2021 In Memorium - #2: Everett Morton (Born 1950)

RIP to Everett Morton, drummer for the classic '80s ska revival band The Beat (known more familiarly in the States as The English Beat), who died last October 8th at the age of 71.  His innovative, syncopated drumming anchored the band through three studio album releases (1980's Special Beat Service, 1981's Wha'ppen, and 1982's I Just Can't Stop It) and innumerable live appearances up to the group's breakup in 1983.  Afterwards, Morton teamed up with former group member Saxa (on saxophone, obviously) and new vocalist Tony Beet to form The International Beat, releasing a album, The Hitting Line, in 1991, followed by Dance Hall Rockers in 1996.  Even after the demise of his original band, Morton stayed friendly with former Beat frontman Ranking Roger (Roger produced and participated on The International Beat's first album), and in later years the two performed as a version of the original Beat all across the UK, up until Roger's death in 2019.

Back in the day, The English Beat was one of my mainstay ska revival bands (along with The Specials and Madness).  I aurally devoured any and everything they put out, and recall being bitterly disappointed when I heard of the group's demise... so much so that for years afterward, I avidly followed the former members of the old band in their new projects.  For a while in the mid-80s, I was a fan of Fine Young Cannibals (guitarist Andy Cox and bassist David Steele's pop/rock/jazz project with vocalist Roland Gift), whose music was a far cry from the Beat's ska beat.  In 1984, I bought All The Rage, the debut album of General Public, vocalists Ranking Roger and Dave Wakeling's post-breakup band (with Mick Jones from The Clash and Horace Panter from The Specials).  And in the early 90's, I never missed an opportunity to see Special Beat, an amalgamation of members of the two ska revival giants, whenever they played Washington, DC (as I've mentioned long ago...).

But somehow, I missed out on The International Beat's music until long after its release.  I must say I enjoy this album very much.  Its sound is closer to the softer, poppier Wha'ppen-era Beat music, rather than the harder, straight-ahead ska sound of the band's debut album.  But that is not to say that The Hitting Line is without merit.  In my opinion, of all the post-breakup releases, Morton and Saxa's album comes the closest to replicating the old English Beat vibe.

But here - judge for yourself.  In honor of the life and work of Mr. Everett Morton, I proudly offer you all The Hitting Line Crosses The Border, Dojo Records' 1992 rerelease (with bonus tracks) of The International Beat's original debut album, The Hitting Line, from the prior year on Triple X Records.  This will be a welcome addition to your ska revival collection!  

In any event, have a listen, and as always, let me know what you think.

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The Beatles - The Beatles EP Collection (Plus) (18 Discs)

 

In addition to the thousands of CDs I have in my possession, I also own a couple hundred extended plays (EPs).  Included in that group are some of the most important and celebrated EP releases by some great artists over the years: Flying Nun Records' legendary Dunedin Double EP; The Buzzcocks' Spiral Scratch; The Clash's Cost Of Living; R.E.M.'s Chronic Town; U2's very first release, Three; An Ideal For Living by Joy Division; The Pixies' Come On Pilgrim - along with some personal favorites: Slates by The Fall; Pavement's Watery, Domestic; Mission Of Burma's Signals, Calls And Marches; The Raveonettes' Whip It On; Nirvana's Hormoaning; Stink by The Replacements; pretty much all of The Cocteau Twins and Stereolab's EPs... and many, many more, including some I've written about and posted here in the past, such as Ratcat's 'Tingles' EP, the S.F. Seals Baseball Trilogy and the vinyl B-52's remix EPs.

Based upon all of this relatively recent activity, you'll be forgiven if you thought (as I once did) that EPs were a fairly recent innovation to music sales. If so, than like me, you would be wrong. A combination of market factors and competition drove the development of extended play discs. What follows is an abbreviated history of record playing formats:

78 rpm records (discs made of shellac or vinyl. with a playing speed of 78 revolutions per minute) were generally the standard recording format from the beginning of the 20th century into the mid-1940s. These discs came in two sizes, 12" and 10", and due to its fast rotation speed and larger playing groove, contained a maximum sound duration of five and three minutes, respectively.

While since the early 1930s some companies had made half-hearted attempts to market longer playing records for home use (all of which failed for economic reasons, as the Great Depression was in full swing), it wasn't until 1941 that a recording concern (Columbia) made a concerted effort to extend the playing duration of discs. Although research was interrupted by World War II, in the summer of 1948 Columbia unveiled their new creation: a disc rotating at 33 revolutions per minute (less than half of that of a 78) with a finer groove, in two sizes identical to that of the reigning format: a 12" and 10". These new long players (otherwise known as LPs) had an original capacity of 22 minutes per side, a playback capacity that only increased with subsequent improvements in technology.

In response to this, RCA Victor released the 7" 45 rpm record in the spring of 1949, as a smaller, more durable and higher-fidelity replacement for the shellac 78s. To compete with the LP, boxed album sets of 45s were issued. But despite intense marketing efforts by RCA Victor, by the mid-50s, the 45 ultimately succeeded only in replacing the 78 as the preferred format for singles. While most of the unit volume in those days was in 45 rpm sales, in terms of dollar sales, LPs led singles by almost two-to-one.

Partly as another attempt to compete with Columbia's LP, RCA Victor introduced the first "Extended Play" 45s during 1952. Their narrower grooves, achieved by lowering the cutting levels and sound compression optionally, enabled them to hold up to 7 and a half minutes per side [Generally speaking, an EP is described as "a musical recording that contains more tracks than a single but less than a full album or LP" - a pretty vague description, all in all. The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) officially defines an EP as containing three to five songs or under 30 minutes in length, which fits the original EP running time to a tee. While other recording organizations around the world have other varying descriptions of what an EP is in terms of track numbers and overall length, for the sake of time and argument, let's just use the RIAA's].

RCA issued more than two dozen Elvis Presley EPs during the decade after it signed him away from Sun Records, and they were fairly popular releases. But other than those Elvis discs, EPs were relatively uncommon and hard to find in the U.S. by the early 1960s, all but fading away here as the Album Era gained strength and popularity from the late Fifties onward.  In the UK, however, the EP format continued to be successful, with chart-topping releases throughout the decade from such artists as The Shadows and Cliff Richard.

But the undisputed kings of British EPs were, believe it or not, The Beatles. Their first EP, Twist And Shout, sold over two million copies, topped the UK EP charts for more than five months, and was on the charts for more than a year. This disc and the three #1 UK EPs that followed (The Beatles' Hits, The Beatles (No. 1) and All My Loving) all contained songs that had been included in previously released Beatles albums. It wasn't until the release of the Long Tall Sally EP in the summer of 1964 that some original content was included (although all of the songs on this disc would be released on albums before that summer was out).

All of the British Beatles EP were issued by EMI/Parlophone on the dates indicated below, and all except for the Magical Mystery Tour EP were released in mono format. In 1981, all fourteen of the UK releases were gathered into one box set, The Beatles EP Collection, along with a new disc, titled The Beatles, which compiled previously unavailable stereo mixes of four songs.   Here are some of the specifics on each disc in this set:

The Beatles' Hits EP (originally released September 6th, 1963)

1. From Me To You
2. Thank You Girl
3. Please Please Me
4. Love Me Do

 

Twist And Shout EP (originally released July 12th, 1963) 

1. Twist And Shout
2. A Taste Of Honey
3. Do You Want To Know A Secret
4. There's A Place
   

The Beatles (No. 1) EP (originally released November 1st, 1963)

1. I Saw Her Standing There
2. Misery
3. Anna (Go To Him)
4. Chains
   

All My Loving EP (originally released February 7th, 1964)

1. All My Loving
2. Ask Me Why
3. Money
4. P.S. I Love You
   

 

Long Tall Sally EP (originally released June 19th, 1964)

1. Long Tall Sally
2. I Call Your Name
3. Slow Down
4. Matchbox
   

 

Extracts From The Film A Hard Day's Night EP (originally released November 4th, 1964)

1. I Should Have Known Better
2. If I Fell
3. Tell Me Why
4. And I Love Her
   

Extracts From The Album A Hard Day's Night EP (originally released November 6th, 1964)

1. Any Time At All
2. I'll Cry Instead
3. Things We Said Today
4. When I Get Home
   

Beatles For Sale EP (originally released April 6th, 1965)

1. No Reply
2. I'm A Loser
3. Rock And Roll Music
4. Eight Days A Week
   

Beatles For Sale No. 2 EP (originally released June 4th, 1965)

1. I'll Follow The Sun
2. Baby's In Black
3. Words Of Love
4. I Don't Want To Spoil The Party
   

The Beatles' Million Sellers EP (originally released December 6th, 1965)

1. She Loves You
2. I Want To Hold Your Hand
3. Can't Buy Me Love
4. I Feel Fine
   

Yesterday EP (originally released March 4th, 1966)

1. Yesterday
2. Act Naturally
3. You Like Me Too Much
4. It's Only Love
   

 

Nowhere Man EP (originally released July 8th, 1966)

1. Nowhere Man
2. Drive My Car
3. Michelle
4. You Won't See Me
   

 

Magical Mystery Tour (Stereo Version) EP (originally released December 8th, 1967)

1. Magical Mystery Tour
2. Your Mother Should Know
3. I Am The Walrus
4. The Fool On The Hill
5. Flying
6. Blue Jay Way
   

Magical Mystery Tour (Mono Version) EP (originally released December 8th, 1967)

1. Magical Mystery Tour
2. Your Mother Should Know
3. I Am The Walrus
4. The Fool On The Hill
5. Flying
6. Blue Jay Way

The Beatles EP (originally released December 7th, 1981)

1. The Inner Light
2. Baby You're A Rich Man
3. She's A Woman
4. This Boy
   

 

[In my opinion, there should be one more Beatles disc that should have been released as 

an EP - Yellow Submarine, which contains only four new songs by the band, then pads the "album" out with songs from the film's orchestral soundtrack recorded and produced by George Martin.  Of all the Beatles albums, this one is truly viewed as a contractual obligation/crass money grab semi-effort by the band, as the four new songs were all but screaming for an EP release... But heck - we already broached this subject, didn't we?]

 

In addition to the British EPs collected above, three Beatles EPs were released in America - the first being Souvenir Of Their Visit To America. EMI's US subsidiary Capitol Records consistently refused to put out any Beatles material in the States during 1963 and early 1964 - despite the success the band was having overseas, the label just didn't believe the Fabs could make it in America and had ZERO interest in them. So EMI worked out a licensing deal with small independent Vee-Jay Records for the American release of the group's 1963 singles and debut album Please Please Me (Vee-Jay was actually eager to acquire the license to another popular EMI recording at the time, "I Remember You" by Frank Ifield, and took on the Beatles material as a throw-in/favor to EMI). Vee-Jay had limited resources to promote the music properly, which initially led to poor sales of Beatles product over here.  Once the Beatles were signed in November 1963 to play on the popular and influential The Ed Sullivan Show, Capitol Records SUDDENLY saw the light and changed their minds, exercising their option to release Beatles music in the U.S.

However, as a condition of their earlier contract, Vee-Jay was permitted to market any Beatles material they had licensed for another year, through October 1964. Their subsequent mail order EP offering was a huge success, more than making up for those lackluster Beatles sales the year prior.

The other two U.S. EPs, Four By The Beatles and 4 By The Beatles (confusingly similar names, but different content), were both Capitol's belated attempt to hop on the Beatles gravy train. But due to coming out after Vee-Jay's more successful disc, better distribution of full Beatles albums in the States, and the relatively unpopularity of the EP format here, sales for these two discs were not what Capitol anticipated, and they were both quickly deleted from Capitol's catalogue by the end of 1965.

Here are the details on the U.S. EPs:

 

4 By The Beatles EP (originally released February 1st, 1965)

1. Honey Don't
2. I'm A Loser
3. Mr. Moonlight
4. Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby
   

Four By The Beatles EP (originally released May 11th, 1964)

1. All My Loving
2. Please Mr. Postman
3. Roll Over Beethoven
4. This Boy
   

Souvenir Of Their Visit To America EP (originally released March 23rd, 1964)

1. Misery
2. A Taste Of Honey
3. Ask Me Why
4. Anna (Go To Him)
   

After the Beatles' EP heyday ended in the late 1960s, extended plays wouldn't become popular again until the rise of punk in the mid-1970s, when bands found it to be a more cost-efficient way to bring their music to the public's attention. This trend continued through the New Wave and alternative eras. While the use and sales of the EP have declined in the digital age, they are still being made, and are still out there ready for listeners to expand their musical horizons with. I, for one, hope the EP format never dies out.

...and, at least in the case of The Beatles, it lives on here! For your listening enjoyment, here is the entire slate of Fab Four EP releases:

• The Beatles EP Collection, containing fourteen EPs originally released between 1963 and 1967 in the UK, plus a bonus disc of never-before released stereo material.  This set was initially put out on vinyl by EMI/Parlophone on December 7th, 1981, and subsequently on compact disc on May 26th, 1992; and
• The three U.S. EPs, originally released by Vee-Jay and Capitol Records, respectively, in 1964 and 1965.
  

Enjoy these brief but extended blasts of Sixties rock goodness... and as always, let me know what you think.

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Various Artists - Not All That Terrifies Harms 7"

Another Barbara Manning-related post...

Late in 2016, I provided a requester, Jon Der, with a link to my World Of Pooh Land Of Thirst posting from a few years back, and in the process had a great back-and-forth dialogue with him about bands we were mutual fans of, including this one and The Fall (my all-time favorite band, as I've mentioned ad nauseum (and recently shown) here on this site). Jon clued me in to the news that an in-depth oral history of World Of Pooh had just been published in the then-latest issue of Jay Hinman's Dynamite Hemorrhage fanzine, a podcast/magazine devoted to underground alternative music; it was that article that sent him on a search that led him to my site.

Information on the great but obscure World Of Pooh is extremely hard to come by in this day and age, so of course I was champing at the bit to read the story. As the article was (then) not an online posting, but a print story only, Jon kindly scanned it for me from the magazine copy he had in his possession.

All in all, "World Of Pooh: The Oral History" is a superb and informative article. Band members (guitarist Brandan Kearney, bassist Barbara Manning and drummer Jay Paget) and other friends/scenesters from that time offer up their recollections and reminiscences of those heady, frenetic bygone days, the creation, rise and dissolution of an underground and generally unheralded-in-their-time rock band. The piece filled in a lot of gaps in my knowledge about the group.

I was especially interested in the section regarding the writing and recording of The Land Of Thirst, the band's sole LP release and one of my all-time favorites. When I did my write-up on this album all those years ago, I did so under the assumption (based on clues provided in the Trouser Press Record Guide review and other sources I'd found like this blog posting from almost a decade ago) this this disc was the brilliant but intense product of a vicious, painful breakup saga then unfolding between Kearney and Manning. To quote that post:

Apparently, [they] had been dating for a while, and by the time the record was being recorded, their relationship was on the rocks. They took out their relationship strains not directly on one another, but like most other couples with problems they addressed their angers and frustrations with one another indirectly, in their case through the songs (I understand they broke up soon after this record came out - which makes sense, since the band also ceased to exist around that time).

However, in the course of reading "The Oral History", I became aware that what I considered to be gospel and the "true Hollywood story" regarding WoP and their music wasn't quite accurate.

The first (and most important) point of correction is the most pertinent and far-reaching, in terms of my understanding this band - Manning and Kearney were never a couple, per se. Sure, they spent a lot of time together in their musical and social pursuits... but this didn't develop into any sort of romantic attachment. There was already more than enough madness swirling around in their lives while they were in the band. But that craziness had nothing to do with any sort of long-term "lover's spat", and more to do with the weird, tense and uncertain atmosphere inherent in being in an obscure band playing in San Francisco's indie/underground scene in the late '80s/early '90s.

That isn't to say, however, that the members of World Of Pooh didn't play up on this boy-boy-girl dynamic. The back cover of The Land Of Thirst infamously displayed an S&M/bondage-themed photo of three people that the band found in a porn shop on Polk Street in the city, with the implication being that the picture portrayed the actual band members and their relationship (it wasn't, and it didn't). Barbara Manning said:

"We chose the picture on the back on purpose - I think it might have been my idea, even... The idea [was] that we were selling ourselves as this threesome."

Brandan Kearney continued:

"We did have some misgivings about using the photo... but it looked enough like us that it was hard to say no... Besides, we were always using sexual imagery... I sometimes worried that we were confining Barbara, or that she'd feel like we were. The picture is ambivalent, which struck me as poignant at the time. It's not very well thought out, but you could say that about any decision we made back then."

In short, the group played at being weirdos and freaks, with Kearney and Manning upping the ante by semi-pretending to be more than just band mates... and people believed it. And oddly, after a while, the members of World Of Pooh began buying into that narrative as well. As Manning observed in the article:

"I feel like we were people with a weird relationship portraying people with a really weird relationship. Over time, the distinction vanished."

In the wake of the album release, and in the process of living up to this created narrative in the city's music atmosphere of the time, tensions began rising within the group. This led to bickering and conflicts between the members that eventually began being displayed in their live performances - many times exacerbated by prodigious booze consumption before and during their act. A friend of the group provided the following memory/assessment in the article:

"[Those] onstage disagreements of whatever were literally showstoppers. The big question was always: would they stop sniping at each other long enough to play another song let alone finish the set? Intraband relations seemed to be getting worse the more shows they played, but musically they kept getting better and better... For a while they were one of the best bands in the city. Talking to other fans at their shows, we had the feeling that they weren't going to be around much longer... The last time I saw them, it was their biggest show to date and by then they were outright arguing on stage in between songs... Despite how great the music was, the set felt like a fiasco and, by the time they left the stage, I had the distinct impression that it was going to be their last show."

This friend was almost correct regarding the timing of the band's demise - it was pretty much over for World Of Pooh by the end of 1989. However, circumstances intervened somewhat in early 1990.

Brandan Kearney: "People assume we broke up after our East Coast tour, but we'd essentially broken up before the tour... the strain Barbara and I were under was not sustainable... In the midst of this uncertainty, we accepted an offer to tour the East Coast for about a week... This gave us a reason to hold things together, but I think it also gave us the sense of an attainable endpoint..."

After (and despite) well-received shows in Boston and New York in March of 1990, World Of Pooh broke up immediately after the end of this tour.  There were a couple of posthumous EP releases (G.H.M. later in 1990; A Trip To Your Tonsils in 1991), but even those led to more trouble and conflict within the group.  The tracks on the latter EP were part of a set of eight or so that World of

Pooh had been developing for a planned full-scale album follow-up to The Land of Thirst (the EP included the only four tunes closest to completion, remixed and remastered by Kearney). During the final mixing of these EP tracks, Kearney added some sound effects that Manning, when she heard it/them, interpreted as negative coded messages directed at her personally... with the result being that the relationship between the two fully ruptured, and they didn't speak for many years. Fortunately, they eventually reconciled, even reuniting for a one-off show in late 2015.

Kearney pithily summed up the rise and fall of his band, and their overall dynamic:

". . . when you scrape away the dazzling veneer of also-ran indie-rocker glitz, you're really just talking about emotionally unstable people with very little impulse control and a dangerously high alcohol tolerance."

He also had this to say regarding their only album:

"The only thing that bothers me about the album's latter-day reputation is the myth and lore of Our Unhappy Relationship, which I sometimes worry is the only reason people are still listening to it. The fact is, Barbara and I were getting along just fine when we recorded The Land Of Thirst. People sometimes present it as some indie-pop version of Rumours or Shoot Out The Lights. I know we brought this on ourselves through public displays of madness and worse, but most of that stuff happened after the LP had been written and recorded. Love it or hate it, The Land Of Thirst was the product of a somewhat crazed but extremely close and supportive working relationship, and I dislike seeing it portrayed as an album by and about people who were at each other's throats. Terrible things happened, to our eternal discredit, but most of them happened later on."

So, from the horse's mouth itself, I hereby stand corrected.

The very end of the article listed World Of Pooh's entire discography, all of the music they released on Nuf Sed and all of their compilation appearances. I knew that some of the stuff listed there (like the band's rare early-career cassette-only releases No Little Taxis Shining Their Light and Dust) I'd never have any hope in hell of ever tracking down. But as for one-off compilation tunes, my WOP collection was fairly complete, except for one selection: a cover of Blue Öyster Cult’s “Dominance and Submission”, included on an obscure 7" EP in 1992. Being the obsessive completest that I am, I made it my mission to track down a copy of this record and song, and after an exhaustive search, found the vinyl for sale from an overseas source - couldn't buy it fast enough.

Enjoy the Not All That Terrifies Harms 7", a ridiculously hard-to-find joint release by Ajax and Nuf Said Records in 1992, scorched off of my vinyl copy, featuring some rare releases by San Francisco bands both legendary and obscure - including Thinking Fellers Union Local 282's "Trevor" (a track otherwise only available on a 1995 Japanese import compilation) and the only source for World Of Pooh's Blue Öyster Cult cover (which, of course, is excellent).

And as an added bonus, here's a link to the entire issue of Dynamite Hemorrhage #3, now online, containing "World Of Pooh: The Oral History" - a much cleaner version of my scanned copy from earlier last year.

Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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Not All That Terrifies Harms EP: Send Email

Single Gun Theory - Surrender EP

One of the many "one-shot" purchases I've made over the years, when I would purchase a band's entire album or EP just for the one song that I liked or thought was cool (I'm very glad those days are gone - thank God for iTunes).

I bought this disc in Washington, DC (good ol' GWU Tower Records) in the winter of 1992, solely on the strength of "From A Million Miles", a song that was then getting serious play on DC's alternative station WHFS. I had scant interest in "Surrender", the song for which the disc is titled - to my ears, that tune was nothing more than the standard shimmering ethereal gossamer electro-pop being put out ad nauseum back in the early '90s. But I thought "From A Million Miles" was amazing then . . . and still think so today.

Australia's Single Gun Theory recorded for nearly fifteen years, releasing four albums (including a movie score soundtrack) and more than half a dozen singles and EPs during their existence. But since their demise in 2000, any mention of or information about the band is exceedingly difficult to come by. All of their music has long been out of print, and their old recording label carries no reference to them on their website. It's a shame, really - perhaps what Single Gun Theory put out wasn't exactly timeless and universal, but the band made an effort to produce some appealing music to leave to the world, and at the very least that should be acknowledged. A lot of their sounds, as I said above, might have been boring and synthpoppy to me and a lot of others. But to paraphrase Anton Ego: "The average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so."

Therefore I leave to you all what is, in my mind, one of the band's finest moments - Single Gun Theory's Surrender EP, released by Canada's Nettwerk Records on January 28th, 1992, featuring one of my favorite songs from back then, "From A Million Miles":

I've been dragging my ass on postings over the past couple of weeks, if you haven't noticed. I will probably be backdating a couple for this month in the coming days. Until then, I hope this one tides you all over for a bit. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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The Veldt - Marigolds EP

I always get a little angry nowadays when I think about The Veldt. These guys should have been HUGE - or at least a lot huger than they were.

It must have been sometime in late 1991 when I first heard about these guys, when one of the music rags I regularly read back then (it might have been SPIN, but it's been so long now I simply don't recall) carried a short article/interview with them. There might have been a picture, but maybe not. What I DO remember about the feature was something one of the band members said about their music being sort of a meld between English dream pop and acid house music. I specifically recall one of the band members saying: "Yeah, Cocteau Twins are definitely 'in the house'!" Being both a huge Cocteaus and house music fan back then, reading that quote made my ears prick right up - I couldn't WAIT to hear what these guys sounded like. In the meantime, I tried to dig up some additional information about them, but there wasn't much to be found. A lot of what I came upon about The Veldt was dug up much later.

The Veldt evolved in 1986 from Psycho Daisies, a hardcore punk band that played in and around the Chapel Hill, North Carolina area. Initially, it was just vocalist Daniel Chavis, his twin brother Danny on guitar and friend Robert Jackson on drums, but by 1988 Jackson had moved on and the Chavises recruited Martin Levi behind the kit. Their sound also evolved, from a pure punk attack to a more nuanced, melodic, guitar-driven sound, owing more to The Jesus & Mary Chain and Lush than Black Flag and Agnostic Front. The band spent its first couple of years paying its dues initially on the college and small club circuit in North Carolina, trying to build a fan base.

Being a dream pop/shoegaze band in an area home to emerging alternative acts like Archers of Loaf and Superchunk was hard enough for the group. But this band had another major, more obvious difference from these associated acts that they had to work especially hard to overcome: The Veldt's members were predominantly African-American.

If you think being a black alt-rock band in the Southern United States at that time wasn't that big of an issue . . . well, I'll let Daniel Chavis describe it:

"Race was definitely an issue. No matter where we played in the South it was the same thing. We would get asked if we were a reggae band, if we were a funk band, if we were an R&B band; people who had never heard us would say, ”If you like Living Colour you will love these guys!” We didn’t/don’t sound a thing like Living Colour! Yes, race was an issue - but you can’t state the obvious because then people say you are whining!"

Despite these issues, The Veldt gigged constantly in the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill region, and by mid-1990 the band developed a strong following in the South Atlantic states, drawing both white and black fans to their shows. The rest of the music industry began paying attention to what the band was doing. The Veldt was offered a supporting slot for portions of The Jesus & Mary Chain's 1990 North American Automatic tour, and in the next year played several Southern shows as an opening act on The Pixies' Fall 1991 US tour - nearly unheard of for an unsigned 'local' act. Music fans overseas (especially in England) also began to take notice of the group's sound. The Veldt developed an even larger European audience, and the groups over there who were their inspirations and contemporaries became their friends and mentors. The Cocteau Twins' Robin Guthrie became especially close with the band, as did other artists on the 4AD roster, such as the members of A.R. Kane (known in the English music press as "the black Jesus & Mary Chain") and recording engineer Lincoln Fong.

Around the same time that the magazine article I saw appeared, The Veldt signed a deal with Stardog Records, ostensibly an 'indie label', but in actuality a subsidiary of recording giant Polygram, created initially as an imprint for the release of Mother Love Bone records after that band signed with the label in 1989. And in early 1992, they put out their first disc, the Marigolds EP, a recording presided over by both A.R. Kane and Fong (Fong also plays bass on the EP). On Marigolds, you can hear the definite influence of My Bloody Valentine and J&M Chain in the alternatively swirling/grinding guitars, along with the heavy percussion sound inherent in some of A.R. Kane's later work. But the main difference between the sound of these aforementioned acts and The Veldt was in Daniel Chavis' aggressive, powerful vocals - he's not pussy-footing it around here. Just listen to "CCCP", the opening cut:

The album was generally well-received, and more good things started happening for the band. The success of the record led to Stardog putting them out on the road again, this time under more comfortable circumstances (the band was provided its own tour bus). Over the next two years, The Veldt crisscrossed the country, serving as an opening act for The Church, Lush, and their friends The Cocteau Twins. Just before their tour with the latter band, The

Veldt left Stardog to sign with major label Mercury Records, who heavily courted the band based on the strength of Marigolds. As good as their first EP was, their major label album debut, 1994's Afrodisiac, is even more incredible. Frankly, it's an lost shoegaze classic, rivaling anything ever released by their genre compatriots Slowdive or Ride. Just listen to this cut, "Soul In A Jar", and tell me that you don't agree:

Listening to Afrodisiac now, it's hard to fathom why this disc wasn't massively successful. Perhaps it was the rise of grunge in the early 1990s; maybe it was the decline of shoegaze (punctuated by the decades-long hiatus of My Bloody Valentine after two acclaimed albums in the late '80s/early '90s). Or more likely (and in Chavis's later estimation), Mercury just didn't know how to promote and market a black alt-rock band. According to the band, the label attempted to pigeonhole and shoehorn the group into specific genres and expectations, and The Veldt wasn't about that at all. Reportedly, matters came to a head when Mercury sent the band out as an ill-advised opening act for The Smithereens, a situation not satisfactory for either group. The Veldt asked to be taken off the tour, and from that point onward things deteriorated between them and Mercury; the band earned a reputation in the industry as difficult prima donnas.

After leaving the label, the group released two follow-up albums, 1996's Universe Boat on small indie label Yesha Recordings and Love At First Hate on End Of The World Technologies (their own label) in 1998. Both discs, while good, were poorly supported and little-heard. The Chavis brothers subsequently threw in the towel on The Veldt, and morphed into New York City-based 

alt-rock band Apollo Heights. Apollo Heights released the amusingly (and appropriately) named album White Music For Black People in 2007, assisted once again by their old friends from The Cocteau Twins, and new friends such as members of TV On The Radio.

I think that in many ways, The Veldt was a band both before and after its time. "Before", in that it took the music industry a while to catch up with what The Veldt was about. But I think in recent years, they 'got' it, based on the success of rock bands with black/African-American members like TV On The Radio and Bloc Party. And "after", in that The Veldt was committed to a style and genre of music (shoegaze/dream) that had pretty much run its course just as they peaked.

But like merry-go-rounds and men's fashions, things tend to come around once again. The Chavises recently reunited The Veldt, and for the past two years have been playing to appreciative audiences around the country. I think that, like the labels, music fans also finally 'get' them as well.

And speaking of 'get', here's something for you to have, too: The Veldt's Marigolds EP, released on Stardog Records in early 1992. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.    

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Ween - Pure Guava

On the evening of Wednesday, June 2nd, 1993, the Naval Antarctic Support Unit (NASU), Christchurch, New Zealand, held one of its periodic Hail and Farewell ceremonies after working hours at the Southern Lights Bar, located on the edge of U.S. Navy property close by Christchurch International Airport. The event on this particular evening marked the departure of the current base Supply Officer, Nan, and the arrival of the new SUPPO - me, a fresh-faced lieutenant, recently arrived from a duty station near Washington, DC.

I had worked closely with my old friend Nan (we were friends back at the Naval Academy a few years earlier) for the past couple of weeks since I landed in NZ, meeting the people and learning the ropes related to my position. This day was our last joint stewardship of the office, and we spent the morning and early afternoon turning over responsibilities, with Nan providing me with the final bits of information and instruction needed to fully get into my new job at NASU. But she left the administration building earlier than usual that afternoon, ostensibly to run some errands out in town and to head home to prepare for the evening's festivities. I slogged away at paperwork for the rest of the day, then at five o'clock I quickly changed into civilian clothes, left the office and walked over to the Southern Lights (my car was still weeks away from arriving; I assumed it was on a container ship somewhere in the Eastern Pacific at that time). Some petty officers were already there, getting things ready along with the civilian bar staff. I was one of the early arrivals at the bar, so a grabbed a beer and tried to make myself useful, helping set up the stage and all for the ceremony and party that followed.

I was there working away diligently, hanging crepe paper and running microphone wires across the floor, and didn't really notice when Nan arrived about half an hour afterwards. I only realized she was there when she called my name.  I turned from my work to find that she had not arrived alone - next to her stood a girl . . . quite possibly the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life. She was young, no older than 22, with a lovely face framed by long, flowing golden hair and a tight little body that you could break rocks on, one that was perfectly proportioned in all the right places.

To quote one of my favorite authors, Raymond Chandler, "Whatever you wanted, wherever you happened to be, she had it."

I'm sure at that moment I had a look of shock and awe on my face - that goofy look all guys get when they are suddenly faced with a smoking hot woman - but I quickly straightened out my features (at least, I thought I did) as I stepped towards my old friend and this angel that accompanied her. If Nan saw the look I had, she tactfully didn't mention it. What she DID do was introduce me to her friend - "I'd like for you to meet . . . " - well, for this story, let's call her 'Fiona'.

I have no idea what sort of noises stammered out of my mouth as I shook Fiona's hand - I can only hope that what I said was semi-coherent and not flecked with the spittle and marbles that suddenly seemed to fill my mouth. Yes - she was just THAT flabbergastingly beautiful. To cover my stuttering, self-conscious embarrassment at being so near to this vision's gorgeous presence, I quickly offered to get both her and Nan a drink from the bar - if only to get away from Fiona for a few seconds and gather myself together.  I only bumped into two people while making my strategic, hazy, hasty retreat.

While I stood waiting for their drinks, my mind racing and heart thudding against my ribs, I tried to suss out why Nan had brought Fiona along to this dreary Navy event in this rather dingy little military bar. I couldn't for a moment fathom that Fiona was there for my benefit, and Nan was making a conscious, calculated attempt to throw the two of us together to see what might occur. I just figured that Nan had decided to bring an old friend along to her final NASU function, and everything else was just a figment of my overactive (and hopeful) imagination.

But to my mild shock and utter joy, I discovered as the evening wore on that Nan had brought Fiona along for PRECISELY that reason - to introduce her to me and possibly play matchmaker between the two of us. Unbeknownst to me, Nan had been 'talking me up' to her unattached friend in the days after my arrival in country, and Fiona was eager to meet me. I brought their drinks over and sat with the two of them for a while, and found myself chatting at length with Fiona; I found that she was just as funny and charming as she was beautiful. In no time at all, we were laughing and chatting away like we had known one another for years. I was attracted to her immediately - the whole person, not just the package. I began thoroughly enjoying her company and presence near me - so much so that I didn't notice when Nan slipped away and left the two of us together alone (heh - that sly lady . . . what a friend!).

At one point during the Hail and Farewell, I had to get up on stage with the NASU Commanding Officer to be introduced and to say a few words. That briefly left Fiona by herself at our table. I was savvy enough to notice during the time we'd spent talking together the furtive, hungry glances directed at her by some of the other attendees, so I knew that the 'wolves' would be pouncing the moment I left her by her lonesome (I personally think that that's a cardinal violation of the unwritten "Code of the Guys" that men live under, but that's neither here nor there . . . ). As I stood and did my thing, I watched as the first would-be snake slithered over to make his move. In no time at all, Fiona had sent him scurrying away; she apparently was an expert at that sort of thing - not only putting the guy in his place, but also serving notice to the rest of the pack that she was there with me for that evening. After that, I couldn't help but like her more and more.

After the main events, everyone hung out at the Southern Lights for the after-party. Fiona and I mingled for a bit, then went back together to the bar's game room. We played shuffleboard as a team against two other NASU guys (I can't remember if we won or lost - frankly, it didn't really matter much to me at the time). And we shot pool on the base table, where I had occasion to execute a textbook "guy" move on a pretty girl, the "teaching-her-how-to-hold-the-cue-and-aim-at-the-ball" routine, with me standing behind her, holding her close in front of me.

After a while, the party at the Southern Lights began breaking up, so I threw caution to the wind and asked this lovely woman out to dinner with me that evening. She eagerly accepted, which pleased me to no end. We took her white station wagon down the main drag into downtown Christchurch, and ended up eating in the dining room of the Rydges Hotel, hard by the River Avon - the swankiest place I knew of in my limited access into the city. During our dinner, and in fact during that entire night, she was as sweet and delightful a person as I'd ever met in all my life.

After dinner, she drove me back to my temporary accommodations, a corner suite at the Airport Gateway Motel off of Memorial Avenue, and we said our good nights with a handshake and a quick peck - but not before I managed to wrangle her phone number and a promise of a second date out of her (I say 'wrangle' . . . but I don't recall her hesitating very much . . . !). I walked into my Spartan little room that night, giddy about my future in Christchurch, and completely head-over-heels for this amazing girl. You dream about things like this coming to pass, and they rarely if ever do. However, when the impossible happens and lightning does strike - wellsir . . .

Fiona and I had our second date that weekend, and in the days and weeks that followed spent more and more time together. Before the month was out, we were firmly established as a couple. She all but moved into my temporary lodgings with me; I'd make her pancakes some mornings, and in the evening sometimes we would just stay in, snuggling on the couch watching "Shortland Street" or something else on one of the four New Zealand TV channels that existed at the time. She was fascinated by everything

'American' - our accents, our customs and holidays (she attended her first Independence Day picnic at NASU on a wintery July afternoon - most of the activities took place in the base gym), and the foods from 'back home' that I could get at the small base commissary. Fiona became obsessed with things like Calistoga water, lima beans, Almond Roca and potato sticks (these especially!), things unfamiliar and unavailable in the world she'd grown up in.

And due to Fiona, I got my first full-scale immersion in this new land that was to be my home for the next couple of years. With her as my guide and driver, we went out and about. My first trips to Sumner, Lyttleton, the Banks Peninsula and Kaikoura were made with her. She showed me where to find the best local restaurants for Kiwi fare - from the extensive local wine selection at Saggio Di Vino to the steamed mussels at the Dux de Lux and the delicious desserts at Strawberry Faire. We did highbrow stuff - like attend a formal reception together for New Zealand military officers.  We did

lowbrow stuff - like race go-karts around a local track, and go to see cheesy dreck like Sommersby at the Hoyts 8 cinema. But mostly, we were just together, and had lots of fun with one another. And at that point in my life, it was all good.

My car finally arrived in late July (along with the rest of my household goods), and soon afterwards I moved into a little bungalow in Hoon Hay, a neighborhood near the southern edge of the city. Fiona was over a lot, and we'd spend time hanging out there enjoying one another's company, or she would go through my already voluminous music collection, playing whatever tickled her fancy.  I was working out at the NASU "Powerhouse" gym practically every day, hitting the weights or utilizing the recently-constructed glass-walled racquetball court. And most of the time Fiona would come along with me. We made quite a couple - arriving on base in my gleaming golden Porsche, and stepping out into the Powerhouse Gym parking lot, with her dressed in a form-fitting leotard. During some of our early visits there, she used the weights or stretched alongside me, and drew many a lustful eye in her direction. But soon she decided that she wanted to make use of the building's aerobics area, and asked if I could make her a mixtape of songs she selected from my collection to work out to.

One of the first songs she selected for me to tape for her was a tune I'd introduced her to a few weeks earlier, "Push Th' Little Daisies" by Ween. She loved this song so much, that it was usually one of the first things she'd put on the stereo when she came over my place; she'd bounce around the house while the band belted out their insanely, annoyingly catchy tune:

Ween was formed in New Hope, Pennsylvania in 1984 by two misfit junior high school students, Aaron Freeman and Michael "Mickey" Melchiondo, Jr., who met in 8th grade typing class. They initially didn't like each other, but soon found that they had a lot in common, socially and musically. They began jamming together (both were multi-talented instrumentalist, with a penchant for the absurd), and soon formed the band Ween, an abbreviated version of the common schoolyard portmanteau rank-out word "weenis" (combining "wussy" and "penis"), adopting the respective personas of "Gene Ween" and "Dean Ween". During their remaining years in junior high and high school, Ween produced a series of self-released home recordings on cassette (with names like The Crucial Squeegie Lip and Erica Peterson's Flaming Crib Death). They also gained a loyal audience playing shows at local New Hope bars.

Soon after their high school graduation in 1989, Ween was signed to Twin/Tone Records, and released their first album, GodWeenSatan: The Oneness, the following year. Their second long-player, The Pod, quickly followed in 1991.  Both albums were eclectic, quirky, musically adventurous - and virulently non-commercial. Yet somehow, they sold. Ween was part of that strange early-90s alternative 'avant-garde', almost comedy-rock genre, which included bands like King Missile and The Dead Milkmen, whose music featured vocal distortion, humorous lyrics and excellent musicianship. Like those other groups, Ween became a semi-popular cult band . . . so much so that label giant Elektra Records came calling. Elektra actively courted them, and ended up wooing them away from Twin/Tone in the summer of 1992.

    

Pure Guava, Ween's major label debut, was released in the late fall of 1992.  The local alternative station, WHFS, began playing "Push Th' Little Daisies" to death, and I thought it was so great that I ran out to buy the album. It took me a while to work up to exploring Pure Guava in depth, beyond the hit single - I found most of the first few songs I heard just too weird, even for me; full of high- or low-pitched vocals and highly manipulated, out-of-tune sounds.  But with a little persistence, I delved deeper, and discovered that as 'weird' as it was, practically the entire album was excellent. Songs I especially liked included "Little Birdy", "Big Jilm" and "Poop Ship Destroyer". But the standout tune on Pure Guava, for me, was "Sarah", a rare moment of restraint and seriousness on the album. Gene croons a soulful paean of love for the aforementioned girl, accompanied only by Dean on slide guitar: 

"When I find you in your sleep, Sarah

I will tell you what you mean to me,Sarah

I know this big world ain't always what it seems, Sarah

Forever may I love you, and forever may you dream, Sarah

When I find you in your sleep, Sarah

I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah"

The result was an effective, emotive, authentic country song - not something that anyone would expect from this group in 1992, but a foretaste of Ween's later forays into the country genre, the high point of which being their 1996 album 12 Golden Country Greats, recorded in Nashville with a bevy of celebrated C&W veterans.

In addition to "Push Th' Little Daisies", I put a lot of other HI-NRG dance-type stuff onto Fiona's workout tape. But the Ween song was the tune she loved and played the most. Ween put out a total of eleven studio albums during their lifetime, along with six live albums and numerous singles. But frankly my interest in the band waned considerably after Pure Guava - not for any particular reason, mind you. I just moved on musically to other sounds, and after a while stopped paying attention to what they were up to. Their final album was La Cucaracha, released in 2007.  The band broke up only just last year, after nearly thirty years together. 

Ween lasted a lot longer than Fiona and I did. Within a year, we had gone our separate ways. I'll spare you the details . . . other than to say that the fault for our breakup was entirely my own. I behaved abominably, and did things that hurt her feelings and drove her away from me. It's not something I'm especially proud of; in fact, to this day, it embarrasses and hurts me to think about it. Through my own fault, I lost the affection of a wonderful girl. After years of estrangement and bitterness between us, Fiona finally forgave me and I made amends. We have both left New Zealand and live on opposite sides of the world, and although I haven't been in her immediate presence in over fifteen years, we still speak with each other regularly and have become good long-distance friends.

I try not to dwell too much on the "what might have been" with Fiona - that's a fool's game. I am happy with the way my life has turned out up to this point, and would happily retain the certainty of my current position and happiness for the more unknown life I might have had with her, had we stayed together.  Sometimes, however, thoughts along those lines do creep into my mind . . . but I quickly try to think about something else. With that being said, I did enjoy the time I had with her.

When I look back and recall those wonderful golden days with my beautiful girlfriend in that faraway country, a romance which began twenty years ago this very day, I don't think much about the places we travelled or the grand things Fiona and I did together. I think about the more private, personal times we shared - sitting side by side on the couch, eating potato sticks and watching TV movies at her place; going out for pizza at Winnebago's downtown; sitting on Sumner Beach, just watching the waves; driving out to Akaroa with the sunroof open . . . and of course, watching her joyfully jump around the living room while Ween played through the speakers at top volume. Nowadays, I can't help but think of her, every time I play that stupid, annoying . . . and utterly joyous song.

Here it is for you to bounce around to, too: Ween's Pure Guava, released by Elektra Records on November 15th, 1992.  Enjoy - and as always, let me know what you think. 

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Boy O Boy - Shish-Ska-Bob

I was going through my CD stacks the other day, and came across this old disc, which has been in my possession for over twenty years. Ah, Boy O Boy . . . a fond memory from my days in Washington, DC many moons ago. This band was a case study in the old adage, "You've got to punch your weight."

Boy O Boy was formed in 1985 by a bunch of musically like-minded friends, all students at Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Virginia. They made their bones initially on the frat house circuit, playing campus parties and the like at VA Tech, before branching out further afield to other local schools as word-of-mouth began to spread. Boy O Boy started out playing mostly covers of ska and ska revival classics, but soon began penning and playing their own skank-infused originals. Their sound, a good-time, rollicking fusion of ska, rock and funk, with lyrics primarily focused on partying, girls and dancing, was perfectly suited for the college circuit, and the band became known for its high-energy shows. At that time, Boy O Boy wasn't anything of any substance; they were basically your typical frat-house-type band, a bunch of guys who liked playing music on the weekends and picking up a few bucks here and there while they did it.

After graduation, the band members (who at the time consisted of drummer Mike Boyd, keyboardist Eric Lawson, lead guitarist David Triano, Dave Peterson on bass, with a horn section consisting of Jim Pennington on trumpet and trombonist Chris Leitch and the recent addition of Virginia Commonwealth University music major Schiavone McGee as lead vocalist) decided to get serious and see if they could make a go of this music thing. In the late 80s, Boy O Boy relocated east to Richmond, Virginia, a more central, transportation-assessable location (don't know if you've ever been to Blacksburg, but it's in the middle of fucking nowhere), and began expanding their circuit, playing gigs up and down the East Coast. They also started self-producing discs on their own BOB (Boy O Boy) Records imprint and selling them at their shows - the first self-titled album was released in 1990.

I used to see these guys a lot in the DC area in the late 80s/early 90s - as I mentioned in an earlier post, Boy O Boy was a fixture on the mid-Atlantic club circuit. I was mad for ska back in the day (still a big fan today), and went running to see any act of that persuasion that passed through the Washington area (for example, Special Beat (the collective made up of former members of The English Beat and The Specials) played the 9:30 Club on F Street a number of times between 1990 to 1993. The last shows of theirs I went to before moving away in 1993 was a three-night stand at the club - I went to EVERY show, all three nights!). At the show Boy O Boy played at 9:30 sometime in 1992, I enjoyed it so much, I purchased the album they had on sale there, Shish-Ska-Bob (their second BOB Records release) which included just about every song they played that night. In addition to the original tunes on the album (written mainly by Triano and Leitch), the band added reworked ska versions of Rossini's "Barber of Seville" and Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze". But the best song on the album, in my opinion, is "All I Need Is A Holiday", a superb ska workout that reminded me a lot of Bad Manners.

Boy O Boy toured relentlessly throughout the early 1990s, eventually playing more than 150 shows per year at colleges, clubs, and other venues up and down the East Coast. In 1993 they released a Christmas EP, Bobsled, which was well received by their regional audience. Through hard work and nonstop gigging, the band reached the point where it was self-supporting, and while the band members weren't making huge money, they were making a living doing what they enjoyed.

Then Boy O Boy did a curious thing - in mid 1994, they changed their name, now referring to themselves by the new moniker "Fighting Gravity".

Why did the band decide to forgo nearly a decade of fan goodwill and name recognition by making such a move? Well, band members had long held aspirations beyond regional popularity; by the time they had completed recording of their third BOB Records disc, No Stopping, No Standing, they were openly angling for a major label record deal. As part of that process, they attempted to incorporate the "Boy O Boy" name . . . only to find that it had already been incorporated by someone else. Faced with either retaining their original name, which would pretty much seal their fate as a local act, or changing it and building the new name into a national "brand" while hopefully retaining their old fans, Boy O Boy opted for the latter.

No Stopping, No Standing was released at the end of 1994. While it was a stronger album than any of the band's earlier releases, it didn't sell as well as Shish-Ska-Bob or Bobsled. I think fans were confused, not only by the name change, but also by the subtle change in the band's sound. Ska, while prominent in songs like "Godzilla", "Deep Blue" and the title track, was no longer the overarchingly predominant sound of Fighting Gravity. The group's tone became more rock-oriented, and somewhat darker and less good-timey then their earlier work. It was a sign of things to come.

Fighting Gravity's first big taste of national exposure came in the fall of 1994, when they were invited to compete on TV's "Star Search", a talent competition. The band ended up winning the show, and began getting looks from big music labels. EMI offered them a shitty deal in 1995, which they wisely turned down. The band headed back to the Virginia area for more touring, all the while keeping an ear open for additional major label offers they assumed would come pouring in. When no new offers came through that year, Fighting Gravity recorded another BOB Records release, Forever = 1 Day, if for any other reason to keep their momentum and name recognition going. Forever = 1 Day was even more 'rockier' than their previous release, with many of the band's songs veering into the Dave Matthews Band vein of soft pop (no shock there, since former DMB producer John Alegia helmed this album) - the skankified horns were few and far between on this one.

At the end of 1995, Fighting Gravity caught another huge break in their quest for national exposure. That December, Rolling Stone magazine assigned a writer and photographer to accompany the band on one of its regional frat house tours, to document life on the road in a feature article as part of an upcoming issue focusing on college life and music. When the article appeared in the March 1996 issue, the floodgates opened; the band was suddenly inundated with major label offers. Later that year, Fighting Gravity signed with Mercury Records. It was a better deal than the one offered earlier by EMI, but not huge, so the band continued their frenetic touring schedule while preparing songs for their major label debut. Some of their older BOB Records albums were rereleased under their new name as a stopgap, utilizing Mercury's distribution network.

You and Everybody Else was released on Mercury in the late summer of 1998. On this record, the band almost completely dispensed with its signature ska sound, completing their transformation into "Dave Matthews Band-lite" that began on Forever = 1 Day. Most of the songs (such as "Turn To Me", "Waterfall" and "Wait For You") are bland rehashings of tunes done better by other bands. There is very little on this disc that showcases the versatility, excitement or personality that the band used to display in its live shows. Needless to say, the record was a huge flop - listening to it now, you can hear why. Mercury wasted no time in cutting its losses and dropping the band from the label. Fighting Gravity had their chance, and they blew it.

The band soldiered on for almost another decade, resuming its extensive touring and cranking out albums on their BOB Records imprint. Some original band members fell by the wayside, to be replaced by new members who also departed after a year or two. By the mid-2000s, McGee, Peterson and Boyd were the only remaining founding members. Earlier that decade, Fighting Gravity dispensed with their long-time horn section, becoming a straight-ahead rock combo. Needless to say, that did nothing to endear them to their fan base. Nevertheless, Fighting Gravity got one more shot at national exposure. They were signed by a subsidiary of Atlantic Records in late 2002 and prepped an album for release the following year. But unfortunately, the label they signed to went under. The album they produced, Blue Sky & Black, was eventually released on their own label in 2006. That was Fighting Gravity's final release before breaking up in 2007.

Boy O Boy/Fighting Gravity was a good regional band, but I honestly don't think they had the right sound to break out of their limited area and expand their fan base across the USA. I think the band themselves realized that their original sound was not the recipe for national success - ska is not a musical genre warmly accepted by a majority of the record-buying public. Many an American band that started off surfing the high crest of ska's Third Wave (Fishbone, No Doubt, and Reel Big Fish, for example) found more success and acceptance by coasting down into the more familiar, more tranquil, less turbulent waters of pop and funk. Shoot, even Third Wave giants the Mighty Mighty Bosstones didn't find widespread success until they released the considerably toned-down song "The Impression That I Get" in 1997, their only Top 40 hit. In my opinion, the only band in the past 20 years that found national commercial success with an uncompromised, out-front ska sound was Sublime . . . but the band ended right at its peak with the death of lead vocalist and main songwriter Bradley Nowell, so the question as to whether the band could have/would have sustained its sound and its popularity will never be answered.

So, like I said, Fighting Gravity knew that ska wasn't their golden ticket to the Top 40. But in their hunger to make it big, they completely abandoned the music that got them to where they were in the first place. By they time they disbanded, I don't think they really knew who they were anymore, musically.

I'm all for individuals and groups reaching for the stars, and doing what they can to achieve success. And I know that in that quest, sometimes compromises and changes have to be made. But when does it become too much? How much can you change and still be true to yourself? What's the final cost, and is it worth it?

Fighting Gravity/Boy O Boy found what the price of would-be glory would be, and in the end it proved to be too much for them. To paraphrase Mark 8:36 -

"For what shall it profit a band, if it shall gain the whole world, and lose its own soul?"

Here's the best representation of the original ska band in all its glory: Boy O Boy's Shish-Ska-Bob, released in the spring of 1992 on BOB Records. Enjoy . . . and as always, let me know what you think.

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