Barn burners

Junk Sculpture's state of the art

by John O'Neill

Having grown up near each other in South Grafton, the boys from Junk Sculpture crossed paths at various points during their lives -- junior high homeroom, little league, confirmation class. But, as people are wont to do, they'd drop in and out of each other's lives. So when drummer Corey Melanson, bassist Paul Smith, and singer/guitarist Cote dissolved their admittedly crappy blues band in the early '90s, they didn't hang with each other for nearly five years till they decided to jam again in late '96.

"We had hawked all of our shit, then we had to buy it all back," explains Cote. "We started writing again, only now we had expanded what we listened to, so it was a way different band."

From there, percussionist Keith St. Michel jumped on board after a pair of bongos his mother bought him found their way to a jam one night.

"I'd been checking these guys out," says St. Michel. "I jammed for fun. I never thought in a million years it would turn out that I'd be a bongo player."

Six months into their updated, non-gigging incarnation, Cote's childhood pal Wayne Winslow showed up at the barn where they practice ("We're so poor we can't afford a garage. We're barn rock!" Cote quips) with his guitar, and Junk Sculpture were locked in to begin an amazing rocket ride that took take them from complete unknowns to one of Worcester's most popular outfits in less than six months. Beginning with the ultimate proving ground (the last slot on a Thursday-night Sir Morgan's Cove bill -- the graveyard shift of local rock and roll), Junk Sculpture quickly began spreading out and winning over fans through the classic combination of solid, danceable music and drunken antics. Now, they're concentrating on refining both aspects of their popularity.

"We're learning how to entertain people, how to connect songs so we don't have to stop playing. We've been getting better and better," relates Cote. "We played pretty sober last time and, you know, it sounded good."

"The feedback is that we're getting our shit together and people are having fun," adds Winslow, who can be found nine-to-five, putting large tires on even larger farm equipment. And that's the one of the better-paying, less-crummy day jobs in the band; a fact that went a long way in the band's decision of how to produce their just-released self-titled CD.

"We're all totally broke," says Cote. "So we recorded [the songs for the CD] live at Sir Morgan's Cove. For what it is, the way we did it, we're happy with it. And it only cost us a hundred dollars."

"We tried the studio thing once," says Winslow. "I ended up sleeping on the sofa for four hours waiting to do my part."

Recorded by Tom Kaliszewski and mastered at Omnet by Dana White, Junk Sculpture (ECAE) actually comes across as a crisp and clean listen, which the band credit to White's expertise. "We didn't expect much, and he made it so much better," confides Winslow. "He did it on his own time. It was a challenge for him."

A solid representation of the band, Junk Sculpture rolls along with a heavy rhythmic groove laid down by Melanson and St. Michel that allows Cote's sing-song shout-outs and Winslow's Ron Jeremy porno-guitar to skate all over the mix. Funky here, heavy there, a dash of jam element sprinkled over the top -- the CD recalls everything from Jane's Addiction on a good day ("Sex Song") to Steely Dan on massive amounts of speed ("Punk") to a kinder, softer Pantera with "The Deal."

"We all listen to a lot of weird stuff, this is our interpretation of funk before we knew what funk was," says Cote. The band also list the Beastie Boys and Mocha Java to muddle the influence picture even further. "Our songs are generally about getting fucked-up, sex, or beating someone up, but we don't let anger overtake the music. We want people to bob their heads, not slam them into tables."

A 27-minute burst of energy, Junk Sculpture the CD, should also go far in helping Junk Sculpture the band break out of Worcester, something they've barely had time to consider, what with their heads still swimming from their cork-shot ascension to local success.

"Press kits, bios, this is all so new to us. It's cool, but it's all really weird" says St. Michel. "We've got no Web site and we don't get our mailers out on time, but we're learning."

"It's turned out to be so much more [than expected]," Winslow adds. "I figured it would take us a lot longer to get our feet into the scene. Now, people actually buy us drinks!"