Episode 1: The Horse's Ass Fits The Horse

[dog] And [pony] Episode One - Dead End Armory
1/20/09

The Band: Dead End Armory
Wes: Vox and Guitar
Chris: Drums and Backing Vocals
Mike: Guitar
Matthew: Bass




The Scene:
Nick and I are driving to the practice space, a house near outer Washington Avenue. We've got the street it's on but the directions given to Nick were "I think it's number 25."

We pass a jeep and a motorcycle parked in the street by the snowbank. I don't know if the motorcycle has been driven lately... but it is the middle of January and the road isn't all that well plowed.

"That's probably the house," I say. Nick calls.

It is.

As we unload our equipment someone pokes his head out, "Just come on in and down into the basement!"

We walk down dark stairs to a dark and scattered basement practice area. The whole place is an incredible testament to some mad, DIY architect. Makeshift walls abound, some wooden, some curtains, one tarp. I spent three hours down there and I'm not sure I saw everything.

The bassist, Matthew, is setting up his equipment against the wall. "There's another band that practices on Nevada Street, you know."

"Oh? Who?" asks Nick as I take in the room.

"The Rattlesnakes," says Wes.

As Nick and Wes rattle on about what they sound like, I try and take in the room. It's not small - it's not big either - but it's cramped by a low ceiling that hangs at odd angles. There's foam egg crate patches stapled pell mell on the walls.

"Sound Baffling?" I ask.

"Yeah," says Matt, "They never finished the sound proofing."

Wes, Matthew and Mike are setting up while Chris drags his extra drum kit out of the space.

Wes tries to explain why the basement looks like it does, "That's Brent. He's the architect."

He's stooped over cables, yells, "BRENT!"

No response.

I'm directed out of the practice room, across the stair landing and into a sort of waiting room. Couches, ash trays, empty cans of bali shag. A leaking furnace. One of the walls is tarp, the other is curtains.

"You gotta sorta go through the curtains... you'll see it."

I pass under the curtains but I can't really see anything. It's dark. There's what looks like a wide door with a light behind it. As my eyes adjust I see various and sundry electronic bits lying around. There's an anatomical poster hanging up. I see the room extends back a bit.

I hear bubbling.

Matthew sticks his head in and points at the door. "It's a swinging trap door. Brent sleeps back there, under the stairs."

I never did meet Brent.

Back in the practice room the band is ready. I'm directed to the back to a small booth with a computer and several mixing boards in it. Dead End Armory likes to record their practices. A lot of published material is generated from just tooling around at practice. They've learned that good things happen in practices... but they can't always be replicated even a cigarette later.

Dead End Armory started in 2005. They called themselves The Easterlies for about a month, then another band in West Coast Portland (it's always the other fucking Portland) challenged their name. They've been Dead End Armory ever since.

The lineup has changed over the years, although Wes, Mike and Chris have been the core. As they break into their first song you can tell they're used to each other. Wes, Chris and Mike all know what the others will be doing. Matthew watches for cues, trying to read the rest of the band.

He's only been playing with them for three weeks or so now, though.

We all chat and joke. Every now and then Wes will stand up to open the basement window and vent the room of smoke.

It's Mike's house. And Brent's, I assume, although he might've come with the house for all I know. Another guy who lives there used to play bass for the band, Chris tells me.

Chris also says Wes is a resident. "I'm on the couch," he clarifies.

We go back to playing for a bit. The band's sound is pretty good. Unique. Wes's voice is unique. Nasal and grating in just the right way. He can't sing in a way that just works. He hits the notes and makes the growls. He screams right.

Wes says he can pick melodies out of Chris's drumming. I believe it. He slams away even between songs.

From observation over the years, I think every drummer does this. Pay attention the next time you're at a gig.

And as Mike explores the chord progressions... emphasizing and plucking along... it all just... gels. It's nice. It's energetic. It's got a wild focus.

Matthew's basswork is simple and fills the sound out... but the ad requesting a bassist was tailored to get just that. It's what they need. A simple line to anchor on to as vox, guitar and drums swing wildly about.

The band and the space they play in are in synch. They're home there. The music is wild and unpolished and the basement's labyrinthine, unfinished rooms reflect that.

That might sound a bit negative, I don't mean it to be. Both basement and music are purposed. Both resonate. Both are ultimately cool. It's a place you want to experience and it's music you should hear. Even if it doesn't suit your particular style of music, it's worth experiencing at least once.

Much like it's worth at least one trip to a basement on outer Washington.