#15: Democracy is overrated
#15: Democracy is overrated
Keith, the Band; Stälker; Growing Concerns Poetry Collective; Harsh Sandwich; Grievous Bodily Calm; Kid Dad
Welcome to the “racing to get this out before November 3rd” edition.
Keith, the Band
“What’s your band’s name?” “Keith. The band.” This is like giving your pet a human name like Steve or Michelle—there’s just something off about it, and that makes it work. Taking in Keith, the Band’s Bandcamp, I practically had “We’re Going to Be Friends” playing in my mind. First, there are the album titles: Democracy is Overrated (apropos), Distant Dads, and Smell, My Hand, whose cover shows Homer Simpson guffawing at the cover of Kirk Van Houten’s cringe-inducing cassette. (I’m also a fan of the title’s comma placement.) Then there are the song titles: “Deathbed Lament of a Recruitment Consultant,” “Yvan Eht Nioj” (I’m a sucker for Simpsons references), “A Tory Majority Proves That This Country is Too Uninformed and Fundamentally Heartless to Deserve a Democratic Vote,” etc. I also love some of the other touches. The $200 price tag for Distant Dads. Their hometown listed as Waco, Texas, when they’re clearly British. The notes for Smell, My Hand: “AAAAAAAHAHAHAHA no don’t actually download this, it’s not good enough to actually be listened to by humans.” Or the credits for Democracy is Overrated: “Recorded whilst drunk, this is probably the worst we’ve done to date. We weren’t even trying this time. It’s still great though.” It’s unlistenable.
This is the cover of Democracy is Overrated. Okay.
Stälker
Here’s the cover for Stälker’s new Black Magik Terror, now available for the sides of bitchin’ vans worldwide:
Growing Concerns Poetry Collective
Quick, name a pair of words that sounds less enticing than “poetry collective.” “Urinary catheter”? Maybe. “Metastatic cancer”? It’s up there. “Improv group”? Oh, tough call! Listen, I know it’s unfair. People who are into poetry are really into poetry, and good for them. They have their thing, and that’s great. Still, imagine this scenario: You’re chatting amiably with someone at a party. (Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself: Imagine parties.) It’s a little noisy while you chat, so you talk-shout about how you know the hosts and what you do for a living. The conversation reaches a natural lull, and you mention something about your plans for the following weekend. The other person starts talking, but because of the noise, you can’t quite make out what they said. “Sorry,” you interrupt, “did you say something about poetry?” “Yeah,” they say. “I’m in a poetry collective.” They keep speaking after the words “poetry collective,” but you don’t listen because you’re too busy looking for an immediate way out of the conversation. But say your mind goes blank, like George Costanza frantically searching for a way out of dinner with J. Peterman. “So,” you say distractedly, “what is that, exactly?” The other person looks momentarily puzzled/annoyed, because clearly they had explained it while you zoned out moments prior. “We fuse poetry and hip-hop with original music and soundscape to create performance and sonic experience that is greater than the sum of its parts,” they say. It’s even worse that you imagined! Now that you’ve let that genie out of the bottle, there’s no turning back. They’re only going to tell you more. You look at your drink. Damn! It’s full. There goes that excuse. You can’t fake a phone call; it’s too obvious. Your mind frantically searches as they tell you about a new song of theirs, “Come to Me Open.” You take an unnaturally large gulp of your drink to try to finish it, which would necessitate a refill. “‘Come to Me Open’ declares consent, intimacy, and communication as necessary tools in the revolution to come,” they say. “It’s a cosmic representation of spirits ascending and merging through the chaos and noise of our time.” You manage an “oh interesting” with your head tilted all the way back, the bottle inverted and overfilling your mouth with beer to the point you start coughing and nearly spew it all over them. “The struggle for liberation is all encompassing,” they continue, still going! “We not only fight for the freedom to live, we fight to liberate ourselves from toxicity and hardened hearts.” You’ve managed to swallow the rest and stifle more coughs, even a vurp that came roaring up your esophagus. “Yeah, totally,” you say. “Listen, I’m gonna grab another beer. Nice talking to you.” You’re out! “Oh I need one too,” they say. “I’ll come with you.” DAMMIT!
Harsh Sandwich
First: no, Google.
I meant what I typed, which is a band led by eccentric Seattle-area musician Geoffrey Reed. His Reedco Records boasts nearly 400 releases on Bandcamp (including The Donnies’ “Orange Bitch,” from BNB #7.1), all seemingly featuring Reed himself. Harsh Sandwich is Reed’s latest incarnation, with more than 40 releases under its belt in 2020 alone. Looks like Reed has spent the pandemic holed up in Kent, Washington, writing a lot of music. Capping it off is a full-length called Slurs in Place of a Valid Point, a document of the Trump era with songs like “An Economy Based on Wind,” “Ah…ok,” and “Sophie’s Moist.” The album’s Bandcamp proclaims, “New full length from Kent, Washington band Harsh Sandwich. Enjoy the weird, yet somehow dull sounds.” Weird? Undoubtedly. Dull? No. Uncredited to Reed, though undoubtedly involving him, is “You Cut Your Penis on a Diet Sprite Can,” a single from a group called the September Gurgles. What’s the story with that one? Glad you asked:
This is a ballad about a man who lived in Kent, Washington. in 1991, through 1993 he continuously, and some say purposely cut his penis on a rusty diet sprite can. He also threw a tennis ball with the words “FUCK YOU” written on it at a Vietnam Vet. He also carved “You are a bitch” into a teachers desk at school
Truly, Reedco’s Bandcamp is a rich world to be explored if you have the time, including the EPs I Discovered Politics This Week… Not Bad and History Will Make You a Man, Man, and, just in time for the holiday season, “I Wanna Be Your Trash Compactor This Christmas.”
Grievous Bodily Calm
What can you say about an instrumental Australian band that “infuses IDM, beat music and jazz improvisation with modern electronic production”? Not much, apparently.
Kid Dad
Say your band has a goofy two-syllable name, the kind that could easily accompany the dopiest of sub-Cheshire Cat Blink-182 pop punk. But say you’re an undeniably Serious Band who says Serious Things like:
“We are not linear, easy to calculate or predictable. We are individual human beings who react individually. Nobody is allowed to determine what to be afraid of and what to look forward to. Nobody except oneself. Nobody knows everything about themselves – we are definitely still battling with questions. One may even sometimes wonder why one is the way one is – we definitely do. You are not alone and this album is meant to help you understand that.”
But it’s not just that you’re serious. You’re emotional, too emotional to look at the camera for a band photo like the one below because you’re staring at your feet, thinking of that time your hand accidentally brushed against hers, and that was the moment, the chance to make some kind of move, but you weren’t sure if she felt that way, and anyway, did you have consent to hold her hand? And so you did nothing. You kept walking with her, saying nothing, as the drizzle turned into something steadier, and you could feel opportunity slipping through your fingers like raindrops. Or were they tears?
You post photos like this one on Instagram with the caption, “There's a song on the album that... was written right after crying. Can you guess which one?” So say you’re this band, and you have a goofy name, but you need the cover of your debut album to really sell your sincerity and seriousity. What you need is a great logo for the name! You sketch and sketch. You ask graphic designer friends for help. You iterate. Your band almost breaks up over differing opinions about the best logo, but you can’t call it quits—this is your debut. You’re just getting started! You have so much to share! Finally, after many heated discussions, you settle on a choice. Some members aren’t happy about it, but they’ll come around. They’ll see. Because this is gonna light the goddamn world on fire:
POST-SCRIPTS
Keith, the Band is not to be confused Keith Band, or just Keith, “an award winning Country Pop / Soft Rock band, with members based in Vermont and New Jersey.” This quintet has been at it for more than three decades, and they’ve opened for the likes of Mo Bandy, Mel Tillis, Sam and Dave, Sha Na Na, Kenny Rogers, Lee Greenwood, and someone named “Hanks Williams Jr.” The group mentions in its bio that all three of its releases—the album How WE Rock and singles “Tropical Therapy” and “Now You’re Talkin’”—were all “considered for a Grammy.” So…they were eligible for Grammy consideration? By the way, Band Name Bureau is also eligible for all awards.
Speaking of Kirk Van Houten, I didn’t realize how many covers of “Can I Borrow a Feeling?” are available online. I personally like this live psychedelic version by Australian band Hivemind, who preface it with, “We do a have a special one right now. It was written by a great man. He was a big wheel down at the cracker factory.” Another by artist Allie Goertz checks the “wistful acoustic version” box, but I love the way Goertz works in Kirk’s entreaty to Luann Van Houten. Even better: Goertz’s original “Everything’s Coming Up Milhouse.” Goertz, a former @midnight producer and editor for Mad magazine, specializes in this sort of thing. Five years ago she released a Rick and Morty concept album called Sad Dance Songs.
Those were all actual quotes from the press release for Big Dark Bright Futures, the new full-length from Growing Concerns Poetry Collective. Their group photo makes me think I’m in some kind of band-name sting operation. This is entrapment!
I like some of the riffs in Kid Dad’s “What You Call a Dream.” They have a Jealous Sound meets “Bleed American”-style Jimmy Eat World thing going on. (You know, emo.) But kudos for their Safe in a Box Campaign, which benefits programs fighting childhood domestic violence.
See you next month. God help us all.