A booze-soaked throughline in the East Village antifolk scene between Beck (fan, ex-roommate) and The Moldy Peaches (devotees) songwriter PALEFACE whose real name is un-Googleable never really stopped. But somewhere before his 14th release The Show Is On The Road, PALEFACE missplaced the "anti". Perhaps deliberately. He happily drops choruses where they're expected ("You Are The Girl"), adds big harmonised codas, ("New York, New York"), and serves other tricks that anti-folk once eschewed. His voice is pleasantly tattered and there is still a taste of street rhymes ("The Cheatin Song"), but mostly the music is utterly stable backed by drummer/girlfriends Monica "Mo" Samalot. For PALEFACE The Show Is On The Road seems exactly right: the product of somebody who has long since found himself-

Sitting down, Paleface is still tall. Standing, he towers over most people, his bulky frame usually covered in simple, distinct clothes. He has a wide grin when he smiles and a piercing, knowing stare that’s as apparent as a young man on the cover of his 1991 self titled debut to the images for Paleface’s latest album The Show is on the Road.
The raspy voiced singer sits on the edge of a couch upstairs on the second floor of the Soapbox under pale yellow fluorescent light surrounded by drab, stained white and marked up walls. It’s shortly after a performance in which the singer stood on the edge of a stage playing acoustic guitar and harmonica wearing a dark blue suit, looking like a cross between a business man and a caretaker. He stepped onstage casually as if merely checking things out, wearing the suit with a white shirt and a shiny, light blue tie. During the performance he spoke of wisdom as “picking up a few nuggets” along the way. His movements were abrasive and energetic, like a kid trying to contain too much energy, nearly wiggling free from the confines of the suit. He played like a man possessed, with a deep husky voice like that of Tom Waits and Mark Lanegan.
He talks of the show as a mess but its fair to say no one noticed. He made an impression on the crowd, talking to them and bringing them into his world, because he spoke to everyone before each song, as if knowing them already. It felt electric and spontaneous.
“It was,” he says with a laugh.
And it was accessible, absent of a wall between crowd and performer.
“That’s death,” he says with little doubt. He closed with a well known song that takes a stab at the Judas Priest trials, ‘Burn and Rob.’ Its performance serves as a window into the history of a performer that has changed, been through a lot, in the last seventeen years.
Paleface changes shirts and makes a joke about it being a post show ritual, albeit a strange way to start an interview. Even while pulling a white shirt over his head he talks openly and friendly, mentioning that his old manager Danny Fields gave him a bit of advice –
“Never read your press.”
His focus doesn’t waver even as The Brothels play too loudly on the floor below us and people in background shout and talk seemingly just as loud. He only stops talking when people walk by the couch we sit on in a hallway that already feels claustrophobic.
It’s January of 2008 and he’s begun touring as a duo with drummer Monica Samalot (she goes by Mo) after relocating to Concord, North Carolina from Brooklyn the previous September.
“Heard of U-Pack?” Paleface asks. He describes how U-Pack brings a large pre-ordered box, drops it at your front door and there’s four hours to pack it. At the end of those four hours someone waits down the street with a forklift that pulls up, loads it on a truck and drives it all the way to North Carolina like a life size Fed Ex box.
“It’s like an elevator box. We packed it all the way to the top,” Paleface says.
Packing everything up and moving to Concord was a loaded decision. Paleface stayed there before, working with The Avett Brothers during their Four Thieves Gone album sessions in 2005.
“It was sixty degrees in the mountains in Robbinsville,” he says. “I thought, this is really nice. I like this. I really liked this. At the time it didn’t register I should move down.”
It would take some time, and advice, from Ramseur Records label owner Dolph Ramseur to make the move a reality. Moving to Concord was as much a business decision as a creative one and it seems to have brought everything involving Paleface’s creativity into focus. The music he’s making now is more than a distillation of the years he spent making Anti-folk music or songs inspired by punk and other urban styles. Musically, it sounds like where Paleface has always needed to go, both physically and stylistically. The lower cost of living in Concord also allows the duo to make a living out of playing music.
Before moving, Paleface remained in Brooklyn and continued to work and try to play shows, not something easy to do in New York City where clubs prefer a performer to not be so well-viewed. In a sporadic manner he began to make 2008’s A Different Story with his side project band Just About to Burn. That album is how he met Mo.

For nearly twenty years Paleface lived in Brooklyn. Originally from Connecticut, the burgeoning twenty year old singer threw himself into music by moving to New York City as the eighties drew to a close. In the early nineties he found a home of sorts in the Anti-Folk scene. While Seattle geared up for its own carnival ride and over saturation, and glam metal rock died a sufficient death, something new was brewing in a city that was on hard times. This period allowed for artists to live efficiently in the city and scenes like Anti-folk to prosper.
“I got into that scene. There were all these crazy people,” he says. “New York was so raw then. There were all these crazy artists because they could afford to live there. All those people, leftover people from seventies when the city went in the toilet, had no money.”
Mayor Giuliani hadn’t arrived yet politically and began to clean up. Paleface, arriving in 1989, found himself in an artist’s Mecca at the close of a rich period of creativity just as the city was about to find itself with a shiny, fresh coat of tourist paint.
“I was there at the end of it. It was happening really fast because of all those people. John S. Hall was reading poetry. Kramer was releasing all these records.”
Kramer’s New York alt label, Shimmy Disc, boasted bands like Galaxie 500, Ween, King Missile, Bongwater, Mo Tucker. In the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston there’s a picture of Kramer with underground hero singer Daniel Johnston around the time Paleface was living there. Paleface befriended Johnston for a brief period, picking up on his craft of writing songs. Johnston could write and record songs on the spot and his fluidity and prowess inspired Paleface to find his own way.
He met Danny Fields (The Stooges, The Ramones) in 1990 at an open mic show who later signs as his manager.
“That was a whole other thing ‘cause this guy was Danny Fields.” Paleface then begins to whisper-sing a lyric from a Ramones song, “Danny says you gotta go to Idaho.”
Paleface later records an album produced by Kramer called Generic America for Shimmy Disc. In a single, catastrophic, move Kramer erased the masters for the album’s songs. Yet, timing remains serendipitous for the singer, meeting so many intricate people at the right time. He was friends and roommates with Beck and became an influence on Becks early work.
In 1995 The New York Post runs a story on Paleface and by the end of the year is signed to Sire Records. He learns the news from D-Generation’s Jesse Malin while hanging out in a bar. Malin had read about it in the paper that day. Paleface records Get Off and it’s released around the same time as Beck’s Odelay.
“I thought it was a bluesy punk record. I liked it. I had a blast making that record. I had such a good time. I made good friends. It just didn’t...I remember Danny called and saying ‘they like you in the mountains (laughs). It wasn’t the time. I was already past all that kind of stuff Beck was doing with those clean sounds and silly lyrics and shit. I was writing, trying to write real stuff about what was happening with me at that time.”
Get Off is a rough, loud and slightly erratic record, blistering akin to an angry tirade. ‘G.G.F.U.’ has lyrics like “Set ‘em up/Drink ‘em down” against thundering guitar and harmonica. The album sounds chaotic, embracing retaliation and falling apart. On ‘I’ll Be Back’ he sings “Now that we’ve drunk all the liquor/Now that we done what we came here to do/What should we do?” Sire Records ultimately chose not to compete with the marketing of Beck’s album Odelay and within a few months later Paleface was off Sire Records.
Paleface continued, touring with The Breeders and moving through a serious bout with alcohol. The nineties were tough on him and listening to Get Off is hard knowing Paleface nearly died from drinking while on tour in 1997. In Nevada he began to shake terribly and collapsed from a failing liver.
He returned to Brooklyn to heal and rethink his life, eventually finding himself in the company of a creative group of songwriters like The Avett Brothers and Langhorne Slim. The music he begins to make is quite different from the frenetic material of the nineties. He formed a side project, Just About to Burn, and embarked on playing a lot of Americana – Paleface on guitar and singing and another musician playing dobro and banjo.
By 2000 Paleface met and became friends with a different grade of artists that match his Anti-folk tendencies. Nicole Atkins was booking shows in New York and a huge fan of their sound.
“She thought it’d be a great match for us,” he says. “She was booking this little tiny coffee house and there couldn’t have been more than ten people there.”
Of those people in attendance was Regina Spektor, Langhorne Slim, The Avett Brothers. The players who met that night would go on to be well known and find great success in music. In time, Paleface would slowly rebuild his own music career in North Carolina.
“It didn’t mean anything at the time, you know, but it turned into something.”
Mo joined Just About to Burn as Paleface decided to make a record and have a drummer join the fold.

Monica Samalot was born and raised in San Juan, Puerto Rico. She graduated from architecture school, found the work displeasing and moved to New York City. Living there she began to hang out at shows on the Lower East Side and attending open mic nights. It was the songwriters, their passion and raw energy, which drew her to playing music herself – the drums.
“I already have the rhythm in my blood, so picking up the drums really came naturally,” she says.
This happened seven years ago. She was hanging out with musicians in the Anti-folk scene and felt so inspired that she decided to join in.”
In her apartment she’d throw late night music jams and parties after friend’s shows, performers who were open to letting Mo sit in and play alongside even as it was still new to her.
“They didn’t care that I was so raw because the Anti-folk scene was about being real and having fun and not about being perfect.”
Having never played music before, she ordered her first drum set online. Three months later she was playing on stage with her first band American Anymen. Afterwards she played with several other folk bands, Wooden Ghost, Huggabroomstik. She’d play drums for two years before crossing paths with Paleface, who at the time was experimenting with another band and then forming Just About to Burn. He wanted someone who could add simple drumming to the fold.
“I had been playing drums for two years so I felt confident enough to ask him to give me a chance,” she says. “And it worked out. But that project is now defunct and we just perform as Paleface.”
Once she began playing with him music became less of a hobby, less about parties, and more about creating. Mo had a lot of respect and admiration for Paleface’s talents and music, strong enough that she began to take drum lessons in Brooklyn with Paula Spiro.
A Different Story was the album Mo played and sang on (‘Ya Me Voy’), a process that was sporadic and hectic at best. Paleface has acerbic feelings about it due to the frenetic nature of putting it together, having no money to do it properly.
“We had to nickel and dime it. Record some stuff out in New Jersey then go to midtown. Then do vocals in Brooklyn. That part I don’t enjoy. It’s not an experience.”
Hearing Paleface talk about making records it’s clear that having memories, sharing experiences making records is important.
“I think when you make a record it should be the experience of going somewhere and creating something. Like that record Get Off (Sire Records). Nobody really bought it, some punk kids liked it, but I still cherish that as a memory because I had so much fun doing it. I had a great time. All the people that worked on that record, we all had fun. Whenever I see them…we have that. We have that moment. I don’t think I’ll have that moment with (A Different Story). It’s not an intense powerful experience that you immerse yourself in.”
Hearing A Different Story and hearing him state this is somewhat alarming. It’s a great record, a stand out slice of Americana with disparate and modern flourishes. Scott and Seth Avett played on it (‘I Can See the Light’ and Kick This Jam’ and it contains great songwriting and a variety of musical flavors. “I don’t respond to pressure/Pressure is depression” Paleface sings on ‘I Can see the Light,’ a song that imbues the album with personal and dug-deep emotions.
On it he sings with heartfelt, rustic vocals that are smooth and with its fair amount of bumps in the road that keep it grounded. The songs feel like traveling music - freight car jams and side of the road tunes. At times it sounds of being recorded on front porches and old rooms with a single light bulb hanging. Its Americana spirit and world-weary hopefulness permeates earnest playing with catchy melodies.
The ensuing result is that A Different Story is rife with individual song ideas and nuances. Each track is a little different, unlike albums that follow a familiar thread musically. ‘Kick This Jam’ is as playful a country porch jam yet has a dash of hip hop soul to it. ‘Dyin Daze’ is a dangerous banjo-laced rave-up. ‘Little by Little’ sounds like Aerosmith doing straight up, yesteryear country.
“I think of those songs as little songs, because I wanted all that space for the musicians.”
Paleface is firm about recording fresh ideas that are true to himself, not crafted as a means to fit mainstream molds and commercial ideas. In the end, his songs feel raw and memorable. His voice is astutely real and noticeable. There’s a realness, like the late Chris Whitley, that sounds as though he’s in the room singing next to you.
His preferred way of making songs is fast and loose, as a means of trial by fire.
“Then you know if it’s good. Because even if it’s rough you can hear it, you know? Some people fool themselves and think they can fix it. You can’t. You either know right away - if it’s good,” he slaps his hands together hard and quickly. “Let’s either stop, or just finish it.”
The writing process is more focused now since he’s not writing for a band anymore. He’s having to figure out how to do things without the other accoutrements, without lap steel or bass - it all falls on him.
With A Different Story completed Paleface called Dolph at Ramseur Records and asked if he wanted to put it out. Dolph had a different idea. He questioned what would be the point of putting it out given that Paleface was still in Brooklyn.
“He said, ‘PF what are you doing in Brooklyn? You’re not playing. You’re not out there touring. My first suggestion to you, before talking about any of that stuff, is to get out of New York.”
That bit of news placed Paleface with a new perspective and in need of U-Pack’s services. And a little help from his friends.
“That started it. And we didn’t know where to go. Scotty (Avett) had some contacts and it was the Avett Brother’s town. They hooked us with a spot and did us a real solid and got a cheap place.”
On YouTube there’s a handheld recorded video of Paleface joining The Avett Brothers onstage with Valient Thorr for a rendition of ‘Colorshow’ in Charlotte for a New Year’s show last December.
“We got ‘em now,” Avett says from stage before launching into the song ‘Dancing Daze’ which Paleface sang on their album Four Thieves Gone. “They loved North Carolina so much they moved here from New York.”
Paleface jumps up and down, like there’s a spring in his feet strong enough to propel his large frame up and down. He smiles and appears happier than ever. He looks like a kid in a punk band all over again, like a kid hearing great music for the first time. It’s a bit of merriment that enhances the notion that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or at least, helps shape someone in a proper direction. Paleface’s gravelly, Tom Waits meets Mark Lanegan wiseman voice has shaped his music, lent itself to what he’s crafting. The young face may not match the voice, but it indeed graces his soul and spirit. He sings like a man possessed with something good and explosive. He tells stories on stage, gives something of himself while letting it all hang out. That was apparent at the early Soapbox and is apparent with each performance.
Moving to Concord meant starting anew with Mo - playing shows and figuring out to do so as a duo. They toured a lot in 2008 and recorded a new album, The Show is on the Road, an album that has material saying goodbye to the past, hello to the future and about how it all somehow fits together. Paleface is prolific in writing and creating new material. The pair started touring as soon as they moved to Concord and Paleface kept writing as they went along. Some songs he leaves for a while to marinate only to return to later.
“PF writes a lot of songs. But because we’re touring all the time we work them out on the road, during sound checks and sometimes even on stage,” Mo says.
The new album is like a love letter, an admission of who the band is and where they are on a personal journey. Paleface simply writes about, and is inspired by, what happens around him.
With Mo in his life it tends to mean a lot for her. She says that the first time he played her the song ‘New York, New York’ from The Show is on the Road brought tears to her eyes.
“I could relate to it on a personal level. I feel like I also “came to be” in New York City. I moved there soon after college and went through some rough times due to too much partying, heartbreaks, September 11th, loss of a close friend to drugs, loss of jobs, loss of apartments. The city can hit you hard, but it also has so much beauty, art, culture, history, diversity, talent. It was in New York City that I found my passion for playing music which helped me grow up and allowed me to open my eyes to things that matter most in life. I found myself in New York City.”
But The Show is on the Road sounds like a continuation of the confessional qualities of A Different Story. While ‘New York, New York’ and ‘Travelling from North Carolina’ speak of scenery change for Paleface and Mo, songs like ‘Holy, Holy’ dig deeper, albeit tongue-in-cheek. He sings, “Gimme something better/I wanna get high/Gimme something better/All them drugs is a lie/Gimme something better/Ain’t no pie in the sky.” ‘Try to Hold You Own’ sounds like making peace and ‘If Only I’ shares a tango dance flavor. Paleface sounds as though he’s come full circle. And he has Mo with him now, who has greater presence on the new album, showing off her crystal and sweet harmonies. She’s a delicate balance against Paleface’s elegant growl (notably on ‘If Only I’), a lot shorter than him and smiles a lot playing the drums. In truth she seems to smile a lot, a positive bright light to be around. Her powerful, cooing voice, is an added bonus.
Dolph extended a great deal of support in making the new record, giving the duo complete creative freedom. It was recorded live by Paleface and Mo with guest appearances from Seth Avett, Grey Revell, Bob Crawford, Joe Edel and Joe Kwon on cello. Mo and Paleface aren’t just making music together as musicians, they’re also doing it together as a couple.
“When you tour as much as we’re touring, you really need to enjoy each other’s company. For me, it’s a blessing to get to travel and play music as a living and at the same time get to share it all with PF.”
When interviewing Paleface in 2008 he spoke of their set as a mess and that they were still working out all the kinks of putting on a show. It’s a lot different now. It’s growing.
“Its two people who care deeply about each other,” Mo says. “Working hard and having a good time playing little tunes while hoping the rest of the world can get a kick out of it.”
Paleface describes his progress by way of Bob Dylan from the documentary No Looking Back.
“He said, you should always be becoming, that if you arrive somewhere you’re kind of in trouble. I sort of agree with that. But I want to get to where our set is defined and people can really see who we are.”


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