THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, June 18, 1994 TAG: 9406170089
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY RICKEY WRIGHT, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: 940618 LENGTH: Long
Inside a house packed with kitschy '50s furniture and accessories, a rock band is playing - or trying to.
{REST} Buttsteak, a Norfolk band marking the appearance of its third album with a show tonight at Kings Head Inn in Norfolk, is absent a drummer. Rob Oswald lives in Baltimore, commuting to Hampton Roads for shows and pre-performance rehearsals.
But not for this day's woodshedding. In the front room of the home shared by Buttsteak singer Julie McDermott and her boyfriend, artist Mark Williamson, the music aborts. Without Oswald, it won't happen.
McDermott says, ``We tried today but . . . '' The band's remaining four members assemble to discuss the new record, ``Moroccan VD CD LP,'' and their rise to semi-stardom on the independent-label touring circuit. Their first album, ``Fatty's Got More Blood,'' landed securely in the Top 75 albums charted by a major college radio magazine.
Tagged ``the B-52's with potty mouths'' by one scenester, while actually borrowing its handle from comedian Jeff Altman, Buttsteak has long been the most vexing act in the area's alternative stable. Not just the most outlandish but possibly the smartest, and definitely the funniest. For a photo shoot, they replaced Oswald with a ``stunt drummer.''
But are lyrics about being groped and the cheerful slinging of playground racial taunts incisive critiques of David Lynchian America, or is this stuff merely sick humor?
``Buttsteak's really a weird band,'' says Lucia Corace, who's booked them for the past two years from her Cincinnati office. ``I always describe them as performance art meets comedy act meets punk rock meets new wave, and people say, `You've got to be kidding.' And I say, `No. They'll always start with a skit, and there'll be lots of spitting, and everybody will be laughing and having a great time.' ''
There was the time everyone took Amish roles to perform a tongue-in-cheek tribute to the great barn-raisers of this land.
The time they decked out as emotions - in green (envy), red (anger), etc.
The time singer/guitarist Mike Bowen instituted a Buttsteak vs. Boathouse audience spitting match.
The time they told a major music-trade mag that ex-drummer Sergio Ponce had been killed by a drunken driver.
The time an unplugged Buttsteak trooped onto a live broadcast of WHRV-FM's ``Defenestration 895'' and proceeded to unveil their Mormon ode. The song had the show's staff tearing its collective hair out.
``We were delighted that Buttsteak agreed to do the show,'' says co-host and producer Carol Taylor, ``then, once they accepted, I was frightened out of my wits. They performed a very well-rehearsed medley of their greatest hits up to that time, and they did tread very close to that line. That's the beauty of Buttsteak: They know where that line is, and they just barely step over it and pull back.''
``We're a very efficient band,'' opines McDermott.
They have to be, as they sometimes juggle three separate conceptual agendas in any given period. Full-blown live productions, sometimes with new, theme-specific songs, are the rule for Buttsteak. They've also done tongue-in-cheek celebratory shows with themes ranging from Fourth of July picnics to Virginian-Pilot/Ledger-Star music critic Mark Mobley - in which they used an enlarged newspaper photo as a backdrop.
New angles, including a ``Reservoir Dogs''-inspired evening, are on the way. After all, you can't do ``the Underwater Show'' forever. Whatever the Underwater Show was.
Mention of the sub-aqua extravaganza draws an unexplained groan from Bowen.
``I love that show!'' rejoins McDermott.
Roadwork is key to Buttsteak's success thus far, but the trip isn't always smooth. ``Knoxville, I Quit,'' on ``Moroccan VD CD LP'' chronicles two near-split incidents, one involving guitarist Jim Glass and another McDermott, who threatened to ``take my half of the band and go home'' when they took the stage without her while she attended to business in the ladies' room.
``That was a good show,'' recalls Glass before being shouted down by his fellows. ``Oh, it wasn't?''
In January, they'll attempt to consolidate a growing overseas base with a tour of England and France, as well as a second recording for legendary BBC deejay John Peel's show. (Peel's been a fan for several years and hosted the outfit in 1992.)
Also, says singer/bassist Mike Bowen, Buttsteak is looking to cut their next full disc, as well as a couple of singles, in the fall.
After a record-release party at Kings Head, Buttsteak plans to make three monthlong jaunts around the United States. Cities that members of Buttsteak like include New York, where their buzz is starting to build, as well as Gainesville and Pensacola in Florida and Cincinnati.
``It's like little Norfolks,'' McDermott explains. The Buttsteak profile, however, isn't as high in their home city as they might hope.
``All bands say they're not big in their own towns,'' she counters. ``Superchunk told us that, and the Pixies. It's almost a good sign. We don't want to just be a big fish in Norfolk.''
``A big fish in a small pond,'' echoes Bowen. ``Norfolk's more like a puddle.''
Buttsteak's puddle, presumably, would be an alcohol-intensive one.
``I fell into the drums,'' Spencer recalls stoically of one exciting rock moment.
``During the Christmas show,'' Bowen adds. Spencer ``hit a patch of beer'' on the stage, then . . .
``You fell into the drums, and Rob kept playin','' McDermott tells him.
``He kept time. The song was exactly the same,'' Spencer says.
Efficiency. And one Buttsteak rule: ``You never know what's goin' on until you do it,'' says McDermott.
by CNB