“That band from Cedar Falls is playing 80/35 this year.”
Advised my father, a bastion of knowledge concerning Des Moines’ entertainment
schedule. His database is the
entertainment section of the Des Moines Register and another local weekly that
he keeps close at hand, usually underneath a decretive bowel that holds his remote
controls.
The “that band” he was referring to is House of Large Sizes,
a now defunct power trio that provided the Hawkeye state with some of the most
intuitive and original blend of rock music during their initial run. Since
going on hiatus over a decade ago, the band has re-formed sporadically for
quick Iowa/Minnesota weekend reunions and for special occasions like headlining
the Kum and Go free stage, one of three areas at the 80/35 festival with live
music offerings.
The comment I made to my dad went something along the lines
of “I don’t want to diminish the memories that I already have,” which is
partially true as H.O.L.S. would qualify as a band that I’ve seen more than any
other, beginning with their second gig ever over a quarter century ago. There
is nothing like watching a band start from uneasy footing and progress into a
remarkable one, and H.O.L.S. turned into exactly that.
With a year, House of Large Sizes became a very potent live
band, and I can safely tell you that, while not every performance was
transcendent, a large portion of them were and I can’t ever recall a moment
where I wasn’t disappointed in attending.
Probably the only performance that came close to qualifying as
a disappointment would have been one of those weekend reunions where many Iowa
natives returned home to witness H.O.L.S. reunite. There was nothing to
complain about from a music perspective, but from the audience it was quite
unsettling watching your peers, visibly older, pretending to be in their 20’s
and navigating the Mevlevi Order directly in front of the stage.
That’s a problem for me to address. Not the band. Not the 45
year-old fellow caught up in the time machine, screaming “I used to walk to school!
I used to walk to school!” while H.O.L.S. tore through their first hint of
awesomeness with their early standout track, “1½ On A Hill.”
The visuals obtained from these gigs were enough to have me
keep my memories of this great band intact by abstaining from any further
reunion shows or one-off engagements.
So when Dad dutifully mentioned “that band from Cedar
Falls,” I confessed my predicament and admitted that there were really only two
bands in 80/35’s schedule that I wanted to see this year-Wavves and
Deerhunter-and out of those, only Deerhunter made me want to get my wallet out
and purchase a ticket.
The two headliners this year were David Byrne/St. Vincent
(Friday night) and Wu Tang Clang (Saturday night), both of which were not
enough to save 80/35 from their lowest paid attendance since the festival’s
first event, six years ago.
When I went to that inaugural show, I was a buzzkill. I was
suffering from the belief that I had grown beyond the challenges that any
festival event prevents (drunkenness, heat, lack of manners, etc.) and that
somehow the festival needed to adapt to my expectations.
It’s a ridiculous complaint, and the only way around it is
to simply make the choice not to attend, which I have done in the past.
But each year the festival presents at least one or two acts that I would like
to see, so I’m forced to make some form of compromise if I want to see them.
This year, that challenge came from the band Deerhunter, a
band that I admire a great deal and one that has not touched Iowa soil since
their inception.
I bitched and whined about my choices until the last day of
the festival, where I finally headed over to Des Moines without a ticket,
hoping to score “a miracle,” to use Grateful Dead parlance.
Leave it to my mother to save the day, handing me $50 bucks
from her purse and telling me just to go and buy a ticket at the gate. I didn’t
see the value in spending $45 for what would have been one band, two if I felt
inclined enough to battle the heat and check out Wavves mid-afternoon.
But as temperatures hovered in the mid-90’s and my parent’s
two new kittens falling asleep on my chest after a hard afternoon play, Wavves
didn’t make the cut.
That left the agenda wide open, and only two bands remained
in the running.
For everyone else, it was the Wu Tang Clan, who I enjoy to a
certain degree haven’t paid attention to since O.D.B. died. This isn’t to
suggest that his input isn’t as essential to the Wu as a creative unit, but you
know, when does the point of a collective turn into the whims of a few select
members? When does all of it turn into a money-grab after the solo efforts
begin to not get the attention that they once did?
And when does it all turn into an ungrateful booking where
the remaining members finally hit the stage 45 minutes after their scheduled
start time?
I was long gone before this, so I don’t have a dog in this
hunt. But I do get a bit defensive when an act comes in to my state without any
evidence of respect towards the people who paid to see them. That includes
festivals, county fairs, and any opening act that gets on stage and mocks
patrons like those fucks in Los Lobos.
I’m glad Paul Simon ripped off your shit and you don’t make
a dime off Graceland. You don’t
deserve it, you smug fucks.
The sun had begun to set when Deerhunter-specifically
frontman Bradford Cox-fought with some unruly guitar pedals and barked orders
at the soundman before the set began. When the music did finally start-right
around the scheduled time, so fuck you, Wu-the soundman had apparently done his
magic, appeasing the crowd and Cox with some very luscious sonics.
Beginning with “Cover Me (Slowly)” > “Agoraphobia,” the
set pulled heavily from Halcyon Digest,
which is fine, because Halcyon Digest
is most awesome. For some reason, I felt the need to tell anyone near me that I
had driven from Cedar Rapids (2 hours) and paid full price ($45) just to see
Deerhunter. “Really?” said one of my neighbors standing next to me, feigning
interest. He moved before I had a chance to tell him that my mommy bought the
ticket for me and pushed my curfew to Midnight.
Cox is looking older these days, and he was nowhere near as
flamboyant as I would have liked him to be. He made the curious decision to
wear a black Cramps t-shirt with dark green corduroy highwaters and sandals. It
was the look of someone who merely woke up in Atlanta, GA, hopped on a plane to
Iowa, played 60 minutes at a festival and then flew home.
This is exactly what happened, probably. But I’m sure the
shocking blue Teisco Del-Rey he was manning came with him on the plane. Most
awesome.
Bassist Josh Fauver is no longer in the band, apparently
having grown tired of this type of thing (touring). This was a concern at
first, since he had a hand in one of the most awesome Deerhunter songs of all
time (“Nothing Ever Happened”) and it meant that it probably would not be a
part of the set list that evening.
New bassist Josh McKay has a pretty nifty look about him,
and as far as I could tell, filled Fauver’s shoes nicely in terms of the band’s
increasing reliance on strong 4/4 rhythms
.
All the girls love guitarist Lockett Pundt, who worked “Desire
Lines” into the evening’s most memorable moment. Fans of his reverb-laden Jazzmaster
are advised to check out his band Atlas Sound, although I’m sure I’m speaking
to the converted if you’re a fan of Deerhunter already.
 |
| Don't you cry, Timmy. There's a heaven above you, baby. |
They have an additional guitarist, Frankie Boyles, who is actually
the drummer in Atlas Sound, so go figure.
Drummer Moses Archuleta is pretty solid player, and I was
impressed with his consistency. His
timekeeping was critical in matching the band’s more extended pieces into
credible forms of translation. When they were on, they were perfect. When they
were off-which was rare-they were nowhere near the troublemaking persona that
made this show such a must-see-with-your-mother’s-money event.
The most tomfoolery that took place was Bradford’s banter
with the timid crowd; most of their fans stood towards the front while the
sourpusses waiting for Wu Tang Clan sulked in the back, discounting the weird
white boy singling out audience members for some gentle ribbing.
“What’s with Nic Cage?” he asked, noticing that a member of
the audience had taken the time to attach a big picture of Nicolas Cage’s head
to a broom handle and brought it to Deerhunter’s set.
“What happened to Nic Cage today?” he continued to ponder,
looking for an explanation as to why someone would find the need to bring a big
picture of the star’s head to a rock concert. “You guys in Iowa like irony and
humor, don’t you?” finding out that the gag really served no purpose other than
to confound.
He then noticed a young man wearing a Black Flag t-shirt,
who he promptly named “Timmy,” and complimented him on his attire. “Timmy” then
suffered regular dedications and even a few alterations to song lyrics (“Don’t Cry”
from Halcyon Digest became “Don’t
Cry, Timmy” for example) on his behalf. Then Bradford noticed another youngster
in a Swans shirt, complimented him on his choice, and then dedicated the next
song to him.
“You guys have cool music t-shirts here in Des Moines.” He noted.
You could probably tell that I didn’t hang around for the Wu
set, although I could sense it was going to be a long night for those that
promptly made their way to the front of the stage just as Deerhunter’s fans
were moving away from it. It would be an even longer wait thanks to the Wu’s
poor time management skills.
 |
| Courtesy of David Byrne's journal. |
As is the case with any 80/35 main stage act, Deerhunter’s
set was restricted to the allotted 60 minutes and it was clear that there would
be no encore when the stage crew began shutting of the amplifiers still
omitting feedback and tearing down the microphones.
The night was still young and the early July evening was
shaping up to be a very beautiful thing. I decided to take a look at some old
friends at the Kum & Go stage, a poorly named convenience store here in the
Midwest that even David Byrne noticed when he was in town the night before,
performing and riding some of Iowa’s extensive bike trail systems.
House of Large Sizes had already begun when I made the three
block trek to the stage. The street directly in front of the stage was packed.
There was a higher proportion of older people at this show, but a pretty big
crowd for an act that hasn’t been together for the past decade.
The band tore through a catalog now measured in decades, and
it seemed like they were trying to cram everything into an abbreviated set
(again, one hour). I remember a few early gigs when HOLS was gaining popularity
in the region when I loudly lamented to their drummer at the time that the band
was losing speed by the end of the set.
He didn’t appreciate that comment from me, and I probably
had no right in saying it.
I can safely say that this is never a problem with drummer
Brent Hanson, who keeps the proceedings fit ‘n active by propelling a bunch of
these classic cuts into double-time territory. Seriously, it was like those
stories about the Ramones and how they managed to trim the fat on every tour,
to the point where they would keep tabs at how quickly they could pound through
a set, often ending a tour a full quarter-hour faster than comparable sets
towards the beginning of it.
Hanson spends his time these days laying the foundation for
metal bands in the Twin Cities area (see the badassed Bastard Saint for more
insight into his skin work) when he isn’t commuting down to Ioway for HOLS
practice on one of their regular reunion shows.
Good thing too: Hanson exudes enthusiasm with nearly every
beat, transforming HOLS into a clarion of ass-kicking rock that’s inspiring to
the crowd under the age of 30 who hasn’t been swayed away with EDM soundtracks
and safe surroundings. House proved to be incredibly dangerous during their set
and just as powerful as any other gig they may have implanted into our
collective memory.
 |
| Barb Schlif. Tuck-and-Roll. |
Bassist Barb Schilf jumped and twirled her braided ponytails
around like a woman possessed, and I caught at least a few moments where she
turned to face her ginormous Kustom cab like she was challenging it, the
speakers pushing the air with so much intensity that her eyes began to roll
back. The music was literally transforming her into La Dame Blanche right
before us in a transfixing display of performing from a completely different
space and time. That moment alone made the brief walk to the Kum & Go stage
completely worthwhile and it made me miss the fact that House was no longer
around full-time to recreate this kind of supernatural magic on
a regular basis.
I was reminded of when this band started. Barb was still
learning the instrument, and many performances found her looking down at the
frets, making sure her fingers were on the proper location of the neck. There
is none of that anymore, as Schilf has the notes embedded inside of her, but it’s
the joy of executing those rumbles that practically make her the focal point of
House’s live show.
This fact takes nothing away from the band’s designated
driver, Dave Deibler, who commandeered the proceedings like an old pro. He
joked with the crowd concerning his age, fibbing that he recently celebrated
his 40th birthday recently. After receiving a few bits of audience
approval, he then admitted that he subtracted 10 years from the figure, which
only made the speed that HOLS was chugging along with that much more
impressive.
What I feared would turn out to be just another nostalgic
offering was instead an honest attempt at getting old-school natives like yours
truly to miss the possibility of what this band could accomplish with just a
few more years of navigating the circuit. Mission accomplished, but with Dave
and Barb now committed to their family and their businesses, it would be hard
to have them justify a return when they’re making a bigger impact with the gear
tucked away.
 |
| Big as a house and twice as wide, indeed! |
Not only was my opinion of House of Large Sizes changed, but
so was my overall opinion of the 80/35 Festival. It is a small-scale festival
that regularly brings healthy support from fans of music from across the state.
And while that may not seem like much to any fan of music that has a major
music festival within a short drive of their home, for us in the Hawkeye State
our options are limited based on our population and perception.
The only way around this is through events like these, where
financial supporters and the festival organizers put their money and time on
the line and we come out and participate, even when we have multiple reasons
not to.
Iowa is hot around the 4th of July and it can
stay brutal like that for weeks afterwards. But it can also be a place where we
use excuses like that to stay at home, only to whine when the heat breaks that
nobody ever comes here to play. Des Moines is changing that with some really
active venues, and the organizers of 80/35 are a big part of putting our state
on the radar.
My issues with the event are of my own prejudice-a natural
part of the aging process that grows tired of large crowds and drunken
shenanigans. But the moment you have confined yourself from opportunities simply
because you're unable to control the actions of others is a sign that you’re
moving away from the very appeal of music: the ability to enjoy the human
experience through song.
Don’t get me wrong, if I’m in the middle of a heat wave, I’m
going to find shade (and if there are no shades like there wasn’t during Fucked
Up and Dinosaur Jr.’s 100+ degree performances during last year’s 80/35Festival, then I’ll lather on sunscreen and drink water like it’s going out of
style). If there’s drunken revelers, then I’ll stand clear of the mouthbreathers
and find a calmer area.
And if I can’t find a cheap ticket, I’ll ask my mom if she
can grab her purse and help contribute to one our state’s best outlets for good
music.
