our good pals/adversaries/near TORBUSmates in harpoon forever have just issued their second single. the A side, "creedence pattern," begins with a courageous introduction from my favorite member of the H4E entourage, and marks the vocal reemergence of idyllic internet personality D Tony Spaldo, who was the driving creative force behind one of slothbear's all-time best greatest best bands, alex and the horribles. "maya angelou" features some pretty sick wah guitar as well as some fairly impassioned jamblockery. overall i think this might be better than the first harpoon single, which i also thoroughly enjoyed, and what's more encouraging, my two favorite songs of theirs -- "judy b" and "cruel story of youth" -- haven't even been released yet.
friday we made the trek down to the university of delaware to play our very first out-of-state show. things got off to a rocky start when josh called shotgun in the accord, and bereft of his ipod, asked to use mine to commandeer the 3+ hour playlist. i, understandably so, said we could plug mine in if i got to pick at least some of the songs. josh refused, and so i opted to keep my ipod, listening thru headphones to tune out the dire second half of surfer rosa. josh, now realizing hardball was in play, put his seat in a gratuitous recline, crushing my legs. these dire driving arrangements lasted the whole ride down, highlighted by my intermittent kicks, shoves, and at one point strangling of josh using my foot and his seatbelt.
livid and ready to rumble, we arrived at our good pal kolitz's house around 3:30 pm. kolitz was kind enough to get us this show, which was to be with some purported local favorites. however, we quickly learned that there was no drum set, and that kolitz's drummer contacts were all huge misers about lending their equip to some fellas who made the 150+ mile trek. a walk to the local "hip record store," RainBow (i figured it was a gay bar) yielded no leads. it did, however, provide a cutting insight into the collective psyche of supposed music aficionados outside new york: they were in fact no less jaded, only a bit dumber. hipster clerks and their chubby patroning counterparts seemed nonplussed as kolitz attempted to get people to come to the show later, which, as far as slothbear was concerned, seemed less and less likely to happen.
it was then that kolitz had an epiphany (his first of ~umpteen), and called his friend who was in a local band called atlas, offering him a spot on the bill (a vacancy regrettably left earlier that morning by our good pals the labor daze) in exchange for use of his kit. i'm not sure exactly what the specifics were, but he agreed so long as his housemate was home to let him in. relieved and excited to be playing, we all high fived, spiritually, and went back to kolitz's.
resting on our collective laurels, and in the midst of finalizing a setlist, kolitz got the call back from atlasbro. this was the first in a harrowing series of Moment of Truths, wherein kolitz seemed initially elated to be getting a phone call, then made some comically discouraging face of anguish as the bad news came thru the receiver. it was now past 5 pm, and we had to start from scratch.
kolitz seemed to think our best bet was some dudes he knew who lived in a nearby space called skid, or SKID, or S.K.I.D.-- no idea which, but these losers didn't have phones and wouldn't respond to our loud knocking. briefly contemplating breaking in, under the infallible pretense that you can't be legally reprimanded for burglarizing drug dealers, nor be subject to out of state law, we decided to contact an old high school acquaintance for assistance. he didn't pick up and never answered my text, and for this, matt nicolae will forever be one of the many lost souls to occupy space on the slothbear shitlist.
we walked back to kolitz's, and now his housemates were kind enough to try their hand at getting us drums. these attempts, much appreciated as they were and still are, proved fruitless. it was now past 6, and the doors were opening at 6:30. morale was low, when kolitz took one last shot in the dark. walking out of the room as he made a phone call to someone he admittedly hardly knew (he had to get the number from a friend), he returned with improbable news: we had found a savior, and His name was Greg from Memphis.
with ~15 minutes to spare, doug and kolitz went off to pick up the drums as the rest of us made our first foray into the UD campus. ironically, as we went about getting said drums, several previously AWOL contacts began to come out of the woodwork, offering drum help. it's worth noting that somewhere around this time, josh offered kolitz some of the fudge his mom had packed him (he never offered me any), to which kolitz kneejerkingly replied "no thanks, not a fudge man myself."
we set up, did a brief and sheepish interview, and eventually played a competent but not altogether fun set. the vocals were too loud by my ears, and we didn't get to play little qid. people really liked "birds" though, a song which we hope to record and release soon. we were followed by this gypsy chic girl's two hour, eight song ukulele set. at one point, she gave a pretty stock shout out to "the band before," and said we did a "really good job," to which some hero/miscreant responded "NOT REALLY!" to mild applause. she also faked some sort of annoying accent throughout the second half of her set, but only the second half. when we went home at the end of the night/beginning of the morning, we took with us friendships new, experiences unforgettable, money nonexistent, and irrepairable damage to certain romantic relationships.
the next night we marked our homecoming at the sports page bar in lindenhurst. what initially caused ian to ask why we didn't just stay home and practice instead (shades of Beery's on 1st glance) yielded what was, for me, a decidedly better time than the previous night. incorporated village of ghost played a thoroughly swell set, which at one point featured the final/only enjoyable scene of there will be blood on an overhead projector, as we enjoyed free pitchers of beer. at one point, the four of us explored the renaissance technique of rubbing your palms and pressing them against your eyes for five minutes in order to see the world more vividly, incidentally invoking the sympathy of a concerned IVOG member, who must've enjoyed the spectacle of the four of us in a corner of a bar with our faces buried in our hands.
making the best of a one mic PA setup, we built our setlist accordingly, and played a pretty decent set to general indifference-- in fact, i'd say that night's rendition of "seventeen once" (another hit-to-be) was my personal favorite to date. after a refreshingly raucous little qid to avenge the night before (at which point the mic began to cut in and out), we also got our most unexpected encore to date. we played another song nobody knows, then tried to figure out this charming man (FTR i know the whole thing, not to throw anyone under the bus) before giving up and calling it a night. the four beautiful young magistrates made $25, went to sleep, and awoke in the morning, ready to navigate thru this frightening deep sea gorge we call middle earth, accepting the fragility of life in the face of the anglerfish -- society -- which have scorned them once agayne.
timmy taylor was a pretty suave dude. schmersal is the bratty bastard child of 1993 thom yorke and pre american idiot tre cool. the part where they talk about driving recklessly is pretty upsetting, all things considered girls against boys, the jesus lizard, and six finger satellite were all terrible.