Article Contributed by Dan Ward
Published on November 26, 2025
Kitchen Dwellers | Thalia Hall | Chicago, IL – photos by Dan Ward
Tonight, I’m headed to Pilsen—not the Pilsen of the Czech Republic, but Chicago’s Lower West Side, specifically Thalia Hall. Built by Czech immigrants and modeled after a Prague opera house, it sits like a time capsule—familiar yet evolving. The perfect setting for a bill like Them Coulee Boys and Kitchen Dwellers: bluegrass roots, but not your grandfather’s bluegrass. When people hear “bluegrass,” they think Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs. And sure, I’d love to hear Søren Staff belt out “Uncle Pen,” or watch Torrin Daniels tear through “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” But that’s not what this is. This is bluegrass electric—modern, emotional, high-octane.
Them Coulee Boys (TCB) start the night in full stride with their defining song, “Ten Feet Tall.” If you’ve never heard TCB, this is the gateway drug. It taps straight into that universal feeling of being unstoppable, invincible, 18 and bulletproof. Before the show I joked with Jens Staff (mandolin), “Think you’ll play Ten Feet Tall tonight?” He just smirked—“We might fit it in.” They knew what the crowd wanted, and they delivered.
Søren Staff (guitar/vocals) and Beau Janke first played together at a Christian camp, later adding Jens on mandolin. They slide into “Up Close” and “Cool on Down”—both love-drenched, bright, bouncing. Søren’s voice is smooth and grounded, Beau’s banjo sparkles around it. The room warms like a bonfire.
Then comes the emotional one-two punch. Fans know what’s coming as Jens and Beau lock in together—“Find Your Muse.” It flows into Søren’s ode to his mother, “I Won’t Be Defined,” and when he announces she beat cancer, every heart in the room folds. Every time—it hits.
(bass) drops into the filthiest groove of the night with “Midnight Manifestos,” while Stas Hable (drums) keeps everything anchored—never flashy, but driving the band like a pulse. Things soften for “Shakin’ the Cage” and “I Am Not Sad,” and soon Søren apologizes for the 45-minute sprint. Hard to believe—they’re only the opener.
They close with pure joy: “Phil’s Song.” Smiles everywhere.
The room buzzes during set change—half stunned from TCB, half thrumming with anticipation. A low roar rises as Max Davies (guitar), Torrin Daniels (banjo/vocals), Joe Funk (bass), and Shawn Swain (mandolin) take the stage. They open with “Shadows,” each musician soloing in turn—like a roll call of talent. The din becomes a full-body singalong.
“Unwind” flows like river water—warm and sprawling—while “Buckle Down” toys with tempo and tension, snapping listeners to attention. Then “Ghost Train” rolls in before the band drops into “Pendulum,” off Seven Devils. Torrin’s voice is pure clarity, his banjo playing nothing short of stunning. Davies answers with flat-picking that borders on supernatural. Every solo pass feels like heat lightning.
Morris Cole’s cowboy classic “Willy the Wandering Gypsy and Me” gets the room dancing, twirling, singing like old friends. “Guilty” spotlights Torrin, Max, and Shawn individually before the set closes with a jaw-dropping re-imagining of Gaslight Anthem’s “The ’59 Sound.” A cover, yet brand new—one of the band’s strengths.
Set two begins with “Wind Bitten,” continuing the Seven Devils thread—icy, stark, cinematic. Then “Drowning Again” pulls us into water-deep introspection. The band explodes outward with “Ebenezer’s Winter,” an instrumental clinic in stamina and interplay. Swain’s mandolin slices air like glass. Daniels runs banjo licks through effects that shimmer like stars.
Three hours deep, they show no fatigue. Funk remains locked and elastic, bowing notes from his upright bass so deep the line between wood and wind disappears.
“Covered Bridges” brings the landing—gentle, beautiful—before “Ghost in the Bottle” lifts everyone again. Old song, evergreen spirit. And just when it feels like we’ve reached the mountaintop—
They go higher.
The encore: Smashing Pumpkins’ “Bullet with Butterfly Wings.” Violent, elastic, cathartic. The final explosion of a night with too many peaks to count. That’s what The Kitchen Dwellers do—they give more than you expect. More than you imagine.
This wasn’t bluegrass in the strict sense—it was bluegrass evolved. Tradition turned electric. A night where Them Coulee Boys stirred hearts and Kitchen Dwellers set them ablaze. If this scene is the future of acoustic music, we’re speeding toward it at the pace of banjo rolls and mandolin fire.
And yes—they’re doing it all again tomorrow.
