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MUSIC + CULTURE
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Up to Eleven
Mills Custom’s artisan amps help bands near and far make a mighty noise
Written by CHRISTIAN SCHAEFFER
Just south of the Hill neighborhood, in the shadow of the looming, green-domed St. Louis Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center, sits an unassuming warehouse that holds quite a bit of firepower. 7he headTuarters of Gateway Fireworks Displays doesn’t look like much on its quasi-industrial stretch of Fyler Avenue, but it houses the materials that illuminate the Cardinals’ home victories, corporate events and even (l 0onstero’s bombastic Pink Floyd tribute sets.
In fact, the members of El Monstero use that warehouse as the band’s rehearsal space, and Must beyond their amps and drum kit sits the workshop of a smaller operation, but one that is also focused on making a big noise. Justin Mills uses his corner of the warehouse to make bass and guitar amplifiers for his line, Mills Custom. His amps, pri]ed for their light weight, their unique mix of tube and solid state technology, and their distinct wood-grain aesthetic, are a common sight on local stages.
0ills’ career as an amp builder started back in his home state of Florida, where a few strands of his background combined: He studied sound engineering, which gave him insight into the technical aspects of sound amplification his work as an art handler at a Miami gallery taught him how to work with wood and his time as a gigging musician convinced him to ditch heavy amps for something easier to lug around.
His move to St. Louis was hardly part of any master plan, he says he had begun building amps and pedals back home but sought a change of scenery. “I needed to get out of South Florida — I had been there my whole life,ȋ 0ills explains. “, wanted a change, and shipping
Justin Mills poses with one of his creations, a 50-watt Atlas amplifier with a 1x12 cabinet. | VIA MILLS CUSTOM
costs on this stuff were killing me from Miami.” Mills sought a more centrally located base for his operations Chicago was the first choice, but one look at real estate prices in St. /ouis led him here. “7he rent for a whole house was $700!” he says, laughing.
Mills Custom uses a windmill for its logo, and in a fitting bit of kismet, his drive into town took him along Gravois, where he eventually passed Bevo 0ill. “7he day we rolled in here we passed by Bevo, and we had Must come up with that logo,” Mills recalls. “So it was a total coincidence, but we said, Ȇ2K, cool, we’re in the right spot.’ȋ
Despite never having set foot in town, Mills settled here almost five years ago. ,nitially, 0ills Custom was run out of his basement — a novelty in itself for someone who comes from below sea level: “I was really enthralled with the concept of a basement because , never lived anywhere where they
existed,” he says. A few different locales followed — including the backroom of the Gaslight on the Hill — before settling in the back of the fireworks warehouse.
0ills Custom amps are marked by their exposed-wood casings, compared to most off-the-shelf amps and their tweed or 7olex coverings. 0ills’ process includes allnatural wood dyes as opposed to stains or lacquers, and heavy-duty burlap covers the speaker enclosures. “,t’s super organic , try to make as little of a carbon footprint as possible,ȋ he explains.
Mills is in the midst of restructuring his line of amps at the moment. His biggest seller is the Atlas, which he describes as a clean-sounding, straightforward amp — what gear-nerds would call a “pedal platformȋ for its ability to showcase the nuance of stompboxes rather than impart its own intrinsic tonality. 7he Bayonet is his bass amp the +atchet guitar head offers a clean channel and a high-gain distortion channel. 7he forthcoming Foundry adds a third, “super high gainȋ channel that 0ills considers his ȵagship.
:hile 0ills Custom has partnered with Gaslight Studios for marketing help, the company does very little advertising outside of social media posts 0ills’ success has been almost purely a product of word-of-mouth enthusiasm from local musicians Brother Lee & the Leather Jackals use an array of 0ills amps on stage, for instance).
5yan :asoba, who produces local bands in his Edwardsville, Illinois-based Bird Cloud 5ecording, initially bought a Mills Hatchet to play in the instru-metal band 7hor Axe but now uses it in many different settings, both live and in studio.
“:hat really surprised me is how versatile it is. ,’ve used it at Bird Cloud for metal, Mangly indie rock stuff and even on bass for a Ma]] record,ȋ :asoba says. “7here are a few times clients have brought in vintage Marshall or 2range amps, but they ended up using the Mills instead.”
3lus, :asoba notes, 0ills’ technical abilities and willingness to troubleshoot errant Fender and Ampeg amps only sweetens the deal. “Justin is also the only amp tech that , trust completely,ȋ he says. “, love Justin, he’s truly one of my favorite people. But even if he was a total asshole I would still swear by his work.”
Mills is able to road-test his products as a member of several local bands, including Bounce +ouse and 2’,vy. But he says that he takes a different, deeper satisfaction as an amp builder.
Where he once was driven by his own creative ideas, “now I get to create the paletteȋ through these amplifiers, he says. “, get to make the things that inspire artists rather than write a song itself.” n
Agitpop ’Til You Drop
Scene stalwart Mark Plant’s new project the Mall brings a punk ethos to dance music
Written by JOSH LEVI
If you’ve paid any attention to St. /ouis’ punk and hardcore scene over the past few years, you’ve undoubtedly come across Mark Plant. No stranger to the DIY community, Plant, who uses theythem pronouns, has had their hand in a number of underground musical proMects for well over a decade. A polymath by nature, their musical genius and infectious energy has proven undeniable, whether it’s operating synths in the shoega]e trio 1ibiru, writing blistering, raw pop in 7imes Beach or shredding heavy in the furious punk band Dentist. (nter the 0all, the latest proMect from the DIY stalwart. On debut EP Zone, set to drop later this month, you’ll find hard-edged minimal wave with a punk backbone, nestling nicely between acts like )ront 22, 0ultiple 0an and +igh-)unctioning )lesh. 3lant’s shouted vocals, drenched in reverb over propulsive beats and saccharine synths, tend to ]ero in on both beauty and anger in one fell swoop.
7he culmination of years of improvised noise sets and oneoff performances between their primary bands, this proMect finds 3lant alone, opting for synchroni]ed synthesi]ers and drum machines where other players once raged.
“,n 1ibiru, , used that big polysynth and a drum machine and played all of those while singing,ȋ explains 3lant. “All , could do was stand behind the table and sing into a microphone, and , felt like it was very confining, so now ,’m trying to be visible and move. ,t’s a little less complicated.ȋ
,t was with a direct approach to song structure and an exploratory knowledge of programming gear that Plant found what worked for this new endeavor.
“7he more rules , made, the easier it was to make stuff — outline everything,ȋ 3lant explains. “Ȇ7his song doesn’t sound finished.’ Ȇ7his song needs to be finished.’ Ȇ7he lyrics suck.’ ȆDoes this need words?’ ,t’s like with electronic stuff, you can have infinite options, so it’s much easier to make those rules beforehand, and be like, Ȇ7hat’s it,’ and get a song done. /ots of rules. 7hat’s the only way anarchy works, too.”
,n Must four short months, 3lant has been working at a breakneck pace, writing songs, maintaining a comically insane social media presence and planning a spring tour. 7heir hard work and seemingly endless stream of creativity has resulted in Zone, a selfreleased cassette filled with seven tracks of music perfect for cruising the contemporary hellscape of America or hardstomping under a disco ball. It is through these songs that Plant was able to confront the challenges of capitalism, worldly strife and the woes of existence. And unlike the demure, whispery nature common to the genre, 3lant’s vocals sit perfectly front and center, Must begging to be heard.
In regard to their songwriting process, 3lant explains “5eally if something hits me, if something is bothering me, if I get stuck on an idea or a concept — which happens all the time — ,’ll Must talk to everyone for the next three days about the thing ,’m stuck on. ,’ll even write stream of consciousness [lyrics@. , want it to be pretty. 7hey’re
As the Mall, Mark Plant delivers hard-edged minimal wave with a punk backbone. | AUSTIN ROBERTS
still pop songs. , Must am mad.” Although the Mall thoroughly explores many types of subgenres within the electronic dance music canon, 3lant explains that their roots in hardcore punk may not be far off from their material today.
“Breakdowns in hardcore bands Ȑ >they’re@ totally Must dance parts. 7he 0all is Must skipping the fast parts, and it’s literally breakdowns where it’s understood that you’re dancing,ȋ says 3lant. “7his idea that it’s so tough — and it’s Must like dance music. 7hat’s the part everyone’s waiting for anyway. :hy don’t we Must play dance music?”
As Plant continued to write songs over the past few months, they Tuickly understood that producing electronic dance music requires a high level of quality in live sound — something often not found in basements and DIY venues across town. ,t was through this reali]ation that Plant traded in numerous pieces of gear for a 3A system that not only could support their own music, but also that of the community they hope to foster.
“,f you’re in a punk band, you get a guitar amp, and you do everything you can so your guitar sounds good at a show,” Plant says. “,f you’re a drummer, you have to buy expensive cymbals. 7o me, , always had the idea ,f you’re a vocalist in a band, get a PA, and if you play a basement show out of town and the PA sounds bad —
that’s on you. ,f , have that 3A, that means that other people that want to make electronic music can have it sound good. (specially here in St. Louis. You can start something like that and Must never play a good show ever because you’ll Must never play on a good 3A.ȋ
,t is with this drive, punk ethos and level of self-sufficiency that 3lant is currently mapping out a tour that will take them throughout the South and up the mid-Atlantic this spring. As a veteran of the road and tour life, Plant understands the urgency to ride the proMect’s momentum and bring their music to audiences both regionally and nationally.
“,’m playing my first show in February, but also these are skills ,’ve been building on for so long, and ,’m finally doing something. ,’m very proud of this,ȋ 3lant explains. “/ike anything that’s super niche, I feel like the audience is so small. 7here’s a lot of other people thirsty for that that Must need to hear that it exists. So you have to go to other cities immediately.
“,t’s important to not Must sit in one spot,ȋ they continue. “,f you’re making something that you know is good, you need to show it to people, or you’re doing those people a disservice. Because they need that perspective.ȋ
A Farewell to the Funbarn
Written by KYLE MCNEIL
By the time the last notes of Ultraman’s set have rung out on February 15, 2020, Fubar will have stood tall for twelve years as St. Louis’ de facto home of hardcore, heavy metal and hip-hop shows. In that timeframe, innumerable venues have come and gone while the shotgun-style, double-sided space occasionally called the Funbarn defied the odds.
But, as the cliche goes, all good things must come to an end. Fubar is closing, and in its place a much larger, shiny new venue, Red Flag, will open its doors.
St. Louis scene veterans will know that we can’t discuss the history of Fubar without bringing up long-shuttered venue the Creepy Crawl. A staple of St. Louis’ hardcore and heavy metal community in the ’90s and early aughts, not only did the Creepy Crawl host a wide range of shows from iconic bands, the tiny, stickered-up North Tucker dive employed several of the key players who would go on to open the short-lived second Creepy Crawl on Washington Avenue — and eventually Fubar.
Fubar would prove to be at least a slightly classier evolution of the dingy punk rock joint while still maintaining the ethos of the hardcore culture, as most evident in its logo — a blatant homage to the iconic Black Flag bars tattooed on many of the venue’s patrons.
Over its decade-plus run, Fubar has hosted scores upon scores of iconic punk and metal acts: Black Flag, Fear, the Dead Kennedys, the Business, T.S.O.L, H.R. from Bad Brains, Pentagram and many, many others have all come through Fubar’s hallowed halls. These names may not mean much to the average Warped Tour scenesters, but for those who grew up on these acts, and grew old with these acts, Fubar has been a stalwart of the community. Every middle-aged St. Louisan with a mohawk knows that they could go see their favorite bands and enjoy some cheap canned beers at the bar (or in their car) without paying exorbitant fees or dealing with militant, fun-hating security.
The venue began as one large, shotgun style room with a stage near the door and the bar at the back. When entering the venue, you could go straight in to the main room, or 21-and-up patrons could make a detour to the left and hang out in the lounge, quietly enjoying beers and socializing while the opening bands played. A couple years into Fubar’s tenure, the lounge tables were cleared out and DIY promoters could rent the area for their own shows, as long as they brought their own PA. Rhode Island noise-rock act Daughters is just one of many influential bands that graced Fubar’s stage over the years. | CHELSEA DUFRESNE
Eventually, that bare space gave way to a small stage a couple inches high and house PA stacks with side-fill monitors, which in turn gave way to the approximately two-foot-high stage that stands there today, equipped with the PA system from the now defunct Firebird. In the past couple of years, Fubar’s owner Bob Fancher has even upgraded the venue side to include a modest green room and a crow’s nest area in the back.
For all the good times, unfortunately there has been no shortage of controversy over the past twelve years. As both Fubar and Red Flag reside at Locust Street and Cardinal Avenue, Fubar has always relied on metered street parking, much of which lies out of eyeshot of venue staff and concertgoers outside enjoying a smoke. Most folks opt not to pay for the secured lot across the street — which provided a veritable buffet of potential loot for anyone who knew how to pop a lock.
This crime wave came to a head from 2014 to 2015, after a certain sludge band was ripped off for a couple grand in cash, which spurred a particularly aggressive streak of break-ins. This resulted in a lot of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young bands getting their first taste of the grittiness of the world, some of them adamantly and very publicly insisting that Fubar employees, even the owner himself, conspired to commit the robberies.
The actual culprits of these crimes eventually being apprehended did very little to relieve Fubar of their reputation as the place where bands get robbed, and seldom, if ever, have any of the accusing bands apologized for the controversy. Fubar, for its part, combated this crime surge by increasing lighting outside the venue, posting signage encouraging patrons to not leave valuables in their cars, advising where to park and oftentimes employing additional staff to specifically watch the outside areas.
Speaking as a musician myself whose first real venue show was at Fubar in summer 2008, as well as a former employee and just in general a dude who goes to a decent amount of shows, the closing of Fubar is definitely bittersweet. I’ve gotten to see so many of my favorite bands there, played some of my biggest shows there and learned a lot about the music industry there. While Red Flag surely offers a bigger, arguably better concert experience, we still don’t know a whole lot about what this means for the smaller shows that have long been a mainstay of the venue and lounge.
Fubar typically capped out at about 500 people, whereas by some estimates, Red Flag could accommodate as many as 1,200, putting it in league with Delmar Hall, Pop’s and the Pageant. The closing of Fubar represents the death of one of the last of a dying breed of mid-sized venues in St. Louis, which could certainly serve as a boost to some of the smaller, more DIY venues in town such as the Sinkhole.
I will miss it, but I for one can’t wait to see what the new space offers, and I can’t express my gratitude enough for what Fubar has provided to this city’s music community over the past twelve years. It will be missed.
Fubar’s final show will be held February 15 at 7 p.m. with performances by Fister, Ultraman, Slow Damage and the Disappeared. Red Flag’s grand opening on March 28 features local favorites Fragile Porcelain Mice, Ashes and Iron, Bastard and Blight Future.
