Demystifying The Moaners
She’s fronted ultra-creepy Bloodshot Records outfit Trailer Bride for five albums, spent seven formative years with her Christian-missionary parents in Africa, and is obsessed with William Faulkner and Flannery O’Conner. So, naturally, I wanted to tell you Mississippi-born singer/guitarist Melissa Swingle is a freaky, tortured Southern Gothic weirdo. But fact is, that just ain’t true.
Swingle and new Moaners bandmate Laura King are kind-hearted, likeable women who love rock ’n’ roll. And after spending some time with them, I prefer the real thing to the overcooked image: They carry bottles of obscure-brand hot sauce in their purses, smoke endless cigarettes in rock-club backrooms, drink green mint tea at soundcheck, and get hassled by strange cops over Swingle’s bug-eyed, movie-star shades at late-night, highway-stop Waffle Houses. They burn incense to cover the smell of urine in the $30-a-night motel rooms they have to stay in when it’s an off night and the gig barely covers gas money, falling asleep with a faint beer buzz and watching Mallrats on USA Up All Night through the dreamy haze of leaden, half-cracked eyelids. And to top it off, King moonlights in a Neil Diamond cover band in The Moaners’ hometown of Chapel Hill, N.C. But most importantly, Swingle and King blast out blessedly raw Delta-blues punk and grungy, foreboding Southern Rock.
“I’d been wanting to do something different for a while,” says Swingle, sitting with King at a bar-side table in Asheville, N.C.’s no-frills Grey Eagle Tavern. “I was tired of being pigeon-holed as alternative country [when I was with Trailer Bride], because—except for Hank Williams and Johnny Cash—I never really loved country music that much. … I felt I was beating a dead horse. It was getting less and less fun, and the audiences can tell. I wanted to play faster and harder.”