May 27, 2006
Thank god for yesterday’s arrival of our latest housemates W.E. Fest veteran Caroline and ‘Sparks Fly From A Kiss’ keyboardist Stephen. They had a haphazard flight in to Myrtle Beach last night and then had to drive. Caroline was not in the best of moods when she realized the air conditioning was not working in the house. The rest of us would have let it go, but thankfully she could not.
So, after about 3 hours of sleep, I was jostled awake by the racket of a ladder being dragged into the kitchen. After opening the door, Caroline sprawled out face-down on the living room floor, all the while giving directions to the repairman. He smirked at me and I said, ‘Yep, she’s the responsible one.’ Which is an understatement.
Back in the day when Caroline was helping to run W.E. Fest, she could find anything. From an upright bass to a store front for daytime check-ins and after parties, you could always count on her to come thru. And so, because of Caroline, we were now in a comfortably chilly house for the rest of our stay.
Jim Testa’s next culinary masterpiece (or master pieces) were pasta with two types of sauces, garlic bread and a yummy bean salad with walnuts and a raspberry vinaigrette. We’d also stocked up on more beer and wine. It really is amazing how much beer a house of nine people on vacation can go thru. Especially when we’d crack one open first thing as we woke up. Like Jared putting it in his cereal.
At the Soapbox (and back upstairs)
As quirky and oddball as ever, Charlie McAllister pulls out his bag (well, Styrofoam cooler) of tricks along with Parker on a percussion set consisting partly of broken metal bit s and pieces. This would prove to be somewhat hazardous as she showed me after the st how she had cut her hand on one such object. The last time I saw Charlie, his accompaniment was a series of handheld tape machines. Not totally abandoning the taped background noise, he had an answering machine tape and an LP record playing ingeniously aimless at various points of the set.
The delirious shtick, off-beat clamor and out-of-tune guitars are part of a finely toned facade which masks his biting commentary on southern life and racism in particular. He was amused by how a group called the Daughters of the Confederacy found out he played the banjo and wanted him to perform for one of their upcoming events. I would love to be a fly on the wall for that, but being a Yankee, I probably would not be allowed in.
Oliver Squash is an old-school home taper who I first ‘met’ indirectly by receiving various tapes thru the fertile mail underground some time in the early 90s. Performances from him are rare so I was really looking forward to this set. It was a departure from what I remember. An acoustic set of dark, melodic songs which were every so often spiced with surreal sonic effects.
What can I say about Jehn Cerron (aka Eyelight)? Well, she made me cry again. Her ethereal vocal loops lay a foundation behind melodies that make your heart swirl. Adding to the experience, soundman Ron panned the music from left to right as I sat dead center on the floor.
Jehn is an amazing talent and a warm, wonderful person too. As she played, her whole family was there to watch including her ten year old daughter. After the set, she jumped up on the stage to give Jehn a big congratulatory hug. This warranted a choral ‘Ahhhh’ from the audience.
Band Omitted … Sorta:
I was not even going to write about what happened with this one particular band. However, I felt that someone needed to explain how utterly inappropriate they acted. Besides, everyone at W.E. Fest seemed to get a kick out of my rant, so here it is. I’ve decided not to mention their name.
I equate what this band did to visiting someone’s home and putting your dirty feet on their furniture. W.E. Fest is very much our home and they had little respect for their hosts. As the set progressed, so did a list I had running in my head
- They thanked the other bands for opening for them. I hate to be the one to break the news to them, but they were fourth in a lineup of eight on the third night of a five night event.
- They announced proudly they were from NYC when in fact they’re from North Bergen, NJ. Anyone at W.E. Fest knows that if there was ever a time or place to have pride in being from NJ it is Wilmington, NC on Memorial Day weekend. It has almost become a place for NJ bands to come for vacation.
- Their front man’s rock-star posturing—stroking his sexy tresses and unwittingly winking at the boys in the crowd because the cool girls had gone to the back bar—was hard on the stomach. Man did he love his hair.
- They were hocking their t-shirts for $20.00. All of the other bands were either discounting or giving there swag out for free.
- In a lame attempt to ingratiate themselves to Wilmington, they had sent out an email to the other bands on the bill. It said how happy the were to be coming to “your hometown” and hoping that “you can hook us up with other local shows while we’re there”. Well, if they had done their research they would have seen that not one single act that night was actually from Wilmington. One from South Carolina, two from Pennsylvania, one from Florida, two from New Jersey and two from Alabama.
- “We’re influenced by all the bands I’m sure you hate.” I wasn’t really sure what to make of that. I guess their taste is better than us crazy indie hicks.
- They committed one of my biggest pet peeves by coming in for their set, playing and quickly leaving. Sure some of them stuck around, but they seemed to be more concerned with ‘hooking up’ than supporting W.E. Fest.
- Well, this is not really a complaint. It’s more like a little bit of congratulatory pity. The front man was able to leave the club with what appeared to be a fifty year old hooker.
- W.E. Fest Poobah Kenyata confessed that he broke the rules this year by allowing a band to play that he did not personally book. They were there at the request of the club owner who was apparently dating the band’s manager. Still the band and their management should have seen that they were part of something bigger than just another show.
- As a final straw, it just so happened that a very lovely friend was supposed to come to W.E. Fest with me but had to cancel. She wanted to avoid the drama of hanging with band members who are friends with a recent be ex-boyfriend.
I’m fairly sure that the band will say it was a good show. There were a few people there who liked them. Plus the singer did get ‘lucky’ in a sense. I doubt they even realized they’re lack of respect since they simply treated it like it was just any other show in any other city. And they’re actually not all that ‘bad’ really. They’re a decent enough rock/blues ensemble ala Black Crowes or Aerosmith and they did have a good deal of energy. My problem has more to do with their pseudo rock-star attitude and lack of tact.
Community is more important to me than anything else when it comes to supporting a band. I’ve been known to support bands whose music I really don’t like and vice-versa for just those reasons. Yes I do see the irony in their having gotten more attention from me than any other band at W.E. Fest, but I needed to get this off my chest. Besides I never mentioned their name and, in what Jim Santo of ‘The Sharp Things’ called, ‘an Orwellian Omission,’ there are no photos of them in the galleries.
Next up was the refreshingly original, utterly rhythmic and scholarly sounds of Pattern Is Movement. They hail from Philadelphia and their complex, harmonic combinations of tune and thump truly embody math-rock intellect. Picture a band made up of the coolest teachers you ever had. They also started a trend of the night where the drummer was set up front, off to the side.
Nuées Ardentes got their name from the description of when viscous magma, containing much gas, is erupted under reasonably low pressure, a glowing cloud containing ash and pumice may be thrown into the air, this cloud will fall back onto the earth like an avalanche before it can cool off. I can’t think of a better way to describe their sound and presence.
Drummer Michael (former XBXRX member) also played for the next band in what would be one of two smoothest set transition I think in the history of set transitions. The other would happen on Day 4. The high intensity lights that blinked frantically during the first set continued as The Difference Engine took their place.
Without warning, the music continued. Slightly less bombastic with a touch more subtlety, The Difference Engine are part of what seems to be a large noise-punk movement in Mobile Alabama. I had always thought that XBXRX had cornered the market there, but apparently not. I’d love to visit Mobile and find out what is in the air or water that is causing all of this wonderful clatter and bang.
Hoboken in the house! I had been very anxious to hear Stuyvesant play. Not only is bassist Brian Musikoff a top notch bartender in one of my favorite bars back in Hoboken, I hadn’t seen singer/guitarist Ralph Malanga in nearly ten years. Years ago, my band Ya-Ne-Zniyoo and his band Footstone often played together in NY and NJ. We also part of a compilation of indie bands called ‘Nothing Smells Quite Like Elizabeth’ (Dromedary Records 1993).
Named after the man who, back in 1663, granted the charter for the very first American brewery—rightfully located in Hoboken, NJ—the band rocks with a sound they call ‘hard pop’. The rough, loud and all-around good songs kept me very happy. It was such a good time that Ralph rocked himself right out of his shoe.
I have to say that I was a touch disappointed with some of my fellow New Jersians. They could have stuck around for fifteen more minutes to catch the end of the set. Instead, I turned around and realized that I was stranded. Trying to get a cab at that time is near impossible. Really guys, was partying at the hotel and nearly getting arrested for night swimming really that important? More on that later.
After the Show:
I bribed the boys in Stuyvesant with helping them load out and a promise of beer for a ride back to the beach house. Then came one of the weirdest coincidences of the Fest. I see someone talking to Brian who looked awfully familiar. Turned out to be this guy Matt who hangs out in Hoboken at Louise & Jerry’s where Brian tends bar. He was pretty wasted.
Matt was in Wrightsville Beach for a wedding. Afterwards, he made his way to the Soapbox where he knew Stuyvesant would be playing. When I ran into him about a week later back in Hoboken, he told me that he was amazed that, not only did he make it to the show, but that he was still standing. It had been a very long day of drinking wine in the hot sun.
He also needed a ride and, as we tried to ascertain the name of his hotel, I assumed it was the Hampton Inn from his description. As we pulled away, the guys in the band wondered if it was the right place. He had been saying Hempstead Inn by the Waffle House on Market Street. This place was the only hotel with an ‘H’ next to a Waffle House. Jokingly I told them not to worry; he was out of the van and on his own now. Thankfully I’d find out later that it was indeed the right hotel.
Back at the beach house, I was stunned to see that we had but four beers left. We took our beers and walked on to the beach and sat there amazed as usual at the sea and sky. You can always pick out the cats from Jersey on the beach at night here. They tend to be the ones staring upward, jaws dropped and smiling saying things like, “Man! Look at all the friggin’ stars!”
Behind us I heard a voice ask, “You guys smoke the chronic?” I thought it was going to be some housemates playing a joke. Instead it was a guy with a really hot girl looking for weed or papers or something. We had none. “Sorry, no,” one of us said, “we’re alcoholics.” They asked for beer. We told them we were on our last ones. So they just laughed and walked away.
Later, I noticed this super-hot, super-tall brunette beauty in a halter top wandering outside our house. She walked up to me and, as my heart and loins skipped beats respectively, asked to use the bathroom. It was that same girl from the beach. I was all excited until I saw that her moody man was also lurking on the street. Oh well, at least I can fantasize about her.
