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"When I was seventeen I inherited my dad’s record collection. He wasn’t a frivolous spender and therefore not a frivolous collector. He wasn’t the type of person to spend money on a careless whim. My dad deemed many activities commonly thought of as normal and worthwhile to be extraneous to our familial lives (examples: vacations outside of northern Ontario, eating at restaurants, having friends that weren’t my sisters and cousins). Accordingly, his record collection is succinct, consisting only of music and artists that he loved and respected. (A side note on respect: my dad hated almost everything, so for him to express an interest in something meant that it had to be pretty special in his eyes).
My dad played guitar in a bunch of different bands from the time he was a teen until well into his 30’s. He and my mom met in a rock band called Bootleg that toured around Ontario and border towns like Buffalo and Detroit in the 70’s and early 80’s. Unfortunately, my dad’s rock star ambitions never came to fruition. Instead, he had a family and became a music teacher. The advent of middle age and obligatory fatherly duties sealed his fate and confirmed that his talents would go forever unrecognized by the listening masses. If he could do it over again I know he would pick our family over musical success, but I also know that this change in direction turned my dad into a bitter cynic.
His cynicism fueled many blasphemous rock music criticisms. Of the more notable are, “Robbie Robertson couldn’t play a guitar solo if his life depended on it,” or, “The only thing Jimmy Page was good at was copying other people.” Up until I was seventeen I was pretty sure my dad hated all music that other people liked. I don’t remember him ever listening to music. Not when I was around at least. He wrote songs and played his guitar, but never expressed an interest in artists or albums. That being said, I never really got to know my dad outside the relationship of parent and child. Because I was in my teens when he died, I didn’t know much about his personality aside from the stereotypically dad-ish, disciplinarian persona he exuded when he was alive.
Photo: Rory Gunderson
A year or so after my dad’s death, when my mom began cleaning out his solitary haven in the basement, I was given the responsibility of hauling his records up the stairs. My mom didn’t want to give them away because she knew how much they had meant to him. She suggested I hook up my grandma’s record player in my room and keep my dad’s collection up there. I obliged, partly because my seventeen -year -old brain thought vinyl was cool (although I really knew nothing about it at the time), but also because I was curious and wanted to explore this facet of my dad’s life that I knew nothing about.
Through his records I learned something about him that I never knew when he was alive: that he loved psychedelic rock bands from the late 60’s and early 70’s. The first record of his that I ever listened to was Spirit’s album, The Family That Plays Together. Shortly after I became acquainted with Son’s of Champlain’s 1969 release, Loosen Up Naturally.
Thanks to my dad’s collection I also discovered and grew to love blues guitarist Albert King. His album, Born Under A Bad Sign, piqued a previously unexplored interest in blues music. Another personal favourite is jazz and blues pianist, Ray Bryant’s album, Alone with the Blues. This record inspired me to actually practice the piano when I was seventeen, rather than spend my time playing half-assed renditions of Bryan Adam’s songs from the Robin Hood Prince of Thieves Soundtrack. Because most of these artists and albums were unknown to me when I pulled them out and dropped the needle there were some trial and error moments, but that was part of the excitement in discovering so much new music. My greatest discovery to date was when I pulled out Townes Van Zandt’s eponymously titled album where he’s sitting at a kitchen table on the front jacket. Like many of the other albums in my dad’s collection, I had no idea what it would sound like, but it’s now become one of my top five favourite records.
It’s too bad I can’t talk to my dad about how much happiness his records have brought me or how many musical interests we now have in common. Hopefully one day I’ll have a kid or encounter some appreciative person who will take my records so that when I die my collection won’t end up in the 0.99 cent pile in the Value Village home wares department." —Jessica Lanza
JULY 10 Post-40 Watt show, it was clear that Polk and I were in hang-out, drinking mode and Matt and Dave were in "sleep would be cool" mode, so the guys went to a local Days Inn and Polk and I stayed at the 40 Watt until they kicked us out. Caught a lift back to Polkie's with Jeremy (bass player from Venice is Sinking) and his wife Anna (with whom I bonded over our common Russian backgrounds). Did I mention I was vodka-drunk? The vodka analogue to whiskey-dick is vodka-smarts. Much is said that sounds intelligent, penetrating, and sensible—only to crumble in light of daylight sobriety (see the Athens entry of the tour diary). Crashed at Polk's on a futon—periodically roused by the 170-car CSX locomotive that barrels through Polk's living room, but slept quite well. Polk and I awoke to hangovers nonetheless. Even feeling like he had a javelin lodged in his head, Jon was witty, mellow, and generous—offering me coffee, juice, a shower, newspaper. What an asshole.
Soundcheck, Atlanta: Matt attempts to turn down the blinding red sheen of our gear
Met up with Dave and Matt, ate a terrific brunch at the famous Grit, bopped around Athens, record shopped, souvenir shopped. Took Hipstamatic pix. Drove to Warmlanta in the afternoon (Polk to catch ride with Venice folks).
Much of the weekend, I had a very confusing text dialogue with DC's own Dave Mann—he of Mittenfields and Twins of a Gazelle, DC indie scene mover and shaker, and all around nice guy. He asked about our touring and why we weren't coming to Atlanta. I told him we were, indeed, coming to Atlanta. He didn't appear to grasp what I was saying; I figured it must be me being obscure. The odd dialogue continued every once in a while and I would comment on it to Dave, Matt, and Jon: "Either Dave Mann is drunk, thick, or dyslexic or my texting skills have really fallen off because we seem to be communicating in different languages."
Michael post-show (Atlanta) all walk-of-the-cock
Get to Warm . . . well, let's call it Hotlanta. Unload, meet up with some old friends at Moe and Joe's in the Virginia Highlands. Our friend Anthony Fernandez just moved to Atlanta from DC last week! It's like we never left home! Go the club, The Drunken Unicorn, which is unmarked, grungy, and dark. I'm getting a good vibe. The bar attached to the club is playing songs from Face To Face, one of the first great Kinks records. I have a Ketel One on the rocks. Happy, right? All of a sudden Dave Mann plops down next to me and goes, "What's up, bud?" He'd been playing me like a Takamine acoustic-electric all weekend. He was visiting a friend (Patrick) in Turner Town, opened up Creative Loafing, saw we were playing and couldn't believe his timing and luck! When he said, "I can't believe I'm seeing one of my favorite bands in the world out of town!" it meant a lot to me. It's like we never left h...
With that DC energy and good liquor, we played the kind of set we've come to expect from ourselves: dark, mean, smooth, swaggery, and with a healthy pinch of sugar to make it all down like pink lemonade. It was a blast. Relaxed, great sound, and a really nice, buzzing audience. Venice is Sinking also seemed to thrive off the vibe (read: chilled-out) and played a lovely set. Both bands were happy with the evening.
Dave and our friend Anthony Fernandez
Marketing note: we play a new song called "You'd Smile Back," which was going to be on Discontinued Perfume before my February mental breakdown stopped progress on that song. Polk's like, "I love that song; I can't believe it didn't make the record!" To show my own marketing savvy, I look right at my man and go, "Jon, two-and-a-half words: post-album single." He smiled and nodded. Our hangovers were gone, it was 138% humidity outside, and we had the world by the shorthairs.
The drive back to DC was pretty smooth, except the part in North Carolina where, as we were pulling back onto 85 N, and Dave's hatch flew open (I'm talking about his car) and spewed a guitar, a bass guitar, and two pillows onto the ramp. Dave rescued the guitars, me the pillows. Everything was fine and we had a good laugh over it once we got our heart rates back down to 115 bpm or so.
This Sunday, we stick at home: Galaxy Hut on Sunday, July 18.
JULY 9 It's always totally sausage roll to play a club you've always wanted to play. And when it's in a cool town, even sweeter.
The 40 Watt
Like the Midwest, people here have been very nice. Our brilliant publicist, Jon Polk, lives here and is hostin'. The trip down was smooth. Good sights. Lunch at Biscuitville. Gets hotter and hotter and hotter the further south we go.
Kentoff backseat drives to Athens
That said, the show: eh. The sound was excellent, but they wanted us to play for an hour. We have a very Swiss watch 42.7 minute set, so our tender equilibrium was thrown. We managed. The audience: well, we had the stage lights dimmed so I could see question marks over tops ofheads. When the beatbox songs started, forget it. If we had 'em, we lost 'em. We still managed. Aside from one guy asking Dave, between songs, if we played any reggae (to which Dave responded, "Not even close"), things went OK.
Dave piloting his Honda Fit. The Caribbean traveling lite-style.
Then there were the bizarre stage gremlins: drum beater catches pant cuff, e string goes stunningly out of tune without provocation. We play a staggering version of "Mr. Let's Find Out" from the upcoming Discontinued Perfume record and receive a dollop of polite applause. Hey, there was HUMAN SACRIFICE in Madison for that song! Well, Hunan sacrifice, at least.
Hometapes Publicist Jon Polk
Hey, at least we get to hang w/Polk, who's like family. A sweetheart and a smarty. And he has A/C at his house. Nice.
Batusis will perform at Crooked Beat Records on Thursday, July 29th. The duo have profoundly influenced the direction of punk rock and its aftermath: Cheetah Chrome, guitarist of Cleveland icons Rocket From The Tombs and Dead Boys.Sylvain Sylvain is the wildly charismatic New York Dolls axeman.
Batusis will be playing around 4 -5 songs acoustically. They will also be playing a full set at the Black Cat later that night. This is an early performance starting at 5pm. Performances are free and all ages.
So, chillens, I’m sick with some kind of crazy fever but since I was on vacay last week, I won’t take a sick day today. If I sound crazy or if this column sucks, let’s just blame my health, shall we?
Writing nonsense through a fever is just one sacrifice I’m making today. It’s really agony, I tell you. The other sacrifice? I just listened to “Closer to the Edge,” by 30 Seconds to Mars. That was hard, guys. But the band and their new album are getting lots of shout-outs on Twitter today, and so I did what needed to be done. For you. The reader(s). (Hi, Dad…)
I was going to expound upon exactly why I intensely disliked that song, but I’m not really sure I can put it in words. I found the vocals grating, the drums seemed weirdly exaggerated and not particularly interesting, there was some odd Enya keyboard stuff happening, and it’s hard to pull off a “clapping and singing only” anthem-style interlude in the middle of a fuzzy-instrument-heavy emo song. And that’s all I’ve got.
I used to get 30 Seconds to Mars confused with Dogstar, because they both have handsome actors in them. [Insert tasteless joke about a starlet known for dating handsome actors here.] Dogstar is Keanu Reeves’s band. 30 Seconds to Mars is Jared Leto’s. Both bands get kind of grumpy when you talk too much about their famous actor members, because it’s about the music, all right?
Dogstar hasn’t done anything since the turn of the century. This is a pity because their 1996 EP is called 'Quattro Formaggi' which is a hilarious name for anything other than a pizza. I wish I’d thought to name my cat Quattro Formaggi. I would like to see more EPs with such chilling, evocative titles.
30 Seconds to Mars, however, is still alive and … emoting. Although the new album, 'This is War' came out wayyyyy back in December 2009, the band’s been on tour most of the year promoting it. On Saturday, they played T in the Park, the annual monster outdoor festival in Edinburgh, and Jared Leto wore a kilt. This is important, because Jared Leto, as we have already established, is a handsome actor, and everyone loves handsome actors in kilts.
Maybe the kilt was also a magical audio-wave distortion device that transformed 30 Seconds to Mars’s simultaneously wailing and breathy music into … something listenable. Like a vuvuzela chorus, or karaoke. That would explain some things.
Actually, the “genre” tags on Wikipedia do a nice job of explaining things. According to that fount of knowledge, 30 Seconds to Mars is hard rock, emo, neo-progressive rock, post-grunge, alternative metal, and progressive metal. If you gave me a piece of paper and asked me to write down the worst possible genre combinations, progressive emo metal neo-post-alternative hard rock would pretty much be my answer.
So, shocker: People on Twitter like progressive emo metal neo-post-alternative hard rock, and I do not. Also, Jared Leto. In a kilt. And don’t go listen to that song, no matter how many of your Twitter friends might tell you it’s speaking to them.
Role #mmodel: “@TonyCankles: #MM #MusicMonday BRAND NEW Tony Cankles "Bangers On A Set List" My #musicmonday pick: Mudhoney.Hey guys did I tell you I’m not feeling well, huh, huh, did I, huh?
It's true. Very soon you'll log into thevinyldistrict.com and see the graphic above.
We're moving to a glorious Blogger and Google-free world in wake of tragic, recent events.
But while we reconfigure our new home, we'll still be doing our daily business at vinyldistrict.blogspot.com, all old-school like, so don't think you'll be forgotten in the slightest during our migration.
So, very soon, it'll be back to business as usual:
It's our weekly recap of the tracks the folks in the press offices want you to be hearing—finally in its official time slot—right here each Monday morning.
Greetings from Laurel Canyon! | Recently everywhere I turn I’m seeing and hearing vampire and werewolf lore! Well at least everywhere save here. I’m guessing that Indian medicine men of ages past put out some kind of “whammy” to protect this canyon from such ghouls. Now, down below on what we call “the Strip,” creeps and fiends rule the air.
After seeing both Twilight Eclipse and an episode of True Blood in the same night, I thought it would be a “ghoul” idea to dedicate this week’s Idelic Hour playlist to these two opposing supernatural species. I certainly had no problem conjuring up enough songs old and new to howl the night through.
Highlights in the mix: Dead Man’s Bones, Sreamin Jay, Pink Mountain Tops, Moontrekks and Margot & The Nuclear So So’s.
"Last year my band Big Smith had the amazing experience of meeting John Fry, Rachel Hurley, and the gang at Ardent Studios. We loved seeing our buddy Pete Mathews nestled in his array of monitors and consoles, learning about the amazing success of the Soulsville Charter School,and being moved and inspired by our tour of the Stax museum, as well as the work and legacy of Ardent. I've written about this once in a lifetime experience at Ardentelsewhere in more depth.
Of the old Boston Garden, it was often said that when opposing teams played there, they not only played the Boston teams; they also had to play “the ghosts” living in the rafters: the specter of past Boston teams: their legend and their victories. At Ardent, it might be said that when you play there, you not only get to play with your band, you get to play with the ghosts. The legacy of great music is everywhere apparent at Ardent, from the gold and platinum records hanging on the walls, to the album covers and photographs, to the equipment. Holy mackerel, the equipment! A 2-inch tape machine is a great, lovely beastie under any circumstance, but when it has played a role in producing legendary music…well, these things ought to be preserved as monuments—preferably working monuments on which my bandmates and I get to record.
Another thing that distinguishes Ardent from other places with ghosts is how alive the ghosts are at Ardent. At Ardent, the ghosts are alive and well, and consequently so is the spirit. The feeling of family you get at Ardent is not confined to the studio or the people who have worked there. Walking the halls and occupying the studios you get a vision, or at least I did, of the kinship of an amazing diversity of musicians in an amazing diversity of genres who care deeply about what they do, who approach their art with passion and creativity, who believe that rendering our experience faithfully through music can be a high calling, and who think one ought to do his or her part in helping others answer that calling. What you do then is give your head a good shake, and in the best tradition of Ardent technicians and staff, and the musicians who’ve moved the earth at Ardent, you set to work.
We're touring in support of our latest studio album, "Roots, Shoots, and Wings," and are writing and rehearsing songs for the next one." —Jody Bilyeu
Enter to win Big Smith's CD "Roots, Shoots, and Wings" by simply leaving a comment, your name, and a contact email address in the comments to this post. We'll choose one winner each Friday for that week's giveaway which ALSO includes the entire Ardent Music catalog. (That's just 2 artists at this point, but hey, who's counting?)
To hear more great Ardent Sessions please visit Ardent Presents.
To announce the release of Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros'"Up From Below - Deluxe Edition" we're slipping you the Turbotito remix of "Desert Song" by Filip Nicolic this morning.
"Up From Below - Deluxe Edition"features live versions of "Up From Below" and "Carries On" plus the videos for "Home" and "Desert Song" and also a demo recording of "Home."
Yesterday we introduced our new 'Press Play' feature which will run each Monday here at TVD as a solid regurgitation of the tracks being flogged to the blogs.
To get you used to the right-clicking, we'll be offering what's come in to us recently all this week in advance of it's forthcoming regular Monday blog spot.
(And, uh...we won't be Blogspot all that much longer either...)
JULY 3 | Minneapolis, JULY 4 | Home I always like going to Minneapolis. Fascinating city. Nice people. I fell in love for the first time there. A cool part of town called Dinkytown. Where else? But getting there from Madison had its own rewards. Last year, we went to a giant cheese chalet. This year, we stopped in Osseo, Wisconsin = Norwegian Central. Had to stop at the Norsky Nook so we could stock up on HONK IF YOU'RE NORWEGIAN bumper stickers and Ole & Lena Joke Books. Also found a great antique store with bargains galore, including an old Pluto Water bottle. Kwality stuff. The cashier there was possibly the only surly person I met on this tour. I chalked it up to bad timing on my part. Or maybe she was really counting on that bottle for her own collection. Well tough, that baby's gonna look sweet in our kitchen picture window. OK—enough bargain hunting, back onto 94W to the Minneapple.
Kitty Cat Klub, Minneapolis
Until last August, I'd never had a good show in the Twin Cities (regardless of group), but, out of respect for the area, vowed that I would never stop trying. Last year, we played there with All Tiny Creatures and Ryan Olcott's (ex-12 Rods) terrific new band Mystery Palace and it was a ripping, end-of-tour night. It poured and poured outside and we didn't care; just a memorable night. A tour highlight. This year, the weather was downright Washingtonian and, again, we played with ATC. Ryan was also there, but only in his soundman and friend capacity. He did smoke cigarettes like a hipster, though. Aquarelle opened and provided mesmerizing, stereo soundscapes. The late-added Minneapolitans Wizards are Real finished things off with moody noir-like instrumentals featuring pedal steel and tenor sax. Very nice and unexpected.
Dave pre-set
Jeff, ATC's replacement drummer, took advantage in full of the cheap Bell's Two-Hearted Ales and wept openly at our performance of "Populations." It made him feel, he said, like we'd never see each other again. Of course, a man of Jeff's insane musical ability, lightning-quick sense of humor, and encylopedia-like knowledge of the UK Office will never be a stranger to The Caribbean's shores for long, but we all understood the end-of-tour bittersweetness. As ATC was to us last year, Jeff was a revelation to us this summer.
I had long thought—during one song in particular—that ATC's usual drummer, Ben, was irreplaceable—to the point of it being inconceivable that they would or could play this one song without him. But its a crowd-pleasing set ender; you can't not play it. Night 1 in Chicago, I couldn't help being amazed by Jeff's drumming all night, but noticed his hesitance during that one song (as if he felt the same way I did). Milwaukee, I was so drunk and blissed out by our own performance and reception, I wasn't interpreting details (except that ATC were great). By Madison—and I was almost entirely sober—I noticed that he'd taken absolute ownership of the song, playing off of Ben's cues but adding his own power and energy. In short, he did the impossible and, all the while, never stopped smiling. When I told him this, he (like Ben) was gracious and aw-shucks about being brilliant. If our rather simple-minded east coast notion that midwesterners are sooooo fucking genuine and nice is a stereotype, this tour—with people like Jeff, but also the hordes of strangers we met—only made us more insufferable in this regard.
Osseo, WI
Dave, a New Jerseyite and one not easily impressed by many things, was particularly effusive. Any cynicism he might have once had over the notion that midwesterners are sweethearts was sandblasted away by the sun-drenched goodness of the kind people we met. That we played shows with one band we love, some new bands we really dug, and delivered searing performances in Milwaukee and Madison made the week truly memorable. Throw in the monumentally awesome At Random and it's a week for the ages. And one could tell how special the week was in how the two Hometapes groups hung out drinking outside of the Kit Cat Klub until 2—just not wanting things to end. The Caribbean rolled into its digs at the Airport Comfort Inn at 3:15 am and I took the 4:30 am shuttle to MSP for my 6 am flight home so I could work today and, of course, finish this tour diary. Dozed on the plane and, then, dazed on my couch at home. Actually felt pretty good. Today (July 5) I feel like I was hit by a Martz Americruiser carrying Indianans to DC for the Independence Day festivities, but I don't care. Good tours make you feel just plain alive. Happy Birthday United States of Ameritel!
Gig + Hotel + Flight = Zero Sleep
Next weekend, the State of Georgia gets the treatment. Athens on 7/9, Atlanta on 7/10.
Which is not a knock on any of the bands that comprise Rock & Roll Hotel's Saturday night bill. Upon introduction to all four of them last week, they're all up to something unique and totally worthwhile and easily come from diverse schools of thought.
So, it's one cool bill indeed and it's our job to let you know about it. And as such, it's our job to get you out of the house, away from your turntables, and over to the Hotel for a night of music—whether you're a fan of one or all of the bands already, or if they're as new to you as they were to me last week.
We've got a pair of tickets to give away to Saturday night's foursome at R&R in exchange for your comment in the comments portion of this post. Whether you're an old fan or a new one after snagging all the downloads below, let us hear it, and the most convincing of the bunch gets the pair.
We'll choose a winner by 9AM on Friday morning so get to it—and remember to leave us a contact email address!
"When my brother and I were little kids, we had surprisingly limited exposure to the magical world of rock. That’s probably because our folks had waited for years to have kids so their tastes were a little out of step with the times. In fact, they were raised on Big Band music — Glen Miller, Stan Kenton, Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey — and they passed this on to us. It’s what they knew; along with a bunch of genuinely weird kitschy comedy stuff that is so obscure I won’t even name-drop it here, this is what we were raised on.
My mom had worked for a radio station while my dad was on grad school. Like any good employee, she scored plenty of free swag. Mostly, though, she took home random oddities ranging from the sweet jazz of the Ray Bryant Trio to the proto “Hee-Haw” yucks of Homer & Jethro and the more refined Stan Freberg. Okay, so maybe I reneged on the name dropping moratorium. It’s all for a good cause, though, I promise.
All of this was on vinyl, LPs and singles. In fact, my parents even had a treasure trove of primo 78rpm discs; I think about slipping a few into my suitcase every time I go home — I mean, it’s not like anyone else in my family will ever want to listen to these things. The only problem is that I don’t even have a turntable capable of spinning a 78 — I don’t even know whether I know anyone who does.
But I do have a turntable — two, in fact. One is an ancient analog device and the other is one of those neat vinyl-to-digital thingies. I need the latter because I overcompensated for my lack of rock by going off the rails in music consumption when I was in high school. I’d already been massively into The Beatles starting in grade school, but everything shifted into high gear when a new music store opened near my neighborhood. Among the other media, the store stocked used vinyl — lots and lots of used vinyl. The sweet deal about this was that the store was about as big as a Brooklyn apartment (translation: not). They couldn’t store all of the stuff they bought from people, so they had a box of free records by the door.
Free. Records. And they refilled it almost daily. They had to, because I and my brother would clean it out every time we went in to buy stuff; thanks to our lame teenage jobs, this was a regular thing. The amazing part is what they dumped: first pressings of the Stooges and the MC5 on Elektra; original red label Decca early Stones albums in mono; The Kinks entire Warner/Reprise catalog, again in mono. Don’t get me wrong, we brought home plenty of junk along with the jewels. Still, finding that stuff totally changed my musical life for the better — in my hometown, nobody would have turned me on to that kind of music in a thousand years. Pathetically, I still have the majority of the stuff we picked up back then, both good and bad — almost 40 crates full of some of the greatest sounds ever produced, along with some of the worst. Those crates are one of the prime reasons I try to relocate as seldom as is humanly possible." —Joe Caparo, Bass
JULY 1, Part 2 The Caribbean & Milwaukee have a little thing, see. We love Milwaukee and Milwaukee is still in the process of sizing up our prospects viz a long-term relationship. How are we doing? I'll let you be the judge, eh? We meet Milwaukee's mom and step-dad (Milwaukee calls him Kenny) next month.
Door of the Cactus Club In spite of the shocking lack of vintage porn at the great Cactus Club (last August we were there on Dude Night), we still love performing there. Another blast of an evening at the white house w/the menacing red light at the entrance. Down the street, by the way, happens to be one of the coolest places I've ever seen—a specialty drinks lounge called At Random. Walking in during the daytime literally feels like re-entering the womb. A very plush, groovy womb. Unchanged since 1964 (like me), but in perfect condition (again, like ...), devoid of irony (oh well), and owned by the same couple who opened it in '64. Great bartender, Randy, great music, and, of course, great drinks.
Milwaukee Dave (late)
We hung there for a while, had to be removed surgically, and rocked a killer liquor buzz going by the time we hit the stage. Drunk performance can work one of two ways. Last night: glorious -- makes a performer want to perform drunk every night. Of course, that's a dreadful idea for a variety of reasons, but we did slay. No prisoners taken. Casualty count: unimaginable. Great night. Thanks, Milwaukee. Next: Madison. State capital. Fab college town. Strange badger mascot. Good granola vibes.
Michael + Matt Amazed in Milwaukee
Jeff of ATC in Milwaukee
JULY 2 Madison. It's starting to get warm in Wisconsin, which only serves to remind us that we cannot escape our Mother Washington. After the set at the super fab Project Lodge, Dave confessed, "I was sweating my balls off up there!" — the verb: to sweat one's balls off; to perspire to a state of disdaining your masculinity; to experience male hot flashing. I concurred with Dave and make that same confession here. But it was a dynamite set, wildly received, voraciously consumed. Not the spirit-fuelled glee ride of the night previous in Milwaukee, but a different kind of intensity. Good bands find different ways of revealing the fire.
Burrito Drive
We took our time getting out of Milwaukee, checked into our Madison digs early and kicked back. Matt slept while Dave and I took in the World Cup quarters: Uruguay-Ghana. I'd planned on napping, but how could I with that game on? Answer: I couldn't. After that, went to ATC Tom's cool house in Middleton, which, Tom insists (without a smile), is not a suburb of Madison—in fact, not a suburb at all, but a thriving megacity. Do I trust Tom or do I trust my eyes, ears, touch, smell? Well, Tom has an impressive beard and glasses. Then again, his adoration of The Beach Boys Love You concerns me.
The Project Lodge
I was tired; I didn't know what to believe and still don't. Could have used the sleep that afternoon, but it was a chill night (weather notwithstanding): an art space venue (often my favorite kind), two-band bill, mellow but attentive crowd, BYOB. All Tiny Creatures followed us with possibly their best set of the tour. Like us, they're growing into new material w/the added challenge of incorporating a substitute drummer at the same time. With records coming out on Hometapes at similar times and a building performance capacity, All Tiny Creatures and The Caribbean are very much kindred spirits. Brother bands. Also, they're very funny. That's highly important.
Photo: Rory Gunderson
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