Michael Hurley at 81, Folk Legend Plays Zebulon
September 12 2023
On September 3rd, a small crowd formed a line in the Sunday afternoon heat outside Zebulon, a Los Angeles bar. There was a quiet excitement among them as they shuffled from the sun into its dark, moody venue space. The bohemian crowd - clad generally in vintage tees, tiny wire-rimmed glasses, long gauzy skirts, and retro sneakers - waited for the man they had come to see: “freak-folk” legend Michael Hurley.
Hurley, now 81, has long been an important and constant figure in the ever-changing folk music world. He first emerged over fifty years ago in New York’s Greenwich Village scene, which produced outsider folk legends like Karen Dalton and Pete Seeger. Mostly playing songs inspired by his childhood in rural Pennsylvania, he garnered attention from fellow musicians and labels alike. Hurley, however, expressed little interest in recording in a studio album at the time.
Since then, Hurley, who has nicknamed himself “Snock”, has developed an impressive discography, derived mostly from home recordings. Known for his bluegrass-infused sound, playful lyrics, and the original cartoon characters referenced in his songs and illustrated on his albums, he has progressively amassed a cult following. This following has only grown thanks to the internet, which has allowed generations of music lovers to discover Hurley’s talent and charm.
At Zebulon, Portland-based opener Lewi Longmire, whose face was nearly obscured by a cowboy hat and bushy handlebar mustache, sang a few original songs before he introduced Hurley. He explained that it had been nearly a decade since Michael played in LA, and earnestly thanked the team at Zebulon for working hard to establish a relationship with Hurley to make him feel welcome.
When Snock took to the stage and began to play, sporting his signature short-billed railroad cap, the crowd stood very still, save for one couple who swayed together through the entirety of his set. Everyone watched with silent awe while he and Longmire played stripped-back versions of his songs, avoiding his hits. In his typical eclectic fashion, he crooned about everything from deep love and sorrow to pissing dogs and farting horses.
When he had warmed up to the crowd, he explained that he had written the horse song after a suggestion from someone in the industry. Teen girls, he’d been told, are allegedly crazy for horses, and they’re the ones who control the sale of records, after all. He chuckled with his audience.
After all these years, Hurley’s voice is the same as ever. He is consistent, silly and sentimental, and his message of love and joy remains integral to his work. He remains an outsider for his earnest and lo-fi approach in an age where many musicians churn out highly-produced music for algorithms to make viral. In Los Angeles and elsewhere, Hurley still finds a devoted audience among those who might consider themselves outsiders, too.
On September 3rd, a small crowd formed a line in the Sunday afternoon heat outside Zebulon, a Los Angeles bar. There was a quiet excitement among them as they shuffled from the sun into its dark, moody venue space. The bohemian crowd - clad generally in vintage tees, tiny wire-rimmed glasses, long gauzy skirts, and retro sneakers - waited for the man they had come to see: “freak-folk” legend Michael Hurley.
Hurley, now 81, has long been an important and constant figure in the ever-changing folk music world. He first emerged over fifty years ago in New York’s Greenwich Village scene, which produced outsider folk legends like Karen Dalton and Pete Seeger. Mostly playing songs inspired by his childhood in rural Pennsylvania, he garnered attention from fellow musicians and labels alike. Hurley, however, expressed little interest in recording in a studio album at the time.
Since then, Hurley, who has nicknamed himself “Snock”, has developed an impressive discography, derived mostly from home recordings. Known for his bluegrass-infused sound, playful lyrics, and the original cartoon characters referenced in his songs and illustrated on his albums, he has progressively amassed a cult following. This following has only grown thanks to the internet, which has allowed generations of music lovers to discover Hurley’s talent and charm.
At Zebulon, Portland-based opener Lewi Longmire, whose face was nearly obscured by a cowboy hat and bushy handlebar mustache, sang a few original songs before he introduced Hurley. He explained that it had been nearly a decade since Michael played in LA, and earnestly thanked the team at Zebulon for working hard to establish a relationship with Hurley to make him feel welcome.
When Snock took to the stage and began to play, sporting his signature short-billed railroad cap, the crowd stood very still, save for one couple who swayed together through the entirety of his set. Everyone watched with silent awe while he and Longmire played stripped-back versions of his songs, avoiding his hits. In his typical eclectic fashion, he crooned about everything from deep love and sorrow to pissing dogs and farting horses.
When he had warmed up to the crowd, he explained that he had written the horse song after a suggestion from someone in the industry. Teen girls, he’d been told, are allegedly crazy for horses, and they’re the ones who control the sale of records, after all. He chuckled with his audience.
After all these years, Hurley’s voice is the same as ever. He is consistent, silly and sentimental, and his message of love and joy remains integral to his work. He remains an outsider for his earnest and lo-fi approach in an age where many musicians churn out highly-produced music for algorithms to make viral. In Los Angeles and elsewhere, Hurley still finds a devoted audience among those who might consider themselves outsiders, too.