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| parker paul and strange fred |
Tuesday, August 29th-- The impending departure of a local hero is always a good excuse to find me gurgling incomprehensibly at some local watering hole, and so it was I found myself stumbling around the basement of Tokyo Rose, muttering happily at the going-away festival for
Paul Wilkinson, better known to the underground literati as
Parker Paul.
Paul has been playing Tuesday nights upstairs in the sushi bar of Tokyo Rose for God-knows how long for a few fistfuls of folks "in the know." Much like the bar's sushi chef/owner, the Japanese Roy Orbison Atsushi Miura, Wilkinson is an inadvertently well-kept secret full of suprise flashes of comic genius and a healthy dose of high-brow musical irony. On top of contributing to Curious Digit and Draw the Kitten, he's well-loved for his solo incarnation as a mock piano bar guy with a deep sense of the powerfully absurd and a hilarious-but-earnest dry whine delivery. (A bunch of the WTJU rock DJ-types are into it hook, line and stinker.)
He's headed out for open vistas fueled by his record deal with (formerly local-- now Indiana based) Jagjaguwar Records, and plans to restation his household goodies at his parents' place in Ohio so he can be free to roam unhindered. Good thinkin'.
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| draw the kitten with a tail |
The going away party was a riot, with lots of great stuff from various under-rock contributors. As I say, alchohol was applied to my gaping intellect until it slowly devolved into something almost unrecognizable, but I do recall a few highlights. Findell/Draw the Kitten member
Cathy Monnes fronted a tribute to the mighty Paul that featured (get this) tubes that were blown through to create squonks and other audial goodies, long diatribes on Ohio and other "down the road" notions, and a number (like 6) of ironing boards that were (brace yourself) wrestled and scraped onto mic stands. Seeing Cathy Monnes, the surrealistic fiddler, vigorously wrestling two ironing boards was a comic moment I don't expect Charlottesville to surpass anytime soon.
Galaga Now, a group made up of three of the (now defunct) One Hundred Dollars boys and a new drummer, was ass-kicking cool-- a solid alt/rock guitarfest that left me craving more. I also got a charge out of Peach Pit, Parker Paul's coverband side project, who struggled through a happy slew of unforgettable gems like "Mother-In-Law" and "Long Gone Lonesome Blues."
But I was wrecked. So by the end, when the son of a local media magnate showed up screaming and threatening to feed me his knuckles for having uttered negative thoughts about payment for a project I'd worked on, I was beside myself. "Surely you jest," I thought, "don't you realize I talk trash for a living?" I am, after all, the Duck.
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| lord pud |
Two days later I was back again. Tokyo Rose and me. A happy combo.
This time, it was a Pudhouse party respawned at the Rose. For those of you who don't know about the Puds, let me "hip" you to them. If the goths that gather at Tokyo Rose's Saturday night "Dawnings" are Charlottesville's "freaks," then the Puds who gather at a certain studio in Belmont (and occasionally throw shindigs at the Rose) are Charlottesville's "super-freaks." These are the letting-it-all-hang-out-in-the-name-of-good-times freaks, far sloppier and less pretentious than the goths. The idiom they gather under is "drunk zombies," donning bloody make-up and dark circled eyes and letting loose with horrific abandon to some of the most brilliantly wretched punk rock and rockabilly (especially rockabilly) that visits these parts.
Their patriarch fronts a punkabilly duo called Hillbilly Werewolf. Decked out in decaying mad-scientist garb, he rants a classic rock 'n roll rant, carrying on for his drunken audience like the true prodigal overlord that he is. It's all in good fun. Between sets an Elvis impersonator takes the stage and twitches to the King's hits.
The two headlining bands this evening were Jimmy and the Teasers (out of Chapel Hill) and The Pits (out of Lancaster, Pa.). Jimmy and the Teasers, a somewhat goofy guy-fronted/girl rhythm section rock band turned out to be brilliant. Killer songs with awesome punchlines powerfully delivered by a sweaty girl-heavy band stumbling around drunkenly and pouring beer on each other. I can't say enough good stuff about them. I wanted their drummer. Yum.
Anyway, the Pits were, in fact, the pits. I believe they like it that way.
"What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a drunk band before?" the singer inquired between tunes. They were so sloppy that they were unmanageable, but considering the Pud idiom they were there to champion, they were perfect in every way. Hail the mighty Puds!
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| bobbies and jerrys for a new generation |
The following night the
Dark Star Orchestra came to Trax. Packed to capacity with110% humidity, you could have swum laps through the place. But the DSO performed beautifully. Dark Star doesn't just cover Grateful Dead tunes, they cover whole shows, in the idiom of the times. It's a powerful thing to behold for a former Deadhead such as myself. Most of the kids in the house were too young to have ever witnessed an actual Dead show, but after Friday's performance I was convinced that DSO wasn't a Dead tribute band anyway-- they were the Grateful Dead itself (weird psychedelic mystical odyssey and everything) reborn for the future. Bloody brilliant.