Power Lloyd is the most unsuspectingly sexual band in Washington, D.C.
I'll get back to that in a minute. First, let me tell you the Power Lloyd story. Two guys meet in the Coast Guard (what did I tell you?) One is a skilled guitar player. The other is half-drunk. They go to Ohio and record an album over two weekends with Don Depew (Guided by Voices producer). It is a successful embodiment of post-suburban reflections. Power Lloyd adds a drummer, bass, and second guitar player. Power Lloyd plays their first show at the Grog and Tankard (who in this town, doesn't?) Power Lloyd plays their second show at the Velvet Lounge. MTV selects one of their songs for Celebrity Death Match. Power Lloyd plays their third show at the Bayou.
Allow me to extrapolate. Power Lloyd plays their fourth show at the MCI Center. Power Lloyd plays their fifth show in Buenos Aires for a larger crowd than the Pope receives. Ginger Spice leaves the group. Power Lloyd makes a movie. The singer meets a Japanese performance artist and is ostracized from the group. Power Lloyd breaks up. The guitar player forms Turbo Lloyd. The drummer sues and the guitar player has to change the name to Turbo. The bassist sues and the guitar player has to change the name to Turb. The singer is caught pick-pocketing at rodeos in Calgary to support his cooking sherry habit. He poses for Playboy. They all find god. They all gain 140 pounds and lose their hair. They reunite. VH1 does a special.
The album version of Power Lloyd is Gene Diotalevi (strings) and David DePippo (half-drunk), a visually unassuming and modest pair. Sticks are handled alternately by a drum machine and a session man. In concert, drums are handled by the large Ryan Washington. Rob Carter and Bill Heck round out the bass and second guitar of things.
Power Lloyd performs power pop from the left end of the pop spectrum - in the neighborhood of the self-mocking and sarcastic wave lengths occupied by the Pixies, Husker Du, Foo Fighters, old Juliana Hatfield and the sort.
The album Election Day is a suburban masterpiece. It is spawned from the soullessness (?) and boredom inherent in the endless suburbs that myriad 20somethings (shoot me for using that word) suffered through before moving to, well, in this case, the urban jungle of Alexandria, VA. It is thick with screaming guitars and self-deprecating, searching lyrics.
The strength of the album lies in Diotalevi's versatility as a guitar player and DePippo's crystal clear, chortling, occasionally diesel-fueled voice. Diotalevi runs the gamut from your garden variety power chords to "Lightning Sunrays" closing Southern Rock guitar licks to the satirically perfect pop chops and solo on "Little Yellow Pill." DePippo ranges similarly from a tinny Rivers Cuomo to pure Dickie Moist on the hardcore `Thirty-four.'
The album's highlights are the brief but horrifying opener "Save My Soul" (which is either Fugazi-friendly straight-edge or so twisted that even I missed the irony), "Lightning Sunray," an enlightened mix of Sugar and Skynryd, and "Suburbia," the anthemic and chantable tirade which forms the philosophic cornerstone of the album.
The Power Lloyd live show is fused with energy. Their is a palpable chemistry between all five members of the band which translates into a relaxed and goofy time for audience participants. DePippo holds the spotlight with quick-witted antics and audience goading. Diotalevi serves as a humble and able band leader who chimes in with the other members on the shouted choruses but otherwise remains silent. In addition to their own deliciously catchy songs they inject covers by Elvis and the Dead Kennedys. For a band who has made less than a handful of live appearances, Power Lloyd attracts an attentive and loyal crowd. Shows at which they appear in the middle of the line up will clear out after the Power Lloyd set.
Now onto the sex. How is it that five whitebread, apple-pie loving guys akin to the types who used to pump your gas become such sexual beasts? For one, in concert, Power Lloyd performs in Devo-esque uniform. Which immediately begs the question "do they shower together?"
Complicate things with Half-Drunk Dave's propensity toward women's clothing (especially underwear) and his tendency to strip on-stage and you have a hell bent trans-gender fantasy on your hands. Complicate things even more with his beautiful legs are you're stuck with a full-on sexual dilemma. His clumsy and boyish charm can upstage not only his own band but any budding romances in the audience. Their visual plays on gender-bending are throughly entertaining.
Or as my photographer said, "If he'd just shave his legs, I'd..." Check that. You don't want to know.
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