
whew!
I.R.S. ADVERTISEMENT:
TILL WE HAVE FACES
We originally released this collection in July of 1991 on our own Scampering
Songs Label. The official re-release version contains previously unavailable
"live" material and more, plus all those familiar OTR standards...Like A
Radio, If I'm Drowning, Sea and Sky, Paul and Virginia etc.
PATIENCE
We released the Scampering Songs edition in July of 1992. I.R.S. discovered
it and re-released it a year later as our major label debut. Contains
Jacksie, How Does It Feel, Circle of Quiet, Rhapsodie etc.
EVE
Last year's adventure... She's still kicking. Contains Sleep Baby Jane,
Daddy Untwisted, Melancholy Room, My Love is a Fever, Happy With Myself etc.
Look for a new record from Over the Rhine sometime in the Spring of 1996.
Return to the beginning
It's me Oh Lord, writing tonight on behalf of Over the Rhine, at home on a
Sunday, low light now. (I keep an ancient strand of dim Christmas bulbs
strung up year 'round in the bedroom. The paint chips on each with time
leaving tiny constellations, pin pricks of white light in the universe of a
single room.)
We're supposed to get our first real snow tonight. I'm going to slip out to
a basement coffee house soon and drink cider and play chess. Bloodlust I
guess. Perhaps afterward when I step outside the town will be bandaged with
new-fallen snow. Cold and white and almost pure, but underneath there really
is no cure...
The year is burning down fast now. (If we're lucky we'll smell like
woodsmoke.) I find myself glancing over my shoulder. My back is toward the
stories now. I look back and it is mostly good. That's what we all dream
of, right? Just to be able to say, "And it was good."
I felt the sharp edge of fear earlier this year and wondered if I might take
up a new permanent residence:
L. J. Detweiler
It was time to write the songs for the new record. The paper looked up with
its blank stare and I could put nothing on it. Nothing. One has no choice
at times like these but to walk away and do something else. You live as best
you can and keep your ears open. Try not to panic. (Even astronauts have
down days.)
Then finally after weeks, maybe months, a solitary voice... "Write me. You
have to pick up the pen and move it," she whispered. "You have to leave a
crumbtrail of words or you'll never find your way back. You have to step out
into the words a hungry orphan and hold hands with someone along the way.
You have to be as good to words as you can and some night when you least
expect it you'll find them being good to you. Even later, you'll learn to
trick yourself into believing someone cares." She looks away. "Oh yeah, one
more thing. Inspiration comes afterward, not before."
Then the songs start to step out of shadowy places slowly, dim and
unfamiliar. They introduce themselves and speak mostly in riddles. Some
decide not to stay long. It's as if they showed up at the wrong address or
dialed the wrong number. Once in a great while there is the sensation of a
song dying to make itself known and then the rest of the world and the people
in it all but disappear in the squinting light. These are moments drenched
in rhythm and sadness. They leave you wrung out, broken and so alive.
It's been a luxury to spend real time with this emerging record. To really
listen. Soon we'll begin trying the songs on as a band and gathering up the
microphones. We're looking forward to using an experienced producer on this
record, something we've never done. Keep your fingers crossed. All is most
definitely not lost... Baileys and coffee now to finish this.
Our friend and long-time supporter Jimmy D. used to try and teach us how to
be a real rock-n-roll band. This was helpful and informative until I
realized I was never meant to be in a real rock-n-roll band. But some of his
hard-won wisdom has remained invaluable. For instance, Jimmy used to say in
regard to touring, "It's simple. When it gets cold, go South." Well by gum,
here we go.
This upcoming tour for the most part will be a somewhat quieter, more
relaxed, even conversational trip through our past three records. On a good
night there will be something pulling between us known as intimacy. As
December increases we'll mix in some songs which feel like December. And
without giving up too much of the game, we'll slip in a few new songs.
Don't lose heart. Don't let them numb you. It's early still, but I hope as
the year draws to a close, you glimpse from time to time what really matters.
Peace be with you,
P.S. Misty, thanks again for that bushel of Northern Spies you little angel.
The Small Print or I ran out of room again.
DATE BOOK. Where's your calendar?
Of special note, we met and spent time this Spring and Fall with a young man
from Scotland who lives with his wife Hazel on a small house boat on the
Thames in London. Among other things Gordon taught us the difference between
Lagavulin and Laphroaig. Gordon picked up a guitar in a small cottage in the
middle of some nowhere night in rural England and sang a song. If you're at
all like me, you'll have the sensation that when Gordon sings, the invisible
beings who live just beyond the rim of the sky put down whatever they're
doing immediately, walk to their open windows and listen. Gordon will be
joining us for his first performances ever in America, from Chattanooga to
Cincinnati. I sincerely hope you can join us.
Some of you with your fingers on the pulse of things known that IRS Records,
our record label, has gone through a lot of changes since we signed with
them. During this time of reorganization, there is not alot of activity
taking place which introduces our music to those who have not heard of us.
In fact, we're always relied heavily on word-of-mouth to help us grow. Many
of you have shared us with a lot of other people. Thank you. If you've been
meaning to introduce us to a few friends or family members, we invite you to
take a browse through The Imaginary Apple Orchard Gift Shop.
Everything ordered between now and January 1 will be shipped gift wrapped, in
Over the Rhine wrapping paper. We will be on the road some, but we'll make a
point of shipping items very promptly.
All T's available in XL and L. except #12 available in XL, L and Child's size
large. #12 is our only black T.
Now to see if you're still paying attention:
Send payments in a responsible manner to our P.O. Box. Please add $3 for
orders less than $20, add $4 for orders greater than $20, less than $40, and
$5 for orders greater than $40. Merci!
Many thanks to all who have written so many beautiful letters. Thanks for
the E-Mail. OTRHINE@AOL.COM
Thanks Shelly for fielding all the E-mail.
Thanks Todd for keeping the office open after midnight.
Thanks Donna for prayer support and cat-sitting.
Todd, stamp our address here->
Return to the beginning
Dear Near Misses Mine,
"We could you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of
poverty, chastity, and obedience - even of silence - by choice. The
thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to
locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This
is yielding, not fighting.
I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your
one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes
you. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out
and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones
unhinge and scatter..."
Annie Dillard
I could very calmly go wild this Spring. How about you? It's
embarrassing and beautiful, but an awful lot has happened. Have you
heard? Some of you on this list have kept abreast of the shipping
hews, and some of you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. I
know I don't.
I'll back up and slow down and hold still.
Spare Change Anyone?
(Yeah, this is old news in some quarters, but, ready, set, go.)
Bon Courage,
Over the Rhine in Concert MAY DATES
A few other noteworthy gatherings:
We're off to Europe in August. That's all we're saying for now.
August 1994 Newsletter - Written by Linford Detweiler
Dear friends and strangers mostly friends,
Spring, 1995
My dear E-Mail people,
for
Over the Rhine
July 1995
Hello,
Web Page: http://www.mit.edu/people/dasmith/otr/
I.R.S. Records proudly announces the re-release of Over The Rhine's first
recording, TILL WE HAVE FACES, this Tuesday, August 15, 1995.
November 1995
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Kaleidoscope,
c/o Dodging the Draft
1 Aimless Circle
Writer's Block
Linford for Over the Rhine
Doors open 9 pm. Showtime 10:30 pm. 812 336 3984
Doors 7 pm. OTR on stage at 11:30 pm. 502 589 3866
Chattanooga, Tennessee. Doors open at 8 pm. All ages welcome
Doors 9 pm. Showtime 10 pm. 404 875 1522
We're the first of four bands; we'll be playing a 35 minute set at 8:30 pm.
This is basically an excuse to chum around with our dear friends Bill and
Brenda Mallonee. Vigilantes of Love headline. VOL+U+ME!=Volume
Belkin Productions brings us back to our roots. Doors 8 pm. Showtime 9 pm.
216 574 2525
Doors 10 pm. Showtime 10:30 pm. 312 535 2508
Our final concert of the year and seemingly on its way to becoming a
Cincinnati holiday tradition. We've sold out this lovely if tattered
historic theatre twice. Join us for a special evening of song and eye
contact. Bring a non-perishable food item in exchange for a small gift at
the door. All food will be donated to the Over-the-Rhine Freestore/Foodbank.
Also featured will be Gordon Henderson of Scotland and of course the Mighty
Wurlitzer.
Emery: Doors 7 pm. All ages...Tickets @ Ticketmaster
We like to extend an invitation to our out of town fans for this one. Road
trip anyone? We usually end up hanging out at Kaldi's on Main Street after
the show. It won't be the same without you. (Special thanks to WNKU.)
OVER THE RHINE
P.O. BOX 2572
CINCINNATI, OH 45201
May 1997
Living Like Weasels
(I keep telling myself.)
(Sur le Rhin)
Emmylou Harris with Over the Rhine.
Doors open at 7 pm. 8 pm show. (All ages.) Tickets available at
Ticketmaster.
8:05 - 8:50 Cinergy Stage (Between K's Choice and Barenaked
Ladies.)
Doors open at 8 pm. 9:30 show.
Doors 8 pm. Show 9pm. With Richard Buckner. (The club has a
new location.)
Live broadcast with WRLT. 9:30 show.
(This is in the basement of Wilshire Baptist Church.) Jump back
we're playing a Baptist Church Basement in Texas. Oh my! 7 pm Doors.
With Barbara Kessler (7:45 - 8:15) Kirk James (8:30 - 9:15) and Over the
Rhine (9:30 - 11:00ish.)
(6911 Hillcrest, across from S.M.U. Campus.) 3 pm, all ages
welcome. Free acoustic set with Over the Rhine. (We bask in the
afterglow, sip mochas, do a few naked tunes, hang out with you in
Dallas.)
Showtime 11:30 pm. This is a late all-ages show. Over the
Rhine after midnight! Monday is a holiday.
We'll share a meal together, bring out some tall songs, play red rover and
dash through some scenes from an Oscar Wilde play if we want.
With The Electrics, Adam Again and The Call. (OTR 8:30-9:45 pm.)
(OTR 6:30-7:45 pm. with guests.)