| Frosty and the Snowmen 6-11-05 Frosty and the Snowmen… 6-11-05 Is what I like to call them, but they call themselves Band B, a name that has grown on me in recent months. I’m thinking “Who is band A?” when it hit’s me. It a lot of bands. It’s every band with a lesser immediate impact on my palate. It’s every group that doesn’t shine and befuddle and amaze me while looking like friggin’ laid back rock stars, and it’s every band that isn’t in the process of TAKING what is theirs by offering that elusive thunderbolt of originality that I need and must have occasionally to stay sane. It’s Band B on one side of the fence, and most, damn near everyone else, or the equivalent of one cubic whale cock of groups on the other. Before I go one inch further, I implore you to listen to them on myspace.com so you will realize how dead-on my assessment is. Band B’s first effort “The Devil’s Way Out” is the most amazing demo I have listened to in fifteen years in the business, and I have tons of these effen things lying around. I use them for coasters and to throw at bees and shit. “The Devil’s Way Out” has hit me like a fucking tidal wave and I will savagely enjoy watching the circus leave town. My problem is I can’t figure out how or why or what the fuck even happened to allow this to exist. THIS, as in an occurrence, as in these guys just played halftime at The Palace of Auburn Hills. As in I have seen them twice, and both times they tore off my skull and left my head hanging off my ears. Somebody better start explaining some shit or I’m gonna kick everybody’s ass on yesterday’s schedule. The only thing I can even think to do now is tell you what I have seen and heard. The Snowman I met Chris at MPA Studios a couple of years ago. He was friendly and funny, or at least he thought I was funny anyway. The kid was slight in frame and shit, and it looked like I could bench press him with my dick. Nice guy though. Fast forward to about a year later. Chris and I were sitting across one another at some corporate restaurant in bullshitville nowhere. He told me he had been writing tunes and was in the process of trying to get a band together. I blabbed at him about how maybe we could collaborate. Now, I have learned that you never know who the next golden child is gonna be, but Chris Breest wasn’t really on my radar. I knew he had a pro tools rig and I was hoping to get some stuff on tape in any form possible so we talked a bit and made vague plans. Months passed… Fast forward to the Bullfrog a couple of weeks ago. There’s Chris onstage at an 89x show. Eyes hidden under a beaten ball cap, his voice soars as the tunes move and dip deftly. Band B is treating the crowd with an arsenal of professionalism and style in what they all later confessed was “barely a decent show, really.” I’m back at home later on, trying to tape my skull back to the front of my head, and this was an off night for them. La-dee-fucking-da. The first thing I notice is Matt Binder just killing the beat with perfectly honed chops. The guy looks like a choirboy, but he’s up there adjusting his gear between downbeat breaks with an attitude that suggests he has the chicks and all he needs now is a hot tub. When I mention this later to Pete “Keys”, he is quick to inform me “Dude I have been totally up his ass. I’ve been all over him and it’s starting to really show.” For the record, that would be industry slang for a Jedi Master teaching a cadet what is, what ain’t, and exactly what will be just right. Appropriate, considering Pete has played coast-to-coast with everyone from P Funk to god only knows who else. On stage at the Frog, Pete looks charged and hungry and his musical presence is a tour de force. I make a mental note that I have never seen him more appropriately utilized, and shake my head at the coincidence of it all. Rob Nelson on lead guitar and backing vocals is not a coincidence; it’s plain up good-ass luck. Rob told me from the get go that the Snowman was writing some special music, but Chris hit the jackpot when Rob joined the group. Nelson is a cold-blooded killer on guitar and he will slay you where you stand. I have seen him do it for years and it never ceases to amaze me. Rob’s licks land somewhere between recockulous and bitchin’, and he’s so good that he does it in an off-handed way. He also sings his ass off and his looks make chicks want to rub up on his package and tell him he’s deep. Fucker. So I’m watching, trying to soak all this in, and I can’t take my eyes off Brian, the bass player. I mention him to my girlfriend BatHottie, to sort of head-check myself, but she’s already seeing the same thing I am and is equally amused. Brian is playing his lines effortlessly and with a great deal of style and taste, none of which goes unnoticed, but it’s his “stage presence” for the lack of a better term, that bends my head a bit. He’s a good looking kid with shoulder length dark hair, and he’s up there with this bemused smile on his face, dancing a happy little four beat cadence like he’s in the Bangles or some shit. The effect is stunning, and I’m thinking to myself “Didn’t Rusty hire this kid from some metal band?” because he looks like he’s ready to buy Binder a hot tub and stock it with his own personal bitches. It occurs to me that maybe he’s fucking with us, or fooling himself, or having fun doing both. I decide on the spot that I like the result so much that I don’t even want to know. The Snowman finishes a song and says into the mic “That was a pretty fast song. It made me tired.” Now, I have seen half the semi-free musical world try to pull off that sort of dry humor onstage, and here’s Rusty taking it for granted. Why? Either he just plain means it, or maybe because he already knows what I now realize. Band B will blow you right out of your little pond. They are an American rock and roll group with roots that will break cement. Chris Breest’s lyrics are the finest combination of honesty and pointed profundity I have seen in quite some time, and the vocals drop hooks around every unimagined corner. The music moves in progressions that immediately draw you in and NEVER disappoint, and the songwriting sensibility and panache is almost incomprehensible. This one last time I implore readers to render this decision themselves. Don’t take my fancy words and tall talk at face value even though you should. Look up the band online. Make sure to tape your ears and your skull to the middle of your head. They’re Band B, and their t-shirt states “Fuck Band A” I concur, and I’m only the messenger, but YOU HEARD THAT SHIT HERE FIRST. BatHustler |