![]() ![]() "I wanted it to be clear that the whole thing was done in my living room."Īt this point, Willhite is uncertain about the future of his side project. When producer Bill Thomas got his hands on these rough-hewn dispatches from the edge, his first instinct was to clean up the sound, but Willhite dissuaded him. The ditties on them inspired his musical conversion, and the homemade tapes of Boulder musician Jamie Smith and Scott's brother Marc Willhite (currently playing bass with the Minders) spurred him to capture some of his more twisted compositions for posterity. "But then I went to see this local band called Acid Ranch, and I was completely fascinated by the weird mixture of country and punk that they did." Before long, Willhite was haunting the bargain bins at music stores, picking up ancient country discs for a quarter apiece. "That was during the period that I really hated country," Willhite points out. Then, upon entering Colorado State University, Willhite received an education in punk rock courtesy of his roommate, Garrett Brittenham of the aforementioned Boss 302. His father played plenty of Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings on the family stereo, but as he entered his formative years, Scott found himself gravitating more toward rock and roll and art rock such as that made by Rush and Genesis. Like many C&W aficionados, Willhite started out by rejecting the genre. "It's sort of a mixture of hard-edged rock with country and funk," Willhite notes, adding, "The country comes from me." But over the years, the various influences of the players (currently Willhite, Gilmore, guitarist Jerry Fox, drummer Buddy Gould and Hanging Tree veteran Will Inglis on bass) resulted in a more eclectic blend. The act's original sound was more on the grunge tip, which was only natural given the pedigree of lead singer Fred Gilmore, who attended school in Olympia, Washington, with a couple of the lads from Nirvana. He pounded the skins for the Simpeltones, another Denver act with unabashed commercial leanings, before becoming part of Turnsol in late 1993. He grew up in Aurora and started playing drums in middle school. Willhite's heavily distorted vocals range from an ominous growl to a light near-yodel, and his songs are just as varied: Among the best are "Boss 302" (a salute to-surprise-Boss 302), the Neil Young-ish "S'now Cowboy," the surprisingly creepy "Don't Kick My Truck" and the gentle "Finished." Polished it ain't, but it resounds with authenticity.Įven Willhite is uncertain how or when his personality first began to split. ![]() The category it comes closest to fitting is country, but that tag gives only the barest hint of its idiosyncrasies. Box 16871, Denver 80216) is also hugely enjoyable. But despite its primitive sonics, the recording (available in area record stores or by writing Lunar Ranch Entertainment, P.O. He describes his solo cassette, Willy, as a "sloppy mess," and it is. ![]() But he also possesses (or is possessed by) an alter ego called Willy, who's considerably quirkier than the man Turnsol fans have witnessed on stage. He's best known in these parts as the guitarist for Turnsol, an overtly accessible modern-rock aggregation that's built up a sizable local following (the band opens for Zeut at the Bluebird Theater on Saturday, May 24).
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