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From The Desk Of The Flat Five: Sympathy

In music, a flat five is a passing chord that harmonizes well with almost any sound. The singers in Chicago’s Flat Five—Kelly Hogan, Nora O’Connor, Scott Ligon, Casey McDonough and Alex Hall—are as versatile as the name of their group implies. They’re all well-known songwriters, musicians and side-persons in their own right, but when they sing as the Flat Five, they touch on something transcendent. Their complex, intertwining harmonies bring to mind the shimmering sounds of the Four Freshmen, Beach Boys, Lambert, Hendricks And Ross, Harry Nilsson and the Everly Brothers—singers who could create breathtaking emotional effects using nothing but their voices. The Flat Five will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand-new feature with them.

McDonough: I was in Liverpool with some of my best friends a few years ago. It was “Beatleweek,” and we certainly fab’d it up. But I was unprepared for how heavy and emotional it would be.

I’ve been to Memphis, Nashville, New Orleans, New York, Los Angeles and London, and I’ve stood in rooms or stared at buildings where some of my favorite music was recorded. But Liverpool was a different thing altogether. Every corner seemed to contain a bit of history that we had only read about. There were a lot of “but it was here … ” moments. Between our own gigs and sight-seeing, a few pints were quaffed. People from all across the globe were in town, and it didn’t matter if our mid-western accents sounded funny to them (the flaaat Chicaaaago brogue especially) or if we had a hard time understanding anyone younger than us. People, on a one-to-one basis, are generally just trying to find their own happiness. This was proven to us time and again throughout the week by strangers in every walk of life.

Walking through the boyhood homes and neighborhoods of my favorite band/people was an incredible experience. Sharing it with great friends made the days even more special. But the most lasting impression occurred in the wee hours of a Monday morning.

My friend Eric and I happened upon a small bar in the corner of the Adelphi Hotel. We had played in the ballroom earlier that night, and had been in and out of the hotel dozens of times, but we hadn’t noticed the America Bar. Walking in, we found ourselves in the middle of a hootenanny. A few guitars were being passed around, and just about everyone in the circle had a bash. There were Beatle songs, of course, and other things. Than it was time for this older gentleman to sing. Someone began strumming a minor chord for him. Everyone listened as he sang about “Sympathy being what we need, my friend … ”

“What is this song?” I wondered. We’d never heard it before, although most in the room joined in by the second chorus.  We might even have mouthed a few words by the end, but to be honest, I was doing my best not to, you know, cry. I was really having one of those frozen-in-time moments.

I couldn’t even talk to the man who had been singing. At the back of the room stood my new pal John from Northern Ireland. He would know. He did. Thank you, John. It was a song called “Sympathy” by the Family Dogg.

For years, I carried only the recollection of this song, before hearing a recording of it. The Family Dogg version is terrific, with an impassioned vocal from singer Steve Rowland. But in my mind it will forever be the version sung by an older fella at a knees-up in Liverpool. Yeah, YouTube is great for a lotta things, but it can never beat my memory. You shoulda been there.

Sympathy is what we need, my friends.