Hope For Agoldensummer

Resonator Magazine ... The thing with the soulful vocals, the soft finger-plucked instrumentation-it's all so damn tangible, so damn human, so present. So much of the redemptive quality of all of Hope ForAgoldensummer's music comes from that ever-present (even in darkness) humanity...

Relish... If Tom Waits were a woman, stoned on peyote, lost in the deep woods and caught in the same scenario as The Blair Witch Project, this is the music that would play. This is dreamy music, hauntingly beautiful, evocatively barren, driven by poetic narratives that flit between story-song and stimulating imagery. It is transfixing and engaging, slow and gentle. Time stands still.

The New Yorker.... Hope for Agoldensummer, an almost impossibly warm quintet from Athens, Georgia, led by two sisters, Claire and Page Campbell, who sing intricate harmonies over slow waltz tempos, backed by a slide- and lap-guitar player and a drummer who occasionally rattles a case of old Coke bottles.

Eyedrum Gallery... Front porch rocking chair bluegrass country concoction. The south never had it so good.

Philadelphia City Paper... Sisters Claire and Page Campbell sing about God and heartbreak like they're drunk on their own glorious harmonies and have all the time in the world. Their shows build on [a] sense of intimacy and immediacy...

Rough Trade Records... an exceptional, haunting debut from hope for a golden summer...this is strange, soulful and deeply affecting stuff. think a rural cocorosie, an ornate cat power or a female arcade fire.

Time Out NY... Part junkyard orchestra, part campfire song circle, Hope For Agoldensummer conjures luminous, moody balladry.

Washington Post ... Haunting folk music of a sort, performed with singing saws, pennywhistles and an eclectic assortment of other instruments.
- Hope For Agoldensummer - Assorted Press Clippings

Out Magazine
by David Ciminelli

Hope For Agoldensummer
I Bought a Heart Made of Art in the Deep, Deep South
[(Independent)]

The ethereal, eloquent songs of Hope For Agoldensummer are as promising and wonderful as the band’s moniker. Built around majestic melodies and strong storytelling, the songs of these classically trained out musicians make the perfect soundtrack to a golden summer. The hip folk-rock quintet’s latest EP was recorded in friends’ backyards and basements in and around Athens and Atlanta—and, for better not worse, that’s exactly what it sounds like: lush, intoxicating, and heart-rending. And above the excellent musicianship lies one of the most powerful, beautiful voices and seamless harmonies to surface since Indigo Girls. It’s not everyday you’re invited to share a private moment with a group of jaw-droppingly talented musicians sitting around jamming on a lazy summer afternoon. Surf over to their Web site for a sample and enjoy one of the simple, uncompromising pleasures that come with life in a small town. - Out Magazine

Hope For Agoldensummer
Adriadne Thread (handsewn LP)
(4 stars)
by Jon Ehringer

You have these two sisters Claire and Page Campbell who sing simple
octaves just shy from one another in a perfect acapellic tension. They
run and play chase much like the musical CocoRosie duo. Hope For
Agoldensummer's secret weapon is the beautifully butch, Deb Davis.
All the gals sing in something of a southern drawl which is
charming inna Chan Marshall whiskey-fashion. I've seen them live a few
times now (in Atlanta/Athens) bringing me to my knees with indie's best
art-rock performances, woven with orig Hank (and/or Robbin) Williams
wit, pieced together with 60's Soul/Rock, and maybe even a splash of
Redneck R&B? These girls originally string together country chord
concoctions marked with singing saws, fiddles, riddles, and
glockenspeil noise. Buy this record directly from their site above because
that's just how they roll, with a side order of grits; handmaking each
copy into sewn booklets complete with renderings and stories by the
band and family.

fav track: I Give You What You Want - SLAP Magazine

Ariadne Thread - Album Review
by Shaun Bateman

After the dreamland fire
It was our friends at Wordsmiths Books that first introduced me to Athens/Decatur, Georgia trio Hope For Agoldensummer, when they made the band’s gorgeously-packaged Ariadne Thread album the first CD stocked by the bookstore.
It’s taken a while, a good couple of months, for this album to begin nestling in my heart, wrapping itself deep and low around those guttural, blood-and-bone places that, when lingered in, makes music become part of the very fiber of being.
That’s the landscape, really, of the Hope For Agoldensummer sound.

Together, Page Campbell, Claire Campbell and Deb Davis call themselves a “junkyard soul trio”, but they’re actually so much more. This is music that’s definitively southern, definitely rural, and reminiscent of a folk-art angel singing her heart out. At times, the territory tread by Hope For Agoldensummer is equal parts Cormac McCarthy and Flannery O’Connor with weaponry provided by Nick Cave-the sort of songs that hold knives behind their backs, lingering in sweetness just long enough to unveil the darkness lingering ‘neath. Other times, the songs are southern field gospel revivals, celebrating the sweaty southern pastures of life and love.
This song treads the territory of the morning after that is the latter, but only after passing through the darkened terrain of the former.

Hope For Agoldensummer: 4th Night
In my morning, things didn’t feel as they should-in my heart or in my head. It’s possible I guided iTunes to this song, but I have more faith in the fact that it was kinda chosen.
The thing with the soulful vocals, the soft finger-plucked instrumentation-it’s all so damn tangible, so damn human, so present. So much of the redemptive quality of all of Hope ForAgoldensummer’s music comes from that ever-present (even in darkness) humanity, and it’s what I didn’t know I needed this morning when this song found me.
Sometimes you just have to let it all go, let it all break, y’know? - Resonator Magazine

ALBUM OF THE MONTH
Hope For Agoldensummer
Ariadne Thread

by Ben Grad

Engineered by Andy Baker, Chris Waldorf, Ben Holst and David Barb
Mastered by Alex Lowe at ZAC Recording in Atlanta, GA

If Hope For Agoldensummer’s first album, I Bought a Heart Made of Art in the Deep, Deep South was an exploration of Southern decay, then the band’s second album, Ariadne Thread, muddles the mixture, adding references to Jack Kerouac, Andre Gide, John Berryman and, most extensively, ancient Greek myth. The album’s title refers to Ariadne, the princess who fell in love with Theseus, giving the hero a magical ball of thread and sword, which he later used to make his way through King Minos’s labyrinth and defeat the Minotaur. Wallace Cochran, cousin to the three sisters who make up Hope For Agoldensummer, writes a lyrical, multi-branching interpretation of the original Greek tale which is included in Ariadne Thread‘s liner notes, woven both visually and thematically around the sisters’ lyrics.

A sensation of labyrinthine age is apparent from Ariadne Thread‘s first track, “Hold Me Close in The Hallway.” As in many of the album’s songs, the cicada chirps of Georgia’s summer are used to back sweet two-and three-part vocal harmonies, while traditional folk instruments lend a lush, layered sound. Though the sisters’ voices have a deceptively young “breathy” quality, the lyrics of “Hold Me Close in The Hallway” have a much older ring, echoing the loss and pain Hope For Agoldensummer interpret in the myth of Ariadne and Theseus. Ariadne Thread‘s first track mirrors the myth’s beginning, “Hold me close in the hallway / I have found you, I have found you,” a fitting prequel to the joy and eventual sorrow seen through the rest of the album.

Though it feels criminal to describe Ariadne Thread as anything short of uniformly brilliant, certain tracks surpass even the high standard set by the album as a whole. “Katelina, Dear,” “Faded on the 14th,” and “Old Questions” (all written by Claire Cambell) each stands out as particularly suited to the band’s complex technique. “Last Summer’s Beach Trip,” Ariadne Thread‘s longest track, departs from Hope For Agoldensummer’s traditional sound successfully, incorporating an occasionally overwhelming electronic static and heavy drum beats which eventually crescendo, drowning out the sisters’ voices.

It’s common to see indie musicians appropriate and experiment with musical styles entirely outside the usual American rock tradition. In Ariadne Thread, Hope For Agoldensummer toys with this tendency, staying musically close to its roots, but artfully weaving ancient Greek mythology into the Southern folklore tradition which inspires the sisters’ music. (Self-released)
www.hopeforagoldensummer.com

- Ben Grad - Southeast Performer Magazine

AWARDS

2009 Flagpole Athens Music Awards
(Best Music Video for "4th Night")

2009 Creative Loafing Readers' Choice Awards
(Best Local Folk Act)

2008 Flagpole Athens Music Awards
(Best Folk Act & Best Album Art)

2008 Creative Loafing Readers' Choice Awards
(Best Local Folk Act)

2006 Flagpole Athens Music Awards
(Best Folk Act)

2005 Flagpole Athens Music Awards
(Best Folk Act)

2004 Flagpole Athens Music Awards
(#1 Local Album)

2004 Creative Loafing Readers' Choice Awards
("Best Organic Experience")
- Hope For Agoldensummer

"I Am in Hope for Agoldensummer" by Matt Morello

STYLUS MAGAZINE:: From the Stypod (http://stylusmagazine.com/stypod/archives/636)

Last night, EIC Todd and I were enjoying a hot chocolate—each of us
enjoying our own, that is, not one big hot chocolate with two straws—at one of the
several chocolate shop cafés near Styquarters. It was all going really
well for a while, and then:

“So what are you thinking for the Stypod?”
“I dunno, maybe Hope for Agoldensummer?”

I like to think that at this point, someone played that record-scratch
sound and everyone in the chocolate shop café turned to look, while Todd’s
homemade rectangle marshmallow made a perfect, diaphragmatically
propelled, slow-motion arc to the back of the oversized armchair next to ours (each
of us sitting in his own, that is, not sharing a single oversized armchair).
In reality, Todd just took another long pull on his hot chocolate.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He went on to explain the following:

1) Hope for Agoldensummer is one of the five best bands in America, maybe
one of the best three. Could very well just be the best. Too many people
already know this; please just shut the hell up about it and let them
play.

2) Hfags (as they call themselves) represent the rise of an ideal South in
which some are straight and some gay, some vegan and some omnivorous, all
are telepathically empathetic musicians, and some are sisters who sing in
uncanny harmony. They are saving the South, music, and all of us, and if
we in the Eastern liberal internet media establishment support them openly,
all their hard work may be for naught.

3) The more you talk about Hfags, the less likely they will come here and
sell homemade soap and engraved knives out of an antique suitcase at
Pete’s and Tonic, and the more likely we will have to crane our necks at Webster,
and that soap smells so good.

4) There is a secret league of critics monitoring all music writing on
supercomputers at the Hall of Righteousness to make sure 1-3 are not
compromised. They strike without warning or restraint—it’s amazing Liz can
still walk. So, seriously, bad idea.

I didn’t believe it—I couldn’t believe it. If I know anything at all, it’s
that criminally few people know about Hfags, and the world would be
unconditionally better if more did. Also, I didn’t get into the rock game
only to be pushed around by some faceless bloggers NSAing me from their
undisclosed location. At that point I realized all the hot
beverage-drinking wasn’t really helping my score in the rock game, either, so you better
believe I stuck Todd with the check and sprinted out of that chocolate
shop café as fast as my Dunks would carry me, with nary a glance back until I’d
made it all the way to Styquarters and found the Stykey in the Styfakerock
a few feet off the Stydewalk. I barricaded the door with five boxes of
promos and fired up the laptop.

Friends, Hope for Agoldensummer are responsible for three of the most
beautiful shows I’ve ever seen and one of the best albums I’ve ever heard.
Their music is folk and pop and country, but not any of those exactly;
it’s music from a real place (Athens, Georgia) and from that ideal South
they’re making for themselves and everyone, one that has a lot to do with the
“verities of the human heart” some Southern idealists like to tell you
about. I could go on, but as Jack Bauer notes at the start of every call
he makes to shut Chloe or whomever up, there’s not much time: let’s get to
the tracks.

Both songs here are from their self-released 2004 album, I Bought a Heart
Made of Art in the Deep, Deep South. These find the band in two of their
best modes: joy and heartbreak, each shot through with the other. In “Malt
Liquor,” sisters Claire and Page Campbell promise, “I’ll give you a nickel
for your quarter, malt liquor for your water”—it’s a sly, fun hustle, and
here’s the point: “I swear I will sneak up right beside you, unlock your
heart, and set you free.” It’s salvation sung beautifully over a spare,
warm bed of acoustic guitar, cello, and understated brushed drums. The
glockenspiel is the tolling bell, but playful: don’t bother asking, you
know who it’s for.

“Hearts in Jars” is the opposite story, a slow waltz on how the hurting
heart came to be shut up in the first place: “I re-wrote creation, gave us
all vaults in our chests / with secret combinations.” The only percussion
is a crate of milk bottles shuffled back and forth every other measure—the
jars, yes, but also the broken pieces inside, still making out a beat
because, well, life goes on. Five transcendent minutes of pure ache, but no
despair: the heart is just resting, waiting to be whole again, and free.

So here I am, playing the evangelist I was named for, preaching salvation
from a locked room. I can hear them outside; it’s getting louder, but by
the time they get in, this will be posted and it will be too late. Hope for
Agoldensummer has a new album coming out probably some time this year... - Stylus Magazine

Filmmaker Magazine

by JAMES PONSOLDT
(writer-director, Off the Black)

The cabin was on the side of a mountain. Asheville was the nearest city, but that doesn’t mean it was nearby. I was nowhere. It was quiet and chilly. I spoke to nobody. November was almost gone. I wasn’t looking forward to December.

It was the end of a long, painful year. I’d lost some people that I loved very much. I’d found myself in a cold place.

My goal on this mountain was to write a feature-length screenplay. I’d had the idea for the script for almost a year, and had written exactly three words: Off. The. Black.

In my brain, the script was complete. And sublime. In actuality, the screenplay was as real as a unicorn tap-dancing across an invisible dance floor all the way to the moon. Which is to say, the possibility of even beginning the script — not to mention completing it — seemed like utter fantasy.

I’d grown bored of, well, me.

Each morning I would walk to the edge of a mountain lake. I would stare at the lake. I believed that this lake would inspire me. I tossed things into the lake (pebbles, pencils). Day after day, I tossed. But there was no inspiration, just ripples.

In a few more days, I might have considered tossing myself into the lake. I’d be found with the spring thaw. People might believe that the title page of my script was a suicide note (“‘Off the Black’? He must have been very depressed.” “Yes, but at least he understood the value of brevity.”)

Then, without warning, something terrifying and new arrived from Atlanta:

Hope.

My sister and her boyfriend pulled up the gravel driveway in their station wagon. They would stay for two nights. Now, my sister and I have a peculiar relationship. We fight. We’ve always fought. We anticipate glorious fights we’ll have in 20 years.

But on this occasion my sister didn’t come to fight with me. Or even to visit me. She’d come for the cabin. She and her boyfriend hiked. They enjoy walking up mountains. I like to stare at mountains while remaining stationary.

We barely spoke.

But my sister was a saint in disguise. She’d brought her CD collection. I devoured her CD collection. Most were CDs I’d heard before, though I finally came to one I didn’t recognize. The group was called Hope for Agoldensummer. I played this CD.

The music was exotic, ethereal, fragile — full of childlike wonderment. There were spare arrangements with singing saw, xylophone, clarinet, acoustic guitar, strange percussion, so much reverb that it seemed to be playing in another dimension, and, at its center, one of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous female voices I’d ever heard. The singer’s voice was booming and haunted, and the lyrics were full of mourning, yet also managed to be hopeful and at times even silly.

This was summer music about winter themes.

I listened to the CD on repeat for the next week.

I began to hear it in my dreams.

It colored the way I looked at everything around me.

And suddenly, I knew that I could write my screenplay. While I’d understood the plot for some time, I had no sense of tone, and the characters had no pulse, or soul. But now they did.

The world of my script was peopled with funny-sad characters, and funny-sad themes, and when the moon hovered in the night sky of this world, and when the train ran by in the distance, and when the characters were at their loneliest, there was a tone that was both gentle and non-judgmental and occasionally humorous.

The script became a summer story about winter themes.

Flash-forward to this exact moment: Mon., Dec. 19, and I’ve spent the entire weekend in the recording studio with Claire Campbell (the brains and soul and voice behind Hope for Agoldensummer). We’ve barely slept. But the score for Off the Black, my first feature, is finished.

And I love it.

I’ve told Claire that for the next film I want to make, the score will require Hawaiian steel and slack-string guitar—even though the story takes place on Cape Cod in the middle of February.

This one will be a winter story about summer themes.

The silence is gone for now. I can hear a melody. I’m hopeful again.
-James Ponsoldt - Filmmaker Magazine