2005-10 Vital Source Mag – October 2005
The Silent Players
By Evan Solochek With roots in rock & rolls infancy, poster art has long been one of the most defining avenues through which underground music scenes have endured. While in most cases the artists who create it never pick up a guitar or sing a note, they serve just as integral a role as the musicians themselves. We hooked up with three of Milwaukee’s foremost poster artists to find out what moves them. Vital Source: How did you get started making posters for bands? Damian Strigens: Whatever band I was in I just decided to do it. I was the default guy. Mainly it’s just having fun. It’s rock ‘n roll. It’s music. James Kloiber: Back in ‘98 I was going to shows at Globe East like every weekend and I was also going to art school and I wanted to do something to get my art out there. Poster art seemed like a very natural thing. It was something to help out the music scene and keep myself drawing. Eric Von Munz: I was involved in the underground music scene, I was going to shows like every weekend, and thought I could contribute something back to the scene on a visual level because I’m not a musician. VS: What was the first band you made a poster for? DS: The Sacred Order – 1984 JK: Avail w/Straightforward and Codebreaker – May 23, 1998 at the Globe East EM: Gus Hosseini’s Birthday Bash – 1993 VS: What inspires your poster art? DS: Vaughan Oliver really inspired me. He used a lot of inverted images and metallic inks. There is this one story of when the Breeders asked him to do a poster for them and he came back with something totally different from what they asked for and they were like “this is totally different than what we asked for. It’s perfect.” JK: When I got started, Frank Kozik and Coop and Derek Hess. EM: I only do posters for bands I like. So if I like the band, then the band is going to inspire me to do the art. I can’t just pull stuff out of the ether. VS: To what extent do the particulars of the band influence your poster? JK: Sometimes they don’t at all. A lot of times I’ll get the assignment having never heard them, which may or may not be a good way to work. Sometimes I’ll look at their website and see what sort of stuff the band likes for their art work, what the covers of their CDs look like, or look at their song titles for ideas. It’s usually just one little thing that I take to get an idea from. DS: It does and it doesn’t. Sometimes the most obvious thing, like a skull on a poster for a heavy metal show, leaves nothing to the imagination. I like something with a little more mystery to it, a little more abstraction. I like to push things away from the […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Snapshots in Analog
By Blaine Schultz To quote the Velvet Underground, “those were different times”… It’s real easy to not get misty-eyed about the old days. Before desktop publishing and 24-hour Kinko’s became commonplace, crude music fanzines and gig posters were laid out by hand and mimeographed. Before laptop home studios and Gap ad campaigns, you could get beat up for throwing original music in the face of the bar band status quo. Bands actually put out their own albums… wait a minute, we’re back to that one. In the late 1970s, the term “Rustbelt” was coined to describe all the manufacturing jobs exiting cities like Milwaukee. But true to its European artistic roots, young bands exploding with original music made sure they had venues to perform in. There really were no rules, maybe just a few role models like the Beats or the Stooges or the Ramones. DIY was not an option, it was the lone muddy trail. So before you groan about the lack of a local music scene, take a look at these folks. Like Crispus Attucks, they were the first. Before punk turned into new wave turned into MTV/college/indie turned into alt-country, there were no lines to blur. Everything was a blur. A real cool blur. Ken Baldwin Drummer Ken Baldwin ran the Starship, a club on 4th and Wisconsin that followed Zak’s as Milwaukee’s top club for live original music. The Starship was a disco, pool hall and a watering hole for hookers and businessmen. Buddy Jim Richardson managed the Voom Voom Room, played drums in Death, Milwaukee’s first punk band, and later with power pop legends The Shivvers. “I lived downtown in the old Klode Furniture building on 2nd and Plankinton,” remembers Richardson. “In the early 80s, there was nothing going on downtown to speak of. Water Street didn’t exist. The Voom Voom Room was the focus of lots of press and when Ben Marcus got behind the push to shut us down, it was just a matter of time. That was around ‘76. The other two clubs on 5th were the New Yorker and the Casino. The Casino became the Starship.” Jerome Brish(a.k.a. Presley Haskel)& Richard LaValliere With the Haskels, and later LaValliere with the Oil Tasters, these guys were two of the city’s musical visionaries. Haskel fronted groups until his untimely murder in 1991. LaValliere lives in Brooklyn, New York. Shepherd Express A&E Editor Dave Luhrssen was a young writer on the music scene in those days. “Jerome Brish was a talented songwriter, but his greatest skill was to imagine that a punk-rock scene could exist in Milwaukee and then to make it happen. He had business sense and people sense along with musical ability. It was Jerome who talked Damian Zak into transforming his club into Milwaukee’s CBGB. But the Haskels wouldn’t have been as interesting without Richard LaValliere, whose songs and slightly wacky stage presence added an arty, surreal edge to the proceedings. “Haskel Hotel was a big old four-unit house on Arlington. They […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Melly LeBaron’s Indiana Song
By Melly LeBaron We all have our favorite rock and roll songs. Some tunes become magnets, pulling us back to our past. Jammin’ songs make life downright bearable – sure, your moment of revelation from listening to a gritty rock and roll song may not last forever, but at least you’ll remember a great time before any crap can hit the ceiling fan. My ultimate traveling song for driving down a lone highway is Golden Earring’s “Radar Love.” Barry Hay captures the magic and lure of being out on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other sailing out the window. “No more speed, I’m almost there / Gotta keep cool now, gotta take care / last car to pass, here I go / and the line of cars drove down real slow …” I was bored out of my mind growing up in Indiana. One day, my boss assigned me to clean a chunky white bus with a guy I didn’t know. Plugging the ignition key into the keyhole, my right hand rotated the dial through the different radio stations. It was then I heard the pulsating guitar riffs of “Radar Love” and immediately stopped. Turning up the volume, I sporadically jerked my head around in a crazy attempt to match the beat. Though I am usually a quiet person with strange people, I had no choice but to let go of my sanity with this bluesy rock and roll tune. Surprisingly, Daniel Rader (the staff guy I barely knew), began to wildly play the air guitar along with the music. I joined his antics by twirling imaginary drumsticks onto a giant, invisible drum set. Rader’s shaggy brown hair, tattered jeans and wide grin were all the encouragement I needed. I began experimenting with my newfound drumming skills as Golden Earring huskily sang the unforgettable lyrics: “And the radio played that forgotten song …” During spring break last year, I returned to northern Indiana. My friend Jeff Russ flipped his car stereo on as he drove me through South Bend, my childhood town. Almost as if on cue, Hay sang again of how the road has him hypnotized. Singing along, Russ drummed his fingers on his steering wheel and I let the song wash over me. Third time’s a charm, right? This past summer, Russ and I were visiting Bloomington, Indiana, for the day. The thought about how ironic it would be to hear Golden Earring again did occur to me, but I harbored my usual doubts. I didn’t bother to cross my fingers, and thought nothing more of it. Until, of course, I heard the beginning of my treasured tune on the car stereo. Russ turned it up a few notches, and I again marveled at the timelessness of this classic. Next time I visit the Hoosier state, I wonder if my Indiana song will hit the airwaves. Or if I’ll meet another lifelong friend by bonding on a great rock and roll song. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Redemption Song
Here’s the thing about Liz Phair. If you’re a great admirer (as I am) you might be intimidated by the prospect of speaking to her directly (as I was). Even as a seasoned feature writer with two decades of bylines in my files, I was so nervous that when her publicist patched us together that I kind of froze. “Hello?” she said, her speaking voice a little higher and more melodic than I’d imagined. “Are you there?” Tongue-tied, I almost hung up, but I was on assignment, so instead I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I confessed my insecurity, potentially sealing my fate as a pathetic amateur in her eyes. “God, don’t you hate that? That happened to me not too long ago.” She giggles, but it’s a conspiratorial girl-giggle, meant to put me at ease. She then tells the story of being in Michael Penn’s home recording studio, working on tracks for Somebody’s Miracle, when Joni Mitchell popped in. Penn invited Liz into the kitchen to meet her all-time musical hero, but, she confesses, “I was so freaked out, my ass was frozen to the couch. Absolutely frozen. I could not get up. When I finally did, I kind of hung back by the doorjamb. I had nothing interesting to say to her.” She goes on to tell about meeting Mick Jagger (again) recently, and how she tried to lighten things up by being friendly and cracking a joke. But everything she said seemed to come off as offensive in some way, so she just shut her mouth. We agreed that it was probably the difference between being Midwestern and being from, well, about anywhere else. I pushed aside unbidden thoughts of the great girlfriends Liz and I would surely have been in a different life and pressed on. Here’s something you may not know. Liz Phair is at peace with herself. This is a relatively new development, a spiritual transition years in the making. Nothing shakes up one’s world quite like parenthood, except perhaps a painful divorce or a career inexplicably on the slide. For some, the death of a much-loved relative can turn everything upside down. And when it all comes down more or less in a continuum, there’s no time to process each piece individually. It’s a true “get real” moment, fall or rise. Liz has risen, and her first big step was self-forgiveness. “There is an acceptance in me now,” she says. “I feel like I turned a corner in my personal life where I stopped running from all my bad qualities and said ‘enough is enough.’ I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone; I don’t want somebody making excuses for me, I don’t want to be somebody that my son needs therapy to get over.” But inner equilibrium is learned behavior for the woman who had the (mis)fortune of releasing one of the most acclaimed debut records of all time, then proceeded to ride celebrity like […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Jon Anne Willow
Saving the Music
By Phillip Walzak In many ways, New Orleans is the heartbeat of this nation’s music scene. If indeed jazz is the only truly American art form, then the Crescent City is the womb from which it was born. Yet jazz is just one of countless musical genres with roots in New Orleans. Blues, funk, zydeco, gospel, soul, R&B, bluegrass, folk – each of these forms were sparked and/or developed in the creative, impassioned, explosively vibrant atmosphere of that special city. Having friends in New Orleans, I’ve had the chance to get off the tourist trail and the Girls Gone Wild nonsense of Bourbon Street to see some true gems frequented by the locals. These are friends who were forced to evacuate their beloved city as Katrina moved relentlessly toward them, and have no idea what awaits them when they finally can return to their homes. Yet in happier times they took me to Mid-City Lanes Rock ‘n Bowl, a two-level rock club/bowling alley, to hear the distinct rub-board and accordion of Rockin’ Doopsie Junior and the Zydeco Twisters. Or Vaughan’s Lounge in Bywater, where the legendary Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers fire up the grill outside between numbers. I’ve seen the explosive horns and drums of the Rebirth Brass Band on Frenchman Street, blasting out the rollicking jazz of an earlier age with a sound so big it bundled you up like an overcoat. And that was after seeing a young, backroads folk band and a Latin jazz fusion group all on the very same night. Nudged between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River you’ll find the most inspiring music scene in America – eclectic and dynamic, diverse and thrilling. Tragically, that very geographic location has placed the grand New Orleans musical legacy in jeopardy. In addition to the hundreds (possibly thousands by press time) of dead and billions of dollars in damage, hanging in the balance is the city’s culture. And to lose it would only compound the heartbreak. WHAT HAPPENED? What happened is the easy part – Hurricane Katrina. A complete breakdown in the days following Katrina’s wrath, turning New Orleans into a post-apocalyptic hell straight out of a Mad Max movie: death and destruction, depravity and violence, filth and horror, suffering and degradation. Floodwaters swept through the city, engulfing homes, businesses and streets, marooning tens of thousands of our fellow citizens in one of America’s largest and – as you know if you’ve been to the gas pump recently – economically strategic cities. The better question is what didn’t happen. For whatever reason, the local, state and federal government apparatus could not deliver food, water and medical supplies to the city’s stranded residents for days. The blame game began immediately. Former Clinton advisor Sidney Blumenthal blasted the Bush Administration for reacting unbelievably slowly to the crisis and, in an article on Salon.com on Aug 31, pointed out that “in 2004, the Bush administration cut funding requested by the New Orleans district of the U.S. Army Corps […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Top Fives
By Jon M. “Big ‘Uns” Gilbertson, Vital Source and BeyondFive Albums That Make Me Glad To Have Testicles 1. AC/DC, Highway to Hell2. Afghan Whigs, Black Love3. Public Enemy, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back4. The Stooges, Fun House5. Velvet Underground, White Light/White Heat Kevin Groen, Vital Source Top Five Albums That Make People Ask, “Who’s this?!” (Not in a condescending way, but in an, “I want to get this” way)1. Blanket Music: Cultural Norms2. Mates of State: Team Boo3. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: Shake the Sheets4. Plush: Underfed5. Fiery Furnaces: Blueberry Boat Haven Langhout, WMSE, Moct Bar, Vital Source (and more!)Top Five Favorite Summer of 2005 Albums.1. Hot Chip: Coming on Strong2. Patrick Wolf: Lycanthropy3. Weird War: Illuminated by the Light4. Magic Arrows: Sweet Heavenly Angel of Death5. Colder: Heat Eric Lewin, Vital Source Top Five Records To Be Stranded On A Deserted Island With1. The Clash: London Calling2. The Beatles: The White Album3. Grateful Dead: American Beauty4. Stone Roses: S/T5. Nirvana: Unplugged in New York Jason Mohr, Juniper Tar, WMSETop Five Records To Fall Asleep To1. Vashti Bunyan: Just Another Diamond Day2. Brian Eno/Daniel Lanois: Apollo3. Miles Davis: In a Silent Way4. Early Day Miners: Let Us Garlands Bring5. Neil Young: Dead Man – Motion Picture Soundtrack Liz Phair, HerselfTop Five Current Faves1. Stevie Wonder: Songs in the Key of Life2. Dave Matthews: Stand Up3. Rilo Kiley: More Adventurous 4. Missy Higgins: The Sound of White5. Jack Johnson: In Between Dreams The Rhythm Chicken Most Spun CDs in the Last Two Months in His Post-Communist Apartment Block Home in Krakow, Poland1. Call Me Lightning: The Trouble We’re In2. Replacements: All For Nothing, Nothing For All3. Bright Eyes: I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning4. Chariot’s Race: Existence5. The Clash: Give’m Enough Rope Evan Solochek, Vital SourceTop Five Road Trip Records1. Weezer: Blue Album2. Ben Folds Five: S/T3. The Shins: Chutes Too Narrow4. The Decemberists: Her Majesty, The Decemberists5. The Anniversary: Designing A Nervous Breakdown Lucky Tomaszek, Slightly Crunchy Parent, Homebirth MidwifeTop Five Albums for Childbirth, in no particular order1. Various Artists : Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? Soundtrack 2. Indigo Girls: Swamp Ophelia3. Kate Bush: Hounds of Love 4. Enya: Watermark 5. Sarah McLachlan: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy Matt Wild, Holy Mary Motor Club, Vital SourceAll-Time Top Five Records1. Dead Milkmen: Big Lizard in My Backyard2. They Might Be Giants: Lincoln3. Pixies: Trompe le Monde4. The Beatles: Help!5. Def Leppard: Hysteria Jon Anne Willow, Vital Source, Bremen CaféTop Five Records To Hear While Writing1. Beatles: Let It Be2. Bonnie “Prince” Billy: Ease Down the Road3. Liz Phair: whitechocolatespaceegg4. Brad: Shame5. Tangle Eye: Alan Lomax’s Southern Journey Remixed Erin Wolf, Chariot’s Race, Vital Source Top Five Discs to Pound the Pavement With Running Sneaks1. Luna: Lunapark2. Fugazi: The Argument3. Rogue Wave: Out of the Shadow4. The Pixies: Trompe le Monde5. Idlewild: 100 Broken Windows VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Jon Anne Willow
A Darkened Room, A Reel of Film + Me
By Russ Bickerstaff A group of virtual strangers meet in a small, darkened room every other week for two months to watch an endless parade of film shorts and then discuss them. It sounds like a weak premise for a particularly un-engaging reality show, but for better or worse, it’s the standard template for how the selection process works for film festivals everywhere. I entered that tiny room on Milwaukee’s East Side with little idea of how I’d gotten there. I’d received a call in a caffeine haze on a morning that might have been an afternoon. The life of an impoverished writer/resident apartment manager is filled with half-conscious moments, and this was clearly one of them. I quite nearly recognized the voice on the other end of the phone, but fate would have it that the man was a complete stranger from the Milwaukee International Film Festival. The stranger said that I had been recommended to him as a panelist of some sort. He asked me to attend four-hour screenings every other week for a long time. It sounded weird. I told the stranger I was in. The panel consisted of graduate students and an artist who did film criticism for a magazine. I’d heard of the artist – seen his work, too, a strange cross between the dark pen and ink of comic book artist Timothy Bradstreet and the equally dark pen and ink of comic book artist Mike Mignolla. What did any of us know? How were one poet/writer, a bunch of UWM graduate students and some guy with a penchant for heavy inking going to decide what other people were going to see this October? It was a process I barely understood or could even begin to describe. We all sat at an oblong table scratching away at an endless stack of judging forms. Heckling was involved. The selection process for the Midwest Shorts competition was long and exhausting. The 24-plus hours of submitted entries had to be edited down to a much more manageable 90-minute show for attendees of the festival. Quite a few of the decisions were easy; there were obvious eliminations. Much to my surprise, the selection panel for a film festival isn’t required to sit through every entry from start to finish. We were brutally harsh to some of them, cutting off the tape or DVD after only a few minutes. This upset me at first. Actual people put real work into these entries and went to the trouble of paying an entry fee to have their work considered. As the weeks wore on though, I saw what awful stuff some people considered film and became just as blood-thirsty as the rest, calling a vote to cut off films after only a few minutes on numerous occasions. Given what we had to contend with to put together a brief program from such extensive footage, it quickly became clear what we were looking for. Entries twenty minutes or longer, for example, had to […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
October 2005
Dear Readers, In the wake of the mind-bending chain of events in the four years since 9/11, most people who are honest with themselves will acknowledge that their political and social beliefs influence their outward behavior more than in the past. I was not around for McCarthyism; I was a child during Viet Nam, but I imagine the elevated tension between co-workers and neighbors with differing viewpoints is similar to the mood that divided Americans in those other times. Never in my lifetime have I heard people so commonly characterized by their political affiliation. “Joe in accounting? He’s okay, but he’s a conservative.” “Lisa down the street? She’s an MPS teacher, so you know she voted for Kerry.” I did not believe in God on September 10, 2001. I had never felt a Presence, and therefore didn’t believe “the faithful” had, either. I was angry at organized religion for the dogmatic subjugation of congregations by both fear of hell and the promise of moral superiority (okay, I’m still pretty pissed about that). But on September 11, when the planes rained fiery death on thousands of innocent humans, I felt, through my whole body, a great tearing, a sucking loss of life force instantly filled by a rushing wave of intense sorrow stronger than I could ever have imagined. In the days that followed, I could see my own reflection in the faces of everyone I met. We all wanted to help, to fix the horrible thing that had happened. We all wanted to cry, and we did – in our cars, at our desks and in our living rooms. Living through this, I came to understand the nature of God. God is not 19 extremists flying hijacked instruments of death into people-filled buildings. Nor is God a raging hurricane plunging hundreds of thousands of our most vulnerable citizens into a living nightmare. God is what happens in the wake of such tragedy. God is when we all really, really feel the pain together. When we extend a hand to help, giving of ourselves without considering the social or political views of those we’re helping. God is Love. We are God. And whether you affix the existence of God to a “collective We” or not, you may be starting to notice a change in the air these last few weeks. I think we’re sick of fighting with each other; (almost) ready to move past our relentless divisiveness, for now anyway. As a citizenry, we’ve got problems we can only fix if we work together. We need real jobs, we need quality schools and we need a safety net for the vulnerable. These are the greatest threats facing America now, and as more citizens are personally confronted with basic needs not met – and not prioritized – by our leadership on both sides of the aisle, I believe we will turn back to each other for answers, for hope. In doing so, we can push our will upwards and into the American […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Jon Anne Willow
The Coral
By Paul Snyder The Coral’s “In the Morning” could’ve easily been the feel-good single of the summer. However, Columbia decided to give Jessica Simpson a bikini and a 60s classic, and well, here we are. Lee Hazlewood puts a few more dollars in his back pocket while the Coral’s coulda-been rests in the number-six spot on the new LP. The good news is that the album, The Invisible Invasion, is still yours for the taking, even if six Liverpool blokes might not look so good in pink bikinis. The lads reigned in Portishead’s Adrian Utley and Geoff Barrow to produce this effort and add a bit of sheen to their sound. While there are no sparse “Sour Times” trances, the eerie urgency of “She Sings the Mourning” and haunted house feel of “A Warning to the Curious” adds a new dimension to the Coral’s canon. The production also enhances the songwriting. James Skelly hasn’t progressed much as a tunesmith—which isn’t bad, considering his penchant for perfect three-minute pop singles—but the right guys twiddling the knobs can really fledge three-chord fluffs into panoramically enjoyable experiences (see “Come Home”). It probably won’t dent the American mainstream, which isn’t much of a surprise. But in a time when retro becomes cooler with every passing day, and the Redwalls bewilderingly gain more popularity, the Coral deserve just a bit of consideration. After all, The Invisible Invasion clearly proves they’re doing it better. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
