Showing posts with label melanie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label melanie. Show all posts


Interview: Cosmic Shakedown


When I interviewed Cosmic Shakedown, there was snow on the ground. I met up with them in February just before the first round of BOOM, the Battle of Original Music hosted by Artvoice. Though the band did not progress to the next round of the competition, Cosmic Shakedown has remained extremely active and is currently in the process of recording two new double EP’s. 

The band is united around some unique ideas: atheism/pantheism, “dirty” rock and roll, and their namesake, the concept of a “cosmic shakedown.” As the band explained during their interview:

Larry: "We all come from stardust. Our influences are life—we generalize that, but when you think cosmic, you think of life. The stars, the universe everything—we’re just trying to create a ripple."

Tony: "When you center it down, we’re on this rock floating through shit. Religion and shit—it’s all a what-if—we’re smaller than a speck. It makes you want to put more in—to put the best in. We’re just earthlings, whether it’s nothing, or whether it’s everything, we don’t know. Zoom in, we’re guys making music. That’s the name. It’s cosmic, but shake it all down, and it’s small." 

Shea: "And here I thought it just sounded cool…"

Tony: "Well, that too—"

Brought together, these themes create a very pure rock sound; the Hendrix influence is very strong in their music, channeling the essence of sixties rock and roll. When I watched them practice in February, you would have thought they were playing for a crowd of ten thousand at a huge outdoor arena, instead of for one person in a cramped basement room in Orchard Park. The entire band was all smiles and intensity, thoroughly enjoying the moment even though the audience was literally one person and a cat. (and I have reason to believe the cat wasn’t listening) 

The new EP’s are four songs each and are being recorded separately—one by the band, and the other by Joe Orlando at Mammoth Recording Studios. Orlando calls the music, “…high energy, played by four guys who seem like brothers.” The EP’s are due out in early May, but the band will also be performing at Nietches with the B-Side Dubs on April 26th. Cosmic Shakedown is the epitome of blue-collar music—funky and vital sounds, elements that are both groovy and hard-hitting, but occasionally light and refreshing. Much like Buffalo, the music is dirty, fun, and familiar. In three words: rust belt rock. 



~ Melanie Donofrio


Zen and the Art of Punk


Flower House, most days, is just your average college house in the Heights. It is the home of two bands - On the Cinder and Uncommonly Smooth - who share members, housework, and three mismatched, upcycled couches. Most days it is pretty unremarkable; twenty-something year old musicians sitting around playing darts and arguing over lyrics. Unlike its harder punk brethren, The Turnaround and Northrup Place, it has not been established long enough to have a steady stream of well-connected social circles trickling through its doors; it is more manicured and less ratty than one might expect. In the house show world, Flower House is literally the new kid on the block. Concerts here provide that special kind of connection between musicians and audiences that simply cannot be replicated at more formal venues.

Let me paint you a picture with my words: it is a hot Saturday night in June or July. You could go drinking at The Steer again, but you received a Facebook invitation from a friend of a friend of a friend to attend a random house show on Flower Street. It is close enough to the regular watering hole that if the show sucks, you can bail any time by taking a walk up the street. Turning at Parkside Candies, you hang a right at the fork, hearing the music faintly as you approach the house.

A guy greets you. He says his name is Mike. You shake his hand, perhaps recognizing him as the front man for the now-dissolved band The Steakouts. You give him two dollars (the profits go towards keeping a traveling band on the road) and walk down the basement stairs. Twenty people are crammed into a small, dark room with chalk covered walls. Everything around you is lit up with every conceivable type of novelty light: disco ball, Christmas, strobe. Depending on the season, it is probably oppressively hot, but the fact that everyone is dripping sweat somehow adds to the authenticity of a good old-fashioned basement show.

While the first band plays, everyone is slow to dance. It isn’t until the dollar beers and punch start going that the party really heats up. By the second band, there is some mild hip swaying. By the third, everyone is ecstatic and slightly drunk. Once the fourth and final band starts, all bets are off. Through the power of punk hive mind, the moshing and circle skanks begin in full force. Whether you’re drinking or not, this type of community represents a unique sort of culture; it is one of the fabled hosts of the pierced and tattooed libertines that occupy the secret fantasies of so many bored Americans. There is kicking; there is punching. None of it is intentional or personal, just the product of people letting loose; of frustrated bodies in motion smashing together. You might even say it resembles something out of your science textbook; excitable particles colliding with one another in a chaotic, but controlled, pattern—a small miracle. Is it any wonder that people compare concerts to spiritual experiences?  

By the end of the night, when everyone is liquored up and exhausted, the party moves upstairs—no DD necessary. The separation between musicians and audience completely dissipates, leaving a group of partygoers high on music and who knows what else. Everyone mingles, discussing the show, finding common ground; hooking up and sharing cigarettes. Some people stay in the basement for a game of beer pong or continue to add to the chalk mural that is slowly overtaking the basement. Whether it be from adrenaline or alcohol, a transformation always takes place; what begins as a group of almost-strangers too afraid to dance in front of each other becomes a family of long-lost friends.

The next show for Flower House is yet unplanned. If you would like to be in the know, friend one (or both) of the bands on Facebook. Even when playing at a more traditional location, the music is pretty solid and worth a listen, especially if you like punk or ska. And if you get a chance, definitely show up to a Flower House event for a non-traditional course on punk and the art of Zen.

~Melanie Donofrio



Tonight: Radiation


Once a month, The Underground (274 Delaware), normally a gay club in downtown Buffalo, hosts a very unique dance party. Radiation is Facebook-described as being a host for, “ebm/aggrotech/goth/new wave/indie electro and more.” Last month, I attended out of curiosity, and was pleasantly surprised at how friendly and welcoming a crowd of corseted and BDSM bedazzled goths could be. Though I am not overly familiar with techno and electronica, I found the change of pace to be exhilarating. Going to Radiation is a bit like spicing up your everyday lunch menu—most of the time, you are happy with plain chicken sandwiches, but every once in a while, you enjoy a SOUL CONSUMING BLACK WASTELAND ON WHEAT. Just kidding—it is more like your run-of-the-mill dance party with plenty of gussied up neo-Victorian fashion enthusiasts. Very different, but definitely a good time. No cover, just come in, buy a beer, and enjoy something new.  Music runs from 11pm-4am.





~Melanie Donofrio


Love, Ire, and Song


It is Wednesday, February 13, 2013.

I have been twenty-two years old for two days. In those two days, I have managed to ruin relationships with three of the most important people in my life. During my birthday party, I got drunk enough to punch a very good friend in the face. This I did for reasons still unknown to anyone but my drunk-self. Prior to that, I broke up with my boyfriend, and in practically the same hour, confirmed that another good friend of mine was avoiding me. The sense of loss is overwhelming, but I try to remain upbeat and productive. I go to my favorite Spot Coffee on Chippewa for an interview with a local band. I am hoping that the distraction will help me forget my troubles, but my bad luck has yet to run out.

The band I am interviewing, CrashFuse, recognizes me as soon as they walk in. “Hey” the singer says, “You were at our show this summer at The Steak House.”

The Steak House is on Flower Street. It belongs to the friends I pissed off.

“Yeah,” I say. We chat for a bit about that particular show, one of their first. We enthusiastically reminisce about minor details; the toxic punch made from Kool-Aid and Mister Boston; the inexplicable coincidence of two bands covering songs from late nineties boy bands; my atrocious pink faux-hawk and thrift store boots; the awkward jazz band that played between sets of punkers; cramming twenty people in a basement on a hot July night with no air-conditioning; the drunk chalk drawings on the wall.

To sane people, this may sound like a special kind of hell, but to anyone who knows and loves the scene, shows like this are what we live for; the grit, the sweat, the passion, the weirdness; long nights and hoarse voices. It is all part of the music, and the music is part of us. Something about it is unlike any other high you could possibly chase. While talking about Mohawk Street on Buffablog, one commentator described the beloved-but-now-defunct venue as the place he realized that personal transcendence can only be achieved at a show. Could this statement be any truer? If I have ever felt infinite, it was definitely at a concert.

Before they leave, the band asks me when they can play The Steak House again. I tell them I don’t know. The original band, The Steak Outs, has recently fractured into two new bands and the future of the venue is uncertain. They leave the coffee shop so I can write.

Despite everything, I find myself unable to focus on the Cosmic Shakedown article that I have been putting off for two weeks. Instead, my weary mind drifts back to ruined friendships.

You see, everyone at 42 Flower Street loves music; currently, two bands reside there. The basement hosts Uncommonly Smooth, a band cheerfully carrying on the legacy of third wave ska. On the Cinder is a new punk band that practices in the attic, the bedroom and make-shift recording studio of the friend I punched in the face. Both bands share living space, utilities, and yes, even members. It is a unique set-up, one that encourages a constant flow of creative energy that other bands can only dream about. I miss visiting there. I miss my friends, and I miss the music. At 42 Flower Street, music and friendship is the same thing.

I reflect on the interview I just conducted while watching the hipster barista vacuum the floor of the coffee shop. I think she might have been at Anti-Warped Tour, an incredible show held at the Occupy Buffalo house last July. I remember how I adopted a traveling crust-punk hippie that night, much to the chagrin of the band members I surprised when I brought her home. I recall how the friend currently avoiding me sunk down into the couch with a growl. “Fucking hippies…” he muttered, as the dread-locked traveler explained about manifestation: “Like, the government uses it man, to control the weather. They tell ten thousand people on the weather channel that it’s gonna rain, and then like, it rains, man. When you want something, when you focus on it hard enough, it just like, it happens, you know? If you want it, really want it, it manifests.” I think about my friends. They do not manifest. Fucking hippies.

I get up to use the restroom. The writing on the bathroom wall says, “Boundaries, always boundaries—and the longing for infinite space” next to a scribbled picture of some continents. Boundaries: something I always seem to be overstepping. I never know the protocol; I just say what I feel and do what I want, hoping I don’t hurt anyone along the way. But that’s why I love music: pushing is encouraged.

I can hear The Fratellis playing softly through the speakers. I can just barely make out some of the lyrics:

“Faces that you know the best, oh well… I guess.”

Mutual passion for music has introduced me to some of the most intense and rewarding relationships that I have ever experienced, even if they were temporary. Whether it was skanking at The Bosstones down at The Harbor, or singing “99 Red Balloons” in the car on the way to a party, my life has been defined by music and the relationships it has brought me. Even my now ex-boyfriend and I initially bonded over a mutual, nerdy appreciation for hip-hop.

But beyond love, music has brought me something I find even harder to come by on a day to day basis: connection. It is not every day that I feel totally part of the human race. In fact, most days, I am pretty sure that I am some sort of alien. With music, all that young adult terror drops away for a second. I am just a human among other humans, but also part of the universe—and the universe is part of us.

I am barely more certain about what comes next in my life then I did when I was a scared 18 year-old, moving three hours away from my small hometown in Ohio. During that transition, about the only thing that stayed familiar was music—and now, as I get ready to transition yet again, the importance of that has only increased. I do not know what tomorrow brings.

We are three hours into Valentine’s Day 2013 as I finish this article. I have been 22, by now, for three days. Recently, I lost three very important people in my life. However, as if by providence (or manifestation if you believe in such a thing) I have been delivered to my three true loves with remarkable clarity: music, writing, and the people that inspire them.

~Melanie Donofrio


Artvoice BOOM Artist Interview: The Blue Ribbon Bastards


The ride there is a long one. I am already an hour late, trying to navigate my way through a snowstorm without the convenience of a GPS, my glasses, or a right turn signal. By the time I find myself in suburban Orchard Park, I am in no mood to be anywhere other than bed. I shuffle up the driveway, already skeptical that the house—looking very much like my grandmother decorated it—could host any sort of music that would make the ride worth it. I knock on the door. A man with a long orange beard answers. He leads me through the house, which is the decorated in the same old fashioned way as the outside.

I am stunned. Everyone is playing a beautiful instrument.  I am so used to seeing the salvaged looking guitars and drum kits that you run into at punk shows that the mint green guitar and stunning black and red upright bass catch me by surprise. In fact, the whole band gives off the same neat, meticulous vibe. Wearing cuffed jeans and buddy holly glasses, The Blue Ribbon Bastards style is as slick as their hair.

Interviewing all five band members, however, is anything but organized. Everyone is talkative and enthusiastic, agreeing on some points, but cheerfully disagreeing on others. They talk over each other as frequently as they finish each other’s sentences.

So how did you guys meet?

Drew is the first to answer. “I have known Jonny for ten years. I met him at a psychobilly concert back in the day. We used to go to the scene shows. I don’t know how the hell I met Wade, but Jonny and Wade have been friends for several years. We decided collectively we wanted to start a band. We really like drinking together, so we figured we’d do something constructive while we drink, instead of just getting hangovers.”

He looks over playfully at the youngest member of the band, Steve.
“Now lemme tell ya’ about Steve…”
“You don’t have to tell them about me…”
“When I met him, he had a swoopy Bieber bang…”
“You don’t have to write this down…”
“Yes you do. He was doing this—“ he swoops his imaginary hair from his face, “and then he came in, and he shredded.”

They improvise the story as they go, working off each other. Watching them speak makes it easy to see how their music comes together.

“I’ve played in every kind of band” Steve says, “—emo, I guess, metal, punk—I’ve always played rockabilly but never had anyone to play with. The topic of guitar came up, they invited me to play—“
“But we didn’t have a drummer…” Drew adds.
“We had three guitarists and an upright. Eventually, that turned into two guitarists, one vocalist, and an upright— no drummer. But we had five original songs, so we thought, hey, let’s do an EP. Our first one was Songs to Rob Trains To. We did a five song EP in winter of ‘09 out in Cheektowaga. My friend had a studio in his attic, so we did that, got the word out. We wanted to put stuff on Myspace, or whatever was popular at the time. We wanted to get our music out there to find a drummer—put an ad out, didn’t find anything we liked. But five months later…”

Wade jumps in. “My uncle is a tattoo artist, and was talking about rockabilly. Shot Jay my number…”
Jay adds, “I’ve been playing drums for 27 years now, since third grade. I was a snare in marching band.”

“And that’s how Jay got involved. He for some reason liked us—“
“To this day, I still don’t know what it is.”

The jokes continue rapid fire until I almost forget I’m doing an interview. Every other second, someone is cracking me up. For instance, when talking about the rockabilly a-list trio Reverend Horton Heat—

“They were on guitar hero!”
“I’m guitar hero… every evening. I’m really good at it. I’m better than you, Steve.”
And on describing the music they play, and the rockabilly scene in general—

“We play music your parents might like.”

It is a fun interview, by the end of which, I have come to appreciate the aesthetic they are trying to emulate. If all you know about the fifties music comes from Grease, then I suggest you take a look The Blue Ribbon Bastards. In a local scene saturated with rock and blues, the energy this band brings to the stage is unique. They keep the mood light and the pace fast.

 “It isn’t just about music. It’s about performance,” Jay says, “No one stands still, we all dance, we all move around. If we’re all into it, and energetic, then the crowd gets into it.

Of course if you don’t like them...

“We played a show at Diablo, and Wade walks out and introduces the band. ‘We’re the Blue Ribbon Bastards from Buffalo, New York. And if you don’t like us—you can go fuck yourself!’”

Steve laughs, then clarifies “No matter how much you think we suck, you can tell we’re passionate about it. Bottom line is: we play music we love playing. And we don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it. “

Drew agrees. “We’re not doing this for any reason other than we like to do it. New music has the problem of being an image thing. We just did this to make our drinking problem less evident.”

They all laugh again, working their way through a few cans of their namesake, when Steve suddenly gets serious.

“But really, make sure you say that I haven’t done emo since high school—and only because I never had anyone to play with.”


~Melanie Donofrio


Tonight: Artvoice BOOM



Tonight at Nietzsche's is going to be weird. The first four bands in the Artvoice BOOM Contest are going head to head in a battle of original music. The lineup includes bands from a variety of different genres—from rock to rockabilly, and one whiskey soaked guitar, the night has something for everyone at a $5 cover.
            
Cosmic Shakedown is going to kick things off at ten. This funky and soulful band specializes in what they call rustbelt rock; a gritty local take on more traditional rock and roll fare. If you’re already feeling nostalgic for Mohawk Place, their intentionally dirty sound will definitely take you back to the beloved venue, if only for the night.
            
After that, The Blue Ribbon Bastards take the stage. Their unique rockabilly sound is something hard to find in the Buffalo area, unless you avidly follow the genre or the hotrod scene. If you think that hillbilly rock is a little too hick for you, or have some sort of long standing qualm against anything country, I urge you to reconsider. Of all the bands playing on Saturday, these are the guys you want to dance too—I mean, really dance. Any moves that would be at home at a sock hop are appropriate here.
            
After that are Randle and the Late Night Scandal and local favorite Super Killer Robots. Both bands have totally different sounds. If you want to know more, check out my interviews here on buffaBLOG.
            
If you’re looking for something new, I suggest this show; it’s like a sample platter of local music. Come out and vote for your favorite band so they can progress to the next round. Remember, the winner of BOOM gets a $5000 prize—and in this scene, that’s huge. In the end, however, it’s all about supporting local music and making Buffalo the best city it can be for artists and for fans. 



~Melanie Donofrio



Artvoice BOOM Artist Interview: Super Killer Robots


The Tudor Lounge, despite being located just off Chippewa Street in downtown Buffalo, has the friendly feel of a neighborhood bar. While most other venues on the “Chip Strip” decorate themselves in the neon glam style common to the club scene, the Tudor Lounge is a familiar dive even if you’ve never been there. On this Wednesday night, a group of regulars is gathered around the bar. The small stage behind them is empty. Come Friday, though, and you can enjoy a beer at Blues Night, or for something a little more energetic, you can see a show every Saturday for no more than five dollars. At the moment, however, the only music comes from the jukebox, which is playing everything from Coheed and Cambria to Megadeth.

I walk into the bar not knowing who I am supposed to be meeting; Super Killer Robots is the second winner of the BOOM contest hosted by Art Voice, but I have forgotten to get a phone number or even look at a facebook photo for reference. Trying to appear confident, I approach the bartender. I’m hoping that he can show me who I am supposed to interview.

“Super Killer Robots?” he says, apparently contemplating my question very deeply, “Hey, yeah—I think I know those guys! Hi, I’m Chris, I’m the guitar player. Hey Jim—the girl from buffaBLOG is here.”

From there, we get to it:

What kind of music do you guys play?

Chris pauses, “That’s always tough…”

Jim Candytree, who is also the lead singer of another local Buffalo band, Whiskey Reverb, comes to his aid. “We always do what feels good, blend together what we like—I was a grunge kid growing up, I like Celtic rock as well—little bit of everything…”

“I love Super Killer Robots!” shouts a man at the bar, cutting him off with a big smile.

“That’s Kenny,” says Chris, “Kenny is our star actor, we make him wear speedos.” He laughs off the interruption.

Can you tell me about your name?

“We stole the name from a friend—he said it years ago and never used it—and we stole it. The best band name I’ve ever heard in my life.”

There is a brief pause. The only voices are coming from the jukebox. Jim and Chris seem reluctant to talk about their music, and I have no idea how to pull a story from them. Kenny is still sitting at the bar, still smiling, but no longer interested in what his friends are saying.

Can you tell me about your fans? What are they like?

They both light up, and suddenly it is all chatter. Jim jumps in with enthusiasm, “Weirdos— awesome weird people. There is an older lady named Sissy— she’s like 60, always in the front row with the kids.  Bikers, college kids, all sorts—we try to offend people, but you know it doesn’t work. Hippies and hipsters love us.”

“Core fans are called the rags. Someone called them that at some point in another band, and it just caught on. ‘We’re cleaning up the world one rag at a time!’ It’s kinda expanded into the scene—Randle [Randle and the Late Night Scandal] is part of the rags. They all have names—hopeful stuff.”

“I don’t have a rag name,” sighs Chris with mock disappointment.

Jim teases him, “I’m Tree Rag. My buddy, he’s a big dude, an awesome shredder.  He’s in his own band, Metal Mountain Trio. He has my favorite— we call him Mount Ragmore.”

Both Jim and Chris talk fondly about other local artists, gushing about Grace Stumberg and musicians they met at the Occupy Buffalo movement. When Rush comes on the jukebox, we begin to avidly discuss the merits of the power trio, and the failings of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They are humble, not rock stars, the exact sort of thing you would expect from a dive bar: friendly guys who love music and love the local scene. They may sound like Rage Against the Machine, but these are definitely people who will sit down and have a beer with you. “No attitude, we don’t want the negativity,” as Chris puts it.

When we finally get back to Super Killer Robots, it is casual, almost by accident. Their music is just another part of the conversation, squeezed in among the dialogue about how Tuxedo with Jackie Chan might be the worst movie ever.

“We’ve had some crazy shows,” Jim mentions, “The one here, where I flipped over a walker and landed on a beer bottle the wrong way. It was kinda like a wrestler. Sometimes we have weird props like broken glass. It got stuck in my back, and someone had to pull it out.” 

I am getting ready to go, when I mention that they never really got around to talking about their music. They don’t seem bothered.

“Sometimes I feel like we get a lot of attention—we’re fortunate, so we shout out to our friends, because there are so many bands,” Jim says.

Chris looks around the bar, the place where he works and plays. Clearly, he is at home here. Kenny and all the regulars left about twenty minutes ago. The place is now empty. “We’re big supporters of local, original music. A lot of people don’t go see to see shows, but when they hear the music, they’re amazed. They’re like, ‘Hey, that was pretty good.’ Well stop going to see that 80’s hair band!’” 



~Melanie Donofrio



Artvoice BOOM Artist Interview: Randle and the Late Night Scandals


Above a brewery in Buffalo’s Old First Ward is a nondescript warehouse. The space is large, with exposed brick walls and no heat, but somehow the building still has electricity. The dusty wooden floors are crowded with all the typical band accouterments; amps, microphone stands, a drum kit—all of it illuminated by a single small lamp and about a dozen candles. The lighting is ambient, the windows are frosted, and the mood is laid back. A whiskey bottle is getting passed around before practice. I am doing my first interview with one of Buffalo’s more popular bands, Randle and the Late Night Scandals. Randle was introduced to me by a friend as, “being one of those people who are just excited about life” and so far she is living up to the introduction.

So tell me about your music…
“I would describe us as a vague bastard child of a genre,” she says after a beat, “We do a lot of blues covers but there are few others—Johnny Cash—we’re not a cover band but we’ve always had to do covers-- fucking disco, Led Zeppelin, a mix of everything, pretty much, blues and rock and roll.” 

She turns to her drummer Mike, “What did that one promoter call us?” 

He leans back on an amp as he tries to recall, “‘…a mix of Janice Joplin and Amy Winehouse with a whiskey soaked guitar’ or something like that…” 

Randle nods, “It’s familiar, you know what it is, but you can’t put your finger on what’s a cover and what’s an original.”

Can you tell me about your original music?
“We just like having fun, and whatever comes out, comes out. "Cat Walk Blues"—what the hell is that? "The Boppy New One"—kind of fifties sounding—I think we have a song for every genre—"The Itch" and "Comin’ Undone" are somewhere between the two. We’ve just been throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. I really really really like "Whiskey Pillow"—so much fun to play and crowds really like it.”

 “Don’t Pass Go,” Mike adds with a laugh.

“Oh yeah,” Randle snickers, “When we got arrested—that’s a totally different story—a cautionary tale!”

I heard you guys split not too long ago—is that what "Don’t Pass Go" is about?
“No, the split was different. With the split, I found out I was getting a divorce, I lost my job, and had a really bad night in Rochester—I don’t want to get into it too much, I don’t want to slam people, and it ended really badly. We lost our second guitar player and harmonica player—but really, it was a mercy killing. I have a strong personality, and they have strong personalities, so we both had different ideas about where the band was gonna go. Luke was here, he was the first one to join, and then Mike—we have a different bass player and now Kim—if I were to pick a band in my head, I would pick this band. I think these laid back personalities—you don’t want to be competitive and stomp other bands. If one band opens up the scene, everyone benefits.”

“The moment in Rochester” Mike continues, “it had been building to that—it shouldn’t have gotten to that point, but it did, and everyone aired their stuff at once. It was like nuclear fall-out.” He pauses for a second, “But we came back stronger!”

Randle laughs, “Yeah, the next day, I was booking shows—we took members from Fleet Street and picked up the slack. Fleet Street totally fucking helped us, they were so supportive. We love them, we were gonna to play their wedding, but we lost our bass player.”

“I went to work, and got a text from Amanda that said, ‘We’re gonna stay the course.’ I would have just stayed in bed, but she got up booked up shows.”

“It was like nothing after the split though.  We moved on, and they moved on, did their own thing—it all worked out and all of us are better off.”

Can you tell me about some of your favorite Buffalo venues?
“My favorite venue is Nietzsche’s—they’re very good to us—or McCarthy’s—both them are very nice to us, the crowds are receptive, and they get us in there once a month. That’s where we met Kim.”

Can you tell me more about Kim? She’s being pretty quiet.
“We did a bunch of shows for Infringement Fest, and we went down to Nancy’s art space. [Nietzsche’s] People are wasted at two in the afternoon sitting in a baby pool—it was weird. I look up, and I see Kim—playing along on saxophone…” Randle looks at Kim, asking her to continue.

Kim puts down her saxophone to finish the story, “I hadn’t played for seven years, and I just got dared to do Infringement, and I was warming up and filling up the holes as they practiced, and I wanted to freaking jump up—I was looking at her, and she was looking at me.”

“I told her to stick around; I asked her to come down to see us play…”

“I started watching all their videos, and I said, ‘I want to do this.’”

Randle can no longer contain herself. “She just blasts straight out of the gates. Holy Fuck! We’re blown away about what she’s doing with the song!”

“And Randle comes up to me and says, ‘Kim, I love you—I want to travel the world with you—will you never leave my band?” Kim smiles, “So I didn’t.”

That’s so awesome! You know, I see your logo all up and down Elmwood—even around UB sometimes. What is it?
“Oh, that’s the shame face— our logo is the shame face—our old bass player was always late, and one night, we pinned him down and shame stamped his forehead. Of course, everyone wanted one. We shame stamped the entire bar staff, shame-stamped the entire crowd. People would come up to us and say “spilled my beer” and we would shame stamp them. We shame-stamped people all up and down Elmwood. It was hysterical.”

Is there anything else you guys want to add?
“We are entered in the Art Voice contest, BOOM. There are four total BOOM bands—whoever wins goes to the quarter finals—and in June, there will only be four bands left. We fully intend taking this show on the road, 3 days a week, as far as we can go—we wanna go! If we win [BOOM], that’s a down payment on a little van, or paying for our CDs—it’s a $5000 prize and it would really mean a lot to us. Our first real EP is coming out in March or April—Cheap. Boozy. Dangerous.  We gotta raise about $2000—we’ll have a kick starter— but winning BOOM would mean a lot to us.

EDIT: Since this interview was conducted, Randal and the Late Scandals have progressed to Round 2 of BOOM. They will be playing on January 26th at Nietzsche’s. Make sure to follow the contest, and continue to support local music by voting for your favorite bands.



~Melanie Donofrio