Spring 2015 JUMP: The Unfiltered Issue

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ISSUE #17

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SPRING 2015

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UNFILTERED ISSUE: PISSED JEANS, REEF THE LOST CAUZE, FTS, VELVET CRAYON, BAKERY BOYS, BROADZILLA & MUCH MORE!

CONTENTS | Issue #17

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SPRING 2015

THE JUMP OFF FTS, Abando, Bakery Boys, Radiator Hospital (right), Caitlin McCullough from Milkboy The Studio, Rob Windfelder from Crash Bang Boom, The West Kensingtons, New Sound Brass, Cory Wade, Chris McElroy, Broadzilla, Velvet Crayon and Callowhill.

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MUSIC & EDUCATION Philadelphia School District director of music education, Frank Machos, talks about the importance of the arts.

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MUSIC & POLITICS State Representative Jordan Harris is planning his next summer festival, which bridges music and government.

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THIS PLACE ROCKED Golden Tea House, which shut down this winter after a three-year run, was home to legions of music lovers (and bands). We celebrate the community-building DIY spot, while we wait for the next great spot to launch.

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COVER stories Cheerbleeders are more than just sass and sex appeal.

They're a band showing off the power of female artists, with the hopes of inspiring other female artists.

For more than a decade, Pissed Jeans (right) have been making loud music and having a lot of fun. They've managed to stay fresh and enjoy making music because they never tried to make the band their careers.

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FOOD THAT ROCKS Legend says that George Washington hung out at the Mermaid Inn. In more recent years, the Chestnut Hill restaurant/venue has become a haven for folk music.

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INSIDE VOICES Derek Dorsey speaks to Reef The Lost Cauze about parenting, growing up in Overbrook Park, Philly pride and the state of race relations in America today.

FRONT COVER: Cheerbleeders, by Michael Bucher. BACK COVER: Pissed Jeans, by Michael Bucher. CONTENTS PAGE: (top to bottom) Radiator Hospital, by Jessica Flynn; Pissed Jeans, by Michael Bucher; Reef The Lost Cauze and Derek Dorsey, by G.W. Miller III. JUMPphilly.com

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publisher G.W. MILLER III managing editor CHRIS MALO deputy editors MICHAEL BUCHER, BETH ANN DOWNEY contributors TONY ABRAHAM, LISSA ALICIA, KYLE BAGENSTOSE, RACHEL BARRISH, TIMOTHY BECKER, VINCE BELLINO, CHRIS BROWN, CARY CARR, CHARLES SHAN CERRONE, JUMAH CHAGUAN, GABI CHEPURNY (LA OFFICE), ASHLEY COLEMAN, RICH COLEMAN, ANEESAH COLEY, KEVIN COOK, DARRAGH DANDURAND, CHESNEY DAVIS, RACHEL DEL SORDO, GRACE DICKINSON, KEVIN DORAN, JUSTIN DOWDALL, LAURA FANCIULLACCI, CHRIS FASCENELLI, ERIC FITZSIMMONS, JESSICA FLYNN, CHIP FRENETTE, JEFF FUSCO, JESSICA GRIFFIN, DAN HALMA, SHAWN HILEMAN, TYLER HORST, LUONG HUYNH (MIDWEST OFFICE), PAUL IMBURGIA, GRETA IVERSON, JENNY KERRIGAN, MINA LEE, MATTHEW LEISTER, MORGAN JAMES, JENELLE JANCI, SEAN KANE, RICK KAUFFMAN, DONTE KIRBY, MEGAN MATUZAK, KATE McCANN, TERESA McCULLOUGH, JASON MELCHER, NIESHA MILLER, TIESHA MILLER, DAVE MINIACI, BRENDAN MENAPACE, ELIAS MORRIS, TIM MULHERN, BRIAN MYSZKOWSKI, ED NEWTON, TIM O'DONNELL, URSZULA PRUCHNIEWSKA, ABIGAIL REIMOLD, MARIE ALYSE RODRIGUEZ (NoCAL OFFICE), EMILY SCOTT, CHAD SIMS, ADAM SMITH, BRIANNA SPAUSE, KEVIN STAIRIKER, BRITTANY THOMAS, JOHN VETTESE, JARED WHALEN, BRIAN WILENSKY

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 in 2010 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

The Game of Life In real life, I'm a college-level journalism professor, speaking before hundreds of students a couple times per week.

One day last fall, I was lecturing about how we get our information these days, and how we tend to focus on issues closest to us (as opposed to world news or even what would be considered "serious journalism"). I flashed a few images on the big screen of things that I care about - my dog, my neighborhood, my friends. And I showed the picture above, of the crew I played baseball with at 8th and Poplar for a few years.

At the end of class, a student named Kyle Marchiafava came up to me and said, "Hey, I was in that picture you showed."

The games at 8th and Poplar were much more about the drinking and barbecuing and general clowning around than actual baseball, so I barely recognized Kyle.

But we became friends (again?) and he started telling me about his music project, The Abandos. He gave me a 7-inch, which I've since played a gazillion times.

On March 19, Kyle's band will perform at our Red Bull Sound Select show with Pissed Jeans, Amanda X and Cheerbleeders.

It's not an understatement to say that the kids I played baseball with at 8th and Poplar changed my life. When I stumbled across the game in early 2010, I hadn't played hardball in 19 years. At 39, I was pretty boring, living a fairly generic, rather settled existence.

I asked if I could join the game and Nick Agnew said to me, "If you bring beer, you can play."

So I did ... just about every Saturday with decent weather for the next four years.

It turned out that most of the players were musicians and artists.

Not only did they have my passion for baseball but they were creative people. I had some of the most fun times of my life out there with them, oftentimes just chilling on the bench.

A few months after I started playing ball with these kids, I took a group of students to London for a summer journalism workshop that centered on music. Kurt Hunte, one of the founders of the 8th and Poplar game and a member of Plastic Little, introduced me to his UK manager. That dude connected us to a bunch of other industry people and we did stories about them for a studentproduced mag that we called JUMP. When I returned home, I showed that mag to the 8th and Poplar kids and someone said, "I don't know any of these people or places but it's cool. We should have something like this for Philly."

Six months later, we launched the Philly version with the help of some of the 8th and Poplar crew.

The Philly edition is in its fifth year now. The 8th and Poplar game pretty much fizzled out but many of us still party together.

Those folks will always be cherished friends. They taught me to enjoy the hell out of life again.

- G.W. Miller III JUMPphilly.com

Photo by Michael Bucher.

The JUMP Off

INSIDE: FTS p. 8 / ABANDO p. 9 / BAKERY BOYS p. 10 / RADIATOR HOSPITAL p. 11 / CAITLIN McCULLOUGH p. 12 / ROB WINDFELDER p. 14 / THE WEST KENSINGTONS p. 16 / NEW SOUND BRASS p. 17 / CORY WADE p. 18 / CHRIS McELROY p. 20 / BROADZILLA p. 22 / VELVET CRAYON p. 24 / CALLOWHILL p. 25 / JUMPphilly.com

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Five Terrible Scumbags Leading a never-faltering hardcore punk sound into the future are South Philly punk band FTS, which the band jokingly says can mean anything from “Financially Tight Situation” to “Five Terrible Scumbags.” This powerful group of self-proclaimed social wastoids have been gaining praise from under the radar for three years now. FTS commands a loyal legion of super fans who regularly turn the mosh pit into a warzone within the first note of their set. Senior members Will “Scabiez” Moran (guitarist) and Zaya “Distraught” DeNut (vocalist) describe what it's like being a part of the ever-changing Philadelphia punk scene.

Distraught: There’s a theme?

Scabiez: There’s a fuckin’ theme. The theme is misery. Lots of misery, but surviving through that misery and ways to have a different mindset.

You just worked a shitty job, you walked home through shitty fuckin’ weather, you’ve got holes in your shoes and you’re fuckin’ freezing. I dunno.

Fuckin’ life sucks.

Do you feel like you represent Philadelphia?

Scabiez: Absolutely. Philly has always had a lot of great punk rock bands in it and it’s never ever gotten acknowledged. So I feel like now is the time to really actually say, “We’re from Philly.

Philly has a great fucking music scene.” That’s what we’re really trying to get out there.

Distraught: Philly has always had one of the hardest working scenes. It just sucks - there’s so many amazing bands that never made it past those first couple of tours from Philly and they

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just die off. Every year, you can go through a list of amazing bands who were around and alive and then just done.

Do you believe that there is a rift in Philly punk between the different scenes?

Distraught: There’s always been something between everyone in Philly because everyone likes different things and everyone always has a different thought. That’s also one of the cool things about Philly. You have so many different people with overlapping ideas. That’s one of the cool things, there’s always different ideas hitting each other. Without any kind of conflict, none of us could ever find a real way to grow.

Scabiez: Yeah, of course. But even with people that come here who aren’t from here, when they see the amount of things they can go to, they kind of realize, like, “Holy shit. I’ve just really dived into a city where, A). it’s already cheap to fuckin’ live here, and B). there’s so many great things happening in my fucking back yard.”

Do you see a younger group of kids coming in trying to change things?

Distraught: It’s cool, I’ve been around for a little over a decade now in the street punk/hardcore/ DIY punk scene, and there’s always the different trends that come through. Like right now, you see a little more of the Oi and street punk coming through at the same time with D-beat style hitting really hard.

Scabiez: I’ve only been in the Philly scene for like what, four years? Five years? I got started up with Kryovax and shit and that’s how I got introduced into the whole entire Philly punk scene. I completely missed the Halfway House days. But there was still a huge street punk scene. Then I don’t know. From what I saw, things started getting not like, darker, just, like, more heavy.

A lot of the bands started getting just more of a heavier sound. It was almost like they just had more anger and wanted to have more aggression in their music. Things got a lot more rougher, at least in South Philly. Things got a lot more intense.

- Elias Morris facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Michael Bucher.

What kind of themes do you touch upon in your lyrics?

Photo by Rick Kauffman.

The JUMP Off

Hateful But Danceable Kyle Marchiafava is Abando, the last man standing from a once plural punk band.

In certain pockets of North Philadelphia, the term "abando" gets tossed around as shorthand to refer to the dilapidated structures and homes found in the area. For Kyle Marchiafava, also known as Street Kyle, the term serves as a reminder that the city isn't all artisanal coffee shops and hip gastropubs. To be clear, he's not anti-coffee. It's just these spots aren't indicative of the Philly that he grew up in.

"The term 'abando' is a lowlife, junkie term," he says in between bites of falafel at Liberty Choice, an unassuming convenience store tucked underneath the El, off Front Street. "I'm not advocating any of it but I do embrace it at the same time."

Born and raised in the city, 29-year-old Marchiafava has been making music in Philadelphia for the last 10 years. A former member of punk groups such as FNU Ronnies and The Chickens, Marchiafava formed The Abandos at the tail end of 2012. Since then, five drummers and three bass players have passed through the door, forcing the garage rockleaning The Abandos to become Abando, a oneman operation. At first, the idea of countless musicians quitting the band might sound like a sad story but really, it just makes the band name all the more appropriate.

Currently, Abando is a free-form organism. A longtime fan of industrial sounds, Marchiafava uses drum machines and synths to fill the void left by former band members.

"This music is pretty aggressive and kind of weird but also extremely accessible to more than one scene of people," he says.

While ostensibly a oneman operation, there's been some collaboration. Wes Russell of Hot Guts has been working with Marchiafava.

"It's got this primitive core that I really dig," Russell says of the material. "There are barebones elements of EBM and a punk vibe but it's not trying too hard.

JUMPphilly.com

It's Cro-Magnon and hateful and you can dance to it."

While there's clearly a new direction for the project, one obstacle that Abando still faces is that many don't realize that The Abandos have become this quasi-solo venture. In fact, last year's 7-inch is just now reaching some blogs. The delay in being discovered has both its pros and its cons. While some are late to the party, it gives Marchiafava the opportunity to forge a new identity for his project, one that doesn't carry the baggage of the past.

"Most of the reviews that come in now, they don't even know about my old

bands," he says. "It's part of the reason that I'm happy to have released it myself without the help of a label."

Releasing a proper, full release sometime soon is definitely the goal. In the meantime, Abando will continue performing live gigs. Despite all the personnel issues of the last year, Marchiafava has been able to nail gigs all along the East Coast.

Whether solo or with whoever is available at the time, they've shared bills with acclaimed acts such as Nots and The Spits.

"I'm trying to get to a point where I can do different things with this," he says. "Like play however many songs but do it in these different formats."

If the last two years of perseverance are any indication, then the project can take on just about any shape. As long as Marchiafava is in the driver's seat, Abando isn't going to collapse anytime soon.

- Chris Brown

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B.A.K.E.D. In North Philly Bakery Boys are more than stoner whimsy.

They are ambitious kids, every day.

Two of the three members of the Bakery Boys relax at the kitchen table in a friend's apartment.

Quinton “Q” Russ (aka Diabolicool) and Mark Ryan sit, waiting for the last member, Russ' cousin Alexander Ruffin (aka Ace Bangaz), to arrive.

When Ruffin finally walks in, Russ jumps up to show his cousin his retro Stone Cold Steve Austin “Austin 3:16” shirt, which leaves Ruffin cackling.

“Your wardrobe is so weird,” Ruffin says. Then, with a straight face, he continues, “No, but I got like two of those at home. I'm not hatin’.”

The way the group gets along, it's easy to tell they’ve known each other for a long time. While growing up uptown, in the neighborhoods of North Philly, the guys' first real connection with each other was through skateboarding, most often at LOVE Park.

Each had at least a fledgling interest in hiphop but it wasn't until they started tooling around in Ryan's basement that things started coming together. With their own space to explore

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musically, their formation as a unit didn't have to be a conscious choice. It just kind of happened.

“I had a basement where we could all hang out, smoke weed and fuck around,” says Ryan. “And that's what happened. It's the classic rap story. I had a place for us to figure ourselves out.”

Having lived in Philadelphia their whole lives, the guys are well-versed in the city's idiosyncrasies and strange characters. For instance, a street performer once brought a PA system to LOVE Park and let them borrow it for a few minutes to perform. It's what they would come to call their first ever gig.

“Philly is a weird planet,” says Russ. “It's a parallel universe.”

But the Bakery Boys accept this weird planet as their home, especially North Philly. Instead of doing skits for their recent release, The Package, Ryan clandestinely recorded the group moving around their stomping grounds on his smartphone. There's the sound of change hitting the counter of a Chinese corner store as they argue over what to buy in “Us,” and the familiar “chirp-chirp” of the crosswalk in the background as they take a break from skating to chat with a friend on Broad Street at Cecil B. Moore Avenue in “Peeps.”

“This is where the stories are being made,” says Ruffin about North Philly. “It's storytelling. Our true stories are interesting enough that we can tell them to people and they'll listen.”

North Philly is their home, for better or worse.

Ruffin's least favorite memories of recording their first effort, First Batch, were leaving Ryan's basement at the end of the day. Partly that's because it was such a comfortable space and partly because it wasn't uncommon to hear gunshots on the walk home.

“We talk about grimy shit but it's not to glorify it,” Ryan says. “It's just like, be aware. Be conscious.

As a group, we're pushing for our lane.”

They've started their own label, B.A.K.E.D. Recordings, to house both their individual efforts and showcase the talents of other local artists, like Mick Raw (pictured above with Bakery Boys) and Javin Lessane.

After leaving Philadelphia to live in Denver for several months, Lessane discovered that most people outside of the city have the theme song to "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air" as their only cultural reference.

“It’s cool but at the same time it’s like… yup!

That’s it,” he says about other cities’ knowledge of Philadelphia.

Lessane thinks artists like the Bakery Boys are more representative of where Philly is at now and it’s about time the world knew.

It may come across as nothing but stoner whimsy but B.A.K.E.D. actually stands for “Being Ambitious Kids Every Day.” “We strong,” says Russ. “You may not know yet, but we are strong.”

- Tyler Horst facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Darragh Dandurand.

The JUMP Off

Honestly Talented Radiator Hospital began as a solo project in Michigan but became a full band in Philly.

Photo by Jessica Flynn.

It is a quiet evening in Sam Cook-Parrott’s West Philly home. Most of his roommates are out. The 23-year-old musician is ecstatic about a book he just received in the mail. He plans on reading it while on the European tour he is about to venture on as Radiator Hospital.

Cook-Parrot began writing music under the moniker five years ago in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He recorded lo-fi, fuzz-pop tapes, handed them out to friends and formed the band around that material.

“I think of myself as a record collector and fan of music first,” Cook-Parrott says of his influences, which include Paul Westerberg of The Replacements and Jonathan Richman of The Modern Lovers. “I just try to take in as much music as I can.”

Cook-Parrot grew up in a musical household. His father, who clearly passed down the affinity for vinyl, was a radio host throughout his life and now works at a record shop. As an avid record collector, his dad makes most of his income flipping records on eBay, Cook-Parrott says.

In Grand Rapids, Radiator Hospital, which is named in honor of an auto body garage in the city, had a decent following and released several different tapes and a 7-inch titled I Want to Believe through current drummer Jeff Bolt’s label, Stupid Bag Records.

Bolt, who also plays drums in Swearin’, moved to Philadelphia first and Cook-Parrott joined him a year later in September 2012.

For Cook-Parrott, Philly is a bigger city and a bigger scene than his hometown of Grand Rapids.

“I was feeling restless, like I needed to go somewhere else,” Cook-Parrott says.

“We always wanted Sam to come to Philly and do Radiator Hospital more,” says bassist Jon Rybicki, who moved to Philly from Cleveland three years ago.

Rybicki had known Bolt for several years from playing in other bands. When Rybicki heard of Cook-Parrott's upcoming move, he messaged him saying they should play music together when he touched down. Bolt is dating current guitarist Cynthia Schemmer and thought she would be a good addition to the band.

Everything fell into place quickly for Radiator Hospital since the band was set and prepared prior to CookPa r ro t t ’s arrival.

The music-making technique behind Radiator Hospital is like a manufacturing process: CookParrott writes the lyrics and his respective guitar parts and then passes it all on to the band to add their work to the mix.

In September 2013, Radiator Hospital

released its first EP as a Philly band, Something Wild. It was a collection of tracks that were either solo work of Cook-Parrott or full-band tracks. The band released their latest record, Torch Song, in September 2014. It marked a cohesive sound for the entire band and received a four-star rating from Rolling Stone, which was something they could legitimately show their parents who see what they’re doing as “unconventional,” Schemmer says.

“I think Sam branched out a little bit in his songwriting and there were different things going on that weren’t in Something Wild,” Schemmer says of the new album.

Radiator Hospital went on a full U.S. tour this past summer by themselves and ran into minor problems, like their week-old van breaking down 40 minutes into the trip. An alternative venue on the tour was a driveway in East Los Angeles with girl-punk duo Girlpool. It was packed, with at least 125 people, Rybicki says.

But one of the band’s almost unanimously agreed upon favorite shows was underneath an undisclosed Philly bridge where they turned on a generator and played shorts sets at midnight with Big Eyes and Tony Molina.

Cook-Parrott got back in February from his first venture on a European tour, opening solo for fellow indie-pop act Waxahatchee. Nothing is set in stone for the future of Radiator Hospital, but Cook-Parrot says he is always writing songs, so a new record can be expected before the end of the year.

It is pretty clear that nonconformity in the music industry is a parallel wave of success for Radiator Hospital. They are making music the way they want, with no strings attached.

“It’s very DIY for someone to not want a PR person or a manager or a booking agent,” Schemmer says. “To be a band that doesn’t have any of that and to be where we are is definitely an accomplishment.”

The members of Radiator Hospital take the term “DIY” seriously as CookParrott strays away from working with booking agents and labels.

“There are no advertisements for Rad Hos records,” says Bolt.

Cook-Parrott is inherently open about his opinion on the music industry and recently published a letter on his WordPress addressing his sentiments on Radiator Hospital garnering attention recently.

“I just think the way you present your music is really important,” Cook-Parrott says. “I just want to present ours in as honest of a way as possible.”

- Emily Scott

JUMPphilly.com

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The JUMP Off Photo by Rachel Del Sordo.

Quality Controller Caitlin McCullough is the manager of MilkBoy The Studio, home of The Roots and a destination for countless other artists from Philly and beyond.

Tracks by the likes of Kanye West, Jazmine Sullivan, Pissed Jeans, Justin Timberlake, Miley Cyrus, LL Cool J, Jill Scott, Chill Moody and Dave Matthews have been written, arranged, produced and/or recorded here.

Trained in music recording and production, McCullough has been a guiding hand in The Studio’s operations since 2007, when it was still owned by the legendary Larry Gold.

She has done and seen a lot during her time at the famed space, some of which she can speak about. Some, she cannot.

What’s the most memorable thing that you’ve seen or experienced here?

Before [Late Night with Jimmy Fallon], The Roots were really present here at The Studio, really present in Philadelphia. Dice Raw came up to me and he was like, “Yo, Caitlin, we need a female to read the script and if you could just come back.” I went into the studio and I was asked to go sit next to him [Tariq Trotter, also known as Black Thought]. Basically, the skit was reading “Casablanca” but with Auto-Tune. It was me and Tariq just sitting, reading with Auto-Tune. I just remember kind of being in the middle of that and being like, “I can’t believe this is my job, like this is Wednesday…”

You look on the walls to see Grammy-nominated or Grammy-winning albums and triple platinum selling albums. How is it working somewhere that does stuff like that?

It’s a privilege to be a part of something like this.

What makes MilkBoy a place that artists from everywhere want to record?

I think it’s a level of quality. It all goes back to that saying, “You get what you pay for.” It’s definitely a combination of the work and the people that we have doing the work, in a respected place.

What’s the most rewarding thing you experience working here?

When all these rooms are filled and there’s music pouring out of all these rooms.

How does your background in recording and production help you manage the studio?

I can’t even call myself a musician. I’ve always been a fan of music. I was the kid who was buying CDs and reading liner notes and seeing where

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things were recorded. I always wanted to be a part of that but I wasn’t really sure how. How my training has helped me is just being able to have intelligent conversations about booking rooms.

Do you have a vision of what you would like to see come out of the studio?

Philly is a great music scene but as far as being able to live here and work in this field, it's really hard. To have these artists move forward, as much as I would hate anyone to leave, that, to me, is more important.

Would you ever be afraid that this would be seen as a stepping stone studio for engineers, like where they’d be before going to NY or LA? I think it could be looked at that way but I also think that if we’re a part of a story that’s much bigger than that, then I don’t take it as a slight by any means.

You’ve been here for eight years. How has music and the way things are recorded changed?

The whole music business itself has definitely changed. Even from when I started until now. We

do get a lot of label artists in here but not with label budgets.

People walk around with portable studios.

There’s GarageBand. People record in basements.

It’s definitely a challenge for a studio like this to maintain itself when it is so tangible, so accessible, to just go anywhere. As far as the business side, it’s been a challenge to figure out where we fit in this world where people don’t have to pay anything to record.

What’s been your favorite thing recorded here?

I’m very partial to what Larry [Gold] has done here, as far as his arrangements. For me, being a part of The Studio and being able to see what Larry has done - and how long he’s been in this business, the level of artists he’s worked with whenever I hear anything he’s done, I’m always amazed for sure.

I get excited when the producers are here. Like we had Salaam Remi, who did Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black album. I kinda get more excited when I hear the producers and the people who are really creating the music. That’s what’s really important to me.

- Vince Bellino facebook.com/JUMPphilly

JUMPphilly.com

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The Last Punks on South Street 14

Few people stick it out in the long run without succumbing to the pressures of “growing up” and abandoning your passions. Rob Windfelder is one of the few.

Windfelder is co-owner of Crash Bang Boom, where he began working when it was still called Zipperhead, a name immortalized in the song “Punk Rock Girl” by Philadelphia's celebrated punk band, The Dead Milkmen. He is also the guitarists of local dark punk outfit Live Not On Evil, who have been gracing listeners with grit and gloom since 2000.

From behind his counter full of enough leather and metal to make Rob Halford squeal, Windfelder speaks of his reign as the South Street area’s single remaining punk liaison.

Give us a quick history of Zipperhead and Crash Bang Boom, if you know anything from before your employment until now.

The store opened originally in 1980 as Zipperhead on South Street. My business partner Stephanie Jolles (pictured above) and I had both worked facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Chris Fascenelli.

The JUMP Off

wasn’t where his passion was, so to speak. One of the main selling features to the job was that almost everybody else who worked at Zipperhead at the time were also in bands and understood it was like the “code of the West.” If you had a show and you were going to take off, someone was going to fill in - no matter how inconvenient it was - because it was going to come back at you someday.

Do you realize now that Crash Bang Boom is pretty much the sole punk distributor on South Street. Have you seen a steady decline of punk stores around here?

Yes, I do realize that. And yes there is a decline.

The face of South Street is always changing and as it stands now, that is based more on the economy and rents than anything else, just like with us moving to Fourth Street.

It seems like there’s still a lot of reasons to come to the South Street area and a lot of them are on the side streets and surrounding areas. There are so many great independent shops condensed in this area. But not a whole lot of them can afford to be on the main street. That has changed the face of things a little bit.

When did you decide to form Live Not On Evil?

And what's going on with the band currently?

Its inception started out as a concept that was a pact between two friends, Eric Bower and myself.

It was my birthday and we were talking. Neither one of us was in a band at the time and we both had an idea of what we wanted to do and already had material, but it wasn’t the same band. We weren’t actually starting a band together. We were discussing starting two bands together, both playing a role in each other’s band until they both got off the ground.

So Live Not on Evil and Dead City Psychos were born on the same night, which is kind of neat. Eric was in the band for a few years for the first album and as things tightened up for him and for us…

We’re still really close friends. We have a record out currently that we’re working on promoting.

It’s our third full-length album.

Do you hope that Crash Bang Boom will remain running after you're no longer able to run it?

there for quite some time. I was the general manager.

Then the original owner was looking to sell the business and it eventually got to the point where he was willing to sell to us if we could come up with the funding. So we had to jump through a million different hoops to finally get an SBA loan and purchased the place in 2000.

At that point, when our first five year lease was up, we moved around the corner here. Since it was JUMPphilly.com

a fresh start and something new and something that we were building for ourselves, we, at the same time, changed the name to Crash Bang Boom. It seems crazy but as of this summer, we’ve been at this location as Crash Bang Boom for 10 years already.

Do you know why the original owner quit or had you guys take over? How did you get hired?

He was more of an entrepreneur than somebody who was actually involved with the scene. It

It would be nice to see that. Stephanie and I don’t have any plans of bugging out of here. It’s something that we love doing and it’s a ‘so far ahead in the future’ type of plan that I haven’t even mulled over.

I guess someday, that time will come. Of course, anything that you’ve put so much work into, you hope will live on and not just vanish. But sometimes, you know… no one knows what the future holds. As far as the place is concerned, Steph and I are adamant about doing what we need to do to keep this an important part of the - Elias Morris Philadelphia scene.

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A Big Pool of Reggae Talent The West Kensingtons play music and try to help support the local reggae/soul community.

Down a ramp into Bill McKinney’s cold garage in Kensington is what looks like a giant wall of black boxes, roughly eight feet tall, stacked on top of each other and open in the front. Upon closer inspection, they’re massive speakers.

This is The West Kensingtons’ sound system, something they’ve been driving all over the country to collect. The act of building a sound system grew out of reggae music from the Jamaican DIY scene. It gives anyone a way to share new music with the community.

“There isn’t a solid club scene for reggae in Philly” says McKinney, guitarist for The West Kensingtons. “Why should that stop us from doing what we do? We’ll just throw our own party!

That’s how things get done, not being dependent on something being made for you.”

McKinney, back from the garage, sits on a couch in his living room and checks his phone for messages from the rest of the crew. He’s

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wearing a red T-shirt from the Stax Museum of American Soul Music. While waiting for other members to surface, he starts explaining The West Kensingtons.

“We consider our music to be in the reggaesoul world,” McKinney says. “We work with that moment in time when soul music was influencing reggae musicians. Reggae and soul were melding.”

The West Kensingtons came together when three longtime friends, each accomplished musicians, found themselves living within a few blocks of each other in Philadelphia. The group then formed what they call the Reggae Club, a concept that stems from their love of music, desire to support the local reggae scene and showcase the talent within it.

Organist for the band Sean Hur shows up, wearing ripped jeans and a long denim coat. He reaches for a box of Sweet Tarts on the coffee table and pops some in his mouth as he sits on the couch.

“We all come from different paths and different styles,” says Hur. “I played a lot of ska and punk in the ’90s.”

The members all bring pieces of their musical pasts with them to the group, some having spent time playing stoner and hardcore rock and others even producing hip-hop beats. In the present, they are united by their love of reggae and soul music.

“When we were getting started, we thought, ‘What if we lock ourselves in as a rhythm section and provide the foundation for other things to happen on top?’” McKinney recalls.

Originally consisting of McKinney, bassist Quincy Bright and drummer Michael McDermott, they quickly added Hur. Drummer Julio Apollo XII stepped in when McDermott left the group.

In addition to the steady line-up, they also invite musicians into the Reggae Club and feature them on different tracks interchangeably. Members of the Reggae Club range from horn players to vocalists.

“It’s frustrating if you always have to write in one direction to work the strengths of the band,” McKinney explains. “But with a big pool to draw from, it allows us to showcase musicians’ strongest points. We can expand or contract as needed based on the music that’s being made.”

There’s a unique quality about their band in that they’re always considering what they can give back to the community.

“You have to build systems that allow people to work together while maintaining their own identity,” McKinney says. “This is the musical version of that. We want to use this as a vehicle to create other things. We might be the shittiest band in Philly in two years and that would be awesome because that’d mean that people created other - Jennifer Granato things out of it.” facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Jason Melcher.

The JUMP Off

Photo by Mina Lee.

Instant Party New Sound Brass brings their own electricity to every performance.

Upstairs at the Stone House Pub in South Philly, in an empty billiard room with the blinds drawn against the midday sun, Mike Strickland Jr. hums a line to himself before trying to replicate it on a baritone horn. He and some of the other members of New Sound Brass are in the middle of arranging some Bob Marley tunes for their 10-piece ensemble. There's no sheet music, no talk of music theory, just Strickland's animated instructions about how to capture the vibe of the reggae standards and make them their own.

“We can play whatever you want to hear,” says Dan Demmy, who plays trombone. “We put it in our brass machine and turn those words into sounds. It changes everything.”

All told, Strickland, Demmy, Bruce Swinton Jr., Jimmy Carras, Patrick Renzi, Thomas Hagglock, Larissa Hall and three members of the Windless family - Curtis, Perry and Sharif - fill out the New Sound Brass line-up.

It's a small wonder to find 10 people who enjoy playing together, especially when considering the diverse array of backgrounds the members represent. Some started off playing in gospel bands. Others cut their teeth with brass bands in the Mummers Parade. A church may be a far cry from the bacchanalia of the wench brigades but the band thrives on its attempts to marry these and other influences together into their own voice.

“We don't know what the sound is,” admits Strickland about the band's style.

“The common factor is we're all from Philly,” says Demmy. “It's a Philly sound.”

Strickland is the de facto leader, though he's uncomfortable with the notion of being the man in charge.

“I thought we could be something different than any other brass band,” says Strickland. “In my opinion, we were only going to accomplish that if we were accountable to each other.”

“They've been together for such a short time but it's really evident that they have a strong bond with one another,” says Amy Johnston from the Mural Arts Program. Mural Arts first hired New Sound to perform at a fundraiser in May of 2014 and then a mural dedication last June.

“They have the ability to connect with a crowd and create energy,” says Johnston about the lively dedication ceremony. “They kind of took us to church.”

Demmy believes part of the success of the band comes from the fact that they are sort of a novelty around here. Few other brass bands in Philadelphia commit full-time in the same way New Sound does. It also helps that there are few restrictions on where New Sound can bring their effusive brand of entertainment.

“We can play anywhere,” says Renzi, who handles the snare drum. “We don't need electricity.”

And even in a packed bar or other indoor venue, Demmy says the band's goal is to make people feel like they're in the thick of a parade or dancing at a party.

“It blurs the lines between performer and audience,” he says about the band's connection with the crowd. “We're all a part of it.”

“I'm a fan of NSB,” says Strickland. “Just because I'm in the band doesn't - Tyler Horst mean I can't be a fan.”

JUMPphilly.com

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The JUMP Off

APRIL / MAY 2015

The Next Reality Just a few weeks before walking for House of Byfield and Dom Streeter during New York Fashion Week, Cory Wade is looking relaxed in sweatpants, grabbing a sandwich and soup for dinner at Queen Village’s Café Fulya. Fans who know Wade from “America’s Next Top Model,” the reality show on which he came in third place in its 20th cycle, might not recognize him as he is now.

But the truth is that Wade has ambitions outside of the modeling world – one of the biggest is making it as a soul musician.

Describe your music background and your modeling background.

My experience was very limited [before “ANTM”] and I feel like I’ve been thrown into this fashion world without really knowing that much about it.

Trying to navigate that industry has been so crazy. I’ve had highs and lows.

There have been struggles at times but I’ve also had great successes. So that in itself is a very weird place to be – living in Philly and being in the fashion world – because you don’t really think about fashion when you think about Philly, which is something that I hope changes very soon.

As far as music goes, that’s just something that I’ve always done. I always used to write songs as a kid. I had a little journal that I would write in and a lot of the time, I would turn what I was writing into music. Now, even though everyone knows me as this model or this reality television personality or whatever, I have to make room for the music side of me or I feel like I will lose myself in the end. It’s such a genuine part of who I am and I love it so much and it comes to me so easy.

What was the greatest life or career lesson that you learned by competing on “America’s Next Top Model?”

I say it all the time and it has become a mantra of mine: rise above and radiate love. When you’re in a setting where tensions are high and you’re living with people you’re competing against and there is drama - a lot of it, it’s very easy to lose yourself and sort of overdo it for the sake of TV and to get into your competitors’ heads. It was very easy to be nasty. I had a lot of opportunities to be nasty, like mean, and trash talk other people. I learned a lot about myself there because I was making the conscious decision not to.

Do you get recognized on the street now?

2023 SANSOM ST

Oh yeah, absolutely. It’s pretty cool to be recognized for that, but the trouble with it is, it becomes really all people know you for. So the challenge is, I feel like I have to keep on doing things to reestablish the way that people see me because I don’t want to just be known for that one thing I did, as awesome as it was.

For screening and event info please visit

During your time on the show as well as with your current following, it seems as if you get a lot of support from the LGBT community. What is that like and what do you like most or think is most unique about the local LGBT community in Philly?

PHILADELPHIA, PA 19103

filmadelphia.org

I used to be a drag queen and being immersed in that world, I learned so much about what it means to be fearless. It’s something that I’ve integrated facebook.com/JUMPphilly

into everything that I do now. It’s something I feel has catapulted me to achieving all of these crazy goals that I’ve set for myself. It’s that fearlessness.

It’s the relentless confidence. I love the LGBT scene in Philly for that.

How do you describe yourself as a musician? And how has modeling affected your stage persona?

By nature, I am a soul artist. I love soul music. I love India.Arie, Corrine Bailey Rae. That was my first entry into the music world. When I released my first two singles – one is called “I’m Sorry,” the other is called “Stay True” – it was just me and my guitar. That’s the real me, when I’m playing music. I realized that the “Top Model” following wasn’t so responsive to them. People appreciated them because, I feel like, they sounded good. They were great songs. But people were expecting me to put out something very clubby and dancey. I guess that’s the audience I have.

Because I still really wanted to do music, I decided to release a dance track with a music video. It’s very flashy. It’s “Pose Down.” I think it is important that I reach out to that fan base, sort of, because they’ve given me so much and they’ve uplifted me so much. So I have to sort of cater to them. I don’t love that song. I think it’s funny. I think it’s stupid. It’s a complete parody. But it’s important that you cater to your fan base, for sure.

I think, going forward, I’m going to do more soul.

I’ll find a way to sort of mesh the two genres. I really want to do soul-funk, something that is still going to make you move and want to dance, but that’s still soul at heart. “Pose Down” is not me. I love soul music.

You used to do musical theater and you’re known for being a wedding singer before “ANTM.” What’s your writing process now? How do you feel putting your original music out there?

Writing comes very naturally to me. I write based off of how I’m feeling in that given moment. You hear about actors and “method acting” where they really draw from real-life experience in order to convey whatever emotion they’re trying to convey. I feel like the same principles apply to writing music because music makes people feel.

That’s its ultimate purpose. So I think you have to go somewhere in order to evoke some kind of emotion from someone else. You have to draw from some sort of life experience.

Photo by Jared Gruenwald.

What’s your biggest piece of advice for any aspiring musicians or models out there?

My advice is to do what you want to do and don’t let anyone else’s idea of you - and what they think you are - deter you from doing something that you just feel like doing. Everybody says to me, “Oh Cory, it’s so important that you brand yourself.

Branding is everything in this industry.” Yeah, but this is still my life and I still have to enjoy my life. I still have to be happy. So, put that before anything - Beth Ann Downey else and you’ll be fine.

JUMPphilly.com

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Photo by Evan Kaucher.

The JUMP Off

The Party Crasher

Chris McElroy has been around the Philly music scene since middle school and the whole time he has been bending, breaking, creatively interpreting and ignoring the rules to see his favorite bands in person.

It's not all slight of hand though. McElroy, 29, of Fishtown, is a talented web and graphic designer at SEDSO Designs. He worked with Trent Reznor as a teen and he has designed websites for many local bands and venues, which means he now gets backstage with an official pass … usually.

How did you start going backstage for concerts?

The very, very first time there was a band called KMFDM from Hamburg, Germany. I was a huge fan of theirs. I emailed back and forth with the band and did some website stuff with them. I was either 14 or 15. They were playing at the Trocadero and it was a 21-and-over show only. I really wanted to see the show because I'd never seen

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them live before so I emailed the band and they said, “Get to the venue early and meet us by the tour bus.” As soon as I met them, they gave me a guitar and they had me carrying the guitar cases and all the gear so that I wouldn't get IDed. The lead singer told security he was my uncle. So, that's how I got in. It was just carrying a guitar case.

Why is getting backstage a big deal for you?

What draws you to the backstage scene?

It isn't too much anymore since I've done it so many times now. But sometimes, it's just going back there 'cause you know you can get a free beer and don't have to pay super high prices at the bar.

I like hanging out with some of my favorite musicians, seeing them in their natural habitat, so to speak. You get to see another side of them.

If it’s backstage, before they go onstage, you know they're nervous. They're warming up on a drum pad or something like that. Then, if you're backstage after their set, they're all cracking beers and having a good time and they're your best friends for the night.

What act had the coolest backstage scene?

I would have to say Nine Inch Nails in Las Vegas

for my 21st birthday. I had done work with the band before and they invited me backstage. Trent Reznor, he's my musical hero. It was really cool just talking with him one-on-one, you know?

We ended up getting to trash his dressing room.

Most times backstage, it's not what it looks like in the movies or whatever. But this was one of those nights where it was a lot like the movies.

How do you find working with bands?

I love it. The cool thing, since doing Nine Inch Nails' website when I was a teenager, is that's a great selling point to bands. “Hey! I did Nine Inch Nails' website.” Bands automatically want to work with me. Plus, just being connected in the Philly music scene, I know the industry. I know all the key players, so to speak, and I have good suggestions for bands besides the regular web and graphic design work that I do.

What's your big secret to getting backstage without a pass?

Rule number one: make friends with the security guards. Ask them their names, make sure they know your name. Tell them a funny joke so they remember you and just don't piss them off.

- Eric Fitzsimmons

facebook.com/JUMPphilly

JUMPphilly.com

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Photo by Darragh Dandurand.

The JUMP Off

Beginner's Luck Broadzilla has been throwing down some of the most unique and bodyrocking jams for nearly a decade. Thom Roland, Michael Kassler-Taub and James Weissinger started their DJ careers with humble beginnings - in illegal venues and not actually knowing how to DJ. After spinning at a couple embarrassing gigs, the crew learned how to finesse both the turntables and partygoers. Broadzilla has now opened up for the likes of Horse Meat Disco, M.I.A. and Diplo. You can hear the amalgamation of funk, disco, pop and dance that is Broadzilla every month at The Dolphin Tavern.

How did you guys get your start DJing?

Kassler-Taub: I guess our first party was formally in 2006, so we are coming up on 10 years of doing this. It was four of us - James, Thom, myself and our friend Sarah [Jacoby]. We knew each other from college and things like that. We got a gig before any of us knew how to DJ. We basically told people that we were DJs and through a friend got a random night at this illegal venue at 12th and Walnut. It was like an upstairs venue that didn’t exist basically.

Roland: KT called me that night and I was like, “I gotta go buy some records.”

Weissinger: I borrowed all of mine.

When did you realize that DJing wasn’t as easy as just playing a few records?

Roland: The first night. The second song into the first night, we were thinking, “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”

Kassler-Taub: It’s probably worth noting that we were terrible DJs for the first five years. People who are our friends now would show up at this illegal venue and we could just see them pissed at us. “What the hell is going on? These kids are terrible. They are playing garbage records.” But back then we didn’t know. But we made friends. We consider ourselves very lucky.

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Are any of you working on any side projects?

Weissinger: I am working on a new project. It’s called One Hundred Years Of Solid Dudes. I realized that everyone we know is a musician in one way or another.

Some are active, some played the clarinet and stopped in 5th grade and have it somewhere up there in their head. So I thought it would be really fun to get them in a studio and make music and see what happens. I’ve been doing that for the past few years.

Who are some of your musical influences?

Roland: The dudes from London, Horse Meat Disco, they are definitely a big influence of ours. It was Optimo, 2ManyDJs initially, for sure. In the the later years, Horse Meat, mostly for the joy they bring. They have fun every time they play. They play the best disco that you never heard and it’s not like the same as [Donna Summer’s] “I Feel Love.”

Kassler-Taub: One thing that we see sometimes that drives us crazy is when DJs are not having fun. The Horse Meat dudes? If you are opening for them, they will come and dance through your set.

What does Broadzilla have in the works for 2015?

Kassler-Taub: I think we want to try some new things this year. Trying things that are not in a nightclub is definitely of interest to us. Especially since we are getting older and crotchetier, it’s sometimes a little harder to stay up that late. In the last year or two we have been very fortunate to have Brad “Zilla” [Kalinowski] help us out. Brad is our intern. We are going to think of some really cool stuff for him to do this year. We are thinking of having him DJ with us. Brad helps with some of the graphic design ideas. He had been doing a lot of guerilla marketing and facebook events.

Brad Zilla: I would love to. I need to practice though. Is that okay? I am at the level - Lissa Alicia you guys were at 10 years ago.

facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Jessica Flynn.

TEAM SPIRIT: Pat Conaboy (L to R), Tim Jordan, Rivka Ravede, Justin Fox and Zack Schwartz.

JUMPphilly.com

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Photos by Charles Shan Cerrone.

The JUMP Off

Always Weird When Velvet Crayon joined the circus sideshow, he found a family.

Erik Paluszak had seen the world’s tallest woman. That was about his only interaction with the world of sideshow before he thrust himself right in the middle of it. In 2011, Paluszak hit the road under the stage name Velvet Crayon, performing with the Squidling Brothers Circus Sideshow as a one-man band. It was there he began to introduce audiences across the U.S. to his own blend of koala-based, psychedelic punk rock.

Crayon opens each show with an ode to his spirit animal. Deep creases and flaking paint smeared about the nose tell the story of the heavily traveled koala mask he dons.

“This thing is disgusting,” Crayon jokes. “It’s covered in clown makeup, kisses and urine.”

His fuzzy melodies are made up of electric guitar and synth, with a little bit of ukulele squeezed between, crafted in the vein of the Australian marsupial. Calm and collected – that is, until it rips your face off.

“Some of his songs are just hilarious and get stuck in my head,” says Scarlet Checkers, a fan of the Squidling show and an aspiring contortionist. “As for his character performance, you never know what exactly to expect but you know it'll always be weird. And probably naked.”

Crayon never expected to be a part of the traveling freakshow. He gave the Philly music scene a shot through small bar shows and a discography of two EPs and two full-length albums with Stoned Monkey Records. While studying multimedia at University of the Arts, Crayon became a frequenter of Carnivolution, the Squidling Brothers’ performance series in Philadelphia that was co-founded by Jellyboy the Clown and Matterz Squidling. A few drinks and a newfound friendship later, Jellyboy brought Crayon on as the opening act to perform amongst sword

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swallowers, burlesque dancers and an array of wonderfully-grotesque artists.

“I wrote songs never intending anyone to hear them. I know I’m in the show because they like my music – but it helps that I’m a natural-born freak,” Crayon says, referring to his diagnosis of osteogenesis imperfecta, or brittle bone disease.

Though his bones are extremely fragile, he is not limited to his wheelchair.

Rather, he says he's empowered by it.

“There’s a stigma that sideshow is about exploitation and that’s not true at all,” Crayon says. “For the most part, natural-born freaks are the highest paid people in sideshow. There was a time when, if you were disabled, you couldn’t do anything in this world. You'd be completely broke, homeless and dying. Sideshow was a way for these people to make money, to flourish and be kings!”

Frankie Bones, a booking agent and man not afraid to pound nails into his nose, has worked closely with Crayon.

“Velvet is a true human oddity,” Bones says with an admiring tone. “It doesn’t matter how shitty your life is. You look at Velvet and see that he ain’t crying the blues. He can’t play guitar like you and me but he found a way to do his dream by learning to play like a slide guitarist. Velvet is an inspiration for everybody.”

After spending the summer at Coney Island’s Sideshow by the Seashore, doing eight to 10 consecutive performances per day, and the month of February shocking audiences across Europe, Crayon is taking a break. He is dedicating the spring to recording and sleep - something Crayon hasn’t done since the release of his third full-length album, Koala vs. Squid, in 2013.

For Crayon, joining the troupe was a way to justify a career as a musician and to electrocute pickles every now and again for the sake of a laugh. Now he’s sitting on three full-length albums worth of content and touring the world with a band of brothers and sultry sisters. “[Sideshow] is more fun because it’s like a family,” Crayon explains. “It’s not just by yourself. I think as a one-man-band, it can get kind of weird and lonely. We get to travel and make people laugh and cry and vomit. It feels great how we affect - Brianna Spause people.”

facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Rachel Del Sordo.

Celebrating

American Craft Beer and C l a s s i c A r c a d e G a m e s

Made in Philly Callowhill formed almost by default - four Philly musicians with mutual admiration.

Philadelphia is more than just home to the bandmates in Callowhill. It’s crucial to the indie rock outfit’s formation in the summer of 2013.

Guitarist Julia Gaylord and bassist John Pettit attended Central High School together. Pettit and guitarist Nikki Karam have worked together in libraries. And Gaylord and drummer Katy Otto have known each other for 10 years, from the days when Gaylord’s band True If Destroyed and Otto’s band Del Cielo played shows together.

“I always said it was one of my dreams to play in a band with Katy Otto,” says Gaylord.

“We ran into each other at a party and said we should get dinner,” says Otto, who grew up in Washington D.C. but now lives in South Philly. ”When I was getting ready to go, I said to my sweetheart, ‘I kinda wanna see if she wants to jam but I’m scared to ask.’”

It wasn’t always easy. The bandmates estimate they practiced just once a month the first six months.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” jokes Karam.

There was also the dynamic of coming from different backgrounds and musical tastes, from punk to hip-hop.

“I really wanted to form a band from scratch,” says Gaylord. “I think we all had different ideas of what we wanted this project to sound like. How it is now is different than what I imagined and that’s what I love about collaborative art. That’s part of the fun.”

Callowhill scheduled a show at Eris Temple Arts, which forced them to buckle down. The band enjoyed that first show and began writing.

Callowhill’s debut self-titled 7-inch was released in February on Otto’s own Exotic Fever label, and was accompanied by a performance at Johnny Brenda’s. The release feels mature, from the bouncy riffs and distortion of “Philly or the Seashore” to the atmospheric and mellower instrumental, “By the Time They Notice We’re Gone.” The members JUMPphilly.com

share lead vocal duties on the album. The sound is also a bit of a shift for Otto, who is also in the punk band Trophy Wife.

Callowhill is eyeing a tour and full album down the road. That wouldn’t have happened if Philly didn’t rope them in.

“Being from D.C. was cool. I got into a Fugazi show as a 16-year-old,” Otto says. “But I wanted to move somewhere where there was an active, engaged, creative community. And I like that about Philly because it has grit and I think grit is good.”

Each member takes comfort and pride in the city, all the way down to the name. Karam said a history tour around the city led her to Callowhill, where she learned of William Penn’s wife, Hannah Callowhill, who secretly controlled the Pennsylvania colony for several years. That story stuck with the band.

“A Philly-centric name is fun because it means so much to us,” explains Pettit. “It is also a blank slate because we could impose our own thing on it. People from other places wouldn’t be too confused by it.”

“My out-of-town friends get really excited when they see the exit (off 676),” Otto says.

It’s clear Callowhill is still young, from the few shows they’ve played to joking about how they need to make some “merch,” to discussing the difficulty of coming up with a band name in the 2010s. But they are coming into their own.

“I’ve been in a lot of bands where their songs are very topdown,” says Pettit. “But I feel like with us, a lot of our best stuff is coming from just the few seconds of playing around in between songs.”

- Dave Miniaci

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Photos by Charles Shan Cerrone.

Music & Education

Critical Arts 101 Philadelphia’s youth are caught up in a churning tide of financial turmoil.

The Philadelphia School District, the nation’s eighth largest public school system, is woefully underfunded and expenditures only increase every year.

Basic amenities, like school nursing, sports teams and libraries, have been reduced or eliminated at many city schools. The arts are always on or near the chopping block as well.

Our Brianna Spause sat down with Frank Machos, the director of music education for the Philadelphia School District, to talk about budget woes and how the district is continuing to provide arts training.

What changes has the music department seen since Governor Corbett’s 2013 “doomsday budget?”

Two major changes have been a massive reduction to our central office staff.

We have no more support positions and are tasked with a much bigger palette of responsibilities. In the schools, the biggest effect has been on our support and operating budgets.

Are there any schools that do not offer music programs?

What resources are lacking that would create a solid program?

There are a few. It’s probably about 25 percent where no music is offered.

Extra-curricular money. A lot of our after and before school programs have been cut and that’s had a large effect on overall programming. The biggest need is instrument repair. We provide all of our students in the district with instruments, so they quickly deteriorate. We are in a situation now where if a principal opens a new program or we hire a new teacher, they are at the mercy of whatever resources have been left in place. As things go and deteriorate, we don’t have funds to repair or upgrade.

How have programs downsized?

If funds were available, in what resources would the school district invest?

Music technology across the board - just innovation - is a major need that we would address. If we had the tools in place, a creative and clever teacher would get kids hooked and then introduce them to traditional music and history.

Sometimes just getting that initial hook is a challenge because we don’t have the resources that the kids want to see when they walk in.

Are music classes required in all schools?

In 2004, the policy went into effect in the state that says a classroom teacher can teach a music lesson. With the minimal funding toward staffing, all of the teachers in the building are facing an overloaded schedule. It’s met with mixed reviews, obviously. Our certified teachers would prefer that we would have certified teachers teaching [music] but from a standpoint of resources, our priority is that every student has exposure and access to these programs.

Our certified music teachers kick in at sixth grade. What is happening in elementary school with an uncertified teacher is more of an exposure than any in-depth curriculum. That creates a challenge in building off of that.

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It’s a mixed message in branding that we have faced. A lot of the perception outside of the district is that our programs have gone away all together, and they really haven’t. All of our high schools are required to carry music or art.

Our kids are required to achieve two credits in arts and humanities prior to graduation. For the most part, it’s fairly healthy. Of course, our ideal is that every kid in the city has both. We’re reevaluating how we might be able to reallocate resources over the next few years.

What are the tangible lessons students gain from music education?

Along the way, they’re meeting folks from the Philadelphia Orchestra (like in the images above) and from the Curtis Institute. They’re getting private lessons, winning scholarships. We’re requiring them to be places on Saturday morning at a certain time. We’re giving them all of this college and career training that, for years, we forget to tell as part of the story. But when we start to do data on it, it starts to validate what we are able to do for these kids.

Why is music an important part of developmental education?

It’s the student engagement piece. Our kids are becoming increasingly overtaxed and overburdened by standardized testing with high stakes. To have an outlet within the building that lets them decompress for a period of time, allows them access to other parts of their learning abilities and emotions that the typical classroom is not designed to do. It’s critical. facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Music & Politics Photo by G.W. Miller III.

Is music a draw to bring people together?

Music is oftentimes the soundtrack of what is happening in the world. When Sam Cooke said, “A change is gonna come,” he was talking about the era in which he lived. When Marvin Gaye asked, “What’s going on?” It wasn’t just a song. It was an actual question about what was happening in the world. When James Brown said, “I’m black and I’m proud,” it was an anthem about being proud of who you are.

It also is something that unifies us – black, white, brown, yellow, Christian, Muslim, Jew, gentile, gay, straight, questioning, whatever. Music unites everybody.

That’s why we like to focus this event around good music.

Do you think you’re able to make an impact on the arts as a legislator?

South Philly's Hype Man At 30, State Representative Jordan Harris is the youngest elected official in Philadelphia County. The South Philly native was elected in 2012 to represent District 186, which includes parts of South Philly west of Broad Street and pockets in Southwest Philly, like Kingsessing.

He's currently planning his annual summer block party/music festival. His last event drew more than 5,000 people to Chew Park on Washington Avenue to hear Jazmine Sullivan, Jaguar Wright, Kindred The Family Soul, Suzann Christine and many more local artists Our G.W. Miller III spoke with the representative about why he sees music as a necessity for society, especially in schools.

You’re not a career politician, right? What is your background?

Before running for office, I was a school teacher. I taught middle school social studies. I also worked for the city. I was the executive director of the city’s youth commission for about two years after being in the classroom.

What made you decide to get into politics?

I’ve always had a desire to be involved in government. My undergraduate degree is in government and political affairs. My masters degree is in education. Going off to college, I had a desire to learn how government affects our lives and how to be involved in using government to benefit the community that I grew up in.

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I was in high school at Bartram Motivational. The school district at that time wanted to move my high school into the main building. I was president of the student government and I thought that was a bad idea. So we organized parents, students and teachers to advocate to keep the school open.

I ran into Senator Anthony Williams, who helped us through that process. He showed me how, if you use government the right way, if you organize, you can see your will imposed upon a situation.

You don’t seem like a politician.

I take that as a good thing!

I saw you on stage at the festival last summer (above). I thought you were the hype man.

Every year, I do a street festival. Last year I partnered with Kindred The Family Soul and called it Kindred The Family Reunion. It was a part of my street festival, part of my summer series.

The points of the festival and series are one, there are children and families in my community that I represent, who can’t afford $60 per person to take their kids to Great Adventure or Dorney Park or anywhere like that. If only for a day, if only for a few hours, those kids get the opportunity to jump on a moon bounce or eat cotton candy or experience some sort of amusement park feel in the summer.

In addition to that, it’s an opportunity to use that to bring out a large number of people and get them valuable city and state service information. There were more than 40 different agencies that were out there giving out information and talking to people.

We also want to invite people into the neighborhood. There’s the hope that they’ll want to open up a business there or they’ll think, “Maybe I could live in this neighborhood.”

I think government does play a role in fostering music. On a nice summer day, you can walk down Broad Street and hear performers showcasing their craft. There are some places where government would want to shut that action down. But that’s part of what makes Philadelphia the beautiful city that it is.

Additionally, government has the ability to fund musical programs. Governor Wolf just gave his budget address. It is a bold statement that educating our children should be a state priority.

My hope is that school districts will continue and reinvest their money in music programs. I tell people all the time: you don’t understand how music can affect people’s lives. It’s been shown that, from a therapeutic perspective, music is helpful.

Another thing that state government can do is partner with philanthropic organizations. I serve on the advisory committee for the Knight Foundation and over the last couple of years, the Knight Foundation has made millions of dollars worth of investments in the arts here in the city of Philadelphia.

Does it get frustrating being in government?

Yeah, it does get frustrating. There seems to be this mindset that Philadelphia is a black hole of funding from the state. What a lot of people don’t understand is that Philadelphia and the five county region, we are the economic engine of this state. When you look across the commonwealth at all the counties that have bridges, state police, highways … a lot of them have that because of Philadelphia and the five county region’s economic engine. We need to do a better job making that known.

It’s also frustrating because I don’t think people view the importance of music and art in our culture. Music and art is transformational. It’s frustrating to get funding. But it’s encouraging to go around and see the places where it’s working.

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This Place Rocked

The Sentimental Physics of DIY The beloved house venue, Golden Tea House, stopped doing shows after a fun, three-year run.

There are a number of myths about how Golden Tea House came to power.

Some may say it was because the West Philly house venue – which announced it would no longer host shows in early February effective immediately – catered to an all-ages crowd.

Others would argue it was due to the quality of the bands that played on any given night who, despite their prominence, were always in search of the basement show vibe of their early careers.

Still others may bring up the cost effectiveness of going to a house show, where you were never expected to pay more than $10 to get in (and could bring your own six pack). And even still, the all-encompassing vote might be for how nice, accommodating and selfless those who lived in the house were to bands and fans alike.

No matter what your reason for frequenting Golden Tea while it was active, no matter if you were a fan or a band or a fly on the wall, you

know that it was about more than just money or proximity or the sheer joy of guessing how well the PA would work on any given night. Golden Tea House gave you a feeling. It was special.

But special things can’t remain special forever.

And so the myths have already circulated about why Golden Tea House was closed. But let’s just leave it at that. The venue enjoyed a three-year run, which was longer than most of the lauded Philly DIY spaces that came before it.

The question now is, what’s next? What will fill this void? There is no answer yet.

But what Golden Tea House showcased, just like what came before it and what will undoubtedly come after, is that music can create a community.

That community is made stronger when the vibrancy of the human spirit trumps the desire for wealth or fame or personal gain. That's the feeling that Golden Tea House created every time they - Beth Ann Downey put on a show.

I’m no house show expert. I do, however, know that it’s part of the whole experience to keep things like this under the radar. I spent a lot of time trying to make sure that names of houses didn’t go to print here and that no one at JUMP ever did a ‘house show story,’ regardless of the intention. This feels different.

When you spend three years going to the same house over and over – especially as a newcomer to the house show experience – you’re bound to fuck up, learn and grow. I learned so much from so many people in that backyard between bands' sets and it just really means a lot. I know a lot of people probably will hate that this exists in print now. But I just wanted something physical to remember this house by and to say thank you to everyone who worked so hard to keep this going as long as it did and for everyone who talked to me about more than the weather between bands.

- Jessica Flynn (who shot these images over the past three years)

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So uth ph i lly's h o m e fo r

N at i o n a l & R e g i o n a l T o u r i n g A c t s C o m e dy s h o w s a n d p r i vat e e v e n t s

UPCOMING SHOWS AND EVENTS

3.12.15 morning fatty, kings & comrades, aquatic ape theory 3.13.15 s l i m k i n g s , c o l d r o s e s , m o d e r n c o l o u r 3.19.15 posers, antisuburbans, glory dole, dead suits 3.20.15 Emerge Sounds of Philly Release Party 3.26.15 L ay e r s & F r a m e s E P R e l e a s e P a r t y 3.27.15 The Late Greats, warbirds, primtives, lamme 3.28.15 d e a d f l o w e r s s m o k i n ' g u n r e v u e 3.29.15 lovebettie, solus rex, magnificent birds of prey 4.3.1 5 gashouse radio presents st. maurice and more 4.10.15 the late saints, this way to the egress, zap goes pop!

4.18.15 m a x swa n , l a u r a c h e a d l e fa m i ly b a n d 5.16.15 t h e 9 t h s t r e e t i ta l i a n m a r k e t f e s t i va l !

5.17.15 o v e r 4 0 m u s i c a l a c t s o n t w o s ta g e s ! !

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1132 south 9th street in the heart of the Italian Market

GREAT MUSIC & BEER ON TAP 7 d ay s a w e e k #tonighton9thstreet

over 50 Craft bottles and Drafts www. c

o n n i e s r i c r a c .com

/ c o n n i e s r i c r a c @c o n n i es r i c r ac @c o n n i es r i c r ac www.conniesricrac. tumblr.com 29

This Place Rocked

"The Home Base of an Entire Community" We collected quotes from bands and fans and others who wanted to share their thoughts about Golden Tea House, as well as their thanks to those who ran the venue and made it what it was.

This is just a small sample of the large contingency of people who will never forget the shows they saw, friends they met, beers they drank and feelings they felt being a part of something so special and fleeting.

Golden Tea House came to power because of all of us.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

- Beth Ann Downey "To put it simply, The Golden Tea house was my favorite part of Philadelphia.

To put it more complexly, I grew up in a middle class suburban town in New Jersey, reading books from the public library and spending time on the Internet, wishing so badly to go back in time and be part of something that was actually happening. I wanted more than anything to be transported back to the ’70s at CBGB watching The Ramones and I wished to see Operation Ivy at Gilman in the ’80s, sticking around until the ’90s to watch Green Day and Jawbreaker. But obviously, I couldn’t do that. Time travel isn’t real and neither is punk in Bridgewater, New Jersey. I moved to Philadelphia in 2011 and I became a whole lot closer.

When Golden Tea House so generously opened its doors in 2012, everything clicked. When CBGB or Gilman were in their prime, I don’t think that anyone could have realized how influential what they were a part of was. I’m not saying that Golden Tea House incubated any undisputed punk classics like The Ramones or Green Day but if they did, would we even know yet? Watching a show at the Golden Tea House felt like being a part of something enormous.

I spoke to Henry, who as many know, frequented The Golden Tea House, and left a ladder in the corner of the room. He would get to the show, and head straight to the corner where his ladder lived, for the best viewing scenario.

He left it since he ended up at Golden Tea House multiple times a week, and felt very comfortable leaving it there. ‘I’m leaving my ladder there now. Figure it’s my gift to Jake and all of them. I don’t have anywhere I want to bring it anyway. Where else am I going be that often, where I trust leaving it just like that?’ Henry and I talked about how Philadelphia will get through this and more places will come up as they always do in punk. But just as with CB’s and Gilman, nothing will ever be the same as Golden Tea House and it’s been humbling to be any small part of it. Huge thanks to Jake and everyone who did anything."

Eric Osman Co-founder, Lame-O Records “I know I haven't been around as long as most people but Golden Tea has always been a place I've felt welcome. Even before I ever went there, I remember reading through this page with my good friend and laughing my ass off and just thinking how solid these people must be. I never could have known how right I would be. This is truly one of the greatest losses that I have ever felt."

Patrick McBride Kat Kat Records intern

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“Everyone in the Philly DIY community was lucky to have the Tea House but I was lucky enough to be friends with the people that made the Tea House what it was. Jake and I were both at WKDU when we were in college and eventually we were both executives, doing as much as we could to make WKDU a force for good in Philly, something that made as much cool stuff as it took from the community. When we graduated, I moved home and killed some time before starting law school. Jake, however, took all the energy he put into making things happen at WKDU and started making things happen at the Tea House.

Eventually, my bandmates Matt and Anthony moved in and I was there frequently. An excessive amount, maybe. I was there so often that many people that frequented the Tea House believed I lived there. I would be hanging out before or after the show and bands would say to me, ‘Thanks for having us at your house.’ In retrospect, it's shocking the Tea House guys never told me to get lost. But they're nice guys. In 2013, they let me book myself a birthday show (with By Surprise, Hurry, It's A King Thing and our band Jet Set Sail). To tease me for such a self-indulgent act, for booking and then playing my own show, they took a picture of me that Matt from Hurry drew on a flier and they unfurled it as a banner from the balcony while we played. The banner stayed up for the rest of the Tea House's life and is now memorialized in a few hundred band pictures. Maybe that's why everyone thought I lived there.

The Golden Tea House meant a lot of things to a lot of people, whether it was just a cool place to see a show, or something to do on a Friday night, or a great place to find new bands, or a place to hang out with your friends, or a place to drink a few beers. To some, it was the home base of an entire community that let you feel excited about something. Or let you feel comfortable with who you are or what you care about. Or that just simply let you feel like you belonged. It was all of those things to me, too. It was also a place I could escape law school, remember that the real world is a big place and meet diverse people living interesting lives. I'm lucky and thankful that Anthony, Jake, Matt and Joe let me be part of it. I'm going to miss it.”

Mike Larkey Friend and self-proclaimed GTH mascot "Golden Tea House was the kind of place that you don't realize quite how special it was until it's gone. That was my ‘spot.’ There were tons of people I knew there and tons of people I didn't, but we all had a dang good time together. There was so much hard work and sacrifice that went into making that house what it was from the wonderful people who lived there and/or booked and ran shows there and, oh boy, did it pay off. I really liked playing there. It was so much fun. That arcade game in the corner was kind of wack, so I just hung out with Henry.”

Ian Farmer Bassist for Modern Baseball “I don't like going out too often and Golden Tea House made me feel like I was never leaving home. It was nice and I'm going to miss it.”

Brendan Lukens Singer and guitarist for Modern Baseball facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by Jessica Flynn.

“The most important aspect of this house for me was how selfless the tenants were in lending their living situation to 150-plus people looking to have scream-a-longs in their kitchen three to five times a week. It's kind of a ‘white whale’ situation. It's unreasonably hard to find people that are so down to earth, dedicated to their local music scene at the expense of their own living arrangement and overall accommodating. I've seen the roommates of Golden Tea House rush around like they were the production staff when the sound was off or things weren't going according to plan. But the fact of the matter is they were the people that were kindly letting us all into their kitchen to begin with all while asking for no money for personal gain whatsoever. That's love. The world would be a better place if more people showed that kind of unconditional love to anything at all.”

Connor Byrne Guitarist and vocalist for Brackish “Golden Tea House was a second home to many in Philadelphia. As a photographer involved in the Philly DIY scene, Golden Tea House is where I have spent most of my time photographing bands over the past few years.

Some of my favorite experiences while living in this city have happened at Golden Tea House. I've met some of my best friends, roommates and significant others at this house. It is truly a bummer that it closed its doors, although it was inevitable. Thanks to everyone who had helped keep The Tea open for the years it was open. Long live Golden Tea House.”

Ally Newbold Philadephia-based music photographer “It’s such a great thing to be proud of your scene and community. Golden Tea House was our golden standard. I saw bands I know from all around the country play there. People from as far as away as Denmark and Australia asked us about GTH. It’s a legend in and of itself. There aren’t spots like GTH in other places. There’s nothing that cool in LA or London or Berlin or whatever.

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The people who lived there, the people that ran the shows and the bands that were staples all created such a powerful and positive environment.”

Tom May Singer and guitarist for The Menzingers "Golden Tea House was one of the first punk houses I really felt at home in.

Being located in a different state always made it difficult to fit in at shows in other cities, but Golden Tea House provided a level of comfort and a type of familiarity unlike any other place I've played across the country."

Cam Boucher Guitarist and vocalist for Sorority Noise and Old Gray "The first thing that crossed my mind while observing [my first] performance from the loft was, ‘What a waste of a good space.’ Not too long after, I guess, different people started running the space and the rest is history. Very happy my band got to perform with Dopestroke, Bad Doctors and Alement."

Matt Emmerich Guitarist for The Charley Few "Golden Tea House had an incredible run. Many DIY spaces throw in the towel after six months. GTH did their thing for close to three years and nurtured an incredible culture of passionate, all-ages showgoers in Philly. And while it’s sad to see their fertile run come to an end, it’s by no means the ‘end of an era.’

The scene always continues. It found a way to do so after The Ox, after Ava House and Terrordome, after the Fake House and Stalag 13 and however far back into history you want to go. I look forward to seeing shows at the next Golden Tea House, whatever it may be called and wherever it may be."

John Vettese Editor of The Key

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GIRL

POWER

ROLE MODEL

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Cheerbleeders are more than just sass and sex appeal.

They're a band showing off the power of female artists.

Story and photo by Rick Kauffman.

LS JUMP

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heerbleeders is a band offering one thing: a view of girl power through punk rock. By their abrasive and unforgiving live show, it’s clear this foursome means business. The attitude embodied by lead singer Summer Rice, 23, is mesmerizing both in her shrill delivery and her naughty girl aesthetic, making it difficult to peel your eyes away.

Guitarist Caitlin Walker, 20, drives the machine from behind a curtain of flowing red hair. She strives to take the typical idea of punk rock and power chords and turn it on its head with noise reminiscent of underground hardcore and the sounds that influenced early punk, both borrowing from the past and paving her own road ahead.

Drummer Mare Lemongelli, 27, is both the human beatbox and the muscle of the band, the enforcer who protects her girls. To put it simply, she’d be the one to kick your ass when you get out of line.

And that leaves us with bassist Mike Ortiz, 40, the guardian of the bunch. An older brother of sorts, he offers both songwriting prowess and a journeyman’s knowledge of playing in bands. But make no mistake, he offers no restraint to the unbridled attitude that comes with three females looking to kick ass and play punk music.

Cheerbleeders is a band but their true desires lie in forming a platform to influence young women through feminist ideals and to prove that punk rock isn’t just a boys’ club anymore.

What is Cheerbleeders?

Walker: Cheerbleeders is a rock and roll band.

Ortiz: Rock and roll?! Whoa.

Rice: It’s definitely punk rock.

Walker: I guess it’s punk rock and roll.

Lemongelli: We’re a ball-busting, core-cutting punk rock movement. That’s what we are. It’s a movement for girls.

How did you become a band?

Walker: Summer and I met two years ago and said we wanted to have a band, but there was no one else really interested. We have been with different bandmates but we finally found our lineup. We went through a lot of people.

But it was consistently me and her. We used to have a girl, Jade, who’s now the lead singer of The Posers. She used to be the singer of Cheerbleeders and Summer was the drummer, originally. Everything worked out. Everyone found their band.

Rice: We went through people left and right. I hung out at Connie’s [Ric Rac], where Mike works and I asked him if he knew anybody who could play and he said, “I’ll do it temporarily.” Then, when he started playing with us, I said, “Can you please stay in our band?” He fuckin’ stayed and he’s the perfect fit.

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Photos by Michael Bucher and Rick Kauffman.

Cover Story

Lemongelli: And I was actually in a reggae band [laughs].

Walker: The drummer before we had Mare, we didn’t even tell him he was out of the band. Like, she just came to practice and we just stopped calling him.

Rice: He was really into glam rock.

What’s a goal of having a punk band like this?

Walker: We’re trying to be voices for women as musicians playing rock and roll. Women don’t have a lot of examples of other women doing rock and roll, so it’s hard for them to see themselves in that position. There aren't many girls doing it, so they associate it to “a guy thing,” I think.

I’m not saying it was a boys’ club but my examples were male guitarists. I listened to Joan Jett but my examples were Jack White and Jimmy Paige.

That’s what I would practice. There is not a lot of girl guitar stuff going on.

What do you see for the band’s potential?

Lemongelli: I want to go on tour and I want to put our demo out. I want to get in my Jeep and go.

We should go. That’s next. We need to go. We need to at least do an East Coast tour. My goal for this time next year is to at least open once for a band at a bigger venue, like the TLA or the Troc main stage. That’s what I see for us in the next year. That’s what I want.

Rice: Being in a girl punk ... I mean girl-and-dude punk band, I like to get really high-pitched whiney and scream. But on that song, I can show my range of chords. When he played it for me, he sang the lyrics for me and he wrote them down. It was just me, Mike and Caitlin at Mike’s house and we just played it. It was bass and guitar and I just sung it in his living room.

It was awesome. But it was so gospel and so powerful, I was like, “Oh, wow,.

This song is giving me the chills right now.” It’s awesome. It reminds me a lot of Portishead. It’s got a different feel.

What makes the band’s music unique?

Walker: I think the obvious thing would be that there are three women in the band. We aim to be original by not limiting ourselves to just punk.

We want to be in the genre of punk but I want to expand upon that a lot so someday we won’t be so easily categorized. Some people would say, “that isn’t punk.” My goal is to do that - not to change the sound but to expand upon it.

It’s fun but it gets really boring.

Who’s your vocal influence when you sing?

Rice: What inspired me to do this band was Bikini Kill. I saw the documentary on Netflix and I wanted to do that Bikini Kill thing. I think it’s called “The Punk Singer.” Some people say I sound like Gwen Stefani and Karen-O. But mainly I just want to sound like myself.

How does typical songwriting go?

What do you think the band’s music is representative of?

Walker: I think the honest comment on that is that no one is coming from the same place for the sound. It varies. If there is something that I like, Summer might not. It’s a challenge to make it work. There are positive points where everyone has their own input. I’d want to be more proto-punk, early Stooges, with sped-up Chuck Berry riffs. Summer would want it all punk. Mare likes hip-hop and Mike is into jazz. Some of our songs sound like basic punk rock but the vocals make it stand out.

Walker: It is a representation of female musicians.

However, it would be limiting to just say, “It’s for women.”

You don’t want to exclude people because if you’re really about feminism, you should include men as well. For me, it represents what I want to do. That’s to play guitar. It’s representative of what we love.

“Waiting on a Train” is a much different track, what’s the influence behind that one?

Ortiz: I was in this band called Little Brown Chair and a bandmate’s brother was stuck in Argentina. That’s where the song developed from. But after the band broke up, I felt it was such a strong song so I brought it to the girls. They’re doing it a lot of justice. Caitlin plays the guitar. She’s doing the parts perfectly. The beat has got that feel and tonight, when we practiced whatever Summer lumped together the phrasing of the lyrics, it was fantastic. I thought it was the best that we’ve done.

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Lemongelli: The thing about being queer and playing riot grrrl music? That was a whole queer movement back then. So, it’s cool playing in that kind of band where I can definitely be part of that movement again. I got written about in a blog called “Queer Musicians.” It was really cool. This whole thing was happening before with the Bikini Kill, queer, feminist movement and now it’s happening again. Voices for women really haven’t been heard.

Who do you become when you’re on stage? Are you different?

Rice: Oh god, yeah. I’m definitely different. This one show, I chucked this skateboard up in the air and broke the black light at Connie’s. I just heard a pop and glass shattering everywhere. That was the night I knew I was going

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Cover Story Photos by Michael Bucher.

to become a star [everyone laughs]. Look, if you’re going to skateboard off the stage that I’m singing on right now, I’m going to take your skateboard from under your feet, chuck it in the sky, break a black light and glass is going to shatter on everyone and it’s going to be awesome. It’s so punk rock.

Ortiz: And then I swept it up at the end of the night.

Rice: But it’s just who I am. I’m just a selfish, bratty person. Ask these guys.

They fucking know. I’m a fucking brat.

Like, if they’re late, I’m texting them and calling them and sitting here complaining about them until they get here. That’s just how I am.

Walker: That sometimes is a good motivator, though.

What is your performance indicative of on stage?

Rice: I put on a fucking act, I’m different person. I was a professional brat and now I can be a brat on stage and actually tell it how it is. When I’m on stage, I feel like I can really express myself.

What kind of people come out to your shows?

Rice: Mostly lesbians.

Walker: Yeah, we have some fans.

Ortiz: Oh, that little short girl is awesome.

Lemongelli: Oh, that fucking girl who was throwing fucking beers? I almost killed her.

Walker: She knows not to throw beers at us. She throws beer at everyone else.

Rice: She’s our biggest fan. Amanda?

Amanda-son? The first show I ever met her, we played a show at The Fire.

Walker: She started the lesbian moshpit.

Rice: She fucking pushed me. I was pretty drunk so I picked her up between her legs, around her waist and body-slammed her.

Ortiz: Yeah, that was fucking awesome.

Lemongelli: Yeah dude! And that one time I was doing my drumroll at the end and I threw my stick and it went right in her eye. Dude! And she had a black eye for like two weeks [laughs]. I was like, “I’m so sorry! I feel so bad.”

What’s it’s like to be a guy in a girl band?

Rice: Oh, he’s our big brother and he has to take care of all of our fucking problems.

Ortiz: No, stop. It’s a lot of fun. I’m actually playing with a lot of musicians who actually play their instruments properly. I’ve been in a bunch of bands in the past, with a lot of different people. I’ve been around the block. For me, personally, I think it’s just great to play with a bunch of musicians. They have tons of attitude, and I can also see that they’re going to be growing. They all have bright futures in front of them. All of us together is great, because I got my girls I’m playing with.

All three girls: AWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

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PUNKS Cover Story

PART-TIME The guys from Pissed Jeans are able to keep their music and shows fresh because making music isn't their livlihood.

Story and photo by Michael Bucher.

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Cover Story

questioning conventional wisdom and following his own sense of taste has helped steer Pissed Jeans into a uniquely successful position without seeking it out. Their music is both fun and insightful. Their live performances can be humorous, fierce and sometimes both.

Backed by discipline, which McGinnis cites as another core Pissed Jeans principle, the band has come to represent Philadelphia’s self-sufficient attitude.

M

onday nights are the only time members of Pissed Jeans can get together to practice and write new music. With everyone in their early 30s and with wives or long-term girlfriends and at least one child, their lives naturally pull them in different directions. Tonight, it happens to be the icy rain keeping guitarist Brad Fry home in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, leaving the three South Philly residents, Matt Korvette, Sean McGinnis and Randy Huth, to forge ahead without him.

After a beer or two and a plate of nachos at Wishing Well, Korvette, whose last name is really Kosloff (he uses a stage name because he says rock music is supposed to be fun), kicks everyone into gear and suggests getting to the practice space.

They walk across the street in the cold, wet night to a nondescript door, buzz in and walk down a flight of stairs. The guy at the desk points them to an open room equipped with a drum kit and amps, muffled with a patchwork of sound proofing foam stapled to the walls and ceiling. The band next door can be heard practicing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” until McGinnis starts banging on the drums. This is followed up by a blaring riff on guitar from Huth – opting for guitar instead of his designated bass to help the band feel the music better.

“Let’s try the fast one again,” suggests Korvette, refocusing the group after finishing a song.

At this stage, they don’t have song titles yet so they must refer to the works in progress as “the fast one,” “the one we play live” or “the Low Rider one.”

Huth plays a note and begins to fiddle with dials on his effects pedal until he gets a muted vibrating sound. McGinnis begins counting time with his sticks.

“Could you give me a (motions with his hand for a cue),” says Huth, looking at Korvette. “For some reason it’s hard for me to follow this. I know the parts but…”

“Wait, you want me to direct?” asks Korvette, who is usually singing/ snarling for the band but tonight is leaning against the wall, nodding along to the music.

“Like what you did before,” Huth says.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” agrees Korvette.

As the guitar and drums run through the song, Korvette signals to Huth when the different shifts are nearing. Over the deafening music, Korvette mouths “other part” but Huth misses it and knows so judging by the grimacing look on his face. His guitar slowly comes to a rest.

“It goes six and then the one,” Korvette says. “Six and then the one. Six and then the four and then the one and then eight and then two.”

“Gotchu,” Huth replies.

It’s been more than a month since they last practiced and they sound like it.

But at the helm is Korvette, a natural leader for the group. His penchant for

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K

orvette, Huth and Fry have known each other since they were in junior high, growing up together in Nazareth, Pennsylvania. They played together in the band Ultimate Warrior. Korvette and Fry originally started Pissed Jeans in 2004 with two other members but their departure made room for McGinnis to join in 2005, followed by Huth in 2007, just after the band released their first LP, Hope for Men, on the legendary, Seattle-based label Sub Pop. They continued making music at a leisurely pace with King of Jeans in 2009 and Honeys in 2013, with both receiving positive reviews.

Last year, Sub Pop reissued their first single, “Throbbing Organ,” and full length, Shallow.

S

ince none of the members rely on music to sustain them financially, the music remains purely for their own satisfaction. They play about 20 shows a year across the country, touring for only about a 10-day stretch in the summer when their schedules allow. They pick shows and lineups that are interesting to them. They say they’re proud of their recordings and proud that it’s still fun to practice and play shows together.

“We never threw in all our cards to be rich and famous,” says Korvette.

“Maybe we should have,” says McGinnis, remorsefully.

“Yeah, maybe I regret a little bit, not wanting it more,” replies Korvette.

“But I also think it’s a good way to have the band burn out. It’s still a release for us. It’s not like, ‘Oh shit!

How are we gonna make rent this week?’”

Without that kind of stress hanging over the band, they’re free to make music when it works for them. It’s not forced.

“I’m not looking to do a million different things at once,” says Korvette, whose day job is an insurance claims adjuster. “I would love to just stay focused and make it really good because that’s a lot harder to do and more rewarding.”

The emphasis on keeping quality high puts a responsibility on the band to remain in control of everything they do.

“Those guys do their thing. They don’t need any help for really anything,” says Dean Whitmore, a sales guy at Sub Pop for small record stores and the band’s contact at the label. “They have their own vision regarding art, the music, producers, booking. We just get to enjoy them for the most part.”

Whitmore notes that the band has a universal appeal among the wide range of tastes at the label, despite being classified hardcore punk. Their unique sense of humor, he adds, is what resonates with him and the label.

“They’re a ferocious live band but they’re equal part comedy act,” he says.

“I spend equal parts of my time at their shows head banging, laughing and shaking my ass.”

Whether it was comedy act or act of provocation, the sold-out Pissed Jeans show this past November in Seattle - attended by Whitmore - was as unforgettable as any.

“Toward the end of their set, Matt went on this rant about how bands from facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photos by Michael Bucher.

Philadelphia had big dicks,” he recounts.

Whitmore recalls Korvette then pointing to Huth and telling the audience that he's so well hung, you can tell just by the look on his face. All while the band is still playing some repetitive part of a song.

“He proceeded to belittle everyone in Seattle for their little dicks and managed to lose no one,” says Whitmore. “He went on for so long, it was probably minutes worth of monologue. I kinda got bored and went and grabbed a beer and came back and took another few minutes of lashing from him.”

I

nside Boot & Saddle’s dimly lit dining area, Korvette and McGinnis sit around a high-top table on a Friday night. Korvette orders a seitan sandwich and pierogies, which he shares with his bandmates. They take turns getting up from the table and catching up with a friend working the entrance to the venue in the back.

Between bites of the house-made kettle chips, McGinnis mentions the city’s JUMPphilly.com

affordability as a reason why bands can thrive here, sparking a conversation between the two.

“That attracts a lot of people,” McGinnis says, citing the numerous colleges and music venues, and the possibility of owning a home within the city.

“Young people from Philadelphia are always broke but they’re always out doing stuff,” adds Korvette.

“You can still work your 20-hour-a-week coffee job and still play in a threequarter time rock band and have a delicious meal at Boot & Saddle,” says McGinnis. “New York and LA are like epicenters for that artistic shit but…”

“It’s also a lot of poseurs who just wanna make it and have no interest in

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Cover Story

being creative,” says Korvette.

McGinnis adds to the list of benefits of Philadelphia – popular sports teams, a vast beer selection and a lot of great restaurants. But Korvette doesn’t let the picturesque image of Philly go unchallenged.

“I feel like no one is setting their sights to be the best in the world” says Korvette. “If you are setting your sights to be the best in the world, people would be like, ‘Who does that person think he is? Doesn’t he know he’s from Philadelphia?’ You can be good but not too good.”

He says having that attitude in New York would leave you homeless. It’s an underdog’s mentality, a self-perpetuating inferiority. He doesn’t see the rich, liberal, artistic-minded people here investing in arts projects like Seattle’s Experience Museum or a DIY art space.

“If someone’s doing that kinda stuff, it’s probably in some unheated loft instead of a super-billionaire renovating a Chinatown warehouse,” says Korvette.

“Maybe that’s the appeal, ya know?” responds McGinnis. “That it’s not oversaturated. There is room to improve.”

L

ike the city, Pissed Jeans began with some room to improve, says Paint It Black’s Andy Nelson. Both bands were part of an early Philly peer group of musicians including Kurt Vile, Purling Hiss and Birds of Maya. Nelson says he’s seen Pissed Jeans grow from just a cool band into the commanding, bizarre and confident performers they are now.

“Their personality as a band, lyrically and on stage, and in terms of their artwork, have definitely become their own thing,” says Nelson, “which I think is really unique and treads in territory that I don’t think many other bands do.”

The constant appraisal and reappraisal of adulthood and masculinity are what Nelson finds most appealing about their lyrics. Subjects Korvette has confronted lyrically are his fear of balding, disgust with the objectification of women – aware of his own guilt – and the immature, selfish behavior men can show toward their partner. Sometimes the lyrics are autobiographical, other times they are derived from Korvette's observations, but always delivered as a first-person narrative. The word “we” hardly ever appears, instead using “I” or “you,” as the narrator trudges through a lonely world, battling adversaries – everything from doctors and co-workers to romantic partners and cats – and his own personal flaws.

“It’s a great way to give myself a pep talk to get past things,” says Korvette, relishing in how uncomfortable that kind of material can make an audience.

“For me at least, once it’s out there, it’s not a horrible deep dark secret that causes you pain.”

This honest approach to writing and the band’s interest in and appeal to different musical tastes puts them in their own world. They often play with bands they really respect but might not play the same kind of music. Nelson points to bands like electronic noise duo Blues Control or a Rage Against the Machine cover band as just a couple examples. This kind of crossover can make people uncomfortable, he says, making Pissed Jeans hard to classify.

“One of the things that I think is hard to nail down about Pissed Jeans and really infuriates ‘super punk people’ or whatever is that they never really were part of one particular scene,” says Nelson. “In that way, they’re very Philadelphian.”

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S

till at Boot & Saddle, Korvette and McGinnis are discussing not Pissed Jeans, but their other shared musical interests. McGinnis has been DJing occasionally at Kung Fu Necktie and a couple other places around town. Not DJing exactly, he says, but playing records he likes in succession.

Korvette has also taken an interest to spinning records when he isn’t running his vinyl label, White Denim, or publishing his music blog, “Yellow Green Red.” On his site, he synthesizes his reviews in a concise and laugh-out-loud way that might be even more rewarding for readers than his encyclopedic knowledge of music.

“You should come up and play some techno with me at 700 Club sometime,” suggests McGinnis, almost like old friends who haven’t seen each other in a facebook.com/JUMPphilly JUMPphilly.com

Photos by G.W. Miller III.

while saying they should really hang out more.

“I’d love to,” says Korvette, surprised and nodding enthusiastically. “That’d be fun.”

“That’d be cool,” replies McGinnis.

“DJ BCBG,” says Korvette.

“What’s that?” says McGinnis.

“Women’s clothing line,” Korvette says.

“Oh, good,” McGinnis says, appearing not to get the reference.

“You go to the mall, those BCBG stores,” says Korvette. “You ever see those black short-sleeve shirts with, like, the rhinestones? They sell prom dresses.

That’s just my DJ name. It’s kind of annoying to say.”

“I like it,” affirms McGinnis.

JUMPphilly.com

43

Food That Rocks

An Historic Folk Music Haven George Washington allegedly frequented the Mermaid Inn in Chestnut Hill. In more recent times, it's been a longstanding home to the Philly folk scene (and a great place for a sandwich).

Nestled at the base of a hill at the intersection of Winston Road and Mermaid Lane lies a quaint stone building that, if not for the simple sign hung just below the third floor window marked “Mermaid Inn,” would appear to be just another beautiful albeit unassuming house in the neighborhood of Chestnut Hill.

Without prior knowledge it might be easy for one to assume that the Mermaid Inn is a rustic bed and breakfast, or perhaps the cozy neighborhood bar.

While the latter might be an apt description, crossing through the bright red doors of the entrance on most nights of the week would have patrons finding themselves inside one of the Philadelphia folk music scene’s oldest and active homes.

Built in 1734, the building has been a staple of Chestnut Hill, serving as the inn and tavern that its name implies. If rumor is to be believed, the Mermaid was also frequented by some of the nation’s founding fathers and was a favorite Philadelphia drinking spot of George Washington. But what makes the Mermaid a special place in Philadelphia is not its list of famous patrons or the myriad ghost stories and hauntings throughout the years, but its status as an intimate music venue.

Come to the Mermaid on any Wednesday 44

through Saturday night and you are bound to see a variety of bands and singer-songwriters performing anything from folk and bluegrass to classic rock, even the occasional jam band.

However, one event is special for regulars - the open mic night held every second and fourth Tuesday since the 1980s.

“What I love about it is that it’s informal, you know?” says Mike McNichol, who runs the open mic events.

“Anybody can do it.”

Dressed in a warm brown sweater and bearing an even warmer smile, McNichol has been running the program for the past decade, having taken over organizing duties from local singer-songwriter Tom Gala after Gala’s wife gave birth to twins.

Gala had been key in organizing and running the open mic night. Before finding a permanent home at the Mermaid, Gala’s open mic night

was hosted at several different bars in the area including Mt. Airy’s Commodore Barry Club, Lafayette Hill’s Brittingham’s and Fairmount’s London Grill.

“It used to be called the Bothy Folk club,” McNichol notes, and it served to incubate and promote the folk music talent in Philadelphia.

The name alludes to small, unlocked shelters found in the mountains of Ireland, Northern England and Scotland that were of free use for travelers in need. With a welcoming “come as you are” attitude, the Bothy Folk Club lived up to its name and continues this tradition presently, even though the name has changed.

“For a while there was nobody coming,” explains McNichol. “I think the name scared people away. So Joanne [Mekis, the owner] said, ‘Let’s call it an open mic and see what happens.’”

After the name change, attendance began to steadily increase until the number of people packed into the Mermaid was back to where they once were.

Yet even for its popularity with regulars, the long-standing open mic night is only a small portion of the live music programming at the facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photos by Charles Shan Cerrone.

Mermaid Inn. Except for Sunday, Monday and the sporadic weekday in which the inn is closed, there is always some performance taking place. Friday and Saturday night shows are routinely played to a packed house.

“Saturdays are our busy days,” says Joe Gray in between serving drinks and food to a crowded house on a chilly Saturday night.

Gray is the Mermaid Inn’s latest hire. He shares his bar and kitchen duties with longtime bartender Karen Guarino Spanton. As the duo sprints between customers posted around the bar and running to the kitchen to handle incoming food orders, it becomes clear that the weekend is the premier time to experience a night at the Mermaid Inn. As many patrons settle in to catch the evening’s performer, others eagerly await their dinner from the inn’s small yet respectable menu of burgers, BLTs, broiled fish, salads and a changing list of freshly made soups.

“Everything we use [to make our food] is local,” says Spanton as she sets a BLT down in front of one hungry patron. “We buy all of our meat from the local butcher and all of our produce from local farms.”

As such, certain items on the menu rotate based on the availability of the necessary ingredients. But for the most part, the bar’s menu stays consistent. The only time major changes to the menu are seen is during certain holidays or special events.

“We had a special dessert for Valentine’s Day this year, “ details Gray, “an ice cream sundae for two.”

While the food and drink orders steadily come in, Gray notes that food is just a part of what makes the Mermaid Inn a special place.

“Food is pretty big here,” he explains,” but mostly people come here for the drinks and the live music.”

Almost on cue, the lights go down and everyone in the Mermaid Inn pauses their conversations to give their undivided attention to the evening’s headlining band.

- Dan Halma JUMPphilly.com

45

Inside Voices

"It's The Last Real Place" Derek Dorsey, the talent buyer, promoter and occasional bartender at The Fire in Northern Liberties, has fostered the talents of such local artists as John Legend, Dr. Dog, Ron Gallo and Santigold. He met Reef The Lost Cauze, among the most celebrated underground rappers in the world, more than ten years ago. The two have been tight ever since.

We listened in as they sat in Reef's South Philly home and discussed parenting, growing up in Overbrook Park, Philly pride and the state of race relations in the America today.

- G.W. Miller III Derek: We’re in the South Philly home of Sharif Lacey, also known as Reef the Lost Cauze. We’re here with some new additions to the Lacey family.

Reef: Yes sir. We’ve got my 4-month-old little guy Manny in here, just hanging out.

Derek: So how’s that been?

Reef: It’s been active. I already have a 4-year-old son. Four-year-olds are already a handful but he has autism. Those two things combined make him a fireball, just energy and life and running and ripping. But he’s awesome, and now we have this new guy here. It’s a lot of work and a lot of dedication.

Kids, they change you, man, they change you. I was actually supposed to go out last night and do some things. I was coming off the road, I had a show in New Hampshire. But I was like, “I’m just going to go home to my kids.” That mentality was never something I could see myself doing. On Saturday night in the city, I was all over the place. But now, I want to get home to my boys and make sure that they’re good.

Derek: What are some of the challenges of being a parent to a child with autism?

Reef: I think obviously the biggest challenge is just trying to connect. He’s in his own world pretty much 24/7, so bringing him out of that world is pretty challenging. I think, right now, it’s a very controlled time in his life because he’s so young. The fear for me is once he gets older and has to deal with society more - and people’s mental bullshit. That’s the stuff that scares me more than anything else. The challenge is me and his mother’s to make sure that he knows that he’s loved, knows that he’s safe and knows that he can express himself in any way he finds is most comfortable for him.

Just the basic things that a lot of human beings take for granted, the ability to just talk and to be able to say, “This is what’s bothering me right now. This is how I feel about this.” He’s not able to do that. So, it frustrates him.

I’m in it for the long haul. If I have to give him baths when he’s in his 20s, I’ll do that. That’s my son, you know what I mean? I’ll die for him before I let anyone or anything make him feel like he doesn’t deserve the love and respect that we all do.

Derek: We’ve known each other for a long time but one thing I didn’t know is that we’re originally from the same hood, Overbrook Park. You were Overbook Park until when?

Reef: 1999 is when I left my mother’s house on Haverford Avenue.

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Derek: Haverford and what?

Reef: We originally started on 63rd and Lansdowne and ended up moving up to 66th and Haverford. The last apartment was 74th and Haverford, which was right around the corner from my high school, Robert E. Lamberton, where I went to from ’95 to ’99. I graduated and moved down here to South Philly to attend the University of the Arts. But my mom is still up there. My aunts are still up there. A lot of my childhood friends, sadly, are still up there. It’s still home.

I’ve been in South Philly for about 15 years now but I still consider West Philly home. That’s where I go to see family for Thanksgiving, Christmas, all that.

Derek: Overbrook Park, we used to consider that the middle class for the blacks.

Reef: What’s so funny is that my mom and her sisters, they came from the heart of West Philly. We’re talking 60th and Arch, 60th and Ludlow. They were West Philly for real. So when they were able to get a little money, get city jobs and move their family up a little bit more, they felt like they were accomplished.

My generation, we were trying to prove that we weren’t punks. See how that works? That’s so fucking stupid. Looking back on it now, it’s like, “Damn, dude, we had a nice neighborhood. There was grass and trees but we spent all of our time trying to ruin it because we didn’t want the boys from down the hill to think we were punks.”

I had friends in North Philly and South Philly in the ’80s and ’90s. I’m talking about when there were 500 murders a year in Philly and they would be like, “Yo man, you all live so nice. Why are you trying to make it like where we’re at? I would love to switch places.” I was an ungrateful little shit.

Derek: I’ve considered moving multiple times from Philly and especially after these last couple of winters, the West Coast seems to be calling. But Philly has this completely special place in my heart. I’m Philly to the core.

What makes Philly so special?

Reef: I think for me, it’s the last real city. I know that might sound like a hometown pride thing coming out but if you think about it, most of New York isn’t New Yorkers. Most of the West Coast isn’t West Coasters. This is the last place where there are people who have literally grown up here forever. This neighborhood, there are generations of people on my block. These houses have been passed down from one generation to the next.

It’s the last real place. It’s genuine. If people don’t like you, you know they don’t like you. If people love you, they’re going to express it from the hilltops.

We’re not New York. We’re not LA. We’re one of the big cities but we don’t have that same reputation of being able to make things happen. I think that that’s changing rapidly. I think people are now looking to Philly as what we’ve always known it to be, which is a cultural hub and a place where a lot of dope ideas come out. We started a lot of trends. We started a lot of cool stuff and we never get the credit for it because it didn’t blow up here. That’s something a lot of people are working to change.

Derek: That’s a great point you made, that we are the last real city. How do you make that come out in your music? facebook.com/JUMPphilly

Photo by G.W. Miller III.

Reef: I think it just does. It doesn’t need any coaxing or fake flexing. It just naturally comes out because of the fact that where I’m from, where I was raised. The MCs I grew up around, the artists that I’m around now? They push you to make sure that authenticity is there. You come around Philly, you still hear that spit, that grit. So, being around that, it forced me to want to step mine up, keep my stuff fresh and keep my stuff consistent.

Derek: How do you always have the sickest MCs in your camp and always collaborate with the dopest cats?

Reef: I’d say birds of a feather. I show love to everyone, whether they’re dope, whack or whatever. But as far as people I want around me, there is a certain aesthetic that I’m listening for. There’s a certain feeling.

A lot of guys who have been around as long as I have, they don’t want to hear anything that these young guys are doing. They want to cast them off. I feel like that’s the wrong mentality. Whenever you see me dealing with the Mic Stews or the Chill Moodys or Ground Up or Brascos, I deal with them because there is a mutual respect there. I believe in what they’re doing. It’s important to keep that because all it does is keep Philly hip-hop culture alive and well. If we don’t let the next generation come up and get their piece off and be shown, it’s going to die.

Derek: We’ve seen some very polarizing incidents that have taken place in this country over the last year. Where do you think that we are as a society now in terms of race? Obviously, we’ve come a long way but in some ways it’s like we’ve taken steps back at the same time.

Reef: I think the world has gotten smaller. It’s not that race relations have gotten worse or better. Before, I didn’t know the opinion of some fucking redneck in Kentucky but now I go on Facebook and I see the redneck. I see JUMPphilly.com

the righteous brother from Harlem. And I see them arguing. I see the other comments made by this right-wing newspaper. Then you get MSNBC. It’s all in front of us now. Cops have been killing motherfuckers forever. Cops have been beating motherfuckers down forever. Now you have video of it. Now it’s uploaded and the world is much smaller.

Now we know that we haven’t really moved forward too much. I think that the whole Civil Rights movement, I think it did what it was supposed to do.

But in the wake of that came frustration and anger on both sides of the coin.

On one side, you have white Americans who are feeling like they are basically not in charge of this country anymore. They feel like they’ve lost their footing.

They feel like they’re not respected. They feel like, “Oh, my grandfather wasn’t a slave owner. My grandfather marched with you people.” Then, on the other side, you have a lot of black folk who feel like white people didn’t really mean any of that stuff, and they were just going along with the grain of times changing.

I think right now, it’s a powder keg and I think it’s on the verge of exploding. I think that you have a lot of countries where you see things like this happening.

Revolution is the next step but we’re so caught up in our TV shows and our iPads and our phones, it’s hard for people to really take that next step.

It’s going to take a fucking wilding in the streets. I just don’t see us having the will. We’re fat, lazy, spoiled people. The reason why those other countries are on the news - those kids with masks on their faces, throwing rocks, they ain’t got shit to lose.

America, we ain’t going to last on top unless people get their shit together and stop all the hate and the bullshit and realize that we are society, not the government. Until we all say enough is enough, it’s not going to change.

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