This story was published March 17, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Hi. My name is Molly. I interview bands.

I interview bands so that you, the plebeian, can get an inside look at Charlottesville’s musical offerings. Every other Thursday, tableau will run a column penned by yours truly — and it’s going to be all about local music.

I’m talking about the cream of the crop here: music that relaxes, music that inspires, music that makes you want to headbang and music that leaves your ear drums numb and buzzing. I love that feeling.

For the premiere column, I decided to interview a group that’s been maturing on the U.Va. scene for awhile. Crash Everest is a U.Va.-based five-man band with influences that include Saves the Day, Joy Division and Iron Maiden. In general, they’re on the heavy side of rock, but each song has enough catchy tunes to keep the melody-minded listener happy.

As I was prepping for the interview, I told my father that I was going to “chill with a band.” I did not receive the yip of excitement I expected. Instead, I got, “What does Crash Everest mean? Is that a computer virus?”

“No, Daddy. It’s the name of the band.”

“Well, what does it mean?”

“It’s just a name.”

“Why can’t your generation communicate properly?!”

My father’s cultural ignorance brought up an important issue; I didn’t know what their name meant either. So I swallowed my pride and prayed “Crash Everest” wasn’t some music reference I should have recognized.

“Basically we thought it sounded cool,” lead vocalist Mark Richardson explained. “It’s a verb and a recognizable symbol, so it’s easy to remember. After we used it a few times, it just stuck with everyone.”

This laidback, let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may attitude is a big part of the Crash Everest dynamic; no one in the group set out to “be in a band.” In fact, it took a little time to get things rolling.

“We had talked about getting together for awhile, but nobody pushed it and it never really happened until one night, when [some bandmates] came and dragged me out of my house to go jam,” drummer Justin Earley said.

Once things picked up, the guys realized that the life of a rock band is a little less glitzy than most people think.

“You spend a lot of time in small rooms, quite literally,” Richardson explained.

The band has humble beginnings — their first recordings were made by placing guitarist John Baird’s laptop in the middle of a room while the band played around it.

In the same swanky vein, Crash Everest has been known to use the Chemistry auditorium as a practice area. They have also performed at the Third Year Dinner, which, as they recall, was “not an atmosphere conducive to rocking.”

“Being in school actually holds us back a lot,” Richardson laughed — he and three other band members are University students.

He manages to stay awake in class by writing songs. “I write lyrics during class all the time,” he said. “Sometimes it just takes a few words that bring something to mind. So I jot them down and then before I know it, I’m not paying attention anymore.”

Richardson doesn’t daydream the day away, however. He’s an English and Drama double major who also holds down a job at the Bookstore’s Java City. Luckily, he has Earley, an English major, as his co-worker.

I had an adventure tracking bassist Chris Jones down for the interview. With quite possibly the most generic name ever, I had visions of the U.Va. People Search returning 59 different versions of the name Chris. To my great surprise, there were only two entries — a Chris Jones in the College and a Chris Jones in the Commerce School. Rolling my eyes at the idea of a musician in the Comm School, I emailed the one in the College.

(By the way, I offer my most heartfelt regrets to the College’s Chris, but it was an honest mistake. Who ever heard of a rock kid in the Comm School?)

Another member who’s hard to peg is guitarist Mike Raab. His name might sound familiar to you, and it should because he’s a prominent member of U.Va.’s swim team: the one that just won the ACCs. Again.

Baird, the band’s “tech guy,” is the only member not currently enrolled at U.Va. A former Art History major, he does most of the electronic work and touch-ups on the band’s recordings.

After the interview, I planned to review some of the band’s songs, but Crash Everest is updating its official band site, so I found myself at www.purevolume.com.

For those of you who are not music-site savvy, PureVolume is a place where artists and listeners can go to connect with each other. Bands upload their songs and regular Joes like you and me can rock out for free. Think of it as thefacebook for music geeks.

The band’s PureVolume profile says (among other things) that they enjoy “needlepoint, avent-garde French cinema, Cabernet by candlelight, nude badminton and anything involving Anthony Michael Hall.”

I might catch some flack for printing it (Jones called their profile “lame”), but I think the sense of fun and creativity shown here is exactly what the guys have to offer as a live act.

The big news for Crash Everest is the production of their brand new EP. Friday they’ll perform in Maury Hall with Races to April, Forever in a Day and Four Year Strong in a Tyrannosaurus Rock benefit show. This show is the CD’s official release gig, so get there early to pick up your copy.

Crash Everest is a great college band that I hope to see performing on a regular basis for the rest of its time at U.Va. I can promise that the fast-paced style and shredding guitars will make your ears numb for hours after you leave the show. But then again, I like that feeling.

This story was published April 28, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Hi. My name is Molly. I interview bands, but I’m about to stop because it’s summer. That’s right, sports fans — this is my last music column until September. So, in the spirit of goodbyes, I have prepared a humble musical offering of my own.

“Hush little reader/don’t you fret/you haven’t even read this issue yet/Hush little reader/don’t you cry/all my columns are online anyway.”

Feel better? I know I do.

This week I met with Silent Diner for a little chat ‘n’ snap (industry terms for interview and photo shoot. … Actually, I just made that up).

The band is: Anderson Gould on guitar, Matt Davis on bass, Tolga Sursal on keyboard and Chris Graffeo on drums. You’ve probably heard these guys before, because Silent Diner plays many of the Corner bars and every Thursday at Coupe deVille’s.

Silent Diner formed in 2002, when all four members began their first year at U.Va. While in their respective high schools (Sursal, Davis and Graffeo went to a different school than Gould), the boys heard about each other through mutual friends. These friends repeatedly told the guys that they needed to get in touch with Gould because “he is exactly what [the guys] needed.”

Gould, for his part, also had friends whispering names in his ear. But, in spite of all the talking, nothing ever happened. (You go try to whisper “Sursal, Davis and Graffeo” to someone and see how it goes.)

Go back to the first week of their first year, when Graffeo and Gould finally found each other.

“It was crazy because we met this kid randomly and he was really cool, but we didn’t know he was the one we were supposed to meet all along,” Graffeo said.

Immediately after forming, Silent Diner began to build their fan base. They usually practiced in the basement of Hancock, and after a few weeks of near-constant noise, their “fans” in the dorm began to be annoyed.

“There was a lot of protesting from the girls on the third floor,” Sursal laughed.

The band thrived, despite the constricting practice space. In fact, they began to play louder.

“It’s better that way,” Davis said. “If anything is worth playing, it’s worth playing loud.”

Silent Diner has some loud influences, including Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Radiohead, Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, Phish, Radiohead and Miles Davis, just to name nine or so.

Last Thursday I went to see the band play at Coupe’s. Walking in, I entered a haze of pink and green. I heard tittering laughter; everything smelled like Tommy Girl.

“Huh. I wonder why all of Silent Diner’s audience members are female?” I thought. As it turned out, a sorority was having a function at Coupe’s that night. It was only after the orange glow of sunless tanning lotion faded that Silent Diner took the stage. (At Coupe’s it’s more of a corner, really.)

The boys had a glow of their own — the glow of a jam band. Silent Diner’s set took almost three hours that night. At a birthday party earlier this year, they played for the better part of six hours.

“The most important thing is making sure it all flows together,” Gould said.

“We try to be tasteful with our covers,” Sursal agreed.

At Oluponya Fest last spring, Silent Diner did a 20-minute mixed-up cover of Grateful Dead’s “Fire on the Mountain” and Sublime’s “Scarlet Begonias.” The song was melded so expertly that I could only recognize the original melodies when Gould sung short sequences of the lyrics.

Silent Diner is perhaps the most ambitious band I’ve spoken with; after graduating in 2006, they’re going to move to Boston and “do the professional band thing.”

“It’s really nice to be dedicated to what you’re doing and working hard on it,” Graffeo said. “The band feels long-term and meaningful. We work really hard at it.”

Silent Diner recently finished putting the final touches on their first full-length CD. You can get your hands on the 8-track, 50-minute album from any of the band members.

If live music is how you roll, catch up with Silent Diner on their 2005 summer tour of the Southeast. They’re going to play venues in Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia before jamming outside the Bonnaroo Music & Arts Festival in Tennessee.

So, if you’re in the mood for some easy-to-swallow jam rock from U.Va.’s own, make sure you get to a Silent Diner concert.

This is Molly Seltzer, music columnist, signing off.

This story was published April 14, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Hi. My name is Seltzer — Molly Seltzer. I interview bands — high school bands.

It’s not often that music critics find themselves bouncing between full-time hardcore studs and full-time high school students: The average age of Engine Down (featured in my last column) and the average age of this week’s band differs by more than 10 years.

Ravens Place consists of four juniors and one senior from Albemarle High. The group is headed by Will Nealy, who describes himself as “just the guy that sings.” But Will is more than that; he’s the lead vocalist, principal songwriter and has a small studio in his basement where the band records and practices. He provides creative inspiration for the band; the Nealy family lives on a street called Raven’s Place.

The band officially formed five months ago when guitarist and backing vocalist Chris Gallagher entered a competition at D.C.’s club Nation. It was only after his entry was randomly selected that he realized he needed a band. So, Gallagher called in the boys; the aforementioned Nealy, bassist and backing vocalist Jeff White, guitarist Jeremy Long and drummer Will Muncaster all added to the group’s sound. Or rather, created it.

The band had a great show at Nation. Not only did they sell the most tickets (despite the three hour trek from C’ville to Washington) but they had homemade pyrotechnics when the bass amp blew up during the show.

“Yeah, it definitely had some trouble staying out of fire,” Nealy said.

Ravens Place was nonchalant about their smoking equipment. White brushed it off, saying, “It was just such a big rush when we actually got up on stage.”

Some of you might be wondering about the lack of apostrophes in the band’s name. Well, you adorable little grammarians, let me smooth your ruffled feathers — that’s how the guys want it, much to the annoyance of their manager and former English teacher, Emily VanNoy. According to the band, VanNoy is “the one that holds us together and lends us money.”

VanNoy described the Ravens Place sound as “college rock,” which is ironic because the boys are still in high school, a fact made apparent during our interview. While he was in mid-sentence, one of the bandmates’ cell phones went off. After picking up and chatting for a few minutes, he ended the call with, “Peace, yo.” I jokingly asked who it was; he replied that it was his mother. You know, you can tell a lot about a guy by how he treats his mom.

Ravens Place then made several references to their song about DinoNuggets, which are chicken nuggets shaped like, well, dinos. Raptors and three-horns and brontosauruses, oh my!

“The DinoNugget song is a joke, I swear,” said Muncaster.

Joke or not, Ravens Place has only nine finished songs, though there are others at their fingertips, including a funk version of the Beatles’ “Come Together” and a cover of the Bloodhound Gang’s “The Bad Touch.”

The band practices “as often as we can,” a feat made difficult by the members’ hectic high school schedules. Gallagher plays football and wrestles, White spent last weekend at the state forensics competition and Muncaster, involved in other musical endeavors, is about to head down to Nashville to record some acoustic tracks. According to Long, “Will’s a real jet-setter.”

The band cites influences including Third Eye Blind, Jack Johnson and Morning View-era Incubus. Ravens Place has two songs on PureVolume (a music download site): “Another Day” and “Lover Down.”

“Another Day” begins with rolling drum beats and a snappy bass line. The song breaks nicely when the guitars move into power chords and the multi-vocal chorus opens up, but it lacks an epiphany.

The better song, “Lover Down,” has an early-’90s, grunge-band-playing-with-acoustic-guitars feel. The vocals are much better in this track. A minute and a half in, the band rumbles into a sharp cut-off, while the singers keep going, highlighting the guitars’ momentary absence. Later, a guitar solo adds a little spontaneity, but it is too formulaic to actually refresh the song. “Lover Down” is gritty and lackluster, but it has potential.

While the songs could use some tweaking, their early success has emphasized Ravens Place’s talent and charm, which will only increase over time. I’m going to keep my eye on this band because someday they’re going to be good. Information about shows and links to their songs can be found at www.ravensplaceband.com.

Ravens Place is performing in the final round of the Ernie Ball Battle of the Bands in Richmond — fans of “college rock” should check them out.

This story was published November 3, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Hello again, readers. (Mom, Dad.) It feels like it’s been ages since my last band column. What with tableau’s last issue devoted entirely to the film festival, my worries and woes about midterms and then the stress of finding the perfect Halloween costume (my ultimate selection: a fat suit), I’m glad to be back, having a chat about local music.

I was supposed to meet the members of Bella Morte on the steps of the Rotunda. When I arrived, I saw a lone figure crouched on the very top step. So, I pulled out my press packet and looked at the band photo again. Taken in black and white, it shows the five members decked out in leather jackets and torn t-shirts. They are pierced, tattooed, mohawked (none of that faux-hawk business, either) and all-in-all, a tough-looking crowd.

I figured I was going to have to play my tiny silver nose ring for all it was worth.

I checked out the figure on the steps again. He looked like an old man. He was sipping Starbucks, and it sounded like he was humming to himself. We made eye contact. I looked away. He smiled.

As I found out, Bella Morte is as far from being a tough crowd as I am from getting an A in my Spanish class. I can’t think of a time when I’ve laughed more with a group of strangers. (Other than when I showed my Spanish grade to some kids in the library. But that time, they were laughing at me, not with me. There really is a difference.)

Bella Morte, which means ‘beautiful death’ in Italian, is comprised of Andy Deane on vocals, Gopal Metro on bass, Micah Consylman on synths, Tony Lechmanski on guitar and Jordan Marchini on drums.

As Deane and I walked to meet the other band members, we passed a family in the semi-darkness. When I told Deane they’d been staring at him, he said, “That’s funny. I’m not even dressed weird.” I looked at his Converse skate shoes, the clunky chain hanging from his belt (which later got stuck in a metal chair outside Newcomb), his ‘Zombina and the Skeletones’ t-shirt and his floppy red mohawk. It was then that I realized there was no way I was afraid of Bella Morte, no matter how scary they look. (Then Lechmanski arrived with latex on his arms from his Halloween festivities. He explained that latex is the reason zombies are always wet and dripping. “The stupid bastards don’t wait for the chemicals to dry,” he said.)

Later, when I asked the band to describe their music in one word, two of them exclaimed, “Awesome!”

“I was thinking more along the lines of one word that’s a label or a genre,” I said.

“And it has to be one word?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too hard,” Metro said.

“You can hyphenate, if you want.”

“Then can it be ‘awesome-rock’?”

Bella Morte is older than most local bands, but that doesn’t seem to bother them.

“Most people in our situation would have buckled down, but … it’s a matter of where you come from — when you start from the bottom, it’s not like you’re letting go of anything,” Lechmanski said.

The band’s sound is difficult to describe. “We’re such a hybrid — rock, goth, punk, metal, electronica, whatever,” Metro said.

Deane was actually trained as an opera singer, but you shouldn’t expect to hear vibrato on a Bella Morte album. I don’t claim to be a “rock, goth, punk, metal, electronica, whatever” aficionado, but to me, they sound like Adema, Orgy and for brief moments, Skinny Puppy. There are heavy guitars, but also synth beats and — to everyone’s great surprise — softly-sung choruses and even melodies.

“We get that lucky, lucky thing that a lot of kids in different groups like us. Sh*t, pop kids dig us, too,” Deane said.

The biggest fault I could find with the band is that their lyrics aren’t exactly enlightening, but the guys seem to take that in stride.

“We write about life, horror movies, horror literature …” said Deane.

“Yeah, about life the way we want it. And the idyllic life for us always includes zombies,” laughed Metro.

In this column, I try to review bands that I think will fit with what U.Va. students are listening to. While the average sorority girl may not have heard of Bella Morte, they’ve performed on the Vans Warped Tour and shared a stage with Mindless Self Indulgence, The Misfits and KMFDM. According to a Plan 9 Music CD review, Bella Morte is “one of the biggest Gothic music acts in the whole nation.”

And as the band listed their favorite albums, there were the expected names — Danzig, Slayer and Iron Maiden — but also Jethro Tull and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Find me a U.Va. student that doesn’t know the words to “Californication,” and I’ll streak the lawn during a class change.

So, the moral of the story is: I would highly recommend that you go to a Bella Morte show, whether you dig black jackets or not. It’s surprising how a group of older, pierced-up, non-students can bring so much to the U.Va. music scene. As he fiddled with the silver chains on his belt, Deane said, “Shouldn’t we end the story with something like ‘Go Hoos’?”

This story was published December 1, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

I won’t lie to you, readers: I spent most of Thanksgiving Break watching cooking shows on TV. The few moments I managed to tear my eyes away from the succulent desserts on “Emeril Live” or the undeniable obnoxiousness of Rachael Ray, I spent reading over my old columns.

Tableau and I have come a long way. Now I am able to admit without blushing that I totally dig The Bravery. I’m not afraid of being attacked by hordes of angry hipsters for saying it. (I carry mace. And I’m fierce with my lip gloss as well.)

There have been other developments — the first band I ever interviewed broke up last week, and tableau doesn’t run in color anymore. But, to be honest again, I’m not really prone to wistfulness. Seasonal allergies, yes. Nostalgia, no. And although it’s my last one, this is a column, so I should probably start talking about the band.

The Nice Jenkins got their name from a girl named Da’Nyce Jenkins. None of them knew her, and instead of pronouncing her name “Denise,” they called her “Da Nice,” which inevitably turned into The Nice Jenkins.

“We wish we had a sweet story to go along with it, but we don’t,” drummer Adam Brock said.

TNJ has opened for The Constantines and played for more than 200 people at their favorite Charlottesville venue, the Satellite Ballroom.

Two of the five band members — bassist Jordan Brunk and the aforementioned Brock — graduated from the University. Lead vocalist and guitarist Rob Cheatham, guitarist Nate Walsh and pianist Dana Radcliffe are also from Virginia and complete the lineup.

“The band was a shot in the dark, and now it’s really working out for us,” Cheatham said.

“It was by chance that we got together,” Brunk agreed.

Neither Brunk nor Brock (go ahead and giggle at that name combo … I did) had ever played music before college.

“I learned to play drums because they were just sitting in my basement,” Brock said.

It’s a good thing he did, because The Nice Jen-kins are a local band must-hear. They played weekly at Mellow Mushroom earlier this year and frequent other Corner bars. With influences like 1970’s-era Bruce Springsteen, Sly and the Family Stone and Neutral Milk Hotel, TNJ has a sound that encompasses multiple genres, so many that they had to create their own.

“We call it ‘facerock’ because when music’s really good, you make that face. The happy face. There’s another Charlottesville band, Truman Sparks, that plays facerock, too. So there are two bands in the genre,” laughed Brock.

TNJ writes songs in many styles, but they agree that it “usually comes out as rock.”

They’ve recorded two “kind-of” albums and are planning to release an official one in February.

“The albums are different from what we do now,” Cheatham said. “They’re a collective of where we were at that point in time.”

TNJ’s ultimate goals include drawing an audience based on their recordings alone, quitting their jobs to play music, being facile enough to switch instruments with each other during performances and “in general, to rock more face.”

I think they’ll be able to (rock more face, that is) without any real problems. Along with creating their own genre, The Nice Jenkins are unique because all five members sing, and all five members write songs.

“Someone will come up with a structure, and we’ll workshop it till it’s good,” Brunk said. “It’s a collaborative process.”

Of all the bands I’ve interviewed, I think TNJ has the most musical potential. I really dig their multi-vocal style and dynamic live show. They’re one of those bands that you should see for five bucks while you can. I mean, TNJ could be the next DMB.

So readers, the time has come. I’d like to thank you for the e-mails, the random comments around Grounds and that letter bomb left on my porch. (Just kidding. It was left in my car, not on my porch.)

So, with a bad joke and a small dose of nostalgia, this is Molly Seltzer, signing off.

This story was published September 1, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

“Maybe one day we’ll be able to pull off wearing leather suits,” sighed Luke Rabin, the drummer of student band,Wirkus. Nate MacFarland, guitarist and one of the group’s three vocalists, interrupted him and laughed, “Yeah, with those crazy V-neck shirts!”

So the beat goes on. MacFarland and Rabin are two members of Wirkus, a rock band that plays most of their shows in the Charlottesville area despite the fact that the two other band members, Nathan Mitchell and Bradley Doggett, attend other schools.

Wirkus formed in 2003, and much of the band’s history has included dealing with the distance between members.

“We’ve played music together for a really long time. …We play off each other easily because we’ve been doing it so long,” said Rabin, who met the other band members through church.

“But to put it simply, it’s a pain in the butt,” MacFarland said.

The hardest part about being in a college band is finding time to practice in the midst of, well, class.

“It’s so hard to get everybody in the same place, without having their lives in the way,” Rabin said.

Still, the beat goes on, although the guys admit that keeping in touch with everyone in the band “is the biggest test of our patience.”

In my years and years and years of interviewing bands (we’re looking at … what, 15 months now?), I have never heard a band speak of themselves the way Wirkus does. They are wise beyond their years (as much as I hate to sound like my mother), especially when it comes to their faith.

The band’s name comes from a member of their church who had both “an enormous amount of influence on all of us” and “the craziest gut ever,” Rabin said. (Mr. Wirkus is an ex-Marine. ‘Nuff said.)

“We don’t call [our music] Christian music because that carries a huge stigma,” Rabin explained. “It means something to us, but we’re not going for that label.”

“We’re trying to find our sound,” MacFarland said. “We’re looking for our own unique spin.”

After MacFarland mentioned the Wirkus sound, I thought it was a good time to ask the question that many musicians affectionately call “The Bitch” — I asked them to describe their music. To the layperson, this is about as offensive as asking a basketball player what position he plays, but no band likes to hear it, and I feel sorry for them as I watch them squirm to put themselves into words. (Although it doesn’t stop my asking.)

Wirkus handled “The Bitch” with the maturity and charisma that seems to characterize their band (or at least Rabin and MacFarland).

“Now you may not have heard this term before,” they laughed, “but we consider ourselves in the ‘post-emo rock’ category.”

“We’re not like a lot of the bands of today. We don’t scream or anything,” Rabin said.

Instead, Wirkus is influenced by the emo bands of yesterday — forerunners of the genre like Further Seems Forever, Copeland and Mineral.

So what can you expect when you go to a Wirkus show? A wall of noise, mostly. Yet this particular wall contains delicately constructed parts and surprisingly complex patterns, along with the unique style of each of the three vocalists. High energy. Intensity. One helluva rock show.

So the beat goes on. Check out Wirkus in Tuttle Lounge Sept. 2 at 9 p.m.

Guess where else the beat is going on? In this column! I’m not self-promoting, kids, I’m just informing you that although tableau is changing shape and form, I’ll still be here to keep you updated on the local band scene.

This story was published September 29, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Hi, reader! How was your day? Mine was good. A funny thing happened. I was walking with a guy I have a crush on (you know who you are… Larry J. Sabato) and a bird shat on his shoulder. (Just kidding, I dig TAs, not professors.)

Due to a lack of inspiration for this column, today I decided to be funny by squeezing in as many references to Larry J. Sabato as I can. So, if Larry J. Sabato listened to music, what local band would he prefer? The Stabones!

Comprised of vocalist Bartley McGowan, guitarist Tom O’Halloran, bassist Erik Larson and a drummer named Dirge, The Stabones’ style is a self-described brand of “drunk punk.”

Drunk punk includes all the necessary features of regular punk, like a quick drum beat, choppy, chunky guitar work and smart-ass lyrics. The Stabones’ only unique contribution to the genreis in jiggers and liters.

To the layperson, punk is usually associated with the pop-punk of Blink-182 and Simple Plan or the heavy-handed political rock of Anti-Flag. The Stabones — and their drunk punk — fall somewhere in between.

“We play loud, fun, nonsensical music. It’s not angry or bitter or anything,” Dirge said.

The band’s Web site says “The Stabones are a bunch of dorks that play punk rock because they love the music. They’re not trying to overthrow the government or change the world and they don’t give a sh*t if you think they are cool.”

In like manner, the lyrics to one of my (and Larry J. Sabato’s) favorite tunes, “Bite Out of Crime,” say, “I’ve been to jail/It wasn’t fun/Cops get a kick out of wearing a gun/’They’re not all bad, just doing their job’/F**k that, they can suck my knob/Got locked up for pissing on my van/No way to treat an honest man/If society is so f***king free/Why arrest a drunk man who’s gotta pee?”

“There are enough people talking about [politics and current events] without us doing it,” McGowan said. “This isn’t 1969. Besides, who wants to get their opinions from a rock band?”

The Stabones have played every local venue that’s known for music, according to McGowan. They’ve had five shows at Starr Hill since their formation in 2004, but O’Halloran’s fondest memories are of Outback Lodge.

“It’s a dirty local dive,” he said. “It’s the kind of place where you’re gonna get heckled no matter who you are. We love it there.”

The band toured from Charlottesville to New Or-leans a few months ago and came out $50 in the hole.

“It was a huge success!” McGowan said.

After I laughed at his enthusiasm, I realized that a band breaking even after touring where they don’t have a fan base is quite an accomplishment. I mean, think of the gas prices! That sh*t is crazy.

But I digress. As did the interview… at one memorable moment two members of the band who shall remain nameless (Larry J. Sabato! No, just kidding. He’s not in the band) burst into an argument about the difference between removing grape skins via squishing or peeling. Later, conversation veered towards the possibility of an environmentally-friendly tour van.

“That’s right. We talk about wine-making and bio-diesel. We’re punk as hell,” laughed O’Halloran.

Perhaps that’s the most important aspect of The Stabones -– they don’t care much about much.

The Stabones acknowledge they’re older than the average punk band (three members graduated from U.Va., the most recent in 2004) and that they “kind of like to drink.”

Still, McGowan said, “In ten years, our goal is to be the next big band out of Charlottesville. We’ll do whatever it takes.” So far, that’s included a gig at the Hong Kong Buffet in Culpeper (”It was awesome!” Larson said) and 53 shows in a little over a year.

“Although we use the term ’show’ loosely,” McGowan said. “Some of them were only for barmen and door guys.”

Ultimately, if you’re on a search for an action-packed live show, a band named after a character on “Growing Pains” and a good time, look no further than Larry J. Sabato.

I mean, The Stabones.

This story was published April 21, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

I’m a sucker for skinny white boys with ‘fros. I can honestly say that I bought Hot Hot Heat’s first album because I thought lead singer Steve Bays was, well, hot hot. Bays and most of the band sport shaggy, fro-ed out haircuts that only compliment their tight jeans and skate shoes. Dreamy!

Hot Hot Heat easily can be classified as 21st century New Wave — they’re in the same category as the Strokes, the Killers and Longwave, to name a few. Yet, somehow HHH accepts this classification and embraces it unabashedly. (I’m also a sucker for unabashed-ness.)

In 2002, HHH scored a minor hit with “Bandages,” a snappy song with cheerful guitars that highlighted Bays’ attention-grabbing vocal style. They quickly faded into the background as bands like the Hives and the White Stripes monopolized the media’s attention. Luckily, the Canadian quartet retained a small-but-loyal fan base in the States.

Their new release, Elevator, is a happy album. The jangly guitars are relaxed and often accompanied by acoustic backing parts, which tone down the sharpness. Bays’ voice is pleasant but difficult to describe; he wobbles between a whine and a wail, without the negative qualities of either. Sometimes he squeaks on the slide up to a high note, and sometimes he cracks on the growl of a low chorus, but it is the nuances and ultimate believability of his voice that draw listeners in. That, and the tight pants.

The first nine tracks of Elevator run together because of song similarity and the overuse of intros and outros. Track 10, “Middle of Nowhere,” has clean drum work, a catchy chorus and an oh-so-danceable beat. Lyrics such as “You didn’t have to do it/but you did it to say/that you didn’t have to do it/but you would anyway,” sung in Bays’ characteristic lilting pattern increase the album’s charm.

The following track, “Dirty Mouth,” is the most traditional on the album — it could have come straight from 2002’s Make up the Breakdown. You are led gently but confidently into the song, and then the chorus hits you like a wall of water. While you’re still reeling, Bays leaps into his signature quickly-spoken rap cadences.

The lyrics would be immature and aggravating in any other album, but Hot Hot Heat pulls them off effortlessly. Lines such as “Wash your dirty mouth/your dirty mouth/watch your little mouth” may come off a little harshly, but the amicable melody had me dancing and spinning in my room.

Wanna know what else I’m a sucker for? Hand claps. There is no better instrument for a rock song than a well-timed clap clap. You know what I’m talking about.

“Soldier in a Box” has claps a-plenty, interspersed between syncopated, metallic-sounding choruses of “Oh yeah, oh yeah!”

The last two tracks are also noteworthy: “Shame on You” sounds similar to Maroon 5 with a Latin beat and chugging guitars, while “Elevator” calls to mind the French Kicks plus Interpol plus piano.

Ultimately, Elevator is worth your time, if only because of the last five tracks. The 15-song album is only 38 minutes long, meaning even the low-quality tracks don’t have time to really get on your nerves.

Whether it’s hand claps, tight jeans or white boys with ‘fros, most top-40 fans will find something they like in Hot Hot Heat.

This story was published March 24, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

Let me be the first music snob — I mean, person — to admit that I don’t understand where bands get their names. It seems that “scary” or “confusing” are the only two available options.

What happened to misspelling an insect and throwing “The” in front of everything? I find myself in the midst of groups like And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead (not as scary as they sound) and Limp Bizkit (getting scarier the farther I get from the 90s.)

Kasabian, a newly famous British band, derives their name from the Armenian word for “butcher.” It also references Linda Kasabian, the getaway driver for the Charles Manson murders.

Stormy and moody, these boys have some ruffled feathers that can’t be patted back into place. The tricky part is that despite their off-putting name, their music is actually quite nice.

Vocalist Tom Meighan’s voice has a pleasant sharpness and a smooth finish, like a good cigar. It doesn’t hurt that he sounds almost identical to The Verve’s Richard Ashcroft.

Kasabian’s self-titled album is filled with transient electronic noises and brief moments of guitar distortion. Each track has intricate backing parts — these bite-sized morsels of creativity add depth and character to the album.

The use of a sitar on “Test Transmission” adds an exotic feel to only marginally interesting lyrics. The synthesizer is surprisingly good, as it is on most of the album, although the solo is a little too spacey for my tastes.

The best song on the album, “Cutt Off,” is the story of a scientist who has a bad LSD trip and bombs a train. The lyrics are murky, so it took several listens for me to pick up on the violent undertones of this otherwise perky, danceable track.

“Cutt Off”’s synthesizer plays riffs that are similar to the orchestral string work often used by The Eels and The Verve. About two minutes into the song, there is a short interlude of distortion followed by a complete cut off (har har.) When the music resumes, the guitar bounces back into the picture, playing what could have been the song’s bass line. It works incredibly well.

Kasabian makes good use of their bassist, which adds a fresh and funky sound. Today’s bassists are under-appreciated and under-utilized, unless they are The Red Hot Chili Pepper’s Flea, in which case they’re super famous and get to dance naked onstage.

“Processed Beats” is the album’s most interesting song. It has a bass line to groove with, splashy drum work and a multi-vocal chorus. This is Kasabian’s most distinguishing feature; for almost every chorus, the singer’s voice is looped with echo effects and the refrain consists only of “ahs,” “ohs” and the occasional “hmm.”

I can almost feel an action movie coming on with “Ovary Stripe,” a jarring instrumental tribute to songs that back intense cinematic situations.

I haven’t made lots of comparisons between Kasabian and other bands because, frankly, the bands they sound like aren’t big in America. In the U.K., groups like Primal Scream, The Stone Roses and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are household names, but Americans aren’t into unrelenting electro-rock.

Meighan has little respect for our grooves, calling them “three-minute, scuzzy garage rock sh*t” in an interview with SPIN.

You say potato, I say potato. And really, Kasabian, what’s in a name?

This story was published October 20, 2005 in The Cavalier Daily, U.Va.’s student newspaper.

I have horrible musical taste. Hang on, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was, I have horrible musical luck. Let me give you a few examples…

Molly, age 8: Here, Daddy. I’ve picked the two cassettes I want for Christmas!

Father: (shakes head) Billy Ray Cyrus and Steppenwolf. I’ve raised a weirdo.

Molly, age 12: Wow! I love this group! I bet they’re going to stay around forever. I can tell I’ll still be listening to them when I’m 50.

Cashier: Sure, kid. And for $2 more, you can join the Spice Girls Fan Club.

Molly, age 18: Gosh, I loved The Fiery Furnaces’ last album. I must be sure to buy the new one and review it for tableau. (Note: Shortly after purchasing the CD, the author threw it in the garbage with howls of dismay and disappointment because it sucked.)

Molly, last week: Hey, wouldn’t it be hilarious if I reviewed the new Ricky Martin CD?

Meg, tableau editor: Why, because you don’t like pop music?

Molly, last week: Yeah, and he’s so lame.

Meg, tableau editor: I guess. But it’d be funnier if you actually liked it.

I think you can guess what happened here. My only defense is to say that Ricky Martin is making a c-o-m-e-b-a-c-k. And I’m going to sacrifice my pride and help him on the way.

My memories of Ricky involve shiny silver shirts, dances at summer camp and explaining to my mother that when someone tells someone else to shake his or her bon bon, it has nothing to do with pastry. In my mind, “Livin’ La Vida Loca” was inextricably linked to the other hits of the day, like “Mambo #5″ and J. Lo.’s “Waiting for Tonight.”

That was 1999; this is 2005, and Ricky’s back in the saddle. His new album, Life, will fit right in with the party music of current superstars like Usher, Lil’ Jon and Sean Paul.

The third track, which features both Fat Joe and Amerie, has that familiar synthesized string orchestra, a booming bass line and even some ragged breathing. Amerie’s solo is boosted by heavy vocal effects which add the depth the song needs.

Most of the album has a clubby vibe (a setting in which I might allow Ricky to bring back his silver shirt), but the few exceptions are notable and worth discussion.

The first track, “‘Til I Get to You,” has backing from The Hossam Ramzy Egyptian String Ensemble. Violins, violas and cellos are audible, along with unusual instruments such as a sitar (an Indian stringed instrument, used by The Rolling Stones in “Paint It Black”) and an oud (an Arabic stringed instrument, something like a lute).

The album definitely has what I would call an “ethnic” vibe. Ricky sings in Spanish on practically every track and brings in loads of Latin instruments, as well as traditional Middle Eastern, South Asian and African sounds.

Ricky returns to his roots (not the Latin ones, but the boy-band pop stuff) with the catchy but predictable “Stop Time Tonight.” This song screams for a pre-teen audience but will likely attract old Ricky fans nostalgic for a slow dance with him in the background.

My favorite song is “Drop It on Me,” which is heavily influenced by the guest artists it features: Daddy Yankee and Taboo of The Black-Eyed Peas. As usual, Ricky delivers intensely insightful lyrics, such as “Drop it, mami/ Drop it on me/Tonight it’s a special night, to get you by my side/ I’ve been waiting all week long to get it on with you/ Sometimes we hit the floor, dance like we never did before/ I’m going to put it on you boricua style.” (For those of you not up on your latino lingo, “boricua” is an adjective referring to Puerto Rican culture.)

So here I am, from Billy Ray Cyrus and Steppenwolf to Ricky Martin reincarnate. And as much street cred as I will lose by saying it, Life is dancey, upbeat and catchy as hell. I’d recommend it for any night you want something different than your usual party playlist. Hopefully the critics will agree, and my musical luck will change for the better. Although I bet my dad still thinks I’m a weirdo.