The Scenesters take the Blame
by Mike Gibson
Rock bands, by nature, are vessels of restlessness. Write it off to the inherent trials and uncertainties, or simply to the vagaries of youth. But whatever the cause, the fellows in any given R&R outfit are rarely settled or content.
And that goes double-extra for the guys in Knoxville's Blame. Afflicted by wanderlust and general discontent, the hard-playing trio once known hereabouts as The Scenesters was rent asunder when two of its three members traveled elsewhere to seek their fortunes.
Now, with singer/guitarist Eric Otto having returned from Nashville, and drummer Kevin Ambrister back in the fold after sojourns to Portland and Chicago, the threesome have reunited with a new moniker and a new sound more reflective of their restless muse.
"We were starting over from the ground up," Otto says, addressing the new name. "We grew up a lot in the time we were apart. We also wanted to play faster and harder music than we played in The Scenesters. Plus, now we don't have to worry about showing up to play out of town and seeing a sign for 'The Seamsters,' or God knows what."
"It seemed like a different band," adds vocalist/bassist Craig Fralick. "It's [the Blame] easier to remember, and to be honest, we didn't want the comparison to the old band."
That particular task, of course, can be left to music journalists; The Scenesters were a pretty fearsome unit, shaking the rafters at local clubs for the better part of five years with a sound that married Grungy simplicity to cocksure Big Rock bravado. Their union produced a handful of homebrew cassettes as well as an uncountable number of spirited and generally well-attended club and party gigs.
In the Blame, however, the guys have stripped off any of the rawk excesses that might dilute what the trio ultimately do best: create viscerally memorable rock that speaks to the essence of youthful anomie.
The Blame's inaugural EP, American Fool, showcases the band's new aesthetic, in spades. It's a vicious five-song groin shot of blast-furnace punk and sneering indie 'tude, replete with Otto's trademark vocal stylings—a ragged, beery tenor that modulates without warning into a kinetic electric squall—and Ambrister's relentless, ham-fisted assault.
"We were thinking about stuff like Social Distortion and just regular old punk-rock, straightforward verse-chorus-verse-chorus songs," says Otto. "We wanted to get rid of all the sappy shit. And Kevin's drum set is so big and loud, we're not dynamically sound for slower music. It would be like sticking a Barbie doll in a Tonka truck."
Otto says crowd response to the band's new incarnation has been favorable, save for an early gig at a local art hovel where the noisome crowd was wedged in next to "lots of glass and delicate art shit," and a show at the Longbranch Saloon where "some punker in a wife-beater" threw an empty bottle that smacked Otto between the shoulder blades.
But Knoxville's current dearth of venues for local bands has been a sore point for the Blame, inspiring a new bout of collective wanderlust. Their plans are still admittedly sketchy, but the band members hope to put out a full-length CD by summer, then pack up and move to points West—perhaps Hollywood—in an effort to seek their Grail in warmer, more music-friendly climes.
"There's still some indecision, but we're thinking we need to be in a place that's more conducive to rock 'n' roll," Fralick says. "We've played everywhere we can play here at least 50 times. We kind of get stuck in the same cycle. We get together, get some stuff done, and then frustration sets in."
"A lot of the places we play, we get 'Whoa, turn it down,' because these places aren't set up for a loud rock band," Otto says with more than a hint of frustration. "Kevin's such a loud drummer, he'll give you a heart attack if you don't know he's going to hit his snare. We have to turn up our guitars to match him.
"And that's the way we like it; very loud. I like it when you can stand up there and feel the whole thing pounding in your innards."
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