Oct

16

Langhorne Slim

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Langhorne Slim

It “fills me with joy” to make music, says Sean Scolnick, the very slim guitar-man of Langhorne Slim. “It’s like singing or dancing when you’re alone and in the shower. Before I played guitar, I felt like I needed to make something – I’m lucky that I stumbled across guitar. I don’t know what makes you want do the things that you want to do – it’s just something inside of you that wants to come out, as somebody I think once said.”

A wild, sweaty, fiery cowboy is clawing his way out of Scolnick, dripping piano jam bequeathed by a jazz club over a voice that kills and an electric guitar that shreds the stage. Banjo and harmonica comb through as needed. The cowboy drove Scolnick through a regular, untalented childhood in Pennsylvania and into school in New York where a favorite professor liked his style, and directed him into the music studio. The other music students, spoon-fed with theory with their milk and porridge as tender tots, didn’t intimidate him from a career of following inspiration, and Scolnick followed his respected prof’s advice and let it rip. While the others stressed over their GPAs and the freshie 15, Scolnick created a band for his alternate ego, Langhorne Slim. Langhorne Slim rips and roars out barrel-dancing blues, and, like a rough and tough guy, waxes frankly tender.  Scolnick is that kind of guy – he doesn’t “get away with it:” he does what he wants to. He dances with wild abandon and he wears skin-skimming pink pants which my sister thought made dancing on the barrel over-kill. But that’s Langhorne Slim for you – the exaggeration, it works.

Molly Miltenberger is a freelance writer with an interest in postcards and goldfish.

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