Concert Review - "The WhistlePig Journey

WE WERE GUIDED BY VOICES
by Whistlepig

It was all the Web God’s fault.

We would never have done something this crazy. It was the Web God, otherwise known as Brian Mikesell (who has the greatest web site in the sad freak world), who casually wrote to us and said, hey why not come down to the show in Dayton next week? We were doomed.

Whistle Pig is a band of five 14/15 year olds and one old fart as their manager and driver. The band is Ben Soles, Robert Grey, John Rzepski-Van Atta, Matt Warren, Micah Wright, and Kim Van Atta (the Old Fart). They are from Penn Yan, in upstate New York, 500 miles from Dayton. No problem. A day trip.

Except that the Web God mentioned that the Canal Street Tavern was 18 and over. He did not think it particularly wise to make that kind of a trip with the possibility of not even getting in. The Old Fart replied, no problem, "usually I have been able to get them in by swearing my character to the club manager as their chaperone, and explaining that they have no interest in trying to sneak drinks; their interest is rock and roll."

Maybe it was Mitch Mitchell’s fault.

Mitch said in an interview that GBV would like to be the Beatles in the studio and the Who on stage. This triggered vivid memories in the Old Fart’s head of being 16 in 1966 and seeing the Beatles and the Who share the same bill at a New Musical Express Pollwinners concert outside of London. The Old Fart wrote of this experience to Mitch, and told him that he thought GBV was already at this level, that "GBV combines the best of both groups (and I have every Beatles album made, and about a dozen books, and I played their stuff so much that my son John knew the words to all the songs by the time he was four, and I thought the Who were the best live band I had ever seen, particularly at a small club called the Marquee in London when I saw them open for John Mayall in 1966, and at Woodstock, when I was 19, where I saw them sing stuff from Tommy as the sun was coming up on Sunday morning). There has been no band since that time that has made me feel in the presence of such extraordinary talent. Until I heard, and then saw, GBV, on the infamous Urge Overkill tour, playing a way-too-short set (Bob got through less than a six-pack). I was, pardon the hyperbole, clearly in the presence of inebriated greatness."

So when the Web God warned him that he might not get in, the Old Fart said, "look, if you could go back in time and see the Beatles at a lunchtime gig in the Cavern, but you might not get in because of the small size of the place or for some other reason, would you make the attempt? Well, I would."

So this was no time to hesitate.

MATT: Ring, Ring, Ring: "Matt, guess what? We’re going to Ohio to see GBV!" That’s how my GBV trip started. The next day I didn’t believe it was real. But the day after that we started out. We didn’t know how long it was going to take to get there so we left at 6am.

ROBERT: It all started with a critic’s review. Bee Thousand was being hailed as the next big thing. Out of curiosity whistlepig bought the album, and so began our GBV insanity. We bought all their other albums, and eventually saw them on the UO tour in Rochester, New York. There, after a totally rocking show, we had the astounding luck to be able to talk to the band. They were standing by the side door waiting to load out. Bob shook our hands, and congratulated us for having a band and having "the courage to rock and roll." Mitch thought it was cool we were in a band, and said some really encouraging things.

MICAH: The trip to Dayton probably wouldn’t have taken 10 hours if we didn’t make bathroom stops every half hour, and stop at every "Help the Veterans" free coffee stop. Quite possibly the high point of the drive was passing cars filled with old ladies (who all smiled and waved at us) and stopping at the country’s largest Air Force base to see a wiener rocket and a Scotsman in a glass case.

MATT: Actually, it was a wiener rocket in a doughnut. Actually it was a rocket with a round thing around it. After looking at it we were going to leave but we discovered this cool thing that you drop coins into and they whirl around and fall through a hole. Well, none of us had any coins, so we lifted the top off and grabbed handfuls of coins and watched them whirl down.

ROBERT: We made it to the Canal Street Tavern at 4pm and found out that the doors didn’t open until 8. So we hung around, writing on the van’s windows with magic markers.

JOHN: At 5 we saw another van pull up next to the stage door and Mitch and Bob got out. I banged on my dad, who was trying to sleep, and pushed him out the door. We followed him over to the GBV van, where he introduced us to Mitch, and told him about the trip and our discovery that we might not get in. He was great. He said he’d talk to the owner. It was snowing. I sat against the wall, feeling cold and tired because I was sure we weren’t going to get in. Bob walked past, pointed at me, and smiled. That made me feel a whole lot better.

ROBERT: Eventually a line started to form, so we joined it at the front.

MATT: Our manager started talking with everyone, and when people asked him what he was doing so far from home, he told his Who/Beatles story.... We got so sick of it..

JOHN: Mitch walked up to us in the front of the line and said we could get in if we were all dad’s kids. There was an awkward silence... and then dad told his Who story... I held a Whistlepig demo tape tightly in my shaking hand. As Mitch was conversing, I inched my way through the crowd.
I said, in a quavering voice, "Uh, Mitch?"
"Yeah?"
I thrust the tape out.
"Here."
"Oh, um, thanks."
I was so embarrassed.
We were proud of our tape, but I didn’t want Mitch to think we were like asking for favors. We just wanted him to know that we were serious about our music, both listening and playing. We wanted to share something.

ROBERT: Mitch comes out and spends like ten minutes talking with us (our manager tells that darn Beatles story again...). He then gives us a sly grin and a wink and says "You guys are all brothers and he’s your dad, right?" The club owner had said we could get in if we were all our manager’s sons.
But the guy inside the door didn’t believe us. All this way, to be told "I don’t care how far you’ve come, you can’t come in here!!

The Old Fart pleaded, begged, and swore that these kids did not come 500 miles for a lousy beer. But this guy was a real prick. Mick, the owner, was sympathetic, but somewhat trapped by the door guy: he had to "back up" his employee. Pete Jamison tried to intervene, the band tried to intervene, the crowd tried to intervene, but it was no good. John and Micah, with their "dad," were allowed in. The other three were banished into the cold.

ROBERT: Pete Jamison (he’s a really nice guy!) tried to console the remaining three of us and told us to keep an eye out for the band when they showed up to play and he’d try his hardest to sneak us in. We ended up having to wait in the van, agonizing over our fate, a torture, knowing that our friends were inside seeing the opening bands play. Our manager came out after a few minutes to sit with us. He said that John and Micah were fine and might get kicked out if he wasn’t right with them but he couldn’t leave us freezing by ourselves in the cold.


MICAH: As soon as we got inside the club there was a crappy doorkeeper that would allow only two of us in. Later we found out that he was the frontman for the first, boring, band. During the second band’s set the drummer, Don Thrasher, collapsed at his drums. Then it was two hours before GBV came out. During those two hours it was very easy to fall asleep in the heat.

MATT: Meanwhile, we’re freezing our butts off outside.

MICAH: I dozed, until a stranger popped out of the crowd and gave me some little white pills that he said would keep me awake. I muttered thanks, then when he left I dropped them on the floor and pushed them under my chair.

The Old Fart breathes a great sigh of relief; responsible, as he has sworn to be, for the good health and strong morals of the entire whistlepig crew....

Meanwhile, outside by the van, Kevin Fennel has stopped to commiserate with the Old Fart, asking him to thank everyone for coming, saying "no-one’s ever done something this nuts for us." and saying a number of wonderful, but unprintable, things about the cowardice of the club staff.

ROBERT: After being kicked out of the club we retreated back to the van, feeling like crap. Ben and I decided to play some chess. So we did. And out of nowhere, Kevin Fennel, who we didn’t recognize, pops up and starts waving his hands and running around the van and bouncing up and down and banging on the windows shouting "Sorry guys! We’ll see what we can do!" We gave him a thumbs-up and a puzzled look, and went back to our game.

When the kids outside got bored they stood around outside the barred door and froze. When their feet got too numb they retreated to the van. During one of these forays they ran into the Web God himself, Brian Mikesell. The Old Fart absolved him of all responsibility for this disaster (with his fingers tightly crossed behind his back) and started telling him and a friend about this time when he was 16 and saw the Beatles and the Who on the same stage and.......

WHISTLEPIG: AAAAAARRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH.... SHUT UP ALREADY!

MATT: We got so cold standing out there that we put on all the clothes we had, layers and layers. Now we were warm but we still weren’t in. On the sidewalk was a manhole cover over a steam grate. We stood on it to get warm, until it started to melt our manager’s shoes. The other problem with this grate was that every once in a while it would fart. Must be that the pressure was building up under the grate because every few minutes the manhole cover would rise up and release steam (the fart) and it would smell really bad. But it was still cool.

It should be pointed out that Matt is the engineer of the band and has a collection of twenty some antique tractors in his yard (along with a few cows, geese, and other cool stuff).

Well, GBV started to play, so we went up to the door to try and hear what we couldn’t see. We were still freezing, so I went to the van to get a sleeping bag to wrap up in. There we were, sitting on the steps of a club, in Dayton Ohio, 500 miles from our home, wrapped in a sleeping bag, freezing our butts off, listening to the best band in the world playing on their home turf. Could things get any worse?? No!!

ROBERT: Eventually GBV had to go on, without being able to get us in. We stood outside, listening with our ears pressed to the door.

MICAH: (inside) Clearly the visual interest of the show was a boppin’ Greg Demos. Bob Pollard did some heavy duty mike swinging.

ROBERT: After almost an hour and a half of GBV’s set (after standing outside off and on for 8 hours, with a 10 hour drive before that) a nice security guard let us stand in the lobby, where we could hear, and be warm. After another few minutes he said he’d turn his head if we wanted to go in and watch the band.
And we did.
The band was doing Smothered in Hugs. They were incredible, even better than when we saw them the first time. The songs we had heard while we were outside, the songs that we heard inside, and the songs we both saw and heard them perform were the finest we had ever seen or heard. Sterling versions of Salty Salute, a great Lethargy (with Mitch singing!), and of course Echos Myron. At one point, half the crowd was shouting for Bright Paper Werewolves while the other half was shouting for Kicker of Elves. To this Bob smoothly said, "Okay, I guess we’ll play ‘Kicker of Werewolves’ then." The band immediately tore into Gold Star for Robot Boy.

Meanwhile, the Old Fart just stood there, watching the band, with the biggest damned shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. Forget the Beatles, forget the Who. This was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his long and sordid life.

And what about Ben? whistlepig’s silent drummer who froze outside along with Robert and Matt?

BEN: We managed to sneak around the wall once we were inside and see the band. I got this to say. There you all were, Rob, Mitch, Kevin, Tobin, Greg. Rob’s face was as red as a hot tomolie but he looked like he was full of energy. You guys were great, even if I didn’t see you the whole show, you guys were great. And I can’t forget the manager of all managers, Pete Wilkonson, he was so nice. I wish I had you for a manger.

ROBERT: After the show, Pete Jamison and the band gifted us with free T-shirts, and praised us for our tenacity, while apologizing that we all didn’t get to see the whole show. Pete asked us to write the story, and to take pictures of our friends and our girlfriends in GBV shirts. We said goodbye to the band and got them to sign some CD’s, and received a "salty salute good-by" (a two-fingers-to-the-forehead type thing) from Mitch and set out to drive home, fulfilled and knowing we had experienced some of the finest music and had hung out with one of the coolest bands ever.

It was 3am when the van pulled away from the Canal Street Tavern. Mitch was loading the GBV van. He stood on the sidewalk, alone, looked at the whistlepig van as it drove by, and saluted. The Old Fart was very happy.

ROBERT: After driving off in our van, half in a daze, we were befuddled by a sudden dense fog that came out of nowhere. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. I fell asleep soon after that and awoke at a rest stop somewhere near the Ohio border. It was as if we had stepped from one world to the next.....

BEN: Hey Pete, sorry I couldn’t send you a picture of my girlfriend, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. I still have my band though.