Local Review: Anyone Awake — Bushel and a Peck

Anyone Awake
Bushel and a Peck
Self-Released
Street: 10.25.2024
Anyone Awake = Bristol Maroney + Nirvana

As a child who was once the subject of the song “A Bushel and a Peck” performed near-nightly at dinnertime by her own grandmother, I understood right away the sentiment of Anyone Awake’s debut album title. What was once a hot song written for the Broadway musical Guys and Dolls — a provocative nightclub act distinguished by 1950s teenage love affairs — became a bouncy tune sung endearingly by those same teens to their grandchildren decades later. The song is an even sexier earlier variant of Patrick Swayze’s “nobody puts baby in a corner” line, if you can believe it. It’s funny, the way that a phrase or song can at one point hold a scandalous meaning and eventually be applied to such innocent and sincere love. While that was such a Carrie Bradshaw thing to say, it is really special to think through the way love changes with its host. The album Bushel and a Peck drives the point home by telling the love story of frontman Cassius Coleman’s grandparents, from the shifting perspectives of his grandfather throughout his life until his recent death.  

The group hails from the small town of Rigby, Idaho — a dot on a map halfway between Rexburg and Idaho Falls; 200 miles directly north of Salt Lake City. From the first strum, the sound reeks of the Mountain West: a perfect combination of just enough folk rock to get your nostalgic juices flowing, paired with a heavy dollop of post-grunge. Although, unlike your typical grunge group, I’d say their “ethos” — I’m eyerolling — feels less rebellious and more like that of a golden retriever who’s dragged his paws in mud. 

Anyone Awake begins the LP with the sound of the emblematic soft beating of a 35mm film projector. An airy electric guitar picks up at the same windy caliber. As the film rolls, Coleman sings, uttering “I first met you in the dark.” On second or third listen, it’s a chicken-skin-ish moment because you know what follows: a love story blushed with makeout sessions and bashful moments, a period of life that’s full of boorish things to do when the passion lapses, reassuredness and marriage, a move home, last dates and last thoughts. 

As far as I can tell, the sound sticks to pretty traditional rock band instruments with an occasional ethereal effect here and there. I’m guessing it’s a minimalist belief probably born from the affinity the group holds for Nirvana. This is one of those things where “you need more instruments” kind of statement doesn’t fly — completely inappropriate. A real-life garage band can make fascism think twice with just the likes of a good bass player and an introspective frontman with a disturbed soul. By this time in history, we know the grungerians will die on that hill the same way modern day milkmaid wannabes will do on Lana Del Rey’s.

Those milkmaid wannabes would fawn over this story too, I think. I felt surprisingly and mistakenly safe in the beginning of  Bushel and a Peck, doubting anything bad would happen to the couple. What’s the worst that could happen? I thought. We know they at least stayed together, and had children and grandchildren. But real life just doesn’t warrant the kind of comfortability I felt. I wasn’t expecting such honesty, friends. 

Coleman writes ambiguous-enough lyrics to veil the actual events and detail the emotions instead. Ideas like infidelity seem to be involved, but you can’t quite tell who did the doing, or even when. The final track, “String Theory,” captured some of the feelings the hero had at the end of his life: “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life / Just to find it’s a waste of time / If you get a second chance / I would say you should take your time.” 

It’s a piece of advice, I think, for his grandson. Bushel and a Peck tells more than just one love story, and you don’t realize it until the end. 

Confirmed by Easter egg hints all over the band’s socials, the story is immersive and, most importantly, real. The hero himself can be seen cradling his bride in album art and his real voice embellishes the music through samples of home video. The LP ends with the soft beat of the film projector, and a tune is sung by the man himself. The omni-dimensional love story couldn’t be summed up any better: “I love you / A bushel and a peck / You bet your pretty neck I do / A doodle-oodle-oodle-do.” —Mary Culbertson

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