#05213 Reporting from Guyvile.
Millions of Brazilians: Who knew? Sparse content on a myspace page and a kick-ass name are one of the hazards of the Blowout in the nu-modern age. But I rolled the 12-sided die (I always carry one in case I ever find myself at the mouth of a cave) and now, well, now I’m a level 12 Orc.
The Brazilians hit it tight and hit it hard and kept the girls and the girl-men screaming (or at least heartily, honestly “woo-ing”). Turns out I work with the drummer. Turns out I’ve seen him in the hallway lately and not noticed his awesome ponytail-ready mullet growth. Turns out he’s the kind of drummer that can power a band’s energy through a densely packed hallway of a bar, carrying harmonizer-effected bassline geetars and a langorously nervy singer along on beats both disco and disco-rock. These are good-lookin’ dudes who make dance-rock. Expect big things on their social calendars. Their myspace jam and their demo EP don’t do 'em justice.
[Ambling aimlessly, debating whether hoofing it to New dodge was worth it. Decided to make sure I hadn’t parallel parked on an ice patch, thus stupidly paralyzing me on Belmont. Learned that pointing the nose of your car slightly out of ice-crusted parking spots isn’t such a bad idea when you need to make a quick, front-wheel-drive-powered exit. Score one for the good guys!]
Atlas/Ethos: It’ll always be Roadrunner’s Raft to me. It’ll always be that compromised little space into which bands are crammed. It’ll always run late and chaotically. It’ll always feel like someone’s living room. I’l always have a beer, think it’s some undiscovered gem of a joint only to realize I’m there just cuz of Blowout. Bummer. I arrived with a passal of other dudes to the final strains of the 6-sardine-crammed members of Ethos winding down. Not bad, not enough evidence to say good bad or awesome.
Met my first Blowout virgin who gazed aloud in wide wonder at the joy he had found about how many of the bands are bands that take their music career seriously and how many are just in it for the kicks. It was like a Zen fuckin’ koan. I tried making a Venn diagram in the air representing the intentions and motivations of the glorious Detroit rock bindery. That didn’t cut it. I tried straight percentages but everything added up to 200%. I gave up and mentioned the number “more than 230” and eyes widened, beers were swigged and I exited for Baker’s Streetcar Lounge for
Champions of Breakfast: “Fuck me!” I thought. “I’m in the wrong place!” Baker’s set up has the band playing in a separate room and the main bar feels like a comfortably well-worn granddad den. In a good way. Fortunately I spotted the boys from Porchsleeper heading out thanks to the awesomeness that was a totally random “schedule” for the evening’s events. Then, naturally, I spotted the giant “holy shit! Can you believe how awesome everything is?!” enthusiastic grin of Big Matt from Motor City Rocks. Followed his shadow into the room and was rewarded by
awkward silence. Sound guy had to figure out how to plug CoB’s iPod into the sound board or some shite.
Soon the jammery commenced. Members were sworn in to the Members Only club. The pool was opened. The girls, well, the girls were appreciated and commented upon by the band in a most Duran Duran like manner. The Champs strapped on the cardboard keytars, danced like you only wish you could dance, sang things you’ve only thought and, naturally, “played” (and “tuned”) wicked bass riffs on the biggest goddamned cardboard bass guitar you’re gonna find anywhere outside the back room at ABC Warehouse where cardboard goes to die. I was in love for 15 minutes. And then I got that old itch to move, wondering which bar was more far behind and thinking I could thusly break the time space continuum and catch the Myth Society’s set. I had a fevered vision that they were going to cover the Teardrop Explodes song that was on my car stereo as I headed to Small’s just quickly enough to catch the tail end of their set, aforementioned substitute drummer in tow, rocking along gamely while the brothers Monger played accordion, guitar and a game of stage banter sibling rivalry. It was good but brief and I had a hallucination that I saw a friend who lives in Peru in the crowd.
[gonna try to type up Steve-O's notes from the first two days shortly. Stay tuned]