My son Tyler has a band, Grant Farm, based in Lyons CO. They play gigs coast to coast and many times these days, newspapers won't do advances interviews, but send questionnaires. Tyler dutifully completes them, sends them back. Here's one such completed questionnaire. Believe me, it's worth the read.
Summit Daily News
Band Q & A
[please attach photo]
Band name: Grant Farm
Where does the name come from? It's a pun on Tyler Grant's last name. Rhymes with "Ant Farm"
Your home base: Boulder County, CO
Date playing in Summit County: Saturday, 3/31. Doors at 9, show at 9:30
Location playing in Summit County: Three20South in Breckenridge
Type of music you play? Roots, Rock and Cris-Co!
If your band were a dog, what breed would it be, and why? A Mutt, because we draw from a variety of influences, we're smart and tough and will live longer than pure-bred dogs.
If you had to compare yourself to another band, who would it be? This answer might change day-to-day, but for today I will say The Grateful Dead. Tomorrow I might say Derek and the Dominoes…
What sets your band apart? We don't have a mandolin.
What’s been your craziest experience on the road? Driving East from Tonopah, NV we saw a dim speck of light to the North, near Polaris. It was about 2AM and Buck Owens' "Close Up the Honkytonks" was playing on the radio. It was a new moon and the stars were bright and many out there in the middle of the desert. We were feeling fine. Nobody was sleeping. The light slowly grew larger and began to change colors. We thought nothing of it at first, but before the song was over it became apparent that this bright and colorful object was flying toward us at high velocity. When, to our perspective, it grew to about the size of a basketball out the driver's window, Sean (who was riding shotgun, Chris was driving) noticed an arc of electricity, like from a Tesla coil, creep out of the van's antenna and telescope toward the flying object. This arc grew in intensity and when it reached the flying object (which by now looked like a multicolored Sun out the left window) the van was instantly engulfed in a bright blue sheen of electricity. All the power lines along the highway lit up and we could see arcs of electricity connecting the lines to us and the flying object. Chris drove on and the bright object flew alongside. Flashes of electricity were everywhere. The power lines were bright with blue light off to every horizon as far as the eye could see. No other vehicles were on the road. The song on the radio suddenly stopped and in a moment continued at incredibly high volume outside of the van. Even with the windows rolled up we could hear Tom Brumley's pedal steel solo blasting at an alarming volume out across the barren desert. By the time Buck and Don came back in singing the last chorus all we could see was bright blue light. The flying object was completely obscured. Not knowing what to do in this situation, Chris drove on like a hardened road warrior. The light was blinding and we suddenly felt the van lift off the ground. At that point matter, energy, light, sound and sensation all became one. Among the four of us Adrian seems to remember the most, though we cannot get him to talk about it. It was as if the van and the four of us in it had entered a place where all being was pure energy. The boundaries of space, time and communication fell down and we could see into the center of the universe. None of us are sure how long we were in this place, but we all agree that it seemed as if we were moving the whole time. Flying, perhaps, or traveling in a way that cannot be explained in the format of this interview. Then, suddenly, we found ourselves stopped at a stoplight in Ely. The flying object was gone and the sky was dark once again. The van and our gear were intact and everyone seemed to be okay, but for about five minutes Sean eagerly told us a story in a language we could not understand. The concept of spoken "language" notwithstanding, I have never before or since heard a human voice make those kinds of noises. We sat at the stoplight (flashing yellow but it did not matter; no cars were coming) and listened to his story, amazed at the sounds coming from his mouth. The otherworldly monologue ended with a long, drawn out syllable that started at an almost sub-sonic frequency and ascended to a near-deafening high pitched squeal that rattled the windows and caused the frame of the van to creak. We sat, Adrian and I in the back benches and Chris in the driver's seat, fingers in our ears, and stared at Sean. He looked at us, straight faced, and began to blink furiously. When the blinking episode ended he stared at us, straight faced, as if nothing happened. The radio turned back on and now played George Jones' "Seasons of My Heart." Chris pulled the van into an all-night casino diner. We did not say a word until an old, frail waiter took our order. When he returned with the coffee he was humming "Close Up the Honkytonks." We finished our coffee quick, lost a twenty on the roulette table, and did not say a word the rest of the drive to Denver. It was a bonding experience and made us closer as a band.
Is your music geared toward mosh pits or foot tapping? Depends on the crowd.
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