Love Loves Love – February 12th, 2002
by Bing Futch
[[211bingcourt]] Whether you’re aware of it or not, love is more than just an emotion; it’s a palpable energy that can be quite scientific in nature. Homeopathic medicine is anchored in the radiant belief that like attracts like, which basically means that if you’re a lover, you’ll attract those who love, if you’re a hater, you’ll attract those who hate, etc. This seems quite simple until you realize that there are many different types of love. Selfish lovers, prideful lovers, those full of love both scripted and unconditional. Cripes-0-matic, it’s no wonder that life in love is such a rollercoaster ride! My friend Courtney Lowrence, a bassist and former bandmate in Sosumi, had the best of both worlds while she and lead singer Sue Bowlus were dating. Not only did these two live and love together, but they played together on-stage in what was quite the jammin’ little all-girl lesbian rock band, until I came along and replaced Amy Steinberg as keyboardist. I’m not exactly sure if Amy’s a lesbian or not, but she has quite the hard-core girl-on-girl following, so consider her “honorary”, much like myself since I look absolutely nothing like a lesbo.
Prone to digression, mustn’t you know by now?
Sadly but truly, Sue and Courtney (that was how they were billed as a couple – seemingly no-one ever called them “Courtney and Sue”) have split up, much like the band, which is a huge moaning loss to a music scene that lacks a proliferation of good, edgy female vibes. Not to mention a lack of funk soul sistahs fronting groovy R&B and hip-hop groups, prompting me to cry out “where are all the black women at, where dey at?” I’m not against an unstaunched flow of bleach-blonde Betty’s, hefting sizzling red axes and grinding their hips against the microphone stand – just hoping for a little more flava from the state and frankly, that goes for guys too. There are simply not enough people of color on the frontlines of the local scene and please, don’t anyone suggest that they’re all in Miami, booty-bumping capital of the state.
[[211karisa]]Happily, on the Orlando front, there exists some intense Grrrl! Power and at the forefront of the rising wave of talent is Karisa Nowak of SWET. This young twenty-something never fails to cause a southern stir when she steps onto a stage and thankfully, the show doesn’t stop with her breath-taking good looks. This stunning and edgy diva possesses a set of pipes that belt out tough-luckin’ blues and rock ‘n’ roll melodies with soulful, skillful abandon. Her fretwork on the guitar is assured and dynamic; a buffet of chops that easily stride between wicked lead riffs and silky chord changes. Although she still seems to be working out the “shy quotient”, that doesn’t stop this brassy maiden from slinging her instrument behind her in true Springsteen style and pulling the microphone closer for an up-tempo rant through one of her tunes – traditional rock roots numbers that bare a lot of heart and plenty of guts. Though powerhouse drummer Lloyd Thompson will be heading out on tour with his new band Deroot sometime soon, he continues to pound the skins along with former Throe bandmate Dave Perkins holding down the fort on bass. While seeking a new drummer, SWET will be appearing sporadically around the O-Town area – check their website for gigs and news; this is one femme fatale that’s doing it right.
[[211lorynn]] It’s been about four years since I first encountered the red-headed siren known only as Lorynn to her audiences. She’s still a painfully shy gal with a soft voice and a way of making admirers feel like they’re way too kind, as if she didn’t know the power that she holds over a microphone and an audience. Oh, I’m sure that when in completely comfortable quarters, there’s much more to this young’un than meets the eye. ‘Tis when she hits the stage that all bets are off. Regardless of her many moods (she confesses her raging battles with PMS to audiences when the time is right), the girl is a poignant package of heartfelt love songs, both reciprocated and unrequited. Though her guitar playing is adequately rendered, it’s the Voice that stops folks in their tracks as she kicks open all of the many valves and levers once inside a tune. Her default setting is a come-hither Southern coo (unusual in that she doesn’t speak with a trace of an accent) that drips like sweet lemon water over her pluckings. It’s when the passion fires heat up that lemonade that the Voice is unleashed – raw and wailin’, powerful and so filled with heartache that you may bring yourself to wonder how she can put herself through the pain all over again, just for the sake of playing a song. One imagines that without such an outlet for her obvious angst and feelings, she’d be another casualty of indifference. There’ll be no musical victims of war in this one-woman brigade as long as Lorynn continues to vent and create her touching and tragic tunes.
I’ve come to believe over the past year that we are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but we are spiritual beings having a human experience. If you stop to think about it and believe it to be true, then life will suddenly take on a whole other meaning for you. “You only live once,” is starting to smell like a fallacy. In any case – the week of Valentine’s Day comes with the requisite paeans (and pains for some) and pleasures, commercial glut and capitalistic crunch, renewed affirmations and newly found loathing for anything having to do with roses, Cupid, sweet nothings and the idea of loving one another. Don’t worry – if you don’t grasp the concept this year, or this life even, there are plenty more opportunities. I know. This isn’t my first time living life on Planet Earth – but we’ll save that for another time. Now, comes some more music:
CASUAL FOLKLOR
Little Mary
(Three and a half out of five stars)
“Little Mary” is a curious album. Half of it will appeal to fans of Pearl Jam, Creed and The Dave Matthews Band – not that that’s a terrible, stinking thing. But the other half of the CD shows what incredible aural depth that this band is capable of, especially considering the deeply poetic lyrics that are so full of angst and loathing that one might wish to re-dub the band Casual Forlorn. Lead singer Tony Cuchetti is a fine singer with a limited range, his Vedder-esque wail is dead-on, but there are very few dynamics except when paired with exquisite harmonies such as the ones in the tribal-sounding “Sometimes” which features the soulful vocals of sister Gina Cuchetti and soul-stirring percussion. This is one of the stand-out tracks, which is why tunes like “When Muppetts Sing” are so damn quizzical in their ordinariness. “Paper” fares better with crisp melodies/harmonies and nifty lyrics like “now I dance around on this human lawn/try to move around on your paper tongue.” Throughout the album, the imagery is cryptic-yet-engaging, leaving much up to interpretation. Is spicy up-tempo opener “Over” about abortion or something psychological? Without the lyric sheet, it’s difficult to tell as bassist Chris Cuchetti whacks out the bottom-end and drummer Chris Blais stutters along in a nervous, free-flow, cymbal-heavy rhythm. There are shades of Metallica scattered throughout, especially with the “Unforgiven” aura that dusts lightly over “Symptom” and lead guitarist Rodney Dorrough has certainly taken a few pages from the Kirk Hammett book of axe-wielding, call it an hommage. Nevertheless – he shines with full-bodied colors and blues-tinged jeweled licks on each and every cut as the other guitar duties are handled by the group’s frontman. The band truly shines when it steps away from overused rock grooves and embraces a neo-retro sensibility on tunes like “Chipmunks In Her Hair”, which finds Cuchetti in better voice. Also, when sax player James Rafford gets to step off of the bench and add some flavor, the show takes off for the sky. Curiously enough, the best track on the album is hidden – it’s a funky, chunky R&B styled rocker that points to what could’ve been for “Little Mary.” All-in-all, it’s a great-sounding CD and the players are confident in their roles. Now if someone could guide them towards the all-fired spirit of their live shows, they’ll have the ingredients for one winner of a follow-up. cuch74@aol.com
SUPERVILLAINS
Horseshoes
Haroulakis Entertainment
(Four out of five stars)
Judging from the CDR and Kinko’s production, this album may not be a final version; not that it matters much. “Horseshoes” simply oozes with the personality of the Supervillains – a hyperactive, ska-punk outfit out of the redneck paradise that is Kissimmee/St. Cloud, which provides them with plenty of fodder for their funky fried riffs. Though some of the production is foggy and the performances border on the chaotic, all elements combine to paint a larger-than-life picture of the band, full of good humor, great jams and plenty of seedy stories. “Crewcut” officially introduces the band, led by vocalist/guitarist Scott Rockit, whose smart-ass persona doesn’t quite obscure his obvious affection for the art of reggae music. His toastin’ abilities, where not always on key or in-rhythm, are well-represented on lightning-quick skanks like “Oi’s To The Hood” and “Scene Points”, the latter of which takes an anti-straight-edge stance. Why not? Pot-smoking is a major topic on the CD, including the schizophrenic rave-up “Be Alright” which starts off as an amiable horn-tickled reggae roll before exploding into a punk-fired rage as “Skart” sings “they single me out because I smoke weed/well, I don’t get in fights and I’ll never O-D.” Opening track “Ronnie Dobbs” comes real close to offering true advice for better living (“if we always do what we always did/then we always get what we got”) while serving up tasty horn licks courtesy of saxophonist Jon Cestero, trombonist Neil Estes and trumpeteer James Paul Thieme. The band’s arrangements are flavorful, catchy and full of singable hooks, all powered by the sure-handed (and footed) Dom Maresco on drums, aiding to change-up the meter when least expected. Perhaps owing to their redneck roots, the hilarious “Summer of ‘96” features the band’s manager Dan Haroulakis on harmonica and Jew’s Harp in what can only be described as true country punk. Bassist Mike Ruizzo is responsible for keeping true with the rock-steady beat when it’s called for, easily switching to punk mode in a flash. “Human Puke Machine”, a sordid tale about a guy who can’t hold his liquor, comes the closest to pure-moshing aggressiveness. Throughout the disc, “Skart” plays a full-bodied guitar, but the production here renders it somewhat tinny when it’s needed the most. Other than a few small production qualms, this CD is more fun than goin’ Muddin’ and twice as easy to sit through repeatedly. Always a riot and never quiet – the Supervillains deliver yet another rowdy reason to say “OI!” <a href=http://www.thesupervillains.net>www.thesupervillains.net</a>
Love is a many-splintered thing
Since getting divorced and looking forward to a new kind of life, I’ve come closer to realizing what the meaning of love is. Love is not a smothering influence, rather one that will allow you to grow wings; so it can take aim, cry “pull!” and then blast those sprouts off of your back so that no more flying will take place.
But seriously – as I mentioned before, we love as we live and get what we give, so if we are needy, our partners just might be needy too. It’s a sort of Karma, perhaps just one floor down and straight down the hall. Too bad then, for those that love selfishly, because they will never be satisfied with their mates, unless they can get away with loving one or more. Seems to me that The Oakridge Boys had a song about that. Funnily enough, I see a few small holes in the whole “like attracts like” theory. Since I love nothing more than music, it doesn’t stand to reason that I’d have so many women attempting to distract me from that one thing, you know? No bragging here, it’s just that my horoscope has warned me of a potential influx of ladies seeking to barge in on this already tumultuous love affair that I’ve got with my art. One needs an emotional shoe-horn to make it all fit, do you ever feel that way? Perhaps this Valentine’s Day, you’ll actually find the utensil necessary to squeeze all of life’s beautiful continuances into one motherfucking huge shoe.
Until next week, be well, be wise and be wary of women bearing jasmine, bath beads and love candles, unless they’re of the mind that “we can always try again next life.”
Pa gjensyn,
“bfsig”
