Long banjo breaks into Dallas folk scene

Student musician releases EP

By day, Justin
Mills works with numbers as a mathematics senior at UTD. But some nights, he
trades the calculator for an extra-long banjo and takes the stage as one-man
folk outfit, Levees.

 With the help of fellow mathematics senior
Molly Harras, Mills’ unofficial manager and girlfriend, Levees has been
producing music since the summer of 2018. Prior to that, Mills performed under
other stage names.

The two met in 2015 during their freshman year at UTD. Harras said it was
the banjo that brought them together.

“Our PA learned that we both played banjo and encouraged us to
meet,” Harras said. “It was my roommate who finally brought Justin over.”

Harras said she’s been able to live out her “banjo dreams”
through Mills.

Alongside Harras’ banjo, it’s easy to see why Mills refers
to his Deering Long Neck as “ridiculously long.” The bodies are the same, but
Mills’ banjo boasts about an extra foot of fingerboard.

“If I swung around really fast without looking, I might
take someone out,” he said. 

Yet in Mills’ hands, the large instrument seems to fit
perfectly, nestling comfortably against his chest.

Mathematics senior Molly Harras manages folk artist Justin Mills, who performs on his banjo under the name Levees. Photo by Noah Whitehead | Photo Editor.

The long-necked banjo has a range that is more closely
suited to the male vocal reach. Legendary American folk singer Pete Seeger was
rumored to have commissioned the first long-necked banjo shortly before being
deployed during World War II. Instead of the G-tuning of a standard banjo,
Seeger’s banjo was tuned down a minor third to E.

Mills said he was initially leery of the banjo for its
“old-timey” reputation.

“A lot of people say they can’t stand the banjo,” Mills
said. “But I’ve had people come up to me and say, ‘I usually don’t like the
banjo, but I like what you’re doing.’”

Mills said he approaches his music like he’s telling a
story. There’s a whole universe of “slightly broken people” wandering around in
his lyrics.

On Levee’s newest EP, “The King of Lean Cuisine,” Mills
taps into this talent. On the titular track, he is transformed into an
off-the-clock grocery store cashier who dumpster dives for TV dinners. In
“Candles,” he’s a stunned kid in a gas station watching in morbid fascination
as a friend bleeds out after an attempted robbery.

“I had someone come up to me at my last show and ask me if
it was real,” Mills said. “I just laughed.”

Most of the time, Mills’ voice is strong and clear, a
refreshing foil to the lilt of his banjo. But every so often, there is a note
of desperation in his youthful confidence. Occasionally, Mills ornaments his
voice with little trills.

For Mills, there exists no barrier between his own memories
and someone else’s. In the song “False Memories,” Mills utilizes his
storytelling talents to unmask his own childhood.

“There are images that I could summon that feel like
memories. They’re bright and blurry and feel like memories. But I know they
didn’t happen,” Mills said. “They’re so immutable to my image of childhood (in
DeSoto) – I’m like, ‘Ah!’ That definitely could have happened to me.”

Mills said he has a phantom memory of biking the length of
one of the pylon trails that snake through the metroplex. In Richardson,
there’s a similar trail that runs along Meandering Way.

“I know I never did that,” Mills said. “But there it is,
vivid as ever.”

Mills said his sound is still evolving. He takes cues from
lyric-rich groups like AJJ, formerly Andrew Jackson Jihad, and The Mountain
Goats, but already, Mills has managed to incorporate a substantial amount of
his own background into his music.

Part of the growth of his sound comes from the name. Mills
has had several names in his years playing music, but after releasing his “Salt
Water River” album, he felt it was time for a change.

“It was something like ‘Bear Fist’ or ‘Bear Gun.’ Just
like, somebody could be so cool with this band name, but it would not be me,”
Mills said. “I’m a fake punk all the way.”

Mills and Harras eventually settled on Levees. It’s a local
reference to the levees that hold back the Trinity River floodplain near Mills’
hometown of DeSoto, a suburb in South Dallas.

“If you go to the levees on the southern side of Dallas
along the river, it’s the best place to see the skyline,” Mills said. “That’s
where I’ve had some of the most memorable experiences. It’s floodplain
culture.”

In “Salt Water River,” the listener finds their way through
a sweeping soundscape. Sometimes, it’s watching the landscape change from the
open door of a boxcar or running barefoot on hard-packed dirt.

Dallas is
a city built on a crossroads. Even in Richardson, the distant roar of a freight
train can sometimes be heard, passing through the night. To some, Mills said,
it’s like a siren song.

“It’s this intoxicating taunt that I think some people have
and some people don’t,” Mills said. “There’s this urge to just drop everything,
get on the nearest vehicle and leave.”

Harras
and Mills both said while they’ve both felt that urge to leave, the feeling
seems to have mostly passed. Harras said the looming transition from school to
a nine-to-five job has been on their minds the past few months.

Levees
will continue to live on as a side project. Mills said they plan to maintain
financial security before jumping in head-first. For him, listening to a lot of
older musicians has helped to put things in perspective.

“I feel like I have a lot more time than I did a couple
years ago,” Mills said. “I was like, ‘In two years, I gotta be on this music
thing, or my whole life is going to be ruined and I’ll be throwing away my
dreams to corporate America.’ But that’s just not how it works anymore.”

Both Harras and Mills will graduate this May and expect to
accept jobs as data analysts for the same oil and gas company.

In Dallas, the Trinity River floods may come and go, but
with any luck, Levees, like its namesake, will be around
for a while.