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Dear God

To say that Matt Besser has contributed a lot to the world of comedy is an understatement, even if his name results in a resounding “who?” among those who casually graze on Saturday Night Live or prime-time Comedy Central.

In brief, Besser was raised in Little Rock, attended Amherst College in Massachusetts, and then tried stand-up comedy in Boulder, Colorado, for a year. Moving to Chicago in 1989, he studied improv and sketch comedy under legendary Second City improvisational guru Del Close, whose former students have composed at least a fourth of Saturday Night Live‘s cast during any given time period.

In 1991, Besser founded sketch and improv group the Upright Citizens Brigade with Amy Poehler, Matt Walsh, and Ian Roberts. UCB moved to New York City in 1996, where classes were offered, a theater was opened (the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater), and a sketch show was sold to Comedy Central. Besser also created the MTV reality prank show Stung with Method Man and Crossballs: The Debate Show, a parody of topical debate shows which aired in the summer of 2004 until one of its unsuspecting guests threatened to sue Comedy Central.

Outside of TV, Besser is not one to keep his thumbs out of pies. His reverse-prank-call CD, May I Help You (Dumbass)?, came as the result of a tech-support 800 number being accidentally routed to his Manhattan apartment. In 2003, Besser moved to L.A. to launch and develop the second Upright Citizens Brigade Theater, where he now performs several times a week.

“Woo Pig Sooie” is Besser’s latest one-man show, the production that he’s bringing to the Hi-Tone Tuesday night, which focuses on religion in America and carries the tagline “Don’t Miss Your Chance To See Man Talk His Way Into Hell.” In an interview with Besser, he shed some light on the show, unfunny people, the UCB, the “Trapped in the Closet” production, and the power of pranks.

Flyer: What are your goals for the L.A. UCB theater?

Matt Besser: The number-one goal of both UCB Theaters is to give me, Amy Poehler, Ian Roberts, Matt Walsh, and all of our friends a place to perform in a hassle-free environment. The second goal is to provide a venue for good comedians who aren’t necessarily our close friends. The third goal is to provide a nurturing environment where people can feel free to get high in the green room. We’ve always said, “Keep the green room green.”

Tell me about the “Trapped in the Closet” show.

The show is a panel of experts commenting on the opera that is (R. Kelly’s) Trapped in the Closet. The experts change each show, but my favorite example would be David Cross playing the closet door.

How far into your receiving the calls did you decide to do the May I Help You (Dumbass)? CD?

After a month of calls every day, I called the tech-support company and tried to suggest a way that their customers could stop calling my apartment. They were idiots and ignored my suggestions, so I figured, “Fuck them. I will provide tech support for their customers.”

Who are your favorite (most influential) pranksters past and present?

Andy Kaufman, Joey Skaggs, Craig O’Neill, Coyle & Sharpe, Negativeland, and Howard Stern. The most influential book I ever read was an annual journal called Research, which in the ’80s did a whole issue on pranks. That journal turned me on to the world of pranks being a performance.

What is your stance on prank reality-TV shows?

We did 24 episodes of a show called Crossballs where we pranked 48 people. At least 35 of those people wanted to kill me when the shows were done. All those bad vibes have kind of burned me out on the whole genre.

What is your teaching style? You are harsh on students. Expound.

In Chicago, I took every level at every improv school. Out of all that supposed education, I had very few teachers who really taught me anything. Most of them took the “nurturing” approach to teaching, which is okay for a beginner but a waste of time and money down the line. All my improv epiphanies came on the heels of a harsh note, in particular [with] my mentor Del Close, who embarrassed me on many occasions. I only get really harsh if I feel a student ignores a note time after time.

Can an unfunny person be taught to be funny?

No way you can teach someone to be funny. But you can teach them techniques that help them present their funny in the best way. Especially when it comes to working with a group.

Can you give some important differences between long-form improv and short-form?

Short-form is lame, bag-of-tricks crap. It’s not organic. It’s basically watching people play parlor games. Long-form is improvising sketches on the spot.

Tell me about your new show.

Don’t come if you are the religious type.

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Music Music Features

On the Road, Again

In mid-2004, there began murmurings that Merge Records would be reissuing the first three Dinosaur Jr. albums. Then came news that the original line-up would convene for a tour. This seemed odd since ringleader J. Mascis and bassist Lou Barlow had avoided one another’s company for at least 15 years, but this seemed also familiar, in a way.

Here we go again: Great band creates fast and changes a few lives. Great band breaks up or fizzles out. Great band undergoes reissue project, reunites with original line-up, or both. At some juncture in the past 10 years, this became a common script in underground rock. Only one aspect of this new dynamic has been consistent: the inconsistency of the results. But consider the worthiness of a Dinosaur Jr. reunion a cinch. Word is widespread that the shows avoid any and all of the trappings that plague reunion tours: Expect to have your aural clock cleaned with only songs from those first three albums.

In 1985, J. (Joseph) Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Patrick Murphy (aka Murph), all in the vicinity of 19 years old, recorded the debut Dinosaur album. The three Massachusetts buddies hailed from hardcore backgrounds. Barlow and Mascis were in the revered but largely unheard Deep Wound, and Murph was in a band called All White Jury. But like any reasonable, ambitious teens who cut their musical teeth in that arena, the allure of hardcore had a fast-approaching expiration date. Mascis’ friend Gerard Cosloy, who later launched Matador Records, was then working at Homestead. Cosloy agreed to release a record by Mascis, sound unheard. Recorded for $500, the record was an eclectic, individualistic anomaly set against the college-rock/indie climate of the day.

Consider it a set of superior reinterpretations of what Mascis was then digging into: the Meat Puppets, the Minutemen, Neil Young, country music, the Cure, R.E.M., general hardcore, and Black Sabbath. That it is eclectic, and succeeds at being so, is not the remarkable feature about Dinosaur. That it makes uniquely better music out of its influences is the golden achievement, along with a few other things: Mascis was a savant with that old punk-rock hobgoblin, the guitar solo. Similar to his unwitting protégé, Built to Spill’s Doug Martsch, Mascis is a guitar god for people who hate the idea of guitar solos. There are guitar solos all over the debut, just like there are guitar solos all over Mascis’ entire career. Hüsker Dü may have been one of the first post-hardcore bands to lay beautiful melodies on top of noise, but theirs was a one-dimensional affair. Dinosaur, as you may have guessed, is harder to pin down.

A deafening silence followed the release. People either didn’t know what to make of it or didn’t care. Sonic Youth cared, though, and took the little band on tour, the little band that was steadily experimenting with bowel-voiding volume, distortion, velocity, and exponentially improved songs, all of which are captured on 1987’s You’re Living All Over Me. (The title is a reference to inter-band tension.) Released on SST through the help of Sonic Youth, the album is another anomaly, one that would differ by making a mark.

The first 30 seconds of “Little Furry Things” is a capsule peek at what would saturate indie labels for years to come. The song stands out as Dinosaur Jr.’s defining moment. The furious noise and detached screams giving way to an obscenely catchy verse/chorus would be rendered formulaic by imitators, but the point of origin is so perfect that it doesn’t sound dated. There are no losers on You’re Living All Over Me. It burns hard and loud straight through, minus Barlow’s “Poledo,” the no-fidelity album closer that hinted at his next project, Sebadoh, and the soon-to-be overstaffed world of four-track bedroom songwriters.

Unfortunately, the lasting influence of this album tends to overshadow what makes it special. Dinosaur Jr. (the “Jr.” added to avoid a lawsuit from a same-named hippie band) toured the U.K. behind You’re Living All Over Me, and, as the U.K. press is wont to do with enigmatic American weirdos, they became condescendingly obsessed with Mascis & Co., alternately poking fun at Mascis’ monosyllabic aloofness and then hailing the band as geniuses. The ultimate compliment came when British bands took what the Jesus & Mary Chain had been doing and threw Dinosaur Jr. into it, creating what we now know as the shoegazer movement.

The third album, 1988’s Bug, is seen critically as the stepchild of the three — the beginning of the end. Barlow was on his way out, and the album admittedly had more in common with what came after (the Dinosaur Jr. of the ’90s). Still, Bug is strong enough to stay in the room with its predecessors. This is, after all, the album that opens with “Freak Scene,” and, back when these things used to happen, it was a big college-radio hit. If you lend an ear to indie rock circa 1989-1994, it seems that “Freak Scene” might have inadvertently caused the formation of a lot of bands; it was a landmark underground moment, sort of like a “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that the mainstream missed.

Save for the lesser “Pond Song,” Bug does not suffer from filler. “No Bones,” “Yeah We Know,” and “Budge” are gorgeous keepers, and the album closer, “Don’t,” is a terrifying, antagonistic therapy session. The story goes that Mascis instructed Barlow to repeatedly scream “Why don’t you like me?” (the only lyrics) over the song’s almost six minutes of oddball metal. The two had not been talking for some time.

Barlow “departed” and focused on Sebadoh, his eventual day in the sun. Nirvana took a dumbed-down version of You’re Living All Over Me and Bug all the way to the top. Mascis released Dinosaur Jr. albums until 1997, a career chapter that flirted with alt-rock success (Lollapalooza slot, brief run of “Start Choppin'” on radio and MTV in 1993/94), before getting together with Mike Watt and the Stooges’ Ron Asheton for the Fog earlier this decade. Then, as a year of touring has proved, Barlow and Mascis apparently decided to bury the hatchet and get back together. Good for us.

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Goner

In 1993, visitors to Midtown’s Shangri-La Records could have found, among the independent label vinyl and CDs, older LPs, and other subcultural artifacts, a cheaply made cassette introducing two brand-new local bands. On one side of this white cassette in a photocopied sleeve was instrumental surf-rock fused with the indigenous sounds of soul rhythm sections. On the flipside, a trio bashed out brutally raw yet soulful punk-fueled garage rock.

This tape is a rarity now. Approximately 30 copies were made and most were sold through Shangri-La. It’s a seminal document, the first recorded release of two bands — surf-rock Impala and garage-rock Oblivians — that, along with the Grifters, would define the Memphis rock scene of the ’90s. But Impala and the Oblivians weren’t the only soon-to-be-notable names the tape introduced.

The cassette also bore the name of a new local record label, Goner Records. There was no reason to expect it at the time, but a dozen years later, Goner has evolved — like institutions such as Easley-McCain Studio, the Antenna club, and Shangri-La Records — into a key force in the city’s underground music scene. Now Goner, once a tiny indie label, is something of a multimedia mini-empire, with a record label, a record distribution branch, a heavily trafficked Web site, and a Cooper-Young store. But even more, Goner is an aesthetic, a mindset of sorts, one that unites like-minded “Goners” from around the country. It’s also the host to a multi-venue garage/punk-oriented music festival — Goner Fest II: Electric Goneroo — that will be held this weekend.

Goner is the brainchild of Eric Friedl, otherwise known as Eric Oblivian from his tenure with the Oblivians alongside bandmates Greg Cartwright and Jack Yarber. The store, label, Web site, and festivities are now co-operated and owned by Friedl and friend Zac Ives, a copywriter at Archer-Malmo who’s also the lead singer in local punk band the Final Solutions.

Friedl was born in San Diego and lived in Hawaii from age 12 until attending college at Claremont University, about 40 miles outside of Los Angeles. At Claremont, Friedl met fellow student and future Shangri-La Records founder Sherman Willmott, a native Memphian whose passion for music mirrored Friedl’s.

Friedl was living in Boston after graduation, doing sound for the indie-rock band the Dambuilders, when his old college friend called him with an offer. Willmott was back in Memphis and wanted Friedl to help him convert his business into something a little more in line with their musical interests.

“Sherman had done his floatation-tank thing and decided that records were more interesting and got more people into the store,” Friedl remembers. “He asked if I wanted to move down and help with the store, which at the time consisted of a box of LPs.”

“Eric was always into music that was further out there than anyone else was into,” Willmott says. “He constantly [introduced] me to great, esoteric music that I was inevitably listening to six months or a year later.”

Friedl had relocated to Memphis by late 1990, and Shangri-La soon morphed into something more than a record store. Cartwright and Yarber, then in the band the Compulsive Gamblers, were Shangri-La regulars.

“[The Compulsive Gamblers] used to let me get on stage and sing a ’60s cover or something, and the shows ended up being wild and long, with people piling on top of one another in front of the stage, people passing out,” Friedl remembers.

The Gamblers lost a member or two to other cities, dissolved (for the first time), and Cartwright briefly went to New York. By the time he got back, Friedl and Yarber had written some songs together. Cartwright agreed to play drums and the Oblivians were born. It was 1993, and the cassette debut with Impala would be followed quickly by two more releases bearing the Goner imprint: an Oblivians single (“Vietnam War Blues”) and Wolf Rock, the full-length debut of a then unknown Tokyo threesome called Guitar Wolf.

For the next five years, the Oblivians were prolific, building up a considerable fan base nationally, in Europe, and especially in Japan. During this mid-’90s period, garage rock was flourishing. The movement included countless notable bands and several distinctive specialty labels, such as Crypt, In the Red, and Sympathy for the Record Industry, labels which were home to many of the Oblivians’ releases. Like many influential bands, the Oblivians were underappreciated in their own time but are exponentially more popular today, as evidenced by a sold-out Halloween 2003 reunion show at the Hi-Tone.

The Oblivians called it quits in 1998. Yarber formed the Tearjerkers and Cool Jerks, and Cartwright reached new heights of popularity with the Reigning Sound.

“By that point, we felt like we had done what we were going to do. It was basically a fun band to start out with that went way further than we had ever imagined,” says Friedl. “We were getting on each other’s nerves. We’re all friends, then and now, but we were having to come up with stuff and not really feeling like it anymore. It turned into a job.”

Throughout the band’s existence and Friedl’s five-year involvement with Shangri-La, Goner released seven-inch singles for bands such as New Orleans’ Royal Pendletons, Japanese firebrands the Magnitude 3 and Gasoline, the named-for-the-ages Johnny Vomit & the Dry Heaves (Jack Yarber and future Squirrel Nut Zipper Jimbo Mathus’ high school band), and the debut single by the Reatards, a teen band led by Memphian Jay Lindsey, who would go on to form the Lost Sounds.

At the same time, Friedl was publishing an informative, caustic, and hilarious fanzine called Wipeout! Financial considerations forced Friedl to take a short hiatus from releasing records, but he started the Goner Records Web site in 1998, transferring his writing drive to an online format, selling his own releases by mail order, distributing records — and birthing the now-infamous Goner message board.

“He sort of turned Wipeout! into the site. Our thing with the site and bulletin board is that we try to be inclusive rather than exclusive,” Ives says. “No one is really moderating or editing the message board.”

Broken up into four forums — “Goner Records,” “Memphis,” “Upcoming Shows for Goners Everywhere,” and the most popular, “????” — the Goner board has grown into an on-line collective of the brilliant, idiotic, and ridiculous. It would be difficult to name a subject that hasn’t been broached, usually in an irreverent manner. Threads about local and national politics, books, movies, comedy, sports, hangovers, food, restaurants, bowel movements, great television, horrible television, fashion or lack thereof, general bad behavior, and the occasional incendiary and cruel insult can all be found. As you read this, it’s a safe wager that someone has just started a thread about what is right or wrong with this article.

“The good thing is that a thread will start about the best fried chicken in town and end up talking about the history of water management in Memphis,” Friedl says. The ensemble cast of regular and semi-regular posters, some clearly addicted to the board (on a naive employer’s dime, in many cases; one thread was about how the number of posts drops off after 5 p.m.) runs the full sweep of gifted wit and pop-cultural literacy to insufferable inanity.

“The message board developed its own culture. It runs itself. If it’s going in a bad way, someone can put one post up that kind of rights it,” says Friedl. “We’re really lucky to have some smart and funny people who post things, and they riff off of one another. If we didn’t have a few people like that on there, it would just devolve into something you wouldn’t want to read. People love to see what they type on the computer show up on the screen. I guess that’s it.”

Another more recent demonstration of fanaticism is getting a Goner tattoo. The idea was half-jokingly volunteered that “free Goner releases for life” would be awarded to anyone who inked themselves with the label name. Now, take two clicks into the Goner site and you’re greeted with the current lineup of those who’ve made a permanent commitment, including a bottom-lip tattoo and one on a left (male) butt cheek.

Sherry Cardino, of Austin, Texas, proudly displays the word “Goner” outlined by the border of her home state. “Definitely the most appealing part of Goner is the sense of community that surrounds all aspects of it,” Cardino says. “When the idea was proposed, it was just too funny to pass up.”

“When I saw the first Goner tattoo, it really was … weird,” Friedl says. “I don’t want my cousins to see that and start getting Goner tattoos. My family would never talk to me again.”

Ives thinks there are good things and bad things about the tattoo phenomenon. “Anytime you have people that are going to go that far, it’s a little surprising,” he says. “You don’t really know why it’s happening. You’d like to think that it’s all because you’re doing a great thing.”

Between 1998 and 2003, Goner releases slowed but included full-length LPs by the Reatards (Teenage Hate) and the Bad Times, a misanthropic, true-to-its-name group featuring Jay Lindsey, King Louie Bankston, and Friedl.

Friedl worked several jobs, formed a new combo (The Dutch Masters, with the Cool Jerks’ Scott Rogers), and planned the Oblivians reunion — another festival of sorts, with shows booked around the Halloween night blowout. Ives’ Final Solutions released a single and a full-length LP (on Nashville’s Misprint Records) and gained popularity through reliably chaotic live shows.

In 2004, when Cartwright vacated his Legba Records location at 2157 Cooper and moved to Ashville, North Carolina, Ives and Friedl promptly acquired the spot for the Goner shop.

“Eric and I had talked for a couple of years about opening a more general retail store of some type, some place to show movies, maybe, things that you wouldn’t see elsewhere in town,” Ives says.

“We decided that, since it was already established as a record store, we would do the label out of the store and see what happened,” Friedl says. “Having the store is great, because we get to meet a lot more people, people that we had previously only known on-line, for instance. But on the other hand, you have property taxes and all kinds of brick-and-mortar restrictions that don’t exist on the Internet.”

The label resumed a healthy release schedule with full-lengths by Harlan T. Bobo, King Khan & the BBQ Show, and King Louie’s One Man Band (Chinese Crawfish), all of which avoid an easy fit into a garage-rock agenda.

Another release was the curious Goner Cookbook, a literal and figurative gut-buster full of recipes and amusing Goner bulletin board threads about food. “If we do anything wrong, it’s because we might spread ourselves too thin, and that’s because we find all of these things interesting,” Ives says. “That’s why we did a cookbook. Eric killed himself to get that cookbook done. We went through crazy printing issues just to get a 500-press silly little spiral notebook.”

Goner claims devotees across the country and even overseas, including a large contingent from New Orleans, and so the build-up to this week’s Goner Fest II has been more hectic that expected, with many of the Goner label’s musicians and several other self-appointed Goners displaced by Hurricane Katrina.

“We only had one real cancellation because of the hurricane, the Detonations, who are now split up all over the country,” Ives says. “Some of the people who were going to come to or play the festival are unfortunately already here.”

“With the first Goner Fest, we booked it around the fact that King Khan & the BBQ Show were going to be here. Louie was going to be around, we were going to do records by these guys, then everyone wanted to play the festival. Two days turned into three and a half days,” Friedl says.

After the catastrophe on the Gulf Coast, planning for Goner Fest has taken a back seat. The Goner message board contributed to first-hand hurricane coverage and the location of missing friends. Goner has set up a hurricane relief fund through the Trinity Parish Episcopal Church in Searcy, Arkansas, and the money is being dispersed through Goner to those in need. Clothing and everyday items have been donated to the store, and a computer center has been set up so that evacuated Goners can check e-mail.

“We didn’t want to do it the wrong way. It’s a very serious thing, getting money to people, handling people’s money,” says Friedl. “We had some advice from people who do fund-raising for a living on how to not involve our taxes, so we have a nonprofit church taking the money, and the recipients directly get the funds.”

All of which could make Goner Fest II a bittersweet affair, a gathering space for this community of fans, record collectors, and musicians. The festival is still approximately three and a half days, but it has graduated to a bigger space for most of the performances, with the Hi-Tone replacing the Buccaneer Lounge as primary venue. More bands will be showcased (including another anticipated Reigning Sound homecoming and a performance by a revamped Reatards before they leave on a European tour in October). Other festival events include a hot dog cookout, and a Sunday Bloody Mary party at the Goner shop. The store will also host an exhibit by punk-rock photographer Theresa Kereakes.

Given what happened in New Orleans and its impact on the Goner community, the name Goner might imply too fatalistic an attitude to outsiders, but understood correctly, the moniker has more poetic resonance. “Calling yourself a ‘goner’ sounds negative,” Friedl told the Flyer earlier this year, “but it’s not meant that way. It’s about being an underdog and forging ahead however you can.”

But even as Goner provides a real and virtual community for local hipsters and garage-rock fans nationwide, it has the potential to be even more.

Willmott, for one, thinks bigger things are soon to come. “I expect Eric will bust out of the garage/Goner niche in a big way with a very non-garage sound,” he says. “The garage scene has natural limits in terms of numbers. There is a far greater demand for great music like the Bobo album than there is for your basic garage band. I expect Eric will take Goner to a level never before seen for an underground label in Memphis.”

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Nasty Boy

The popularity of the adult party record seems to have vanished along with its most nurturing decade, the 1970s. Getting drunk and high while listening to a dirty record was once a cross-demographic evening pastime. Record-store comedy bins were choked with albums from comedians on the Laff Records label, Rudy Ray Moore, and Redd Foxx. Richard Pryor released his most notorious title, That Nigger’s Crazy, on the Stax imprint Partee.

There was one performer who carved an identity out of the party-record genre, managing to last well into the ’80s and influencing a wealth of subsequent artists: Blowfly.

Blowfly, who will be at the Hi-Tone Thursday, July 21st, is the uber-foul-mouthed, hit-parodying, wrestling-masked and cape-adorned alter-ego of Clarence Reid. While Blowfly’s recorded output is arguably the longest-running dirty joke in recent pop-cultural history, Reid’s accomplishments as a producer, performer, and songwriter are nothing short of legendary. Perhaps one of the defining forces behind what would become “the Miami Sound,” Reid briefly charted with several original songs before penning tracks for other artists, like Betty Wright’s super-smash “Clean Up Woman” and Gwen McRae’s “Rockin’ Chair.”

As the nom de nasty Blowfly, Reid mixed the XXX-rated with the completely absurd. Bastardizing popular hits long before Weird Al, Blowfly’s randy renderings include “Hole Man,” “I Believe My Dick Can Fly,” and “Shittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.” Constants in the Blowfly agenda are his maniacal laugh (which introduces many songs), his faux-wrestling get-up, and his extended, and frighteningly long, middle fingers. The first proper Blowfly album, The Weird World of Blowfly, was released in 1971, and the output was relatively steady until 1988.

Like the Last Poets, Gil-Scott Heron, and other prescient purveyors of urban rhyming set to a beat, Blowfly is regarded by many as the very first rapper. That “first rapper” debate will go on forever, and what Blowfly was doing early on was not technically hip-hop. But, like the names mentioned above, Blowfly was a very strong influence on the style.

And Blowfly albums did have an impact on one strain of hip-hop: The all-out nastiness of Too Short and the 2 Live Crew has an undeniable father in Blowfly. Porno Freak, Blowfly’s 1977 album, with its cover that warned “For Immature Adults Only,” was unsurprisingly banned by a record store in Alabama, this occurring a good decade before the Crew’s As Nasty As They Wanna Be debacle in Florida. The Miami connection between Reid and Luther Campbell’s vehicle is far from coincidental, but Blowfly always maintained a stronger good-times vibe, as opposed to the more misogynistic tendencies of 2 Live Crew.

For the first selection of new material since 1988’s Blowfly for President, Reid has exhumed his randy pseudonym to make Fahrenheit 69, an album that pairs him with Jello Biafra (referred to as Jello “B Africa” in press materials) and his Alternative Tentacles label. There are some baffling aspects to his return. The cover art spoofs the debut by Bad Brains, with Blowfly hovering in the sky, a lightning bolt bursting from his nether regions and destroying the Capitol building’s dome. The album title’s dirty take on a movie that’s almost a year-and-a-half old is of questionable topicality, and the rehashing of “Blowfly for President” does not benefit from the presence of special guest Afroman, a rapper who is a novelty act for a reason. The honed fluidity of Atmosphere’s Slug, who guests on “The Great Debate,” is in stark contrast to the Blowfly backroom trash-talk session aesthetic. It works, though, and will probably generate some attention from folks new to the Blowfly experience.

If there is anything that exemplifies the pop-cultural differences between the ’70s and the past 15 years, it is what passes for offensive. By today’s standards, much of what Blowfly does is tame (and certainly more festive than the under- and overlying themes touted by many mainstream hip-hop artists or by, say, R. Kelly). Those without a capacity for X-rated schoolyard silliness are encouraged to forego this performance. n

Blowfly at the Hi-Tone Thursday, July 21st

FEATURE by ANDREW EARLES

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Music Music Features

Forward March

Probably the most tiresome of all music cliches is the widespread notion that all new music sucks. It’s a sentiment as common within alternative/underground music circles as anywhere else: “No good music was made after [insert long-lost decade here], unless it sounds identical to [insert same decade here].” People who say things like this should do so into a tape recorder so they know how out-of-touch they sound.

Keep in mind that the same things were said 30 years ago, 20 years ago, and 10 years ago. New and exciting music is happening right now; the naysayers just don’t like it, and that’s a matter of personal taste, not hard facts.

With this in mind, Saturday’s Hi-Tone lineup may come as a stroke-inducing shock to some Memphis music fans, as Hella and Outhudjoin forces to clean some clocks and get some backsides shaking.

The two-man Hella (guitarist Spencer Seim and drummer Zach Hill) make good with the duo lineup favored by noiseniks over the past several years (see also Lightning Bolt, Wolf Eyes, and the Pink and Brown). Of course, a duo communicates unlike any other artistic equation, and perhaps it’s better in the noise-rock universe to love like brothers and fight like a married couple rather than make-nice like an extended dinner party.

Hella’s current album –their fourth — is the ambitious Church Gone Wild/Chirpin’ Hard, a double-disc opus that is essentially two solo albums. Splitting Hella’s sound between its two brains does wonders at adding some breathing room to what can be a dense, demanding listen. Seim and Hill each play every instrument on their solo discs, with Seim’s music the more melodic. His compositions are like Nintendo themes played by some combination of Napalm Death, Devo, and the Residents. (It’s prettier than it sounds, trust me.) Hill goes for the throat with a slightly more assaultive and improvisational style, complete with some absurdly complex drumming and full trick bag of unknown noises. One thing is for sure: Whether you shy away from more abrasive artists or not, you will want to see this pulled off live. (And Hella may be touring with an expanded lineup to make it happen.)

Even if that doesn’t sound compelling, there are tourmates Outhud, whose sound matches Hella’s like oil to water. Hailing from the Bay Area, Outhud have spent two albums and myriad singles transforming into the greatest (largely) electronic dance band in the world, their current Let Us Never Speak of It Again so layered and beautiful that it threatens more celebrated scene colleagues LCD Soundsystem with irrelevancy.

Unlike most dance-oriented rock bands, Outhud look forward eight times for every time they look back, but when they do delve into history, the most fertile pickings originate in the early-’80s New York post-disco/post-punk sound that created hushed legends of Liquid Liquid and ESG. “It’s for You” appropriates the underlying beat of Danish duo Laid Back’s 1983 electro hit “White Horse,” and “How Long” (in the current running for greatest pop song of 2005) is like an ESG, Midnight Star, and St. Etienne blend that’s far bigger than the sum of its parts.

In contrast to the duo approach of Hella, Outhud’s more communal makeup mirrors its music: There are five people in the band, three men and two women (one of whom is the first-class vocalist). What Hella and Outhud do share is a healthy sense of humor. If the above-mentioned album titles aren’t proof enough, Outhud boasts a song titled “2005: A Face Odyssey” and Hella let loose with “Brown Metal.”

Though these bands plumb divergent musical directions, they should come together in the form of great live shows. And the best part of Outhud’s set might not even happen on stage: This is a band that could even get a rock crowd dancing. n

Hella and Outhud at the Hi-Tone Café, on Sunday, April 17th

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Music Music Features

Seeing the Unlight

Unless you’re plugged into Memphis’ underground metal scene, you may not know Epoch of Unlight. We’re talking about a band that has been active for 12-plus years, has released three full-length albums on a mainstay metal label, and has a highly respectable national and worldwide fan base. Don’t believe me? Google them.

But that’s Memphis. For all of our rich musical history, the city’s independent scene is not exactly nurturing to music styles that don’t fit neatly into garage rock, blues, alt-country, or indie-rock genres. Insularity rules, and members of one scene, whether it’s musicians or fans, generally do not check out local bands with styles that deviate from their comfort level.

“Here, there’s a weird elitism,” says Epoch drummer, Tino LiSicco, who holds both a master’s degree and Ph.D. in biomedical engineering. LiSicco is the band’s principal lyricist, songwriter, and one of its founding members. “Then this past weekend, we go to Fayetteville and draw anywhere from 150 to 200,” he says. “We sell merchandise; we have people that come up and talk to us after the show.”

Epoch of Unlight excel at the genre known as melodic black/death metal. While that description may sound like an oxymoron, it’s not. Death metal, with its guttural vocals and slow, one-dimensional sound, had largely run its course by the early 1990s. Scandinavian black metal emerged around this time, fueled by blindingly fast tempos, evil imagery, and the participants’ criminal activities, including church burning and murder. (These events are thoroughly covered in Michael Moynihan’s book, Lords of Chaos, now a cult classic.)

Then out of Sweden came a sound that combined classic ’70s Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, ’80s thrash metal, and the extreme influences of death and black metal. The style retained black metal’s intensity but also put a strong focus on riffing and song structure that was actually catchy.

Over the past decade, Epoch of Unlight have furthered the advancements made by the melodic Swedes and, in 1998, began a fortuitous relationship with Denver’s The End Records, a mover in metal underground.

The band’s lineup has been through innumerable changes. For the brand-new The Continuum Hypothesis, the band is BJ Cook (vocals, guitar), Joe Totty (bass and the other remaining founding member besides LiSicco), Josh Braddock (guitars), and LiSicco.

“The joke is that we’re the Menudo of death metal, but you do what you can to keep it going,” LiSicco says.

Early incarnations of Epoch were straight death metal. “The early lineups had these egos,” LiSicco says. “Everything had to be intense all of the time. But once we lost those egos, I pushed forward with borrowing from some different styles.”

The Continuum Hypothesis, like its 2002 predecessor, 2002’s Caught in the Unlight, boasts melodic and icy sheets of riffs, vocals that are raspy, and drumming that can only be described by equation instead of words.

Unlike many of their peers, Epoch of Unlight avoid anti-Christian or overtly political lyrics. “It’s basically science-fiction short stories, the type of thing that I enjoy reading,” says LiSicco. “My favorite author is Brian Lumley, a British science-fiction horror writer. He did a series of vampire/horror/murder-mystery books that had everything, an amalgam of every genre imaginable, and I just loved them. Every album has followed at least some of his themes, and our first album title [1998’s What Will Be Has Been] is a common phrase in the books. I wrote him for permission to use it.”

The music media have taken great liberty with the term “metal,” applying it indiscriminately to mainstream acts (beware nu-metal), loud emo bands, and an assortment of hardcore knuckleheads who can play a down-tuned riff. Still, even when a band is blue-blooded metal, there’s still some lack of respect.

“You meet interested people in town,” says LiSicco. “But it’s weird because they sort of pull you to the side secretly. We practiced in the same building as Saliva, and the drummer asked me how to do a blastbeat, and I was thinking, What are you going to need that for?

“One of the hardest things is that people make fun of you for being serious about your music. It’s a no-win situation. We’re not overly serious about it, but the fact that we treat it with some sort of professionalism gets made fun of.”

Epoch of Unlight have toured the country with Norway’s legendary Enslaved and highly successful Dimmu Borgir, plus Switzerland’s critically lauded Samael. After headlining a South By Southwest showcase for their record label, they will return to Memphis for a CD-release show at the Hi-Tone Saturday night, a bill that also will feature Incineration and crossover thrash up-and-comers Evil Army. n

Epoch of Unlight CD-release party for The Continuum Hypothesis at the Hi-Tone Saturday, March 26th

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Music Record Reviews

Frances the Mute – The Mars Volta (Universal/Gold Standard Laboratories)

Since the demise of At the Drive-In, Omar A. Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler have spent three albums putting their signature on, well, let’s call it “busy rock.” While the nearest thing on the radio is, regrettably, System of a Down, the comparison is based on the progressive elements and dramatic (but also dissimilar) vocals: The Mars Volta carry no nu-metal baggage.

The first single from Frances the Mute, “The Widow,” is now making the rounds on your nearest Clear Channel alternative station. As an attempt at creating a radio-ready four or so minutes, “The Widow” succeeds but nonetheless sounds displaced between Jimmy Eat World and the Killers. Furthermore, there couldn’t be a poorer representative of this record as a whole. As the single’s unedited album version devolves into an extended, unstructured church-organ freak-out, I can only imagine the twisted expression on the garden-variety mall-punker’s face as the following track, “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore,” gives them exactly what they don’t want: 13 minutes of Spanish vocals, flashlight-in-the-face guitar solos like Carlos Santana trying to mimic Sonny Sharrock, and more changes than the entirety of Yes’ Tales From Topographic Oceans.

Grade: B+

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Music Record Reviews

Lost Marbles and Exploded Evidence – Enon (Tough and Go)

As a member of 1990s indie band Brainiac, Enon’s John Schmersal was aggressively blasting out Devo-inspired post-punk a decade before there was a factory manufacturing nine such bands per hour. So, rounded out by fellow grads of the ’90s indie netherworld — Rick Lee of Skeleton Key and Toko Yasuda of Blonde Redhead — it’s no surprise that Enon sounds so schizophrenic without making too big a deal of their diverse tastes. In fact, this Brooklyn band delves so intensely and effectively into all things experimental pop as to be effortlessly chameleonic.

Given the overactive songwriting imaginations within this band, Lost Marbles, an odds-and-ends collection, is tighter than any of the band’s proper albums. The collection spans six years but is heavy on the past three, where the band’s direction tended toward Euro-savvy, electronically inclined pop — alternately sultry, chilly, dance-y, and infectious numbers that occasionally look backward to execute the elusive trick of moving forward.

Grade: A-

Enon performs at the Hi-Tone Café Monday, March 21st, with Swearing at Motorists, the Color Cast, and the Circuit Benders.

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Opinion

The Dynamic Duo

In the nearly extinct form of the comedy duo, the Smothers Brothers remain, serving as a golden-age snapshot of a stage style that could have advanced but was destroyed by dilettantes.

It’s a familiar story. Like all mediums of entertainment, comedy throws away its gimmicks and styles once they stop working, and they usually stop working at the hands of subpar performers. This is why prop comedy died with Carrot Top. Examining the history of the comedy duo reveals a similar situation, and it also reveals how the Smothers Brothers, who’ll be appearing Saturday at GPAC, have held on. It’s a simple case of survival of the fittest.

The greats were great: The routines of the smoothly soused Dean Martin and the prat-falling man-child Jerry Lewis were family-oriented nuggets that sometimes veiled real-life hatred. The strange, satirical meanderings of Ray Goulding and Bob Elliott carried on into the 1980s for a four-decade lesson in the art of subtlety. Jim Coyle and Mal Sharpe’s early-’60s confrontational audio street pranks made for poor record sales, but the prescient stunts got their rightful day via reissues in the ’90s.

And while film has birthed no shortage of notable duos — Aykroyd and Belushi, Wilder and Pryor, and Reynolds and DeLuise — it also blueprinted the style that now gives us trainwrecks like Queen Latifah and Jimmy Fallon, pairings similar to that of drive-time radio rubes who have little to do with original comedy duo moxie.

And then there are the Smothers Brothers.

Tom and Dick Smothers performed in a college folk quintet before setting off as a duo in 1959. They regularly appeared on The Steve Allen Show and began releasing albums, but the brothers kept things musical and relegated the cutting-up for between-song banter. When they soon developed the bickering-siblings shtick, they fell into the ever-sturdy duo agenda of straight guy (Dick) versus half-witted, antagonistic rube (Tom). These roles were interestingly reversed in reality. Dick raced cars and shunned the entertainment industry, while Tom became vehemently involved in the business end of the brothers’ career. They crafted an intelligent, clean rapport (occasionally geared directly at children) that relied on unique and precise timing — a skill in which the brothers are usually regarded as geniuses.

The Smothers Brothers were of serious cultural importance when it came to their most popular product: the ground-breaking and troubled variety show, The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. Airing on CBS from spring of 1967 until summer of 1969, the Sunday-night show tenaciously pushed boundaries throughout its entire run and was a perpetual thorn in the network’s side. It stayed on by earning a strong youth audience in contrast to NBC’s Bonanza. Tom was constantly battling censors and network executives for culturally and politically baiting messages, skits, and performances. Tom lost the majority of these fights. Segments that fell under the censor’s knife included Harry Belafonte performing in front of footage of the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago, a skit featuring Elaine May that poked fun at censorship, and an ongoing tug of war to include previously blacklisted folkie Pete Seeger. One of Tom’s initial goals was to make The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour hospitable to unknown performers, and it was one of the first variety shows to open its doors wide to African-American performers.

In late 1968, CBS began requiring the brothers to deliver a tape of each show for prescreening by sponsors, a then-unprecedented move in the world of variety shows. Immediately following a begrudged renewal in 1969, CBS recanted and pulled the show for good after Tom tried to rally anticensorship support at the National Broadcasters Association convention. The slot was soon filled by Hee Haw. Into the ’70s, the brothers tried several times to replicate the success of the original show, but the magic was lost. Tom and Dick returned to the performing circuit, resurfacing momentarily in the late ’80s with a failed reunion series.

Tom and Dick played a safe act up the success ladder, then once in power, turned the tables. They had their ups and downs, and they adapted. The Smothers Brothers now stand as the longest-running comedy duo of all time. n

The Smothers Brothers at Germantown Performing Arts Centre, February 26th

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Music Music Features

Metal Health

All heavy metal begins with Black Sabbath, but if there is any metal subgenre that stayed loyal to the original intent of that band, it is the embattled niche known as “doom metal.” Slowing the tempo to a plod, turning the volume up, and tuning the guitars down to a register lower than even Sabbath’s Tony Iommi, doom metal has survived through bands such as Witchfinder General, Trouble, Candlemass, the Obsessed, Saint Vitus, and the earlier, slower work of the Melvins. If there is a maximum capacity of emotion that can be crammed into one down-stroked chord, it’s found among the ranks of doom metal.

When the 1990s hit, this small, largely unconnected scene of riff-stretchers included Cathedral, Eyehategod, and Earth and would soon birth (and then often become confused with) the childishly titled stoner-rock movement. The first band worthy of that appellation was Sleep, who titled their 1991 debut Volume One in tribute to Sabbath’s Volume Four and their sophomore album, Sleep’s Holy Mountain, likely in reference to Alejandro Jodorowsky’s 1973 psycho-theological brain-melt of a movie.

Keeping with the odd major-label moves of the ’90s, Sleep were signed to London Records in 1995 for a third album, using the opportunity to promptly issue a middle finger to all expectations. The result was the one-track, one-riff, religiously inclined, pot-soaked Jerusalem, which, aside from the Boredoms’ Pop Tatari, may be the most commercially nonviable record to ever sport a major-label imprint. Seeing that they were dealing with one 52-minute “song” that the band refused to tour in support of, London gave Sleep its walking papers but not before promotional copies of Jerusalem made the streets. Copies were traded and sold on eBay like mad until another label, the Music Cartel, released a legit version in 1999. (It was again released under its original, unsurprising title, Dopesmoker, in 2003.)

On the cusp of this turmoil, Sleep disbanded in 1998, with two of its three members choosing to live in monasteries. This left guitarist Matt Pike, who swiftly assembled High On Fire, creating what may stand as the most powerful power trio to ever breathe air. High On Fire take the most impenetrable sonics of doom-metal, ramp up the velocity, and wad the songs up into a tight study of muddy thrash.

At least, it used to be muddy. The band’s 2000 debut, The Art of Self Defense, and the 2002 follow-up, Surrounded by Thieves, made one wonder how a band could be so loud, so forceful, so metal, and yet so murky. On these two records, the bass is bowel-voiding, the drums sound as if they are pounding behind 10 mattresses and a wall, and the occasional fret-board-skating solo barely peeps out of the ridiculous distortion of the main focus, which is, of course, the riffs. This was thanks to producer Billy Anderson. Having been responsible for the churning fidelity of mid-period Neurosis, the Melvins’ Houdini, and Cathedral’s Endtyme, the man is no stranger to the low end of things. He also produced all three Sleep albums.

This past summer, mainstay bassist George Rice was replaced with one of experimental metal’s lightning rods: Joe Preston of Thrones (and ex-Melvins). This move was succeeded by recordings with perfect-man-for-the-job producer Steve Albini, which resulted in Blessed Black Wings, scheduled for release in February by Relapse Records. Albini brings clarity to High On Fire’s assault, allowing all the instruments breathing room and complementing Pike’s songwriting almost to a fault. Whereas previous High On Fire albums stuck to exploding a Sabbath-meets-Motörhead mix into absurd decibel/distortion levels, Blessed Black Wings suggests that Pike may be listening to Slayer. A lot of Slayer.

Album-opener “Devilution” sounds like a cousin to “War Ensemble” — the whopper that began Slayer’s crack masterpiece, 1990’s Seasons in the Abyss. The sludge remains in the grooves, but this album is like hearing Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation after having only known the previous Sister or seeing Robert Altman’s Nashville after M*A*S*H: It’s already established that the artists are great; now they’ve become something else. And despite the Slayer-love, Blessed Black Wings is the most accessible High On Fire record to date. Once-latent tunefulness plays a larger role with more diverse vocals (instead of Pike’s normal melodic roar) and through-the-roof guitar crescendos. This tactic could be compared favorably to the dash of harmony found on Mastodon’s latest, the paranoid watershed Leviathan.

Also like Mastodon, High On Fire have always fiddled with fantastical themes, albeit of the medieval, hyperbolic metal variety, with songs titled “Speedwolf,” “The Yeti,” “Thraft of Caanan,” “Brother in the Wind,” “Anointing of Seer,” and “Sons of Thunder.” On the new album, don’t ask me what “Cometh Down Hessian” means, other than being a hilarious title.

Since its inception, High On Fire has toured with acts as dissimilar as Shadows Fall and Jucifer, but it’s no accident that they co-headlined an extensive 2003 European tour with the aforementioned Mastodon — the Outkast of extreme metal. Along with Pelican, Isis, the Haunted, and, at times, Lamb of God, Mastodon and High On Fire are among the bands transforming real heavy metal into a field that’s innovative while open to crossover appeal.

Sacrilege it may be to say, but High On Fire can attain a heaviness that’s greater than Mastodon, and, live, I will assure you that they are louder. While Mastodon embrace a wider range of metal influences, it could be said that you get one thing with High On Fire: your ass kicked by true metal. •