Talentless hack meets worthless band

Universe does not contract, though summit yields perhaps the lousiest sentence in the history of music of journalism:

Who knows what sends a band into the stratosphere, a la Good Charlotte or Linkin Park? That multiplatinum level of success might not be actively courted by [Bowling for Soup], but many of the songs on "Hangover" could surely elevate them to "TRL"-all-the-time level.

Yes, folks, that's the person in charge of reporting on contemporary music for the Times-Dispatch. She doesn't "know" how popular bands get that way, but she's reasonably certain the band she just got off the phone has as good a shot as anyone else. Provided they send the same shitty CD they sent her for free to everyone else in the country. I'm sure Melissa Ruggieri has a point. In there somewhere.

Comeuppance

Let's say you used to work with someone who...let's just say someone who isn't very nice. And then let's say that one day you were flipping through an entertainment magazine and found out that this person had been cast on a popular reality TV show. Do you put aside your personal feelings and cheer for them out of the perverse pride that comes with knowing someone on TV, or do you hope that the show exposes their faults to the world?

This seems like an uncommon situation, right up there with the moment in the football game when the referee studies the rulebook and says "Ain't nothin' in the book says a mule can't kick a field goal." But it's happened to me twice in the past year. Reality TV has made this extreme sort of schadenfreude possible on a scale that wasn't possible before—previously, you had to know someone who was a politician, a celebrity, an athlete or a game-show contestant if you were to have any hope of seeing them get their ass handed to them on national television.

I used to be reflexively anti-reality TV, but this democratization of nationally televised dope-slapping is, I think, a positive development for the culture.

Addendum

David Jones tells me that AP didn't trash the record. Anyone have the review handy?

Also, how about CSI: NY last night? If I see ONE MORE moody, emotionally distant character whom we discover "lost someone" in 9/11 I am swearing off free TV altogether. But then again, that crime was inventively gruesome.

Dreary bores

Thanks to Mark Nelson for bringing this to my attention: When Fudge's debut LP, The Ferocious Rhythm of Precise Laziness, came out on Caroline, it got really bad reviews in both AP (was there a time when anyone cared?) and Spin.

Here's the Spin review.

FLOPHOUSE
Undaunted
Harp

FUDGE
The Ferocious Rhythm of Precise Laziness
Caroline

Indie-rock will eat itself, and the sooner the better. Stellar purveyors of this social club (Pavement, Unrest, the above-named Flophouse) breathe new life, and even manage to inject a few surprises, into the sagging lungs of this once at-the-very-least exciting musical sub-canon. Dreary bores such as Richmond, Virginia's Fudge, along with such other overhyped null sets as Velocity Girl and Cell, suggest that ideas are a thing of the past, and all that's left are bloodless third-generation retreads. Where Flophouse fills me with hope, Fudge is a deflating experience.

First, the good news. The San Francisco–based trio Flophouse began as an all-acoustic venture, but when the band plugged in, it electrifies, as evidenced on its debut long-player, Undaunted. If this were a fanzine I would rattle off the names of several thoroughly obscure mid-'80s bands with which Flophouse shares a predilection for strained, ragged pop. But 'zines don't have ads with Marky Mark's abdomen, so I'll settle for pointing out that Flophouse's worldview is touchingly naturalistic (sample choruses: "The sun is...rising"; "I'm looking at the clouds / Big white clouds"), balanced nicely by off-kilter stabs at harmonies and frantic guitar noisiness. Flophouse conjures just the right indie spirit; a mite awkward and the better for it. Warts and all, Flophouse's racket is all heart.

On the other hand, Fudge's studied reverence of the U.K. shoegazing scene (from the sound of it, Ride in particular) is cold and feckless, like a box of dietetic candy. While snugly fitting in with the trickle-down alt-rock most A&R reps are dutifully pining over--and the fact of the matter is, Fudge will almost undoubtedly outsell and outcareer Flophouse--there's little to recommend in Fudge's unimaginative glide. There are catchy moments--"Wayside" and "Pez" being two--but the by-the-numbers guitar whoosh, lifeless vocals, and unbearably inert tunes are practically infuriating. Fudge is an all too perfect example of the gross laziness that's enveloped the postpunk '90s. CRAIG MARKS

Whew! At the time he wrote this, Craig was the music editor of Spin and well on his way to becoming the executive editor, which at the time was equivalent to being editor-in-chief. He came to Spin from CMJ, and before that co-ran Homestead Records with Gerard Cosloy. Gerard was by co-running a very hip record label called Matador when this piece ran--in fact, he still is. My experiences working with Craig were always very friendly, and I respect him a great deal, but I can't help but wonder if this piece was colored by a feeling that he was perceived as "uncool" for going over to a mainstream music magazine that covered stuff like Jane's Addiction--check out the first graf, where he calls indie-rock a no longer exciting "social club" and gets in a couple digs at "overhyped" acts of the time.

That attitude was buttressed when Craig brought in Eric Weisbard, who also had a sizable chip on his shoulder about indie-rock. I remember they both were very dismissive about it and oddly boosterish about stuff that really wasn't very good but was on majors (such as Imperial Teen, who sounded completely like Unrest--ideas are a thing of the past, no?). It's almost like when someone switches political orientations and delights in twitting family members who feel like he used to!

But I think, overall, the judgments in this review, while a bit harsh and not mine (I like Fudge and think Flophouse were TOTALLY boring) are completely defensible. I understand Caroline was really pissed about this piece, and apparently Fudge's manager (Bob Schick the singer of one of my favorite ever bands, Honor Role, who recorded for Homestead) called Craig up to yell at him about this review.

(This is not a tactic I recommend, by the way. If you're unhappy with a review, sit on your hands. If you complain, everyone at the magazine will know about it within seconds and you'll be a laughingstock. You wanna play in the big leagues, you gotta take a couple hits. The way you hit back is to do very well and wait till the magazine comes crawling back to do a feature, and then you request they send the writer who wrote the review and then you act really kind to him. He will be miserable!)

But here's the thing: Craig didn't know, or care, that Fudge were bold harbingers of a new pop dawn in a place that more or less missed every wave after postpunk. Nor should he have. He just heard the record and thought it was derivative. And, ironically, thought that meant he'd be writing more about the band in the future.

A little bit of me in you

Fudge, "Girl Wish" (flexi version)
Fudge, "Wayside" (single version)
Fudge, "Pez" (single version)

The conventional wisdom on Fudge is this: They abandoned the sound that first attracted people to them in favor of a generic, heavier style of music. The conventional wisdom isn't completely wrong, but it's not completely correct, either.

Fudge was a unique band for Richmond. For starters, they were influenced by groups from beyond Ashland, which instantly made them suspect in the eyes of the cool dudes here. I've never lived in a place where outsiders were viewed so warily. David Jones and Tony Ammendolia came to VCU from Alexandria, which means they might as well have been from the moon (the fact that some of the most adamantly "locals-only" Richmond hipsters call that area home is another post altogether).

Jones and Ammendolia were also Sarah Records fans in a town that had dated punk but married metal.

"It was weird making pop music in Richmond in the late 80’s early 90’s," David Jones told me in an email interview. "We were considered real wimpy.  I like football, just like sissy pop records,too.  I was able to book some early shows down here with early Slumberland Bands.  Black Tambourine and I forget the others.  I knew Mike Shulman from when I was in Alexandria. Just about the time I came to Richmond pop bands had a chance in D.C."

That "chance" that he refers to was, believe me, hard-won, and had less to do with hard-music fatigue as it did with the tireless efforts of people like Mike Shulman (at the time the buyer for the long-gone Silver Spring record store Vinyl Ink) and Jenny Toomey and Kristin Thompson, who with Mark Robinson from Teenbeat put on the Lotsa Pop Losers festival over two days in 1991. That show marked the first coalescence of likeminded bands from all over the East Coast and, whatever you think of what came after, was a real shot across the bow of the music scene at the time.

That shot would not be heard in Richmond for another year or two, but the amazing thing was that it was heard at all, and a lot of the credit for that is Fudge's. What can I say? Those guys can win you over. I first met David Jones at an Eggs show when we lived in Richmond. He wanted to use some of the pictures we were using on our flyers at the time for a Fudge record sleeve or something. I was irritated because it seemed beyond cheeky, but David kept calling me, and he was just so damn nice I gave him the pictures (at least that's how I remember it).

Anyway, since arriving in Richmond, Jones and Ammendolia had been busy recording under a couple different names (Engine #9, Twitch Hazel--featuring future Lilys mainman Wally, later Kurt, Easley) and relentlessly getting the word out among VCU students, bypassing the jaded, graduated Richmond hipsters entirely.

It worked beautifully. Fudge were all of a sudden a draw down here, which was unheard of for a band that didn't have ex-members of Mudd Helmet or Death Piggy in it or wasn't a three-piece instrumental act (King Sour in the house!). They were aided immeasurably by David Moore (I hope I have that right; it's been a long time), who founded Brilliant Records and put on a pop festival here in I think '92.

Fudge's first recorded appearance was on a British flexidisc (again, major Richmond no-no--we're supposed to ignore you for years first!) that paired their best song, "Girl WIsh" with one by Red Chair Fadeaway, which I recently realized included my mate Peter Momtchiloff on bass. Anyway, they followed that with a single on Super Fly that included the same recording of "Girl Wish" with "Wayside." I think you can hear the future heaviness of Fudge on that track.

One common misconception about indie-pop bands was that they were only into wimpy music. A lot of the bands, however, were into real heavy psychedelia, classic rock, and noise. Before Shulman went headlong into twee stuff, for example, he was in a group called Big Jesus Trashcan that, as its name suggests, borrowed heavily from the Birthday Party. To understand why twee music caught on you have to remember that for a long time only the most self-consciously "extreme" sounding bands got any traction in the U.S. underground. Stripping away the distortion and embracing naivete was something of a statement!

Fudge--by this time a band with the addition of Steve Venable and Mike Savage--signed to Caroline, via the same A&R rep who later signed the Chemical Bros., and recorded an album called The Ferocious Rhythm of Precise Laziness, which came out in 1993. It's out of print, I think, but you can get it used on Amazon. Right before that record came out they did an EP on Brilliant called Bomb Pop that previewed where the band was going; "Pez" is from that single. Fudge were already a lot more heavy, and I remember after they signed they all bought huge amps.

David Jones thinks Southside Speedway "felt more natural" but concedes that it "had a lot to do with being in Richmond and going to see bands that just kicked butt all the time and wanting to compete on that level." This is where conventional wisdom is mixed--yes, Southside Speedway doesn't hold a candle to Ferocious Rhythm, but its seeds, as I think "Wayside" shows, were planted a long time ago.

Frankly, I think the worst thing that happened to Fudge was that they got accepted by the hipsters in Richmond. Those guys are always pushing one another to stupider heights of heaviness. Sometimes that works really well, as with Lamb of God, but I think Southside Speedway is basically a cautionary tale. Don't listen to the dudes, kids. If they knew what they were talking about, you wouldn't be able to order sandwiches from them. Basically, I think the problem with Richmond music, as with Richmond in general, is that bands here spend way too much time trying to impress one another and kind of forget that the outside world exists.

I don't want to beat up on that record too much because it has its moments, and it was a reflection of where the band was at in 1994--just before what was left of the indie-pop revolution succumbed to ill-fated major label deals and frustration with the gossipy indie scene (unaware that all was about to be blindsided by electronica anyway). And I'll always have a place in my heart for Fudge, especially the songs I posted here. They were a great band, possibly the best band to ever emerge from Richmond. Emphasis on the "emerge from"--they built something here and took it to the rest of the country.

I asked David Jones if he had any regrets. "We were too caught up in being ‘Indie’ to realize that we could do the same thing we were already doing," he says, "to reach more people and make/keep more money.  We were always a bit too rough around the edges culturally and musically to ever really be apart of the whole Northeast Indie Pop Scene, but we liked all those folks and wanted to fit in and sorta took on their ideals."

They never did fit in with that whole scene, which sucks, because I can just imagine how good Fudge's career would have been had they lived anywhere else. Anyway, enjoy these songs, because they all rule.
 

Research request

Anyone have any idea whether Mickey's Big Mouth is still available in the Richmond area? I tried contacting Miller, which now owns the brand, but gave up after spending 20 minutes on hold. Please leave me a comment if you've seen any around town.

Lettuce rafts

I haven't felt the need to go down to Shockoe Bottom to check out the damage myself, but anyone curious about the flood we had down here last week should check out Ken Weber's excellent account of the event. The slideshows are alternately terrifying and amusing (Weber keenly documents the produce diaspora from a nearby dealer).

Burn your eyes down

Aurora Paralysis, "Borrow My Body"
Aurora Paralysis, "Stick Man Waltz"

Frances Simmons: acoustic guitar
Erik Grotz: drums
Scott Hudgins: guitar
Sean Harris: bass

I still get chills when I listen to "Borrow My Body." I know, it's unspeakably lame for a 36-year-old guy to lie on his living room rug at 1 in the morning, feeling the hairs on his arms stand up as he listens to a 12-year-old indie-rock single, but dammit, that's exactly what happened last night when I recorded these songs onto a CDR for eventual posting.

Aurora Paralysis were a great band from Richmond. I met the group's singer, then named Frances Simmons and now named Frances Francis, after she sent me her self-produced cassette. She called her one-woman band Aurora Paralysis, and while I haven't dug out that tape in a while, I remember it being a total revelation. Spooky, beautiful home recordings that presaged the "slowcore" movement by many years. I remember a 4AD influence, but that could be a retroactive memory.

Anyway, I loved Frances' tape and wrote about it in my fanzine, Retro. (I don't remember why I called it that, but in classic early-'90s pretentious style, each issue had a different "surname": Retro Rocket, Retro Potato, etc.) Frances called me after that and I went over to her house, which was beyond perfect for the music she made--lots of heavy dusty furniture and lace, like she'd surreptitiously moved into some old spinster's rooms after the old bat croaked.

We stayed friendly, though her social circle was completely different from mine. A couple of her friends started the Eerie Materials label. I liked those guys, though their borderline-anarchist lifestyle more or less completely freaked me out--I believe one of them sold bodily fluids for a living, for instance.

The Aurora train gathered speed. I played the tape for my friend Erik Grotz, who loved it and sought out Frances with the intention of starting a band with her. The band they ended up with was called Aurora Paralysis as well, and it basically reorchestrated Frances' tunes. Live, they were completely incredible. Talk about chills--I could hardly believe how great they were and was terrified of what people would think of Eggs after they saw Aurora.

Nevertheless, we did a few shows together as well as a split single, their side of which is "Borrow My Body." I think it's the best song Aurora ever did. They did only one recording session, which I gather was a somewhat tense experience for all involved and which probably foreshadowed the band's eventual dissolution. From that session, two split singles--the one with Eggs and another with Young Love--emerged, as well as one proper single on the short-lived Richmond label Brilliant.

"Stick Man Waltz" was one of the band's few (maybe even one of two) songs that they composed as a unit. It points to a direction Aurora might have pursued had Richmond entropy not caught up with them. As I understand it, the band didn't so much break up as the members just kind of stopped calling one another. Cellist Bill Cassler had either quit or stopped showing up before they'd ever recorded with him, which is another pity in a career lousy with what-could-have-beens. But I don't like to focus on missed opportunities--I'd rather remember the crazy parties the Aurora kids threw. Because they were all Richmond folks, they smoked like Frenchmen and wore heavy clothes. Bill Cassler could do anything, I quickly learned--including walking with his back two inches off the ground in a limbo contest.

Erik and Scott still play together in Tulsa Drone, one of my favorite current RIC bands. I don't know what Sean is doing musically, but I saw him backstage at Ozzfest so I guess the charm is still working. Bill I believe is in the Marines, and Frances is going to grad school in Richmond (actually she might be done by now) and recorded for a bit in the very early 2000s under the name Her Love Filled the Room. Here's a tribute site to Frances that should answer any questions better than I ever could.

A final note: You may, if you pursue some of these links, come across some of my early attempts at music writing. I disclaim all responsibility for their quality.

Staying power

Ladies and gentlemen, let us please discuss the curious case of Lisa Loeb. It's been ten years since the horn-rimmed gal from Brown became the first unsigned artist to have a No. 1 hit (that would be "Stay," from the Reality Bites soundtrack). And yet—and this is the part I can't put my finger on—Lisa Loeb is still famous. In fact, I think most people would call her a famous musician, even though her album sales declined steadily post-Bites.

But still, Lisa Loeb has a new record coming out. And a cooking show, which she hosts with her significant other. She can even get her picture taken with Jeff Goldblum!

But seriously, can you name two Lisa Loeb songs without checking allmusic? Or for that matter, remember the name of her last album? Or her first?

It's almost like we all forgot to forget about her. Here's the Billboard chart from September 3, 1994. Anyone seen Crystal Waters lately? Do you even remember what All-4-One look like?

From the All-4-One website:
To their fans and friends, All-4-One had fallen off the face of the earth. Most, if not all, were unaware of the reason that they had been chillin'. They were unaware that one of the members of the band had a motorcycle accident, a rain-slicked highway at night and tangled wreckage. The fans knew the hits, the millions of records sold and the world tours...but, what they didn't know was that unlike drugs, greed and petty fighting, three variables that break up most bands, the All-4-One hiatus was much different.

All-4-One, my friends, sold 7 million records. Each of Lisa Loeb's three major label albums was certified Gold (500,000 sold). And I'll bet you can picture her face, down to the leopard stripes on her trademark spectacles.

So why is this? I'm no authority on this, but I don't think she's the type of person who shows up at lots of important parties and premieres. In fact, judging from her website, she seems to be the type of person who opens for Heart (and hangs out with guys who dress up like Hall and Oates).

Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Maybe Lisa Loeb isn't famous as a singer/songwriter at all. Maybe she's famous as a symbol. You know, the way Sister Souljah and Ivan Boesky are still famous—at this point, not so much for what they did but for what they represented. Lisa Loeb (it feels weird to call her just "Loeb") represents the possibility, however remote, that anyone with an acoustic guitar and sassy lyrics can conquer the world if things line up just right. We don't sleep, we don't eat, we don't breathe her anymore, but when we kick her under the table, by gum, she kicks back.

Richmond Flood, 2004

Apocowlypso, "Richmond Flood"
Brooke Saunders
Dika Newlin
Paul Bloch
Mike "Hunter" Duke

Featuring:
Mike Erwin
Zip Irvin
Nat Nolan

Apocowlypso. The very name makes me shudder. In many ways, though, the 'Cow was Richmond's perfect band, consisting of a man who wore sunglasses indoors, a wacky painting student, a moody English major, and an 700-year-old VCU music professor. This song—by no means great, but tenacious—has a tendency to rattle around in my head days months after I give in and listen to it, and it chronicles one of the many times our city got smacked down by the weather gods--1985, nearly 19 years ago. After that disaster, plans were finally put into place to build a flood wall that would protect Shockoe Bottom from the mercurial James River.

It didn't help this time, though, when a river fell from the freaking sky and rolled down Church Hill and downtown to party in the Bottom. I don't care what your take on faith is, you've got to question the competence of a god who destroys Cafe Gutenberg and leaves Mama 'Zu intact. Guess we all get the deities we deserve. Hey, maybe the prayers of nightlife-hating Baptist assholes get answered first!

Anyway, I'm sure I'm not the only one who's feeling Bloch's sign-off at the end of the song: "Well I'm packin' my bags, and I'm movin' on / I've seen too many dreams die in this squalid old town." Apres him, le deluge.