Another college creative writing piece. “These guys are nuts. Their goofball humor is killing me.” My friend James was talking close to my ear because of the deafening music that surrounded us. We were in the
Coughy Haus’ dank, murky basement trying to figure out the band from Iowa City. They called themselves the East Side Guys. The three skinny members on stage didn’t seem to care that less than a dozen people were watching their performance. Or that they were wearing tank tops; each member wore a red tank top.
Maybe by dressing alike, they were poking fun at bands whose dress codes are synonymous to their image (Slipknot? The Hives? The White Stripes?) Maybe they were defiantly and blasphemously parodying the Beatles themselves. Most probably though, they were trying to say in all seriousness, “We look cool.”
At least that is what I got by watching them play. They had a sense of humor: the bassist, clad in a headband, throughout the show convincingly mumbled his thank yous in a disjointed falsetto. They made irreverent remarks about the 1950s, lacked a guitar player (it was just: drums, bass, and a synthesizer), didn’t notice the extreme levels of their amplifiers, and didn’t wear earplugs. I shouted back at James: “These guys are pretty insane.”
After the band banged through their first song, they started talking.
“Taankyew!” the bassist shrieked abruptly.
“We’re the East Side Guys.” the synth player mumbled with a confused, displaced smile.
Bassist: “Fuck you!”
Synth player: “We’re in Wisconsin. How do you like Wisconsin?”
Bassist: “Isn’t this where Dahmer’s from? Hahahahahaha.”
Synth player (mumbling): “Ok, you wanna do it? You wanna do it? Next song.”
The music, betraying the band's careless appearance, was taut and potent. They fused different elements of punk, noise, and electro into one uncompromising torrent of sound. The bassist and the synth player both had microphones and took turns singing and hissing and yelling. As upfront as the music sounded, there was a certain complexity and subtlety veiled behind it. The East Side Guys apparently knew what they were doing. James turned to me and said, “I bet they play in basements a lot.”
The band rumbled through the show, both entertaining and awkward. The synth player was especially bashful. He shyly looked to the floor as if he was some closeted rock virtuoso suddenly thrust upon a giant stage, unsure of what to do with his new found fame. He sang in a surprisingly endearing way. Perhaps too endearing, because when he ended a song, he did so tenderly, in a whispered pitch and with a soulful look on his face – as if he was trying to
feel – like some artists do – the ruckus his keyboards were making.
But, of course, he was faking it. He knew what he was doing. Like the tank top, this was another parody, another play on rock conventions and behavior. I was surprised there weren’t more scissor kicks or guitar smashing (though the latter probably has an explanation: expensive equipment).
Based on the show that night, I am quite sure the East Side Guys are aware of the state of music today. With the cult of instant celebrity and shallow hype and with a music industry (yes, even within independent circles) ready to discard a band as quickly as it picks a new one up, the East Side Guys stand out like a very welcome sore thumb. The band probably don't care about all this, however. Instead, they create loud music, no bullshit. And they are, no doubt, living proof that rock & roll will always truly belong to goofs like them.
East Side Guys Myspace
