Railroad to Alaska releases "Salvation" EP: A Review

Something about certain chord progressions, guitar riffs, and drum fills, whatever their variation may be, makes the blood boil with adrenaline. Combine that with well-executed, theatrical metal vocals, and the listener is transformed into a human bullet, aimed for destruction. When listening to the new EP, titled “Salvation,” from Costa Mesa locals, Railroad to Alaska, I can’t help but feel the need to put on my mean face and scream at the top of my lungs, “Take time to open your eyes, you know you signed on the line!!!” Lyrics written by front-man, Justin Suitor and band artist, Ryan Williams, are filled with insightful satire towards cultural phenomena like the Jonestown Massacre and the modern principles spawned by Capitalism in America. Combine that with Suitor’s vocal fervor and precision on lead guitar, bass and booming backup vocals by Justin Morales, perfectly-placed rhythm guitar by Jeff Lyman, and intricate drums from Derek Eglit, and you have a group of what may be the best emerging technical musicians in Orange County.

Returning to Mike Troolines at Sound Asylum in Santa Ana after releasing their first EP LuckyBearClawDoom in February of 2010, Railroad releases their second, containing four new tracks that are more metal than any orchestration they have released thus far. First is “Handsome,” the gritty tune that makes playing in 5/4 seem effortless, and tells the tale of the manipulative Salesman conning the masses. Continuing on, you’ll discover the heavy-hitting beats and jagged guitar riffs of, “The Real Thing.” Third is, “Mum,” that showcases a frightening power that emanates from each member until the very last second. Last, is the album-title track, “Salvation,” the only composition that mellows out, hypnotizing the listener for a moment with melodic chants, then building up to an eerie crescendo that sends shudders down the spinal cord.

Railroad to Alaska has recently showcased these new editions throughout Orange County and Los Angeles venues. On top of that, Volcom Entertainment has recently grabbed them for local events like the annual Dam-Am Skate Competition, and industry nights at local spots all over Costa Mesa. Check out “Salvation” at the upcoming Best Live Band Showcase on February 1, hosted by OC Music Awards at the Tiki Bar in Costa Mesa. Stop by and grab a copy of your own before the ensemble progresses their way out of Orange County, and into the public spotlight for good.

“Salvation” Track List:

1) Handsome (3:45)

2) The Real Thing (3:41)

3) Mum (4:12)

4) Salvation (6:46)

My Art/ My Life: A Review

Stepping back into our own cognitive history and recording the events that occurred around us is the means of preserving the future. That is the tactic of John Van Hamersveld in his recent autobiography release, My Art, My Life. In Southern California, the beach and suburban communities have spawned a web of financial institutions, film and media groups, the music industry, universities, surf companies, and a respectable art scene. In the middle of the social, cultural, and political adaptation occurring from the pivotal periods of time that are the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s in America, was the long-time SoCal artist, John Van Hamersveld. Through these influential decades, Van Hamersveld captured the culture in his designs, all while standing aside other artists like Bruce Brown, Rick Griffin, The Rolling Stones, and many other social icons that helped create the surf/hippie/rock culture in Southern California.

As a young child, Van Hamersveld left the East Coast and joined the ranks of the Palos Verdes, Santa Monica, and Malibu surf crowd. Adolescence brought him in contact with the likes of Velzy and Miki Dora, both of which cast the ultimate image of a surfer to the teen. This surf lifestyle combined with a budding artistic talent lead Van Hamersveld into collaborations with Bruce Brown of The Endless Summer, and John Severson of Surfer magazine. With the inevitable inclusion of the outlying film, media, and artistic communities of Los Angeles, the progression of surf culture into pop culture began.

Leaving his surf roots behind, Van Hamersveld headed towards the music industry. Corporate hierarchy was being erected in the music business during the ‘60s just as he was entering as a design and print maker. After classes at the Art Center, came the creation of Pinnacle Productions. Van Hamersveld and partners were able to build a successful concert production company that hosted musicians like Jimi Hendrix, Cream, and the Grateful Dead. But as the rock stars became marketed by the growing industry, the hippie masses that funded the drug culture began to be manipulated by the image of their own rebellious behavior that was being recreated and sold back to them by the corporate businesses. After less than a year, Pinnacle felt the echo of this descent and absolved.

Located in his personal studio near the Sunset strip, Van Hamersveld was able to absorb more art classes at Chouinard, and eventually secure a strong artistic relationship with Capital Records. Beatles, Jefferson Airplane, and Kiss were just a few of his album cover clients. But after a hectic run in the underground art scene, Van Hamersveld found himself in Silverlake in the early ‘70s, in his Johnny phase, escaping the web of illegal drug activity occurring around him, attempting to shut away and make album art like Exhile On Main Street for The Rolling Stones.

Throughout the pages of My Art, My Life, Van Hamersveld offers a timeline of Southern California from an eye that is constantly configuring how to capture humanity is his designs. In the retelling of his journey from the surf industry to hippie culture, Van Hamersveld remains blunt and honest of his friendships, business accounts, and artistic counterparts. As he reaches the late ‘70s, the corporate world had taken a stranglehold on the youth by effectively manipulating them through pop culture images. The loss of innocence at this time leads to the downfall of the counter culture, and the rise of the corporate world. But by stepping back with John Van Hamersveld through his adaptation, perhaps the younger generations can deconstruct the social structure he faced, learn from his trials and tribulations, and reconstruct pop culture, free from corporate puppeteers.

http://www.johnvanhamersveld.com/vhmoa/index_01.html

Long Live Vinyl

In an age of technology, evolution is expected in all aspects of life, including the music industry. All around the world, intellects strive to design the new, the more compact, the faster, the cleaner, the cheaper. Day to day, the public throws away the old and swipes those credit cards for the cutting-edge. Years of this type of public spending have affected the way an individual listens and collects music. Ultimately, the form of media each person chooses is based upon their life-style. For fast-paced living that includes constant travel, digital media is the most favorable. But for avid vinyl patrons, a little extra effort and a little more relaxation is appreciated. Listening to wax is a means of musical meditation in which the mood is of the utmost importance. There are specific times that are best to drop that needle. At home. With a joint. With some wine. With some whiskey. With someone you love. With close friends. With the door closed. With the windows open. With a candle. With the lights turned low. Each individual has their own way of listening. And for the community of record collectors that love this way of living, vinyl will always survive.

Despite the digital craze, shops like Burger Records in Fullerton, Factory Records in Costa Mesa, Vinyl Solution in Huntington Beach, and Origami in Silverlake still litter the Orange County and surrounding, offering a full selection of new, used and reprinted record albums of all genres. In Costa Mesa, right next to Little Knight, is the newly reclaimed Factory Records, known by most as Sound Trolley before Dave of Noise Noise Noise took over a few months ago. Peek through the old white wooden door windows, and notice a rack filled with free magazines, show fliers, CD demos, and art hiding in a nook on the left. Despite the close quarters, Factory makes use of every corner, only adding the best vinyl to the already exquisite collection. Each album features a white written tag stuck onto the protective plastic cover. On these stickers are in-depth, and usually hilariously sarcastic, scribbles of explanation about the history, significance, and condition of that specific record. All around, back-stock peaks out from the inside of wooden crates that litter the lower portion of the racks and unused areas of the shop. There are a few 8-tracks, cassettes and CD’s, but this room at Factory will be forever dominated by vinyl.

In this age, thousands of songs can be stored and downloaded through iTunes, CD Baby, and the quick and convenient bit-torrent sites. Going digital has also allowed the masses to make their own musical concoctions in living rooms, garages, and local lockouts for a reasonable price. From the studio, local bands then cut and mix their product with user-friendly music editing software like Garage Band and Sound Studio. But while the trend seems to be all about electronics, most musicians are still unable to give up and throw away their beloved vinyl collection boasting Bowie, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Iggy, and Sabbath. Recently, this fairly expensive manner of music production has outlasted decades of change, and has continued to survive in the hands of an artistic community that values the sound produced when the needle gently drags over the creases of revolving pressed vinyl. Not only are these individuals collecting the music of the forefathers of modern rock, punk, and hip-hop for the next generations, but they now are reverting back to releasing vinyl themselves. Musicians like Local Natives, The Growlers, and Gestapo Khazi are making their own place in vinyl history by releasing wax of their own, developed from digital tracks.

For the men in charge of Burger Records in Fullerton, a heightened vinyl obsession has inspired them to create an authentic record store and publishing label in Orange County. With a few local bands under their belt, Burger has succeeding in pressing vinyl and making cassette tapes on their label that’s also named Burger Records. To get to the shop, just cruise past the industrial buildings that line State College Blvd., past the remains of an old orange grove, and on the left is Burger. Inside the glow of neon green walls, they offer recovered originals, underground current releases, and a few reprints. The interior design is retro, with a collection of music oddities of strange origins littered everywhere. To give back to their customers, Burger constantly hosts movie and live music nights, motivating the locals to come kick back with fellow music lovers.

With the success of CDs in the early ‘90s, record players hit a major lull in production. From there came the decision among record-holders; hold onto the vast collection, let it fade away, or sell it off to shops for dimes. CD’s took over, with digital soon following, and each new format operated on more efficient equipment, causing record players to fade away. As CD’s and iPods filled the shelves, vinyl finally took a backseat to the cleaner and more convenient digital technology.

In a modest strip mall off of Beach Blvd hides the record store gem, Vinyl Solution. Step through the door and find yourself stuck in a world of punk and rock memorabilia that covers every inch of the establishment, including the ceiling. The expensive stuff rests on wall racks to the left, protected by a glass case that serves as a barricade and location to place the selection of alphabetized 45’s. Buttons, shirts, and posters of bands like The Misfits, The Cramps, and Ramones fill the little bit of space that the records don’t reach. Upon entering, prepare for some shop-talk about the intricate levels of record history, involving such precise knowledge as release dates, specific concert data, and album artwork. Not only is it easy acquire a favorite Beatles album there, but you’ll learn a little about it before you leave.

Record stores are the backbone of the music industry, and the key to its success. When major corporate retail locations like Best Buy now offer vinyl, all boasting shiny gold 180 gram vinyl stickers on shrink-wrapped plastic, it is apparent that the music industry has taken a wrong turn. Without the vinyl junkie who strives to perfect the oral history of music, peddle albums to music appreciators, and promote local and popular music everywhere, record companies and musicians will ultimately fail. Bands must now rely on selling merchandise first-hand in order to make the smallest of profits, but most fans are unable to go to purchase that merch because that band cannot afford to tour through town. On top of that, concert tickets that used to be sold at record retail locations are now claimed by Ticketmaster and LiveNation, which monopolized the market on online ticket sales.

Head to Silverlake, past the lake in Echo Park, and up to Sunset. On the left, tucked near the venue The Echo, is Origami Vinyl. Simple, chic wooden bins extend, implanted on each side of one long corridor, hiding walls that shine with a grey winter glow. All the way in the back, a classic metal spiral staircase winds up to an empty loft area for bands to play in-store performances. Each month a new collection by a local artist is placed on the walls above the record racks. Despite the detached music scene in Orange County, this portion of Los Angeles has figured out a way to create a local neighborhood of artists, musicians, and venues. Origami sits right in the middle of it all. That makes it easy for the shop to connect with local venues like Spaceland, for which they promote and sell concert tickets. Musicians and a handful of record companies are also local, allowing Origami to work directly with artists to purchase wholesale vinyl, instead of corporate distribution companies. The middle-man is then cut out, leaving most of the profit to the artists.

Sometimes an enigma, despite the odds, secures its spot in history. In a world of digital, vinyl seems to survive even with the battle between tape, CDs, and digital audio files. Perhaps it is because some of the most passionate artists and music appreciators live in the world of vinyl. The true collectors that are scattered throughout record stores across the nation will always be obsessed with enjoying the music they surround themselves with. Each band, song, album, and artist will stay with that collector forever, even if their vinyl collection doesn’t. For them, music is tied to personal memories; moments made in the past in which one specific song is the catalyst for reminiscence. A type of spirituality is engrained in the rich sound waves of vintage vinyl. And as it still carries merit in this modern time despite the desire for digital, performers of the future will no doubt continue to pay tribute to vinyl by pressing their own LP’s to live on forever as a collector’s items.

A Week at Detroit

Every night there is something to do at Detroit Bar, the music venue hiding in the corner of the Vista Center located in Eastside Costa Mesa. Drive on 19th street past Placentia Ave., past the old eVocal, past Avalon, turn left at the brightly lit marquee, and in towards the corner of the parking lot. There, you will find one of the most vital contributing venues in the underground Orange County music and art scene.

Throughout the venue, the reoccurring theme is an aged, yet chic style of Mod. Knitted pieces of tangerine-colored pillow art litter the walls of the dance floor, bar area, and pool hall; buffering the music that spews from speakers. Every piece of interior has rounded corners, whether it is the stools, tables, or booths. The establishment is split into three tiers; the first being the open concert hall, the second the bar, booths, and DJ arena, and the last being the pool room that possesses a digital jukebox, a classic joystick Pacman arcade game, and more lounge seating.

For nine years, the stage has featured thousands of bands; some good, some great, and some to forget. But each performance always shines in it’s own distinct way. From a wooden beam above and away from the stage hangs the modest light system and fog machine. To the right and left, suspended with a tilt towards the audience, are two substantial house speakers. Monitors litter the extension of the platform that was built into the existing frame of the stage just a few weeks ago, providing a little extra space for the performers. Surrounding the musicians are three walls of orange-painted concrete hidden behind a perimeter of deep red curtains. In the back, centered in the drapery, is an oversized smooth metal replica of the Detroit Bar logo, always beaming in the glow of shifting red, blue, green, and yellow beams of stage light. For those who see the merit in discovering new and upcoming musical acts to add to their life playlist, it is the perfect place to reside every night of the week.

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Today the week starts with Resident Live Music Monday, and for the first evening of the Billy Kernkamp Mysteresidency, the sounds of The Relative Strangers are booming out of the doorway of Detroit. “The feeear of taking you for graaanted, the feeear of letting yooou go,” has wandered into my head a lot over the last month. This Thursday will be their first appearance at the House of Blues in Anaheim.

Pleasant surprise is the second mystery band, Wake Up Lucid, hailing from Los Angeles. This three-piece played a healthy set of psychedelic Southern rock to impress the crowd. Tonight, the three-band-lineup is letting each group take advantage of extended time on stage. Wake Up Lucid took advantage, showing a great extension of their musical range, including an impressive drum solo transitioned seamlessly into an intense song finale. Definitely downloading their new EP as soon as possible.

Gossip of the night is all about unveiling the Ruffian music blogger, whether or not he was there, and who it may be. It is still unclear if they are male or female, one person or many, and what crowd they seem to run with. But the consensus seems to be that, whoever it may be, he or she is probably not much of a musician.

Billy Kernkamp, accompanied by Justin Deckert, Brendan Murphy, Teddy Duran, Justin Morales, minus organist Dallas Kruse, takes center-stage. In the spotlight after a few weeks of hiding out, Kernkamp graces his many fans, singing their favorite songs with deep passion and romantic fervor. A month-long residency is good practice for the group, as they will be entering the Red Bull recording studio in a few weeks to claim their OC Music Awards prize. Nearby, Trisha Smith and Ryan Radcliff of Honeypie enjoy the music. They will be playing next Thursday at Detroit with Melanoid, Preacher’s Sons, and May McDonough.

At the end of the night, it is necessary to swoop out undetected, otherwise goodbyes would last on through the night. Always a good time seeing friends at Billy’s shows. Looking forward to the rest of July Mysteresidency.

For local artists, the Monday night residency spot is coveted, and reserved for the most legit Orange County musicians. Over the last year, bands like The New Limb, Railroad to Alaska, and Blok have chosen their favorite openers to join them in filling up the Detroit dance floor for four weeks in row. Not only is this Residency one of the best ways for a band to gain exposure, but it is also a challenge that truly shows a group’s stature and following in the Orange County music scene.

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Started off this Tuesday night Everyday Noise event by walking into Detroit to the words, “People get goofy to this song.” The Tail, a group of four, sounded reminiscent of a modern-day Beach Boys or Dr. Dog, but with more quirky and intellectual lyrics.

Near the DJ booth, Everyday Noise founder, Ash Eliot, works away on her laptop, while her partner, Albert Ching, runs to and from the stage area to observe the show. This duo is running the Local Indie Night every first Tuesday of every month at Detroit.

Next up is another four-piece hailing as the California Condors. Each member, with their own personal microphone, stood up to sing his own song, with only a few truly being memorable for the night. This is an Indie band with excellent musicians and democratic songwriting style.

A faux-redheaded female takes the stage with her psychedelic rock band. Spirit Vine had made the rounds through Los Angeles and now enters Orange County, with the possibility of a memorable show tonight. With red lights turned low, a few riffs from the lead guitarist, and the occasional harmonies hit just right, Spiritvine was unforgettable.

Peyote Players closed out the night as the population dwindled to the final few. This funky, hip-hop, soul, psychedelic rock trio, featuring lead bass, is the most entertaining of the evening; enough to earn fog and a technical light show from the house. A mellow evening at Detroit with a full range of Indie bands.

While the local musicians usually host Tuesday evenings, the final one of the month is reserved for Dubtroit, a night filled with the heavy basslines of dubstep music. The crowd has been anticipating this Tuesday all month, checking in with friends days in advance to make sure they are attending. Every time Dubtroit rolls around, the bouncer knows it is time to prepare for that long line that always builds in front of his station. One by one, he checks ID’s, always attempting to tame the orgasmic electricity shifting though the crowd, and the smell of hydroponics in the air on the patio.

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Dolphin City is glowing in raw projector light, laced with flecks of digital color. Dressed in all white, perfectly puzzled together on stage like opaque tetris blocks. The stellar musical experimentations radiate over the snug audience that consumes the concrete dance floor. And the standard is set high for the musical acts of the night.

For The New Limb, tonight is the ultimate homecoming after a two-week tour up the veins of the West Coast. A new maturity, wisdom, and confidence pulses in musical succession from the five members. Time apart results in a sense of nostalgia, and a new excitement for the group that I’ve seen so many times now. Welcome home.

Young the Giant, previously known as The Jakes, sets up and briefly checks their levels. “It’s time to start a fight,” flows from the romantic vocals of the lead. These young men, previously known as The Jakes, exemplify the Indie scene perfectly in Orange County, with charismatic tunes bouncing throughout the establishment. The promoters have changed up the schedule for the month of August, with Young the Giant taking a slot as Resident band. Any other Wednesday night would consist of a DJ set, and completely different kind of crowd than musical hipsters. Go through the door of Detroit on hump day, and be greeted by a dance floor that hosts twirling bits of colored lights moving to the beat of the pop, ‘80s, house, and techno beats that inspire the crowd to drink, pick up on each other, and dance all night long. Refreshing to have a Costa Mesa venue with bands on a Wednesday for a change.

When Detroit was first introduced to the public after purchasing the punk venue, Club Mesa, in 2001, the entry line on a Wednesday evening shoot down the sidewalk, stretching past the neighboring businesses, all the way to the parking lot entrance near Alejandro’s Mexican food. Although the initial charm has worn off a bit, Detroit still boasts lines like this for Tuesday night Dubtroit, and national headliners like Cold War Kids, Crystal Castles, and Autolux.

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Thursday night; semi-official start to the weekend. That means there is probably a cover, with a touring band or special-event taking place. On this specific evening, it is Chainsaw’s Birthday Massacre featuring Railroad to Alaska, The Vespertines, Strange Birds, and Names In Vain.

Names In Vain are setting up, lights turned low and a thin starting crowd. Railroad members are split between the front door patio and the concert hall. Members of Strange Birds line the bar, with an occasional glance at one of the three televisions that float in orange encasings over the back bar. Each screen usually displays cult classics, eclectic music videos, or an occasional sports game. As the night wears on, The Vespertines enter the scene, with local musicians, scenesters, and surfers following. And the smoking patio fills.

By the end of the evening, the crowd is stretched full with booze, and an itching desire to get rowdy. Perhaps it was the booming voice of Vespertine’s lead female vocalist, crying low tones of Change, with a solid band of brothers behind her, matching her intensity in great harmony. Perhaps it was a particular crowd of fans, including birthday girl, Vanessa Barnes, that shot the rest of the audience up with adrenaline with their violent dancing, pushing, and rhythmic screaming.

As the people begin to exit the venue, friends and acquaintances continue to linger out front. But a few super drunk buddies, led by the-most-plastered-king-of-the-night, begins looking for some trouble. A fight quickly flames and fizzles, but a row of Detroit regulars, Railroad guys, and bouncers now line the patio, guarding the entrance to the establishment, making sure there’s no more trouble for the night.

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On Friday evening, everything changes. The crowd, the music, the mentality. A full set of DJ’s take over the venue, transforming it into a club with men and women on the prowl. Pay five bucks at the door, and enter into a world of lights, lazers, and the sound of MSTRKRFT, Justice, and Daft Punk remixes. Club attire is more prolific tonight, with the men in button-ups, and the female’s skirts being tighter and shorter than any other night of the week. All three tiers of Detroit are bustling with young adults looking to throw a few drinks back and officially welcome the weekend.

Around the establishment, a cocktail waitress dressed in a black ruffled skirt and tank hustles from room to room, checking constantly for drink orders. At the bar, tequila shots are being shared. On the dancefloor, club-goers assimilate in drunken dance movements, while local photographers shoot from all angles, bending the perspective and light in every which way. Friday’s are reserved for the crowd that wants to absorb entertainment and alcohol from all sides.

However, any weekend the schedule may change, depending if a band like The Growlers, the GZA, Matt Costa, or Valient Thorr is coming through town. But no matter the night, Detroit supplies a hub for local music, socializing, and an escape from the work-week.

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It’s Saturday and the crowd consistently wanders in for the Echo Echo CD Release (with vinyl!). Tonight, the group shares their new album,Fall Like You're Flying. Through the main entrance, and towards the merch booth to find sprigs of delicate faux cherry blossom branches twinkling, each laced with tiny bulbs of light inside rice paper flowers. A few line the stage, with the rest set around the brown suitcase at the table. Inside the gaping mouth of the case, copies of the album are joined by digital download cards.

National act, Film School, under code name Fission, takes stage at 9:15pm sharp, making it an early start to the night for the venue. It has been two years since the foursome have played on stage together, and the Detroit stage is the first of many on their Fall tour schedule. The electro-indie band, with wedding rings and a hint of maturity on their faces, run their set and check the response of the crowd every song or two. Nervous to reply, the crowd keeps a distance, but continues listening closely.

To follow is Semi Sweet, a local bitch pop group, boasting the ratio of three females on vocals, keys, and drums, to the two men playing bass and guitar. A crowd gathers to the breathy croons of the lead vocalist; a seductive female with Fender in hand, sharing dramatic lyrics with the band’s followers. A fan posted up front grabs a prop bubble machine that had been implanted at the foot of the stage. He points and shoots, scattering a rain of gleaming orbs amidst the melodies of songs titled “Sleazy” and “Sugar Free.”

Third for the night is The Relative Strangers. As they play, more people wander into the establishment, proving the band is the perfect buffer for the headliner of the night. The two pairs of actual relatives finish up, allowing plenty of time for Echo Echo to share a full set of their new record before last call. As the band begins, a darker and more emotionally rattling mood begins to linger in the air. The four members, comprised of music locals, Steve Carson, Jameson, Darren Carr, and Bruce Yoken, escape to a place of broken romances. Carson, with his sorrowful voice resonating strong, leads the group in an epic set that extends into the wee hours of the morning.

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Last chance to enjoy the weekend, and this specific Sunday, the crowd stumbles through the door, drunk from the events of Labor Day, ready for some top-notch karaoke. First stop: the bar. Second stop: the Book. Within the plastic covers of the karaoke binders is a thick selection of the classics, the current, and everything else in between. On stage, Lester Trombone, the host of the affair, is dressed in black and red pin-stripe pants, slicked back hair, and one of his t-shirts that simply states, “Organic Robot,” “Love Songs for Everyone,” or “ I Like Stuff.” He hunches over his karaoke stand, tucked away in the corner, his table littered with white strips of music selections. Scrolling through thousands of songs in his database, Lester hollers song titles from the likes of Danzig, Nirvana, Fiona Apple, and Weezer.

A swarming crowd ripe with booze serenades loudly along with a hip young man basking in the fog and lights of the red-carpeted stage. Tonight, owning the platform for a few minutes is difficult, with a growing crowd steadily throwing their favorite tunes towards the host. In the back corner of the dance floor, the sound technician adjusts vocal levels and lights, with fog and green beams of lazer reserved for only the finest acts of the evening. With a tempo change in lights and a puff of swirling smoke, this young man has achieved his acceptance from the establishment, and the crowd roars on.

Tomorrow each individual may regret the song selection they made, the amount of alcohol they consumed, or the decision to hit on that plastered guy or girl at the bar. But no matter what experiences were had, karaoke is the best way to close out the week at Detroit.

http://detroitbar.com/

Music or the Misery

"What came first, the music or the misery?" -High Fidelity

If a person's environment is a determining factor in the development of personality, then music listened to, especially during adolescence, tends to become a personal brainwashing device. Depending on the genre and subject matter--whether it be religion, hate, happiness, angst, love, or jealousy--a single song can be a catalyst of influence, sending abstractions of emotion to surround a person's entity. This ultimately affects the individual's mental state, which is then carried on into adulthood. But, there is the factor of personal selection. You pick the music to listen to...so choose wisely.

On the Bus with the Growlers

Middle of their cross-country tour, and the Growlers are in Iowa City. The pack has decided to post up at The Mill, the dive they played at last night that offers PBR on special for $1.75 on Sundays. It is 25 degrees outside the bar and snow is scheduled to fall for the next two days. Every television in the country is stationed to the Superbowl, including this Iowa barroom. The prior evening, percussionist Warren fell deep in love with his soul mate Emily, a young resident who has offered the rowdy bunch some food, drink and a place to stay once the Mill locks the doors. Tomorrow, the crew of young hooligans will be dipping and rising and rolling their old stripped bio-diesel school bus down the road, weathering the late-winter storms on their way towards Omaha, Nebraska to continue their nationwide tour with Philadelphia-based band, Dr. Dog.

On the cross-country voyage, the boys have chosen to name their vessel Brandy the Bus. She has been the Growlers’ means of transportation, shelter, a recording studio, hangout spot, hotel room, and a place for mind exploration. On the bus is lead singer Brooks Nielsen, guitarist Matt Taylor, bassist Scott Montoya, drummer Brian Stewart, guitarist Kyle Straka, percussionist Warren Thomas, photographer Jack Coleman, and Ellie, a rad musician chick friend who has come along to help out with merchandise. A couple rows of old brown leather bucket seats remain at the front of the bus, but the rest of Brandy’s guts have been completely stripped clear. Replacing the rows at the rear are two sets of bunk beds that Brooks and Jack have sawed, drilled, and nailed into place. A table, kitchenette area, and equipment corral fills the rest of the space, with a tight aisle running through the middle. Drawings, pictures, and the mementos collected from friends and fans so far frame the fogged windows that block the vagabonds from the freezing winter weather. This alternate existence has caused the Growlers to lose track of what day it is, the town they visited five days ago, and what shows are scheduled for next month. It’s become a blur of experience.

Through Nebraska, over to Illinois, on to Ohio, up to Pennsylvania, and finally, by the grace of J.C., a spot opens up for the Growlers to park their vehicle in Brooklyn on a beautiful Valentine’s Day in New York. Outside, the air stills feels cool, but snow scattered on the concrete has melted into brown. A crowd is huddled in the bus, getting inebriated, killing time before sound-check for the show at Union Pool Bar. Tonight, the Growlers will be framed by a healthy stage, lined with round glowing bulbs and red velvet; a view straight from the Moulin Rouge. Hypnotic, eerie rhythms will entrance the intoxicated crowd, morphing the little kiddies into Dionysian creatures who sway in a sea of human motion.

Instead of striving for intricate technicality, the Growlers have chosen the more primal aspects of music as their weapon on the masses. These songs emerge from rough jams of guitar, vocals, bass, drums, keys. Each track stems from the roots of relationships, art, angst, mind-enhancers, females, surf, politics, philosophies of life, and the attempt to transcend the levels of their own consciousness. For the Growlers, this goal doesn’t involve leaving drink, drugs, or women behind, because it is the craziness of the world they surround themselves with that is the true inspiration for their music. A story of syllables might multiply from Brooks, growing into something tangible once Matt adds his touch of eerie guitar. Scott builds a bassline, while Kyle tinkers with keys and his own melody on guitar. Warren rounds out the sound with his own vision of backup vocals and the beating of conga drums and shakers. Each is receptive to one another’s vision, constantly testing how far they can break through musically.

Back on the bus, the boys have now made it through three weeks of touring with no flat tires, engine trouble, or tickets, despite a few close calls. From Denver, the Growlers now venture into San Francisco to join friends for their final homecoming show of their National tour. While here in the Bay, the boys entrance the gypsies, the hippies, and youthful degenerates into a hypnotic state. But after more than a month of traveling, Brandy is ready to take the boys back to Orange County for some rest and renovations before heading to Austin, Texas for their first appearance at SXSW.

Rolling rolling rolling down the California coast, and the Growlers finally pull into the parking lot of their home studio in Costa Mesa. After a night of rest, it’s back to business, preparing for upcoming local shows, and conducting interviews. In through the back door, and eyes are exposed to a circus of light bulbs, fake flowers, music equipment, hanging baby dolls and array of lights. Every inch of the Growler lair is covered with something Brooks has hoarded from the trash, thrift store, or yard sale. Each character wanders through the maze of makeshift rooms, up and down stairs, disguising themselves in various wigs and masks that double as decoration. In the back parking lot, Brooks and Jack are making adjustments to the bus, adding more plywood beds, maybe even a spa, they joke. The Entrance Band, another member of the Everloving Records family, will be joining the Growlers on the journey from Orange County to Austin in just a few days, so more space must be made for the trip of 3,000 miles.

Tuesday night before St. Patrick’s Day, and the Growlers briefly settle into their two hotel rooms in Austin, Texas. From there, the Growlers must wind Brandy through crowded streets to play a handful of downtown stages throughout the three days of music during SXSW. For the Irish holiday, the group commences their first of eight shows at The Wave Bar for a rooftop concert scheduled for the midnight hour. In the packed crowd, an intoxicated Bill Murray bobs with the youth to the beat of Red Tide. After the show, the Growlers hustle through the alleys of inebriation until the wee hours of the morning. Meanwhile, My Pet Saddle, Audacity, and AM have followed the SXSW train, crashing in the Growlers hotel rooms, partying hard and spending over $100 bucks on porn and amenities. A couple of hours of inebriated sleep, and the party begins again in the early afternoon. Like ants, the crowds swarm the downtown, stepping in and out of music venues, passing huddles of bands in the streets, listening to bits and pieces of the vast selection of music.

After traveling over 10,000 miles on the veins of American highways, Brandy finally loses her steam as the Growlers reach the outskirts of Orange County. Despite wanting to cut holes in the bottom of her frame to bring her in Flintstones style, the boys must resort to more modern methods to get her home. During her lifespan, Brandy has been redesigned, painted from the inside out, and seen more of the country than the average individual. As for the boys, they can’t help but sleep for two days straight once they reach their own beds. With all the traveling, the group has hardly had time to practice, let alone mold the new songs they so anxiously hope to finish. Despite having jobs, girlfriends and everyday lives, the Growlers tend to feel antsy if they aren’t staying busy with their project. One more Spring tour up the coast to Northern California, Oregon, and Washington, and the boys might finally get to rest. During their journey, Brandy and friends will stay behind, waiting patiently to have them back home in Orange County.