“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 radiate a sense of hard-won perspective. His gospel-tinged electric guitar playing, tough as Texas barbed-wire, brings it all together.
Tarbox grew up in a Massachusetts mill town. His parents’ love of books set him on the path to becoming a songwriter. A cool babysitter, and her art-room friends, played records that made him want to learn guitar.
As a teenager, Tarbox began spending time in the city. He saw Miles, Mingus, John Lee Hooker and Otis Rush in small clubs, John Fahey at MIT, Professor Longhair in a bar, and Alice Coltrane and Sun Ra in rundown theaters. Every show was a new world, a revelation, a bit like one of those old movies where black and white suddenly yields to color. It inspired Tarbox to want to start a band.
Tarbox’s early experiences as a musician included playing bass in hillbilly and rock groups, and busking in Spain and France. Back in Boston, he immersed himself in pre-war blues and gospel music while driving a taxi to put himself through school. He studied with guitarist Paul Rishell, an affirming experience that led him to form The Tarbox Ramblers.
Thanks to Boston’s thriving club scene, The Ramblers were able to play constantly, learning on the fly and developing a reputation for no-holds-barred live shows. Tarbox quit his day job and, on the advice of a friend, began writing songs. He hasn’t looked back.
Michael Tarbox recommends listening to Skip James; The American Primitive gospel comp, on Revenant; and Ornette Coleman’s Science Fiction.
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, two 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’s been up late, and looks like the kind of guy who’d love a cigarette just about now – only he doesn’t smoke.
His songs are raw and direct, and marvels of simplicity. 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!
