first-person: American Aquarium/Annuals/Lonnie Walker

American Aquarium/Annuals/Lonnie Walker/Mac Leapheart
January 14, 2009
The Soapbox
Wilmington, NC

We carried our coffee mugs close to our chests, and the money collector/hand-stamper said nothing. We got balloon stamps. Week prior at the Soapbox, it was cold, cold, cold, hence the coffee. Up the stairs and Mac Leapheart is playing, something like Skynyrd-lite South songs that I didn’t really care for, something about a “Confederate Rose,” nice guy though, he said he had some “Creedence” cd’s mixed in with his band’s cds, though maybe he said Creed. Not sure.

We stood next to a couple of guitar cases that said “LW” in bright green tape, and we knew what that meant. Once the skinny guys in the funny beanie hats started reaching for those, the crowd knew what that meant too, as they all came in close, or came in from smoking downstairs or were just drawn to the aura, I’m not sure, all of those things probably. And in preparation for the Lonnie Walker heat that was to come, we shed our jackets.




(Lonnie Walker!)

Reached in my pocket for the Food Lion receipt from earlier that day, where I bought yellow bananas for $1.50 and something called “Auto Dish Gel” for $3.99 and a sales associate named France rang me up.

Totally forgot the first song by Lonnie Walker, maybe it was “Crochet”--I think it was that slow, but I could be mistaken because the songs by Lonnie Walker morphed from friendly alt-country-indie rock into an unfathomable force. All the boho kids in buffalo plaid were paying attention now, a curly-haired kid snapped lots and lots of pictures. Two short people moved up to the front.

The next song was “Summertime,” when lead vocalist Brian Corrum turns on the ahem, charm, I guess with subtle shoulder bops and squeamish mouth movements to match the curious straight-ahead rhythm, if Johnny Cash had only found distortion earlier--this is what it would be.

The 80s clothes reference, the sunblock reference this killer line--
“...have a second chance at life,I do the exact same things, because I like to do things twice”--the grooming, the wild full-band chant--this is now my favorite Lonnie Walker song.

My wife thought Brian looked weird up there with his “tongue fasciculations”---LOOK IT UP, SHE’S A SPEECH THERAPIST, SO DON’T FRONT. The ending hoe-down parts and the bouncy bare percussion at the end, with Corrum’s creaky voice, it coalesced well.

Next “Grapejuice” then “Back Home Inside of You.” With its folky-humility into the shoegaze-surf-power riff, this is where they made jump for me--where I realized that Lonnie Walker could do anything they pleased, I doubt any form of rock is hard for them, from indie rock, to folk ballads, to classic country.

The crowd was getting a bit jumpy now, so a goateed boho dreamster (complete with fingerless gloves and neck kerchief as if it was 2007) decided to jump around a little bit, making sure his Hot Topic gloves didn’t come off. A bounce here, another bounce there and the Goatee got 5 people going, which seems to be all Corrum wanted.



Grabbed the coffee mugs and took them out to the car and there was the American Aquarium van. SNAP!


(The Annuals!)

An inspired performance from Annuals, especially bassist Mike Robinson (never seen a bass player that into it) but their blend of U2/Santana doesn’t really interest me. After reading this story, sympathy yes. They know their instruments, they try crazy hard, they’ve had moderate success, but they saved their two best songs until the end--one of them was “Hot Night Hounds”--it popped with some dark lights and some nice percussion, their percussion is great. Give me some more songs like “Talking,” a light punk groove to throw the weight behind. It’s as if they’re trying too hard. Maybe the new EP will sing, sing, sing--hopefully it does.


(American Aquarium!)

Now it’s getting late on a work night and B.J. Barham and American Aquarium emerged from the Annuals’ dense soundscape with just straight-ahead heartbreak rock, raw, raw, like screws in a garbage disposal, you know Lucero, but I’d like Barham to sing Rites of Springs covers because he’s nail them. We’re old, so we had to head soon, but I’m glad I heard “Katherine Belle” and “Ain’t Going to the Bar Tonight,” those are strong.

We left and tried to rub the balloon stamp off of our hands but we couldn't do it.


More after the jump...

first-person: Two views on Corndogorama

Remember Corndogorama? You should, it happened just this last weekend in East Atlanta. We found some people to detail their experiences. Oh, and here's our previous post on Corndogorama.

View 1:

"Before we even finished our first corndogs, we had come to a conclusion: We needed to get the hell out of there. We had only been there for a short time, definitely not long enough to make the $15 admission worth it. We decided to do the only thing we could think of: Lie."

View 2:

"So now I can check off Dead Confederate, but won’t go back for seconds unless they get the chick from Today the Moon to play bass for them."

Read them both after the jump...

View 1 on Corndogorama: Not as cool as it sounds
by Josh Rank

We walked up to Corndogorama at three in the afternoon. The music was loud and the scent of corndogs gave us a nice warm hug as we approached the gates. Fantasies of giant corndogs shadowing great musicians while beer poured from a giant waterfall filled my mind. I was like a rich kid on Christmas morning. I didn’t know exactly what I was in for but I knew it was going to be great.

However, the rich parents forgot all about Christmas this year. The festival took place in a small park and the adjoining one block of pavement. We looked at each other as we surveyed the scene and said, “Really? This is it?” The stage stood off to the left with a handful of people loosely strewn about, listening to the music. The band sounded solid but I was too busy taking in the scene to pay much attention to them.

We glanced around at the various booths set up, including a Pabst booth, showcasing hats and T-shirts. After sweating a little more and glancing at the second stage, seemingly crammed in the back of the park with another band setting up, we came across a corndog stand. We had planned on eating one corndog per hour at 17 passed the hour. We found the stand at 3:20, so we had already failed our only goal.

We placed our orders and began trying to figure out what to do. The corndogs were hand-dipped, jalapeno flavored, and pretty damn good. “It’s basically the same thing you can get out a box at the grocery store,” a friend of mine said. I don’t think she even gave them a chance though, she was too disappointed with the festival to give an impartial review.

Before we even finished our first corndogs, we had come to a conclusion: We needed to get the hell out of there. We had only been there for a short time, definitely not long enough to make the $15 admission worth it. We decided to do the only thing we could think of: Lie. We would tell the people at the gate that a friend of ours had gotten into a car accident and that we had to go make sure she was okay. We figured there was no way they could say no to that.

As one friend went to tell the lie, the rest of us hung out at the Pabst booth. She is a convincing liar, but if the people had turned around they would have seen us playing beanbags, trying to win a free hat. I think they would know that even if a friend had gotten into an accident, we weren’t too bothered by it. Definitely not enough to have to leave as soon as possible. Also, if we really cared, would we take time to try to haggle our 15 bucks back?

The staff didn’t put any of this together and amicably returned our money, wishing us the best of luck for our fallen friend. “Thank you,” we said, solemn faced.

We walked back to the car, finishing off our corndogs. After throwing the sticks in someone’s front yard (It’s wood so it’s not littering. Right?) we all agreed that the thing that had sounded so wonderful, so magical, had flat-out sucked.

Josh Rank previously did a first-person about The Paper Chase, which can be found here. Josh can be reached at joshrank [at] yahoo.com.


View 2 on Corndogorama: So yes, we corn
by W. Cifer

"So yes we corn" was Dave Railey's slogan for the much scaled down Corndogaroma, now reduced to two days instead of three, though in the blistering heat, where the heat index threatens to melt your sunglasses to your face you begin to wish for a Friday night rather than a Sunday afternoon.

I attended the previous three years' festivals, the first being the last of the run at the Earl and the two at Lenny’s. This time to cut costs it was held in a vacant lot in the east Atlanta village , where there was no escape from the unforgiving heat, dripping of sunscreen spray and blinded by the sweat which remained in a continuous trickle down my brow the entire time I stumbled from one stage to another . Pbr was selling its wares with no middle man, which is the trust fund kids who are slumming its beer of choice.

All of the bands playing I had seen on flyers around town or in the Loaf but had yet to match the name with the music, going into I noticed first off that these were all MJQ bands and there was noticeable lack of rock bands , my first guess was that it was going to be to "the too cool for school" tight pants indie rockers, which was close though none were of the Black Lips school, of all hype no chops garage rock.

First band I caught was This Piano Plays Itself, which turned to be the surprise of the day. Their guitar punch caught my ear. The Explosions in the Sky influence was dominant of their sound, I liked some of the lighter textures but when they tried to turn the dials to rock it lacked the balls to go up to eleven. The bland singing and general drone began to cause all of their songs to sound the same making their 20 minute set drag.

Get Small was next and underwhelming to say the least. The two guitarists sounded as if they were playing different songs and their awful guitar tone quickly bored me. At best they reminded me of Failure without the punch. They inspired me to seek the refuge of a port a potty.

The only band on this line up I was familiar with was Today the Moon Tomorrow the Sun, which I had seen once before and was impressed with when I had seen them before at the Star Bar. Though since the performance I saw a year ago they hadn’t really grown in leaps and bounds. However their bass player was still hot and it was nice to see her dressed for the warmer weather, though seeing electro rock outside during the day seemed as if someone had put on the wrong sound track as it was way too humid for dancing under the punishing sunlight.

They were followed by Grinder Nova who’s martini swing, would have been better poolside at the Ramada Inn in Vegas. I liked Morphine better when they didn’t have a learning disability. The lets wear our influences on our sleeves continued with A Fight to the Death, oddly enough what this band does a band called Murder By Death does much better without the off key crooning.



Western Civ had to compete with the fact the heat at this point had worn me out so their bland straight ahead guitar jangle was an annoyance and their song titles were much more interesting than the songs themselves.

The much hyped Dead Confederate headlined, my first thought was this is Coldplay with a Neil Young fixation. Then the southern fried rough edges began to remind me of Drivin' and Cryin'. They sound good at what they do, even though one might think they were more into their facial hair than the song writing as they songs began to meander, taking more time to get where they were going than needed but not in the ambitious prog rock way. But they had more character in their sound than any of the other bands I saw through my sweat soaked eyes that day. So now I can check off Dead Confederate, but won’t go back for seconds unless they get the chick from Today the Moon to play bass for them and she takes to performing in swimwear.

So the heat aside , which is out of everyone’s control unless you start booking it in May, the main problem with the day was truth be told the lack of any one really rocking out, come on if you have a flying v on your promo posters, you need to deliver some honest to god rock. It doesn’t mean you have to bring back Mastodon, but the lack of any heavy music was a severe let down and it will be my last outing into the heat for Mr. Railey, who was catering to the Stomp and Stammer crowd this go around.
W. Cifer can be reached at wcifer [at] gmail.com
More after the jump...

first-person: Polvo, Bellafea, and Ume @ The Soapbox-Wilmington, NC 6/27/09

Polvo
Here's our previous post on Polvo, that contains the mp3 for the new song, "Beggar's Bowl." The following was written by Andrew, but he didn't take the photos. Blame somebody else for that.

The day of the show, I awoke to no air conditioning in my apartment and I sat around all day reading a book waiting for some guy to come fix it. When he finally arrived, he told me, “Can't fix it 'til Monday.” So, I sat around some more and was hot and miserable as I listened to Pandora and waited to walk the 5 blocks to the club with its conditioned air, cold beer, and promised post-rock performances.

As a small city dweller, I'm always excited when a “big name band” (relative term) comes to play a show in Wilmington. For me, Polvo, having toured with the likes of Sonic Youth, Pavement, and Sebadoh, is in my crowd of “big name bands.” So, I was excited to see that they were coming to play a show at The Soapbox, and that Chapel Hill's (formerly Wilmington's) Bellafea was on the bill too.

When I got to the club, I was surprised to not see more people outside and in. I'd been thinking that Polvo would bring in a good crowd. I stood around for a while enjoying the air conditioning, had a beer, talked things with some people I ran into, and then the first band started playing.

Ume is a three piece band from Austin, Texas who are garnering attention from magazines like Spin and playing festivals like SXSW. Watching them, I could see why people are starting to take notice. The singer/guitar player is a lunatic on stage, as she thrashes around, a blur of blond hair with a vintage Fender careening about her shoulders, while the rhythm section charges along with some really original sounds. It was nice to see the floor start to fill up as Ume started their set, and by the end of it, the trio really had the crowd going.

I grabbed another beer after Ume's set and chatted with a few friends, remembered the days when Bellafea used to play shows every couple of weeks in Wilmington, and remembered that I'd need to fashion some ad hoc earplugs when Bellafea took the stage. Now signed to Southern Records, going on European tours, and playing festivals like SXSW, Bellafea is really doing well for themselves and they're doing a particularly good job playing live if the night I saw them is any indication. They were really tight throughout the whole powerful set, cranking out songs that kept the crowd moving, and they seemed really comfortable and happy as they played. All of Bellafea's members are excellent musicians, which makes them a really fun band to watch. As a drummer, I was particularly amazed by Nathan Buchanan's work behind the kit. He was really killing it on Saturday night.

When Bellafea finished up, I thought about how cool it had been to see people singing along with Bellafea's singer, Heather Buchanan, during their set. There's really nothing better than finally seeing the band live whose songs you've been singing along to in the car for months. Polvo started setting up and I had a talk about Michael Jackson's death with a buddy. Thriller sold 109 million copies. 109 million. MJ is a big name. But the couple of old Polvo t-shirts and handmade signs I saw in the crowd seemed cooler to me than selling 109 million records.

Since re-forming late last year after breaking up in 1998, Polvo has been at work recording a new record (due out in September) and playing a number of big festivals. Former Cherry Valence drummer Brian Quast is the only new member of the band, joining original players Ash Bowie (guitar/vocals), Steve Popson (bass), and Dave Brylawski (guitar). The band took the stage around 12 in front of a very enthusiastic and good sized crowd and commenced to play as though they'd never stopped practicing together. The hard angular beats and precise starts and stops that embody Polvo's unique sound were as tight as on the records and lots louder, as they ripped through a solid hour's worth of material spanning their entire catalog. Bowie and Brylawski are as good of a guitar team as one will find, intertwining technical and crazy fast riffs to create sounds that few bands have managed to top, while Popson and Quast seem to be having a blast as they hold together the quick changing rhythms.


Listening to Polvo, one cannot help but notice that their sound (along with bands like Slint and Fugazi) has had a big influence on lots of up and coming noise and math rock style bands.

When the show ended and it was time to head back to my sweltering apartment, I wished that Polvo had kept on playing a little while longer. But it really was a great night of music with a completely solid bill through and through. It's not everyday that I get to see an iconic band and two other bands who are boiling hot and on the rise a few blocks from home.

Polvo: http://www.mergerecords.com/artists/polvo
Bellafea: http://www.bellafea.com/
Ume: www.myspace.com/umemusic

Other Deckfight first-person reviews: WE Fest in Wilmington, Los Campesinos!, and The Barnraisers. More after the jump...

first-person: The Paper Chase @ Drunken Unicorn in Atlanta, June 20

"...I found myself in desperate need of the bathroom. I found it in the bar in the other room while also realizing that it’s a unisex, one-toilet rest area. This brought about long lines and strange conversations as the Pabst was waiting to evacuate like second graders five minutes before recess. After my business was done I sidled up to the bar and grabbed another can to await the coming of The Paper Chase."

Yeah, this first-person is by Josh Rank of Atlanta, who surveyed the scene at The Paper Chase show on June 20 at Atlanta's Drunken Unicorn. Here was our preview and read the rest of Josh's experience after the jump...


At first glance The Drunken Unicorn looks like a barn that should have been demolished eight years ago. Once you go inside, however, you find an underground world almost as expansive as the second level in Super Mario Brothers. To the left you find the concert area, merch booths set up in back. To the right you find a dive bar with a minimal beer selection, which doesn’t really matter since they serve Pabst. Walk a little further and you find MJQ’s, which feels like you found another underground world altogether. One with dance music and breakdancers.

We showed up to the show “fashionably late,” and I’ll blame root beer flavored vodka for that. We only caught the last song of the opening band The Piano Plays Itself, but that was all it took to be impressed. They were a solid indie-rock outfit that I plan on actually seeing in full at one point or another.

A few beers later Attention System began playing. The entire time I watched them I couldn’t stop thinking of Orgy mixed with The Killers. They are one of those bands that are fun to see live but I doubt I would ever be sitting around my living and thinking, “Man, it would be hella sweet to listen to Attention System right now.” The singer kept the show interesting by playing the synthesizer here and there while the Mac laptop provided background noise. I’ve always thought that any band that has synchronized lights either is trying to create ambiance or trying to make up for a lack of creativity. I think they were going for ambiance, but it came across as the latter. The drumming was solid. However, he held to the syncopated hi-hat like he met her in high school and didn’t have the self confidence to think he could find anyone better.

As they left the stage I found myself in desperate need of the bathroom. I found it in the bar in the other room while also realizing that it’s a unisex, one-toilet rest area. This brought about long lines and strange conversations as the Pabst was waiting to evacuate like second graders five minutes before recess. After my business was done I sidled up to the bar and grabbed another can to await the coming of The Paper Chase.

I have seen the band four times before and knew exactly what I was in for. I had brought two Paper Chase virgins with me and had been filling their ears with prophecies of the experience they were about to embark on. Give me a handful of drinks, bring up The Paper Chase, and get ready for non-stop ass kissing for the rest of the night. One might think I wanted to have sex with the entire band from the many conversations I’ve had. “You’ve never heard The Paper Chase? Oh my god. They’re, like, the best band ever! You gotta listen to this…”

We walked into the concert hall moments before they started playing. My face was already smeared with a shitty grin and would remain that way for the rest of the show. They opened with a couple tracks from the new album, “Someday This Will All Be Yours.” I was a little skeptical of the disc my first listen through. After another thirty or so listens I began warming up to it. My high expectations of the band were solidified upon seeing the songs live. The string arrangements on the CD were wonderfully translated into keyboard and guitar arrangements in concert. The cartoon antics of the lead singer John Congleton didn’t fail to meet up with the “You gotta watch when…” I had told my friends beforehand. Throughout the show I continually looked back at my friends with the “Did you see that?” look on my face. They responded with a “Hell yes I did,” expression. Drummer Jason Garner looked as though he hated his drum set and couldn’t wait to beat the hell out of it. This culminated in a piece of drumstick flying past my face before he broke the stick over his knee between songs.

The set list leaned heavily toward new songs. The throwback tracks covered every album besides “Cntrl-Alt-Delete-U.” This even includes the final track from “Young Bodies Heal Quickly,” which I had never seen performed live. The addition of another keyboard/acoustic guitar player added new layers to these old songs while also helping the new songs translate into a live performance. The horror movie sound effects and rubber-fingered guitar parts flew out in abundance, only making my shitty grin grow wider.

Whenever you see a band that you hadn’t listened to before, the most you can hope for after the show is a, “Yeah that was good, I should listen to them sometime.” However, after leaving The Paper Chase, both friends were firm believers in the power of the band. After getting back home, I couldn’t wait to rip back into the root beer vodka and celebrate a night well spent.

Hit up Josh Rank in the ATL (or anywhere else for that matter) at joshrank [at] yahoo.com
More after the jump...

first-person: WE FEST Sunday-Ponchos from Peru and Pink Kodiak

Ponchos from Peru

Late, late had to fill up the ice trays before I went, and now it's past 5. Tired and spent look at The Soapbox. The toll of too many zinesters and indie rockers and general mayhem starters for too many days. One place can only handle so many squelching amps, spotty beards and faux-ironic comments before collapsing on its own weight. Paid my dollar, hit the zine table. Only one real zine, but are $5 Hot and Ready Pizza coupons sardonic satire? Behind the bar is a member of the aforementioned spotty-beard group, a holdover, a refugee, a new recruit for behind the bar, who knows? "Newcastle." Left a fifty cent tip--more than 10 percent.

Sound, sound from a MOOG-MIDI-MYSTERY Machine. White vest, white pants like a highschooler lost on his way to prom, Pink Kodiak via Savannah. Beard more than spotty, not quite full. "We" this and "we" that, though only one. A misunderstanding of pronouns or so the show goes. Thumped bass strings to more than nothing--but only background beats, blips, flips and flops for those that don't understand the blood, sweat and carpal tunnel into figuring those electro-blobs out. A song about Alec Baldwin. A song about bringing sexy back. Some hope, some dreams in the boppin' electronic histrionics. But not much given by the crowd to solidify those hopes and dreams either. "Dancers? Anyone to dance?" he asks. No dancers could be found, only sullen couch sitters.


Pink Kodiak

Scramble, scramble between sets. Scramble, scramble on the iPod with words like "iolite" and "foin." The uploading, the downloading. On-stage, off-stage, upstairs to see documentaries. No documentaries. More couches prepared for a possible documentary. A documentary of arranged couches. No zines. No nothing.

Scramble, scramble find a seat as bleached-blonde friends come in and spill beer on the pool table felt. Grimace, grimace and guffaw like that has never happened before.
More "hi's" and "hello's," the crowd becomes recognizable and sizable, and people willingly stand near the front. Wilmington's own Ponchos from Peru. Unrecognizable from the last time. Shedded a keyboardist and with her, most of their folk-ish melodic rock. Now go for uber-concentrated quick math rock power trio. A song about corn-syrup. A song about the USSR. An occasional horn, an occasional straight punk song. This is what WE Fest is for: exploration for us and them.

Adam of Ponchos from Peru More after the jump...