In the Men's Room of the Painted Lady, photo by Sean McClelland

If there’s one thing Detroit has a lot of, it’s bands.  And the Metro Times Blowout, now in its twelfth year (and originally called the “Hamtramck Blowout”), is a celebration of all things music + Detroit.  200 bands, 15 venues, 4 nights…it’s like Christmas for indie rockers, scenesters, hipsters, and those who just like to drink dabble.

Blowout happens all over Detroit’s city-within-a-city Hamtramck and begins with a one-night launch party at the historic Majestic Theatre Complex, known for its staunch support of local art and music and for a regular weekly roster of local bands playing onstage.  Hamtramck was named one of the “15 Hippest Neighborhoods in the U.S. and Canada” in 1997 by Utne Reader, and was called the second “Most Rock ‘N Roll City” by Maxim Blender in 2003.  The Blowout is considered to be the largest festival of its kind anywhere in the world.  And if all of that isn’t enough to impress you, then the throngs of fanboys and girls piling into the tiny, smoke-filled bars in an effort to see as much of as many bands as possible with the intention of blogging about all of it later (if there’s another thing Detroit has a lot of, it’s music blogs) should at least give you a glimpse into the frenetic energy buzzing throughout the city all Blowout weekend.  See, Blowout isn’t just a festival.  For many, it is the greatest single annual celebration of a way of life.

Much like the punk scene in New York and L.A. in the ’70s–or, you know what, fuck that, the punk scene in Detroit in 1969 with Iggy and the Stooges and MC5–the indie/garage/prog rock/experimental/noise fuzz scene here in Detroit is the battlecry of a way of life…a look, an attitude, a scene, a dogma.  And Blowout is its Mecca.

I am just one blogger among many, and this is my own experience of Blowout, blow-by-blow.

Wednesday, March 4th: Day One

Photo by Sean McClelland

Haven’t been to the Magic Stick in probably a couple of months. Good to see it’s as smoke-filled and over-amplified as ever. The crowd last night was full of musicians and their friends and bloggers and their friends and photographers and their friends and then some random people who didn’t really look the part but showed up anyway. It was one of those nights that I hate where I had to do the stop-and-chat thing a few too many times, to the point that I would see someone else I knew and try to dodge their field of vision. I’m just hear to drink and go deaf, guys. What are we, BFF? Just smile and nod. A wave would be sufficient. Thanks.

Let’s see. Electric Fire Babies were alright. I am really kind of neutral on them. They didn’t blow my panties off, so they were just “alright.”

Child Bite was fun. I was asked why they all looked like Charles Manson. Good question. They might all look like one of the most sadistic sociopaths of the past century, but I bet they’re all just a bunch of cuddly-wuddlys. Plus lots of trumpets in post-punk music that isn’t ska is always welcome.

Photo by Sean McClelland

Um, hmmm…I think I got more beer at this point…then it was on to see Fluent for about 30 seconds before I got bored and got more beer.

Then it was the Gepetto Files, who can’t decide if they’re a metal band or a comedy act. At first I was like, “Wow, the music’s awesome but the singing blows.” Then they played this rockabilly song, and I was like, “Weird.” Then they busted out with skits sending up the White Stripes (“The Brown Streaks”) and Eminem (“Skittles”). The White Stripes skit was particularly funny as it made reference to much-speculated “feud” between Jack White and Jason Stollsteimer of the Von Bondies. Hi-LARIOUS. Then they did this whole “Ballad of Jeffrey Daumer” thing which was funny for maybe the first 6-7 minutes but then got to be about 4 minutes too long. The backing musicians were good though. My inner headbanger was pleased. Also, the puppeteering was very impressive. (Yes, they use puppets as props–you never actually see the “singer,” just a revolving cast of puppet characters.) The mouths moved in almost perfect synch with the singing, and the instrument-playing puppets really looked as if they were playing their instruments (particularly the slow drumming of the faux Meg White, which was funny just because, you know, she’s not really a good drummer). Funny stuff, but I’m going to bet only enjoyable in their live show.

Photo by Sean McClelland

Punk Fitness did some interlude thing and I took a break, missed Octopus, oh well. Then Silverghost played, and everyone was all “OMG Marcie Bolen we love you!” and admittedly, I was too. Silverghost is terrif–poppy, synthy, dreamy, fuzzy, rocky. “Progressive”? Ugh, I’m too old to keep up with ever-changing musical classifications. Think an evolved Sonic Youth once they strayed from the whole punk thing and started getting poppier. Or maybe not, what the fuck do I know? They’re good. That’s all.

Photo by Sean McClelland

I left without checking out the Meatmen because I have this thing called a “job” that tends to get in the way of my social life. Looking forward to a post-employment economy!  Can’t wait for the breadlines!

Thursday, March 5th: Day Two

“If it’s too loud, you’re too old.” Right? Well, I guess I’m too old.

Dear sound guys: a good sound mix does not mean turning everything up as loud as it will go and hoping it all balances out. Regards, my over-sensitive cochlea.

I started the night by catching SikSik Nation at Small’s. They actually sounded pretty decent–as in, the sound guy did not turn everything up as loud as it would go and hope for the best–plus I think their music’s great. Who doesn’t like psychedelic dance rock? AND they offered to give everyone free records! Lead singer Sean said, “We’re not in this for the money, we just want everyone to enjoy our music, so if you don’t have any money please feel free to take a record.” And he was totally serious! So then I was all, “SWEET! Free shit!” THEN I was all, “Oh, man, but they’re so nice, I can’t take any shit from them.” I’d rather just take it from the Internet. Provided I understood how such things on the Internet work. Which I don’t. And so I’m left with shitty MySpace. Can anyone give me a tutorial on this thing called “torrents?” I’m not even sure what that means.

I decided I could make it out to New Dodge Lounge in time to catch the end of Millions of Brazilians, and I did. The singer tried to climb up on top of the amplifier and when that didn’t work out, he ran upstairs (and at some point took off his shirt) to climb down the amp. This is pretty much all I saw of their set.

From there, it was on to the Knights of Columbus, where everything was pretty much a bust.

Let’s see…due to I don’t know whose poor planning, Deastro (and thus the Silent Years) went on 20 minutes late. Which meant my careful planning of Deastro/Zoos of Berlin/possibly back to Small’s for a quick look at Mick Bassett/back to KoC for the Silent Years went up in the choking, insufferable smoke.  So I wasted my precious goddamn time by scrounging up enough change for a beer (they don’t take credit there) and walking huffily back and forth between the Hall and the Lounge.

Finally, Deastro went on. I just love to watch him (Randolph Chabot, that is)–I always see in my head images of this brilliant, perhaps to the point of being a little unstable, boy-man who empties his soul onstage every time he plays. Then there’s his band, who seem so entirely calm and collected, who maybe offer a bit of much-needed balance to Randolph’s hyper-perfectionism (like  this night, when subtle nods from the drummer and guitar player essentially said, “Dude, it’s okay man, just play, it’s cool” when he couldn’t get his sound right on the monitors). The music is great but their sound was for shit that night–throughout the whole set members had to keep asking to have levels adjusted and still didn’t have it right by the time I got fed up and went to see Zoos of Berlin. That constant high-pitched whining sound? It’s called feedback, and it isn’t supposed to be there.

Over in the Lounge the sound mix wasn’t much better. I’ve seen Zoos of Berlin enough times to know what they actually sound like, and Thursday night they sounded like shit. Not their playing though; no. The sound. And whatever the hell was going on there they didn’t sound anything like the charming and polite Bowie-esque experimental euro-pop-rock outfit that they are, but more like a regular (gasp) rock band. Had this been my first time seeing them, I wouldn’t bother with a second time. And that, friends, is why the sound is so fucking important.

So then, back to the Hall to see another great band butchered by bad sound. The Silent Years had some 18 or 19 people onstage (I lost count) with horns, a cello, and a choir. The choir you could only really hear the two people singing directly into the microphone because every intrument was turned up as loud as it could go and drowned out the rest of the vocals (even the horn section was barely audible). And hey look, there’s that feedback I missed so much. The Silent Years are probably one of Detroit’s BEST indie bands (and some would even argue one of the best in the country). Their music is at once sweeping and elegant with thought-provoking, poetic lyricism and complex arrangments creating multiple layers of gorgeously textured music that can safely be called both sweet and epic. And despite the fact that it looked like the band members were genuinely having fun onstage, their performance was ruined by HORRIBLE FUCKING SOUND. Four songs in and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Seriously. Do the sound technicians at the KoC just not know what the fuck they’re doing or are the acoustics there just that bad or is it a combination of both? How is it a place like Crofoot can have flawless sound in each of their 17 venues but half of the bars that host live music in Detroit can’t get a good sound mix to save their clientele? You know…forget it. I could rant about this, but I won’t. Suffice it to say I don’t give a shit who is playing at the KoC, I won’t waste my time there again. Fair’nuff? ‘K.

Friday, March 6th: Day Three

At this point it occurred to me  that my wrist was going to smell fuuuuuuhhhn-kee when I finally took off this wristband. Silly me, I put it on too tight. Have you ever worn a watch with a leather band for too long and then start to sweat and whatnot, then take off the watch and smelled your wrist? I used to do that as a kid. I thought it was funny. I also used to squirt a bunch of Elmer’s glue into my hands and let it dry and then peel it off, like peeling off sunburnt skin. Kids are so weird. And really kinda gross.

Oh, I forgot to tell you: so Thursday night when I was waiting for the Silent Years to start playing and sound like total garbage (through no fault of their own), Randolph Deastro was standing right behind me (I’m not sure doing what as I was texting, but I think he was just standing there) and then this chick comes up to him and was all, “Wow, you were really amazing. When you played [whatever the fuck cover song she said that I missed] I think you really moved people; you spoke to people.” Ladies and gentlemen, Deastro’s first groupie. If he were “that kind of guy” he definitely could have nailed that broad, but something tells me he listened politely until he could find a way to skitter off in the opposite direction. I don’t know; you tell me.

And also: that Blase Spree CD they were handing out like stimulus money–not too bad. It grows on me the more I play it. Especially track 2, “When We Kissed.”

Four Hour Friends, photo by Sean McCelland

Friday night I started at Atlas, where Four Hour Friends blessedly, blessedly went on 10 minutes early. It’s like they did it just for me, because there were two other bands playing at 11:20 and another two bands at 11:40 I wanted to see. So I saw about 15 minutes of their set (heard “Scars,” was happy), then decided I could hit both Scarlet Oaks at the Painted Lady AND Switchblade Justice at Carbon.

Except.

In true Blowout fashion, the venue I took a gamble on and decided to hit first was either way behind or way ahead of schedule. When we got to Carbon, no one was onstage and no one was even so much as setting up or tearing down. [Insert lengthy diatribe on the importance of STICKING TO THE FUCKING SCHEDULE.] Fuck it, no more time to waste here, moving along.

To the Painted Lady! Where we got to see most of Scarlet Oaks and where we ended up hanging out for awhile. Scarlet Oaks sounded good–the slightly darker side of alt-country (though I still prefer Tracee Mae’s and Dan Miller’s hauntingly hypnotic voices in goth-alt-country band Blanche to Steve McCauley’s gritty Bryan Adams-esque voice here). Music for old people like me. LOLbackinmydayROFLZ.

At this point Stare Into the Sun, Wildcatting, Mazinga, and Great Lakes Myth Society have all been scratched from the list. So on to Paychecks it was, to see Dutch Pink, which is a really interesting band that you probably won’t like but you should still check out at least once. Their music is minimalist alt-something, and the singer sounds like Louis Armstrong. It’s different, put it that way. All ten of you who were there with me instead of cramming into the Knight of Columbus to see the Dirtbombs can agree. Also, the soundguy at Paychecks = good. He needs to teach the guys at KoC how it’s done.

Dutch Pink, photo by Sean McClelland

If you’ve seen Ko roll her eyes into the back of her head once, you’ve seen it a thousand times. Also, we’ve already established that I will never go to the Knights of Columbus ever ever again. So, no Dirtbombs for me. Instead, it was to Trowbridge House of Coffee to see Blackreign and Ohkang where we hung out with the 7 black people (4 were onstage) who came to Blowout. They sounded great (and props to DJ O Nasty, an awesome chick who was sporting a freakin’ Blondie T-shirt making it work in a highly male-dominated genre). Good beats, good stage presence…a solid example of Detroit hip-hop. Not quite Black Milk but hey, they’re doing their thing. (BTW, if ANY of you have any like of hip-hop and you haven’t heard Black Milk yet, go here and stay there for awhile. Kid’s a freakin’ genius.)

Black Reign, photo by Sean McClelland

Also, Trowbridge? BADASS!!!! It’s a coffee house…and a BAR! Plus, it looks like something straight out of Ferndale (translation: artsy and trendy and not at all like any other Hamtramck dive). Good sound system, a nice stage set-up with plenty of space for people to stand there and watch with their arms crossed, and also really good fucking coffee. It’s our very own European-style cafe (in Europe “cafes” are actually bars, serving both coffee AND booze). It’s also got a very sleek look–clean lines following a gentle curve along the granite bar and walls, very mod aluminum accents. The blueprints are proudly displayed on the walls in the bathroom alcove. Very artsy-architectural (with local art displayed on the walls to match).  This could very easily become a new favorite of mine.

Inside Trowbridge, photo by Sean McClelland

Inside Trowbridge, photo by Sean McClelland

Partied out at Trowbridge, photo by Sean McClelland

Afterwards it was time to refuel (and soak up all that vodka) at Hamtramck late-night tradition the Clock “Fine Dining” (I swear to God, the sign says so) for some chili fries and saganaki. Mmm-mmmmm. 24 hours/7 days. God bless you.

Saturday, March 7th: Day Four

And it went out not with a bang but a whisper.

After some personal scheduling conflicts and the fact that I had to work the whole weekend and was pretty much dead on my feet as of 2:00PM Friday, I saw precisely one band: Lightning Love.

In that freakin’ death chamber known as the Belmont.

Photo by Sean McClelland

As we were all corralled inside, right before the band went on the doors were shut and no one else was allowed to come in as the death chamber had reached its capacity. Good luck to ‘ya if you wanted to actually see the band. Good luck to ‘ya also trying to hear them over the shouting of all the other prisoners patrons around you. From what I think I heard, they sounded great. Best new discovery of CityFest ‘08 (for me, anyway); deceptively sweet-sounding pop with razor-sharp lyrics a la Lily Allen. Also, Leah Diehl looks like Rosanna Arquette in all the Metrotimes publicity in last week’s issue, but not in real life at all.

Then they ended and I was like “They played?”, and then rapper Smoke took the stage (with those fucking shutter shades I can’t stand) and apparently did something really funny and cool with Ryan Allen of the Friendly Foes during their set, at which point I was already passed out in bed. From there it was on to Trowbridge except not really because first we went to Jet’s and gorged on pizza slices and cheese bread. We also ran into the 15-year-olds from Steven and the Reelers who were playing Blowout (except not really since they were scheduled for the Locker Room which wasn’t part of the official schedule) and who my photographer ran into in the bathroom at the Majestic smoking lots and lots of some dubious substance.  THEN Trowbridge for all of 15 seconds where I heard some of unispired metal act Decibilt, then home to sleep for 6 hours before going to work again.

Steven and the Reelers in the bathroom at the Majestic, photo by Sean McClelland

Blowout was fun. Let’s do this again. Next year around this time, cool?  This is 05506 signing off.

Daily recaps originally published in D-Tales and edited for content.  For more Blowout coverage and music news, visit a few of my favorites: Eat This City, Motor City Rocks, the Post-Rockist, and Detour.  These are but a few of many fanboy- and band member-operated music blogs.  In fact, there are almost as many blogs as there are bands.  And there are A LOT of bands.  And hence why we have a little thing called Blowout.