Dale Crum writes: The Quadrofiends formed during summer of 1996 in
( www.doc4design.com ) eventually selling his bass and amp equipment, Hobbs returned to school in order to achieve a degree in Graphic Design, DeWitt moved to Austin, Texas and began working for a popular bookstore and was never heard from again while Wait continues to perform with local bands and works at several restaurants in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
Andrew Pogany sent in these beauties... his first band, Pogie Brown (he, Pogie, on drums, his best friend Brown on guitar) were a duo on a mission,dedicated to single-handedly reviving LA's Hobo tradition. "We were horrible" he remembers, "but brazenly horrible." Their lyrics were the stuff of legend with songs such as "Jesus was a nice boy" and "The Val Kilmer Song" garnering sufficient local following for them to play the Whisky A Go-Go, supporting My Sexual Dad. Firing on all cylinders, Pogie Brown were unstoppable. But Pogany admits their success was based on a simple equation: Lyric thuggery + musical imprecision = Pogi Brown (cover your ears.)
Judge for yourself by listening to their classic anthem, " Jesus was a Nice Boy." The band's days were numbered. In classic rock 'n' roll fashion, Brown's manipulative girlfriend broke up the duo. The band are pictured below at a bowling alley photo booth in happier days. "Our look was no look at all. We wore all ugly hand me downs. But in line with the DIY / folk-anti-folk movement that burgeoned after us, we started sewing our own hats and shirts and stuff. That hat in the picture is one of those. It reads “God Ain't Cute”. And neither were we!
Brown went on to found Not Not Fun Records, now a staple in the LA noise underground, and the band Robador, who recently opened for Sonic Youth. Pogany went on to join the lesser known Here Kingdom Comes, pictured below, in his kitchen, known more for their fine eye at the flea market than for their instrumental mastery. But Pogany remembers his days in the band with an unbounded enthusiasm. "The camaraderie of a band surpasses friendship. You all come together from random directions and are suddenly forced to point in the same direction. There is something so pure about it. And that's what I miss"
Jordan Dollak writes: We formed during Freshman year at
Our first step was to perform some covers. Champagne Supernova begat Wonderwall, which begat Don't Look Back In Anger. At this point, we drew the line with the Oasis covers and began to write our own material. Jordan our guitarist took the helm.
But during Sophomore year, there was tension in the band. Jon had gotten a girlfriend and was missing practices. By two votes to one, we decided to vote him out. I was the only one who voted against, but it was decided that I would be the one to call him and break the news of his ouster, based on the fact that I was the only one who didn't have any classes with him that year. I don't remember much about it other than it was brief and curt. He still resents me. He does not resent the others.
The photo at top was taken after Jon's ouster. Left to Right.
Josh Neuman writes: I first heard Bob Marley when I was 12 and it became plaintively clear to me that I was a black man trapped in a white man’s body. I am in the middle sporting a hat. Very Reggae. Our guitar player became semi-famous with Veruca Salt. Our drummer was our greatest musician though. He set his heart on becoming Madonna’s drummer, had an audition and a call back but did not get the job. He committed suicide right after and the band never recovered.
The Adidas track suits were an image upgrade and were my idea. There were 9 of us in the band and our sense of style was appalling. So I tracked down the head of entertainment marketing when I was 18 and got the woman who was working there to give us an A level endorsement. We had about 8 track suits each and enough sneakers to fill a 2 bedroom apartment. I was even given the Run DMC Tracksuit in Marcus Garvey back-to-Africa colors. Probably worth a mint today, but I sent to my younger cousin who threw it out. To listen to some of the Tribultations at their finest. Click Here
Bob Geldof may have put on the big show, but in 1985, it was gigs like these at a Liverpool All Boys school which really turned a famine into a feast. 50p to get in. Three bands plus two last minute write-ins added in biro including a solo performance by Joll Benn who went on to greater things as the anti-piracy Tsar in the UK. Headlining, it is the one and only Soft Option, a legendary band, and favorite of this site, showing that they were not just in it for the money.
Morgan Neville sent in this beauty. A Californian threesome giddily jumping for joy in a graveyard to promote this band's big anthem, “Some of My Best Friends are Dead.” If we are not mistaken, the gent on the right showing big air is wearing a Union Jack jacket.
We could not think of a name to save ourselves. For a while, I was liking The Courtney's Ready, which was a reference to a tabloid column about Courtney Cox and her "readiness" to play sluttier roles after Family Ties. But I think it was brought up meekly and quickly self-shotdown. There was a bar called Til Two in
When we played, I wore the most psychedelic shirt in my possession. Paisley = supercool. I was trying to follow in the historical precedent set by Hendrix on the Are You Experienced cover. No one else seemed to care about what they were wearing at all. We got to the bar and waited for the right time to pounce on the stage and claim the instruments that were being played by the other master musicians who had shown up (biding our time by doing shots, eating the ribs we had brought in from Flints, and trying to convince our lead singer that he would be able to keep both down.) Finally our moment came. We hit the stage and started playing, in a very blurry deer-in-the-headlights fashion. To this day, I could not tell you what song we ended up playing... although my money would be down with Bo Diddley's I'm a
The shock of actually playing live was too much for our band could bear. It is with great sadness that i report, Til Two never played again. The facts were faced: we were Literature majors, reading between the lines of James Joyce and Beowolf...not reinterpreting Robert Johnson or Pere Ubu. The bands that played at Til Two...even on the pick-up nights...had more right to be there, in our opinion, than we ever would--no matter how much we practiced or how much we talked about our practically fictitious band. While I loved music I was in no way an artist, and since being a failed musician, I did what anyone else would do: I entered the BUSINESS side of the Music Business.
