The All-Area Boys were having lunch at the Dioguardi Diner when they were “discovered.” Theyt got in a jukebox fight with an older guy at a table on the other side of the restaurant, trying to keep his ‘70s “Joker” rock off the system and pushing their own rockabilly favorites instead. The boys sang and banged along with each hotheaded victory. The old man, who turned out to work for a talent agency (as an accountant, but still…) bowed to their superior taste and offered to introduce them to his colleagues.
And the rest is not history. A deal never happened. The best thing to come out of the encounter was Dioguardi’s primo grilled cheese sandwiches and the debut All-Area Boys 9” vinyl single—“Jukebox Wars,” on their own AAJW label.
The platter’s been getting played on college radio and has garnered some genuine label interest. A deal might happen after all.
But the real prize, the milestone, the number one hit is this: The All-Area Boys have their record as number A-3 on the jukebox in the Dioguardi Diner.
Now they’ll win all the wars.

Tonight: The Blessington Method and Backward, Turn Backward, at the Bullfinch… Man from the South at Hamilton’s… An Evening with Ikon of Elijah at D’Ollaire’s…

The Red Bibles named themselves after the red-covered bibles in the pews at Church in Town, the Presbyterian parish which the family of guitarist Jan Ganglie attends.
A protester outside the Hamilton’s on Thursday night, brandishing an American flag, saw something more sinister in the band name. He railed against Communism, godlessness and rock & roll. Yes, that still happens.
“It’s really kind of a pun,” Ganglie says. “It’s like, read your bible.” He calls himself “not a heavy Christian scholar or anything. That’s my dad. But I do go to church and I do read the bible and I guess I find it weird when the only references to religion in mainstream music are, like, comical or negative.”
“We could have called the band The Red Textbooks, right? Would anyone have picketed us then?”
Sure. The accountancy students at the college on the hill.

Tonight: Cabbage Palmetto (solo acoustic, if you can imagine that) and CLAO at the Bullfinch, making noise… Smilodon, with vocalist Daph Naocyon, at Hamilton’s, doing covers, though they might be allowed some originals in the third set… An Evening With Struthiomimus and the Neocalamites at D’Ollaires. We’ll say that again: An Evening With Struthiomimus and the Neocalamites at D’Ollaires.

The extra “o” in Wooods stands for Lake O, the band has revealed. Not loudly revealed, mind you—Wooods are of the whisperpop movement, which plays as softly as possible, for audiences who are just as quiet. The band of the lake (Lake Olympus to its 18th century discoverers; “Lake O” to hordes of hikers since) is their favorite stage. Applause is signified by sign language; not even fingersnapping is allowed. “We don’t want to just evoke nature in our music,” leader Simon Magrey suggests. “We want to be a part of nature.”
As you may have guessed, flutes and whistles are involved, augmenting the breezes and birdcalls in the wilderness. But there are guitars too—homemade lyres, to be precise. Rocks and sticks provide percussion.
Wooods’ line-up changes like the seasons, but neither is the band a loose collective or community drum circle. Magrey, his romantic partner Pri Lincoln and their roommate Marc Rutherfurd are sustaining members in a band that can sometimes grow to eight members without ever getting loud. Lincoln was a champion birdcaller in high schooler, so she handles the vocals. “I think of them as lyrics,” she says. “It’s just not in a language we understand.”

Tonight: The Orijens at The Bullfinch with the “raw ukulele” act Uke-anuba… Spratt’s Solid Gold at Hamilton’s, a post-holiday dance party… An Evening With Essential Foods at D’ollaire’s, with the local duo AvoDerm (Sue Avon and Jim J. Dermott) opening. AvoDerm just got signed to an indie label in Wisconsin, while one-hit wonders Essential Foods have been label-less for a couple of years. One going up, the other heading down…

The C Worms were just getting into a righteous groove at the summer club Shecky’s Shell Shack when they got shellacked by a wave of unexpected feedback.
Then it happened again. And again and again and again. And again. At regular intervals, until it was EXPECTED feedback. The inevitability of which produced a singular surf stomp. When folks got up to dance on the creaky stage (supported by lobster crates), the warped sounds were indistinguishable from the refined ones.
When an old gent got up from the restaurant counter and started clattering a pair of chowder spoons up and down his body, the sandy cacophony was complete.
The band has not been asked back by the Shell Shack (apparenlty they gave some of the war veterans who make up much of the beachside bar’s clientele uncomfortable flashbacks). But they have been asked to revise the act for a neo-classical concert at the college on the hill. Sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. This may be the start of something willfully obscure…

Tonight: Aerated Static Pile at the Bullfinch… Blue Bin at Hamilton’s… An Evening with The Algal Blooms at D’ollaire’s…

The Fightin’ Men show at Lady Augusta’s neo-speakeasy last week led to poop. The bathroom was behind the stage. The band were either annoyed with the influx of weak-bladdered invaders, or just confused. The inevitable happened—the bushes outside the place saw more action than the bathroom. Then the not-so-inevitable happened—somebody pooped on the sidewalk in front. Not one of those brown-paper-bag-on-fire gags either.
So just like that, the Fightin’ Men were the first and last band to play Lady Augusta’s. Solo acoustic shows by Tasha Dannon and Lee Inster may go on as planned, but the Four Masters and Cum Hail shows? Cancelled.
Thing is, The Fightin’ Men were on good behavior. They didn’t hit a single person with a brick. They didn’t like folks crossing the stage, sure, but we’ve seen folksingers get more irate about that than they did.
This was the crowd’s fault. Too young, too wild, too eager to break in (or just break) a new music den. Move on. Move on.

Tonight: At least we’ve got Hamilton’s. Book of Invasions is there, doing side one of Frot’s Wrampage… The Bullfinch has O’Curry (full band) and the aforementioned Tasha Dannon. Mind your manners… D’ollaire’s is a dance party. No, it’s not.

How many CDs can one amass on one single Xmas day? Dozens. Thank you bands for the all the disks (some even on vinyl; one was a signed cracked cymbal). We will load them in the 20-disk player and play them all night, as we sort the rest of our CDs and make more room on the shelves.

Red is a popular color on local CDs this year. So is white. The age of two-guitar bands may be over. Drum kits are not as elaborate, in general. Basses have just four strings. Acoustic guitars are only for coffeehouses. At least where we’re from.

Rockers are cutting their hair. It used to give them strength. Now it get caught in the chains around their necks.

There are still fewer women in the scene than many, but they are staying, and getting stronger. They won’t get turned into trees.

Love bloomed in the scene, but it usually didn’t affect bands. Jealousies and divisions came from idiot managers and money misunderstanding more than romantic breakups. At least from what we’ve divined.

Everybody’s changed their sound from album to album. Nobody sounds alike. They all have their own powers. Watching them fight brings thunder and lightning, which can be fun for a moment but then just scary. Watching them get along, gang up, is to witness harmony and wonderment. The heavens open.

Happy New Year to the little girl across the street from the Bullfinch who’s not that little anymore. She’ll have a band soon.

Happy New Year to the tribute bands, in hopes they will come to their senses.

Happy New Year to the unsung, the unheard, the uncherished, that they might find the scene and the scene might find them.

Just happy and new will do for us.

Tonight: Live shows are few and far between. And all of them are R&B bands, retro bands or tribute acts. What a way to start a year. The Bullfinch, often the savior of such a backpedaling night, is closed after the bad vibes of exactly a year ago. Stay home and listen to local bands CDs. That’s what we’re doing.

The Stripey Shirts ran a marathon Monday in their stripey shirts. For years they had been one of the live bands that played along the road race route, encouraging the runners. The runners in turn inspired the band to don sneakers, begin an exercise regimen, fill out applications, get up earlier than they’ve ever gotten up together, and join in the race.

Every one of the Stripey Shirts finished the 10K, an amazing show of unity. But when it came time for them to play a post-race party at their own loft, they ran away. Bassist Elizabeth Labienza (informally known as Betty LaBunz) had trouble standing. Drummer “Fill” had fallen. Only guitarist Rich Snot and singer Slim Syl (Sylvia Platwright to the hospital she was born in, and now works at) persevered, with an acoustic duo set of Stripey Shirts classics and covers. The set ran on and on, with idle runners tapping their shoes in solidarity.

The Candletops burned brightly Wednesday at Hamilton’s. They have glowing hat. Yet no gimmicks can distract from the smart, clear lyrics of lead singer Tammy Tammy.

Like:

I left you now

I’ll leave you then

You’ll never get it

Never did.

Ever was

Ever was

Ever was

We don’t fully understand it either but it sounds just great with power chords and keyboards.

Some Candletops songs are little more than TTam’s poems read aloud to a bass drone:

Admire the fire

Free the sea

Do not underes

-timate me.

Tonight: The Bougies bore the Bullfinch… Brass Ring Pillars at D’ollaire’s, only why?… Nothing at Hamilton’s (that we’re allowed into anyhow) but there is a new place in town to note: Lady Augusta’s, which is the closest thing to a speakeasy we’ve encountered in this day and age. No signage. No bar counter or table, just chairs. Admission by invitation only (though if you hang around the door long enough, you get an invitation). And bands are starting to infiltrate the place, including Fightin’ Men tonight. Fightin’ Men! You know Lady Augusta’s means business.

The Out-of-Tuners didn’t start out as a concept act. They were just hilariously out of tune at the Bullfinch one night, and went for it.
Now the band deliberately loosens the pegs before each performance and the whole audience plays a games of “What Song Are They Mangling Now?” Thursday was a holiday-themed special, with especially wretched renditions of the pop hits “Christmas Cowgirl” and “Honestly Hanukkah.” You can imagine what the sing-alongs were like.

Tonight: All is calm, all is bright, all clubs are closed.