I have a long and complicated religious history that I won't go into great detail on right now, but by the time I was 14, I found myself attending the First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) of Danville, Kentucky.
Though I found church itself boring beyond words, I loved youth group. Not because youth group offered some important spiritual guidance that I found compelling as a young Christian, but because I got to hang out with girls.
I will always be grateful that I grew up exposed to a variety of Christianity that was tolerant and liberal and generally did not inspire fear or hate in me. For example: The first time I ever heard Nine Inch Nails and XTC were at youth group and they were played for us by guest speaker from Lexington. He played "Dead God" and asked us if we, as young Christians, should listen to music like this. Some people said we shouldn't because it wasn't Christian. The speaker said, "Hey, this song is awesome and XTC are a great band. If you don't listen to good music because someone tells you that it is 'unchristian,' you are only missing out on listening to good music. If you believe in God, a song isn't going to change that. Loosen up and listen to good music. Here's something off 'Pretty Hate Machine.' This stuff is great."
Our youth group would have lock-ins in the summer. We would stay up all night at the church and watch movies and listen to music. I think there was supposed to be some sort of "real talk" about Jesus, but that never seemed to happen. There were only a few people in the youth group who seemed to be there because they loved Jesus. For the most part, the other kids were just there to hang out with members of the opposite sex. It was for this reason that in retrospect, I am surprised that we were allowed to spend the night together in a church, more or less unsupervised.
Of course, this 'nonsupervision' didn't matter much to me. I wasn't one of the people sneaking off around dark corners, disappearing into the dark labyrinth of hallways. I stayed in the lighted areas with the boombox, listening to the cassette of the first Violent Femmes album that someone brought, shocked and elated by the language.
I think it has always thrilled Clint that "Tonight! The Church Van" contains the word 'narthex.' In case you've never looked it up, the 'narthex' of a church is the entrance to the naive of a church. Of course, in our church, it was just the fancy word for 'lobby.'
When we recorded at Finn's mom's house in Hope Valley, we moved everything out of her living room and den and breakfast nook. She was out of town for the weekend, and after we'd done it, Finn, Robert and Ben went for bagels and coffee.
"Your mom knows we are doing this, right?" Matt asked as they left.
"No."
"Is she likely to come home early?"
"Not likely."
Matt and stood there in Finn's mom's house, furniture gone and both silently wondered how it would look for her to come home, find her house empty and two strange men standing there, talking about Steely Dan.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
ACTUAL PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD
In addition to Audubon Park and Aimee, tomorrow the mighty Actual Persons Living or Dead will be playing. Odds are, if you are reading this you are in that band, but if you are someone who ended up here by Googling "MC Skat Kat" (you would be surprised by how many people are Googling "MC Skat Kat" on a DAILY basis), please take a moment to listen to this:
A Youthful, All-American Energy!
The Durham Herald-Sun saves print media by running this:
Let's do this for the kids!
(NB: Print media was not actually saved because this was just one their website. The Internet is saved!)
Audubon Park and Aimee Argote performing "Born In The U.S.A." (Saturday, Local 506) - Audubon Park is a Carrboro-based pop band with strong, personal lyrics and a sense of youthful energy that sometimes passes for a Los Campesinos brand of art-punk on tracks like "A Plum in Light and Air" but is really an all-American sound that would make The Boss proud.
Enter Aimee Argote, better known as Des Ark (have you got a copy of her new album yet?). The former pride of Durham before moving to Philadelphia, Argote has been showing up around the Triangle the past few weeks playing solo shows. She's back, and this time she's going to be performing with Audobon [sic] Park as they run through the entirety of Bruce Springsteen's biggest album.
Let's do this for the kids!
(NB: Print media was not actually saved because this was just one their website. The Internet is saved!)
The History of Audubon Park, Errata
Yesterday, I wrote about how I came up with the title for our first EP "Angry Bees Outside, These Bees Inside." I've been informed that it was actually Jennifer who came up with the title.
This news calls into question the veracity of everything you read on these pages. I apologize. Now I am worried about this post I wrote about Audubon Park's first Grammy nomination.
This news calls into question the veracity of everything you read on these pages. I apologize. Now I am worried about this post I wrote about Audubon Park's first Grammy nomination.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The History of Audubon Park, Part Sixteen
It just occurred to me that I never explained where the name of our first EP, "Angry Bees Outside, These Bees Inside," came from.
One afternoon, Jennifer and I were driving on 15-501, listening to NPR, because duh, that's what you do in Chapel Hill. There was a report about an abandoned house, maybe it was one that was foreclosed on and left in a bad state or something. I don't remember.
Anyway, the reporter said, "Angry bees outside. Dead bees inside."
"That would be a great title!" I said.
"It should be 'These Bees Inside,' Jennifer said. "'Dead Bees' sounds a little metal."
"We are sort of metal."
"No. Honey. I'm sorry."
She was right. We weren't metal at all.
One afternoon, Jennifer and I were driving on 15-501, listening to NPR, because duh, that's what you do in Chapel Hill. There was a report about an abandoned house, maybe it was one that was foreclosed on and left in a bad state or something. I don't remember.
Anyway, the reporter said, "Angry bees outside. Dead bees inside."
"That would be a great title!" I said.
"It should be 'These Bees Inside,' Jennifer said. "'Dead Bees' sounds a little metal."
"We are sort of metal."
"No. Honey. I'm sorry."
She was right. We weren't metal at all.
The History of Audubon Park, Part Fifteen
After the universal, crushing success of "Angry Bees Outside, These Bees Inside," the band decided we needed to strike while the iron of popular acclaim was hot, so we returned to Nick's studio a few months later and recorded what we thought would be our masterwork.
I mean, one of the songs even had two violins on it, which is some next level Carpenters-type sophistication.
A friend of mine, Mike Turner of the Warmer Milks said he wanted to put it out on his record label, so we sent him the master. "It might take a while," he said. "I want to do this right."
That release, I will tell you about later. This is not its story. This is the story of the EP we recorded to fill the gap between EPs.
I proposed the idea one afternoon at Go!. "Let's record an EP with the two songs from the demo that we know that didn't make it onto 'Bees' and this new song 'Tree Full of Snakes' and maybe a cover." We didn't have any money, so another weekend with Nick was out of the question, so we decided to let Matt record it on his 8-track 1/2 tape machine. But where.
"My mom is going to be out of town," Finn said. "We can do it at my mom's."
We sure can!
I mean, one of the songs even had two violins on it, which is some next level Carpenters-type sophistication.
A friend of mine, Mike Turner of the Warmer Milks said he wanted to put it out on his record label, so we sent him the master. "It might take a while," he said. "I want to do this right."
That release, I will tell you about later. This is not its story. This is the story of the EP we recorded to fill the gap between EPs.
I proposed the idea one afternoon at Go!. "Let's record an EP with the two songs from the demo that we know that didn't make it onto 'Bees' and this new song 'Tree Full of Snakes' and maybe a cover." We didn't have any money, so another weekend with Nick was out of the question, so we decided to let Matt record it on his 8-track 1/2 tape machine. But where.
"My mom is going to be out of town," Finn said. "We can do it at my mom's."
We sure can!
A Value Based System of Values; or, What Does My Mom Do On Facebook?
There is a button in the Blogger dashboard labeled "MONETIZE." I have never pushed it. I almost did once, but it was because I thought it said "MONKEYTIZE."
Audubon Park: Who Needs Practice When There Is A Mall To Go To!
The Independent has just published this article about Audubon Park. It is very nice. Perhaps, too nice!
The History of Audubon Park, Part Fourteen
After Robert and Rob moved into the Big House, Nate lived in a really sketchy house on Greensboro Street for a while. V. Sirin would practice there in his bedroom, the only room in the whole house with a lock on. A pad lock. One afternoon, we were checking out the basement and Matt asked, "Is that asbestos."
"I guess we'll know in about 20 years when we die from it."
The situation in the house soon became unpleasant in a number of ways and Nate moved out to the country with Nick Petersen. Nick worked at Go! and liked to record bands. As everyone who has ever met Nick knows, he is the nicest, coolest person. He recorded the two last V. Sirin songs. The penultimate, "Death to Videodrome," he recorded on an 8-track in the living room of that old house. I'd never heard a song of mine sounds that great before. It was just two acoustic guitars and drums, but it sounded like Led Zeppelin. Not long after that, Nick moved and started Track and Field in a house over in Carrboro. V. Sirin's last song, "Marginalia," was recorded there. He was living with Dave Perry at the time, I think, and you can hear toward the end of the song, me laughing as Dave walked through the living room while I was tracking vocals. He gave me a timid nod and I lost it.
When it came time to record, we asked Nick. With the exception of five songs (four by us at Finn's mom's and one with Zeno for a Compulation) we have recorded everything with Nick. Putting aside for a moment the fact that he is really great at what he does, making our soupy mess sound like the music of Olympian Gods, he is some how magically able to put up with Audubon Park recording--a non-stop parade of tasteless jokes, many of which make it onto tape. He has a special sense to know which dumb ideas we really mean and which we don't mean.
We recorded "Teenage Horses" with Nick when he moved the studio to Go! old location and "Passion" at his new house out on the edge of Carrboro within view of some cows.
So here is a toast to Nick--the real reason that Audubon Park albums are worth listening to (because he said 'No' to actually recording those cows).
"I guess we'll know in about 20 years when we die from it."
The situation in the house soon became unpleasant in a number of ways and Nate moved out to the country with Nick Petersen. Nick worked at Go! and liked to record bands. As everyone who has ever met Nick knows, he is the nicest, coolest person. He recorded the two last V. Sirin songs. The penultimate, "Death to Videodrome," he recorded on an 8-track in the living room of that old house. I'd never heard a song of mine sounds that great before. It was just two acoustic guitars and drums, but it sounded like Led Zeppelin. Not long after that, Nick moved and started Track and Field in a house over in Carrboro. V. Sirin's last song, "Marginalia," was recorded there. He was living with Dave Perry at the time, I think, and you can hear toward the end of the song, me laughing as Dave walked through the living room while I was tracking vocals. He gave me a timid nod and I lost it.
When it came time to record, we asked Nick. With the exception of five songs (four by us at Finn's mom's and one with Zeno for a Compulation) we have recorded everything with Nick. Putting aside for a moment the fact that he is really great at what he does, making our soupy mess sound like the music of Olympian Gods, he is some how magically able to put up with Audubon Park recording--a non-stop parade of tasteless jokes, many of which make it onto tape. He has a special sense to know which dumb ideas we really mean and which we don't mean.
We recorded "Teenage Horses" with Nick when he moved the studio to Go! old location and "Passion" at his new house out on the edge of Carrboro within view of some cows.
So here is a toast to Nick--the real reason that Audubon Park albums are worth listening to (because he said 'No' to actually recording those cows).
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The History of Audubon Park, Part Thirteen
Once, we were at Ben and Lauren's house when they lived in Carrboro. We were listening to the Clash and I was working my way through a 2 liter of Mountain Dew. "No open-toe Tuesdays," Ben said as Arthur and Tina sat, staring at Robert, waiting.
The History of Audubon Park, Part Twelve
Audubon Park's first show was at the Nightlight in May of 2003. We played with Erie Choir (the beginning of a long tradition of letting Eric ride on our coattails). This was when the stage was still in the front corner of the place. And when it still had books and was the Skylight Exchange during the day.
The Nightlight was my favorite place to play for several reasons, but the ability to browse water-damaged and molding paperbacks was the clincher. The piles of books still in boxes from some estate sale, ancient Ellery Queens and brightly colored Modern Library editions, dust covered and dry. Old covers, old translations, authors that have faded out of even the most rabid reader's memory. It was just the perfect place for Audubon Park to play. Our little bower of forgotten books.
In the weeks leading up to the show, with our set of songs perfectly practiced, we discussed learning a cover. We batted a few things around and finally Finn said, "Hey, listen. Can we play 'Takin' Care of Business' by BTO?"
"Really?" the rest of us said.
"Yeah, I have my reasons. See..." And then Finn explained why he wanted to play it. It would be improper for me to put Finn's business on the street, so I will let him chime in on his love for that song if he wishes. All that needs to be said is that we learned it and when we played it, we melted faces.
After that, we began a tradition of playing covers at shows, but increasingly we did it without ever bothering to learn the song first. We played "Never Tear Us Apart" at Go! after running through the song once at practice, with Finn faking the sax solo with his mouth. We played "Don't Stop Believing" and "Cut Your Hair," both without ever having played the song before based purely on some unspoken cultural understanding.
In fact, after our first few shows, we more or less stopped practicing all together. We began to only get together to learn new songs and record every so often. Most of the time, our ragged charm overflowed the boundaries of our errors, but on a few occasions, we "flew too close to the sun with this not-practicing thing'" (as Matt said).
Of course, we are combining everything into one great stew this Saturday--Friday night will be the first time that all five of us have been together in over a year. We are going to relearn all our songs and then all of "Born in the USA."
I have no doubt that we will be able to "take care of business" because I "don't stop believing" that being unpracticed will "never tear us apart" or "cut our hair."
I'm sorry. That almost worked.
The Nightlight was my favorite place to play for several reasons, but the ability to browse water-damaged and molding paperbacks was the clincher. The piles of books still in boxes from some estate sale, ancient Ellery Queens and brightly colored Modern Library editions, dust covered and dry. Old covers, old translations, authors that have faded out of even the most rabid reader's memory. It was just the perfect place for Audubon Park to play. Our little bower of forgotten books.
In the weeks leading up to the show, with our set of songs perfectly practiced, we discussed learning a cover. We batted a few things around and finally Finn said, "Hey, listen. Can we play 'Takin' Care of Business' by BTO?"
"Really?" the rest of us said.
"Yeah, I have my reasons. See..." And then Finn explained why he wanted to play it. It would be improper for me to put Finn's business on the street, so I will let him chime in on his love for that song if he wishes. All that needs to be said is that we learned it and when we played it, we melted faces.
After that, we began a tradition of playing covers at shows, but increasingly we did it without ever bothering to learn the song first. We played "Never Tear Us Apart" at Go! after running through the song once at practice, with Finn faking the sax solo with his mouth. We played "Don't Stop Believing" and "Cut Your Hair," both without ever having played the song before based purely on some unspoken cultural understanding.
In fact, after our first few shows, we more or less stopped practicing all together. We began to only get together to learn new songs and record every so often. Most of the time, our ragged charm overflowed the boundaries of our errors, but on a few occasions, we "flew too close to the sun with this not-practicing thing'" (as Matt said).
Of course, we are combining everything into one great stew this Saturday--Friday night will be the first time that all five of us have been together in over a year. We are going to relearn all our songs and then all of "Born in the USA."
I have no doubt that we will be able to "take care of business" because I "don't stop believing" that being unpracticed will "never tear us apart" or "cut our hair."
I'm sorry. That almost worked.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The History of Audubon Park, Part Eleven
One weekend afternoon in late 2002 or early 2003, I was in my bedroom playing with my 4-track alone when my mother-in-law called. She asked me if Jennifer was home, and it told her that Jennifer was at school, holed up in her carrel doing school work. She told me that Jennifer's grandfather had passed away unexpectedly and asked me to tell Jennifer. I said I would, gave my condolences and hung up.
Jennifer was very close to her grandfather and I knew the news would upset her and I wasn't sure if I should run to school and tell her or wait until she got home. It seems like a minor conundrum now, but at the time, I really didn't know what to do. Would she want to know right away? Would she want a few more hours of not knowing? I didn't know. In the end, I waited a little and then drove to school and told her and tried to comfort her as best as I could.
The aimless instrumental I was recording when her mother called, I named "New Jacket" after the hand-me-down sport coat that I'd been given a few months before that had been her grandfather's. He was a pretty cool guy. He'd been a nuclear scientist, jazz drummer and had a glass eye. We can all aspire to such heights of awesome.
Since that time, her other grandfather passed away along with my three remaining grandparents and my step-father. And we took care of each other as best we could, which was pretty good.
Jennifer was very close to her grandfather and I knew the news would upset her and I wasn't sure if I should run to school and tell her or wait until she got home. It seems like a minor conundrum now, but at the time, I really didn't know what to do. Would she want to know right away? Would she want a few more hours of not knowing? I didn't know. In the end, I waited a little and then drove to school and told her and tried to comfort her as best as I could.
The aimless instrumental I was recording when her mother called, I named "New Jacket" after the hand-me-down sport coat that I'd been given a few months before that had been her grandfather's. He was a pretty cool guy. He'd been a nuclear scientist, jazz drummer and had a glass eye. We can all aspire to such heights of awesome.
Since that time, her other grandfather passed away along with my three remaining grandparents and my step-father. And we took care of each other as best we could, which was pretty good.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
*footnotes 4
FACT: AP skinsman Ben Spiker spent some time in Germany in his youth and in college. And apparently he did a little bit more while he was there than just eat sausage and stalk Larry Mullen Jr. when U2 was in Berlin making "Achtung Baby." We here at Tropic of Food have discovered this rare footage of his first musical endeavor — and it's not called WEAVEXX. The pube 'stache may have hidden his identity up til now, but this is unmistakably him:
The group, called Ausfahrt, which means "stinky fart" in German, never played a show and had virtually no following, according to Spiker, save for a gawky German girl named Hildegard who followed them around and documented their activities. Someone finally got around to uploading the video for their one and only recorded song, "Tippen Ein," which means, "Put 'Em On The Glass" in German. Again, it's hard to make out in this boy the man who would one day sit on the drum throne for classics like "Sunbathers" and "The Blasted Heath," but those eyes are unmistakable, as is the graphic design motif throughout the video. See below.
The group, called Ausfahrt, which means "stinky fart" in German, never played a show and had virtually no following, according to Spiker, save for a gawky German girl named Hildegard who followed them around and documented their activities. Someone finally got around to uploading the video for their one and only recorded song, "Tippen Ein," which means, "Put 'Em On The Glass" in German. Again, it's hard to make out in this boy the man who would one day sit on the drum throne for classics like "Sunbathers" and "The Blasted Heath," but those eyes are unmistakable, as is the graphic design motif throughout the video. See below.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The History of Audubon Park, Part Ten
"Green Refuge" is the first real Audubon Park song as it is the first song that was written after the band got together and I had an idea of what we could do and how we would sound. I wrote it crouched on the floor of the townhouse that Jennifer and I lived in after Lindsay Street.
The two verses of the song are divided between the body and the spirit. In verse one you have a green refuge (a wildlife refuge near where I grew up), teeth willing to eat, reedy fields and ticks on a body--all elements of a fleshy, earthy world. As a contrast, in verse two, you have a dormitory of ghosts learning to haunt and a palm print on a window. The line "Let's sing together in the shower" may sound sexy and of the body, but comes from a story that our friend Kara told us about something that happened when she was in art school in Georgia. The dorm she lived in was haunted (of course). Each door had its own bathroom and one afternoon, one of her friends was in hers taking a shower. She heard the girl next door singing in her shower. Afterward, the first girl complimented the second on her singing but the second girl said, "I wasn't singing. I thought it was you." This was during a time when there was no one else in the dorm. Conclusive proof of life after death? No, of course, there is no such thing, but that is what I'm talking about with the shower stuff. I am allowed to sing in a non-fiction mode from time to time.
The line about "living bales" refers to a time when we were in college and Jennifer and I went to the wildlife refuge with a class. Our teacher, on the drive back told us that haybales are alive and moving very slowly if you just are patient enough to watch.
And then the outro of the song: "The comfort of machines offers no peace of mind. With their whirring and their clicking, they are sadder than I as they stare blankly and hope to find a kind loving God to paint them a sign, saying, 'This way, this way, come with me tonight.' But in the pile of calculations on the floor we miss the light." The point of all of this being that the pursuit of happiness through purely physical, spiritual or intellectual channels is fraught and ultimately unsuccessful, but that there is something meaningful in that which we assume has no meaning and value, if we are able to be patient to see it.
Or maybe those are just the words that came out when I was making stuff up off the top of my head and I was impressed with the internal rhyme.
Band practice usually would follow this pattern: Saturday morning, everyone meets at the Weathervane for brunch. Ben only drinks coffee, Robert eats waffles, Finn has yogurt, Matt eats shrimp and grits and I have a breakfast burrito. We talk too loudly, sitting on the patio, watching early risers filter into the mall. For some reason, we spend the whole morning talking about Linc. He's just always doing interesting things. Finally, forty minutes after we were supposed to start practice, we pay our bill and drive down to the Big House and load our gear in the backdoor into the bedroom that was once Linc's. Maybe that is why we talk about him so much. He is our spirit animal. After we set up, we aimlessly jam for an hour, trying to see who can play the most ridiculously awesome sound. Robert usually wins. Then Matt says, "Shouldn't we practice. We have a show tonight and haven't played together in months." At this point Finn is thinking about Thai food. I don't know why or how I know this, but he just is. So we practice and the songs some out perfectly and all of our cheeks flush with pride. Later that night, at the show, we will screw them all up, but at that moment, in the Big House, we get them all right. After a few old songs, we try a new song, play it twice and then decided to play it at the show. Finally, after a good thirty minutes of hard work, we take a break to watch "The Country Bears." We slouch on the couches in the living room and Robert produces some cookie dough from somewhere. We open the windows and enjoy the spring air which is better than the enclosed air of the practice room as I haven't bathed in a few days and sort of ripe. Ben takes pictures of us with gummi candy our faces and we laugh and laugh and laugh.
And thus, "Green Refuge" is proved.
The two verses of the song are divided between the body and the spirit. In verse one you have a green refuge (a wildlife refuge near where I grew up), teeth willing to eat, reedy fields and ticks on a body--all elements of a fleshy, earthy world. As a contrast, in verse two, you have a dormitory of ghosts learning to haunt and a palm print on a window. The line "Let's sing together in the shower" may sound sexy and of the body, but comes from a story that our friend Kara told us about something that happened when she was in art school in Georgia. The dorm she lived in was haunted (of course). Each door had its own bathroom and one afternoon, one of her friends was in hers taking a shower. She heard the girl next door singing in her shower. Afterward, the first girl complimented the second on her singing but the second girl said, "I wasn't singing. I thought it was you." This was during a time when there was no one else in the dorm. Conclusive proof of life after death? No, of course, there is no such thing, but that is what I'm talking about with the shower stuff. I am allowed to sing in a non-fiction mode from time to time.
The line about "living bales" refers to a time when we were in college and Jennifer and I went to the wildlife refuge with a class. Our teacher, on the drive back told us that haybales are alive and moving very slowly if you just are patient enough to watch.
And then the outro of the song: "The comfort of machines offers no peace of mind. With their whirring and their clicking, they are sadder than I as they stare blankly and hope to find a kind loving God to paint them a sign, saying, 'This way, this way, come with me tonight.' But in the pile of calculations on the floor we miss the light." The point of all of this being that the pursuit of happiness through purely physical, spiritual or intellectual channels is fraught and ultimately unsuccessful, but that there is something meaningful in that which we assume has no meaning and value, if we are able to be patient to see it.
Or maybe those are just the words that came out when I was making stuff up off the top of my head and I was impressed with the internal rhyme.
Band practice usually would follow this pattern: Saturday morning, everyone meets at the Weathervane for brunch. Ben only drinks coffee, Robert eats waffles, Finn has yogurt, Matt eats shrimp and grits and I have a breakfast burrito. We talk too loudly, sitting on the patio, watching early risers filter into the mall. For some reason, we spend the whole morning talking about Linc. He's just always doing interesting things. Finally, forty minutes after we were supposed to start practice, we pay our bill and drive down to the Big House and load our gear in the backdoor into the bedroom that was once Linc's. Maybe that is why we talk about him so much. He is our spirit animal. After we set up, we aimlessly jam for an hour, trying to see who can play the most ridiculously awesome sound. Robert usually wins. Then Matt says, "Shouldn't we practice. We have a show tonight and haven't played together in months." At this point Finn is thinking about Thai food. I don't know why or how I know this, but he just is. So we practice and the songs some out perfectly and all of our cheeks flush with pride. Later that night, at the show, we will screw them all up, but at that moment, in the Big House, we get them all right. After a few old songs, we try a new song, play it twice and then decided to play it at the show. Finally, after a good thirty minutes of hard work, we take a break to watch "The Country Bears." We slouch on the couches in the living room and Robert produces some cookie dough from somewhere. We open the windows and enjoy the spring air which is better than the enclosed air of the practice room as I haven't bathed in a few days and sort of ripe. Ben takes pictures of us with gummi candy our faces and we laugh and laugh and laugh.
And thus, "Green Refuge" is proved.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The History of Audubon Park, Part Nine
When Matt and I were in college, during finals the dorms extended the "quiet hours" all day with the exception of one half-hour block at 9 pm every night. Being bright young men, Matt and I referred to this as the "Loud Half Hour."
Matt and I really chaffed under this sonic ban during the first week of finals our Freshman year. Our souls yearned to strum loudly and listen to "Weld." One night, finding the burdens of monastic silence too much, we decided to put the Loud Half Hour to use.
I was the only person in our dorm who had a real stereo. Not a one piece unit with tiny speakers, but a full size component stereo with giant speakers. I also had a Peavey bass amp with a monstrous 18" speaker (years later, after V. Sirin broke up and I stopped playing bass, I gave the cabinet to Go! to use as a monitor. I have no idea where it is now). Matt brought down to my room his Peavey Audition Plus. We lined our amps up, leaned our guitars against them and, with my door locked, right at 9 pm, we turned our amps on as loud as they would go.
For sure, we were far from SUNN0)))) territory, but for a tiny dorm in rural Kentucky at 9 pm on a Wednesday night, it was bone-rattling enough. We also cued up on my stereo a Dinosaur Jr song that begins with a squeal of feedback. Matt continually hit the back button, playing the squeal over and over and over.
We did this, uninterrupted and without variation for exactly 30 minutes, and then stopped. Angry neighbors were beating on the door and screaming at us. The RA thought it was a fire alarm and tried to evacuate the building.
As the song says, Matt had a Washburn with a locking Floyd Rose. I think I probably bullied him into trading it in for the Jaguar he plays to this day. I remember really wanting a Jaguar myself, so there was probably something selfish in my encouraging him to buy a guitar that he couldn't really afford. Also, once I dropped it and broke the switches and didn't pay to have it fixed.
Really, I was the least honorable person. I apologize for that.
The first drummer in our band was my friend Rob (who would later introduce us to Robert). Rob decided, without consulting us, to become our drummer and bought a drum kit from the one guitar store in Danville. When he bought it, he asked the salesperson, "I think I need a top hat too."
"You mean hi-hat."
"One of those also."
The kit was made by TKO and he played in a way that I've never seen someone play the drums. Rather than having a hand dedicated to the hi-hat and ride and one for the snare, Rob used whatever hand was closest to the drum he intended to hit at any give time. It was like watching someone play whack-a-mole.
The first time that Matt and I ever played live together was our freshman year at a talent show in our school's coffeeshop. We played "Brother" by Alice in Chains and "Jane Says" by Jane's Addiction. For many reasons, I don't think any one is proud of that performance. Matt had never preformed live before, but I'd done it twice, so I was the pro of the group. When we started, Matt was singing about three feet from the microphone. I leaned over to tell him to sing closer and he stopped playing, turned to me and said, "What?"
"Don't stop playing. Sing closer to the mic," I said sternly. Because I was a pro.
We got through our set and Matt's father said we were great (it was Parents' Weekend and his whole family was there). "You all are my favorite local band." The subtext was that he didn't think we were better than Cream.
When we recorded "The Loud Half Hour," Ben doubled the drum track. Listening back, I thought, 'No, we aren't better than Cream, but we are better than the Velvet Underground and that is something.' Finn walked into the control room with two chili dogs, looked at the monitors and said, "Wow, that sounds great."
"Hey," Matt said, "Where did you get those chili dogs?"
"A man has to have his secrets," Finn said, sat down, and began to eat.
Matt and I really chaffed under this sonic ban during the first week of finals our Freshman year. Our souls yearned to strum loudly and listen to "Weld." One night, finding the burdens of monastic silence too much, we decided to put the Loud Half Hour to use.
I was the only person in our dorm who had a real stereo. Not a one piece unit with tiny speakers, but a full size component stereo with giant speakers. I also had a Peavey bass amp with a monstrous 18" speaker (years later, after V. Sirin broke up and I stopped playing bass, I gave the cabinet to Go! to use as a monitor. I have no idea where it is now). Matt brought down to my room his Peavey Audition Plus. We lined our amps up, leaned our guitars against them and, with my door locked, right at 9 pm, we turned our amps on as loud as they would go.
For sure, we were far from SUNN0)))) territory, but for a tiny dorm in rural Kentucky at 9 pm on a Wednesday night, it was bone-rattling enough. We also cued up on my stereo a Dinosaur Jr song that begins with a squeal of feedback. Matt continually hit the back button, playing the squeal over and over and over.
We did this, uninterrupted and without variation for exactly 30 minutes, and then stopped. Angry neighbors were beating on the door and screaming at us. The RA thought it was a fire alarm and tried to evacuate the building.
As the song says, Matt had a Washburn with a locking Floyd Rose. I think I probably bullied him into trading it in for the Jaguar he plays to this day. I remember really wanting a Jaguar myself, so there was probably something selfish in my encouraging him to buy a guitar that he couldn't really afford. Also, once I dropped it and broke the switches and didn't pay to have it fixed.
Really, I was the least honorable person. I apologize for that.
The first drummer in our band was my friend Rob (who would later introduce us to Robert). Rob decided, without consulting us, to become our drummer and bought a drum kit from the one guitar store in Danville. When he bought it, he asked the salesperson, "I think I need a top hat too."
"You mean hi-hat."
"One of those also."
The kit was made by TKO and he played in a way that I've never seen someone play the drums. Rather than having a hand dedicated to the hi-hat and ride and one for the snare, Rob used whatever hand was closest to the drum he intended to hit at any give time. It was like watching someone play whack-a-mole.
The first time that Matt and I ever played live together was our freshman year at a talent show in our school's coffeeshop. We played "Brother" by Alice in Chains and "Jane Says" by Jane's Addiction. For many reasons, I don't think any one is proud of that performance. Matt had never preformed live before, but I'd done it twice, so I was the pro of the group. When we started, Matt was singing about three feet from the microphone. I leaned over to tell him to sing closer and he stopped playing, turned to me and said, "What?"
"Don't stop playing. Sing closer to the mic," I said sternly. Because I was a pro.
We got through our set and Matt's father said we were great (it was Parents' Weekend and his whole family was there). "You all are my favorite local band." The subtext was that he didn't think we were better than Cream.
When we recorded "The Loud Half Hour," Ben doubled the drum track. Listening back, I thought, 'No, we aren't better than Cream, but we are better than the Velvet Underground and that is something.' Finn walked into the control room with two chili dogs, looked at the monitors and said, "Wow, that sounds great."
"Hey," Matt said, "Where did you get those chili dogs?"
"A man has to have his secrets," Finn said, sat down, and began to eat.
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