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An Uncontrollable Urge Episode 2: Rock and Roll Kills the Blues
This week’s episode of the podcast, punk rockers and rock’n’rollers playin’ and singin’ the blues. And, y’know, killin’ it.
Press play, or you’re next.
In case you missed it, check out the first episode: An Uncontrollable Urge Goes Surfin’, which went up last week. The show’s in iTunes now, so subscribe to it there, or use this handy RSS feed, if iTunes ain’t yer thing.
Playlist after the jump. Now jump!
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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.
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Guest Contribution: Scion Garage Fest in Lawrence, Kansas Part Two
Yesterday, we brought you part one of our coverage of October 2nd’s Scion Garage Fest. The one-day shit-show featuring all (well, most … a lot) of your favorite garage-punk assholes tearing up Lawrence, Kansas was free, but, since it was in Lawrence, Kansas, what the hell was I supposed to do but hope someone else would go and write something up for me? Enter Leigh. When we last left her, she was headed over to catch synthy weirdos Digital Leather…
I walked in and was greeted by the comforting and familiar sight of a flying-V, some heshy long-hairs, and a lady in denim cutoffs. As a fan of evil sounding, synth-heavy punk bands in general, I was especially looking forward to this (especially since their singer now lives in Berlin). My only complaint was that they stopped too soon. I heckled them for it while clapping along with a friendly drunk who noted that they looked far too clean. Digital Leather was one band that stood up to their venue but their drone and hammer would’ve penetrated the crowd far better had they been relegated to The Jackpot with the Cola Freaks. That said: go buy Warm Brother on Fat Possum and Sorcerer on Goner and thank me later. Baboom.
Hunx & His Punks were due on-stage after Digital Leather but if I missed Thee Oh Sees I would have spent the rest of the night trying to dive under a bus, so I split for the last and only unconquered venue (and the only one not on Mass Ave): The Bottleneck. There was a line stretching out the door and down the block but the other thing a “media” pass (ahem: wristband) gets you is the balls to do cut-sies (if hearing the band you’re most looking forward to playing from outside the club doesn’t do that for you already). I stepped in, got yet another wristband, and made my way to what those of us in the biz call “DA PIT” (copyright Limp Bizkit).
Thee Oh Sees, of course, have that special crowd-simmering party voodoo that makes the kids just lose their shit. They’ve got all the necessary elements: caveman rhythms; driving, swaggering, twangy gee-tar; and those delayed vocals that sound like the B-52’s’ tougher heirs yelping through a megaphone. With the organ rounding it all out it comes together sounding like the house band at sexy fireside exorcism. If you’re not dancing, give up. And somehow, I ended up crawling around tambourines and (the always well-dressed) Petey Dammit; almost losing my few scraps journalistic integrity for the sake of a stage dive.
They finished up, and finally having gotten what I’d hoped an event called “Garage Fest” would offer me, I ecstatically sprinted the three blocks back to The Granada to wrap up my night with the Hunx, Clean, Oblivians triple-threat. Standing out front talking was Sean Spits who I immediately accosted: “DID YOU GUYS PLAY LAST NIGHT?” he informed me that they had and that they’d be playing again tonight in-town but that he didn’t know where. I flew the “Come to Philadelphia!” flag and scrambled back inside the theater and up front to watch Hunx and his Punkettes shake their moneymakers.
Hunx did not disappoint. The man himself alternated sauntering around sexily with either a guitar or a set of giant stuffed-handcuffs slung around his neck and along with his backing band for the night (Shannon & The Clams), donned a mask of black eye make-up ala the Lookout! Records bandit (which, intentional or not, was a perfect homage to 3-chord pop music about talking on the telephone and boyfriend-upgrades). They ruled. Showmanship and hooks always prevail and they slid on down like a delicious Garage Fest dessert.
Next up were kiwi-pop legends The Clean. Kids around me announced their excitement and other bands started lining up side-stage to watch. They played the hits and made the appropriately wry remarks, “is this garage?” while heads nodded along attentively. Though, overall, the set seemed like a bit of a sleepwalk, never reaching a rolling boil. But, you know, they’re not really a ‘boiling’ band anyway.
Well, that’s it for today. Check back tomorrow for part three, the conclusion of our coverage of Scion Garage Fest, featuring The Oblivians, The Spits, and Human Eye. Find more from Leigh at her Flickr and LeighMetzler.com. Find more, damn it!
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Guest Contribution: Scion Garage Fest in Lawrence, Kansas Part One
You might have heard about that Scion Garage Fest in Lawrence, Kansas that went down a couple weeks ago. As an until-recently-unemployed person, I wasn’t able to make it down to catch the insane (and free) lineup of gnarled garage-punk (though the fact that most of these bands have done free shows in Brooklyn in the recent past and probably will again did make this a bit easier to take). But guess what? An Uncontrollable Urge is covering it anyway via our first guest contributor. Here’s Part One of our coverage of Scion Garage Fest. Take it away, Leigh!
Dave (both Keymaster & Gatekeeper of this blog) and I had met and bonded digitally over his write-up of the recent Nobunny / Jacuzzi Boys show at the Knitting Factory we’d both attended this summer. He’d also mentioned that the last Scion event he had been to provided all the audience members with free socks. Had Nobunny made filthy-bubblegum dreams come true that memorable late-August evening? …Yes. But where were these socks? I didn’t see any socks. Even Nobunny was barefoot.
A week-or-two later when I found out that Scion was hosting yet another free event — a garage festival in Lawrence, Kansas — my prime directive was made immediatly clear: drive 1,200 miles and get the logo-covered swag that was rightfully mine. And if I got to see The Oblivians play while I was there, so be it.
The end of September rolled around quick, and with it, me and picture-maker hit the open road. 1/2 way to Kansas the whole operation was made legitimate: somehow, through some finagling and polite e-mailing, I’d managed to get a photo pass. Maybe I’d even get a bonus VIP-set of socks. The other perk would be not having to wait in line all day for a wristband following a 21-hour drive from Philadelphia.
So, on the perfectly crisp fall afternoon of October 2nd, year of our lord 2010, after finding a Danzig t-shirt that morning a few towns over (- in my size! - for a dollar!); I had reached Lawrence city limits. I signed in and armed with my shittily-scrawled hit-list & an internet print-out of downtown, I went straight to work.
First on that list was Natural Child (Infinity Cat records), a 33% sleeveless, three-piece party-unto-themselves who are an integral part of everything I currently love that’s coming out of Nashville lately. I was ready to bang my head.
The venue was lit by a neon, electric blue pinstripe of light running around the sides of the place. It looked like a dance club. They were playing the Dead Milkmen when I walked in though and I took this as a good omen.
Natural Child can rock any basement like it’s Altamont without much difficulty. The turnout that day for them as openers, however, was especially slim. They had a good sense of humor about it and despite having to play to the hollow, cavernous, Super-Dome of The Granada they sounded solid as ever; putting forth the effort many bands don’t bother with at 4 p.m.: rolling around and hopping down off the stage and trying to make the whole scenario less weird and more like a punk show. Luckily, by the end of their set I noticed the room had filled-out considerably. (Note: this band’s side project / joke record is even good. “Cybersex Offenders”, also on Infinity Cat. Look into it.)
Gentleman Jesse (Douchemaster) was next. I scurried back to Liberty Hall where I had to dump out my water, undergo a bag-check, get another wrist band, and pee like crazy. The set was already half over. Despite these minor setbacks I walked up to the stage in time to be charmed by Jesse & His Men sweatily cranking out their last few songs. They sounded fantastic. I will not be missing ‘em when they roll back through my town in two weeks and you shouldn’t either.
Next up at Liberty Hall was Times New Viking (Matador), who had some good fuzz-soaked tracks floating around my ipod, but who I also knew nothing about. I don’t know if their songs just got lost in the soundboard or what but they just weren’t translating. T.N.V did not play poorly, but they didn’t reach what I imagine their live-potential is. I was generally not able to hear / discern much of anything in particular. Heads bobbed politely.
Restless, I took off for The Jackpot to see the Cola Freaks and was instantly relieved. Of the two venues I’d seen so far this third one was the smallest of them. The ceiling was low, the lighting was moody, and people seemed to be hanging out having a good time instead of milling around, looking like lost cattle waiting passively to be garage-rocked. The Jackpot was, above all, a bar - not a theatre. And I was just in time to watch the next band (on Hjernespind / Douchemaster / etc.) set up; who, notably, contain two members that made up the new version of Jay Reatard after he’d had his lover’s spat with new-Wavvesrs Stephen Pope and Billy Hayes last October.
But I digress. Cola Freaks hopped up on stage and satisfyingly burned through a collection of punchy, Wire-y jams, smiling and promising to “go back to Denmark”. Amusingly, the songs were too good for me to notice that all the lyrics were in Danish. The two kids next to me pogoing in plaid pants, pulling their Le Shok t-shirts over their faces enthusiastically, didn’t seem distracted by this either.
By 7:30, being less than half-way through the night and already feeling tired from running around like an asshole, I poured some espresso into my face (Lawrence has approximately 3,000 - 4,000 coffee shops in a 8 block radius), ate an egg and cheese across the street from The Granada, and got ready to see Digital Leather.
That’s it for the first part of our coverage of Scion Garage Fest. Check back soon for part two (and more), and don’t forget to check out Leigh’s other works at her Flickr and LeighMetzler.com. Thanks, Leigh!
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New Oblivians song!
I guess part of the deal when people do that free Scion Garage show thing is they put out a 7-inch with Vice Records. So, the Oblivians have recorded a split with Andre Ethier, and it’s right here:
Scion A/V Garage: The Oblivians / Andre Ethier by ScionAV
I gotta say, I’m a big fan of this Scion marketing ploy.
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We Never Learn: The Gunk Undergut, 1988-2001
… Then there was the contest between the Reverend [Horton Heat] and Dwarves drummer Vadge Moore to see who could have sex with the most people. “Yeah, everyone had some money riding on who would win,” Eddie [Spaghetti] says. “I bet on Vadge. He took down this really disgusting fat girl on the very last night we were there and won the contest. The grand total winning number? Two. So the ladies weren’t exactly breaking down our door.
This excerpt comes from a section of the book We Never Learn: The Gunk Punk Undergut, 1988-2001, by New Bomb Turk Eric Davidson. That’s Eddie Spaghetti from The Supersuckers talking about an insane-sounding European tour consisting of the Reverend Horton Heat, the Supersuckers, and Dwarves. Just one of many moments from the book that had me laughing out loud like a fucking asshole (the book didn’t make me laugh like an asshole, there’s just nothing I can do about that).
Obviously, a book like this couldn’t be more down my alley, and I probably would have been happy with anything, as long as the thing mentioned Billy Childish and the Mummies somewhere in it. But this thing is great. More information than I ever would have thought existed about so many great bands in the trash-punk style I’ve grown to enjoy so much. It’s got all that awesome “crazy story” stuff you’d expect in a Please Kill Me-style oral history of a subgenre of punk-rock, like the above excerpt, and it’s handled by a guy who was involved in the scene and really loved much of what came out of it.
Couldn’t ask for more in a book like this, really. Go buy it. It’ll be another reason for you to pull out your old Milkshakes and Oblivians records, and you’ll probably get hip to some other group you had no idea rocked as hard as they did.
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The Oblivians/Andre Ethier at The Knitting Factory
Just in case you missed it, The Oblivians, supported by Andre Ethier, put on a free concert Thursday night at the Knitting Factory. Although I’m not a big fan of corporate involvement in music, I guess I should show some appreciation to Scion for sponsoring the event, not only because I didn’t have to pay money to go, but also because they were giving out free Black Lips/Pierced Arrows splits, and I snagged two of them. So, that was cool of them. But enough shilling. Let’s talk about rock.
Andre Ethier, photo courtesy of my crappy phone camera.
Opening up the night was Andre Ethier, with whom I was pleasantly surprised. To me, his set sounded like the psychedelic sounds of Bob Dylan. Ethier had the kind of stream of consciousness vocals that few people can really pull off, and when you hear someone do it right, it’s really something special. Whoever was on lead guitar duty that night was really driving it home. I’m hoping that’s not the last I’ll hear from Andre Ethier.
The Oblivians - another picture taken with my phone camera. Anyone want to be my photographer?
The fucking Oblivians. If you’re not with it, the Oblivians fucking rock. That’s all you should need to know in order to be caught up with what’s going on. They hit the stage, and annihilated for an hour and fifteen minutes before taking a couple of minutes off before the encore. I lost count of how many songs they played (can you blame me? they’re all a minute and a half long) but I did manage to keep track of how many fights broke out: three and a half. That half fight was when a girl poured her beer out on a guy’s head… it would have been a fight, but they were both too scared to hit someone of the opposite gender. Of course, things never got past a bro-style “hold me back!” exchange, as the crowd seemed to be able to completely separate aggressive-types, so things only seemed energetic, not dangerous. Exactly what you want at a punk rock show.
Each member of the group got to have several turns leading things, and everyone seemed to know exactly what’s up. After their reunion tour last year, they seem to be in fantastic shape; the band rocked exactly as hard as I’d always hoped they would. When Greg Oblivian sat behind the drum kit so Jack O could have a turn on the mic, things got both sloppier and cleaner, somehow at the same time. Greg’s drunken southpaw style on the drums was loads of fun to watch, and Jack’s songs had their own unique punch to them that I really appreciated; “Strong Come On” might be the best minute-and-thirty seconds of music of all time. For the encore, the guys brought up a friend to play some organ, and, of course, they continued to kick everyone’s asses.
If you ever get the chance, you need to see the Oblivians. They did mention they’d all just moved up to Queens, by the way… I’m hoping we’ll be seeing them around more in the future.
