|
The
Jimmies,
Moral Crux,
The Secludes, Good For Nothin'
Paradigm
215 SE 9th Ave., 232-7861 8 pm Friday,
April 14
$6
The Jimmies used
to be a five-piece, but adulthood finally captured one of
them in its sticky grasp--the second guitarist settled down
and had a kid.
Other to-die-for
pop-punk bands
on Panic Button include Moral Crux, The Eyeliners and, of
course, Screeching Weasel.
The Jimmies take
their name from a character in The Toxic Avenger.
"No one makes it on the first try / No one makes it
on the second try / No one makes it 'til they realize you
got it"
--The Jimmies
You can tell Dick Clark and Christopher "Kid" Reid to take
their syndicated-TV suckathon Your Big Break and
screw--the Jimmies may have just gotten their big
break, and they didn't do it by playing dress-up and emulating
lame-ass, no-talent celebrities on a Hollywood backlot sound
stage. Instead, these humble lads whose unofficial motto
is "win some, lose most" have scored an ideal record deal,
and they got it the longest, hardest way possible: by spending
their entire lives trying.
The foursome of Barry Brusseau (guitar), brother Chris
Brusseau (vocals), half-brother Tim Ward (drums), and old
childhood friend Jay Olsen (bass) have had an amazing lifetime
bond, celebrating all the major milestones together: making
mud pies as kids, sleeping through junior-high history classes,
growing up and chasing the elusive ghost of gainful employment,
dealing with substance abuse and the shuddering withdrawals,
and, most importantly, struggling in an obstinate pop-punk
band for the past 10-plus years.
Now, after all those years of labor and laughs, these perennial
underdogs from Longview, Wash., may finally get some respect.
The Jimmies' new album, Let the Fat Men Plunder,
is being released on Panic Button records; run by Ben Weasel
(of mega-popular snot-punk band Screeching Weasel), Panic
Button is a subsidiary of Lookout! Records, the label that
put millions of discs by Green Day, the Groovie Ghoulies,
the Queers, Operation Ivy and others in the bedrooms of
jumpy American teenagers. Though it may not be Warner Bros.--the
imperial corporate juggernaut that actually broke Green
Day in the early '90s--it's a perfect match for the Jimmies'
brand of sun-chasing pep-punk.
Scratch one down in the Jimmies' win column.
"Here we are all along / working our fingers to the
bone / When all you people sing along / It makes me feel
right at home"
As always, though, there was a price to be paid, an investment
made that can never be remunerated: time.
"We've been working a long time for a break like this,
[having] a good label who can really present our stuff to
the right people," says guitarist and songwriter Barry.
"But I'm 35, and I just bought a house and have a secure
job. What we need to do now is hit the road like crazy...but
we can't."
With age comes responsibility--that's what dads across
the nation say, and the Jimmies' blue-collar work ethic
applies to their day jobs as much as their nighttime recreations.
It sucks, but there ya go.
There will be a short West Coast tour with new labelmates
Moral Crux, however, to test the waters of the youth market,
to see if four aging Poison Idea fans with thinning hair
and thickening waistlines can still cut it in a Blink-182
world. As singer Chris puts it, it's almost like starting
over again--the Jimmies have been on sabbatical since their
last album, Countdown, and some of their supporters
may have, well, graduated high school and gone on to more
"adult" music scenes.
"The weird thing is trying to make contact with the all-ages
crowd when you're 35," Barry admits. "Being older, our influences
aren't Blink-182 and the Offspring. To toot my own horn,
I think we have more substance to our songs."
Not that one could imagine the Jimmies singing about borderline
statutory rape or quasi-fly white guys, really. Like their
previous records, the songs on Let the Fat Men Plunder
seek a more pensive center, as evidenced by the born-to-lose
sentiments of "Closer to You," the persistent pride of "Advantage,"
or the self-explanatory "Sweat and Blood" and "Quit Fuckin'
Around." Of course, there are goofy bits (like "Ginger,"
a lusty tribute to the Gilligan's Island hottress).
But rather than make cheap'n'easy attempts at risible crossover
hits, the Jimmies have always preferred to pin their hearts
on the sleeves of their dirty, worn-thin T-shirts--and cookie-cutter
obnoxio-pop just doesn't suit their soul-striving style.
"A weird side of me always wanted to be thought of as an
artist," says Barry, shrugging. That's not something tattooed
punks with bullet-belts and beer bellies usually say. But
then, this is the Jimmies we're talking about.
"Working on a dream to make it / if there's money in
it, we'll take it / with our eyes open wide / we've got
a ticket to ride"
Perhaps the best part of the Panic Button deal is the Jimmies'
new opportunity for promotion in areas not serviced by the
Seattle-Portland highway axis. While they're longtime local
favorites, the band has never had significant exposure beyond
the land of sky-blue waters.
"I hope we reach more people outside here," Barry says.
"Obviously, success here doesn't necessarily translate everywhere
else."
The band does have a newfound optimism, though. It helps
that sometimes there are happy surprises, like the night
when the Jimmies performed to an ecstatic, sing-along crowd
in Green Bay, Wisc. With a modest grin, Barry boasts lightly,
"I guess good songwriting is good songwriting anywhere."
As if to illustrate this, a sneaker-shod dude respectfully
approaches the table around which the Jimmies are sitting
and introduces himself with a deferential nod and hearty
compliments. Then he asks, a bit hesitantly, if the band
is still together and gigging--after all, the Jimmies' public
profile of late has been nil.
Chris laughs and says, "That's the biggest question right
now: 'Are you guys playing any shows?'"
Die-hard devotees like this guy will be glad to know the
answer is a definite yes. The Jimmies are back, and they're
excited about their new chances. They're no longer drunken
young brats tearing up the bar circuit. And yes, unlike
Screeching Weasel, they'll probably have to keep their day
jobs. But they're still kicking it and, like any tightly
knit family, they just might be together forever.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Willamette Week | originally
published April 12,
2000
|
