Society, Secret

Rockin' in the Free World
Creative Loafing music editor makes the rounds at South Southwest

AUSTIN, TX -- The confluence of the South By Southwest music conference hitting its 20th year and this Texas town's reputation as a bohemian haven and key music capital meant that, above all, the 2006 SXSW lived up to its reputation as a summer camp for music heads. The event, held last week, totaled five delirious days, 1,400 bands and 65 official stages; industry legions partying to excess; music critics giddy at the prospect of show-hopping nirvana; and moments of artistic poignancy and pulverizing weariness. Some of the hottest moments came courtesy of Charlotte acts like soul man Anthony Hamilton and indie-rockers The Talk.

As songwriter, musician, actor, cool icon and Texas legend Kris Kristofferson was being honored during the event, his lyric "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" came to mind. Into this musical bacchanal, I wandered with freedom and the articles of sonic faith on my mind:

DAY ONE:

My first-day highlight was crossing the picturesque Colorado River with Blogging While Black panelist George Kelly. We were headed to a screening of Alex Hinton's Pass The Mic at the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema. The film documented the burgeoning gay hip-hop movement (aka homohop) and centered primarily on the Bay Area scene. It featured black and Afrocentric homohop pioneer Juba Kalamka (who has done vital archival work on behalf of the community and nurtured scores of artists) and his Deepdickollective bandmate and spoken-word artist Tim'm T. West, whose West Village travelogue is priceless. Hinton, who hails from around Spartanburg, SC, was on hand for a Q&A session.

Later in the evening, we entered the singer-songwriter zone, with the BMI showcase of Stephen Stills' son Chris delivering one of the finest performances I witnessed during the festival, not an easy feat when most acts have roughly 40 minutes to display their work. Backed by a rhythm section, Stills seamlessly switched between guitar and electric piano. His newer songs show a good deal of evolution, channeling the jazzy swing of Tim Buckley's early Elektra records. A promising direction for one of roots rock's younger lights.

My first of many pedicab rides then took me to Austin's famous Antone's blues club to catch Canadian hip-hop artist k-os, who closed out the night on an odd note. He started late, only mentioned special guest Melissa Auf Der Maur (ex-member of Courtney Love's Hole) toward the end in making reference to a recalcitrant bassist, and abruptly cut his set short while announcing the end of his relations with Astralwerks Records. Rather unprofessional, but k-os is a quite gifted MC whose sung rhymes and band kept the audience hyped.

DAY TWO:

My last festival serendipity was a front-row seat my hero Kris Kristofferson's interview session. The songwriter discussed a range of topics, including his struggles in Nashville and his film career. Most riveting was his exploration of the tension between growing up in a Texas military family and his outlaw convictions. The first song he recorded in Nashville was "Vietnam Blues" by Dave Dudley. Kristofferson's current release This Old Road (New West), featuring key track "The Burden of Freedom" (long time since "nothing left to lose") may be his best recording since his classic The Silver Tongued Devil and I. Claiming freedom is a necessity of life that's also a double-edged sword, Kristofferson sings, "He didn't beat the Devil, but he tried."

Racing to Antone's again, this time to catch California folk-rock veteran Richie Furay, challenged my assumptions that his show would be woefully under-attended amidst the flood of young buzz bands. Every Boomer on earth was already in line it seemed (including former '60s groupie Miss Pamela DesBarres), alongside numerous twenty-something Austin locals who must've caught wind of rumors that keynote Neil Young might sit in. I was giddy from witnessing two members of my all-time favorite band, the Buffalo Springfield, in one day. Young did not appear, but Furay was in fine voice and his multi-generational band offered very hot pickin', blending old and new Americana tradition. Furay warmly referred to his old podnahs Young and Stephen Stills before singing six Springfield songs, including the great "Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing."

Among several Austin debuts, the best included an appearance at La Zona Rosa by Charlotte's own Anthony Hamilton. Appropriately, I walked in on a groovin' rendition of "Southern Stuff." As with most urban-themed festival shows, black Austinites outnumbered festival badge-holders, but the mixed crowd was definitely eating out of Hamilton's hand. A nine-piece big band held down the mix of soul grit, gospel and cool jazz, as Brother Anthony worked the stage. Sadly, he didn't offer "Lucille," but Hamilton was gone to church and tore it up testifying and exhorting call-and-response during "Preacher's Daughter."

Lacking energy to fight throngs of teens for admittance to the Morrissey show at Austin Music Hall -- or the wheels to check out Raleigh's Tres Chicas and Chatham County Line across the river -- I opted for Gogol Bordello at the club Emo's. This Rama-punk outfit has been on the come-up in New York City since my departure.

The band had a late start and at first it seemed the thinned-out crowd was too tired to act. But more revelers arrived and the group stunningly tore the roof off the sucker. This was almost literal, as frontman Eugene Hütz was swinging from the rafters while crowd-surfing on a drum head supported by one of his dancing girls. With every stroke of the fiddle fit to make Paganini froth in his grave, an audience full of pasty indie-rock types waved their hands in the air and jigged like they were throwing down with the Zampoughi. Everyone sweated and levitated as one.

DAY THREE:

Las Manitas is the well-liked local Mexican restaurant on Congress Street where I met up with the members of Charlotte MoRisen bands at an industry party. I spoke briefly with Justin Williams of The Talk about his South-By expectations; he professed his main aim was to simply have fun and take advantage of catching other bands. The Sammies and Elevator Action were on hand, too, to celebrate the coup of their showcase the following night at Nuno's Upstairs on 6th Street. Fresh-faced lads (and laddette), they all offered up beer-enhanced smiles and a warm Southern vibe to the perpetual overcast chill that hung over Austin the whole week.

Hours later, after Bettye LaVette's cancellation at La Zona Rosa and a long wait at Antone's to see Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, tensions and fatigue were starting to run high. My impulse to duck in and catch a few minutes of the Denton, TX, act Centro-Matic at Maggie Mae's provided some fleeting restorative. With my friend Shonna Tucker of Drive-By Truckers, I watched her husband Jason augment the quartet on guitar. It was nice to see a crush of folks assembled for the room's last show of the night, wowed by what's been described as Centro-Matic's 'country twang meets emo,' notably on the sublime "Patience For the Ride."

DAY FOUR:

Saturday was spent mostly away from the main drag. I went straight from the hotel to the 30th anniversary screening of Jim Szalapski's documentary Heartworn Highways at the Hideout on North Congress. Observing a score of Austin-based singer-songwriters in 1975, the film includes performances by Guy Clark, the Charlie Daniels Band, a 19-year-old Steve Earle and David Allan Coe at a Tennessee prison. Of note are a recording session by South Georgia singer-songwriter Larry Jon Wilson and hilarious scenes touring the late, great Texas songwriter Townes Van Zandt's homestead.

Getting to the Town Lake Stage on the Colorado River for the New Orleans benefit was challenging. Fortunately, we caught a free shuttle in time to sample some jambalaya and red beans 'n rice in the VIP suite before the Dirty Dozen Brass Band started its set. The Dozen brought their usual uncut funk and party vibe to the stage and kept the audience completely motivated to throwdown. Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk held the Second Line, mixing originals with well-picked covers like Parliament's "Unfunky UFO," which gave my shot left knee some trouble.

The set's shining moment involved the dual meaning of one song's message taking on a dual meaning: newly-minted Austinite Cyril Neville led the band on a show-stopping take of Curtis Mayfield's "This Is My Country." As Cyril Neville ad-libbed lines about America's debt to New Orleans and centuries of African slavery, I was moved to make like Tommie Smith and 'nem at the Mexico City Olympics.

The sheer level of mastery continued with living legend Allen Toussaint. Dapper as ever in suit and tie and consummately regal, he expertly led his band through his back pages, including "Lady Marmalade" and "Yes We Can Can," which got the bloods and the hippies freaking out. At one point, Toussaint claimed, "If there'll be one man left to wage battles in New Orleans, it's going to be me!"

At Club One 15, Arrested Development founder Speech was calm and collected as he took the stage backed by two acoustic guitars and drums. He served as a good ATL ambassador, spreading positivity to the small but packed house. The crowd responded most to AD classics "Tennessee," "People Everyday" and "Mr. Wendal." But folks also showed respect for his current solo material from The Vagabond (Bluhammock). Best amongst these tunes was "The Harvest," a largely sung composition dedicated to his family that indicates the 37-year-old Speech is at the vanguard of providing music for the mature hip-hop listener weary of bling and bullshit.

I then moved on to witness the first half of the MoRisen showcase back on 6th Street. Label head Chuck Morrison and publicist Amy Barefoot were kicking it at Nuno's, as were The Talk's C.R. and Justin, and Elevator Action's Laurie Ruroden. Photographer Daniel Coston was also chronicling the action. When the Sammies took the stage, they rocked out before a pretty full crowd considering their debut doesn't drop till this summer. The Sammies presented themselves as "beer-drinkin' music for beer-drinkin' people," which of course gathers anyone with a taste for hops. Their fresh take on post-modern Southern rock and unaffected enthusiasm was infectious. Before Elevator Action's set, the crowd had thinned out somewhat as it was past 1am. But the hometown trio made the best of it.

It's a good thing Elevator Action's raw, snarling pop-punk had it going on since my last gig of the festival, Black Moses at the Ritz' Blender balcony, made my ears bleed. Rock & soul may wax and wane in quality and relevance, but belief in its sonic power had brought several Charlotte acts and myself halfway across the country to Texas, the belly of the beast itself. America's heart-worn highways haven't lost the spirit of liberation yet.

GoTriad.com
Music Notes: Elevator Action
Charla Duncan, Staff Writer
(Thursday, February 23, 2006 1:00 am)

Hometown: Charlotte

Members: Eric Gilstrap (vocals, guitar), Laurie Ruroden (bass, vocals), James Donly (drums)

Discography: "It's Just Addiction" (2004); "Society, Secret" (due out June 6)

Sounds like: Dance party, pretty swank, rock 'n' roll merriment

In quotes: Eric Gilstrap

Behind the music: "I started dating Laurie. … I had just left my (old) band. Laurie played in Tokyo Machine, so I kind of stole her away. We moved into this huge house on Jackson Avenue, fixed it up and decided to start throwing house parties. Our roommate at the time was our original drummer. All of a sudden, everyone in town started asking us to play gigs. James, who plays drums now, was a fan … I think James believes he talked us into it; I'm not entirely sure about that."

Being likened to David Bowie: "I certainly do (agree). I think it's more unconscious. I don't go about trying to emulate any certain sound. I certainly have a love for that kind of style. If you play in a rock band, you're influenced in some way by 'Ziggy Stardust.' Maybe I see the comparison in the way I sing. There is a very dramatic feel to it."

Description of sound: "My friend calls us garage pop, rowdy rock 'n' roll. We take inspiration from indie/rock/pop of the '90s; Bowie, pop/new-wave like the Cars. It's kind of a nervous type of music –– severely agitated to really sweet and melodic. It's Cheap Trick meets Nirvana, with an unabashed wackiness. Spastic. I don't know; I've never seen the band live."

The Charlotte music scene: "No place on the East Coast rocks as hard as Charlotte."

Industry grievances: "On a local/touring band level, the uncooperative promoters. And the weird thing with a lot of people, they don't understand what goes on behind a touring band. Like with gas prices. Everyone's like 'Support local music,' but they want to bitch if you ask for more than $5 for a CD. On a bigger scale, so many bands are built on hype. Some are put together like a carefully placed puzzle. I'm insulted. I realize the market, and it mostly bothers me when I'm bored and flip to MTV. Mostly I just go about my business and make music."

Band name: "I have this close friend, and I asked him what would be a cool name for a band (like us), and Elevator Action came out of his mouth. I'm a big '80s geek, and I really love the video game Elevator Action. Everyone thinks the name is a specific innuendo, and I like the double meaning, but it really is just a video game."

Creating full sound as a three-piece: "You're going to compromise no matter how many people you have, especially if you have the inner ear/creative voice going on. I like the idea of doing more with a smaller number of people."

"You'll like us if ...": "You like broken guitars, scabs and cheap sunglasses … and Easter pink Chuck Taylor Converses. I love the pastel lime green stripe. I'm such a girl sometimes."

GoTriad.com
Sound Advice: Elevator Action and Ken Kleinfeld
Daniel McMilian, Special to Go Triad
(Thursday, February 23, 2006 1:00 am)


Charlotte's Elevator Action starts its second full-length off with a bang. The opening track, "Surely You Know," kicks in with Eric Gilstrap's guitar and vocals exchanging dirty looks, smirking all the way. The vocal delivery is knowing and nasty, evoking a ragged ennui that pervades the album.

Underpinning this is a solid musical foundation. The band has its feet firmly planted on the terra firma of guitar rock, late '70s on, with guitar, drums and bass consistent throughout.

As such, fans of the band's previous album, "It's Just Addiction," won't be disappointed.

The same pop-punk-rock stew is also present here; the songs chug along with energy and vitality without too many snags or lulls. The challenge here is to keep all these songs from sounding the same, and Elevator Action consistently rises to the occasion. This is thanks in large part to the prowess of Gilstrap, whose vocals feel more varied and dynamic than on their previous outing.

His lecherous purr distinguishes these songs, and he ranges from melodic croon (think a young Bowie) to primal scream (think your finger in an electrical socket). Bassist Laurie Ruroden contributes some vocal harmonies to good effect, punctuating key moments. The overall feeling is reminiscent of a wasted drag queen looking for another hit, and that's a good thing.

Within the songs, dynamics shift; the opening track that kicked off with a raunchy guitar sucker punch ends with an organ coming from out of nowhere to vamp behind a round of sweetly chimed "do-do-do's."

Those looking for the emotional uplift and paper-thin pathos of your typical power-pop trio may not appreciate the burned-out glamour of this two-fisted rock smorgasbord. But then, they probably aren't looking.

– Dan McMillan

It's Just Addiction

Wilmington Star News
Career of Charlotte's Elevator Action is going up

By Jarvis Slacks
Star News-Correspondent

The Web site of this Charlotte band (www.elevatoractionband .com) plays streaming rock 'n' roll as you hit cool tabs and become hypnotized by the psycho-orange art motif.

Elevator Action claims to use the brilliant musical happenings from 1977-94 as influences, but their songs and sound reminds me of 1950s-influenced rock. Less like Flat Duo Jets and more like the Strokes, and not in a bad way.

The rock trio is playing a show Saturday at legendarily rocking pub The 42nd Street Tavern, and it should be a packed house, considering it's the first show for local rock heroes Thunderlip since coming off a recent tour. Elevator Action has a lusty rock album, 2004's It's Just Addiction from Charlotte's MoRisen Records (The Talk, Snatches of Pink), and according to publicist Amy Barefoot, an already recorded album should be out very soon. The band will also play MoRisen's showcase at the CMJ Festival in New York for the second year in a row this September.

On It's Just Addiction, the song Modern Sickness has that aforementioned '50s rock sound, but when the chorus comes there's lots of man-screaming as the bass lines hum and the drums keep pace. The song Local Celebrities pushes the party to the next level, and while the lyrics aren't the most creative in town ("Don't you know I'm a boy and I've got no name/ Don't you know I'm a girl and I've got no shame/ Don't you know that I'm caught somewhere in between/ Summer job and you know that it drives me insane"), they contemplate subtle societal truths that have been tested by time and high school.

Razorcake
www.razorcake.com
(MoRisen)
 It's Just Addiction

UNLEASH YOUR INNER GLAM-FAG
by Chris Peigler

I thought that Mitchell was the coolest guy in the fourth grade. Why? Well, he had the longest hair of any guy in the fourth grade. If you were a guy growing up in a small, rural, Southern town in the '70s wearing your hair long was still considered a rebellious act. I don't remember if I ever asked him why he wore his hair so long. Why was I curious? Because I had the second-longest hair of any guy in the fourth grade.

My reason for having long hair was because all the rock dudes I considered cool at the time had long hair and I wanted to be a cool, rock dude myself one day. I can't recall any other wanna-be-rockers from elementary school. By junior high Mitchell had cut his hair to a more (small town) socially acceptable length for guys whereas mine stayed not quite shoulder-length. It didn't seem to alter the public perception of us though. Most of the regular Joe's in our school didn't think we were wanna-be-rockers or wanna-be-hippies. They thought we were homos. When guys one grade above me would approach me and ask if I were a boy or a girl I thought they were just fucking with me in the way that dumb ass, conformist types do, and while that may also have been the case, nowadays when I look back at my seventh grade school picture I can't help but think "I did look like a girl!". I was androgynous-looking and I wasn't even trying to be. Damn!

As the smart Razorcake readers that you are, I'm sure you know that those macho, conformist dudes were wrong in more ways than one. Mitchell and I weren't homos. We just accidentally looked like them, I guess, in the small-town, Bible-belt South. Mitchell liked girls such as Natalie. I thought that Natalie was cool, but a little too mainstream for my tastes. She has to be one of those Volvo-driving soccer moms now. What about my, uh, unconventional tastes? Well, I liked smart girls going bad like Paula. She had been labeled one of the "smart kids" (along with your truly) in Mrs. Shoemaker's fifth grade class, but by age fourteen Paula was regularly in trouble at school for stealing and smoking pot. Since any kind of rebellion was a scarce commodity in our little burg my response was "Hell, yeah" and I was in love or as close as I could get to it at the time. Paula and her family soon moved out of state, but the dye had been cast for me. There would be no Volvo-driving, soccer mom/wife in my future. If only I and some of my young, tough-guy tormenters could have seen into the future when one day I would know a then unthinkable reality: depressed, pale, art majoring, non-sorority babes who wore a lot of black and thought that girly guys like David Bowie and Robert Smith were hot shit.

Why have these things been on my mind lately? They came flooding back one day in 2003. I was at the local, indie record store where some local, indie bands were supposed to play a show. Elevator Action was one of those bands. I had seen them many times before and was definitely a fan, but on this particular day only guitarist/singer Eric Gilstrap showed. For the first time I heard him play some of the band's songs acoustically and I was finally able to hear some of the lyrics that had previously gotten lost in their usual, loud band setting .

"Don't you know I'm a boy and I got no name. Don't you know I'm a girl and I got no shame. Don't you know that I'm caught somewhere in between It's summertime and you know that it drives me insane"

Beneath his then purple-colored mop of hair I recognized a kindred spirit. I remembered that Eric grew up in a small, Southern, town too. It's called Marshville and I've driven past it many times as there is a major highway that runs through it. There's a large sign there that says something like "Marshville-Home of Country Singer Randy Travis" or something to that effect. I've never asked him about his experiences growing up there, but, once I heard those words I was sure his story would sound all too familiar to me.

Here is a good place to invoke the Traditional Razorcake Disclosure Statement. As previously stated, Elevator Action is local to me; our locality being Charlotte, NC. I, of course, know the members of the band personally. How can you trust that what I write isn't tainted by friendship or social-climbing? Well, when I go to a local punk show I am in my element and always see lots of people I know who are happy to talk to me. Elevator Action draws more of a glam rock/indie rock crowd. I still see people that I know at their shows but.not that many of them want to talk to me. In other words, when I go to an Elevator Action show it's definitely more for the music than for the socializing.

And, speaking of their music, in September 2004 their first CD, It's Just Addiction, was released on the local Morisen label. As the group has been playing shows since Summer 2002 I was very well acquainted with the songs. At first I was afraid that my prior familiarity would prevent me from playing it much, but, happily, I was wrong. I don't want to overlook the other members of the band; Gary Guthrie is a solid drummer and Laurie Ruroden plays bass and provides key backing vocals. It is, however, the guitar -playing, lead singer who puts a face and a concept on this music. The lyrical theme from the above quote does pop up in other songs. Sometimes it's not so obvious ("I don't know why but I got a sexual emergency" without telling us what exactly the emergency is ) and other times it's dead-on ("I think I'm blue but I'm pink" with the actual CD itself having no writing or logos on it but being a solid pink color instead). Musically, they write concise, melodic songs that mostly bounce along at, say, a Buzzcocks tempo. They aren't a punk band by today's narrowed standards, but if this album had been released in the 1977-1980 period they would have definitely been considered punk. Some lyrical themes expressed here fit quite well with early punk's frequently negative thoughts, such as on "Models Wanted" when Eric sings "I know it seems so unfair/Suicide is in the air/Confess your love I don't care" or on "Come On, Hate Me" in which he begs someone to follow through on the song's title. I also completely enjoy Eric's guitar playing which can go from floating along melodically to snarling viciously. I've played this album many times since I got it at their CD release party and I haven't tired of it yet.

Their live shows have, at times, been very punk in a "is-this-really-happening?" way. Their CD release party in September at their favorite local club The Steeple showed the band at their most combative. They stopped a new song about one verse in and some words were exchanged between Gary and Eric. Gary got up from his drum kit, walked up to Eric's mic, and bellowed "I don't give a fuck" to the audience then sat back down. They continued playing, but the mood was like The Sex Pistols at Winterland in '78 (if you've ever seen that footage). Later, Gary complained into his mic that "we've played longer than we ever play. I want to start drinking." Eric apologized to the audience several times saying things like "we're almost done.we'll be out of your hair soon" and "buy our CD.maybe you'll like it better than this". I felt bad for them, but at the same time I felt somehow reassured. Reassured ? I think it's because so many bands nowadays come across as wanna-be rockstars and ass-kissers . The local label that Elevator Action is on apparently has deep pockets and certainly mainstream ambitions (go to www.morisen.com and see for yourself and there is also a link from there to www.elevatoractionband.com). And, yet, at the release party for their first CD Elevator Action did not kiss my ass or anyone else's. I've seen the band live between twenty and thirty times in the last two years , and the afore-mentioned temper tantrums and tension aren't a constant at the majority of shows I've seen, but the threat of it is always there.

So what does the future hold for them? As much as I'd like to have the current generation of depressed, pale, art-majoring, non-sorority, black-clad babes listening to Elevator Action's music I'm afraid it's a long road from The Steeple to all of their bedrooms. When I think back I remember that the young women I'm writing about were usually more impressed with David Bowie and Robert Smith than they were with their local equivalents of the same. Maybe those local equivalents were lesser men (in a girly way, of course), but also because guys like Bowie and Smith were far away and unattainable they may have seemed more exciting than that local, girly guy who was stuck in the same boring town as you with his less glamorous life more readily exposed.

On the back sleeve of the first Clash single, "White Riot/1977", there is a collage of photos and text from unidentified sources. Among them is a quote that I always found as loaded with meaning as my favorite Clash songs: "Youth, after all, is not a permanent condition, and a clash of generations is not so fundamentally dangerous to the art of government as would be a clash between ruler and ruled." In that sentence I can see the entire history of punk. The "clash between ruler and ruled" speaks to every left-leaning punk band from The Clash to Crass to today's crusties. "Youth, after all, is not a permanent condition" makes me think of The Germs and bands like Elevator Action. It reminds me of the nihilistic, self-destructive worldview that does not usually evolve to the sense of protest and solidarity hinted at in the latter part of the above quote. It's Just Addiction the Elevator Action album is called as if they're saying "it's nothing.don't make a big deal out of it.it doesn't matter" which fits right in with "we're almost done.we'll be out of your hair soon". It is the opposite of the tribal fanaticism that led The Germs and their followers to give each other "Germs burns". As Pat Smear once said "it was the idea of something permanent, so that in ten years you'd be at the supermarket, and some lady would give you change, and you'd see the burn and make a connection." So, Elevator Action embodies a healthier form of self-destruction, maybe, despite the apparent contradiction in that statement. All of which means the band may stay together longer than The Germs did, but being from our less exotic locale there is less chance that they will become as well known. If I've sparked your interest, then I'd say, get it while you can.


Creative Loafing
(MoRisen)
 It's Just Addiction

From the opening riff of "Modern Sickness," Elevator Action crank the amps with raw 70s rock while giving stiff nods to, but not aligning with, later decades. The debut recording from the band (Eric Gilstrap, vocals, guitar; Laurie Ruroden, bass and vocals; Gary Guthrie, drums), It's Just Addiction, was produced by John Agnello (Dinosaur Jr., Mark Lanegan), and brings back vibes of a hip, defunct Brit band called Thee Hypnotics. The riffs rumble, soar and purposely crumble into rocking, yet melodic, defiance. Most songs are short. They are punked up, teased with psychedelics and surely rocking enough to be cut loose and played loud -- way loud. If "Fistful of Drugs" and "Come On Hate Me," don't get your socks sweaty, crank this baby to revisit those rocking days of youthful abandon. The track "Local Celebrities" has such a catchy sing-along chorus that it's a cryin' shame it can't be played on the radio. Otherwise it would clinch as an early summer anthem. (www.elevatoractionband.com)
 Grade: A--Samir Shukla

EBLOGGER - I'm told that I'm the first blogger to talk about Elevator Action, which surprises me. I was initially intrigued by one of their mp3s, a song called Modern Sickness. It's not hugely different from songs by a lot of bands that have sprung up in the wake of the Strokes' success, but I took note that during the chorus, at the exact point where you'd expect some catchy little pop-punk hook, Elevator Action's lead singer instead decides to start screaming his lungs out. Always a good sign. Incidentally, I don't want that word "Strokes" to scare you away...it really is a good tune. More importantly, it lead me to their album It's Just Addiction. Where I discovered that Elevator Action are possessors of a seriously world-class lead singer (Eric Gilstrap, who can go from Bowie to Bonn Scott in an eyeblink) and a track called Come On, Hate Me which is my favorite song of the last week-or-so. It features an amazing Lydia Lunch impersonation on the chorus, presumably by their bass player Laurie Ruroden (who should -- hint hint hint -- sing more).

The Crutch
EP - Self Titled

Elevator Action, hey, like any other band they’ve got their ups and downs. Ba-dum-ching. These are the jokes, folks; my live act includes a rubber chicken.   I found out about Elevator Action when they “came down” (Thank you, I’ll be here in the fabulous Hotel Shalimar Tiki Lounge all week - don’t forget to tip your bartender!) to Carrboro from Charlotte, NC, to play a party at my house. All I really remember of their performance is Gary, front and center, banging the shit out of cymbals that seemed to be about ten feet in the air, Eric’s scorchingly fuchsia hair, and a prolonged blast of harmony laden, garagey punk rock - but give me a break, I was wearing a red feather boa and slogging cheap Merlot out of the bottle, you can’t expect me to remember every little thing. Honestly, I was loaded and they could have been playing gypsy Klezmer ska for all I knew - but I liked it. The next day, after filling ten bags with trash and heading out for coffee, I popped Elevator Action’s self-titled EP into the CD player and discovered I was right - three tracks of classic pop-punk - and was relieved to find out that I had not, in fact, rocked out to gypsy Klezmer ska, whatever the hell that would be.   Pop-punk gets a bad rap. In modern parlance, it refers not to punk rock inflected with pop in the figurative sense (i.e. melody and harmony), but in the literal sense (shorthand for popular, which, I hate to sound elitist, but let’s not shit ourselves: when regarding rock music, often means low-brow whiny emo-crap for rich, popular suburban kids). In a strange lexicographical twist, today’s most famous pop-punk bands have nothing to do with pop or punk, and are miles away from rock - equally unfamiliar with the contributions of MC5, The Stooges and The Beach Boys, their music is informed by the other “pop-punk” bands they were weaned on. Good Charlotte may say they love The Clash, and maybe they do, now, but one couldn’t tell it from their music - you know their formative years were filled with Blink 182 and NOFX. Without historical roots, these bands’ super-clean, generic power chord structures and soulless, overwrought vocals breach the realms of neither pop nor punk, remaining stuck between floors (OK, last elevator pun, I promise), as it were, in the no-man’s-land of image advertisement.   Now that we’ve made that distinction, I can say without fear of being misunderstood that Elevator Action play pop-punk - the real deal, with actual fully assimilated pop and punk standards showing through. Over the three tracks on their self-titled EP, Ramones-style punk with a little Detroit hitch and gallop dovetails seamlessly with doo-wops, pristine vocal harmonies, dramatic vocal and guitar surges straight out of the Velvet Underground, and totally sparkling Brian Wilson moments. This demo has a lo-fi yet up-front production value that suits the music to a T, and is, contrary to some of today’s self-serious garage rock, actually fun - something you’d want to dance around to with your friends while drinking beer on a Sunday afternoon, belting out the harmonies and ironically dancing The Shopping Cart or The Swim. You can track this down on the web - I’m not going to print their e-mail address, but if you want a copy and can’t find one, drop me a line and I’ll put you in touch. Soon enough these guys are releasing their full-length debut on the MoRisen label, after which I assume they may be abandoning the house party circuit and *ahem* - going up (damn, I really thought I was done after that last one). Get on board.