2005-10 Vital Source Mag – October 2005
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
Liz Phair
“I don’t have to say what I’m thinking, because the radio’s on and everyone’s heard my latest song.” From “Got My Own Thing” At the water cooler of a figurative Music Lovers World Headquarters, two Liz Phairs are discussed. The first Liz will never overcome the happy accident of having penned one of rock’s all-time greatest debut records. This Liz now makes stylistically confusing records that disappoint the “fans” who’ve known her since “when,” who are always on the brink of giving up on her but can’t quite. The other Liz stands straight, ready to spit in your eye or (worse) turn her back on you if you don’t like her shit, which has been about her and her own creative process – not you – all along. It is the second Liz who made Somebody’s Miracle. Miracle brilliantly connects the dots of Phair’s past work and frames all within the context of an artist who finally, fully understands her creative voice. Its 14 songs are an amalgam of frank self-understanding and third-person narrative, and Phair deftly mines the territory she first tapped in earnest in whitechocolatespacegg, creating characters so real their stories seem autobiographical. Her guitar is also back from its one-record hiatus, complete with Phair’s signature quirky picking style, still charmingly evocative of a passionate teen playing on the foot of her bed. Overall, it’s a simpler record than 2003’s self-titled release, though its polished production values send a clear message about the evolution of Phair’s musical direction: she’s moving forward. You can come if you want to. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Jon Anne Willow
Heidi Spencer
By “Anybody willing to go out on a limb/ Winter is calling and I’m calling you in.” From the opening line of her sophomore album, Milwaukee filmmaker and musician Heidi Spencer asks us to enter her world of long winters, starry nights and lovers who are leaving or already gone. It’s filled with the beauty found in sadness, in long drives on rainy nights, or in the nostalgia of past relationships that haunt the heart. The Luck We Made delves even deeper into the pathos Spencer began documenting with her excellent debut Matches and Valentines. Vulnerability, loneliness, longing and the pressure of expectations are not new subjects for Spencer, but here she accepts them with a dreamy optimism. Every song is fully realized, a rarity for a record of such emotional weight that is also so catchy. Production props must be given to Bill Curtis; he expanded the textures and atmospherics. Cello, slide guitar, lap steel, piano, upright bass and Curtis’s nuanced drumming weave in and out of Spencer’s rippling acoustic guitar, but her voice is truly the perfect instrument here. Somewhere between Tori Amos and Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval with a dash of Dolly Parton, Heidi Spencer is a folk-country-dream pop anomaly. She moves from whisper to breathy purr to high lonesome and back with control and an idiosyncratic phrasing that makes her unique. The Luck We Made is available locally at Atomic Records. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Girls’ Night Out
By Lucky Tomaszek I think I’ve mentioned before that I love the Indigo Girls. L-o-v-e them. Can’t quite get enough, actually. As a result, their music plays in our house on an almost daily basis. I have all of their CDs, as well as a bunch of live stuff that I’ve downloaded (legally). I cook to the Girls, I clean to them, I read to them, I write to them. It’s the background music of my life. My children share my love of the Girls, but probably because it’s the music they’re familiar with. Just as I know and love every word to the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack and all the songs on Buffy Saint Marie’s Great Hits because my mom played those two albums almost endless for years. I’ve seen the Girls perform live about 10 times. I try to make the show every time they’re in the area, and every time I come away from the concert feeling all full of love and other good stuff. Well … OK.Back in 2003, my oldest daughter Lena (then seven years old) asked if she could join me for a show. I hemmed and hawed about it. Was a concert at the Riverside appropriate for a seven year-old? Would she talk through it? Did I want to give up one of my rare chances for a kid-free evening? In the end, we ended-up with an extra ticket and I decided to give it a shot. I have good kids; they’re well-behaved and have a deep appreciation for music. Rehearsing for the show.The 24 hours before the concert, Lena played all the Indigo Girls music in the house. She wanted to be able to “sing along,” she said. She danced around the dining room where my little CD player was and practiced singing until she knew all the words. She asked me what she should wear. And then she asked her dad, her Auntie Jon and my best friend Becca. When it was time to go, she was ready, a little heady from the excitement [Ed. Note: she was hyper. But very cute. Jon Anne, a.k.a. Auntie Jon], but ready. The night of the show was freezing, with wind whipping up Wisconsin Avenue and burning our fingers and cheeks as we walked the four blocks from our car. Lena trudged along cheerfully next to us, not even complaining about the cold as much as we grown-ups. When we got inside and went to find our seats, there was the unmistakable stench of vomit. Someone had thrown up in the aisle we had to walk down. Lena picked her way around it, with just one question. “Mama? Does that happen at a lot of concerts?” Our seats were excellent, 5th row, Emily side (meaning we were to the right of the center of the stage). Lena was glad that we were on “Emily side” because Emily’s her favorite. We sat and chatted ‘til the lights went down and then Lena took my hand […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Lucky Tomaszek
Death Cab For Cutie
By Eric Lewin Death Cab for Cutie‘s Transatlanticism was the indie gorilla that kept hope alive for pop music; it seemed back on the upswing. A band with R.E.M.’s unique combination of indie smarts and pop sensibility had finally come home to roost. Even more hopeful is the notion that DCFC could match or, dare we dream, trump themselves with Plans. Is it possible? Well, not yet. Plans picks and chooses elements from DCFC’s back catalogue, and the results are hit and miss. Still remaining is Ben Gibbard’s melodic genius, which has very few contemporary rivals. “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” a beautiful acoustic number, might be the Prozac generation’s first wedding song. “Your Heart is An Empty Room” revisits some of Death Cab’s better baroque offerings and even steals a piano fill from Transatlanticism’s “Lightness.” Did they think no one would notice? Noted success aside, DCFC’s straying from their signature nuances is like watching a fastball pitcher try a split-finger knuckler – some of their liberties end up on the wrong side of the fence. The virtuosic homage to Rush at the end of “Different Names for the Same Thing” is an irrelevant coda to a bland song. Also gone is a good deal of DCFC’s pessimism: “Someday You Will Be Loved” is an enthusiastic goodbye to bad memories, for better or worse. After all, it’s hard to be sad when you’re getting shout-outs from Seth Cohen. Smile, My Space kids. Your favorite band will smile with you. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIEPlansAtlanticwww.deathcabforcutie.com Death Cab for Cutie‘s Transatlanticism was the indie gorilla that kept hope alive for pop music; it seemed back on the upswing. A band with R.E.M.’s unique combination of indie smarts and pop sensibility had finally come home to roost. Even more hopeful is the notion that DCFC could match or, dare we dream, trump themselves with Plans. Is it possible? Well, not yet. Plans picks and chooses elements from DCFC’s back catalogue, and the results are hit and miss. Still remaining is Ben Gibbard’s melodic genius, which has very few contemporary rivals. “I Will Follow You into the Dark,” a beautiful acoustic number, might be the Prozac generation’s first wedding song. “Your Heart is An Empty Room” revisits some of Death Cab’s better baroque offerings and even steals a piano fill from Transatlanticism’s “Lightness.” Did they think no one would notice? Noted success aside, DCFC’s straying from their signature nuances is like watching a fastball pitcher try a split-finger knuckler – some of their liberties end up on the wrong side of the fence. The virtuosic homage to Rush at the end of “Different Names for the Same Thing” is an irrelevant coda to a bland song. Also gone is a good deal of DCFC’s pessimism: “Someday You Will Be Loved” is an enthusiastic goodbye to bad memories, for better or worse. After all, it’s hard to be sad when you’re getting shout-outs from Seth Cohen. Smile, My Space kids. Your favorite band will […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Crazy Water Shines
By Catherine McGarry Miller Crazy Water 839 S. 2nd St. 414-645-2606 Dinner 7 days a week, 5-9 p.m.; Fri. and Sat. until ten Culinary performance artist Peggy Magister plays nightly in the window of her popular Walker’s Point restaurant, Crazy Water. She’s on stage more and closer to her audience than most Broadway stars. If I were in her clogs, I’m sure some choice expletives would escape now and then. “I do swear,” she admits. “You just can’t hear it over the fan!” Besides, she continues, “there’s really no one to swear at – the people I work with are too good. I like working in the open – I get to see what’s happening out front and get immediate feed back because I’m not removed from what’s happening.” The Milwaukee native was inspired by her mother’s home cooking, and as a girl started baking cinnamon and sugar pastry cookies from her mother’s pie dough scraps. She enjoyed duplicating fancy desserts from magazine covers, like caramelized walnut tortes and pastry shell jewel baskets bursting with fruit. By high school, Magister was hosting elaborate dinner parties for family and friends. “I subscribed to Bon Appetit. I have all of them and pull them out all the time. That’s how I learned to cook – mostly from magazines.” Magister studied business at Boston University and then completed a degree in nursing at Marquette. After working for five years as a nurse in Seattle, her mother died and she moved back to Milwaukee to be near her father. It was then that the would-be chef began administering to customers through their taste buds instead of I.V.s. A job at La Boulangerie was a vocational turning point. “I had no cooking skills whatsoever,” Magister says. “(Owners) Lynn and Dale Rhyan gave me my palate. Lynn, a classically trained chef, took me under her wing and taught me everything. She taught me how to taste something – that’s what I think is so important. There are tons of restaurants that are busy, but there not tons that have great food. Many chefs can do basics, but if you don’t have a palate, it’s like painting with technique but no sense of color.” The experience whetted Magister’s appetite for culinary education. She got her degree from the California Culinary Academy in San Franciso and on-the-job experience at Wolfgang Puck’s Postrio. Though the famed gastronome was rarely in attendance, she got valuable training in all aspects of cookery from butchery to bakery. Both homesick and wanting to make a mark in her field, Magister again returned to Milwaukee. Chip ‘N Py’s offered her the perfect opportunity. “I wanted a job with more responsibilities and didn’t want to start at the bottom. Chip ‘N Py’s was looking for a lead lunch cook to plan a menu, cost it out and implement it.” There she met Tony Betzhold, who became her business partner. Together, they launched a catering business and, later, The Fork restaurant in Cedarburg. Since then, the […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Cate Miller
Kanye West
By Kevin Krekling On his new album Late Registration, Kanye West proclaims “I think I died in that accident, ‘cause this must be heaven.” Boy, is he right. Ever since the release of his monster debut The College Dropout, Kanye has been everywhere. He went from the Grammy’s to Hurricane Katrina benefits and, most importantly, the top of the hip-hop world. His beats are going for about $75,000 a song and a 16-bar verse might cost you more. Is he worth it? If Late Registration is any proof, the answer is a resounding yes. Knowing that it would be impossible (and boring) to make a College Dropout Vol. 2, Kanye ditches the “old soul sped-up sample” style he perfected and moves on. In an attempt to tackle some new sounds and genres, West enlists Grammy-award winning (and completely non hip-hop) Jon Brion to serve as co-producer for the album. A risky move indeed, but the gamble pays off. The result is the best hip-hop album of the year (although 2005 was a very weak year for hip-hop) and also the most imaginative. From the syrup-sippin’ Dirty South anthem “Drive Slow,” to the baby mama-drama of “Gold Digger,” to the overdramatic, James Bond-sampling “Diamonds Are Forever,” the album is chocked full of excitement. Initially, some cuts don’t seem like they should work (who puts Maroon 5’s Adam Levine on a hip-hop song, anyways?), but they do. The one knock on West is his mic skills. Although his flow is thought provoking, funny (“she said she want diamonds, I took her to Ruby Tuesdays”), and creative, West doesn’t have the natural voice of a Biggie Smalls or Method Man, and sometimes the music suffers. On the album’s best song, “Gone,” his vocal shortcomings are magnified when he is simply overpowered by the verses of superior MC’s such as Cam’ron and Consequence. But those moments are few and far between, so it is not worth shutting the album off. Late Registration is not The College Dropout. In many ways, it’s better. VS
Oct 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
A Teenage Symphony to Milwaukee
I’ve been living in this city for exactly nine years – long enough to have left a wake of half-blurred musical memories behind me, but not quite long enough to have figured out what they all mean, how these haphazard fragments of rock shows, local bands, and desperate music can possibly fit together into a greater context. For me, the Milwaukee music scene – as well as the city itself – represents a decades old repository for the casually discarded memories of hundreds upon hundreds of musicians, bands, and the obviously troubled souls who perform on open mic nights. Beyond any particular style, movement or trend, it’s this random wreckage scattered throughout the past nine years that truly makes our music scene what it is: a long, collective, drunken night out. While brimming with good times and great oldies, it’s no secret that the Brew City warehouse has never exactly been a hotbed of breakthrough artists. In the obscenely short lifespan of rock and roll, how many life-altering, earth-shattering, “I lost it to that song!” bands have come out of Milwaukee? Here’s a hint: if you’re the type of person who needs to count using your fingers and you happen to be short one arm, you’ll do just fine. Along with this sobering statistic comes a peculiar breed of person who curses the local music scene, who wishes it ill will and tragedy at all turns: a nice place to live, but a terrible place for music. After all, they cry, has there ever been a more apathetic, unwelcoming city in which to shelter a Brit-pop/hardcore/shoegazer/art-damaged/early Kinks-influenced juggling act? Or how about a band (ahem) that owes its entire existence to They Might Be Giants and The Dead Milkmen? These people never tire in pining for the more “music-friendly” cities of Chicago, Portland, or – I don’t know – Hoboken, New Jersey. Their callous derision, their knee-jerk contempt, their out-of-pocket dismissal can only mean one of two things: they’re complete idiots, or, more likely, their bands simply suck. Over the past almost-a-decade, I’ve done what every semi-successful local musician has done – I’ve come to terms with this city. For every night of dwindling crowds, stolen equipment, or god awful opening bands, there’s been a dozen filled with unexpected revelations, note-perfect music, and unbridled joy. Seeing Of Montreal putting on a play at the pre-remodeled Cactus Club. Playing with Sylvain Sylvain from the New York Dolls. Or, better yet, opening up for the SuicideGirls Burlesque Show. The naysayers have it all wrong; it’s not about the final destination; it’s about the alcohol-infused folly along the way: the nights spent with tireless friends dragging equipment on-stage, with unknown fans singing along to every word, with effortless and stupid grins lighting our faces. Good times. This is Vital’s music issue, and strangely, I find I have little to say on the state of the scene. What’s missing is the distance needed to put everything in perspective, the cool detachment required for such […]
Oct 1st, 2005 by Matt Wild
