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| Storm Records 2002 Holiday Bash Revisited |
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Took in the Storm Records / Generation Press Holiday Bash on Dec 20th at Jacoby's in downtown Detroit featuring performances by Student Driver, Hoppin' Mad, Ruth's Hat and Caulfield. I'd been waiting almost a year to see Caulfield live after going totally nut-shit over their CD "Sleep Tight Ya Morons". It was to be a rare live performance. Rare because, as singer/songwriter Noah Shusterbauer put it, "We've just been really lazy and haven't played out all that much." Click "Read More" for Mitch's review.
Izzy serious?
Whenever I come to the city I call my girl, Isabella. Technically, "Izzy" was my former supervisor, but we became quick friends, kindred spirits who cursed a world that would force us to work when it should allow us to concentrate on the appreciation of art, unhindered by such crass details as paying rent or buying food. Now that she lives in the city with ber boy Mike, we make plans to visit the DIA whenever we get together. Poor Mike, a die-hard NASCAR freak, tolerates our love of fine art and chaperones with a polite yawn. So he was glad to find out that tonight's excursion was to be Jacoby's for a punk show that promised to be spectacular: The Storm Records / Generation Press 2002 Holiday Bash.
Jacoby's, Since 1904!
If you've never been to Jacoby's, it's a hundred-year-old plus building with two floors (three if you count the bathrooms in the 'dungeon'); on the main floor there's a restaurant and a bar and upstairs there's a small bar, some tables and room for a stage. For tonight's show the tables were stacked into the corners to make room for a pit of moshing nubiles who would no doubt threaten the integrity of the floor-joists later on. By nine, the place was already stuffed with young bodies getting juiced on complimentary brews for a good raucous punk show. The first band hadn't even set up yet.
As always, it was a pleasure to find Static Records founder Sue Summers at the top of the narrow staircase working the money-box. She probably wasn't too happy to see me though. I'd just published a tepid opinion of one of her hottest bands. But she didn't hold it against me - not to my face anyways (bless her heart). Instead, she encouraged me to catch their live show, wished me a good night, and pointed out the Master of Ceremonies for me: Storm Records' CEO Norm Andresen.
"Hey, wow, " Andresen greeted me, craning his neck to look me in the eye. "You're a big son of a bitch." Apparently, my 250lb, 6'4" frame surprised him. "When I think writer, I think little egg-head dude with spectacles and a typewriter. You know, Clark Kent, not . ."
"A big redneck with a pick-up truck?"
"Right!" We both laughed. Andresen was personable and appreciative for any support of the acts on his label. In my opinion, he recognizes, encourages and promotes the best punk/pop music in the state, including The Trash Brats, Hoppin Mad, The Gibbons and, of course, my favorite, Caulfield.
Since there was no place to sit and visit proper with Iz & Mike, we headed downstairs for appetizers and drinks, like the thirty and forty-somethings we are. We were at least a decade too old to be hanging with the crowd of moshers upstairs. Me and K would sneek up later, when adult visiting hours were over.
Ruth's Hats, t-shirts, CD's & bumper-stickers...
By the time we got upstairs, we'd missed Student Driver and Hoppin' Mad (bummer), but we made it in time to catch Mutant Pop Records' recording artists, Ruth's Hat.
We drifted over to the merchandise table to check out the swag - Christmas was right around the corner after all and I wanted to get something for my nieces. The table was dominated by various stickers, CD's and shirts from Ruth's Hat (some of the best local swag I've seen). I bought another copy of Caulfield's "Sleep Tight, Ya Morons" and Ruth's Hat's latest ("Bye Bye Love") for my nubile neices who are teetering on the abyss of puberty. I figure some good, hard, home-grown punk would give them a reason to exercise their angst in the new year. They aren't angry yet, but it'll come...
Ruth's Hat opened the set with some ancient covers (Beatles in there somewhere) and evolved into their spirited originals that had the Jac-monkey's jumping so high I could barely see the stage from my rear-room perch. The band is well known in these parts, having played their first gig here way back in '96 (yesterday to me). Since then, they've even played the infamous CBGB's in New York. Ruth's Hat is composed of two sets of brothers and drummer Tony Blay. Three-fifths of the band, Jack & Mike McCallum (guitar and bass) and Blay are from London, Ontario.  Mike and PJ Sloan (guitars and vocals) are from Detroit. Once they were sweating in their groove, I thought the floor was going to cave-in.
Ruth's Hat discharged boundless energy, sweat and infectious punk-pop for their frenetic fans who showed their appreciation with thankful cheers and playful jeers (a punk tradition?). My ears perked up when I heard them play their gem "Somora Laura" which was included on Storm Records' compilation "LIfe: After The Movie" and is also the finishing track on their "Bye Bye Love" release. Great stuff - my nieces are going to love it. You can listen to Ruth's Hat on MP3.
Where are you, Holden Caulfield?
 With Ruth's Hat having charged the room with a palpable electric pop, I anxiously awaited a rare live appearance by Caulfield. This was only the second show I'd even heard about Caulfield playing in 2002 and I wasn't going to miss it for anything. I decided to find the high ground in Jacoby's, somewhere I could see all the action.
I met singer/songwriter and guitarist Noah Shusterbauer earlier in the night, but the conversation was about as brief as the infrequent e-mail responses I get from him. He has a great sense for writing punk-pop lyrics that strike at the emotional center of angst without lapsing into cliche'. A genuine talent. But Schusterbaur is a reluctant "rock-star" to be sure, as are most who follow in the punk tradition. Bands in more moderate genres beam at the attention they receive from fans or receptive media, but punks eye the attention with appropriate suspicion and even contempt. Such gushing is, after all, what created the dreaded pop circus in the first place. Eat the pop.
I bought the band a round of beers, thanked them for the music they created and climbed atop a bench seat in the back of the room with my camera perched above the crowd. Napoleon K moved right up to stage left, keeping a safe distance from the pit of nubiles but securing a better-than-front-row seat for his show experience. When the music started, I got such a bolt of recognition from the opening song my face probably still bears the wrinkles from the smile it evoked. My weathered face is not accustomed to such sudden stabs of ironic joy.
Schusterbauer, together with bassist Kevin McCoy and drummer Matt Collin, layer their tunes with counterpoint harmonies that are so infecting they compel you to shout right along, voice be damned! Their music gets me pumped like a young skate-punk again. Anyting that makes me feel like younger is a welcome distraction from Responsible World; where mortgages, day-care expenses and dwindling retirement savings cause you to ponder bad choices and inevitable destinations (i.e. mortality). Sure, it's pathetic, but pathos is the essence of the human experience - why should mine be any different?
Caulfield's "Slipshod" is the theme song to my pathos: '...you're passive resistance has proved no assistance and you've fallen slipshod the way of the chumps / so don't fake surprise when you open your eyes to no merciful arms and you're cold in your slump / and I don't want to see you sitting by / while your hopes and dreams and pieces of you die.../ cause there's a way in the world today that keeps us paralyzed with fear / don't ask how, don't look now, just leap and the net will appear (repeat) ' (lyrics by Noah Schusterbauer © 2001 Table 9 Music) Poignant, eloquent, telling, and relevant; identification with a lyric doesn't get any better for me. And the tempo of this song fucking ROCKS!
The crowd grew more animated, at one point tossing a punker chick above their heads like a human beach-ball. I walked over tables and chairs toward the front of the room and joined K under one of the over-taxed PA speakers, taking care not to get too close to the young bucks moshing in the front row. One chick, inexplicably, slept through the whole affair under a stack of chairs in the corner of the room by the stage. She was either so wasted she couldn't stay conscious or she was a bandhead's girlfriend who'd heard this so many times, she'd rather sleep than live through it again. Judging from the sway in her step when she got up to go to the bathroom, I'd guess the former.
The music pulsed and pounded at a frenetic pace, causing the crowd to bounce and me to bob up and down on my lofty perch like a big, dorky bird. And every tune from the "Sleep tight ya morons..." evoked the same response. "Getting Out", "Aimee Went Away", "Girlfriendectomy", "Where are you Holden Caulfield?", "Sit Behind". I was in rock-show bliss, like I haven't been since I dragged my then girlfriend (now wife) to see The Smithereens at The Palladium, when I proceeded to drag her ass right to the front of the stage and sing every single lyric back to an oblivious Pat DiNinzio. It was excellent.
How lucky was I to see this band at this venue and not at some shitty arena or concert hall? Such is the rare joy of chasing down your favorite local band who are performing your one of your favorite records. This is what it's all about.
Mitch
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