I sure wish I was going to Cleveland next weekend. Not because my former classmates will be celebrating a 20th high school reunion. (Thanks to the magic of Facebook, I feel more than up to speed with anyone I’d care to be…up to speed…with. Ahem.) No, the reason it’d be cool to be near the North Coast next Saturday 8/1 is because, by sheer coincidence, the Jehova Waitresses are ALSO reuniting that night at the Grog Shop.
Back when Rotary Ten was just graduating from talent shows and getting “real” gigs “in the city,” our favorite band to play with was the Jehovas. (Or the Waitresses. We called ‘em both.) If memory serves, Linda and Kevin Roy moved to Cleveland from New Jersey, to form a new band and to see what would happen. Between us, the Walk Ins and the Waynes, a semi-scene coalesced — more of a shared attitude than a shared sound. Non-chest-thumping rock had a hard go of it in early-90’s Cleveland. (Like Christian Slater said in Heathers, “This is Ohio. If you don’t have a beer in your hand, you might as well be wearing a dress.”) So even though they had a violin and Rickenbackers, and we had a Moog and actually liked Nine Inch Nails, our shared comparative bookishness made us allies.
This was the first musical “scene” I’d ever been a part of. What a total kick, to be barely out of high school and hanging around with all these serious songwriters. They were rock stars to me — only when I met them, they were all exceedingly nice. One particularly memorable night we played a multi-band benefit at the Cleveland Playhouse, and the Jehova Waitresses actually had Scott and I guest with them on their rendition of the Beatles’ “Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight.”
The Jehova Waitresses went through a couple lineup changes, and for a few years they recruited the crazy-talented songwriter Alan Grandy (previously of Terrible Parade, now of Sputnik) on bass guitar. After college, we moved to Ithaca, then Raleigh, and I sort of lost track of what they’d been up to, how they’d eventually moved back East. Just a few months ago I was wandering through Amazon, and I dug up a used copy of a CD they’d recorded long after we’d left town. Less than a month later, Linda messaged me (again, the magic of FB), saying they were returning to the scene of the crime.
So I must say. If you’re in Cleveland August 1st, head on over to the east side and check out some fine multi-harmony folk-rock. And if you think of it, yell out “Opportunity” for me.
When Amy and I visited her folks in Cincinnati for the Fourth of July weekend, we knew we’d be seeing Tom and Casey that Friday morning, but when Tom invited me to head up to his office to “jam,” who knew Casey would join in and we’d pick up right where we left off in ‘06? We were obviously under-rehearsed, but honestly, it was like we hadn’t played in three weeks, not three years.
Amy captured the ramshackle results on her phone, and the results are below. Highlights include Tom and Casey’s boy Harold messing with Casey’s sheet music and howling along, and Casey’s faux-tearing-up at the end of “Short List.” It is sad, and I do miss playing with them. We might make our way back to Ohio…but not just yet.
Besides, I spelled Cincinnati wrong in the video titles. (Sorry.)
The other piece of calamitous news that had me on pause for a while there was our basement flooding. There was a freak storm on June 24th, lasted about 90 minutes and only affected a very narrow band of the west side of town. Having no backup power supply for the sump pump, when the storm knocked the power out, we were defenseless. I got home at about 4:00, and the water was all over the basement, with depths between two and four inches. I lost one guitar — it might have been salvageable, but I never liked it that much anyway, and it already had severe neck problems. It wasn’t too painful to let it go. The bass and the electric got a tad wet at the bottom, but they came out undamaged.
We got power back that night, and we wet-vac’d and squeegee’d and sump-pumped it basically dry. But then the next couple days I worked light days, spending most of my time mopping the basement and putting it all back together. In case this kind of thing ever happens again, I have the guitars up on cinder blocks, and I’ve tried to elevate just about everything down there at least a few inches. To be honest, it was kind of cleansing.
But wait! It gets worse! All the junk we dumped into the utility sink from the wet vac caused it to back up. I had to take some pipes apart to get at the problem, and when I went to put it all back together, the shit was so old and corroded that it didn’t fit any more. This was Saturday morning. My way-home-improvement-savvy father-in-law steered me through the process of replacing all that rusty crap with PVC. This pretty much took all weekend, with five — count ‘em, FIVE — trips to the local Ace. It was just like “Dennehy” — back in the damn Buick, etc. Only it’s a VW, natch. But anyway…
My practice space and my practice time were all compromised, but I’m back in the swing of things now. For the last three or four days, I’ve been getting back into the electric guitar after two or three months of re-discovering the acoustic. If I’m going to play any proper gigs, I prefer the novelty — and the volume control — of plugging in, so I’d best get “tight” on that. The problem is I always forget how hard it is to go from acoustic to electric. You’d think the opposite is true — like playing acoustic guitar is like swinging a bat with metal donuts on it, right? The electric would seem easier after that, yes?
In terms of sheer finger toughness, this is true. But the electric guitar…is a gentle mistress. (!!!) What I mean is that a few days ago I picked up the electric and started wailing away, and it sounded terrible. I tried to soften my attack, but honestly, all that acoustic strumming had conditioned me. I couldn’t get out of it. I soldiered on, but for the next couple of days I was convinced I was out of tune, and it just sounded bad to me. Only today did I think I might finally have the delicate touch back. And I love it.
Of course, if I do exactly NO acoustic work for a few weeks, I’ll probably find it tough going when I pick THAT thing up. Got to do both all the time, then. Woe is me. But then the better I get, the more often my self-mandated practice balloons from a gloomy half hour to a joyous hour or more. In my newly dry and cozy basement. Yep!
Just so you know, I haven’t been posting with regularity due to some work drama. To make a long story short, it looked like I was out of work for a minute…and then suddenly it didn’t. And now I’m not really sure what my employment status is going to be past the next couple of weeks. It’s definitely crazy, but I can handle it. Meanwhile…
Last Monday, the newly-reunited Feelies were playing a free show at the Millennium Park band shell. Tom and Casey used it as an excuse to visit from Cincinnati, and I sat with Tom and the rest of the Boys with the Perpetual Nervousness (the erstwhile tribute combo I’m proud to’ve been a part of) in the pavilion after some lovely picnicking on the lawn with some other friends.
Yes, it was uncrowded enough to get into the pavilion — halfway towards the stage, actually — just as they started playing. At first, I thought they were a tad shaky, but they were really cooking by the fifth song or so, and it was heavenly. They did one new song, a truckload of favorites, and a surprise cover of R.E.M.’s “Boxcars” (which was actually a perfect fit). I couldn’t stop tapping my foot with each song. My calves got sore.
As with a lot of favorite bands, it’s hard to describe exactly what’s so appealing, and the difficulty’s greater with the Feelies. I mean, their songs are very repetitive, and with the best ones, the repetition is sort of the POINT. In some cases, it’s used to mesmerize (“When Company Comes,” “Let’s Go”), while with others (especially in the live setting), the repeating riff or jangle is like a track they lock into, and the ride just gets faster and faster (“Away,” “Slipping (Into Something)”).
The highlight of the show was easily “Crazy Rhythms.” During the extended percussion breakdown, people rushed the stage, clogging the aisles all the way back to where I was sitting. I like to think this was an outpouring of pure Feelies love — they might disappear for another twenty years, and we were relishing our last few minutes together. Couldn’t have picked a better night for it, either — no humidity in the mid-70’s, pink clouds dusting the skyline as night fell. A gorgeous night.
Small postscript: A couple nights later, Aselin had an opportunity to introduce himself to Chicago-based rock critic and famous Feelies-obsessive Jim DeRogatis. Jim remembered the Boys with the Perpetual Nervousness, and told John he’d mentioned us to the Feelies themselves, and they were sincerely touched by the tribute. He also said we should have told him we would be at the show — he’d have introduced us to them backstage. Shucks.
Anyway, even though he’s way off about Springsteen, DeRo (as they call him ’round here) is a-o-kay in my book.
