By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
A native of Oxford, Ohio, Bowers grew up in a household where such messages were frequently delivered in song. "My mom is a musician--she's a songwriter and a singer--and there was always an old hippie guitar lying around the house. Every once in a while, she'd pick it up and play 'Kumbaya' or something." Molly first became interested in performing during seventh grade, when a local musician wowed her music class, and after two years of strumming folk ditties, she branched out. "I started playing Rush songs," she confesses, laughing.
By the time she'd entered high school, Bowers had moved beyond her Alex Lifeson fixation and was writing what she calls "serious songs." She subsequently relocated to Boulder to attend the University of Colorado, and after completing the program, she decided to relocate here permanently. Not that she had big plans at the time. "I graduated with a history degree, but it served no practical purpose," she says. "So I decided to wait tables and be in bands instead."
During the same period, Achilles, Jackson and Helvey were gigging as Sweet Water Well--and a couple of years later, they invited Bowers to join them. At first she found this offer easy to resist. "When they asked me, I said, 'No way--I don't want to be in that silly band.' I'd seen them five years before, when they were doing Indigo Girls covers, and I thought, I don't want to be a part of that." But she changed her mind after hearing a demo tape of Achilles-Jackson originals. "They sounded really good, and I could see right away that they'd developed a style I liked."
That was 1994, and before long, Sweet Water Well had emerged as a steady draw throughout the state. Building on that popularity beyond state lines proved difficult, though. The quartet toiled for a year to complete Watermelon, its debut CD for the Alley Records imprint, but while the finished product pleased the previously committed and earned respectable notices, the disc, which features two Bowers compositions, failed to attract major-label attention. This situation only aggravated creative discord within the group, Bowers says. "We all got along really well, but we couldn't quite figure out what our roles were in the band. I wanted to be doing a little bit more of the singing and songwriting, but because Tony and Dave worked together so well, my joining as a third songwriter seemed to put us all on edge a little bit. We didn't know how to jibe with each other as well. It got to the point where Tony would write songs where I wouldn't know what to do with myself, or I'd write a song, and Tony and Dave wouldn't know what to do with themselves. They're great guys and I love them, but musically it wasn't a perfect match."
On Double Daddy, Bowers doesn't insist on being the center of attention: Ron Voller takes several lead vocals, and other ditties are crooned by contributors such as Rekha Ohal, Andrew Koch, Shy Hammond and Johnette Toye. The resulting all-for-one, one-for-all feel is the most enjoyable part of the album. A few songs don't entirely avoid the well-intentioned patronization that can make children's music a chore for anyone over the age of ten to hear, and a few of the lessons are too on-the-nose. But at her best, Bowers is able to make her points without taking the sledgehammer out of the tool kit. The bouncy title cut portrays having a pair of fathers around the house as a special bonus ("Danny has a daddy and a daddy at home/It's double double daddy and he's never alone"). "Oh, What a Mess (Billy's Wearing a Dress)" and "Hello Rocket" are endearingly silly, and "Magpie" is a perky shambles that any tot can enjoy, regardless of the sexual preferences of his guardians.