"I would say the only one that didn't go well,"
says Mallwalkers saxophonist Norelle Merlo, "was the one time we made a
papier mache dinosaur." The idea was to fill this thing with candy and
condoms, smash it with a guitar at the end of the set, and "all sorts of
things would shower all over the people." Which was a "good
idea," she says, "except at some point someone grabbed a shovel and they were swinging at it and it was above my head."
"They should have expected it," says Chelsea Merlo, Mallwalkers trombonist (and Norelle's sister). It was, after all, New Year's Eve.
Whether it's guitarist Steve Schmitt in white, high-heeled
go-go boots stomping on a janky cardboard model of Buffalo; or playing in front of
a projection of a lady using a tree as a stripper pole; or vague threats from an
apparently sociopathic four-year-old, weird is the norm for Buffalo
punk-and-funk hendectet Mallwalkers (that's ten musicians and one dancer).
Mallwalkers will release their new record, Shake the Rust Off, on August 1, kicking off a late-summer tour at the Polish Library. I can tell
you how many people are in the band (eleven); I can tell you the kind of music
they play (soul/funk revival focused through a lens of Buffalo punk rock); I
can even tell you how they smell ("pleasant"). But as far as what to expect at any given show, your guess is as good as mine. "It's hard to
tell people what to expect when they come in the door," says Chelsea,
"when we, as a band, don't even know."
"EVERYTHING...INCLUDING THE SPACESHIP"
Mallwalkers began as Meth Mouth, a small party band playing
whatever parties they'd been invited to. As Norelle recalls, "we had an unofficial band rule
that if were asked to play a party, we had to play [it]." Meth Mouth played a now-defunct squat called the Honeycomb Hideout.
"More like two sheds," says singer and band leader, Dan Carosa.
"There were tons of crusties that we had never seen before. There was this
boat semi-buried in the lawn, and all these kids were drinking stuff from
two-liter bottles." Somebody had also brought a goat. Or maybe it came
with the house. Who knows. Either way, "that show ended up being really
fun. People were going nuts," says Dan.
Despite the good vibes from the Honeycomb, the band went on
hiatus. "We didn't call Norelle because we thought [she] hated us"
after the goat show, but eventually they reformed, first as Postmouth, then as Mallwalkers. "I spent way too much time on Youtube watching videos of
classic funk bands, everybody and their brother on stage doing something weird.
I never wanted thirteen people in the band, but I [thought] 'oh, I want those
elements [like the horns section]' and that just kind of happened. The elements
of the sound were more important than how many people were in the band."
Since opening for the Screaming Females at Soundlab in early
2011, the Mallwalkers have grown to include two singers (Jamie Rowitsch and Dan
Carosa), two saxophonists (Tony Flamino and Norelle Merlo), Eric (Biff) Bifaro
on trumpet, Chelsea Merlo on trombone, two drummers (Andy Dennison and Jordan
Nittoli) as well as "auxiliary percussion" (Mark Constantino on
glockenspiel and tambourine...or whatever's lying around), Steve Schmitt on guitar,
Stephen Floyd on bass, and a dedicated "dance floor justice," Jenny
Kubicki.
The band is "like an amoeba," says Dan. "It
just started taking on people. We went from six to eleven" members.
"When it started there was an overall vision...of having a horns section,
to be kind of like a funk-soul revival. From watching a lot of Parliament
Funkadelic videos, I just wanted everything that's in that, including the
spaceship."
And anyone can join. "Theoretically," says
Norelle, "if we go out of town and play a show somewhere and someone says
'hey, I brought my tuba and I learned all your songs - can I play with
you?'," they'd be welcomed on stage with the rest of the band. "I
mean, you can't tell someone they can't dance," says Chelsea. "So if someone wants to dance at
our show, then they're a Mallwalker, and they're in the Mallwalkers for that
show."
"Costumes, props, or no," adds Norelle.
And with that many people, it's bound to get weird.
"We definitely had shows where we all agreed they went
over like a fart in church." Shows like the Music is Art Festival in
Delaware Park: "a lot of our friends were there...so the people we knew
were enjoying it and having a good time. But if you look beyond that...there were a lot of white people going 'what the hell are you
doing?'"
"Because of the nature of the band, we can both never
fit on a show but can also kind of play a show," says Dan.
Take last year's benefit at the Squeaky Wheel, where Mallwalkers found themselves surrounded by art installations and videos of
"people eating cereal and puking it up and eating it again," "a
video projection of a woman pole-dancing with a tree," and trippy lighting straight from the blotter of some off-kilter LSD. Mallwalkers showed up
in costume (the theme for that show, they were told, was "Hot Mess," and they dressed accordingly),
but the other acts played it straight. Between the art, the weird lighting, and
feeling so out of place, Chelsea says, "I'd never done the drug, but I
imagine it was like a very bad acid trip."
The weirdest of the weird, though, came after a Columbus, Ohio show,
where the band outnumbered the audience. Driving to their next gig in Lansing,
the band's sixteen-passenger van broke down somewhere outside a dry town in
northwest Ohio.
"We wound up in Vanlue." recalls Chelsea.
"You don't know where it is. Because we don't know where it is. We had so
many people and so much shit," including gear and bric-a-brac members of the band had purchased at "an incredible yard sale."
"I was fully willing to leave my lamp in the middle of
nowhere, but Biff insisted that we bring it because he's a really great person.
I bought this wooden orb thing, but it was big, so it was tough to bring
home."
Then came "a bizarre series of events that involved [a family-sized golf cart] and three little girls [we thought] were
gonna murder us, then they showed us their horse barn."
After their van had broken down, the band found themselves at
a garage in an Ohio hamlet. "This town has probably, like, 50 people
in it," says Dan (and he's not far of: 359, according to the 2010 census).
"Us being dropped in this town was easily the most exciting thing that's
happened [there] in six months. Everyone was like, 'what's going on?
here's 10 random weirdos.'"
"Every single one of [the townspeople] passed by us" while they
were on the side of the road, adds Chelsea. It was a creepy vibe. "Some of us thought we were gonna die,
get murdered."
It was then that Dan noticed the family in the
golf cart, circling the field next to the mechanic's shop. As Chelsea remembers it, "we're at the garage
waiting for a diagnosis from this mechanic, and there's three little girls, a
husband and a wife, they roll up in their golf cart, they're assessing the
situation," when the youngest girl asks the band if they'd like to see the family's
horses. "Then comes the lapse of judgment where Norelle and I got on the
golf cart being driven by a four-year-old, and, once again, feared for our
lives. We made it to the horse farm." Then the youngest girl turns
to Norelle and says, (wearing what I imagine is a Damien-like expression, devoid of all human feeling - a look only young, golf-cart driving maniacs can pull off) "we never saw you." "I thought we were
gonna die," says Norelle.
"PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND JIGGLE THOSE CHEEKS"
Eventually, after making some Hail Mary phone calls, the
Mallwalkers got in touch with a couple friends in Buffalo, the saintly souls (Ryan McMullen and John
Toohill) who made the eleven-hour round trip from Buffalo to Middle of Nowhere,
Ohio, and back again.
"They picked us up at six o'clock in the morning. We
had eleven people in a seven-passenger van, with all our shit, including the
garage sale stuff. By the time we packed it in...the hitch was dragging
on the ground," remembers Chelsea.
Happily, everyone got home safely, just in time to drop
their driver/savior off at work. The experience was harrowing. But, if anything, it brought the band closer. By the end of
the trip, Norelle could "identify all members of [Mallwalkers] by their body
odor, just because of how close we were...very pleasant smelling band." They were even invited back to Vanlue's annual family picnic - the one time of the year alcohol is served in town.
"It's worth it in the long run," says Chelsea, "because
when it works, it works."
And when it works, it's infectious.
My experience with Mallwalkers was at last year's Decency Rally at the Polish Library. Before their set,
Mallwalkers distributed picket signs to the audience (which read "GERIATRIC
TACO," "MERITRICOUS APEMAN," "SAD SUPER COMPUTER,"
etc.). I was pretty far gone on Zywiec beer, but I remember dancing my ass off.
And it wasn't just me. Everyone got down that night. Which maybe explains why it was Chelsea's favorite show.
"If you just want to be a weirdo," she says,
"come to a show and either bring a tambourine, or bring your booty and
shake it. Mallwakers has open enrollment."
"If you're not gonna dance, go back home," says
Norelle.
That's maybe a bit harsh. Chelsea qualifies: "you can
try your very hardest to keep a straight face [at one of our shows], but you'll probably walk out
either laughing or smiling...if you're ready to have fun, we can assist."
If you are, in fact, ready to cut loose on August 1, you can
catch Mallwalkers for another round at the Polish Library. While you're there, pick up a copy of their newest release, Shake the
Rust Off, and wish Buffalo's funk-rock allstars bon voyage as they kick off
their latest tour.
Who knows what they've got planned - I'm sure they don't even know. But you'd better be ready, as Jamie puts it, to "put your hands up and jiggle those cheeks!"
~ Photo by Ethan Calabrese Photography
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