Who Ever Said Southern Girls Are Saints??

The sentimental, high lonesome sound, of The Figs can catch you by surprise.  These ladies sound off three part harmonies like Greek sirens above the perilous rocks. Largely blue grass, with influences ranging from Built to Spill to local southern flavors like The Red Stick Ramblers, the figs are not to be taken lightly.  On the contrary, if you are not on guard, their lolls of lonesome love and train wrecked hearts will bring you to your knees.  Why you ask?  Well, I have it on good authority that a couple of these gals have sold their everlasting souls to the devil.  Lucifer usually provides a lesson or two on the ole acoustic for such a handsome price. And as you know, the devil plays a damn good fiddle.

The siren song of The Figs is a throw back to a slower time.  With their roots firmly planted in the Cajun, zydeco, and swing traditions of southern Louisiana, these six women are still able to bring something new to the table.  The self proclaimed "clunky little band", the timing and precision of banjo, ukulele and stand-up bass suggest this title is an underestimation. Though they have only been performing together for a year and a half, the girls have a lot under their girdles to be proud of.  The summer of 2007 saw the release of their debut album and their first national tour. The lovely ladies have also put in sufficient face time in music festivals all over the south. 

These southern beauties permeate the bygone decades of darlins, love letters, tire swings and trains with every appearance.  It's not just their seductive harmonies that will send you back; the band provides great visuals for folks who are imaginatively challenged. With each performance The Figs incorporate vintage costumes into the show.  And I'm not talking Studio 54 vintage.  The vintage this band owns is something our gran'-mawmaws' mothers would know all about - ruffles, lace, and patchwork.

The band has gone incognito tonight.  Yes, that's right! There won't be any singin' ladies on stage at Lafayette's finest venue, The Blue Moon Saloon. Tonight the Figs' wardrobe features painted-on mustaches, suspenders, and derby hats.  There is a decent, young crowd a-bouncin away to every pluck of the banjo.  The crowd is simply fixed on the super seductive women on stage.  Ultimately, every bonafide attempt to hide these beauties tragically fails. Through tipped hats, squirrelly mustaches, and pin-striped pants I can still hear those sirens a-callin'.   The price one must pay in order to master one's craft is a steep one indeed.  But in The Figs' case, the devil's lessons paid off.