1. I have no fucking idea why rock magazines insist on interviewing "industry insiders" for these kinds of profiles. Are we really supposed to be surprised that the guy who runs the White Stripes' record label thinks the White Stripes are awesome? The inclusion of this quote was not my idea.
2. In retrospect, I truly cannot fathom why this sentiment seemed so controversial at the time.
3. There's one other detail about Jack White that undoubtedly affected this piece: He doesn't trust the media, so his impulse is to contradict anyone he suspects is attempting to manipulate his image. This quality is rare. Most celebrities want to be lead, so they'll agree with any question that intimates an obvious answer; if you ask the average movie actor if his latest performance was more physically demanding than his previous roles, he'll almost always agree that it was (even if it wasn't). Most celebrities want the journalist to like them. White does not; his natural reaction is to disagree with whatever the question seems to suggest. For example, if a reporter says to him, "The guitar playing on this record reminds me of Led Zeppelin," White will immediately claim that he doesn't like Led Zeppelin and that the analogy is weak. However, if that same reporter had said, "Everyone thinks this album sounds like Led Zep, but I think it sounds more like the Stooges," White would say, "Oh really? I'm very influenced by Jimmy Page. This is our Zeppelin record." Within the context of any profile that's supposed to illustrate who he is as a person, there's nothing Jack White won't disagree with.
Someone Like You I've probably written more about tribute bands than any sensible man should. I really like them, though. Tribute bands often reflect what I like about rock 'n' roll more than the authentic bands they replicate.
Dude Rocks Like a Lady (June 2005) "In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man," yowls a waifish rock chick named Brooke Gengras, and three hundred lesbians know exactly what she means (even if I do not). While thundersticks detonate behind her, Brooke goes on to relate how she's had her share of good times and her share of bad times, but she can't seem to manufacture any concern about the woman who left her for a brown-eyed man; here again, the lesbians seem to agree completely. On the other side of the stage, a woman named Steph Payne is wearing dragon pants and carrying a Les Paul guitar and walking backward like Jimmy Page in The Song Remains the Same, The Song Remains the Same, although I don't recall being able to see Jimmy's black bra every time he reared his head back. Fifteen minutes from now, a woman in the audience will invade the stage and attempt to kiss Payne, but Payne will keep playing (in fact, she will play heavier). although I don't recall being able to see Jimmy's black bra every time he reared his head back. Fifteen minutes from now, a woman in the audience will invade the stage and attempt to kiss Payne, but Payne will keep playing (in fact, she will play heavier).
You get the impression this has probably happened before.
We are inside the Supper Club in Times Square; there is a blizzard on the streets of Manhattan, but the amplifiers are melting inside. The Supper Club is hosting a semi-private party for Showtime's lesbian soap opera The L Word, The L Word, and we are experiencing the headline entertainment: Lez Zeppelin, an all-girl tribute to the greatest rock band ever to sing about and we are experiencing the headline entertainment: Lez Zeppelin, an all-girl tribute to the greatest rock band ever to sing about The Hobbit. The Hobbit. Tonight, Lez Zeppelin will play just four songs-"Good Times, Bad Times," "Black Dog," "Whole Lotta Love" (including the theremin solo), and "Rock and Roll." Their replication of these songs is 80 percent flawless and 99 percent awesome. They sound like what would have happened if Heart had somehow written four songs that were all better than "Barracuda." And there are a few jarring moments when it will feel like the most powerful all-female band in rock history is not the Runaways or L7 or Sleater-Kinney; it will feel like the most powerful all-female band in rock history is four women playing cock rock to a room full of hard-drinking, cable-subscribing lesbians. That might sound sexist (and perhaps it is), but it also might be true. Tonight, Lez Zeppelin will play just four songs-"Good Times, Bad Times," "Black Dog," "Whole Lotta Love" (including the theremin solo), and "Rock and Roll." Their replication of these songs is 80 percent flawless and 99 percent awesome. They sound like what would have happened if Heart had somehow written four songs that were all better than "Barracuda." And there are a few jarring moments when it will feel like the most powerful all-female band in rock history is not the Runaways or L7 or Sleater-Kinney; it will feel like the most powerful all-female band in rock history is four women playing cock rock to a room full of hard-drinking, cable-subscribing lesbians. That might sound sexist (and perhaps it is), but it also might be true.
The rise of bands like Lez Zeppelin is the kind of multilayered cultural phenomenon that would make Camille Paglia so ecstatic that her brain would implode. The fact that women can play music originally written and performed by men-and that they can play this music so fluently-should not surprise anyone. What makes this noteworthy is their choice choice to play this music, especially since the majority of successful female tribute bands gravitate toward the most masculine, misogynistic music in pop history. It all feels "political," somehow. Motley Crue glorified "Girls, Girls, Girls," and so does the all-girl Crue tribute Live Wire. Iron Maiden told mothers to bring their daughters to the slaughter, and L.A.'s Iron Maidens make the identical request. There is an all-girl Italian band called KISSexy that even includes a fifth member (she portrays replacement guitarist Vinnie Vincent), apparently so that they can play the KISS songs released after Ace Frehley quit in 1982, most notably "Lick It Up" (which is about licking) and "Fits Like a Glove" (which is not about gloves). And the question that might be even more compelling is why so many guys want to watch girls appropriating dude metal, particularly since the feminine reinvention of a song like "Custard Pie" significantly alters how intimately male audiences can relate to its message. to play this music, especially since the majority of successful female tribute bands gravitate toward the most masculine, misogynistic music in pop history. It all feels "political," somehow. Motley Crue glorified "Girls, Girls, Girls," and so does the all-girl Crue tribute Live Wire. Iron Maiden told mothers to bring their daughters to the slaughter, and L.A.'s Iron Maidens make the identical request. There is an all-girl Italian band called KISSexy that even includes a fifth member (she portrays replacement guitarist Vinnie Vincent), apparently so that they can play the KISS songs released after Ace Frehley quit in 1982, most notably "Lick It Up" (which is about licking) and "Fits Like a Glove" (which is not about gloves). And the question that might be even more compelling is why so many guys want to watch girls appropriating dude metal, particularly since the feminine reinvention of a song like "Custard Pie" significantly alters how intimately male audiences can relate to its message.
Steph Payne thinks she has the answer.
"I have this theory," she tells me a few weeks after the L Word L Word gig. "A contractor was going to do some work in my apartment, and I told him about our band. Well, he flipped out; he told me that he saw Zeppelin at Madison Square Garden in 1973. And this big contractor dude-this heavy-duty, heterosexual bricklayer-told me that Robert Plant was the only man he ever wanted to sleep with. My theory is that there were a lot of guys like this contractor: guys who were sexually turned on by Led Zeppelin, because Page and Plant were fucking beautiful. They were thin, they had long, flowing hair-they looked like girls. My theory is that a lot of male Zeppelin fans really gig. "A contractor was going to do some work in my apartment, and I told him about our band. Well, he flipped out; he told me that he saw Zeppelin at Madison Square Garden in 1973. And this big contractor dude-this heavy-duty, heterosexual bricklayer-told me that Robert Plant was the only man he ever wanted to sleep with. My theory is that there were a lot of guys like this contractor: guys who were sexually turned on by Led Zeppelin, because Page and Plant were fucking beautiful. They were thin, they had long, flowing hair-they looked like girls. My theory is that a lot of male Zeppelin fans really did did want to sleep with Led Zeppelin. So those kinds of guys love the fact that we're girls, because they can watch us play those songs and still feel normal. They can actually go there in their mind without freaking themselves out." want to sleep with Led Zeppelin. So those kinds of guys love the fact that we're girls, because they can watch us play those songs and still feel normal. They can actually go there in their mind without freaking themselves out."
So perhaps this phenomenon is a little less political than it seems.
"We've had to kick guys out of our shows for jacking off," Nici "Riff" Williams tells me, and I am not surprised. Williams plays bass in AC/DShe. "He wasn't just kicked out, but physically dragged out-in a daze-by guys who were a little bit more testosterone-driven than he was. We were playing in a place in Folsom, California, north of Sacramento. The venue has a balcony, and I guess this guy was sitting right above the stage, jacking off. One of the security guards saw him and started to kick his ass. He ended up getting dragged out of the place with his pants down."
I am speaking with both Williams and Amy "Bonny Scott" Ward, the founding members of San Francisco's best-known, all-female tribute to pre-1980 AC/DC. Unlike many of their tribute peers, AC/DShe is not a collection of career musicians who decided to scrap their original bands in the hope of making more money as begrudging copycats; AC/DShe is the only only band Williams and Ward have ever played in. Williams, in fact, had never even picked up a bass until she thought up the name AC/DShe and decided such a group needed to exist. It is not that these women merely love AC/DC-they actually feel a responsibility to make AC/DC more popular. This is their religion. band Williams and Ward have ever played in. Williams, in fact, had never even picked up a bass until she thought up the name AC/DShe and decided such a group needed to exist. It is not that these women merely love AC/DC-they actually feel a responsibility to make AC/DC more popular. This is their religion.
"Our ultimate goal is to spread the gospel of AC/DC," explains Ward. "We are trying to turn people on to AC/DC. A lot of young kids come to our shows. They've never seen AC/DC, but they've grown up on AC/DC because of their parents. There's nothing cooler than playing to a shitload of kids in the front row-kids who are nine or ten, wearing AC/DC shirts, singing all the words. I know that sounds fucking corny, but it's cool. The second goal is to eventually meet AC/DC. I mean, if we could meet AC/DC, then we've achieved everything. And being in this band gives them a reason to want want to meet us. Otherwise, we're just a couple of bimbos going to an AC/DC show, trying to make it backstage. This is the proper way to meet your heroes." to meet us. Otherwise, we're just a couple of bimbos going to an AC/DC show, trying to make it backstage. This is the proper way to meet your heroes."
AC/DShe's motivations are both modest (i.e., meeting a popular rock band) and abstract (making one of the world's most popular bands more popular). This curious brand of pragmatism is probably central to their success-and within the limited confines of the tribute idiom, AC/DShe is just about as successful as possible. They have played to five thousand people in Chicago and more than ten thousand miscreants at biker rallies; they've been flown to Wales to perform at AC/DC's Big Ball, an international festival celebrating the music of Australia's most precious metal. Curiously, they are not the only all-female AC/DC tribute in America; there are at least four others, and Seattle's Hell's Belles are (arguably) just as famous as AC/DShe. Yet Hell's Belles are not AC/DShe's main musical rivals, even though they should be. AC/DShe's main musical rival is Zepparella.
As you may have guessed, Zepparella is another all-female Zeppelin tribute. Two of the women in Zepparella-their lead guitarist and drummer-joined after leaving AC/DShe. It is a complicated situation. These former members of AC/DShe ("Phyllis Rudd" and "Agnes Young") also play in an original band called Bottom, which has opened shows for Zepparella. They wanted to do this while remaining in AC/DShe, which Williams and Ward saw as unacceptable. Both women were reticent to discuss this (inarguably unique) rivalry, but it's clear that some feelings remain bruised.
"The one thing that I will say," Ward adds cautiously, "is that we've always been on the up and up with those girls. We had been playing with them for three years, and it was great. Zepparella is a completely different thing, and a completely different audience. But I do think it's really fucking hard when your Angus Young is also Jimmy Page. I think that the image we portray-you know, the idea that we're doing this simply because we're huge AC/DC fans-would have been tarnished a little bit."
Ward's argument is that someone wanting to simultaneously play in an AC/DC tribute and and a Led Zeppelin tribute is precisely what she hates about other cover bands: that they are not serious about the music they lionize, and that it's simply a financial decision. They are only in it for the money. Ward and Williams (along with AC/DShe rhythm guitarist "Sarracuda" Young) remain focused on what they feel is most important, namely (a) delivering dirty deeds at cut-rate prices; and (b) consistently re-creating Bon Scott's last night on earth. AC/DShe may be better at a Led Zeppelin tribute is precisely what she hates about other cover bands: that they are not serious about the music they lionize, and that it's simply a financial decision. They are only in it for the money. Ward and Williams (along with AC/DShe rhythm guitarist "Sarracuda" Young) remain focused on what they feel is most important, namely (a) delivering dirty deeds at cut-rate prices; and (b) consistently re-creating Bon Scott's last night on earth. AC/DShe may be better at drinking drinking like AC/DC than they are at like AC/DC than they are at sounding sounding like AC/DC. Their rider requests almost nothing beyond Budweiser and Maker's Mark, which they guzzle throughout their performances. Williams notes that there is no bass line during the first and second verse of "Highway to Hell," thereby allowing her to shotgun two beers during one song ("That's kind of my bass solo," she says). These are, in many ways, the kind of women that male AC/DC fans dream about meeting. And though that is not AC/DShe's singular aspiration, it's not something they're ashamed of. like AC/DC. Their rider requests almost nothing beyond Budweiser and Maker's Mark, which they guzzle throughout their performances. Williams notes that there is no bass line during the first and second verse of "Highway to Hell," thereby allowing her to shotgun two beers during one song ("That's kind of my bass solo," she says). These are, in many ways, the kind of women that male AC/DC fans dream about meeting. And though that is not AC/DShe's singular aspiration, it's not something they're ashamed of.
"Some other tribute acts do take this all-girl thing to a totally different level," Ward says. "We were never trying to be political. We would never say, 'We're chicks and we can rock, too!' I mean, of course of course chicks can rock. But there are other all-girl bands where that is absolutely their agenda, and they're feminists and they make feminist statements. We've been asked to play at political events and to do fund-raisers, but we always say no. Our agenda is to have no agenda. Rock 'n' roll has nothing to do with politics. Even if we chicks can rock. But there are other all-girl bands where that is absolutely their agenda, and they're feminists and they make feminist statements. We've been asked to play at political events and to do fund-raisers, but we always say no. Our agenda is to have no agenda. Rock 'n' roll has nothing to do with politics. Even if we agree agree with the politics, we still refuse to do those events, because AC/DC would never do anything like that." with the politics, we still refuse to do those events, because AC/DC would never do anything like that."
Seven years before he sired the fourth-most famous Stroke, Albert Hammond wrote a song about how it never rains in Southern California; according to Hammond's paradoxical lyrics, it actually pours. And it is pouring tonight in Los Angeles as I walk toward Club Vodka to see Cheap Chick, SoCal's finest (and presumably only) all-female Cheap Trick tribute. I am not sure what they will look like, but they are easy to spot: I see four women freaking out over a Nissan mini-van, and one of them is wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and checkerboard sneakers. I walk over to say hello and anticipate meeting four twenty-five-year-old ironists, but these are not the people I encounter. The reason they are freaking out over this minivan is because someone just gave it to them. It was a gift from Nissan, and it's precisely the kind of gift they need.
You see, Cheap Chick are soccer moms.
Well, not all of them, I suppose; only two of them have kids. However, everybody in Cheap Chick is a little older-and a little more sensible-than I expect. "I'm Kristi and I'm forty-one, and I'm proud of being forty-fucking-one," says Kristi Callan, lead singer and mother of two. "I play Robin Zander, and I also edit books for money. I do whatever I can to make money."
It seems that someone from Nissan is a fan of Cheap Chick, so he decided to give them a Nissan Quest as an innovative form of viral marketing: he apparently hopes to rebrand the concept of soccer moms soccer moms into the hipper category of into the hipper category of rocker moms. rocker moms. The members of Cheap Chick seemed like ideal candidates for such an evolution. "Nissan's target market is active moms," says bassist Pamita Neptuna, who also has two children. "They want to appeal to the kind of woman who would be in a rock band. We're not unusual for a band, but we're unusual for moms." As such, the members of Cheap Chick now share a complimentary $30,000 vehicle that would be perfect for touring, if they did, in fact, tour. Which (of course) is something they can't really do, because somebody has to drag the kids to soccer practice twice a week. It's a vicious circle. The members of Cheap Chick seemed like ideal candidates for such an evolution. "Nissan's target market is active moms," says bassist Pamita Neptuna, who also has two children. "They want to appeal to the kind of woman who would be in a rock band. We're not unusual for a band, but we're unusual for moms." As such, the members of Cheap Chick now share a complimentary $30,000 vehicle that would be perfect for touring, if they did, in fact, tour. Which (of course) is something they can't really do, because somebody has to drag the kids to soccer practice twice a week. It's a vicious circle.
Neptuna is the reason Cheap Chick became a reality; the band was her idea, and she handles all the publicity and booking. "My talent does not lie with being a phenomenal bass player," she says. "My true talent is talking people into doing stupid things."
All four members of Cheap Chick had previous careers in music, but all four now hold day jobs. During the 1980s, Callan was in a Bangles-esque group called Wednesday Week who were briefly label mates with the likes of Poison on Enigma Records. In the '90s, drummer Judy Cocuzza played with the cartoonish, all-girl punk-metal outfit Betty Blow-torch (in Cheap Chick, she calls herself Bunni Carlos-a play on Cheap Trick's Bun E. Carlos that can only be appreciated on paper). Guitarist Robin Beacham is both the quietest and sexiest member of the band, and inadvertently the most confusing: because her real first name is Robin, people always assume she portrays singer Robin Zander, even though she actually portrays Rick Nielsen. This is the kind of dilemma nontribute acts never have to worry about. Beacham joined Cheap Chick after declining an opportunity to personify Tony Iommi in the all-female Black Sabbath tribute Mistresses of Reality.
Perhaps because of their ages-or maybe just because of their collective worldview-Cheap Chick seem detached from all the gender-based questions that typically hound any group of women who play music created by men. Though they concede that part of their audience simply wants to watch hot women playing rock music, they find that neither interesting nor insulting. "Growing up, I never thought that I was a girl playing the drums and that there were also guys who played the drums," claims Cocuzza. "I always just thought, I play the drums. I play the drums. It took me a long time to realize that everybody else thinks I'm a girl. I mean, I'm It took me a long time to realize that everybody else thinks I'm a girl. I mean, I'm aware aware that I'm a girl, but it never made a difference to me." that I'm a girl, but it never made a difference to me."
That's a good attitude, especially since Club Vodka is (more or less) a strip club. The bar features two stages: one for Cheap Chick and one for cheap chicks. I assume the strippers will take a break during Cheap Chick's set, but they do not; they inexplicably perform throughout the entire concert. It's a confounding dissonance: while one woman rips through the solo to "Southern Girls" and flicks guitar picks into a mixed audience of 150, another woman (who's literally a Southern girl from Alabama) uses those same riffs to slither like a python against a cold metallic pole. During "He's a Whore," a brunette stripper jumps on the main stage and tries to molest a visibly uncomfortable Beacham, forcing the guitarist to constantly flee the dancer's ridiculously fake breasts. The rest of the band finds this hilarious. It's almost like a bachelorette party, except the soundtrack is power pop.
Cheap Chick close the night with "Surrender" and "Dream Police." Outside on Melrose Avenue, it's still pouring. It's a good thing that this Nissan has antilock brakes.
The first night I watch Lez Zeppelin perform, I presume they are all lesbians. This seems like a valid assumption, inasmuch as (a) they were performing at a party for The L Word, The L Word, and (b) they are in a band called Lez Zeppelin. After I interview the band in a Manhattan rehearsal space, I decide that my initial math was wrong; I decide that two of them are lesbians and two of them are not. When I see them a third time, I realize that three of them are totally straight (and at least two are totally married). In fact, they might and (b) they are in a band called Lez Zeppelin. After I interview the band in a Manhattan rehearsal space, I decide that my initial math was wrong; I decide that two of them are lesbians and two of them are not. When I see them a third time, I realize that three of them are totally straight (and at least two are totally married). In fact, they might all all be straight, for all I know. This is their "mystery," much like the way the real Led Zeppelin refused to admit whether or not they had sold their souls to the devil in order to receive supernatural rocking power and/or a higher royalty rate from Atlantic Records. be straight, for all I know. This is their "mystery," much like the way the real Led Zeppelin refused to admit whether or not they had sold their souls to the devil in order to receive supernatural rocking power and/or a higher royalty rate from Atlantic Records.
"Definitely maybe not," says drummer Wendy Kershen when I first ask if Lez Zeppelin are predominantly (or partially) homosexual. "But maybe. Maybe, or maybe not. Actually, I had to have a sex change to join this band."
As it turns out, the name Lez Zeppelin is a marketing tool. According to the band, it was simply the cleverest linguistic manipulation they could think of. However, it's clear that Payne-a former rock writer for NME NME and and Rolling Stone Rolling Stone-understands exactly what she is doing. "Our gender is definitely an important part of what we do, but it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with us being lesbians," she says. "There is certainly some unusual power in the idea of girls playing this particular music, and that doesn't have anything to do with whether or not those girls are gay or straight. It's just the profound intensity of females playing cock rock."
Because Lez Zeppelin live in New York City, they exist in something of a bubble; they don't face much artistic opposition. On the West Coast, Cheap Chick and AC/DShe are surrounded by the hordes of tribute acts (both male and female) who now dominate the Sunset Strip (on the same night I saw Cheap Chick, the opening band was Nirvana tribute Penny Royal-and both were competing against nearby shows by the Skid Row tribute Monkey Business, the Black Sabbath tribute Wicked World, the ELP tribute Knife Edge, and the Rolling Stones tribute Sticky Fingers). This is not the case in New York, where the scene is less visible. Payne found Kershen by placing an advertisement in Drummer Girl Drummer Girl magazine; in a bizarre (and possibly unbelievable) case of serendipity, Kershen had just given up on forming an original band and locked herself inside a studio, hoping to learn John Bonham's drum fills. Payne (who once toured as a backing musician for erstwhile girl grouper Ronnie Spector) had already hooked up with Lisa Brigantino, who-weirdly-played bass, organ, and mandolin, which happen to be all the same instruments John Paul Jones played in Zeppelin. What's even more coincidental is that Brigantino delivers the kind of droll commentary you'd expect to hear from John Paul Jones, assuming J.P.J. wasn't British and possessed ovaries: she is entirely professional and relentlessly understated. magazine; in a bizarre (and possibly unbelievable) case of serendipity, Kershen had just given up on forming an original band and locked herself inside a studio, hoping to learn John Bonham's drum fills. Payne (who once toured as a backing musician for erstwhile girl grouper Ronnie Spector) had already hooked up with Lisa Brigantino, who-weirdly-played bass, organ, and mandolin, which happen to be all the same instruments John Paul Jones played in Zeppelin. What's even more coincidental is that Brigantino delivers the kind of droll commentary you'd expect to hear from John Paul Jones, assuming J.P.J. wasn't British and possessed ovaries: she is entirely professional and relentlessly understated.
"When Steph told me about her idea to play this music-which I was familiar with, but not to the extent of the other three-it intrigued me, and it seemed like a challenge," Brig-antino says, slightly bored by the question. "It seemed like a way to increase my musicianship, and it created an opportunity to play several instruments every night. Historically, women in rock are rarely seen as instrumentalists, and that is what we're trying to achieve. These songs are intricate and heavy and wonderful to play. As someone who grew up playing a lot of different instruments, I caught a lot of flak from guys and always felt this pressure to prove myself, simply because I was a woman and no one expected me to be any good."
As Brigantino explains her motives for reinventing "Trampled Underfoot" for audiences who reflexively adore the original, the meaning of Lez Zeppelin (once again) starts to seem philosophical; she is trying to prove a point, and that point is tangibly tied to her femininity. So maybe this trend does mean something; maybe all-female tribute bands really are are political. But then I start chatting with Lez singer Brooke Gengras, and I realize I may be overthinking all of this. There is a point to Lez Zeppelin, but it has nothing to do with the political. But then I start chatting with Lez singer Brooke Gengras, and I realize I may be overthinking all of this. There is a point to Lez Zeppelin, but it has nothing to do with the Lez Lez and everything to do with the and everything to do with the Zeppelin. Zeppelin.
"This band is just so fun, and it's because I fucking love Led Zeppelin, man." Gengras calls herself "Roberta Plant" and wears '86 Air Jordans. If asked to describe her enthusiasm, the key modifier would be unbridled. unbridled. "I mean, I fucking love John Bonham, but I'm never gonna get to play with him, and my other band isn't going to sit around and play fucking Zeppelin covers all night, so fuck it." "I mean, I fucking love John Bonham, but I'm never gonna get to play with him, and my other band isn't going to sit around and play fucking Zeppelin covers all night, so fuck it."
Roberta Plant looks a little like Parker Posey; her other band is called Easy, but this band is easier. All she has to do is sing the songs that changed her life. And if men (or women) want to watch her do that simply because she's a woman, that's fine; being a woman doesn't have any impact on why she loves Physical Graffiti Physical Graffiti and and In Through the Out Door. In Through the Out Door.
"Actually, the hardest thing is just memorizing the lyrics," she says. "When I was learning 'Stairway to Heaven,' I had to close my eyes and create this entire movie in my head-I had to come up with this entire visual fucking thing, just so I could fucking remember all six verses of this weird-ass shit. I had to look up hedgerow hedgerow in the dictionary." in the dictionary."
Well, so did the rest of us.
Fargo Rock City, For Real I am including the following story for two reasons, neither of which is, "Because it's good." In many ways (in fact, in most most ways), this story is horrible. It was my attempt to explain the Fargo, North Dakota, "rock scene" when I was twenty-three years old. In retrospect, it now reads like a satire of daily newspaper entertainment reporting, which was certainly not my intention at the time. But that's also what's kind of cool about it; the description of all the 1995 bands in Fargo (and its sister city, Moorhead, Minnesota) is probably pretty close to the rock scene of ways), this story is horrible. It was my attempt to explain the Fargo, North Dakota, "rock scene" when I was twenty-three years old. In retrospect, it now reads like a satire of daily newspaper entertainment reporting, which was certainly not my intention at the time. But that's also what's kind of cool about it; the description of all the 1995 bands in Fargo (and its sister city, Moorhead, Minnesota) is probably pretty close to the rock scene of every every small-market town in 1995. If you spent the middle part of the '90s in, say, Little Rock, Arkansas (or Des Moines, Iowa, or Boise, Idaho, or anywhere with a population below 200,000), you could probably delete all the artists' names and replace them with any of the going-nowhere bands who happened to be playing in your hometown. The article wouldn't make any less sense (or be any less accurate). small-market town in 1995. If you spent the middle part of the '90s in, say, Little Rock, Arkansas (or Des Moines, Iowa, or Boise, Idaho, or anywhere with a population below 200,000), you could probably delete all the artists' names and replace them with any of the going-nowhere bands who happened to be playing in your hometown. The article wouldn't make any less sense (or be any less accurate).
The other reason I like this story is because 1995 was a goofy cultural moment for pop music; by '95, alternative rock had been completely mainstreamed by every element of society (even in North Dakota). However, young musicians still looked to punk and grunge as a way to identify themselves as "underground." Which was hilarious, since trying to be underground by liking alt rock in 1995 would have been like trying to be underground in 1978 by liking Boston.
I have added copious footnotes to this story where they were necessary, which is pretty much everywhere.
TO BE SCENE, OR NOT TO BE SEEN UNDERGROUND ROCK IS ALIVE AND LOUD IN FARGO-MOORHEAD ...
BUT WHO'S LISTENING?
(SEPTEMBER 1995) Whenever you get into a discussion about the Fargo-Moorhead music climate,1 the word you most often hear is not the word you most often hear is not alternative, hardcore, grunge, alternative, hardcore, grunge, or even or even music. music. The word you hear the most is The word you hear the most is scene. scene. Regardless of whether the context is positive ("We've really got a nice scene developing here"), negative ("Those kids are just into the scene without caring about the music"), or merely expository ("Our band seems to get slagged on by a lot of the local scenesters"), the F-M alt-movement Regardless of whether the context is positive ("We've really got a nice scene developing here"), negative ("Those kids are just into the scene without caring about the music"), or merely expository ("Our band seems to get slagged on by a lot of the local scenesters"), the F-M alt-movement2 is obsessed with the concept of establishing an underground scene-the people, the atmosphere, and the perceptions that go hand-in-hand with subterranean rock 'n' roll. is obsessed with the concept of establishing an underground scene-the people, the atmosphere, and the perceptions that go hand-in-hand with subterranean rock 'n' roll.3 It's probably the clearest local illustration of youth culture: the backbone of the establishment is created by kids under eighteen, and the major players are all in their early to midtwenties. Outsiders tend to view this faction as "the Ralph's Bar4 punk clique," which really isn't accurate. Contemporary punk rock is more of a philosophy than a sound, punk clique," which really isn't accurate. Contemporary punk rock is more of a philosophy than a sound,5 and-unlike the late-'70s British scene-it doesn't have much to do with fashion. and-unlike the late-'70s British scene-it doesn't have much to do with fashion.6 Modern punk is just stripped-down, straightforward music with no frills and few compromises. Modern punk is just stripped-down, straightforward music with no frills and few compromises.7 How accurately that label fits the F-M music fraternity is unclear; some bands are straightforward simply because they lack talent, and some are uncompromising because they're never in a position to be tempted by success. Nonetheless, the current status of the F-M music scene is thriving. How accurately that label fits the F-M music fraternity is unclear; some bands are straightforward simply because they lack talent, and some are uncompromising because they're never in a position to be tempted by success. Nonetheless, the current status of the F-M music scene is thriving.8 As the gap between mainstream and alternative culture closes, more and more young people are drawn to what grassroots, underground rock represents. As the gap between mainstream and alternative culture closes, more and more young people are drawn to what grassroots, underground rock represents.
There is also a solid base of local musicians; although promoter Jade Nielson admits the scene has grown stagnant,9 he thinks the level of virtuosity has never been higher. "There has kind of been an overkill because there have been too many shows without enough different bands," Nielson he thinks the level of virtuosity has never been higher. "There has kind of been an overkill because there have been too many shows without enough different bands," Nielson10 said. "But, at this point in time, there's no question that there is more talent in town than ever before, simply because the musicians are a little older and more mature." said. "But, at this point in time, there's no question that there is more talent in town than ever before, simply because the musicians are a little older and more mature."
Nielson tends to get most of the credit for shaping the current musical direction of Fargo-Moorhead, and it's easy to understand why. The twenty-four-year-old promoter has turned the back room of Ralph's Bar in Moorhead into one of the Midwest's premier underground venues; in the past year, he's produced shows by Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Southern Culture on the Skids, Mule, Railroad Jerk, and last Monday's Killdozer concert (as well as an outdoor summer rock festival headlined by the Jesus Lizard11). He began seriously promoting bands in 1993 at the now-defunct Elks Club in downtown Fargo.
"When I first starting doing these shows-especially the all-ages shows-it didn't matter who was playing. The audience was basically kids who wanted to hang out with their friends and be seen, along with a small core who were really into the music. We'd get a bigger crowd if I brought in somebody established, like Arcwelder,12 but it was basically the same people going to every show," Nielson said. "Now, the crowd is definitely affected by the music itself. People are picking and choosing what they'll pay to hear. I even see that at Ralph's." but it was basically the same people going to every show," Nielson said. "Now, the crowd is definitely affected by the music itself. People are picking and choosing what they'll pay to hear. I even see that at Ralph's."
In terms of influence, however, the biggest single show was probably put on by rival promoter Bjorn Christianson and GodheadSilo13 drummer Dan Haug. Their 1991 Fugazi concert at the Elks is consistently mentioned as the primary catalyst for the subsequent proliferation of F-M hardcore interest. drummer Dan Haug. Their 1991 Fugazi concert at the Elks is consistently mentioned as the primary catalyst for the subsequent proliferation of F-M hardcore interest.
"I think we had about five hundred people at that show, which was a surprise to both of us. I know a lot of people seem to consider that a starting point for what has happened since, but I don't," Christianson14 said. "I think this whole situation predates the Fugazi said. "I think this whole situation predates the Fugazi15 show, and by quite a bit. Things around here really started with bands like Floored and Hammer-head and Buttchuck. show, and by quite a bit. Things around here really started with bands like Floored and Hammer-head and Buttchuck.16 I think Floored started playing live in the late '80s." Not surprisingly, locating the conception of Fargo's scene depends on who you want to use as a source. Several contemporary scenesters cited a teen center on Fargo's Fiechtner Drive called Exit 99 as the catalyst. Before closing in 1992, Exit 99 was home to several noteworthy shows such as Cop Shoot Cop and Bikini Kill. It acted as the breeding ground for the current generation of local artists. I think Floored started playing live in the late '80s." Not surprisingly, locating the conception of Fargo's scene depends on who you want to use as a source. Several contemporary scenesters cited a teen center on Fargo's Fiechtner Drive called Exit 99 as the catalyst. Before closing in 1992, Exit 99 was home to several noteworthy shows such as Cop Shoot Cop and Bikini Kill. It acted as the breeding ground for the current generation of local artists.
"Exit 9917 was done well, and it was done professionally. And-for a lot of bands in town-that was the first place they played at. But it turned into too much of a young kids' club," Nielson said. "Since they couldn't serve alcohol, it was hard to get college students to go there. A lot of the time, it was just teenagers who were sitting around and smoking cigarettes." was done well, and it was done professionally. And-for a lot of bands in town-that was the first place they played at. But it turned into too much of a young kids' club," Nielson said. "Since they couldn't serve alcohol, it was hard to get college students to go there. A lot of the time, it was just teenagers who were sitting around and smoking cigarettes."
In reality, the "scene" has probably always existed in one form or another. Yahtzene Yahtzene editor Phil Leitch (at the ripe old age of twenty-six) is considered the oldest active member of the Fargo underground. "I would certainly say there was a scene before the 1990s. For me, the scene began in about 1984, but there were a lot less people involved," Leitch editor Phil Leitch (at the ripe old age of twenty-six) is considered the oldest active member of the Fargo underground. "I would certainly say there was a scene before the 1990s. For me, the scene began in about 1984, but there were a lot less people involved," Leitch18 said. "I put on a show in 1985-the band was called Vampire Lesboes-and I think about a hundred people showed up." said. "I put on a show in 1985-the band was called Vampire Lesboes-and I think about a hundred people showed up."
At least superficially, the so-called scene has more members now than ever before. There's no question about the current popularity of underground culture, and that's exactly what this local movement offers young people. However, there are some problems. Fargo-Moorhead has a limited number of bands in the area, and they play so often that the novelty has worn off. Moreover, they're forced to play at the same places over and over (this area has very few available venues). The biggest problem is probably a question of sincerity; while most of the bands are fairly serious about playing, it's hard to gauge if the audiences are interested in the music or just the trendiness of the spectacle. Dean Sime19 manages Disc & Tape Masters in Fargo and produces a public-access video program called manages Disc & Tape Masters in Fargo and produces a public-access video program called Eyeball Injection. Eyeball Injection. He perceives a predictable schism in the local punk packs and questions the amount of sonic diversity from the musicians. He perceives a predictable schism in the local punk packs and questions the amount of sonic diversity from the musicians.
"Like any scene, it's divided. There are certain bands that have legitimate followings-Orange 17 has an excellent following, Bossk has a growing following, and Seven O'clock Sucker has a good following. But there are still a lot of people going to these shows who just want to be seen," Sime said. "I think interest in the scene may be growing, but that goes along with the growth of alternative culture. The problem is that-musically-the number of bands is shrinking. There are fewer bands in town than there were two years ago, and only five or six of them play consistently. It also seems like the bands aren't writing enough new songs, and too many of their songs sound alike."
With its fuzzy past and vague present,20 speculating on the future of the F-M scene is virtually impossible. Leitch thinks local interest is fading and doubts if any major shows could succeed in the near future. Christianson was more optimistic and said the class of young bands currently emerging in the area is more exciting and experimental than ever before. For someone like Brian Eveslage, however, the dynamic of the scene is ultimately inconsequential. Eveslage plays guitar for Bossk and was formerly in Blockhead and Haul. As far as he's concerned, it's not his job to figure out who likes his music. speculating on the future of the F-M scene is virtually impossible. Leitch thinks local interest is fading and doubts if any major shows could succeed in the near future. Christianson was more optimistic and said the class of young bands currently emerging in the area is more exciting and experimental than ever before. For someone like Brian Eveslage, however, the dynamic of the scene is ultimately inconsequential. Eveslage plays guitar for Bossk and was formerly in Blockhead and Haul. As far as he's concerned, it's not his job to figure out who likes his music.
"I have no idea who our audience is. A lot of our friends go to the shows, I guess. When we play all-ages shows, the audience tends to be younger, but-since we usually play at Ralph's Bar-it's hard for me to gauge," Eveslage said. "There may be fewer bands right now than there were a couple of years ago, but the ones who are left are more serious. The bands who managed to stick around aren't just playing for the hell of it."21 [What follows is the completely unnecessary sidebar to this story.]
So who are all of these local underground bands? That's a valid question. Here's a painfully pithy description of a dozen bands that bounce around the area. (Readers note: It's possible some of these bands no longer exist or have changed names; it's often difficult to tell if a band is dead or merely inactive at the moment.) Orange 1722: The most popular local act in town, especially among junior high kids. They seem to have a sense of humor (they ended last Monday's set with "Smokin' in the Boys Room"), and many people think their vocalist looks like Kurt Cobain. The most popular local act in town, especially among junior high kids. They seem to have a sense of humor (they ended last Monday's set with "Smokin' in the Boys Room"), and many people think their vocalist looks like Kurt Cobain.
Bossk23: A classic hardcore trio. Their bass player is a little scary. A classic hardcore trio. Their bass player is a little scary.
Standard24: Bossk, but without the guitar player. Bossk, but without the guitar player.
Bootlick25: An unorthodox blues-grunge band. An unorthodox blues-grunge band.
Bombshell: The best-known all-female punk trio in Fargo history. The best-known all-female punk trio in Fargo history.26 John Smith: In July of 1994, local promoter Jade Nielson predicted John Smith would "take over the world." In July of 1994, local promoter Jade Nielson predicted John Smith would "take over the world."
Seven O'clock Sucker: The prototypical garage band. I'm pretty sure their drummer is from Milnor, ND, and-if I recall correctly-he used to have a decent jump shot in high school. The prototypical garage band. I'm pretty sure their drummer is from Milnor, ND, and-if I recall correctly-he used to have a decent jump shot in high school.27 Gummi: Definitely not a punk band, Definitely not a punk band,28 as they supposedly dig KISS. as they supposedly dig KISS.
Pathos: A South Fargo band, described by Bombshell drummer Sarah Hassell as "underrated." A South Fargo band, described by Bombshell drummer Sarah Hassell as "underrated."
Martian: A West Fargo high school outfit. They're cutting a seven-inch on Meat Records. A West Fargo high school outfit. They're cutting a seven-inch on Meat Records.29 Whirl: A high school skater band. A high school skater band.30 Trans Am: Yet another high school skater band. Karl Qualey of Orange 17 (a.k.a. the aforementioned Cobain clone Yet another high school skater band. Karl Qualey of Orange 17 (a.k.a. the aforementioned Cobain clone31) once said he was a fan of their music.
1. Which I'm sure happens to you all the time.
2. It remains unclear what this movement was the "alternative" to ... I suppose going to the mall, although I recall seeing a lot of these same rock kids at JCPenney.
3. In retrospect, it is hard to understand why anyone would actively try to "establish" other people's "perceptions," but it seemed like it at the time.
4. This was a bar in Moorhead where all the local punk bands performed, but it also hosted some surprising national acts, most notably a very early performance by the White Stripes. When the city decided to destroy Ralph's in 2004, someone tried to make a documentary film about the bar that would somehow save it from destruction. I was drunkenly interviewed for this documentary, and I think I may have claimed I saw this aforementioned White Stripes show. I did not.
5. Trenchant!
6. This was not the only difference.
7. Jesus Christ.
8. Sort of.
9. Despite the fact that I just called it "thriving."
10. At the time I wrote this story, Jade Nielson was perceived as the hippest person in Fargo. Considering how young he was at the time, it seemed rather amazing that he could actually convince shitty communist grindcore bands like Killdozer to play in North Dakota. The key, as it turns out, was geography. Bands would have dates in Minneapolis and Missoula, and they needed a place to perform in between. Jade was apparently the first human who ever figured this out.
11. This was Jade's biggest gambit. The event was earnestly called something along the lines of "Fargo-palooza," and it was an all-day outdoor show on the banks of the Red River. Unfortunately, the success of the event was dependent on walk-up ticket sales, and the show happened to fall on an afternoon when it was over 95 degrees. Hardly anyone showed up, and it was a financial disaster. The entire scene kind of caved in soon after (at least for a while). The Jesus Lizard were pretty awesome, though.
12. Arcwelder was never particularly beloved by anyone except bookish dudes working at college radio stations, but they were still "established," somehow. They also had cross-demographic name recognition, since most farm kids in North Dakota know how to arc weld.
13. GodheadSilo was a local drum-bass two-piece who actually moved to Seattle and were signed by Sub Pop. With the exception of Kid Jonny Lang, I suppose this makes them the most successful North Dakota rock act of the past twenty-five years.
14. This guy was really blond and snarky.
15. I am often prone to make fun of Fugazi, but I must give them credit: they really would play anywhere, and they'd play for virtually no money. It seemed like at least one member of every band in Fargo-Moorhead saw this particular concert. What's interesting is the scene's second-most influential moment was the 1994 Jon Spencer show, which prompted many of the acts in Fargo to combine Fugazi with the Blues Explosion. The problem was that all of those bands dreamed of moving to Minneapolis and signing with Amphetamine Reptile Records, so they also tried to play like Helmet. As a consequence, many bands at Ralph's Bar seemed like superheavy, straight-edge power trios with unorthodox taste in trousers.