This is an article about an independent “Rock’ Roll”
band I saw in November of 2004. The band is real, the
concert actually happened, but the events surrounding
the show may very well have been a part of delirium,
which I was experiencing most of that week.
J.W. Americana
Last weekend, at a prominent bar in Houston called
Rudyards I saw a rockabilly/ punk-band that completely
blew my mind in terms song originality and stage
presence. The band is called J.W. Americana, and they
are not a political organization trying to democratize
some Central American country of human rights
violations, but a Texas rock trio who have been on the
Houston music scene for quite some time.
I was particularly impressed how tight this band was,
especially considering that "punk rock" has had
predominate influence in both their music and way of
life; the band is every bit as serious about their
performance as Leonard Bernstein was with the New York
Philharmonic Orchestra.
J.W. Americana is about the music. They have a devout
following of loyal fans that are as colorful in
everyway as the band members themselves and who
apparently seem to know the lyrics verbatim.
If the group "Social Distortion", met with "Public
Enemy", "Johnny Cash", "Tom Waits", "NSYNC", and "New
Edition" and if they joined together to form a large
musical ensemble and said "Let's start from scratch
and see what we come up with?" It might be something
like that of J.W. Americana.
Rodney Elliot, the bands "new world guitar hero",
jammed on his Gibson Les Paul like Kamikaze pilot,
playing as if this night were the end of time itself
like he was playing for his own life support in which
the only means to power his heart and liver was to
relentlessly jam on his guitar. I never saw anything
like it. I never witnessed such fanatical devotion to
an instrument combined with such a masterful control
of musical technique.
The group romped about the stage in an audacious
manner and into the audience goading the fans to cheer
and experience the music, and it took very little out
right encouragement to get the audience going--the
music told them what to do. It was a rockabilly
"shin-dig". Americana were reminiscent of the "rock'n
roll" super-group "The Police" each band member
fighting for supremacy of the stage and at the same
time playing as a one unit, as a band, complimenting
each other musically while at the same time, stressing
their individuality as musicians.
Americana's song "Tony the pony" is a terrific piece
of musical craftsmanship. The bass and the lyrics are
"All the rage". The song starts off with Doug revving
into bass solo and then ripping right into rockabilly
like vocals. Doug let's out a fierce, banshee-like
shriek in the middle of the song and the club shakes,
and the audience goes wild as they feel the raw power
of the band. The song is spectacular, filled with
rock& roll rhythms that make your heartbeat double
skip and it also shuts down most all artificial
mechanical cardiovascular mechanisms.
J.W. Americana has been able to generate a unique,
sensational, sound through their diverse background of
musical influence. Their rigorous experimentation with
modern and sometimes unorthodox forms of music is
pervasive in all of their songs.
The band members themselves are just ordinary--more
than regular people, who could blend in with nearly
any crowd they walk into. They enjoy a good
conversation with just about anybody who is willing to
give them the "time of day". In fact, the members of
J.W. Americana are so friendly that you could take
these guys to the zoo with you, or you could easily
imagine these band members wrestling around in your
living room floor with your Golden Retriever—good
people who enjoy life's simple pleasures like watching
football, cooking barbeques, or extracting the venom
from the teeth of a ten foot Egyptian King cobra snake
on rugged terrains near the worlds edge.
L.L. Dupree (A.K.A. Doug Kosmo) is the bands legendary
bassist. His contribution to the world of music is
that of epic proportions; like that of Geezer Butler,
Jon Paul Jones, and Aaron Carter combined and looks
like one of those Conan paintings that you would see
on Molly Hatchet Album covers or barbarian murals on
the side of vans from the 70s of some muscle-bound
dude holding an ax with his girlfriend (in a thong) by
his side while he fights a dragon and simultaneously
manning a Harley Chopper. Doug is the barbarian
bassist and he has a style all his own. The man digs
deep into the "soul-searching" phenomena, exploring
"what make people tick" and how to remain true to
"ones self" without taking "one self" too seriously.
He is a pragmatic man of principal.
At the concert, Kosmo ripped into several bass solos
with their songs "Pizza" and "We're going to Fight"
bringing the crowd to almost frenzy in both
acclamation and fanatical cheering. Kosmo easily has
the presence of a prominent cult leader as he has a
huge fan base in Houston, Thailand, and five eastern
bloc countries.
The bands song, "We're Gonna Fight" is an anthem that
has many different takes on life, it resonates of a
rallying song, awakening the people and challenging
them to understand that there is more to life than the
9 to 5, and that our individuality still exists, and
if there is still one part of ourselves that hasn't
been taken, than we can fight to keep that organ or
artery and say "That this day was our most magnificent
moment in time!" That we still kept part of ourselves
through all of life's soul-deadening experiences.
At the concert you can meet people from all walks of
life: former deadheads, gangster rappers, ravers,
polka yodeling four H club members, classical music
aficionados, promise keepers, and "fire-eating"
mariachi players. It's a melting pot of musicians,
artists, bankers, public works employees, and
diplomats. A good time had by all and they all get
down at a "J.W." show.
In the audience, deep in the heart of this Texas
crowd, is a fun group of people jumping and dancing
around—this is "the heart of the maelstrom". Bodies
float across the crowd like driftwood of an old
shipwreck, the flotsam and jetsam of the of the
"party-harders" surfing across the unknown and
suddenly plunging down towards the depths of the
concert hall hardwood floor as if some saloon dwelling
shark yanked him below the surface of hands.
Sometimes you see a person thrown across this wave of
hands like saltwater marlin performing oceanic
gymnastics only to knock over more cups of beer
creating a sea-like spray of Miller Light and Bud Ice
all over everybody’s shirts. The song Pizza is playing
and the crowd roars and you think that this audience
has just received orders to begin paramilitary
operations from the band, "Storm City Hall then onto
Austin and then catch Dallas in a pincers movement
spearheading towards Cowboy Stadium then the state is
ours. Yeah! Pizza!"
Up front by the stage, there are a group of attractive
girls who have seemed to have grasped the concept of
"getting down" with great music and they are not too
shy about being rock'n rollers who embrace the true
spirit of the music while they do their thing with
some very tight shirts and very tight jeans. "Lord
have mercy" I yelled out, but nobody could hear me, in
fact I couldn't even hear me but I could hear the band
playing their nostalgic piece, "NRA". The song seems
as if were created in the spirit of an old Irish folk
song with people waving their hands above their head
singing along with the song with a pint of ale in
their hand.
At the songs finale, a melee of Winchester and
Remington shotguns went off in tribute to the ongoing
spirit of the song, a dismembered finger blew past my
face, and the smell of heated sulfur filled the room.
A husky man holding up a shot javelina by it's feet,
raised it above his head and the crowd gives another
accolade of approval—"anything goes here" said a guy
next to me, like I didn't understand that already.
Moments later I could smell the sweet smell of a Texas
Mesquite Barbeque mixed with the aroma of Milwaukee's
Best, and burning gunpowder.
This was a fun concert to say the least. The more I
listened to the music and absorbed the atmosphere, the
more I respected cavemen. I jealously thought how much
fun they must have had after killing and roasting a
saber tooth tiger and frying it over an open fire. Why
hadn't I come to one of these shows sooner? I glanced
across the crowd and I saw that it is difficult to
determine who is having more fun at the show, the band
or the audience, I think the janitor was, I saw him go
into the men's bathroom accompanied by two hot looking
girls wearing dominatrix gear, a lama, and a mop, but
there was more than a festival atmosphere in the bar.
Within the crowd, somebody just started a pit bull
fight in the crowd and security is taking bets or is
this "again" my imagination playing tricks on me?
"Who brought in the wolverine?" a guard says. "It's
against dog fighting regulations not to match a pit
bull against a wolverine?"
"So man", says a black gentleman wearing an all black
leather outfit, " I guess what your saying is that
your pit bull just isn't up for the task against
"Muffer my wolverine?" A momentary pause by the
security guard occurs, and then the animals are
released and the fight begins, but can't seem to see
how the fight is going, I think the animals turned on
their master's, I saw a hairpiece fly off security
guards head and into the crowd and somebody is passing
a disgruntled pit bull across the crowd it's barking
and biting in mid air and another wave of Bud light
rolls across the audience, well come to think of it,
that was Milwaukee's Best.
At this point I can't stand up, and all beer tastes
the same to me at this stage of this spiritual musical
event. I feel the power and positive aspects of
numbness of the mind and I relax and listen to Rodney
Elliott's guitar rifts as he moves across the stage
like a golden glove middleweight prizefighter.
L.C. Dupree (Shane Lauder) is drumming up a storm. His
only sense of timing seems to be on the drums which
supposedly had been measured to perfection by
scientologists at M.I.T. who desired to perform this
research in the field of percussion harmonics for
purely scientific purposes, but that is entirely a
different story, one of which I might explore in some
later writ-up.
L.C. Dupree plays his drum-set like some artistically
talented Viking ship galley foreman, enforcing a large
group of forced labor oarsmen to row to the beat, but
it sounds far better, in fact I would say that Dupree
could keep up with the best drummers of "rock'n roll"
history. He may very well have a black velvet
self-portrait of himself hanging in Cleveland at the
"rock'n roll" hall of fame someday.
An old lady get's up on a table, it's my neighbors
grandma, and she is dancing on it to the song "Tony
the pony" which really sounds "Out of this world
great" I rush to the grandma, and I am overcome with
joy and I put twenty dollars in her panties, and
everybody cheers." "Go! Go! Go!" "I'm gonna call!
Call! Call! Call that pony Tony!" I had more than my
cheap thrill for tonight. This is more than a concert;
it's more like a combination Ringling Bros circus,
Maxim Swimsuit expose, and a jailbreak all rolled into
one "organized riot". Tonight is a night to remember
and it's not even halftime yet.
J.C. Dupree also known as Arthur Moreno, American's
saxophone player, plays his horn section trio in fine
"rock'n roll" fashion. It's a rockabilly jamboree.
The song "Big Black Cadillac" is being played and at
random moments, bodies are still being passed across
the crowd from one end of the club to the other like a
disjointed conveyor belt, a couple of them didn't
appear to be moving and the band plays on. I believe
that this to be a normal occurrence and that thousands
people die every years in concerts. I briefly imagined
the next day's headlines, "Death at J.W. Americana
concert" on this victim's tombstone it could possibly
read, "Danny loved to stage dive at Americana
concerts". He understood the risks and said it was
worth the price for hearing great music at a decent
club of a band with questionable judgment—well maybe
that's a bit extreme.
J.W. captures the essence of Punk Rock in its purest
form, they suck it out and absorb the power, and share
its revitalizing qualities like that of a premium
organic shampoo. They are like the fresh scent of
herbs and spices. The feeling one get's from one of
their shows is that "I am still alive!" and that this
is sensational music I am listening to, and that there
are some things that the corporate world cannot suck
out of me, like my liver!
It looks as if there is a strong independent music
movement is taking shape in this country and J.W.
American is leading the way.
A major record contract is definitely within they're
grasp and until they are granted that magic legal
document saying, "you made it to the big time and you
can live off your royalties"--"They're gonna fight!"
Written by Harold Schelling.
Harold Schelling is a freelance writer and works for a
major record company which specializes in putting
together "boy-bands" and "teen chic idols" for major
radio networks so they may Lip Sync less than mediocre
music to the general population. He is scared of J.W.
Americana because he believes that they will
re-institute quality music to the mainstream public.
Photo created by<a href=http://kosmo.multiply.com/>
Doug Kosmo.
Concert photos taken by Harold Schelling.
To learn more about J.W. Americana and their music
click here<a href=http://www.jwamericana.com/>J.W.
Americana
<a href=http://jwamericanahschelling.blogspot.com/2005/05/jw-americana.html>
Click here to read it at Blogger.com
Now this is funny. I had to read this story over twice. This band seems like a bunch of characters. Don't ever change Hal. 