Midnight on the Water – Stardrops vol. 1 and 2 album release
Franky Bradley’s
1320 Chancellor St.
Philadelphia
May 16, 2026
I love a good loose concept to guide and organize your artistic output; take, for example, Sgt. Pepper’s bands using totally-made-up, arguably-arbitrary schemes to justify eclecticism and, basically, doing whatever they want. Midnight on the Water, a local trio composed of the musicians Nathan Bishop, Tom Krumm and Dani Hawkins, claims to be “from a post-apocalyptic dimension where artists still have a good time while developing new traditions from the ashes of civilization and figuring out how to survive.” Does that explain why their show at Franky Bradley's – drawing, I think, exclusively on the material contained in their new double album Stardrops vol. 1 and 2, which this event was celebrating – pivoted wildly, from gorgeous, understated string arrangements of fiddle tunes from across the British Isles, to mad-grab-bag pieces pulling in bits and phrases from Steve Reich, disco, traditional west African tunes, "Despacito," and Chappell Roan (to name just a few)? Though the trio was dressed up in concert attire, they made clear throughout the show — addressing the gathered, seated, ticketed crowd — that this was not to be taken as a buttoned-down, polite affair; there was a shouty, goofy, fun-loving energy in the air, with the program taking constant left turns.
A burlesque dancer performing as Midnight on the Water played and sang a cover of “Just the Two of Us”? Why not? The crowd chanting “Fair use! Fair use! Fair use!” after an intro disclaimer about the parodic intent and creative, transformative interpolations they were about to employ? Okay, sure! (The piece that followed was such a phantasmagoric display of virtuosity and broad tastes – never merely random, but painstakingly stitched together like a proper mixtape – and played with such casual, ostentatiously-shreddy mastery that I imagined Girl Talk holding classical musicians hostage and bending them to his will.) How about the premiere of a short film by local filmmaker and composer Eamon Kelly, featuring a dancer slacklining to an original composition of striking, emotive tension? The musical magpie imagination on display was overwhelming, and the band, acting as master of ceremonies, did a fine job balancing all their tendencies: there were playful moments, moments of simple folksong clarity, moments of crowd-pleasing and stretches of technical wizardry on display; sometimes you see a show and think “they really did it all,” and sometimes they do all that and more. The musicians, rooted in the contradance world – fiddle tunes drawn from Irish, Scottish, French-Canadian and old-time traditions, but often with wildly inventive and personalized flourishes and harmonic adventurousness rooted in classical and jazz – approached all of this with a zest and irreverence (and an oft-stated encouragement to drink and get rowdy) that called to mind The Punch Brothers covering McClusky. They were celebrating, and with the sheer muchness of it all, you could really feel it.
