Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

arcati crisis

#MusicMonday: “The Wicker Man” – Iron Maiden

by

Yesterday I learned to play an Iron Maiden song.

Certain artists and bands are proceeded by so much accumulated conversation and so many cultural references that I assume I’ve heard their music at some prior point without actually knowing anything about what they sound like.

That’s always been the case for me with bands that are generationally a little before my time. I’m sure the same holds true for you with a certain handful of artists. If you’re my age, you might not be able to hum a Rush song, but you certainly know them by reputation. Same for Kate Bush. If you’re older or younger the list will be different, but the sensation will be the same. Niche artists with one or two major hits, there’s no convenient way into their catalogs on the radio, so you hear the version you’ve assumed in your head, maybe reinforced by that one greatest hit.

This covers a lot of early metal for me. Like, I know my requisite share of Black Sabbath and AC/DC songs, but that’s about it. They’re all a long parade of fantastical album covers and t-shirts worn by Wayne and Garth or Beavis and Butthead,

Yesterday, at our first duo rehearsal in over a year, Gina casually announced, “There’s this great Iron Maiden song we should cover.”

I grinned and nodded. If you know Gina or have ever listened to Arcati Crisis, you’d understand that sort of thing is a little out of our wheelhouse. Yet, I bring as many crazy ideas to the band as Gina, and the few of them that work turn into us covering “Love Game” or other similarly entertaining insanity.

Still, my interest was piqued, and I rarely turn down a musical challene, so we marched over to my mixing computer and loaded up “The Wicker Man” by Iron Maiden.

That’s not metal. At least, not the obnoxiously loud, Metallica-adjacent metal I was expecting from Iron Maiden (and, Metallic is a band I actually know). Despite being from 2000 – a time when there are a hundred different genres of metal ranging from Cookie Monster growling to soaring counter-tenors – the song was more like punk in its supreme simplicity, aside from the solo. The guitars weren’t even that loud. And the singing was incredible – ringing and dressed in multiple layers of harmony.

More or less a perfect Arcati Crisis cover tune. I played it again.

“It’s just that riff,” Gina said, indicating my reference monitors as the yoyoing chorus riff began.

“That’s not so hard,” I vowed. I picked up my twelve-string and began to work it out as Gina sang the melody above me. The song transitioned into the second verse, and I kept playing along. “It mostly sits on the root.”

I played the rhythmic Em, sliding down to pick up the C underneath it. Gina nodded and mirrored my changes on her guitar. “Right, but it doesn’t really resolve D, it has a G in bass.”

I tried it, and she was right. “Makes sense, there’s a D at the top of the next progression anyway. Hey, I think this is low enough for me to sing.” I sang through it tentatively and Gina jumped up to harmony, our voices ringing out through the room until we arrived at another chorus. “Okay, well, I can’t sing that.”

“No, wait, there’s an underneath part, give me a second.” These things really do take just a second with Gina, who is a living harmony jukebox. “Here it is, YOUR TIME WILL COME! YOUR TIME WILL COME!” I sang it back. “No, sit on the low note the first time, it only goes up on the second lines.”

The second chorus ended and we were into the extended intstrumental, with its epic guitar solo. I looked up at Gina standing over my desk. “You’re going to play the solo.”

She smirked back at me.

And that is how I got to know Iron Maiden, and how Arcati Crisis learns a cover song.

Arcati Crisis: The Wedding Band Edition

by

It was our third time through “Don’t Stop Believin'” when I really did start believing Arcati Crisis could be an actual wedding band.

Rewind ten days. Onstage at a near-empty Tin Angel, my voice felt as though it was going to snap in half. I sang “Better” and “Bucket Seat” robotically, relying on muscle memory to find some in-tune notes in the pain.

Fast forward four days. Gina was too sick to rehearse, so Jake and I gathered in my attic to stare down a list of twenty new songs we had exactly four weeks to learn. It seemed daunting.

Arcati Crisis rocking at Fergies in March, courtesy of @polymwac

Reverse a month. We are playing “Apocalyptic Love Song” to a packed Fergie’s Pub, and everyone knows the words.

Finally, reverse the calendar back to February. I am a little tipsy at Gina’s dining room table with the entire team of bloggers behind PolySkeptic, half of which are two of Gina’s significant others, the pair of soon-to-be newlyweds Shaun and Ginny.

Ginny and Shaun were not planning typical wedding, and both Gina and I successfully threw a pair of atypical, untraditional, unusual weddings for ourselves. With all the uniqueness at the table, we decided it was a great idea for Arcati Crisis to act as the entertainment for their festivities. I pulled out my spreadsheet of 3,500 pieces of sheet music and we all had at it, picking out our favorite dance songs.

As the night (and, let’s be frank: the beer) wore on, our picks became more outlandish. AC covering “The Sign”? Awesome. AC covering “Don’t Stop Believin'”? No problem. We left planning to learn 4-6 new songs for the wedding, but there was also the little matter of the 4-6 new songs we were already learning as a band. We were tearing through an amazing batch of new originals, plus a pair of new covers – “A Little Respect” by Erasure, and “Love Game” by Lady Gaga.

That new batch debuted on March 16 at an awesome gig at Fergie’s Pub. It was one of those shows where everything went right. We shared the bill with Andra Taylor and Amanda Wells, and the energy in the room was incredible – as were we. I barely had a critique of myself on the way home, which is a rare occasion. I even broke a string mid-set and didn’t sweat it, simply switching to my backpacker guitar to debut our new songs.

We expected to have two entire months to learn our 4-6 cover songs, but just before the Fergie’s show we decided to take a April 19 gig at The Tin Angel. It was a month out from our last show – plenty of time to recuperate and recruit an audience, even if it pushed out our cover-learning a little.

Sadly, the Tin gig was the polar opposite of Fergies. I was in terrible voice, no thanks to a stressful week of events and meetings. We had gear problems throughout the set, probably helping accelerate the already-speedy exit of the fans brought by prior acts on the bill. After I managed to eek out the last notes of “Song for Mrs. Schroeder” from my dying voice and out-of-tune guitar I was off the stage before everyone else in the band.

Those nights are hard. You can be a well-rehearsed machine and still have an off night. I’ve seen it happen to artists a thousand times bigger than us.

What I’m sure is true for artists of any size is that it’s not only the actual night that’s hard, but the wait until your next rehearsal or show. All you have is that bad taste on your brain and fingers. It doesn’t help when that next rehearsal involves learning a slew of new songs for one of the most-anticipated days of someone’s life – especially when your star cover-singer (AKA Gina) is home sick.

Jake and I started out slowly sans Gina. We only needed 4-6 songs, after all. Oh, but what if we add another? And what if we tried that one? And wouldn’t it be fun if we really covered “You Sexy Thing”?

Here’s where being a well-rehearsed machine comes in handy. Jake can pick out the skeleton of any song on bass – it doesn’t matter if it’s a cover or an original. I can arrange anything for a band, even seemingly single-note songs. Between the two of us, we learned the basics of 20 cover songs.

You know what else? I listened to the recording of the Tin Angel. Yes, the gear problems are evident, but my voice? Sounded just fine. It might have been the best version of “Better” I’ve ever sung, even if I felt like I would cry while I was singing it.

Add to that the fact that Gina’s performance at our next acoustic rehearsal reminded us that she can sing anything… anything, and our prospects as a wedding band were looking up.

That brings us to Sunday, our weekly rock rehearsal with Zina on drums. Zina can perfect any song in three tries, and she is a wunderkind at adapting covers to our peculiar needs. Together, we crushed the list of the ten new cover songs that made it past Gina, Jake, and I on our first run-through. Yes, there is plenty to tune up, but we got through them. And…

Peter: Zina, we’re not going to try “Don’t Stop Believin’.” It was kinda terrible when we tried it acoustic.

Zina: Well, I learned it.

Peter: Why am I not surprised.

Jake: Actually, I learned it too.

Peter: I know it. I just don’t think it’s going to sound good.

Gina: Oh, hell, let’s just give it a try.

We proceeded to play a very shaky version of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” Not one I would put up in front of people. Then we tweaked a few things and played it again. It sounded almost as good as a bad bar band. We added Gina on guitar and some harmony from me and played it again…

Reverse the calendar to February. The Polyskeptic gang and I, tipsy and laughing around the table about the ridiculous covers Arcati Crisis might undertake.

Fast forward to March. We are debuting our cover of “Love Game” on stage to a packed Fergie’s Pub, and everyone is dancing.

Fast forward another month. Jake and I learned 20 new songs in three hours. We didn’t skip a single one.

Rewind four days. Gina looks over at me and smiles as I sing the wailing high harmony to “Cosmonaut’s Wife” on stage at the Tin Angel – it’s the first time I’ve done it at a show.

Fast forward ten days. My eyes twinkle with tears as Gina and I harmonize on songs I’ve been singing my entire life. “Is it strange to dance so soon?” “Do you remember when we used to sing?” “No one’s gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong.” Zina asks if we can try “Tonight Tonight” and we stumble through it impressively – a wall of sound, all of us singing harmony, all of us laughing every time we mess up and have to start again.

It was our third time through “Don’t Stop Believin'” when I really did start believing Arcati Crisis could be an actual wedding band.

#MusicMonday: “Shores of California” – Dresden Dolls

by

Three years ago, Amanda Palmer was one of the first people to engage with me on Twitter – and, I’m not just talking famous people. People in general.

I don’t always love Amanda’s solo ukele-based efforts as much as the songs from her revelatory punk-cabaret two-piece Dresden Dolls, but I continue to follow her becasue she is one of the most honest and open full-time rock stars on the internet. She contends 24/7 with the trials and concerns I encounter only in rehearsal (four days of our seven, last week).

On Friday, Amanda was tweeting about recording a new record with a new band, and in the stream of messages this one stuck out…

… and not just because it involved one of my top five tunes by Amanda…

It stuck out because, as with many things Amanda shares, it expressed something I have felt about music but haven’t ever really articulated.

Historically, Arcati Crisis learns songs at a rate of about four a year. Since Gina and I each write on our own, that means we’re learning just two of my tunes – yet, I write anywhere from six to twenty songs in a year.

As a result, my perspective on song-picking for AC is that every one of my choices must be lead-single quality. I don’t like subtle picks. Every new song of mine that we choose has to be awesome enough to obliterate the memory of all prior songs.

A few years ago, Gina picked “Unengaged” from my available songs. It’s a song I love. It’s complex, but catchy. It’s challenging to play and sing, but not impossible. It seemed like a good pick.

It lasted about two rehearsals. The problem wasn’t the complexity … it was the emotion. “Unengaged” is about the period where I had decided I was going to propose to E but hadn’t yet gone through with it. It’s a hard type of energy to connect with – happy, but uncertain if that’s the right thing to be – and because of the delicacy of the vocal, I need to nail the emotion behind it to get it right.

I realized quickly that it was destined to be a “live unfavorite.” I already loved what Gina was doing with it, but I knew it would fall to the bottom of my list as we chose setlists because I wouldn’t always want to summon the emotions to sing it. And, with only two songs to choose each year, what would be the point of picking something if I didn’t want to play it?

(I did the same thing a year later with “Tattooed,” at which point Gina and I agreed that songs specifically about E are generally not the best choice as Arcati Crisis songs, exactly for the reason that they can become live unfavorites for me as some new emotion between E and I supersedes the older one in the song.)

That’s not to say that I don’t sometimes select emotionally hard-to-deliver songs for AC. “Love Me Not,” “Dumbest Thing I Could Do,” and “End With Me” can all be hard to get emotionally right and incredibly draining when I do. I was ready to fall on the ground after delivering a searing “End With Me” at our holiday revue, and had to spend the next thirty minutes avoiding conversation with other guest. Yet, those songs simply aren’t personal the way songs about E are. I get to play a character.

When they were together, the Dresden Dolls learned songs at a much faster rate than 4 per year, so Amanda could afford to bring a song to the band that might not become a live staple. It was still worth hearing the band version, and worth recording. Fans still love it. It spawned a hilarious music video. It’s just hard for her to play.

This week Gina and I are picking our next pair of songs to learn, having already learned a pair in January. That means we’ll have hit our 4-song quota by April. Will this be the year we learn an entire album’s worth of new music in twelve months? If it is, I wonder if I will eventually tap a live unfavorite as one of my choices.

swimming with rock

by

“It is now stupid o’clock.”

This was Jake. Or Gina. I don’t say it, generally, and I know that I saw Zina nod in response.

It is impossible to deny that – after a certain amount of evening rock on top of each of our full days at work – our quartet of brains begin to dribble out of our ears, at which point they promptly get blasted into a fine mist by the power of rock emanating from our various amps and speakers, until the air is swimming with rock and thoughts and laughter.

This is usually around the start of hour three, if we have paced ourselves.

I have nothing left in my body once it is over, no brains or thoughts or anything. Last night I tried to send an email to the band after they left, and like a bad dream about garbled numbers on a phone dial I couldn’t get it right. I kept sending it over and over, missing addressees, words, and attachments – a mini episode of Groundhog’s Day on All Marmot’s Eve.

I used to resist rehearsal reaching a point of silliness. You know me – I’m too elitist and serious and scarf-wearing for that. Eventually I began to appreciate it, and the brain drain I feel in its wake. Silly is good. It means we’re limber and willing to try things, like playing a dance cover twice as fast as we’ve ever done it before (and nailing it).

Brainless is good, too. It means we left everything in the room. In the air. I wouldn’t want to feel like I had a sparkling wit to wield after rehearsal. Then I think we would have done it wrong.

Arcati Crisis always experiences a bit of a lull in December and January, but this year it made me feel particularly desperate. We had been playing so regularly in 2011, and the songs were reaching an amazing locked-in state. Then came holidays and flu and travel, and when we met back together on the other side it had been over a month since we last played – out or in – and the songs were feeling a little flabby.

I’m impatient, and I wanted the tightness back immediately, but it doesn’t work that way. With four people making music in a room – our music, anyway – it’s not just about notes.We’re not an orchestra that tunes up and unfurls the same notes every time with precision. We need to loosen before we tighten.

Sometimes we become a little silly in the process.

Arcati Crisis @ Studio Luloo

by

That was the best semi-unplugged electric rock set i’ve ever played with Zina on brushes for the first time and, technically, laryngitis.

That’s the summation of this story, but it’s not the whole of it.

When Gina and I were getting confident about Arcati Crisis (generally defined as starting with learning “Apocalyptic Love Song”) we made a list of all of the open mics in the area and tried to go to a new one every month. Some of them were utter trainwrecks. Others were so snooty we never really clicked.

Also, there is the possibility that sometimes we were terrible.

In this campaign of taking Philly by storm we happened upon Studio Luloo, which is actually in Oaklyn, NJ. It was a row-home-width first floor with a couch and chairs placed nose-to-nose with a stage area ready for a four-piece band. Owner and host Sara O’Brien cultivated a total open door policy for her local community, which meant we saw studied experts as well as kids playing in front of people for the first time. She also bought us all pizza. The featured artist was our now-compatriot Ryan Williams and their monitor mix was superb.

We were hooked on Luloo. We later returned as a featured artist (maybe around when we started playing “Better”), but hadn’t been back since we graduated to Zina on drums.

A few weeks ago I noticed Sara and co-conspirator John Shaughnessy talking about a new space for Luloo that would allow them to broaden their mission of bringing arts to kids in the community, and I asked if that meant they needed some featured artists. Thus, we found ourselves in Oaklyn last night playing a full band appearance in a Luloo’s new converted retail shop front, adjoining a pizza parlor.

SNJ band Best Wishes, who turned in a cool unplugged set that they abbreviated on our behalf. Can't wait to rock at full length and volume with them at a later date. © Gianna Vadino 2011

(This was after Jake and I mistakenly wandered into a children’s dance studio, where I realized our repeated peeking in to ascertain if it possibly doubled as Luloo surpassed looking out-of-place to cross-over to appearing slightly lecherous.)

The new Luloo is at least three times the size as the old one, has room to talk and mingle, and an actual raised stage with a bonus drum riser in the back! Plus, all the same welcoming vibe from John and Sara, who hold casual chats with the performers on stage and never let them leave without a chant of “One! More! Song!”

While we enjoyed  unofficial house band Best Wishes knock out a special acoustic set, Sara leaned over my shoulder. “You have drums now, huh?” she asked. I affirmed that we indeed did.

Apparently, Sara was easing into the noise-at-night situation with her new neighbors, and we trying to put the rocked up open mic acts earlier in the evening. Except, we are rocked up and the evening was no longer early.

Not wanting Zina’s commute to go to waste, Best Wishes graciously bowed out after two songs to allow us to set up and make with the rocking at the most reasonable volume we could muster.

What made this interesting was (a) I was still on the tail-end of my laryngitis after largely not speaking for four days, so wasn’t entirely sure I could rock at all, and (b) Zina would apparently be playing with brushes, which I didn’t even realize she owned. To accommodate, our electric was turned down to unplugged levels, and Jake was similarly quiet on bass. We were at half the volume of a rehearsal.

It turned out to be a perfect combination. While I was a bit awkward on electric for Gina’s “American Michaela,” our debut of “End With Me” felt incredibly right. “Real End” resolved from a swirling mix of guitars to a swelling rock song. “Better” regained its sometimes elusive sighing resign thanks to the brushed drums and me going easy on my voice. We closed with a measured “Apocalyptic Love Song” less like a lament and more like a warning.

We ended with a full-band interview with Sara (everyone kept stealing “David Bowie” as an influence and favorite album, so my answers were Tracy Bonham and Like a Virgin, respectively). We stayed for another hour or so, until the open mic wound down to friends sitting around a table trading songs. It will take Sara a few months to build the community at the new Luloo to match what she had at the old one, and I’m really happy became a part of it so early.

Studio Luloo celebrates its fifth anniversary on Saturday. It is located at 215 W. Clinton Ave., Oaklyn, New Jersey. It is not the dance studio or the pizza parlor.