Reviews of Bands That Have Stayed At Your House
Kiki Yablon: Back when I worked at the Empty
Bottle, maybe a year and a half ago, the young (so young!)
men of HURL slept on the floor of my dining room. One
of the Matts (I can never remember their last names) had a bad
case of stinkfoot, maybe worse even than a certain member of
a certain post-rock band that sleeps at my house sometimes.
The following morning, we were all hungry (in spite of the eau
de foot lingering), so I took the kids out for brunch and
then dropped them off at the bar to collect their gear. Suddenly,
Dan exclaimed that he had left his gloves at my house. I offered
to go back and get them so they could finish loading out, but
he insisted that he just take my keys and run back himself.
He took a bit longer than I expected, but I waited. When he
came back, I waved goodbye and went home to find that he had
used almost all the Lysol we had in the house deodorizing my
apartment. (He also left a very nice thank-you note.)
Ira Kaplan (Yo La Tengo):
I don't remember what year it was. Georgia and I had passed
up some hitmakers-to-be at Maxwell's to go see Christmas at
CBGB's. We returned 3-ish and were greeted by our two cats,
normally a scenario we enjoyed, except this time they were outside
our house, on our front doorsteps. Confusion and annoyance quickened
our pace into the house, where we bumped into our living-room
sofa bed in its bed position. Our roommate hadn't warned us
we'd be entertaining that evening. Georgia turned on the overhead
light and two groggy rockers raised their heads. "Who are you?"
she barked. "We're Mudhoney."
Deborah Orr: LUBRICATED GOAT. They were actually
guests of my driveway more than my apartment (both were in Queens).
They'd come straight from Australia for their first tour and
by the time they hit New York, their road manager, Tim Mac,
had had enough of the Goat and their wilding ways. In the two
hours they were left on their own to soundcheck, they managed
to get drunk and crash the van into a pole. This was the last
straw for Tim. Because I wasn't quite as drunk as the Goats,
I got to drive the band and their dented van to Astoria after
the show. The whole ride back, Stu Spasm kept on about how cute
Louise from CB's was and how he thought the potential for action
was there (it is to Stu's credit that he goes for strong women).
Anyhow, with Stu relegated to overnight van-protection duty
and the calming influence of Astoria all around, Lubricated
Goat were quite well behaved once we got to my house. My roommates
didn't even notice all the passed-out Australians draped over
the furniture. Moral: The nutsiest bands can be the biggest
pussycats, especially if you let them get all the drinking and
driving and whatever out of their system before the show.
Ben Goldberg: Living at home, it has much more
to do with what my mother thinks of the bands than what I think,
so here's what she says:
SPINY ANTEATERS: Lovely people. They were
bright and very personable, like all Canadians are. It was
nice of them to send us some maple syrup as a thank-you gift.
SLIPSTREAM: They're the British ones? I liked them,
but I was uncomfortable about the liquor bottle in the living
room. (The group collectively shared a single bottle of whiskey.)
The carpet people had to walk over them since they were still
asleep at ten in the morning. The noise didn't even wake them
up.
Dan Varenka:
NOTHING
PAINTED BLUE. Man-o-man was I ever glad to have Kyle
with me when my mom's car got sideswiped in that blinding
storm. He was a calming force at the police station and NPB's
presence probably kept my mom a little more, uh, quiet. Bagel
Oasis for everyone!
FRANKLIN BRUNO: I remember many nights of stimulating
conversation over a cup of General Foods International Coffee,
and who could forget the first time Franklin experienced winter
in New York and the phenomenon of "shrinkage." Sure, I was
warned about letting him use the shower but everything seems
to be in order, and besides, that's what ammonia is for.
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS (circa Blizzard of '96): Well,
that two-day visit turned into five, but John Darnielle bought
us a pizza and rented some movies, so it was okay. Oh, yeah,
the intense Scrabble competition (no Latin allowed, thank
you very much) is always welcome. And it just proves what
a nice guy John is by not mentioning the fact that we made
him smoke outside.
SIMON JOYNER, CHRIS SING EUNUCHS!, ROLAND GITBOX,
and FRANK BRINKMAN: We had to go out of town so the
fellas and all their stuff stayed at our place for the weekend.
When we got back the apartment looked cleaner than we had
left it and they left us Cheerios and coffee!
Douglas Wolk: When NOTHING PAINTED BLUE
stayed at my house, Peter Hughes had the flu really bad--the
rest of us tried to carry on conversations punctuated by the
sound of him vomiting repeatedly. Two days after they left,
my girlfriend and I got the flu, too.
Jodi Shapiro: Although I have played host to a
number of bands, my favorite houseguests are Chicago via Milwaukee
band DIS-. All three members are clean, respectful of
household "treasures" and are virtually noiseless. They are
uncompromising gourmands as well. During a recent stay, guitarist
Chris Fuller asked to sample some traditional Jewish fare --
bagels and lox. The three of them had matzoh too, but nobody
felt brave enough to eat the chopped liver.
Robin Edgerton: Dave Trumfio (ASHTRAY BOY,
PULSARS) fits on a loveseat. Stretched out. Sleeping.
BARBARA MANNING likes, in this order: food, pot,
wiffleball.
Paul Caporino (M.O.T.O.) won't change his clothes
the whole time he stays at your house, or he changes
into identical clothing. Can't tell which.
COCTAILS leave the famous Coctails silk-screened
pillows! (But you had to get them to stay at your house near
the beginning of their tour.)
Paul Lukas: THE MOUNTAIN GOATS. John Darnielle
is a compulsively responsible houseguest; insisted on doing
the dishes, folded up his bedding all nice and neat on the sofa,
bought assorted fruit and I think even made a fruit salad.
JOOST VISSER AND HIS BAND: Those Dutch, they know
how to travel -- brought their own inflatable mattresses,
even brought their own towels. Pretended to like my coffee,
too.
FRANKLIN BRUNO: Ate all my cookie dough (I did say
he should help himself, so that's okay).
Kristin Thompson (TSUNAMI) and Brian Dilworth (LILYS)
showered together a good eight months before they were married,
as if we didn't know what was going on!
Joe Gaer: This incident revolves around an Icelandic
band from the early '90s. You can erase the image of cute little
north-of-the-line nymphs cavorting around. This was five guys
in a group called BLESS, led by a 6'3", 275-pound chap
named Gunni whose thinning hair look made him look about 35
but who was actually ten years younger.
After they were done sound-checking we went to a Chinese
restaurant, a delicacy they were not well versed in. Actually,
they were not experienced in spicy food, something about how
the Vikings didn't get a chance to pillage the "Spice Islands."
They all ordered food that was too spicy and proceeded to
guzzle any liquid in reach.
After a set in which they played Pixie-esque tunes at about
five times the volume (obviously their ancestors did plunder
the Marshall Islands), the indie trio came home to talk about
the volcanic rock they live on and ate toast. The two youngest
ones were off to try a homemade American delicacy of LSD.
This was their first trip and so they had my roommate escorting
them, the now-straight music editor of Time Out New York,
Nathan Brackett, who had half a hit himself to keep up. Within
about half an hour the two bandmates lost their ability to
speak English and were babbling in old Norse. Around 4 a.m.
the trio repaired to a fine 24-hour bistro known by the monsieur,
Mobil gas station. Nathan, who was well-versed in Church Slavonic
and High German, could not seem to communicate with them beyond
hand signals. The two lads desired frozen burritos but had
no idea how to run the microwave. Nathan showed his advanced
knowledge of modern electronics and all was well.
Christina Zafiris: BEAT HAPPENING were
on tour with Fugazi on the West Coast and apparently the crowds
did not appreciate the opening band as much as they should have.
In LA, one "fan" threw an ashtray up on the stage that hit Calvin
right between the eyes. So when they came to UC Santa Barbara
and stayed with me, Calvin had a big cut on his nose which made
him a little cranky... Before the gig, I took them out to coffee
and managed to spill my iced double cap all over myself and
the band. Oops. The show was at the campus pub and organized
by a bunch of students. They made me get up and announce Beat
Happening with a "these guys are cool, so be nice to them" speech.
Beat Happening were good, the crowd went crazy for Fugazi and
some campus cop threw a kid through a plate glass window. The
next morning I let Calvin use my Dinosaur towel to make him
feel better. After they left I realized that my Dinosaur towel
was nowhere to be found! I was convinced that Calvin
stole my Dinosaur towel for years and I told a bunch of people
about it. Well, this winter I found the Dinosaur towel in a
box of old college stuff, so I want everyone to know that Calvin
is innocent.
Scott DeSimon and Justin Chearno, Pitchblende:
Before I met Mr. Gerard Cosloy he was on tour with Versus and
Justin and I put them up in my house. On his way to sleep in
an empty room he took a wrong turn at the top of the stairs
and ended up crashing on my decidedly non-rock housemate's floor.
Much to my housemate's chagrin, Gerard quickly fell asleep and
kept said housemate up all night with WHO decibel-level snoring.
Liz Clayton: One time I was in Columbus, Ohio
to see a show. I was offered a place to stay by Ron House and
his lovely wife Trina Marschall. After the show Trina located
me in the crowd and told me that Ron had been so drunk she had
already taken him home, but had come back to get me so that
I would have a place to stay. Trina and I went back to her house
and talked for an hour or so, then she showed me to the guest
bedroom upstairs. I had been asleep for about an hour when suddenly
I was awoken by a huge thumping noise. I looked up and standing
in the doorway was a
sleepwalking Ron House, arms extended, looking more like
Frankenstein than you'd ever want to imagine possible. He
stumbled a few more steps into the room before falling down
like a felled tree onto the bed next to me. I tried to wake
him up for about a minute to no avail, which was probably
for the best anyway. I went to sleep on the couch downstairs.
I usually stay with Ted Hattemer now.
Cory Brown: The Grifters didn't actually
stay at my house, but Stan did slightly damage the frame of
my garage door while trying to park their tour van.
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