Interview with Divets/Review of Divets and Anisette: by John Touchton

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Originally uploaded by jaxscene

How does such a small state produce so much good music? Rhode Island has been the birth place of some of my favorite bands: Arab on Radar, Daughters, Lightning Bolt and even The Body, who just played here last weekend. Last Monday night, I was able to befriend two more bands, stemming from the Ocean State; Divets, a one man psych project and math rock trio, Anisette, have been all along the East Coast, braving some of the coast’s recent blizzards and backwoods towns, ending up at Doozer’s Pub. Their arrival in Jacksonville was not welcomed by sunshine and warm weather as they had hoped for, nor were their many people at the show to greet them. But sometimes those empty-room shows can provide a more intimate experience, as well as a chance to talk with both Anisette and Divets about some of the stranger shows they’ve played this tour.


After the show, we all met at a friend’s house in Riverside to consume Busch, cheap wine and some fresh Californian herbs that they had acquired on their trip. The living room was live with drunken energy, but we managed to talk above everyone else and discuss what it’s like to play those awkward shows when on a self-booked tour.

John: You guys have traveled a long way, just to play for a few people at Doozer’s. I’m sure you’ve had similar shows on your way down. What do you think is the strangest show you’ve played, thus far?

Joe (Divets): This guy who was supposed to help us book the tour only ended up booking two dates. One place, in Big Stone Gap, VA, was called The Edge. It was this Christian, straight edge venue. They immediately acted weary around us and said that if we cursed at all, we’d have to leave. When we first arrived there was this woman standing at the venue, wearing an “I’m for Jesus” shirt. They didn’t care for us too much.

John: That reminds me of the Murray Hill Theatre here in Jacksonville. Did any thing good come from the show?

Joe: We received some expired orange juice, bread, and milk.

John: Any other difficulties during the tour?

Joe: There was another Christian venue in Mill Spring, NC that we were supposed to play. When we got to town there were these red necks with guns that just sat there staring at us, wickedly. We got to the venue and they told us that no one was coming out, but we could set up and play if we wanted. Luckily, our friends from Blastoids were playing a house show about three hours away, in Winston Salem, NC, so we ended up playing there instead.

John: That must’ve been a relief. I think that those kinds of shows are unavoidable, but worth it to play a few good ones. Are there any dates that you guys are excited about?

Joe: Yeah. We’re playing a show in Queens, NY as our last date. It’s this zine release show. There’s something like, eight bands playing and I guess it’s supposed to be a big deal. We’re playing Orlando tomorrow and then driving, I think, eighteen hours straight to Queens. We’re stoked.

Realizing that it was nearly 5am, we decided to call it a night. We said our goodbyes and reaffirmed plans for future National Dairy/Anisette/Divets shows.


Although they played for an almost empty bar, both Divets and Anisette kept a good attitude and it showed through their performances. We traded some of our merchandise for a few Divets/Anisette split mini-discs, stayed up late and discussed music all night. I feel that the show, overall, was fun and we met some cool kids from Rhode Island. Expect more music from that little mound of dirt off the coast to pop up in Jacksonville’s future.

The Body and Civilization: by John Touchton

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Originally uploaded by jaxscene

Night did fall. And a penetrating breeze, whispering chilling rumors of evil and despair, did carry him steadfast, through vast plains of concrete and to his destination. The gates of Wambolt St. would steer our protagonist to his ruin… Sorry for the dark tone. Have I been reading too much Cormac McCarthy, you ask? Or could such grey narrative be due to the quality doses of doom, administered by Providence based duo, The Body and Jacksonville’s own, Civilization? Saturday night was borderline freezing, but such low temperature wasn’t going to curb the desires of those in need of a fix of iniquitous metal.

Warehouse 8b has been home to a collection of artists, while also providing a place for bands to practice and book shows. Saturday night, however, Unit 8b acted more as a giant refrigerator, in which to host a night of loud music played through very large amps. The first band that played was called Nuclear 2. As soon as they started they were almost finished. After an assault of blast beats and cymbal crashes that lasted only minutes, the masked drummer angrily removed his outer face and threw down his drumsticks, with frustration. This was my queue to get warm by the fire outside, but only embers remained, smoldering and emitting a thick smoke, reminiscent of countless fires before it.

Speaking of nostalgia, watching Civilization that evening reminded me of just how long they’ve been playing. Very few Jacksonville bands from five years ago are still together. Josh and Eric, however, still seem to enjoy damaging eardrums and their progress, after losing a bass player to the Portland, Oregon migration movement, shows that a two piece band can still deliver volumes of trembling guitar riffs and droning drum beats. Civilization’s set, that evening, tore through the cold and vibrated the sternums of stoned onlookers. Boasting their freshly pressed LPs and t-shirts, their merch table also presented a few zines from the main library’s new collection. According to Josh, they’ve just obtained the entire archive of Maximum Rock and Roll. Be sure to check out Civilization again on Jan. 16 at the 5 Points Theatre, as they provide an original soundtrack to classic cinema.

Gazed upon through the darkness, The Body slowly assembled and at the center of this frigid warehouse was the warmth of a small crowd of anticipators. Only a vague light subtly illuminated the room with a quiet shine. With the first chord, struck a heavy blow. The ground trembled and within measures everyone seemed to be swaying in unison, entranced by such bleak sound waves. Although this was my first chance to see The Body perform, I did managed to catch a hip-hop project called Lorna Doom a few years ago, which contained one member of The Body, as D.J. They were obviously new at what they were doing, but it was good. They even sampled a song by The Pixies, which must have been some kind of copyright infringement, as I don’t believe they could afford to pay for its use. But Saturday night, The Body delivered an onslaught of dark, heavy riffs, as if the soundtrack to hell was chopped and screwed. As they make their way back up the East Coast, I’m sure they’ll look back at their Jacksonville date as the warmest.

Overall, I believe the black cold of the night called for a helping of perilous metal such as this: loud and evil. They go together like cookies and milk.

In Search of Oblivion: by John Touchton

Wednesday, Oct. 28: the Japanther show, at T.S.I. was where I was going to be; to tell this story through my own recollection, might take a bit of embellishment. It was one of those oblivion-seeking nights and I had broken a covenant with myself, deciding to mix liquor and energy drinks, which allows the body to continue raging after the mind has already waved the white flag. Arriving at T.S.I with a stomach full of Four Loco, vodka left over from the A.N.T.E. Up tournament, countless beer, and a Red Bull to boot, already had me foaming at the mouth. Where do I begin?
Let’s start with Chicken and Whiskey, which might have been a less lethal combination than the concoction of berserk I had already consumed. All I remember is that before they played, I was doing a mixture of blow and gunpowder in the bathroom with Macho Man Randy Savage. They call this “brown brown” in the African jungles, but he insisted on calling it “buff ice.” When I looked up from the broken mirror, lying on the floor of the men’s stall, Randy was gone. I assumed that he had pussies to pile drive and rap albums to record, so I didn’t question his disappearance. C. and W. had already started by the time I made my way to the dance floor, which had been turned into a slip-and-slide of beer, sweat, and possibly blood, as I’ve been told I hit my head more than once. Don’t worry though, my ears aren’t ringing anymore and they have only bled twice since that night. Just as they were finishing their set, some drunken asshole from the crowd flew onto the stage, knocking over keyboards like bowling pins, just to be carried off in a frenzied stupor.
I hadn’t seen Tough Junkie perform in a minute, so I was more than stoked to see him play; and lucky for him, I was there. If my memory serves me correctly, I was able to perform an interpretive break dance to his set, wooing old T.J., along with the audience. I have to say that I may have stolen the show, but Tough Junkie was good too. After the set, I went to the restroom in search of more “buff ice,” but instead found Fred Durst and Big Dunn having a rap battle, just like in the music videos. I think Durst was the victor, but my memory on the evening is a little hazy, so it could have been either one. It was a good thing that with every pulse, my body was pumping taurine, guarana, caffeine, and alcohol, because the night was fading and Japanther had yet to play.
The first time I saw Japnather play, I was in Bloomington, Indiana for the 2006, Plan-it-X Fest. I remember this night more clearly than the T.S.I. show. I had never heard of them before, but was not disappointed in their set, as their songs were infectiously poppy. Then I caught them at a house show last year in St. Augustine; the walls were lined with bobbing bodies, sweating profusely, which seems to be protocol at a Japanther show. Earlier this year, while in Brooklyn, I attempted to catch Japanther in their hometown at a warehouse space, called The Shank. I’m pretty sure they were selling booze under the table there, but that was fine with me. After a week of spending Florida-earned dollars in an economy much stronger than ours, I was happy to buy cheap anything. Although Japanther never showed up, for some reason I never found out, I did get to catch Brooklyn based hip-hop group, Ninjasonik, perform an entire set, free styling over Japanther songs. It was definitely a worthy consolation. This time, however… Well, let’s see if I can dig into the deepest pits of my black out. I think they covered some songs by The Cure; I do remember some crowd surfing and Lil’ Willy got hit in the nuts; more sweaty, beer slip-and-sliding occurred; and I don’t remember the ride home. How is that for a review?
Recollection is a fickle function of the mind. It can be the worst liar or the truth you never wanted to know. Although, I don’t remember much of what I’ve heard happened, the fact that I still feel like I got in a fight with Mickey Rourke makes it difficult to deny such allegations. If there are any disputes as to what I’ve claimed as absolute truth in this review, feel free to fill in the blanks via comments. Thank you.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch at The Sinclair

As one of Jacksonville’s staples of entertainment, the Alhambra Dinner Theatre, has come to an end, at least tentatively, others are looking for ways to fulfill the hole that was left behind. When Tom asked me if I wanted to cover the opening night for the production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch at the Sinclair, with promises of free admission for two and some drinks on the house, I agreed to do so; it was Friday night and sounded like it would be my cheapest route for a good time.
Upon arrival, and maybe it’s my fault for getting stoned prior to the show, there were some miscommunications about my entry fee. Although the situation was quickly resolved, I was only disappointed to find that, in the spirit of trans-gendered rock operas, the only free drink was a pink concoction that consisted of a mixture of liqueurs, garnished with a strawberry; I ordered the pale ale and found a table in the back, as the performance was about to commence.
The introduction was just as the film portrays and the authenticity doesn’t fizzle out. All of the songs were dead on and Hedwig, played by Josh Waller, was well received. Although the stage room was limited, Waller brought the rest of the bar, as well as its patrons, in on the act. This performance of Hedwig and the Angry Inch was, definitely, a fresh experience and while the similarities are notable, it is the differences that set it apart from the film.
As Jacksonville strives to create and maintain a viable art scene, it is imperative that we support what’s going on. There will be performances on October 2nd and 3rd, then on the 7th, during Art Walk, the 8th, and the 10th. All performances start promptly at 9:30, so don’t “drag” ass. (Sorry, I had to end it with a bad pun.)
Designer and Stylist: Joy A Smith
Director: Christopher P. Farrell
And the cast…
Hedwig: Josh Waller
Ythzak: Maya Adkins
Jacek: Ryan Turk
Schlatko: John Boote
Krzyzhtof: Brennan Hammil
Skszp: Arron Marshall
Reviewed by John Touchton

Words of Encouragement: Review of September's Art Walk: by John Touchton

Downtown Jacksonville, these days, reeks of ambition and Art Walk seems to be the source of creative stench where this month has been a testimony of such. The police are making efforts to look busy, as we citizens are taking advantage of the single night, per month, we are allowed to drink in the streets. I habitually make my rounds by the old library; this location proves to ward off boredom and routine, boasting barbeque, art, and live music. Besides the logical reasons that I abide in such a familiar sect of these monthly occasions, I am anxious to see what's new from some of my favorite artists in town. Eric Gilliard is displaying his pictorial representations of conspiracy theory and ancient mythology, as Ian Chase's installations drain the city's electricity to portray the weird and unexplained. After the Bomb, Baby, as well as Tourist Trap are scheduled to play this evening and I, for one, plan to be there.
Although I always stick close to the library, I do make a point to see what else is happening in the area. Walking down Adams St. during Art Walk, one may find all sorts of creative happenings; I was lucky enough to stumble upon a building, void of anything that would imply legitimate business use throughout the rest of the month. The walls were bare and the floors, just dusty concrete; however, this desolate structure may have provided the perfect stage for electronic trio Matrix Infinity, along with their friend Morrison Pierce, to decorate with psychedelic cut outs, stencils, and a plethora of randomness. They also had some of their recordings and other miscellaneous merchandise on display. Peeking through these little plastic bags they had for sale, I found something new in each one. I'd say that these ladies have some of the most innovative, hand made band merchandise in the city. It's almost as if they robbed an arts-and-crafts store, just to meticulously assemble each piece differently. After visiting such a strange place, I decided to continue down Adams St. to the convenient store for a couple of beer.
Upon arrival, and I have to mention this although it has nothing to do with art, I found two of Jacksonville's finest heckling a paraplegic homeless man who had just scrounged up the change to purchase a four-pack of Highlife. While this sort of behavior is not uncommon, I was appalled at what happened next, as I was choosing my selection of brew: one of the officers came into the store holding the remainder of the four-pack, set it on the counter, and in a most typically, cop fashion he said to the clerk, “Okay, here's what I'm gonna' do. I'm gonna set these here beers on the counter, and you can just put 'em right back on your shelf. He's had enough to drink. Heh, heh, heh.” Now, I'm no lawyer, but is it not illegal for a retail store to receive full payment for a commercial product, then to sell the same item again, at cost? And why is it that hundreds of drunk citizens are able to stumble up and down the street obnoxiously, yet one disabled bum can't have a few beer in his wheelchair? I can't see a man of his caliber getting too disorderly in a fucking wheelchair. Maybe I should let it be, but it infuriates me to see a public servant display such behavior, but at least the man didn't get shot or tased. Like I said though, this has nothing to do with art. As I made my way back to the library, it occurred to me that while I may not be as easy of a target as a crippled homeless person, I should still be weary of the parades of police patrol. After all, they can do whatever they want.
Returning to the library, I was amazed at how many people had arrived. The place was buzzing with art enthusiasts and for good reason. I've known Ian Chase and Eric Gillyard for a few years now, but they've been friends for much longer, which may be why they do so many displays together. Last spring they had a big show at St. Augustine's Screen Arts and Eric displayed some of his work early this year in the basement of the library. I like Eric's work because of its subtle themes. At first glance, one may not know what the relevance of his pieces are, but if that curious speculator were to inquire of him the nature of his work, it may result in long discussion about aliens, biblical mythology, masonic rituals, or any number of conspiracy theories. Its not just the cerebral content, however, that excites my intellectual taste buds, but it is his methods as well. His work, in my opinion, resembles photoshop techniques but with actual images, rather than digital: sort of a cut and paste style that is more than just a simple collage. And Ian Chase, one of the most eccentric people I know, had two installation pieces this month. One, simply titled “Thai Lunch Buffet,” was my favorite. It consisted of a bass drum on some sort of rack with two mallets mechanically engineered to run by themselves, creating a machine gun blast beat, while a recording of eerie guitar noises and chanting blared over a Marshall full stack. The second, I'm unsure of the title, was an arrangement of neon lights and a disco ball hanging from a structure rigged to hang more lights and a bubble maker. It's great when an artist's creative endeavors cause one to question the artist's sanity and Ian Chase's work does that and more. Not many are willing to put time and money into a piece that may not turn a profit, but I feel it's respectable when someone does step out on a limb for the sole purpose to blow minds. As the bands set up their equipment, Thai Lunch Buffet would carry us into oblivion and prepare an audience for loud music.
Although I did a review of After the Bomb, Baby a few weeks ago, I feel that their performance alone, this Art Walk, was worth a few words. As I've mentioned before, this band is anywhere from slightly, to completely different every time I see them play. This time, although the line-up was almost unchanged, I feel that their set had a certain level of improvisation that enhanced their nuclear party sound. And for the first time I had the chance to see Tourist Trap. I wasn't sure what to expect. All I knew about them was that they had played with Guttermouth a few weeks earlier. Honestly, I didn't know Guttermouth still existed, but I thought it was strange that they had played together. Either way, I was impressed with their style. They carry out a thrash appeal, not dissimilar from bands like Asshole Parade or Charles Bronson. Josh Jubinsky, normally drumming for every band from here to St. Augustine, turned out to be a secret shredder on guitar. With Eric, from Jacksonville's Civilization, playing bass guitar, along with their drummer and female vocalist, these guys and girl, destroyed it. They will be playing again on September 26 at Steamworks with Gnarly by Nature, National Dairy, and The Winslows from St. Augustine.
The night seemed to be a success. Although I didn't leave the Adams St. area, I know that there was a lot more going on. Every Art Walk, lately, there has been too much for one person to write about and that is what excites me. I feel that Jacksonville gets overlooked sometimes, but there is actually a lot going on here. The thing that makes the city so ambitious is the fact that anything can be done here, but because of city planning, First Baptist, and the ever prowling J.S.O., artists and musicians alike must work extra hard to make cool shit happen. With Burro Bag, Zombie Bikes and the Jaxscene.com contributors, along with every band, artist, and independent business owner, our potential can only be limited by laziness. Hoorah!

Photos by tom p. Click the picture to see the set.

Strange Vibrations by John Touchton: Review of Didimao, Ezrulie Hearts Omebi, and National Dairy

It was such a strange night: August 19, at TSI. The prior evening, my first time there in over a year, a ruckus ensued over a beer can that was launched from a crowd of spectators onlooking the bold and attention starved karaoke super stars. As a patron was finishing his rendition of, I believe it was a Linkin Park song, someone felt it necessary to hurl their drink at him, hitting him square in the face. A group of my friends, along with myself, were encouraged to leave, as we were of the speculated culprits of this flying P.B.R. The next night, August 19, a show was scheduled with San Francisco's Didimao, our own Ezrulie Hearts Omebi, and my band, National Dairy. We were wondering how the evening would pan out, due to the escapades previously mentioned. Thankfully, however, TSI has a clean slate policy, stating that whatever happens one evening, does not carry over to the next night; nonetheless, we were still a bit apprehensive to show up.
Upon arrival, it was apparent that we were at no risk of scrutiny; I'm almost positive that only one bartender was aware of who we were and what would it matter anyway? We were never proven guilty. The night, however, still exuded strange vibes. Maybe it was just the line up of psychedelically charged bands, or possibly just the fact that TSI is an awkward environment when it's not overloaded with scene hungry hipsters, flaunting the latest fashions as they perform neo-ritualistic mating calls. Either way, I was sure I would enjoy myself with much help from my beer tokens and the fact that the last band from the bay area we had played with, Religious Girls, were absolutely amazing.
We showed up a little late, but Ezrulie Hearts Omebi had already set up their collection of synthesizers and percussion pieces. Along with their heavily delayed vocals, this trio of psychedelia seemed as though they were ready to create an atmosphere, which seems to be a very important aspect of anything Omebi is part of. Their set almost reminds me of a funeral, featuring a score produced by David Lynch. With their ominous tones and dark subject matter, these folks induce a very hypnotic and captivating sound, conducive to the energy in the room. I enjoyed their set and was excited to set up and play, myself.
I can't say much about our performance. In fact, I feel we've had our better nights. My Roland Jazz Chorus, created before I was born, was giving me some problems. Our equipment seems to be a testimony of our economical times of despair. But we did manage to pull off the set without any serious equipment failure and even though we haven't had a place to practice in a month, I'd say that we were tight enough. I was more so excited to see Didimao. I knew little about them before the show, which is how I like to approach a band I've never seen.
Didimao had assembled their equipment and sound-checked before anyone else arrived. They began their set with what sounded like the beginning of a thunder storm, which quickly grabbed my attention. Their style could be compared to a soundtrack to a nightmare of mine, where I die some horribly gruesome death at the hands of something unexpected. Each new song they played was introduced by some howling whirlwind of noise which would eventually lead into a cultish lashing of effected guitar and bass, accompanied by drums and light sampling. Their chants only pronounce this description even more. I was not disappointed in the least and was surprised to find out that Didimao had no idea of who Religious Girls are, being that they live in the same area. I traded a copy of our demo for one of Didimao's albums and I encourage anyone intrigued by unusual music to check it out.
As strange as the night was, sometimes such vibes can highlight music in just the right way. Even with such energy, the previous night, with Karaoke connoisseurs and flying beer cans, was much more awkward. I can't say that throwing aluminum objects at people singing over Sublime and Linkin Park songs is the right thing to do, but it is funny to watch.

Review: The Sinclair Grand Opening 8/8/09 w/ After The Bomb Baby and Chicken & Whiskey

To Wage, or to Rage
It's Saturday night again, and although I know I have to work at 8 a.m. on Sunday, the lure of the night life clouds my ability to make reasonable decisions, concerning my bed time. With rationality brushed under the rug and a nice breeze to carry me downtown, I'm off to seek a thrill.
Sprinting down Forsyth St. on a bicycle after dark can seem, even accompanied by friends, to be a lonely trek; despite its destitution, this road may lead any willing body to a building only marked by the "S" on its humbly subtle front door. This ambiguous, yet apparent, symbol acts as the beacon of light directing thirsty souls to the newest watering hole in Jacksonville, known as The Sinclair,. Usually, when I decide to attend an event, I make it a point to arrive early, just to catch any candid moments worth noting; on this occasion, however, I spent a period of time before the Chicken and Whiskey and After the Bomb, Baby show, drinking retail priced beer on my front porch. Upon arrival and to my surprise, this newly founded bar was packed, corner to corner, with spectators waiting to witness live entertainment.
It's good to hear of new places to drown in booze and even better to see that, despite the economy, business is booming. I had frequented The Sinclair only twice before the grand opening and was curious to see how things were going to pan out; although, my previous visits were on much slower nights, I could complain of nothing. The D.J.'s playlists were on point and the selection of beer, just as well. The only aspect of this bar that perplexes me is the painting hanging over head. Is it Walt Disney or Vincent Price?
After the Bomb, Baby had already set up by the time I had arrived. The last chance I had to see them perform, the line-up was slightly different, but with a few new Korgs and a live drummer, along with D.J. Nick Fresh, I was excited to hear how the songs may have changed. Its always rad to see a band brought together by blood and the Strasser brothers, being the only consistent members thus far, are no disappointment. With Cliff man-handling his trombone and synth, Ryan unleashing a barrage of strokes on the guitar, and Taylor grooving low tones on bass, they pull off a post-apocalyptic after party sound that, in some strange way, sounds "old school." I can't help but to think of the Dead Kennedys when I hear their melodically unorthodox progressions and the vocals, as well, seem to be slightly influenced by the maniacal, Jello Biafra. I was pleased, however, that their sound was original, to say the least. As they finished their set, I fought the urge to acknowledge how many hours remained before my alarm clock would sound, ringing in a morning of waging. I then found comfort in a pint of locally brewed ale.
As Chicken and Whiskey finished setting up equipment, Big Dunn, one of their keyboardists and vocalists, made his way to the bar and ordered two beer and a water. My assumption was that he had taken requests from his band mates for drinks, but to my dismay, each beverage would only be used to fuel his passionate energy. And those are surely affective adjectives to describe this band. With gang vocals on most parts of the songs, dueling keyboards, and Jack Diablo on drums, these three members produce a sound worth raising a fist and a glass to. When they shout lyrics such as, "Say what you mean, mean what you say," I can't help but feel convicted, myself. But as they boldly claim, "We practice what we preach," it is apparent that they do mean what they say. Although I have seen Chicken and Whiskey before, this was definitely their night. They ended their set with a song, obviously about the Jacksonville scene, that consists of Chris Williams playing a solo key riff, as he and Big Dunn go back and forth satirically comparing their tastes in what they like to see on the dance floor. I was able to haggle with the band, afterwards, bartering a beer for a t-shirt, but I have to admit that I may have commandeered a copy of their demo, as well. Sorry and thanks.
Sure enough, Sunday came with the sunrise and I accomplished a six hour shift on roughly two-hundred minutes of sleep, which by anyone's standards, is no small feat. I can't say that I regret depriving myself of a good night's rest to behold such an evening, although I will lay claim to an absolute contempt for alarm clocks.
Review by John Touchton



Click the photo for the full set. Photos by tom p.

Review: Artwalk and Riverside Pit Show 8/5/09

Art Walking in the Rain

It's the first Wednesday of August and rain clouds are taunting my decision to attend this months Art Walk. As I am confidently pacing down Adams St. through crowds of familiar faces, I wonder where all these culturally and artistically starved Floridians abide every other day of the month; however, their valiant efforts to avoid a four hour television fix, despite bong rips on the couch, create an ambitiously warm feeling in my gut. Or maybe the few beer I've squandered my wages on are doing the trick. Either way, I quicken my step. D.J. Triclops is spinning the hits, Airport Factory is about to play their intellectual jams at the old library's alley way, and the reopening of The Pit, infamous for hosting good D.I.Y. shows and providing opportunities to drink the night away without a bar tab, is just a few hours away. As I brush shoulders with friends, anticipation boils my blood and waves of curiosity thicken the storm overhead; I'm pleased to see, however, that a little rain isn't preventing anyone from making an appearance. Besides, unlike the rain, this only happens once a month.
Jacksonville's Art Walk exists as if the renaissance era fucked a Hallmark store and their bastard of a conception vomited what could be considered a somewhat eclectic local art show, spanning the streets of our city on the river. Don't get me wrong. There are some interesting displays, with Burro Bags peddling various homemade hand bags and back packs, as well as t-shirts sporting slogans such as "the south will ride with friends;" however, any Art Walk regular with a perceptive eye may recognize the the lack of variation on a monthly basis. I can't complain, however. What else would anyone be doing on a Wednesday night? And at least we still have the old library.
The old library is an unofficial term for the historic building left behind when Jacksonville's main library moved just a few blocks down the street, facing the homeless haven known as Hemming Plaza. Basically, from my understanding, the lease holders of the old library have great plans of creating ,yet, another market of shops, stores, and casual dining. (Refer to the Jacksonville Landing) But without anyone willing to lease, they have been gracious enough to allow art displays, live music, and even the occasional dance party to occur in this otherwise useless building. Over the last year or so, some of the best events of the Art Walk have been organized in the basement of this three story structure; however, as any citizen of Jacksonville knows, nothing good lasts forever in this city. These days, the top layer is blocked off and the basement is being used to hide the corpses of the only really good art shows held at these monthly events. Not all is lost, though. We have been fortunate enough for the allowance of the alley way behind the old library, which may not hold such a romanticized atmosphere, but still provides a space for catered b.b.q., tables manned by artists selling unique trinkets, clothing, and artwork, as well as a spot for D.J. Triclops to scratch and spin. As local indie rock band, Airport Factory, is getting ready to swoon an audience of artists and drunkards alike, I decide to run to the only convenient store in the area to grab a beer.
For some reason, Airport Factory's melodic jams just seem to remind me of a soundtrack to a river city, such as ours. Chris Williams' socially conscious lyrics just add to the whimsical style of his key board playing, while Nick Osgood plucks a six string accenting in just the right way. Drummer, Mark Lynn, seemingly and respectfully one of the most serious drummers around town, whips his high hats into shape in unison with the others, creating a composition worthy of the attention they receive. With their new album, "Fast Casual," on the way, this trio will surely continue to exceed expectations for local music. As they wrap up there set, D.J. Triclops flips a record and announces the re-opening of the pit, featuring a lineup of Atlanta based, Vegan Coke, as well as Jacksonville favorites Buff Clout and National Dairy. The night is young and the booze flows like rain in the gutters.
Upon arrival of The Pit, I am reminded of nights I may not actually remember, but are documented in the form of flyers, photographs, and scars. Hosting bands such as Georgia's own Baroness, The Black Lips, and Black Tusk, as well as well traversed acts, Lightning Bolt and An Albatross, The Pit holds a history of D.I.Y. shows that could make some sort of low key hall of fame, as far as Jacksonville goes. The new lease holders have slightly renovated the inside, transforming what used to look like a storage space for miscellaneous recording equipment, screen projectors, and a plethora of collectables, into a black light illuminated, dungeon of swank. At the door, there is a counter protecting the holy grail of underground shows: the keg. As Vegan Coke assembles their equipment, everyone seems reluctant to let loose just yet; however, not one is hesitant to fill their plastic goblets with beer.
Watching Vegan Coke reminded me of a stoned jam session in a basement with friends. With delay pedals and some light sampling, along with effected guitar riffing and heavy drums, these guys have created a dark, southern rock sound with psychedelic undertones. Although it was their third time performing in one day, they had an energy as if they had been ready to play for hours and were finally able to release an attack on the blank faces of zoned out observers. They ended their set with a noisy progression of squeals and howling feedback, reminiscent of the hurricanes that never seem to actually hit Jacksonville. I am interested where this band will take their sound in the future.
Next was National Dairy. I could write this paragraph posing as an unbiased spectator, but the truth is that I'm in the band and as narcissistic as it may be, I've got to say something about it. Judging by our responses, I feel that we accomplished a "nails on chalkboard" sound, influenced by similar bands, such as Arab on Radar, Daughters, or AIDS Wolf. As I watched the audience's faces during our set, I couldn't tell if they were mesmerized or appalled at the screeching guitar riffs accompanied by double bass, blast beats, and the sonic screams of lead vocalist Chelsea. Either way, our hopes are always to accomplish either of the aforementioned reactions.
Lastly, Buff Clout took the floor with confidence and pride. If you live in Jacksonville and you haven't seen or heard Buff Clout, then maybe you actually live in Orange Park. Either way, I am surprised every time I see them play, that they have some sort of new material. As of lately, the duo present their set in three stages of math rock poetry: the new songs, the first album, and a song that they just finished. They ended their set with a jam I had seen them attempt at a house show previously, but as they had just completed the work, they were a bit rusty; however, this time they pulled it off with stride. If you follow this band from show to show, you may end up feeling as though you are watching the growth of a child, as their performances seem to be their practices, as well.
I'm walking back to my truck, full of band equipment, as I contemplate on the events of the evening. The night is still moist and the parking lot is littered with the remaining inebriated, as they make connections, plan for the after party, or just catch up with old friends. In reflection, the night wasn't so bad. Despite my cynical attitude towards Jacksonville happenings, the Art Walk was a success as far as bringing folks together. I would be lying if I were to claim that there were some sort of lesson to be learned from the night, or some profound epiphany finally realized. But if I were to come away with anything, it would be a few extra dollars from not running a bar tab through the roof. It's not uncommon to see negative attitudes, inspired by boredom, around this fair city of ours and who can be blamed? I guess we're lucky to have what we've got for the intervals of time that we do. All we can hope to accomplish is to find inspiration around us and to influence others to do the same. Maybe next Art Walk, everyone will be inspired to bring raincoats.

Review by John Touchton




Click the photo for the full set. Photos by tom p.