But even with its long history, the PMO is by no means an ensemble guided solely by tradition. Under the direction of guitarist and mandolinist Mark Davis, a member since the 1970s and director since 1989, their repertoire covers all sorts of genres, from Renaissance classics to Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” And there is no shortage of new music. Bob Margo, one of the PMO members, often arranges or commissions new pieces for the group.

Mandolins come in all shapes and sizes, analogous to instruments in a string orchestra. Mandolins, mandolas, and mandocellos make up the bulk of the ensemble. Within each section, the instruments vary in age and style. Mark explains the difference between the modern American and the older European designs: “The European instruments have a big round, lute-like back. But [Orville] Gibson designed an instrument with a carved top and a carved back, like a violin.” Gibson’s American mandolins borrow the violin’s F-hole design, while the European styles use a single oval hole, a design that originated from lutes.

In this composition by Owen Hartford, violinist Rachel Panitch performs a solo with the Providence Mandolin Orchestra in the Netherlands.

However they ended up here on this Tuesday night, mandolin in hand, exchanging smiles over their music stands, the musicians of the PMO couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Many have been with the ensemble for 30 years or more. “When you come into this group, it’s almost like you’re coming into a family,” says Mark. “It’s a real community.”

How long have you been working on this album?

The idea to pursue recording records as a thing to do got in my head when I was a senior in college. The first record I ever made was when I was a freshman in college, actually. So, I’ve been [recording] for a while, but this particular one started summer 2016.

As a self-recordist, what was the process like?

When I first started recording with the intention of making a record, I was basically in a little attic room in Providence, recording into a cell phone. I had no contacts, no studio, no equipment, very few resources to devote to it. All the equipment that I purchased to make the record I ended up selling to pay for mixing and mastering. So, I had no resources and no expectations except that I wanted to make a record.

Where did you record the album?

The piano, vocals, and some of the guitar were recorded in a studio. I ended up meeting an engineer, Seth Manchester, who works at “Machines with Magnets,” a recording studio, art gallery, and music venue in Pawtucket. Strings were recorded in a Bushwick basement in Brooklyn, NY. But the horns, woodwinds, bass, and maybe half of the guitars were recorded in my home studio.

How did you keep a consistent sound quality when recording in so many different places with different acoustics?

Part of the challenge was going into it knowing that it would end up being a collage-y thing. Everything was recorded individually and then overdubbed and mixed together. Were I advising somebody to do something like this, I would recommend that they use their ears to make sure that what they’re recording doesn’t assume the quality of the room. I think it’s important to treat your room with bass traps or Persian rugs or whatever in order to have the rooms acoustically similar.

What guitars do you play on this album?

I used 3 guitars primarily. One was a 1962 Gibson LG1, a student model from the 1960s, famously played by early Rockabilly musicians. And then I used a hollow-body electric guitar, an Epiphone Elitist Casino. And then a 1965 Guild Mark 2, a nylon string classical guitar, which is one I’ve had forever. That’s the guitar on which I wrote most of the songs.

Anything else that you want to add?

I think that people who are self-recordists have a tendency to focus too much on the gear they’re purchasing and the brand names. If you read magazines, they’ll tell you what mics to buy, what equipment you need, stuff like that. But it’s really not about what you can afford. It’s much more about your desire to do it and your ideas and your musicality. That’s much more important.

Julian’s project (and PhD dissertation) No No Boy shares stories of Asian-American history through music. With harmony singer Erin Aoyama, Julian has been touring around the country, performing in churches, schools, and community centers. What is now a songbook, a full tour schedule, and a series of educational sessions originally started out as a collection of research projects and a personal exploration of his family’s history:

“About a year ago, sometime right after the election, I was at home in Nashville with my mom, and I just started listening to these interviews that I had transcribed of people that were in these [Japanese internment] camps and other interviews with Asian-American musicians. I remember being at the dining room table, and my guitar was right there, and I just started writing all these songs. Literally while I was transcribing these interviews. Telling these stories through these songs.”

When Julian picks up a guitar, you can’t help but lean in and listen. Whether playing a song at the kitchen table or onstage, Julian’s a natural performer. Both he and Erin effuse a genuine charisma and sincerity that brings an optimism to the songs despite the bone-chilling intensity behind the stories. That Erin’s grandmother was incarcerated during WWII makes the music all the more personal. For Julian, “it’s really powerful for her to sing these songs with me.”

No No Boy also brings Julian into collaboration with other Asian-American musicians. He and indie-rock violinist Kishi Bashi are playing a sold-out show in Providence, RI later next week, and earlier in the year, cellist Takénobu joined them for a southern tour through Alabama and Tennessee. The project is a commemoration and celebration of Asian-American history that Julian invites everyone to join; his goal is to “spark conversations with people, regardless of their background.”

This year, Julian and Erin are hitting the road with No No Boy. Julian has presented his research at academic conferences and has spent countless hours studying ethnographic theory, but where the project really finds meaning, he says, is in concert:

“It’s a really unobtrusive way for people to connect to this history because you’re telling stories through songs about individuals. It’s not hitting people over the head with, ‘Did you know 120,000 people were incarcerated in these camps?’ You talk about actual names of people and what they were doing in these spaces, and how they lived.”

It’s definitely a great way to get a PhD, but the project reaches far beyond Julian’s graduate studies. At the end of the day, No No Boy is really about the connections between Julian, his guitar, and the audience: “The world makes a lot more sense when you’re hanging out and singing songs and having conversations.”

On Richmond Street in downtown Providence lives a hip live music venue and nightclub called Alchemy. This otherworldly little lounge is appropriately named, and it’s an ideal spot for night owls like myself to come out and support their local artists. Just walk inside and the hypnotic ambiance is immediately evident from the multi-colored mood lighting that flashes over a mysterious dark room. Like unveiling a juicy secret, your first time at Alchemy will make you say to yourself, this is my new favorite place. The staff is beyond friendly, too. The kind-eyed bartender was laid-back yet courteous (and also super apologetic), and offered me a free drink after admitting they were out of limes that night. The smell of freshly popped corn filled the air as the employees placed bowls of it on the bar, something for us hungry-for-music attendees to much on while we waited. I made my way over to the arcade games where a pinball machine flashed, and I couldn’t resist playing a few rounds before the show. One of the coolest things about this place is the fact that a sweet view of the stage can be had from anywhere inside. You can take a seat at the bar, get up and dance, or plop down on one of the oversized, cozy leather couches and still get an awesome view of the band.

One of the two groups featured last Saturday calls themselves They Were Robots. The lively crew combines five uber-talented members: Chris Mitchell on keyboard, Mike Cirino on guitar, Matt Smith on bass, Keith Harriman on trombone, and Tim Eskey on drums. Everyone except Tim contributes to the vocals as well. Each bandmate adds his own personal energy on stage; not one of the guys seemed to overshadow the rest, and interlocking vocals give the music a unique texture. I was vibrating with anticipation as I sipped my drink, waiting for them to start the show. The moment they started playing I could feel my spirits lifting. The best way to describe their sound in a nutshell is experimental with a clear alt-rock influence. In the middle of the set, center stage trombonist Keith Harriman asked the audience if we were familiar with the band Cake. I threw my hand in the air as I began reminiscing on the summer nights I’d spent blasting The Distance through my car speakers. Cake does an epic job of smoothly working the trumpet into an alt-rock song, and They Were Robots manages to do the same with the trombone. I have to admit, my favorite part of the show was watching how much fun the band had on stage. There were nothing but passionate and magnetic vibes emanating from these guys as they set fire to the room. The red, green, and blue lights that danced over them reflected the colorful personalities of the bandmates, on radiant display during the set. Even when my feet started to hurt, I couldn’t choose taking a seat over swaying and bouncing to this vivacious bunch. Make sure you check out the band ASAP. Take it from me, their good mood tunes could turn any bad day around with just one note.

I was buzzing after drummer Tim Eskey hit me with a wave of positivity during our brief interview. His genuine insight left me eager to hear more and impatiently waiting for my next opportunity to see him live again

How long have you been playing live?

Started playing out when I was around 11-12, with a dixieland band in San Diego. A couple of years later I was playing swing standards with a big band on a yacht club circuit. Then it was a succession of rock, jazz, and fusion bands at clubs, parties, bars, concerts, and festivals.

How did you meet your bandmates?

Craigslist! I’d been playing in the Boston area, but recently moved to Rhode Island and wanted to be more musically centered here. The band (They Were Robots) had been together about a year and was between drummers, looking for a replacement. I answered the ad and we got together to see if it was there. We played and I was blown away. They’re talented, committed, and write compelling and challenging originals. Glad I got the gig. It’s great playing with these guys and being part of where they’re going.

Your Heaven Audio has a drum system in the works, what are the biggest audio challenges you face when playing live?

Getting an accurate sense of how the drums really sound in the mix that the audience is hearing.

Who are some of your influencers and/or favorite artists and what do you admire most about them?

Early influencers/favorites were older jazz drummers like Buddy Rich, Elvin Jones, Art Blakey, Tony Williams, Joe Morello, Jo Jones; and some younger cats like Peter Erskine.  In the rock genre, Ringo (of course), John Bonham, Carl Palmer, Danny Seraphine, Neal Peart, Keith Moon, Ginger Baker, Stewart Copeland, and Dave Grohl are favorites.  Fusion drummers like Vinnie Coliuta blow me away too. That’s a long list, but what they have in common that I most admire is not their incredible chops (that’s just a given on that level) but how they blend with, and make their bands.  Listening to these guys teaches that drummers are sure enough important, but they need to be a piece of the whole, serving the band’s music, rather than flashing chops, just because.

Any advice or words of wisdom for fellow performers in the industry?

When I was lugging drums to rehearsals and gigs before I could drive, my grandfather, who patiently drove me around, always used to say, “you should have played the damn flute!”  That always used to crack me up because the only thing I ever wanted to play was drums and, not just by myself, but with just about anybody who would play with me and who, like me, ultimately wanted to play out for other people.  I don’t know about advice or wisdom, but I do know that sometimes it’s a grind to get it right and deal with the fact that there’s a lot of competition for good venues these days.  So I’d just remind folks to keep in mind what you love about gigging and to support your fellow musicians by going out and seeing their shows and letting them know when they kill it.

In jazz, room response contributes to the style’s aesthetics. Unlike classical recordings, which are often generous with reverb, jazz acoustics tend toward sounds that are clean, crisp, and clear. Many engineers achieve this by recording instruments in isolation, but putting the musicians in totally separate rooms risks minimizing eye-contact between players. “To me it’s never as good if the musicians can’t see each other, because jazz is very interactive. I always try to set up so that they’re isolated but can see each other.”

When you throw an audience into the mix, you enter a whole other world of recording: live shows. The audience, by making noise and even changing the room acoustics with its physical presence, is a key element that distinguishes live concerts from studio recordings. “If you heard just a guitar cab from a live concert, it doesn’t sound very good. The amplification of the room gives some life back to the sound. You can also put a couple mics out in the audience to capture what’s going on in the room.”

You have to experiment, Monte encourages. Try the drums in this corner, the guitar in this spot. Move the mics around. Record a sample, listen back. Then move around again, until you’ve found the spot where the room sounds the best. Remember, you’re not just playing in the room, you’re playing with it.