Picture this: Three young men, dressed in cowboy hats, paisley vests, white collar shirts, and giant grins. Standing front and center is the tall, gangly lead vocalist, sporting massive sideburns complemented by furrowed, expressive brows. His partners in crime are less imposing, but equally enthusiastic as they strum away on their instruments. One plays guitar while the other alternates between violin and banjo, flanking their front man who’s feverishly plucking away at the stand-up bass.
Now that you’ve envisioned the players, the setting conjured up is likely one of desert campfires, horses, and maybe moonshine. But this is where it gets interesting.
The three musicians playing their hearts out and stretching their vocal chords are not exactly where their accoutrement would have you believe—and they’re a bit too young for moonshine.
They’re standing on a street corner in front of the downtown Riverside Theater or, depending on the season, by the ice rink on the corner of First and Virginia streets, or even in their friendly, neighborhood park.
There’s no stage, no spotlight, and no sound guy to speak of—but there is an audience, even if on a slow day it’s just “an old guy with a poodle,” according to the boys’ description, or a family passing by in a minivan, handing a couple bucks out the window for a quick tune.
This is Farewell Belladonna’s optimal playing field. It’s where they do what they do best, “busking,” aka street performing, and it’s not only how they got their start, but how they ended up with the unique genre description they choose to define themselves: “backstreet bluegrass.”
A passerby, stopping and listening to a few of the boys’ tunes, forever left his mark with his observation: “I like. It’s like backstreet bluegrass.” Or that’s what the band members remember him saying. And it stuck.
While Farewell Belladonna has since gained the notoriety to play at actual venues—most often Holland Project, and, coming up, the Knitting Factory for the Red Neck Ball and an Americana festival in Virginia City—they still prefer their modest origins as hard-working buskers.
“It’s great money, [we make] like $100 a night for a couple hours of playing,” violin/banjo player Bryan McAuliffe insists. Except for that first time they played in the park, and, as lead vocalist/stand-up bassist George Pickard recalls, “I think we made like six bucks.”
But it’s not about the money, although that’s an added perk, especially when you’re a senior at Reno High, as all three members are, and playing in a band is your afterschool job.
For guitarist Steven Sharp, the best part of busking is the people watching. “You get to see all different kinds!” he says.
While the three friends started Farewell Belladonna primarily as a means to try out their new instruments, they stuck with it once they realized they had a good thing going. And Pickard took on the role as songwriter, penning tunes that may sound upbeat and cheery, but upon closer investigation actually center on pangs of the heart.
“It’s all inspired from dark, depressing things … struggle,” Pickard explains. “They’re run-away songs. They talk about rambling and adventure, lost love;” appropriately things a lone ranger could relate to.
As for the mysterious Belladonna to whom they’re bidding farewell in the heart-felt songs?
“We like to leave things up to interpretation,” Sharp says.
But whoever she is, if she even exists, the “beautiful lady” (to which Belladonna translates in Italian), must have pierced a heart, one that Pickard attempts to mend with his stand-up bass, up-turned brows, and down-in-the-dirt lyrics, which he’ll forcefully croon—for a buck or two.