Rockafellas and Me, Part 6: Friends and Favorites

One of the things Rockafellas always seemed to allow was a close-up relationship between the bands and the audiences, whether it was hanging out in the parking lot before and after the show, or sticking around for all-night drinks in the Purple Pit, the level of access was always on a personal level.

Two of my favorite bands during the 80s were the Silos and The Reivers, and there was a week when both of them played at Rockafellas within a couple days of each other. The Reivers played first, on tour supporting their first Capitol Records album, Saturday. The Austin, Texas band had a front line consisting of the powerful voice of Kim Longacre and the deeper, more grounded vocals of John Croslin, which gave them a unique sound that really has no counterpart in current music that I can think of, other than the interplay between Caitlin Cary and Ryan Adams in the early days of Whiskeytown.
They had an off day or two after their show and decided to stick around to hang out with their friends in the Silos. Before the Silos show, I had the opportunity to spend an hour or two talking with Cindy Toth, the bass player for the Reivers, and we hit it off enough that we traded a couple of postcards in the mail that year.
The Silos had just released what has become their classic album, Cuba, and they were sporting the classic lineup of the band, which included Bob Rupe ( Who later joined David Lowery’s new band, Cracker) as well as the lone remaining original member in the current version of the band, Walter Salas-Humara. These guys were alt-country before there was a term for it, and songs like, “Tennessee Fire,” still hold up well today. Walter even played a special request for me that night—I had cornered him before their set and asked for a song off the Silos debut album, “A Few Hundred Thank You’s,” Which Walter apologetically said they didn’t really play live any more, but he’d see if he could remember it. He did, and to this day I can still hear the song and sing all the words without the lyrics in front of me.

Poi Dog Pondering came through Columbia for the first time with only an EP available, and they busked on campus at USC before talking Rockafellas into a show. Their shiny, happy acoustic pop collective had one guy who was touring with them only until they got to New York City (they started in Austin, Texas), where he would join up with another band, Javelin Boot.

Another similar band was Tiny Lights, who hung out before their show on the picnic table that was out in front of the club, kind of between it and the Subway shop next door. They played funky, acoustic pop/rock and released several really good albums, but their biggest contribution to music is probably their cello player, Jane Scarpantoni, who has gone on to play with everyone either in studio sessions or touring. Google her name, or look her up on Allmusic.com.

House of Freaks, somebody reminded me, blew the roof off the place with their two-man band, years before White Stripes popularized the lineup. Drummer Johnny Hott was an unconventional percussionist, with a 55-gallon barrel for an upright bass drum, and his ‘sticks’ were baseball-bat sized wooden rods with what looked like actual baseball bat donut weights on them. “Bottom Of the Ocean,” is still a great song, as is, “40 Years.”

Another personal favorite was Thin White Rope, a California band whose music was an unclassifiable blues/metal/prog rock blend. Guy Kyzer, the singer, had a gravelly, guttural voice that fit the rhythmic tension of the band’s Can-influenced tunes perfectly. Their one show at Rockafellas was loud, fast, and kind of a blur, to be honest.

Most of the rest of my Rockafellas memories are also much like a blur. I’m as surprised as anyone else that I’ve remembered as much as I have this past week—thanks for the comments and emailed memories you’ve passed along, too.

I’ll close by noting a couple of shows that didn’t happen, for one reason or another. As one reader commented, Skinny Puppy was scheduled to play the club, a show booked by Carl Singmaster of Manifest. The part of the story I’ve been told over the years was that the band arrived at the club and said they couldn’t do the show because the stage was too small for their full lights/smoke/etc. production. They then left. Carl reacted by pulling their albums from his stores for years afterwards.

The night Hurricane Hugo came to town, or maybe the night after, there was a band called the Sea Hags scheduled to play, an L.A. group that was being touted at the time as the “next Guns N’ Roses,” or something like that. They even made it to town, but the show could not go on due to lack of electricity, of course.

This weekend’s shows will have plenty of power, I’m certain, and I’m looking most forward to the reunions of Treadmill Trackstar and 49 Reasons, as well as the set from Sourwood Honey. In the words of another veteran of Rockafellas’ stage, Webb Wilder, “Work hard, play hard, eat hard, sleep hard, Rock hard, grow big, wear glasses if you need ‘em.”

Rockafellas and Me, Part 5: The Shows Must Go On (and on, and on, and…)

Only a few more days until the Rockafellas Reunion and I keep remembering stuff. Here, then, are some more great shows I’ve dredged up from my admittedly spotty memory.

Hoodoo Gurus were a hugely popular band on the airwaves of WUSC, so when they played Rockafellas the place was packed. “Bittersweet,”
Leilani,” “Kamikaze Pilot,” they played them all, even their current MTV song of that particular time, “Good Times.” The Bangles sang backup on the recorded version, too bad they didn’t make the tour. The refrain is particularly fitting for the Rockafellas Reunion, however—“All the good times we’ve had, we’ll have again.”

Roger Manning was another WUSC-created phenomenon, and he’s played Columbia a few times over the years—first, however, at Rockafellas. His first album, on SST, is still his best, showcasing the anti-folk, punk blues acoustic music he helped create in New York City, along with Kirk Kelly, Cindy Lee Berryhill, and others in the 80s. All of his songs had “Blues” in the title, and most were numbered, too, like, “Train Blues #4,” or something like that. To this day, I couldn’t tell you the name of any of the songs on that debut, but I could probably still sing along with them.

The O’Kanes are kind of a lost name in country music circles, but they played Rockafellas on what I think was my 20th birthday. Their album, Tired Of the Runnin’, was pretty good, if a bit commercial, I thought, so I went to hear them that night. The duo consisted of Jamie O’Hara and Kieran Kane, an arranged marriage of sorts for two Nashville songwriters that worked for a few years. Kane, has gone on to more indie-country ways with his stake in the Dead Reckoning label and a string of albums with folks like Kevin Welch, O’Hara as far as I know is still writing songs in Music City.

I first saw and heard Angie Aparo at Rockafellas, on the back deck if I remember correctly. His 1997 album Out Of the Everywhere included a minimal, acoustic band, and that’s what he had with him the numerous times he played on the deck. His bald egghead look came later, back then Angie sported a pretty substantial goatee and usually a knit cap on his head. His percussion player had originally been in Edwin McCain’s first band, and if you ever find a copy of Edwin’s first demo tape, that guy’s on it. Angie was the kind of guy who inspired a rabid following, I still listen to that first album a lot.

Uncle Green was another Atlanta act that played Rockafellas a bunch. The first time I saw them was after they’d released their first DB Records album, the one with, “Chemical Way,” on it. They played a great cover of T Rex’s “Jeepster” that night, as I recall, but the funniest thing that happened was actually before the show, in the men’s room. I was tending to my business when someone else about to do the same came in, talking to his buddy about whether they were going to pay to see the band or head somewhere else. I said something complimentary about the band, I don’t remember what, and convinced them to stay for the show. Well, out of the ‘stall’ section of the mens room comes Matt, Uncle Green’s lead singer/guitarist, who had heard the whole exchange, and he thanked me for the plug and introduced himself. Later, he gave me a copy of their new LP, which I still have.

More to come….

Rockafellas and Me, Part 4: Big Names, Small Names

With the responses I’ve received from the previous installments of these musical memoirs relating to the many great shows I saw at Rockafellas, my memory was jogged about a few that I have so far left out, so here they are in no particular order.

Some of the artists I was lucky enough to have seen at Rockafellas were pretty big names already, while some went on to become bigger names. One of my favorite shows there ever was when Roger McGuinn played a solo acoustic show—I’m drawing a blank on the year but I think it was around 1988 (He played twice, the second show a year or so later he played solo but with his electric Rickenbacker guitar, not the twelve-string acoustic.), and around a hundred or so people showed up for what was a pretty pricey show for the venue—I think it was fifteen dollars to get in. McGuinn, of course, was the voice of The Byrds, the classic California folk-rock band, and this show was at a time when McGuinn really wasn’t making albums (His first “comeback” album, 1990’s, Back From Rio, was still a couple of years off.).
The best way to describe the cozy, communal vibe at this show is to compare it to a campfire sing-along, where everyone knows the words to all of the songs. McGuinn played the hits, from, “Eight Miles High,” to, “Turn, Turn, Turn,” and he played slightly lesser-known songs like, “Chestnut Mare.” That song he included in a little mini-set within the show where he told a story about aliens landing and all sorts of odd thing happening—“Hey, Mr. Spaceman,” was in this portion of the show, also.
The most memorable thing about this particular night, however, may have been how it ended. McGuinn stood outside the front of the club signing anything anyone had in their hands, from old Byrds album covers to the back of my torn yellow ticket stub. When the last person had finally wandered off to find their car, McGuinn himself put his guitar in the back of his Volkswagen Van and drove up Devine Street, all by himself, presumably to the next town and his next gig. I can’t recall another major rock musician I’ve ever been that close to who had absolutely no entourage, no pretentiousness, and just an utterly disarming thankfulness that people still came out to hear him play and sing.

My 21st birthday was spent inside Rockafellas, though I don’t remember much of the band playing that night. I remember who it was—Matt “Guitar” Murphy of the Blues Brothers Band fame—I just don’t remember much because it was 10 cent draft night before 10 pm those days, and my girlfriend at the time bought me enough cups of draft to last me until I puked or passed out, whichever came first. (For the record, I don’t recall doing either.) My parents actually came to town, bought me a birthday dinner down the hill at Yesterday’s, then walked up to Rockafellas with me to buy me my first legal drink. We walked inside, they looked around for a few minutes, bought my drink, and left me there. To this day, the only thing my mother remembers about it was that the floor was sticky.

Faith No More played Rockafellas a couple of times, including one show just as their song, “Epic,” was starting to get some major airplay nationwide. The crowd was a sweaty, over-capacity mass of people, with a mosh pit up front throughout the show. At one point, the pit consisted of a half-dozen girls (Including my future wife, wearing Army boots) and the guys they were with were all positioned around the edge of the pit slackjawed, watching the ladies rocking out.

The grunge epidemic didn’t leave Rockafellas unscathed, with several major figures in the flannel nation playing in the early 1990s. One memorable show included Mudhoney and the Fluid, which was a Sub Pop Records band that for my money was the best live band that label ever had. Another show included Das Damen, Firehose, and Screaming Trees. The Trees went on to fairly big things for a few years, while former Minuteman Mike Watt’s band Firehose didn’t last too long either. Das Damen is the one on that bill that nobody today remembers, yet they were a pretty intense, psychedelic band—not grunge in the least, though.

North Carolinian Don Dixon is best known these days for his reputation as a record producer, but even though he was already producing back in the 1980s, he was also putting out his own albums. One night at Rockafellas, Dixon played with a backing band that included Robert Crenshaw (Marshall’s brother) on drums, Angie Carlson (Let’s Active) on keyboard, Dixon himself on bass, and Spongetone Jamie Hoover on guitar. For the encore, Dixon got back on stage and looked behind him at the paintings of rock icons that hung on the wall above the original stage—pictures of John Lennon, Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, and Bob Dylan. He then proceeded to announce that for the encore the band would play a song from each of the artists in those paintings. With Hoover in the band, “Revolution,” satisfied the Lennon requirement, while “Roll Over Beethoven,” took care of Chuck. I can’t remember what Elvis song they played, but when it came around to Dylan the band was almost stumped. Carlson made the mistake of claiming to know the chorus and melody to “Like a Rolling Stone,” and so Dixon made her play it—she only got through a chorus or two before the band collapsed into, “Hey, we don’t know the rest of this song,” territory.

Lava Love was a cute, poppy little retro band from Atlanta, all Beach Blanket Bingo attitude and Jan & Dean guitar riffs. The best time I saw them at Rockafellas was when they were playing to a small crowd one evening and a drunk patron kept yelling for various Bon Jovi song requests. Rather than play an actual Bon Jovi song, Esta, the singer, just introduced every song, “This is a Bon Jovi song,” even though it was actually one of their own originals.

More to come….keep the responses coming

Album of the Week: Give Us Your Poor–17 New Recordings to Help End Homelessness

Various Artists
Give Us Your Poor
Appleseed Recordings

“Maybe they’ll go away if you don’t see them,” says the unnamed narrator in the opening track of this eye-opening, heart wrenching collection dedicated to raising awareness of the ongoing homelessness problem in the United States. An issue that seems to have been shuffled to the back of the social agenda in recent years, homeless people are still all around us, and the statistics are a sobering reality. As one of those in a family that’s one or two missed paychecks away from being out on the street myself, these recordings raise both fear and hope. Fear, that any of these stories could be about me someday, and hope that millions more can be lifted out of the cycle of poverty and homelessness by opportunities offered through people and organizations that care.

The concept of this compilation is built around the homeless issue, with many of the contributing artists either currently or formerly homeless themselves. There are famous homeless people here, like Jewel, whose, “1,000 Miles,” was written when she was living in her Datsun hatchback. The unknowns, however, are the ones who give the most surprising performances.

Eagle Park Slim, an on-again, off-again homeless blues musician, recorded his own, “Baby, Don’t Let Me Go Homeless,” with the urbane blues singer Keb’ Mo’, going voice to voice with him in an impassioned performance that belies the desperate need expressed in the song’s plea for a place to stay for the night.

Natalie Merchant takes the Mighty Sam McClain and a cast of other unknowns on the Tracy Chapman-like blues riff, “There Is No Good Reason,” written by then 15-year old homeless Minnesotan Nichole Cooper.

Michelle Shocked and formerly homeless musician friend Michael Sullivan pick gently around his song, “Becky’s Tune.” Sullivan is now a homeless activist in Massachusetts, coming full circle in helping those in a similar situation to his own. It’s a simplistic, yet beautifully rendered ballad decrying the rich and powerful oppressing the poor and weak, made even more poignant with the presence of a 13 year old fan Shocked brought to the session to sing backing vocals on lines like, “Open your eyes, don’t tell me no lies, that you can’t feel the children’s pain.”

The one track here that could be a rock radio hit if you heard it sandwiched between Will Hoge and Tom Petty is actually a poem set to music by the re-formed Buffalo Tom. “Father Outside,” a poem by Nick Flynn, a Boston volunteer who worked with that city’s homeless population, in Bill Janovitz’ hands became, “Ink Falling (Father Outside).” It’s equally as rocking as any of the band’s early material with the musical accompaniment granted to the surprisingly lyrical verse, and it’s easily the best song here.

Family musician and former Del Fuego Dan Zanes contributes a typically bouncy tune, his take on Leadbelly’s “Boll Weevil,” which with its’ “They’re looking for a home,” refrain, somehow fits this collection’s theme. Add the sweet voice of eleven-year-old former homeless child Kyla Middleton, and the differences between “Us” and “Them,” become meaningless in they way they ought to be, with two people, formerly strangers but now fast friends and musical collaborators, connecting through the music.

It’s that hope of connecting through the music that the producers of this compilation must have, the outside chance that hearing these songs and the stories intertwined between and inside them will open up someone’s heart or mind to, as the liner notes state, “The assumption that homelessness is solvable and that we are all in this together.”
For more information see the following links:

www.shootingback.org
www.findinggracehomeless.org
www.giveusyourpoor.org
Appleseed Recordings

A much shorter version of this review was first published in Country Standard Time