During the last decade, Aimée Collet Argote has had more bands called Des Ark than she has albums under that name. She’s howled and jerked in sweaty houses and rock clubs, backed by a drummer, another drummer, yet another drummer and a second guitarist, and a small symphony. She’s brought big crowds to a whisper with nothing but her voice and a banjo or a tiny guitar that kept slipping out of tune. And though it perennially confuses the crap out of crowds expecting one thing & getting the other, she somehow manages to maintain these two separate Des Ark’s—different songs, utterly different audience experience—and the dissonance & tension in turn somehow binds together in a brilliant display of songwriting.
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