Lullaby For The Working Class

Lullaby For The Working Class live in Lincoln, Nebraska, and record in their own studio, Whoopass, which has become a creative hub for like-minded local musicians and artists from the Lullaby-run label, Saddle Creek.

Unfettered by trends but unafraid of technology, Lullaby creates music with guitars, banjos, strings and the occasional horn section that, arrangement-wise, harkens back to Stephen Foster, but, in performance, has the impassioned immediacy of a great contemporary emo-core combo. The group, which can shift in makeup on tour from standard-size rock band to a motley chamber orchestra, began in 1994 as a duo with Mike Mogis, a gifted arranger and player of multifarious stringed instruments, and Ted Stevens, a guitarist and lyricist whose words are oblique but intense and whose delivery is deeply earnest and emotional. Two years later, Mike’s older brother A.J. joined them on upright bass and pal Shane Aspergren on drums (and, occasionally, glockenspiel), and Lullaby became a bonafide band that hit the road to support their Bar/None debut, Blanket Warm.

Critics in the U.S. and the U.K. were smitten by their sound and strained to describe exactly what it was. The NME suggested that Ted, with his hard-to-reach high notes, sounded “uncannily like Mick Jagger at his most distraught and debauched.” Request decided they were “a middle-American version of Tindersticks.” Option opted simply to call them “spine-tinglingly gorgeous.” Raygun, declaring their debut “both spontaneous and elegant,” offered perhaps the definitive word on Blanket Warm: “It rocks sedately. It rocks with passion. It rocks back and forth like a dangerous drunk who’s too far gone to do any real damage...”

After touring the U.S. and Europe, where they were met with much critical acclaim, they released their second album, I Never Even Asked For Light, in January 1998, and it was as spontaneous, elegant, sedate, and passionate as their debut. It was also more complex and ambitious. Jon Pareles of the New York Times recognized Lullaby’s growth: “Played on acoustic instruments, the music seems folksy, but it’s a long way from rustic simplicity.” As a live ensemble, the group could be playful and funny -- a Rolling Stone critic remarked that they had “the alchemy of an acoustic and possibly sober Guided By Voices” -- but their ingratiating collegiate manner belied their accelerating sophistication. In clubs where you typically came to rock out, you couldn’t help but be riveted by their wistful and dreamy, meticulously rendered performances. This was alt-chamber music, unfettered by category, protocol, or the confines of cool.