I am the least qualified person with the greatest conflict of interest to review bands in Washington, DC. Why? 1) Because I have a band; and 2) I never go out unless I am performing.
So, it was with much undeserved fanfare that my photographer and I polished up the surrey and headed into town for a tax-deductible night in search of A Good Band.
We had two candidates in mind. LAVA, a hip, new, multi-gender trio, and the venerable Smartbomb who were releasing their Karate Rock album Here Comes the Slap Back that night. Conveniently, they were both performing along the New U/New 14th St. Corridors; LAVA at the Velvet Lounge, and Smartbomb at the Metro Cafe.
My photographer, T.Y. Hardaway, came over to the Farm at about 8:30 swathed in the latest digital and chemical photographic devices so as to provide documented proof that we had actually left our compound. This early arrival was intended to provide us with ample time to make it to the Smartbomb pre-show festivities at the Metro Cafe to press some flesh and consume their finger foods which would serve as dinner before running to the east end of U St. to catch LAVA.
But we found ourselves viciously consumed by a public access documentary about lesbians who walked around the Promise Keepers Rally with their shirts off. As it is our duty as Americans to be informed on the issues, we spent an hour transfixed to the glow box. Needless to say we were horrified to discover that 1) most of America confuses lesbians with drug addicts and prostitutes; and 2) the best looking lesbians leave their shirts on.
By the time we muscled away from the TV we had missed the entire Smartbomb pre-show and headed directly to the Velvet Lounge forgetting all of our much needed photographic equipment back at the Farm.
Parking in along these nightlife corridors is an exercise in futility.
The key is possessing an Escherian-sense of spatial relations and a
gambler's intuition. The easiest parking requires a sprinter's athleticism - not to park so much as to get away from where you parked - and the hardest parking involves a bucket of Crisco and a very low deductible.
The Velvet Lounge is located near the easy parking at 9th and U St., a block from the 9:30 Club. By virtue of its geography, it is the hippest of the white-rock-centric clubs in the city. With the continued gentrification of areas further west (since when did Adams Morgan become Georgetown?) the uber-hip fringe of white society has had to flee further and further east to more marginal neighborhoods.
Chris Connelly, who runs the Velvet Lounge, has made it into a haven for local bands to get their start and to build a following. It is one of the few places in town where people will go to hear Music, regardless of who is playing. The warm decorating and soft furniture create an insulated room of love; a boon for LAVA on their debut night.
LAVA is the second phoenix of Kismet, the demised Virginia art-pop quintet. And where as their cousins in Signs Point to Yes still carry much of the Kismet musical torch, LAVA has abandoned their roots and ventured into a deep, smoky, ethereal lounge sound. Their songs are built around Rebecca Icing's rich, melodic bass lines. Susan Ganley holds down the rhythm section with heavy pop-style drumming. My photographer, a trained, professional, orchestral percussionist, contends that women drummers need to be twice as good as their male counterparts in order to garner any respect. He also contends that Ganley is about twice as good as most other drummers in this city.
Ganley and Icing have recruited an unaffected, utility guitar player named Jeff Asch who selflessly compliments Icing's bass playing with jazzy and talented finger picking. Unlike most male guitar players his age, Asch is capable of keeping his penis out of his six string. His guitar parts are caring and supportive, constructed with greater concern for the good of the song than for his ego.
The band swam in humility as they took to the stage. This was heightened by three minutes of motionless suspense while someone figured out how to turn down the house music.
Silence was broken by a tight, twelve song performance including one cover (Spinal Tap's "Gimme Some Money"). Icing routinely addressed the room as if they were all very close friends - which is entirely possible in a club the size of the Velvet Lounge. The chemistry between her and Ganley is thick. Ganley seems to relish in playing with, or alternately, for Icing. Fancy drum licks were thrown Icing's way followed by acknowledging smirks and grins from behind the drum kit. LAVA's forte is economy. With only three musicians, they make the most out of bare-boned constructions without the fear of stepping all over each other's parts.
All of the following words and sentiments are lifted without editing from a piece of crumpled paper found in my pocket the next morning. Some of them are in my handwriting, some are unidentifiable, perhaps belonging to my photographer.
Jeff has more than ample knuckles...I don't recognize any of the chords he's playing...[sketch of a log cabin next to a willow tree]...i'm gonna drown in my ear plugs, you know...every year there is another frank brown...thirsty...aw jesus it's like I'm giving away reviews...susan has great cymbal felts... "ETC."..."PERFORMANCE"...Dead Angel-The Celery Song...[sketch of a Jeep in the mountains]...* = medley...who's crying?..they all have such nice teeth....forgot words...for the love of god, Luther...forgot melody...asterix dot medley...forgot bass parts...such nice teeth...I'm going to make a prediction, LAVA is the next big thing and if it doesn't happen it's not due to any fault in my predictive abilities but more a result of your retardedness.
Despite my general confusion at the intent of most of these notes, I do stand by the last statement. LAVA IS the next big thing. Their song structure is soothing yet original and their on stage persona is comfortable and endearing.
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