The Spin
Cinco de scenesters
Last Saturday dawned gray and stormy—not promising for the myriad of outdoor events slated for Cinco de Mayo. Bawston Sean, one of the first DJs on the bill at Grimey’s, told us he started spinnin’ in the rain—thunder and lightning be damned. Fortunately, all it took was a little bit of patience. By the time we left the crib, the sun had peaked through the clouds (good thing because it’s a little known fact that The Spin dissolves in water—kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West), and by the time we had meandered our way into The Basement’s parking lot, it was well on the way to being a beautiful day. The place was practically elbow-to-elbow with people perusing records, drinking beers, scarfing burritos and checking out the revolving door of bands and DJs. We caught a couple songs of the Hotpipes’ set. The local stalwarts have trimmed their ranks somewhat, which has helped streamline their sound—a positive for a band with so much going on in their grand, anthemic rock. As the day wore on, the sun continued to emerge and the Yazoo beer truck continued to give forth its cool, frothy nectar. It was also a particularly fruitful day to stand on the porch and play “Name That Band. ” Look! It’s Richie Kirkpatrick from Ghostfinger. Over there! Bingham Barnes from Glossary. Oh My! Is that Jonathan Marx? Former Scene managing editor and member of Lambchop? Next up was Philadelphia’s Dr. Dog, playing a short warm-up gig before their headlining show at Mercy Lounge later that night. The young quintet enlivened the crowd—which contained quite a few diehards clustered up front and singing along to all the words (including mop-topped maestro Bobby Bare Jr.). Their music is fresh, vintage and undeniably energetic. Trading off vocals and sweating up a storm, they provided a fitting soundtrack to the cold beers and sunshine. We were glad we got to schedule a brief appointment with the Dr., in lieu of the longer performance we had to miss later that night. Speaking of that show at Mercy, the opener also made an appearance. Dixie Dirt, who—unbeknownst to us—apparently moved to Nashville from Knoxville a couple of months ago, were up next and rolled out a set of tight, rootsy rock ’n’ roll. At that point, shadows were growing long and we had to blow that popsicle stand in order to catch post time for the Derby (damn you Nobiz Like Shobiz, we believed in you!) but overall, another successful outdoor event on Eighth Avenue.
Polyphonic glee
It’s always weird seeing a band without an opening act, but it was somehow appropriate Monday night at City Hall. After all, what can adequately prepare you for the majesty of The Polyphonic Spree if not an hour or two killing beers? So it goes without saying that the crowd was already nicely fermented by the time, uh, 8:45 rolled around and Tim DeLaughter and his army swarmed the stage in their sexy, new military-style uniforms. It’s a good thing, too, as the Spree spent about half the night playing new songs from a forthcoming record—which is usually a recipe for disaster. The sozzled masses ate it all up, though, and by the time DeLaughter and the band disappeared from the stage, reappeared in robes at the back of the hall, and high-fived their way through the audience to the stage (after stopping by the bar—points for that!) for the encore, there was an awful lot of smiling going on. It was infectiously fun, ear-shatteringly loud, and somehow all over by 10:30 or so—at which time everyone was promptly shooed away by the anti-fun brigade that is the City Hall staff.
Send reports of good finds from the Grimey’s sale, your favorite places to play “Name That Band” and wardrobe suggestions for the Spree to thespin@nashvillescene.com.
