The
Bellrays, Heavy Johnson Trio, Chrome Locust, Celebrity Drunktank
EJ's, 2140 NE Sandy
Blvd., 234-3535
10 pm Saturday, June 12
Cover
"Maximum rock and soul."
That's how the Bellrays label their music, and a showy
parade of rock-critic descriptions couldn't sum it up better
than that.
Don't take my word for it, though. Listen to their 1998
CD Let It Blast (Vital Gesture) and hear the proof
for yourself: muffler-ripping guitar explosions that sound
like a roaring vintage Detroit speedster, with piston drums,
rubbery bass and a vocal engine propelled by pure Motor
City soul. Some claim the Los Angeles quartet is a perfect
alliance between a feisty young Aretha Franklin and the
MC5; others hear Tina Turner righteously kicking Ike's ass
with the help of the Stooges and the Who.
It rocks more than any soul band ever did. And it rolls
unlike any punk band. It slaps you in the face with the
unexpected.
"People are so used to the lowest common denominator,"
says fire-throated vocalist Lisa Kekaula from the group's
rolling tour van. "So that's what people expect from bands.
[If they] say we're not quite what they expect, well, I
want them to raise their expectations."
Kekaula admits some crowds have been uncertain how to interpret
their sound. I witnessed one such night of confusion: the
Bellrays' 1998 North by Northwest showcase at Ash Street
Saloon. Confronted by guitarist Tony Fate's fiercely distorted
Midwest-punk riffs, Ray Chin's scatter-gun drums and Bob
Vennum's thick bass lines, many of the preppy attendees
scratched their heads, waiting for a more easily digestible
band to hit the stage. The addition of Kekaula's sweat-drenched,
fist-clenched soul vocals seemed to cause more bafflement:
"Is this rock? Or is it soul? I don't get it."
So what do the Bellrays say when people don't get
it?
"I say, 'Fuck 'em,'" Kekaula retorts. "There's a lot of
people who aren't gonna get it. We're not gonna dumb it
down--and most people are dumb. We know we're only gonna
reach a small part of the audience. Bottom line is, we're
not trying to please anyone but ourselves."
As if overcoming musically closed minds isn't enough of
a problem, she notes that the Bellrays have been facing
rock-scene racial discrimination "forever." When the band
formed in the early '90s, she says, "as soon as someone
would see there's a black female singer, they'd make up
their mind what we sounded like before they even heard the
tape. And even when they heard it, we'd get this thing:
'It's bluesy.' You know what that means: 'It's black.' [But
racism] isn't exclusive to music. It's just shit that's
everywhere. If I was trying to get into the plumbing business,
I think it would be an issue there, too."
Kekaula also disagrees that white bands like the Make-Up,
Delta 72 and Dura Delinquent--all of which throw R&B
and gospel onto punky backdrops to see if they'll stick--should
be denied true "soul" credibility. "Fuck anybody that says
soul or anything has a color to it" is her assertion. "I'm
glad there are people out there doing the real deal and
speaking their minds through music. There are too many businessmen
speaking in the music industry right now. That's why the
radio sounds like shit."
Then she adds with a laugh, "That's why you're not gonna
hear us there."
Similarly, Kekaula shuns obvious gimmicks. "People latch
onto the easy-to-see things: 'Ooh, black female singer fronting
a rock 'n' roll band.' That's elementary," she says. "Our
band is based on the songs. [My voice is] just an added
element. We have strong musicianship all around and really
great songs, and I think that's the big selling point, whether
people can recognize it or not."
Primary songwriter Fate agrees that the songs themselves
are the band's musical glue, uniting the diverse musicians
under a banner of intense emotion. "I just carry around
some emotional state and, when it's ready to be expressed,
do it," he says. "I can't force a song out. I could sit
there and grind out a bunch of crap that sounds like the
shit on the radio. That stuff's just contrived and created
by a machine."
In a nice twist, however, the corporate, manufactured sounds
of today have helped open the door for the Bellrays. "There
ain't nothing else happening right now," says Fate. "It's
this post-grunge period, and they're trying to push all
these weird hybrids: rap-metal, ska-metal, whatever the
fuck it is. So there's kind of a void, and the Bellrays
are just right for that."
If the Bellrays are "just right," perhaps the band's songs
may actually become one of their slogans--"music for the
next millennium." Time, as they say, will tell how prophetic
that proud statement is.
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 9, 1999
|
