ON_THE_ROCKS

The Worcester Phoenix
Nov. 16 - 23, 2000

[On The Rocks]

Go nuts

Worcester's loud and crazy guys party at Mulligan's

by Brian Goslow
CD-release parties are crapshoots. If the band celebrating their new release have done their homework, the disc is in their hands in time for them to take advantage of a loving audience that's turned up fully intending to go home with a copy of the album. On the other hand, if everyone shows up and you've got no product to put in their hands, you may have lost the only momentum in a career that was a long shot to begin with.
Hedsled, Skulltoboggan's debut release, arrived the night before last Friday's CD-release party at the newly opened Mulligan's. A tri-color Irish flag is attached to the outside wall of the Water Street entrance to the club, which has been remodeled to expunge any reminders of its past life as the Eden and Muza Restaurant (save for the plastic Muza Restaurant and Lounge sign that still juts out from the roof). Inside, the room no longer resembles a speakeasy cum American Legion hall. Instead, it looks just like what it is -- Worcester's newest nightclub -- and the college dance crowd has been flocking to the place in droves. This evening, they will be introduced to four of the city's hardest-hitting hard-rock and metal acts.
Skulltoboggan formed in August of 1998, Of the original line-up, only vocalist LCg and guitarist Bobby! (the exclamation point is a tribute to South Park's Timmy) remain. Because LCg's Dirtknap Entertainment hosted a series of shows in Webster, the group was originally tagged as a South Worcester County group, but they turn out to be another in a long list of Worcester outcasts who regularly crawl out of the city's infamous Webster Street practice spaces to blast the Worm with a hard dose of reality.
One by one, the night's performers arrive. Officer Down's Jamie Loder walks in wearing black high-top sneakers, short-cropped blond hair, pants ending between his knees and ankles, and a black leather jacket featuring a loud Officer Down badge emblem on the back. And there's no doubt that Dirty Ed LaRose of Dirt Junkie comes to play. Every step he takes in his stirruped saddle boots is made with an unpretentious swagger; he's topped off with an outlaw motorcycle hat like the one Motörhead's Lemmy wears. You wouldn't be surprised to find out they were long-lost relatives (if not father and son).
The seemingly endless barrage of Aerosmith's greatest hits from the PA ends as the lights dim. Dogleg vocalist Pepper Brassard wraps the mic chord tightly around his fist and breaks into a growl -- some might call it a gargle -- as Chris Dedrone begins to pound his drums pneumatically, joining the rumble from Dave Corey's bass. The sound makes your pants vibrate like one of those cheap-thrill 30-seconds-for-a-quarter motel chairs, only with stronger results. After Brassard passionately sings "Sorry Little Fuck," he rips off his T-shirt to reveal a large Dogleg tattoo at the base of his back before the band break into a ripping version of Buddy Holly's "Oh, Boy." Since the original barely checked in at two minutes itself, it's nearly impossible to speed up the song. Dogleg's version does not make Buddy turn in his grave, unless that's the way he dances.
As their set winds down, one fan asks why I am taking pictures of the band. She looks horrified when I tell her I'm writing about them for the Worcester Phoenix. "Why?" she asks, the look on her face fully questioning my sanity. But this band deserve more respect than that, and they get it in the form of a "Dogleg, Dogleg, Dogleg" chant calling for more. They respond with the highly optimistic, "Everybody Dies" ("No more rules . . . everybody dies"), with the heavy bass sound reducing the guitar to little more than a barely audible chainsaw. A member of Skulltoboggan joins Dogleg for their final numbers, and the two howl like junkyard dogs whose area has been invaded by a doomed rabbit. The performance is hardcore at its most primitive, but as musically precise as any act. Dogleg's first CD, Spider Gates, should be out early next year. And, contrary to previous reports, Dogleg are not from Leicester.
"We're not from there, but we've been there [the legendary Spider Gates cemetery] a few times. One night we walked for miles in the woods until we got to Paxton," explains Brassard, grabbing a quick "energy shot" from a waitress. Not that he needs it.
During the break, the crowd look as if they're auditioning to be extras in the sequel to Almost Famous. There's granola girls and hip-hop boys and enough caps to outfit the American League -- the only person who doesn't seem to be in some form of uniform is the patrolman on duty. The club's staff keeps an eye on the crowd to make sure the under-21s don't get any alcohol; to their credit, they manage to do this without imposing on anybody's good time.
Dirt Junkie are next on stage; they're returning the favor to Skulltoboggan, who played their CD-release party for Devil's Day last month at Ralph's. On stage, as off, LaRose ("How the hell are you, Mulligan's?") carries himself like a person holding a share of the secret of the universe. His guitar features skull-and-bones and Confederate-flag stickers. Bassist Bill McSweeney wears the traditional rock-and-roll outlaw bandanna and a not-so-traditional "Fuck you I have enough friends" T-shirt while drummer Ed J relentlessly "quietly" assaults his skins. Dirt Junkie play big music for the smallest club to the grandest arena, and one gets the impression LaRose can't differentiate between the two once he straps on his guitar, which sounds like a hard-roaring Harley.
While his snarling voice is rough, it doesn't break, even on the high notes -- think Deep Purple's Ian Gillian in his prime, along with shot of Axl "Welcome to the Jungle" Rose and Jimi Hendrix, with whom Ed shares a lot of showmanship kinship. When he sings, "I want it all," on "Tightrope," he makes it hard to believe he doesn't already have it.
They finish the set with "Taste the Whip," a tribute to rough and kinky sex, and "Highway," whose lyrics -- "Three shots of whiskey are so fine, go to Hell and I don't mind." -- sums them up best. If rock and roll is still meant to be music for outcasts, then Dirt Junkie belong at the top of its charts.
On character alone, Officer Down stole the show at this year's Worcester Phoenix Best Music Poll parties without playing a single note. They open their set with "Pain," one of five tracks on a demo tape that's been getting local radio airplay. At times, when he sings his lyrics, Jamie Loder's vocals recall Dio. When Loder growls, perhaps howls, he's a rapcore Sinatra. Officer Down's three-guitar lineup -- guitarist Tom "Tomcat" Caltano, rhythm guitarist Ron Rich, and bassist Vin Pendleton -- sound like an invading army, and the three whip their bodies and hair in a unison that almost reaches Spinal Tap levels. "Broken Arm of the Law" is dedicated to defense lawyers everywhere, and a new song, "No Sins Allowed" is pure speed-metal bliss -- imagine the Blue Angels flying guitars instead of planes. Rich's power chords fuel the opening of "Pieces," which crawls into your soul and the back of your brain like a blood-seeking worm. The set concludes with "Smoke Screens," from the first Officer Down CD, and members of the audience joining the band on stage.
It's just about 1 a.m. by the time Skulltoboggan take the stage, accompanied by a rainbow wig-wearing clown. LCg, who spends a lot of time crouching on the floor and climbing atop the speakers, alternates between the stage mic and an amplified megaphone. Bassist Andy "00" has dreadlocks that flow past his shoulders, partially covering his army green Ministry T-shirt.
"I'd like to thank the crowd for being my brothers for the last two and a half years," says LCg as he throws some copies of Hedsled out on the floor before Bobby!'s guitar breaks into "My Crazy World." It's a world in which LCg -- who's part Wild Bill Hitchcock, part circus trainer, part preacher, and all shaman -- gets many of his song-writing ideas while visiting Hope Cemetery. He reminds you, as do all the bands on the bill, that sometimes acknowledging you're a little crazy isn't that crazy an idea after all.
Which may explain the space alien who joined Skulltoboggan for "Elsa Eureka's Surfer Girl Blues/655321" and drummer Rolo Reese Schnyder's tribute to road rage, "Sick Fucker Redneck Trucker." He/she/it disappeared along with the sound system during "Way Down," a slow number in which Andy "00" and Bobby!'s guitars buzz like a fluorescent light that's fallen inside of a toaster. Schnyder's rapid-fire drumming fuels the set-concluding "Sinthetic Heart," which suggests there's still plenty of tricks up Skulltoboggan's sleeves. And then everyone, like the alien, disappeared into the wet Worcester night, which appropriately, when the clouds broke, revealed a full moon.
The show continues on December 9 when Skulltoboggan and Dirt Junkie return to Ralph's.

Brian Goslow can be reached at bgoslow[a]phx.com.