This. Is. No. Ordinary. Band. Start with the vocals. Four-part harmony -- is there such thing as four-part lead? Then there’s the song itself. Smartly crafted and emotionally mature. Somewhat surprising from a new band that writes all its own material. The musicianship is world class. The arrangement, tighter than Tupperware. The production, well, let’s just say it more than measures up. Is it possible for a 14-month old band to have handled all those duties, too? Check, check and check. So now we’re into full-on intrigue. Who are these guys? Where did they come from? And how in the world did they pop up out of nowhere with a crazy fresh sound that, at the same time, is as comfortable as an old pair of jeans? In your standard band configuration, Seven Williams is the guy who does all the talking. Lead singer, frontman, principle songwriter, et cetera. Except then you have Wally Brandt, who’s no slouch with the vocals and just happens to be second to none in the songwriting and musicianship departments. See, Wally and Seven have been joined at the hip musically for a while, and now they’ve found similar kinship with Buck Johnson and Damon Johnson. “As soon as Whiskey Falls took shape, it felt genuine,” Wally says. “It felt right. Maybe the best way to say it is, it sits well with my soul.” First, Seven and Wally, who have played music together since their youth eventually co-founded with Wally’s twin brother Bill, their own incredibly successful film and television music production company called We 3 Kings. In addition to music production and artist development, we’re talking themes and original music for big network shows and big studio films. Big. In the course of that business, Seven and Wally started coming to Nashville because, well, if you’re for real about songwriting you kind of have to. And they were co-writing with country heavies like Don Schlitz (“The Gambler”), Frank Myers (“I Swear”) and Stephanie Bentley (“Breathe,” “Concrete Angel”). Truly, this is no small thing to these two guys. Seven’s a small town kid from upstate New York, after all. And Wally, well, see the line about songwriting again. Country songs mean something to them. Anyway, the recurring theme of these Nashville trips soon became, “Hey, how come you guys aren’t shooting for an artist deal?” Which sounds like a real great idea, until it’s considered against what Seven and Wally had going. Living in sunny California, operating a thriving business, supporting themselves nicely with music and getting to live a real life. A bus bunk and truck stop food didn’t quite have the appeal. Been there... But a Music City buddy named Cliff Downs finally asked the right question. “When was the last time you guys wrote songs for yourselves? Just for fun?” Hmm. That got the juices flowing, and the songs. And ultimately a few demo sessions. Turns out, several of the local musicians at those sessions are road guns for top country artists. A few of them walked out of the studio with a disc. No big deal, until major labels started calling Seven and Wally. Game on. “Being on the road is tough,” Wally says, “but we know that’s what it means to be an artist. If we were going to uproot ourselves it had to be right.” “If we’re going to do it, we’re going to give it our best shot,” Seven echoes. “So we started reaching out for other band members. We were looking for someone to sing harmonies.” Enter Buck Johnson, a Birmingham, AL guy whose prodigious musical talents earned him gigs with Matthew Sweet, Shawn Mullins, backing the Doobie Brothers on a live album and more. He plays guitar, keyboards, and recently picked up the mandolin. Your basic utility infielder to fill out the sound in Seven and Wally’s band. But then he opened his mouth. “I heard him sing and said, ‘Oh my God, that’s Don Henley,’” Seven says. “The moment we got together something really special happened. It really knocked me off my axis. I thought, ‘How can I stand next to this guy, let alone think I should be out in front of him?’” Topping it off, Buck’s got writing chops. Ask Carlos Santana, whose most recent single -- the one Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler sang -- was co-written by Buck. “The minute I got together with these guys I knew this could be something really special,” Buck says. “This is the kind of band I’ve been looking for my entire life.” So with Buck in the fold, the only real hole was lead guitar. Just so happened, Buck had a friend -- Damon Johnson (no relation). Now Damon’s the perfect guy to step up every once in a while for a guitar solo. Looks the part, plays any part you want. But oh by the way, he just happened to have been the lead singer and frontman of southern rockers Brother Cane (“Got No Shame,” “And Fools Shine On”). And he’s been scoring cuts as a songwriter. Co-wrote that Santana hit with Buck, as a matter of fact. A little overqualified for the sideman gig, eh? “We spent 10 minutes on the phone with Damon and were just like, ‘You’re the guy,’” Seven says. “He got on a plane to LA and we did a photo shoot two days later. It happened that fast.” “We’ve all worked so hard at other times in our careers trying to put something special together,” Damon says. “And all I had to do was pick up the phone. One call. Just add water, here it is.” Of course, a band with four legitimate frontmen has the potential for conflict. Not so, says Buck. “Everyone has been to the top of the mountain and brought straight down and humbled,” he says. “We’re all grateful for an opportunity like this at this point in our lives so we’ve set the egos aside. “Right out of the gate, the first word that comes to mind is respect,” Damon adds. “I was the last one to join and there was a substantial amount of work done already. They all said, ‘If there’s anything on any song you want to add or change, let us know and we’ll do it.’ These guys are ninjas and I’m flattered, humbled and honored just to be a part of it. And they feel the same way about me.” Seven says the roots of Whiskey Falls’ egoless approach came from the production company he, Wally and Wally’s twin brother Bill own. “Every day we woke up and knew we had 33-and-a-third. So it wasn’t about who wrote how much of which song, it was about everybody’s best effort. Same thing with Whiskey Falls. When you find the right people you embrace it. If we fight about anything it’s, ‘You sing that part. No, you’d sound better singing that part.’” “Nobody gets away with slacking off,” Buck says. “It’s like playing tennis with someone who’s really good. You work that much harder just to keep up.” And while the guys in Whiskey Falls say they’re the lucky ones, it sounds like music fans are going to have a great time, too. Game on.