Zach Lupetin was right up on the mic, shoulders swinging as he and Liz Beebe rocked a little in place and sweat began to drip down their faces. Feet started stomping back and forth. Beebe settled into a sort of two-step-meets‑P.-Funk groove as Lupetin got the crowd to come closer to the front. He bowed down just slightly to deliver a statement, certain as it had ever been coming from his lips: You can lose your mind. Lose control. But you ain’t going back to that old dustbowl.
The crowd hollered and came closer. Already a few members in the front were ecstatic, throwing their heads back as guitar washed over them. Dueling brass cut in, and a couple in the front went wild, dancing with the little space they had. Beebe joined him on vocals for a final round of the song. Lupetin smiled, as if to say: Oh yes, there’s even more where that came from.
Lucy Gellman Photo
Beebe and Lupetin.
Wednesday night, he and seven other members of The Dustbowl Revival got a packed bar on its feet when they took the stage at Cafe Nine, sharing a bill with local treasure Dr. Caterwaul’s Cadre of Clairvoyant Claptraps. Primed by a striking set by Dr. C’s — new, lushly layered pieces that had faithfuls excited and newbies putting the group on their radar — the band delighted, bringing New Haven not just a revival of sorts, but a reminder of what extraordinary things can happen when musical traditions get together and have some fun.
The happy and surprisingly successful result of a 2007 Craigslist ad, The Dustbowl Revival draws its strength from a mixing and melding of styles that, when paired with the band’s unshakable energy, is graceful and wild, fierce and delightful, and always some form of danceable. This isn’t just the kind of group that can rouse a crowd from its dreary workweek; it’s one that can play infectious warmth straight into a space, or pump a dark room full of light without ever flicking a switch.
Bjorlin.
Each member — Lupetin on guitar and vocals, Beebe on vocals, washboard, and ukulele, Daniel Mark on mandolin, Connor Vance on fiddle, Matt Rubin on trumpet, Ulf Bjorlin on trombone, James Klopfleisch on bass, and Joshlyn Heffernan on drums — is something of a human dynamo, which means that the group is a freight train when it performs in sync.
And it appears that it is never not in sync, moving tons of aural cargo — bluegrass, blessedly un-twee folk, jazz and swing, and rock, with hints of calypso and doo-wop — as it barrels forward. There’s really no choice but to stretch out your arms, take a running start, and jump onboard with a firm grasp and heavy, eager breath.
Wednesday, the band gave a performance where audience members could do just that, turning the bar into a folksy dance party (and at times, genteel mosh pit) from its raucous first piece to an offstage finale. While Lupetin and Beebe seem very much the face of The Dustbowl Revival — they are, quite literally, front and center the whole time — the group has worked out a system where members get to shine with brash, vivid solos.
On trombone, Bjorlin channeled funk and blues until crawfish boil wafted from his instrument. Rubin’s trumpet was fun and flirty until it needed to get down in the mud, and something majestic happened when he and Bjorlin had their brass duel mid-song. Heffernan didn’t just play drums competently, but rocked the crowd on a tambourine interlude before diving back into a beat that anchored the group. Klopfleisch did something spiritual on the double bass and Vance played with the limits of what a fiddle — that little thing without which folk itself might die — could do.
Not to say Beebe hasn’t earned her place up front. Wednesday she transfixed with steel pipes that bent into a whine and twang at just the right places and washboard that felt indispensable by the end of just one number with it. The same was true of Lupetin, who closed out the night with two pieces that had him grinning, then dancing with the crowd. Before he descended from the stage to lead a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” he stepped back up to the mic, face a little more familiar, words ringing out:
“So far away, so far from home, I got these new friends, and I ain’t drinkin’ alone.”
The crowd sang back. Lupetin smiled, and sang the refrain again. No doubt, he really meant it.