Jordn Block-SEPIACHORD
Seattle, WA

Curtis Eller touts himself as "New York's angriest yodeling banjo player," which is like claiming to be the funniest Tuvan throat singer in Tallahassee. He's got the market cornered, all right, but he's less angry than voracious about the old-time American history (in style and song) he plunders. On this year's Wirewalkers and Assassins, the circus-trained juggler and acrobat plucks and plinks over dark visions of the American South, pre-execution prayers, faux-proletarian arsonist fantasies and a heady, obsessive matrix of conspiracy theories. But even as he bumps up against the musical limits of vaudevillian hokum ‹ some slick slide guitar and country-soul-sister backing vocals save him ‹ he spins his yarns with unfettered imagination and affection. Eller's lexicon is rough, wide and impervious to irony.

Roy Kasten-RIVERFRONT TIMES
St. Louis, MO

CURTIS ELLER'S AMERICAN CIRCUS
Wirewalkers And Assassins
It's not often that a press release makes one laugh out loud, but Curtis Eller's is an object lesson in how to engage the reviewer and make her/him favourably disposed even before hearing the album. And there was no disappointment, as the album carries all the wit and quirky originality of the PR: the two quotes on the CD sleeve are from wirewalker Karl Wallenda (of the Flying Wallendas, dummy) and assassin John Wilkes Booth, and it is the latter who haunts the songs in one guise or another. John Wilkes Booth (Don't Make Us Beg) is a heartfelt - and somewhat outrageous - plea for one way to solve the problem of the current President of the USA, while The Curse of Cain examines Booth's mind after the event in Ford's Theater in 1865, sympathetically.

To make comparisons as a way of getting into the album, Eller's lyrics are reminiscent of the likes of Tom Waits with a detailed knowledge of forgotten and half-remembered parts of American, and particularly New York's, history: he doesn't burn up like the 'forest fire' of cliché, but like a 'Sweatshop Fire' ­ the unspoken reference is to the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire of 1911. The plea of the man bound for execution, Save Me, Joe Louis is supposed to have been a real cry from a black convict in the 1940sŠ and so on. The legendary corrupt Tammany Hall leader, Boss Tweed, rubs shoulders with Elvis Presley and Richard Nixon, until the whole thing takes on the hallucinatory quality of Luc Sante's evocation of New York, Low Life.

But if it were just a clever reworking of history, the album would be dry as dust, if unusual; that it isn't is due to Eller's clever mixing in of more straightforward (sic) tracks: Plea Of The Aerialist's Wife adds a plaintive touch, as against the tale of the Hartford Circus Fire, 1944, which may or may not have taken place, and Daisy Josephine is a lovely lullaby/balled as befitting his subject matter. Ellers holds the music together with parlour-style banjo picking, framed by upright bass and drums, with delicate touches of backing vocals, organ, squeezebox and steel guitar. It's all very light and attractive, with a lot of waltz time in there, and is a bit of a left-field classic that is already one of my albums of the year.

Ian Kearey-fROOTS MAGAZINE
London, UK

Curtis Eller's American Circus - Wirewalkers And Assassins
***** (4.5 stars)
On Wirewalkers and Assassins, Curtis Eller's American Circus presents an aural psychotronic vision of Olde Timey Americana. The overall sound of the album is vaudevillian country and folk: Eller's banjo tunefully mingles accordion, lap steel, violin, and else, but the lyrics are just off-kilter enough that you'll never mistake this for mere historical recreation. Oddly, references to personages both modern and anarchonistic abound: John Wilkes Booth and the Civil War seem to co-exist with Richard Nixon and Fidel Castro. The effect is something like finding a tube radio from some alternate reality that only plays songs about dusty roads, boxing, and circus catastrophes. And what a brilliant tune it is!

Jack Shear-LIAR SOCIETY
Binghamton, NY

A Terrific Work Of Song Craftsmanship ***** (5 stars)

From the first track to the last, this batch of songs by banjois Curtis Eller is his hardest hitting release to date. Like his previous full length album "Taking Up Serpents Again", this album is sure to please the Americana buff with a hankerin' for gutsy singing and crafted lyrics. Subjects like circus fires, assassins on the run, wirewalking, the greed of the well-to-do, and cries for help from the gas chamber are just a small example of the wealth of vocally illustrated lyrics on this record. A great mix of songs from straight up rock, to Civil War era tunes, to slapback echo that could have come straight from the Sun recording studio circa 1956, Eller quenches the thirst of many, but leaves you pressing "Play All" over and over again. This time, to go along with his basic band, violin is a welcome addition to a few tracks. Some amazing lap and pedal steel playing really make "After the Soil Fails" and "Sweatshop Fire" shine, and of course, the tremendously strong background vocals we come to expect with each album, are there in fine form. Favorite tracks include "Save Me Joe Louis", "The Curse of Cain", "Sweatshop Fire", and his sweet dedication to his daughter "Daisy Josephine". Each track is fantastic on it's own, but the whole album is recommended as a terrific work of song craftsmanship.

Baxter Jones- BEETLEJUICE 1988
New York, NY

Traversing roughly the same carny-goth-Americana terrain as Beat Circus, Humanwine, and even the Dresden Dolls is singer/songwriter/banjo plucker CURTIS ELLER. His world-historical point of view and brush moustache might conjure Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood, but his particular soup strainer predates Day Lewis's by several years, as does his, uh, plain view of things. The 10 songs on the new, self-released Wirewalkers & Assassins depict "John Wilkes Booth, Joe Louis, Jack Ruby, Boss Tweed, Richard Nixon, and the Hartford circus fire of 1944" with "the usual references to Elvis Presley and drunken Civil War generals." In other words: it's good.

Jon Garelick-BOSTON PHOENIX
Boston, MA

Curtis Eller's latest creation Wirewalkers and Assassins certainly lives up to it's title. A whole new album showcasing that yodeling banjo player from New York in fine form. The trickling melody of how the album opens in "After The Soil Fails" takes you back, puts you in that place from which the rest of the songs that follow are put into perspective. The one thing I've always appreciated about Mr. Eller's music is that it's a story between the lines. You're talking Richard Nixon and thinking George Bush, he's singing about union and confederate armies and somehow you end up thinking about republicans and democrats. The impact of my first listen was sudden and definitive with it's full rich sounds, inspired lyrics, banjo picking toe tapping head wrangling idiosyncratic simplicities. Are we talking about Tokyo being the new motor city as we are in "Firing Squad" or asking on "John Wilkes Booth" to hold President's more accountable in a more definitive kind of way. It's a gasoline and pistol sort of justice that has the spirit of that old sound, but with a modern perspective infused through out. It's a very linear sort of traveling that goes on with this album and the beauty is that the music itself is truly timeless. It's powerful in both it's cadence and conviction, and so it only stands to reason that if you're looking for something completely different than the normal stretch of sound that permeates through your speakers then Curtis Eller and his American Circus's latest creation would certainly be like adding tonic to the water supply.

Antony Mores-FOLK IT UP
Chicago, IL

This here is a fourth, long-awaited, and very welcome album from CURTIS ELLER's AMERICAN CIRCUS. The Wirewalkers are the cultural heroes, working with honour and no safety net, for the wonderment of us all. The Assassins are the nemeses to those who would use, and destroy the heroes. Both archetypes weave and swing their ways through the songs.
Spotting their historical (or personal) counterparts will be a pleasure for months ahead. Fidel Castro, Joe, Lewis, Jack Ruby, Lee Harvey Oswald, Richard Nixon and all the rest. But for our entertainment today, we have, Ladies and Gentlemen, a glittering cast.
We have:
Ms Liisa Yonker and her soulful sisters in song Ms Marilee Eitner (doubling accordion) and Ms Rima Fand (who offers a fine violin to duet with the banjo); the ever-upright Joseph DeJarnette on double bass; the D.J. Fontana of the Circus - the rhythmical Mr Chris Moore; the multi-talented Gary Langol on upright bass, lap steel, organ and mandolin; old friend Gerald Menke on pedal steel, Amy Kohn on extra accordion; and our own, our very own, (and New York City's adopted) Mr Curtis Eller on banjo, voices and heart-rending songology. Handbills, posters and tickets have been painted for the occasion by the talented Mr Jamie Walcott, in the frontier style to which we have become accustomed.

CURTIS ELLER is a solo performer for the most part, with a theatrical presentation and a talent for deep Americana of a pre-talkies Vaudeville kind. On this album he plays banjo in a percussive and gymnastic way, sprinkling it like Tabasco over the well measured arrangements of eleven original songs. The shapes and themes are familiar to us American Circus die-hards. The instrumentation and arrangements and the sound production have all developed and got richer since the earlier work. Continuity of studio, producer and key personnel has done nothing but good. New listeners would be wise to start right here.

In hearing a song that rails "Where is John Wilkes Booth when you need him?", sounding like it could have been recorded by Sam Phillips in 1956, with Marilee Eitner playing the prettiest accordion middle eight you've ever heard, you might be inclined to smile and file it under "Charmng". But ponder the deep pleasure of the harmony singing and reflect on a long tradition of grotesques in all our cultures, painted and dressed in affectionately angry mockery of the living.

"The Circus lives in our dreams", sings Eller, as "Hartford Circus Fire 1944" winds to its mournful end. An old world has been burnt to the ground through neglect and abuse. "The angels' voices don't carry, the choirs disband and drift apart". And we don't sleep well. The song doesn't need to name villains - we all have our own P.T. Barnum, but the deeds have been done and those glories are lost. When the whole shooting match is named "America Circus", I think it's fair to interpret Eller's laments for the burnt out circus as connected in some serious way with 3rd Millennium USA.

The same might be ventured of his interest in factories, coal mines, warfare and other historic sites of toil and untimely death."Sweatshop Fire" (WOODY GUTHRIE's autobiography is full of people set afire - it's a very American way) is not so arcane and historical is it? Whether it's our souls destroyed in office cubicles, or our comrades destroyed in third world diamond mines, we need songs that point the finger at the drunken maniacs in suits who set the whole thing burning (like Ulysses S. Grant). As in earlier songs about drunks with power, Eller captures the self delusion of alcoholism with scary accuracy.

The brightest (but by no means the only) beam of pure optimistic light on the album is "Daisy Josephine", a celebration of the birth of a next-generation Eller. New York might be knocking down its own heritage, and throwing sculpted angels into the New Jersey swamp, but a beautiful new life in the City's heart brings hope and pleasure to fill the void. In his redoubtable imagination, Curtis has the stone angels re-emerging to welcome the baby.

I've mentioned the bursts of quality harmony singing, and the very pert squeeze box. Other delights include lap steel guitar on the very alt-country "Plea Of The Aerialists Wife". "whose lines and stature have more than a shade of "Stand By Your Man" about them. The accordion touches this song, too , but gently. The careful rationing of the instrumentation in itself is a strength, keeping everything fresh and unexpected at each entry.

The predominant banjo has a choreographic quality to it, as if dancing around Eller's central character, commenting with twirls, twitches and bursts of notes like a tragi-comic Pierrot, hesitant and aggressive by turns. It's combination with a range of other instruments creates a series of textures that suggest something archaic, but which are novel and unusually expressive.

The last words must go to the closing masterpiece of a song "Save Me Joe Lewis", with organ mandolin and strung-out chorus. It tells of a man executed in a gas chamber in a southern state during the 1930s.

"Save me Joe Lewis, save me. / The last words that I'll ever say. / Save me Joe Lewis save me / and let the gas chamber take me away."

We have the whole Circus, most of New York, half the USA and me too, joining in as these lines swell to the final note. The enigmatically defiant last words had been put into an anonymous black convict's mouth in the writings of Martin Luther King.
A UK tour is imminent. The live show has been sampled and recommended on previous visits.
********* (9 stars)

Sam Saunders-WHISPERIN' & HOLLERIN'
Leeds, UK

³Curtis Eller is New York City¹s meest boze jodelende banjospeler. Hij zingt over duivenraces, optredende olifanten en Jezus, allemaal nadat hij die met eigen ogen heeft waargenomen. Hij heeft de stem van een engel en speelt de banjo alsof hij een circustent in vuur en vlam zet. Hij begon zijn loopbaan in de showbusiness op zevenjarige leeftijd als jongleur en acrobaat in een circus in Detroit, maar is sindsdien overgestapt naar de banjo, omdat daar het grote geld mee te verdienen is.² Zo af en toe is er niet te ontkomen aan de schrijfsels in persberichten. Maakt het ook niet uit wat waar is en wat niet. Zoals dat nu het geval is bij Wirewalkers And Assassins (eigen beheer) van Curtis Eller¹s American Circus. Er is nu eenmaal geen ontkomen aan de tien nummers vol wilde taferelen op deze cd. Curtis Eller zingt over John Wilkes Booth, Joe Louis, Richard Nixon, Fidel Castro, Elvis Presley en dronken generaals uit de Amerikaanse burgeroorlog. Zelf ziet hij er overigens uit als een motorisch gestoorde Charlie Chaplin. Tom Waits is zeker ook een naam die genoemd moet worden in verband met deze New Yorker. De stuk voor stuk interessante nummers brengt Eller samen met Chris Moore (drums, percussie) en Gary Langol (lap steel, staande bas, orgel en mandoline), terwijl het circus daarnaast nog diverse andere gasten laat optreden. De theatrale aanpak van Curtis Eller zal wellicht een enkeling afschrikken, maar wie de moeite neemt om zelf ook eens het dunne koord te bewandelen, die zal ook zonder vangnet dit energieke avontuur maar al te graag meer dan eens herbeleven. In oktober geeft Eller enkele optredens in Nederland. Mis het niet.

John Gjaltema-ALT COUNTRY.NL
Amsterdam, Netherlands

Banjo!
Het is vooral de banjo in de opener After The Soil, die de aandacht trekt. En die banjo keert terug in alle andere songs, want dat is het enige instrument dat deze New Yorker zelf bespeelt op deze cd. Een grootmeester is hij niet, maar de klankkleur geeft zijn liedjes toch iets extra¹s in vergelijking met een gebruikelijke gitaar. Eller, die in een circusfamilie is opgegroeid en ooit zijn brood verdiende als acrobaat en jongleur, brengt ons fijne muziek, tegen de country aan. Langzaam, midtempo of uptempo, soms met een lekkere Œslapping¹ staande bas, een warme accordeon, geinige meidenkoortjes en een pedal steel. Zijn teksten zijn een stuk zwaarder, wat al onmiddellijk duidelijk wordt met titels als The Curse Of Cain, Firing Squad en After The Soil Fails. Geen mainstream, dus. Maar om hem nou aan te bevelen aan fans van Tom Waits en The Band, zoals cdbaby doet, dat gaat toch veel te ver (en ik geloof er nu ook niks meer van dat zijn vorige zou lijken op Sixteen Horsepower en Andrew Bird).

Kees van Wee -HEAVEN MAGAZINE
Geldermalsen, Netherlands

~~~TAKING UP SERPENTS~~~

Curtis Eller is nostalgic for a lot of things that happened before he was born -- Buster Keaton movies, Al Jolson songs, Luna Park, Amelia Earhart, even the old-time music that forms the fabric of his songs. He's artful enough about it, fortunately, that you'll go along for the ride. You'll feel "Coney Island Blue"'s mournfulness almost personally, even if you've never thought twice about lost landmarks on Stilwell Avenue, just because of the sweet-sour melancholy of accordion and banjo. You enter into "Sugar in My Coffin"'s bluegrassy belligerence the way the song's regulars belly up to the bar, not thinking for even a moment about how modern or old-fashioned the tune is. Like an actor who fully inhabits a role, Eller takes you with him, holds you in an alternate reality and keeps you there. He's much more disciplined about maintaining his world than Langhorne Slim, who uses traditional instruments but makes no references to 19th century politics or 1920s celebrity kidnappings. Even when Eller allows contemporary images to slip in, as with the 2004 election reference on the excellent opener "Taking Up Serpents Again", he couches them in mystically rural images and magically old-fashioned settings. There's an intensity, a focus, a concentrated vision that permeates all the cuts on this odd, very compelling album. It's like a movie whose premise is unbelievable, but whose execution is so good that you believe it anyway.
Eller, who has worked with similarly eccentric Thomas Truax, is a very accomplished musician and songwriter, crafting eloquently simple melodies and embedding them in sparse instrumentation. He is accompanied on various tracks by accordionist Marilee Eitner, upright bass player Joseph DeJarnette, tuba-ist Joe Exley ("Coney Island Blue"), pianist and lap steel guitarist Gary Langol and drummer Chris Moore (whose Figurines we reviewed a few months ago). The music has a restrained intensity, like a New Orleans funeral band just about to round the curve from dirge to Dixieland. There's a mournfulness in songs like "Stephen Foster" and "Taking Up Serpents" that seems just about to burst into euphoria, and a sadness lurking in bar-room stompers like "Sugar in My Coffin". They're the kind of contradictions that make Eller's sobriquet -- New York's angriest yodelling banjo player -- make perfect sense.
If circus clowns scare you a little, if nostalgia makes you worry about the future, if funeral music inevitably cheers you up, you might be ready for the fascinating and self-contained world that Eller has created here.

Jennifer Kelly-SPLENDID E-ZINE
Downers Grove, IL

"New York City's angriest yodeling banjo player" spells out his influences: Sephen Foster and Buster Keaton. Clearly, they are components of Curtis Eller's vaudevillian music, but doggone it if he hasn't named songs after the Dixie songwriter and the deadpan comic on his most recent CD, Taking Up Serpents Again. But there's more to Eller's widescreen imagination, his epochal music. "I'm speaking in tongues unknon to men", he sings in a raspy, rattled voice across the slowly plucked banjo's ruckus of the title tune.
Accompanied by haunted cooing background angels-as he is throughout Serpents-the clarity of Eller's handsome voice and the rancid money-changing politics of his lyris are obscured by the idea of his olde-timey sound. Take pause. Listen to this record repeatedly. The shuffling soft-shoe beats and wheezy accordion of "Hide That Scar" gently conceal the miscreant visions of his lyris and effortlessness of his vocals.
There's a wretchedly elegant sarcasm and darkly burnished humor at work within Eller's songs. Take the delicate pleasure of hearing Al Jolson on a jukebox on "Sugar in My Coffin"; Eller is better than he lets on. Perhaps that's because he's spent most of his time playing at funerals and horse races with little more than tuba, accordion and upright bass behind him. No matter. This is not music recorded in a vacuum. It should be heard in one, literally or fuguratively. Despite his hadlebar moustache and really old-school arrangements, Curtis Eller is more modern in his scope than a dozen glitchy laptoppers.

A.D. Amorosi-NEW YORK PRESS
New York, NY