Topiary Park, located in downtown Columbus, made its debut during the whole AmeriFlora extravaganza in 1992. Even so, maybe it’s me, but I don’t recall hearing anything whatsoever about this phenomenal art installation until the early 2000s – at the earliest. The 1980s and 90s were very commercially oriented times, and unless you were a major business, or OSU (not that those two are mutually exclusive by any means) or maybe in more frivolous moments a big name musician who knew the right people, you were not getting any press whatsoever in this town during that whole era. Then again, maybe I have no room to talk, considering I’ve been working on this site for over a decade now, and am only now getting around to tackling Topiary Park myself.
But I mean, for a solid ten year stretch there I must have been in about the 99th percentile, city-wide, as far as who was reading the most actual print news publications here in C-bus, about C-bus, and despite all that…I had never heard of Topiary Park, much less been there. And going to the main branch of the library a ton, too! Which made it all the more bizarre to learn at some point, at least a decade down the road, that this park was located directly behind it, this entire time. My basic reaction could then be summarized as, “heh? What the hell!? I never knew about this!”
I feel like in the 21st century, there’s been more of a movement to slow down and say, okay, maybe we don’t need to pump up our commercial interests 100% of the time in these cities. It’s alright to appreciate the finer things, you might even wish to donate a few paragraphs in your (online) publications to something that doesn’t really make any money, every once in a while. After all, I think this is how I eventually first learned about Topiary Park.
So okay, for those who aren’t in the know, this is apparently the only park in the world which is 100% based upon a single painting. The artwork in question is Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Isle of La Grande Jatte. During a recent visit there, I took some photos, and while I’m not sure any of these capture any angles that would make the connection apparent to you, they still look kind of cool anyway.
Among the first mysteries you will discover here, if approaching from the Library Park side, is that this place is apparently technically Topiary Garden, or even The Topiary Garden. Yet almost anything you will ever see refers to it instead as Topiary Park. This slight alteration over time is not unheard of – for example witness the name chiseled in stone at semi-nearby Brewmasters Gate, though listed almost everywhere else as “Brewmaster’s” – but I’m always curious at what point people effectively said, eh, screw that, I’m calling it something slightly different.
It’s possible this sign was never accurate, however, considering there is at least one notable blunder, a major omission near the bottom. Though crediting the entire project to James T. Mason, his wife Elaine was heavily involved too. They worked for the Parks and Recreation department, and when city leaders were scrambling their brains for ways to tie this then-neglected area in with the whole AmeriFlora bit (a 500th anniversary celebration of the imperialist our city was named after), Elaine was the one who came up with the idea.
“She was the first topiarist,” Carlene Palmquist, director of the nonprofit Friends of the Topiary Park, said in a 2017 interview with WOSU, “we like to say the brains behind the garden.”
So Elaine designed the thing, while her husband, the sculptor, set about carving out her designs from the shrubbery. This duo got to work in 1989, and it took some three years to reach completion. Prior to this, Ohio School for the Deaf was located on this site, before moving to its current location at 500 Morse Road. Then, in 1981, a fire destroyed most of the school, after which nearly all that remained was also demolished (basically just one building, that which is now known Cristo Rey High School, survived all this carnage). As part of Jim and Elaine Mason’s master plan, getting to work on this vision for transforming it, they didn’t just install the sculpted plants, either, but also a pond, some hills, and an iron fence around the park. A little later, in 1998, the gatehouse building was added, which includes a gift shop and information desk.
I didn’t follow the instructions on the sign, as far as comparing the scenery vs. the painting, mostly because it was cold and I was kind of in a hurry. But below are some of the better shots I captured on this afternoon. In addition to all the people and a few dogs, there is also exactly one cat and one monkey included among these figures. However, you can’t really spot them in any of the pictures I took – although this just gives you an excellent excuse to explore these grounds on your own.
Flannagan’s is a longstanding Dublin institution, situated for decades near the convergence of I-270 and Sawmill Road. Driving past, you pretty much can’t miss the volleyball nets strung atop the oceans of sand outside. Now that they’re fast approaching nearly 30 years of continuous operation – almost unheard of for a club like this in these parts – it’s a fitting time to take a look back at their history, as well as some memorable experiences here.
Opening its doors in March of 1996, Flannagan’s took the reins from former tenant Colorado Rose. On the surface its overarching concept, a live music/dance venue with bar food, perhaps doesn’t sound so amazing. But open faced subs are an additional intriguing option (although if pressed, in keeping with so many other bars, I must admit to never eating here), and they also offer what they are already referring to as “virtual reality games.” In a piece about its opening in the Dispatch, co-owner Allen Farst mentions Alpine Ski Racer as one such offering. More impressive still, believe it or not, this is the FIRST such business in Columbus to feature…an ATM machine. Yes. In 1996.
As is often the case with these event booking sites, their early days present an amusing hodgepodge. Really, the first scheduling of note that I can find is the Cincinnati Reds winter caravan, arriving on January 21, 1998. Even this is a sight shy of star-studded, however, for aside from the manager, hitting coach, and announcers, the roll call otherwise includes the likes of pinch hitting specialist Lenny Harris, reliever Jeff Shaw, slugger Dimitri “Da Meathook” Young, and young semi-phenom Scott Sullivan. Signing autographs, possibly, and mugging with the crowd. A few months later, the bar hosts a party airing the final Seinfeld episode, replete with a lookalike contest. And during this era BucksLine, an OSU football radio program airing on AM station 610 WTVN, broadcasts live from here, which is possibly their greatest score to date.
But it’s only as the calendar turns over to ’99 that we begin to see more of these expected musical acts, often cover bands with huge followings, that most would picture as Flannagan’s true forte: Shuckin’ Bubba, Snow Shoe Crabs. From here, their profile is a steadily rising one, aided in large part by those volleyball pits and accompanying beach vibes generated during the summer months. By December of 2001, they’re even booking platinum UK act Stereophonics. In another Dispatch article, covering this event, other co-owner David Straub says, “I deal with cover bands that are more uptight than these guys.”
Indie darlings Hot Hot Heat even played here once, in 2003, which is incredibly trendy for a venue such as this. Still, though Straub and Farst would have presumably been fine with continued hipsterish bookings in that vein, they know their bread and their Irish butter, which is of course these mostly local, hit playing outfits. The assorted odd engagements will emerge now and then, but these crowd pleasing acts playing timeworn fan favorites continue to dominate the calendar.
II.
We arrive at the bar in a handful of separate vehicles, at slightly different times, but successfully reconvene once inside. Initially, this is feeling like somewhat of a drag, being here, because I wasn’t too sold on this destination to begin with, and this place is packed beyond belief. Everything seems too loud and too hectic. Still, some of us grab a widemouth beer from the skimpily clad girl standing behind this horse trough, and we fight our way through this ridiculous crowd.
Our party of seven (Alan, Damon, myself, Tawnya, Megan, Amber, Melissa) somehow manages to cram into a tiny parcel of land in the middle of the floor, but movement is nearly impossible beyond this. The night will soon proceed in mighty turbulent fasion. For example, Alan’s in one of his rare sarcastic, combative moods (rare for him to project such at Tawnya, anyway), and so he and his woman are arguing mildly throughout, as she’s none too amused by his humor. And our outing has only just begun.
At one point Alan drifts over to the bar, orders a Zima on her behalf. But then upon returning, discovers that he can’t find her – and so hands the drink off to some random stranger who just happens to be standing nearby! Naturally, Tawnya inquires about the status of the Zima, is not exactly pleased upon learning its current whereabouts. Cue another round of squabbling.
Glancing over at Damon and me with a grin, Alan observes, “guess I’m not getting any (whistle sound) (roughly translates as whee-whoo) tonight.”
My night is progressing in a similarly bumpy fashion. In the past, Amber’s presence would have felt like an unmitigated triumph, but now I’m not so sure – not sure I even want her here, much less where she and I stand. There’s been just too many conflicting signals, her saying one thing and doing something completely else. To which my typical reaction is to just back away entirely rather than attempt figuring it out. I’m feeling like I would prefer it were just the two of us out doing something, or else a clubbing entourage such as this without her, but not the combination of these elements. This is what I’m not really in the mood for.
Still, as The Menus take the stage, slightly more than half of our party decides they will brave the elements, and jostle their way up front for a better look. I’m not quite so ambitious tonight, figure I’ll remain alongside Damon and Melissa as we hold onto this meager scrap of land we’ve acquired. Flannagan’s is actually a somewhat small venue to be hosting the types of bands it does, at least during these winter months where not many will wish to take their drinks outside. Therefore with the sound and sight lines just fine from where we stand, we don’t want to press our luck trying to angle for a potentially better spot.
If so inclined, there are always endless ways to make oneself feel like the world’s biggest goober. Or else like a champion – it’s all about mindset. I guess what we should aim for is to view reality as accurately as possible, but barring that, which is difficult to ever prove anyway, if in doubt you should just choose to believe you are crushing it.
Like for example, we’re standing here and Damon gives an enthusiastic hello to some brunette chick he knows, who just happens to drift past. It soon emerges that this is that Maera girl, a friend of his whom I met a couple of years ago (I actually don’t recognize her at first, nor she apparently me.) And subsequently obtained her phone number that night, then attempted asking her out about a week later – no dice. Nothing was apparently happening on that front. While it’s true maybe I gave up too soon, I’ve also never been one to continue beating a dead horse. I took my shot, then moved on.
Whatever the case, this is about as awkward as it gets. And therefore it’s all too easy to stand here and feel like a major dork. If one will let oneself, which I initially do. But then after she walked away, I started to think, hold up a second. She’s a really nice looking woman that I hit it off with, for one night anyway, and at least I asked her out. Who cares if it didn’t transpire – well, I do care, but the point is still made. It was I think Tommy Lasorda who said that the second best thing to winning the World Series…is losing the World Series.
And it’s not only that, but I’ve got Amber here elsewhere in the building. Following a blazing hot start, it’s been rockier, more of a zigzag pattern, yet we are still hanging in here somehow. The key issues are that she can’t seem to make up her mind about what she really wants in life, and meanwhile I have some sort of clinical inability to actually chase after someone. So we run hot and cold, though it’s certainly nothing I should beat myself up about. And should this fail…well, Melissa is “joking” around about resuming activities from last summer. Like for example she’s talking about trying to sneak me into her room at the sorority house. But then Melissa also asks what’s going on with Amber and me, I make a wisecrack about having exceeded my typical two week stint with someone. In actuality I have no idea, though.
So we’re hanging out by the soundboard, in the middle of the room, alongside some sturdy railing. Watching the entire set in this manner, after countless beers, riding a wave on this suddenly sunnier outlook. At some point I feel someone elbowing me in the ribs, and it’s Amber, smiling at me as she and I finally have a spare moment to talk. We discuss going out on a nice actual date for once, instead of just clubbing and kicking it around the house like we have been, and maybe even catching a Blue Jackets game next week.
Meanwhile there’s Megan, who has worn this wholesome pink dress tonight, and remains up front with the others. Tim, the lead singer from The Menus, references it from the stage, pointing her out, and dubbing her prom queen. Then makes up for it by whipping out an 8 track tape of the Grease soundtrack, and giving it to her as some sort of corny consolation prize. Much closer to us, on the other hand, we have Damon, who’s been on somewhat of a hot streak lately with the outrageous antics. For unknown reasons decides to lift a cymbal from the wall and stuff it inside his coat.
I’m apparently the only other person aware that he’s done this. Thus even our own crew is giving us weird, puzzled looks when we launch into this outlandish comedic scene – me pummeling the crap out of his stomach, rapid fire, with both fists, while he just stands there and laughs. “Man! Have you been working out? These abs are rock solid!” I crow. To this he simply smiles and shrugs, as if with false modesty.
From here, it’s only natural that I begin explaining to everyone else how Damon almost got us kicked out of the Kid Rock concert. With visual reenactments. Then the next thing you know, The Menus have stopped playing for the night, and Flannagan’s begins to thin out somewhat. The band drifts by in their travels, and we’re talking with Tim for a minute. Some of us saw them play last summer up at Put-In-Bay, and discuss this with him momentarily. We’re also issuing playful taunts about the guitarist’s borderline mullet haircut, though this soon morphs into us guys making pacts (never enforced) that we will actually grow mullets ourselves.
“Think the military will be okay with that?” Alan ponders.
“Oh yeah, sure,” I tell him.
III.
The above visit transpired in 2001. Although other trips will follow, those eventually dried up, and a good twenty years will probably pass until my most recent voyage here. It’s a Friday afternoon and the place is not yet crowded, though swiftly filling up. Outside, at the edge of the fence surrounding this property, a woman working the door asked me if I was entering the line dance competition, and appears to be collecting money for such. When I informed her that no, I only came here for a beer, she said that was fine and waved me on in. Considering that there’s a huge metal building where most of the parking lot once stood, I parked behind Safelite, and ask her if this is okay. There’s no signage up advising otherwise, but it never hurts to be sure. She says they are a relatively new tenant, and she gets the feeling they’re not crazy about the overflow parking, but haven’t formally complained thus far. And with this, I’m feeling confident enough to continue.
Though the essential layout inside has not changed, about half of the interior decor has. That horse trough looking corrugated metal lining the bottom of the bar is the same, and so is some of this neon lighting, as well as the stage. These hardwood floors look new to me, though, and I’m also certain that some or all of those rolling garage doors lining the south wall must have come along in more recent years – if only because, if memory serves, it’s from this wall that Damon stole that cymbal. As for the item in question, though I was hoping this artifact might survive from that bygone era, he regretfully informs me, “I think we used it ’til it broke.” So much for that.
I order a draft IPA and chill out against one of those garage doors, near the side entrance, surveying the scene. The line dancing contest has not begun proper, though this does not prevent stray patrons from practicing their moves in isolation, here and there, or as a small cluster. One particularly eye opening lass, a tall brunette, parades around in black tank top, tight jean shorts, and black cowgirl boots, hair in a ponytail, and I am indeed quite impressed by her moves.
There’s no evidence of this outside any longer, but there was a short lived swimming pool on site here. The only clues you have are where the building has been painted a nautical blue, and the name Elly Bay is festooned prominently upon its backside. In the picture below, you can see the lighter colored concrete in the middle, where this pool enjoyed its relatively brief existence. Someone also recently mentioned to me that Elly Bay is a place in Ireland, which makes sense as a similar “locale” of the Flannagan’s compound. As for that metal building, this is known as the Fieldhouse, which houses still more volleyball action, during those brutal winter months and beyond. All in all, I would say they’ve done a slick job here of updating and modernizing slightly to fit these modern times, while still managing to remain essentially the same.
2001 Events Calendar:
January 21: Cincinnati Reds Winter Caravan ’01
January 26: The Menus
February 3: Jonesi. I was at this show but couldn’t really tell you much about it.
The day gets off to a highly memorable start. Country music station WCOL (92.3 FM) has a bizarre stunt up their sleeves this morning: having already purchased this year’s top prize winning pumpkin from Circleville’s annual festival ($897, or one dollar per pound), they drop it from a 150 foot high crane, onto a banner bearing the image of Osama bin Laden’s face. This transpires at Hoffman Farm Market, with the station auctioning off the rights to flip the switch. All proceeds go to Stefanie Spielman’s Breast Cancer Research Fund.
Elsewhere on the dial, local band Moviola is on WCBE performing live, and they record this take of Oregonia:
A little later in the day, Grandview Heights Public Library screens The Sixth Sense for students in grades 6 through 12.
Rebecca Ibel Gallery begins the exhibit Timothy Buckwalter and Curtis Fairman: Paintings and Objects, which will run through November 24. There’s a reception tonight from 5-7pm.
Immke’s Crestview Cadillac closes from 5-9pm for a wake in honor of Jerry Beck, a former local late night movie host who died on the 21st. The public is welcome, though in an article from yesterday’s Other Paper, Beck’s son J.R. cautions that, “people who show up in ties will be asked to take them off or go home.” So this is a more upbeat, celebratory remembrance, with J.R.’s own band providing live entertainment.
II.
I come home at about 9:15 after a 12 hour workday, with a morning shift at Kroger and a closing one at Wild Oats. And really don’t feel like doing anything, but Damon’s just lying around the house blowing Maryland off – she wanted him to meet her for a drink – and we decide to meet Maria & the others for a Halloween night at DiMarco’s. But first, a run up to Meijer’s for our props. Damon can’t decide on a costume and buys a witch hat, a cab driver’s hat, an Elvis wig. I’d known all along what I wanted to be and buy a bathrobe ($20), a pipe ($22), and some tobacco. Boy, these laughs don’t come cheap. Cold as hell out, too, but I’m determined to wear only these items out on the town.
Back home and Damon takes a shower, I’m trying to figure out how to light a pipe and keep it going. I warm up the car before we brave the cold for real in these outfits. Finally, close to 11, we leave the house and head across town. Damon is cracking me up in the outfit he eventually decided on, which involves none of the items he just bought – red full body pajamas, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. Utterly hysterical. Along the way, we stop at a gas station so he can buy cigarettes, and the attendant tells him, “hey, you look exactly like this one guy from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” So all night long from this point forward I’m calling him Burt Reynolds.
At the bar and there’s no sign of Maria & the others, not yet, so Damon & I grab a corner booth. He was worried slightly about walking into the bar & looking silly, but I figured who cares if we’re the only ones dressed up. And anyway we can immediately see this isn’t the case at all – the instant we walk in some chick dressed like a sailor corners us, takes our picture. “You look comfortable,” Jan the barmaid tells me before we grab our beers and table.
This nice looking blonde in her late 30s sits down beside me, introduces herself as Linda. She and her boyfriend Bob have the best costumes in the place, they are dressed like hot air balloons. Only trouble is they have to take the whole thing off every time they head to the restroom, but this is the price you pay for comedy magic. Coming a close second to them is this kid who covered himself in hair spray and glue and rolled around in a pile of grass – he is literally covered head to toe in it. I dub him Swamp Thing.
Maria & Stephanie roll in next, they’re dressed like a hippie and a kitten, respectively. As they are sitting down, a thought occurs to me, not necessarily directed only at catwoman here, but regarding this entire phenomenon of what is a highly popular Halloween outfit: what do leather pants have to do with being a kitten, anyway?
“I don’t know,” Stephanie admits with a laugh.
Maria’s hippie outfit is surprisingly effective, she looks like she might have actually been one in another lifetime. Yellow vest, yellow headband, yellow granny glasses, it suits her to a tee. And then Miles strolls onto the scene, dressed as a doctor, with Amber and Lisa in tow – they’d all been Polo’s across the street. I couldn’t tell you what these two women are supposed to be, only that it involves quite a bit of tight black clothing. You can probably chalk it up as yet more promiscuous feline attire, for those who think Halloween should be renamed Dress Like A Slut Night. Not that I can really talk with this bathrobe business myself.
Lisa introduces me to her friend, also named Maria, a blonde in her early 30s whom I’d already been checking out all night before they arrived – she’s dressed like a cowgirl in this frilly skirt and keeps “accidentally” showing skin. Cowgirl whips open my bathrobe, but I have boxers on underneath, suspecting that this sort of thing might happen. Then cowgirl’s sister walks by and they both stand there, commenting on my attributes.
“Looks pretty good even with boxers on,” the cowgirl says.
“Yep,” her sister agrees.
Then Lisa breezes over and puts an abrupt end to the festivities, snatching the bathrobe shut and whisking me away from this frisky duo.
“I can’t believe they did that,” she tells me.
The costume contest is up next, couples first. Lisa and Amber enter as a team, and give it their level best by crawling sexily across the floor, to no avail. They most likely have my vote, anyway, so that’s something. Meanwhile, although attempting to talk Miles and Stephanie into entering (as “the pervert and the whore”), they’re not interested. Although in reality it doesn’t matter much, for as expected, Linda and Bob take down top prize with their hot air balloons.
Following this comes the individual competition. Damon and I both give this one a shot, but Swamp Thing easily has us beat, and brings home the gold. This despite the best efforts of a scorching hot blonde who stands on a chair, removes the bikini top she’s wearing, and shakes her tits around in an effort to woo the judges, or anybody else for that matter. Then gets back up and does it again for an encore.
Miles just so happens to be standing right in front of her when it happens, his eyes bugging out of his head. “That’s a field goal!” he announces, holding his arms straight upward like a football referee.
Damon thinks it’s awesome that her little stunt failed to win, though. “How many times have we been in a bar and seen these chicks flash their tits and win everything?” he observes, and I agree.
Later, in the bathroom, a couple guys who are also in here are complimenting my “Hugh Hefner” costume, which is in fact what I’d been vaguely shooting for – I even have a vibrator stuffed in my pocket. “I think you got screwed,” the one says, “should’ve won 3rd place at least.”
“At least,” I concur, though mostly joking.
“What about that blonde who flashed her tits, though, eh?” his buddy remarks.
“Yeah, that was Miss December,” I crack, and they laugh along with me in exiting the facilities.
Somewhere along the line Amber gets pissed off about something and splits. Lisa’s giving me hell for, well, honestly, I can’t really say what, she just hates my general attitude. But in my defense, a lot of guys couldn’t stomach her clinginess, and even a tolerant shrug-things-off person like me is starting to wonder how much longer he can hang in there. I tell her she needs to find a “side project.”
“No, I’m not like you,” she says.
“Come on, Lisa, you should be more like Pockets,” (sister) Maria tells her, and then starts rattling off some names, at least one I can’t even believe she knows. I always feel like nobody ever notices anything, that nobody is really paying me any mind whatsoever, although maybe that’s not always true. If nothing else Maria has a good memory and observes plenty.
“Let’s see, he’s got you, Jill, Amber, Robin, uh…,” she taunts Lisa with a smile. Then adds, in jest, “Susie, Sally…who else?”
“Now, now,” I interject, “let’s not be airing my laundry publicly.”
Damon sits here looking kind of bored most of the night, somehow. I think he’s just in a no man’s land situation with Maryland where they are technically a couple yet on the outs all the time anyway. Obviously he does well when he wants to, but lately it’s turned into this scenario much of the time. He’s determined to make it work with her, though we admittedly all think he’s somewhat nuts for sticking around this long. And not attempting to work the magic with any other ladies as a result – even on nights like tonight, where Maria’s trying to talk him into putting the moves on Stephanie.
To his credit, though, Damon airs some legitimate reservations wondering how much does this chick get around, anyway? And this is coming from somebody who doesn’t even know her! Maria attempts to defuse this by insisting Stephanie is “not a whore” but then the next thing we know…Stephanie’s sitting up at the bar, making out with this Joe guy she just met. He’s wearing a yellow hooded sweatshirt and is 21 years old to her 29. Still, though I’m not interested in her, either, my basic attitude would be: you go, girl! Although it’s true she does end up screwing some new guy pretty much every time we go out.
Maria goes home and Miles, wasted as he is, follows her over there to sleep on the couch. The rest of us – Lisa, Damon, Stephanie, Joe, and a friend of his who is introduced as Tom Mason, we hop in my car and drive across town, to our apartment. Along the way, I keep asking them, “are you ready to party in the sandbox?’ but they don’t know what I’m talking about, not until we set foot in the place.
Once we get here, though, our front door won’t open, strangely enough. All we can figure is some sand crystals probably got stuck inside the lock somewhere. So we all have to go around back and enter through the kitchen. Damon heads straight up to bed, more of this bummed out seeming kick that he’s on. Or maybe more bored than bummed out, I can’t tell. Anyway, Joe and Tom and Steph are flipping out in a good way about the sand, then we set up the volleyball net and play a game of strip v-ball. Somehow I am the only one who winds up fully naked, though. Then again, I started with a lot less clothes than everyone. By this point, it’s Joe and Steph against Lisa and me, as Tom has passed out on the nearby couch. Then I’m down to removing this gold necklace that Jill bought me three years ago.
“Who got you that?” Lisa asks.
“Jill,” I say, “first time I’ve taken it off in forever.”
“Oh,” she sneers, “means that much to you, does it?”
“Yeah,” I admit, “it does.”
So of course she’s bitching about this the rest of the night. We play a quick game of euchre, then prepare to leave. Lisa, who scrubbed out the toilet and sprayed a bunch of grime eating cleaner in my tub while she was here, did a few dishes even, now rounds up every dirty scrap of my clothing she can find and enlists Stephanie to help her. Some of the questions I’m hearing are hilarious, though, as I change out of the bathrobe getup into more conventional clothes.
“How can this Indians shirt still be sitting here?” Lisa wonders, an article she washed months earlier, which remains folded up on a chair in the kitchen. But, I mean, I know Damon’s often telling people that unless they were actually living here, they would have no earthly idea about the nonstop chaotic happenings…and I think there’s probably a lot of truth to that.
“And how is it the last time you spent the night at my house, you got up to go to work and left one sock behind?” she questions, “how does that happen, exactly?”
But I have no answers for that one. It would help narrow it down a bit if I knew what day she was talking about, sure. Speaking of socks, a highly improbable though symbolically hilarious moment occurs, balancing these matters in a neat symmetry, as Lisa’s carrying an armload of laundry, and drops but a single sock on the sidewalk. Then tells Stephanie to go back and get it.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” I remark, “it’s not important.”
Joe laughs, and says, “I like your attitude. It’s not important.”
Earlier, he and Tom were really digging our living room sand, too. Discussing how, despite being admitted clean freaks, they just have to set up something like this themselves. I’m giving them some pointers/encouragement, though it remains to be seen if they’ll follow through with this.
Back across town, and at least this return voyage has one less body among its cargo. Whereas earlier, they’d been crammed into the back with Damon smooshed against one window, Stephanie on Joe’s lap making out with him, and Tom holding this cooler I had sitting back there, now it’s a little more roomy. And the two lovebirds make full use of it, as they continue kissing one another.
We drop Tom off at his place on Kenny – at Governours Square – and continue on to Lisa’s. Now that Michael has disappeared (allegedly on drugs and stole two of their VCRs), the basement is abandoned. So Joe and Stephanie claim that, while Lisa and I head up to her room.
III.
And so what else was going on around town on this epic, highly memorable night? Let’s have a look, shall we.
The Poet’s Guild: House of Toast group featuring M.J. Abell, Fred Andrle, Charlene Fix, Linda Fuller-Smith, Jennifer Priest Mitchell, Jerry Roscoe, Jacqueline Smith, and Mary Ann Titus is held at the Northwood/High Building, 7pm
The Jarmusch screenings continue at the Wexner Center, beginning at 7pm. Year Of The Horse kicks things off, followed by Thelonious Monk: Straight No Chaser from director Charlotte Zwerin.
At Columbus State Community College, it’s an open mic coffeehouse in Nestor Hall West Lounge, beginning at 7pm.
Battelle Hall has soprano Karen Eckenroth performing with pianist Michael Lester. 8pm in the Riley Auditorium.
Columbus Museum of Art welcomes guest Wayne Miller of Franklin University, to host a screening of Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt, as part of the OSU Photography and Cinema Fall Film Series.
Benjamin Bagby’s Beowulf is staged at Capital University’s Mees Hall, 8:15pm.
CCAD has a Big Boo II fundraising costume party at Fabric. Held 8pm to midnight, tickets are $35 apiece or ten for $300. One memorable ad says, “Funds. Consciousness. Hell. We’ll raise all three at our costume party.”
MadLab theatre debuts Grand Guignol, a rapidly firing onslaught of fifteen short, mostly demented plays performed by the same six actors: Melisa Vartorlella, Morgan Stuntz, Jason Dahmer, Andy Batt, Adrian Brown, and Ric Shoemaker. Repeat stagings are scheduled for October 27, November 1-3. There are 14 playlets, among them Shopping (some hooker-pimp drama about medical supplies), Rufie, Confessional, and a chorus line of ghastly creatures. Also, acting as some sort of Cryptkeeper-Rod Serling connective tissue type character, a janitor played by Ric Shoemaker comes out after each skit to clean up and dispense commentary.
At Andyman’s Treehouse, it’s the 3rd Annual Halloween Benefit. Your $7 door charge goes to the Andymanathon charity. Fletch, X-Rated Cowboys, Keith Jenkins, The Vague, Elliot 12Trees and Friends, 3 Dollar Shirt: A Tribute To Flannel, Bobby Cloyd, Aaron Pauley, and Jamie Walker are all supposed to play (in costume, too, theoretically), even though it doesn’t start until 10pm.
Columbus Landmarks Foundation Ghost Tours kick off their walking tours beginning at 6pm, at Town Addiction on E. Town Street.
A Halloween throwdown at Ruby Tuesday features Bloody Matt Dillons, Rancid Yak Butter Tea Party, Grafton, Lylo Americans, The Husher, One.point.three. For a complete rundown of Ruby’s events for the year, please visit that page.
Oldfield’s on High has its first of back-to-back Columbusmusic.com showcase nights. Maery Lanahan, Gravy, Alton and Friends, and Guest are the featured artists tonight.
Elsewhere, 501 Bar has Blue Level and Grinders playing. Sirens are at Adobe Gila’s. Alrosa Villa has Mushroomhead, Workhorse, Supafreak, Grit and Influence. Conspiracy are at Barrister Hall. Bexley’s Monk has Dave Powers. Big Daddy’s has Tree Huggin Hippies. Reagonomics are at Brickyard. Bumper’s has Bill Dutcher. Clarmont has Jack Widner again. Columbus Music Hall has Willie Porter. At Dolphin Lounge, it’s open stage night with Peter Conrad. Dub Pub has Prime Suspect. Flannagan’s has the Menus. Grandview Cafe has Whiskey Saints. Harvest Moon Coffeehouse has Adam’s Choice. Arian Lloyd Avery is at Hearth & Eagle. Hilton Club has Kim Pensyl Jazz Quartet. Hilton Lounge has Richar Lopex. J. Lindsay’s has JuJu Bees. Overdrive are at JR Buzzard’s. Larry B’s has Annie’s Orphans at 9pm, and free pizza before that from 5-7. At Ludlow’s it’s Boogie Fever Ball with Shuckin Bubba Deluxe. Merry Melody’s has SOB. Mickey Stephan is again at Mitchell’s Crosswoods. Mulligan’s has Paradise Island. At On The Rocks, it’s Rock House. Pauley’s Westburgh Pub has DJ Smooth Mike. Rhino’s Chop House has Kontras. Scarlet and Gray Cafe has Fire. Scottie MacBean’s has BugHounds. Willie Pooch & The Upsetters are at Short North Tavern. At Slapsy Maxie’s it’s Mother Hubbard and Thrift. Snaps & Taps has Amalgamated Funk. Thirsty Ear has Delyn Christian and the DCB. Tommy Keegan’s has Fat Dog. At Top Steakhouse, it’s Jerry Wolf.
Palace Theatre has something called Barrage, which is described as “seven violinists, two percussionists, a guitar, bass, and keyboard player” performing jazz, country, swing, Celtic roots, klezmer, and calypso.
Fireball Fundraiser 2001, a live and silent auction, is held by Shadowbox Cabaret and 2Co at the good ol’ Valley Dale Ballroom. It’s a dance party with a Mardi Gras and Carnivale theme, with proceeds benefitting unnamed Short North causes.
Ohio Women’s Show kicks off at Columbus Convention Center. Seminars on health screenings, makeovers, fashion shows, cooking demos, spa treatments, and home decor are among the highlights offered. Running through the 28th.
The Platinum Fox strip club on South Hamilton has Susi’s Birthday Bash.
Little Brother’s, the brainchild of former Stache’s owner Dan Dougan, opened its doors in the spring of 1997. When the bar and live music oasis hosts its opening celebration on May 25 of that year, R.L. Burnside is the headlining act, and they don’t yet have a license to sell booze. This is a great metaphor for how this establishment hit the ground running, and almost immediately became one of our city’s top venues. I think they have one pool table to the left, in front of the restrooms – but that’s quite alright, as you really didn’t come here for their billiard offerings.
Here I will begin listing every Little Brother’s event that I come across, with hopefully a little bit of personal insight if possible. It never would have occurred to me in my wildest dreams that I would eventually wind up working the door some at this place, or the merch table for a Twilight Singers show. But I truly came to love this establishment and was sad to see this era come to a close. However, which is maybe only right, this was also ground zero for probably my worst night living in Columbus. I would still take those, too, once a decade or so – it’s a worthwhile tradeoff. I mean I’m sure this Standard Hall restaurant currently occupying 1100 N. High is great and all, but it’s clearly a totally different thing.
Click the year below to jump ahead in the timeline. Or else by all means continue reading…
They’re gracing the stage tonight at a relatively new music club on High, south of campus and just barely into the artsier, vaguely yuppie-fied district known as Short North. It’s a place called Little Brother’s, the creation of former treasured campus venue Stache’s owner, Dan Dougan. None of us have ever been here before, and furthermore, neither Damon nor Paul have yet seen this band, incredible though it seems.
The upper reaches of this Short North region are not quite as polished, as art gallery saturated, as the lower half or three quarters. Thus when we cruise past this distinctive off-white brick building, the individual blocks of which are by appearances each about as big as our television set, we’re pulling left into a gravel lot. Though not ordinarily locking my car, something about this neighborhood suggests it’s not the worst idea in the world to do so now.
Upon entering the club, a classy looking bar awaits us, to the right – and a number of familiar faces both there and beyond. Each of which, or at least those given to much emotion, seem fairly amazed that we would breeze in unannounced like this, particular as even Alan and I haven’t been to a gig since September. Most are lounging around the central seating region, a cavernous space between the bar and the stage, populated with a small fleet of tiny square tables. Overall I would estimate it claims about a third the space of the Newport’s ground floor, with a raised stage, and, via a walkway breezing past the right side of this platform, a backstage room to which Dan escorts us.
While the club itself has only been open six months, I’m guessing it might have served a similar purpose during previous incarnations. All four walls of this secluded rear bunker are plastered with posters, stickers, and the like, advertising a litany of past shows. Bandman can’t resist the temptation to slap a few transparent Superstar Rookie stickers throughout the room, and as I happen to spy a Mike Watt sticker on the wall, remnants of a solo jaunt, he admits it’s a little strange sometimes to think that he’s playing on the same stage as a guy like that.
But they’ve been here once before already, and will surely deliver the goods tonight, the early jitters long behind them. First, however, we have to wade through a couple of other unfamiliar acts. As a group we venture out to the tables, drop into loose formation, either standing or seated, along with Travis and the other guys from the band, in addition to all the other random spectators we know. Matt Montanya’s among those gathered here, and Jeremy Wendling, Tiffany Miller and that skinny blonde Lori chick I remember from previous parties. Matt Kasper, Kevin and Vanessa, and that strange little Greg character who’s always kind of a dick to me for reasons unknown, has been from day one.
Vena Cava is the opening act tonight, an artsy four piece. They’re okay but I can’t really seem to get into them. At least there’s a quality sound system here and some people who know how to run it, which bodes well for the remainder of the night. Midway, a punk outfit, assume the throne next and take advantage of this fact, faring much better. Then again it kind of doesn’t matter if you can’t play, and these guys certainly can. They pull off the often tricky balance of managing to rock mightily while at the same time displaying a comical stage presence. The drummer will execute these lightning fast rolls, for example, pausing for just a fraction of a millisecond to point his sticks at the singer, before falling into a normal beat again. And some of their touches are just plain musically impressive, such as the bass player’s occasional lilting harmonies.
Following their set, having observed a Papa John’s nearby on the drive in, I walk up the street to score some cheesy bread. On the way back, strolling down the eastern side of the street, where Little Brother’s sits, I pass this short, skinny black woman standing on a corner.
“Can I suck you tonight?” she asks, casually, without even really looking at me. Hmm, but no, thanks, I’m good on that front.
When I return, Montanya’s seated at my table, now, a welcome development, and Dan’s hanging around, is all but begging me for some cheesy bread. I don’t mind hooking him up with a few sticks – it only seems like the humane thing to do. The funny thing about this, though, is that as he leaves so Superstar Rookie can take the stage, Montanya, likely wasted and spotting the Papa John’s box but apparently not paying attention to any of these developments, asks me, “how’s your za?”
“My what?”
“How’s your za?” he repeats, and when I still evince some bafflement, he adds, “Your za! Your pete-za!”
As for Superstar Rookie, they sound far better than ever before – and were never bad to begin with. This is due in part to that superior PA and decent sound man, and this somewhat larger, musically dedicated club. Plus, at least for the time being, it appears they’ve reached a decision to flip-flop guitar players, as Dan is mostly playing the lead parts and Tony’s switched over to rhythm. Lastly, Brandon has also made great strides as a singer, since I last saw them in September.
They could already be the best local progenitors of whatever you call this particular strain, poppier than Midway but with some elements of punk woven in. Dan, having dispensed with the three piece suit business but still otherwise positively oozing with enthusiasm; Copper, solid yet possessing his own unique and powerful sound back there on drums; Travis mostly grinning and standing in place as he plays his bass, as though slightly unable to believe they’ve gotten this good so quickly; and Brandon, expressionless as a rule but with his face becoming flushed the more they play, also occasionally raising his eyebrows to deliver a line or sometimes pump his fist, albeit standing stationary for the most part just like Travis.
As for the set itself, these are mostly upbeat originals, though the sound, texture and speed vary from song to song. On exactly one occasion, Copper, whom Bandman once told me is actually an amazing multi-instrumentalist, drifts up to play guitar on a song he’s recently written, as Dan then takes his place behind the kit. And in keeping with what is apparently a tradition so far, they throw in a cover of Just What I Needed, plus a snippet of that one instrumental piece from Top Gun, Bandman beaming throughout as he wails away on guitar.
Damon is impressed, as we mostly suspected he would be, and will say of their show, “a lot of bands, I feel like they’re good, but you can kinda tell what their influences are. These guys don’t really sound like anybody.” For Paul to enthuse about them is really something, however, going as far as to track down Copper and tell him he’s an awesome drummer, asking the band for a copy of their tape – gestures Paul would never undertake if not genuine. While we are all sometimes capable of jackass comments blurted without thinking, and I especially often have a serious struggle being anything but real, I do at least attempt as much tact as possible if it occurs to me. But Radick rarely bothers, or is possibly incapable of such, knowing little else but the blunt approach.
Afterwards, we mingle with the band, mostly Dan, Travis, and Dave. Brandon remains aloof, although I think this is probably shyness more than anything else, while Tony it seems is a bit of a skirt chaser and works the room with that singular focus. Soon enough, with various handshakes doled out assuring them we’ll get together again before long, like with a very intoxicated Montanya, we shove off into the night.
February 7, 1998 – Superstar Rookie, Salthorse
In the midst of a crazy Saturday night with a ton of stuff transpiring, Jon Weirick calls me, proposing yet another option.
“Superstar Rookie’s playing at Little Brother’s tonight and your ass had better be there!” he threatens.
“Eh, maybe,” I tell him.
“What’s this maybe?” he demands.
Unusual for him, Paul R will wind up driving down from Lexington, and the two of us do indeed catch this show. It’s kind of strange, but though this feels like the least interesting of the four options initially presented to me for this night, driving down High Street to watch my buddies play nonetheless seems right, somehow. You can’t even really put your finger on it, but buried somewhere is the notion that an option you hadn’t even known about when the day began is the correct one, the one you always knew you’d follow, all the same. And I think maybe this is the function of friends, in a metaphysical sense. Beyond the obvious benefits of social interaction and mental well-being, they also help you interpret reality. Though appearing as inconveniences in the moment, all of these phone calls still without question help me sort out what is really going on.
“Hey hey!” Dan Bandman greets us upon arrival.
Travis is also pleasantly surprised, though unable to resist calling out the busted up nature of my spectacles, which I’ve forgotten to remove. “Dude, what is up with your glasses?” he howls. Apart from being Coke-bottle thick and composed of a wire frame highly redolent of 1986 fashions, they are held together by bent paperclips, and there’s also a huge chunk gouged out of the left lens now. One night I was walking home from Woody’s and right by Taj Mahal, on the sidewalk beside their wrought iron fence, these glasses fell from my head, scooping out this crater in the process.
As far as Superstar Rookie constituents are concerned, Jeremy Wendling is making a somewhat unexpected appearance. Dan Goddard and Ana are here, as is Jon Weirick with his now reconciled girlfriend Jennifer Thomas, back with him following a temporary separation. Otherwise, it’s a fairly typical, half full crowd for a spacious bar on a random winter night.
“I did not expect to see you here, the way you were talking on the phone,” Weirick admits.
A four piece by the name of Salthorse kicks off the night. The spelling they’ve chosen is unfortunate, only the first of many bad decisions made. I mean, is this sal-thorseor salt horse we are watching? But you catch glimpses which suggest this could be a great band, which makes the rest so frustrating.
Most of their troubles, I hate to say it, but you can pin these to the feet of their lead singer. Initial impressions are that they rock, but their vocalist, who also strums rhythm guitar and oh yeah is wearing a navy blue ski cap, is a little bit on the silly side. He also keeps making a bunch of inexplicably goofy faces, like bugging his eyes out with tongue extended, as he bites down on it, which completely undermine any rocking aspects to their songs. Or regarding the mic like it’s a foreign object, or high stepping around the stage like someone attempting to avoid mud puddles.
“This guy’s getting on my nerves,” I tell Paul.
“Mine too,” he admits.
“The band rocks, but their singer makes me feel like I’m gonna throw up,” I add.
“I know,” he agrees.
Everything is a matter of personal taste, obviously, yet it’s difficult to imagine that even the group themselves are entirely comfortable with this persona. Right before I’d said this, the impetus for my comment, their singer executed another bugged out eyes expression, this time with his chin titled to the left, lips pulled back in a horrified mimic of a scream while theoretically regarding some person in the audience. Except you can tell at a glance this isn’t genuine inspiration, rather the nervous stage tics of someone uncomfortable up there and attempting to overcompensate with kooky affected mannerisms. It sucks being on edge in the spotlight, sure, but I would say just stand and sweat in your boots like everybody else.
“Can you believe this whole band is made up of Lexington grads?” Jon remarks offhand, as he and Jennifer are hanging out with the two of us. “They all four graduated, like, class of ‘88 or ‘89…”
This seems like another crazy development, even if these guys are likely just a little too old for me to have made their acquaintance. Jon knows the lead player’s name, though, the burly dude with curly hair on the left, shredding lead guitar and probably the best musician in the band: Milan Karcic. But I will soon learn another factoid that shouldn’t matter, yet it’s impossible to ignore and now has me viewing them in a different light. The lead singer is Dan Focht, a name I’ve only seen thus far. We’re still getting his mail at 1990 ½ Summit Street. He and I don’t know who else were the theorized “skate punks” who’d lived there right before we moved in. Wow.
The set soon ends and Salthorse walks off to a smattering of applause. After a short intermission, our boys in Superstar Rookie take the stage, and while I wouldn’t say this is one of their top outings, they’re still delivering the goods at a high level. They’ve come a long way in swift order and I would already consider them one of Columbus’s best live acts. Brandon does still have some room to grow as a singer, but he hasn’t been at this long and would surely rate himself in the same fashion. Even after – or possibly as a result of – shifting Tony over to rhythm guitar, he’s still struggling at times to find his niche within the group. That’s about it for the slight beefs, however, as the strength of the remaining core, Bandman and Tyo and Copper, more than make up the difference. On a technical level, the sound maybe isn’t quite as awe inspiring as the first occasion we witnessed them here, but any marginal decline is more than made up by the swarm of dancing bodies before the stage.
Afterwards, Paul and I chat with the guys and hang out in the small backstage area while they’re tearing down. One curious encounter which makes me wonder about my wingman here concerns a short blonde girl who apparently went to high school with us – Radick was a grade below me and I wouldn’t claim to know anywhere close to everyone in his class – who certainly looks attractive enough and is chatting his ear off, trying to talk him into the inevitable party at Travis’s later. Yet he remains non-committal at best to her overtures, in fact it’s pretty obvious he has no interest in attending.
“You guys should come party with us later!” she insists, shifting her gaze over to me in a last ditch plea, as though I might have the power to sway him, “there’s gonna be tons of girls gettin drunk!”
February 15, 1998 – This Cajun band named File plays a 4pm show, brought to you by the Short North Folk Sampler.
February 26 – Patty Griffin
March 14 – Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Moviola, Fuck
March 22 – Syrup, Helium
April 1 – Carrie Newcomer
April 8 – Sixpence None The Richer
May 13 – Tribe 8
May 17 – The Woggles
May 30 – Link Wray
June 10, 1998 – Swervedriver, Spoon
Though visiting the club a couple of times to view local acts, first and foremost Superstar Rookie, my first so-called “national” show glimpsed here would occur when Swervedriver careens into town, in June of 1998. Having seen the English shoegaze-y type group one other time, they really impressed me, and thus this contest at Magnolia Thunderpussy catches my eye, the previous week. They have this box out by the door offering a pair of free tickets to whichever name is drawn. While it seems likely they drew more than one name, or possibly dispensed free tickets to every name, I’m not complaining or asking questions when Magnolia’s calls to say I won, just a few hours before the show.
One of my roommates, Alan, happens to be home from work, and agrees to go with me. He’s never heard of the band but is generally up for live music in any form. In the hours leading up to it, I call some of the usual suspects, too, friends I know who seem good candidates for attendance, to gauge whether anybody else is going. At every instance, an answering machine awaits me at the other end, so I never speak to anyone…but it doesn’t matter, as we bump into every one of these souls down at the show anyway.
As had been the case five years ago, that night we witnessed these guys opening for the Smashing Pumpkins, this occasion is fast turning into a high school reunion of sorts. It’s not an overstatement at all to suggest that previous show had been a real eye opener for many of us, a somewhat mind blowing experience. That night is a major reason many of us are here and creeps into the conversation repeatedly this time around.
After parking next to the club, in their uneven gravel lot, we round the corner and immediately run into Jeremy Wendling, who is sitting on the sidewalk in front of the place with Angie Stearns, the two of them reclining against the giant off-white bricks of its exterior. Next up, Dave Kemp, who is merrily drunk, it would seem, ambles over to shake our hand. Then I give my name to the doorman, and we gain admission, which is when we realize that something like half of this wall-to-wall crowd must be familiar to us.
Some of this is so surreal we’re struggling to make sense of it. Travis is hanging out inside the door, which is probably the most expected development thus far, but we spot Steve Simmers meandering through the crowd nearby, having just purchased a beer, and this inspires us to drift over and do the same. Here I nearly crash into a former busboy at the restaurant I too recently left, the Damon’s on Olentangy, Dave Warnock, seated at the bar. He sort of resembled another Dave, the main Foo Fighter Grohl, when both were sporting greasy long black hair. But now that Warnock’s cut it, he curiously does not. Weirder still, Warnock’s not just sitting next to but somehow knows another guy from our old high school, Greg Dillinger, and keeps namechecking a bunch of other Mansfield area people in attendance, asking if I know so-and-so, even though he is not from our region. Somehow none of this ever came up when we were working together.
“Hey, you’re friends with Keisha, aren’t you?” this voice calls out from behind me, and it’s that Jeff guy Alan knows from the Guard. Alan happens to be over in the near distance, talking to some other people, and I point him out to Jeff. Then we intercept Travis again in the middle of the crowd, and he informs us Jon Weirick’s up near the stage with a ton of other people we know, which is where we head next.
Spoon is the opening act, an indie band who’ve just signed a major label deal yet not really gained much of a foothold nationally. At the time of this show, I am also not that familiar with them, but will never become a fan even when hearing more of their music over the years. In fairness to the group on this night, however, I must admit to not really paying attention, too busy chatting with these random encounters to properly do so. As it so happens, they will soon become the far more popular of these two bands, and not only their set list but audio of this performance exists, while I have neither for Swervedriver. Here’s the rundown of Spoon’s set:
Rocket USA (a Suicide cover)
Mountain To Sound
Utilitarian
Minor Tough
Primary
Idiot Driver/ I Could See The Dude
Get Out The State
Metal Detektor
The Guest List/ The Execution/ Not Turning Off
Telemon Bridge
Car Radio
Waiting For The Kid To Come Out
Lowdown (a Wire cover, not the Boz Skaggs song) (although the latter’s borderline disco groove might make more sense)
Here’s the audio from the show if you care to indulge:
This is the first time I’m listening to this performance since, and as mentioned wasn’t glued to their set at the time, either. I would rate this now as decent, but not exactly an otherworldly experience. Minor Tough actually sounds a lot more like Bush than anyone would probably like to admit – only the presence of this fluid drummer elevates Spoon beyond that. In fact I think the drummer is pretty much the only thing to get somewhat excited about on any of this stuff. At the end of Primary, Britt Daniel does mention that this is their first show on the tour, and throws a howdy out to the headliners. Aside from this, it’s decent background music, nothing more, as it was on a summer’s night in 1998.
Some of our friends are thoroughly engrossed with this group, though, or at least standing right in front of the stage as if they are. Jon’s up here with his girlfriend, Jennifer Thomas, and in this extended circle we find Dan Bandman, Jack Edinger, Scott Imsland, Tiffany Miller, Ben Kick, and a good dozen others. Most of all though I’m stoked to see my old friend Matt Montanya, as he and I continually crack up and discuss classic memories for the majority of Spoon’s duration on stage. Matt’s good arm is in a cast right now, not that this condition is limiting him from moshing when the mood strikes.
Early on, Weirick says to me, “I’ll buy if you fly,” which sets a pattern that will last the remainder of the concert: he’s paying for the beer, so long as I’m willing to retrieve them. And this is totally fine with me, for the sight lines and sound are great throughout this club, not to mention it affords an excellent opportunity to cover more ground and see who else I might rub shoulders with. Even in one instance next door neighbor Sean Gardner, who seems to have gotten over our covering the side of his house with a bunch of food. We talk for maybe thirty seconds before continuing our separate ways.
It’s tragic that I have the complete Spoon show, but that Swervedriver’s appears lost to the sands of time, at least for now. There’s always the hope of unearthing some documents or reliable memories, but the truth is, I’m not focusing any more to their set, either, though remaining rooted near the front of the stage. They are touring in support of their 4th album, 99th Dream, and while they’ve definitely lost some early fans by this stage of their career, and the critical buzz once surrounding them has moved on, I might personally like this material just as much as their previous, trendier stuff. It’s a great swirling album to throw on around the house when occupied elsewhere, the proverbial release that slowly grows on you. Less heavier than their earlier albums, but, as the title might indicate, a little more dreamy.
We will soon discover some of the reasons behind this momentum loss. It seems that upon rolling into town last night, these Swervedriver mates somehow caught word that our buddy Ben here would be a reliable local source for them to score some heroin. Apparently only two of the four band members are into this stuff, at least at present, and Ben does indeed deliver them the goods. He, along with a few other friends of mine who aren’t into the heroin scene at all – who only wished to hang out with Swervedriver – wound up visiting them at their hotel room last night, in the Holiday Inn on Lane Avenue. This has led to rumors that these same couple of characters might hit a party at Travis’s house, after the show tonight.
Without any knowledge or memories about particulars, it seems a good bet they played a solid amount of material in support of this most recent release. Also from what is probably the consensus favorite, Mezcal Head, which I have on cassette dubbed from a disc borrowed at the downtown library, and their equally praised debut, Raise, plus surely a smattering of the early EP and B-side type offerings. The dimmest corner of their repertoire for me is a third album I admittedly haven’t listened to, probably because it wasn’t even released in the U.S., coinciding with the rough five years in the wilderness there where the band seemed a bit lost, and you didn’t really hear much about them.
I only wish I had focused a little more, and taken better notes after the show, but am enjoying this reunion aspect and talking throughout, the same as everyone else is. Still, despite a lack of specifics, I know my impression at the time – echoed by just about all who’d seen both – is that this represents a solid outing, though nowhere near as mindblowing as that show in ’93. Yeah, yeah, I know, there’s nothing more tedious than a grizzled blowhard blathering on about previous concerts seen in sepia tinted decades past…but sometimes, these comparisons prove sort of useful.
The room is so insanely humid that these beverages seem to evaporate through our pores before cooling us down in the slightest. Standing maybe ten feet away from this four piece, we turn to them now and again, when not merely absorbed as an ear splitting soundtrack, and I do remember thinking it cool at the time that they don’t trifle with an encore. Then, following various high fives, quick recaps, and airing of vague impressions, we are in our various vehicles, seemingly half the crowd bound for Travis’s house on Patterson.
Alan and I stop off at the Kroger on 7th and High to pick up beer but then also some Krispy Kremes, basically as our dinner. By predetermined consensus, a bunch of us have agreed to meet at Weirick’s apartment, from which we will walk over to this bash. Once inside we are confronted by one of the mustiest trinkets imaginable, continuing this 1993 nostalgia theme – Jon throws on the debut album by Canadian rapper Snow, which he has for some reason in his living room CD collection. While he blasts Informer at full volume, Matt Kasper starts breakdancing to it, then a few others join in the fun. Meanwhile Weirick is showing Alan and me the scene of the crime, this coffee table where Montanya recently messed up his arm.
“Travis sat on it,” Jon explains, pointing at the empty hole in the middle pane, where a piece of glass should be, “then we put the pieces back together, and Montanya put this hand through it.” Apparently he was reaching for a pack of cigarettes on a lower shelf and wasn’t aware the glass had been reinstalled, necessitating a trip to the emergency room.
He does get at least one good story out of the cast, however. Once we arrive on foot at Travis’s house full of people, sitting or standing around in ever shifting packs to drink beer, play pool, and listen to music, two members of Swervedriver do indeed eventually drift through the front door. A number of us trail after them, once they breeze through the house and then out to the back yard, to shake their hands, to repeat the standard and surely tedious lines about tonight’s great show and a really good one we caught back in ’93 as well.
Alan and I spend a couple of minutes conversing with the tall, tough looking bass player, Steve George, who nonetheless possesses the requisite droll British nonchalance everyone expects. He seems kind of bored with the conversation until Alan mentions World Cup soccer, a genius move causing George’s eyes to light up. And so we bluff our way through this subject for a while. Then Alan presses his luck in asking the dude for a cigarette.
“Oh, sure, mate,” he replies, and fishes one out from the pack. Alan lights it, takes one puff, then discreetly spins away to hand it off to Jon Weirick.
“That cigarette he gave me was laced with pot!” Alan whispers to me, as the bassist is still within earshot, “I can’t be doing that shit with the Guard and everything!”
A short while later, I happen to be standing nearby when Matt Montanya starts chatting with both members of the band, and attempts signing these guys to a record deal. But instead they just sign his cast.
Swervedriver: bandanna shades trousers
June 21 – Ruins
July 2 – The Mekons
August 11 – Edith Frost
September 8 – The Meat Purveyors
September 13 – stare, Trance To The Sun
September 17 – Tish Hinojosa
September 29 – Juliana Hatfield
October 13 – Archers Of Loaf
October 20 – Mike Watt
October 21 – Two Dollar Guitar, Fuck
October 22 – Built To Spill
November 7 – Guided By Voices, The Apples In Stereo
November 12 – Jonatha Brooke
November 18 – Cult of the Psychic Fetus, Tribe 8
1999
January 14 – O.A.R.
January 28 – Fred Eaglesmith
January 31 – Sloan
February 25 – O.A.R.
February 27 – Mudhoney, Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, Cheater Slicks
March 7 – Superchunk
March 27 – Cheryl Wheeler
April 20 – Edith Frost
April 28 – Iris DeMent
May 11 – Built To Spill
May 12 – Los Straightjackets
May 27 – The Disco Biscuits
July 2 – Cathy 13
July 3 – Mojo Nixon, Sovines
July 6 – The Cannanes, Log, Timonium
July 8 – Big Barn Combo, Cheatin’ Dogs
July 9 – Gillian Welch, David Rawlings (early show)
July 14 – Candye Kane, The Chiselers
July 15 – The Mighty Diamonds, Beniah, The Decals
July 19 – Blonde Redhead, Man Or Astro-Man?, Dianogah
August 13 – Kami Lyle
September 12 – Wayne Kramer
September 16 – The Disco Biscuits
September 24 – Royal Trux
October 2 – Shemekia Copeland
October 10 – Mike Watt
October 13 – Martin Sexton
October 26 – Donna Mogavero, Toshi Reagon
October 28 – Superchunk
November 2 – Sloan
November 3 – At The Drive-In, The Get Up Kids
November 7 – The Apples In Stereo, Of Montreal
November 18 – Southern Culture On The Skids
December 31 – Watershed, Lilybandits, Wahoos. Complimentary champagne & party favors! Just $10
2000
January 1 – Mullins Band playing (but of course) a “Mullinnium Party.”
January 8 – Elvis-A-Thon. 4th Annual.
January 15 – Velveteens
January 22 – Fred Haring and the Franklin County All-Stars CD release party. Yikes. This is what’s scheduled, anyway, but if I’m not mistaken Haring scrapped his own CD release plans for the time being. I’m not sure if he played the show anyway.
January 27 – Hot Club of Cowtown with Jack Neat. I’m not sure if this is one entity or two. I can’t make any sense of what’s going on with that name.
January 28 – Tiara/Betaroric CD release. Tiara plays in support of their new album Again Cast In. This is show is reviewed by Jerry Dannemiller for The Other Paper and he says they were overly loud, which tended to obscure their sharp songwriting, and made the vocals seem especially weak by comparison. And that the closing 10 minute number was especially brutal. Betaroric (now that’s a strangely twisted mouthful) is also celebrating a new CD, though he has even fewer nice words for this outfit, labeling them “the sound of Midwestern art students looking at themselves in the mirror” and describing their sound as sometimes resembling a fork caught in the garbage disposal.
January 31 – Jack Ingram
Every Sunday (as of January): Flex Crew (reggae)
February 2 – The Sovines, The Bottlerockets
February 3 – The Twist-Offs
February4 – Stepford 5 CD release party. Templeton and Electric Porn open.
February5 – The Cowslingers, Bottletones, Blatant Finger
February11 – Scrawl and Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments (?). Although I see a different events calendar listing Lunasa as playing here at 8pm.
February16 – Nashville Pussy
March 3 – Tim Easton
March 4: Columbusmusic.com showcase, including Go Robot, Go! and others. This is the 2nd such event, meant to promote the website (it features downloadable mp3s by local acts). Throat Culture (a cappella) open, performing both originals but some covers that sound like they must have been awesome – such as AC/DC’s TNT done doo-wop style. Website owner Jason Clayton is on hand, passing copies of a sampler (Super Sampler Volume I) featuring all these acts, as well as a handful of others.
Templeton is next, followed by the heavily touted NUdE, then GRG. By the time they take the stage, it’s about 2 in the morning.
March 5: Yeah No (NYC) with Avant Collective (local) opening
March 7: Two Dollar Guitar
March 9: Fighting Gravity, Jerkwater Jive, Fallout Shelter
March 10: ARA Benefit featuring Hoodoo Soul Band, Mescalito, Soul Fu Villains
March 15 – The Sheila Divine
March 16: Local heroes Scrawl, with support from Girlie Machine. Scrawl drummer Dana Marshall used to play with Girly Machine and is performing with both – his last show with Scrawl, too, as he is moving overseas
March 23 – Toshi Reagon
March 28: Yo La Tengo, Quickspace
March 30 – Knee Jerk Reaction
March 31 – John Mullins Band
April 5: Bad Livers
April6 – Richard Buckner
April10 – The Gunga Din
April 11: Cat Power
April 18 – Karma To Burn
April20 – The Melvins
April22 – Workbook Studios CD release party for Proud Like Parents compilation. No Tagbacks, Silo The Huskie, The Randys, The Stepford Five, A Planet For Texas, Gilmore Tamny, Amy Alwood, Jon Chinn perform. A computer is set up at the show so fans can play songs from the CD, and order it online from the dedicated website page. As an added bonus, the cover charge is being donated to Wellness Community.
April 28: BR5-49, with opening act Tarbox Ramblers (Cambridge, MA). Slaybaugh raves about Tarbox in his 5/4/00 review for Alive.
April 30 – …And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead
May 1 – Rock For FLOC. A benefit for migrant workers, staged by the Farm Labor Organizing Committee. Doors open at 6 for an all-ages show (Cessna, Mr. Celery Face, Fletch Wiley), with a regular 18+ one to follow at 10 (Stepford Five, F*Bomb, Floatation Walls). There’s even a special Dan Dougan appearance!
May 4 – Peter Rowan
May 6 – Fred Haring CD release. For real this time. Apparently the one earlier this year was canceled.
May 11 – The Go
May 20: Local band HensleySturgis play a CD release party, commemorating their debut album Open Lanes.
May 31: Juliana Hatfield and her other band, Juliana’s Pony, both play
June 1: L7
June 5: Collapsis
June 6: Asylum Street Spankers, Ukelele Man
June 7 – Shaffer Street
June 12 – The Skatalites
June 14 – Todd Snider, Dan Dougan
June 16 – Legendary Pink Dots
June 19 – Rebirth Brass Band, New Basics Brass Band
June 20 – Quadrajets, The Bell Rays, Fireballs of Freedom
June 21 – MP3 Showcase featuring Emily Richards, Bryan Kelly, and others
June 26 – Blonde Redhead
July 1 – Mojo Nixon & The Toadliquors. This is billed as a “Co-Dependence Day Party.”
July 8 – Season’s End CD release
July 24 – an interesting first ever foray into digital broadcasting for this venue. A website called “Digital Club Network” is hosting a four day online festival, broadcasting live shows. New Bomb Turks, Bob City, and Them Wranch perform to an actual crowd, though anyone can also watch for free online, from a static, single camera video feed. Some buffering issues aside, the event proved mostly a success.
July 28 – HensleySturgis again, this time with Hayseed
July 29 – Flyin’ Saucers
August 4 – New Duncan Imperials (billed as their “last Columbus show”)
September 17 – Sleater-Kinney, The White Stripes
October 10 – Martin Sexton. Damon and Leah are at this show. He ends up raving about this guy and his guitar playing abilities, says it was a really good performance.
October 17 – Drive-By Truckers
October 20 – Merl Saunders. This show is notable in that it’s an early transmission from a website called Digital Club Network, the first one I can track down. They would broadcast live from a venue, but then save it for viewing later as well. This wasn’t just a Columbus production, either, as they’ve set up shop at select venues all over the country.
I can’t find a set list much less the video or even audio now for this. If anyone knows how/where to track down these old DCN recordings, I would love to hear about it!
October 22 – Planet 12 and Subatomic Particles and Public Nuisance. Another DCN broadcast.
October 24 – Versus
November 11 – Superstar Rookie CD release. Pretty Mighty Mighty and A Planet For Texas also play.
November 15 – Yonder Mountain String Band
December 13 – Over The Rhine, Ashley Peacock
December 15 – Stepford Five. Another DCN broadcast.
December 16 – The Returnables, Salthorse. Another DCN broadcast.
December 17 – Mojo Nixon & The Toadliquors. Another DCN broadcast.
December 21 – Emperors Of Bad Luck. Another DCN broadcast.
Alive names Little Brother’s as the best place in town for rock n’ roll, 2000. Paul Bearer works the door and Bill Kramer is the sound man.
2001
January 12 – Elvis-a-thon Benefit
January 20 – Gaza Strippers
February 6 – J. Mascis. Another DCN broadcast.
February 13 – Flogging Molly, Blue Meanies. Another DCN broadcast for at least the Flogging Molly portion. After this I can’t find mention of any others, so this may have been a short lived experiment here.
February 15 – Sarah Harmer
February 28 – Yonder Mountain String Band
March 9 – The White Stripes
March 24 – Jonathan Richman
March 25 – Over The Rhine
March 27 – Crooked Fingers, Azure Ray
April 4 – Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks
April 10 – Amy Ray, The Butchies, Rose Polenzani
April 21 – Frank Black and the Catholics
May 3 – Grandaddy
May 8 – Guided By Voices, The Lovin’ Spoonful, Spoon
June 3 – Glen Phillips
June 5 – Flickerstick
June 6 – Blake Babies, Wheat
June 27 – Kristin Hersh
July 12 – Mojo Nixon & The Toadliquors
July 24 – Pete Yorn, Ours
August 23 – John Mayer
September 5 – The Faint, Blood Brothers
October 11 – Peach Melba, The Almighty Senators
October 12 – Uncle Sam’s Dream Machine, The Sultans of Bing
October 13 – Scoot-A-Que 4 event! A Planet For Texas, Superstar Rookie, Fat Ass, The Patsys (possibly The Cutters, mentioned in at least one events calendar).
October 14 – Thalia Zedek
October 15 – Aboogatoot, Len Lew
October 19 – Salt Horse CD release party. Joined by Grafton, Pretty Mighty Mighty, The Marcy Mays Experience
October 22 – The Corn Sisters
October 23 – Death Cab For Cutie, The Prom
October 24 – Iris DeMent
October 25 – Caedmon’s Call
October 26 – Stone Velvet, Go Robot Go, Barefoot Landing
October 27 – The Paladins with Ray Fuller & The Bluesrockers, Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash
October 28 – 3pm show is Columbus Blues Alliance Twin Tower Benefit. Dave Chisholm Band, Blues at Last, Nighttrain, Willie Pooch & The Upsetters, Teeny Tucker Band all play.
Then a different 8pm show, not part of this, which features Mezzanine C-14, Bob City, Grafton, The Weary Boys
October 29 – Karma To Burn with Bastard Squad of America
October 30 – Tomato Box Creative Music Ensemble, with The Avant Collective opening. The Other Paper raved about the first, John Zorn likes the latter.
October 31 – Jive Turkeys, Go Evol Shiki, Di Di Mao, Suran Song in Stag, Flotation Walls
November 1 – Jude, Michelle Branch with Scott Dorsuch
November 3 – Jay Farrar
November 4 – The Sheila Divine
November 11 – The Frogs
November 12 – The National
November 14 – The Immortal Lee County Killers
November 24 – Willie Phoenix, Johnson Brothers, X-Rated Cowboys
December 4 – Bliss 66
December 8 – Nashville Pussy, Betty Blowtorch, Broadzilla
December 14 – Watershed, Willie Phoenix, The Stepford Five play benefit show for Grant/Riverside Pet Therapy Program. This supplies terminally ill patients with free pets. Attendees get a gratis copy of Watershed’s latest single, Can’t Be Myself
December 20 – Over the Rhine
2002
January 15 – Maery Lanahan, Ember Swift
February 14 – The Breeders
February 20 – Azure Ray, The Good Life
February 21 – Drive-By Truckers, Slobberbone
February 23 – Jonathan Richman
March 1 – Virginia Coalition, Llama
March 3 – Daniel Ash
March 29 – Daniel Ash
May 11 – Watershed
May 13 – Supersuckers
May 25 – Gossip
June 11 – Frostiva, Mary Timony
June 19 – Umphrey’s McGee
June 25 – Pretty Girls Make Graves
June 28 – Umphrey’s McGee
August 29 – Drive-By Truckers
September 5 – The Black Keys
September 18 – Luna
October 8 – Melt Banana
October 19 – John Wesley Harding
October 28 – Particle
October 31 – Bright Eyes
November 1 – Faire Winds
November 6 – The Black Heart Procession
November 8 – Lou Barlow
November 10 – The Black Keys, The Datsuns
November 28 – KHM
2003
January 9 – Cursive, Neva Dinova
January 25 – Ordinary Peoples
February 16 – Koko Taylor And Her Blues Machine
February 17 – The Great Fiction, Lovedrug
February 20 – Sleater-Kinney, The Black Keys
February 21 – Neko Case, Carolyn Mark, Catherine Irwin
March 6 – Rilo Kiley, The Good Life, Mayday
March 12 – Maroon 5
March 21 – Frank Black and the Catholics
March 22 – Minus The Bear, Cursive, No Knife
March 24 – Mary Timony, Frostiva
April 1 – The Datsuns
April 2 – Bettie Serveert
April 10 – Lovedrug, twothirtyeight, House Of Heroes
April 8 – Earwig, Terribly Empty Pockets, Necropolis
April 10 – Bob Schneider
April 14 – Soul Position
April 15 – The Sun, Pretty Mighty Mighty
April 21 – Orchestraville
April 24 – Rebirth Brass Band
April 26 – Mescalito
April 27 – Brothers Past
April 28 – Medicine Wheel
May 18 – Dick Dale show. John Petric reviews it for The Other Paper and is not the least bit impressed. He says Dale was teaching his musicians how to play these songs while on stage. My favorite quote of the piece declares that this show sounds like, before arriving here, Dick “stopped off in Mansfield first to pick up a couple of 11th-graders to play bass and drums.” Misirlou and Ghost Riders in the Sky are mentioned by name, but I’m not sure what else was in the set.
May 23 – Twilight Singers and Afterhours. A review by Karen E. Graves in The Other Paper says Afterhours are an Italian group who kind of sound like Afghan Whigs – despite the presence of sax, violin, etc, which is difficult to picture. Apparently both bands tonight shared some of the same members, too, including the violinist. Before Dulli came on, though, they had to reset the stage anyway, adding incense and towels and so on, all of which added up to a break of about half an hour before Twilight Singers took the stage. Dulli was smoking on the stage. Opened with “I’m Ready” and also played “Forty Dollars,” which turned into a singalong and went over extremely well. Also a cover of Bjork’s “Hyperballad” that was executed with aplomb. Closed the main set with “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair,” then returned for an encore. Graves for the most part feels that the live renditions of Twilight Singers cuts are better than the recorded ones. She laments Dulli’s aloofness, however, and also the relative dearth of AW tunes.
June 23 – Streetkor Entertainment
June 24 – The Spikedrivers
June 25 – The Flex Crew
June 26 – We Are Scientists, The Double, Au Revoire Simone
June 28 – Final Fantasy
June 29 – Plastic Constellations
July 1 – The Sun show. It’s Damon, Maryland, Paul, Melissa, Joe, Pam, and me driving over here in 3 cars to watch them play. Everyone is supposed to crash at my apartment, but I actually botch this by drinking too much. It’s just this Venn diagram of trying to pull off too much at once, I think, with these jobs and driving to NC and back to see Mom at the hospital; but then also feeling like I haven’t done anything fun in months, and overdoing it; but then also I believe you hit this wall as you age where you’re technically doing the same things you’ve always done…but it’s suddenly not working anymore, on a dime. That night is tonight for me. I feel like all my friends have had multiple nights like this, but those were all years ago. I never really have, until tonight, and it’s more than a little bit embarrassing as a result. Easily my most embarrassing night living in Columbus, actually – which is saying quite a bit, I suppose. Yet I actually feel that for somebody who has such a zany reputation, I don’t really do anything all that wild. Most of the time, anyway. There are some obvious exceptions and maybe it depends upon what I mean by “wild.”
At any rate, it’s possible I was setting myself up for this: I was just thinking last week or so that, I’ve lived here almost 10 years, and can legitimately say I don’t feel like there’s a single night where I made an ass of myself. Well, so much for that. Tonight was that night. I’m 31 and feel like this night is officially the one where I realize my twenties are over.
Anyway, we are bouncing around all day, drinking a little bit, having dinner at a Mexican place, et cetera, prior to arrival here. A few others dropped out along the way, while Pam only wound up joining us near the end. I probably should not have been driving to this final destination. Yet as I beat everyone here – we had made a pit stop at Damon’s place, where he made Maryland give me the remainder of this vodka bottle – I decided I might as well take a quick catnap in my car.
Then woke up a short while later, I don’t know how much time had passed, although it couldn’t have been much considering nobody was surprised to see me stroll in or asked me “dude, where have you been?” or anything like that. They just kind of gave me a what’s up type nod. The Sun is already playing, and though I haven’t seen them before, wasn’t sure what to expect, these guys are sounding really good. The hype is justified. As an added bonus, Dan Bandman just so happens to be here as well.
Damon asks me I want to do a shot of tequila, and I’m like sure, why not. Though advise him to ask for it chilled (a little trick I picked up from Hostetler), which he is agreeable to, despite not trying it before. So we knock these back, and that’s all I have to drink here. Yet this shot seemingly hits me instantly, at which point I realize this was not such a hot idea.
Though hearing this before, and possibly even snickering at guys who said it, this is the first time where I realize first hand that there can be a difference sometimes with how a drink hits your head vs. its impact on your stomach. I remember for example one time Radick drank like half a beer at Maxwell’s, went outside to puke, then left – he was arguing later that he wasn’t drunk, it just messed his stomach up. Of course we had been drinking some prior to arrival there, and were all rolling our eyes, effectively, like yeah sure, buddy. But now I get what he meant. This has just never happened to me personally before, a clear division between the two. Legally, technically, I’m sure I was drunk driving here, but I actually feel much more clear headed and sober now, after that nap. Yet there’s no denying this shot has hit my gut like an atom bomb.
I feel like I’m going to hurl, and make a beeline for the restroom. But don’t ever actually throw up, instead just sit there on the commode, trying to bide time and waiting for things to settle. I can hear The Sun playing quite well through the walls, though, and am thinking that I really like these guys. Well, I’m evidently sitting here long enough for everyone to become worried, because Damon eventually strolls in and asks me if I’m alright.
Exiting the men’s room a short while later, I explain what happened. And though the crisis seems to have passed, our group had conducted a little pow-wow in the interim and decided that I shouldn’t be driving any more from here. Which is totally cool with me. Yet it would seem that I’ve also somehow ruined our plans for everyone, for the remainder of this night, because now nobody really wants to come back to hang out and crash at my apartment. Instead, we’re all just going to go our separate ways. Meanwhile, it’s also been decided that Dan will give me a ride back to his house and I can just crash there. He’ll bring me back to my car in the morning.
So they all split, and I catch a ride a short while later with Dan, over to his place on Indianola. It’s a pleasant enough ride, we’re chatting about music and whatever else, and I still feel clearheaded enough, even more so now that some time has passed. We’re coming up the alley behind his place, because he parks in the back, and Dan remarks that I seem totally fine now, to which I agree.
Anyway we get inside, he points out the living room couch where I can crash, I thank him and walk toward it. Then, from out of nowhere, the all but forgotten about and nowhere near expected explosion I’d long ago feared occurs, as this rocket launch of vomit lurches up from my stomach and out of my mouth. The lesser evil of this disaster is that I have quick enough reflexes somehow – either that or am just plain lucky – to direct it entirely onto this rug that he has sitting just in front of the couch.
However, it is a very nice rug. Dan winces but tries to put a game, accommodating smile on the situation, as he swiftly curls the rug up, to contain the projectile, and whisks it outside. I’m apologizing profusely, of course, and he’s telling me it’s no big deal, but I still feel like an ass. As I will continue to every time I think about this night, even all these years later. And Dan, buddy, if you happen to read this, I haven’t forgotten – though mentioning it on occasion, to which you just laugh, I know you threw that thing out and feel as though I still owe you a very nice rug. So feel free to hit me up on that offer at any time.
July 7 – Copywrite, Thought Set, The Revibalists, Zero Star
July 8 – Hum-V & the Cleptoz, Streetkor Ent, RNS Ent
July 9 – Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys
July 14 – Tim Easton’s CD release party for his latest, Ammunition. Chad Painter gives it a mostly scathing review in The Other Paper. The Spikedrivers open.
July 18 – MOFRO
July 22 – Anatomical Scenario Benefit. Happy Chichester, Jamnesia, Starving Goliath, Pretty Balanced all play.
July 26 – Particle
August 10 – Wars Of The Future, Hotel War
August 11 – The Spikedrivers, Chris McCoy & The Gospel
August 12 – Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, Wolverton Brothers, Times New Viking
August 16 – Lions, Los Pepes
August 17 – Beirut
as of August The Flex Crew is dispensing their reggae here every Sunday night, too
August 26 – Slum-B-Q III. Apparently this is some sort of tribute to 84 Nash – or something – but the particulars are a little murky to me. They are headlining, though, and reportedly disbanding after this show.
Anyway it’s a two stage affair somehow, and here is the breakdown:
September 21 – Tobias Froberg, Ellery, Heather Waugh
September 22 – The Spikedrivers, Tom Beardslee
September 23 – Jamnesia is listed in one events calendar; however in another it says Family Force 5 with Luna Halo, House of Heroes for an early show, then a later show featuring Moonlight Medicine Show with The Wells, The Skilletlickers. If I had to guess I think (see below) this Family Force 5 and everything else after it actually occurred on the 28th.
September 24 – The Flex Crew
September 25 – Mosquitos, Oppenheimer
September 26 – Jeff Lang
September 27 – Pistola, Flower Dagger
September 28 – Family Force 5
September 29 – Hank Williams III
October 2 – Nomeansno
October 3 – The Melvins
October 4 – Sunset Rubdown
October 5 – Dan Bern
October 9 – Suicide Girls
October 10 – Supagroup
October 11 – Okkervil River
October 13 – The Wrens
October 15 – Lisa Germano
October 19 – Silversun Pickups
October 21 – Wolf Eyes
October 22 – Jolie Holland
October 23 – Xiu Xiu
October 26 – Gang Gang Dance
October 27 – Ease The Medic CD release party for their debut EP, Riot on the Gold Coast. Melty Melty, Jinx Palm, Death in the Midwest, and Slide Machine are also on this loaded bill.
October 28 – Dance, Dance & Democracy: party For The Progressive Youth featuring Flotation Walls, Terribly Empty Pockets, Zachary Allan Starkey, Marvin The Robot. A free show, cabaret style, presented by the Ohio Democratic Party.
October 29 – Vienna Teng. An early show (6pm doors) with Elliot 12 Trees opening.
October 31 – Dr. Grimaldi’s Circus & Hi-Jinks Dance Co. Present: Spooky Cabaret Burlesque Dance Thrills
November 2 – Electric Six with The Blue Van, Aberdeen City
November 13 – Witchcraft are in town, following some difficulty getting their visas approved earlier on this tour
Though plans have been hinted at for years now to demolish the thing, at present this fabled athletics shed still proudly stands. OSU’s men’s and women’s basketball teams both, as well as the men’s hockey squad, stopped playing here after the 97-98 campaigns, in favor of the Schottenstein Center up the road. Over the years, this multi-purpose venue has seen everything from a Rush concert in 1980, to presidential hopeful Barack Obama stumping here on the campaign trail. Of course, at least one active commander-in-chief has been here, too, when Gerald Ford delivered the university’s summer commencement address inside St. John Arena in 1974. I skated this ice back when they had a dedicated night of the week for public use of the rink, and watched my buddy Damon play hockey in these dim confines when he was a member of the Buckeye “B” squad, or whatever you call it. As recently as 2016 this arena avoided a very close scrape, when its proudly announced replacement was nixed, and it continues to find use for some of the less popular OSU indoor sports.
As pure chance would have it, I manage to catch the last ever hockey game the OSU men’s team played here, on Febuary 26, 1998. Damon’s ex-girlfriend Angie is in town this afternoon (all the more interesting in that Damon hasn’t gotten around to breaking up with his current girlfriend yet), and the three of us are hanging out at the house. While attending class, Damon heard something about this promotion they are running, and snapped up two tickets, before inviting Angie down: for a meager $5, students can catch this momentous event, which also includes an all-you-can-eat pizza dinner at the campus Tommy’s before the game. Upon learning that I’m off from work tonight and will be around, he’s hatching a plan to include me as well.
The three of us squeeze into his truck and drive across campus to the building where he bought these tickets. We reach some office on an upstairs floor, back near where Woody Hayes Drive crosses the Olentangy, and Damon’s speaking with the receptionist.
“I’m sorry, we’re all sold out. You might be able to buy some off the guy running it, though, he might still have a few tickets left on him….”
“What’s his name?” Damon asks.
“Eric.”
“And he’ll be there tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Damon nods, “thanks.”
Undeterred, once we are outside the building again, he lays out a feasible backup plan. The chance of this Eric character having any tickets left is probably pretty slim. Nonetheless, Damon advises, what we’ll do is head into Tommy’s like nothing is awry, dive right into the free pizza and grab a seat. “And then if this Eric guy acts like he wants to see your ticket, tell him the secretary you talked to said he’d have one you could buy here.”
As it turns out, none of these machinations are necessary. Nobody is inspecting anything whatsoever at this restaurant. We help ourselves to reams of the gratis pizza, the free Pepsi to wash it down (or was it Coke? I feel like Bruce would surely know, off the top of his head, precisely what they serve here), and then Damon feels inspired to go buy a pitcher of beer and really ramp up the festivities a notch. Only when we are leaving, to walk across the street to the arena, does Eric ask for everyone’s ticket. When we reach him, I recite the spiel Damon had concocted.
“As it turns out, I do have oneleft,” he says. I hand him the five dollar bill, and he forks over the ticket.
Once everyone spills across Lane Avenue, flashing our proof of entry at the gate, the three of us snag some choice seats near ground level, right behind the visiting team’s net. Up the street, at the Olentangy River Road intersection, construction is nearly completed for what will be the new home for this as well as the basketball programs. If you want to get technical, though I and who knows what other high percentage of campus denizens aren’t aware of this, the hockey team plays at OSU Ice Rink. Yes, this is the name they actually use for the space where we currently find ourselves, a 1,400 seater on a separate wing of the same building, accessed via the same entrances. Everyone seems to refer to the entire building as St. John Arena, though, and you surely would too if driving past and pointing it out to your parents or something.
Now that we’re nearing the tail end of the 1997-98 campaign, the Buckeyes are finishing out an amazing season, with talks that winning state seems perfectly reasonable, and a Frozen Four title might even be in the cards. First, however, they must dispense with the Miami, Ohio squad, not exactly known as much of a powerhouse in anything except maybe illicit substance consumption.
But this will actually turn into a well fought contest. Miami is outplaying OSU in the early going, scoring first, in period one. The home team looks ragged and has virtually no offense, though somehow tying things up with about thirty seconds left in this period.
A seesaw battle develops from here, and though digging live hockey as much as the next guy, for some reason it’s a struggle keeping my eyes open during this one. It could be the afternoon beer or excessive work schedule or lack of sleep, and surely not because nobody scores at all during period no. 2, or most of the third one as well. In the closing moments, though, OSU fires the puck into Miami’s goal once more. As a desperation move the visitors pull their goalie, to give themselves a better shot at scoring, though the Buckeyes capitalize on this backfiring tactic and slap a third point on the board. Final tally is 3-1, with the good guys further cementing their status as impending tournament heavyweights.
Following some road contests, the season will end and they will advance as far as a semi-final game in the tournament bracket. Fittingly enough, this campaign proves the most successful in over 25 years, probably since the class of 1971-72.
Two nights later, the men’s basketball squad will play its final scheduled game here, across the hall in the actual St. John Arena. An overtime loss to Penn State drops them to 8-21 on the year, with an especially miserable 1-15 record to this point against the Big Ten (they have one road game remaining, against Indiana). The season actually began well, with a 7-3 mark, before this horrific 14 game losing streak within their own conference. A change of venues will do them good, however, for they experience a complete reversal in the following season, their first at the Schottenstein Center, when they reach the Final Four. Scheduling mixups at their new home leads them to return to St. John Arena for a single game during both the 2004 and 2008 seasons.
After a ten year break from the place, in November 2018, they again return to this old shed, in a promotional gimmick which sells more tickets than the average game at Value City Arena does. How is this for irony? In the straight up sad department, however, I seriously spent well over an hour online trying to find the date for the final women’s basketball game here. OSU’s website doesn’t have it and neither does the NCAAW’s. If anyone can locate this information, by all means hit me up.
Stop Rewind Fast Forward: 1993. (click to view/read more)
Pick up a copy of my latest music history tome, concerning that iconic year! Among the shows covered are a Primus and Smashing Pumpkins, both held at Newport Music Hall. Also the Lollapalooza stop at nearby Buckeye Lake, where local band Scrawl was on the bill, and Cbus musician Foley played as a member of Arrested Development.
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