Band's frontman decides to bring 'Horses' back home

Music geeks, take note: Ben Bridwell does not drive a Ford Edge.

He's got a Jeep actually, a 4x4 that's perfect for the Band of Horses frontman and "this #$%@* crazy, snowy Minneapolis suburb" where he lives part time with his girlfriend.

Ladies, also take note. Girlfriend. Hands off the beard, please.

But back to Minneapolis, #$%@* crazy, snowy Minneapolis. This is how Bridwell talks, the Irmo native's sentences punctuated by asterisks and four-letter words. But he does it in a really endearing way, like how Bridwell, a big-time Georgia Bulldogs fan, wants to see his Dawgs "play some #$%@* delicious football next season," or how he'd like this sentence in the headline:

"Dude wants to buy a house on Folly Beach. If someone is so sick of not selling their house on Folly, I'll #$%@* buy it from them."

So, we'll give him funny, too. Bridwell, who has a home in Mount Pleasant, calls The Post and Courier "The Post and Spurrier. (Touché, Ben)."

But, the man wants to curse? He wants to make jokes? Let him curse, let him make jokes. Hell, say, he and his band want to let Ford use one of their songs in a commercial for its new midsize SUV. Why not? Oh, wait …

Bottom line: Bridwell and Band of Horses, with core members Creighton Barrett and Rob Hampton, can do just about what they want. The past year has been such a good thing.

They're back home in South Carolina, the tattooed and scraggly bearded Bridwell right down the street from his dad. In October, the band followed its critically acclaimed 2006 debut, "Everything all the Time," with the much-praised "Cease to Begin."

Both albums are reverb-drenched, Bridwell's vocals often compared to My Morning Jacket's Jim James, early Neil Young and The Flaming Lips. His voice cracks with melancholy and vulnerability, same as his lyrics. Much of the work gets labeled "atmospheric" or "dreamy."

Bridwell laughs. "Dreamy and sound landscapes," he says, doing his best to sound trippy or sedated. "Whatever, man, it's all rock 'n' roll. It's cool that people have to put some visualization to it."

Rolling Stone ranked "Is There a Ghost," the anthemic opener from "Cease to Begin," as one of 2007's best songs. The magazine also called the album one of the year's 50 best. Band of Horses checked in at No. 47, one notch behind Fall Out Boy.

"Ah, beaten by Fall Out Boy again," Bridwell says. "We're all competing for the same 12-year-old girls. You've got to tip your hat to them, they've finally gotten more 12-year-old girls than us."

Next, the band goes on tour, starting Sunday with a show at the Music Farm, and finishing Feb. 12 in Mount Pleasant at the Village Tavern. Then the group heads abroad with concerts in Europe.

Besides Bridwell, the band consists of Barrett on drums, Hampton on bass, keyboardist Ryan Monroe, bassist Bill Reynolds and guitarist/singer Tyler Ramsey.

"The best part about it, the band is taking on new life," says Bridwell, who is 29. "It feels like we're exactly where we were meant to be."

The relocation also benefits Charleston, offering the local music scene national cred and change from the norm.

"They definitely have the acoustic grunge thing going on here at lots of bars," Bridwell says. "You can hear a 10-year-old Staind song being butchered worse than the original. That's always kind of hilarious. It also lends a certain charm that I grew up with."

The band's in a good spot, better than ever, certainly better than before, meaning Bridwell's first time in Charleston. He lived here about 10 years ago, leaving after a pretty rough go.

In the course of a week or two, he burned down his house, got hit by a car while riding his bicycle, then got arrested after a bar fight.

First, the fire: While living off Nassau Street downtown, he accidentally left a lit candle by his bed that set the carpet ablaze.

Second, the swipe: On his way to the Medical University delivering burritos for Juanita Greenberg's, an old lady popped Bridwell, knocking him over in the crosswalk.

Finally, fisticuffs: A friend had gotten him an invite to a party given by "Major League 3," filming in the area at the time, at the old Zebo's at King and Wentworth streets. Some dude punched Bridwell upside his head.

"Too much stupid (stuff) going on," Bridwell says. "I was just acting like an (idiot)."

He landed in Seattle, homeless for a period, snagging a job at the famous live-music venue Crocodile Cafe with his sleeping bag strapped to his back. Bridwell hoarded his tips, jamming cash into a hollowed-out speaker until he had saved enough to start his own label, Brown Records.

His first group, Carissa's Wierd, eventually fizzled, and Band of Horses evolved from the ashes. The band took its name from the Palace Music song, "Horses." Bridwell, homeless and scared of being robbed, would listen to the song to calm himself before falling asleep.

Bridwell now singing, his confidence soaring, the group signed with Seattle's Sub Pop Records, putting out "Everything all the Time."

Under the guidance of Phil Ek, noted producer behind such acts as Modest Mouse and the Shins, Band of Horses clicked, achieving indie merit, respectability and success, enabling the group to leave Seattle and come home.

"We wanted to watch our nieces and nephews grow up, and be with our parents as they get older," Bridwell says.

As much as the first album relates to missing home and trying to return, the second one is about home, and being fat, happy and grateful.

Here's what Bridwell did Christmas Day. He went to the Palmetto Grande with his friends, spending the day in the theater. He saw "No Country for Old Men" ("pretty great"), "Walk Hard" ("pretty funny") and "The Golden Compass" ("pretty bad").

And here's what he did Christmas Eve. He went surfing on Folly, floating along, only to be touched by a dolphin, a #$%@* dolphin.

"I love living where we live," he says. "I can't believe it took me so long to get home."

Reach Rob Young at 937-5518 or ryoung@postandcourier.com.