Bittersweet reunion
Just a few short years ago, Spongebath Records held court on the square in Murfreesboro, and a lineup like Fluid Ounces, The Katies and The Features was as common around the 'Boro as a BlackBerry at Sunset Grill. So it was bittersweet to see a Spongebath reunion for such a tragic reason: the death of former Self guitarist Mike Mahaffey. Still, musicians mourn the best way they know how, by rocking with purpose: all proceeds went to a trust fund for Mahaffey's children. At 9:15 Friday night, we were still sweating in a long line that snaked around the corner of the Exit/In. If the place didn't sell out, it was damn near capacity, filled with MTSU alumni, Murfreesboro scenesters, old friends and new fans—and, at 15 bucks a head, that's a tidy sum for a good cause. Fluid Ounces stole the show, charging through a rambunctious set of piano-pop goodness that featured Self's Matt Mahaffey on acoustic guitar for one song and drums for most of the set. They even played a few old Self songs, including "Microchip Girl" and "It All Comes Out in the Wash." Brian Rogers, Seth Timbs and Mahaffey had no problem finding the groove again, and the excitement on the band members' faces was contagious. They closed the set with a rambunctious rendition of the big sing-along "Hey Lou"—once known as "the Spongebath song" since practically every band on the roster played it live back in the day. Katies' chain-smoking bassist Gary Welch admitted he was a little nervous about resurrecting the old stuff after so many years, but the band ripped through a turbo-charged set of their classics, closing with the crowd favorite, "Noggin' Poundin." The sweltering heat forced an early exit for this Spin writer. It was, as one audience member yelled, "hot as balls." And as one Features message-board poster aptly commented in a post-show wrap-up, "Seriously. Mix in some fucking AC, Exit/In."
A Garing escape
Just a few short years ago, Spongebath Records held court on the square in Murfreesboro, and a lineup like Fluid Ounces, The Katies and The Features was as common around the 'Boro as a BlackBerry at Sunset Grill. So it was bittersweet to see a Spongebath reunion for such a tragic reason: the death of former Self guitarist Mike Mahaffey. Still, musicians mourn the best way they know how, by rocking with purpose: all proceeds went to a trust fund for Mahaffey's children. At 9:15 Friday night, we were still sweating in a long line that snaked around the corner of the Exit/In. If the place didn't sell out, it was damn near capacity, filled with MTSU alumni, Murfreesboro scenesters, old friends and new fans—and, at 15 bucks a head, that's a tidy sum for a good cause. Fluid Ounces stole the show, charging through a rambunctious set of piano-pop goodness that featured Self's Matt Mahaffey on acoustic guitar for one song and drums for most of the set. They even played a few old Self songs, including "Microchip Girl" and "It All Comes Out in the Wash." Brian Rogers, Seth Timbs and Mahaffey had no problem finding the groove again, and the excitement on the band members' faces was contagious. They closed the set with a rambunctious rendition of the big sing-along "Hey Lou"—once known as "the Spongebath song" since practically every band on the roster played it live back in the day. Katies' chain-smoking bassist Gary Welch admitted he was a little nervous about resurrecting the old stuff after so many years, but the band ripped through a turbo-charged set of their classics, closing with the crowd favorite, "Noggin' Poundin." The sweltering heat forced an early exit for this Spin writer. It was, as one audience member yelled, "hot as balls." And as one Features message-board poster aptly commented in a post-show wrap-up, "Seriously. Mix in some fucking AC, Exit/In."
"I've been away from Nashville for a while," Greg Garing explained to The Basement crowd last Thursday. "Can someone tell me what the fuck 'alt-country' means?" We've been trying to figure that out for years now and still don't have a clue, but we're pretty sure it doesn't describe your music, Greg, which is far too uncontrived to fit into such a reductive description. For those who don't know, Garing was a mainstay in the Lower Broad honky-tonks until he moved to New York City in the late '90s, but, judging from his performance, the big city hasn't taken the country out of the boy. Don't be fooled by the gaunt rocker facade: there's nothing hip, detached or ironic about his music, a stirring blend of old-school country, bluegrass, rockabilly and jazz that is at once deeply reverent to the past, yet refreshingly urgent and whacked-out. Armed with only a guitar and a disarmingly lovely voice that'll practically knock the wind out of ya, Garing was mesmerizing—bold, vulnerable and as immediate as an atomic clock. His incomparable guitar playing—a lurching blend of chordal accompaniment, bluegrass runs, jazzy solos and frenzied explosions—was blissfully (and intentionally) unshackled to any conventional concepts of timekeeping. (Note to practicing musicians: throw out those metronomes now.) It was welcome news to hear that Garing may soon be moving back to Nashville for a while—could a steady gig be in the offing?
Deep river blues
Maybe it was the heat, or maybe folks were waiting for the headliner, but the crowd at last Thursday's Dancin' in the District didn't turn out until well after sunset, in time to hear Buddy Guy speak the universal language of the blues. Mt. Juliet resident (and Talking Heads/King Crimson alum) Adrian Belew tried to warm up the twilight patrons, but the arty sound of his power trio, so effective on his recordings, spread too thin in the hot, diffuse atmosphere. Reduced to blunt statements, Belew's guitar spoke in many familiar tongues—modified Rush, Aerosmith, Floyd, even Van Halen riffs. But Guy, seasoned showman that he is, worked the joint like it were a vast blues club, weaving through the crowd with a cordless ax. Guy's appeal cuts across class, age and race barriers, making for a rare and refreshing instance of a truly inclusive Nashville concert.
L.A.-bound
Laurel Parton's been in Nashville so long, we forgot she ever moved here from somewhere else. So when we say that she's made the scene, we mean that in the best of ways—she's been a tireless presence in the city's clubs, both with her own fiercely rocking band, Trauma Team, and as a relentless supporter of other local musicians. Now, after 13 years, she's decided to move back home to L.A., where she'll keep Trauma Team going with a new lineup. But not before playing a couple more shows, including a Sept. 7 date at Springwater with Red Lion and Tammy Hart of the band Winning Looks. Then, on Oct. 7 at The Boro, she'll have one last onstage blowout at Tromapalooza, a celebration of the schlock-horror film house Troma (makers of A Nymphoid Barbarian in Dinosaur Hell and, of course, Toxic Avenger). Come to bid adieu to Ms. Parton, stay for the bloody T-shirt contest.
Peep show
The best value you'll ever get for a quarter is sitting in the Belcourt's lobby, in the shape of a boxy refrigerator-sized contraption with a built-in screen and rows of red and black switches. It's a Scopitone machine, a kind of video jukebox that became a short-lived craze in the 1960s. Using technology devised by the French during World War II, the machine plays specially filmed 16 mm music clips that are a kitsch lover's paradise of candy-colored sets, Parisian go-go girls and long-forgotten dances like the hully-gully. According to Belcourt projectionist Kirk Futrell, the craze died by the end of the '60s, killed off by color TV and a diminishing supply of English-language product. Few machines exist today, and fewer still work. But Tom Wills, the Belcourt's owner and a vintage-film collector, found a restored Scopitone unit and donated it to the theater. Nashville now has what is thought to be one of the only working machines in the country, stocked with 32 films wound on tiny little reels with magnetic sound. "I've been telling everyone I know," says Gorgeous Greta Carey, manager of Katy K's, who last week sent a posse of Japanese Elvis impersonators to check it out. She lustily recommends the January Jones clips, but cautions to watch out for the slow-loading, technically temperamental belly-dancer short. Otherwise, you can't go wrong with any clip that mixes English and French in its title (e.g., "Les Twist"). As goofy pre-film entertainment goes, it beats the hell out of The 2wenty.
Remembering Max Vague
This Sunday from 5-7 p.m., The Basement will host a memorial service for musician Max Vague, who was found dead of an apparent suicide at the base of the Natchez Trace's Highway 96 bridge last week. Rev. Keith A. Gordon, a longtime presence on the local music scene, will be overseeing the service; he encourages people to stop by and share their memories of Max. For more information, or to contact Gordon, visit his website at www.mondogordo.com.
Send tips, news, gripes and harangues to thespin@nashvillescene.com.
This Sunday from 5-7 p.m., The Basement will host a memorial service for musician Max Vague, who was found dead of an apparent suicide at the base of the Natchez Trace's Highway 96 bridge last week. Rev. Keith A. Gordon, a longtime presence on the local music scene, will be overseeing the service; he encourages people to stop by and share their memories of Max. For more information, or to contact Gordon, visit his website at www.mondogordo.com.
Send tips, news, gripes and harangues to thespin@nashvillescene.com.
