Carbon Leaf Offers Lyrical Conviction

Forget about labeling them a traditional band, Carbon Leaf abandoned that image long ago when they welcomed the banjo, mandolin, stand-up, and tin whistle. These instruments provide pleasant additions to the standard “guitar-bass-drum set” structure, and while Carbon Leaf is most certainly a rock band, they leave the floor open for a variety of influences that result in a rather unconventional sound. Terry explains that this is “what makes us unique. Everybody has different influences, and we’re not afraid to put down one instrument and play another.”
The band has been together since the early 90’s; Terry and Barry met on the first day of college nearly twenty years ago. “We’ve never been stronger friends,” they say, and it is during The Bear Rhymes with Woman co-headline tour that I have the privilege of seeing them live at The Hub in Cedar Falls.
Their set opens with yellow lights sitting stationary atop smoke, with a silhouette of the band. Sound check only lasts seconds as they quickly explode into “Life Less Ordinary” and fill the entire venue with excited, dancing bodies.
The lead singer, Barry, waits until the third song to introduce Carbon Leaf from Virginia. Against sharp blue lighting, he thanks the crowd for coming out tonight. The opening bars of “One Prairie Outpost” trickle in as he looks down at our grooving bodies to say, “I love coming through Iowa. It’s one of my favorite states to drive through.”
(Only amused laughter in response from such a local crowd.)
“I’m not kidding. I love. Love. Love. The land.”
Like a crazed professor, Barry directs the crowd as he would a classroom, with a pointed finger and hand gestures to explain the lecture. It is dancing as much as it is vulnerable entertainment. He is an impassioned teacher, lost in the convictions of his lyrics—lost in the music. Singing about the heart, he seems compelled to hold a closed fist against his own, and the crowd stands still as we listen attentively to what he means to teach us. Movement is how he stays connected to what is actually going on.
“I perform for the people, but I have to turn inward and be real.”
It’s obvious that he believes every word he sings; it’s an apparent character trait of the entire band. Although they are on tour, watching them play is much like seeing five guys hearing their own songs for the very first time. The impact is intensely intimate.
We fall beneath a pink shade made of light that pulses with purple. Terry steps close to the mic and dedicates the next song to a young friend of theirs who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. The mood transforms to heavy, the lyrics are real, the words are weighted:
And so it begins, the mirage settles in

 But the sky is light pink before violet

 Cause everything's now, everything's now
She notices everything 


As she puts on the pink 

Her world turns to pink

The tribute is emotional, and the guitars sound sharper and slower, as though they are more attentive to sounding perfect for their dear friend. It is impossible not to feel some sort of connection with their pain.
The concert comes to a close with a song sung quietly, the lights turned off and the microphones abandoned up on stage. The only illumination comes from the quick flashes of small cameras, as they are now at the heart of the crowd. They climb the stools and stand on tables, each grabbing a drink in front of them and raising our beers for a toast. Barry, Carter, Jordan, Jason, Terry, and their co-headlining band sing in flawless harmony to say goodnight, “And if you stay, stay long enough, let the music fill your cup.”