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But the Hacks have always been a curious outfit.
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These are startlingly indie twists for a band with eight members (four of whom play banjo one of whom is named Pee Paw, another Skeeter, and another The Kooky-Eyed Fox), no drummer, and a penchant for fiddles. Thankfully, Charlottesville, Virginia's Hackensaw Boys have defiantly eschewed the lazy, neo-hippy circuit in favor of staying freakishly traditional and, incidentally, also opening for bands like Modest Mouse (or joining 2002's Unlimited Sunshine tour, alongside The Flaming Lips and Cake, after John McCrea specifically extended an invite). For better or worse, things kept evolving, and now, over fifty years later, hundreds of "newgrass" bands have dragged the genre (at present, significantly, painfully watered down) onto woodsy college campuses, lighting up big, fat joints all across America. Before Bill Monroe came along, shit was all gimmick and goof in the 1940s, Monroe put on a suit and sped it up, pushing the vocals higher and higher and parsing in jazz solos and bouts of improvisation. Think of the overall sporting, wheat-chewing jugbands of 1910s and 20s, who acted with a certain degree of self-awareness, amping up the hillbilly wackiness with novelty songs about donkeys and/or whiskey.