The Great Depression

Detail: In front of a dimly lit stage, there are two guys standing closely together watching just another local band play their set on a Saturday night in Covington. One resembles a human teddy bear -- complete with a jovial smile, full beard and friendly demeanor, greeting everyone who passes his way. This is Tim Carr. The other, seeming a bit more reserved, stands with a slight hunch, wearing black rimmed glasses, a white tee that's become his signature apparel choice and a ball cap that pushes his ears out slightly. This is Jeremy Pinnell.

Focusing a little more closely on their stance in front of the stage, a glimpse can be caught of Carr resting his arm on Pinnell's shoulder. When these two aren't standing next to each other watching shows, they're on that dimly lit stage. They're two guys with guitars, both with cigarettes resting in their capos. Together, in life, they're best friends. Together, musically, they're The Great Depression.

When they play, the room stops. Their guitars mesh with alternating chords, and their flawless harmonies and despondent lyrics could rip the heart out of the hardest criminals. During each song, their eyes are shut tightly. Their legs subtly kick in sync with each other. Carr picks at his Pabst Blue Ribbon label, and after he mumbles something between songs Pinnell lightly pushes his head in a brotherly manner.

Their interactions and songs lend the listener a vivid image of heartbreak and despair that only they seem fit to delivery. And since they rely on one another, such despair seems to have a remedy, even if only temporarily: friendship.