MICHAEL TARBOX

“Homemade rock ‘n’ roll with a dose of rattlesnake venom and gospel-drenched howling.” - All Things Considered

Rooted in backwater blues and early rock ‘n’ roll, Michael Tarbox’s songs share a sense of hard-won perspective. His gospel-tinged electric guitar playing, tough as Texas barbed-wire, brings it all together.

Tarbox began his career with The Tarbox Ramblers. The group’s no-holds-barred approach to American roots music earned it critical acclaim and a popular following. The New Yorker said “Between the fiddle, string bass, drums and slide guitar, you won't know what hit you.” The band released albums on Rounder, toured a lot and worked with heroes like Robert Plant, Alison Krauss and Jim Dickinson.

Michael Tarbox grew up in a Massachusetts mill town; his parents’ love of literature and music set him on the path to becoming a songwriter. He credits a cool babysitter, and her art-room friends, with introducing him to the musicians who inspired him to play guitar.

Before starting The Ramblers, Tarbox worked in factories, kitchens and - to put himself through school - as a cab driver. He also worked as a street musician in Spain and France; played bass in hillbilly, country and rock bands; and recorded as half of a noise-rock duo. Studying guitar with Paul Rishell was an affirming experience that led Tarbox to form his own band.

In addition to playing with The Tarbox Ramblers, Tarbox plays solo shows highlighting songs that fall outside the band’s repertoire.

How It All Started

"At the heart of Tarbox’s music is his guitar, as raw as it is charismatic. It creates an electricity that courses through every song." - Twangville

Growing up in a mill town, I heard The Ronettes when I was six and immediately loved them. Years later I heard The MC5, and was on my way.

I joined a band, playing bass. When our guitarist moved to New Orleans I knew I had to learn to play guitar well enough to carry a group. I locked myself in my room for three months, playing from the moment I woke up till the moment I fell back to bed. It was the right move; it led to a good luck streak I didn’t know I needed. Chance and serendipity seemed to be on my side.

I was listening to a lot of country blues and began to feel like I was being pulled into another world. It was fantastic. I had a shabby apartment overlooking a street corner in Cambridge, and it felt like heaven. The shabbiness felt perfect, and the view from the window on a stormy winter’s day filled me with joy.

A club, a dive worthy of New Orleans, was on the next street over, five minutes from my front door. The owner asked us to play every Friday night. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. The scene was packed with colorful regulars and eccentrics, yakkers and gabbers and the best jukebox in Boston. It was exhilarating, it felt like everything was speeding up. Things felt haphazard but somehow more meaningful. Light became more sensuous. It was very alive, and it set me on the path.

I am so grateful to be able to call myself a musician, and to have music in my life.

A Fan Tells It Like It Is

Fresh off a songwriting jag, Michael Tarbox slides into the booth. He looks like he’s been up late, and he looks like the kind of guy who’d love a cigarette just about now – only he doesn’t smoke.

His songs are marvels of simplicity that are raw and direct. They can be vulnerable, or brooding. “Sparecity” isn’t a word but, if it were, it would describe Tarbox’s spare sound perfectly.

He wrote a lot of these songs during the pandemic and, though he swears he has drawers full of epic tales at home, most of what he played last week clocked in at about 3 minutes.

Imagine trying to build a bridge to eternity out of found objects and pure humanity. That’s the spirit of this music: aspiring and idiosyncratic, with room to spare for heartbreak. Tarbox plays a mean guitar, and he knows how to conjure. His spiky backwoods sound appeals to lovers and gamblers wherever he may roam.

I planned to say more, but I didn’t get much sleep last night, and the coffee is starting to do the talking. So, enough said, I’ll step back. Stay the course, and don’t forget to write your mother!