∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ bad goody goody! ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
+front+
+bands+
+the crawl+
+c.d.'s+
+b.s.+
+dissent+
+venues+
+info+
Reasonable Facsimile
by Cripsy Duck
7-31-00
(printed in C-VILLE Vol.12, No.32)

#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#::#

"Effervesce...
and don't acquiesce."
Edgar P. Unum
featuring:
Walker's Run - T'ain't - Raphael Wintersberger
My Dog Lucy - Sundried Oppossum

The cycle of dissolution continues.

Michael's Bistro-- Monday, July 24-- Fans of Walker's Run enjoyed a final night of stellar musicianship from band mentor Steve Hoke. It seems he's decided to sow his oats elsewhere for awhile, leaving the Walker's crew short one fiddler. In doing so, he joins the growing ranks of defectors fleeing Charlottesville's anesthetic warmth. (The unnofficial list of recent goners includes: One Drop, Alexandra Scott, Dr. Bindu, Lauren Hoffman, Humble Sacrifice, and Full Flavor/Plutonium.) For his final Charlottesville show he hauled out an acoustic guitar-- unusual for him since his bluegrass flatpicking isn't quite as stunning as his fiddling. But the six-string is his passion so perhaps in his new home he'll be better able to pursue his love for the electric guitar.

't ain't your knees neither
+

Friday night found my feathered butt up at Orbit Billiards, makin' a stink over T'ain't. I'm assuming their name derives from the "'t ain't area"-- that patch of skin between your genitals and your sphincter-- so-called because "'t ain't your balls and 't ain't your butt neither." T'ain't, the band, is an outlet for a couple of the Guano Boys to get down with Johnny Gilmore, Spencer Lathrop and Peter Davies. A worthy excursion it is. They doled out double doses of dub reggae, africana and some fairly heavy-duty rock stuff. Most noteworthy from the set I caught was the deep ju-ju-ish groove that settled in when Spencer Lathrop sat down behind the drumkit. An earthy african suprise superjam took over the scene for a blissful ten minute stretch.

+

Did I tell you that I quit my job at the Bird Call Emulation Facility? Yeah, they couldn't provide decent benefits to protect my quacker, so I hunted around and came up with a real prestige gig... at the Wildlife Facsimile Reproduction Studios. It pays alot better but I don't get to work as much, so until my dashing good looks launch me into a national gig, I'm kinda poor. As a result, my duckmobile tends to gather dust since I can't afford to run it as much. My transportation needs have been filled by the purchase of a vintage 1970's-era bowel-movement-brown ladies' Ross Eurotour one-speed bike (with coaster brakes and a big silly basket on the front).

"what's the name of this band again?"
Saturday I employed the regal steed for some crawling. Drunkeness seemed to be in order, and I figured it would be better to bike drunk than drive drunk, right? And the great thing about a crummy bike like mine is that no one wants to steal it-- it's too girlie-- so I can leave it outside wherever I go and I don't even have to lock it up.

I started downtown at Miller's where a couple pints of Guiness warmed me up for Raphael Wintersberger's alternative futurefolk trio. Raphael, with his sweet earnest squonk of a voice and uncommon tunewriting slant entertained a half-preoccupied Miller's crowd. Sydney Tapscott took the stage between sets, and you know what that means: band names were forgotten, simulations of "Grand Ole Opry Radio" filled the air and the same harmonica riff was passed off as a series of different famous numbers. Sydney's savant art is indeed timeless.

+

heeeeere lucy, lucy, lucy...
I mounted my steed and pushed on to Trax for a bit of the
My Dog Lucy show. This was the first time I'd seen them headlining at Trax, and the turnout was quite good. When I arrived they were laying out their take on super-guitar rock pop-crafting, entertaining a mixed crowd of drinkers, dancers and pool players. If modern rock and more is your bag, then My Dog Lucy is the band for you. They are nailing the glam/Beatles superpop that floods the airwaves these days. Lots of harmonies and powerful rock turnarounds. Most impressive.

+

I rolled over to the Outback Lodge where I knew I could sneak in for some Sundried Opossum. Wow. Standing there listening to the Waynesboro hippy-style crew belt out long guitar-king super-jams made me wonder why I don't go see them more often. They are easily the best "jam-band" in the area. (Deadheads prepare your boxtops and coupons.) I mean, really. I felt like between My Dog Lucy's epic superpop and Sundried Opossum's cataclysmic monster-rock I was re-discovering lost ore. ("Yeah, the riverbed's dry, but if you sift through the sand along the path by the porta-potty here, there's gold in them thar hills!")

flight of the gossamer opossum
Sundried deserves a better name. Perhaps something that better reflects the "rock-of-biblical-proportions" aspect of their groove. They are simply way more intense than their silly moniker implies. (I guess that's the style with these Phish-era jam-bands these days-- stupid is vogue-- e.g. "String Cheese Incident" or "The Disco Biscuits.") They are totally satisfying with their epic guitar playing, powerful triple-time drumming, ebulliant bouncing bass and interesting tune choices-- not all awesome, but occasionally truly inspired-- like the first tune of the second set when lyrics from Dave Lee Roth's Eat 'Em and Smile intermingled with mighty walls of freak jamdom. Really brilliant. Then again, a later cover of Neil Young's "Down By the River" tested my patience-- but the mid-tune jam was great and the female lead vocals were lovely. I guess I'm just predjudiced against the "been there-done that" effect. I like to hear capable bands "boldly going where no band has gone before." You can't have everything.

I asked for everything once. All I got was a reasonable facsimile.

TOP - LAST - NEXT - INDEX