When working in large groups, a clearly stated mission helps align everyone. According to Clinton Clegg, the mission for soulful Pittsburgh octet the Commonheart is two-fold yet simple: “To entertain, and to provide whatever it is that a listener may need at any given time. That’s what I’ve always relied on music for.”

Music has served the singer and songwriter well. His mother’s job playing church organ, third grade cello lessons, and an early fascination with B.B. King nourished his spirit as a boy in Monongahela, PA. Playing school dances in garage bands got him through college, when his CD player shuffled between Dr. Dre, Green Day, and Al Green. “Music is a positive force that brings people together,” says Clegg. “It can give you a friend and something worth living for.” It is, quite simply, his life’s foundation. Since forming the Commonheart in 2014, it has given him more strength with each passing year.

So what do you do when the music stops? That is the story of For Work or Love. The band started 2020 with plenty of promise. They’d improved upon their 2016 debut, Grown, with the 2019 follow-up Pressure. Audiences for their energetic live shows continued to grow. “We were working hard and on a nice trajectory,” Clegg recalls. When the Covid-19 pandemic brought things to a screeching halt, he found himself cut off from human interaction, daily routines ... and his muse.

Though he’d previously been working on new songs, for the first few months of the public health crisis, Clegg’s guitar sat silent. He missed band practice and live audiences, but with eight members the Commonheart’s options for playing together safely were nearly nonexistent. “I felt so jealous of trios who could just get together, stand six feet apart, and play,” he admits. But once Clegg recognized that his discomfort and anger with the pandemic’s challenges were rooted in his love for the people in his life, his spirit returned. “That frustration was a driving force and I tried to use it positively. That was hard. The only thing that gave me strength through all that crap was I knew we had the band and the people around us, and that when things did come back, we’d be stronger.”

Fortunately, album producer Steve Berlin (Los Lobos) had already provided Clegg with creative direction for his new songs. “He’d listened to some demos, works in progress, and said to focus on narrative.” Clegg had great titles, hooks, and characters, but this went deeper. Berlin urged him to think about the middle and end of each of his stories, too.

“I took that advice to heart,” says the singer. “My songwriting has always been about the live moment, but a song needs to come full circle for the listener. Since I’ve started focusing on narratives, I’ve found my songs have become a lot more personal - and more listenable.” The low-slung, guitar-driven “Hustler” is one of the best examples of Berlin’s advice in action, featuring a conflicted narrator who does what he feels he must to care for his family. It isn’t autobiographical, but it did come naturally according to Clegg. “I grew up watching old gangster movies, idolizing bad men, the Tony Sopranos of the world. That’s always fascinated me.”

The redemptive power of music resonates clearly on album opener “How Do I Do This.” Feeling lonely and isolated by the pandemic, Clegg leaned into his deep appreciation for the most important people in his life: his friends, band mates, and family. As if to underscore that message, the Commonheart was working on that very song when Clegg was confronted with unexpected bad news. “The night we tracked that one, my dad died.” Time stopped again, but only for a moment. Clegg was back in the studio four days later, singing through his grief. “I was so grateful to have music at that moment. It saved me and gave me a place to focus my energy and escape. I don’t know how I did it, but I’m proud, and I know my Dad would be, too.”

Gene the Werewolf has never paid attention to trends. Nor has the Pittsburgh-based sextet been part of a scene or the hipster's band of choice. They are iconoclasts by virtue of their music, rock 'n' roll survivors in thrall to the genre's power and energy. And they're damn good at it, even if they are a dying breed. "It's strange to feel like you are one of the last of your own kind," says Jon Belan, the band's dynamic front-man and lead singer.

The band, formed in 2007, is comprised of 6 native Pittsburghers. With self-released albums "Light Me Up" and "Wicked Love" under their belts, as well as 2012's worldwide release of "Rock 'n' Roll Animal" on Frontiers Records (Italy), followed by 2016's self-released "The Loner", GTW’s efforts have produced (5) singles on one of the nation's most prestigious rock radio dials, 102.5 WDVE-FM, including 2022's one-off single "Dying Breed".

More coming soon…

To say that THE REGAL SWEET assembles like stray bullets hitting one another in mid air is an understatement. The band officially formed in the summer of 2018 in Pittsburgh PA. Known for their raucous brand of Rock n’ Roll and high-energy shows, their sound waltzes through classic rock styling with a sprinkling of boozy sophistication. The Regal Sweet writes songs that promote hip shakin’ and poor decision making after dark, and it’s no surprise their influences nod heavily at swagger kings like The Faces, Mott the Hoople, James Gang, T-Rex and the Stooges. Although sometimes songs dive deeper and take sharp turns into corners of American roots music, early punk or maybe even a New Orleans street party. In February of 2018 a makeshift band began recording ideas Pittsburgh, PA. Things wrapped up at Marigny Studio in New Orleans (with Rick Nelson of Afghan Whigs) just a few months later and inadvertently spawned what would be a “new” band and their first EP. Members floated in and out of the newly crowned Regal Sweet from 2019-2023 until a solid lineup would finally be established. The self-titled 2019 EP received critical praise and had songs “Believer” & “Starlight Strange” receive radio play both in and outside of the USA. In 2021-22 the band entered the Church Studio in Pittsburgh, PA (with engineer Dave Hidek) to record songs for their first full-length. Single releases are expected in the summer of 2024 with a full vinyl release to follow.

Somewhere in the rolling hills of upstate New York there is an old, orange extension cord. It is a little frayed in some parts, but still appears to be in working order. This isn't just some "run of the mill" extension cord; it is unusually long. In fact, this may be the longest extension cord one will ever see in a lifetime. I stumbled across it, draped across an old log, while walking through the woods. Funny thing is, as I followed one end of the cord to see where it came from, it appeared to have basically sprung out of the ground. I made my way back to the spot in the woods where I first encountered it, and curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of me. I began to follow the other end. After an hour of walking through fields, marshes and woodlands, not once coming across any connection to another extension cord, I heard the faint sound of music. As I pressed on, the sound began to increase in volume and intensity. I soon found myself in a small clearing in the woods. In the center of this clearing was what appeared to be an old woodshed. The mysterious orange cord ran right up to the shed, around some rusted tools lying on the ground along the back wall, and coiled upward into the slight crack of a boarded up window.

I slowly approached the tenement, and peered through the same crack that the orange cord flowed through. Inside were four men bashing away at their instruments amidst a room full of odds and ends that would make any junk dealer ecstatic. Apparently they were alerted to my presence, because they stopped playing as soon as I moved to the boarded window. The bearded fellow with the white cowboy hat, brown tinted aviator glasses, and garish red western shirt motioned me to enter the building. Against my better judgment, I walked around to the opposite side of the building to a small door speckled with faded red paint. I lifted the wooden latch and entered. As I looked around the space, I immediately became disoriented. The inside of this shed appeared to easily be ten times the size of the outside. From the outside, this space didn't look like it could house a record player (let alone an entire band). Once inside, I was better able to see the occupants. There were four men, all wearing what can only be described as extensive collection of eclectic attire. But strangely enough, they looked like they belonged together. Behind the fellow in the red shirt was a tall thin gentleman wearing black boots and a blue plaid shirt. There wasn't a lot of light in this room, just a solitary light bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling, but there was just enough to draw attention to this guy's hands. One couldn't help but to stare at his hands. The bulb illuminated the numerous silver rings that adorned his hands. They created a mesmerizing strobe-light effect, as he picked away at his guitar. Behind the drum kit sat a steely-eyed gentleman wearing a black leather vest. His arms moved with a pendulum-like quality. Although he was not a large man in stature, he was steady and strong. He appeared to be the kind of guy who mainly did his talking through his playing. The fourth member of this backwoods quartet was a round, bearded, jovial fellow, wearing dark blue overalls over an old black t-shirt. He was definitely the bass player. Every once in awhile he would glance at the gentleman wearing the red shirt, and laugh to himself as if amused by some unspoken inside joke.

I proceeded to extend my hand and introduce myself but there was no response. The drummer simply clicked his sticks together four times, and the group launched into another song. I sat for hours soaking in the backwoods fervor that their music seemed to exude. I tried to ask a few questions of my new friends, but there was never a spoken answer, only more music. At times, this private musical spectacle seemed to take on the characteristics of an old time spiritual revival, with the guitars barking pure gospel. At other times, it seemed like a conversation between old friends but there were never any words, only rhythm and melody.

After hours of sitting silently, I offered my thanks and bid them goodnight. Not a word was spoken as I stood and walked to the door, only the sounds of another four-click intro by the drummer. As I turned to close the tiny door, I could see the man with the red shirt and sunglasses stomping his foot wildly...as if he were trying to put out a campfire! I walked away slowly, occasionally looking back at the woodshed. I thought to myself that maybe it was never there to begin with. I could see the music move the trees as they swayed in unison to a careless beat. And finally, the music was gone. A few weeks later, I returned to that same exact spot in the woods, where I had originally found the strange orange cord. I was hoping to try and recapture that magical moment... but it was gone. I was hoping to run into my new friends once more, but they too were gone. I still wander that same piece of woods hoping to pick up it's trail once again, but I never seem to be able to get back to that same spot. My encounter with these woodshed prophets was nothing more than a chance musical encounter.

Dagus Dan, the enigmatic musical force blending experimental, pop, and jam rock elements, emerged from the serene landscapes of rural Elk County Pennsylvania. Raised amidst the rolling hills and whispering pines, Dagus Dan found solace and inspiration in early American Rock and the raw nature surrounding him, channeling its essence into his eclectic soundscapes

An acoustic musician from Ridgway performing for over 40 years. JB plays the songs you love to hear from all genres.