Metro Pulse/Music/Eye on the Scene

Another Homecoming

It was thrilling to see all the various incarnations of Todd Steed's bands on one stage at last week's Sundown in the City show. One of those former bandmates was Paul Noe, a guy we haven't seen around Knoxville much lately. But we'll be seeing more of him. After several years in Nashville, Noe moved back to the Knoxville this spring.

Perhaps best known as a member of one of the early versions of the Judybats and the Nevers, Noe played bass for the Opposable Thumbs. He moved to the music city in 1996 after the breakup of the Judybats. While he was there, Noe got married and had a son. Having a child was one of the main reasons the couple returned home. "I always loved Knoxville and we couldn't come up with a good reason to stay in Nashville," he says.

Even when he wasn't living here, Noe was a force in the Knoxville music scene, running Disgraceland Records, along with former bandmate Dave Jenkins (who is no longer associated with the label). The label has released records of Knoxville artists and Knoxville expatriates: the French Broads, Brian Waldschlager, the Cheeksters, Jag Star, and the Ghosts, among others. Noe says the label has been neglected of late but sales of Steed's latest Knoxville Tells has been really strong. "We're going to redesign the website and try to breathe life into [the label]. We're going to try to get a few new bands. There's a great scene here. It's always been good. I still think it's better than Nashville—there's too much music industry B.S. in Nashville for it to be a good scene."

Since he's been back he's played guitar for Tim Lee. He and Steed hope to convince drummer Jeff Bills to come out of retirement to play out as a revamped version of the Thumbs.

Dolly and Ozzy

Local studio wizard Seva has been busy of late, lending his digital mastering skills to a new Dolly Parton live DVD, as well as comparing notes with Ozzy Osbourne producer Michael Wagner in Nashville. The Parton project is believed to be the songstress's first-ever official audio-visual release, having been recorded last summer at Dollywood's Celebrity Theatre at the end of her tour for the grammy-nominated Halos and Horns album. Seva's mastering skills were also employed on that record.

The Wagner introduction came via long-time friend Bob Ohlsson, a former Motown engineer now living in Nashville, at a memorial service for a mutual acquaintance. Seva and Wagner met again afterwards, discussing surround-sound recording and other production techniques. Could the relationship lead to a project with the Oz himself? "Something like that's always a possibility, but that decision would be up to whoever Michael is working with," Seva says. "But I'll be going back to talk more shop with him soon; he gave me a standing invitation, of sorts."

Don't Feed the Animals

Trying to pin down the experience of a Flaming Lips show is about as easy as nailing Jell-O to a tree. It's like a huge, psychedelic birthday party, if you will, complete with balloons, mirrorballs, massive amounts of confetti and movie screen puppet projections. Lead singer Wayne Coyne acts as the show's eccentric ringmaster, commanding his band along with a small army of "manimals." (manimals: n. humans disguised as stuffed animals, esp. bunnies, meant to act as a bizarre kind of on-stage cheerleadering squad.)

Believe it or not, performing as a manimal is actually a much coveted role. In certain circles, it's considered very cool. Even Justin Timberlake did it once, although I'm not sure how much that counts for.

Anyhow, when I was asked to be a manimal, via a friend of a friend of the stage manager, at a Lips show last week in Nashville, I quite literally spit my beer out in my hurry to say "yes."

I was hustled back stage along with 10 other future manimals and handed a large mouse costume.

Ironically, even considering my demure 5-foot-2 stature, I've never felt as small as I did inside that mouse's skin. The neck hole barely stayed up over my shoulders and the crotch hung down below my knees.

Our instructions from the stage manager were simple, considering the ornate theatricality of the show: "Just have fun and don't touch anything." He handed us all mega-watt spotlights before pushing us out onto the stage before a mass of screaming fans that I couldn't see because the mouse hood had slid down over my eyes.

Then Coyne appeared and the music began, launching us all onto the weird pink and green highway of sensory experience that we would be speeding down together for the remainder of the show.

During the many happy songs about love and robots that ensued, the manimals around me (a beer-guzzling unicorn, an owl, a panda-skunk hybrid, a giant-headed bunny and a pink panther) and myself were almost oblivious to the sweat that was filling up our shag carpet-esque costumes. We danced shamelessly and sang along, hugged and kissed each other's animal noses.

It was a good party, but over much too soon.

—Madame "there is no one what will take care of you?" Georgie with Joe Tarr, Mike Gibson and Leslie Wylie