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India Ramey [small room]

Saturday, February 22
Show | 10pm // Doors | 9pm
$7

Blasting twin barrels of Americana noire and southern-gothic songwriting, India Ramey fires on all cylinders with her national debut, Snake Handler.
Pentecostal churches, broken households, crooked family trees, forgotten pockets of the Deep South, and domestic violence all fill the album’s 10 songs, whose autobiographical lyrics pull from Ramey’s experience as a young girl in rural Georgia. Intensely personal and sharply written, Snake Handler shines a light on the darkness of Ramey’s past, driving out any lingering demons – or snakes, if you will – along the way.
Inspired by the warm sonics of Jason Isbell’s Southeastern and the big-voiced bombast of Neko Case’s Furnace Room Lullabies, Snake Handler was recorded in six days with producer Mark Petaccia – Southeastern’s sound engineer, coincidentally – and members of Ramey’s road band. Ringing guitars, violin, atmospheric organ, and percussive train beats all swirl together, leaving room for Ramey’s voice – an instrument punctuated by the light drawl of her hometown and the quick tremolo of her vibrato – to swoon, swagger, and sparkle. It’s a voice she began developing as a child in Rome, Georgia, singing made-up songs into her electric hair curler while her parents fought just outside her bedroom door. The family home was a violent one, the product of an addicted father who flew into an abusive rage whenever his vices took control. Despite being the youngest of three children, Ramey grew up quickly, robbed of a typical childhood by her unpredictable home life. She recollects those early years in “The Baby,” skewers her no-good dad in “Devil’s Blood,” tells her mother’s story in “Rome to Paris,” and paints a less-than-inviting picture of her hometown in “Devil’s Den.”

Although her childhood lacked peace, it was filled with music, thanks to a charismatic grandfather who, in his younger years, sang in an Alabama-based gospel quartet. Well-known throughout the state, he turned down an offer to become a permanent performer on The Lawrence Welk Show when his wife refused to move to the big city. Instead, he remained in his hometown of Sand Mountain, Alabama – notorious for its number of snake-handling churches – and worked as piano tuner, decorating his own home with cast-off pianos and other instruments. It was during trips to that house, with her mother playing autoharp and her grandaddy playing acoustic guitar, that Ramey grew up singing.

“He lived to be 98,” she says of her grandfather, “and when he was in the nursing home, I bought my first guitar at Wal-Mart. I took it to him so he could teach me a couple chords, and he told me, ‘I don’t regret anything about my life, but I still wonder what might have happened if I would’ve done something with my music. I’m proud of you for getting your education, but I want you to take this guitar and do something with your music.’ So that’s what I’m doing.”

Before launching her music career, though, Ramey worked as a Deputy District Attorney in Montgomery, Alabama. The goal? To help women who, like her own mother, found themselves in abusive situations.

“When I was younger,” she remembers, “I competed in beauty pageants to earn scholarship money for college. I wanted to become a prosecutor and save battered women. It worked. I went to law school, worked as a special prosecutor, and got to make a difference in a lot of victims’ lives.”

There, between daytime hours spent in the law office and nighttime gigs alongside her Birmingham-based band, Ramey realized that music – her true calling – could help people, too. She began making honest, heartfelt music, filled with lyrics that spoke openly of her past. A pair of early releases, Junkyard Angel and Blood Crescent Moon, helped sharpen her songwriting chops. Those albums also paved the way for her move to Nashville, where she turned her back on the legal world and, instead, threw herself into songwriting. Once settled in Tennessee, she found a kindred spirit in Mark Petaccia.