16th October 2010

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Guest Contribution: Scion Garage Fest in Lawrence, Kansas Part Three

Part three of our coverage of Lawrence, Kansas’ Scion Garage Fest has arrived! If you missed the first two, check them out. As we left guest contributor / rock’n’roll mercenary Leigh last, she’d just caught the Clean knock around the Granada…

As we got closer to the witching hour I began to reflect upon Garage Fest thus far, deciding that, as a general rule: if I can rest my elbows and/or boobs on the stage then that means it’s too high. This stage felt grandiose. It would’ve been enough for five three-pieces to play on without touching and despite full awareness of the party that King Kahn was about to unleash, I chose to stay put and see The Oblivians. Being unable to resist the chance to see the anti-heros responsible for ushering one 15-year-old Jay Reatard into his rock ‘n’ roll manhood and all.

I should have known better.

Not unlike a fungus; messy, distorted rock’n’roll music or “garage” tends to thrive in dark and cramped conditions. It’s there that it flourishes, able to reach its full potential for base nastiness. Seeing the Oblivians play a stage with mics set up all around it and a two-camera recording crew was one thing. The fact that there was a 40-foot ceiling and a good 15 to 20 feet between members was another. Torn from their natural environment and with band members each marooned on their own island of unneccesary, heart-deadening space, the whole affair become strangly removed from context—it was kind of like getting an H.J. from someone in a spacesuit under fluorescent lights … while bored guys with goatees filmed it all.

But it was still wise to end with The Oblivians, their set being much more conducive to getting riled up regardless of the setting—as proven by the shouting-out of lyrics, a crowdsurfer in a wheelchair, and a burly guy screaming requests from behind a luchador mask. Seeing two legendary bands in such a spacious petri dish of media attention may have been a bit anticlimactic, but it was not a total waste of time. And it was nice that there was a place for those sad souls comprising the overflow from the one-in, one-out, we’re-at-total-fucking-capacity King Kahn hoedown to go.

During my three-band stint at The Granada I’d had plenty of opportunities to glance at my fancy telephone like a lame-o (er, “media professional”) and thanks to it, I now had the address to a secret Spits house-show taking place in an hour. Walking down the street in desperate need of more grub, I passed by Replay Lounge where I’d heard that a Black Lips DJ set would be happening along with an unaffiliated local show featuring Fag Cop, Weird Wounds, Strong Smells, The Spook Lights, etc. etc. I pressed my face to the glass and watched whatever band it was through the window. The fact that something stopped me for a good three minutes on my way to food after eight hours of shows is a testament to how good it sounded in there. Moral of the story: Lawrence is filled with rad bands.

Rejuvenated by a breadless sandwich, I headed a few blocks away to a quiet residential street lined with cutesy houses where creeps were silently cutting through side yards and assembling below ground for what was to be, unarguably, one of the best parts of Garage Fest: the part that wasn’t. A little after 1 a.m., after the Spits had scrounged together some sound equipment and played to packed mud-room (what do you call an almost-livingroom with a tile floor??) with a freshly-painted mural of a Gremlin pope impaling batman on his scepter. I finally felt like I was seeing Lawrence proper (and like I could relax, since there was now nowhere else to be). Bad art projects, a hula-hoop, bolo ties, leather jackets and “Lawrence Pizzas” backpatches all circulated the space; locals high-fived and hit the ceiling (literally). Watching it all unfold from my perch atop a makeshift computer desk in the back of the room while listening to Rip Up The Streets gave me the warm fuzzies all over.

Detroit’s Human Eye had made it all the way down from the 8-Mile to play after The Spits. They unraveled all kinds of psychedelic, echoey cave-noise from outer-space while I stomped around like a goon. Finally, broken glass and the appropriate amount of filth. I took some green fake blood to the face, watched their singer / guitarist Timmy Lampinen hand out free copies of their new Fragments of The Universe Nurse LP, and with more energy than most of the night’s band combined he proceeded to don a plastic brain-patterned swim-cap, get tangled up in a tapestry, and scream over the drums even as his PA / mic cut out completely. I think we all appreciated the effort.

But best of all, after 13 hours of shows, my personal sock-filled promotional tote-bag and I found a place to sleep for the night. Thank you to Wonder Fair Gallery, Ben, and Lizzie, I see how Lawrence do and I liked what I seed. Hallelujah, amen.

Obligatory bands-I-would’ve-most-like-to-see-(besides KK & The Shrines)-but-didn’t-get-to list: Happy Birthday, Tyvek, White Wires, Bad Sports, The Gories.

And that concludes our report on this year’s Garage Fest. Thanks again to Leigh for writin’ words, takin’ pictures, and gettin’ dirty, and for providing me with something to keep you guys busy while I’m on leave in Las Vegas. Check out more of her work at her Flickr and at LeighMetzler.com. Send her some love, and send me some coffee. See ya in a couple of days.

Tagged: scion garage festoblivianslawrencekansasstuck in thee garagethe granadareplay loungeblack lipsfag copweird woundsstrong smellsspook lightsthe spitsrip up the streetshuman eyegories