The Felice Brothers

Forget the word ‘Americana’ for a second - the hats, beards, stomping and perfect harmonies.

Now, think about the Felice Brothers. A band of upstate New York musicians who make you understand what the Ramones would’ve sounded like if they were born in the Catskill Mountains, not Queens.

They’re strange, some would say. Or mysterious. The enigma, though, isn’t entirely in their music – it’s largely in their presentation. It’s jarring to watch a group that seems so uninterested in fame or polish. Not speaking about Grammy Awards or Super Bowl halftime polish, I’m talking about pressed shirts, combs and eye contact polish.

Even in their music, their “close enough” musicianship and well-worn instruments, suggest The Felice Brothers would rather be building a fence in their yard than opening for Maroon 5.

But underlying it is a spectacular, criminally under-appreciated catalogue of music, anchored by a working-class ethos and an endless supply of empathy for the luckless faces and souls that surround us all.

And the harmonies may not be perfect, but they’re exactly right.

That’s the kind of Americana America needs right now.