The Phantom Critic

My Face From the World

2006-07-20T18:03:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

At last! My week of much suffering has finally come to an end, though there are few who even know what a hellacious week this has been - the downside to a solitary ghostly existence. Seems behind-the-scenes work is something that only those behind the scenes can ever truly appreciate. That said, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank me for all my hard work. Without me to help me, this wouldn’t have been possible. I must remember to give myself a raise.

But enough of my grandstanding. Let me save you some of you the trouble – if you’re skimming this for the winners of the Band Battle, scroll down for the bold yellow text. There. Now read it and go. What delighted me most about this final fight is that I got almost as many votes asking for certain bands to lose as I did demanding that they win. The thought of a band who’s musical contributions can inspire people to insist they be decapitated and sodomized (in that order) is enough to warm even my cold heart. Furthermore, there were enough suggestions for creative deaths that I may need to release a “director’s cut” version of this fight where I start killing off musicians in other bands who happened to get too close to the melee. That I am not the only person who finds humor in putting blowfish poison on the neck of someone’s bass or luring a fat drummer into a blast furnace with Pop Tarts says that my contributions in the form of the Phantom have not been in vain.

Last week, I promised that I would be taking off my mask today, and I intend to keep that promise. But after guarding my identity so closely for this long (spies, lies, holograms, and stunt doubles), unmasking myself without a clear purpose would essentially be nothing less than a publicity stunt and such things (did I mention I was on the radio?!) are beneath me. If you ignore the fact I brutally murdered over a dozen of my colleagues for comic relief, you’ll see that my goal has always been to call attention to Roanoke’s musical talents and to give everyone a resource for listening and looking at themselves through a critical eye. Most of you have gotten that. Some of you haven’t, and I doubt you ever will, but I’ve made peace with that. You think I’m obnoxious and I think you’re dense. You’ll tell yourself that I’m just jealous of the people I insult, and I’ll console myself with the knowledge that I can play 64ths.

The first purpose in taking my mask off is so that I may assume a new role – starting in the Aug. 3rd issue, your Phantom will become the Roanoke Times’ new local music guru. As such, I’ll be writing the Top Tickets and Q&A sections of the Times’ printed and online versions of the InsideOut, working harder than I already do to put the focus on our scene. That means a new weekly look at all the best shows in the area, more exposure and face-time for the bands, and every ounce of the endearing charm you’ve come to expect from me. And as if that wasn’t cool enough, consider my new website initiative:

http://www.rocknroanoke.com

Designed as the first Roanoke-specific local band website, it’s a project I’ve been thinking about doing since before I ever put the mask on. But this is more than just a glorified collection of a few names – I plan on giving you everything from comprehensive show listings to cd reviews and album highlights, to all the latest gossip and news from around the scene. We’ll feature an Artist of the Month (more on that later), plan and finance special live events, and continue my tried-and-true method of celebrating the truth and how much it hurts. The site you see today is just the initial offering, with more features already planned. The part I think you’ll be most interested in is that it is absolutely free. It doesn’t require any money or effort on the part of the bands to get listed. It’s all part of my vision for putting as much emphasis on the efforts of local talent as my time and personal resources will allow. Perhaps it’s a good deed designed to compensate for my otherwise complete lack of humanity. We may never know. And don’t worry about updates. If you want to stay in touch to keep me up to date on what you’re doing, that’s fine, but I’ll find you the same way I’ve always found you – by being right there, in the thick of it, the entire time.

About this fight. As I’m unable (and unwilling) to hand out a cash prize to the winner, I’ve tried to come up with something else as a decent prize, and the best idea I’ve had is to let the winner be our very first Artist of the Month. It lets me have something of small value to award the warriors who’ve survived, and helps me avoid the “hey, you’re showing favoritism!” argument that some stupid person would make when I had to pick someone out of a group at random. Being the Artist of the Month means there’ll be interviews, in-depth coverage of your shows, photos, maybe videos (do I feel like giving you video?), some audio opportunities, and whatever other shameless promotion vehicles come to my mind. After this first month, you’ll vote just as you did for the battle, telling me who you think should be included. That’s as much of this speech as I’ve rehearsed. Enjoy the site.

BAND FIGHT!

The Pop Rivets vs. Savior Bullets vs. The Discordian Society vs. Madrone

Having been the only band thus far to avoid losing any members, Savior Bullets was the most significant threat. Both Madrone and the Pop Rivets had been whittled to a single man each, and the Discordian Society was barely at half-strength. Not only had Bullets managed to live this long, but they’d stolen technology from the Illbotz in Round 2 and created robot versions of themselves to fight in their stead. But along the way, JD had successfully obtained a copy of the Book of the Dead from the Mystic Master of Weather, Robin Reed. Thanks to a helpful internet how-to, he’d found a rite that would let him raise the dead, and after mastering the chants, brought back the rest of Madrone.

With zombie versions of his own band mates under his control, he formed an alliance with the members of the Discordian Society to construct a trap to let them defeat Bullets’ bots. As the robo-band marched over the horizon, the zombies in Madrone charged in, persisting to fight despite being hacked at by lasers and forcing the machines back into Discordian’s clever trap - a pit of wet cement. As Bullets rushed to try and free their toys from sinking fast, they discovered Rivet Jason’s secret plan of attack in the form of landmines, placed strategically near their side of the field. The first unfortunate victim was Savior’s singer, who stepped squarely on a mine and was promptly blown to angry pieces. That blast triggered a second explosion, injuring their bassist who broke his neck in the roll back down the hill.

Fearing that JD’s zombies would eventually be turned on them, Discordian pulled a play of their own, jumping the dj with his back turned and wrestling the book away from him. Now in control of the undead members of Madrone, they gave them a new target – JD himself! Diving for his life from his former friends, he piled into Bullets as they were trying to free their robots, knocking Savior’s guitarist headfirst into the cement and tumbling with their drummer back down into the dangerous mine field. While they both managed to avoid the triggers, the reckless zombies weren’t so fortunate, aimlessly blowing themselves to pieces in pursuit of their target. Coming to their feet, JD struck a bargain with the last survivor of Savior, promising to raise his fallen band mates in exchange for helping him get his book back. Hearing of the opportunity to get his own band back, Jason emerged from the invisibility cloak he’d sent away for some years back as part of a cereal box giveaway. The three of them would get the drop on Discordian, get back the book and settle this, band-to-band-to-band, in a fair fight.

From out of nowhere they emerged, putting knives into the backs of both members of the Discordian Society and reclaiming the Book of the Dead. True to his word, JD began the rite, first raising Bullets’ singer. But Jason wasn’t looking for a fair fight, and produced a gun, shooting the drummer and immediately turning the weapon on JD. Demanding that his band be brought back, Jason held him at gunpoint. As the spirit of Brian from the Pop Rivets began to materialize, Hill signed JD off the air permanently with one to the face. But it seems JD had one last trick up his sleeve, giving Jason a taste of his own medicine. He’d actually revived Brian from Chinese Fire Drill, who’s zombie form tackled Jason over the hill and down into the land mines where they were both blown away.

Surveying the damage, the singer from Savior Bullets looked around. He’d died and still managed to get the win for his band by being the last man standing. And yet, without his band mates, such a victory seemed hollow. Waiting until he heard the ref announce Savior Bullets’ victory, he chose not to condemn himself to an eternity of loneliness. Picking up a mine and holding it to his chest, he squeezed the trigger. Savior Bullets won.

Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

You Keep Doing What

2006-07-13T19:04:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

Take a seat, boys and girls. It’s time for us to talk. I’ve been your faithful Phantom for months now, making the trek each week to catch as much as I could of Roanoke’s local music acts and writing to you about all that I see and hear. And rather I was kind to a band (was I ever kind to a band?) or not, people, it seemed, stayed interested. For the folks in bands, even those I hadn’t reviewed, it meant something to have someone barge in and shine a bit of light on their world. And for the people who didn’t play music (we call those people “spectators”), it was a chance to glimpse life on the other side of the stage.

The last few weeks have been very interesting for me, as the Phantom is getting the opportunity to take some long-standing ideas about ways to support local music and make them real. In assessing how I can best serve the musicians and fans who’ve come to support me as I support them, I’ve made a very important decision:

Next week, the Phantom is going to take off his mask.

You read that right. In next week’s column, I am going to unmask myself, revealing my true identity to the world. Some of you may be very disappointed when you find out I’m not nearly as cool of a person as you’ve no doubt imagined I must be. Some of you may be shocked. Some of you may have guessed who I was months ago (in which case, I will just pretend you were still completely amazed at the revelation). Some of you may want to take your revenge. Alright, MOST of you probably want to take your revenge. It’s to be expected.

But getting to see my face isn’t really the exciting news. Not even close. There’s plenty of new stuff on the horizon that I’m looking forward to bringing you, as I intend to do more without the mask than I ever did with it. This is including, but not limited to, a new web project that I’ve had in the works for several months. Despite my overwhelming enthusiasm, I am going to keep the details under wraps until next week’s unveiling, but I can tell you that I’m planning it to be a huge asset to local music. I’ll explain it all a bit more next week, but in the meantime, I’ll be making a brief stop by the WROV studios during this week’s Homegrown Show (Sunday night, 9-10pm on 96.3) and may drop a little more information…but you’ll have to wait and see.

But before I go to shave off my beard for next week’s close-up, we’ve a band battle to address. A record number of votes this week, and a continued outpouring of criticism from people who keep thinking this is a talent competition. I got a lot of well-written insight on several of these bands, and I did enjoy the perspective. Yet I really thought most people would’ve figured out what the goal was by now, especially once folks started pulling out tridents and blowing each other up. I suppose bands rising from the dead or getting impaled by power tools is more common than I thought. And here I’d hoped to be original…

The Pop Rivets vs. Drivn: Both bands advanced to the next round, but not without sustaining heavy losses. Now these two solo acts meet face-to-chiseled face. Agreeing to a gentleman’s contest of dueling pistols, the two met to shake hands, but Jason hadn’t abandoned the trickery that’s brought him this far. Behind the pleasantries, his well-meaning handshake concealed a lethal surprise. Armed only with a electric joy buzzer that he’d somehow wired to the transformer outside, the Pop Rivets’ last man melted the skin right off the lead singer’s perfect bone structure. The Pop Rivets win.

Savior Bullets vs. Illbotz: Deciding to leverage their street cred against the boys in Bullets, the Illbotz came prepared, arriving with an entourage packing more firepower than P. Diddy’s road crew. Outnumbering their rock band adversaries twenty to four, the hip-hoppers lined up to take their place in the next round. But it seems while they were sipping Courvoisier, Savior were busy making a plan to save their skin. Whilst everyone else was getting jiggy with it, they’d breached the Illbotz lab, stolen technical diagrams, and created their OWN botz – robotic hip-hop versions of themselves! As the Illbotz posse attempted to gun them down, the real Bullets led their mechanized counterparts on a rampage, cutting the MC’s and their homies to pieces with friggin’ lasers that Chris suggested they install in the eyes. Savior Bullets wins.

The Discordian Society vs. Cobalt Media: Raising some quick cash from their loyal fanbase, Discordian Society hired mercenaries in the form of Chris Shepard, Corey Hunley, and Charlie Hamill. This band of rogues would attack Media head-on, drawing the full fury of the assault, allowing the Discordian Society the opportunity to catch their foes off guard. But it seems mercenaries aren’t so reliable as you might hope, and when the hour came, the Society was without their aid. Having no choice but to take up arms for themselves, they lost their guitarist immediately as Media’s ninja warrior stepped in, rammed his thumb into his eye, twisted his head off his shoulders, and used it as a bowling ball to knock down two others. Hoping to take the risk his band would need to win, Society’s frontman broke out his ACME Rocket Skates. Donning bat wings and picking up a lance, he fired up the skates and blasted into deadly range. Running his enemy through, he managed to deliver the fatal blow, but not before suffering one of his own, as the warrior used his final breath to punch out his killer’s heart. Even without their ninja, Cobalt Media still held the numbers advantage. Better late than never, however, Society’s hired help finally arrived on the scene and made short work on what was left of Cobalt Media. The Discordian Society wins.

Dark Ruin vs. Madrone: Risen from the dead and seemingly invincible, Dark Ruin looked to put away the last survivor of Madrone and go on the final round. As the sun went down, the undead headbangers waited outside the radio station to feast on their helpless opponent. But they got something they didn’t expect. Collecting his guitars, cars, baseball cards, concert tickets, comic books, antiques, stock certificates, and every last dollar he had, JD had struck a bargain with the one man able to help him: the legendary Robin Reed. Able to barter for Reed’s copy of the Book of the Dead, the dj sent the souls of Dark Ruin back to the underworld, rendering them mortal. As a mob of angry Cave Spring citizens chased them into the hills with torches and pitchforks, the ref raised JD’s arm in victory. Madrone wins.

Next week’s fight will be the final battle, with all four of the remaining bands slugging it out for supremacy. You tell me, who wins in a fight between:

The Pop Rivets vs. Savior Bullets vs. The Discordian Society vs. Madrone

What more can I say? Will see you all next week for the biggest announcement of my career. What an interesting week this is going to be. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Beautiful for Patriot Dream

2006-07-06T17:00:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

I am, as expected, on vacation, but will be returning next week with a BIG announcement.

Remember to cast your votes in the Band Battle:

The Pop Rivets vs. Drivn
Savior Bullets vs. Illbotz
The Discordian Society vs. Cobalt Media
Dark Ruin vs. Madrone

Bottle rockets and boats really don't mix. Should have enough bail money raised to make it out in time for a show. Major news coming next week, so don't miss out. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

The Devil Deals the Cards

2006-06-30T17:10:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

Yes, I’m late. Dock my pay. But nearly all the water is out of my basement, and since it looks like I might get an hour or two without rain, I thought I’d take this column outdoors. It only took a whopping ten minutes for me to miss my air conditioner, though, so we’re safely back inside, packing for my 4th of July vacation. I fully intend to violate as many fireworks safety rules as possible, so careful preparation is required. And even though my time of relaxation looms on the horizon, I’m still sitting here at the keyboard. Still writing, just for you. Well, not necessarily for YOU per se, but for a reader that I actually like. Of course, I could point out that I don’t really like anyone, but then I might have an identity crisis, and no one wants that. Not yet, anyway…

While I might need to make some “me” time to get my motivations in order, I have quite a bit of mail regarding last week’s Battle of the Bands (no, not mine; the one hosted by The Venus Transit) that I want to get to. Following 6 weeks of preliminary voting controversy and 3 nights of judged performances, the finale of the Transit’s supposed good deed did plenty to get people talking. What sort of Phantom would I be if I didn’t listen?

“..so what was the point to the whole thing? One band walked away with the money and the only people who really got the spotlight were the hosting band.”

Not true. The publicity was valuable to everyone. This was more than just getting your name on a flyer. It was about crossing some genre barriers and getting exposure to fans who might legitimately hear someone new and latch on. There were more people at the shows than I’ve ever seen come out for some of these bands, so for a lot of guys, it was a good way to get heard, and a great opportunity to make some local connections (if one were so inclined). I can safely predict that many of these acts will be teaming up at gigs for like-minded mayhem very soon. It was also a good vehicle to whore band merch, complete with sales table and professional display.

“Man, f*** the judges! What do those a**h**** know? Only f***in people whose opinion mattered was the crowd. They shoulda been the judge”

Quite a few people wrote in to share a similar sentiment, but I just opted to print the one with the best profanity. I can see where a lot of these people are coming from, but the only time that crowd-based judging works in smaller numbers is at a wet t-shirt contest (FLASH: free show gimmick idea to anyone who wants to make good on it). If the audience were responsible for choosing a winner, the contest then becomes about who can get more of their people in the door, and who’s fat mother can yell the loudest. [*shudders*]

“Speak of the Devil should’ve won. Why do you think they didn’t?”

“K1 deserved to win. They were a better band with a different sound.”

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda. Both Steeltame and Speak of the Devil played pretty intense sets on the final night, and having reviewed both bands in the past, I saw both take their games to a new level. The people who cheered for them aren’t going anywhere, so loss is a subjective term. If they maintain that intensity when a cash prize isn’t on the line, they’ve made a huge leap forward.

But people want to talk about the voting. They always do. The losers want to know why they lost, and the winners feel eager to explain. As for why they didn’t win, I’ve heard a lot of explanations in the days since about how the voting was decided, but as I understand the official evaluation, K-1 Royal’s win was based on their ability to engage and excite a crowd they had no prior relationship with. Being from out of town, they were able to blindly win people over, as opposed to someone performing for their pre-established fan base.

It certainly sounds rational – almost too rational. Something that rational sounds….rationalized. You be the judge, so we can move on. In the future, though, I recommend The Venus Transit take an active PR role in ensuring their own members don’t undermine them. Thanking K-1 Royal in a public forum for “not playing heavy metal” looks worse than having a Limp Bizkit cover as your most requested song. It’s sharp, but I trust you get my point.

Vacation is calling, but you’ve been waiting for it – so here it is. The results of this week’s most triumphant Band vs. Band grudge matches.

Madrone vs. Half Moon: The normally laid-back cats in Half Moon had a score to settle, breaking out the brass and surprising Madrone as they slept, unleashing a trumpet blast designed to bring the building down. But only the bassist was asleep in his bed; the rest were out at an after-party, arriving as Half Moon sifted through the rubble. Laying down on the gas with intent to finally put the ROV van to good use, Madrone tore in. Speeding recklessly into the fray, they mowed down hipsters until a well-placed Molotov cocktail got through the passenger window, frying the guitarist and leaving the drummer to gravity’s cruel kiss as JD made a last-second dive from the driver’s seat. Finding himself alone against the jam band survivors, he channeled his radio power to call to his aid the fury of a dozen, cute summer interns. Underpaid and underdressed, they arrived on the scene to assist their mighty mentor, until Half Moon’s singer pulled a stunt of his own. Turning on the irresistible cool, he became the slickest dude within a quarter mile, flocking the interns to him as though he were Elvis. But charm, it seems, can be a two-edged sword, and he realized it with his last breath as the mob crushed in about him. Trying to pull their suave leader from the clutches of hormonal groupies, they never saw the stampede of metalheads running their way until one of them looked down and noticed the Metallica tickets JD had just thrown at their feet. Madrone wins.

Burning Bridges vs. Drivn: No surprise encounters. No sneak attacks. This was old school, in the middle of downtown at high noon. Every man armed to his own preference, the singer from BB fired the first shot. Loading up his bow, he quickly put an arrow in the eye of Drivn’s mace-wielding, second guitarist, getting two-for-one as the dead man’s arms flailed dangerously in the air as he fell. As he fumbled the medieval weapon into the skull of the bassist, what once was five was suddenly three. Squaring off on each other, the drummers prepared to unleash hell, but the master of the digital kit couldn’t hold up against the real hardware that Drivn broke out, as a sharp cymbal painfully obligated him to a future in a Def Leppard tribute band. Holding their advantage, Bridges charged, but just as they prepared to overwhelm their enemy, an unexpected shot rang out. From across the way, the surviving keyboardist from the Worx planted a vengeful sniper shot in the temple of BB’s burly bassman. Stopping suddenly at the sound, Isaiah paid the price as Drivn’s guitarist put a trident through his chest. Picking up Kenny’s power drill, Bridges’ singer lunged for his cymbal-tossing enemy, burying the bit into his heart and giving it a spin for good measure. Unarmed but not out of ideas, Kenny attacked his string-bending counterpart in retaliation for Isaiah’s untimely demise, taking off his own shoe to deliver a personal hammer-on. Running to his bandmate’s side, however, the voice of Burning Bridges took a tumble and landed on 4 steel inches of his own irony. Now one on one with Drivn’s singer, Kenny stood and took aim. His shoe rocketed through the air towards Trampus’ face, but then…that look. Blinded by the beauty of “Magnum!”, Kenny AND his shoe froze at how ridiculously good-looking the frontman was. He could only stare in amazement as Drivn’s vocalist sang him his swan song with a microphone stand to the head. Drivn wins.

Won’t know if there will be a column next week until I get an idea of how much liquor I’m going to consume over the weekend. Once I sober up, we'll break out brackets for the last 8 bands in our battle. Keep those emails coming, and have a safe holiday. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Just Push Until It Breaks

2006-06-22T16:53:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

The hits just keep on coming, loyal readers. Despite lacking any significant venom, this week’s batch of mail set a new record for the most number of deliberate insults I’ve recieved to date. Here are just a few of my favorites:

“entirely too arrogant to be considered entertaining…”
“…conceited…and dull.”
“bitterly condescending…”
“just useless” (short, but pointed)
“a jackass know-it-all”
“…probably a racist bigot” (WTF?)
“worst thing to happen to Roanoke’s musicians…” (since…what, exactly?)
“one gutless m*therf***er”

Inspiring. I’m waiting for that fateful day when someone calls me a “stupidhead” so I can print and frame the letter, retire, and enjoy the rest of my life in self-assured comfort. But until then, I remain your faithful Phantom. And as such, I took my ghostly self on a trip to see the much-hyped The Venus Transit Presents: Battle of the Bands. The 4-day event has been heavily promoted over the last 6 weeks, making waves back in May with controversy over it’s preliminary voting sessions.

It seems Transit’s penchant for “technical difficulties” once again reared it’s head when fans began circulating rumors that the online poll on their website could be tricked, effectively allowing someone to vote repeatedly. Total counts for specific bands began escalating in suspiciously short bursts, and many odds-on favorites never made it past the first round. While quite a few folks cried foul, Venus Transit denied any doctoring, maintaining their intentions to provide the contest in support of the local scene and reminding everything that their part in the show was exhibition only (i.e. not for votes). With the 12 finalists selected, the nights were divided up as follows:

Battle Night 1:
Something About Sarai, The Trashbag Ponchos, Steeltame, F.L.I.P.T (formerly False Evolution)

Battle Night 2:
Leviathan, Speak of the Devil, Aggressor State, Red Light Syndrome

Battle Night 3:
Broken Symbol, Kaottick, Savior Bullets, K-1 Royal

Before I get to the winners, I have to wonder aloud why I was not asked to be a judge. Every band was graded on various aspects of their performance, and given feedback sheets from each judge with comments intended to give perspective on their live shows. What a novel concept. Maybe next time I’ll host my own battle of the bands…

Several of the finalists you should recognize if you’re a regular reader, but that didn’t stop me from cramming all 12 bands into my ears just to see what competition did to everyone. With prize money (and pride) on the line, it sparked some new fire in the acts I’d seen and helped make strong impressions of the ones I hadn’t.

An assorted mix of every major genre of angry young people’s music (i.e. screamo, punk, hardcore, emo, thrash, etc.), every bill was well divided and organized. I’ve commented in the past about how difficult it is to coordinate multi-band events and keep things running smoothly, but there were no enemies (except maybe in the pit…) and it helps that several of these young bands are starting to come into their own as mature gigging musicians, accumulating the necessary experience to build lucrative careers out of their hobbies.

When evaluating these bands, it is important to keep something in mind. As elementary as it sounds, peer pressure plays a much larger role in affecting the performance of high school/college-age groups than it does in older musicians, mostly because of what people tend to expect. Despite having a busier schedule and better paycheck, adult bands have generally lower standards set on them by their crowds. The simple truth is that for your average bar patron, a band’s performance tends to be part of the overall setting rather than the main attraction. But to these kids who are socializing within their limited circles and are under the age to drink, guess who gets put front and center? Having to act out and entertain is hard enough, but doing it in front of people sober enough to recall the details the following day? Scary.

Of course, I’ll stop short of saying something stupid like “they’re all winners,” because I don’t make a habit of lying in my column. You can’t have winners unless you have losers, and after eliminating 9 bands, the lineup for the final night is:

Steeltame
Speak of the Devil
K-1 Royal
Venus Transit (exhibition, aka “we paid for the damn thing, we ought to be able to play”)

Whoever wins, every act has already benefited from the publicity and cross-genre exposure, and we have the hilarious thoughts of what some of these guys might’ve looked like when they cried after losing. Aside from the somewhat questionable entry process, events like this are definite positives and something I’d like to see more of. To the club owners out there, I encourage you to host your own battle. And the prize? Maybe one of those coveted Friday or Saturday spots in your illustrious establishment...

But let’s not forget the real battle. This week’s results are in, and our bloody street fight has claimed the lives of two more local acts:

The Pop Rivets vs. Chinese Fire Drill: Caught off guard by the renegades in CFD, the Rivets were forced to defend themselves with their bare hands. A savage struggle, Fire Drill’s surprise attack give them the upper hand as they killed the Rivets’ keyboardist with a vicious chainsaw blow to the neck. The Rivets’ drummer attacked CFD’s singer, but the fight took them into traffic, and both were defeated by an SUV. Brian from the Rivets attacked Isaiah from CFD, and managed to strangle him with a bass string before being knifed by Brian from CFD, who could then only look on as the two Jason’s battled it out. Pleading for help, both men claimed to be Brian’s ally, forcing him to deduce his real friend. Finally convinced he had the right man, he attacked and killed the Jason from the Pop Rivets. Except [twist!] it was the wrong Jason, who’s hug of celebration turned deadly. The Pop Rivets win.

Cobalt Media vs. The Cheap Seats: The Cheap Seats took a swing at mastering cheap shots when they dropped Media’s singer with a merciless golf club shot that helped him finally hit those high notes. Immune to such attacks however, the girl guitarist from Cobalt Media let fly a fingernail assault that drove the Seats back across the stage and into the waiting flames of 1989 stage pyro. Jumping for his life, but unskilled at stage diving, the singer for the Cheap Seats fell victim to his own fashion when he caught his tie in an industrial paper shredder. We don’t know why it was there, either. With no where to go but out of the frying pan and into the fire, the Seats resorted to a mellow 3-part harmony to try and lull their enemies to sleep. It narrowly worked, as one-by-one the members of Media fell under the spell of their dulcet tones – all except the drummer, who was apparently a super-secret ninja warrior and couldn’t be hypnotized. He killed them all with a pair of car keys he took out of his singer’s pocket. Cobalt Media wins.

Blood, guts, battles, bands, and bad jokes. Nowhere else but here. As I said last week, update me if your band is releasing a cd soon. If it’s something I can get a listen to, I want to talk about it. And about you. Behind your back. To your mother. Still trying to determine who’ll be the next band I interview, so if you are interested, let me know. You’re not afraid I’ll be mean, are you?

Also, make sure to vote for next week’s fights:
Madrone vs. Half Moon
Burning Bridges vs. Drivn

That about does it for me this week. You keep writing and I’ll keep complaining. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Sign On the Road Ahead

2006-06-15T16:26:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

“I find it extremely unlikely that you’ve ever been a part of a Square Society event. It’s unfortunate that you would make those sort of comments without having the first clue what you are talking about. [skip ahead, what would I know about taste, blah, blah] Members are culturally interested, active professionals who support the Center through fundraising and volunteer activities.”

Last week’s column ruffled some feathers. I knew I would upset more than a few bar owners, and I was right. I knew I would irritate the ABC board. Mission accomplished there. But a scolding message about my Square Society comments, and it’s not even from the guy in the Chiquita Banana Girl costume? Total shock. I might even have apologized to that guy if he’d written me, but instead I get this, from the desk of the eternally inane. Some upstanding young professional took the time to drop me a line and give me a good, stern talking-to…and boy, did it hurt. My sides are still aching from laughing so hard. By now, I’m accustomed to all kinds of nasty messages. Threats, snide comments, challenges on my manhood, etc. – all part of the job, and sometimes my favorite part.

You see, if I write something unflattering about a band or one of their shows, I might occasionally get a comment from one of the members, or maybe even a note from the drummer’s mom (I’m being serious). Or if I pick on a band with a fan base that stretches beyond the immediate family, I could get yelled at by a loyal follower. But in all those cases, no matter how obtuse the attack, I can usually understand their connection to the situation and figure out where they’re coming from (before I publish their idiocy to the world and ridicule them for it). Which is why, the more I read this letter, the harder I laugh.

When read carefully, I’m convinced this message isn’t from an actual member of the Square Society. Not that I’m assuming anything of their qualifications, but the last line is an exact quote lifted right from the verbiage on their website. Astounding! Someone took the time to tell me what an uncouth piece of a social crap I am for making an offhand comment about a group they aren’t a member of, and then chose to drive their point home by quoting - the mission statement? It’s the unoriginality I find the most offensive. I could probably go and sissy-smack the Tom Cruise look-alike that fronts The Venus Transit, and he’d tell me to "f*-off" with more imagination than this. But that’s not even all of it. Right behind that letter, we have this:

“Since when did a blog on band activities in the Valley become an arena for your personal opinions? I intend to write a letter to your editor, thanking them for allowing you to dismiss the irresponsibility of musicians and their fans as only having a good time and to make light of a very serious issue [drunk driving].”

Since when did a blog on band activities in the Valley become an arena for my personal opinions? Well, this is just a conservative estimate, but probably right around the time I started writing it. A lot of people seem to miss that point – I write and say what I want because I have the space to do so. I’m not really clear when this became “a blog on band activities,” since that sounds suspiciously like I talk about trumpets and band camp, but we’ll overlook that. What I can’t figure out is where in my last column I made light of drunk driving. It’s no secret that a lot of musicians drink, and bands on the bar circuit tend to encourage it because when they increase a bar’s revenue, they get paid more (and get invited back), but I reread last week’s piece and don’t recall dismissing anything. I suggested a more realistic approach to understanding that drinking can get out of hand in every situation, and think it’s unfair to point fingers at a band because of some supposed recklessness that they and/or their music create. The difference is that bands do less to disguise their motives and that is likely why they are singled out. Unfortunately, reading the Letters to the Editor section always makes me sleepy, so I don’t know if this person is really going to write in or not (note: someone let me know if they come across anything) but it will never cease to amaze me how the best causes always seem to get the stupidest spokespeople.

Moving on, you may have noticed that I’ve started adding upcoming show dates of bands I’ve reviewed on the calendar of my MySpace account. I’ll do what I can to keep it as accurate and up-to-date as possible, but I encourage bands to keep me informed of what they’ve got going on so that I can tell the good townspeople what they’re missing and call them names for not supporting you. And then I can call you names if no one likes you. Or because I feel like it.

And lastly, we have the winners of this week’s Band Battle, or as I started calling it on Tuesday, “Last Band Standing.” In case you’re thickheaded and haven’t read my previous statements on this, let me just remind everyone again. This is NOT a contest of musical talent, creativity, originality, or entertainment prowess. It’s to answer the question of who would win if 16 of the area’s most popular local acts fought each other, to the death, in no-holds-barred street fights.

Dark Ruin vs. Crobar Cane: Once again the numbers game just didn’t play out. The good ole’ boys of Crobar Cane showed up armed and strong, but Southern Comfort wasn’t enough against spirits from beyond the grave. After Cane put a few rounds in the bellies of the metal heads, it looked to be all over. But the most evil band in the tournament harnessed the power of netherworld to revive themselves. Unable to defend against the forces of darkness, Crobar Cane became country-fried zombie food. Dark Ruin wins.

Illbotz vs. Aggressor State: Roanoke’s tricked-out MC’s didn’t need two turntables and microphone to take a freestyle battle against the speed metal kids in Aggressor State. I thought it would be funny if I tried to make this battle rhyme, but I ran out of time and me trying to rap is nothing short of a crime. The Botz took the advantage by dropping Aggressor State’s drummer the night before the fight, and distracted their second guitarist with the illest pair of 1989 Air Jordans he’s seen since Ebay. Popped two caps and it was over. Fool. The Illbotz win.

Make sure to write in and vote for the winners of next week’s fights:
The Pop Rivets vs. Chinese Fire Drill
Cobalt Media vs. The Cheap Seats

Will dig myself out from under the mountain of reader mail to do another show review AND I need to start deciding what band I’ll be interviewing next. I’m also interested in talking about bands who have cd’s coming out, so drop me a line and do something other than complain. That’s my job. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Someone Send A Message Out to Justice

2006-06-08T10:18:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

The plan was to do a show review this week. Really. I had a few relaxing days over the holiday weekend, caught a couple of shows, and came back to the keyboard armed and ready. But my readers had something else in mind. You see, in the time since I’ve transformed myself into this ghostly entity, my willingness to spew anonymous venom toward the music scene has earned me an unofficial title. So unofficial, in fact, that I can’t even begin to give it a proper name. But I get mail each week from people who look to me as some kind of spokesperson, and I always find it fascinating. Seemingly free to say what I please, I get requests to comment on all kinds of issues, big and small. Rather than sacrifice my journalistic integrity and climb up on a soapbox, I’m content to let most of these petty things flow by, reserving my opinionated snipes for the musically inept. This time, though…

One of the most talked about and hotly contested pieces of drama to hit our little scene, the ABC’s actions against Smith Mountain Lake’s popular venue Mango’s have drawn fire since they were made public shortly before Memorial Day. Raiding the bar and arresting intoxicated patrons, the ABC’s undercover-yet-overeager mouthpiece went on to blame local band the Worx as the cause for the havoc. Many, including the erstwhile Band Girl, have openly criticized the board’s decision and subsequent media action, considering it further evidence of our out-of-touch bureaucracy hard at work. Whether or not such an establishment exists is irrelevant at the moment – that these types of actions have a lasting impact on every gigging band in the region is, however. And you wondered what this had to do with you…

The truth is that this is the sort of thing that shapes our musical landscape, and I point to it in direct response to every message I’ve gotten that has asked me how Roanoke got in the shape it is in. Musicians complain to me because there aren’t enough venues in town. Shooters took a major hit when they got busted and lost their license. Fortunately new ownership kept the venue alive, but the witch hunts are an erosion. Let me say what everyone is thinking. The board’s rules are broken on a weekly basis in just about each and every licensed bar in the city. Go look in Cornerstone. Or the Village Grille. Or Awful Arthur’s. Or Schooners. You will find someone who’s had too much to drink, and depending on the night, you can usually find quite a few. Do you really expect us to believe that you’re serious about enforcement? Or is it just political grandstanding for the community, and an opportunity outside of taxation to soak extra money out of local businesses? The board’s actions are the direct result of economics, not real problem-solving. Think about the disarray you would create if you fined every downtown bar until they went out of business. On the other hand, I’m sure the tax and commercial revenue from the complaining residents on the lake more than offset the loss of Mango’s. Get the picture?

Take the Worx out of the equation. Allowing an agent to make public statements drawing such a correlation demonstrates a complete lack of understanding about the nature and causes of the problem(s) their rulings are intended to address. No more or less offensive than any other run-of-the-mill bar band that works the circuit around here, the observations were unnecessary, unfounded, and more reflective of a personal bias than anything based in fact – something the agent’s wife tried to backpedal out of during the K92 broadcast. Obviously the band is willing to string itself up for the chance to gain exposure through martyrdom, but the board was clearly looking for someone to make an example of, and they were fortunate enough to fit the stereotype.

In contrast to their raucous party atmosphere, events perceived as “cultured” (like a Wine Festival, for example) persist as acceptable ways for adults to drink and socialize. And yet when the Square Society holds an event, despite the pretense of being upscale, it could be likened to a frat party in that the same fundamental things are going on. Granted, I’ve yet to see a black tie keg stand or the Editor of CITY magazine jumping out a window, but be honest. The objectives of single males (i.e. looking to leave with something they didn’t have when they got there) are a constant. The objectives of working adults looking to forget about their daily pressures are a constant. We all gather in different ways, but we do it for the same reason: hoping that we’ll get juiced up enough to make some bad decisions. Cheers!

So before my mouth starts earning me enemies, I’ve one more piece of business to address before I go: Band Fight! There’s been some confusion since my initial announcement, but let me clear it up. This is NOT a battle based on musical talent, creativity, originality, or entertainment prowess. It’s about determining who would win if these bands fought each other, to the death, in no-holds-barred street fights.

The Discordian Society vs. The Worx: Despite having more members and meaner guys, the Worx suffered a first round elimination after the resourceful TDS converted a “recreational water-powered smoke cooling device” into an explosive, cutting down everyone but the keyboardist, who’s been surviving similar attacks since the 60’s. Outnumbered and outgunned, he made a hasty retreat before he could be finished off. The Discordian Society wins.

Fire at Will vs. Savior Bullets: Equally matched, this encounter quickly degenerated into a gun battle. Unfortunately for Fire at Will, they lived up to their namesake, running out of ammo 30 seconds into the fight. Charging over the trash cans with foam forming at his mouth, Savior Bullets’ lead singer fired 4 shots and the battle was over. Savior Bullets wins.

Make sure to write in and vote for the winners of next week’s battles:
Illbotz vs. Aggressor State
Dark Ruin vs. Crobar Cane

Biting social commentary, impolite putdowns, and gratuitous band-on-band violence. Make sure they spell my name right on the Pulitzer. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

All I Ever Wanted

2006-05-31T13:56:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

Memorial Day = Vacation!

Yours truly will return next week with an all-new review, results from the first band battle, and new matchups for YOU to vote on. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

My Brain Into A Trance

2006-05-24T11:53:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

This week’s mail response absolutely stunned me. So many people wrote in sharing a laugh or two over last week’s “response,” that it almost outweighed the usual notes of negativity. It frightens to me to think that there might be people in Roanoke who are starting to think that I am funny, or worse still, clever – such a notion is indicative of brain trauma and I suggest you get yourself checked out immediately.

And that, dear friends, is a perfect setup for this week’s review of Signal 7. Thanks largely in part to the stream-of-consciousness frustration in their lyrics and erratic vocal performance, the only fitting description I’ve been able to come up with in the days since is “musical brain damage.” No, I have no idea what it means either. The sound is certainly rock, if only because no other genre may have them. Their attitude and delivery are punk at it’s Rottenest. I don’t know that they worship the devil outright, but they probably like him enough to invite him over for a cookout, so we’ll give them some metal cred. And while I don’t want to discount the talents of the guys playing the instruments, the singer is a pretty unique site to behold...

First, a quick lesson (for those of you without kids): The element of emotional turmoil in hardcore punk is widely classified today as simply “emo,” and it is characterized by songs that, for lack of better term, tend to sound like fights. The moods swings back and forth, often with rage followed by sorrow, then back to rage, and so on. In just about every case I’ve seen, the arguments are directed at some external tormentor with the singer/band usually lamenting themselves as a victim or venting randomly to the world (hence the frequent criticism of acts in the genre that can come off self-pitying or arrogant).

Whatever you call it, those in the business see it as another market to shop for the attention of angry teenagers, which of course means it’s already been reduced to a formula. This is where Signal 7 have an edge. For their singer, it’s a whole other battle – against himself. At any given time during their show, it would seem that there are 3 or 4 voices in his head vying for control of him, and subsequently of the microphone. They twist, laugh, snarl, and explode in every song as he lyrically explores the most basic elements of frustration in the everyman’s life.

Evoking thoughts of System of a Down if you substituted Armenia for Alabama, the major theme here is a musical agreement that life, in general, is a major pain in the ass. With a little less sorrow and lot more venom than their peers, it’s a no-frills recipe for being fed up that is bound to earn them a following. Behind the singer’s madness is a pretty tight musical ensemble – something else you don’t always find in their genre. While it can feel repetitious in parts, the melodies are quirky little lines that remind me of the mellower parts of Korn songs (you know, the creepy nursery rhyme approach) mixed with the sudden slamming of Fugazi, the overdrive of a mosh pit, and a few tricks so the guitarist feels assured that people don’t think he sucks.

Not nearly as dense in their instrumentation as some, the bassist is given more room to groove along with the songs, happily proving that he’s able to do more than just copy the root notes of the guitarist. Instead, they play off one another, usually going in opposite melodic directions to create the same kind of conflict musically that the singer creates vocally. The band’s drummer employs a fairly diverse range of beats, and is apparently important enough for the rest of the group to put the project on hold for several months while he served his country.

If you’re inclined to listen close enough, you’ll no doubt identify with the rants about life spent working for the man and dealing with other people’s sh*t. The music itself is fairly digestible even in the heaviest places, and you can always just watch and be entertained, wondering who’ll win the battle that is going on inside the singer’s head. Maybe he’ll lighten up and relax. Maybe he’ll get tired of performing and just leave. Or maybe he’ll strangle himself with the microphone cable. All seem extremely likely. For what it’s worth, his dementia is unlike any I’ve seen in town…for the better or worse is a decision I leave up to you.

Also, because I’ve been promising it for a while – the first two fights in this week’s Band Battle (a title I reserve the right to change as I see fit, at least until I come up with something I like better). Write in and vote for who you think should win (or lose…) in a fight between:

Fire At Will vs. Savior Bullets
The Worx vs. The Discordian Society

And speaking of the Worx, I recommend a read of the famous Band B*tch’s column this week, where she has a shockingly relevant piece about recent ABC actions and allegations. I’ve gotten a bit of mail on this particular topic myself, and may yet comment, but for now I encourage you to check out her well-written rant in lieu of one of my own. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

As Far Away As Eden

2006-05-17T16:47:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

This Phantom thing is b*lls*** bro. You’ve talked trash about some of my friend’s bands and then you come out and act all nice to some band that because it acts stupid you think they are cool. You can print this and talk shit all you can but just diggin for what you like is lame and so are you. [Band who’s name I edited out so they aren’t embarrassed by a stupid fan] f***** rules!

This has been the theme of most of the mail I’ve received over the last two weeks, and I love it. Not because I enjoy weeding through poorly written whines, but because as long as there are people out there who miss the point this much, I will always have a nerve to get on, and subsequently, a job. After months of hearing complaints that my brand of criticism is a negative influence on the “flourishing” Roanoke music scene, my mailbox has been besieged with blasts from people like the author above, who’ve mistaken neutrality for positivity and decided that I owe Chinese Fire Drill a tongue lashing. I’m not sure for what exactly, and apparently none of the people who wrote these letters are either. Instead, there are about a dozen or so folks who felt I’ve should’ve just insulted the band purely on principal, or as one woman put it, “to keep things fair.” It’s not in my nature to try and inspire, and when dealing with a band that would only turn negative comments into free publicity anyway, the most undermining course of action is clear: just be fair. It seems, however, that I’ve disappointed my fan base. So, to satisfy those people, I offer the following:

Moving on, this week’s show review finds us in the path of Steeltame, another of Roanoke’s proud representatives of the heavy metal underground; another furious act looking to forge an identity out of a formula. Just as I did in my review of Speak of the Devil (that you’ve read, of course), I have to observe the difficulty of being unique in this genre, especially in a world where as soon you do it, it’s been “done.” Unable to keep up with that kind of pacing creatively, artists of the world often look back instead of forward, systematically mining for fresh perspectives on old ideas. Then you get what we have here today – a band in the modern era attempting to set itself apart by embracing an older look and sound.

Once you get past the stomach-churning notion that music from the 1980’s (and even early 90’s) is now considered by these kids to be “classic,” you find that, at their best, Steeltame remind you of a Ride the Lightning-era Metallica tribute band (which may or may not be an insult, especially if you consider the alternatives). The pieces are all there: A wiry lead guitarist with a flair for exotic melodies and fingers just fast enough to impress. A drummer firing off beats with all the sporadic fright of a kid stuttering on the trigger of an automatic weapon. A bassist with a guitarist’s musical sensibilities, and penchant for complimenting the drummer’s stomping feet. And then there’s the guitarist/front man. As if he studied under the tutelage of James Hetfield his entire life (save for that one day when Zakk Wylde substituted and taught him false harmonics), he cranks out one Sabbath-inspired guitar riff after another, preaching doom from the stage with a sadistic snarl and visible “I might have rabies” tremors that I haven’t seen since Beavis stopped getting air time.

Fortunately, his position as some sort of hateful prophet does more for the band than just give me something to make jokes about. In Roanoke’s landscape of screamo metal, a singing vocalist is a major part of their identity, and in this case, a fun thing to actually watch. For the time he is on stage, his fidgeting tendencies and wild-eyed vigor are a perfect fit for his demolishing rhythms. Drenched in sweat and seemingly moments away from complete meltdown, he has all the undeniable charisma of a ticking time bomb. You find yourself unable to look away, staring almost in awe as he becomes increasingly more frenetic and spiteful with every song. You can’t help but wonder when the guy might just snap and start bludgeoning people with his Les Paul.

Slowing and swelling the pace throughout each song, the material itself is text book metal/thrash. The two guitarists incorporate rhythmic interplay between them, harmonize frequently, and break it all down quite often. The drummer uses both feet liberally and fills the space with zero groove – it’s straight ahead grind. The bassist lives somewhere in between, either holding some melody while the guitars run through finger exercises or beating along with them to add more low end. As with most of the bands from that circle that I encounter, debating their mass appeal is fairly pointless. They have their audience.

While Steeltame aren’t terribly original, they are original enough to stand out, and that’s a step further than some have gotten. They’ll benefit as live performance experience helps them unclutter many of their current songs. As is often the case with singing guitarists, his voice and his right hand are locked together as he goes through the song, monopolizing the core of every tune along a single theme, then shifting back and forth as the drummer fires up. Once relaxation comes in, it will open up the songs and help distinguish one collection of frenzied sounds from the others in their catalog. Or, to put it in simpler terms: it’ll take them towards having more songs their audience will remember – at least until they sustain a concussion in the pit.

That’s all for this week. As promised, I’ve counted up the votes for the 16 bands in our fictional street fight. In no particular order, those bands are:

Illbotz - Pop Rivets - Aggressor State - Drivn - Half Moon - The Cheap Seats - Fire At Will - Savior Bullets - Burning Bridges - Chinese Fire Drill - Madrone - Discordian Society - Cobalt Media - Dark Ruin - The Worx - Crobar Cane

In all, almost 40 different bands were nominated (some even I hadn’t heard of…), and these 16 emerged with the most votes. Some were from fans who liked the thought of their favorite band brandishing weapons, and others were from folks who thought it’d be funny to see who got the axe. It is all in fun, but there will be some prize for the band that emerges victorious. Starting next week, I’ll include two new matchups at the end of each column, and invite my readers to email me and vote for the who they think should win. We’ll fill the brackets out until it comes down to two acts, and who knows…we may even let them settle it in a live double headliner on my tab. Or we’ll give them sticks and see who comes back alive. In any case, someone’s losing an eye. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Faces to Face, Vol. I

2006-05-11T00:03:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations. The record-setting post you see before you is the culmination of many weeks of tedious planning, scheduling, and troubleshooting...but you'd never be able to tell. Regardless, read on as I get all deep and philosophical with the boys from TK IV II I, shooting the breeze about everything including their big gig next week at AA's, the writing and recording processes on their CD's "Hollow" and "Disengaged", a brief mention of the super-secret 3rd album, Steve's solo project plans, having to play covers, the evils of the internet, and my general lack of a sense of humor in conversation.

What's being presented here is the most clearly organized version of our conversation, with minimal editing (except where I grouped some of the more scattered thoughts together, and continue to tweak the spelling/grammar) and no cuts for space. It's easily the longest post I've ever made, but well worth the read.

Steve L. (bass), Chuck J. (Vocals/Guitar), Troy W. (Guitars), Bill S. (Drums)

Due to technical difficulties, Chuck was unable to make the interview, but did give his blessing, and may have secretly spied on the entire exchange via an earpiece surgically implanted in Steve's hand, disguised as a cell phone. We may never know...

---
Phantom Critic: Let's begin. First thing's first. The timing of this interview is no coincidence. You guys have some shows coming up, and more importantly, a bit of name dropping to do. Tell me a little bit about this gig next week; the who and the what. HowÂd it all come about?
Steve: Opening for King's X, Awful Arthur's Towers, Wednesday May 17th, as for how it all came about...
Bill: Actually Troy and I were having a beverage or 7 at ArthurÂs and Barry mentioned that he was getting King's X. We both said ÂCool, we'll be thereÂ but never even thought to say ÂCan we open?Â
Steve: Enter Band Bitch.
Bill: Barry and Band uh......girl thought of what we didn't.
Steve: 7 beers will do that to ya
Bill: I replied uh.............duh........We'll play it!
Phantom: So a classic case of right place, right time, right friends?
Steve: Always.
Bill: The perfect part is we were already scheduled to play there the following weekend.
Troy: To toot our horn... I believe we are a good fit for that show.
Steve: Our friends are always looking out for us even when we aren't.
Bill: I'm gonna just let them take over booking.
Phantom: Let me get Troy to elaborate on that Âgood fitÂ comment.
Troy: Well, we've all been fans of the band for ages. I bought Gretchen Goes to Nebraska when it was new. They're rock, they're soulful, they're very good at what they do, and they keep slugging it out in the face of Big
Media's apathy.
Bill: Faith Hope Love...for me
Phantom: And you're rock and soulful...a good fit, indeed.
Troy: Honestly, we'll take just about any opportunity. But this is a genuine thrill.
Steve: It certainly makes it more special. Although we're certainly entertaining all offers.
Phantom: In an opening band situation like this, what changes in your show, especially when you get up to open for a band like KingÂs X? Some folks in your shoes might feel obligated to play the covers, while others would assume that most people were there for the headliner, taking that as an opportunity to put their original stuff front and center. If someone does come out to see TK, what are they gonna get?
Troy: Originals.
Steve: All odefinitelyefinately
Bill: All TK.
Steve: Situations like this allow us to shine the spotlight on our own musical accomplishments
Phantom: And impressing an idol isn't a bad side effect, either, right?
Troy: Remains to be seen.
Bill: That would rule.
Troy: They may be sleeping in the bus.
Steve: Just sharing the same stage will be an honor of sorts.
Phantom: Talking about your music, let's go back to the beginning. YoCD first cd, ÂHollowÂ came about as something made more for each of you than for a fanbase, and IÂve heard you touch on how accidental that early success was. But when you listen to ÂHollowÂ now, do you hear what mightÂve started that spark and caught peopleÂs interest, or do you continue to be amazed at why people care?
Bill: Let's Drink Beer and Jam should've been the title.
Troy: I think people can hear the enthusiasm. We've always, individually, wanted to be involved with a cool original project. This was feeding that jones.
Steve: I still think Hollow was a great effort. I still get off listening to it.
Troy: Looking back... I'm not even sure it was intended to be an "album." We gave the first completed song to ROV and they ran with it.
Phantom: Which was?
Steve: Information Overdrive. They got that tune before we comCDeted half the cd.
Troy: Which is a good thing.
Steve: We were vain (still are) and just wanted to hear our tune on the radio.
Troy: Yup.
Bill: It was a great feeling.
Phantom: I would say that is a fairly common vanity.
Steve: You have to be. If you don't want to hear your songs, why should you expect anyone else to?
Phantom: An excellent point. It all starts at home. How is that enthusiasm today?
Troy: It's like an addiction. You just keep wanting more.
Bill: I agree
Steve: Yeah...you constantly need another fix.
Bill: We're working on our 3rd album now
Troy: Whoa, dragon.
Bill: Now, now, now. Clock in!!
Phantom: Anything you can tell me about?
Steve: Still very early in the writing stages.
Troy: Only that we want it to be better. Even better songs, arrangements, attitude, and production.
Bill: Which means it will be released in 2012
Steve: Third album, and I think we are still trying to find out who we are.
Bill: Yeah..there was really no plan for Disengaged.
Steve: In a way I hope we never find out, cause it allows us to keep trying new things
Bill: We just go in the room and see what happens.
Troy: But there was some expectation of Disengaged.
Phantom: Well, letÂs talk about the road from ÂHollowÂ to ÂDisengaged.Â Second albums are always awkward, so give me some idea of what was on your minds when you started piecing stuff together.
Troy: Some of it was done by the time we played our first show.
Phantom: You said there was some expectation. Did having an actual intent this time around make the process go any differently?
Troy: Yes. You work differently when you have an agenda. And a time frame.
Steve: Yeah, Hollow caught us with our pants down. As you know, we weren't striving for anything. By the time we got halfway through recording Disengaged, we had already started building something.
Bill: With a pile of gigs in between.
Phantom: Do you feel like that was for the better, or not so much?
Troy: Both.
StevdefinitelyI think we definately felt the pressure to "really" do it with Disengaged.
Troy: Better in that we had something to prove.
Bill: The inspiration was great
Steve: I think better. Forces you to really take it up a notch
Troy: With Hollow, we were able to tweak, and dork around with everything endlessly...kinda poke-n-hope until we stumbled on things we liked.
Bill: We love the fans, but we had the 4 worst critics in the world to deal with.
Steve: With Disengaged, we had a fanbase waiting for it.
Troy: Disengaged... we knew some tricks from before, and some pitfalls to avoid. Recording techniques that we discovered, kinds of arrangements and harmonies that worked... who should play which parts...that sort of thing. Steve: Basically we knew what worked and what didn't going in
Bill: Trick 1: Bill can only have 3 drinks before recording
Steve: And on the next cd, only three drums.
Bill: Boo!!
Troy: From the writing, to the recording, to the kinds of shoes we wore to mix.
Phantom: So how do all actually handle that pressure? Is having the intent something you ever battle with? IÂm interested in how successful people can be by letting the chips fall where they may. It seems like that approach played a huge part in the genesis of the group and most of your early success, and would be the ideal way to keep it fun and interesting.
Steve: Constantly.
Phantom: On the other hand, the more you do, the more you start becoming known for what youÂve done, and so IÂm wondering how you balance that.
Troy: Well, we've all been playing gigs forever. We'd be a much different band if we had to learn that part at the same time.
Steve: Yeah, we bicker constantly, but the truth is that we have a great deal of respect for what we each individually bring to the table. At then end of the day, we're all working with pros who all want the same results.
Phantom: I take it then, that your experience has taught you what is worth bickering about?
Steve: Everything is worth bickering about.
Phantom: Or are you all simultaneously impossible to please?
Steve: That too.
Troy: I think that we have organized our chaos.
Steve: Seriously...all the bitching gets us to an end result that we can all be proud of.
Bill: We've all spent years bickering in different bands that had no promise. This band makes it worth it.
Troy: We're excellent bicker-ers.
Steve: No pain, no gain.
Troy: We should be gainin' like crazy then.
Bill: Plus if we didn't bicker, we wouldn't entertain ourselves.
Steve: Just means that we're all passionate about what we're creating.
Bill: Shuddup Troy!
Steve: I'll take passion over apathy any day.
Troy: Indeed.
Phantom: How do you think the music has changed from ÂHollowÂ to ÂDisengaged,Â or has it? Since itÂs a little early in your recorded career to start talking about reinvention, what I hear sounds more like a progression; a refinement, if you will, on what you basically stumbled upon the first time.
Troy: I would agree with that.
Bill: We hope so.
Steve: I'd like to thinkthat's we're progressing, but thats a tough question for us to answer. We don't hear our music with the same ears that someone outside the band does. We're too close to it.
Troy: For myself... TK songs should have some kind of 'mood'. All the other stuff just kinda works around that.
Steve: I think we're getting better about writing actual "songs".
Phantom: You mean structurally?
Steve: Yeah. I mean, I think Bed of Stone is a complete "song". Not saying the others aren't, but that one in particular just feels right all the way through.
Troy: Trimming the fat. Not giving in to excess, for the sake of excess.
Steve: It builds, every part has a point, there's no wasted space, etc.
Bill:aggressiveow was raw and aggresive. Disengaged just feels more mature.
Troy: I think we all hope to continue that. To hone it.
Phantom: I think albums with that much fat trimmed off are usually called "Greatest Hits."
Steve: Cool. we have a name for our third album.
Bill: and 4th
Troy: Hatest Grits.
Phantom: I get a dime everytime someone says it...
--[Another of my attempts to be clever, thwarted]--
Phantom: I want to go back to something Steve said earlier, about what people outside the band hear...
Troy: I'm not sure we're a band that is gonna blaze a new trail in rock history...our objective is to just drive really fast in the median strip.
Phantom: What do you think people will hear when they listen to "Hollow" or "Disengaged?" Other than enthusiasm...
Bill: I think Chuck's lyrics really connect with people. Everyone has a different favorite and story of their own to relate with it.
Steve: Chuck is our ace in the hole. That guy is an immense talent.
Phantom: Did he just call in to check on the interview? Or was that legitimate compliment?
Steve: Nah, just givin him props.
Bill: The cool part is how people take the tunes and make them their own. Everytime we've picked a tune that we thought would be the most popular, we're dead wrong.
Steve: Man...that's a tough question there, ghosty.
Troy: Oh, he's an ace-hole alright.
Phantom: Certainly deserving, though. Most reviews I've read of your music, including my own, attribute his voice as a major signature in your sound.
Troy: Yup. And he deserves it. We're his biggest fans.
Bill: Agreed
Steve: Love his voice. You should see him recording vocal tracks. The guy is a monster.
Bill: He and the other 2 morons make me proud everytime we play.
Phantom: However, I would say you three have a different obstacle. Vocals are their own unique thing.
Steve: Yup.
Phantom: to be unique as a bassist, or as a guitarist or, (god forbid) a drummer [did I say that?]...
Steve: God forbid, indeed.
Bill: Hey!!
Phantom: That's a much taller order, because you three can pound out groove after groove and at the end of the day, the uneducated listener can listen and go "another rock band."
Troy: At this stage of the game, you learn to capitalize on your strengths as a band.
Bill: I think we help shape each other.
Steve: And that is all that should matter...the band as a whole.
Bill: We've been together long enough to say "hey, that part sucks" and not have a major blowout.
Troy: And to avoid drum solos.
Steve: I don't give a rats behind if anyone thinks I'm a top notch bass player, as long as the song moves them.
Bill: More cowbell! May 17th... 26 minute drum solo and 4 minutes of the other guys.
Bill: They keep me tame. Which I hope helps me to not be the same old drummer.
Troy: I think people appreciate our connection with thesillinessding our faults and sillyness, at least as much as they would "virtuoso" musicianship.
Phantom: So, what I'm hearing is that "honesty" is probably your answer.
Steve: Pretty much. Personal accolades are cool and all, but if they ain't diggin the "band"...
Phantom: But then let's ask the fun question. Surely this wise approach is the product of maturity has this always been the case with you each personally?
Steve: Lack of ability has always been my personal motivation
Bill: uhhhhhhhh.......
Troy: Bill is old. Is that what you're gettin at?
BillI I always thought if i could impress another drummer, I was ruling.
Steve: Wrong.
Phantom: Actually, what I meant was, surely you can't have all had this enlightened approach for the biggest part of your musical life.
Troy: Not at all. We learned by doing.
Steve: I've always been the subpar musician. So shreddin has never been an option.
Bill: You are a rock Shteve!
Steve: And a rock is all you need, baby.
Troy: I've always wanted to be a shredder. It just didn't work out that way.
Bill: The low end never stops!
Steve: Don't let him kid ya, Troy can rip when he wants to. He's just all about the sum of the parts.
Troy: And beer.
Bill: I've realized that there is always another bad ass drummer. Just not too many of them in great bands.
Phantom: An important realization, but then there is always another bad ass rock band.
Bill: True.
Steve: Exactly. If all you care about is impressing, there's always someone else that can tear you up. We'd rather write good tunes.
Troy: A great band is rarely an accident. That's why we're holding on to this one so tightly.
Phantom: So no plans for the Steve L Experience anytime soon, then?
Bill: I'm releasing my solo death mariachi album next month.
Steve: Not at the moment. If I did that though, I'd hire these idiots, so same dif.
Phantom: Back on the albums, there is always a tendency to gravitate toward what brought you success, but there is also the nagging thought that someone (like myself) might call you out on repeating a formula. Knowing that, how much of what is on ÂDisengagedÂ was just natural, and how much was a conscious process of trying to grow and "hone?"
Bill: That's were I think we have an advantage.
Steve: Man, great question...and a big personal concern.
Troy: There's always the nagging thought that someone's gonna find fault. You can find it on every bulletin board on the web.
Bill: We try to hone our writing and recording, but we let the material dictate where the band is going.
Troy: But you gotta do something... so you might as well do...something.
Steve: I think one thing we've found is that most songs kinda write themselves. You just have to find out where its trying to go.
Troy: We're our own biggest critics. It don't leave until we say it's done. If no one else likes it...that's one thing...but at least we'll like it.
Bill: Like Bed of Stone. We never sat down and said "let's write a mellower tune for this album."
Steve: Bed of Stone is a perfect example of what I spoke of. As is Burn Georgia Burn. Those tunes both started out VERY differently.
Troy: Mirror images.
Bill: Bed started as acousticand Burn was accoustic.
Steve: Yup, and if we hadn't "listened" to what they wanted to be, they both would've suffered for it.
Phantom: When you are writing, is there a dynamic between the 4 of you? Take me through the life cycle of a song in TK.
Troy: It depends. Sometimes one of us has a riff. Sometimes Chuck comes in with a whole arrangement.
Steve: Depends on the song. Some write themselves, others have to be banged out with a hammer.
Phantom: Can you give me a "for instance...?"
Troy: In either case, it gets bastardized until it sounds like TK
Bill: Perfectly said.
Steve: Chuck wrote Burn as pretty much a complete arrangement, but it sounded all wrong. It was supposed to be a swampy acoustic diddy. We said "no, it should sound like this..." and we all cranked up and
kicked its ass. Thus Burn Georgia Burn was born.
Bill: 10 minutes later we had roomsucker.
Steve: On the flip side, Disengaged started about 10-12 years ago. That bastard went through 10 different arrangements until it felt right. But when we finally got there, it was worth it. Well... to us anyway.
Phantom: If I were to pass judgement (not that I do such things, of course) I would consider the biggest value in the songs on "Disengaged" to be how, let's call it "unrushed", they are.
Steve: Unrushed...that's an understatement.
Troy: I'm not sure I follow, Lou.
Phantom: They sound more like the material you would expect on a debut. And less like the average sophomore release.
Steve: Are you saying that the album seems refined? Or am I misreading?
Troy:Phantom: The tracks would suggest you've had a lifetime to work on them. The detail implies a great deal of time sarrangementng and producing the arragement(s). As opposed to the rushed approach so many 2nd albums often form as. Many bands almost take a step back in their evolution on second releases.
Steve: Ahh well, it certainly seemed like a lifetime at times.
Troy: We weren't fulfilling a contract obligation.
Bill: Thanks man!
Steve: And we didn't have a producer kicking our ass consnecessarilyough that wouldn't necessarrily be a bad thing. I do appreciate that though. Alotta effort went into that puppy. But like Troy said, we didn't have anyone telling us to "spit it out". Well... other than our fanbase.
Bill: I think the pressure might have affected us a little when we started it, but soon after we decided "It will be done when it's done."
Phantom: The further along you go, is there any concern that you may be a fad? Not intentionally in the [insert name of manufactured pop band] sort of way, but in conjunction with everyone starting to embrace the 1980Âs again?
Troy: Fads are popular.
Steve: Always.
Troy: We've said it many times. When crowds get bored with us, we'll just go back to Bill's and do it for us.
Bill: When you look at how music revolves, isn't it all a fad?
Troy: Honestly, I don't hear that much "80's" in us.
Phantom: Which was going to be my next topic.
I dunno. There's definate elements of 80's rock in our music. Can't and won't hide where we came from. But, Chuck especially is great at spinning an unexpected twist melodically.
Troy: If anything, we may be too current.
Bill: Chasing what's "cool" at the moment will only make you tired.
Phantom: I listened to your podcast back in November and one of the things that stood out to me -
Steve: Aside from porn talk?
Bill: Ah, sweet porn.
Phantom: That. And the discussion about walking the line between the 80's hard rock and the modern sound. Granted, your reputation around here is based on the covers, at least as a stereotype.
Bill: I think that approach was simple for us.
Steve: A given in this scene.
Troy: I don't agree that our rep is based entirely on our covers.
Phantom: But I think the 80's vibe is pretty strong in what you do. I don't think it's based on that entirely, but when I hear someone characterize you as "that 80's band," it's clear they are basing that opinion on a limited scope.
Troy: Then they miss the point.
Phantom: Well, it's certainly a narrow observation on what you do.
Bill: We play covers that we enjoy, not what's "cool" or brings in the most $. I guess that we're just lucky that it's working right now. We've all been in the "what's popular at the moment bands," mainly for money. And there's nothing wrong with musicians doing that for kicks and cash...
Phantom: Right...
Troy: And the 80s covers certainly weren't popular when we started playing them in 99. It's all the rage now, I suppose.
Bill: This week.
Phantom: Very true.
Steve: In a perfect world, we could go out and do all TK all the time. But, the reality doesn't allow that. So if covers are a necessary evil so to speak, do what you know. Although, we've tried to get away from that some
Bill: It's gonna be all about death mariachi once I learn how to spell it.
Phantom: Was that something you had in mind during the making of "Disengaged?"
Steve: The 80's thing?
Phantom: Well, balancing it.
Steve: Not at all. Truth be told, when we're writing or recording, all we care about is making it pleasing to our ears.
Phantom: So some of the same things that make you like those covers show up in the music you make.
Steve: Like I said earlier, you can't hide where you came from, but hopefully you put your own stamp on it.
Troy: I'm personally more influenced by the attitude and bombast of the old hard rock, than I am of the songwriting. Call me retarded, but I think "mainstream rock" songwriting is much better than it was 20 years ago.
Steve: Well yeah, lets be honest, the songwriting wasn't always the best.
Bill: Ron Keel is turning over at his campfire!
Steve: But he still has the right to rock.
Bill: Nice.
Phantom: Well, I don't believe you're lacking in the bombast department.
Steve: High five. If we can keep the bombastic quality, yet still have something worth a damn to say lyrically...I'm pretty happy.
Phantom: I speculate that your "enthusiasm", as you put it, is a large part of that bombast. So much of the music from that generation, for the better or worse, seemed to sound as though everyone had just buckled up to go along for the ride. It seemed so much less methodical than it does these days, and there is some value to that...and there's a downside, too.
Troy: Not everyone gets to go onstage with a great band every weekend. It makes me appreciative, and enthusiastic, to be a part of it.
Steve: It was all about fun back then. I dig that spirit. Nuthin but a good time.
Phantom: If I'm hearing anything from the three of you, it's that fun is the top priority.
Troy: Onstage, yeah.
Steve: Doesn't mean we can't be deep, but who says everything has to be about messed up childhoods? If we're not having fun, its just another job. Music is supposed to be an escape.
Phantom: One other thought from that podcast I want to touch on, and then I'll let you go. This sort of relates to what we were talking about earlier, about how you try to set yourself apart. But you spoke of the internet as a double-edged sword...
Steve: Indeed.
Phantom: Which isn't something you hear a lot of bands say these days. I thought that was an interesting observation. Most people see it as Âoh, I can get 100 times the number of people to listen to me." Well, so can everyone else. Success used to be based on regional popularity and now you make yourself a smaller fish in a much, much larger pond.
Steve: Yup.
Bill: But can you get a 100 people to come see you?
Troy: And care.
Steve: And come back to the next show.
Bill: And buy the drummer a shot!
Phantom: Facilitating fast food fans? You think it makes it easier to forget about a band and move on?
Troy: Rock on the internet is like sex for a fish. Spray it wide, and see who gets..
Phantom: Yes.
Steve: Well, its no secret that attention spans ain't what they used to be.
Troy: Absolutely. Attention spans are down to what? A nanosecond?
Bill: You've got 10 million more to go download.
Steve: Flavor of the week isn't just a catch phrase.
Troy: Pulling no punches...a lot of bands just suck. It's always been that way. Now everyone can hear that they suck.
Steve: And it makes it that much more difficult to find the gems.
Troy: It truly is a sea of poo.
Steve: Yeainstantaneously many more people instantaniously...but so can everyone else.
Troy: Yes. You're not only competing for the club spot, and the entertainment dollar...but for 5 minutes of attention.
Phantom: Very true.
Steve: You just try to make the most of those five minutes, and give people a reason to come back.
Phantom: Sum that reason up for me. How are you guys making people come back?
Steve: Because we're genuine. We don't take ourselves seriously, but we do take our music seriously. We put all our heart into our live shows, and the energy isn't faked. We are having the time of our lives on that stage.
Bill: I'm proud of the material and I think it pulls people in if it get's that 5 minutes. As far as the shows go, is it a fad, or do you leave with a big smile on your face? Maybe they just come back to see if it will work again!
Troy: I'd say we spent more effort answering these questions than we do planning our 'entertainment' factor.
Bill: That's it!!
Troy: I feel like I just jump in and hold on.
Bill: Pure dumb luck is our formula.
Steve: Yup. naturallye what you do, it just natuarally shows.
Phantom: An excellent conclusion.
Troy: Cool. Thanks so much for putting up with us.
Bill: And thanks for giving a damn about music in this valley!
Phantom: I want to thank you guys for taking the time. Hopefully you had fun. And if you didn't, don't worry. Just tune in next week and I'll make fun of someone else.

---End---

Once again, thanks to TK for making the time and working through our initial technical obstacles to make this happen. I'm in hopes they enjoyed doiforwardas much as I did, and look foward to sitting down with another band in the near future, so hit me up if you're interested. Tune in next week, as I make good on my promise to make fun of someone new, and start pitting 16 bandroyalnst each other in a battle royale fight to the death. Thanks for reading. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

Give Me Any Talk

2006-05-03T22:19:00.000-04:00

The Phantom is off this week, partly to make adjustments to an upcoming work flux (to avoid being totally swamped) and partly because he is already intoxicated in pre-celebration for Cinco De Mayo...

That being said, this is hardly an "off week." I will be sitting down to talk with TK421, and I'm bringing you the entire interview (unedited!). Plus, I'll give you the chance to vote to find out who would win in a fight between some of the area's most popular bands. Whoever emerges victorious will win a special prize...

It's pointless, entertaining, and sure to be sarcastic. You won't want to miss it.

And not that I'm much for hype, but I've a very interesting show review plan for this upcoming weekend, so you're not going to want to miss that. Thanks for reading, and have a safe and happy celebration! I know I will. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

Mad Is the Story I Tell

2006-04-26T23:59:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

So after weeks of complaining about having a hectic schedule, I got 5 straight days of complete monotony – and I loved every minute of it. Getting to bed by 7 on a week night, I found myself energized and awake. I greeted my day with a smile, and headed out into the world with a renewed vigor.

It was the best 20 minutes of my life.

Some jack*** cut me off in the morning commute, the attendants at the gas station have finally started holding me up at gunpoint to pay for my fuel, and my cell phone will NOT stop ringing. There wasn’t one original insult in this week’s hate mail, and some of the most useless news I could hope for - Britney Spears is reportedly pregnant again? Ashlee Simpson is going on tour this summer! Somebody I don’t care about lost on "American Idol"?! Aren’t there other blogs out there for that sort of thing?

So my attitude remains intact. After all, how much fun would be if I turned complimentary and started sucking up to everyone because of how “gifted” they are? That guy in Burning Bridges would still be wearing those sweaters, or breaking out the corresponding Magnum P.I. tank top for the warmer weather. But thanks to me, his friends and family have gotten up the courage and made an intervention. The guitarist in Cobalt Media might still be doing his Dave Mustaine impression on the mic, but now they’re letting their singer sing – rumor has it, he might even know the words this time. Or consider the great advice I gave Madrone – why else would they be one of the most requested bands on WROV’s Homegrown Show? The guys in Venus Transit have invested in equipment that lets you actually hear what they’re playing. Insert your own joke here.

My point is, I’m all about helping people - advice so honest, they’ll wish I lied. For this week’s slice of tough love, I ventured out to see Chinese Fire Drill. Made up of members from some of the area’s most well-known bands (and the Pop Rivets!), CFD are the musical equivalent to an inside joke. Playing a mix of college-radio covers and offbeat originals, the only real defining characteristic of the group is how serious they are about not being serious. Their time as hardworking musicians in other acts has culminated in an almost enlightened understanding about what it means to be in a band. It’s the kind of knowledge most young acts don’t get until late in their career; wisdom coupled together from struggles and failures that ground out your ego and force you to look at where you are in relation to everything else, whether you want to or not. It is at this point, when confronted with such truth, that many become jaded. From there, insight is all that separates the relevant from the useless. The worthwhile from the wastes of time. The people like me, from the people like you.

In the case of Chinese Fire Drill, they’ve chosen the former over the latter, slamming through punk power chords and striking the rock star poses, all while laughing at themselves the entire time. They know what’s going on, and don’t actually care. Instead, their songs are a series of puns and stories strewn together from the funny things you talk about when you’re drunk, delivered with the frat boy pacing of a "Jackass" episode. Taken at that, one might write them off as a group of hacks using humor to compensate for a lack of talent. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen a local group go that route, but CFD’s members are actually known to be accomplished players (one of them might be a Berklee graduate). Behind every inane thing they do, you’ll find the punch line – we can make good music. By now, CFD have figured out where the line exists between talent and entertainment.

Consider this. When making music, you reach a point where, no matter how good you are, someone who isn’t as good as you is going to hear you play. When they reach their limits of understanding, they’ll conclude that you’re “really good” and lump you in with everyone else they’ve heard who’s ever exceeded that threshold. To the bottom 50% of that group, it means getting categorized alongside the greats. To the top 50% it means no one short of yourself can possibly appreciate you.

Chinese Fire Drill are aware of the fact that you might not actually be paying close attention to everything they can do, and so they’re going to amuse themselves in the process. They switch instruments frequently throughout the show, and seem to lose nothing in the process. Most of their original sound is a combination of punk’s sing-a-long pop hooks, vintage rock guitar, funky bass, and a groove that alternates between 50’s rock ‘n roll (think “That Thing You Do”) and mid-90’s ska/reggae/rock (think 311). Their covers are usually variants of any of these given elements, and it’s all entertaining.

In the end, there are two types of people in their crowd. There are those who enjoy listening to the upbeat music, and will have fun laughing at how funny these guys are. They’re there because they want to have a good time, but not by picking apart a masterpiece. They just want to listen, shout, and drink. And then are those who get the joke, and enjoy laughing at the people who don’t. It’s only two types of people, but it’s the two types of people – which is one type more than most bands ever get.

So there you have it. Another week, another review. A reminder about the TK interview coming up, plus an announcement about the next band to be interviewed. We’ll also start discussing band vs. band fisticuffs. I want your opinions! Thanks for writing in, and thanks for reading. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Almost Wrecked the Telephone

2006-04-19T14:53:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

There’s nothing like an unexpected detour in your schedule to put you in a fantastic mood. Shipped out of state with so little as a day’s notice, I return to find the unthinkable. It seems you’ve missed me. There was record number of responses regarding my last column, and already enough follow-up questions to do another Q&A section. If this keeps up, the Roanoke Times might have to interview me. Fortunately, I don’t think they’ve lost their minds yet, so we don’t have to worry. Besides, there are still several uninformed people with strong opinions on the “stadium crisis” that we haven’t heard from yet. Priorities.

And so speaking of priorities, let me get to mine. This week, I turn my attention to local blues man Kevin Selfe and his backing band, the Tornadoes. Or, at least, formerly local blues man. Selfe has recently relocated to Richmond, but he still plays in town, and doesn’t seem to mind the traveling. Having honed much of his craft here in town, and considering that I can rationalize practically anything, I tend to consider him a local act anyway. It was in my own traveling that I took occasion to spin his debut disc “Selfe-Contained” in my cd player, using the time in the air to reflect and make some notes. It was a better alternative than strangling the screaming toddler in the row behind me, and people seem to like it when I write my thoughts down.

Despite being a fan of the blues, I’ve always found it difficult to write about the genre’s live aspects at any length, and Kevin’s act is no exception. In various other styles, the debate between “feel” and “skill” is always raging, so you can weigh people’s performances on one scale or the other and usually talk in enough circles to fill an article (a talent I’ve practically elevated to an art form in the last few months). In the case of the blues, however, skill and feel are more closely related because of the direct emphasis on conveying emotion. To that end, no amount of cartwheels or guitar stunts can cover up for a player without soul. You either get it, or you don’t.

Judging how much Kevin does or doesn’t “get it,” required that I pay closer attention to the music, hence the time spent combing the album, letting the notes soak in at 47,000 feet. From a playing perspective, he’s everything you would expect a blues guitarist to be. His attack is well timed, and he’s comfortable behind the beat, ahead of it, or locked in tightly with the groove. I catch the occasional presence of country in his technique, and the Chicago-meets-Texas flavor observation in his biography is spot on. He understands how and when to put the snarl into things, and his string bends are as chewy as they come. What’s more, I find his delivery to be shockingly more subdued than you would expect from someone who’s fronting their own trio. Invalidating the dozen or more really clever “Selfe-Absorbed” jokes that I thought I’d get to use, this approach is simultaneously the disc’s greatest strength and biggest weakness.

Despite his attempt to decry the notion that he’s just another SRV impersonator, the influence and similarities are pretty obvious, sometimes good and sometimes not. Unfortunately, for all the things that “Selfe-Contained” gets right, it is Kevin’s personal battle to avoid that cliché that gets him hung up in places. As I listened, I could almost feel him pulling back, trying to suppress his instinct to play something he thought a listener might inevitably compare to Vaughn. He succeeds in places, sometimes mining gold from the unexpected and managing to second-guess himself into sounding fresh. Other times, the suppression is so obvious that the loudest emotion seems to be his own frustration. Not that frustration, if sincere, isn’t as valid a thing to convey as say, passion or sorrow, but it tends to feel awkward in contrast to what the Tornadoes are laying down on a given tune.

Off course, subdued can also mean subtle, which is hardly detrimental. The disc’s attention to detail is a big plus, rather it’s a unique chord voicing from Selfe, a complimentary harmony, or any number of contributions from the Tornadoes. Too often, backing bands just equal backing noise, existing mostly for the glorification of one pompous soloist, but not here. Or at least, not all the time. The music on “Selfe-Contained” is very much a group vibe, with the Tornadoes doing their fair share of the work while Kevin picks through his miniature identity crisis.

In the end, Kevin and the Tornadoes have assembled a great collection of songs that, if nothing else, made for a very enjoyable flight despite my less-than-desirable circumstances. Hardly as unoriginal as he fears he might be, the songs are honest and real, and Kevin’s reputation as a formidable blues man is at least as secure as it was before I set down to write this. It's normal and necessary for true artists to struggle with how they interpret their influences, and very rarely is there a clear understanding to go by or pass judgement on. The fact that he's actively trying to break new ground keeps Selfe ahead of the curve, especially in the blues, where things move at an entirely different pace than in other genres. He certainly has the mind for innovation, and time will tell how far he and the Tornadoes push it. Maybe they’ll have it worked out by the next time I have to spend a few hours in the air.

That’s all out of me for this week. Thanks to everyone for the feedback (good, bad, and other) and for all the up-to-date info on what’s been happening in the scene lately. There’s plenty of news to talk about, and I intend to get to it all. I’ve got band news, show news, radio news, venue news, and more, and my inbox seems to indicate that people want me to talk about it. Who'd have thought?

Plus I’ve gotten some hilarious feedback on my “Battle of the Bands” idea, and am still encouraging people to nominate their band, or their favorite band, to let everyone decide who would actually win in a street fight. Important topics such as these, and more, all brought to you by the one and only - me. You can thank me later. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Tell Me What To Ask You

2006-04-05T16:22:00.000-04:00

Greetings and salutations.

And to think I started this week unsure of what I was going to write about. It’s funny how much can change in just a few short days. With my schedule returning to normal, this was going to be another weekend review, chock full of my usual insight and oversights. But recent events demand that I open the mailbag early. It wasn’t planned, but people have been talking. The Phantom was listening…

Oh, and the names have been changed to protect the innocent [me].

“There sure seems to be a pattern to your reviews. You always go in expecting the worst, and then end up finding the best. Why not get a better attitude about this stuff?” - George C.

Expecting the worst is a character flaw I probably can’t fix without a few years of therapy, assuming I even wanted to do anything about it. It’s all about approaching each band objectively, and letting them “win” me over with whatever strengths they have. Besides, would you really want to see what I’d write if I thought someone did a bad job? I didn’t think so.

“Do you have a favorite venue in town for live music?” – Martin L.

Not exactly. While I’m flattered by those of you who’ve written in and dubbed me some kind of musical authority, most people who ask me this assume I can point them to the “happening” places. I have no idea what a trend is, and probably wouldn’t recognize one if it ran up to me on the streets and pulled my pants down past my boxers. For the actual seekers of diverse entertainment, I suggest Shooters and/or the Coffee Pot. Both have created reputations for themselves in recent history by seriously broadening their style offerings, even opening their doors on “off” nights to less mainstream acts.

“Every time I read your blog, you’re on somebody’s case about SOMETHING. I wanna know what crawled up in your a** and died?” – Ben S.

In most cases, I wouldn’t actually dignify this with a response, especially since this is an excerpt from an entire letter’s worth of spite. Rather than ignoring this axe-grinder outright, though, I chose instead to print his letter, solely so that I may frame a particular rant. Thanks, guy.

Many of you saw the blog that circulated the local MySpace pages this weekend concerning events at Saturday’s Burning Bridges show. Their guitarist, Kenny Seay, made an exasperated post about a severe act of sabotage that could’ve potentially wrecked their second night. Instruments were messed with, knobs were moved, items seemingly stolen, and less-than-cordial graffiti found its way onto Seay’s stuff. And yet, I have something up my a** because I bust someone’s chops in an attempt to encourage people to step it up. Whoever it was picked on a cover band – because they play covers. It's such a trivial way to make a point that it's quite maddening. That’s not punk. That’s like pushing over a kid in a wheelchair. Good job.

That kind of behavior is a symptom of the self-inflated attitude I take so much pride in letting the air out of, and this will be no exception. In the days since, I’m sure they’ve high-five'd each other constantly in celebration of their ingenuity and become legends among their circle of equally pathetic friends. But unlike their heroes, they’ve no real trouble to see or message to send. The security at Valley View Mall is the only social oppression I think they’ve ever experienced, so their attempt at making a bold statement about their principles has ended up a laughable recital; the difference between Lincoln’s stirring speech to Gettysburg some 140 years ago and the one playing on repeat that comes out of his robot at Disney. I guess what I’m trying to say is, maybe something did crawl up my a** and die, but at least it wasn’t my own head.

“Just what are you trying to imply with the whole musicians unwilling to share the spotlight line? Not everybody in town is like that.” – Chris R.

Another question I see pretty frequently. While not everyone shares the family mentality (as we just discussed), Roanoke’s musicians are a pretty tight-knit group by comparison. It’s not uncommon for me to see bands out on their nights off, joining the party and showing support for other acts around town. No, not everyone literally hordes the spotlight. But what I’m really talking about here is a perception among the public that there are only a handful of talented bands in the area. Shining that spotlight past someone else’s tall shadow is really what I’m aiming for, but it’s just cooler to me to use the Knight Rider parody. Why? Because I can. Deal with it.

"You don’t seem to mind printing the mail from your readers, but I was wondering what kind of feedback you usually get from bands?" – Paris H.

That’s honestly something I’d never thought of until I got this letter, but you make an excellent point. Since I started the Phantom, most of the bands I’ve talked about have been pretty positive. Besides being smart enough to realize how tongue-in-cheek some of this stuff can be, they are able to laugh at themselves a bit and come across as genuinely grateful for the insight and inherent exposure. Several have written in and reported new faces in their crowds a week or two after I talk about them, and a few even repost or republish their “Phantom Review,” wearing it as some sort of badge. While there are a few acts who have said nothing, I tend to assume this is because they haven’t seen it, but it could also be that they didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not that I’d really lose sleep over something like that.

"This probably doesn’t count as a question, but I figure you’d be the guy who’d know. If all the bands in town got in a street fight, who would win?" – Howard C.

Wow. What a great thought. If we pitted 16 of Roanoke’s best in a tournament of death, who would come out on top? For once, I’m speechless. Fortunately, I have a few of those empty March Madness brackets sitting around, so we can solve this diplomatically. I want all my readers, bands and fans alike, to help me find a winner! In the next week, write in to nominate your favorite band, I’ll take the top 16, and then we’ll determine the match ups. Each week, as a small part of the regular column, we’ll size up each fight and let you vote, reality show style. The winner will get something cool. I have no idea what, but I’ve got some time to think about it. So stop what you’re doing right now and vote. Well, I mean, finish reading this and THEN go vote. Good.

What a week. Some great questions, some great answers (if I do say so myself), a new tournament, and I’ve got some cool news. The Phantom’s inaugural band interview will be taking place soon, and TK421 were chosen as my test case. Look for that in an upcoming column, and start thinking about who you’d like me to interview next…assuming I pull this off. What am I talking about? Of course I’ll pull this off. And you will enjoy it. I promise. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Nail Your Mouths Shut

2006-03-29T17:41:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Another long week, and the promise to deliver a sarcasm-soaked review, on schedule, looms over my head. There’s been very little time to reflect on the show from this past weekend, and I know there are people counting on me. Some folks might crack under such pressure, but not I. Rather than let these kind of issues weigh upon me, I beat the stress by burying the fear and nervousness deep inside of me and pretending it doesn’t exist. If I ignore it long enough, it will just go away. That seems like the adult way to handle it.

But since I have a limited amount of time out of my day to do this, let’s get right to the point. Friday night was the “Southwest Virginia Metal Fest,” and your faithful Phantom was there to bring you all the action. Featuring War Theory, Speak of the Devil, Solace Requiem, Bullistic, Doom Syndicate, Dark Ruin, and Vital Remains, you can imagine that it was one big continuous mosh pit for most of the night. Due to the number of acts who performed, however, I’m not going to attempt to review them all individually. Instead, I’ll focus on the whole night, otherwise I risk breaking the record for most uses of the phrases “thrash guitar” and “screaming vocals” in a single column.

In fact, I’m not really sure what one can say about the music of a “Metal Fest” that you wouldn’t be able to conclude for yourself by me simply setting the scene. Put 80% of the 2005 inventory from Hot Topic in one room, add a bunch of biker-looking guys (I say “biker-looking” rather than “biker” because the number of those guys far outweighed the number of actual bikes in the parking lot), and set the tempo to around 160bpm or better. Set the bass guitar low so that it growls and ride the double bass drum until you feel a consistent pounding in your chest. High or low, just make sure the voice screams at regular intervals, and make sure to yell at those jerks in the back who paid $15 but won’t come up front like you want them to.

If it sounds like I’m generalizing, take heart. What I think really doesn’t matter in this case. Not that it ever does, obviously, but this isn’t your usual weekend show review. These are not the kinds of bands who really need me to analyze their music for them on a night like this. They are what they are, and they’re not caught up in the usual musical game of trying to make sure their public gets it. The people who get it show up, and the people who don’t stay home, or hang outside the fray and observe so they can write smart-alec comments about it later. Each band and their fans are bound by a strong sense of community and loyalty that exists because each knows what the other wants. Nothing I could really offer would sum it up any better than to say that each and every band did exactly what their audience needed them to, and in return, they were worshipped for it.

Music aside, my biggest concern heading in to the show was how that many bands were going to be handled effectively. Disorganization is a disease among musicians, and I’ve seen some otherwise good shows go completely down the tubes because people couldn’t get their act together in the back. When you talk about two or three bands sharing a bill, the thought of 20-30 minutes between sets for teardown and setup isn’t really all that bad. Make it seven bands, though, and suddenly you’re talking about roughly 3 hours worth of time out of the night spent changing the stage. To spend half of a 6 hour show loading and unloading doesn’t make much sense, so I was impressed at how efficient each and every act was at having their stuff set and ready to go. Most bands were off in 5 and the next band up in 5, so the whole process moved very smoothly. It sounds like such a small thing to be that prepared, but it’s considerate not only to the people in the crowd, but to the fellow bands.

The other notable non-musical observation is on the crowd. Forget for a minute that you may be a fan of any of these bands and/or the scene, and consider what sweeping opinions the public tends to pass on shows like this. The music is most definitely an acquired taste, and a frenzied pit is not everyone’s idea of a good time. While it is an ignorant assumption to classify everyone in black leather, makeup, chains, or spikes as a potential troublemaker, more than a few popular venues in town have been closed down over the years due to people who fail to elevate themselves above the stereotype. Unfortunately, the ritualistic expression of anger through energy has earned the metal crowd a reputation as a volatile, if not dangerous, gathering that not everyone wants in their backyard.

Not wanting to damage anyone’s “cred,” I won’t say people were on their best behavior, but it was obvious that the majority of fans wanted and appreciated the show, acting no more out-of-control than any of the random groups of drunk 40-year-olds I’ve seen stumbling around bars to beach music. The pit was furious, but isolated and contained, which is really where I draw the personal line on that stuff anyway. As far as I’m concerned, people can castrate themselves with a butter knife at a concert, and as long as they don’t interfere with my enjoyment of the show, it’s not a disruption.

It’s hard to say that the show was anything but a success in the eyes of the fans, and like I said last week, it’s always great to see the kind of support these acts give each other. More importantly though, the positive impact this gig made not only increases fan bases, but the overall likelihood that more places in town would consider shows like this a worthwhile endeavor. Coming soon to your backyard…

That’s enough out of me for this week. I’m actually posting this on time, so when I’m done, I’m going to go over and sit for a few minutes to catch my breath. Thanks for reading, and keep those emails coming. I’ll have no idea how much of a self-righteous ass I am unless you tell me! Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

A Time When I Wasn't Sure - Cont'd

2006-03-24T14:10:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations. Again.

Like I said in my post earlier this week, the plan was go out last night and review a show for this week’s column, putting me only a day behind but still bringing that signature Phantom flair to this week’s InsideOut – can’t let my fan down (thanks Mom!).

The funniest thing about last night was that, while I did end up going to a show, it wasn’t even the show I’d planned to see. Any critic, let alone a PHANTOM critic, should have a little more control over who he sees, but it happens so much more than you’d think. Hell, I’ve tried and failed to see the Pop Rivets like, 8 times. If I make it to 10, I might have to give them some kind of medal.

The important thing is that I did end up in the presence of live music, so I’m going to write about it. Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you won’t. Combining forces were Red Letter Day, The Venus Transit, Savior Bullets, and Aggressor State. Initially, I feared the style contrast between Aggressor State and the other acts might create crowd problems, but aside from one emo kid who accidentally got sucked into the mosh pit while dancing, everything remained under control. He escaped the pit before he could be sacrificed and eaten, and seemed to enjoy the rest of his evening, albeit a little further from the stage.

If you haven’t heard them before, Aggressor State’s name should tell you everything you need to know about the band and their music. Combining elements of straight-ahead thrash with the operatic themes of bands like Diamond Head and Iron Maiden, they’re one of several acts who are reviving the 80’s underground vibe in the local region. Billed as “Roanoke’s Leading Speed Metal Band,” it is unclear whether “leading” is meant to imply “fastest “ or “best,” but I’ll reserve judgment and let you decide for yourself. Despite what most people in thrash bands would have you believe, speed is not nearly so difficult to develop as is the precision that actually defines talent. Fortunately for Aggressor State, they are well aware of this, and for the most part, have their chops in fine order.

Savior Bullets was next, bringing the sound a little further into the hardcore genre. Interspersing their intricate melodies with alt/rock riffs and punk choruses, the band flexed it’s musical muscle as the singer exploded from one side of the stage to the other, falling down on the floor, climbing up on the drum riser, running out into the mosh pit, and even crowd-surfing overhead. His vocal style (and general behavior) were emotional and uncompromising, swinging from a whisper to a scream and back again. In contrast, the guitarist and bassist were the models of restraint (at least musically). Despite their obvious talent, both served up tasteful slices of minimalism, only stepping up to explode when the occasion called for it, doing musically what the singer was doing physically.

Following Savior Bullets’ roller coaster effect of lightweight textures and middle finger sounds was Red Letter Day, who managed to surprise me from the moment they took the stage. Sounding significantly more original than I first thought they might, and looking nothing like they actually sound, the group’s mix of SoCal punk and aggressive rumbling beats provided the backdrop to the singer’s uncharacteristically low emotional vocal style. At first glance, I would’ve bet money that he was a hardcore/screamo singer. But that was my beer money, and I’m glad I didn’t lose it. Instead, he belted out a controlled midrange tone, possessing the kind of power that let him hold big notes without hearing his voice crack and break like so many other emotional singers.

Ending the night was The Venus Transit, which if you’re a Phantom Critic connoisseur, should be a familiar name. In that huge mailbag I keep talking about every week, I’ve gotten several letters from people who wonder what I’ll do when I run out of bands to talk about. While you would fall asleep reading this if I reviewed the same show every weekend, who ever decided that I couldn’t talk about someone more than once? Variety is certainly a priority, but the best thing about original bands is how much they grow and change. Each band’s evolution is a vital part of the scene, and so it’s worth my time.

That being said, I have no idea if the band ever saw my first review, but what I saw last night was evidence of band who are coming in to their own. Overall, their entire sound has gelled, and they’ve adjusted to life onstage. My first few shots toward the band were mostly because of how different they were live from the cd tracks I’d heard. That early show was rough around the edges only because their sound was being lost. Signature elements on the recordings were falling through the cracks and so their vision, dressed in layers and depth, seemed naked and bare. Not this time, however. Fuller, tighter, and generally more comfortable, they have their live sound. Now if they just stop buying faulty equipment…

Good show overall. Usually shows with more than two or three bands start to blur into each other, but the diversity of last night’s acts kept it interesting and an energetic crowd kept it fun. Best of all, the bands seemed to have a great time playing and rallying around in support of each other. They may all hate the world we live in, but at least they can play nice.

Another review next week, hopefully on time. Expect an announcement about the interview offer soon, and maybe I’ll acknowledge the considerate people who wrote in to share their thoughts on my “unnecessarily hostile” review process. Wait, I just did. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

A Time When I Wasn't Sure

2006-03-22T15:34:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

This is what I get for trying to make promises about my schedule. As it turns out, time itself is plotting against me and so this week's review is for a show that - brace yourselves - won't happen until tomorrow (Thurs.) night. The way I see it, one of two things will happen:

1.) Will go out Thurs. night to see said show, get intoxicated, get in late, make some notes, and put together my review Friday morning. This is also known as the "best case scenario."

2.) Will go out Thurs. night to see said show, get intoxicated, get arrested, wake up in jail with no real knowledge of the prior night's events and make a followup post after I am bailed out that reviews the music overheard in the police station. And in case you're wondering, that's not even the worst case scenario.

Regardless of what I end up doing this week, though, I have my weekends back to normal and will be heading out to see some great talent, giving me fuel for the usual roast in next week's edition. As for the interview concept I posted on MySpace a few weeks ago, I've narrowed down the choices for the first act I'd like to talk with and will announce that shortly. It makes me wonder if they know what they've gotten themselves into...

That's all for right now, but do check back in for tomorrow night's show review. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

Headlights Still Shining In My Brain

2006-03-16T16:36:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Nothing like waiting until the last possible second. Under pressure, true creativity is said to thrive, and that is what I kept telling myself when I decided to wait until last night to check out this week’s artist, Half Moon. Yes, there were actually numerous exciting live activities this past weekend. No, I didn’t find the human energy to make it out to any of them. Yes, there were notable shows in the early part of the work week. Didn’t go to those either.

After taking a short breather, I decided on Monday that I’d pay a visit to Half Moon and leave myself as little time as possible to write an interesting and informative commentary. When I think about it, it occurs to me that I could’ve just as easily seen them later this weekend and given myself more time by reviewing someone else this week. Why am I telling you all of this? So that in the event you enjoy what you read, you’ll have enough additional information about my personal struggle to truly appreciate how awesome I really am.

Assuming you’re a longtime reader of my column (how long have I been doing this, now?), you’ll recall that I don’t naturally gravitate toward jam bands. Not that I don’t enjoy the spirit of spontaneity or admire the strong improvisational skills. Spread over a few hours, some of the more inspired artists can happen upon pure genius, going off into their own world and making some pretty profound musical statements along the way. While you probably won’t confuse them with the Grateful Dead, their sound would no doubt make Garcia proud. Often up tempo but rarely at a pure drive, they add flavor to a relaxed rhythm and blues foundation with folk/rock guitar, swinging bass groove, and soulful horns. Their two (yes, two) drummers flirt with jazz percussion and add a touch of classic rock ‘n roll to turn the bassist’s thumb-snapping walks into full fledged bounce.

On paper, I’d expect such a thing to sound like a mess. Every member seems to be doing something entirely different, meaning much less overlap and leaving a lot less room for error. Since the quality of talent can vary greatly in a genre that does not adhere to the normal music-making rules of expectancy and resolution (the opening and closing of each musical idea with the notes that your head tells you are right), you’ll often find that groups tend to jam by breaking off one or two members at a time. Taking turns at individual improvisation is usually the safer form of fusion, but Half Moon don’t appear to care. Their drummers are seamless and entirely complimentary of one another (at least onstage). The guitarist and bassist groove around each other, and the horns come across surprisingly mild, lending just enough Southern-style tone to be distinct.

In the end, the group’s impressive chemistry and relaxed performance style allowed even a curmudgeon like myself to have a good time, and that’s saying something. I get letters from people all the time who read the column and ask why in the hell someone so negative bothers to even go outside, let alone to review a band he expects might bore him to tears. One word, folks: Paxil. But even unmedicated, Half Moon put on a worthwhile show, with tunes that hold up whether you appreciate each note or just want to take pleasure in a casual listen.

That’s all for this week. Much to discuss in the next installment, including the offer I posted several days ago about doing an interview. Several local acts have expressed interest in taking part, and I think it might be an interesting experience. Anyway, thanks for reading, and do keep those letters coming. We’ll be opening the mailbag again pretty shortly, and who knows…next week I might even post on time. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Down Here You're Gonna All Stay

2006-03-01T11:13:00.000-05:00

Greeting and salutations.

After last week’s unexpected detour in my schedule, I’d promised everyone an “all-new” show review in this installment. Not only that, but if you’ll recall from my last full column, I mentioned actually reviewing the headlining act on their own bill. Once again back at the keyboard, I’m pleased to announce that no less than 50% of those promises will be kept! That’s right, an all-new review is just sentences away. Do your best to contain your excitement and keep reading.

Having intended to see this band in their earlier incarnation, I took the opportunity this past week to check in on Speak of the Devil (as they opened for Signal 7). The core of the metal act formerly known as Bludfed, this group emerged following a lineup turnover some months ago, and watching their rebirth has since become a morbid little hobby of mine…not that they’d ever know it, of course. I lusted at the opportunity to watch a local act suffer and survive through the infamous identity crisis. It was my own personal reality television show, with fewer cameras and no badly-written catchphrases. Whether they succeeded or failed, I knew I was going to be entertained.

As loud and as in love with Satan as they’ve ever been, there’s no mistaking the hardcore influence. If you’re near a flat surface with any kind of protruding edge, I’d like to invite you to lift your hand and then quickly slam your fingers straight down against the sharpest point of the edge. If you do it right, you’ll catch the skin behind your fingernails and peel it back to the joint. Were there a microphone in the room when you did this, the stomping, cursing, screaming, and jumping you did after sustaining the injury would closely resemble Speak of the Devil’s musical foundation. To some, this may sound like a ludicrous and unpleasant experience. But consider the attraction of more common, yet similar self-inflicted acts (tattoos, piercings, etc.), and you have yourself an audience.

Separating Speak of the Devil’s contribution from that of their peers can be difficult, especially if you’re only familiar with the genre at some distance, which is part of the reason why, even with tremendous underground success, the music is still resisted in the mainstream. The goal of any real band, and the true key to success, is the creation of a recognizable sound. Even if you’re not familiar enough with music lingo to dissect exactly what you’re hearing, there’s a good bet that even your mother can pick out certain bands when she hears them. Sometimes it is the voice. Or the guitar. A combination of the bass and drums. Or maybe it is the total package. Whatever it is, that’s the nondescript thing musicians are always referring to when they like to talk about their “sound.” So nondescript, in fact, that a large part of musicians don’t even know what it is. Instead, the best thing they can do is tell you who they sound like, and while that earns you admiration in high school, all it really guarantees in the long-term is a potential future in a cover band.

The most difficult thing about listening to hardcore metal is finding a unique element in a particular band’s music that lets you distinguish them from their contemporaries. As talented as they were, Bludfed never really broke the mold of unscrupulous-looking individuals with violent guitar riffs, mile-a-minute drums, and blood-curdling screams, and that is probably why the reformation as Speak of the Devil interested me as much as it did. They seem to be taking steps towards creating a sound that is unique among the stable of Roanoke’s metal scene, setting themselves apart in two major ways. For one, their new vocalist screams in a higher register than most, letting loose with the terrifying wail of a banshee rather than the low growl that sounds as though you’re gargling spit in your mouth two inches away from the microphone. The other change comes in their newer guitar/drum dynamic. All throughout the late 90’s, bands regurgitated the simplistic chunk of the previous decade, and tuned it down to create the “low and slow” sound that, when paired with hip-hop influenced drumming, formed what we commonly call nu-metal. Speak of the Devil evolve beyond that by preserving the “low and slow” chug, but employing the big beats heard in classic hard rock, offering the progressive song structure of legendary metal and a fresh perspective on what it means to be “heavy” in the modern era. Imagine if the band you heard on “Master of Puppets” had never teamed up with the same guy who produced Bon Jovi. Now you follow…

Still rough around the edges, the next few months are crucial for Speak of the Devil as they shape their stage show and write the music that will complete the soundtrack to this evil ritual they’re performing. In the meantime, watching them take shape is an exercise in musical voyeurism that I highly recommend. After all, whether they succeed or fail, you’re going to be entertained.

More uninvited opinions and silver-tongued cheap shots next week, folks. Schedule permitting, I should be able to crash a show, but I also have quite a bit of mail that is beginning to pile up. Thanks for reading, thanks for all the messages, and don’t be afraid to keep me up to date on what your band (or your favorite band) is doing. I promise to be nice. Well, not really, but write me anyway. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Talks for Hours and Still Tomorrow

2006-02-23T13:01:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Technically, there should be no Phantom this week. I had to head out of town at the last possible minute to handle those “personal affairs” people always babble about, and so I ended up having NO time to check anything out. Worse still, I got to spend the majority of the time riding in my car, researching the theory that the bad spots in my cellular network line up perfectly with crappy radio coverage. Fear not, though. I'll be back next week with an all-new review. Many of you have emailed me with some interesting questions, so I'll be getting to those also. Thanks for reading, and keep those messages coming. Until next we meet...

- The Phantom

Keep You Warm In Your Kingdoms

2006-02-15T10:35:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Whatever kind of weekend you had, I assure you: mine was worse. Not because anything bad happened, but because nothing good happened. Not one freakin’ thing. No highlights. No small miracles. No tiny pieces of joy. I sat in my house for two days watching it snow, with nothing but Pop Tarts to eat and basic cable’s handy rotation of Keanu Reeves movies to watch. And let me tell you, it was every bit as fun as it sounds.

It wasn’t like I didn’t try to make the best of it. I rather enjoy toasted pastries, and at least it wasn’t “Point Break.” I thought about shoveling my sidewalk, but I live in Roanoke, where the DMV has a special street tag for riding lawn mowers with snowplows. By 8am Saturday morning, every joker with a John Deere on my block had pushed and re-pushed the snow down the street until my neighbor thought it would be funny to clear his driveway by moving the 4ft drift into mine.

Fortunately, I did manage to get out prior to the snowfall to check out the Discordian Society and Madrone at the Coffee Pot on Thursday night. It’s worth noting that Fire at Will actually headlined the show, but I called it a night before then.

Having never seen or heard either band live, I was at first turned off by the Discordian Society’s sound. Not for lack of musicianship, but just my natural dislike of jam bands. Believing that musicians have no idea where they’re going always gets to me, sort of like watching a movie where you know something humiliating is going to happen and you tense up in embarrassment for the character. I wait for a painfully wrong note, sloppy passage, or missed time cue, and after a time of listening to someone fiddle around without going anywhere, my nerves overtake me and I lose all interest. Within the first few minutes of the band’s opening song, I could already tell I wasn’t going to like it.

In fact, anyone who wouldn’t like their music probably dislikes it in the first five minutes for similar reasons. Some folks just don’t enjoy the randomness. But as I listened, it started to click. Things weren’t nearly as accidental as they first appeared. Instead, I began to find a method in the madness and as soon as it dawned on me that all this chaos was totally intentional, I realized the scope of the band’s musical prowess. What seemed like an acid-tripped mix of funk, ska, rock, and punk, was punctuated by the smooth rhythm changes, precise starts and stops, and tight harmonies that some bands couldn’t do with all the practice in the world.

Led by a bass-playing cross between Les Claypool and Frank Zappa, the sound was groove-heavy and remained danceable even as the guitarist and pianist strung together a woodshed’s worth of crazy licks and seemingly unrelated note patterns. They seemed aware of the fact that their vocal work was fairly forgettable, at one point observing that “if this song had words, they’d go right here.” Indeed, words seemed fairly pointless to the overall thing, but were there anyway in an occasion or two where the band channeled a barbershop quartet, just to prove that they could.

For all the conventions the Discordian Society endeavored to avoid, Madrone seemed to revel in them, frantically switching gears between late 80’s thrash and modern power chord strums. While the bass and drums play up the formulaic sound of on-again/off-again “machine gun” rhythms, it is the singer’s guitar that paints the picture. In a layout that is otherwise very by-the-book, the melodies are catchy and fairly unique, helping make the other guitarists’ senseless speed picking bearable and letting the band find their signature, which resides in a most unusual place – the softer side.

Whereas 90% of the harder bands around town get lost when the pace slows, Madrone shines – brightly. As they drop the noise level, the beats become more intricate and the bass begins to sway hypnotically. For most acts, playing the decelerated part in a song means strumming the same 4 chords they’ve been playing, just without all the distortion. The guitars I heard went in a different direction, abruptly taking the shape of early Zeppelin with the airy quality of U2. The vocals, which previously sounded like strained emo whining, are given real emotion through clarity and calmer delivery. This is the strength of Madrone, drawing on the rock/alt metal energy of bands like Tool or the Deftones, but happily avoiding the forgetability that comes with the straight-ahead hardcore that their heavier sections might imply.

Both bands stand on the strength of their originality, giving the Roanoke audience some clever alternatives to the typical weekend entertainment. The casual listener will gravitate toward Madrone’s more identifiable radio-rock packaging, while the Discordian Society is a must for any passionate music enthusiast. Madrone shows the most potential for growth, especially if they embrace and enhance the strength they’ve shown in their subtlety. Discordian Society are more complete in terms of their overall sound, but I’m certain things are only going to get progressively more intense as they strive towards their goal of complete musical insanity.

That’s enough out of me for one week. I’ve got wrap this up and still have enough time to grab the garden hose and ice my neighbor’s driveway before he and his wife get back. See you next time, where maybe I’ll actually review the band who’s show it is.

Maybe.

Thanks for reading, and keep those emails coming. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

And Whosoever Diggeth A Pit

2006-02-08T14:04:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Some weeks make me glad I don’t set goals for myself. There is a certain tranquility in my own natural laziness; when the slacker in me finds enough energy to tell the taskmaster in me to take a hike. If I thought about it long enough, I’m sure I’d conclude that such behavior is actually a sign of mental illness. Lucky for me, that’s the kind of dangerous thinking my laziness helps me avoid. And with my aimless attitude, came the wandering spirit of adventure that kept me out practically every night last week.

Heading into things, I had some idea of what I wanted to do these past 7 days, but I refused to lock myself in to anything. I’m glad I listened to myself.

Or didn’t listen to myself. Whichever. Mental illness can be confusing.

High on ginseng and life, I found the highlight of my week in the last place I’d have expected: The Club at Fiji Island.

Or under Fiji Island. Whichever.

Let me be perfectly honest about something. The only reason I went out to the Club’s Tuesday Open Mic Night was because I wanted to be alone. I wanted to drink, relax, and not be crowded. By most recent accounts, I expected a sparsely populated bar, maybe a few folks shooting pool, minimal noisy chatter, and a few acoustic numbers of varying quality that I could tune out if I wanted to. While it’s atmosphere is one of mellow sophistication, the Club is hardly the happenin’ place, especially when it comes to live music. A DJ rules the roost on Fridays, usually spinning plates straight off the Q99 playlist. Saturday nights do feature live regional acts of assorted jazz/blues stylings, but it’s rarely something you haven’t heard before.

So imagine my surprise when I got a listen to The Seed. A trio of talented local players, they hit me from out of nowhere. And I liked it. A chewy chunk of jazz bass funk and reggae riddim, they held the pocket behind an original mix of fusion guitar and bluesy, breathy vocals. Their delivery was low-key; no outrageous physicality or crowd-pumping Top 40 renditions. Instead, their performance oozed cool, and clicked with the Club’s own retro vibe, elevating the value of the space between the notes and filling a quiet room with the whispers of forgotten soul. Not bad for some younger cats.

But this isn’t yesterday’s music we’re talking about. The Seed set themselves apart through the infusion of the reggae influence, which plays a major role in the diverse nature of their sound. While the improvisational spirit of jazz exists in the bass, he opts to play more consistent up-tempo lines over the drummer’s island rhythms. Bringing out the funk by accentuating the one drop (reggae’s characteristic hit on the 3rd beat of each measure) and using a more contemporary choice of notes, they create a middle ground between the unpredictability of Monk and universal groove of Marley. It’d almost be blasphemy if it wasn’t so entertaining.

The guitar is soaked in reggae’s up-beat choppiness, but moves the melody along with a choice selection of jazz chord voicings, blues bends, and disco-era wah sounds. It was also less dominant in the overall mix, standing as a contrast against the bass, and focusing most of the listener’s attention towards the beat. The same could be said of the vocals, which spiced up the sound with it’s soul, but existed mostly because people around town can’t sit still long enough to listen to an entirely instrumental band.

The Seed break through the popularity barriers typically associated with their style, and still manage to sacrifice very little in the way of musical integrity. A traditional jazz enthusiast might raise an eyebrow at employing the heavy-handed generality of reggae’s beats, but would also be the first to admit the importance of exploration in new, and ultimately unexpected musical directions. While they’re hardly pioneers in the fusion, The Seed are a welcome alternative for anyone who’s desire for mellower sounds has been soured by the stereotype of annoying hipsters and an overly cerebral approach. You don’t have to be a thumb-snapping coffee house denizen to enjoy what they do, but expect to tap your feet every now and again.

It’ll be interesting to see where The Seed go, especially if their position as the Club’s “house band” pushes them creatively. The frequency with which they play will expose inevitable flaws in their consistency, and it’ll be up to them to stay fresh or risk becoming as stale as the room they’re playing. For now, though, the Club and The Seed appear perfect for each other, once again making it cool…to be cool. I predict there’s an audience hungry for such a thing; for those who know what it means to chill. This means good things for The Seed, good things for the Club, and means I’m probably going to have to find a new place to be alone.

All-new diet music reviews next week; twice the hate, half the fat. Thanks for reading, and keep those emails coming. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Got a Mouth Like an Alligator

2006-02-01T13:31:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

The bad times continue. Writing this article couldn’t be any harder if I was typing with screwdrivers under my fingernails, and yet here we are. Recovering from one of the longest and most difficult weeks of my life, I wanted to throw myself into my work…alas, the computer monitor may have broken a rib when I landed on it. Ever the overachiever, this week’s review of Roanoke’s TK421 (because I’m too lazy to write out the roman numerals) is shined up and ready for your enjoyment…

In what was an otherwise generic Awful Arthur’s Friday night, I watched these guys blow the roof off like it was second nature – and the only reason I’m taking the time out of my depression to tell you about it is because they did it on their own. Yes, they played some pretty good covers (an Awful Arthur’s prerequisite), but that’s not why I’m writing. After all, I’ve an oath to “the brilliant, the gifted, the undiscovered,” not the reasonably popular and financially secure. So why give them the advertising space? Because as a band building their success on originality, they are a benchmark in the scene.

The sound is unmistakably modern rock. Their debut album “Hollow” and their recent follow-up “Disengaged” are ear-friendly slices of the kind of guitar music you’ve heard swimming around on the radio in the last few years. Thick walls of rich distortion fill the void around simplistic stomping rhythms and guttural bass to create catchy textbook anthems. Delectably different about the TK sound is the direction of the vocal melodies, which reach back into the snarl of blues and the passion of soul instead of just occupying the same melodramatic “minor keys are cool” space as their peers. It lends a sense of reality to the lyrics, draws you into the music, and gives distinguishing character to what would otherwise be a reasonably good impression of a successful national act.

From a performance perspective, I was impressed by the energy, the crowd interaction, and the general camaraderie – the difference between playing an instrument and functioning as entertainment. Not afraid of their roots in 80’s metal, they condensed the spectacle of bombastic arena rock into that 3’x6’ stage Arthur’s gives you and reveled in their own absurdity, to the delight of the crowd. Barring a few intoxicated efforts, this wasn’t a dancing night. It was a celebration of the over-the-top glory that made this all so much fun back in ’89. I counted each and every one of the 5 Great Rock Cliché’s:

5.) Drinking Onstage
Most musicians are assumed to drink, but for rock bands, it is completely necessary to advertise that you’re drunk (or on your way to getting drunk) and to make sure you take your shots in full view of the crowd. TK took it a step further with scheduled toasts throughout the performance.

4.) Lead Singer + Makeup
Whether it’s black eyeliner, lipstick, nail polish, or some horrible combination of the three, no show is complete until the lead singer feels pretty. The bass player can probably do with a tad less rouge, though…

3.) Ridiculous guitar tricks
Guitar solos are a self-indulgent staple of the craft. But playing behind your head, playing behind your back, tapping with a shoe, sliding with a beer bottle, making animals noises with your effects pedals, and picking with your teeth…now that’s a lost art…

2.) Essential Posing
For rock musicians, the live show is a ritual that involves many key movements designed to invoke the power of their gods. Drummers must spin sticks, and bass players must hump the air as a means to keep time. Even the easiest song to sing requires painful “from the heart” facial expressions and reaching out to the crowd with one hand as though longing to touch them. Mics have to be swung like whips, and arms must be outstretched to windmill around when strumming a chord on the guitar. You must point to the girl in the front row to make sure she sees you start your solo, and as you do, you must rest your leg against the monitor on the floor. Bending a string requires the eyes to be closed, and high notes cannot be plucked without sucking your lips in like a fish. The gods hath spoken…

1.) The Promise of Bad Behavior
It’s not enough that you get the feeling musicians are up to no good. They must tell you. Not in detail, of course. That wouldn’t be nearly as cool. But teasing the crowd with thin innuendos, vulgar eye contact, and lurid declarations of what might happen at the hotel later are as necessary as the band itself. Musicians aren’t able to talk to regular people for long periods of time without bringing up their music. Talking about how hard you party when you play in between the minutes, hours, and days that you aren’t playing is all they have to fill up the space. TK did not disappoint, and promised enough reckless 18yr old behavior to make you think it was ’89 again. You may know better now, but who cares?

If there’s a dividing line over liking or disliking this band, it probably has less to do with the music and more to do with what kind of party you enjoy. Many bands in town build their act around the idea of freezing a particular era in their lives and in the lives of their audience, effectively defying age for a night. At 35 going on 20, their crowd is more than willing to take a few more shots to forget they have a mortgage. On the other hand, watching TK is about understanding the place that these four men have arrived at in their lives, and not really giving a damn. The music that they’ve created is a reflection of a lifetime’s worth of experience and they’re unapologetic about how they got here. You know that these are the guys who’ll proudly display their Ratt posters and carry wallet-sized photos of their senior picture just to brag about their mullets. If you heard “We're Not Gonna Take It” as a message to your generation, TK invites you to put one fist up and salute.

That’s all for this week. I’ll be all over the place in the next few days, so there’s no telling how long the next column may be, but at least the Band B**** won’t wonder if I’m stalking her. Again, thanks to everybody for the emails, and for everyone who’s keeping me up to date on what they’re doing. I’ll get there eventually. And if I don’t…well, just wait longer. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Pressure is Presently Pushing Down

2006-01-26T22:30:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

What a miserable week. Infected with some notorious cold/flu “thing” that’s been flying around, the most review I did in the last seven days was checking the color of my mucus. Yes, it’s disgusting. Welcome to my weekend. Unable and (flat out unwilling) to go out of the house since last Wednesday, I missed my planned outing to the Vinton War Memorial to check out the Silent Press’ CD release show. Perhaps another time…

Taking the illness into account, it’s probably better that I NOT review anyone this week, since I’d either be so vague that it’d hardly be worth it, or so mean that you’d mistake me for someone vindictive. Instead, I put myself into a heavy trance of nighttime sleeping medicine, and came up with a list of things in local music that I am personally sick of. In no particular order:

“They had a singer?”
There’s been some good space spent in this column talking about the importance of live sound, and I’m too tired to repeat myself. Not having the equipment is one thing. Playing a small place is one thing. But having a band comprised of people so self-centered that they simply pretend their volume isn’t negotiable. Annoying.

Awesome musicians end up in jazz or cover bands
We’ve lost a lot of good men out there. There are a few local original acts in town with pure powerhouse players. But too few if you ask me. Not that I’m blaming them though. It’s hard when the only crowd response to your awe-inspiring, gravity defying solo is “cool…now play Freebird!” Rough.

Tonight Only: The One Man Show
Drummers usually catch most of the flack for this, and sometimes rightfully so. It’s easy to fall into a pattern of picking on the drummer, just because some of the jokes write themselves… But they aren’t the only ones. The only thing more depressing than watching a band with just one good member, is watching the guy who’s convinced it’s him. Yes, it’s awesome when you are the master of your instrument. No, I don’t need you to demonstrate it for me, in every song, all night, at the expense of everything else. If your goal when playing in a band is to ensure that, no matter what, everyone walks away convinced that you’re awesome, do us a favor and form the Egomaniac Experience.

Where’s the street?
No, I’m not particularly urban-cool in the McDonalds commercial sort-of-way, yet I can’t help but be a little bummed that there isn’t more live hip-hop in the area. Yes, there are some guys and girls out there who are doing it, and I certainly respect that. But it is something I would like to see more of, especially in a place like ours where the opportunity for stylistic blends can lead to some amazing live music.

“Smells Like Teen Spirit”
This song also happens to be one of the first collection of chords any up-and-coming guitarist will slam out on their way to infamy. There are some songs that are a little done, but you can still enjoy playing them. For example, I won’t necessarily kill you for Collective Soul’s “Shine”. And you do have to play what the crowd wants to hear. But no one except Kurt Cobain looks cool playing it, and every time I see someone try, I find myself wishing I had a shotgun handy…

Table by day, stage by night
The bands aren’t always the only ones to blame. Places that move a table or two out of the way and call it a stage – that’s pretty weak. While I’m thankful to all the great owners in town who make live music a part of their establishment, there’s a difference between an acoustic duo and full band…they typically don’t occupy the same space…

45 minute show. 30 minute setup.
I think the title speaks for itself, but in case you aren’t sure, let me spell it out for you. You have a 45 minute set, and 15 minutes of load-in time. You decide that for this small outing, you require 4 full stacks of amp speakers, 4 bass cabinets, 12 mics (just in case), 10 guitars, 28lbs of cables, 7 miles of duct tape, a lighting rig, balloons, backup dancers, neon logo, disco ball, and a partridge in a pear tree. Moron.

Bands who don’t bother to hide their influences
Sometimes it’s cool to pay tribute to a favorite band or song. Sometimes you intentionally put in little things here and there for anyone who gets it. Lifting someone else’s look or sound to have fun as an inside joke can be cool. What’s not cool is being unable to break out of the shadows of the people you studied, and expecting everyone else to treat you as an original. The biggest obstacle in reaching anyone with your music is in understanding the differences between what you hear and what they hear, so pretending like you haven’t noticed that you sing like Eddie Vedder, dress like Slash, or sound like Green Day doesn’t say you’re deep. It says you’re clueless…

Musicians who’ve jumped the shark
Lingo alert! In case you don’t know, jumping the shark is a metaphor used by people to denote the moment when a television series is (in retrospect) deemed to have passed its peak. If you enjoy playing music, it can be a lifetime passion that enrichs you whether you’re playing in front of a thousand people, or just one. On the other hand, I’ve seen my fair share of 45yr old weekend warriors who spend their offtime sitting around, drinking with their other 45yr old bandmates, talking about how groovy life will be when they finally make it. The point at which I hear them revel in the promise of one day “rockin’ it on MTV” and “scoring some chicks,” I turn to leave. You should too.

Really badly written band bios
The rest of these are generic, but this last one is purely personal. I am constantly out on the internet, checking new local music from bands, their fans, and all sorts of weird places. And every 3rd or 4th band I happen upon, there it is: the impossible to describe so-and-so band are a genre-defying group of people with instruments who paint their emotions on sound walls with little brushes of stuff so vague you’ll have to like it because you aren’t sure what it is. Either that, or I get the bio with a list of bands they sound "just like" that is so long and twisting I think I’m reading the inventory list for FYE. Stick to writing songs…

Long rant this week. That’s ok because it’s been a long week. And you know, I have a feeling this next one is going to be even longer. Thanks for understanding, and thanks for reading. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Work All Day To Make It Right

2006-01-19T10:06:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Forgive me if I seem distracted. It’s been a few weeks since Motley Crue tickets went on sale, and I continue to get emails every day from people asking me to vocalize their outrage for them. Sure, each letter is different, but the idea is pretty much the same: “A ticket costs 75 freakin’ dollars?! You’re #$@#$ kidding me!“ I’m afraid so. For an act that once epitomized the rebellion and depravity of rock, it sure looks as though they’re cashing in on one last nostalgia trip. At least the Stones don’t expect anyone to believe they’re the same men they were a few decades ago. It’s not that I don’t love the Crue. I think it’s a great tour, and find it considerate of them to stop off and help the civic center finish paying off all that renovation they’ve been going through. But to sell me on the idea that these are the same four wild men they were in the 80’s? The last risky thing Tommy Lee did was sleep with Pam. Outside of writing this column, I live one of the most boring lives imaginable, and yet I still manage more dangerous behavior every morning than Vince Neil does all week.

So consider your frustration vented. Let’s move on.

Far be it for me to let that take precedence over what’s going in the local scene. After all, I have an obligation to the hardworking men and women of Roanoke music, and this week, I made a call on one of the more meticulous: Dave Porter. Playing with his band (Bad Dog) at Cheers in Salem, their version of Aerosmith’s “Same Old Song and Dance” called to me while I was eating dinner at the neighboring Western Sizzlin, and thus they became my review for the week…after I finished my steak, of course.

For the most part, Dave’s focus is on his original music. He’s released an album entitled “Desire” on which he performs the majority of the instrumentation himself. Usually artists who do this say something about how playing everything is a more personal reflection of the music inside themselves. While this is true to a certain degree, it can also mean simply freeing yourself to do whatever you feel like without having to get someone else’s consent, as in a band setting. Solo offerings like this always fascinate me because of the potential to paint a fuller picture of the artist’s musical understanding across instruments. Done right, it can become the ultimate expression of genius – the difference between being a composer and being a bassist, or guitarist, or drummer, or singer, etc. It is also not without it’s risks. If you’re supremely talented in one area, the rest of the record can end up sounding like generic filler while you explode on your specialty. Or, similarly, you may concoct an album so devoid of ability, so lacking in inspiration, that it simply demonstrates your overwhelming ineptitude.

A bassist by trade, Porter’s greatest asset throughout “Desire” is his attention to groove. While quite talented, this isn’t the record of a bass virtuoso and that’s probably for the better. He tastefully limits the times in which he shows off for the sake of showing off, and instead puts his focus on making everything memorable. It’s not Mozart, but then Dave would probably be the first person to say that wasn’t his intention anyway. Each song is built around a catchy drum rhythm that he accentuates with [mostly] funk bass. The guitars create the hooks along with the vocals, and the keys fill up the spaces in between. Hardly the self-indulgent sludge I would’ve expected from someone who makes liberal use of the word “eclectic” in describing their work.

The songs themselves feel purposefully dated to conjure up memories for anybody who went through adolescence with 90’s alt rock as their soundtrack, blending together lighter rock mood and funk melodies in an “STP meets Extreme” kind of way. While this is definitely commercial music, there is enough indie quirkiness in the songs and the production to mask a bit of the glossy pop sheen and keep it from sinking under it’s own pretentiousness.

Dave’s live set with Bad Dog was unfortunately just a list of covers this weekend, but it did provide an insight to his own relaxed performance style. The entire experience was refreshingly laid back, since what onstage hype the band did generate was done with tongue-in-cheek. I don’t know if these guys also help him perform his solo stuff, but if they do, I’m going to make a point to check it out.

I think the essence of Porter as a musician is about enjoying what you’re doing. Contrary to groups who practice chemistry like they practice songs, these guys seemed as though they’d pick up and play for free if you gave them the opportunity. That could all be part of the show but if they’re faking, then congratulations on fooling me. With a few current tunes here and there, this was mostly a hearty chunk of 70’s rock (AC/DC, Eagles, Zeppelin) and a few classic gems (Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me”, Atlanta Rhythm Section’s “Imaginary Lover”, and “Blue Collar Man” from Styx) served up by a band who seemed to simply enjoy playing them. That kind of genuine enthusiasm set the tone for the crowd who spent the night drinking, laughing, and dancing away.

Judging from the tracks on “Desire” as well as what he’s put together in Bad Dog, Porter is someone who knows what he wants, thinks he has a good ear on what will sell, and is focused enough to keep pushing. That he clearly believes in what he’s doing is evidence of some considerable talent, or at least the kind of intolerable ego that lets him isolate himself from the opinions of others. In any case, the result is still the same, and I don’t have to worry about whether or not he’s likable offstage.

More wit, wisdom, and a show review in my next installment. That’s all for this week. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

The Song(s) Remain the Same

2006-01-11T13:48:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

At times, even I am at a loss for words. The year is two weeks gone, and already I’m banging my head against my keyboard as I try to gather my thoughts. Somewhere inside this mind are pieces that put together my review of the Worx (another of Roanoke's most successful cover bands), and now all I have to do is make sense of it all. After heading out to see the band this weekend, I've plenty to talk about, and yet I feel so underwhelmed by the whole experience that it’s almost as if I don’t care. Odd.

Fortunately for me, no one reads this column for sugary enthusiasm, so I might as well put my conflicted psyche on display. Since the band's name is a fairly well-known one, I can save space by skipping most of the introductions. You don’t earn the kind of reputation these guys have by being amateur musicians, nor do you pack the house by ignoring the needs of your audience. While I would be willing to bet that they can vary from setting to setting, the Worx is at home in the early-mid 30’s scene, since the majority of their set is a dirty blend of modern country (Rascall Flatts, Jason Aldean), 90’s pop/rock (Prince, Nirvana,…and Crazytown?), a few heavy-but-not-really bits (Disturbed, Drowning Pool) and the obligatory hip-hop (50 Cent, Snoop Dogg). It’s music for people who want to drink and dance but are too lazy to buy one of those Now That’s What I Call Music compilations. You get the idea.

The Worx know how to market themselves by appealing to the right people – club/bar owners. This kind of understanding is something that probably 90% of all bands lack. For various reasons, musicians rarely put themselves in the shoes of an owner or booking rep, and if you don’t think it’s costing you, answer this: where is your band playing every weekend between now and the end of March, and tell me what you’re going to get paid. Don’t know? Well, the Worx do. What do they know that you don't? At the risk of stripping every ounce of creative integrity from them, these are businessmen who get that their music plays a role in helping owners turn a profit. The consequence of this is the removal of the volume, speed, and dangerous unpredictability that regular bands label as “energy, intensity, and excitement.” And there you have it. The great divide which exists between artistry and commerce, and I condense it into a paragraph. Sometimes I think I should get paid for this stuff.

How'd they do? Not too badly. As with any all-purpose cover band, the guitar was thinned in the mix to keep the snarl digestible, and the keys and bass existed mostly to keep a groove or pepper the sounds. It was the drums that really made all the difference here. Instead of feeling like I was listening to a DJ remix these songs, I got a heavy punch with the aggressive recklessness that saved them from sounding like a jukebox, and that really impressed me. The band’s ability to remain faithful to the originals went a long way towards satisfying a stickler like myself, since not hearing someone butcher a favorite song is a welcome delight. From an entertainment point of view, their singer was the focal point. The rest of the group appeared reserved, only occasionally engaging in some onstage banter with one another, and performing on their instruments without too much exaggerated action. Whereas the singer appears to have skipped his morning Ritalin dosage; bouncing around, singing, drinking, and occasionally picking up a guitar. He’s fun to watch, has an infectious energy, and isn’t a bad vocalist. With the exception of the Guns N’ Roses covers that seemed to stretch his limits, he was dead-on in most of what he did, and his charisma made up for the rest.

Conclusions? When it comes to playing other people’s music, the Worx have it down. They’re a sure bet if you’re out looking for a good time and they strive to make the party, meaning that you’ll get more out of their show if you’re on the dance floor. Of course, not everyone wants to wade through a sea of drunk #$!% with no sense of personal space just to have a good time, but even so, they’re not bad to sit and listen to. You’ll laugh, you’ll drink, you’ll have fun, you’ll drink some more, and you’ll hear something you’re bound to recognize – who can’t do with another version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

Leaving little not to like, you may wonder why I sound so indifferent, and the explanation for my deflated mood is a simple one. I’ve listened to Worx fans and Burning Bridges fans argue back and forth for God-knows-how-long about which band was the best, and I had expected that when I finally got to see them both, that I’d find some kind of sharp contrast to explain the split, or at least a different set of material. Instead I discovered a remarkable similarity that turns out to be a bit depressing. Maybe it was just more fun imagining that they were trying to outdo each other…

Whether or not one or both bands are ignorant of this similarity is a mystery to me, but I have two possible theories. My first and favorite choice is that they are spying on one another. Not only is this hilarious to imagine in a Spy vs. Spy sort of way, but it at least restores the idea of competition. The other equally funny, but ultimately disappointing conclusion is that they’ve formed some secret pact in which they agree to share the crown of Most Popular Regional Cover Band between them. We may never know.

Another review next week. Keep those emails coming, and thanks for reading. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Big Question Mark Above My Head

2006-01-04T10:38:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Welcome to the first edition of the Phantom, circa 2006! In honor of the new year, and in conjunction with my 4-day-old hangover, we’re going to do something special for this installment. While most of the mail I get includes helpful directions on where I can go with my opinions, some of my loyal readers have been asking me questions, and up until now I have had little opportunity to respond to them. I thought this would be a perfect time to open the mailbag, and print a few of the actual letters I've gotten (with the praise/profanity removed to conserve space). Of course, names have been changed to protect the innocent...

Dear Phantom, will you come check out my band? - Billie A.

Absolutely. Drop me a line and tell me when and where you’re playing; that’s what the MySpace is for: http://www.myspace.com/phantom_critic. I make no promises on how soon I’ll get out, but I do keep a list and will make every effort to attend a show.

Dear Phantom, what band(s) have impressed you most thus far? - Tom C.

Define impressed. If you mean bands that appear capable of taking things to the next level, then I’d say Insane Solitude and Drivn. Solitude impressed me because of their grasp of songwriting at this stage in their career, which I believe will help them evolve into a strong original act. Drivn impresses me because of the completeness of the package they are selling; the look, the music, and the sense to steer it are all present. All that remains is the opportunity…

Dear Phantom, why don’t you post photos with your blog? - George M.

This question has been asked every week since I’ve started, and the answer is simpler than you think – carrying a camera, setting up a shot, and blinding everyone with random flashes of light are not the tactics of a stealth critic. But since my lack of pictures seems to bother people, I've posted one.

Dear Phantom, who are you going to review next? - Cindy C.

No idea. But I can tell you that there are several acts on my list that I expect to be dropping in on in the next few weeks. I want to see Madrone, Illbotz, the Lobsters, Bebop Hoedown, Kevin Selfe & the Tornadoes, Wading Girl, the Pop Rivets, and TK421. I also have this jazz itch that’s yet to be scratched…

Dear Phantom, what do you like most about the Roanoke scene? – Donald T.

The best thing about Roanoke’s scene is the variety. Larger cities have that whole problem with something popular being imitated dozens of times until creativity erodes away. There may be 500+ [professional] bands in a city like Boston, but I’d be willing to bet at least 350 of them are indistinguishable from each other. In all my years of listening to and playing in bands in this area, I’ve yet to run across two groups that don’t stand out from one another. That’s good news for music fans, and it’s good news for musicians who want to make their mark with originality.

Dear Phantom, what was it like working with Mr. T? – Brendan F.

Ah, fond memories. I was working as a stunt double in ’81 when I got the call to take a few punches for Stallone in Rocky III. I’d see Mr. T from time to time during filming, but they were using Jimmie Walker as his double for most of that movie, so I didn’t get formally introduced until Harold Ramis and I were pitching “A-Team” to the networks. We were fast friends though. Used to sit around on our days off, and just draw or arm wrestle. A great guy, really.

Dear Phantom, why do you feel the need to bust on everybody? - Ronald M.

Because I’m mean-spirited and jealous at heart? Whatever you need to tell yourself. The truth is, I do it because anyone expecting to make it in the world on the basis of their art should understand that not everyone will like them as much as their friends and family do. I offer the perspective of someone discovering your music for the first time, and give feedback that can help you shape what kind of impression you make. Do you have to listen to me? Not at all. Does ignoring that kind of advice make you stupid? Probably.

Dear Phantom, who are you? – Michael J.

Remember that kid who started everyone pointing and laughing at you in your 3rd grade nightmare, when you were in front of the class and realized you were naked? That’s me.

Thanks for the questions, and keep those emails coming. We’ll have another show review in the next installment, so somebody is getting a visit this weekend. It could be you. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Two For the Price of One...

2005-12-29T02:49:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

The theme of this week’s column? Sometimes it just pays to be in the right place at the right time. The good folks in Drivn had sent me a message about their New Years show, but if all goes as planned, I’ll be passing out in 2005 and waking up in 2006. Such a plan leaves very little opportunity for an honest (or coherent) review, so I did what any polite phantom would do: crash an earlier show uninvited and hope for the best.

Drivn were playing with Cobalt Media in Salem, and given the choice between that and 3 more hours in Valley View’s famous holiday traffic, it seemed like a no-brainer. I’d seen their show flyer, but couldn’t tell if Drivn were opening for Cobalt Media, or vice versa. I wandered if it’d be worth my time, but I’d grown tired of wrapping presents, so I took my chances. Turns out it was a “co-headlining” show.

No, really.

Not that kind of co-headlining where the opening band has too much ego to admit they’re just opening, but an actual division of each band's sets to break up the night.

How…retro.

And thus the tone was set. I found a quiet corner and observed as Drivn plowed through a covers-heavy set of classic 70’s rock, with a few modern favorites tossed in to keep it current. Most bands that play covers like to talk about making a song their own, which usually means remaking something into their genre, or simply screwing it up so it sounds like the same crap that they write. Drivn, however, manage something entirely different. They produce music that's painstakingly faithful to the originals, yet so infused with their own captivating energy that you would easily believe they wrote them. Not discounting group chemistry, their single greatest asset in this undertaking was their lead singer, whose talent seems to come about as easily to him as my sarcasm does to me. I know, I know. I was shocked, too. Equally able to conjure the spirits of Morrison and Plant as he was to find his own voice, I watched him capture the audience’s attention and dance them like puppets on his string. There was sincerity to his blues and confidence to his bravado, and he took the crowd with him through every writhe and twist. Backing this showman was a twin guitar assault that landed somewhere between Page and Slash, and a bass/drums combo that you could feel in your chest. For all this glossy appeal, it was the band’s attention to detail that impressed me most. The music was, of course, dead-on. The vocal harmonies were there. The changes were tight. Everyone knew their place, and shined in it.

Following Drivn’s retro vibe were Cobalt Media, who took us from the 70’s straight into the 80’s. If you’re into local music at all, you probably know Cobalt’s frontman and self promotion extraordinaire, Wes. There’s little I can say about him that he hasn’t already said about himself, but he’s a talented and determined player on and offstage, and I’d been curious to see Cobalt Media since their formation some months back. Vocal duties for the group seemed divided; there was a standalone singer who performed on the first few songs, there was Wes, and they took occasion to let their female guitarist sing a tune or two. At a quick listen, the band’s driving force is their rhythm section; lending considerable weight to their down-tuned mix of metal and just-for-the-hell-of-it pop. Under the hood, the bassist and drummer did a remarkable job of avoiding the cliché and keeping the crunch feeling fresh while Wes wailed on leads and did his best James Hetfield impression. The band’s covers were admirable, especially those performed with their “designated” singer, and their originals showcased a penchant for writing the next great Godsmack riff.

Musically, both bands captured the spirits of their genres and drove their points home - hard. I think the award in performance goes to Drivn, but they’ve also been together longer, and time plays a big part in smoothing any group’s edges. In contrast however, 90% of Drivn’s show was their singer, whereas Cobalt Media spread the show around in a “sum of their parts” kind of way. Drivn’s comfort in their style creates the awe-inspiring illusion that these five gentlemen simply ooze this sort of talent everyday. Still relatively new, Cobalt Media continue searching for their comfort zone, but their contribution is definitely unique and should shine as they settle in to one another.

Of course, if you happened to be at this particular show, you’re familiar with the excitement surrounding the end of the night. Seems it was a room full of “local celebrities” that evening, with members of some of the area’s best bands in the crowd. There’s a rule about musicians that they can’t resist a stage, and by the end of the night, members of Drivn, Cobalt Media, and TK421 were together onstage playing Guns N’ Roses and Metallica. As I saw cameras exploding at the “once-in-a-lifetime” photo opportunities, I took it all in. If that many musicians can be together in one room, for one night, and have that much fun, is peace on Earth such a radical concept? If the stage is really big enough to hold all of them, then perhaps sharing this world isn’t that hard. If two bassists can share one instrument, can not mankind find unity? Maybe it was just magic in the moment. Maybe it was a Christmas miracle.

Or maybe it was the beer. Who knows?

Happy Holidays from the Phantom, and keep your eyes peeled. New Year’s Eve is only days away, and I’ll be passed out in a corner booth near you. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Take All My World and Shake It...

2005-12-21T08:45:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Many of you have been kind enough to pass along encouraging words about this little blog, and I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. My inbox runneth over, and I am moved by your thoughtfulness. I just wanted to share a few of my favorites and thank them for their sincerity:

“…just some talentless hack.”
“You’re a pompous ass…”
“Great! Another egomaniac in the paper…”
“…and just why are YOU qualified?”
“Quit whining!”

and my personal favorite:

“…a journalistic disgrace to journalists everywhere!!” (with the two exclamation points and everything…awesome)

And while I can’t possibly say “thanks” enough to all of you for your kindness, I wanted you to know how much your honesty means to me. But enough of this mushy stuff…

Let’s talk about success, boys and girls. The first rule of being successful is that you are bound to draw spite from those not as successful. Jealousy being what it is, those who reach the top find it to be a shaky perch at best. Musicians, or any artist for that matter, often find that success carries with it another, more dreaded label: sellout. Which is why it comes as no surprise to me that one of Roanoke’s most successful bands, Burning Bridges, carry a dual reputation. To the mid 20’s – 40’s bar hoppers, they are held in the highest regard as consummate professionals and versatile performers. To venues around town, they are a guaranteed draw, and quality entertainment. In other words, to 90% of Roanoke’s general population, Burning Bridges are among the best you can find.

And what’s that word the other 10% are using? You guessed it. Sellout.

So, having never seen the band before, and hearing that they’d be in town, I took it upon myself to make a secret appearance. I wanted to see for myself what it was all about. And what did I find? Quite a lot.

The house was packed, as I expected it would be, and was a cultural mix of cowboy hats, polo shirts, biker jackets, and beer. Add in a drunken dancing guy in a Santa hat (that I can't actually confirm was drunk...but if he wasn't, he did a good impersonation) and you've got yourself a recipe for a good time. Noting the importance my last column put on sound control, what I heard walking in from outside was neither overpowering nor underwhelming – it stood out, but wasn’t an annoyance. No instant headache. A good start.

Already a few numbers into their set by the time I arrived, the band was warmed up and starting to stretch their entertainment muscles. Onstage, they laughed and joked with the audience (and each other) between songs, and encouraged singing along whenever possible. It’s worth mentioning that they are one of the only bands I’ve seen around town who can pull that trick where the singer stops singing, and holds the mic out to let the crowd finish the line. When he stopped, you could actually hear the crowd respond, and most of them knew the words. Other local acts I’ve seen get mutters from a handful of people who are barely loud (or drunk) enough to shout back at them. The crowd and the band fed off each other for most of the night, and the energy level never subsided.

Let’s talk about the music. Burning Bridges’ set is dominantly covers. In fact, unless they played an original before I got there, this particular set was ALL covers. That simple aspect of their performance is a large reason why they catch as much flack as they do. While artists with a religious devotion to their own original material might scoff at the idea of playing someone else’s music, it certainly didn’t seem to matter to this crowd. Exactly how they go about performing these covers is open for a bit more debate…

The Burning Bridges formula is surprisingly simple, but effective. Take a broad spectrum of proven radio hits from all genres of pop, country, and rock, and run it through the exact same filter of digital drums and mild-yet-gnarly guitar to either bump up or strip out the elements that separate them. You create an equilibrium of punchy dance-floor music that spices up the bland and waters down the harsh, maintaining the familiar elements of each, yet giving every song the same mass appeal. The guitar pyrotechnics were flashy yet nontoxic, and even when the band threatened to “get heavy”, the floor never emptied. Hence the reason I heard Big & Rich, Metallica, Alabama, Drowning Pool, John Denver, No Doubt, Prince, Korn, Van Morrison, and Marilyn Manson all in the same set – and couldn’t have told you the difference.

If you’re a hardcore (read: complete purist) fan of any of these or other songs that Burning Bridges play, you’ll probably be disappointed to some degree. I admit I had a hard time seeing the guest female vocalist bounce around to No Doubt and then sing “Man In a Box," by Alice in Chains. The bass player, singing backup to the aggressive “break your face” parts in Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff” or strutting around singing Bon Jovi’s “Wanted: Dead or Alive” was well done, but hard to take considering his white turtleneck sweater (that I think Belk is running a sale on) and Garth Brooks headset microphone. Thank god he’s got that day job as an accountant.

The important thing here is to remember the role of the casual music fan. They make up 70-80% of any bar/club crowd, and are more interested in listening to live music that they get excited at by simply recognizing. All throughout the night, I had fun watching as people exclaimed “Oh, I love this song!”, and proceeded to drag their date onto the floor. The men kept two-stepping through the Prince songs, and I saw women with their heads on their date’s shoulders during a Manson song. These are the people Burning Bridges set out to entertain, and if that makes them sellouts in the eyes of some people, I’m not sure they care.

Tune in again next week for another exciting installment. Keep those emails coming, and give me some ideas about where I might find good music this weekend. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

In the Mix..

2005-12-14T10:28:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

Let's clear one thing up early: If you stayed in this weekend because of the ice and snow – you missed some great shows! You could’ve checked out the mellow tones of The Kind at Awful Arthur’s (Salem) or the modern rock moods of TK421 at Shooters and that’s just two of many options from this past Thursday, which quickly leads me to my first point of this week’s post: Thursday is the new Friday. It’s true folks. More and more great bands are starting the weekend a day early, and the smart venues in town are taking notice. You should too.

Friday night was as good as it always is. The Pop Rivets at the Brambleton Deli and Ton at the Coffee Pot topped my list, and I still had two more days until Monday. Of course, with all this music, you’ve got to wonder how on Earth I get around. Easy. You cash in favors to the students you’ve helped this semester and presto changeo! - instant spies. There was no shortage of praise for all these bands, which means everyone either brought their A Game this weekend, or I need to recruit more vicious spies. Regardless, the one constant was the weather, which made getting around about as pleasant as a root canal. That you perform yourself. With a pair of rusty pliers.

But let’s move on to Saturday. You ever wake up with one idea of what you’re going to do that day, and then stand by helplessly as you watch real life change your plans? I’ll spare you the details of how it happened, but I ended up with friends at Awful Arthur’s (Towers) for their idea of a great time: a KISS tribute band. I don’t mind KISS music, having been somewhat of a fan myself, and while it wasn’t my first choice as a way to spend my Saturday night, I was curious how they’d pull off a show like that in Arthur’s. Letting my morbid curiosity run away with me, I agreed to go.

After I got in a few good laughs at the crowd contrast between the die-hard KISS fans (in their faded t-shirts and leather) and the Awful Arthur’s regulars (counted 14 guys with white shirts, all unbuttoned to show that precise amount of chest hair) I settled into my seat and waited patiently. Over an hour past the expected showtime, I was relieved to see that starting late isn’t just a bad habit that’s limited to original acts. Minutes after taking the stage, Hotter than Hell (as the flier called them) had earned themselves a subtitle: louder than hell. I’m guessing their equipment assumes a slightly larger venue, but it bordered on unbearable – and that’s saying something coming from me. Worse still was the piercing feedback and dizzying buzz that punctuated almost every aggressive swell in the music. After the fire-breathing part of the act nearly set the roof ablaze, I took my leave to go out in search of an aspirin for my newly acquired headache.

On the drive home, it got me thinking. If live sound and mixing are an obstacle for a nationally touring (and reasonably well-funded) act like this, how much of a problem is it for the local talents? Not two days earlier, TK421 had gotten high marks from one of my loyal spies specifically for their good sound at the Shooter’s show, so it’s not an insurmountable problem. I understand that most of the younger bands in town rely on the systems of whatever venue they’re playing at simply because of the expense, but as my pounding headache illustrated, a poorly mixed show can leave a lasting negative impact on your audience. Not to mention that if a local act ever manages to induce the same kind of high frequency nausea, I’m going to lash them mercilessly for it.

This issue deserves attention because it contributes to the symptoms I talked about in my introductory post as the Phantom, where people who make music in Roanoke feel like they’re struggling to find an audience. Even if you can’t afford a personal mixing system or a highly skilled sound engineer, that doesn’t mean you should turn a blind eye (or ear, as the case may be) to the dynamics of your live performances. What can you do about it? Approach this as seriously and objectively as you do songwriting, and take what steps are within your control.

Know your room – how hard is it to scout a place in Roanoke?
Know your sound – listen for what your crowd is going to hear, not what you think they’ll hear.
Know your gear – do you need the same 15 wall speakers you used at the outdoor talent show in order to play for 45 minutes at Schooners?

The snow and ice may have been a reason why some good acts saw smaller crowds this weekend, but if you’re in a band who can’t draw whether it’s rain or shine, you might want to ask yourself if live sound is a problem for you. You can send me a Friend Request on MySpace, I can write flattering things about you and your music, and if you don’t have all your bases covered come showtime – you’re going to lose potential fans. Think about that the next time playing to an empty room leaves you uttering that famous phrase:

“The music scene in Roanoke just…"

You get the idea.

That’s all for this edition. Expect another pleasant show review next week – but I can’t write a review until I decide what might be worth seeing. Surely someone out there has some suggestions. I’d love to know what you think, so drop me a line. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

My First Week...

2005-12-07T09:59:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

A week into my life as the Phantom, and I’m already being welcomed with open arms (the dead roses, death threats, and slashed tires were quite flattering) and so let me just start by saying a big “thank you” to everyone who’s already on my case…before I even write a review…

For my first excursion into the land of the loud, I took a much needed drive out to Kessler Mill Road in Salem to a great place called Shooters. Maybe you’ve heard of it. No? Don’t worry. You will. This particular trip was on a Thursday night, so seeing a packed parking lot was almost a welcome shock. Almost, but then I still had to find a place to park. I’d been told by a lot of people that Shooters was booking their Thursday nights to fill the void left by the departure of Roanoke’s former hard rock haven, Factory 324. I’d heard good things about local group The Venus Transit, and so with a cool venue and promising act, it seemed like a good place to start.

As you’ll recall last week, I told you that every show in town isn’t just “21 and up”. True to my word, the Thursday night shows at Shooters are all ages (just 21 to drink), and I was immediately impressed by the draw that The Venus Transit and their opening act, Insane Solitude had managed on weeknight show. I had high hopes.

Admittedly, I had chosen this gig on the strength of the Venus demo that I’d heard, but first impressions are important in the business, and Insane Solitude made a strong showing. You won’t find much screamo/hardcore in my music collection, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the form. Underneathe the growls, I could tell there were talented songwriters in the group. Unfortunately, none of them made it out to the show, and in their place was a band armed with good songs in favor of the great ones I suspect they’re capable of writing. And while it could take time for them to develop more standout material, their delivery and performance reminded me of a cross between Sepultura and Black Label Society, and their stage presence was remarkably good for younger guys.

Onto The Venus Transit who, aside from a few technical glitches, didn’t do too badly. Musically, they were different than what I’d expected, even when compared to their demo. The tracks I’d heard were flavored with experimental elements that, when taken away in a live context, left them more punk-pop than progressive. Their sense of melody was refreshing, and they’re definitely on their way to a unique sound among their peers in the region. On the road to that sound, though, I should point out that there isn’t a regular gig in town that requires you to have a wireless system for your instrument. It’s a good idea to remember that, in Roanoke at least, stages are generally built to be about the same size as the restroom or smaller, and so having the freedom to roam about is almost pointless. It’s especially pointless if the unit decides to fail on you two songs into your set.

The overall performance was entertaining, mostly punctuated by the erratic behavior of the guitarist who seemed to be leading the band in a series of musical spasms, and the lanky swagger of the singer. In my experience, the role of the too-cool frontman is always a difficult one to peg – you have to remain distant enough to appear confident and slightly mysterious, yet retain enough charm to avoid appearing utterly uninterested, and thusly uninspired. For the most part, Venus’ singer maintained this balance for the whole of the show, holding my interest with his command of the stage and acting out with enough energetic frustration to make his tantrums believable. Only during the aforementioned technical glitches did he seem uncomfortable, and I consider that to be a simple lack of experience.

These two young groups are both worth your time if you like your crunch with a slice of melody. While Insane Solitude is most definitely for the harder crowd, they have a certain accessible quality to their music that makes their brutality go down smoother than most, and that’s a key to wider success, at least in this area. The Venus Transit are as entertaining as they are talented, and it will be interesting to see where they go with their sound as they bridge that gap between who they are in the safety of the studio and who they become when faced with the obstacles of performing live.

That’s all for this edition. I’ll be out and about this weekend in search of someone, so pay attention – you might just find your name under my pen. Until next we meet…

- The Phantom

Introductions.

2005-11-28T13:02:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations.

“The music scene in Roanoke just…sucks.”

Among my friends and fellow musicians, that has to be one of the most frequently uttered statements I hear. Their frustrations mounting, they think about launching into some rant, but their voice just…trails off. Overcome by the futility of even discussing the state of live music in the valley, their anger turns to tired desperation. I’m supposing “sucks” is probably the best adjective most of them can come up with at that point – at least that I can repeat here. I have rules to follow, you know.

But to set the record straight, I don’t believe the scene around here to be that bad. Which leads to me to the whole reason I’ve started this blog in the first place. That little derogatory statement needed to be aired out so we could get on with it. Pay close attention, because it is the first and last time I intend to say it in these writings. It’s not true, and regardless of how much complaining I may do in this or future articles, that is not the theme.

What is true – and what needs special attention – is that there are people in this town who believe it to be true, and that sentiment doesn’t help anyone. I find it unfortunate that expressing discontent automatically means someone doesn’t love their city. And while I probably wouldn’t make the best candidate for a Roanoke spokesman, I enjoy where I am and what I do enough to want to see it flourish, and that means giving equal attention to the good and the bad.

But someone will resent that. Someone always does. I'm bound to step on someone's toes, and I'm going to draw criticism for my criticism. Ironic, isn't it? For that reason, I created the Phantom. From behind my blanket of anonymity, though, I will shine a light into the corners of this city so that you may discover many truths…

…that there are more than 2 or 3 good bands of a given genre in the area.
…that there are more than 2 or 3 good venues to find excellent music.
…talented musicians in their 20’s not only exist, but we've many here in town...
...that every show in town isn’t just “21 and up”...

The days of assuming that musicians in Roanoke can’t possibly be as good as those acts you see on television or hear on the radio are over. So rather you are a fan of live music, or a hard-working musician – this is for you. And here’s how it is going to work:

If you’re a musician who is out playing live, or working on a record, or just trying to get your act together, consider yourself warned: I’m going to find you. I’m going to talk about what you’re doing, toss in my own two cents, and I may even give you an opportunity to talk about yourself. I’ll be at shows. Rock shows. Metal shows. Blues. Rap. Jazz. I might even take an issue with the Roanoke Symphony now and then. I’m not going to tell you where I’ll be, but I’ll write about it the following week, so keep your eyes peeled. If you’re the motivated sort, you can use my trendy MySpace account (http://www.myspace.com/phantom_critic) to keep me up to date on what you’re doing, and maybe I’ll write about it.

And you music lovers aren't left out either. Even if you're not a musician, there's nothing wrong with passing a little praise this way. I want to know who has impressed you, what you're listening to right now, and who you think might deserve a little bit of the spotlight.

No, I’m not going to be negative for the sake of being negative. Nor am I the peppy sort who thinks that everyone who can put on a guitar is “so gifted”. I’m out there in the trenches, so expect this to be real – positive or otherwise.

So we’re all square, right? Good. This is going to be fun.

- The Phantom