The show that got away>
The Archers played at Decibels, in Mechanicsburg, PA, which was a place with a lot of potential. Except for the fact that it was located in Mechanicsburg, PA next to a MAACO Auto Body Repair shop. No one to blame but myself. I think I hadn’t picked up Icky Mettle by then. I can’t even remember what I was doing instead, but it couldn’t have been more important than seeing this great a band this close to the house I grew up in. I did see what was one of their last shows ever though in LA at the Troubadour. Though that doesn’t make up for missing the Decibels show. Not at all.
Dial-up is DEAD>
AOL will never be “America Online” to me. It will always stand for “Archers of Loaf.” I wish I got as many CDs from Archers in the mail as I have from crappy America Online over the years. Luckily for us, Archers never repackaged the same shit with a “.1” at the end of it.
How your favorite band should end their career>
White Trash Heroes, the Loaf’s swansong, is as powerful and consistent a record as any other they’ve recorded. Most bands end with a whimper. Here you can actually hear a songwriter crack the cocoon and evolve. Crooked Fingers, AOL Mach II.
Probably taking credit where credit isn’t due>
There was this cool chick at Syracuse who was head of the band-booking committee for the university. A powerful collective that decided what the kids trapped in the unforgiving tundra of Syracuse, NY were allowed to be entertained by. She and I were talking one day about bands to bring up for the Spring block party or whatever the hell it was. Archers was a name she had heard. I feel like I left her with a strong impression that they should be the band they booked. And they were. And I actually felt bad when they had to play with gloves on. Because it was Syracuse, NY. Where winters die long, painful deaths.
AOL > Time>
I don’t see how you can look at the legacy that Eric Bachman is leaving as a songwriter and not be utterly impressed. To go from the aggression and panic of Vs. the Greatest of All Time to the somber solitude of Bring on the Snakes is remarkable. One of my favorite songwriters of all-time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Eric Bachman saved my life. True story.
In 2001, reeling from a horrendous break-up and facing imminent job loss, I was contemplating a move back to South Central PA, when a coworker suggested I join her for dinner, drinks, and a show in the city. After much cajoling, I reluctantly agreed and proceeded to spend much of the evening forcing a smile. Her friend's band was playing at the Khyber, and on our way there, she offhandedly said, "I think they're opening for a band you like... something fingers?"
Yep, her friend's band was opening for Crooked Fingers. I stood about 5 feet away from Bachman and shook his hand after the show. Not sure exactly what it was, but something about that night and that show made me rethink things. Sold my car, moved to the city, met a sweet fella, and the rest, as they say...
Post a Comment