A few things you should know about Avail. Slicing through a leafy swath of trees, the freight train tracks snake along the edges of the muddy James River. From this little patch of greenery in the heart of post-industrial Richmond, Virginia, the rails run to the blue ridge hill country, through sleepy towns like Roanoke and Lynchburg, before splintering off to points all over the south. When the graffiti-covered trains aren???t thundering along, every hour or so, it???s nearly silent. No honking cars, no bustling crowds, no TV sets or blaring radios. The birds eek-eek-eeking overhead are about as loud as it gets. You can find Avail singer Tim Barry here frequently, striding along the rails, his canine companion Zeke at his side. It seems like a strange spot for a punk rock hero-type to hang out, but if you know Avail it makes sense. Figure it like this: the band typically spends a third of the year jammed in a smelly-ass van, driving from dingy bar to dingy bar, playing loud music for loud people. When they get home, Barry and company want a little solitude. Not surprisingly for an inveterate road warrior, stories of travelling and returning home feature prominently in Barry???s lyrics. There are allusions to hometown characters and landmarks, mentions of trips up and down the Interstate, and many, many references to stowing away on freight trains. In a lot of ways, a voyage through Avail???s sonic landscape is like a journey across the country via boxcar: the terrain changes constantly, but seamlessly. Three-chord thrash morphs into sing-songy pop punk then slows to a growling mosh before breaking into a 70???s rock-sounding chorus. It???s this ability to destroy genre barriers without sounding contrived or schizoid that???s become Avail???s trademark. You can probably trace Avail???s musical approach to the time and place the band started. Flashback to the late 1980s: Avail is just getting out of the garage. They???re living in an outer suburb of Washington, D
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