Recently, in a whirlwind romance full of pining and obsession and sighs that last just a little too long, I fell in love. With the Avett Brothers.
I recently found out that they’re playing a concert near me in few weeks, and I jumped on the chance. But when I went to the venue website to check out the details, I saw the opening band and was puzzled.
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, favorite country supergroup of everyone in my generation’s lame uncle, is opening for The Avett Brothers, favorite neo-folk band of hip, exciting young people who wear skinny jeans and thick-framed glasses without lenses in them. This was puzzling to me. But then, I put on my skeptic hat, strived to cast off my bias, and listened to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with fresh ears:
They’re really not so different, musically. Through the lens of my new folk-rock Avett boyfriends, they actually sound pretty good. I just never allowed myself to like them because they’re what my father’s generation likes. Oh, and they have mullets, mustaches, and are nowhere near as dreamy as these guys:
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