Metro Pulse/Music/Eye on the Scene

A Sad Note

Last night, our beloved Zippy McDuff was found wandering greater West Knoxville. After he stumbled into a popular Kingston Pike eatery (whose name can be found in a popular Beatles ditty), demanded his rights to "casually dine," removed every last strip of clothing from his pasty frame, and did unspeakable things upon (and with) the salad bar; officers of the law were called. The following exchange (more or less) was heard in the Martini (the estimable entertainment editor of this here alternative weekly and Zippy's de facto boss) household at approximately 3 a.m.:

"How much do you need this time...no way, McDuff...we've been through this before...when I dragged your butt out of that jail in Tijuana...no, this time isn't different...f—k you, too...fine...rot for all I care...yes, you can be replaced...watch me...good thing you have such a pretty mouth... so's your mother"

At this point, the record shows that both parties degenerated into a string of curse words too salty for these pages.

For now, a replacement has yet to be formally named, but we're laying house odds on Zippy taking a nice, long vacation. Until the matter is settled, here are some local CD reviews that McDuff assembled before the altercation. For your enjoyment:

Marcus Parcus and the Mums
Sandstorm (S&L Records)

There's no weaker brand of music criticism than the kind that says whatever band or artist under consideration sounds just like two other bands or artists—usually from wildly divergent styles of music—got together for a recording session. (The only thing worse is this one: "X sounds like Z on acid.")

So I hesitate to dredge up the name of Brian Wilson—doubly so since he's been named as the source for countless pop records in the last couple of years—to describe this stunning debut from Marcus Parcus and the Mums. But there's no better comparison. Nothing on Sandstorm really sounds like the Beach Boys; the more obvious reference points are nouveau-psychedelic pop bands like Belle and Sebastian. But Wilson's influence is all over the disc, from the Pet Sounds-styled cover design (which also recalls the Beach Boys' "In My Room") to the sweeping, bittersweet pop orchestration and the close, intimate portrait of personal torment.

The band is actually one guy, 19-year-old college student Marcus Thiele, who recorded Sandstorm in his parents' basement for Morristown's S&L Records. There's plenty of indie-pop nonsense to fill the disc, but two tracks set it apart: the stark, brooding "Dark Horse," with just Thiele and a solo acoustic guitar, and "Into Ev'ry Life," the disc's centerpiece, a sweeping, orchestrated pop masterpiece that blends realism with idealism, naive hopefulness with experience. It's a remarkably mature song for such a young writer, and Thiele pulls it off with grace and humor. Sandstorm is more than a promising debut; it's a fully-developed wonder.

The Havenots
Have at It (Disgraceland)

There's quite a story behind Have at It, the first—and apparently only—release by the Havenots. According to Disgraceland Records, some tapes were discovered in the burned-out ruins of a fire-damaged building in Knoxville in early 1999. Carefully researched by experts and reconstructed for release on compact disc, the tapes are supposedly the only existing evidence for a peculiar musical genre called "county music," blending honky-tonk, tex-mex, Merseybeat, R&B, and rockabilly into a roots-rock stew found only in East Tennessee. Nobody, the story goes, knows who made the tapes, or when.

As stories go, this one's not all that convincing. We've been asked to preserve the anonymity of the perpetrators, but careful observers of local music won't have much trouble identifying the clear, lonesome voice on the disc. But the story does represent fairly well the way Have at It, despite deep roots in well-worn traditional styles, is an entirely original and authentic combination of all the above-listed variations on rock and country.

But Have at It is no museum piece. Just as Gram Parsons married country and rock into something better than country rock, and Elvis combined blues, country, and gospel to make the Sun session recordings, Have at It is more than a collection of influences. There are plenty of them, brandished proudly and making a clear imprint on individual songs: British Invasion rock ("She Put the Hurt on Me," "Bad Boy"), old-fashioned country weepers ("Blue All Over," "Havin' Myself a Ball"), classic pop rock ("Fragile"), and gentle ballads ("Fancy Meeting You Here"). But they all fit together and sound like the work of one band. And that'll never go out of style.

Go.

Thursday: SubUrbia at Clarence Brown Lab Theatre. This production by Art Smells of a classic Eric Bogosian play about angst and apathy should be pretty intense—more so than the Richard Linklater movie version, anyway.

Friday: Big Al and the Heavyweights at Sassy Ann's. Better than jambalaya is Big Al's funky, foot-tappin' zydeco-blues.

Saturday: Terry Radigan at Cat's Music. Radigan trades in sex-drenched alterna-country but is much more than just another pretty face.

Sunday: Make like a cat and nap.

Monday: Tom House at Barley's. House's intense storytelling evokes the character of the South, like a spare, guitar-based version of Faulkner.

Tuesday: Einstein Simplified at Manhattan's. Improv this.

Wednesday: Randy Weeks at Barley's. A Lonesome Stranger comes solo to Knoxville with some of his own stand-out songs.