Spring 2014 JUMP

ISSUE #13

SPRING 2014

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MENZINGERS THE GANG OF

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THE VISUAL ISSUE: RJD2, ZILLA ROCCA, JADE ALSTON, NONA, MAN MAN, NEEDLE POINTS AND MUCH, MUCH MORE

CONTENTS | Issue #13

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SPRING 2014

THE JUMP OFF Likers, Banned Books, Jade Alston, NONA, Kwesi K, Perry Shall, Modern Baseball, Black Ink Art, Needle Points, Thrills, West Philadelphia Orchestra, Hot Bijouxx, Dan King, SteveO from The Holy Mess, and gig poster reviews.

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THIS PLACE ROCKS Fergie's Pub has become a hangout for Philly artists, largely because owner Fergie Carey likes it that way.

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MUSIC & POLITICS Shinjoo Cho works for the city, trying to lure international businesses to come here. She uses the arts as a selling point.

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MUSIC & EDUCATION The crew from Illstyle & Peace Productions have danced around the world, showing off Philly talent and teaching people about life through movement.

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COVER stories: The VISUAL ISSUE When RJD2 is not traveling around the world, he's most often at his home studio or spending time with his son. We followed the music genius as he performed his errands.

Zilla Rocca grew up in South Philadelphia, in an area where hip-hop wasn't the norm. But he fell in love with the genre and he's been chasing success as a rapper ever since.

Music was his first love and Get Up initially used his street art as a way of building his brand. Then his art career took off. Now, he's back to music and ready to drop a new album.

Moving to Philly from Scranton has helped The Menzingers mature and become the band and the people they are today.

A typical Man Man show involves multiple costume changes, celebrity impersonations and lots of wild energy.

We followed the guys around during a recent show.

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FOOD THAT ROCKS Bourbon & Branch recently took over the former Northern Liberties landmark bar, Liberties. They've made lots of changes, including building a performance space upstairs.

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INSIDE VOICES We challenged deputy editor Michael Bucher to photograph the guys from Man Man on a show day. How do you capture the energy of their shows? It wasn't easy.

COVER PHOTO: The Menzingers, by Jessica Flynn.

BACK COVER: RJD2, by Grace Dickinson.

CONTENTS PAGE: (top to bottom) Needle Points, by Kate McCann; Kwesi K, by Darragh Dandurand; Zilla Rocca, by Marie Alyse Rodriguez.

JUMPphilly.com

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publisher G.W. MILLER III managing editor CHRIS MALO deputy editors MICHAEL BUCHER, BETH ANN DOWNEY contributors SEBASTIAN ADE, NAVEED AHSAN, KYLE BAGENSTOSE, SOFIYA BALLIN , SHAUNA BANNAN, RACHEL BARRISH, TIMOTHY BECKER, KATE BODNAR, MICHAEL BUCHER, CARY CARR, SHARON CALVIN, ASHLEY COLEMAN, RICH COLEMAN, ANEESAH COLEY, KEVIN COOK, DARRAGH DANDURAND, CHESNEY DAVIS, GRACE DICKINSON, KELSEY DOENGES, KEVIN DORAN, KATIE DVORAK, MATTHEW EMMERICH, JESSICA FLYNN, SHAUN FRAZIER, JEFF FUSCO, RON GALLO, JESSICA GRIFFIN, KATE HARROLD, SHAWN HILEMAN, TYLER HORST, LUONG HUYNH, KURT HUNTE, GRETA IVERSON, ROSELLA LaFEVRE, MINA LEE, MATTHEW LEISTER, MARISA LYON, MORGAN JAMES, PEAK JOHNSON, AARON JOLLAY, GABRIELLE LAVIN, RICK KAUFFMAN, MEGAN MATUZAK, KATE McCANN, NIESHA MILLER, TIESHA MILLER, BRENDAN MENAPACE, BRENDAN MULVIHILL, CAROLINE NEWTON, ED NEWTON, BRANDEE NICHOLS, TIM O'DONNELL, ELIZABETH PRICE, URSZULA PRUCHNIEWSKA, ABIGAIL REIMOLD, DANA RICCI, MARIE ALYSE RODRIGUEZ, SAMMY ROLAND, CHAD SIMS, KEVIN STAIRIKER, THAD SUZENSKI, BRITTANY THOMAS, RYAN TREITEL, JONATHAN VAN DINE, ZAKEE VAUGHN (R.I.P.), NIKKI VOLPICELLI, JARED WHALEN, BRIAN WILENSKY, BREE WOOD intern DERRICK KROM WE PRINT 10,000 FULL-COLOR ISSUES FOUR TIMES PER YEAR, IN MARCH, JUNE, SEPTEMBER AND NOVEMBER. WE DISTRIBUTE THEM FREE AT PHILLY AREA MUSIC VENUES, STUDIOS, RESTAURANTS, RECORD SHOPS, BARS, CLOTHING BOUTIQUES, GYMS, BOOK STORES, COFFEE SHOPS, UNIVERSITIES, CLUBS AND OTHER PLACES WHERE MUSIC LOVERS HANG OUT. IF YOU WANT MAGS AT YOUR LOCATION, EMAIL US AT JUMPPHILLY@GMAIL.COM. JUMP is an independent magazine published by Mookieland Inc. We are not owned by Temple University nor anyone else other than Mookieland, which is a company named after the publisher's dog. The company was created specifically to launch this magazine.

We have no money. We need your advertising dollars to print this mag, which promotes the local music scene. By supporting JUMP, you are supporting the local music scene.

This is a full-on, DIY community effort. If you want to get involved, if you have story ideas or if you just have something to say, email us at jumpphilly@gmail.com, tweet us @JUMPphilly and find us at facebook.com/jumpphilly.

Philly rocks. Spread the word. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Publisher's Note

Seeing Music I used to be a professional photojournalist. For more than 10 years, my job was to roam around Philadelphia visually documenting whatever was happening on that particular day. It was an awesome job.

I was invited into the homes of the rich and famous, as well as those less fortunate. I was able to experience, if only for a brief period, the lives of real Philadelphians.

Some days were rather mundane, even routine. After a while, all high school basketball games, press conferences and crime scenes start to look alike. But that was when the real challenge of being a photojournalist began. I had to take the everyday events and present them in an artistic, engaging manner. You have to make the significant appear interesting in order to draw people in.

I left the photo gig to be a full-time reporter, and eventually quit that to become a full-time teacher (which I still am ... this mag is a side project).

A few years ago, I realized that I wasn't studying the world the way I used to when I was a photojounalist. I was only seeing the superficial and not scouring the city for details.

I was missing gems and moments, I feared, because my creative eye wasn't getting every day use. So I started a photo of the day Tumblr, a daily challenge to see something unusual, or at least view the world from a different perspective.

I've been doing it for more than four years, and that is a lot of pressure. It has forced me to go out and see stuff all the time, if only for the sake of getting a new, different image.

A quick look at the four-year photo archive makes my life look awesome - full of friends, concerts, baseball games, city views, travels abroad and lots of pictures of Mookie, my dog.

It's real and not real at the same time. The images are highlights, drawing you in, but they are mere moments from each day, literally a fraction of a second. Real life is much more than that.

In this edition, we try to present to you the real lives of people in the Philly music scene. We followed and visually captured RJD2, Man Man, The Menzingers, Zilla Rocca, SteveO from The Holy Mess and others as they went about their days. Fans generally see these folks only when they're on stage. Our challenge was to present their lives away from the stage in a way that reveals their true characters.

The camera and camera operator, however, can be impediments in the process of documenting reality. We can be distractions, causing people to behave differently. They pose or try to create a persona for the audience.

Fortunately, our photographers aren't just photographers.

They are part of the music scene, and they blend into the background. We have a very talented crew who believe in the mission - we're here to show off the amazing talent in this city.

It's a pretty awesome job we have here at JUMP. Hope you enjoy the issue.

- G.W. Miller III JUMPphilly.com

The JUMP Off

INSIDE: LIKERS p. 8 / BANNED BOOKS p. 9 / JADE ALSTON p. 9 / NONA p. 10 / KWESI K p. 12 /

Photo by Michael Bucher.

PERRY SHALL p. 13 / MODERN BASEBALL p. 14 / BLACK INK ART p. 15 /

JUMPphilly.com

NEEDLE POINTS p. 16 / THRILLS p. 17 / WEST PHILADELPHIA ORCHESTRA p. 18 / HOT BIJOUXX p. 19 / DAN KING p. 20 / STEVEO p. 22 / GIG POSTER REVIEWS p. 23 / 7

Photo by Michael Bucher.

The JUMP Off

Wait, Like, Seriously?

The guys in Likers have so much fun together that they sometimes have a problem being taken seriously. But when it comes to making their spooky, powerpop punk music, they get down to business.

Steel Panther’s “Party All Day,” 2 Chainz’ “Birthday Song” and Gang Starr’s “Above the Clouds” all play at 2nd Street Brew House while South Philly-based band Likers grabs a few drinks after a quick practice. The songs are hard to take seriously when all played together. The members of Likers also, at times, can say things that leave one wondering whether to take them seriously.

“Take pop ideals and drag them through grit, gain and gloss,” says bass player Ted Quann. “I wrote a little bio about ourselves. It’s fucking terrible. It’s the best I could come up with.”

“I actually think that's a good way to describe it,” jokes Andrew Chase, who plays organ and guitar.

This is where Likers exists - a tongue-in-cheek outer layer masking a serious and developed musical core.

Formed in late 2012, the band, which includes members Quann, Chase, Chris Sigda on guitar and Kris Tyas on drums, all share in crafting their spooky, powerpop punk sound.

“We try to take a pop idea but then distort it or try to make it eerie,” says Quann.

Someone might bring a guitar riff or a chord progression and then together, they will analyze it, deconstruct it and rebuild it until he says they agree it has a “rightness” to it. Chase, Sigda and Quann all share vocal duties.

With unorthodox time signatures and an experimental energy, the group says live shows have one purpose: to get people to dance.

They say a lot of stuff they hear now is too similar to what people were listening to when they were in high school. The bandmates enjoy looking further back in time to expand the range of influences on their music, everything from Elvis Costello to Electric Light Orchestra.

After crafting the sound itself, Likers use lyrics to engage listeners on multiple levels. Like many bands, tried and true themes for songs include love, loss and memory. But instead of approaching these subjects head-on, they prefer concocting humorous narratives or playful metaphors to deliver the themes. In the song “Two at a Time,” Chase assumes a sad fictional

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NOT SUPER SERIOUS: (L to R), Andrew Chase, Ted Quann, Chris Sigda and Kris Tyas, formerly known as Andy Social, Ted Offensive, Chris Charge and Kris Kongeniality. male character whose girlfriend feels unfulfilled, singing, “My one and only likes two at a time.”

The group are close friends and humor is a natural part of their relationship.

“We want to be the opposite of that band you see in a magazine that’s looking, like, arms crossed staring out, super serious,” says Quann.

With Likers’ propensity for humor, they built a faux punk boy band image. They came up with inyour-face monikers (Andy Social, Ted Offensive, Chris Charge and Kris Kongeniality), pointing out the silliness of those high school-era groups.

“That was amusing to us because it was so opposite of our personality,” says Sigda.

Quickly, though, they dropped the personas and now opt for a more business casual vibe.

The thought of being interpreted as a joke band though, like Tenacious D, horrifies Quann.

“We do NOT want to be a joke band whatsoever,” he declares.

In taking the band more seriously, the group decided to work with a professional studio to record an EP, which would become Men of Honor.

They approached the co-owner of The Headroom Studios, Kyle Pulley, and formed a plan that would fit their small budget.

“They had a pretty good idea of what they wanted from the get-go,” says Pulley. “The concept of the record was that it was going to be perfectly performed, but sound very raw.”

They decided to use a recording technique called re-amping. After recording the drum tracks in the studio, they returned to Quann’s house to record the guitar, bass, organ and vocals. There, they could spend as much time on making every part tight while avoiding costly studio charges. At the house, they split one audio track to an amp and the

other directly into an unfiltered digital recorder.

That file – retaining nearly the same quality as if played live at The Headroom – then served as a raw track and later used in the studio to be run through different amps and microphones.

In the studio, Pulley said he and the band would deliberately do things to get the “wrong sound.”

They would put microphones in unconventional places or use computer simulators on vocals instead of guitars.

“Ted could articulate - even on some technical terms - exactly what he wanted,” Pulley says, “which is not common.”

Once the recording was finished and the band was happy with the mastered tracks, Quann approached Philadelphia’s FDH Records owner Eric Theill about the record. He offered to make cassettes through a subdivision of FDH called Suicide Bong Tapes for the time being and encouraged them to continue looking for a label to release a vinyl sooner.

Theill expect to have tapes to be ready by spring.

“I heard bits and pieces of that sound I love ’80s pop rock but with modern indie influences,” he says.

As a policy, Theill says he won’t take a band seriously unless they send him a physical package. Quann chose to forgo the professional, serious appearance and let the digital tracks speak for themselves. As with much of Likers' identity, their true character is not always what’s on the surface.

“I’m really digging what I’m hearing,” Theill remembers telling Quann after listening to a few songs on his computer. “I’ll bypass the policy this time.”

The seriousness of the music could not be denied.

- Michael Bucher facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Marie Alyse Rodriguez.

Making Music That Will Make You Argue Banned Books trimmed down, eased up on the chaos and refocused.

It’s a little after 1 p.m. on a Friday afternoon and Zane Kanevsky and Matt Dermond — who make up the entirety of the freak-out, noise-rock outfit Banned Books — are both sweating in Dermond’s basement, going through their setlist for an upcoming show.

For any casual passer-by, this could just be the sound of some band practicing. But this ritual is different. Watching the guys efficiently run through songs again and again to make sure everything is just right, one can sense an aura of excitement they’re giving off, as if this two-piece is entering somewhat unbridled territory.

It wouldn’t be too far off. Since Banned Books has slimmed down and tightened up into a two-piece, practices and songwriting sessions have increased exponentially.

“There was a year when we played maybe 75 to 100 shows but we maybe practiced once,” Kanevsky says of the three-piece era of Banned Books, a time when he and Dermond shared guitar, bass and keyboard duties while Cameron Vance managed drums.

The time spent coordinating practices began hurting the group's creative process, though you wouldn’t know it by listening to the textured melodies, experimental instrumentation and off-the-wall, stop-start rhythms they recorded at the time. Still, after a while, Dermond says it began to grow stale.

“It did feel kind of weird for a little while because it was like, ‘Well, all right, I guess this is what we do,’” he says. “‘We do this and we just keep doing this.’”

The complacency that might have been brewing as a three-piece for Banned Books is now replaced with enthusiasm, long days of practice and tackling new challenges that come with being a two-piece band. Kanevsky now sings and drums. Dermond works at crafting highly-detailed sounds and melodies armed only with a guitar and a rack of effects.

The duo, who has made music together in some way or another for the past 10 years, couldn’t be more excited to take on these challenges.

“Now with just the two of us, it’s like both of us want to spend our free time doing this or make more free time doing this,” Dermond says. “Right now we have the most potential. The past couple of months have been our most productive months of our songwriting ever.”

Established fans are no doubt used to the jarring, keep-you-on-your-toes nature of their past work. But what’s most interesting is how Banned Books is currently shaping its approach to songwriting and performance. There’s less

The Survivor

Photo courtesy of Jasmine Alston.

Jade Alston thought she was going to die.

Now her music has a whole new sound.

Jade Alston is a self-proclaimed “Philly jawn.”

She’s lived all over the city but grew up primarily around 7th Street and Girard Avenue, where her mother owned a preschool.

The 26-year-old singer/songwriter remembers when she first made it her goal to pursue music.

It was when she was 15, on the day that Ashanti’s self-titled debut album dropped. Impressed by seeing the budding songstress’ name underneath each and every song, Alston immediately put in motion her own plan to become a songwriter.

“It was so dumb but I was trying,” remembers Alston, thinking of the first song she ever wrote.

She smiles, unable to hold back a small laugh.

Alston has since released two EPs, Single On a Saturday Night and its follow-up, Sunday Morning: Single On a Saturday Night Pt. 2. She classifies both records as contemporary rhythm and blues, JUMPphilly.com

JUST THE TWO OF US: Matt Dermond (left) and Zane Kanevsky. of an emphasis on the weird in favor of more straight-ahead style of rock.

“There are still freak-outs and it’s still noisy,’” Kanevsky says. “‘But I feel a little less caught up in trying to be really chaotic or really spazzy and instead writing songs that rock.”

The stop-start freak-outs were beginning to become a crutch, he admits, letting inherent chaos hide any mistakes.

“I think we got caught up for a while in purposefully putting those things in our songs instead of letting them happen because we always fuck up,” Kanevsky says with a laugh. “There’re always parts where everything falls apart and no one can ever tell because we don’t stop. We just try to make it sound as good as it possibly can, regardless of the fact that one or both of us are completely not doing what we’re supposed to be doing.”

It’s no doubt an exciting time to hear Banned Books. Pitting older songs like “Human Head” next to the newer pieces like “Crown Fragment” shows that the band is focused on refining its sound, making everything more purposeful. The group may be structuring more conventional songs as of late but the objective is still to be a band that fans and their friends will want to actually discuss after a show.

“You go to a show and see a band and rather than everybody saying, ‘Oh yeah, that was great’ or ‘that band sucked,’ it’s way better to have everyone leave and fucking argue,” Kanevsky explains. “I think that a lot of bands just want to please everyone or take it the complete other way and piss everyone off. And neither of those things are really exciting. It doesn’t keep you on your toes. It either bothers you or keeps you complacent.”

If there’s one thing Banned Books is fighting against, it’s complacency. With a handful of shows under their belt as a two-piece and their first full-length LP due out this year, they’re winning that battle with ease. - Rich Coleman

unlike the style of music she plans to present on her upcoming album, We Will Live.

“They can expect something classic, something timeless, something that maybe you wouldn’t expect from a jawn,” Alston says with a laugh, explaining what her fans will hear on the new album. “They can expect an honest musical body of work that’s very relatable.”

She’s more recently found herself drawn to acoustic music and live instrumentation.

“A lot of the music has really humble beginnings,” says Alston’s younger sister, Tyler Miller, who served as a producer and writer on We Will Live.

“It usually starts out with me playing the guitar and building in production from there. So you should expect to hear real instruments with an interesting alternative folk/rock/pop edge fused with Jade's classic R&B origins.”

Fans, both new and old, should be pleased.

“The new sound is definitely something never before done and I, for one, have fallen in love with it,” Miller continues.

We Will Live, set to be released at the top of the summer, serves as a symbol of Alston's

rediscovery of the importance of life and following one’s dreams, a revelation born after facing a life-threatening diagnosis of Myocarditis - inflammation of the heart muscle.

At one point during her stay in the hospital, she recalls having nearly a liter of fluid around each lung.

“I thought I was not gonna live,” she admits.

Unable to breathe or lay back, she was forced to sleep in a recliner for nearly two months.

Now she says there’s nothing that really scares her in life.

After recovering and successfully fundraising more than $7,000 via a Kickstarter campaign, she has proved herself to be not only a successful independent artist, but a survivor, too.

- Aneesah Coley

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NAILED IT: (L to R) Pat "Dos" Ware, Nick Harris and Mimi Gallagher.

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Photo by Jessica Flynn.

The JUMP Off

Why NONA Rocks 3 Born in West Chester but now based in Philly, NONA makes music for punk kids with studs on their jackets - and the moms who love them.

There’s a lot on NONA’s plate at the moment.

In a literal sense, the South Philadelphia punk rock trio fills their plates tonight with a full helping of home-cooked barbecue, mashed sweet potatoes and salad while managing to avoid the overly salted asparagus.

But NONA is also in the process of preparing for an upcoming tour - which includes a stop at SXSW - and the re-release of their first full-length LP Through the Head on 6131 Records this May, all while managing to balance part-time jobs to pay the rent.

Going on their fourth year as a band, NONA is also used to a good amount of change. Singer/guitarist/founder and sole original member Mimi Gallagher moved to Philadelphia from West Chester, bringing the band and its aspirations along with her.

“It’s been a revolving cast of members,” Gallagher says, “just because it’s hard to find people I’m on the same page with.”

While bassist Nick Harris slaves away in the kitchen and the “Drive” soundtrack spins on the turntable, Gallagher and drummer Pat “Dos” Ware sit down to talk about life in NONA, what the future might hold and Gallagher’s pivotal move to Philadelphia.

“A big shift was definitely Mimi moving to Philly,” Ware says. “Because before, NONA was a West Chester thing. Now it’s definitely a Philly thing.”

“It feels more like a band now than it ever has,” adds Gallagher. “We’re all musically on the same page and writing songs makes more sense than it ever has.”

According to Ware, finding the right cast of characters for NONA involved a good amount of alcohol.

“A big drunken mistake,” he says with a laugh. “That’s all we are.”

Ware decided to join two years ago, when he and Gallagher met on tour in a New Hampshire bar. Harris, on the other hand, joined without even seeing the band play live.

“I heard Through the Head when it first came out and I loved it,” Harris says.

“It was a drunken night, probably 6 a.m., and I just said, ‘I’ll do it. I’ll play bass in your band.’ The next day I bought a bass online.”

It seems as if this current lineup is the lineup that’s finally here to stay. All in their early 20s, the three members of NONA interact as if they have always been lifelong friends.

“We’re three people who are very, for the most part, comfortable in our own skin with the decisions we make,” says Ware. “The only thing that’s different about this band than any other band I’ve ever been in is that we don’t really limit ourselves to anything.”

This limitless stance doesn’t only apply to music. While currently modestly dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, NONA alludes to a few questionable clothing choices in the past after Ware mentions a Phillies beanie Harris stole from Gallagher’s parents.

“We’ve gotta get Nick a new hat,” Ware says. “It’s the only hat Nick’s worn all year and everywhere I go, I see five older gentlemen wearing that hat.”

Along with arguing against the idea of wearing sweatpants on stage, Harris brings up a show in Cincinnati where Ware played the entire show wearing a mesh Goth shirt.

“Like a pinnie from gym class with no undershirt,” Harris adds.

“Everyone at the show proceeded to throw one, two, three hundred beer cans at me,” Ware says. “It was fun that night.”

With Gallagher painting Harris’s nails and Ware attempting to eat the aforementioned salty asparagus, the members of NONA finish-up their dinner and begin talking about the future.

“It’s kind of scary to think that far ahead,” says Gallagher. “We want to take every opportunity that’s given to us. Obviously, in five years, I would love it if some form of this could be what I was living off of. That would be the dream.”

Now that Through the Head is on schedule to be re-released sometime in May, NONA is looking forward to writing new material and booking shows for the upcoming summer.

“I feel like we’re ready to start writing songs that a punk kid with studs on his jacket would love,” Ware says. “But songs that his mom would love, too.”

- Derrick Krom JUMPphilly.com

The JUMP Off

The Team Player

Kwesi K was too chill for football. So he became a singer/songwriter.

It’s tough to imagine Kwesi Kankam barreling at you full-speed, preparing to knock you to the ground and leave you face-down in the dirt. The 26-yearold songwriter is soft-spoken and unassuming. When he talks, he pauses thoughtfully between each sentence, looking down through the corner of his square-framed glasses. When he sings, his smooth vocals have an instantly soothing effect.

But that doesn’t change the fact that for a good portion of his life, Kankam had the primary objective of running over everyone who stood between him and the end zone.

Growing up in Toledo, Ohio, Kankam excelled athletically and was offered a chance to play Division I football at Lehigh University. He took the offer and landed with a splash, earning starting time and even scoring touchdowns as a freshman. There was just one problem: He couldn’t have cared less.

“I remember being in the locker room before games, thinking something was wrong,” recalls Kankam, who now records as Kwesi K. “Everyone else was hyped up, rowdy as shit, and I’m just really chill in the corner.”

When he decided to quit the team, things got ugly. His coach accused him of cowardice, his father stopped speaking to him and he was forced to move back home after losing his financial aid. However, Kankam was able to reevaluate his life and returned to Lehigh to pursue a degree in architecture.

With free time on his hands, Kankam also picked up an acoustic guitar for the first time in years and began to write songs, eventually putting his abilities to the test while abroad in Barcelona, Spain.

“I sang publicly for the first time and thought I was just taking up space in the park,” Kankam says. “But people were instead coming up, saying that I had a warm voice.”

After graduating from Lehigh in 2011, Kankam decided to pursue a career as a songwriter. He relocated to Philadelphia to better his chances. Using 30th Street Station’s free Wi-Fi on his first night in town, he released his debut EP, Ran Away From Me, on Bandcamp.

“I produced it and engineered it myself,” Kankam says. “It was cool for what it was but I wanted to take things to the next level. That meant enlisting a studio producer.”

As fate would have it, Philadelphia drummer and producer Charlie Patierno was waiting in the wings. Patierno was the studio drummer on Melody Gardot’s Grammy-nominated album My One and Only Thrill, he toured across

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France with late guitarist Jef Lee Johnson and he's worked with The Roots, including producing tracks and a co-writing the song “Get Busy.”

In late 2012, Patierno had just finished installing a recording space in the basement of his Fishtown home and was looking to take on new artists when he was introduced to Kankam.

“It was sort of serendipitous,” Patierno says. “He was new to the area and the process. I really liked his voice, so we met and started to put things together.”

Kankam launched a Kickstarter campaign to help pay for studio musicians and recording sessions at South Philadelphia’s Turtle Studios and the two got to work. But, like the young hotshot being trained in kung fu by the savvy sage, friction sparked between the two. Patierno tried to apply his experience, and Kankam faced professional criticism for the first time.

“I came in as a folk artist and he kind of had a rock and hip-hop background,” Kankam says. “And we argued our points for sure.”

As the recording process progressed, the differences between the two actually began to work to their advantage.

“There’s always that back and forth, and the end result is going to be better for it,” says Patierno. “We combined his vibe with my vibe - with the Turtle Studio and musician vibes - and there became a shared vision.”

Kankam’s vocals and acoustic style remained the centerpiece, but suddenly there were new layers to the music. Steady, growing rhythms were built with shakers and tambourines. Locally revered vocalists like Ginger Coyle and Birdie Busch came in to provide backing on newly-constructed choruses.

Kankam learned to trust the process, and Patierno worked his magic.

“He has a great sense of the bottom feel - the frequencies, the rhythm and the tightness,” Kankam says. “He picks up on stuff that I’m completely oblivious to.”

The results of the yearlong recording process were split into two EPs. The first, Pronouns, was released last November and received airtime on WXPN. The second, Lovely, is scheduled for release in mid-April. With gigs at hardto-book venues including World Café Live and New York’s Mercury Lounge now under his belt, Kankam and Patierno feel that momentum is building and that the trust that they developed is paying off.

“Something that is extremely, extremely important - often even more important than being really talented or having a name producer - is having a hardworking team around you,” Patierno says.

In that sense, Kankam’s journey has come full circle. Once detached from his teammates on the field, he has now found the value of surrounding himself with those who can help him reach the end goal.

“It was great to have Charlie there to tell me what works and what doesn’t,” Kankam says. “You know when you go into a store and walk out with buyer’s remorse? I feel the exact opposite.”

- Kyle Bagenstose facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Darragh Dandurand.

SERENDIPITY: Kwesi Kankam (left) and Charlie Patierno.

The Music Hustler

Photo by Urszula Pruchniewska.

After Jimmy Fallon displayed Perry Shall's art on TV, Shall realized he might actually be able to make a living as an artist.

Perry Shall is a man of many jobs. He works in construction during the week and at Long in the Tooth records on Sundays. He plays in two bands (Hound, a hard-rock power trio, and Dry Feet, a surf rock outfit) and books shows for out-of-town musicians, including JEFF the Brotherhood, Screaming Females, Tenement, Bad Side and Ted Leo. He is also a freelance artist working on a variety of projects. Currently, he’s painting a menu on the wall of Honest Tom’s Taco Shop in West Philly.

“A hustler,” Shall explains, laughing. “That’s the best way to describe me. I’m constantly finding ways to make money doing stuff that I like to do. I feel like I’m Ice-T or something, which is more than OK with me!”

The 28-year-old Shall recently animated his first music video for “Operation Bikini” by Obits, drawing each cell by hand. He also works regularly with bands on merchandise and promotional design, as well as album artwork. The piece that Shall feels is his most important yet is his artwork for We Are the Champions, the 2011 album by rock duo JEFF the Brotherhood.

“He did exactly what we expected but added a lot of ‘Perry's Personal Flair’ as well,” says Jake Orrall, one half of JEFF the Brotherhood.

“For Champs, we just wanted a text-based cover and I had some nudes that I wanted on the insert and the gatefold. He used them quite tastefully in his original collages.”

We Are the Champions was a success and when JEFF the Brotherhood performed on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon,” Shall went along to the show.

“Jimmy Fallon is sitting at his desk, holding my artwork and I’m like, ‘What the hell is going on in my life right now?’” Shall recalls thinking. “I’m standing here watching this famous person holding up my artwork for millions of people to see thinking, ‘Whoa, I made what he’s touching.’ That was the first time that I really thought, maybe, I could make a living off of this.”

Shall has designed album artwork and T-shirt designs for various bands, including Bombino, Best Coast and Diarrhea Planet, and gets most of his ideas just from listening to the music.

“A lot of times, as soon as I hear the music, I can get a vision of what I want,” Shall reveals. “Some of my friends’ bands will explain the concept behind the album title and that will instantly put an idea visually into my head.”

The musicians he works with also have confidence in Shall’s artistic instincts.

“One thing I love about Perry's work is you can really trust him to make something awesome,” Orrall reflects. “Like, if we needed a new shirt or something, I could just give him a tiny bit of direction, like, ‘I want something menacing.’ The first thing he comes up with is always dead-on perfect.”

The next big project for Shall is designing art for the new record by Philly band Cold Fronts. He also continues to work for TSVG, a guitar pedal company started in 2011 by Mike Klein, Shall’s childhood friend and former Hound bandmate. Shall designs the artwork for the pedals.

“He has an insane eye for layout and fonts,” says Klein. “With that said, he didn’t just wake up one day with it all figured out. He’s been sketching forever and his brain is always working. He has been working at what he does for a really long time. He is a self-taught pro.”

Klein considers Shall one of his favorite artists.

“When I look at the stuff he does, it brings out some type of emotion,” Klein explains. “Whether it’s a smile or repulsion or whatever, I always feel something when I look at his stuff.”

- Urszula Pruchniewska JUMPphilly.com

Photo by Jessica Flynn.

The JUMP Off

Seasoned Hitters

Life is hectic for the members of Modern Baseball, who are touring with The Wonder Years, dropping new music and attending college.

Looking at their new record - and holding it in their hands - means more to the members of Modern Baseball than one might think.

The youthful punk band is scattered between the car seat-furnished living room and the kitchen of the West Philly rowhome that three of the four members share. Being mailed eight boxes of the album, You’re Gonna Miss It All, a few weeks prior to its February release date via Run For Cover records, is one of the first topics of conversation among them between sips of Earl Grey tea and talk of ordering Domino’s for dinner.

“They’re wrapped with real shit,” says guitarist and vocalist Brendan Lukens, mentioning that the albums are ready to be sold for retail and not just packaged in sleeves for the band to distribute themselves. “It’s weird.”

“It’s like, actually a record,” adds bassist Ian Farmer.

“It’s like Hot Topic edition,” follows guitarist Jake Ewald, and all three band members erupt in laughter.

The high-quality look and feel of the record, coupled with the fact that they’d already sold about 1,000 preorders, seems to mystify Modern Baseball more than the fact they’ve made it this far, this quickly. The band members agree that getting signed to Run For Cover, playing huge shows and tours with some of punk’s biggest bands and coming up while most band members (except drummer Sean Huber) maintained fulltime course loads as college students has made the past year feel like a whirlwind.

“It’s very fast for us because we don’t ever stop,” Farmer says. “We’re either playing shows and practicing or we’re in school. Just never resting.

There’s no real down time to be, like, yeah.”

“It’s weird to sit back now and see everything unfolding in front of us and us not having anything to do,” Lukens says about their current lull, anticipating the album release, a big tour which started this month with The Wonder Years, and the collective decision for the band members to take a semester off from school.

Modern Baseball started with Lukens and Ewald writing and playing acoustic songs. They found

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out they had the same ideology about music while Lukens was dating Ewald’s twin sister. The two also have the most similar music taste of any other band members and are prone to completing each other’s sentences.

“I was in some bands in high school, kind of just for fun to be playing in a band,” Ewald says. “It was fun but I didn’t feel like I was expressing myself in any way. I wasn’t writing anything except riffs and I would just headbang a lot. Then I met Brendan and we were both kind of like, ‘I want to write music that actually means something.’”

Ewald and Lukens shared songwriting duties more evenly on the new record than they did on their 2012 debut, Sports. The packaging for You’re Gonna Miss It All features the six songs of Ewald’s and the six of Luken’s, written out in their corresponding handwriting – something else they’re very proud of.

“We did that at a Kinko’s in the Midwest sometime this summer,” Ewald says.

Musically, there are many signs on You’re Gonna Miss It All that Modern Baseball has matured, even though they’re still paying for food with the money their parents send them, singing about making out on the couch and shooting music videos with everyone dressed as high school cliques.

“We definitely put a lot into it, specifically musically,” Lukens says. “I want people to notice that and say that we’ve improved from the last record.”

“With Sports, we had all the songs acoustic and went into the studio with just that, making everything up as we recorded it,” adds Ewald.

“With this, we demoed everything and every part that we wanted to do before we went into the studio. Once we got in there, instead of having to make it up and be like, ‘OK, we ran out of time. We might as well just go with this,’ we could improve upon what we’d already done.”

“Also, we recorded it over the summer rather than when we were in school,” says Farmer. “So, we weren’t in the studio from 11 p.m. until 8:30 in

the morning, with class at 10.”

The band members definitely have more to worry about than the average college students.

Showcasing their worries, fears, dreams and cares in their music, though, makes it relatable to people outside of their age group. Everyone has had a love turn sour, a friend treat them like shit or felt the need to take a walk around the neighborhood to clear their head.

“We’ve never really held back with saying exactly how we feel,” Lukens says. “I guess people just feel the same way. We’re at that prime age when you just want to bitch about everything.”

Modern Baseball definitely isn’t complaining about where they are as a band - or as people.

While none of the members spent their formative years living in Philly until coming to college, they gush about how much they love the city and the scene, how there’s always a show to play or see, and supportive people to connect with.

“The whole reason we’re anything,” Lukens says, “is because of the people around.”

“One of the cool things about the Philly music scene is that the guys who book your band in their basement with your other friend's band are the same guys who book your favorite band when they come through town,” adds Ewald.

Modern Baseball is refreshingly more appreciative than the assholes with iPhones they reference in the song “Going To Bed Now” on You’re Gonna Miss It All, and who older people think make up most of their generation. They regularly thank their fans and the label putting out their record, give shout-outs of support to other local bands and fondly recall being given hummus and pita or chips and salsa backstage as some of their favorite tour memories.

Snacks and shrink wrap. That’s all it takes.

- Beth Ann Downey

SPORTSMEN: (L to R) Ian Farmer, Brendan Lukens, Sean Huber and Jake Ewald at the band's West Philly home base. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

The Art of Music Photo by Darragh Dandurand.

The Swartz brothers of Black Ink Art connect music and painting.

When a band’s latest album drops, there’s a reason why fans will trudge to the record store - come rain, shine or zombie apocalypse - to buy that nice, big, shiny vinyl package. It’s the same reason they stand at the merch table after shows, carefully deciding which T-shirt they want to throw $20 at and rep around the neighborhood that weekend. It’s because music is really about more than just music; it’s about what it represents.

And how best to represent your music aesthetically?

That’s where brothers Jon and David Swartz, owners of Black Ink Art, come in.

“It’s definitely important to have artwork as part of the package,” says Jon Swartz, the older of the brothers.

“Album art is the first thing that grabs your attention.

Most musicians have a certain visual language that they want to speak in. I like to think we help them with that.”

The Swartz brothers created Black Ink two years ago, after both graduated from Temple University’s Tyler School of Art with degrees in graphic design. Despite their proficiency with design software, they work mainly with paint and mixed media, often creating brightly colored, trippy works that show mystical landscapes around people and animals. The style attracts musicians, whom the brothers say are among their favorite clients.

“The best clients are the ones who have a basic idea,” Jon says, “but want to see our own interpretation of that idea.”

Perhaps their best-known client to date is The Lawsuits, who rang the Swartz brothers up after seeing a painting titled “Different Strokes,” and asked to use it as the cover of their album Cool, Cool, Cool. They’ve also done work for Philly-based artists like hip-hop duo Lee G & Delon and MC Skrewtape,

along with out-of-towners like New York’s Mercury Landing. Work often goes beyond cover art, branching into merchandise, Web design and even visual effects at shows.

“Merch is a great way to give fans something to show their support,” Jon says.

“It helps brand the artist and add exposure, while also allowing bands to make more money while out on tour.”

Perhaps the reason why working with musicians comes so naturally to the brothers is because of their love - and dependence - on music. While growing up in Mt. Airy, the two attended the Philadelphia High School for the Creative and Performing Arts. They hung around downtown for shows at venues like the TLA. Now, while creating most of their paintings in the tiny, cluttered basement of their home near 12th and Wallace streets, the two constantly have music blasting.

“Music definitely alters your mood,” David says.

“Jazz for example, it makes you zone out and get really mellow. Or, if you’re tired late at night, you can put on some electronic music to get a little spurt of energy while painting.”

“I listen to a lot of Bootsy Collins,” Jon adds. “It’d be easier to list the things I don’t listen to while making art: polka, country and not much classical unless it’s remixed with some dubstep beats.”

Often, music makes an appearance in the finished work, as some of Black Ink’s most popular pieces feature artists like ?uestlove, John Lennon and Bob Marley. A piece titled “High Mileage Davis” depicts Miles Davis driving an old muscle car through outer space. Another, called “O.D. Bee,” puts the head and torso of Wu-Tang’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard on top of a bumblebee, complete with boombox and brown-bagged 40-ounce in his hands.

“Wu-Tang actually shared that one on their Facebook page, and it got like one million likes,” Jon says with a laugh. “Didn’t mention us of course, but maybe we’ll make a shirt out of it and try to take that to the bank.”

- Kyle Bagenstose

Positive Vibrations

The first Needle Points album happened organically, a live recording made in their West Philly basement. It shows off the closeness of the bandmates, who are working on their next release.

A beach is the preferred place to get away on a vacation for lots of people. Needle Points would rather have an entire island.

“It’s an island in your mind,” lead singer Colin Holloway says about their first album’s title, Bom Tugangu. “It’s a happy place.”

By the sounds of it, the album could have been inspired by a wild psychedelic trip. But it actually came from something more natural than that. The five-piece band had only been playing their jangly garage freak-outs for a few months when one day, they decided to bring their four-track recorder into the basement where they practice. It was just to make a demo to help get them more shows.

However, that live recording turned out to be their first full-length.

Ironically, the band has been building a studio in their West Philly home. Guitarist and singer Dave Ulrich says he spent a couple grand on it since this past summer to get it decked out with a giant mixing board, reel-to-reel machine and even a full-size, homemade vocal booth. The studio’s walls are covered almost entirely with tapestries, blankets, Christmas lights, art and instruments, creating a vibe that is a reflection of the band’s

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long-haired Summer of Love aesthetic.

But there’s a deeper connection between the band members that seems ever-present, almost spiritual. It’s a relationship Ulrich describes as idyllic.

And the band knows how to bring that connection into their live performances.

“We have done some weird stuff,” drummer Jordan Kaplan admits. “We [sometimes] start them off with a meditation, an interaction with the audience sort of the thing. We actually have done that in seriousness too and felt more unified.”

Kaplan shares the role as drummer with Danielle Kinoshita. They play standing and facing each other so that they can communicate and play off the deep chemistry Kaplan says they have. Kinoshita only picked up the drums when asked to join the band.

“Danielle travels a lot for work so we’ve had real drummers fill in,” Kaplan adds. “But it never works. Whatever she does is perfect.”

Needle Points make it a point not to overplay on Bom Tugangu. They each agree that the only “shredder” in the band is bassist and singer, Brian Langan. There isn’t need for flashy solos or extended bridges - the strength of the sixsong LP is in the grooves. From the loose “I Drink Rainfall,” jammy “Biting at the Rose,” which will nearly send your stylus flying off the turntable and the pure power stance rock ‘n’ roll of “Woven Wild,” Bom Tugangu is an exploration of lo-fi simplicity.

“It feels like the band playing live,” Langan says.

“When you listen to it, it’s like, ‘Yeah, that’s us.’”

Since the first record came naturally to them and even quicker than expected, they’re ready to spend some real time recording their next record, which puts the studio Ulrich has been building to use. And they’re unafraid of abandoning their live, lo-fi basement recording to move upstairs. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Kate McCann.

The JUMP Off

Creation & Destruction

Mullin photo by Jessica Flynn.

The guys from Vacationer and Ratkicker helped their friend create Thrills, a project rooted in tragedy.

“You can make a million garage records in a row and after a while you’re just like, ‘Eh,’” Ulrich says.

“All the old school bands I know and love have matured and explored, and I think we’re ready to do that.”

A long-term goal of theirs is to use the studio to become a full-functioning record label under the name Need Love. In fact, Bom Tugangu was technically its first release.

“We have a lot of friends who are in the same place as us - making music or doing their own thing,” Ulrich says about helping record other albums. “We didn’t have anyone to release our record, so we just decided to do it ourselves.”

The band collectively agrees that releasing it themselves was a good idea, Langan adds, “We could’ve spent another year shopping it around and would have been on someone else’s schedule and gotten sick of it and given up on it.”

The positive energy and good vibes that have brought Needle Points this far are what they believe will keep them moving forward, too.

“We have this understanding that your attitude is what manifests everything in this world,” Kaplan says. “And I think we’ve all come to this place where we all just have this attitude that we embody what we want. Then it sort of manifests. I think that represents the band, and hopefully this studio thing and where we want to be.

"We’re not trying to do it. We are it.”

- Brian Wilensky JUMPphilly.com

When Michael Mullin talks about his music, he talks about destruction.

It’s how he describes the production, distortion and sampling he puts most of the many musical parts through to create a Thrills song. Whether it’s the vocals he sends through a space echo to the point of incoherence, or the bubbly textures of his guitar that he then slices into a trance rhythm, Mullin refers to his electronic stylings in this seemingly negative manner, despite the beauty that they create.

“The destruction that happens, I’m really attracted to because you’re taking something and destroying it or making it very small,” says Mullin while standing the basement studio he’s built in his South Philly home, using eggcrates taped to the walls for makeshift soundproofing.

“I would make something and then cannibalize it with the process. It just sounds like things are traveling through the intestines of some big acoustic monster.”

It’s fitting that Mullin uses these negative words because he was motivated to create the first Thrills album after a very unfortunate experience. He had just moved in to this house, and before having time to unpack, had to leave for tour as the keyboard player for Vacationer. At 3:45 a.m. in Cleveland, he received a call from his new roommate that he had been robbed. Almost everything was taken, except miraculously, Mullin’s instruments in the basement. So he set out to recover the oldest thing he could remember that wasn’t taken from him - the catalogue of songs that he’d been dreaming up since long before the incident, but never put down.

“I wanted to recreate that and destroy it, kind of take that destructive event in my life and own it,” Mullin says. “I’d had these songs and they’d been stewing in me but it was that [feeling of] everything else is gone - but they left my music here - so I’ve got to do this thing that I’ve wanted to do forever.”

It was the help of friends that got Thrills off the ground to play in a live setting. Kenny Vasoli

of Vacationer played bass on the record, Thrills of Constantly Collapsing. Greg Altman, also in Vacationer and metal band Ratkicker - of which Mullin is also a member - joined with Thrills to play bass along with Ratkicker drummer Earl Martin.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be into the music,” Mullin says. “I didn’t expect it to be a band or anything like that. My friends just rallied behind me and were like, ‘Let’s just play these tunes, man.

We want it to sound how you want it to sound.’

That’s fucking amazing and that’s what I’m most grateful for. These dudes actually want it to, and that’s why it’s happening.”

Altman and Mullin have been making music together in some form or another for more than 10 years. Altman says he enjoyed watching Mullin go through the creative process on his own, as he went from conceptualizing and dreaming to actually writing the songs. But Altman ultimately also had a hand in the finished product by mixing Thrills of Constantly Collapsing.

The “manic” nature of the record reflects Mullin’s inherently artistic spirit, Altman says.

“He’s a really interesting guy,” Altman says. “He’s got interesting perspectives on things and his brain just kind of works in a different way than most people's.

There’s a lot of clashing that happens on the record but there’s a lot of resolution, too. In many instances, it’s a very art-reflectslife kind of thing.

What some people may take as being overwhelming, other people will look at it like a book that they can read over and over again.”

Anyone can head to the Thrills Bandcamp page and listen to the music for free. Mullin and his band continue to work out the live show during “Thrillskicker” practice, when the members of Thrills will work on songs, then have a few drinks when it starts getting difficult, and eventually ease into Ratkicker practice. Mullin hopes that the heavy lyrical content but upbeat, positive vibes of his music will help people relate to it, no matter by which medium it is consumed.

“I was trying to balance the two, like if I sing this with levity and lightness, it won’t sound so pedantic and boring to people,” he says with a laugh. “It’s really in my head but I was trying to make it accessible. That’s a constant uphill battle with making art - making it visible and relatable in any sense of the word. I’m hoping that passion lets it exist as it will.”

- Beth Ann Downey

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Photo by Michael Bucher.

The JUMP Off

DANCE MANIACS: The West Philadelphia Orchestra at Underground Arts, the new home of their monthly party.

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facebook.com/JUMPphilly

A Drunken Dance Party (& Cultural Experience)

Hot Bijouxx photo by Matthew Leister.

For the past eight years, the West Philadelphia Orchestra has been making people dance - and dancing along with them - while also teaching fans about southeastern European culture.

Percussionist Gregg Mervine began sitting in with New York City gypsy/ Balkan band Romashka back in 2006, when the troupe became a staple at the Bulgarian bar Mehanata on the Lower East Side. Their live shows regularly erupted into drunken dance parties.

“The dancing and drunkenness were insane,” Mervine says with a laugh, thinking about one night in particular. “Hundreds of people packed in and started dancing in circles around my drums. Then, WHAM! A girl in a skintight mini-skirt crashed over my bass drum like someone shot out of a cannon. Brian Dawkins couldn't have tackled me any better.”

But the band never paused and the dancing swirled on. ”That’s when I had the realization that starting a Balkan band in Philadelphia would be a good idea.”

Mervine started collecting Balkan rhythm recordings and transcribing the songs. Thus began the genesis of the West Philadelphia Orchestra.

Eight years since its conception, the band has transformed into a 15-piece ensemble whose repertoire traces roots from Klezmer to big-band jazz and everything in between. Labeling the group as just a Balkan-influenced band is a gross misrepresentation. Their catalog has layers of influences that synthesize gospel, techno, funk, jazz, hip-hop and even dub.

“Our original compositions and arrangements of traditional tunes are strongly influenced by Balkan brass styles,” says clarinet player Larry Goldfinger. “But our overall approach to writing and playing has always been to take those traditional forms and combine them with other musical styles that interest members of the band.”

David Fishkin harkens back to the days when the West Philadelphia Orchestra would play their monthly installments at the now-defunct South Street bar, Tritone.

“I used to come to West Philly shows and dance like a maniac,” reminisces Fishkin. “I remember feeling the wooden floorboards start bouncing underneath the weight of everybody dancing. Sometimes I thought that the floor would crack.”

Fishkin appeared so often that eventually, West Philadelphia Orchestra trumpeter Adam Hershberger encouraged Fishkin, an alto saxophonist, to start coming to rehearsals at the band’s West Philly pad. Now he’s regular part of the band.

Since their humble beginnings at Tritone, the Orchestra has moved their monthly parties to Underground Arts. Though the venue has changed, their ability to connect the Western populace to Eastern musical arrangements has not wavered.

Bulgarian, Serbian and Romani languages are incorporated into vocalist Petia Zamfirova’s lyrics. Despite a sizeable portion of the crowd likely not understanding the various languages of the southeastern Europe region, there always seems to be a supernatural synergy between them and the band.

At a show this past February, the band performed three one-hour sets. By their second set, WPO moved off the stage and into the crowd. This, Mervine says, is vital to the band’s ethos.

“The best place to hear us is under a bridge or in some stank corner bar,” Mervine explains. “Anywhere up close and personal. That's why we never stay on stage at a show. That’s why we get down on the floor with you and bump asses.”

There is no clear explanation to the band’s longevity. There have been numerous lineup changes and many of the current members have other projects on the side. What is clear, though, is that after eight years, they still know how to bump ass.

“People in the band have always had wide-ranging musical interests, and have been involved with many diverse projects,” says Fishkin. “But this does not reflect a lack of commitment to WPO. What keeps WPO going strong is our love for the music, and our joy in playing and sharing it with people.”

- Naveed Ahsan JUMPphilly.com

Mad For Jazz

Hot Bijouxx takes the standards and gives them a modern twist.

F. Scott Fitzgerald famously called the 1920s the “Jazz Age.” Tin Pan Alley was brimming with joints woven together with flappers and gangsters drinking hooch and listening to swinging bands. With its rebellious nature and underground reputation, jazz challenged classical music in many ways it was for the mad ones.

Today, in Philadelphia, jazz is coming full-circle and gaining more traction as younger audiences discover the art form. Trendy bars and restaurants are booking more and more jazz acts. Speakeasies are booming, as well as the swing that traditionally accompanies them. It is no longer rare, and therefore, harder to stand out in the musical crowd.

Hot Bijouxx stands out.

The band consists of an accordion player, a guitarist and a drummer with a snare and hi-hat. There are no horns, no keyboard and most astoundingly, no bass. The accordion dominates the sound with the rhythm section providing a smooth groove.

And then there is the voice.

Najwa Parkins tells the stories. She is lovely, wearing a red dress that dares you not to take notice. Her voice is traditional yet unique, poised yet full of life, much like the old-school jazz that inspires her.

Parkins describes Hot Bijouxx as a mix of “high-energy, rhythmically-driven, dark, French swing, bossa nova and old school jazz.”

“Hot Bijouxx is hot, meaning fast tempos, high energy, exciting time shifts and sound progressions,” states bandleader and accordionist Dallas Vietty.

Vietty, a full-time musician and music educator, brings the most overt French swing influence to the group. Ryan McNeely plays the guitar and provides the Brazilian bossa nova style to the group while Kevin Ripley is inspired by modern jazz, hip-hop and dance music to create the beats behind the sound.

“I think each of us has a distinctly different musical background and our ability to work together as one makes for a dynamic and multifaceted group sound,” Parkins says.

The concept of Hot Bijouxx is to take jazz standards such as “La Vie En Rose” and “Dream a Little Dream of Me” (the unofficial theme song of the group) and create original arrangements to fit their eclectic style. In short, they make Duke Ellington songs sound both French and Brazilian - and most important, they sound new.

Kristen Jas was the first singer for the group. Online you can find a truly impressive music video for the tune “I’ve Found A New Baby” starring her.

Their album of the same name is with her voice. She was the face of the group.

“Kristen was an excellent promoter for our band,” Ripley says.

Jas left the group, choosing to pursue her passion in permaculture design.

“When I thought about what I wanted to do when I grew up, it was not be a jazz singer,” Jas says with a smile.

She still helps with the planning and marketing side of the band.

Her departure from the group led to a crossroads for Hot Bijouxx. The addition of Parkins has added scatting and a new set of tunes to the group’s repertoire. She means business.

“Najwa revitalized the group,” McNeely proclaims.

Listening to them play, you can imagine yourself being among the “movable feast” that was Paris during the Jazz Age. The innovations of art happening all around overcome your senses and you reminisce as if it was a part of your reality, not just your dreams. Hot Bijouxx is rebellious, underground and definitely for the mad ones.

“We are planning a tribute to Josephine Baker, the famous 1920s singer, dancer, entertainer, civil rights pioneer, and all around amazing person,” Vietty announces. Look for it this summer.

- Matthew Leister

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The JUMP Off Photo by Kate Harrold.

The King of Music Videos Videographer/photographer Dan King helps musicians connect with fans through visuals.

If the name of Dan King's Old City photography studio, Overkill Studios, is inspired by anything in particular, it's certainly not the design aesthetic.

The space is roomy and bare - and just a little bit cold on a winter afternoon - accented by a few works of oozing street art mounted on formal canvases. Sectioned off by a makeshift wall to protect his gear from his artist friend's spray paint, King's side of the studio looks like a blank slate - ready to be transformed into just about anything.

Sitting down at a table made from found wood, rescued on a whim, the music photographer and videographer begins to elaborate on the importance of spontaneity.

“I approach video kind of like a jam session,” he says. “I'll have some sort of weird prop or little conceptual thing and shoot around that and have fun.”

He's not just pulling stuff out of thin air though.

King's foray into the visual side of music began many years ago as a digital media student at Drexel University. During his senior year, he started interning with two.one.five magazine, shooting shows and slowly getting access to the movers and shakers in local music. From there, his talent took him where he needed to go.

“The Philly music scene is super tight-knit,” explains King.

One contact usually leads to another, and lasting relationships with musicians can produce some pretty stellar work.

“Some bands get to work with someone who really helps them grow, and Dan is that for us,” says Dominic Angelella of indie-pop act DRGN King, the band that King has worked most closely with. “There's a synchronicity in the relationship.”

It's only when you know somebody really well that you can throw a party at his house, film it and turn it into a music video - which is essentially what happened for DRGN King when King shot “Wild Night.”

“It was like improv video,” King says. “The best comment I got was when somebody said, 'This video looks like it was edited on Vine.'”

There's a dual tendency in music videos to either emulate a short film, extending the narrative well past the borders of the actual song, or to simply make the experience as visual and visceral as possible. King favors the latter. It's not that his videos are orderless displays of light and sound, but rather that the concept for a video only exists to anchor the visuals.

“If you're hanging out with friends and you're like, 'Yo, check out this song,' you'll just go to YouTube and type it in,” King says. “You might watch the video but probably you just want to listen to the song. So the stuff that I do just tries to capture the feeling of the song so someone can jump in at any moment and experience the song

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through the video.”

King's videos are an expression of tone and mood. They are an exploration of light and color, and how these formal elements complement the energy of the music.

He queues up his video for Rone's “Stranger” on his desktop computer. To shoot the video, King and rapper Rone hopped over to Nantucket for an afternoon to frolic about at the annual Daffodil Festival. Aside from a few stylized shots of Rone rhyming underneath a lighthouse, the rest of the video is simply King following the rapper around like a documentarian as Rone happily explores the brightly lit festival grounds. The people you see him hanging out with? King and Rone didn't even know them before that afternoon. It's a simple concept, with just the barest glimpse of a story, translated into a visually compelling piece gliding smoothly along with the “summer jam” vibe of the song.

This kind of shooting leaves a lot of work to be done after-the-fact. Though he says he's getting better at editing in-camera by not overshooting, the bulk of King's hours are spent in post-

production. He enjoys it this way though. With a lot of fun shots to consider, the possibilities for what a video can ultimately look like are many.

“I like to keep a punk-rock attitude about it,” King says about his approach to editing.

He doesn't stress too much about the technical side of things but rather keeps moving things around until it looks good.

“It's kind of like doing takes when recording a song,” he says.

It's this understanding of music, and especially visual media's evolving relationship with the scene, which makes King's work so vital.

“The visual side of music is necessary because music is on the web,” explains King. “Bands need their brand.”

That's where King comes in. He creates the look and feel, the visual identification with the music that audiences increasingly crave. He takes the ideas and expressions of the artist and funnels it into an image, whether it's still portraits or dynamic videos.

If seeing is believing, then King is helping to make music a reality.

- Tyler Horst facebook.com/JUMPphilly

/ˌfōtəˈjenik/ — adjective — Producing or emitting light. Find out why at www.EveryoneIsPhotogenic.com JUMPphilly.com

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Photos by Jessica Flynn.

The JUMP Off

Our Day With SteveO

The singer from The Holy Mess is a really good time to hang out with.

Stefan Wieslaw Niemoczynski, aka SteveO, is a novice cigar smoker and amateur historian.

He was a one-time field artilleryman. He was recently rejected for Miley Cyrus’ Philadelphia concert guest list. He is a social butterfly, perhaps even Franklin-esque. He's appalled by the bastardization of iconic childhood figures.

SteveO, a semi-professional lush, is 30 years old (though he says feels like a 14-year-old) and plays bass and sings for The Holy Mess. He also has an acoustic solo project, Foul Weathered Friend.

We followed him around one day during the winter as he recorded and partied. - Jessica Flynn

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facebook.com/JUMPphilly

HAND AND HAND: Reviews of recent music posters in Philadelphia.

Music and art have always been a beautiful pair. Since I was first starting college, my dream was to make gig posters and CD covers. I would sit around in the library, looking at the collections of books filled with rock posters and vintage record covers.

After college, I began to feel like it was all a pipe dream. It seemed like I was doomed to sit behind a desk, laying out side effect warnings for the latest

POSTER BY: Justin Miller, aka Haunt Love POSTER REVIEWED BY: Ralph Stollenwerk PIXIES with Fidlar January 24, 2014 Electric Factory Philadelphia, PA I really dig this Pixies poster from Haunt Love. He’s the king of making horror movie posters, I’m not talking super bloody gory designs. I’m talking about the late ’70s early ’80s era of cult horror movies.

When he does show posters, you can sense the horror movie design put into it, almost like a fucked up VHS copy with the image going off the bottom of the screen and reappearing on the top. I love the semierotic girl smiling picture he chose for this. It really reminds me of the Pixies song “Gigantic,” and the classic car pic with the kids just gives me the feeling that something bad is going to happen to them. Like a sleepaway camp scenario, you know, like a Death To The Pixies vibe. The CMYK print technique was also a great touch to this design. It really gives the picture in the middle a Polaroid-esque feeling overall.

anticoagulant drug. I didn’t fret though and surely enough, after sitting in an office working on shitty brochures, I was able to cut my teeth on some gig posters.

Here we have three artists rockin’ out amazing posters for some of their favorite musicians. Check out what their peers have to say about them!

- Shawn Hileman

POSTER BY: Max Gordon POSTER BY: Matthew Gribben POSTER REVIEWED BY: Shawn Hileman A celebration of the 84th birthday of Ornette Coleman, the 85th birthday of Cecil Taylor and the 100th anniversary of Sun Ra's birth.

March 8, 2014 Painted Bride Art Center Philadelphia, PA

POSTER REVIEWED BY: Robb Leef MAN MAN 2014 Tour Poster You can always find bits of a story that make Max’s posters so engaging. Creeper skeleton, pool shark werewolf and booze, this one has it all! The overlaid color and use of halftone is technically impressive and the sketchy quality of the line work translates nicely into the finished piece.

I am loving this new poster by Matthew Gribben.

It has a classic image quality with a pyschedelic angle. The Ars Nova Workshop has been doing great stuff with diverse artists over the last ten years and they've done a great job with this poster. The graffitilike textures seem to stablize the warped halftoned type, which feels like the groove of a Sun Ra track.

This is such a great example of how a jazz poster doesn’t have to be bright and cheerful, like a Coltrane cover from the ’60s.

This section is organized by Shawn Hileman of Masthead Print Studio.

He is a freelancer and screenprinter by day and renegade ping-pong player by night.

He also teaches illustration at the University of the Arts.

JUMPphilly.com

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Photos by Michael Bucher.

The Selfishly Awesome Life Of Fergie Carey Fergie Carey is a huge supporter of the arts and it shows at his pub, which turns 20 this year.

On one of those surprisingly pleasant January afternoons in Philly, there are a handful of tweens playing traditional Irish music in the back corner of Fergie’s Pub. Their parents are seated at a table not far away, talking amongst themselves, listening to their children practice and picking at orders of food from the kitchen.

Normally, the kids would be upstairs practicing before their scheduled 4 p.m. traditional Irish music session downstairs but the owner, a devoted supporter of the arts, promised the space to a theater company.

No one downstairs seems to mind the early Celtic melodies.

The word “traditional” refers both to the historical customs of Ireland’s pub music as well as the 11 consecutive years Fergie’s has hosted the Saturday event. At its peak that afternoon, 13 musicians join in the rolling set, ranging in age from 11 to 69.

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Not one specific sound, musical genre, age group or customer defines Fergie’s Pub. Instead, it’s simply the selfish pursuit of Fergie Carey to build long-standing traditions - and in the process, foster a devoted community of people who frequently occupy every square inch of the bar.

It was a night in November 1994 when the party started. Like today, the interior of the bar

was dimly lit with dark trim and a long wooden bar from the previous establishment (Hoffman House) rooted at the front of the entrance. A line wrapped around the block at 12th and Sansom to get in. The single keg of Guinness was gone in an hour, remembers Carey, a native of Ireland.

“He wanted to make it a place he wanted to be in,” says Jim McNamara, a manager at Fergie’s who has worked at the bar since opening night. “It was successful from the very onset.”

In the unfinished room upstairs, guests sat on the floor because there were no chairs yet. They eventually had to stop letting people in because it was too crowded.

Before opening Fergie’s, Carey was a bartender at another Philly Irish bar, McGlinchey's. It was there he began building a loyal clientele, becoming friendly with the local community and University of the Arts students.

“Oddly enough, at this point, he employs a lot of fine artists or musicians,” says McNamara. “It’s sort of a 20-years-later mirroring of the staff that he worked with at McGlinchey's.”

The staff at Fergie’s is the framework from which everything else is built upon. Members are personally picked by Carey and much of the staff feels a loyalty to “the man who will never forget your name.”

“I don’t consider myself a complacent person, but to be there for 19 years, I obviously enjoy my facebook.com/JUMPphilly

This Place Rocks

job and the relationship with the bosses,” McNamara says.

Bartending there is a desired position. With no previous experience, Jess Conda credits her employment there partly to a little bit of luck and timing.

“It’s not really the kind of place you can roll up with your bartending school resume and get a job,” says Conda. “He’s a lot more interested in the synergy of people.”

Her first encounter with Carey was in 2003 as an intern at Brat Productions, a Philadelphia theater company where he has served as president of the board of directors for 15 years. About three years ago, Conda was let go from a theater teaching job and didn’t know what to do. The two stayed in contact through Brat and when she saw him, she told him what happened.

“Oh, come to the pub. You start tomorrow,” she remembers him telling her. “He helped me out in that time of crossroads.”

The help didn’t end there.

Conda, now the artistic director at the theater company, credits Carey as a generous supporter of the arts through acts like donating kegs for fundraisers or space for a last minute practice for an upcoming show.

She says, “I know Fergie is the dude I can call and be like, ‘Hey I have three interns learning dance moves for this Van Halen song, can we use the pub for an hour?’”

Though once heavily involved in theater, Carey, 50, now has more of an inclination toward music.

“I’ve killed enough brain cells for high-falutin’ cerebral theater,” he says in a gargle-y Irish accent and with a trickster’s grin. “I just go, ‘Let’s get blasted and watch rock ‘n’ roll.’”

“He’s always out at a play or a concert trying to experience something new or exciting and tries to bring that back into the building with him,” observes McNamara.

If the staff is the framework of Fergie’s, music is the walls and floors and ceiling of the pub. It’s a permanent fixture that makes the space feel like home. There’s music in the pub five nights a week – Carey hopes to fill Tuesday and Thursday soon – and on weekends there are usually multiple performances.

To manage the booking, Carey hired Raphael Cutrufello of Hezekiah Jones.

“Everything he books feels like more than just entertainment,” says Conda.

“It feels like he’s laying foundations for relationships that makes for better art and better community.”

Cutrufello, who played shows at Fergie’s in the past, understands the draw the pub has JUMPphilly.com

THE PUBLICAN: On any given day, you'll find Fergie Carey at the pub, beer in hand, surrounded by music and friends.

on musicians.

“Fergie’s is a great place for people to get their feet wet playing in the city or starting out projects,” he says.

There are a number of things that contribute to the pub’s greatness. For one, Carey never charges a cover to get in or for any of the shows. Also, Fergie’s has developed a reputation for bringing together talented musicians from across the city, forming a vibrant community within the pub. And their open mic night is regarded as the best in the city. It is a place where musicians go to practice new material or get inspired by like minded artists.

Several bands have had residencies at the pub, playing a regular night every week for month or more. John Train band has been playing Fridays for three month intervals for seven years. The jazz band Victor North Trio played on opening night and continues to play at Fergie’s.

Often, musicians approach the pub to book shows. After jazz trumpet player Matt Cappy finished a worldwide tour this winter as part of Jay Z’s backup band, he wanted to celebrate his birthday by playing more music with fellow Jay Z backup musicians somewhere guaranteed to be fun. The Philly native booked Fergie's.

“Dude just traveled all over the world and was like, ‘I wanna have my birthday party at Fergie’s,’” says Conda, who worked the night of the party and remembers the crazy crowd .

All the accomplishments of the pub can be traced back to Carey, who also co-owns Monk's Cafe, Nodding Head Brewery, Belgian Cafe and Grace Tavern. He has been unwavering in his vision and execution of what he wanted in this bar.

“What he wants to do with the place ends up being really appealing to other people too,” says Cutrufello, “because he’s unabashedly making it how he wants.”

Consistently, the anniversary party in November has been an event worth marking on your calendar. With this year being the 20th anniversary, it’s almost guaranteed to be a spectacle. McNamara is glad it’s in November or else it might involve body paint and fire breathers.

It’s still eight months away but ideas are already swirling inside Carey’s head.

“I had a dream of having some form of parade with the West Philly Orchestra,” Carey recalls. “Because they’re just such a parade. Anyway, it’s a while away.”

However it turns out, it’s sure to be another selfish pleasure, just the way Fergie’s started.

And everyone will love it. - Michael Bucher

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Photo by G.W. Miller III.

Music & Politics

Selling Philly To The World Shinjoo Cho is the director for international business investment, working out of the city's Commerce Department. She's also a classically trained musician who performs on the bandoneon with her group, Oscuro Quintet. The globetrotting musician spoke with our G.W. Miller III about how her two worlds overlap.

What is a bandoneon?

That name actually derives from the inventor of the instrument. I believe his last name was Band.

He was German.

How is it different from an accordion?

They’re cousins, for sure. They’re both free reed instruments. But they’re completely different in keyboard layout.

It’s almost like a concertina?

Yes, it’s more similar to a concertina. Slightly different materials. The keyboard layout is what makes the bandoneon very challenging and illusive to a lot of people because there’s no logical relation in the keyboard layout. There’s no pattern. For people who were raised on a mechanical keyboard, like me, it’s fairly insane.

There are four sets of keyboards. The right hand is completely different from the left hand. It’s a similar sound to an accordion but the bandoneon has a mental tinge that sets it apart.

How did you wind up playing this?

When you play tango and you want to play a singing instrument - and you want to play something that is very symbolic of tango, this is the sound. I studied piano classically and went to conservatory. Sometime in my sophomore or junior year, I realized that I want to be happier with music making and be able to play something other than classical music all my life. At the conservatory, I came to the realization that there are so many people who are superb. I’d rather be doing something for myself rather than compete with world-class people.

I first encountered it through flamanco music.

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One of my part time jobs was to be a live accompanist for a flamenco class at the ballet school in Princeton. A few years later, when I was actually in Korea discovering Korean traditional music, I went to a concert that featured Astor Piazzolla’s music. I was kind of struck by lightning or something. I had to find out what that was all about. I came back to the Philly area but I couldn’t find people to play with. So I started taking dance lessons, thinking it would help me understand the music better.

and Philadelphia are sister cities. There is an active relationship between that office and the Commerce Department. I worked in that job for a few years and then the city was looking for someone to work with their immigrant businesses in the city. I applied and got the job.

That was nine years ago.

Sometime around then, I traveled to Serbia as well because I was also fascinated with Balkan music. I had picked up the accordion in the middle of the forest in Serbia because there was no instrument for me as a keyboardist. Since that was at my disposal, I started playing the tango with an accordion.

The idea was to better service existing businesses and make the city more inviting for others to come.

Eventually, I realized I should go to the original, essential instrument of tango. So I traveled to Argentina to study Spanish, buy the instrument and get to know the tango music from the source.

When did Oscuro Quintet form? And was that the first time you performed with the instrument?

About eight years ago. For the first couple of years, I was still playing the accordion. As you can imagine, it’s very nerve-racking to perform with an instrument you are not very proficient in.

It was a slow progression. Now I perform solely on the bandoneon.

How did you wind up working at the Commerce Department?

I was looking for a job after school. I had a brief stint with American Express, working at their magazine. After that, I traveled for music for a couple of years. Then, it was time to settle down and figure out what to do next. The International Trade Office was looking for somebody bilingual in Korean and English. Inchon, Korea

Was that job about inviting immigrants to start businesses here or was it about assisting existing immigrants already in business?

Your current job works with international businesses already here and you try to draw international businesses to come here, right?

Yes. This position, I stepped into last April. We have long been talking about how we can better retain and attract international businesses. A lot of it is making the contact and in-roads for them.

Do you use the music scene and the vibrancy of the city as a selling point?

I talk about arts and culture a lot, and especially the growing population that is attributable to the exodus from New York. I have friends who are dancers, musicians, painters, filmmakers and artists of all sorts who have come from New York and beyond. A big attraction point for them was that we’re still a very welcoming scene, where not everything has been done and seen. You can make a living and be a homeowner and an artist, and not spend all your time struggling to survive.

There’s a welcome community and clusters of people willing to work with you. It’s inviting that they can make it here. That’s part of what makes our vibrant economy that is going on.

You’re fairly uniquely qualified for this job?

I guess so. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photos by Michael Bucher.

Music & Education

Philly's Dance Ambassadors Illstyle & Peace Productions took their dance moves around the world last year as representatives of the U.S. State Department - and Philadelphia. But they are about more than just dancing.

If you looked up any definition of dancing, you’ll find that most dictionaries simplify the term to moving rhythmically. But for Illstyle & Peace Productions, the art form isn’t only about movement. It’s about inspiration.

Founded in 2002 by artistic director Brandon “Peace” Albright, the multicultural company incorporates contemporary dance with hiphop moves, along with West African steps and a variety of other dance styles - from tap to ballet and beyond.

“Movement can make a difference,” Albright says. “Movement can make change. Movement can make a career out of somebody. Movement can bring forth peace, love and respect for everyone.”

Picked by the U.S. State Department’s Dance Motion series in 2013, Illstyle & Peace Productions represented the country as a cultural ambassador in Ukraine, Belarus and Russia last year.

Albright, who has danced for artists including Will Smith, LL Cool J, Run-DMC and the Beach Boys, brought Illstyle to critical national and

JUMPphilly.com

international acclaim through his most recent work, “Same Spirit Different Movement I & II and IMpossible, IZZpossible,” a sundry fusion of locking, popping, modern jazz, hip-hop, bellydancing, African dance, singing and tap.

His overall mission? To inspire and motivate the world through the rhythmic expression of spirit and dance.

The dancer, choreographer and actor also offers high-energy workshops, master classes and educational program shows like “Become Your Dreams: The History of Hip-Hop,” “HipHop Add It Up,” a math lecture demonstration program, and “No Bullying, Stop-Bullying,” a lesson that teaches students about positivity, fairness, working together, acceptance and communication.

Albright says his work is about sharing each other’s spirit and providing an opportunity not just for a moment, but for a lifetime.

“You can achieve it,” he says. “Dreams can come true.”

- Shauna Bannan

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Photos by Grace Dickinson.

The low-profile life of

rjd2 Our Grace Dickinson follows Philly's globetrotting music genius as he runs errands around the city.

R

amble John Khron, better known as RJ, the man behind electronica sounds of RJD2, wanders into Reading Terminal and heads straight to DiNic's. Without hesitation, he orders the pulled pork and then grabs a spot at the counter, loading up on the hot peppers before diving in.

It’s a rare occasion for RJ. Trekking from West Philly, his neighborhood for the past 12 years, RJ only makes it downtown once every few months.

When he does, DiNic’s lands itself among a handful of memorable spots he chooses to revisit.

“I hate to say this but I’m kind of a food snob,” says RJ. He simultaneously shrugs his shoulders and shudders his body after the label leaves his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before DiNic’s co-owner Joe Nicolosi leaves his cutting board and wanders over to say hello to the multi-instrumentalist who

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has performed around the world - but sits alone at the counter. Conversation quickly jumps to RJ’s son, Charlie, and the new group music classes in which the 2-year-old is enrolled.

“Outside of fatherhood, my life’s not as interesting these days,” RJ says. “I’m a dad through-and-through. That’s what I do.”

In January, RJ wrote on his Twitter, “Please send SERIOUS email inquiries only for my 2 yr old son to do beats on your record. Not responsible for off-beat drum hits.”

The music lessons seem to be going alright.

Charlie fits into a large part of RJ’s typical day, which consists of waking before the sun rises for some coffee and eggs (cereal, if he’s in a rush), “daddying” from 6:30 a.m. to 10 a.m., hitting the studio in his backyard from 10 a.m. until 4 p.m., and then returning to care for Charlie until he goes to sleep, generally around 11 p.m. - unless he’s out performing.

W

hen RJ leaves for a gig, the 37-year-old is a one-night-per-city kind of guy.

Early morning plane flights are his jam, like Gruyere is his butter on bread. Currently in the midst of a tour for his fifth full-length album, More Is Than Isn’t, RJ explains that this is one of the reasons he loves living in Philadelphia its airport. The location, abundance of flights and short travel time to a lot of the major cities enable RJ to remain a family man.

“Compared to [New York City] real estate, you also get a really low cost of living in a very creative place that has this super long pedigree of music,” says RJ. “The guys who come out of here as musicians are serious. They have their shit together.”

RJ himself is serious in demeanor, with an attitude that shows little lust for stardom. He walks around town on a mission, looking to get in and get out and return to the comfort of his wife and child who wait for him in a location that speaks primarily of practicality.

He relies on the quick, direct flights from the Philly airport, and is humbled to have the large front porch and backyard outside his fenced-in, West Philly home.

In 2002, RJ transplanted from Ohio with his then-girlfriend, who is now his wife. After using Philadelphia as a base to build his family and fame, he confirms he holds zero thoughts to move any of that to another city.

“There’s no other place I’d rather live,” he says. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Cover Story

I

t’s clear RJ enjoys a quiet, low-profile style of living and wishes to keep the fame of his career tucked away behind the on-stage DJ station he visits when traveling. You can find him there, behind multiple turntables, anywhere between two to six times per month.

The conversation RJ holds with Nicolosi about Charlie will be the first and last time his son is mentioned throughout the day. That side of his life isn’t for public consumption, he says.

On the rare day RJ isn’t on Charlie-duty, his stage name’s Facebook page exposes a rather accurate synopsis of what you could expect him to be doing with his time outside of music.

It reads, “Band interests: Cooking food, eating food, power tools, soldering iron.”

There are a few activities he leaves out of his facebook profile, like feeding a major coffee addiction and loading up on records, but he shares his day with us.

PURE FARE: RJ drinks coffee three times per day, though not just any coffee. He sticks strictly to macchiatos and says he hasn’t had a sip of drip coffee in 15 years. “I hate to be called a ‘coffee snob’ too,” he says. Leading up to lengthy tours, he’ll wean himself off two weeks in advance because he refuses to have to drink a cheap cup of joe while on the road. “I’d rather have a headache than drink bad coffee,” he says. It suffices to say he owns his own espresso machine at home.

LONG IN THE TOOTH: This is RJ’s longest stop of the day. “I’ve got to be careful at record stores because I could waste a whole day in them,” he says while browsing through the soul section. He walks out with eight records and then snags a few more from a box of free ones sitting outside. His current favorite records of all time: “Nostalgia, Ultra, Frank Ocean’s first mixtape,” he says. “It’s fucking amazing.” D'Angelo’s Voodoo tops his list, too.

HARDWARE STORE: “There’s a satisfaction I get from building something that’s comparable to making a song,” says RJ who is currently constructing his own compressor boards. His favorite hobby is building things, which brings him to the hardware store often. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s the dude equivalent of shoes. I love to buy tools, and I like fixing things.”

MILK & HONEY: RJ does most of his eating at home. Since Charlie was born, his wife is the primary chef, but RJ says he will make time to get in the kitchen himself every once in awhile. His go-to? “Sautéed or baked seafood with a pesto or jerk sauce, side of rice and sautéed greens,” he says. He picks up some cheese before heading home. “Gruyere and gouda are pretty high life priorities,” he adds.

JUMPphilly.com

THE HOME STUDIO: RJ’s studio is situated in a small yellow shed just behind his house. This is where he produces the beats for his largely instrumental albums, fiddles around with his tools and stores much of his son’s outdated toys. Part mancave, part garage, part studio, this is where RJ spends the largest portion of most days.

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It

d e t r a t sn the y I e l l A “The desk was a wreck. Dagget sagged to his knees.

He stayed there, kneeling as though in fervent supplication. Then very slowly he shook his head, sadly refusing the supplicant. As he got to his feet, it seemed he was falling instead of rising. There was a certain dullness in his eyes, a certain look that said, It’s the escalator going down and where it stops don’t matter.”

-”Fire in the Flesh,” David Goodis

T

He grew up in South Philadelphia, in an area where rap wasn't the norm. But Zilla Rocca fell in love with the genre and he's been chasing hip-hop success ever since. He's finally found peace in his career.

Story by Christopher Malo.

Photos by Marie Alyse Rodriguez.

imes were rough. And they didn’t look as if they were going to be getting easier anytime soon. Deserted, betrayed, alone.

The walls weren’t caving in. They had collapsed.

Anything he had worked to build was destroyed.

The streets of South Philadelphia were strewn with the type of garbage you pretend not to see but can’t ignore. And the one he loved, whom he had truly loved and devoted his life to, had slipped through his fingers. Yet again.

The love affair had began back when he was younger. They had bumped into each other in the South Philadelphia neighborhood where he was raised, but their attraction was a forbidden one.

“I’m coming from a super white, Italian or Irish neighborhood where racism was the shit,” says the Philadelphia MC Zilla Rocca, 31, reflecting on years long past, when he lived near 3rd and Tasker streets. “Booming business back then. I couldn’t overtly wave my hip-hop flag. It was acceptable to like rap in small doses back then.”

Attending school in Center City at Roman Catholic High School gave Zilla a reprieve from the people, places and customs that surrounded him in his own neighborhood. Not that it was bad, but he now had exposure to other kids from other cultures, from other parts of Philadelphia. And to kids who could wave that flag. Peers who didn’t come from the same area, but liked Black Moon and Fat Joe. It was the start of not being ashamed of his feelings of affection.

Sitting in an SUV on Pearl Street, the alleyway that runs behind his alma matter, Zilla eyes the

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Cover Story

stone exterior of the school that plays a major character in his story. The alley in the heart of the city may look benign on a warm winter afternoon, but the reality of what pulsed through the vein was much colder. It was here he would trade off tapes like Heltah Skeltah or OutKast with kids of different races or from different parts of the city.

There was a network of guys who were up on some shit.

“I couldn’t do that in South Philly,” Zilla reminisces.

It was also the time and place, specifically his sophomore year in science class, that Zilla began to put pen to paper, beginning to craft his own raps, even going so far as to record early raps at friend Domenic Zarrella’s house, on his sister’s karaoke machine. He bought instrumental tapes and records, and experimented with making beats with MTV Music Generator for Playstation.

Much like his initial infatuation with rap music, this was also the point his crush turned into lust.

Taking the train up from South Philadelphia gave him ample opportunity to zone out to the tapes traded with schoolmates. He tells the story of getting off train and seeing Black Thought, back when he had long dreads, walking past him.

Not that it was all sweet. He had his headphones and Walkman jacked on more than one occasion in Philadelphia’s dark and dirty underbelly, on the subway. On one occasion a Nas album provided the soundtrack to the robbery - until they got ripped from his head.

Once at school, this alley of Pearl Street, became the place where cigarettes were smoked, rap music and basketball were discussed and Eastbay catalogs and Source magazines were traded.

On this day, a junkie sits on the curb, sock and shoe removed, shooting dope into his foot.

“I don’t think he went to school here,” Zilla mumbles.

“Yet even so, the grin was somewhat forced and the shrug was more or less faked. Under it, he squirmed and twisted as though trying to pull free from hard gripping shackles.” - “Night Squad,” David Goodis

A

nyone even moderately successful knows that the path is full of potholes, trips and missteps rather than a straight shot to the destination. Back stabbers, front stabbers, liars, crooks, fools, dames and dime bags are all a part of Zilla’s journey through this urban jungle and the next several years were full of them.

On the first day of class at Temple University, Zilla made an early connection that has stood the test of time, even when others haven’t. As the story goes, freshman Zilla was rocking a Rawkus T-shirt in his first class on the first day and spots a Noah Goldstein rocking a Technics bag.

Recognizing common ground, the two formed a friendship while blazing a path between Temple to Cue Records and back to their dorm to create music and mixes.

“I'm a fan of Zilla because of his honesty,” Goldstein states. “I feel like honesty is hard to come by in most genres of music and especially hip-hop. As they say, honesty is the best policy.

For me that always rings true in Zilla's music.”

The two collaborated on several projects

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over the next several years, including a group called Crooked Soul with their TA at the time, PJ Geissinger, better known internationally as DJ Starkey. Then Goldstein moved to Iceland and later became Kanye West’s official studio recording engineer, mixer and producer.

Geissinger’s time became focused on getting his master’s degree and going on to produce and DJ around the globe.

With Crooked Soul being put on a permanent temporary hold, Zilla began to feel the effects of a turbulent relationship with hip-hop. Did she want him as bad as he wanted her? What was he willing to do for her attention and affection?

Sure, sacrifice and compromise are a part of any relationship, but how far was he willing to go?

Bad ideas are only bad if they don’t work out.

Zilla turned to reconnecting with Zarella, also known as Nico the Beast, to form Clean Guns.

In 2006, the duo recorded the album Sometimes There is Trouble. Having learned from pressing up records for Crooked Soul and seeing them amass dust, not sales, Zilla focused on getting copies of the new record into Record Bar on Passyunk Avenue.

During high school, his life revolved around Center City - attending school there and running a circuit downtown at places like HMV, CDs to Go, Strawberries and Armand’s Records to get music. His college years centered around the triangle formed by Passyunk Avenue, Mifflin and 13th streets. Nico’s crib was down Mifflin a block.

Zilla worked at R & K Meats at 13th and McKean streets as a butcher.

“Of course rap music wouldn't fly here,” Zilla says, peering out the window, looking at what is there but can’t always be seen. “That was like a ‘fuck you’ to this culture. Not directly, but it would be perceived as such. It's not in line with mob culture. It's not in line with Italian culture. I'm not Italian and I'm not in the mob. I like rap.”

Every day, he was paid in cash, sometimes larger amounts when he made deliveries to alleged mob bars or social clubs in the area. With money in his pocket, his first stop was the King of Jeans.

“The most ‘90s shit in the ‘90s,” says Zilla about the sign, while sitting in the SUV. “She's kissing a dude on the side of a building. You know where you stand when you put that on the side of your building.”

Next stop was across the street at Record Bar to cop custom made mixtapes for $10. Wanting a presence, he recognized that he would need something to capture people’s attention. The cover of their album featured a young girl in a kitchen, washing a pistol in the sink with guns on the drying rack.

“Imagery was always to be elegant or crazy violent,” says Zilla.

It was effective. They got in Record Bar. They moved copies.

The combination of Zilla's intelligent and well-crafted lyrics with the street braggadocio of Nico the Beast seemed to pair well, despite the differences in styles. The next few years were spent trying to extend that through the the creation of the Beat Garden collective. What may or may not have looked good on paper and provided a good start in actuality, eventually disintegrated, the collective and relationships.

“Rap attracts the worst type of men - insecure, competitive, possessive guys,” notes Zilla. “And it’s cheap, so anyone can do it.”

He had spent years trying to follow a blueprint for success, for happiness, trying to build a longterm relationship. It wasn’t working. He suspected she was being unfaithful with lesser men. With paranoia and friction eating away at the conglomerate, Zilla was dejected, confused and alone.

“It was a tough break. Parry was innocent. On top of that he was a decent sort of guy who never bothered people and wanted to lead a quiet life. But there was too much on the other side and on his side of it there was practically nothing. The jury decided he was guilty.”

- “Dark Passage,” David Goodis

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ith dissention in Beat Gardens’ ranks, Zilla continued to network and produce beats, music and albums.

He reached out to various bloggers across the country, realizing the potential of free marketing and advertising. One of those bloggers was Jeff Weiss, now a columnist for LA Weekly and Pitchfork in addition to being editor-in-chief of his Passion of the Weiss site.

“Zilla Rocca does one of the most difficult things an artist can do: he inhabits multiple characters while making them all seem personal, as though he can empathize with every halfway crook and double crosser to slink into his songs,” says Weiss.

Weiss linked Zilla with Douglas Martin (aka Blurry Drones), who also wrote for Weiss’ site.

Martin’s weird, experimental beats took Zilla back to his Crooked Soul days, making music that may not have made sense to people, but made sense to him. Martin would send Zilla a beat with just a name, like “High Noon,” “Weak Stomach,” or “Stay Clean.” Taking each name as a clue, Zilla challenged himself to craft a track that matched the production and the name. With the gentle nudging of Weiss to make a full album, the two continued collaborating. They called themselves 5 O’Clock Shadowboxers, later shortened to just The Shadowboxers.

“At some point, his writing and rapping started to morph into something else entirely,” notes Weiss. “He went from being a hirsute, bourbonvoiced Philly rapper into the anti-hero in his own noir. Whereas it could've come off as a gimmick, it felt like a natural extension of himself - a cynical smart-aleck, somewhere between Sam Spade and Roger Sterling.”

The result was 2009's The Slow Twilight, a conceptual album that was well received - outside his inner circle, that is. Within Beat Garden and another side project, Rap Pack, however, the fissures became full-on ruptures. Several attempts were made at working it out, moving forward, not looking back. But instead of breaking bread, there was a breaking point.

The fallout became public, sparked by an interview Zilla did and hashed out via social media. There were no physical confrontations but the gritty reality was a punch in the gut. She was leaving him. Zilla was left reeling with nowhere to find refuge. The cold streets had just gotten colder and there was no one to warm his bed with. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

He had been close to signing with a label five different times by this point. He had collaborated with friends, he had chased money and deals, sacrificed his time, energy, relationships and belief system. With little or nothing to show. Until The Slow Twilight album.

“I'm sick of worrying about all these other guys,” Zilla notes. “I'm sick of worrying about labels and cliques. I just want to do great records and be really interesting and weird. That's what has always worked. I keep going back to it but then I put shit in the way of that, which is stupid.”

“A big part of that is the noir aesthetic. I always liked it but thought, 'What if I made this my shit?' I always liked crime books. I always liked detective stories. How come I never thought to do just that with my music and hone in and make it an aesthetic. Why did I not do that?”

Zilla began dressing in a shirt, tie and fedora.

The 1961 noir thriller “Blast of Silence” served as a backdrop to his performances, which started

“His mind was vacant now, and the only thing he knew was that he didn’t care. He walked through the pitch-black chasm of somewhere past five in the morning, his coat unbuttoned, the muffler missing, the snow inside his shoes and melting there, but no awareness of it, no feeling.”

- “Of Tender Sin,” David Goodis

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hings were bleak. It is always darkest before the dawn but what if the dawn never breaks?

Luckily for Zilla, others appeared to wait out the night with him. The void created by losing longstanding relationships began to be filled by a new cast of characters, most notably Curly Castro and Has-Lo. With Zilla, they formed Wrecking Crew.

“We were all gunning for as many placements as we could around that time,” remembers Has-Lo. “Being from the same town, we'd take notice when we'd come across each other's name because it'd be the other person from Philly. I went to this Blu show and he walked up to me with this ridiculous mustache and said, ‘You're HasLo.’ We've been friends ever since.”

Now working together - trading off producing, mixing and mastering duties amongst the three, they are cognizant of the fact they have tapped into something. Their most noticeable release was 2012’s Wu-Tang Pulp, a Wu-inspired effort that managed to reference the Shaolin massive through reworking the original production and verses. It was a high bar to set but they nailed it. Masterfully.

“The beauty of the Wrecking Crew is that the friendships carry a mutual respect towards each other's music,” Curly Castro notes. “So when either of us finish a project, we can have the others digest said project and give productive criticisms.”

The pulp motif was an aesthetic that resonated with Zilla. He had always been a fan of comic books, pulp and crime fiction, like the works of Philadelphia noir writer David Goodis.

“The city has shown him things that shaped his perception of good, bad, innocence, crime, etc.,” says Has-Lo. “The things he's grown up around are things out of a gangster movie. But done with a sense of humanity.”

Shaking the need to conform to what a label or rhyme partner may want, it became easy for Zilla to slip into his own skin.

“From the time the first record ended to when this started, it made me realize what I really liked, and to only do things I really like,” Zilla explains.

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attracting the likes of Flying Lotus and Hudson Mowhawke. There was a mixtape distributed on cassette titled Neo Noir.

“The Wu-Tang and Tom Waits and Aesop Rock influences were sublimated into something new too,” Weiss points out. “No rapper has ever had that fusion of elements. Instead of copying Humphrey Bogart or some avatar of James Ellroy, he let his imagination merge with what was innate to create his own snub-nosed slanguage.”

Experiencing a freedom with music he hadn’t previously known, falling into the all-too familiar pattern of defining what success is, then chasing it, not realizing that you have just enslaved yourself and forever put attaining that goal just outside of your reach, Zilla stopped chasing.

But, there continued to be a nagging. She just wouldn’t leave him alone. They decided to do a second Shadowboxers album.

Initially, it was fraught with roadblocks. Getting beats from Martin was proving to be difficult, as was being able to write. After the public, yet personal fallout with former friends, Zilla, like many artists, eventually was able to take out his pain and punishment with a pen and in bars.

Then he tried to move away from the project because it was dark, vengeful, angry and not a

space he wanted to occupy any longer.

Then, a moment of clarity - a realization, an epiphany - that revenge is meaningless, useless and stupid. It changes nothing. The record was reworked and rewritten. The wall had been broken through and the concept for the follow-up crystallized. The album, No Vacation for Murder, was finished and passed to his partners, who disagreed wholeheartedly with the premise.

“Zilla had some preconceived notions of the theme of the record, having sat with it for a few years,” notes Castro. “But Has and I saw the theme of cyclical revenge.

No matter the intention or redemption attempts, the spectre of revenge will always fill its underbelly until it has satiated the hunger. So No Vacation revealed itself to be that upon our intense listen. We brought it to the attention of Zilla and the rest is infamous history.”

The album is slated to drop April 1st. There is a line off the track “Fake Surfers” that states, “I’m tired of Wildwood, idle looks/ adults in their third second childhood.” It is a sign of maturity, realizing that you can’t change people or the industry. The only thing you have control over is yourself and your perspective. The thrill may be gone for Zilla Rocca. But not the love.

“If he hasn't gotten the breaks of others, it's because he's too original for the revivalists and has too much artistic integrity to insinuate himself within ephemeral trends,” says Weiss. “Originals are sometimes overlooked, but they create new forms and inspire other artists. I wouldn't be surprised if 10 years from now, some very popular rapper lists Zilla Rocca as one of his main influences. Others build themselves a lane; Zilla and the Wrecking Crew have built themselves a world.”

Zilla sits in the SUV outside of his father’s house on a small block near 8th Street and Oregon Avenue.

“No one on this block - no one from here, no one who has lived here, grew up here - has been to all different parts of the country because they rap.

And I’ve done it,” Zilla notes with accomplishment and touch of melancholy. “And still do it.”

“Trouble? They don’t know what real trouble is. Look at them walking. When they take a walk, they take a walk, and that’s all. But you and I, when we take a walk it’s like crawling through a pitch-black tunnel, not knowing what’s in front, what’s in back. I want to get out of it. I want it to end, there’s no attraction and I want it to end.”

-”The Burglar,” David Goodis

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illa motions toward the wedding invitations he just picked up. Later this year, he will marry his fiancée.

“My success is right now,” he continues. “I have enough money to live on. I’m healthy. I’m with the person I am going to spend the rest of my life with. I live where I want to live. I make the music I want to make. I dress the way I want to dress.

My friends are dope. My music’s dope. That’s success.”

He may get the girl after all.

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Art

Makes The Dj

Art was supposed to be a side gig for Get Up but it's turned into a living, which allows him to make music on the side.

Story by Tyler Horst.

Photos by Michael Bucher.

Wheatpaste poster of Get Up by an anonymous artist, inspired by Get Up's style.

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o matter how many years he spent in San Francisco, Mike's accent will always betray him. Even as he reminisces about the California sunshine while sitting in the cramped mixing room of his Philly basement, speakers thumping with the sounds of his soon-to-be-finished album, he casually drops a“yous” and it's all over. It's eminently clear where Mike was born and raised.

Mike (who asked us not to use his full name for reasons you’ll find out later), is in the middle of carefully reviewing the tracks for his next release as the genre-bending DJ Get Up. He moved back to his hometown after several years on the West Coast, which is part of the reason the forthcoming album will be titled Pickin' Up Where I Left Off. Mike switched from digging in crates to digging through his hard drive, revived old ideas that he abandoned a little too soon and fleshed them out into the songs spilling from his speakers.

“I think it has a lot to do with age and what my parents listened to,” Mike says about what samples he chooses for his songs. “My dad listened to a lot of Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix.”

Much of the groundwork for the Get Up sound is built upon the styles of music most other DJs don't touch - psychedelic rock from the ’60s and ’70s.

Mike ornaments the track with synths and drum beats, influenced by dubstep

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and hip-hop, to make something much more at home at the Electric Daisy Carnival than it would have been at Woodstock.

Though music is his first love, there's a side of the Get Up persona that has taken on a life all its own.

“At this point, art is the day job,” he says. “Any money I make from music just goes back to the music.”

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hen he donned the moniker Get Up three years ago in California, Mike started using art as a way to brand himself. The designs he crafted, starting with the masked swing dancers that adorn his logo, were simply a way to promote the music. He didn't expect to be filling shirt orders for the likes of Travie McCoy of Gym Class Heroes, or being drawn back to Philadelphia by paid offers for his work, like a gig as the interior decorator for the Electric Factory.

“I think it's the nicest the club's looked,” says Jerry Market, production manager at the Electric Factory and the man who let Mike roam the building with paint and spray cans. “The people who appreciate what's on stage appreciate [Mike's] work.”

The Get Up name, like that of many artists of the same ilk, is not always facebook.com/JUMPphilly

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spread by means that are, strictly speaking, legal. Get Up's graphic footprint is left in large wheatpaste prints in prime spots, like the entrances to I-95 or the boarded up Divine Lorraine hotel. The law's stance on this particular form of public art seems to be that it's totally fine - until it's not. Get Up, the artist, sells sought-after paintings, but Mike, the man, has been arrested three times for using buildings as canvases.

then that Ben Franklin appears so frequently on Mike's designed pins, T-shirts and slipmats, with a boombox slung proudly over his shoulder and that sophisticated twinkle in his eye.

“He had a 'not givin' a fuck' attitude,” says Mike. “He did what he wanted and went against the grain.”

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he great founding father isn't the only Philly icon to appear in Mike's work. Since he moved back two years ago, Mike has received plenty of requests to incorporate more and more of the city's dearest symbols in his designs. On one hand, it was exactly what Mike expected.

“Nowhere is like Philly,” he says. “Philly definitely has one of the biggest levels of pride.”

On the other hand, he doesn't think he can take being asked to do another painting of Rocky brandishing a cheesesteak.

Requests for exasperatingly hyper-iconic artwork are a small price to pay for the freedom to keep art and music as the foci in his life. Philadelphia may be a demanding city, but it's a hard one to shake off. And even though Mike may seem to be content to keep to himself and dream about California, he'll keep circling back to the city where he started.

ast year, though, Mike was commissioned to create a piece for the re-opening of the Benjamin Franklin Museum in August. His stencil portrait of the legendary statesman was unveiled to much applause, but Mike's low-key demeanor wasn't well-suited for the black tie affair.

Almost as if to confirm his feelings that he didn't belong, the city placed a parking ticket on his car.

“I knew the time was up on my meter but I was talking to the host of the event,” Mike says. “He was interested in buying a painting. I'm talking to the guy who donated $20 million to the place. Meanwhile, I got a ticket on my $1000 car out front.”

Mike was compensated for the ticket later and the whole event now rolls off his back with a laugh. He's as laid back as any Californian but still borrows part of the ethos of Get Up from Philadelphia's brazen folk hero. It's fitting JUMPphilly.com

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THE

MENZINGERS ALL

GROWN UP

Moving to Philly from Scranton has helped The Menzingers mature and become the band and the people they are today.

Story by Beth Ann Downey.

Photos by Jessica Flynn.

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he four members of The Menzingers file into a long booth at The Pub On Passyunk East just as they would on stage. Tom May and Greg Barnett, the Philadelphia-based punk band’s two singers and guitarists, are flanked by drummer Joe Godino and bassist Eric Keen.

They’re so visibly the four moving parts of a unified front - no one person the target for this front line of battle. This is how they got here, moving together from Scranton to Philly, seeking better opportunities to play shows and make something of themselves, being signed to one of punk’s premiere labels, traveling the world and creating exactly the kind of music they want to make.

This is how they got here, and this is the way they will remain.

But share a few happy hour beers with The Menzingers and you’ll start to pick up on their subtle differences, aside from varying draft and food orders. You’ll notice Godino is kind of a jokester, the one who will crack the jokes that have everyone in stitches. Keen is the quiet, artistic one who even created some of the props soon-tobe featured in the band’s album art. Barnett, while also deep and well-read, has a goofiness to him that completely washes away when he’s on stage.

He’s also the band member most focused on the business, constantly bringing up touring, ticket prices and live shows. May’s stage persona, on the other hand, is close to his demeanor – hard, but still approachable.

They’re a cast of characters who don’t seem like they should have been playing music together since 2005 and living together in the same house for years. Now they all live separately, but still within a two-block radius in South Philly. Despite JUMPphilly.com

this, it’s also apparent that around each other they’re at their most comfortable and candid.

The thought of getting sick of each other any time soon is laughable to them.

“We’ve made it this far, so I think we’re good,” Barnett says. “Honestly, if we weren’t doing an interview, it would seriously just be the four of us sitting here doing the same thing. We lived in the same house together for years. Everyone was like, ‘You guys are fucking crazy. How do you deal with that?’ I don’t know why it’s so crazy. Tomorrow, if we all had to move back in together, I could do it.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

S

ince moving to Philly six years ago, they’ve also built a community away from the bandmates. Later tonight, they’ll all attend a house party nearby with members of other notable Philly punk acts like Restorations, Paint It Black and Cassavetes. They’ll share handshakes and updates. Business and tour strategies will be talked about shortly after beers are shotgunned in the bathtub.

They’ve played local shows and toured together, given advice to each other about who to record with and how to otherwise advance their already burgeoning music careers, in Philly and otherwise.

“There are so many different styles of music and people that are doing different things,” Barnett says. “That kind of opens you up to doing different things, as well. I feel like we grew as a band because we started listening to other bands who were from here or outside the area.

Connecting with them and seeing how they play kind of made us better, I think.”

“I think our networking skills got better since

moving here,” adds Godino. “Adapting to a big city and having to like, sink or swim, you’re forced to get out there and talk to people and meet people and go places. So that just makes it easier when you’re on tour and doing the same thing on the road. It gives you more confidence to put yourself out there.”

Put themselves out there, The Menzingers have.

The band’s favorite tour memories have happened abroad, like the time they played in Aachen, Germany in the basement of the first bunker taken by the Allies during World War II – the audience comprised of the grandchildren of the people our grandfathers fought against all those years ago.

They also have a 50-year-old Serbian fan who has traveled to every neighboring country where they’ve played.

“He’s not a master of the English language,” May says, “but from what I understood, he felt like he could relate to the energy and relate to the lyrics that he finds devoid in other music he listens to.”

“He said there was a long period where there was no punk in his life,” adds Keen. “To him, America brought punk bands back, I guess. Somehow he found us but at the same time doesn’t know bands like Propaghandi. So how he found us, I have no clue.”

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eing on the road hasn’t always been easy.

May remembers early tours when the whole band would file into a fast food joint, the first person would take a $20 bill, order a few things off of the dollar menu, then pass the change to the next person in line until everyone could eat. More recently, while touring the U.K. with The Bouncing Souls in 2012, the band’s tour

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van was broken into. All of their tour money, an extra $2,000 of emergency cash, iPads, iPods and passports were all lifted. They broke the news to fans on their Tumblr page and asked for help through an online donation drive set up by U.K. label Banquet Records. Not only was there an overwhelming wave of support from fans and other bands but The Menzingers didn’t let the break-in stop them from finishing out the tour.

Despite situations like this, and the general sacrifices they make to tour as much as they do, The Menzingers also find it kind of funny to think of their jobs as being “hard.”

“People wake up at 5 o’clock in the morning and they work their ass off all day, then they come home to this house that they hate for 40 years,” says Barnett. “We’re doing something that we really like, and yeah it’s hard sometimes, but everything is hard.

That’s life.”

“I have friends that are biologists, friends that are engineers, friends that are bartenders, chefs, anything you can imagine,” adds May. “Most of them would trade that in a second to do what I do.”

you really like and being in Philadelphia. It was the first time we didn’t sequester ourselves somewhere else while recording. So we went home every night, went home on the weekends.

It was awesome.”

Low says they were able to get a lot done quickly, even though songs like “Hearts Unknown,” “Bad Things” and the slow-building and loosely structured “Transient Love” were still in the infant stages when they entered the studio.

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eeing one Menzinger without the other three is a rare occurrence. But at The Abbaye in Northern Liberties a few days after the band returned from a month-long headlining tour of the U.S., May was the only member of The Menzingers at the table, slugging a few pints of Guinness and a shot of Jameson.

He isn’t alone, though. He walked in with Miner Street Studio’s resident producer Jon Low who recorded Rented World, The Menzingers’ fourth full-length album due out on April 22nd via their label Epitaph Records. The two caught up, Low describing his experience recently recording a band from Japan and May confirming good news about the recent tour and Barnett’s new amp.

Like so many relationships between members of the tight-knit Philly punk community, Low and The Menzingers started out as friends before they embarked on their professional journey.

“It’s always fun working with people you know really well, people who are local to whatever is going on,” Low says. “Yeah, we’re doing a lot of work, we’re making a record, but we were also just hanging out a lot of the time. We were just really close to home and all of the places we’re used to hanging out and going, and it just kind of incorporated into our lives.”

It was a far cry from how The Menzingers were used to recording. The band laid down their last two full-lengths, including the celebrated 2012 release On the Impossible Past, with producer Matt Allison in Chicago. They also wrote most of On the Impossible Past while being sequestered at Barnett’s mom’s house outside of Scranton.

“It had momentum the whole time,” May says of recording Rented World. “Every new thing we did, we would be really excited about it. I just keep saying the best part was being with someone

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something we weren’t used to. We were used to going full-tilt all the time.”

“I saw you guys a bunch of times before I really dug into the records,” Low adds, addressing May. “I wanted [Rented World] to be a record that really captured that live aspect of all the energy, the emotion and the fact that it’s just kind of bombarding all of your senses. This record has the ability to do that. When you turn it up, it engulfs you in this environment.”

Another thing Low helped May and Barnett to improve was their vocals.

He would meet them every morning to do vocal warm-ups, something neither singer had done in the past.

“That’s the first time I ever paid attention to any of those things or knew I had any of those muscles,” May says.

Low helped them both think more about nuance in phrasing and annunciation, and how to convey emotion through more than just singing or screaming louder. The last song on the record, “When You Died,” really showcases this. The all-acoustic, very emotional track was recorded all in one take with just Barnett alone in the live room.

“It was a late night, but every take sounded good,” says Low. “It was kind of crazy because it was so quiet.

Greg would finish the song and no one would say anything for a while.”

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HANGING OUT: (above, L to R) Joe Godino, Greg Barnett, Tom May and Eric Keen with friends. Keen hangs lights with the album title.

“That was the fun part of, like, how are we going to make this song just kind of morph?” Low recalls. “I think we pulled it off.”

“A lot of the guitar parts I played on that I didn’t play until I was standing in the room,” adds May. Working with Low helped the band realize the power of extremes, and how playing things as loud as possible can sometimes be just as powerful as playing things quietly. Dynamics like these, both May and Low agree, are regularly overlooked or left out from music in the genre.

“That’s one of the first things I usually say when someone asks what it’s like to work with Jon Low,” May says. “I talk about the idea of the contrast he brought to it and just the idea of those kind of dynamics. Paying attention to the tempo and letting things breathe, that was definitely

arnett can’t leave his South Philly house because he’s looking after his dog, which has just been neutered.

“One of his balls was in his stomach,” he says matter-of-factly. “There were actually three incisions. He kind of looks like Frankenstein and hates the cone. Besides that, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. It’s just annoying more than anything because he’s super needy right now.”

Is being homebound while looking after your needy, ball-less dog a sign of growing up? Barnett wouldn’t give a straight answer on that, nor on whether or not he thinks the band has “matured” on their new record.

“I guess with anything that you do, you constantly think that what you’re doing is more mature,” he says. “Looking back on where we were before, we just weren’t as good of players and songwriters then. There were different things in our lives that we thought were bigger deals than they were at the time. … I was still in college when we were writing the last record, so that was kind of fueled with cheap food and cheap beer, getting drunk every day and minimal responsibilities. A lot more has changed since then, so I guess that kind of affected everything, the growing-up process.”

It took him two or three years to finish writing “When You Die,” which he says wasn’t meant to be about one particular death. However, he started writing the song when a friend died of leukemia.

Then his grandfather passed away and he was motivated and inspired to finish it.

“I just kind of wanted to sum it all up,” Barnett facebook.com/JUMPphilly

says. “It started having to drive somewhere for a funeral. You’re just kind of alone with your thoughts. While you’re doing it, that’s kind of the inspiration for driving up to heaven, that whole thing. So that’s where that kind of came from.”

Barnett chose Rented World for the album title after reading the Philip Larkin poem “Aubade,” which features the line. While that poem was also about death, Barnett related it to the album for another reason.

“I started thinking about all of the songs, about how short-lived anything could be, from relationships to human life to anything, and how you don’t even really own any of that,” he says.

“You think you do but you really don’t, and it can all just be taken away from you. That’s where, I think, the title came from. That’s why I went with it because, for me, the record is just kind of a living-in-the-moment kind of record.”

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ack at the P.O.P.E after plates of seitan fingers and bowls of three bean chili are eaten and drafts of oatmeal stout and Kenzinger are drunk, The Menzingers look ahead to where their new album might take them.

“There are so many great parts about releasing a record,” Barnett says. “One is that you get to start your tour cycle over again, so you get to start planning for the rest of the year and next year, being like, ‘Maybe we can go to Japan, maybe we can go here.’ There’s all of these really cool places that you’ve wanted to go, and now putting out a new record, you get this extra push. The whole planning stage of that is really exciting. It’s just kind of cool to see what you’ve been working on for so long, and where it can potentially take you.”

The first time Barnett really felt like The Menzingers had “made it” was when they were dropped off at the airport to fly to England and play there for the very first time. For Keen, it was when they were signed to Epitaph in 2011. For Godino, it was their earlier signing to Go Kart Records in 2006. The jokester has the whole band cracking up recalling how he called his boss that day and told her he couldn’t come in to work because his band had been signed and he’d be on the road a lot - though they did nothing for four months after that. At the time, Godino was 20. When the band technically hits their 10-year anniversary in 2016, he’ll be turning 30.

And though it’s “so lame to say,” there’s one more thing Godino relays that he’s definitely not joking about, though it also elicits laughter from the group.

“We have great fans,” he says. “Everyone has great fans because they’re fans and they like your band. But honestly, we do though. And you see that live. It’s really easy for us to stay energetic and confident in our live set just because of how energetic people who come to our shows are. It’s really easy for us to be that much more into it. You feed off of that kind of energy.

“We’re just lucky to have people who come to our shows who are super intense and love to be right up in front, knocking these guy’s teeth out.”

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MENZOS IN THE CITY: Though the bandmates don't live with each other any more, they enjoy time hanging out around town usually together.

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Cover Story

The Man Man

EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE A typical Man Man show involves costume changes, multiple personalities and lots of pure energy.

Story by Megan Matuzak.

Photos by Michael Bucher.

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or as long as the members of Man Man can remember, singer Ryan Kattner, aka Honus Honus, hasn’t been shy about donning the most flamboyant dresses and capes to make his gaggle of characters come to life.

His fashionista spidey-senses tingle when he sees clothing more akin to grandma outfits for important rituals like bingo games or church outings, Kattner remarks. But more important than his best Tina Turner or Liza Minnelli impersonations is what lies beneath it all a refined sense of performance and what a performer should be.

“If I am uncomfortable, I should be more uncomfortable and push myself,” Kattner says.

“Once you can throw yourself out on a limb, it can go places.”

It’s no secret. Man Man is not a standard rock band, like The Beatles, The Killers or Foo Fighters. They aren’t the rock band anyone wants them to be, mostly because of who they are and have always been. By the same token, they just don’t give a shit. It’s a take it or leave it approach, but either way, you’ll never see anything like it again.

If “Head On,” a single from last year’s release, On Oni Pond, is your point of reference, seeing a Man Man show may be surprising.

“The song is a bit of a gateway drug,” explains drummer Chris Powell, aka Pow Pow. “You could say, ‘Oh this is great,’ or ‘Oh, fuck, that shit is crazy. I’m not into it.’ I think either is great.”

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o Man Man, the “experimental” in an experimental genre is a dirty word. The band isn’t shy of catchy hooks, carnal melodies and storytelling, however mischievous and dark they may be. Where the experimental label catches up with the band stems from the theatrical and unconventional shenanigans of their live performances.

“It’s me throwing on a Tina Turner dress and doing my best Liza Minnelli i m p e r s o n a t i o n ,”

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Honus Honus says. “I don’t make a very beautiful woman, I make an interesting looking woman.”

A Man Man show is unforgettable from start to finish. Kattner regularly kicks back the piano bench to stomp and belt songs at the top of his lungs and shimmies all around the stage between costume changes and character impersonations.

“It’s like anything else in our set,” Kattner says.

“It’s a juggling act. I know I have X amount of time to run across the stage and put on something before I have to start singing. If things get fucked up and go wrong, it’s exciting in its own way. It’s a forever quest.”

Powell, meanwhile, looks like he is sitting on a spring-loaded launch pad by the way he bounces around, which must be a hell of a ride judging from his animated facial expressions. Adam Schatz, known as Shono, and Bryan Murphy, aka Brown Sugar, equally match the the others’ ferocity with palatable tomfoolery.

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ne of the earliest examples of Man Man kicking it up a notch was in 2007, when they enlisted Philadelphia artist Isaac Lin to paint the drums that were scattered around the stage during a show. Lin, a friend of Powell’s from the pre-Man Man days of Need New Body and Icy Demons, incorporated his black calligraphy pattern with neon colors in between, which looked cool under the black lights Lin recalls. Man Man still features Lin’s creations on stage today.

More recently, Philadelphia-born costume designer Naomi Davidoff helped Man Man pull off a stunt that got the attention of CNN’s Wolf Blitzer. Davidoff took an off-white tunic and

plastered Blitzer’s face in blue and magenta all over it, like a kind of awkward chicken pox one typically gets from watching CNN. Pictures of the tunic and news that Honus Honus referenced the station’s anchor in the song “End Boss” off of On Oni Pond first made it on to a segment of Anderson Cooper’s show, then Blitzer commented on it himself a week later.

“I’ve received many honors throughout my career but perhaps none as satisfying as being the inspiration for an indie rock song,” Wolf Blitzer says in the segment, which is accessible online.

“It’s about Wolf Blitzer breaking into houses and eating children,” Kattner says of the song.

“I thought it would be more interesting if it was Wolf Blitzer, the CNN guy.”

Davidoff, who says she has been listening to Man Man for years, was excited to work with the band even before the tunic went viral.

“I thought it could be a really cool opportunity to make something custom of Man Man,” she says, “and see how Ryan would transform the costumes during their performance.”

In the summer of 2013, Davidoff reached out to Man Man to ask permission to use a song of theirs for her entry in the Boston Fashion Week. Davidoff proposed a trade: permission to use

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the song in exchange for free costumes for Kattner to wear on the upcoming tour for On Oni Pond.

“We had a few things that Ryan wore, tunics and stuff like that,” Powell says. “I really think that is one of the better ways to go about making each trip different. Honus does a really good job of switching that up, especially since Naomi asked us if we were interested.”

Davidoff’s vision: a tiger-striped, crushed velvet, reversible poncho cape. As magical as it sounds, crushed velvet doesn’t mix with the unforgiving heat of stage lights or Kattner’s zestful onstage theatrics. Aside from the heat issue, he needed interior pockets for his confetti and fake fingers stash. They went back to the drawing board to create poncho capes with “radiating patchwork, appliqué, crazy trims, dark patterns and stripes” fitting enough for Man Man’s untraditional front man.

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Davidoff also created skeleton suits and LED tuxedo jackets for the whole band, which made their debut during Man Man’s Halloween show in 2013.

“During the Halloween show, I watched Man Man’s set from the stage,” Davidoff remembers. “Seeing Ryan master the costume changes from behind the scenes was great. Watching Man Man play my favorite songs while performing in the LED tuxedos was probably the most rewarding experience of my design career yet.”

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oing to a Man Man show is a cerebral Tilt-A-Whirl without the guardrail. There will be dips, turns and spins through Man Man’s twisted, sexual and demented carnival of outcasts. It’s a ride that you can’t get off easily, not that you would want to anyway.

“It’s kind of like we are Dumbo in the Magic Circus,” Kattner says, chuckling.

“We don’t need the feather to play the show. We are going to fly regardless.”

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Food That Rocks

The Next Life Of A Neighborhood Bar Liberties, the former 2nd Street landmark bar, is now Bourbon & Branch, a destination for comfort food and live music. Photos by Grace Dickinson.

After nearly 30 years, the stalwart Liberties bar, part of an earlier wave of Northern Liberties revitalization, has shut down and reopened as a comfort food haven featuring live music on the second floor.

The new spot, Bourbon & Branch, presents 80 varieties of whiskey and 17 beers on tap, in addition to a menu with no entrees costing more than $20.

The newly constructed upstairs venue can hold more than 100 people for live events. By April, they hope to be offering events every day. - G.W. Miller III

MUSIC MAN: Greg Altman (above), who performs with Vacationer and Ratkicker, is booking acts at the new space. "Bourbon & Branch is a boutique performance venue, providing an intimate environment for both local and national acts to showcase their talents," he says.

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BAR ON FIRE: Bar manager Righteous Jollie (opposite page) making a Flaming Ricky. The roasted winter vegetable pizza (right).

COMFORTING: Alex Carbonell (left), the chef and owner, in the kitchen. The Branch Nachos (above). The inside of the restaurant (top) retains the Victorian bar and tin ceiling from the old Liberties.

Bourbon & Branch 705 N. 2nd Street 215/238-0660 JUMPphilly.com

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Inside Voice

Backstage With Man Man

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We asked photographer Michael Bucher to hang out with the guys from Man Man on the day of a recent show at Underground Arts.

He writes about trying to visually capture the spirit of the energetic band.

was nervous about this assignment. Spending the afternoon backstage at Underground Arts with Man Man during soundcheck to make photos for an issue highlighting visuals doesn’t seem like a promising situation. There are only so many way to be creative in a rather generic setting.

I had hoped to have some special access to the Philadelphia-based band in their hometown and photographically present the local connection - at or near their homes, wherever they hang out, etc.

But that’s not how it works in the lives of Man Man. Between two shows in New York City and two more in Washington, D.C., the band is only in town for the afternoon. They arrived at the venue today straight from D.C. In a few weeks they’re back on the road with a full national tour and a stop at Atlanta’s Shaky Knees Festival in May. So I started shooting pictures right away.

warming up on any instrument, I follow the band as they huddle backstage.

The energy starts to rise. They walk down a hallway silently like soldiers off to combat and take their positions on stage.

The entire group then erupts, feeding off the frenzied crowd. Ryan Kattner, otherwise known as Honus Honus, cannot stay seated at his keyboard for long before jumping up, stomping his foot, swinging his head around and throwing his hair over his face.

Between songs throughout the show, he changes into a white fur coat, a marine blue military jacket with epaulettes while an alien mask covers his face, a thin hooded cloak, his notorious Wolf Blitzer tunic followed by a new black-and-white airbrushed T-shirt of Anderson Cooper giving a “rock on” hand gesture.

Preferring to stand at the edge of the swelled crowd, he is able to sing while rhythmically beating a fan’s bare belly with a drumstick.

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he pictures ended up forming a distinct beginning, middle and end.

Before the show there is a work-like attitude to the group. A lot of time is spent unpacking equipment on autopilot and arranging the instruments on stage like they’ve done hundreds of times before. There are also plenty of quick glances at cell phones.

After realizing there are only so many pictures you can make of a guy

fter the show, you can see the band feels a pure satisfaction and euphoria. It’s loose and they sink into couches backstage. They’re covered in sweat and quickly undress from the skeleton onesies.

Spirits are high. And tomorrow they’ll do it all over again in another city.

At least tonight, drummer Chris Powell (otherwise known as Pow Pow) will get to sleep in his own bed in Fishtown.

ARE WE NOT MEN?: Man Man drummer Chris Powell (left) and frontman Ryan Kattner disrobing after their show at Underground Arts.

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