Ursa Major

 

 

In recent interviews with various band members , the 1995 record Ursa Major has emerged with  what seems to be an unofficial “favorite” status. Released on Atavistic records after three records in four years with Atlantic, Ursa Major is a departure from the grungier early days of the band and urgent guitar driven pop of El Moodio. The band, released from the Atlantic contract and with no plans to return to the major label world or big tours, made a record that would see the expanding musical interests of individual members come together to create new sounds.

At the end of the final road trip promoting El Moodio in 1993, there were a lot of reasons to pull back from the incessant touring and promotion that defined the Atlantic years. For one, we hadn’t achieved the commercial success necessary to justify toting a toddler around the world in vans and Dutch bicycle seats. Nobody wanted to end the band—we felt we had made a great string of records, and we continued to draw good crowds and critical support. It was still fun. With touring over indefinitely, I went back to school to get teacher certification, Janet sunk her energy into the next Freakwater record, and Doug was getting Tortoise off the ground. By mid 1994 though, a new batch of songs emerged and we began to record at Idful with Brad Wood. Atavistic records, which had been behind the Making Like a Rug video, was very interested in working with us again. Wink came up from Louisville and we began to create the record in the studio. This was unlike any previous record because there really wasn’t much rehearsal or workshopping of songs—this one was a studio record, and we built the songs as we went along leading to the experimental elements that separate it from previous records.

The record begins with History of Brokeback, a McCombs generated instrumental with changing time signatures that would signal to any listener that eleventh dream day was not looking to join in the Wicker Park frenzy that was swirling around Liz Phair and Urge Overkill. The mood of the song shifts back and forth from ominous to upbeat, and while it may be one of the more complex songs in the edd oevre, it is very hooky in its own way. And the title was a precursor to one of Doug’s future bands.

Occupation, or Not begins with acoustic guitar and brushed snare, another departure from the usual full-on assault of electric guitars charging out of the gates. This is my castle, this is my home. Revolution always looms. The first words of the album perhaps summarizing the fact that things were changing. A shakeup was surely due. The guitar solo is not a solo. A slide scraped across distorted strings. No bombastic ending.

Flutter is a mother’s love letter to her son, a musical one at that. You are the most beautiful angel I have ever seen. Once again, this was a softer kind of pop song, with rhythmic complexity and strings. Atavistic also shot a video for this at Logan Auditorium (and yes, John McEntire on drums!)

Orange Moon closes out side one with a more typical edd sound, although this is one of the first songs with a nonstandard tuning. 3 chords soft louder loud soft loudest. The lyrics for this one might sum up my prevailing mood at the time. As I started working toward a new career in teaching, I wasn’t far removed from the life of a touring rock musician, with the attention and perks that went along with that. At the same time, Wicker Park where we all lived, was blowing up as the hottest scene in the world. The sky is for sale by the chunk. I didn’t have regrets about dropping out, but at the same time I felt betrayed by how Atlantic failed us. But the moon that I held has been foreclosed it’s not for sale. I felt conspicuously absent from the hoopla and somewhat hurt. I’m not sure how the others in the band felt, but they were in the process of creating new genres of music. I seriously had no desire to be back in it—the major label thing was a game that got old. No wish to wish upon that star it seemed too empty it seemed too far. So really, it’s about wanting something, but knowing that you don’t want it ultimately. I was no rock star, not even in my imagination. The moon is fake it floats in space blank witness night it’s made me crazed. The final refrain “They won’t let it go” has a couple of possibilities—it calls out the labels as overlords—the band works for them, and in the long run all the people surrounding the band make their money. The bands are product with a limited shelf life and can be easily replaced by the next big thing. I was more than hurt on this song, I was pissed. And I totally let it go after that song.

Taking Leave was written and recorded after Ursa Major was done. Wink had gone back to Louisville. Hey—you write a new song and it’s your favorite. Tomorrow looms oddly again—another lyric that places me in an awkward state of being. I’ve shown that I can take a punch. It has me worried. See—I’m not hurt! But maybe that’s because I’m numb. Oh no, the beginning of emotional withdraw!  I love this song—the way Janet and I weave vocals in and out, Doug on a six string bass. We recorded this after Brad left for the day. McEntire and Casey Rice ended up being creative forces in the studio!

Bearish on High was originally called Orange Moon. It has the line, orange moon I pine for you. The typeset instructions got screwed up and instead of wasting album sleeves, we decided to switch titles. No big deal, the themes are pretty similar. I believe there is a feeling of defeat. I resolve to erase that thought. I was definitely grappling with the career change. You can watch the sun set in the west and wonder when it ever left. But I was happy, going to school, working at the Rainbo, and playing lots of tennis. I can't remember what I found so ironic at the time, but I was confident enough about life that it had me shouting it gives me faith!

Nova Zembla, title provided by Nabokov, who I was newly discovering, was perhaps the only between song noodling that ever made it to an album. Wink provides the clean guitar acrobatics as well as the storm clouds that roll in.

Blindside comes out of the chaos-- a slow build up of dark clouds leading to the storm. He knew he should go inside. He knew what was coming down.  The only solo on the record, but not really a solo. Maybe an allusion to the gang violence that surrounded us in our neighborhood. Maybe more hedging against emotional investment. Maybe both.

The record closes with Exit Right, pretty apt stage direction for getting off the big stage. On your knees you never beg, you just get used to being closer to the ground. A humbled exit, but pride intact. One of the few songs where Janet sings my words. The chords and melody were hers as I recall.

A right different record by what precedes it.

And the start of a band with very different work habits.

There is a part of the Ursa Major story that has been untold to this point, and it concerns a certain Matthew "Wink" O'Bannon, a "brother" of mine who I resemble in so many insane ( or sane perhaps) ways. He had better hair.

Wink had been a member of edd since he took over for Baird halfway through the Lived to Tell tours. He was a demon on guitar, the kind of player who I imagined had actually made the deal at the crossroads. He was incredibly good on stage and in the van and after the show, an all- round great band and travel mate. Oh, he had his moments (the nickname 'El Moodio' was mostly bestowed on Wink because of his horneriness born out of fierce self-hatred-- I fell under the blanket of the nickname due to my shared July moon child birthday and own spells of anguish), but Wink had made playing in the band really, really fun.

But what had made Wink so great on tour doing a live show was a bit out of skew with where the rest of us were coming from recording Ursa Major. Without a doubt, and I let him know it emphatically, I think Wink's playing on the record is great and adds immeasurably to the songs. He was inventive and cunning with his Stratocaster. There were a few instances though, where Wink played fairly straightforward parts, that although technically great, were too "rock" for what we wanted for the songs. He was not in town for the mixes and we made group decisions where parts were cut.

When Wink heard the mixes he was livid. I can only imagine the curses that were uttered. Wink wrote a letter, several pages long that outlined his outrage. He gave us three choices-- I only remember 2 of them—the third may have included a horse’s head:

Completely remove his parts from the record. Sever him from band. Die.

Keep his parts, but pay him as a session musician ( since this is how we had treated him).

We decided to keep his parts, which we loved, and paid him the rate he had calculated. It was less than Nashville scale. We parted ways.

We released the record to much interest, and took great pleasure in the shows to follow. Our only band issued 7” came out --Orange Moon/ I Got a Thing (Funkadelic song with Wink out of his maggot brain amazing) City Slang put the record out in Europe.

 We enlisted several guitar players over the years to stand in the shoes of Wink O'Bannon. Ira Kaplan was first and came into town for a show at Lounge Ax. Ira also joined the band for a short tour of Europe to promote Ursa Major. As great as all this sounded, we failed to lure him full time.

The vinyl seems to be out of print on Atavistic, but there are many ways to listen to the record in the digital world. We invite you to do so and judge for yourself.

 Ursa Major.

The Rainbo Club

The intersection of Division and Damen in Chicago, Illinois will always be the center of the universe for eleventh dream day. The Rainbo Club that has stood for nearly a century on the southwest corner is home sweet home. Dee Taira who became owner 30 years ago is incredibly underappreciated as one of the most important people in the Chicago music scene. All of my best friends are there today or have been through there.

On Sunday evening August 16^th we will be playing a show there to celebrate our 30 years together.

Did you know?

In 1983/1984 when the band was still a 3 piece we rehearsed in an old Illinois Bell building on Western Avenue not too far south of North Avenue where our bass player, Shu lived with her boyfriend. After rehearsals we often went over to the Rainbo for a beer. Throughout  most of the decade the bar was occupied mostly by artists and Columbia/Art Institute students in the later hours and the older drinkers, neighborhood throwbacks to the Nelson Algren era during the post work happy hours.  I wrote a song, It’s Not My World on one of those afternoons as the light from Damen poured into the dark bar overhearing a conversation among the old-timers. Phil was a favorite. He flirted with the young ladies and cracked a bunch of corny jokes. He wasn’t there when the bar was a speakeasy during Prohibition, but he had been coming in for a long time.

Doug was the first of us to get a job there, at the door, where he could sit and smoke. He was very good at his job.

Dee hired many musicians, artists, playwrights and gave them the freedom to come and go. I got hired in 1989 just before Beet came out and went out on a tour shortly thereafter, but was able to bartend at the Rainbo when I got back, a trend that would continue for years. The Rainbo has been an anchor for musicians in Naked Raygun (John), Tortoise (Johhny), Precious Wax Drippings (Jimmy), Eleventh Dream Day (Janet mopped floors!), Joan of Arc (Tim) , The Dishes (Sara), and Disappears  (Jonathan) among others. Ken, Michael, Matt, Braden, Bettina, Andy, Andy, Gary, Stephan, Tom—I worked with a lot of great people on Fridays and Tuesdays.

Eleventh Dream Day set up on the floor near the pinball machine and played an electric Sunday afternoon show sometime around the Prairie School Freakout release. We played a few acoustic shows on the stage over the years too. The stage has seen some great performances.  Yo La Tengo, Palace, Freakwater, Brokeback, Dos... Can’t believe I missed the High Llamas!

The Rainbo hosted a record release party for Beet after the Lounge Ax/WXRT recorded show.

There were many great art exhibits, but the most memorable was Liz Phair’s. Artists drank for free at their openings and Liz had to get cut off after  taking full advantage.

I first met my wife at the Rainbo! I’m sure there are dozens more of you out there that first met at the Rainbo too. The shape of the bar was very conducive to a flirting glance.

The Rainbo hasn’t changed much since I stopped working there in 2003 after 14 years of Friday nights. It’s one comforting thing in life. See you there next Sunday!

Everybody Loved Him

Everybody loved him. Ever read that in an obituary? Maybe he (or she) was a gym teacher or an English teacher. Who is everybody? Did everybody include the slow, chubby kids who got picked last? Did everybody include the struggling reader? I doubt it.

I read an obituary today for my old gym teacher, Howie Helfrich, who died at age 90. I loved him. It wasn’t because I was the starting point guard on his freshman basketball team. No, I was barely over 5 feet tall, 95 pounds. I was pretty great on the playground with a deadly shot, but on the Glenbrook North basketball court I was the last player to play on the “C” team that was created to meet the demand of everybody who loved to play. And even then I didn’t get to play.

 I did get to practice 4 days a week. Drills, drills, and more drills. For every time a mistake was made in a drill we had to run one ladder at the end of practice. Ladders killed you. Howie tried. He would scream at me, “C’mon Riz!”  I was fundamentally awful at jump shots and layups. I was too short to successfully keep the ball alive on the backboard during rebounding drills much to the dismay of my teammates who had another ladder added due to my crappiness. When I was 14 that year, I was still the shortest boy in school. My 8^th grade yearbook nickname was “Shorty” and it wouldn’t be until junior year that I would shoot up to over 6 feet.

Howie was the first person to ever call me “Riz.” Seems obvious, I would think, but thanks to Howie, Shorty was forever off the list (as well as Ricky Retardo and Ritzo Cracker).  Even though he rode me, it was not with sarcasm. Sarcasm is the teacher’s deadliest weapon. It is not silent, but it is stealthy. Sarcasm hurts kids. It is also why teachers think kids love them. Kids laugh at sarcasm, at least the kids who aren’t the targets. Howie wasn’t sarcastic, but he was funny. He never made me the butt of his joking though. He was an ex-Marine high school gym teacher, but he never abused his authority.  He had a bit of humility.  When he pointed his finger at a spot on the court we all noticed he was missing his ring finger. This was the finger that got caught in the net in his college days. I think he understood what it meant to lose.

 Most of the season Howie had me at the scorer’s table keeping stats. He had tried to teach me to be a basketball player, but I was better at scoring with a pencil than a basketball. I got into one game. “Riz, you’re going in,” he barked with a grin. There was a minute and a half left in a game we were out of. Howie substituted me at center. I guess that may have been his idea of a joke, but I didn’t think it at the time. He knew I had the competitive spirit of a lion. I was tenacious on “D”.  I did make the stat sheet.  I got called for a foul trying to guard the opposing big man. I took the ball and threw it against the wall in protest. Technical foul! Howie was proud I think.

I was definitely one of Howie’s favorites in racket sports. As a sophomore you were able to select what you did for physical education. I took racket sports which meant you played tennis in the fall and spring, and badminton indoors in the cold months.  It also meant that I didn’t have to swim. Freshman year had been a nightmare, and gym coaches were part of it. Swim class was the worst. We had to swim naked. In the mandatory pre-class shower, the coach would hover over you in an effort to enforce cleanliness (even though the over-chlorinated pool that turned swimmers’ hair blonde would kill any germ). “Spread those heavenly gates gentlemen,” he would admonish with a phrase that made most giggle, but in retrospect was very odd. And I had not begun puberty which meant there was not even the fuzz of a peach on my exposed body. I was embarrassed.  In the pool was not better. One kid who I’m sure experienced 5 o’clock shadow would not leave me alone. During water polo (a great sport for a kid who could barely swim), he would dunk me and hold my head under water until I thought I would drown. I know the teacher saw this. He let it persist daily. Sadist.

So I took racket sports, and I loved it. I was really good at both tennis and badminton which helped, but Howie, who had been a state champion badminton player in his day, relieved the tension of gym class with his easy-going smile and attitude. He had been a tough, but fair basketball coach, but in gym class he was fun. Fun meant that he didn’t try to embarrass anybody like the other assholes. Fun meant not having to climb a rope to the ceiling while the teacher and the rest of the class “encouraged” you. Fun meant not getting called “Ladies.” Fun meant getting a chance to play without a fear of failure.

Howie Helfrich was the only gym teacher I had who wasn’t a dick. I know that is not a line that would make the obituary, but for someone who grew up in the school culture of the Seventies it is the highest praise I can bestow. Whether Howie was yelling at me to jump higher or run faster, I remember his smile more than anything. It was always behind whatever face he was making. The Riz will miss you Coach.

Tara Key

eleventh dream day isn't the only band that has been around for 30 years--our pals Antietam also played their first show in 1984.
I had seen Tara Key and Tim Harris first in Lexington, Kentucky when the Babylon Dance Band opened for D.O.A. I was amazed by Tara and the way she could weave from power chord riffs to melodic lead lines without blinking an eye. Tim's bass lines had that same anchored, yet snaky feel that I loved in Joy Division and Pylon--the perfect canvas for Tara's Pollock spattering of sound.
A few years later when I was visiting a friend in Louisville I met Tara, Tim, and their drummer Janet as they emerged from the practice room at 1069--the friendly neighborhood punk rock house where my friend Kate lived. Turns out that was the day that eleventh dream day was born with a gleam in the eye.
Tim and Tara departed for New York then Hoboken then New York and started up Antietam--we were lucky enough to catch one of those early Hoboken gigs. We played many times together in the eighties, in New York, in Chicago, and Derby Eve shows in Louisville.
When we recorded El Moodio at Sorcerer in NYC, we got Tara to lay down some guitar on The Raft. She later joined us for the Stalled Parade tour in Europe and we got to experience the idea that two Les Paul guitars turned up really loud can be a sonic joy. We decided to make a record together by trading adat tapes and building songs a track at a time. That became the instrumental record Dark Edson Tiger. We recorded a second one in much the same manner (although the adat machines were retired) ten years later.
Tara and Tim have been two of my best friends moving into a fourth decade, and Tara is my musical kindred spirit. She is my favorite guitar player bar none. When Tara is in a "zone" she is the most inventive and sonically exciting guitarist period. Period.
We play together again at the Mercury Lounge in NYC on August 21st.