It's easy to lose perspective, as is evidenced by last month. Following that debacle I put my favorite band t-shirts and cut off shorts in a bag and pushed my late 80s Volvo wagon out of town. I would do it with my bare hands if it came down to it. The time had come.
Perspective, man, I needed it. What's in our blood? Are we pure of heart and mind, is North Carolina representing the finest in music and art and culture, or is our fair state languishing in the tides of molester mustached new wavers and throwback metal? I was headed for a breakdown of herculean proportions, so I blew all my money on gasoline and PBR and got the f out of Dodge.
What I found frightened and amazed me.
Straight south, through the depleted flatlands, to Wilmington. The town is rich in film and has some of the most accomplished alkies this side of Cotanche, but the scene died horribly years ago. What's left is a collection of formulaic punk bands and trailer metal acts. The real shame is that Wilmington is home to one of the swankest venues in the state, the Soapbox.
There is hope, there are a select few who know the score and were instrumental in booking the recent We Fest. Some of my favorite bands in the state, such as the much praised Irata (if I have any faithful readers, they've heard lots about these guys), rocked this fest. The crown jewel, however, was the We Fest's Durham showcase. It takes supreme grace to admit when another town is The One. Thanks, Wilmington Musical Elite. I have no idea who you are, but you gave Red Collar and Hammer No More the Fingers the love they so deserve.
With a heavy heart I go west, blue skies and hangovers and gas station hot dogs, until the wheels touch down in the fabled lost city of Raleigh. I couldn't stop long, the swoop cuts in the Brewery gave me the evil eye for being older than seventeen and I nearly took a hacky sack to the head. I had to dig deeper.
Gray Young are the only band I know in Raleigh. Far from the cheap swagger of Airiel Down or the hackneyed neo-folk scene, far from the senseless noise of Walnut Creek. Nothing that happens in that place matters, anyway.
What Gray Young writes is music only they could write. I've tried for a long time to describe it, and can't. Just go to a show. It's good on tape, but the live show is what you need.
I landed in Durham at some point, parked crooked in a yard and obsessed for some reason on the generation of artificial wormholes. I would have drunk dialed Andrew, whose creations are the semi-rhythmic tone anthems of Pacific Before Tiger, but it was some ungodly hour with no name and cel phone signal had crossed the River Styx with gold coin sunglasses. Instead, I put Caspian in my CD player and waited for the sun to come up.
Straight up rock and roll is alive and well in Durham. Hammer no More and Red Collar, so badass they headline festivals in other towns, have made Chapel Hill and Durham the sharpest blades in the state. They're not the end all to Durham talent, not by a long shot. Maple Stave is quite possibly the baddest band to come from Durham, if only they would do more shows. Most math-oriented bands are so pointlessly cerebral that the majority of music fans give up for something less navel-gazing. Not so here. Maple Stave writes this music because it's what's in their heads. If you want cracked out time tricks that would make Tchaikovsky proud, then do yourself a favor and catch every single show these guys ever play even if you have to miss funerals and lose out on a will or two. Seriously, they are that good.
Trying to find Hammer no More the Fingers playing, but they're in DC! I wandered Franklin Street, a place recently taken over by the astounding and complex Durham scene, but nothing today. PBR at He's Not Here, and then west to Asheville. I couldn't even wrap my head around what's happening in Durham right now. So many good bands, so much raw energy. We could power some kind of spectacular space Volvo, fill it with colonists, head to neighboring stars...
Asheville. Hours and hours at the wheel (could Statesville be any more remote?) and some of the nicest scenery in NC later, and I was ordering a Pisgah Porter at Usual Suspects, watching Merrimon Avenue crawl by. I made some phone calls, tried to see what's happening. Some independent press darlings at the Grey Eagle, some has-beens at the Orange Peel (overrated venue), some suckers rambling about Bele Chere, and some true insanity at the New French Bar. The gutter punks were out at Gourmet Perks, a full fledged dumpster diver pissing contest had half the crowd distracted. They were in a circle like high schoolers around a fight in the halls.
I found some local noise at Fred's Speakeasy, playing a blown PA for six people, but it was the best music in town. Asheville produces, and then destroys, the most talented bands in the state. If you're too small, no one will come out to see you. If you're too known, no one will come out to see you either. They'll ramble about how cool you were "before anyone else knew about you" and won't go see you, simply on principle. The bands can't take it, they give up, and it's a tragedy.
It's a no win town, but it's filled with incredible musicians. If you want to go to independent music summer camp, go live in Asheville for two or three years, but be prepared to leave the moment you want to make an impact. If you're lucky, some of the local talent will emigrate with you.
I wrapped up in my military surplus mummy bag on my friend's porch, thrilled to death by the cool mountain air. I could live here, if not for the snobbery, but it was not meant to be. Back to the Volvo, back down the mountain, to Charlotte.
I've never felt like Charlotte is even a part of North Carolina. It's weird, but a lot of people know what I mean. Musically speaking, what few Charlotte bands there are that take to the road tend to tour south through Georgia and Alabama. I've heard good things about Calabi Yau, but we're never in the same place at the same time. Other than them, sadly, the rock scene is limited to punk bands that have a hard time distinguishing themselves from the wallpaper and the obligatory crap metal bands. I know there is more, I know there is true music out there, and I want to hear it!
Email me, Charlotte bands, I want to know the real scene up there. I went to your town, I couldn't find it. I was out of clean socks, which may have been a factor.
Come, faithful Volvo, we know where there's music in Greensboro.
We know where Irata, the Bronzed Chorus, and Invisible are. We know people crowd into the Flatiron to hear them play. We know Two Art Chicks is reopening under a new name soon, and that the state's best instrumental bands will again be forming like Voltron.
I felt good. I was going eighty, a feat in the Volvo, blasting through Death Valley with 61 miles to go... long enough to think. What did I learn, and what did I lose?
I missed some good shows, for one. Hammer no More, Irata, and the Bronzed Chorus all played Greenville while I was on the road, trying to find what's so great about this state. True, you have to leave the borders to get perspective, but the best bands in North Carolina will come to you if you live in the GVL. You just have to know which rocks to turn over. Keep the faith, no one west of Raleigh has ever even heard of Parmalee.
Sometimes what happens in Eastern North Carolina stays in Eastern North Carolina. My opinions are my own, of course, but I'll share.
Peace.
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