The Spin
Rock ’n’ roll fallout
Lonely Hearts Oppenheimer
Last Saturday night, it was as if Springwater had infiltrated The Basement. Dave Cloud was kicking around outside ranting about bass players who play with a heavy pick (“They aren’t worth a shit,” he remarked), while other Springwater locals like comedian Craig Smith wandered in and out. The lineup was an odd bill; Canucks (and Oppenheimer touring mates) Bad Flirt opened with sloppy synth-rock and were followed by the Altered Statesmen, whose cool lounge vibe and honey-smooth vocals were stellar, but totally out of place. The sparse crowd, however—which included Justin Earle—seemed to be all theirs, clearing out just in time for Belfast’s electronic-pop duo Oppenheimer to take the stage. The two were far more rockin’ live than on their eponymous debut, jamming on a drum set and two keyboards and giving grateful thanks between every surging number. Watching guitarist and lap-pop aficionado Rocky O’Reilly (who sang only robot vox) spaz on the guitar and keys was like watching a teenager play guitar in his bedroom when no one was looking—and mostly no one was. Meanwhile, singer/drummer Shaun Robinson hit the high notes and did all the thankin’ to those who stuck around. Note to Nashville: this is why so many bands don’t come through here on their first tours, ’cause when they roll through to eight people, they tell all their friends not to bother with our no-crowd-drawing-unless-it’s-playing-on-active-rock-radio town. Speaking of not bothering, the band didn’t; on their LiveJournal-hosted tour diary, we were all but ignored, and they instead chronicled the far more responsive crowds they met in Louisville and Raleigh.
Whiskey town
We knew Lucero fans were crazed, but were nonetheless surprised to see a line outside (and at the bar!) at The Basement last Wednesday night. Part-time Nashvillian Cory Branan and Lucero frontman Ben Nichols treated the crowd to a two-man, in-the-round acoustic performance heavy on inside jokes and whiskey. Nichols opened with the Lucero classic “Nights Like These,” and for a sec we felt a bit like we were at a Dashboard Confessional show—people knew every word and weren’t afraid to sing along (though a friend commented on their unfortunate lack of pitch.) The Spin owns everything both guys have ever recorded and still felt like poseurs, ’cause them’s some hardcore fans. (We’re guessing at least a few people made the trip from Memphis.) The chemistry between Branan and Nichols, who came up playing music together in Memphis, was truly a joy to watch—they mouthed the words to each others’ songs, made requests and, oh yeah, downed shots. Nichols played “Kiss the Bottle;” Branan treated us to the exquisite “Tall Green Grass.” At one point Branan’s guitar stopped working and they started trading back and forth. Restless, Branan loped over to the piano facing the wall and sprawled across it, adding some impromptu harmonies to a Nichols tune. A fan scampered onto the stage and shoved a dollar bill into Branan’s underwear, which Branan withdrew and stuffed down Nichols’ shirt. Nichols put the soggy bill in his mouth and started to chew; he couldn’t get it down, so he threw the moist wad at Branan, who made his own mastication attempt—to no avail. So he tossed it into the crowd. (Some very special fan has a very special souvenir!) After the drunken debacle that was Lucero’s last night in town, you’d think they would have learned their lesson. But no, many whiskey drinks, beers and bourbons later, Nichols disappeared from the stage. We saw him on our way out, facedown in the parking lot.
Rock doc
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Flower Children Forget Cassettes. photo: Steve Cross
A hand-written sign on the door of the Exit/In Friday night informed us that by entering the premises, we were implicitly giving our consent to appear in some sort of film produced by the Documentary Channel. Let’s hope they got our good side. Openers and erstwhile Chicagoans The Whole Fantastic World were polished and lively, but was singer Daniel Sherron reading lyrics off his computer? TWFW played their proggy jazz-rock longer than held our interest. We’ve seen How I Became The Bomb on better nights, but they still had the near-capacity crowd on their side for the duration of their synth-pop set, closing with the gabba-gabba goodness of “Fat Girls Talkin’ ‘Bout Cardio.” When Forget Cassettes finally took the stage, it felt late but worth the wait, even if the wait did involve having to watch a certain avian columnist flit around with her peroxide entourage. Founding member Doni Schroader played keyboards and seemed to have a cig burning the entire night. The band, decked out in all white (with matching flower arrangements covering the stage), rocked with precision and passion.
Microwave fugitives
Local pop-rockers Johnny Microwave celebrate the release of their new Plan 168 (named for, you know, the life plan that comes after Plan 167) this Monday, Aug. 21, at 12th & Porter. Featuring songwriting and real-life partners Cat Miller and Steve Cirkvencic (don’t even try—everyone just calls him “Steve C.”) and a supporting cast of local luminaries, the record runs from balls-out rockers (“Truth Is Stranger”) to country-rockers (the title track) to dreamy pop (“I Am the Drummer”). Miller has a pure, heart-on-her-sleeve voice and Cirkvencic is one of the more versatile guitarists in town, just as comfortable doing Telecaster honky-tonk or whacked-out psychedelia, sometimes at the same time. Johnny Microwave will be sharing the bill with Fugitive Glue, an eclectic assemblage who play something evocative of an acid flashback in which Prince and Elvis Costello are fronting Queen. Featuring some of Nashville’s top session and road warriors, FuGlu bust wide open the indie-rock myth that you have to kinda suck at your instrument to write great power-pop—if they wore the right clothes and were a tad more disaffected (and affected), they’d be Pitchfork darlings. The gig provides one of the last opportunities to catch the beloved Rick Plant, who’s moving with his wife, singer-songwriter Sherry Rich, and kids to Australia by year’s end (and who wrote one of the best country hits yet-to-be, “Nashville Town”).
Oh give me a home…
Nashville uber-producer Will Rambeaux’s latest find, Buffalo Rome, crackled with a studio spit-polished sheen last Tuesday at Edgehill Studios. The self-described “multi-purpose gathering place” is hygienic and inoffensive as they come, with Xerox copy machines and graphic design services to pacify Music Row power players on the morning bagel-and-Naked-Juice run. After hours, though, freshman acts such as Buffalo Rome bench-test their original material on Edgehill’s snug stage. “We’re putting the Western back in country and western,” a band member was heard to remark from stage before the band launched into the panoramic “Ocean in Montana.” And in a town with a gazillion hat acts, Buffalo Rome may not be breaking new ground with “The Jalapeño Song”—featuring lyrics such as, “She was hotter than a jalapeño”—but solid songwriting was demonstrated on later songs “Big Sky” and “I Get To,” which sounded like a Lonestar ballad waiting to happen.