Here at THE VINYL DISTRICTwe're good consumers. All Mp3's are posted to promote and give exposure to the music and are linked for a limited time. Please download to preview, then head promptly to your local vinyl vendor (or - OK, CD store too) and fork over your hard earned cash. You'll appreciate the piece of mind.
Got something you think we should be listening to or reading? thevinyldistrict (at) gmail.com
By now I'm certain you've noticed the pattern—if we've got a blog takeover, we've got a contest running in tandem with it, and this week we're certainly not breaking from any of those well worn (and much loved) devices.
In celebration of their Phoenix-like return from departing members and the ensuing uncertainties, Tereu Tereu hit the road for a 9-date mini-tour revamped and refreshed with a new rhythm section and a brand new vinyl pressing of last year's "All That Keeps Us Together" (...no irony there of course.)
The band doesn't play the DC area just yet, but that's not stopping us from offering tickets for any of the dates on the upcoming tour. Check out the list of live dates and the cities the band will hit below and let us know where you want to check them out in the comments to this post.
Tereu Tereu will play:
7/26 - Fredericksburg, VA (Chidester House) 7/27 - Richmond, VA (The Camel) 7/28 - Charlottesville, VA (Tea Bazaar w/ Drink Up Buttercup) 7/29 - Roanoke, VA (The Bazaar) 7/30 - Cincinnati, OH (Northside Tavern w/ Enlou and Sacred Spirits) 7/31 - Fort Wayne, IN (Dash In w/ Darkroom and Metavari) 8/1 - Chicago, IL (Beat Kitchen) 8/2 - Detroit, MI (PJ's Lagerhouse) 8/3 - Pittsburgh, PA (Ed's)
We'll have two winners for this contest—a grand prize winner will receive a pair of tickets to any one date on the tour of his or her choosing and a vinyl copy of "All That Keeps Us Together" and onerunner up will receive a vinyl copy of "All That Keeps Us Together."
Again, shoot us a note in the comments to this post with the city in which you'd like to see the band and y'know...make it stand out from the others. We'll choose the most compelling comments this Friday (7/23) at 5PM. And remember to leave us a contact email address - important!
My Life Summed Up In Seven Inches | These days I might pick up an old Motown single or something by The Rolling Stones now and then, but oddly enough, my prime years for buying 45s were in late high school and early college (when I had my cheap record player rigged up through a series of converters to play through the shitty computer speakers in my tiny dorm room). Because of that, I've got a lot of '90s emo records that I don't listen to anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still put on Nothing Feels Good now and then, but that old Texas Is The Reason / Promise Ring split doesn't really hold up for me at this point. Neither does that first Rainer Maria single, even though I do still pop on some of Rainer Maria's later stuff now and then (especially that Atlantic EP, which for some reason was never pressed on vinyl).
So what 45s do hold up? Well, this one comes down to a battle between my early childhood and my teenage self. I still have a single by Ray Stevens called The Streak that I used to listen to as a kid on one of those fisher price record players. It's funny in a stupid but clean way that reminds me of my youth, and if I heard it for the first time today, I'm not sure how I'd feel about it.
However, the best 45 from my teenage years, I still really enjoy listening to. It's an EP called Firecracker by the band Unwed Sailor. It was their first (and best) release, and it features David Bazan (Pedro The Lion) on drums. David Bazan—the melancholic singer/songwriter—is surprisingly one of my favorite drummers, and I think I even sampled the drums on this song to make some kind of beat while I was in college (unlike Brendan's MPC skills, it was definitely not gangsta).
My life came somewhat full circle when Unwed Sailor actually played in my living room a few years back, and I got to drink whiskey with Johnathan Ford. Oddly enough, after so many years of playing house shows in post-rock obscurity, it looks like Unwed Sailor is going on tour with Owl City in the late Fall... here's hoping some young kid winds up with an Unwed Sailor EP and falls in love with it too. —Ryan Little
#musicmonday is predictably trending hard on Twitter as I type this, on Monday night, because it’s Monday, and “monday” is in the hashtag and all. But you know what else is trending? #oldpeoplenames. I love this. Can we talk about this instead of music? Why is no one named Gladys anymore???
Also, in true Twitter spirit, no one who is using this hashtag seems to fully understand it. Amy? Come on. That is not an old person name. Dolores, Gaylord, Agatha, and Wilmer are. Tweeps clearly need to waste more time at work looking up baby name trends since the 1880s using ridiculously cool live-updating graphs. Not that I do this. To find cat names. What? Let’s talk about music!
I would like to put on my Old Auntie Myrtle bonnet for this column, and talk about #musicmonday etiquette. (Disclaimer: The following harshly worded mandates reflect my own preferences, and may not be actual Twitter best practices.)
Rule 1: #musicmonday more. When I joined Twitter, so many moons ago (er, 3?), the Music Monday tradition was all about sharing new music with friends. Now, every week, the Twitter transcripts are overrun with scalpers using #musicmonday to hawk tickets to concerts. I can’t remember the last time I saw a #musicmonday suggestion in my own Twitter feed. I miss them. I learned things from those Tweets. Y'all have good taste—sock it to me.
Rule 1a: Experiment. Make up new alternative music-related hashtags. Let’s get #punkrockfriday off the ground, yes? I’m partial to #rainydaypowerpop, too, although I’m pretty sure I’m the only person on the planet who has ever used that hashtag. Take it! Make it your own! Give it the life that I cannot!
When you’re giving life to all these hashtags, remember Rule #2: Please include a link. Preferably a shortened link. I am lazy, and I assume 99.9% of Twitter users are also lazy. A tweet like “OMG cannot stop listening to the new Mark Ronson single! #musicmonday” is frustrating, because then I have to laboriously highlight alllllllll the relevant words, copppppppy them, mouse allllllllll the way over to my Google search bar, passsssste them, and scan through alllllll the results before I get to hear the music you so graciously recommended.
It’s important to include the link, but (Rule #3), it’s equally important to explain what you’re linking to. Unless you’re trying for a #musicmonday Rickroll. (Rule #4: Never Rickroll.) If I see a tweet in the middle of the work day that reads “OMG #musicmonday blast from the past!! [link],” I will be grumpy for hours if I click and get ambushed by the Spice Girls. Include the artist and song name. No one actually likes internet surprises. (Except for thisone.)
So, all you Blanches, Ednas, Lelands, and Clarences, you are now empowered to give new life to a dying hashtag. Give me music to listen to! But do it properly. According to me.
Role #mmodel: “YouCanAnswerNow: Where can i read high school musical the manga? #MusicMonday #comics http://www.linkati.com/q/index.php?i=207291” Wow, now I sort of want to know, too.
My #musicmonday pick: An oldie, in honor of all those names—Otis Williams and The Charms’ “Hearts Made of Stone.” I love this song so much, and maybe I should have named my cat Otis.
One of our favorite venues, the Rock & Roll Hotelis hosting what they're calling "The First Annual Summer New Year's Eve Party" this coming Friday night and they've hooked us up with a pair of tickets to get into the hands of one of you guys.
From the press accompanying the tickets: We here at Rock and Roll Hotel are hosting a killer party on July, 23rd that we're calling "The First Annual Summer New Year's Eve Party." Yes, it's the middle of summer, but what greater party is there than a New Years one? So we're bringing that sparkle and shine to the club on the 23rd from 6 pm to 3 am."
The line up of DJs is pretty damn impressive too: Yes Giantess, Audio Ammo, DJ Chris Burns, DJ Autorock, DJ Metaphysical and DJ Phil Real.
Not too shabby, hm? Plus, there's free food, free leis, and tons of free stuff.
As mentioned, we've got a pair of tickets to giveaway in exchange for simply asking for them in the comments to this post. Plead your case, offer your first born children—we don't care. Just make it so your comment stands out from the rest and that person'll get one pair of General Admission tickets on us and the Hotel.
We're choosing our winner at 5PM this coming Thursday (7/22) to give you plenty of time to stock up on the Advil.
And finally: remember to leave us a contact email address!
I've been a fan of DC's Tereu Tereu for quite a while now and so, with the impending release of some fresh vinyl and the launch of a summer tour, an opportune moment arrived to spend some quality time with the band for a full week.
We'll get you up to speed on the vinyl and the tour tomorrow (with ways to win some stuff into the bargain) but to kick things off Brendan Polmer, the band's drummer and resident vinyl enthusiast weaves a lucky tale that has me more than a bit envious... —Ed.
Dumpster Diving for Vinyl | About a year ago, I stumbled upon a vinyl goldmine in the unlikeliest of places– a dumpster inside a freight elevator of a self-storage facility on H St NE, Washington, DC.
I was in between apartments and checking out a storage unit to hold some of my crap while I searched for a new place to live. The building had once been used for storing cars, and thus had two large, industrial car-sized elevators that were now being used to haul large, heavy items to the storage units on multiple floors. As the storage employee who was showing me my potential unit lead me onto one of the elevators, he apologized for the mess that greeted us as he opened the elevator’s vertical barn-door gate. There was a mattress or two, a broken chest of drawers, a portable clothing rack and a large plastic dumpster on wheels, about five-feet high and equally wide, filled to the top with a ton of crap. “What happened? Someone didn’t pay their storage bill?” I asked jokingly.
“Yea, it’s all goin’ to the dump man,” he said. “Happens all the time. Sometimes people fall behind on their rent and can’t pay no more. Sometimes they just die and nobody comes to claim their stuff. Either way, we gotta toss it.”
As the elevator jerked upward, I peered over the ledge of the dumpster to take a look at what exactly was being thrown out. The first thing that caught my eye was a vintage AKAI reel-to-reel tape recorder. Now, I’m quite the hi-fi nerd, so my first instinct was to ask if I could check out this obsolete yet glorious instrument of music playback technology. “Yea, go ‘head man, it’s all goin’ to tha dump anyway.” I reached into the dumpster and pulled out the ancient relic. It was heavy as shit, about 40 pounds, but it was gorgeous. I then looked back into the dumpster and what I saw next gave me the chills—a painting of Stevie Wonder’s face peering up at me in front of a bright orange background, smiling behind a pair of sunglasses. It was the LP cover of his 1980 release “Hotter Than July.”
“Woah! There’s vinyl in here!” I yelled. I was so excited, all I could think about was what else could be underneath all the layers inside the dumpster of what appeared to be books, newspapers, old photographs and other personal items. The elevator stopped. I didn’t want to leave the dumpster, but I had to look at a storage unit. Five minutes later, after checking out the unit, I asked the employee if I could hang out for a while so I could, um, dumpster dive for vinyl. He said it was cool, as long as I put everything I didn’t want back in the dumpster when I was through.
Two hours later, covered in sweat and sneezing from the dust I stirred up, I salvaged an impressive 150+ records! The poor bastard who couldn’t pay his storage bill (or, for all I know, was dead) had quite the collection at one point in his life, with most of it ranging from blues, funk, sixties and seventies soul, and r&b, as well as some early go-go and hip-hop.
Most of the records were in decent shape, others not so much. But from what I was able to save, I created several mixtapes of epic proportions, recorded samples into an MPC for my amateur attempt at beat production, and kept others solely for their glorious album artwork appeal.
So now, without further ado, I present to The Vinyl District with my Dumpster Diving 4 Vinyl! mixtape. Enjoy! —Brendan Polmer, Drummer, Tereu Tereu
(Ed. Note: Stream with option to download each Mp3 by clicking links.)
Bon Jour! | We’re having yet another BBQ here in Laurel Canyon. I’ll call it Part 2 in what looks to become a mini series of fun mixes dedicated to an “Idelic” kind of summer feast! This week we toast to all things French! After all, Wednesday was Bastille Day—the French equivalent of our July 4th.
I put this mix together with a day dream. Bastille Day being an 18th century version of our LA riots on the Sunset Strip during summer of 1966! I can picture these decked out French aristocrats in wigs roasting hot dogs in big bon fire made from thrashed rococo furniture. Of course there was an old record player with a stack old, now coveted, French “chanson” 7 inch 45’s.
Maybe a Ray Charles or soul record found itself into the pile? Maybe a new record or two to kick around into the mix?
As editor here, I’m amazed at how much stuff we’re offered that I turn down. Actually, the turndowns wildly outpace the things we cover or the stuff we giveaway. We could be supremely busy and chock full of content if it weren’t for the damn filter that’s often employed.
Which is why I’m pleased this morning to recommend Sunday’s ‘No Love Lost’ at Velvet Lounge, curated by Fan Death’s Sean Gray and No Control!’s Denman Anderson. Short of all the vinyl and record store chatter, this is the stuff we planned on spotlighting nearly three years ago at the inception of this thing—the good taste bar continually high (and rising.)
So, Sunday? See you there. —Ed.
All words by Sean Gray and Denman C. Anderson
As an oversimplification, it’s easy to define Cold Wave as, “synth music.” And while there may be nothing wrong with that, the subtleties that carve out cold wave merge in a place that is darker and more bleak than simply using synthesizers to define a particular sound. The artists that emerged in late 70’s to early 80’s in a way, created a sound of acceptance. Acceptance of a way of living that is not organic, but is made by humans, and expressed by machines. An acceptance containing within it, all of the existential crises and fears of that reality. This acceptance feeds into every aspect of life from the political, to personal and human. It is this bleakness that we connect to. A problem with neither quantifiable solution, nor discernible definition. While other, similar genres may have tackled this continuum in their own way, for example, the violence and anger of industrial music, Cold Wave and much of its offshoots leave us with the idea of acceptance of the bleak sociological effects of technology.
The resurgence of this music and the progression it has taken in the past few years, in many ways, has much to do with the idea that the listener is always surrounded by technology that continually, and ironically, leaves them with less and less control. The hollow spaces gnawed within us by this life directly relate to the dark tones that both the first cold wave, and the “new wave” of today have brought us.
Many of its fans and followers would have nothing to do with this analysis, simply staking their claims to cold wave as, “good music.” Of course the first step in any audio exploration is to simply ask, “Who should I be listening to?” Here then, are three both noteworthy albums in the scene, all excellent starting points.
Kas Product – Try Out Upon hearing this LP for the first time, the average listener might not be sure what to make of it. However, once you hit the song So Young So Cold, there’s a surging energy that can't be denied. Their debut album, released on RCA in 1982, “Try Out” sent an influential shot across the movement, and Mona Soyoc’s vocals were the blue print for all cold wave. Standout tracks include the obvious, “So Young But So Cold,” but also, “Break lose,” which utilizes the low ends of the synth and creates something more of a dance track that treads the line from poppy to morose.
Asylum Party – Borderline Compared to the Kas Product LP above, the 1989 release on Lively Art, “Borderline,” finds Asylum Party harnessing a much richer and more fleshed out sound. This album gives a fresh perspective on a scene that sometimes can become too redundant. Stand out tracks include, “Pictures,” which is a haunting song built on the foundation of a pounding beat that lands, not too far off the influence of industrial music of the time. Other songs, like, “Julia,” are the very definition of pop, but maintain their own wispy beauty. The dark romance of, “Borderline,” stands up strong, even today.
Neutral Project – Comme Un Oiseau De Proie... 1989 was apparently a very good year for this type of music, as Olivier Champeau, of other noteworthy band, Little Nemo, helped Yvon Million and Dominique Oudiou, (before the appearance of Kristian Dernoncour), produce a truly noteworthy slab of cold wave, “Comme Un Oiseau De Proie...,” on the Aspect D'Une Certaine Industrie label. This album goes much farther into the exploration of darkness than the other two mentions, utilizing the lower ends of the sound spectrum to create this atmosphere. It’s interesting to note that Neutral Project rely, by and large on only the beat to craft their music, but that’s just part and parcel for a genre that likes to let simple, bleak sounds bleed through. Tracks such as, “J'appelle,” are both amazing and a good representation of this sound, while a track such as, “Future,” almost become an out and out dance numbers. Of course, “Sodeil de Nuit (2eme Eclipse),” may well be one of the best cold wave songs ever written.
All of these albums helped form the ice-cubed building blocks of the genre we now look back on today, and yet, with everything mentioned above in mind, they seem more relevant than ever. Come out to Velvet Lounge this Sunday the 18th to experience and share in these sounds across eras. Let’s be empty together.
"I've been to Memphis many times over the last few years to perform in coffee bars and at the International Folk Alliance Showcase. However, I can say with authority that I did not really know Memphis until I came to do the Ardent Sessions recording in August 2008. I had been homeless and living in my car for over a year and a half at that point, touring the country, and playing music. I was just coming off a long and very manic-depressive tour with a bluegrass band and I was heading to Minnesota to see my family and take a break before a crazy fall schedule. I was completely exhausted.
There was an energy all around in the studio that night. It was obvious that Ardent Studios is a special place where special things happen. The records on the walls and the stories people tell you when you're there back it up big time. It was a safe place to be in a summer of storms and Rachel was the perfect host. I felt like people really wanted to listen to me play my songs there and that felt good. The entire vibe transcended any negative weight I carried into the studio with me. The music flowed through me and I felt free.
Brad Bailey, Nick Pagliari and Blair Combest played before me and blew me away. The room was filled with an eager audience. It was silent during the songs and intimate the whole time. The lights were dim and candles were lit. I played mostly long, sad songs. It was amazing to be able to play on the Steinway, it's not an opportunity that I get very often.
Ardent was a bright spot in a dark time for me. I can see it in my eyes in the video. I look like someone who needs a week of sleep and maybe a heart transplant because that's who I was that day.
Currently I am still touring and making a new album in Atlanta. Hope to see you on the road..." —John Elliott
Enter to win John Elliott's LP "Too Many Ghosts" 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.
If you've been playing along at home over the past two weeks, you're well aware that we've been following The Caribbean all through the mid-west and down south via their between libations Tour Diary. The 'Discontinued Perfume' Tour Diary to be exact.
And if you have been following this missives from the road, you've probably asked yourself two things: 1. How can these guys be so damn charming? and 2. Just when the hell are they playing in our neck of the woods?
The answer to number one leans heavy on writer's embellishment and the answer to number two is this coming Sunday night (7/18) at Galaxy Hut. Lucky you!
The charming and effusive gents of The Caribbean, fresh off a tour of the heartland's seediest dive bars, have bequeathed TVD a pair of tickets to Sunday's show to put into one pithy commenter's hands.
That's right - leave us some feedback in the comments to this post and the most charming among them will score the pair of tickets for Sunday night's show. We'll choose our winner by noon on Saturday (7/17) so make with the word-smithery already. And remember to leave us a contact email address!
Man, I love to hate on Pitchfork. And I have here with frequency— so I'll spare ya the tirade.
But...crap. Today I totally agree with their review of School of Seven Bells'sophomore release, "Disconnect From Desire." I mean, they gave it an 8.0. "SVIIB have since toured extensively, and their road-tripping appears to have made them more focused songwriters and performers. In the last two years they've not only coalesced into a band, but a band with a distinctive signature. That the flirtatious earworm "Bye Bye Bye" on new album, Disconnect from Desire, near-quotes "Soon"'s hiccupping breakbeat seems appropriate somehow. SVIIB still work with a handful of shoegaze motifs, which they now use to highlight certain emotional states (typically turmoil and ambivalence). But it's the band's assertive pop melodies that prevail on their sophomore album.
Desire's lead track and first single "Windstorm" signals the transition as its instrumental drone slides into the Dehezas’ crystalline vocals. Far from fuzzy and undefined, the song draws clean, three and a half minute pop parameters. "Joviann" and "Babelonia" achieve similar results with intros, outros, and choruses drenched in atmospheric distortion that dissipates to reveal melodic throughways. "Heart Is Strange", a marvelous club banger with the zeal and vivacity of Ladytron's "Destroy Everything You Touch", marks yet another shift in aesthetic priorities..."
Don't take it from me—or from Pitchfork for that matter—decide for yourself as we've got"Disconnect From Desire" on vinyl for one of your mailboxes out there. Get at us in the comments to this post with your plea for the LP and the one that reaches 8.0 or higher will score the record.
And please—I can't stress this enough—leave us a contact email address. You could pen a 10.0 comment but if we can't let you about it, you're outta luck.
"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.
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