Don't call it a comeback

The Mountain Goats - The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton (from All Hail West Texas)
The Robot Ate Me - Regret (from Carousel Waltz)

Biographers take note: this past week signified a distinct break from my musical past. The Blanks, popularly known as the world's greatest rockity roll band, fumbled in a last quarter attempt to tack on their first ever reunion show. Jim Dandy, the band's vocalist and greatest cheerleader, had helped to put something together for us in Salt Lake City with the help of his fire-jumping cousin Nolan. The old dreams and desert visions were all there: putting down their typewriters and wheelbarrows for one extended weekend, the four Blanks would trek across distant locations in America's mid- and south-west to meet somwhere in the middle and casually knock off a show so good, so pure it would keep the audience members' grandchildren awake with wonder for years to come. Perhaps this would become a habit, and we would mysteriously reappear in dusty western towns with all the regularity and enigma of a Yeti sighting. But what made the prospect of this show so intriguing was the rumor that the people were actually down for it. There must've been something in that Utah water, boys, 'cause they were thirstin' for it.

The reality of the picture painted a very different landscape. The cost and stress of traveling to an unfamiliar location, playing with unfamiliar instruments, and - get this - opening for another band with no payment guarantee all seemed to dampen the funness of the idea. Worse still were the growing burdens of everyday adult concerns: limited vacation hours, wedding planning, credit debt, taxes, savings for furniture and real estate. It all seemed too much. So, after several extended man-to-mans with Brother Daniel and Jim Dandy, we bunted. (Attempts were made to contact Mr. Ried; however, given his superhuman schedule, he was unavailable for comment.)

The disappointment here isn't just that we're young and in debt; that would be easily enough explained. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time we've had to abandon an opportunity because of personal schedules and other responsibilities - lord knows we were only ever ambitious in rhetoric. The Blanks, for all our failures, always meant something greater. For three odd years the band was a vessel for our collective fantasies and it provided some defense against the fact that most people don't care about your fantasies - collective or otherwise. As they say, time consumes us, and this decision feels like a large chunk of the past has just been bitten off.

But as much as the band tied us all together, it also tied us up. Hopefully this will signal an opportunity for us start focusing on our own endeavors. The Blanks will always be a part of us, and may very likely rise again to set some small western town on fire, but it's not the only thing we can pour our dreams in. (If nothing else, the Blanks were always great sentimentalists.)

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Here are two songs from one-man bands I've been listening to a lot lately. John Darnielle's Mountain Goats sings about underappreciated death metal bands in west Texas. Ryland Bouchard's The Robot Ate Me plays another delicate bedroom melody. Carousel Waltz was amazingly listed as the #1 album of the year by a long time friend and critic of mine - amazingly because he typically prefers down tempo Russian dance music and post-shoegazer instrumentals. I once interviewed Bouchard; he seemed like a pleasant fellow.

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Ironically, after all this talk of Lansing rock music, I saw Detroit's The Sights perform last night. My opinion of these rats can be found here. I was going to a neighborhood bar because I knew the bartender working. I was pleased to see that the crowd reaction was overwhelmingly unimpressed by their extended organ solos and midget rock'n'roll posturing. Boo.