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The Playback scooter is getting an extra big workout lately with its monthly delivery duties: over 220 locations! Luckily, it has that auxilliary gas tank and a place to store snacks. Each month, we update you on what is going on in the land of the Arch with interviews, reviews, and previews. Also, don't forget to check out www.playbackstl.com for our weekly Events page, featuring previews on many of the great things that are going on in the STL.

WHEN THE CULTURE POPS

February 2003

Playback St. Louis Pop Culture

In Febuary...we’re there Publisher

THE DAMNWELLS w/CHEAP TRICK February 20, The Pageant

THE FLOATING CITY February 26, The Rocket Bar They’re young, they’re local. Sure, they sound a bit like Radiohead—but give them a break. They’re young, they’re local...sounding like Radiohead is really an amazing feat, not something to be scoffed at. Truly, you’ll want to see them for yourself, to experience the magic that is a TFC show. The band formed in 2002, composed of members who had played in other St. Louis area bands. They describe their sound as “ultra-depressing indie rock”; we describe their sound as amazing. Go; you’ll thank us for it.

Managing Editor Laura Hamlett

P L AY ’ S THE T H I N G

Associate Editor/Art Director Jim Dunn

Contributing Editors HEATHER CONLEY

You’re already familiar with Cheap Trick—you know ’em, you love ’em, you can sing along to all their songs. But you want to get there early to catch the opening act: a justsigned foursome out of Brooklyn called The Damnwells.

Their sound is a little bit power pop, a little bit alt-country, a little bit modern rock. the Damnwells give a very effective and captivating stage show; their self-released six-song EP also shows glimmers of brilliance, especially on songs such as “Have to Ask” and “Here Comes Everyone,” the latter with the line, “I never kissed a boy but I hit a girl/‘You could get in real big trouble,’/she said, ‘in the real world.’”

THE

Two Weasels Press LLC

Bryan Hollerbach/Kevin Renick

Contributing Writers Kevin Barry, Kyle Beachy, Thomas Crone, Bill Drendel, Jim Dunn, Rick Eubanks, Jessica Gluckman, Alex Graves, Laura Hamlett, Molly Hayden Bryan A. Hollerbach, A. Kohnen, John Kujawski, Joel Lapp, Rob Levy, Annie O’Brien, Wade Paschall, John Powell, Kevin Renick, Jeffrey Ricker, Stephen Schenkenberg, John Shepherd, Lisa Tebbe, Pete Timmermann, Ross Todd, Michele Ulsohn, Taylor Upchurch, Steven Vance, Ben Weinstein, Rudy Zapf Cover Photograph Courtesy Atlantic Records Printing by Kohler and Sons Inc. Nancy Allen • 314-428-9800

Distribution Two Weasels Press LLC

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Corrections We inadvertentdly omitted the byline on last month’s Saint Etienne cover story. Our apologies to Rob Levy, who deserves all the accolades.

Also, the e-mail address for the Studio Café was incorrect in the January ad. Inquiries should be directed to tluckey53@aol.com. The correct information appears in this month’s ad, which is on page 20.

The Science of War, The War of Science The St. Louis Repertory Theatre’s production of Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen Directed by Steven Woolf On a blustery January night in St. Louis, audiences made their way to the Loretto-Hilton on the campus of Webster University. As the crowd milled into the Mainstage Auditorium, all eyes were drawn to the performance area, a low, round stage like a table, with a mushroom cloud and a glaring sun superimposed with lights on its smooth surface. Behind this daunting image rose a wall of seats, arranged like a jury box, waiting, perhaps, for the flesh of the present to judge the ghosts of the past.

And so the stage was set for the The St. Louis Repertory Theatre’s gripping production of Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen, a play as intricate and layered as a mathematical proof. Ostensibly, the script attempts to recreate a meeting in 1941 between Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg, two eminent nuclear physicists who worked closely together in the late 1920s and early 1930s but found themselves on opposite sides of a war that had devoured all of Europe and was threatening to engulf the world. The meeting between Bohr and Heisenberg in Copenhagen in 1941 is a historical fact, but what actually transpired there has remained shrouded in mystery, even, interestingly, to those who participated. But the mysteries of the meeting are only a starting place for Frayn, whose script squeezes the uncertainty for all it is worth and in the process unearths compelling characters caught up by forces that are at once both as colossal as a nuclear explosion and as minute as the inner workings of the atom.

Heisenberg, forcefully played by Andrew Long, has chosen to stay in his German homeland, despite his Jewish heritage. He is afforded special treatment by the Nazi regime because of his worth as a scientist and is able to continue to work on building a nuclear reactor. Whether he is planning to build a nuclear bomb is the central mystery of his visit to Copenhagen and of the play. From the outset, it is obvious that Heisenberg is torn between his love for Germany and the terror of what his country is doing to the rest of the world under the direction of the Nazis. What is not so obvious is which side of his inner conflict finally won. Heisenberg himself, it seems, is not even sure. Long, whose résumé consists mostly of Shakespearean work,

23

expertly guides Heisenberg’s character through a torrent of discovery and doubt. At times cutting the figure of a strutting member of the regime that is occupying Copenhagen, he often seems more like a lost little boy who desperately wants the world to make sense again. Long’s portrayal of Heisenberg subtly reveals the uncertain turmoil hiding behind the choices made in times of great conflict.

Niels and Margrethe Bohr, whose home in Copenhagen provides the setting for the play, find themselves on the other side of this same conflict. Denmark has been occupied by the Germans, and they are unsure of what to expect from their old friend’s visit, since he is now a part of the oppressive regime that has invaded their homeland. The Bohrs are much older than Heisenberg, and the fact that they are parental figures to him is apparent from the outset. Niels Bohr, portrayed with gusto by Anderson Matthews, has dramatic shifts in attitude toward his old friend. Benign and deferential one minute, explosive and righteous the next, Matthews’ Bohr is fascinating to watch. As his character blusters on about uranium-235, it seems as though Matthews is able to create the physics teacher that everyone wishes they had— maddening at times, but certainly never dull.

Margrethe Bohr, on the other hand, serves as his counterbalance. Brilliantly depicted by Carol Schultz, Margrethe is often the calming voice of reason and insight, and she acts as a sort of moderator between her husband and their surrogate son. In her interactions with both Bohr and Heisenberg, Shultz’s Margrethe evinces a sense of moralistic benevolence, while never appearing self-righteous or judgmental.

At its heart, Copenhagen is a memory play, and both time and the characters that exist within that time have been made flexible. Temporally distorted plays have a tendency to be difficult, but Steven Woolf’s direction captures the magic that can happen when a good script and a deft directorial touch work together to create a work of captivating artistry. Add to this the often-confounding world of physics that the play explores, and it becomes evident that the director and actors alike have done an admirable job molding a work that is both poignant and accessible.

Nestled among rambling explanations of the workings of physics, explanations that include such heady ideas as complementarity and the uncertainty principle, are moments of human tenderness, gentle humor, and, most tellingly, a sense of aching melancholy, a melancholy that stems from the choices made both internally and externally.

Early in the second act, as the play has seemingly disengaged itself from questions of war and wandered far afield into the principles of physics, there is a moment in which the realization comes home that we have not wandered as far as we may have thought or hoped. As Heisenberg rails against the horrors of war and the impossibility of ever being sure that our decisions are the right ones, the audience’s eyes focus again on the image of the mushroom cloud and the sun, still superimposed on the stage.

This image, this terrible, unearthly image, hangs behind the very human moments of the play and illustrates, far better than any dialogue ever could, the questions that still haunt our planet a half-century after that mysterious meeting in Copenhagen.

—John Shepherd

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Mad Art Turns Two

By Rudy Zapf What if you were having coffee with a friend at Kaldi’s, and he’s at a crossroads in his life. Been in this steady job 10, maybe 12 years, making art on the side. He ponders whether he should go back to school for the art degree. Asks your advice, which you are entirely unprepared to give.

What if some years later, this friend still had his steady, reliable job? Would you feel sorry for him, maybe in an ambivalent “gee, it happens to the best of ’em” kind of way?

What if this friend still had that job, but had also gotten that B.F.A., had developed his own talents, had bought and restored a disused Art Deco police station, and turned it into on of the city’s hippest, most assessable art spaces for local artists and aesthetes?

Dem pork chops not bad, eh?

Ron Buechele’s “Hound Dog,” on display at Mad Art’s twoMad Art Gallery just year anniversary party/Elvis bash. celebrated its second anniversary, and it’s at the top of many people’s lists as the place to see local art and have a good time. Don’t believe it? Check out the RFT’s Critic’s Choice “Best Of” list or the Landmark Association’s awards list. Given that Ron Buechele and Tracy Varley offer exhibition opportunities to the young, the not yet famous, and, of greatest significance, the local, it’s no wonder that Mad Art seems to be a very strong salmon swimming against the current.

Rippling against the tide might be heroic, tenacious, instinctive, and— as a more pragmatic observer might note—exhaustively draining. It takes green to cover the heating bills, the lighting, the continuous improvements in this space. Luckily, Mad Art is a popular choice for private parties and other events. Ron, Tracy, and Andrea Avery run a space that is able to feed its habit of showing local artists by catering to those with an appreciative eye for an exceptional party location. Saying that Mad Art is an “interesting” venue is tantamount to saying the interior of the St. Louis Cathedral Basilica is “nice.” The main gallery—the former garage of the station— boasts a space generous enough to accommodate a group show or some really big sculptures. Actually, it could accommodate both simultaneously, with enough elbow room for viewers to step back and take in the work. The room is huge, but not cavernous. The new lighting system gives a warmth to the area and spotlights individual artwork for dramatic effect. The terrace offers an outdoor option for smokers and those who love large fireplaces with their night sky. Just inside the front doors, there is a beautiful brassand-marble police area that makes one dream of casting a remake of a James Cagney film. The jail cells are still sometimes in use—as small environments designed by artists. It’s a cool place to go and see some stuff that

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS you probably won’t get to see anywhere else in St. Louis.

When asked how he found the building, Buechele replied that the building found him. He had known about the place for years, and when the chance for buying it opened, he presented his case. Though there was a long line of prospective buyers, his plans for its restoration and use put him on top, and he was able to start working on his dream. However, the vision for an artists’ co-op was quickly revised when the realities of operation costs made themselves known.

Though no less time-consuming, it’s easier for Buechele to implement decisions for the future of the gallery when not having to wait for a consensus from 20 other artists.

It’s been two years, and Mad Art is still going strong. The physical improvements and assets to the building are apparent to the naked eye, but the cultural improvement to the city is more intellectually sensed. Local artists now have an alternative to the “ugly cousin” syndrome—the syndrome wherein they are not even acknowledged by most St. Louis galleries—and art aficionados need no longer muse over the lack of local talent. It’s not that the talent’s not here—it’s that private galleries tend to show work by only well-established and/or non-local artists.

When you go to Mad Art, perhaps for one of the exhibits or a oneevening “happening,” look at the art, and while you are giving it your full attention, think of salmon swimming upstream, upstream against a mighty current. Think of the fresh, new talents—and their careers spawned here, downstream.

February 2003

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YOU ARE HERE

When Kansas City’s the Get Up Kids played Mississippi Nights January 18, they did so to a very young, very enthusiastic sold-out crowd.

Their set was heavily peppered with songs from their monumental 2002 Vagrant release, On a Wire, and also included healthy servings from their emo/punk-tinged prior releases, including 1999’s Something to Write Home About.

Though previously known for their punk sound, the Get Up Kids—Matt Pryor, lead vocals/guitar; Jim Suptic, vocals/guitar; Rob Pope, bass; Ryan Pope, drums; and James DeWees, keyboards—surprised everyone last May with the release of On a Wire, an album full of lush melodies, acoustic guitars, gentle piano, and a variety of influences. They were tired of writing four-chord songs, it seemed; they wanted to see what else they were capable of. For this album, they hired a producer, the legendary Scott Litt (R.E.M., Indigo Girls), which further evolved their sound. And all five had a hand in the songwriting, unlike previous efforts, behind which Pryor was largely the driving force.

But before you get too comfortable with TGUK's new sound—as I, I'll confess, already have—wait until you read what keyboardist James DeWees has to say. I spoke with DeWees backstage after the show.

Are you still in two other bands?

I’m in one other band at the moment.

Coalesce broke up two weeks ago, which I heard about on the Internet. Kansas City’s weird; all the kids in the [indie] scene play with each other in different bands. It’s cool, because we all know each other so well, and we’re always at each other’s shows and stuff.

How’s the climate in KC in terms of music in general? Do the clubs work with the bands at all?

They did when I was a teenager. There were bands like Season to Risk and Molly McGuire and Shiner when I was a kid in Kansas City, and I would go down and watch them play in record stores. There was a lot of support for them then.

After like three years of that, it died, and that’s when Coalesce and Get Up Kids started. There was no scene at all, no place for us to play.

They’ve started to get a lot of shows now, but it’s taken them years.

You have quite a youthful audience.

Those kids are great. They’re really, really supportive, and they get into it and have a good time. It was weird at first, knowing that, as I’ve gotten older, the fans have stayed the same age.

It’s kind of like that line in Dazed and Confused, when Matt Wiggins is like, “The cool thing about high school chicks is as I get older, they stay the same age.”

How many months in 2002 were you guys on the road?

We didn’t tour like we used to, but I guess because we space it out, it still feels like we’re gone a lot. Like ask my wife, and she’ll tell you that I’m gone all the time. But we used to be gone 280 days a year, and now it’s maybe six or seven months, but not consecutively. Matt and his wife had a baby, so we try to keep everything kind of close to home. He wants to be there for his daughter, which is understandable. And four of us are married now. It’s all right; it’s not like it’s a hard job to do.

I read originally that you guys had expected a year and a half gap between On a Wire and the new album [which would put the next one out in November]. Are you still on schedule?

Yeah, it’s going to be about a year and a half.

We’re recording April, May, and June, and it’ll

probably be out like September, October, or November. It depends on the label [Vagrant], because they’re doing the new Dashboard [Confessional], the new Saves the Day, the new Alkaline [Trio], the new Reggie and the Full Effect album comes out—yeah, that’s me. That’s actually the first one to come out on the list. I got lucky; I beat ’em all. So I get all the attention.

Are you on keyboards with them, too?

I sing, play guitar, keyboards, drum, bass for that band. I’m Reggie. Not live, but when I’m recording, I am. But this is a Get Up Kids interview; we’ll do Reggie later.

What can you tell us about the new album?

It’s not On a Wire. It’s more back to what we were doing. We just wanted to do a record that was different, to prove to ourselves that we weren’t just this “emo” band, in quotes. We’re more than that; we’re not just like four chords.

We’ve been around for so long that “emo” is this corporate buzzword, and to us it’s like a dis. In Coalesce, we would use the word “emo” to make fun of those kids. It’s not a bad thing, but God—Air Supply’s an emo band. Freakin’ Neil Diamond’s like the king of emo. It’s kind of like alternative after it broke. The whole point of alternative is that it was what wasn’t the norm.

How did the experience of writing as a band change the band?

That’s a good question; nobody ever asked me anything like that. It took Something to Write Home About and turned it into On a Wire.

They already had the songs written [for Something to Write Home About]; I just learned the accessory parts—like, piano would sound cool here, keyboard would sound cool there.

With On a Wire, it would be all five of us, sitting in Robby’s basement for like four hours a day, five days a week. “Use this idea; that idea sucks.” “OK, how about this one?” “OK, that idea’s cool; we’ll work with that idea.” We worked for a long time.

PROFILE

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

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February 2003 Play by Play

P L AY B Y P L AY ABSINTHE BLIND: RINGS (Parasol) Absinthe Blind, a fabulous rock band from Champaign, Illinois, deserves to peer down on the music industry. In an age of endless drivel and pointless songwriting, this band seems to forget about what it takes to make it in the industry and uses it to create unimaginable beauty. Their fifth album is a dramatic rocker that boasts 12 tracks, most with the potential to latch onto your conscience.

“The Break” jumps out at the beginning to drop a movie soundtrack-feel behind the stylish melody created by Adam and Erin Fein’s vocals.

Like a play unfolding before you, the song rips on the shoulders of the caustic lyrics: “It’s easy, it could’ve just been so simple, but then you bit my head off.”

The Feins’ confident singing in track one yields to a sonic “Shields” on track two. While the vocal production in this song lacks at certain points, the songwriting and musicianship— specifically, the bold leads on electric guitar by Tristan Wraight—make up for it. Track four, “Bands 1,” inserts you into an underwater dream world with delicious melodies and colliding genres of rock and jazz. Short bites on the trumpet are at first awkward, as it feels out of place but

quickly folds into the essence of the song.

“Inside My Mirror” is quickly brash from the beginning and seems destined for radio airwaves with the repetitious chorus and thickening cellos

by Peter Linder. The guitar solo cutting into the middle of the song leads the band to get “The Bends” for a minute or so. Seth Fein’s drumming is bad-ass throughout this stint of envy and propels the band into a slamming orchestral jam at exactly 3:30 into the song.

Erin’s crystal-clear voice gets to shine on “Walls Covered in Hope,” an astutely arranged tune of understandable confusion which takes off with a gripping drumbeat packed with skill. Loops on track seven along with a rolling piano keep you in anticipation of what’s to follow. A running Absinthe Blind stands willing to drip the track on top of you with a trip-ridden guitar solo by Wraight. Unfortunately, “The Dreamers Song” is not worth the listen. Not only does it mention the Beatles, but it sounds like them. The vocals are awkward in this take, which is a surprise considering the fine singer that Adam is.

The harmonies in “Ease the Curtains Down” could be tighter, and pitch corrected. But the songwriting swings like a carousel that doesn’t want to drop you off without a grin. “Brave” immediately grabs with its brilliant sound at the beginning reminiscent of U2’s “Passengers” work. Erin’s vocals are sweet enough to keep you around the house for the day, and Adam’s voice coats the song with a gentle touch. The heavily accented “She saves/Now I’m where I need to be,” with meshing harmonies, stands alone from the previous tracks, allowing the band to stretch its chops with a lengthy and impressive jam.

A tasty album overall with tight producing, Rings does not fail to impress, although some production/mixing blunders make you wonder if Absinthe Blind tapped all of their resources in the studio. The tenacity and love on the album surpass any doubts, however, and leave you wanting more. Absinthe Blind clearly faces the difficulties of any phenomenal live band: re-creating the sound and drama in the studio.

They’ve clearly done it, as Rings reveals fresh layers listen after listen that wow you like their live show.

—Kevin Barry AUDIOSLAVE: AUDIOSLAVE (Epic) What do you do when you were part of a well-known and successful band, now defunct, and want to continue playing with some of your former band members? Well, if you’re ex–Rage Against the Machine members Tim Commerford (bass), Brad Wilk (drums), and Tom Morello (guitar), you recruit the singing and songwriting talents of a former frontman from another nowdefunct, equally well-known and successful band who is in need of a new gig. Fortunately for them, it just so happened that Chris Cornell, for-

mer leader of Soundgarden (as well as the shortlived early ’90s project Temple of the Dog), fit that description perfectly. Hailed by Spin magazine as the new millennium’s first true supergroup, Audioslave is a fusion of forces that have created a new sound with a comfortably familiar feel. As a result, their debut selft i t l e d release is a 65-minutelong collection of non-pretentious, straightforward, nofrills, high-intensity rock.

Produced by Rick Rubin (Red Hot Chili Peppers), the disc’s 14 songs glisten with a wellproduced sheen while still retaining the raw energy that this type of music needs to have to be credible. According to the liner notes, all sounds heard on this disc are “made by guitar, bass, drums, and vocals,” meaning that these well-seasoned musicians have chosen to stick with the old-fashioned, time-tested method of creating rock music, rather than utilizing any of today’s elaborate, high-tech synthesizer effects and equipment.

Cornell is the sole mastermind behind all of this CD’s music and lyrics, giving the songs a very Soundgarden-like personality. His is also the one and only voice heard on all of the tracks, which can be perceived as either an asset or a weakness, depending on the listener’s opinion of Cornell’s distinctive, yet sometimes predictably gravelly voice.

The first single, “Cochise,” starts off the disc with a fierce, powerful surge that sets the tone for what lies ahead. Axe master Morello really shows off his enviable guitar-playing skills throughout the CD’s entirety, especially on tracks such as “Light My Way,” “Bring ’em Back Alive,” and the wear-your-hardhat heavy “Set It Off.” Much of the disc’s tracks lean strongly toward the melodic side, like the beautiful “Shadow of the Sun” and the recently released second single, “Like a Stone.” Three of the best tracks, the epic-sounding “I Am the Highway,” the crunchy “Show Me How to Live,” and the CD’s closer, the haunting “The Last Remaining Light,” are well worth the purchase price by themselves.

Cornell’s brief departure from the band last year, along with a substantially delayed release date due to multiple reasons, contributed to the enormous amount of media attention and public anticipation that has surrounded Audioslave and its debut disc. Unlike many overhyped projects, however, this is one that fully lives up to all of its expectations.

Check out the band’s Web site at www.audioslave.com; see them live at the Pageant on February 24.

—Michele Ulsohn

21 from page 19

TINHORN: STEREOWIDE (Broom Factory Records) Writing a review of Tinhorn’s solid new CD, Stereowide, should be easy, but it becomes a tougher job the more I listen. This beautiful collection of songs reminds me of some of the best ’60s and early ’70s rock, with nuggets that echo Badfinger in full Paul McCartney–mode. Stereowide comes from that all-too-brief period before music became bloated, when it was more about the melody and less about the business. This album also shares the textures and tunefulness of Fastball’s breakout album, All the Pain Money Can Buy…and that is where the ease of this review ends. Fastball’s album, like this one, had one slight problem—its parts were excellent, but they didn’t add up. Both were collections of songs by talented bands that write exceptional lyrics and music; however, with all the wares on display, the effect is overwhelming.

Stereowide bounces from style and influence as if there had been rock icons lined up at Sean Garcia’s door, begging to get in. “What You See” sounds so simple, yet it surreptitiously takes you out to the edge and then gently lures you back to earth. “How it Goes” and “Lift You Up” are like classic songs that have been around for years: you know exactly where to shake your head, you know which way your senses will fly. They are simply great songs. In fact, this is a CD filled with great songs. Very rarely does the album hit anything less than a perfect note.

That said, “overwhelming” is the word I would have to pick. This is not a negative thing; more like finding a food court in the middle of a desert and being unable to make up your mind: do you want pizza or a burger? Perhaps I am too used to having one or two standout songs on a CD that get played to death on the radio; here I have 13 separate songs and I truly care for each of them, all of them—but I wish they were all one restaurant. Stereowide feels like a greatest hits CD, and I want the original albums.

—Jim Dunn VARIOUS ARTISTS: FOR THE KIDS (Nettwerk Records) I have been thinking a bit lately about reverting to my childhood. Most of my friends will tell you this is futile on my part, having never actually left that world to begin with. I was a kid just a bit before “Schoolhouse Rock”; Zoom and Sesame Street hadn’t come out with any of their awesome hits yet. Instead, I was serenaded by Mr. Rogers and Captain Kangaroo—not exactly Sinatras. On my turntable (some Mattel thing), there was usually a song about carnivores versus herbivores. As Bart Simpson would say, “It is one of those songs that is supposed to be good for you.”

Today, it seems rock stars are bending over backward to play songs for the little ones, and I am jealous! They Might Be Giants just released a disk specifically for kids (No!), and the trend doesn’t start or stop there. Currently making the rounds in my CD player is a hip collection from the Nettwerk Records gang. For the Kids features songs that, for the most part, won’t cause parents to rip their hair out—not a Barney or a Teletubby to be found. Standout tracks include “Willie the King” by Dan Wilson (of Semisonic), “The Hoppity Song” by John Ondrasik (Five for Fighting), and the irritatingly infectious “Snow Day” by Bleu. The songs on the CD never take their audience for granted, which invests most of the songs with an earnest appeal that makes them listenable for almost any age. The list of talent is also pretty impressive, including Raine Maida from Our Lady Peace, as well as Sarah McLachlan, Barenaked Ladies, and Cake.

It is a treat to hear songs that try to do nothing more than make the little ones bounce about the room in that cute way that they do and, perhaps, urge them on to greater musical horizons. The point here is that music for the younger set can and should be cool, and these artists show it.

—Jim Dunn

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Backstage Pass NADINE (cont.)

Scout troop, congregating center stage in a circle for a jam, with the errant Jimmy Griffin off in his own world on the side, playing to the stars.

Nadine’s Anne Tkach, Adam Reichmann, and Steve Rauner, under the lights at Mississippi Nights. Photo by Jennifer Gammage.

The rest of Artifact offers a grab bag of songs, including two from the “unmastered” Lit Up From the Inside, several live songs (including a cover of the Go Betweens’ “Apology Accepted”), and a demo track from 1999, “Throw Me Some Line.” For the most part, they show the growth of a band that has navigated the bridge from “the band that sounds like Neil Young” to the band that is Nadine, its own entity and a fascinating band to watch.

—Jim Dunn

Henry Rollins The Pageant, January 17 Friday night I was all geared up for a night of gearing down, comfortably nestling into the thought of staying in and dozing off. I started to graze through the newspaper when the brick came crashing through my plans: Henry Rollins show…45 minutes…change of plans.

Back around the turn of the New Year, I’d been drawn into a strange dance about trying to set up an interview with said Mr. Rollins. It didn’t quite pan out. Sometimes that happens, with schedules and all. But the whole thing was a little frustrating. Then I find myself rushing to the Pageant to find that the arrangement of my photo pass had somehow been been not completed.

So it seemed that I was about the only Black Flag–bred fellow in St. Louis not excited about this sold-out show. Who are all these people eager to spend $20 to sit and see Henry Rollins ramble about himself for a few hours? Why will we pay this to pack the Pageant to listen to some guy tell us how we should support local music, but all too rarely actually support the local music?

The truth is that I enjoyed the show. But I left feeling like the divide between the DIY ethic of which Rollins is taken as a patron saint and the phenomenon I had just observed festered with contradiction. When Henry Rollins drops a name and a round of applause goes up, is it really any different than Dick Cavett or anybody else

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from page 7

dropping names in their personal stories?

I don’t feel critical of Henry Rollins so much as I do the phenomenon of Henry Rollins. Henry himself seems to have some grasp of all these contradictions that drive him. The phenomenon of Henry Rollins, on the other hand, seems the exact sort of self-congratulatory blind mob that makes its namesake want to yell and scream. The circle comes around, of course, because Henry goes out and makes his buck off of the whole thing.

Is this what it looks like to spend some of the capital accrued by years of living in a van, being spit on and pummeled with trash while you perform in one dive after another? That now you can actually make a living riding around in a bus and getting to talk all night in a series of huge, if smoky, living rooms?

What a gig! If anyone interrupts you, they are heckling, and you are free to mock and berate them. Try this in your own living room the next time you have company over. Then charge them $20 to come over and listen to you talk. I’m guessing that you won’t run into trouble with the fire marshal and maximum capacity.

Why should I feel like it’s a productive use of my time to hear Henry Rollins talk about hanging out with Joe Strummer? Or about going to the Osbournes’ New Year’s Eve party? As a younger Mr. Rollins once proclaimed: “What do they know about partying…or anything else?!?”

I am left with the reminder of Nobel Prize winners who, having gained recognition for a certain genius, proceed to use this license to force the rest of us to hear their opinions on anything and everything. It seems to me that this notion of “genius” goes hand in hand with a destructive notion of celebrity and that Henry Rollins has reached a point of being held in this esteem in no small part by virtue of his railing against it.

I am left with a profound sense of the sheer absurdity of having someone else berate us for not doing something ourselves and watching a mass of heads nod in agreement, as if they’ve just been bestowed some otherwise unreachable pearl of wisdom by the icon before them.

I’m left feeling as if it’s a great thing that Henry Rollins goes out and does his spokenword thing and that it’s pathetic that we pay three to four times what it would cost to see a local band and pack a place like the Pageant to see it.

There was one aspect that marked the show as identifiably St. Louis: the two couples who sat back near the entrance and carried on loud and drunken conversation throughout most of the show. Can no one in this town have a conversation in their own homes…or anywhere other than at a show where at least someone might be interested in hearing the show?

—Steven Vance

Jason Mraz Blueberry Hill Duck Room, January 18 “We’re right smack in the middle of our tour, right smack in the middle of the country, and right smack in the middle of a good time,” said Jason Mraz to the Duck Room audience at Blueberry Hill. For most performers to say that at the top of a set, it would come off as the prelude to a calloused, routine show. But Mraz proceeded to make it clear that he is not most performers.

The scouting report on Mraz and his trio is pretty straightforward: an acoustic setup with upright bass and hand drums. Mraz’s guitar playing and vocal style are equal parts Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews, but his voice is the trump card, soaring in places where Johnson’s or Matthews’ would wilt. He keeps it nice and mainstream for the fans’ benefit; he teased Bob Marley, Elton John, Gloria Estefan, Michael Jackson, and Madness at various points in the Blue Hill show.

His own material isn’t particularly earth-shattering—it contained a healthy dose of the faux-hiphop white-boy shuffle on which Johnson has built his empire—but “Curbside Prophet” certainly has enough catchy hooks to linger in your head for a while. And every so often, Mraz will hit a note or two that arches the hairs on the back of your neck.

But more powerful than any of this, including the voice, is the charisma. Mraz looks like he could be 26 years old...or 16. He’s got the endearing-stoner look going on, complete with perpetually askew baseball cap. He throws his own name in other people’s songs, usually in the context of an overture to the girls in the front row. And it works: the girls melt right then and there. (No, I’m not one, but I was with one, and she did.)

One leaves with the feeling that it’s going to work out well for him. Mraz was visibly surprised at the Duck Room crowd, which easily broke a hundred, and he told them so; behold the power of the Internet, I suppose. He may not be anywhere close to blazing his own trail musically, but it’s easy to see Jason Mraz being a household name in the very near future, and that’ll be a healthy consolation, to say the least.

—Taylor Upchurch

BIG BAD ZERO: YOUR BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE (iPlay Records) When they write the story of my life, I’ll be most concerned about the soundtrack rather than the actress they choose to portray me. The music sticks with you long after those faces have

disappeared; the songs keep you company when your friends no longer come around. If I had to choose only one album for my soundtrack, it just might be this one.

Your Beautiful Mistake is the follow-up to this Las Vegas band’s 1999 self-titled debut. (If you’re a 93X fan, you’ve undoubtedly heard the breathtaking “Iris Meadow.”) While the first album was talented but a bit inconsistent as it switched between mellow and raucous, the new disc is a straightforward alt-rock masterpiece, an early album-of-the-year contender.

Lead singer Nick Matteira’s distinctive nasally voice is complemented by the backdrop of swirling and melodic guitars. “I’m tired of being restless/living off espresso and singing to my windshield,” he sings on the opening track, “Lifts Me Up,” and we’ve all been there; we know that feeling. On “Closer,” an upbeat song of dreams, he’s imagining “the day I’m dancing/the world’s in my hands.” “Just Like That” is a beautiful, building song about the abductive powers of love: “You’re my savoir when my thoughts spill/like a pain pill/you’re the only thing familiar.”

Guitarist Dave Meeks’ gentle strumming begins “Unglued,” as drummer Rob Whited and bassist Doug Barney keep a mellow but steady beat. “Comets” is a reach-for-the-stars song, perfect for that scene with the drive down back country roads at night in a top-down convertible. Look for a searing guitar and drum changeover on “Level.” And that part of the film where I’m soul-searching? Definitely “Blind,” with its driving beat and introspective lyrics: “I need to take some time/see the world that is mine/with these eyes so blind/so much to find.”

On “Not so Good” a Sunday afternoon song of breakup, Matteria sings, “I hope that you’re better than me/’cause I’m not so good,” further demonstrating his strong vocal ability. The downbeat is quickly reversed, though, as “Wrap the World Around Me” wraps its arms around you. The closing credits—and happy ending, of course—would roll over the invigorating “Angels,” with Matteria asking, “Who do you talk to when you fall asleep?”

This is what feel-good music is all about: words you can sing along to, emotions you can feel, and music that touches the core of who you are.

—Laura Hamlett

THE BOTTOMS UP BLUES GANG: SOUTH BROADWAY BLUES The first time I listened to South Broadway Blues, the debut CD from local trio the Bottoms Up Blues Gang, I was unimpressed. It took two or three more playings for it to grow on me, but when it did, I found myself pleasantly hooked. The songs—three-fourths blues covers, one-fourth original music—are simple, as you would expect from a band that consists of only a vocalist (Kari Liston), a guitarist (Jeremy Segel-Moss), and a harmonica player (Adam Andrews), but they are generally well-executed.

Liston has a smoky, sultry voice, one that makes you believe she really does have the blues, while Segel-Moss plays solid rhythm guitar. Andrews’ harmonica is expected to carry the band instrumentally, and it works, although on the tracks when the band is joined by special guests, the music gets much more interesting and Andrews’ solos benefit.

It is on these tracks that the CD really shines.

Pianist Matt Murdick (a member of the Rich McDonough Band and the St. Louis Social Club) adds a New Orleans feel to the second song, “Meet Me Out Back.” He also contributes to my favorite track, “Ain’t Nobody’s Business.” After Liston sings, “If I dislike my lover/and leave him for another/ain’t nobody’s business/if I do,” Murdick’s piano takes over, and the result is wonderful. I played the song several times in a row and felt transported to a smoky little bar on Beale Street every time. This track also features some of Segel-Moss’s best guitar playing, and the interplay between the piano, the guitar, and the harmonica is worth a second or third listen.

The other guest musicians on the CD are some of the local blues scene’s finest. Brian Curran (guitar) makes an appearance, as do Irene Allen (vocals), Sharon Foehner (bass), and Eric McSpadden (harmonica). I was looking forward to the final track, “Who Do You Love,” which featured all of the guests, and although the result wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for (Allen’s voice was slightly overwhelmed by Liston’s, and the sound levels seemed a little off), it didn’t entirely disappoint. The track’s sound was rich, full, and almost jubilant. There was a final unlabeled track after the song, which was simply Andrews on harmonica. His talent was showcased nicely on this track, and it made for a fitting ending to the CD. The Bottoms Up Blues Gang is not yet a polished product, but the CD is worth picking up, if only to hear the youth of the St. Louis blues. The genre is definitely alive and well, and if the musicians continue to collaborate on albums such as South Broadway Blues, there is much to look forward to.

—A. Kohnen

GRANDPA’S GHOST: (THE TUMBLE/LOVE VERSION): READ PAST THE STATIC (Upland) Yikes! They’re not just content to sit on their porch with acoustics out there in Pocahontas, Illinois, this time, like on their previous record, Starlight and Smog. Nor are they offering soundtracks to the subconscious and the mysteries of the universe as on their 2000 masterpiece, Il Bacio. No, Grandpa’s Ghost are going right fer the throat this time, kids. This two-disc set is an allout assault on the senses, with a furious feast of feedback à la Neil Young’s Arc/Weld. There’s a dash or two of early Sonic Youth here; hell, there’s some Metal Machine Music–like moments.

With an attitude beyond even punk’s abandon, guitarists Ben Hanna and Bill Emerson and drummer Jack Petracek blast these blistering noisescapes into the chilly air, losing themselves, and quite probably most listeners, in the process. Their complete aural mutilation of John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” is really quite humorous and goes up there with what the Residents did to the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” back in the ’70s (i.e., render it unrecognizable). The 28-minute electric multiguitar crash that comprises “D.O.A.” may or may not be based on the morbid Bloodrock tune about, well, a car crash—it’s hard to tell because this is all noisy, feverish guitar chaos, kinda like maybe being in a horrible accident, tumbling down a steep hill, then wandering around in shock for half an hour.

Chris Dee and Dave Stone contribute to this charming madness, which is followed, in true Ghost fashion, by an unlikely—and almost delicate—Neil Young cover, “Love in Mind.” The Ghost are well-established disciples of Young, not only in their love of fuzzed-out electric guitar soundscapes, but in Neil’s oft-voiced belief that capturing the feel of the moment is what matters most.

It’s figuring out what that “feel” might have been that creates some of the fun of GG records.

Artistically, these guys are spooky—and I mean that as a compliment. Something happened to them since their early days making rootsy, almost normal records; their aesthetic, their whole attitude toward music became much more willful and insular. And whatever the precipitating events, the inspiration resulted in musical art of exceptional originality; moments on both their previous records (and keep in mind that Stardust and Smog was a double, like this one) are among the most startling and hypnotic sounds ever to come out of this region. Some of the crunchy rock here, like “Blackie,” “The Queen of Crumpled Steel,” “Cheap Bracelet,” and the potent “Black Velvet Stars” and its companion piece “War,” both of which feature the Star Death’s Tobi Parks on bass, could probably be slipped into the changer at a

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House of Large Sizes

B A C K S TA G E PASS El Monstero Y Los Masked Avengers The Pageant, December 27 and 28 El Monstero, the Pink Floyd tribute act consisting of members from Stir along with various other local musicians, including John Pessoni, former Urge drummer, and a guest appearance

by Michael Schaerer, played two near-capacity shows at the Pageant on the last weekend of the year. Performing songs mostly from The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon, the band accented their show with laser lights, identical video footage from Pink Floyd’s mid-’90s tour, three female backup vocalists, and a few authenticlooking props. During the show’s Wall segments, the extremely enigmatic Mark Quinn (from the Impala Deluxe band) used his acting skills to their fullest potential, creating a very realistic portrayal of the “Pink” character from the record’s movie. And Andy Schmidt’s fluid guitar solos are strong enough to impress even David Gilmour himself. Overall, the performance is a well-rehearsed and professional-quality production that could successfully be taken on a cross-country tour, but instead, the band has chosen to play exclusively in their hometown of St. Louis for what has now become a holiday tradition for the fifth year in a row.

—Michele Ulsohn

Rocket Bar, December 28 It’s fair to say that when House of Large Sizes last played the Rocket Bar, it was a small-sized concert that felt a bit empty. That’s not to say that this Iowa group doesn’t give great concerts. In fact, they are one of the most exciting indie rock bands around. The group features husband-and-wife team Dave Deibler and Barb Schilf, who turn stages into trampolines and turn audiences into frenzy.

Having seen this group in Seattle, I can say that the mosh pits are literally overwhelming, and the band usually can’t leave without playing encores.

At the Rocket Bar, the band brought the same unique sound to the stage that is present on their recordings. The guitar sound was loud, and the bass lines were brutal and attacking. A few curious people seemed to check the group out and clap for the first few numbers but then faded away into the back of the club. I felt like a guest in someone’s house as I watched the show. I pulled up a chair, sat back, and relaxed. The band sounded great, but not enough people were there to hear them.

The audience did seem to enjoy Shame Club, who opened the show—and with good reason.

Shame Club is one of the best rock bands on the local scene or anywhere in the country for that matter. Their high-explosive guitar sound and crashing drums were not lost on the audience by any means. When Shame Club plays, they clean house. Hopefully more people will come out to see House of Large Sizes next time they play, and that group can do the same.

—John Kujawski

Kristeen Young Way Out Club, December 30 I went out tonight with my friend John to see Kristeen Young.

But first...we got seriously lost on the way to the club. I’d never been there before, we were caught up in bashing some awful CD John was playing for my amusement, and I had no idea where we were going. Somehow we wound up in an unsavory neighborhood. While trying to find out where we wound up, we passed a car parked on the street. Its hood was up and the engine was on fire.

Forty-five minutes later, we found the club. It was only a few blocks away from my apartment.

I wasn’t too upset, since our accidental tour of north St. Louis killed time that would have been spent waiting for the show to begin. I usually prefer to get to the club early in case the show sells out. Unfortunately, this means I also have a long wait ahead of me.

The show was incredible. It’s difficult to describe how Kristeen Young sounds without mentioning Kate Bush; their voices and singing styles are eerily identical. The similarities thin out when it comes to music, lyrics, and subject

matter. Kristeen Young’s songs are more sinister, more experimental, and more confrontational.

As creative as she is, I can’t imagine Kate Bush howling about “cock rock radio” or titling her latest album Breasticles.

Kristeen’s performance was rich in theatrics, from her vintage boutique outfit to her bold hand gestures. Occasionally, she pounded on the keys of a synthesizer, set up to sound like a piano falling down a staircase. Her voice was so strong that it didn’t matter that she mostly sang to prerecorded backing tapes.

In fact, the audience seemed to prefer when she was alone on the stage. At one point, oh-sofamous producer Tony Visconti showed up with a six-string bass and led her through a few covers of songs he’d written (including two made famous by David Bowie). I got the impression we were supposed to consider this a real treat, but at the risk of sounding ignorant or unappreciative, I was honestly kind of bored. I liked it best when Kristeen sang her own music.

Star-crossed lover or not, I made a point of not looking at Beatle Bob during the show.

While I found his dancing entertaining at the Centromatic show, his moves didn’t align well with this kind of music, and I found it unpleasantly distracting.

The ride home took only five minutes.

—Jessica Gluckman

Slick 57 w/Dan Potthast Sally T’s, January 2 Slick 57 were late getting into town, and our names weren’t yet on the list. Or, rather, the list hadn’t yet arrived. The boys, en route to Chicago the very next day, had just left their home of Dallas that morning and were due into town any minute.

Never mind that; we arrived just in time to catch a rare solo act by expatriate and MU330 frontman Dan Potthast. Playing to a very young, very enthusiastic crowd, Potthast played songs from his new solo album as well as MU330 faves.

He spoke extensively before each song, explaining where it came from, how it’s supposed to sound with a full band: “OK, here’s where the really funky guitar comes in, like this—” And then he’d vocalize the really funky guitar. For such a cold night, the crowd quickly heated up. “You bet it’s getting hot in here,” Potthast exclaimed. “You’re at a Dan P. show.”

Midway through his set, three strangers took up a post in the back of the room. They weren’t from around these parts; that much was obvious. They were our headliners.

A country-flavored threesome if ever there was one, Slick 57 is fronted by John Pedigo (vocals, guitar) and Ward Richmond (stand-up bass, vocals); they were joined just days before the show by a new drummer whom they affectionately called “Kelly the Librarian.” While the band describes their music as “Texas love in a

February 2003

up a few songs that contain the more traditional and expected sound of Silverchair’s earlier days, such as “One Way Mule” and “The Lever,” but even those tracks hint at the fact that this is a band that has significantly evolved and matured over the years.

Lyrically, Johns reaches far into the bizarre realm, singing about very out-ofthe-ordinary subject matter such as fungus in milk, polystyrene hats, labyrinths of sympathy, and frozen eyes that are bound to melt.

As with many bands’ finer works, however, the strength of Diorama’s music more than makes up for the lyrics, which often make little or no sense.

Silverchair is, and always has been, extremely popular in their homeland of Australia, selling out every one of their dozen upcoming spring dates months in advance. An Australian radio station poll voted Diorama album of the year, with sales in that country recently reaching triple-platinum status. So why has this remarkable disc been, for the most part, practically ignored by American radio and media? Your guess is as good as mine.

For more info, go to www.chairpage.com.

—Michele Ulsohn ROBERT SKORO: PROOF (Merciful Recordings) A confident and pretty first solo record, Robert Skoro’s Proof surveys the geography of romance: a lover’s address on a wall in “In Line”; a windowsill seat over Fifth Avenue in “Heaven”; a heart-pull from up the street in “2318.” These details of place dot the record nicely, but the songs don’t quite flesh out the characters who exist within them.

Skoro’s been compared to Elliott Smith, and he does share Smith’s skills of layering songs (particularly as the songs progress) and use of high, hushed harmonies. But Skoro is his own songwriter, existing in a middle space I’ve yet to settle into. His songs don’t carry the sheen of a pop star’s (he’s wittier and more inspired than any Sheik or Mayer), but they lack the grit that give texture to the work of Chris Mills, Matthew Ryan, or even Smith himself.

Balancing out a few of Proof’s generic lyrics (“You wrote the book of what it is to be beautiful”) is the chorus of “New Science,” the album highlight. Displaying conviction, originality, and humor, Skoro unveils his latest plan: “I’ll start a new science/To see what I’m about/It starts with our alliance/The rest I’m working out.”

It’s a clever series of lines, and the song itself may be enough to keep me listening. Maybe, if I stick around, the record’s characters will finally show their faces.

You can find Proof at www.robertskoro.com.

—Stephen Schenkenberg continued on page 21

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Quick Hits TRAVIS LEE BAND: DIFFERENT Sometimes, when we have CDs piling up around us, we just slip them into the player without paying much attention to the case. If the sound catches our interest, we’ll go back and see who we’re playing, give it a closer listen. The Travis Lee Band fell victim to the unknown listening—and survived. Honestly, it wasn’t until the second or third listen that we realized it was Christian-themed, as well as local. All we knew was that it was damn good.

The Travis Lee Band appears to be, in reality, a family band—but then, TLB sounds a lot better than the Puhse Family, doesn’t it? On the opener, “Fly Away,” Travis Lee plays a skilled acoustic guitar backed by the ever-pleasing conga drum; Lee’s voice is sharp and strong, if a bit nasal. The title track is a rockier song with a fast pace and speedy strumming. On “Anchor in the Storm,” a gentle (though repetitious) love song, Lee intones, “I want to invite You into my life/Take all that is within me.” Other highlights include the danceable “The Tent” and the upbeat “Till You Remain,” which, at times, instrumentally seems to echo U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name.” (LH) PHOTO BY HUSBAND: PHOTO BY HUSBAND (J.D. Records) Photo By Husband is a local rock band that stands out as having a female singer with one of the most distinctive voices of the St. Louis music scene. Lead singer Cricket O’Neill utilizes a spoken vocal style she can call her own, basically ranting and raving through the CD—and the overall effect is brilliant.

The album gets off to a great start with “Bus Stop,” and the fun doesn’t stop there. The band tears through the recording with a strong guitar sound, complete with heavy riffs and distortion.

Songs like “Go Here” and “Kitten” capture all of the energy the band has when they play live. If you enjoy Photo by Husband’s live shows, be sure to pick up the CD. It will last longer. (JK) COREY SAATHOFF: TROUBLING TIMES (Jealousy Recordings) This self-released six-song CD from the former singer of late ’90s alt-country/bar band Jerkwater Junction shows a pleasing range of sounds and styles. A backing Casiotone lends an ’80s feel to the upbeat opening track, “Full Speed Lobotomy.” “Everybody Loves a Circus” is a four-line, 39-second gem utilizing vocal distortions and a gong. More in the straight-ahead alt-rock vein is “Rescue Dogs,” a very catchy song that hearkens to early R.E.M. “Cryptic Eucalyptus” is a stripped-down acoustic guitar number with a gentle organ. “(theramin)” is just that: a theramin playing a squeaky “Somewhere

COREY SAATHOFF

Over the Rainbow.” The final song, “Diamond Surprise,” showcases Saathoff’s rough-edged alt-country voice, its mellow ramble briefly interrupted by a straight-shooting bit of guitar work and a bridge. All in all, Troubling Times introduces you to an interesting musician and leaves you wanting more—just what a good EP is supposed to do. (LH) To hear the songs for yourself, check out www.mp3.com/CoreySaathoff, or catch him live February 2 at Radio Cherokee or February 21 at Three-1-Three.

SNOWDOGS: DEEP CUTS, FAST REMEDIES (Victory Records) Finn brothers Ville and Mat Leppanen form the backbone for this London-based trio, which also includes American drummer Benjy Reid; their influences admittedly include ELO, Bruce Springsteen, and Blondie, and based on the varied sounds on Deep Cuts, they don’t stop there.

“Average Kid” is your average bite of aggrorock; it will fit in well on stations like the Point.

The lead single, “Drive,” a supposed mix of the influences listed above, instead ends up sounding like a ’70s rock anthem (not necessarily a bad thing). Skip ahead a few tracks, and you find a rock opera–sounding remake of Paul Simon’s “Boy in the Bubble.” The acoustic “End of the World” finally highlights Ville’s vocal abilities; “Hour of Sunshine” has a sunny ska beat; and with “Hell Outta Dodge” and again on “Lotta Lost Time,” we again return to the sound made famous by Styx three decades ago. It will be interesting to see what they sound like once Snowdogs decide who they want to be. (LH) SUPERCRUSH: SUPERCRUSH (Self-Released) Orange Crush has never been one of my favorite drinks. In fact, I can vividly recall drinking a can of it at a picnic when I was a child and then throwing up under a tree. Luckily, the Supercrush CD has a far happier ending and is much easier to develop a taste for.

“Awake,” the final track of the recording, is a great example of this St. Louis band’s work. It has the right hooks and melody that a laidback, guitar pop band can hope for. Ryan Hoelting sings in a great, melodic vocal style that can be hard to come by.

While I’m a bit surprised by the choice to put such a great song at the very end of the disc, this is not to say that other songs don’t stand out as well. “Weekend Friend” has a memorable hook, and “Walk Away” is another strong track. This band is a nice part of the St. Louis music scene, and if people check out the CD, they are not likely to turn it off and walk away disappointed. (JK)

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THE SADIES: STORIES OFTEN TOLD (Yep Roc Records) “Nobody can play like the Band anymore— except the Sadies,” singer-songwriter Neko Case observed last fall in Harp. Because she counts the Sadies as cohorts, of course, one might be tempted to suspect that observation reflected some small bias.

Still and all, such songs as “Within a Stone” and “Such a Little Word” on Stories Often Told, the latest release from the lowercase band, generally do echo Robbie Robertson’s capitalized crew in their funky intelligence—and even without those perceived echoes, the disc makes for interesting listening.

Three to See Here are just three of the great original St. Louis bands that play around town on a regular basis. Check them out as soon as you get a chance.

The Trip Daddys: If the Trip Daddys are playing, it’s well worth taking a trip to a club to see them. This three-piece group is heavily influenced by rockabilly and has an amazing live sound, complete with guitar solos and a high-energy show that often involves members going into the audience and playing up close to the audience. It’s almost impossible to not enjoy the show. While covers by the Stray Cats and Men Without Hats tend to pop up throughout the set, originals like “As Long as It Rocks” sum this group up best, because the Trip Daddys do just that.

Dead Celebrities: It’s hard to imagine this entertaining punk band playing to a dead audience. Sid Sinatra is such a charismatic singer that he’s exciting to watch regardless of whether you’re right up front or standing in the back of the club. Should the Dead Celebrities ever become celebrities on a national level, Sid will easily hold his own on a big stage. Their sets consist of two-minute songs and a roaring guitar sound that is sure to keep audiences feeling alive whenever they play.

Masochism: This female-fronted death metal group may be a form of masochism for some, but for fans of the genre, this could easily be a joyous experience. Teenagers are scary enough for many folks in the adult world, and this group of teenagers will easily scare the older population. The vocals couldn’t sound any more evil, and the guitar sound is a truly impressive display of machine-gun riffs and driving rhythms. The devastating sound is so effective that it’s hard to believe it’s a group of teenagers playing it. This is not for the weak at heart, but if your soul cries death metal, check it out.

—John Kujawski

Like the Band, the Sadies hail from Toronto.

Nevertheless, improbably, drummer-vocalist Mike Belitsky, bassist Sean Dean, vocalist-guitarist Dallas Good, and his brother, guitarist-vocalist Travis Good, can sound every bit as southwestern as the Tucson-based Calexico. By way of example, “Mile Over Mecca,” one of the four instrumentals on Stories Often Told, evokes the shimmer of heat across Death Valley sands, and on “Oak Ridges,” it takes little effort to imagine a squint worthy of Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name gracing the face of whoever sings lead (the disc’s credits tend toward vagueness on the vocals).

Elsewhere the CD diversifies sonically, befitting music once reportedly characterized by the band’s own press material as “space cowboy.”

On “A Steep Climb,” for instance, guest vocalist Margaret Good duets effectively with either Belitsky or one of her sons (recall the parenthetical ending the last paragraph). Otherwise, “Tiger Tiger” rocks along in a pleasant fashion, and “Of Our Land” sounds like a time-lost bit of ’60s psychedelia.

With luck, the preceding will tempt adventurous readers to investigate the Sadies’ Stories Often Told, the band’s third full-length release— it’s a disc worthy of such investigation.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach SEVSTATIK: SPEAK LIFE (Uprok Records) Incorporating religion into rhymes is the ultimate anti-gimmick, a nearly fail-safe assurance of rejection from the hip-hop community. Take the Boogie Monsters, indisputably dope emcees who were routinely slept on and ignored because of their Christian undertones and reluctance to utter dirty words. There is a fine line between positivity and preachiness, and too often religious rappers err on the extreme side, thus alienating the majority of fans who look to music for an escape, not an hour of Sunday School.

SevStatik’s first full-length album, Speak Life, does a fine job straddling the two sides of the religion fence. “Meds” and “Invisible Bars” are probably the most blatantly religious, but at no point does he cross from personal testimony into sermon. SevStatik’s message is more latent on other songs, but a general positive vibe buoys the entire album. On “Right Now,” he unites three moral-providing narratives with the chorus: “Yesterday is gone with the wind/days to come have yet to begin/and the only thing you’ve got the power to change is this day—right here, right now.” Even if you’re not especially religious, you can’t help but appreciate the uplifting messages SevStatik packs into his songs.

Of downsides, though, this album has a few.

Take “Global,” which sounds like it could have been produced by a one-handed orangutan with ADD. As if the song weren’t bad enough already,

there’s a horrendous chorus that breaks down a lame message into syllables. Crap of the most potent variety.

The rest of the production varies between synthesized vibes and chopped-up keyboard beats.

Nothing is exceptional. “Mic” is the closest thing to a radio hit, with its nauseating combination of

acoustic guitar, dance-hall bass line, and the sterile kind of scratching that could show up in the next Hanson song. And vocally, SevStatik sounds like El-P on Valium: much calmer and lyrically dulled. All in all, not the best combination.

A positive message and moderate lyrical skills do not a good album make, and in today’s flooded market of underground hip-hop, you’ve got to come up with something more unique than Speak Life for anyone to listen.

—Kyle Beachy SILVERCHAIR: DIORAMA (Atlantic) Here’s an idea for something fun to do when you’re in the mood to stump your musically knowledgeable friends: play them a few songs from Silverchair’s brilliant latest release, Diorama, and have them try to guess the band.

The odds are strongly in your favor that they won’t be able to, unless a few heavily informative hints are given first. You can tell them that it’s a band that had a few big alt-rock hits in the mid- and late ’90s and that they were, at that time, referred to by many critics as Australia’s version of Pearl Jam. If those clues don’t work, you can help them out even further by telling them to pay close attention to the lead singer’s distinctive voice, which is just about the only thing that hasn’t significantly changed in the three years that have passed since their last CD. It sounds as if 23-year-old Daniel Johns, the trio’s multitalented vocalist, guitarist, pianist, and sole songwriter, has spent much of those three years listening to, among other things, his parents’ copy of the Beach Boys’ legendary Pet Sounds release. He apparently liked the highly experimental style of that record enough to hire Van Dyke Parks, who often worked with the Beach Boys, to arrange the lush orchestral portions of three of Diorama’s tracks. The other 3 of the disc’s 11 tracks utilizing the Sydney Orchestra were coproduced by Johns himself, a rather ambitious effort from someone his age.

Two of the disc’s stronger tracks, “The Greatest View” and the oddly titled “Tuna in the Brine,” are densely layered, hauntingly melodic pieces of music that truly exemplify Johns’ versatile songwriting abilities. Diorama does offer

February 2003

music format,” I’m more inclined to dub them “high-energy country punk.”

Slick 57 took that small stage and owned it; they were all over it, they were twanging and stomping and beating and braying. Their set was heavy on songs from their latest release, The Ghost of Bonnie Parker (released on Laughing Outlaw January 21), songs about drinking, songs about women, songs about dead-end jobs and bleak prospects. With all these depressing subjects, you’d expect them to be downbeat, but Slick 57 were anything but; their music’s so upbeat, you forget your troubles and dance.

Pedigo explained they were late because they’d gotten lost in Oklahoma. “As Kelly pointed out, the reason Oklahoma is OK is because they can’t spell mediocre.” He went on to tease the state further, describing its populace as “having bumper stickers that say, ‘The devil is a nerd.’”

The band’s cover of the Johnny Cash standard “Daddy Sang Bass” was both humorous and true; Richmond sang the high part—“Mama sang tenor”—in a falsetto voice, all the while plucking away at his behemoth of a bass.

Toward the end of the show, they asked for requests, prompting someone to call out, “One Piece at a Time.” Said Richmond, “Man, that song’s got a lot of words.” They valiantly attempted to remember the lyrics, getting through two verses before having to give up. An encore and two songs later, and they were mingling with the crowd, shaking hands and signing autographs before climbing back into their van and driving some more.

—Laura Hamlett

Al Stewart Generations, January 16 Al Stewart returned to his enthusiastic following in St. Louis, 15 months after his last gig at Generations. The Scottish folk rocker played an acoustic set, peppering the audience of approximately 200 with stories and jokes about his career in music. Still in excellent voice, Stewart obviously loves playing to a crowd that yelled out requests to him throughout the concert. He started with “Antarctica,” quickly fixing a minor feedback problem.

The ethereal 1978 hit “Time Passages” was featured early in his set. His “jammy” version would fool you if you didn’t know the words.

Stewart is a very good guitarist, showing off his classical guitar style and penchant for historical and literary allusions. He played songs from throughout his career of “17 records, maybe 18—depends on how you count them.” He regaled the crowd with “Helen and Cassandra” and a story of giving a 15-minute history of the Trojan War to surfer dudes at a bar in Florida.

The driving rhythm of “On the Border” ended the first set. Stewart then signed his 2000 release CD, Down in the Cellar, for fans.

7

A highlight of the second set, “Merlin’s Time,” began with an intricate, madrigal guitar run that Stewart admitted he didn’t play on the studio recording. He was so intent on getting the guitar intro that he forgot the first line of the song, which was immediately supplied by a fan.

Despite playing the same guitar the entire concert, Stewart showed versatility with alternating runs and dramatic strumming in the song “Life in Dark Water.” He joked at one point that people in Japan think he’s Cat Stevens. “The downside is that I have to sign Cat Stevens records; the upside is I get lots of work in Japan. You just smile and say, ‘Yes, I’m being followed by a moon shadow.’”

Stewart has an appreciation for his musical peers. He added riffs from songs of the Kinks and Dick Dale, as well as “Heard It Through the Grapevine,” a song he says he wishes he would have written. His biggest hit—and the song that is synonymous with his name—the evocative “Year of the Cat,” was greeted with much applause. The encore started with Stewart launching into an impromptu “Rocky Mountain Way” (yep, the Joe Walsh one) and then his own song “House of Clocks.” A song lamenting particular politicians called “The Candidate” ended the show. The always-personable Stewart said he would meet the audience again on the journey, and one can only hope he continues to feature St. Louis on his mini-tours.

—Lisa Tebbe and John Powell

Nadine Mississippi Nights, January 17 While we have been sworn to secrecy regarding the new Nadine album, Strange Seasons, we can tell you it is pretty damn good. A Friday night show at Mississippi Nights has given us another dose of this hush-hush upcoming release and the opportunity to talk about a few of the songs. As part of the show, the band gave out an 11-song sampler, Artifact, which included 5 songs from the new CD coming out sometime soon (though it is anybody’s guess what “soon” means these days, considering the long gestation period this particular baby has had).

The five—“Beautiful,” “Different Kind of Heartache,” “Bad at Goodbyes,” “Inside Out,” and “Poor Man’s Vacation”—have been heard in various incarnations over the past seven or eight months, both live and on demos. The ones that are nailed down on Artifact are, hopefully, the finals. The quality of the polish is unmistakable, especially on “Heartache” and “Inside Out.” Nadine, as they have progressed over the last few years, have grown ever more confident in their playing and, especially, as a group. Never was it more apparent than on Friday night, when the band (even with Brian Hilgert filling in on drums) played a lush and enticing set. Nadine functions nicely as a unit, sort of like a Cub

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Play by Play

St. Louis sextet My 2 Planets was recently selected for a new sampler compilation put together by OASIS CD Manufacturing in Virginia. Their song “Radiophoria” is part of OASIS Rock & Roots Sampler, Volume 21, a four-disc, 80-song collection. Highlighting some of the best recording artists OASIS has to offer, the sampler will be distributed to radio stations, record companies, and music biz folks across the country. (Sorry, the compilation samplers are for promotional use only and are not for sale.

However, M2P plans on giving away a few copies to some lucky fans at future shows.)

The Javier Mendoza Band is getting ready to release a double live disc sometime in February. They are also currently recording material for their third studio CD at guitarist Dave Karns’ own Miles Wonderland Studios.

SLIFF coordinator Andrea Sporcic’s own Wedding Laine was selected to screen at the brand-new Shedance film festival in Park City, Utah last month. Congrats to the cast and crew!

STL Blues is having a benefit Sunday, February 2, at B.B.’s Jazz, Blues & Soups from 6:00 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. Stop by and help out! For more info, visit www.stlblues.com.

GRANDPA’S GHOST (cont.)

LAURA HAMLETT

LOCAL SCENERY

You can now read about the first ten seasons of New Line Theatre, the St. Louis region’s only alternative musical theater company, in a new book called You Could Drive a Person Crazy: Chronicle of an American Theatre Company. Published by Writers Club Press, artistic director Scott Miller has collected thoughts by Broadway composer Stephen Sondheim and PostDispatch critics Judy Newmark and Gerry Kowarsky, plus a show-by-show history of the company. More info: www.newlinetheatre.com.

Local boys made good Greenwheel extended their already-lengthy tour into 2003 with another two-plus weeks opening for Saliva, followed by their own headlining gig in February.

Jill Aboussie (ex–tthe Ambassadors) made her debut as drummer for Kevin Michaels last month. Check out the cool new band pics on the band’s Web site at www.kevinmichaels.us.

Jill Aboussie of Kevin Michaels.

Die Symphony is taking some time off from touring to put the finishing touches on their new CD. Urban Jazz Naturals will be celebrating the release of their five-track EP with a show at Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room on February 8. UJN is a collective of four musicians: veteran DJ and producer Don Tinsley, Mo Egeston, Dawn Weber, and electronics guru Christian Oncken. UJN will also be releasing the same material in a 12-inch album format to meet the demands of the club DJ market. A highlight of the night will be a collaborative performance between UJN and show opener Vargas, a complete blend of electronica and live music.

Matt Harnish has left Julia Sets, leaving Kris Boettigheimer and James Weber to carry on as a twosome. Catch their next gig February 2 at Radio Cherokee with the Orange Buckets and Corey Saathoff (see review, page 19).

The Pala Solution is a new band composed of drums, bass, keys, guitar, sax, and flute, with a result that is anything from drum-and-bass to acoustic to four-minute stompers. After hiding away in various basements in the city for the past year or so, the band will be making its fresh-air debut, playing at Frederick’s on February 12 and Pop’s Blue Moon on March 22.

When the Skulls, a local Misfits tribute band, performed this month at the Hi-Pointe Café, bassist Bonnie Boime had her own cheering section.

She seems to have her own little following, and the audience made no bones about it. The Beach Boys may have claimed California girls were great, but they are clearly no match for Midwestern girls.

Peter Venezia of Atomic Cowboy will be opening an art gallery/reception hall just down the street from his trendy coffeehouse. The space, to be christened the Sevens Gallery, will open in June.

The Nadine all-ages experiment January 17 at Mississippi Nights proved two things: one, they can darn near fill the place, and two, their fans are largely over 21.

The special guest at the Michael Schaerer Group’s Sqwires show December 28 was none other than Michael’s father, Cliff Frederickson, showing up his son with his guitar prowess. “Thanks for showing up and making me look like shit,” Schaerer joked, to which Frederickson replied, “You needed help?”

That new acoustic number debuted by Just Add Water—or, rather, Steve Waller (yes, he does play guitar)—at the December 28 Mississippi Nights show? It’s called “Lucky Day,” but you’ll have to wait until the new album is released this summer to hear it again.

If you caught the Ultra Blue show January 24 at the Creepy Crawl, you were among the first to hear songs from their new CD, due out in spring.

The MARKafterDARK cable rock show is currently seeking bands to feature on the new spring season of shows. For more details, check out www.markafterdark.com.

beer-fueled party without too many complaints; it has tremendous energy and rock ’n’ roll panache.

But some of the meandering narrative moments on disc two and the more abrasive feedback workouts will be taxing to many listeners. And you know what? Good! Grandpa’s Ghost have a real sense of abandon in their music that many lesser bands could learn from.

They don’t reveal the “why’s” of what they do; their goals are musical self-expression and psychic/visceral release, and if the results limit their audience, well, too damn bad. I love the unpredictable nature of this band; they are denizens of a rock ’n’ roll wilderness that is rapidly being deforested. And they can reach deep into your senses to responses you didn’t know you were capable of if you let them. As this album’s subtitle says, you have to “Read Past the Static” to get the Ghost. And even if you don’t, oh, well.

Whoever said life—or art—should be easy?

—Kevin Renick LIFTER PULLER: SOFT ROCK (The Self Starter Foundation) Picture this: a stage in a glittering club owned by none other than the Artist Formerly Known as the Artist Formerly Know as Prince. Three LIFTER PULLER intense men concentrate on their instruments, playing with a passion and an intensity that are nearly manic. In the center, a man with his windbreaker zipped up to his chin. He thrusts his arms as if he is witnessing a robbery or the resurrection of a Gabor sister. He wears glasses, and he barks into the microphone with such force that it almost sounds as if he is having a spasm: “Six six six am on the weekend, she’s creepin’ out of the east end/and you said it was nothing, you just slipped and missed your ride from your girlfriends/and hey Jenny, your hair looks crazy messy/did you all nod off with your shoes on, did you fuck and fall asleep on the futon?”

That was my first Lifter Puller concert. I immediately went and bought the whole collection the merch guy had. He was happy. Though Lifter Puller is no more, Soft Rock is a fine collection that will get you up to speed and make you hope and pray that this band has a few more shows to offer. The two-CD collection features much of their creative output (missing is Fiestas + Fiascos, which is still available) including Half Dead and Dynamite, The Entertainment and the Arts, and their first, self-titled release. You also get some nifty early versions, including “Math Is Money” featuring Slug from Atmosphere and stuff “that was never released. Not really played that much either. Still pretty good.”

It is hard to explain why this band was so

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fun. My personal take is that they allow you to enter into a land of drugs, cheap sex, and off-kilter characters that few of us have the time and the legal representation to confront. The theme of white trash club hoppers seems to run like a vein through the band’s entire catalog, and they are people that are irresistible. You want to be one of the people who make it through to the dawn. You want to have some stories to tell in your old age.

The band (Craig Finn, Steve Barone, Tommy Roach [later Tad Kubler], and Dan Monick) is now scattered in New York, Los Angeles, and Minneapolis. This CD acts as a fitting monument to the art-punk trend. When you purchase this, you get not only some cool grooves, but also a whole bunch of new friends including Katrina (but her friends call her Special Kay), Jenny, and, of course, the Eye-Patch Guy. With friends like these, who needs to leave the house?

—Jim Dunn LOOSE FUR: LOOSE FUR (Drag City) Okay, those of you who liked some of the more unconventional/adventurous moments on Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, form a group on the right; those of you who thought the album was overrated and prefer earlier Wilco, to the left. You on the left, exit quietly, and go listen to Summer Teeth.

Now, the rest of you, let’s talk about Loose Fur, the new collaboration between Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy and Glenn Kotche and sound wizard/current Sonic Youth member Jim O’Rourke.

The sessions for this album took place in the wake of the chemistry that developed between Tweedy and O’Rourke when the latter was asked to mix YHF in its concluding stages. From casual jams and unforced songwriting sessions, enough material emerged for probably several different albums, and this 39-minute, six-track platter is the first. It’s an eclectic surprise. Although not immediately accessible to the more impatient listener, Loose Fur has some fascinating songs.

“Laminated Cat” and “You Were Wrong” feature vocals and lyrics by Tweedy, and both would have sounded right at home on YHF. The former, with its insistently thumping percussion and drifty bits of guitar feedback, wisely puts Tweedy’s vocal way up front and builds the sonic layering up until you’re hypnotized by the darn thing.

“You Were Wrong” is even better, a brilliantly produced song with crisp bass and drums and slightly skewed, psychedelic guitar chordings worthy of ’67-era Beatles. The track illustrates how sharp Tweedy’s instincts were to mix up his style with O’Rourke’s. Jim, of course, has made some tremendous solo albums, like the Drag City releases Eureka and Insignificance. O’Rourke plays fluid, shimmering, Fahey-esque guitar, writes odd lyrics, and arranges things to the high heavens.

He certainly does that on “Elegant Transaction” (listen to the combination of the snappy drums,

banjo, mellow keyboards, and, indeed, elegant guitar for the concluding four-minute instrumental section of this pleasant track). And speaking of instrumentals, “Liquidation Total” is just that: a Tortoiselike slice of wellpaced, richly textured a u r a l bliss that is a testament not only to the focused interplay of the musicians involved, but also to the exciting potential of what they can create when spirits are running high, like they evidently were here.

A sleepy-voiced Tweedy concludes things with “Chinese Apple,” another Wilco-type track which, although perhaps a minute or two too long, is still alluring. “Unlock my body/And move myself at last/Into warm liquid/Flowing blowing glass...am I waiting for/the uncovering of simple paths...” sings Tweedy, and one can only marvel at his prodigious output (yet another album is due out this spring) over the past year. Tweedy has certainly “unlocked” his creativity with the direction he took on Yankee and continues with O’Rourke in this interesting and spontaneous effort.

Loose Fur may be “loose” in its attitude and arrangements, but the musicians here are proving the value of their instincts and chemistry, creating stellar modern rock that sounds just dandy, through each of its intricate layers.

—Kevin Renick

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TA K E F I V E CURMUDGEON

By Rob Levy Ahh, the unrelenting boredom of a new year is upon us. There is so much mediocrity in the air. It appears that in slow times, everyone is playing it safe and putting out best-of CDs and collection CD stuff. Lots of sucky stuff is out, but amidst all of that come a few things worth mentioning.

Kinski’s Airs Above Your Station is a really solid collection of weirded-out spaced rock and static fun.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor ’s Yanqui U.X.O. is a deluge of sounds and worth checking out. They have continued to build and grow musically.

After a short delay, One Bedroom by Chicago’s the Sea and The Cake is finally seeing the light of day. It also is very good.

But the real hype surrounds the Datsuns. This New Zealand foursome has caused quite a ruckus and a major-label bidding war. They have just released their self-titled debut CD. Speaking of New Zealand, Anthology is the new collection by the Clean. Simply put, this is a long overdue chance to get a helping of their brilliance in one shot. They were an amazing band and this collection reflects the weight and depth that they harvested.

Midnight Oil have called it a day after 25

Elliot Goes

years. Peter Garrett will remain a member of the Aussie parliament, however.

Spiritualized have two CDs slated for 2003.

Look for a collection of early singles and B-sides to drop by early fall.

March’s South by Southwest appears to be a happening bill o’ fare. Look for Grandaddy to premiere new stuff while they are there.

The Go-Betweens were one of the most heralded and loved pop bands of the late ’80s and early ’90s; now they are back in a big way. They will be reissuing their first three CDs this spring, and they’ll be loaded with extra tracks and neato stuff. Send Me a Lullaby, Before Hollywood, and Spring Hill Fair will be preceded by a tour and most likely a new studio album, Bright Yellow Bright Orange.

Scotland’s Mogwai will be doing much the same thing. They are reshaping EP+6 and Kicking a Dead Pig for re-release. They have a new studio recording due this summer.

Also, by weird coincidence, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are readying their first four albums for re-release.

26 Mixes for Cash is the title of the new Richard James remix collection. This double CD features remixes that the Aphex Twin has done for Nine Inch Nails, Saint Etienne, and more.

Since Jack White is appearing in the film Cold Mountain, it only makes sense that his band, the White Stripes, would play a gig on the cast’s location shoot in Transylvania. The Stripes’ new album, Elephant, is coming in April.

Look for a greatest-hits collection from Suede later in 2003.

Matt Groening’s foray into rock booking has gone splendidly. His lineup for L.A.’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival is quite amazing.

Legendary Brits Wire and the Fall will join Yo La Tengo, Neko Case, the Melvins, and the Boredoms for the festival.

Maybe Moby got beat up just for being Moby.

The year has started off terribly.

This was solidified by seeing DJ Rap having her own TV commercial. She is a hack.

Tom Waits, Dot Allison, and Mos Def are all on the forthcoming Massive Attack record. Look for them to tour this summer.

Tom Morello and Sorj Tankran are pretty boring musicians, but thumbs up to their new political project, Axis of Justice. The organization is hoping to raise awareness of important social and political issues.

Is it just me, or is everyone else sick of Avril Lavigne, too? Sometimes I just don’t get Canada.

Lastly, a few words about Joe Strummer. He was everything an icon should be. His attitude and poise, as well as his social awareness, made him a relevant and vital artist who has left an indelible mark on a generation. He was arguably the most socially aware voice of punk. He also helped transform punk into something else, something melanged in soul and reggae, funk and rock ’n’ roll. He deserved to have lived a longer life. It would have been great to see The Clash perform at the sham that is the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame induction. He will definitely be missed.

by Bosco (with illustration help from Jessica Gluckman)

We were excited to be on the guest list We showed off our best Beatle Bob for the Beatle Bob Birthday Bash. moves on the dance floor.

Some guy kept yelling "Down in front!"

As if!

Five Quick Questions With MU330

By Molly Hayden MU330: A high school music class that generated an institution of the St. Louis music scene. After eight full-length CDs, over 1,500 shows worldwide, and a short sabbatical, MU330 has made their way back home for a sold-out show at the Creepy Crawl. Playback St. Louis sat down with Dan Potthast (lead vocals, guitar), Ted Moll (drums), Chris Diebold (bass), Gerry Lundquist (trombone/chainsaw), and Rob “Voo-Doo” Bell (trombone) to talk about success, friendship, and 14 long years of musical talent.

band. We went from playing back yard parties and grade schools in south St. Louis to playing in Japan, Europe, Korea, and Brazil.

1. How did MU330 get started?

Ted: We started small, with no ambition.

Dan: I’ve known Ted since I was in the first grade. Then I met Chris in high school. We were all best friends and just decided to play music together.

Ted: We started playing in my grandma’s basement, which is where we still practice. We’ve gotten various members over the years. There was really no plan for our music.

3. Out of all the places you’ve per formed, which is your favorite?

Dan: There’s so many.

Gerry: St. Louis is great…

MU330, from left to right: Chris Diebold, Rob “Voo-Doo” Rob: …at the Creepy Bell, Dan Potthast, Gerry Lundquist, and Ted Moll.

Crawl.

Photo by Molly Hayden.

Gerry: But there are a lot of places overseas we like. Japan is always a good time.

Ted: St. Louis is fun because it’s hometown. We run into people that might have seen us play many years ago.

2. How has the band progressed over the past 14 years?

Rob: We grew up.

Ted: We’ve toured a lot and met a lot of people. It’s colored our experience, so to speak, as how we see music. It shows in how we now write and play.

Dan: Our lyrics are stronger, our music, overall, is better. You do anything enough times, hopefully you get a little better. I have done things that I would have never gotten to do had it not been for my best friends and this

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NOW P L AY I N G NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (United Artists, Rated PG) For the esteemed eyes of the redoubtable Mr. Charles Dickens, in reference to the adaptation of his third novel, Nicholas Nickleby, which, having originally been presented to the public eye as a sequence of chapters published in a penny magazine, has now been re-created in the form of the immensely popular moving pictures, also known in certain circles as “film”: My dear Mr. Dickens, You are undoubtedly aware of the pervasiveness of video, film, and DVDs in today’s society.

Their omnipresence has, if not caused the death of live performance, surely given it a deadly blow from which it is unlikely to recover. The pantomime of shadowy figures upon a flat screen has sucked in all manner of storytelling, from the filth of sewers to the divinely sublime. In the gaudy new London of Hollywood, where the screen has crushed the stage under the weight of its glamour and influence, the single object that is revered above all others is money. Yes, my good sir, it is a sorry view of the world, wherein finesse is replaced by farce, and historical accuracy is usurped by the easily digested. As the infernal path of Ralph Nickleby so gravely shows, greed is an insidious disease which affects the eyes, making them turn from the brightness of truth.

Which, of course, brings us quickly to the point of this missive.

When presenting you with both the gross deficiencies (and the paltry assets) of this new rendition of your work (“rendition” is the phrase

used, for to call this product a “film” would be to give too fine a veneer upon this piece of celluloid cess), it is with the sincerest hopes that you will take action and enlist the aid of a solicitor without delay.

But stay, before you assume that this reading will be nothing but one naysaying after another.

Let credit be given where credit is due—namely, the opening credits. A miniature diorama cleverly employs the elements of a toy stage for the introduction of cast and production. The effect is so charming, one who views these first few minutes would guess that the next few hours might be spent in gentle entertainment.

However, when the pasteboard characters of a child’s toy are replaced by the cast actors, it is not readily perceived whether there is much improvement. The young Charlie Hunnam, who is supposed to epitomize earnest loyalty and courageous fortitude as the hero of your story, is rather a simpering angel crowned with a halo of distractingly golden hair. He is given to outbursts of righteous indignation, especially when raging against the mistreatment of God’s helpless lambs in this world of wolves. Although the violent unleashing of his emotions might cause a flush in his porcelain cheeks or a disarray of his angelic tresses, the effect upon the audience is less moving. Nicholas’ evil uncle Ralph, on the other hand, is a delightfully despicable character, absolutely blooming in full flower of malice and avarice. Christopher Plummer displays such suave cold-bloodedness, he is worthy of the part to which he has been cast. Jamie Bell also does credit to his character of Smike, the cruelly mistreated orphan who bears the greatest brunt of the never-ending sadism of Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, the proprietors of a so-called school for boys.

When Nicholas rescues Smike and flees the school to which he has been apprenticed, he encounters a sequence of theatrical personalities and unlikely coincidences that inexorably and excruciatingly draw the ending, ever so slowly, closer. Indeed, it often seems that Nicholas is

In Nicholas Nickleby, the ladies love a welldressed man. Photo courtesy United Artists. merely a placard at the side of a stage, cueing new players to step forward and be introduced at appropriate intervals.

Perhaps, Mr. Dickens, it would be better if a viewer had not previously read your work or seen the nine-hour stage version by the Royal Shakespeare Company when it was broadcast on public television. Then one could perhaps see the current piece, written and directed by Douglas McGrath, without expectations of veracity to period mores and fashions. Be that as it may, even a casual observer is cognizant of the long-lasting influence that Queen Victoria had upon bridal fashions and would therefore be puzzled by the white wedding dresses seen in the happy ending—a happy ending set in 1839 (a full year prior to the good queen’s own nuptials and the introduction of white for weddings!). Yet another capitulation to common expectations is seen during a sweet conversation shared by Nicholas and his true love, Madeline Bray. Was the conversation between these two shining souls merely sweet? Rather more like jaw-mortaring treacle. So effulgent were the euphonious proprieties that one wonders how the words managed to be extracted from the lips.

And yet, in mockery of the chaste purity that has so steadfastly been maintained as the very essence of these characters, when they succumb to a kiss, it is open with passionate desires.

February 2003

tives, friends, and acquaintances, many of them “colorful.” (Early in the bio, Knoxville radio personality and politician Cas Walker, who gave Parton her first paying position as a singer, describes an altercation with a woman on his show: “She knocked three of my teeth out, and I got up and opened me up a boot shop in her hind-end then.”)

The original edition of Dolly left its subject poised on the brink of superstardom, to use a dubious phrase. In addition to an updated discography, this new edition adds a 17-page thirteenth chapter that tries to summarize Parton’s activities during the past quarter century. As a predictable consequence of the volume’s status as an update instead of a revision, that chapter fails to satisfy. Because it has so many things to cover—the flash and fizzle of Parton’s film work, the founding of Dollywood (her Smoky Mountains theme park), and her peaks and troughs as a recording artist, among others—it feels less like a true chapter than a mere afterword.

Still, Nash’s Dolly makes a serviceable introduction to the buxom Tennessee songbird—something to while away the time till Parton’s next CD arrives.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach LAUREN ST. JOHN: HARDCORE TROUBADOUR (Fourth Estate) Timing both blesses and curses Hardcore Troubadour, Lauren St. John’s biography of singersongwriter Steve Earle, which the HarperCollins imprint Fourth Estate will publish in the U.S. in February.

It blesses the volume because St. John’s subject, who’s never shied from social and political controversy, raised a major ruckus on his 2002 release, Jerusalem, with “John Walker’s Blues,” a song from the viewpoint of “American Taliban” John Walker Lindh. At the risk of echoing an ancient ad campaign, inquiring minds will thus want to know more about Earle.

Conversely, timing curses the bio because such inquiring minds may read it more closely than they might have otherwise—thereby marking its shortcomings. More specifically, Hardcore Troubadour (here reviewed from the British edition) brims with typographical errors and grammatical gaffs and, in places, digresses and foreshadows events with dumbfounding clumsiness. A more judicious edit, in short, would have benefited the book a great deal.

That said, Hardcore Troubadour perforce makes fascinating reading because its subject fascinates. The bio, which totals 300-plus pages, details the life and career of Stephen Fain Earle from his birth in a U.S. Army hospital in Virginia on Saturday, January 17, 1955, to the formative stages of Jerusalem and a recent reunion tour celebrating his 1986 landmark, Guitar Town.

Between those temporal benchmarks, St. John recounts Earle’s youthful promise and musical bent—he was playing San Antonio coffeehouses at the age of 14—as well as his teenage introduction to drugs, including heroin. From that period of his life, she also chronicles Earle’s first meetings with his two main songwriting mentors, Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark.

(Of the former, he mordantly told her, “He really had a gift for sabotaging himself.”)

Almost necessarily, St. John likewise covers her subject’s recording career from the four-song EP Pink & Black (1983) to the present.

Necessarily for today’s scandal-loving audiences, moreover, she details Earle’s many marriages and progressively horrific addiction, which eventually led to his incarceration—as well as to rehabilitation and rejuvenation.

Its textual shortcomings notwithstanding, in short, Hardcore Troubadour paints a riveting portrait of an artist who’s made it his practice (pace Nietzsche) to gaze into the abyss.

A more detailed analysis of Hardcore Troubadour lurks online at “www.playbackstl.com.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

14

DAVID AMRAM: OFFBEAT: COLLABORATING WITH JACK KEROUAC (Thunder Mouth Press) Jack Kerouac has been referred to as the leader of the Beat Generation, as scholars and writers have chosen to help perpetuate this myth. To the day he died, this was a label that Jack Kerouac was never willing to accept from a movement he didn’t want to be part of. David Amram has written a book that works at replacing the myth of Jack Kerouac, the leader of the Beatniks, with a more thoughtful and truthful look at Kerouac’s struggle to be recognized as a writer and artist.

Amram began a deep and lasting friendship and artistic adventure with Kerouac in New York City in the late ’50s. Their group of friends consisted of some of the most adventurous and open-minded musicians, artists, and writers of the time. They took part in all-night weekend bashes of artistic hedonism. The fact that most people have never even heard of David Amram— or, for that matter, associated him with this thing called the Beat Generation—has allowed Amram the freedom to pursue his artistic desires without the stigma of being labeled. Kerouac was not so lucky. Throughout this book, Amram works hard at debunking the myth of the image we have grown to accept of Jack Kerouac.

In life there is image and there is truth. Today it seems we are more willing to accept without question the images that the media shove down our throats. The media have found it more worthwhile to perpetuate the image of Kerouac.

He was never a Beatnik; he was a writer, storyteller, and American visionary. This is what Amram wants us to understand about Kerouac.

As much as Amram is working to debunk the myth of Kerouac, he is working at preserving the great work and goodwill that Kerouac had toward the people around him. This book offers a refreshing voice that reminds us of the destructive nature the media can have on public figures.

For anyone who truly wants to get a more accurate and better understanding of Jack Kerouac the writer from a primary source, this book is a must. Offbeat: Collaborating With Jack Kerouac works in helping to restore dignity to Kerouac, the writer and human being.

—Rick Eubanks KURT COBAIN: JOURNALS (Riverhead Books) “Don’t read my diary when I’m gone,” Kurt Cobain requests in ballpoint scrawl on the first page of Journals. In the next paragraph, however: “Please read my diary. Look through my things and figure me out.”

So which one is it? What’s a Nirvana fan to do? Thankfully, those who would love to look through Kurt’s things now have this collection of pages from his spiral notebooks, now exhumed, digitally photographed, and bound

into a coffee-table book for the painfully hip.

Aside from a few notes at the back deciphering the most illegible entries, editors Nick and Claire Vaccarro present this material with a vaguely implicit chronology (the first document is a letter in which Cobain writes to a friend, “Oh, our last and final name is NIRVANA”) but with no supporting context other than the reader’s own knowledge of the author.

In fact, were it not Kurt Cobain who put down these stream-of-consciousness journal entries, heavy metal–style monster drawings, mix-tape tracklists, recipes, and even NordicTrack 1-800 numbers, there seems no reason any of it would be printed, bound, and given to Pete Townshend to review. The spelling and mechanics are often shoddy. Indeed, at first, Journals is not unlike finding the notebook of the kid who sat in the back of your algebra class (that is, if he bothered to show up at all).

However, that kid in your algebra class didn’t wind up being the frontman for a band accused of starting a new movement in music and fashion, one quickly exploited by the corporate entities Cobain reviled and hoped to attack “from the inside.” And this is why Journals is truly interesting—as the primary source of the internal workings of the first anti-rockstar. When more and more newcomers to the music scene are A&R constructions, from the band bio to the wardrobe, it’s amazing to remember that we once worshipped musicians without committeemanufactured images.

Even as his fame escalates, as Nevermind goes platinum, and the media further attempt to dissect him, Cobain comes across the same in his writing: embarrassingly candid but tempered with sardonic and often self-deprecating humor.

He writes, “My lyrics are a big pile of contradictions…split down the middle between very sincere opinions and…humorous rebuttals towards cliché-bohemian ideals that have been recycled for years.” Not surprisingly, his journal entries generally read the same way. His loathing for hypermasculine, violent white males is explored not only in sloppily penned rants but in bizarre, darkly humorous comics. And as for his hardening feelings on the state of the music industry, well, if Pete Townsend didn’t like what Cobain wrote about him, then Phil Collins and Jackson Browne probably won’t, either.

Although there’s plenty to look through and much of it is fascinating (I personally wish I could see alternate ideas for song lyrics, album covers, and video treatments for more artists I like), this is by no means a perfect or even a complete collection. The morbidly curious might be disappointed to discover that Cobain’s final piece of writing, his 1994 suicide note, didn’t make the cut. Only one letter to wife Courtney Love appears, perhaps one of the few references to Courtney anywhere in the entire collection.

PAGE BY PAGE One can’t help but wonder what the criteria were for the selection, why some pages were included and others were not. Obviously, lyrics and personal stories are of interest, but a self-made study aid for a driving test?

Journals is likely to polarize opinions—if you liked Cobain before, you may like him more now; if you hated him before, you may hate him more now. On the other hand, devoted fans may be troubled by some of what they read, while eyerolling detractors may find themselves more sensitive to the compassionate and admittedly flawed nature revealed.

Look under the dust jacket of the hardcover version and you’ll see this caveat: “If you read, you will judge.” And judge you probably will.

Unfortunately, I can’t predict your reaction, but as the closest thing we’ll ever have to a Kurt Cobain autobiography, Journals is worth reading to satisfy your curiosity or expand your understanding about one of the ’90s’ most controversial musicians.

—Jessica Gluckman ALANNA NASH: DOLLY: THE BIOGRAPHY (Cooper Square Press) Although she certainly never vanished from the limelight, country legend Dolly Parton has lately enjoyed resurgent acclaim from listeners and critics alike because of an exceptional string of bluegrass-inflected recordings (the most recent of which, Halos & Horns, is currently vying for the “Best Country Album” Grammy).

In that regard, now makes an opportune moment for Cooper Square Press to issue an updated edition of Dolly: The Biography, Alanna Nash’s 1978 look at Parton.

Readers of Entertainment Weekly should recognize Nash’s byline: she regularly reviews country music for the magazine. (She also has authored Behind Closed Doors, a lengthy collection of interviews and profiles of more than two dozen performers in that genre, and has written for Esquire and The New York Times, among other publications.) In Dolly, a trade paperback that falls just shy of 300 pages and features a 16page selection of black-and-white photographs, Nash traces her subject’s life and career from Parton’s birth in a log cabin in Tennessee on January 19, 1946, though her seven years on the syndicated Porter Wagoner Show to her solo efforts following an acrimonious parting with Wagoner.

She does so economically yet engagingly, having interviewed a plethora of Parton’s rela-

February 2003

11

Hardly in keeping with the idealized virtue that you so carefully crafted for your hero and his Juliet. Once again the cogs of Hollywood bow in obeisance to the omnipotence of commercial success and accessibility, veracity be damned.

What appeal can be made to refined taste and good sense, when the machinations of the movie industry consume such works as yours, remove both meat and gristle, grind it into a sickly-sweet paste that neither fills nor satisfies, and purvey the results as great literature on film?

Alas, there will be no redress to this injustice, in that the behemoths of Hollywood comprehend no word of chastisement unless it speaks to their coffers. That, then, must be your road to recompense. Do take the matter up at once with your dear friends, the Brothers Cheeryble—either that, or let the general populace take up your cause with a studious neglect of any ticket booth under any marquee emblazoned with Nicholas Nickleby.

With sincerest regards, Your humble admirer —Rudy Zapf TALK TO HER (Sony Pictures Classics, Rated R) At some point, and probably in the near future, I half expect filmmakers around the world to throw up their hands in despair, for they have used every single possible scenario for a love story. Hell,

Take Five With MU330

from page 9

4. You went on a short hiatus after Ultra Panic came out. Where have you been?

Gerry: While we were touring the U.K., I got sick. I was in an infirmary in Edinburgh, Scotland, for 12 days with circulation problems in my left leg. I couldn’t go back to the States with the band, but we got it straightened out.

I’m having surgery in September.

Dan: That kind of put us in a holding pattern for a while. I’ve been working on my solo projects, and in our downtime we still write.

Ted: My wife and I are recording for our band, Bagheera.

5. How do you define your success?

Dan: Monetarily, we have never been what a lot of people consider a success. We still, after 14 years, are climbing out of debt. But we are all still friends, and that is a huge gauge of success.

Chris: If we are all having fun playing music, we have a successful gig.

Ted: We are doing what we want by being persistent. Getting to tour and meet all kinds of people is just icing on the cake.

For tour dates, info on the band, and solo projects, check out www.mu330.com.

they’ve been repeating themselves for years as it is.

However, as one would expect from a genius, Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodovar summons up a new one for his new film Hable con Ella (Talk to Her), where the two lead characters are in love with two separate comatose women and, despite having inklings of this circumstance before the women were in their respective comatose states, have largely fallen in love with them since they have dropped into their comas.

Javier Camera delivers an Oscar-worthy performance in Pedro Almodovar’s Talk to Her. Photo courtesy Sony Pictures Classics.

The men, while capable of getting along with each other, are not very much alike, and neither are the women, comas aside. Benigno (Javier Camara), a male nurse who takes care of Alicia (Leonor Watling), a former dancer, is effeminate, sensitive, and basically the type of person one can only hope for as a nurse if they should ever

fall into a coma. The other pair consists of Marco (Dario Grandinetti), a travel writer who is in love with Lydia (Rosario Flores), a bullfighter. While Marco isn’t exactly dripping with testosterone, he is manlier than Benigno and therefore secondguesses his obsession with his prized vegetable.

The women, as one would guess, are not given much to do in the film, being in comas and all, but they have been cast well, as Watling is heartstoppingly pretty, and Flores looks as if she could take on the bulls without losing any of her feminine grace. The real find here is Camara, though, who, if the field weren’t so crowded with the likes of Jack Nicholson, Daniel DayLewis, and Adrien Brody, would likely see an Oscar nomination for his performance.

As it stands, Talk to Her played successfully at last year’s St. Louis International Film Festival and recently won the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film. Spain, its native country, has failed to select it as its submission to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar (in favor of the as-of-yet unreleased Mondays in the Sun), so distributor Sony Pictures Classics has been lobbying hard for it to be nominated for Best Picture instead. It seems like a stretch for a film that even its native country won’t stand behind, but once you see it, you’ll understand why Sony is pushing it so hard. It deserves it.

—Pete Timmermann

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

February 2003

13

ON THE COVER

T

he Donnas are an all-girl, bone-shattering rock ’n’ roll band with selfpromotion skills that would make any marketing executive hang his head in shame and scooter-commute home.

They are often compared to influential artists like the Runaways and the Ramones and never shy away from the spotlight. The early twenty somethings have put their music in television commercials, performed in feature films, hit the late-night TV circuit, and traveled the globe with the balls-out assault that is their live show.

The quartet first performed while still in a Palo Alto middle school, playing covers of Shonen Knife and L7 at a lunchtime band show under the name Ragady Anne. In a few years, after releasing a number of singles as the Electrocutes, the band became the Donnas (Torry Castellano, aka Donna C.; Brett Anderson, aka Donna A.; Maya Ford, aka Donna F.; and Allison Robertson, aka Donna R.) and released a self-titled album that hinted of things to come.

Quickly, the following two albums garnered critical acclaim, and the band proved itself to be an unstoppable force with 2001’s The Donnas Turn 21 and an unrelenting tour schedule. The Donnas then made the decision to move to a bigger label and signed with Atlantic to record their latest album, Spend the Night.

Far from an overnight success story, the band’s dedication has paid off and landed them in the right place Maya Ford (Donna F.) at the right time. As mainstream audiences once again fulfill the cycle and turn their backs on prepackaged pop, media executives are scrambling to find the next wave.

Fueled by the energetic and unashamed sex anthem “Take It Off,” the Donnas’ major-label debut has thrust them into the limelight. Radio picked up the song after an appearance on The Tonight Show, and MTV has pushed the video into full rotation. The network even featured the young veterans on January’s “Spankin’ New Music” week alongside popular newcomers Good Charlotte and the Used.

Having just wrapped up a performance on Saturday Night Live, the band is preparing to hit the road with fellow buzz band (and past Playback St. Louis cover) OK Go. The co-headlining tour hits the Galaxy in St. Louis on February 18.

Playback sat down with Maya Ford (aka Donna F.) to talk about the new album, the upcoming tour, and the finer points of TRL. Any speculation or worry about a change in the Donnas’ sound and style following your move to a major for Spend the Night was quickly put to rest after the album’s release. As a band, have you had to make any major changes or adjustments since moving to Atlantic?

Not really. I mean, we were worried about it too. We didn’t want to change anything about our music. If anything, we got to make an album where the

music sounded better. I like the songs on it better. I just think that, altogether, the songs on this album are a lot better than on our last album.

Lately, the Donnas have been everywhere: TV, radio, magazines, not to mention commercials and movies you’ve done in the past. You’ve been honest about your desire for the band to be “big,” and now as things have escalated for you recently and doors are opening, do you have a concept of how “big” it can get?

I don’t want things to get so out of hand that we don’t have any time for ourselves and people go crazy, but I really think the bigger things get, the better the shows will be. I mean, we’ll be able to afford to have buses to carry the lighting rigs and have cool backdrops and things. We’d be able to play big arenas, and the shows would be better and more exciting.

sad when we weren’t beating Beyonce for a while. We’re just like, “Our song’s better than that! C’mon people! We’re way more exciting.” We get pretty competitive with that and with Avril or whatever songs are on.

Speaking of TRL, any deep, dark personal music secrets? What are you listening to that you don’t want us to know about? I won’t lie to you; I have the Justin Timberlake solo album. So don’t be scared.

[Laughing] No way, really? I like the Backstreet Boys, and also I think Otown’s album is pretty good. I like really bad pop music. Like the Jets. And remember that band the Boys?

The last thing I expected after seeing your last show here with the Mooney Suzuki was that MTV would eventually have the smarts to pay some attention.

You’ve gained some amazing exposure from them to a whole new audience now that, I’m guessing, is a strange world for you. How was your TRL experience? Are you nervous that now Ja Rule is going to call you up and try to do a song together?

It was really weird! Brett [Anderson, aka Donna A.] kept on saying to me “I can’t believe this...I mean, we’re playing on TRL!” We didn’t have anything to compare it to...it was just like “Whoa. We’re doing this.” I never thought it would happen. I mean, I never even thought we would see our video on MTV. I just thought maybe they’d play it once late at night, like on 120 Minutes or something. And it’s weird, too, being on “Spankin’ New Bands” week, because we’re not a new band. But I guess we’re new to TRL. I think it’s cool, too, because a lot of the people at MTV will talk about how we have four other albums.

It’s weird, because we get really excit- The Donnas, from left: Torry Castellano (Donnna C.), Brett Anderson (Donna A.), Maya ed when we meet people, like, “Yes! We Ford (Donna F.), and Allison Robertson (Donnna R.). All photos courtesy Atlantic Records. met J-Lo!” How cool is that? And we got

Whoa. The Jets were one of my first shows I saw as a little kid. At Six Flags, even. A little “Rocket 2 U” action, huh?

Yeah! That’s like the best song. Ever.

Scary. Another dream gig for so many bands that you picked up recently is playing on Saturday Night Live. How did it feel to suddenly be on that stage?

Oh my God. It was crazy. It was like the longest day in the world, but it was also like a really long, weird dream. We were just so excited when it was over, because we were so nervous the whole time. Then it was done, and we didn’t mess up that much, and the cast was so great.

Did you spend a lot of time on the set?

Yeah, and after the first rehearsal we were relaxed a little bit, like, “Okay, hey, maybe it’ll be all right. Wait...now we have to go do that again! God!” Yeah, it was really nerve-wracking, but

hanging out with the cast members was great, and we got to go to the after party, and Jimmy Fallon jumped on me.

So who’s truthfully funnier…Jimmy Fallon or Tracy Morgan?

[Laughs] I don’t know, I think maybe Tracy Morgan. I’d have to give it to him; he was really funny. You know the skit he did where he took Britney Spears and dragged her down into the sewer?

[Laughs] Yeah, and he sings the “take a doo-doo pie” song?

Yeah! [Laughs] He was doing that all night. The guy is so funny.

Any other big plans while you were taking over New York?

We were supposed to do Carson Daly [note: Playback St. Louis wants you to know she’s referring to Daly’s TV show, sickos], but we had to cancel it because Saturday Night Live came through. We just kept thinking we weren’t going to get to do it at all. It was like, “Yeah, you’re gonna do it.

Oh wait. Nothing’s confirmed.” And we found out we were definitely going to do it like two days beforehand.

How did your tour with OK Go come about? Do you know those guys?

Uh-uh. They [Atlantic] wanted us to tour with someone who would be a bigger draw, so we could have a sold-out tour. Our last tour was with two bands that were a little more indie.

What kind of sets can your fans expect this time around?

Probably a lot from the new album. I think half the show will be the new songs, and then split the rest of the time between the other albums. There’s a lot of songs we can’t remember how to play. We just have so many old songs.

And quite an arsenal of covers, as well. Anything new you’ve been working out for the live show?

I don’t think so. There are some people that just always ask for cover songs.

I mean, they’re fun to play and we like them...but then we start to get hurt feelings, like we want to play our songs.

So do we have another decade of the Donnas coming up?

I hope so. Yeah, I mean, I don’t want to go back to school.

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS

February 2003

13

ON THE COVER

T

he Donnas are an all-girl, bone-shattering rock ’n’ roll band with selfpromotion skills that would make any marketing executive hang his head in shame and scooter-commute home.

They are often compared to influential artists like the Runaways and the Ramones and never shy away from the spotlight. The early twenty somethings have put their music in television commercials, performed in feature films, hit the late-night TV circuit, and traveled the globe with the balls-out assault that is their live show.

The quartet first performed while still in a Palo Alto middle school, playing covers of Shonen Knife and L7 at a lunchtime band show under the name Ragady Anne. In a few years, after releasing a number of singles as the Electrocutes, the band became the Donnas (Torry Castellano, aka Donna C.; Brett Anderson, aka Donna A.; Maya Ford, aka Donna F.; and Allison Robertson, aka Donna R.) and released a self-titled album that hinted of things to come.

Quickly, the following two albums garnered critical acclaim, and the band proved itself to be an unstoppable force with 2001’s The Donnas Turn 21 and an unrelenting tour schedule. The Donnas then made the decision to move to a bigger label and signed with Atlantic to record their latest album, Spend the Night.

Far from an overnight success story, the band’s dedication has paid off and landed them in the right place Maya Ford (Donna F.) at the right time. As mainstream audiences once again fulfill the cycle and turn their backs on prepackaged pop, media executives are scrambling to find the next wave.

Fueled by the energetic and unashamed sex anthem “Take It Off,” the Donnas’ major-label debut has thrust them into the limelight. Radio picked up the song after an appearance on The Tonight Show, and MTV has pushed the video into full rotation. The network even featured the young veterans on January’s “Spankin’ New Music” week alongside popular newcomers Good Charlotte and the Used.

Having just wrapped up a performance on Saturday Night Live, the band is preparing to hit the road with fellow buzz band (and past Playback St. Louis cover) OK Go. The co-headlining tour hits the Galaxy in St. Louis on February 18.

Playback sat down with Maya Ford (aka Donna F.) to talk about the new album, the upcoming tour, and the finer points of TRL. Any speculation or worry about a change in the Donnas’ sound and style following your move to a major for Spend the Night was quickly put to rest after the album’s release. As a band, have you had to make any major changes or adjustments since moving to Atlantic?

Not really. I mean, we were worried about it too. We didn’t want to change anything about our music. If anything, we got to make an album where the

music sounded better. I like the songs on it better. I just think that, altogether, the songs on this album are a lot better than on our last album.

Lately, the Donnas have been everywhere: TV, radio, magazines, not to mention commercials and movies you’ve done in the past. You’ve been honest about your desire for the band to be “big,” and now as things have escalated for you recently and doors are opening, do you have a concept of how “big” it can get?

I don’t want things to get so out of hand that we don’t have any time for ourselves and people go crazy, but I really think the bigger things get, the better the shows will be. I mean, we’ll be able to afford to have buses to carry the lighting rigs and have cool backdrops and things. We’d be able to play big arenas, and the shows would be better and more exciting.

sad when we weren’t beating Beyonce for a while. We’re just like, “Our song’s better than that! C’mon people! We’re way more exciting.” We get pretty competitive with that and with Avril or whatever songs are on.

Speaking of TRL, any deep, dark personal music secrets? What are you listening to that you don’t want us to know about? I won’t lie to you; I have the Justin Timberlake solo album. So don’t be scared.

[Laughing] No way, really? I like the Backstreet Boys, and also I think Otown’s album is pretty good. I like really bad pop music. Like the Jets. And remember that band the Boys?

The last thing I expected after seeing your last show here with the Mooney Suzuki was that MTV would eventually have the smarts to pay some attention.

You’ve gained some amazing exposure from them to a whole new audience now that, I’m guessing, is a strange world for you. How was your TRL experience? Are you nervous that now Ja Rule is going to call you up and try to do a song together?

It was really weird! Brett [Anderson, aka Donna A.] kept on saying to me “I can’t believe this...I mean, we’re playing on TRL!” We didn’t have anything to compare it to...it was just like “Whoa. We’re doing this.” I never thought it would happen. I mean, I never even thought we would see our video on MTV. I just thought maybe they’d play it once late at night, like on 120 Minutes or something. And it’s weird, too, being on “Spankin’ New Bands” week, because we’re not a new band. But I guess we’re new to TRL. I think it’s cool, too, because a lot of the people at MTV will talk about how we have four other albums.

It’s weird, because we get really excit- The Donnas, from left: Torry Castellano (Donnna C.), Brett Anderson (Donna A.), Maya ed when we meet people, like, “Yes! We Ford (Donna F.), and Allison Robertson (Donnna R.). All photos courtesy Atlantic Records. met J-Lo!” How cool is that? And we got

Whoa. The Jets were one of my first shows I saw as a little kid. At Six Flags, even. A little “Rocket 2 U” action, huh?

Yeah! That’s like the best song. Ever.

Scary. Another dream gig for so many bands that you picked up recently is playing on Saturday Night Live. How did it feel to suddenly be on that stage?

Oh my God. It was crazy. It was like the longest day in the world, but it was also like a really long, weird dream. We were just so excited when it was over, because we were so nervous the whole time. Then it was done, and we didn’t mess up that much, and the cast was so great.

Did you spend a lot of time on the set?

Yeah, and after the first rehearsal we were relaxed a little bit, like, “Okay, hey, maybe it’ll be all right. Wait...now we have to go do that again! God!” Yeah, it was really nerve-wracking, but

hanging out with the cast members was great, and we got to go to the after party, and Jimmy Fallon jumped on me.

So who’s truthfully funnier…Jimmy Fallon or Tracy Morgan?

[Laughs] I don’t know, I think maybe Tracy Morgan. I’d have to give it to him; he was really funny. You know the skit he did where he took Britney Spears and dragged her down into the sewer?

[Laughs] Yeah, and he sings the “take a doo-doo pie” song?

Yeah! [Laughs] He was doing that all night. The guy is so funny.

Any other big plans while you were taking over New York?

We were supposed to do Carson Daly [note: Playback St. Louis wants you to know she’s referring to Daly’s TV show, sickos], but we had to cancel it because Saturday Night Live came through. We just kept thinking we weren’t going to get to do it at all. It was like, “Yeah, you’re gonna do it.

Oh wait. Nothing’s confirmed.” And we found out we were definitely going to do it like two days beforehand.

How did your tour with OK Go come about? Do you know those guys?

Uh-uh. They [Atlantic] wanted us to tour with someone who would be a bigger draw, so we could have a sold-out tour. Our last tour was with two bands that were a little more indie.

What kind of sets can your fans expect this time around?

Probably a lot from the new album. I think half the show will be the new songs, and then split the rest of the time between the other albums. There’s a lot of songs we can’t remember how to play. We just have so many old songs.

And quite an arsenal of covers, as well. Anything new you’ve been working out for the live show?

I don’t think so. There are some people that just always ask for cover songs.

I mean, they’re fun to play and we like them...but then we start to get hurt feelings, like we want to play our songs.

So do we have another decade of the Donnas coming up?

I hope so. Yeah, I mean, I don’t want to go back to school.

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DAVID AMRAM: OFFBEAT: COLLABORATING WITH JACK KEROUAC (Thunder Mouth Press) Jack Kerouac has been referred to as the leader of the Beat Generation, as scholars and writers have chosen to help perpetuate this myth. To the day he died, this was a label that Jack Kerouac was never willing to accept from a movement he didn’t want to be part of. David Amram has written a book that works at replacing the myth of Jack Kerouac, the leader of the Beatniks, with a more thoughtful and truthful look at Kerouac’s struggle to be recognized as a writer and artist.

Amram began a deep and lasting friendship and artistic adventure with Kerouac in New York City in the late ’50s. Their group of friends consisted of some of the most adventurous and open-minded musicians, artists, and writers of the time. They took part in all-night weekend bashes of artistic hedonism. The fact that most people have never even heard of David Amram— or, for that matter, associated him with this thing called the Beat Generation—has allowed Amram the freedom to pursue his artistic desires without the stigma of being labeled. Kerouac was not so lucky. Throughout this book, Amram works hard at debunking the myth of the image we have grown to accept of Jack Kerouac.

In life there is image and there is truth. Today it seems we are more willing to accept without question the images that the media shove down our throats. The media have found it more worthwhile to perpetuate the image of Kerouac.

He was never a Beatnik; he was a writer, storyteller, and American visionary. This is what Amram wants us to understand about Kerouac.

As much as Amram is working to debunk the myth of Kerouac, he is working at preserving the great work and goodwill that Kerouac had toward the people around him. This book offers a refreshing voice that reminds us of the destructive nature the media can have on public figures.

For anyone who truly wants to get a more accurate and better understanding of Jack Kerouac the writer from a primary source, this book is a must. Offbeat: Collaborating With Jack Kerouac works in helping to restore dignity to Kerouac, the writer and human being.

—Rick Eubanks KURT COBAIN: JOURNALS (Riverhead Books) “Don’t read my diary when I’m gone,” Kurt Cobain requests in ballpoint scrawl on the first page of Journals. In the next paragraph, however: “Please read my diary. Look through my things and figure me out.”

So which one is it? What’s a Nirvana fan to do? Thankfully, those who would love to look through Kurt’s things now have this collection of pages from his spiral notebooks, now exhumed, digitally photographed, and bound

into a coffee-table book for the painfully hip.

Aside from a few notes at the back deciphering the most illegible entries, editors Nick and Claire Vaccarro present this material with a vaguely implicit chronology (the first document is a letter in which Cobain writes to a friend, “Oh, our last and final name is NIRVANA”) but with no supporting context other than the reader’s own knowledge of the author.

In fact, were it not Kurt Cobain who put down these stream-of-consciousness journal entries, heavy metal–style monster drawings, mix-tape tracklists, recipes, and even NordicTrack 1-800 numbers, there seems no reason any of it would be printed, bound, and given to Pete Townshend to review. The spelling and mechanics are often shoddy. Indeed, at first, Journals is not unlike finding the notebook of the kid who sat in the back of your algebra class (that is, if he bothered to show up at all).

However, that kid in your algebra class didn’t wind up being the frontman for a band accused of starting a new movement in music and fashion, one quickly exploited by the corporate entities Cobain reviled and hoped to attack “from the inside.” And this is why Journals is truly interesting—as the primary source of the internal workings of the first anti-rockstar. When more and more newcomers to the music scene are A&R constructions, from the band bio to the wardrobe, it’s amazing to remember that we once worshipped musicians without committeemanufactured images.

Even as his fame escalates, as Nevermind goes platinum, and the media further attempt to dissect him, Cobain comes across the same in his writing: embarrassingly candid but tempered with sardonic and often self-deprecating humor.

He writes, “My lyrics are a big pile of contradictions…split down the middle between very sincere opinions and…humorous rebuttals towards cliché-bohemian ideals that have been recycled for years.” Not surprisingly, his journal entries generally read the same way. His loathing for hypermasculine, violent white males is explored not only in sloppily penned rants but in bizarre, darkly humorous comics. And as for his hardening feelings on the state of the music industry, well, if Pete Townsend didn’t like what Cobain wrote about him, then Phil Collins and Jackson Browne probably won’t, either.

Although there’s plenty to look through and much of it is fascinating (I personally wish I could see alternate ideas for song lyrics, album covers, and video treatments for more artists I like), this is by no means a perfect or even a complete collection. The morbidly curious might be disappointed to discover that Cobain’s final piece of writing, his 1994 suicide note, didn’t make the cut. Only one letter to wife Courtney Love appears, perhaps one of the few references to Courtney anywhere in the entire collection.

PAGE BY PAGE One can’t help but wonder what the criteria were for the selection, why some pages were included and others were not. Obviously, lyrics and personal stories are of interest, but a self-made study aid for a driving test?

Journals is likely to polarize opinions—if you liked Cobain before, you may like him more now; if you hated him before, you may hate him more now. On the other hand, devoted fans may be troubled by some of what they read, while eyerolling detractors may find themselves more sensitive to the compassionate and admittedly flawed nature revealed.

Look under the dust jacket of the hardcover version and you’ll see this caveat: “If you read, you will judge.” And judge you probably will.

Unfortunately, I can’t predict your reaction, but as the closest thing we’ll ever have to a Kurt Cobain autobiography, Journals is worth reading to satisfy your curiosity or expand your understanding about one of the ’90s’ most controversial musicians.

—Jessica Gluckman ALANNA NASH: DOLLY: THE BIOGRAPHY (Cooper Square Press) Although she certainly never vanished from the limelight, country legend Dolly Parton has lately enjoyed resurgent acclaim from listeners and critics alike because of an exceptional string of bluegrass-inflected recordings (the most recent of which, Halos & Horns, is currently vying for the “Best Country Album” Grammy).

In that regard, now makes an opportune moment for Cooper Square Press to issue an updated edition of Dolly: The Biography, Alanna Nash’s 1978 look at Parton.

Readers of Entertainment Weekly should recognize Nash’s byline: she regularly reviews country music for the magazine. (She also has authored Behind Closed Doors, a lengthy collection of interviews and profiles of more than two dozen performers in that genre, and has written for Esquire and The New York Times, among other publications.) In Dolly, a trade paperback that falls just shy of 300 pages and features a 16page selection of black-and-white photographs, Nash traces her subject’s life and career from Parton’s birth in a log cabin in Tennessee on January 19, 1946, though her seven years on the syndicated Porter Wagoner Show to her solo efforts following an acrimonious parting with Wagoner.

She does so economically yet engagingly, having interviewed a plethora of Parton’s rela-

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Hardly in keeping with the idealized virtue that you so carefully crafted for your hero and his Juliet. Once again the cogs of Hollywood bow in obeisance to the omnipotence of commercial success and accessibility, veracity be damned.

What appeal can be made to refined taste and good sense, when the machinations of the movie industry consume such works as yours, remove both meat and gristle, grind it into a sickly-sweet paste that neither fills nor satisfies, and purvey the results as great literature on film?

Alas, there will be no redress to this injustice, in that the behemoths of Hollywood comprehend no word of chastisement unless it speaks to their coffers. That, then, must be your road to recompense. Do take the matter up at once with your dear friends, the Brothers Cheeryble—either that, or let the general populace take up your cause with a studious neglect of any ticket booth under any marquee emblazoned with Nicholas Nickleby.

With sincerest regards, Your humble admirer —Rudy Zapf TALK TO HER (Sony Pictures Classics, Rated R) At some point, and probably in the near future, I half expect filmmakers around the world to throw up their hands in despair, for they have used every single possible scenario for a love story. Hell,

Take Five With MU330

from page 9

4. You went on a short hiatus after Ultra Panic came out. Where have you been?

Gerry: While we were touring the U.K., I got sick. I was in an infirmary in Edinburgh, Scotland, for 12 days with circulation problems in my left leg. I couldn’t go back to the States with the band, but we got it straightened out.

I’m having surgery in September.

Dan: That kind of put us in a holding pattern for a while. I’ve been working on my solo projects, and in our downtime we still write.

Ted: My wife and I are recording for our band, Bagheera.

5. How do you define your success?

Dan: Monetarily, we have never been what a lot of people consider a success. We still, after 14 years, are climbing out of debt. But we are all still friends, and that is a huge gauge of success.

Chris: If we are all having fun playing music, we have a successful gig.

Ted: We are doing what we want by being persistent. Getting to tour and meet all kinds of people is just icing on the cake.

For tour dates, info on the band, and solo projects, check out www.mu330.com.

they’ve been repeating themselves for years as it is.

However, as one would expect from a genius, Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodovar summons up a new one for his new film Hable con Ella (Talk to Her), where the two lead characters are in love with two separate comatose women and, despite having inklings of this circumstance before the women were in their respective comatose states, have largely fallen in love with them since they have dropped into their comas.

Javier Camera delivers an Oscar-worthy performance in Pedro Almodovar’s Talk to Her. Photo courtesy Sony Pictures Classics.

The men, while capable of getting along with each other, are not very much alike, and neither are the women, comas aside. Benigno (Javier Camara), a male nurse who takes care of Alicia (Leonor Watling), a former dancer, is effeminate, sensitive, and basically the type of person one can only hope for as a nurse if they should ever

fall into a coma. The other pair consists of Marco (Dario Grandinetti), a travel writer who is in love with Lydia (Rosario Flores), a bullfighter. While Marco isn’t exactly dripping with testosterone, he is manlier than Benigno and therefore secondguesses his obsession with his prized vegetable.

The women, as one would guess, are not given much to do in the film, being in comas and all, but they have been cast well, as Watling is heartstoppingly pretty, and Flores looks as if she could take on the bulls without losing any of her feminine grace. The real find here is Camara, though, who, if the field weren’t so crowded with the likes of Jack Nicholson, Daniel DayLewis, and Adrien Brody, would likely see an Oscar nomination for his performance.

As it stands, Talk to Her played successfully at last year’s St. Louis International Film Festival and recently won the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film. Spain, its native country, has failed to select it as its submission to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar (in favor of the as-of-yet unreleased Mondays in the Sun), so distributor Sony Pictures Classics has been lobbying hard for it to be nominated for Best Picture instead. It seems like a stretch for a film that even its native country won’t stand behind, but once you see it, you’ll understand why Sony is pushing it so hard. It deserves it.

—Pete Timmermann

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NOW P L AY I N G NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (United Artists, Rated PG) For the esteemed eyes of the redoubtable Mr. Charles Dickens, in reference to the adaptation of his third novel, Nicholas Nickleby, which, having originally been presented to the public eye as a sequence of chapters published in a penny magazine, has now been re-created in the form of the immensely popular moving pictures, also known in certain circles as “film”: My dear Mr. Dickens, You are undoubtedly aware of the pervasiveness of video, film, and DVDs in today’s society.

Their omnipresence has, if not caused the death of live performance, surely given it a deadly blow from which it is unlikely to recover. The pantomime of shadowy figures upon a flat screen has sucked in all manner of storytelling, from the filth of sewers to the divinely sublime. In the gaudy new London of Hollywood, where the screen has crushed the stage under the weight of its glamour and influence, the single object that is revered above all others is money. Yes, my good sir, it is a sorry view of the world, wherein finesse is replaced by farce, and historical accuracy is usurped by the easily digested. As the infernal path of Ralph Nickleby so gravely shows, greed is an insidious disease which affects the eyes, making them turn from the brightness of truth.

Which, of course, brings us quickly to the point of this missive.

When presenting you with both the gross deficiencies (and the paltry assets) of this new rendition of your work (“rendition” is the phrase

used, for to call this product a “film” would be to give too fine a veneer upon this piece of celluloid cess), it is with the sincerest hopes that you will take action and enlist the aid of a solicitor without delay.

But stay, before you assume that this reading will be nothing but one naysaying after another.

Let credit be given where credit is due—namely, the opening credits. A miniature diorama cleverly employs the elements of a toy stage for the introduction of cast and production. The effect is so charming, one who views these first few minutes would guess that the next few hours might be spent in gentle entertainment.

However, when the pasteboard characters of a child’s toy are replaced by the cast actors, it is not readily perceived whether there is much improvement. The young Charlie Hunnam, who is supposed to epitomize earnest loyalty and courageous fortitude as the hero of your story, is rather a simpering angel crowned with a halo of distractingly golden hair. He is given to outbursts of righteous indignation, especially when raging against the mistreatment of God’s helpless lambs in this world of wolves. Although the violent unleashing of his emotions might cause a flush in his porcelain cheeks or a disarray of his angelic tresses, the effect upon the audience is less moving. Nicholas’ evil uncle Ralph, on the other hand, is a delightfully despicable character, absolutely blooming in full flower of malice and avarice. Christopher Plummer displays such suave cold-bloodedness, he is worthy of the part to which he has been cast. Jamie Bell also does credit to his character of Smike, the cruelly mistreated orphan who bears the greatest brunt of the never-ending sadism of Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, the proprietors of a so-called school for boys.

When Nicholas rescues Smike and flees the school to which he has been apprenticed, he encounters a sequence of theatrical personalities and unlikely coincidences that inexorably and excruciatingly draw the ending, ever so slowly, closer. Indeed, it often seems that Nicholas is

In Nicholas Nickleby, the ladies love a welldressed man. Photo courtesy United Artists. merely a placard at the side of a stage, cueing new players to step forward and be introduced at appropriate intervals.

Perhaps, Mr. Dickens, it would be better if a viewer had not previously read your work or seen the nine-hour stage version by the Royal Shakespeare Company when it was broadcast on public television. Then one could perhaps see the current piece, written and directed by Douglas McGrath, without expectations of veracity to period mores and fashions. Be that as it may, even a casual observer is cognizant of the long-lasting influence that Queen Victoria had upon bridal fashions and would therefore be puzzled by the white wedding dresses seen in the happy ending—a happy ending set in 1839 (a full year prior to the good queen’s own nuptials and the introduction of white for weddings!). Yet another capitulation to common expectations is seen during a sweet conversation shared by Nicholas and his true love, Madeline Bray. Was the conversation between these two shining souls merely sweet? Rather more like jaw-mortaring treacle. So effulgent were the euphonious proprieties that one wonders how the words managed to be extracted from the lips.

And yet, in mockery of the chaste purity that has so steadfastly been maintained as the very essence of these characters, when they succumb to a kiss, it is open with passionate desires.

February 2003

tives, friends, and acquaintances, many of them “colorful.” (Early in the bio, Knoxville radio personality and politician Cas Walker, who gave Parton her first paying position as a singer, describes an altercation with a woman on his show: “She knocked three of my teeth out, and I got up and opened me up a boot shop in her hind-end then.”)

The original edition of Dolly left its subject poised on the brink of superstardom, to use a dubious phrase. In addition to an updated discography, this new edition adds a 17-page thirteenth chapter that tries to summarize Parton’s activities during the past quarter century. As a predictable consequence of the volume’s status as an update instead of a revision, that chapter fails to satisfy. Because it has so many things to cover—the flash and fizzle of Parton’s film work, the founding of Dollywood (her Smoky Mountains theme park), and her peaks and troughs as a recording artist, among others—it feels less like a true chapter than a mere afterword.

Still, Nash’s Dolly makes a serviceable introduction to the buxom Tennessee songbird—something to while away the time till Parton’s next CD arrives.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach LAUREN ST. JOHN: HARDCORE TROUBADOUR (Fourth Estate) Timing both blesses and curses Hardcore Troubadour, Lauren St. John’s biography of singersongwriter Steve Earle, which the HarperCollins imprint Fourth Estate will publish in the U.S. in February.

It blesses the volume because St. John’s subject, who’s never shied from social and political controversy, raised a major ruckus on his 2002 release, Jerusalem, with “John Walker’s Blues,” a song from the viewpoint of “American Taliban” John Walker Lindh. At the risk of echoing an ancient ad campaign, inquiring minds will thus want to know more about Earle.

Conversely, timing curses the bio because such inquiring minds may read it more closely than they might have otherwise—thereby marking its shortcomings. More specifically, Hardcore Troubadour (here reviewed from the British edition) brims with typographical errors and grammatical gaffs and, in places, digresses and foreshadows events with dumbfounding clumsiness. A more judicious edit, in short, would have benefited the book a great deal.

That said, Hardcore Troubadour perforce makes fascinating reading because its subject fascinates. The bio, which totals 300-plus pages, details the life and career of Stephen Fain Earle from his birth in a U.S. Army hospital in Virginia on Saturday, January 17, 1955, to the formative stages of Jerusalem and a recent reunion tour celebrating his 1986 landmark, Guitar Town.

Between those temporal benchmarks, St. John recounts Earle’s youthful promise and musical bent—he was playing San Antonio coffeehouses at the age of 14—as well as his teenage introduction to drugs, including heroin. From that period of his life, she also chronicles Earle’s first meetings with his two main songwriting mentors, Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark.

(Of the former, he mordantly told her, “He really had a gift for sabotaging himself.”)

Almost necessarily, St. John likewise covers her subject’s recording career from the four-song EP Pink & Black (1983) to the present.

Necessarily for today’s scandal-loving audiences, moreover, she details Earle’s many marriages and progressively horrific addiction, which eventually led to his incarceration—as well as to rehabilitation and rejuvenation.

Its textual shortcomings notwithstanding, in short, Hardcore Troubadour paints a riveting portrait of an artist who’s made it his practice (pace Nietzsche) to gaze into the abyss.

A more detailed analysis of Hardcore Troubadour lurks online at “www.playbackstl.com.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach

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TA K E F I V E CURMUDGEON

By Rob Levy Ahh, the unrelenting boredom of a new year is upon us. There is so much mediocrity in the air. It appears that in slow times, everyone is playing it safe and putting out best-of CDs and collection CD stuff. Lots of sucky stuff is out, but amidst all of that come a few things worth mentioning.

Kinski’s Airs Above Your Station is a really solid collection of weirded-out spaced rock and static fun.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor ’s Yanqui U.X.O. is a deluge of sounds and worth checking out. They have continued to build and grow musically.

After a short delay, One Bedroom by Chicago’s the Sea and The Cake is finally seeing the light of day. It also is very good.

But the real hype surrounds the Datsuns. This New Zealand foursome has caused quite a ruckus and a major-label bidding war. They have just released their self-titled debut CD. Speaking of New Zealand, Anthology is the new collection by the Clean. Simply put, this is a long overdue chance to get a helping of their brilliance in one shot. They were an amazing band and this collection reflects the weight and depth that they harvested.

Midnight Oil have called it a day after 25

Elliot Goes

years. Peter Garrett will remain a member of the Aussie parliament, however.

Spiritualized have two CDs slated for 2003.

Look for a collection of early singles and B-sides to drop by early fall.

March’s South by Southwest appears to be a happening bill o’ fare. Look for Grandaddy to premiere new stuff while they are there.

The Go-Betweens were one of the most heralded and loved pop bands of the late ’80s and early ’90s; now they are back in a big way. They will be reissuing their first three CDs this spring, and they’ll be loaded with extra tracks and neato stuff. Send Me a Lullaby, Before Hollywood, and Spring Hill Fair will be preceded by a tour and most likely a new studio album, Bright Yellow Bright Orange.

Scotland’s Mogwai will be doing much the same thing. They are reshaping EP+6 and Kicking a Dead Pig for re-release. They have a new studio recording due this summer.

Also, by weird coincidence, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are readying their first four albums for re-release.

26 Mixes for Cash is the title of the new Richard James remix collection. This double CD features remixes that the Aphex Twin has done for Nine Inch Nails, Saint Etienne, and more.

Since Jack White is appearing in the film Cold Mountain, it only makes sense that his band, the White Stripes, would play a gig on the cast’s location shoot in Transylvania. The Stripes’ new album, Elephant, is coming in April.

Look for a greatest-hits collection from Suede later in 2003.

Matt Groening’s foray into rock booking has gone splendidly. His lineup for L.A.’s All Tomorrow’s Parties festival is quite amazing.

Legendary Brits Wire and the Fall will join Yo La Tengo, Neko Case, the Melvins, and the Boredoms for the festival.

Maybe Moby got beat up just for being Moby.

The year has started off terribly.

This was solidified by seeing DJ Rap having her own TV commercial. She is a hack.

Tom Waits, Dot Allison, and Mos Def are all on the forthcoming Massive Attack record. Look for them to tour this summer.

Tom Morello and Sorj Tankran are pretty boring musicians, but thumbs up to their new political project, Axis of Justice. The organization is hoping to raise awareness of important social and political issues.

Is it just me, or is everyone else sick of Avril Lavigne, too? Sometimes I just don’t get Canada.

Lastly, a few words about Joe Strummer. He was everything an icon should be. His attitude and poise, as well as his social awareness, made him a relevant and vital artist who has left an indelible mark on a generation. He was arguably the most socially aware voice of punk. He also helped transform punk into something else, something melanged in soul and reggae, funk and rock ’n’ roll. He deserved to have lived a longer life. It would have been great to see The Clash perform at the sham that is the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame induction. He will definitely be missed.

by Bosco (with illustration help from Jessica Gluckman)

We were excited to be on the guest list We showed off our best Beatle Bob for the Beatle Bob Birthday Bash. moves on the dance floor.

Some guy kept yelling "Down in front!"

As if!

Five Quick Questions With MU330

By Molly Hayden MU330: A high school music class that generated an institution of the St. Louis music scene. After eight full-length CDs, over 1,500 shows worldwide, and a short sabbatical, MU330 has made their way back home for a sold-out show at the Creepy Crawl. Playback St. Louis sat down with Dan Potthast (lead vocals, guitar), Ted Moll (drums), Chris Diebold (bass), Gerry Lundquist (trombone/chainsaw), and Rob “Voo-Doo” Bell (trombone) to talk about success, friendship, and 14 long years of musical talent.

band. We went from playing back yard parties and grade schools in south St. Louis to playing in Japan, Europe, Korea, and Brazil.

1. How did MU330 get started?

Ted: We started small, with no ambition.

Dan: I’ve known Ted since I was in the first grade. Then I met Chris in high school. We were all best friends and just decided to play music together.

Ted: We started playing in my grandma’s basement, which is where we still practice. We’ve gotten various members over the years. There was really no plan for our music.

3. Out of all the places you’ve per formed, which is your favorite?

Dan: There’s so many.

Gerry: St. Louis is great…

MU330, from left to right: Chris Diebold, Rob “Voo-Doo” Rob: …at the Creepy Bell, Dan Potthast, Gerry Lundquist, and Ted Moll.

Crawl.

Photo by Molly Hayden.

Gerry: But there are a lot of places overseas we like. Japan is always a good time.

Ted: St. Louis is fun because it’s hometown. We run into people that might have seen us play many years ago.

2. How has the band progressed over the past 14 years?

Rob: We grew up.

Ted: We’ve toured a lot and met a lot of people. It’s colored our experience, so to speak, as how we see music. It shows in how we now write and play.

Dan: Our lyrics are stronger, our music, overall, is better. You do anything enough times, hopefully you get a little better. I have done things that I would have never gotten to do had it not been for my best friends and this

continued on page 11

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Play by Play

St. Louis sextet My 2 Planets was recently selected for a new sampler compilation put together by OASIS CD Manufacturing in Virginia. Their song “Radiophoria” is part of OASIS Rock & Roots Sampler, Volume 21, a four-disc, 80-song collection. Highlighting some of the best recording artists OASIS has to offer, the sampler will be distributed to radio stations, record companies, and music biz folks across the country. (Sorry, the compilation samplers are for promotional use only and are not for sale.

However, M2P plans on giving away a few copies to some lucky fans at future shows.)

The Javier Mendoza Band is getting ready to release a double live disc sometime in February. They are also currently recording material for their third studio CD at guitarist Dave Karns’ own Miles Wonderland Studios.

SLIFF coordinator Andrea Sporcic’s own Wedding Laine was selected to screen at the brand-new Shedance film festival in Park City, Utah last month. Congrats to the cast and crew!

STL Blues is having a benefit Sunday, February 2, at B.B.’s Jazz, Blues & Soups from 6:00 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. Stop by and help out! For more info, visit www.stlblues.com.

GRANDPA’S GHOST (cont.)

LAURA HAMLETT

LOCAL SCENERY

You can now read about the first ten seasons of New Line Theatre, the St. Louis region’s only alternative musical theater company, in a new book called You Could Drive a Person Crazy: Chronicle of an American Theatre Company. Published by Writers Club Press, artistic director Scott Miller has collected thoughts by Broadway composer Stephen Sondheim and PostDispatch critics Judy Newmark and Gerry Kowarsky, plus a show-by-show history of the company. More info: www.newlinetheatre.com.

Local boys made good Greenwheel extended their already-lengthy tour into 2003 with another two-plus weeks opening for Saliva, followed by their own headlining gig in February.

Jill Aboussie (ex–tthe Ambassadors) made her debut as drummer for Kevin Michaels last month. Check out the cool new band pics on the band’s Web site at www.kevinmichaels.us.

Jill Aboussie of Kevin Michaels.

Die Symphony is taking some time off from touring to put the finishing touches on their new CD. Urban Jazz Naturals will be celebrating the release of their five-track EP with a show at Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room on February 8. UJN is a collective of four musicians: veteran DJ and producer Don Tinsley, Mo Egeston, Dawn Weber, and electronics guru Christian Oncken. UJN will also be releasing the same material in a 12-inch album format to meet the demands of the club DJ market. A highlight of the night will be a collaborative performance between UJN and show opener Vargas, a complete blend of electronica and live music.

Matt Harnish has left Julia Sets, leaving Kris Boettigheimer and James Weber to carry on as a twosome. Catch their next gig February 2 at Radio Cherokee with the Orange Buckets and Corey Saathoff (see review, page 19).

The Pala Solution is a new band composed of drums, bass, keys, guitar, sax, and flute, with a result that is anything from drum-and-bass to acoustic to four-minute stompers. After hiding away in various basements in the city for the past year or so, the band will be making its fresh-air debut, playing at Frederick’s on February 12 and Pop’s Blue Moon on March 22.

When the Skulls, a local Misfits tribute band, performed this month at the Hi-Pointe Café, bassist Bonnie Boime had her own cheering section.

She seems to have her own little following, and the audience made no bones about it. The Beach Boys may have claimed California girls were great, but they are clearly no match for Midwestern girls.

Peter Venezia of Atomic Cowboy will be opening an art gallery/reception hall just down the street from his trendy coffeehouse. The space, to be christened the Sevens Gallery, will open in June.

The Nadine all-ages experiment January 17 at Mississippi Nights proved two things: one, they can darn near fill the place, and two, their fans are largely over 21.

The special guest at the Michael Schaerer Group’s Sqwires show December 28 was none other than Michael’s father, Cliff Frederickson, showing up his son with his guitar prowess. “Thanks for showing up and making me look like shit,” Schaerer joked, to which Frederickson replied, “You needed help?”

That new acoustic number debuted by Just Add Water—or, rather, Steve Waller (yes, he does play guitar)—at the December 28 Mississippi Nights show? It’s called “Lucky Day,” but you’ll have to wait until the new album is released this summer to hear it again.

If you caught the Ultra Blue show January 24 at the Creepy Crawl, you were among the first to hear songs from their new CD, due out in spring.

The MARKafterDARK cable rock show is currently seeking bands to feature on the new spring season of shows. For more details, check out www.markafterdark.com.

beer-fueled party without too many complaints; it has tremendous energy and rock ’n’ roll panache.

But some of the meandering narrative moments on disc two and the more abrasive feedback workouts will be taxing to many listeners. And you know what? Good! Grandpa’s Ghost have a real sense of abandon in their music that many lesser bands could learn from.

They don’t reveal the “why’s” of what they do; their goals are musical self-expression and psychic/visceral release, and if the results limit their audience, well, too damn bad. I love the unpredictable nature of this band; they are denizens of a rock ’n’ roll wilderness that is rapidly being deforested. And they can reach deep into your senses to responses you didn’t know you were capable of if you let them. As this album’s subtitle says, you have to “Read Past the Static” to get the Ghost. And even if you don’t, oh, well.

Whoever said life—or art—should be easy?

—Kevin Renick LIFTER PULLER: SOFT ROCK (The Self Starter Foundation) Picture this: a stage in a glittering club owned by none other than the Artist Formerly Known as the Artist Formerly Know as Prince. Three LIFTER PULLER intense men concentrate on their instruments, playing with a passion and an intensity that are nearly manic. In the center, a man with his windbreaker zipped up to his chin. He thrusts his arms as if he is witnessing a robbery or the resurrection of a Gabor sister. He wears glasses, and he barks into the microphone with such force that it almost sounds as if he is having a spasm: “Six six six am on the weekend, she’s creepin’ out of the east end/and you said it was nothing, you just slipped and missed your ride from your girlfriends/and hey Jenny, your hair looks crazy messy/did you all nod off with your shoes on, did you fuck and fall asleep on the futon?”

That was my first Lifter Puller concert. I immediately went and bought the whole collection the merch guy had. He was happy. Though Lifter Puller is no more, Soft Rock is a fine collection that will get you up to speed and make you hope and pray that this band has a few more shows to offer. The two-CD collection features much of their creative output (missing is Fiestas + Fiascos, which is still available) including Half Dead and Dynamite, The Entertainment and the Arts, and their first, self-titled release. You also get some nifty early versions, including “Math Is Money” featuring Slug from Atmosphere and stuff “that was never released. Not really played that much either. Still pretty good.”

It is hard to explain why this band was so

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fun. My personal take is that they allow you to enter into a land of drugs, cheap sex, and off-kilter characters that few of us have the time and the legal representation to confront. The theme of white trash club hoppers seems to run like a vein through the band’s entire catalog, and they are people that are irresistible. You want to be one of the people who make it through to the dawn. You want to have some stories to tell in your old age.

The band (Craig Finn, Steve Barone, Tommy Roach [later Tad Kubler], and Dan Monick) is now scattered in New York, Los Angeles, and Minneapolis. This CD acts as a fitting monument to the art-punk trend. When you purchase this, you get not only some cool grooves, but also a whole bunch of new friends including Katrina (but her friends call her Special Kay), Jenny, and, of course, the Eye-Patch Guy. With friends like these, who needs to leave the house?

—Jim Dunn LOOSE FUR: LOOSE FUR (Drag City) Okay, those of you who liked some of the more unconventional/adventurous moments on Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, form a group on the right; those of you who thought the album was overrated and prefer earlier Wilco, to the left. You on the left, exit quietly, and go listen to Summer Teeth.

Now, the rest of you, let’s talk about Loose Fur, the new collaboration between Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy and Glenn Kotche and sound wizard/current Sonic Youth member Jim O’Rourke.

The sessions for this album took place in the wake of the chemistry that developed between Tweedy and O’Rourke when the latter was asked to mix YHF in its concluding stages. From casual jams and unforced songwriting sessions, enough material emerged for probably several different albums, and this 39-minute, six-track platter is the first. It’s an eclectic surprise. Although not immediately accessible to the more impatient listener, Loose Fur has some fascinating songs.

“Laminated Cat” and “You Were Wrong” feature vocals and lyrics by Tweedy, and both would have sounded right at home on YHF. The former, with its insistently thumping percussion and drifty bits of guitar feedback, wisely puts Tweedy’s vocal way up front and builds the sonic layering up until you’re hypnotized by the darn thing.

“You Were Wrong” is even better, a brilliantly produced song with crisp bass and drums and slightly skewed, psychedelic guitar chordings worthy of ’67-era Beatles. The track illustrates how sharp Tweedy’s instincts were to mix up his style with O’Rourke’s. Jim, of course, has made some tremendous solo albums, like the Drag City releases Eureka and Insignificance. O’Rourke plays fluid, shimmering, Fahey-esque guitar, writes odd lyrics, and arranges things to the high heavens.

He certainly does that on “Elegant Transaction” (listen to the combination of the snappy drums,

banjo, mellow keyboards, and, indeed, elegant guitar for the concluding four-minute instrumental section of this pleasant track). And speaking of instrumentals, “Liquidation Total” is just that: a Tortoiselike slice of wellpaced, richly textured a u r a l bliss that is a testament not only to the focused interplay of the musicians involved, but also to the exciting potential of what they can create when spirits are running high, like they evidently were here.

A sleepy-voiced Tweedy concludes things with “Chinese Apple,” another Wilco-type track which, although perhaps a minute or two too long, is still alluring. “Unlock my body/And move myself at last/Into warm liquid/Flowing blowing glass...am I waiting for/the uncovering of simple paths...” sings Tweedy, and one can only marvel at his prodigious output (yet another album is due out this spring) over the past year. Tweedy has certainly “unlocked” his creativity with the direction he took on Yankee and continues with O’Rourke in this interesting and spontaneous effort.

Loose Fur may be “loose” in its attitude and arrangements, but the musicians here are proving the value of their instincts and chemistry, creating stellar modern rock that sounds just dandy, through each of its intricate layers.

—Kevin Renick

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THE SADIES: STORIES OFTEN TOLD (Yep Roc Records) “Nobody can play like the Band anymore— except the Sadies,” singer-songwriter Neko Case observed last fall in Harp. Because she counts the Sadies as cohorts, of course, one might be tempted to suspect that observation reflected some small bias.

Still and all, such songs as “Within a Stone” and “Such a Little Word” on Stories Often Told, the latest release from the lowercase band, generally do echo Robbie Robertson’s capitalized crew in their funky intelligence—and even without those perceived echoes, the disc makes for interesting listening.

Three to See Here are just three of the great original St. Louis bands that play around town on a regular basis. Check them out as soon as you get a chance.

The Trip Daddys: If the Trip Daddys are playing, it’s well worth taking a trip to a club to see them. This three-piece group is heavily influenced by rockabilly and has an amazing live sound, complete with guitar solos and a high-energy show that often involves members going into the audience and playing up close to the audience. It’s almost impossible to not enjoy the show. While covers by the Stray Cats and Men Without Hats tend to pop up throughout the set, originals like “As Long as It Rocks” sum this group up best, because the Trip Daddys do just that.

Dead Celebrities: It’s hard to imagine this entertaining punk band playing to a dead audience. Sid Sinatra is such a charismatic singer that he’s exciting to watch regardless of whether you’re right up front or standing in the back of the club. Should the Dead Celebrities ever become celebrities on a national level, Sid will easily hold his own on a big stage. Their sets consist of two-minute songs and a roaring guitar sound that is sure to keep audiences feeling alive whenever they play.

Masochism: This female-fronted death metal group may be a form of masochism for some, but for fans of the genre, this could easily be a joyous experience. Teenagers are scary enough for many folks in the adult world, and this group of teenagers will easily scare the older population. The vocals couldn’t sound any more evil, and the guitar sound is a truly impressive display of machine-gun riffs and driving rhythms. The devastating sound is so effective that it’s hard to believe it’s a group of teenagers playing it. This is not for the weak at heart, but if your soul cries death metal, check it out.

—John Kujawski

Like the Band, the Sadies hail from Toronto.

Nevertheless, improbably, drummer-vocalist Mike Belitsky, bassist Sean Dean, vocalist-guitarist Dallas Good, and his brother, guitarist-vocalist Travis Good, can sound every bit as southwestern as the Tucson-based Calexico. By way of example, “Mile Over Mecca,” one of the four instrumentals on Stories Often Told, evokes the shimmer of heat across Death Valley sands, and on “Oak Ridges,” it takes little effort to imagine a squint worthy of Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name gracing the face of whoever sings lead (the disc’s credits tend toward vagueness on the vocals).

Elsewhere the CD diversifies sonically, befitting music once reportedly characterized by the band’s own press material as “space cowboy.”

On “A Steep Climb,” for instance, guest vocalist Margaret Good duets effectively with either Belitsky or one of her sons (recall the parenthetical ending the last paragraph). Otherwise, “Tiger Tiger” rocks along in a pleasant fashion, and “Of Our Land” sounds like a time-lost bit of ’60s psychedelia.

With luck, the preceding will tempt adventurous readers to investigate the Sadies’ Stories Often Told, the band’s third full-length release— it’s a disc worthy of such investigation.

—Bryan A. Hollerbach SEVSTATIK: SPEAK LIFE (Uprok Records) Incorporating religion into rhymes is the ultimate anti-gimmick, a nearly fail-safe assurance of rejection from the hip-hop community. Take the Boogie Monsters, indisputably dope emcees who were routinely slept on and ignored because of their Christian undertones and reluctance to utter dirty words. There is a fine line between positivity and preachiness, and too often religious rappers err on the extreme side, thus alienating the majority of fans who look to music for an escape, not an hour of Sunday School.

SevStatik’s first full-length album, Speak Life, does a fine job straddling the two sides of the religion fence. “Meds” and “Invisible Bars” are probably the most blatantly religious, but at no point does he cross from personal testimony into sermon. SevStatik’s message is more latent on other songs, but a general positive vibe buoys the entire album. On “Right Now,” he unites three moral-providing narratives with the chorus: “Yesterday is gone with the wind/days to come have yet to begin/and the only thing you’ve got the power to change is this day—right here, right now.” Even if you’re not especially religious, you can’t help but appreciate the uplifting messages SevStatik packs into his songs.

Of downsides, though, this album has a few.

Take “Global,” which sounds like it could have been produced by a one-handed orangutan with ADD. As if the song weren’t bad enough already,

there’s a horrendous chorus that breaks down a lame message into syllables. Crap of the most potent variety.

The rest of the production varies between synthesized vibes and chopped-up keyboard beats.

Nothing is exceptional. “Mic” is the closest thing to a radio hit, with its nauseating combination of

acoustic guitar, dance-hall bass line, and the sterile kind of scratching that could show up in the next Hanson song. And vocally, SevStatik sounds like El-P on Valium: much calmer and lyrically dulled. All in all, not the best combination.

A positive message and moderate lyrical skills do not a good album make, and in today’s flooded market of underground hip-hop, you’ve got to come up with something more unique than Speak Life for anyone to listen.

—Kyle Beachy SILVERCHAIR: DIORAMA (Atlantic) Here’s an idea for something fun to do when you’re in the mood to stump your musically knowledgeable friends: play them a few songs from Silverchair’s brilliant latest release, Diorama, and have them try to guess the band.

The odds are strongly in your favor that they won’t be able to, unless a few heavily informative hints are given first. You can tell them that it’s a band that had a few big alt-rock hits in the mid- and late ’90s and that they were, at that time, referred to by many critics as Australia’s version of Pearl Jam. If those clues don’t work, you can help them out even further by telling them to pay close attention to the lead singer’s distinctive voice, which is just about the only thing that hasn’t significantly changed in the three years that have passed since their last CD. It sounds as if 23-year-old Daniel Johns, the trio’s multitalented vocalist, guitarist, pianist, and sole songwriter, has spent much of those three years listening to, among other things, his parents’ copy of the Beach Boys’ legendary Pet Sounds release. He apparently liked the highly experimental style of that record enough to hire Van Dyke Parks, who often worked with the Beach Boys, to arrange the lush orchestral portions of three of Diorama’s tracks. The other 3 of the disc’s 11 tracks utilizing the Sydney Orchestra were coproduced by Johns himself, a rather ambitious effort from someone his age.

Two of the disc’s stronger tracks, “The Greatest View” and the oddly titled “Tuna in the Brine,” are densely layered, hauntingly melodic pieces of music that truly exemplify Johns’ versatile songwriting abilities. Diorama does offer

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music format,” I’m more inclined to dub them “high-energy country punk.”

Slick 57 took that small stage and owned it; they were all over it, they were twanging and stomping and beating and braying. Their set was heavy on songs from their latest release, The Ghost of Bonnie Parker (released on Laughing Outlaw January 21), songs about drinking, songs about women, songs about dead-end jobs and bleak prospects. With all these depressing subjects, you’d expect them to be downbeat, but Slick 57 were anything but; their music’s so upbeat, you forget your troubles and dance.

Pedigo explained they were late because they’d gotten lost in Oklahoma. “As Kelly pointed out, the reason Oklahoma is OK is because they can’t spell mediocre.” He went on to tease the state further, describing its populace as “having bumper stickers that say, ‘The devil is a nerd.’”

The band’s cover of the Johnny Cash standard “Daddy Sang Bass” was both humorous and true; Richmond sang the high part—“Mama sang tenor”—in a falsetto voice, all the while plucking away at his behemoth of a bass.

Toward the end of the show, they asked for requests, prompting someone to call out, “One Piece at a Time.” Said Richmond, “Man, that song’s got a lot of words.” They valiantly attempted to remember the lyrics, getting through two verses before having to give up. An encore and two songs later, and they were mingling with the crowd, shaking hands and signing autographs before climbing back into their van and driving some more.

—Laura Hamlett

Al Stewart Generations, January 16 Al Stewart returned to his enthusiastic following in St. Louis, 15 months after his last gig at Generations. The Scottish folk rocker played an acoustic set, peppering the audience of approximately 200 with stories and jokes about his career in music. Still in excellent voice, Stewart obviously loves playing to a crowd that yelled out requests to him throughout the concert. He started with “Antarctica,” quickly fixing a minor feedback problem.

The ethereal 1978 hit “Time Passages” was featured early in his set. His “jammy” version would fool you if you didn’t know the words.

Stewart is a very good guitarist, showing off his classical guitar style and penchant for historical and literary allusions. He played songs from throughout his career of “17 records, maybe 18—depends on how you count them.” He regaled the crowd with “Helen and Cassandra” and a story of giving a 15-minute history of the Trojan War to surfer dudes at a bar in Florida.

The driving rhythm of “On the Border” ended the first set. Stewart then signed his 2000 release CD, Down in the Cellar, for fans.

7

A highlight of the second set, “Merlin’s Time,” began with an intricate, madrigal guitar run that Stewart admitted he didn’t play on the studio recording. He was so intent on getting the guitar intro that he forgot the first line of the song, which was immediately supplied by a fan.

Despite playing the same guitar the entire concert, Stewart showed versatility with alternating runs and dramatic strumming in the song “Life in Dark Water.” He joked at one point that people in Japan think he’s Cat Stevens. “The downside is that I have to sign Cat Stevens records; the upside is I get lots of work in Japan. You just smile and say, ‘Yes, I’m being followed by a moon shadow.’”

Stewart has an appreciation for his musical peers. He added riffs from songs of the Kinks and Dick Dale, as well as “Heard It Through the Grapevine,” a song he says he wishes he would have written. His biggest hit—and the song that is synonymous with his name—the evocative “Year of the Cat,” was greeted with much applause. The encore started with Stewart launching into an impromptu “Rocky Mountain Way” (yep, the Joe Walsh one) and then his own song “House of Clocks.” A song lamenting particular politicians called “The Candidate” ended the show. The always-personable Stewart said he would meet the audience again on the journey, and one can only hope he continues to feature St. Louis on his mini-tours.

—Lisa Tebbe and John Powell

Nadine Mississippi Nights, January 17 While we have been sworn to secrecy regarding the new Nadine album, Strange Seasons, we can tell you it is pretty damn good. A Friday night show at Mississippi Nights has given us another dose of this hush-hush upcoming release and the opportunity to talk about a few of the songs. As part of the show, the band gave out an 11-song sampler, Artifact, which included 5 songs from the new CD coming out sometime soon (though it is anybody’s guess what “soon” means these days, considering the long gestation period this particular baby has had).

The five—“Beautiful,” “Different Kind of Heartache,” “Bad at Goodbyes,” “Inside Out,” and “Poor Man’s Vacation”—have been heard in various incarnations over the past seven or eight months, both live and on demos. The ones that are nailed down on Artifact are, hopefully, the finals. The quality of the polish is unmistakable, especially on “Heartache” and “Inside Out.” Nadine, as they have progressed over the last few years, have grown ever more confident in their playing and, especially, as a group. Never was it more apparent than on Friday night, when the band (even with Brian Hilgert filling in on drums) played a lush and enticing set. Nadine functions nicely as a unit, sort of like a Cub

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House of Large Sizes

B A C K S TA G E PASS El Monstero Y Los Masked Avengers The Pageant, December 27 and 28 El Monstero, the Pink Floyd tribute act consisting of members from Stir along with various other local musicians, including John Pessoni, former Urge drummer, and a guest appearance

by Michael Schaerer, played two near-capacity shows at the Pageant on the last weekend of the year. Performing songs mostly from The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon, the band accented their show with laser lights, identical video footage from Pink Floyd’s mid-’90s tour, three female backup vocalists, and a few authenticlooking props. During the show’s Wall segments, the extremely enigmatic Mark Quinn (from the Impala Deluxe band) used his acting skills to their fullest potential, creating a very realistic portrayal of the “Pink” character from the record’s movie. And Andy Schmidt’s fluid guitar solos are strong enough to impress even David Gilmour himself. Overall, the performance is a well-rehearsed and professional-quality production that could successfully be taken on a cross-country tour, but instead, the band has chosen to play exclusively in their hometown of St. Louis for what has now become a holiday tradition for the fifth year in a row.

—Michele Ulsohn

Rocket Bar, December 28 It’s fair to say that when House of Large Sizes last played the Rocket Bar, it was a small-sized concert that felt a bit empty. That’s not to say that this Iowa group doesn’t give great concerts. In fact, they are one of the most exciting indie rock bands around. The group features husband-and-wife team Dave Deibler and Barb Schilf, who turn stages into trampolines and turn audiences into frenzy.

Having seen this group in Seattle, I can say that the mosh pits are literally overwhelming, and the band usually can’t leave without playing encores.

At the Rocket Bar, the band brought the same unique sound to the stage that is present on their recordings. The guitar sound was loud, and the bass lines were brutal and attacking. A few curious people seemed to check the group out and clap for the first few numbers but then faded away into the back of the club. I felt like a guest in someone’s house as I watched the show. I pulled up a chair, sat back, and relaxed. The band sounded great, but not enough people were there to hear them.

The audience did seem to enjoy Shame Club, who opened the show—and with good reason.

Shame Club is one of the best rock bands on the local scene or anywhere in the country for that matter. Their high-explosive guitar sound and crashing drums were not lost on the audience by any means. When Shame Club plays, they clean house. Hopefully more people will come out to see House of Large Sizes next time they play, and that group can do the same.

—John Kujawski

Kristeen Young Way Out Club, December 30 I went out tonight with my friend John to see Kristeen Young.

But first...we got seriously lost on the way to the club. I’d never been there before, we were caught up in bashing some awful CD John was playing for my amusement, and I had no idea where we were going. Somehow we wound up in an unsavory neighborhood. While trying to find out where we wound up, we passed a car parked on the street. Its hood was up and the engine was on fire.

Forty-five minutes later, we found the club. It was only a few blocks away from my apartment.

I wasn’t too upset, since our accidental tour of north St. Louis killed time that would have been spent waiting for the show to begin. I usually prefer to get to the club early in case the show sells out. Unfortunately, this means I also have a long wait ahead of me.

The show was incredible. It’s difficult to describe how Kristeen Young sounds without mentioning Kate Bush; their voices and singing styles are eerily identical. The similarities thin out when it comes to music, lyrics, and subject

matter. Kristeen Young’s songs are more sinister, more experimental, and more confrontational.

As creative as she is, I can’t imagine Kate Bush howling about “cock rock radio” or titling her latest album Breasticles.

Kristeen’s performance was rich in theatrics, from her vintage boutique outfit to her bold hand gestures. Occasionally, she pounded on the keys of a synthesizer, set up to sound like a piano falling down a staircase. Her voice was so strong that it didn’t matter that she mostly sang to prerecorded backing tapes.

In fact, the audience seemed to prefer when she was alone on the stage. At one point, oh-sofamous producer Tony Visconti showed up with a six-string bass and led her through a few covers of songs he’d written (including two made famous by David Bowie). I got the impression we were supposed to consider this a real treat, but at the risk of sounding ignorant or unappreciative, I was honestly kind of bored. I liked it best when Kristeen sang her own music.

Star-crossed lover or not, I made a point of not looking at Beatle Bob during the show.

While I found his dancing entertaining at the Centromatic show, his moves didn’t align well with this kind of music, and I found it unpleasantly distracting.

The ride home took only five minutes.

—Jessica Gluckman

Slick 57 w/Dan Potthast Sally T’s, January 2 Slick 57 were late getting into town, and our names weren’t yet on the list. Or, rather, the list hadn’t yet arrived. The boys, en route to Chicago the very next day, had just left their home of Dallas that morning and were due into town any minute.

Never mind that; we arrived just in time to catch a rare solo act by expatriate and MU330 frontman Dan Potthast. Playing to a very young, very enthusiastic crowd, Potthast played songs from his new solo album as well as MU330 faves.

He spoke extensively before each song, explaining where it came from, how it’s supposed to sound with a full band: “OK, here’s where the really funky guitar comes in, like this—” And then he’d vocalize the really funky guitar. For such a cold night, the crowd quickly heated up. “You bet it’s getting hot in here,” Potthast exclaimed. “You’re at a Dan P. show.”

Midway through his set, three strangers took up a post in the back of the room. They weren’t from around these parts; that much was obvious. They were our headliners.

A country-flavored threesome if ever there was one, Slick 57 is fronted by John Pedigo (vocals, guitar) and Ward Richmond (stand-up bass, vocals); they were joined just days before the show by a new drummer whom they affectionately called “Kelly the Librarian.” While the band describes their music as “Texas love in a

February 2003

up a few songs that contain the more traditional and expected sound of Silverchair’s earlier days, such as “One Way Mule” and “The Lever,” but even those tracks hint at the fact that this is a band that has significantly evolved and matured over the years.

Lyrically, Johns reaches far into the bizarre realm, singing about very out-ofthe-ordinary subject matter such as fungus in milk, polystyrene hats, labyrinths of sympathy, and frozen eyes that are bound to melt.

As with many bands’ finer works, however, the strength of Diorama’s music more than makes up for the lyrics, which often make little or no sense.

Silverchair is, and always has been, extremely popular in their homeland of Australia, selling out every one of their dozen upcoming spring dates months in advance. An Australian radio station poll voted Diorama album of the year, with sales in that country recently reaching triple-platinum status. So why has this remarkable disc been, for the most part, practically ignored by American radio and media? Your guess is as good as mine.

For more info, go to www.chairpage.com.

—Michele Ulsohn ROBERT SKORO: PROOF (Merciful Recordings) A confident and pretty first solo record, Robert Skoro’s Proof surveys the geography of romance: a lover’s address on a wall in “In Line”; a windowsill seat over Fifth Avenue in “Heaven”; a heart-pull from up the street in “2318.” These details of place dot the record nicely, but the songs don’t quite flesh out the characters who exist within them.

Skoro’s been compared to Elliott Smith, and he does share Smith’s skills of layering songs (particularly as the songs progress) and use of high, hushed harmonies. But Skoro is his own songwriter, existing in a middle space I’ve yet to settle into. His songs don’t carry the sheen of a pop star’s (he’s wittier and more inspired than any Sheik or Mayer), but they lack the grit that give texture to the work of Chris Mills, Matthew Ryan, or even Smith himself.

Balancing out a few of Proof’s generic lyrics (“You wrote the book of what it is to be beautiful”) is the chorus of “New Science,” the album highlight. Displaying conviction, originality, and humor, Skoro unveils his latest plan: “I’ll start a new science/To see what I’m about/It starts with our alliance/The rest I’m working out.”

It’s a clever series of lines, and the song itself may be enough to keep me listening. Maybe, if I stick around, the record’s characters will finally show their faces.

You can find Proof at www.robertskoro.com.

—Stephen Schenkenberg continued on page 21

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Quick Hits TRAVIS LEE BAND: DIFFERENT Sometimes, when we have CDs piling up around us, we just slip them into the player without paying much attention to the case. If the sound catches our interest, we’ll go back and see who we’re playing, give it a closer listen. The Travis Lee Band fell victim to the unknown listening—and survived. Honestly, it wasn’t until the second or third listen that we realized it was Christian-themed, as well as local. All we knew was that it was damn good.

The Travis Lee Band appears to be, in reality, a family band—but then, TLB sounds a lot better than the Puhse Family, doesn’t it? On the opener, “Fly Away,” Travis Lee plays a skilled acoustic guitar backed by the ever-pleasing conga drum; Lee’s voice is sharp and strong, if a bit nasal. The title track is a rockier song with a fast pace and speedy strumming. On “Anchor in the Storm,” a gentle (though repetitious) love song, Lee intones, “I want to invite You into my life/Take all that is within me.” Other highlights include the danceable “The Tent” and the upbeat “Till You Remain,” which, at times, instrumentally seems to echo U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name.” (LH) PHOTO BY HUSBAND: PHOTO BY HUSBAND (J.D. Records) Photo By Husband is a local rock band that stands out as having a female singer with one of the most distinctive voices of the St. Louis music scene. Lead singer Cricket O’Neill utilizes a spoken vocal style she can call her own, basically ranting and raving through the CD—and the overall effect is brilliant.

The album gets off to a great start with “Bus Stop,” and the fun doesn’t stop there. The band tears through the recording with a strong guitar sound, complete with heavy riffs and distortion.

Songs like “Go Here” and “Kitten” capture all of the energy the band has when they play live. If you enjoy Photo by Husband’s live shows, be sure to pick up the CD. It will last longer. (JK) COREY SAATHOFF: TROUBLING TIMES (Jealousy Recordings) This self-released six-song CD from the former singer of late ’90s alt-country/bar band Jerkwater Junction shows a pleasing range of sounds and styles. A backing Casiotone lends an ’80s feel to the upbeat opening track, “Full Speed Lobotomy.” “Everybody Loves a Circus” is a four-line, 39-second gem utilizing vocal distortions and a gong. More in the straight-ahead alt-rock vein is “Rescue Dogs,” a very catchy song that hearkens to early R.E.M. “Cryptic Eucalyptus” is a stripped-down acoustic guitar number with a gentle organ. “(theramin)” is just that: a theramin playing a squeaky “Somewhere

COREY SAATHOFF

Over the Rainbow.” The final song, “Diamond Surprise,” showcases Saathoff’s rough-edged alt-country voice, its mellow ramble briefly interrupted by a straight-shooting bit of guitar work and a bridge. All in all, Troubling Times introduces you to an interesting musician and leaves you wanting more—just what a good EP is supposed to do. (LH) To hear the songs for yourself, check out www.mp3.com/CoreySaathoff, or catch him live February 2 at Radio Cherokee or February 21 at Three-1-Three.

SNOWDOGS: DEEP CUTS, FAST REMEDIES (Victory Records) Finn brothers Ville and Mat Leppanen form the backbone for this London-based trio, which also includes American drummer Benjy Reid; their influences admittedly include ELO, Bruce Springsteen, and Blondie, and based on the varied sounds on Deep Cuts, they don’t stop there.

“Average Kid” is your average bite of aggrorock; it will fit in well on stations like the Point.

The lead single, “Drive,” a supposed mix of the influences listed above, instead ends up sounding like a ’70s rock anthem (not necessarily a bad thing). Skip ahead a few tracks, and you find a rock opera–sounding remake of Paul Simon’s “Boy in the Bubble.” The acoustic “End of the World” finally highlights Ville’s vocal abilities; “Hour of Sunshine” has a sunny ska beat; and with “Hell Outta Dodge” and again on “Lotta Lost Time,” we again return to the sound made famous by Styx three decades ago. It will be interesting to see what they sound like once Snowdogs decide who they want to be. (LH) SUPERCRUSH: SUPERCRUSH (Self-Released) Orange Crush has never been one of my favorite drinks. In fact, I can vividly recall drinking a can of it at a picnic when I was a child and then throwing up under a tree. Luckily, the Supercrush CD has a far happier ending and is much easier to develop a taste for.

“Awake,” the final track of the recording, is a great example of this St. Louis band’s work. It has the right hooks and melody that a laidback, guitar pop band can hope for. Ryan Hoelting sings in a great, melodic vocal style that can be hard to come by.

While I’m a bit surprised by the choice to put such a great song at the very end of the disc, this is not to say that other songs don’t stand out as well. “Weekend Friend” has a memorable hook, and “Walk Away” is another strong track. This band is a nice part of the St. Louis music scene, and if people check out the CD, they are not likely to turn it off and walk away disappointed. (JK)

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Backstage Pass NADINE (cont.)

Scout troop, congregating center stage in a circle for a jam, with the errant Jimmy Griffin off in his own world on the side, playing to the stars.

Nadine’s Anne Tkach, Adam Reichmann, and Steve Rauner, under the lights at Mississippi Nights. Photo by Jennifer Gammage.

The rest of Artifact offers a grab bag of songs, including two from the “unmastered” Lit Up From the Inside, several live songs (including a cover of the Go Betweens’ “Apology Accepted”), and a demo track from 1999, “Throw Me Some Line.” For the most part, they show the growth of a band that has navigated the bridge from “the band that sounds like Neil Young” to the band that is Nadine, its own entity and a fascinating band to watch.

—Jim Dunn

Henry Rollins The Pageant, January 17 Friday night I was all geared up for a night of gearing down, comfortably nestling into the thought of staying in and dozing off. I started to graze through the newspaper when the brick came crashing through my plans: Henry Rollins show…45 minutes…change of plans.

Back around the turn of the New Year, I’d been drawn into a strange dance about trying to set up an interview with said Mr. Rollins. It didn’t quite pan out. Sometimes that happens, with schedules and all. But the whole thing was a little frustrating. Then I find myself rushing to the Pageant to find that the arrangement of my photo pass had somehow been been not completed.

So it seemed that I was about the only Black Flag–bred fellow in St. Louis not excited about this sold-out show. Who are all these people eager to spend $20 to sit and see Henry Rollins ramble about himself for a few hours? Why will we pay this to pack the Pageant to listen to some guy tell us how we should support local music, but all too rarely actually support the local music?

The truth is that I enjoyed the show. But I left feeling like the divide between the DIY ethic of which Rollins is taken as a patron saint and the phenomenon I had just observed festered with contradiction. When Henry Rollins drops a name and a round of applause goes up, is it really any different than Dick Cavett or anybody else

February 2003

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from page 7

dropping names in their personal stories?

I don’t feel critical of Henry Rollins so much as I do the phenomenon of Henry Rollins. Henry himself seems to have some grasp of all these contradictions that drive him. The phenomenon of Henry Rollins, on the other hand, seems the exact sort of self-congratulatory blind mob that makes its namesake want to yell and scream. The circle comes around, of course, because Henry goes out and makes his buck off of the whole thing.

Is this what it looks like to spend some of the capital accrued by years of living in a van, being spit on and pummeled with trash while you perform in one dive after another? That now you can actually make a living riding around in a bus and getting to talk all night in a series of huge, if smoky, living rooms?

What a gig! If anyone interrupts you, they are heckling, and you are free to mock and berate them. Try this in your own living room the next time you have company over. Then charge them $20 to come over and listen to you talk. I’m guessing that you won’t run into trouble with the fire marshal and maximum capacity.

Why should I feel like it’s a productive use of my time to hear Henry Rollins talk about hanging out with Joe Strummer? Or about going to the Osbournes’ New Year’s Eve party? As a younger Mr. Rollins once proclaimed: “What do they know about partying…or anything else?!?”

I am left with the reminder of Nobel Prize winners who, having gained recognition for a certain genius, proceed to use this license to force the rest of us to hear their opinions on anything and everything. It seems to me that this notion of “genius” goes hand in hand with a destructive notion of celebrity and that Henry Rollins has reached a point of being held in this esteem in no small part by virtue of his railing against it.

I am left with a profound sense of the sheer absurdity of having someone else berate us for not doing something ourselves and watching a mass of heads nod in agreement, as if they’ve just been bestowed some otherwise unreachable pearl of wisdom by the icon before them.

I’m left feeling as if it’s a great thing that Henry Rollins goes out and does his spokenword thing and that it’s pathetic that we pay three to four times what it would cost to see a local band and pack a place like the Pageant to see it.

There was one aspect that marked the show as identifiably St. Louis: the two couples who sat back near the entrance and carried on loud and drunken conversation throughout most of the show. Can no one in this town have a conversation in their own homes…or anywhere other than at a show where at least someone might be interested in hearing the show?

—Steven Vance

Jason Mraz Blueberry Hill Duck Room, January 18 “We’re right smack in the middle of our tour, right smack in the middle of the country, and right smack in the middle of a good time,” said Jason Mraz to the Duck Room audience at Blueberry Hill. For most performers to say that at the top of a set, it would come off as the prelude to a calloused, routine show. But Mraz proceeded to make it clear that he is not most performers.

The scouting report on Mraz and his trio is pretty straightforward: an acoustic setup with upright bass and hand drums. Mraz’s guitar playing and vocal style are equal parts Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews, but his voice is the trump card, soaring in places where Johnson’s or Matthews’ would wilt. He keeps it nice and mainstream for the fans’ benefit; he teased Bob Marley, Elton John, Gloria Estefan, Michael Jackson, and Madness at various points in the Blue Hill show.

His own material isn’t particularly earth-shattering—it contained a healthy dose of the faux-hiphop white-boy shuffle on which Johnson has built his empire—but “Curbside Prophet” certainly has enough catchy hooks to linger in your head for a while. And every so often, Mraz will hit a note or two that arches the hairs on the back of your neck.

But more powerful than any of this, including the voice, is the charisma. Mraz looks like he could be 26 years old...or 16. He’s got the endearing-stoner look going on, complete with perpetually askew baseball cap. He throws his own name in other people’s songs, usually in the context of an overture to the girls in the front row. And it works: the girls melt right then and there. (No, I’m not one, but I was with one, and she did.)

One leaves with the feeling that it’s going to work out well for him. Mraz was visibly surprised at the Duck Room crowd, which easily broke a hundred, and he told them so; behold the power of the Internet, I suppose. He may not be anywhere close to blazing his own trail musically, but it’s easy to see Jason Mraz being a household name in the very near future, and that’ll be a healthy consolation, to say the least.

—Taylor Upchurch

BIG BAD ZERO: YOUR BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE (iPlay Records) When they write the story of my life, I’ll be most concerned about the soundtrack rather than the actress they choose to portray me. The music sticks with you long after those faces have

disappeared; the songs keep you company when your friends no longer come around. If I had to choose only one album for my soundtrack, it just might be this one.

Your Beautiful Mistake is the follow-up to this Las Vegas band’s 1999 self-titled debut. (If you’re a 93X fan, you’ve undoubtedly heard the breathtaking “Iris Meadow.”) While the first album was talented but a bit inconsistent as it switched between mellow and raucous, the new disc is a straightforward alt-rock masterpiece, an early album-of-the-year contender.

Lead singer Nick Matteira’s distinctive nasally voice is complemented by the backdrop of swirling and melodic guitars. “I’m tired of being restless/living off espresso and singing to my windshield,” he sings on the opening track, “Lifts Me Up,” and we’ve all been there; we know that feeling. On “Closer,” an upbeat song of dreams, he’s imagining “the day I’m dancing/the world’s in my hands.” “Just Like That” is a beautiful, building song about the abductive powers of love: “You’re my savoir when my thoughts spill/like a pain pill/you’re the only thing familiar.”

Guitarist Dave Meeks’ gentle strumming begins “Unglued,” as drummer Rob Whited and bassist Doug Barney keep a mellow but steady beat. “Comets” is a reach-for-the-stars song, perfect for that scene with the drive down back country roads at night in a top-down convertible. Look for a searing guitar and drum changeover on “Level.” And that part of the film where I’m soul-searching? Definitely “Blind,” with its driving beat and introspective lyrics: “I need to take some time/see the world that is mine/with these eyes so blind/so much to find.”

On “Not so Good” a Sunday afternoon song of breakup, Matteria sings, “I hope that you’re better than me/’cause I’m not so good,” further demonstrating his strong vocal ability. The downbeat is quickly reversed, though, as “Wrap the World Around Me” wraps its arms around you. The closing credits—and happy ending, of course—would roll over the invigorating “Angels,” with Matteria asking, “Who do you talk to when you fall asleep?”

This is what feel-good music is all about: words you can sing along to, emotions you can feel, and music that touches the core of who you are.

—Laura Hamlett

THE BOTTOMS UP BLUES GANG: SOUTH BROADWAY BLUES The first time I listened to South Broadway Blues, the debut CD from local trio the Bottoms Up Blues Gang, I was unimpressed. It took two or three more playings for it to grow on me, but when it did, I found myself pleasantly hooked. The songs—three-fourths blues covers, one-fourth original music—are simple, as you would expect from a band that consists of only a vocalist (Kari Liston), a guitarist (Jeremy Segel-Moss), and a harmonica player (Adam Andrews), but they are generally well-executed.

Liston has a smoky, sultry voice, one that makes you believe she really does have the blues, while Segel-Moss plays solid rhythm guitar. Andrews’ harmonica is expected to carry the band instrumentally, and it works, although on the tracks when the band is joined by special guests, the music gets much more interesting and Andrews’ solos benefit.

It is on these tracks that the CD really shines.

Pianist Matt Murdick (a member of the Rich McDonough Band and the St. Louis Social Club) adds a New Orleans feel to the second song, “Meet Me Out Back.” He also contributes to my favorite track, “Ain’t Nobody’s Business.” After Liston sings, “If I dislike my lover/and leave him for another/ain’t nobody’s business/if I do,” Murdick’s piano takes over, and the result is wonderful. I played the song several times in a row and felt transported to a smoky little bar on Beale Street every time. This track also features some of Segel-Moss’s best guitar playing, and the interplay between the piano, the guitar, and the harmonica is worth a second or third listen.

The other guest musicians on the CD are some of the local blues scene’s finest. Brian Curran (guitar) makes an appearance, as do Irene Allen (vocals), Sharon Foehner (bass), and Eric McSpadden (harmonica). I was looking forward to the final track, “Who Do You Love,” which featured all of the guests, and although the result wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for (Allen’s voice was slightly overwhelmed by Liston’s, and the sound levels seemed a little off), it didn’t entirely disappoint. The track’s sound was rich, full, and almost jubilant. There was a final unlabeled track after the song, which was simply Andrews on harmonica. His talent was showcased nicely on this track, and it made for a fitting ending to the CD. The Bottoms Up Blues Gang is not yet a polished product, but the CD is worth picking up, if only to hear the youth of the St. Louis blues. The genre is definitely alive and well, and if the musicians continue to collaborate on albums such as South Broadway Blues, there is much to look forward to.

—A. Kohnen

GRANDPA’S GHOST: (THE TUMBLE/LOVE VERSION): READ PAST THE STATIC (Upland) Yikes! They’re not just content to sit on their porch with acoustics out there in Pocahontas, Illinois, this time, like on their previous record, Starlight and Smog. Nor are they offering soundtracks to the subconscious and the mysteries of the universe as on their 2000 masterpiece, Il Bacio. No, Grandpa’s Ghost are going right fer the throat this time, kids. This two-disc set is an allout assault on the senses, with a furious feast of feedback à la Neil Young’s Arc/Weld. There’s a dash or two of early Sonic Youth here; hell, there’s some Metal Machine Music–like moments.

With an attitude beyond even punk’s abandon, guitarists Ben Hanna and Bill Emerson and drummer Jack Petracek blast these blistering noisescapes into the chilly air, losing themselves, and quite probably most listeners, in the process. Their complete aural mutilation of John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” is really quite humorous and goes up there with what the Residents did to the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” back in the ’70s (i.e., render it unrecognizable). The 28-minute electric multiguitar crash that comprises “D.O.A.” may or may not be based on the morbid Bloodrock tune about, well, a car crash—it’s hard to tell because this is all noisy, feverish guitar chaos, kinda like maybe being in a horrible accident, tumbling down a steep hill, then wandering around in shock for half an hour.

Chris Dee and Dave Stone contribute to this charming madness, which is followed, in true Ghost fashion, by an unlikely—and almost delicate—Neil Young cover, “Love in Mind.” The Ghost are well-established disciples of Young, not only in their love of fuzzed-out electric guitar soundscapes, but in Neil’s oft-voiced belief that capturing the feel of the moment is what matters most.

It’s figuring out what that “feel” might have been that creates some of the fun of GG records.

Artistically, these guys are spooky—and I mean that as a compliment. Something happened to them since their early days making rootsy, almost normal records; their aesthetic, their whole attitude toward music became much more willful and insular. And whatever the precipitating events, the inspiration resulted in musical art of exceptional originality; moments on both their previous records (and keep in mind that Stardust and Smog was a double, like this one) are among the most startling and hypnotic sounds ever to come out of this region. Some of the crunchy rock here, like “Blackie,” “The Queen of Crumpled Steel,” “Cheap Bracelet,” and the potent “Black Velvet Stars” and its companion piece “War,” both of which feature the Star Death’s Tobi Parks on bass, could probably be slipped into the changer at a

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February 2003 Play by Play

P L AY B Y P L AY ABSINTHE BLIND: RINGS (Parasol) Absinthe Blind, a fabulous rock band from Champaign, Illinois, deserves to peer down on the music industry. In an age of endless drivel and pointless songwriting, this band seems to forget about what it takes to make it in the industry and uses it to create unimaginable beauty. Their fifth album is a dramatic rocker that boasts 12 tracks, most with the potential to latch onto your conscience.

“The Break” jumps out at the beginning to drop a movie soundtrack-feel behind the stylish melody created by Adam and Erin Fein’s vocals.

Like a play unfolding before you, the song rips on the shoulders of the caustic lyrics: “It’s easy, it could’ve just been so simple, but then you bit my head off.”

The Feins’ confident singing in track one yields to a sonic “Shields” on track two. While the vocal production in this song lacks at certain points, the songwriting and musicianship— specifically, the bold leads on electric guitar by Tristan Wraight—make up for it. Track four, “Bands 1,” inserts you into an underwater dream world with delicious melodies and colliding genres of rock and jazz. Short bites on the trumpet are at first awkward, as it feels out of place but

quickly folds into the essence of the song.

“Inside My Mirror” is quickly brash from the beginning and seems destined for radio airwaves with the repetitious chorus and thickening cellos

by Peter Linder. The guitar solo cutting into the middle of the song leads the band to get “The Bends” for a minute or so. Seth Fein’s drumming is bad-ass throughout this stint of envy and propels the band into a slamming orchestral jam at exactly 3:30 into the song.

Erin’s crystal-clear voice gets to shine on “Walls Covered in Hope,” an astutely arranged tune of understandable confusion which takes off with a gripping drumbeat packed with skill. Loops on track seven along with a rolling piano keep you in anticipation of what’s to follow. A running Absinthe Blind stands willing to drip the track on top of you with a trip-ridden guitar solo by Wraight. Unfortunately, “The Dreamers Song” is not worth the listen. Not only does it mention the Beatles, but it sounds like them. The vocals are awkward in this take, which is a surprise considering the fine singer that Adam is.

The harmonies in “Ease the Curtains Down” could be tighter, and pitch corrected. But the songwriting swings like a carousel that doesn’t want to drop you off without a grin. “Brave” immediately grabs with its brilliant sound at the beginning reminiscent of U2’s “Passengers” work. Erin’s vocals are sweet enough to keep you around the house for the day, and Adam’s voice coats the song with a gentle touch. The heavily accented “She saves/Now I’m where I need to be,” with meshing harmonies, stands alone from the previous tracks, allowing the band to stretch its chops with a lengthy and impressive jam.

A tasty album overall with tight producing, Rings does not fail to impress, although some production/mixing blunders make you wonder if Absinthe Blind tapped all of their resources in the studio. The tenacity and love on the album surpass any doubts, however, and leave you wanting more. Absinthe Blind clearly faces the difficulties of any phenomenal live band: re-creating the sound and drama in the studio.

They’ve clearly done it, as Rings reveals fresh layers listen after listen that wow you like their live show.

—Kevin Barry AUDIOSLAVE: AUDIOSLAVE (Epic) What do you do when you were part of a well-known and successful band, now defunct, and want to continue playing with some of your former band members? Well, if you’re ex–Rage Against the Machine members Tim Commerford (bass), Brad Wilk (drums), and Tom Morello (guitar), you recruit the singing and songwriting talents of a former frontman from another nowdefunct, equally well-known and successful band who is in need of a new gig. Fortunately for them, it just so happened that Chris Cornell, for-

mer leader of Soundgarden (as well as the shortlived early ’90s project Temple of the Dog), fit that description perfectly. Hailed by Spin magazine as the new millennium’s first true supergroup, Audioslave is a fusion of forces that have created a new sound with a comfortably familiar feel. As a result, their debut selft i t l e d release is a 65-minutelong collection of non-pretentious, straightforward, nofrills, high-intensity rock.

Produced by Rick Rubin (Red Hot Chili Peppers), the disc’s 14 songs glisten with a wellproduced sheen while still retaining the raw energy that this type of music needs to have to be credible. According to the liner notes, all sounds heard on this disc are “made by guitar, bass, drums, and vocals,” meaning that these well-seasoned musicians have chosen to stick with the old-fashioned, time-tested method of creating rock music, rather than utilizing any of today’s elaborate, high-tech synthesizer effects and equipment.

Cornell is the sole mastermind behind all of this CD’s music and lyrics, giving the songs a very Soundgarden-like personality. His is also the one and only voice heard on all of the tracks, which can be perceived as either an asset or a weakness, depending on the listener’s opinion of Cornell’s distinctive, yet sometimes predictably gravelly voice.

The first single, “Cochise,” starts off the disc with a fierce, powerful surge that sets the tone for what lies ahead. Axe master Morello really shows off his enviable guitar-playing skills throughout the CD’s entirety, especially on tracks such as “Light My Way,” “Bring ’em Back Alive,” and the wear-your-hardhat heavy “Set It Off.” Much of the disc’s tracks lean strongly toward the melodic side, like the beautiful “Shadow of the Sun” and the recently released second single, “Like a Stone.” Three of the best tracks, the epic-sounding “I Am the Highway,” the crunchy “Show Me How to Live,” and the CD’s closer, the haunting “The Last Remaining Light,” are well worth the purchase price by themselves.

Cornell’s brief departure from the band last year, along with a substantially delayed release date due to multiple reasons, contributed to the enormous amount of media attention and public anticipation that has surrounded Audioslave and its debut disc. Unlike many overhyped projects, however, this is one that fully lives up to all of its expectations.

Check out the band’s Web site at www.audioslave.com; see them live at the Pageant on February 24.

—Michele Ulsohn

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TINHORN: STEREOWIDE (Broom Factory Records) Writing a review of Tinhorn’s solid new CD, Stereowide, should be easy, but it becomes a tougher job the more I listen. This beautiful collection of songs reminds me of some of the best ’60s and early ’70s rock, with nuggets that echo Badfinger in full Paul McCartney–mode. Stereowide comes from that all-too-brief period before music became bloated, when it was more about the melody and less about the business. This album also shares the textures and tunefulness of Fastball’s breakout album, All the Pain Money Can Buy…and that is where the ease of this review ends. Fastball’s album, like this one, had one slight problem—its parts were excellent, but they didn’t add up. Both were collections of songs by talented bands that write exceptional lyrics and music; however, with all the wares on display, the effect is overwhelming.

Stereowide bounces from style and influence as if there had been rock icons lined up at Sean Garcia’s door, begging to get in. “What You See” sounds so simple, yet it surreptitiously takes you out to the edge and then gently lures you back to earth. “How it Goes” and “Lift You Up” are like classic songs that have been around for years: you know exactly where to shake your head, you know which way your senses will fly. They are simply great songs. In fact, this is a CD filled with great songs. Very rarely does the album hit anything less than a perfect note.

That said, “overwhelming” is the word I would have to pick. This is not a negative thing; more like finding a food court in the middle of a desert and being unable to make up your mind: do you want pizza or a burger? Perhaps I am too used to having one or two standout songs on a CD that get played to death on the radio; here I have 13 separate songs and I truly care for each of them, all of them—but I wish they were all one restaurant. Stereowide feels like a greatest hits CD, and I want the original albums.

—Jim Dunn VARIOUS ARTISTS: FOR THE KIDS (Nettwerk Records) I have been thinking a bit lately about reverting to my childhood. Most of my friends will tell you this is futile on my part, having never actually left that world to begin with. I was a kid just a bit before “Schoolhouse Rock”; Zoom and Sesame Street hadn’t come out with any of their awesome hits yet. Instead, I was serenaded by Mr. Rogers and Captain Kangaroo—not exactly Sinatras. On my turntable (some Mattel thing), there was usually a song about carnivores versus herbivores. As Bart Simpson would say, “It is one of those songs that is supposed to be good for you.”

Today, it seems rock stars are bending over backward to play songs for the little ones, and I am jealous! They Might Be Giants just released a disk specifically for kids (No!), and the trend doesn’t start or stop there. Currently making the rounds in my CD player is a hip collection from the Nettwerk Records gang. For the Kids features songs that, for the most part, won’t cause parents to rip their hair out—not a Barney or a Teletubby to be found. Standout tracks include “Willie the King” by Dan Wilson (of Semisonic), “The Hoppity Song” by John Ondrasik (Five for Fighting), and the irritatingly infectious “Snow Day” by Bleu. The songs on the CD never take their audience for granted, which invests most of the songs with an earnest appeal that makes them listenable for almost any age. The list of talent is also pretty impressive, including Raine Maida from Our Lady Peace, as well as Sarah McLachlan, Barenaked Ladies, and Cake.

It is a treat to hear songs that try to do nothing more than make the little ones bounce about the room in that cute way that they do and, perhaps, urge them on to greater musical horizons. The point here is that music for the younger set can and should be cool, and these artists show it.

—Jim Dunn

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Mad Art Turns Two

By Rudy Zapf What if you were having coffee with a friend at Kaldi’s, and he’s at a crossroads in his life. Been in this steady job 10, maybe 12 years, making art on the side. He ponders whether he should go back to school for the art degree. Asks your advice, which you are entirely unprepared to give.

What if some years later, this friend still had his steady, reliable job? Would you feel sorry for him, maybe in an ambivalent “gee, it happens to the best of ’em” kind of way?

What if this friend still had that job, but had also gotten that B.F.A., had developed his own talents, had bought and restored a disused Art Deco police station, and turned it into on of the city’s hippest, most assessable art spaces for local artists and aesthetes?

Dem pork chops not bad, eh?

Ron Buechele’s “Hound Dog,” on display at Mad Art’s twoMad Art Gallery just year anniversary party/Elvis bash. celebrated its second anniversary, and it’s at the top of many people’s lists as the place to see local art and have a good time. Don’t believe it? Check out the RFT’s Critic’s Choice “Best Of” list or the Landmark Association’s awards list. Given that Ron Buechele and Tracy Varley offer exhibition opportunities to the young, the not yet famous, and, of greatest significance, the local, it’s no wonder that Mad Art seems to be a very strong salmon swimming against the current.

Rippling against the tide might be heroic, tenacious, instinctive, and— as a more pragmatic observer might note—exhaustively draining. It takes green to cover the heating bills, the lighting, the continuous improvements in this space. Luckily, Mad Art is a popular choice for private parties and other events. Ron, Tracy, and Andrea Avery run a space that is able to feed its habit of showing local artists by catering to those with an appreciative eye for an exceptional party location. Saying that Mad Art is an “interesting” venue is tantamount to saying the interior of the St. Louis Cathedral Basilica is “nice.” The main gallery—the former garage of the station— boasts a space generous enough to accommodate a group show or some really big sculptures. Actually, it could accommodate both simultaneously, with enough elbow room for viewers to step back and take in the work. The room is huge, but not cavernous. The new lighting system gives a warmth to the area and spotlights individual artwork for dramatic effect. The terrace offers an outdoor option for smokers and those who love large fireplaces with their night sky. Just inside the front doors, there is a beautiful brassand-marble police area that makes one dream of casting a remake of a James Cagney film. The jail cells are still sometimes in use—as small environments designed by artists. It’s a cool place to go and see some stuff that

PLAYBACK ST. LOUIS you probably won’t get to see anywhere else in St. Louis.

When asked how he found the building, Buechele replied that the building found him. He had known about the place for years, and when the chance for buying it opened, he presented his case. Though there was a long line of prospective buyers, his plans for its restoration and use put him on top, and he was able to start working on his dream. However, the vision for an artists’ co-op was quickly revised when the realities of operation costs made themselves known.

Though no less time-consuming, it’s easier for Buechele to implement decisions for the future of the gallery when not having to wait for a consensus from 20 other artists.

It’s been two years, and Mad Art is still going strong. The physical improvements and assets to the building are apparent to the naked eye, but the cultural improvement to the city is more intellectually sensed. Local artists now have an alternative to the “ugly cousin” syndrome—the syndrome wherein they are not even acknowledged by most St. Louis galleries—and art aficionados need no longer muse over the lack of local talent. It’s not that the talent’s not here—it’s that private galleries tend to show work by only well-established and/or non-local artists.

When you go to Mad Art, perhaps for one of the exhibits or a oneevening “happening,” look at the art, and while you are giving it your full attention, think of salmon swimming upstream, upstream against a mighty current. Think of the fresh, new talents—and their careers spawned here, downstream.

February 2003

3

YOU ARE HERE

When Kansas City’s the Get Up Kids played Mississippi Nights January 18, they did so to a very young, very enthusiastic sold-out crowd.

Their set was heavily peppered with songs from their monumental 2002 Vagrant release, On a Wire, and also included healthy servings from their emo/punk-tinged prior releases, including 1999’s Something to Write Home About.

Though previously known for their punk sound, the Get Up Kids—Matt Pryor, lead vocals/guitar; Jim Suptic, vocals/guitar; Rob Pope, bass; Ryan Pope, drums; and James DeWees, keyboards—surprised everyone last May with the release of On a Wire, an album full of lush melodies, acoustic guitars, gentle piano, and a variety of influences. They were tired of writing four-chord songs, it seemed; they wanted to see what else they were capable of. For this album, they hired a producer, the legendary Scott Litt (R.E.M., Indigo Girls), which further evolved their sound. And all five had a hand in the songwriting, unlike previous efforts, behind which Pryor was largely the driving force.

But before you get too comfortable with TGUK's new sound—as I, I'll confess, already have—wait until you read what keyboardist James DeWees has to say. I spoke with DeWees backstage after the show.

Are you still in two other bands?

I’m in one other band at the moment.

Coalesce broke up two weeks ago, which I heard about on the Internet. Kansas City’s weird; all the kids in the [indie] scene play with each other in different bands. It’s cool, because we all know each other so well, and we’re always at each other’s shows and stuff.

How’s the climate in KC in terms of music in general? Do the clubs work with the bands at all?

They did when I was a teenager. There were bands like Season to Risk and Molly McGuire and Shiner when I was a kid in Kansas City, and I would go down and watch them play in record stores. There was a lot of support for them then.

After like three years of that, it died, and that’s when Coalesce and Get Up Kids started. There was no scene at all, no place for us to play.

They’ve started to get a lot of shows now, but it’s taken them years.

You have quite a youthful audience.

Those kids are great. They’re really, really supportive, and they get into it and have a good time. It was weird at first, knowing that, as I’ve gotten older, the fans have stayed the same age.

It’s kind of like that line in Dazed and Confused, when Matt Wiggins is like, “The cool thing about high school chicks is as I get older, they stay the same age.”

How many months in 2002 were you guys on the road?

We didn’t tour like we used to, but I guess because we space it out, it still feels like we’re gone a lot. Like ask my wife, and she’ll tell you that I’m gone all the time. But we used to be gone 280 days a year, and now it’s maybe six or seven months, but not consecutively. Matt and his wife had a baby, so we try to keep everything kind of close to home. He wants to be there for his daughter, which is understandable. And four of us are married now. It’s all right; it’s not like it’s a hard job to do.

I read originally that you guys had expected a year and a half gap between On a Wire and the new album [which would put the next one out in November]. Are you still on schedule?

Yeah, it’s going to be about a year and a half.

We’re recording April, May, and June, and it’ll

probably be out like September, October, or November. It depends on the label [Vagrant], because they’re doing the new Dashboard [Confessional], the new Saves the Day, the new Alkaline [Trio], the new Reggie and the Full Effect album comes out—yeah, that’s me. That’s actually the first one to come out on the list. I got lucky; I beat ’em all. So I get all the attention.

Are you on keyboards with them, too?

I sing, play guitar, keyboards, drum, bass for that band. I’m Reggie. Not live, but when I’m recording, I am. But this is a Get Up Kids interview; we’ll do Reggie later.

What can you tell us about the new album?

It’s not On a Wire. It’s more back to what we were doing. We just wanted to do a record that was different, to prove to ourselves that we weren’t just this “emo” band, in quotes. We’re more than that; we’re not just like four chords.

We’ve been around for so long that “emo” is this corporate buzzword, and to us it’s like a dis. In Coalesce, we would use the word “emo” to make fun of those kids. It’s not a bad thing, but God—Air Supply’s an emo band. Freakin’ Neil Diamond’s like the king of emo. It’s kind of like alternative after it broke. The whole point of alternative is that it was what wasn’t the norm.

How did the experience of writing as a band change the band?

That’s a good question; nobody ever asked me anything like that. It took Something to Write Home About and turned it into On a Wire.

They already had the songs written [for Something to Write Home About]; I just learned the accessory parts—like, piano would sound cool here, keyboard would sound cool there.

With On a Wire, it would be all five of us, sitting in Robby’s basement for like four hours a day, five days a week. “Use this idea; that idea sucks.” “OK, how about this one?” “OK, that idea’s cool; we’ll work with that idea.” We worked for a long time.

PROFILE

WHEN THE CULTURE POPS

February 2003

Playback St. Louis Pop Culture

In Febuary...we’re there Publisher

THE DAMNWELLS w/CHEAP TRICK February 20, The Pageant

THE FLOATING CITY February 26, The Rocket Bar They’re young, they’re local. Sure, they sound a bit like Radiohead—but give them a break. They’re young, they’re local...sounding like Radiohead is really an amazing feat, not something to be scoffed at. Truly, you’ll want to see them for yourself, to experience the magic that is a TFC show. The band formed in 2002, composed of members who had played in other St. Louis area bands. They describe their sound as “ultra-depressing indie rock”; we describe their sound as amazing. Go; you’ll thank us for it.

Managing Editor Laura Hamlett

P L AY ’ S THE T H I N G

Associate Editor/Art Director Jim Dunn

Contributing Editors HEATHER CONLEY

You’re already familiar with Cheap Trick—you know ’em, you love ’em, you can sing along to all their songs. But you want to get there early to catch the opening act: a justsigned foursome out of Brooklyn called The Damnwells.

Their sound is a little bit power pop, a little bit alt-country, a little bit modern rock. the Damnwells give a very effective and captivating stage show; their self-released six-song EP also shows glimmers of brilliance, especially on songs such as “Have to Ask” and “Here Comes Everyone,” the latter with the line, “I never kissed a boy but I hit a girl/‘You could get in real big trouble,’/she said, ‘in the real world.’”

THE

Two Weasels Press LLC

Bryan Hollerbach/Kevin Renick

Contributing Writers Kevin Barry, Kyle Beachy, Thomas Crone, Bill Drendel, Jim Dunn, Rick Eubanks, Jessica Gluckman, Alex Graves, Laura Hamlett, Molly Hayden Bryan A. Hollerbach, A. Kohnen, John Kujawski, Joel Lapp, Rob Levy, Annie O’Brien, Wade Paschall, John Powell, Kevin Renick, Jeffrey Ricker, Stephen Schenkenberg, John Shepherd, Lisa Tebbe, Pete Timmermann, Ross Todd, Michele Ulsohn, Taylor Upchurch, Steven Vance, Ben Weinstein, Rudy Zapf Cover Photograph Courtesy Atlantic Records Printing by Kohler and Sons Inc. Nancy Allen • 314-428-9800

Distribution Two Weasels Press LLC

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Corrections We inadvertentdly omitted the byline on last month’s Saint Etienne cover story. Our apologies to Rob Levy, who deserves all the accolades.

Also, the e-mail address for the Studio Café was incorrect in the January ad. Inquiries should be directed to tluckey53@aol.com. The correct information appears in this month’s ad, which is on page 20.

The Science of War, The War of Science The St. Louis Repertory Theatre’s production of Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen Directed by Steven Woolf On a blustery January night in St. Louis, audiences made their way to the Loretto-Hilton on the campus of Webster University. As the crowd milled into the Mainstage Auditorium, all eyes were drawn to the performance area, a low, round stage like a table, with a mushroom cloud and a glaring sun superimposed with lights on its smooth surface. Behind this daunting image rose a wall of seats, arranged like a jury box, waiting, perhaps, for the flesh of the present to judge the ghosts of the past.

And so the stage was set for the The St. Louis Repertory Theatre’s gripping production of Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen, a play as intricate and layered as a mathematical proof. Ostensibly, the script attempts to recreate a meeting in 1941 between Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg, two eminent nuclear physicists who worked closely together in the late 1920s and early 1930s but found themselves on opposite sides of a war that had devoured all of Europe and was threatening to engulf the world. The meeting between Bohr and Heisenberg in Copenhagen in 1941 is a historical fact, but what actually transpired there has remained shrouded in mystery, even, interestingly, to those who participated. But the mysteries of the meeting are only a starting place for Frayn, whose script squeezes the uncertainty for all it is worth and in the process unearths compelling characters caught up by forces that are at once both as colossal as a nuclear explosion and as minute as the inner workings of the atom.

Heisenberg, forcefully played by Andrew Long, has chosen to stay in his German homeland, despite his Jewish heritage. He is afforded special treatment by the Nazi regime because of his worth as a scientist and is able to continue to work on building a nuclear reactor. Whether he is planning to build a nuclear bomb is the central mystery of his visit to Copenhagen and of the play. From the outset, it is obvious that Heisenberg is torn between his love for Germany and the terror of what his country is doing to the rest of the world under the direction of the Nazis. What is not so obvious is which side of his inner conflict finally won. Heisenberg himself, it seems, is not even sure. Long, whose résumé consists mostly of Shakespearean work,

23

expertly guides Heisenberg’s character through a torrent of discovery and doubt. At times cutting the figure of a strutting member of the regime that is occupying Copenhagen, he often seems more like a lost little boy who desperately wants the world to make sense again. Long’s portrayal of Heisenberg subtly reveals the uncertain turmoil hiding behind the choices made in times of great conflict.

Niels and Margrethe Bohr, whose home in Copenhagen provides the setting for the play, find themselves on the other side of this same conflict. Denmark has been occupied by the Germans, and they are unsure of what to expect from their old friend’s visit, since he is now a part of the oppressive regime that has invaded their homeland. The Bohrs are much older than Heisenberg, and the fact that they are parental figures to him is apparent from the outset. Niels Bohr, portrayed with gusto by Anderson Matthews, has dramatic shifts in attitude toward his old friend. Benign and deferential one minute, explosive and righteous the next, Matthews’ Bohr is fascinating to watch. As his character blusters on about uranium-235, it seems as though Matthews is able to create the physics teacher that everyone wishes they had— maddening at times, but certainly never dull.

Margrethe Bohr, on the other hand, serves as his counterbalance. Brilliantly depicted by Carol Schultz, Margrethe is often the calming voice of reason and insight, and she acts as a sort of moderator between her husband and their surrogate son. In her interactions with both Bohr and Heisenberg, Shultz’s Margrethe evinces a sense of moralistic benevolence, while never appearing self-righteous or judgmental.

At its heart, Copenhagen is a memory play, and both time and the characters that exist within that time have been made flexible. Temporally distorted plays have a tendency to be difficult, but Steven Woolf’s direction captures the magic that can happen when a good script and a deft directorial touch work together to create a work of captivating artistry. Add to this the often-confounding world of physics that the play explores, and it becomes evident that the director and actors alike have done an admirable job molding a work that is both poignant and accessible.

Nestled among rambling explanations of the workings of physics, explanations that include such heady ideas as complementarity and the uncertainty principle, are moments of human tenderness, gentle humor, and, most tellingly, a sense of aching melancholy, a melancholy that stems from the choices made both internally and externally.

Early in the second act, as the play has seemingly disengaged itself from questions of war and wandered far afield into the principles of physics, there is a moment in which the realization comes home that we have not wandered as far as we may have thought or hoped. As Heisenberg rails against the horrors of war and the impossibility of ever being sure that our decisions are the right ones, the audience’s eyes focus again on the image of the mushroom cloud and the sun, still superimposed on the stage.

This image, this terrible, unearthly image, hangs behind the very human moments of the play and illustrates, far better than any dialogue ever could, the questions that still haunt our planet a half-century after that mysterious meeting in Copenhagen.

—John Shepherd

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The Playback scooter is getting an extra big workout lately with its monthly delivery duties: over 220 locations! Luckily, it has that auxilliary gas tank and a place to store snacks. Each month, we update you on what is going on in the land of the Arch with interviews, reviews, and previews. Also, don't forget to check out www.playbackstl.com for our weekly Events page, featuring previews on many of the great things that are going on in the STL.