No Talent Slugs to Play Fundraiser
J.
Salemink
Special
to The Pleasant Glen Daily Herald Tribune Gazateer Times
A podiatrist, an accountant, an
orthodontist and a Home Ec teacher all walk in to a bar.
It sounds like the set up to a bad
joke. And it may be.
It's also the line up for Pleasant
Glen's most unlikely popular underground band, The
No Talent Slugs.
Jim Johnson: We recommend you
get there early and start drinking quickly. The drunker you are, the
better we sound.
I recently sat down with members of
the group at The Bar to discuss their upcoming show and their
surprising popularity. Johnson, a graying, 54-year-old podiatrist, is
the rhythm guitarist, lead singer, and spokesperson for the band.
Jane Smith: Graying? Graying?
That's like describing a blizzard as “snowing.” And "singer" might
be stretching it a bit.
Smith, a Home Ec teacher at Pleasant
Glen High School, is….
Smith: “A
smokin' hot babe who makes middle-age look good. As a
keyboardist and vocalist with the group, she also gives the band some
much needed class.”
So, Mr. Johnson, Ms. Smith has cast
aspersions on your singing ability. Based on other comments I've
heard, I have to ask... can you sing?
Johnson: “Well, yes. Of course
I can sing. You might not want me to sing.”
Smith: We've had to re-program
the auto-tune synth three times so far. Shout out to Matt “MC”
Currand, our electrical technician and roadie. We've relegated Jim to
lead screecher on the heavy metal tunes.
Johnson: We all serve our time
behind the microphone now.
Smith: It's harder to know who
to boo that way.
Bill Jones: I wouldn't call it
singing so much as “vocal stylings.” Remember William Shatner's
spoken word performances? We're not that good.
Pleasant Glen orthodontist Bill
Jones is the group's bassist and a founding member. Can you explain
how the group came together? Or, more curiously, why?
Jones: Our kids – who actually
do have talent – joined a high school rock band program at
the local music store. They teased us about taking an adult Learn to
Uke class... one thing lead to another....
Smith: One beer lead to
another. Each of us claimed to have the least musical talent....
Johnson: Dares were made....
Smith: Bluffs were called....
Johnson: Aspersions were cast.
You dirty, rotten aspersion caster.
Smith: I'll never live
that one down, will I?
Jones: And the next thing you
know, we all had signed up for lessons.
So you all play the ukulele?
Smith: Oh, God no. But it's not
for lack of trying. I've taken the beginning ukulele class three
times, and intermediate twice. I can play a “C” chord pretty
reliably. Or is that a “G” chord? Which one's the open one?
Jones: Jim and I switched to
electric guitars, because, well, they're electric and we're guys
so....
Johnson: And they're much more
expensive than ukuleles. Double bonus! Between the two of us we've
got the big three chords – C, G, D – down cold.
Jones: Ish. I still have a
little trouble with “G” too, Jane.
Smith: I know. Believe me. We
all know. Anyway, the kids were having so much fun, that we
decided not to let our lack of musical talent get in the way of
forming our own band.
Johnson: What we lack in talent
we more than make up for in enthusiasm.
Three chords? Doesn't that kind of
limit your play list?
Johnson: You'd be surprised how
many songs only have three chords.
Yeah, but... not the same
three chords.
Jones: You're right. And that's
what really sets the No Talent Slugs apart from … well, everyone
else. GCD, DAG, EBA, EAG, FBI, CIA....
Smith: It's still rock and roll
to me.
So you transpose those other chords?
Johnson: Pffft. Heck no. We just
play them as G, C or D.
Smith: Reminiscent of a song,
yet not a song.
Interesting. I can't... I can't
think of any other band to compare you to. Can you?
Johnson: We used to say we
played like first year band students.
Jones: Until the first year band
students threatened to sue us for defamation of character.
Smith: We've been compared to
Milli Vanilli.
Johnson: Technically, we were urged to lip synch.
Jones: And have someone else
play our instruments.
Smith: And appear on stage for
us.
Any chance you've been compared to
Spinal Tap?
Johnson: Dude. Our amps go up to
12.
Do you take requests?
Jones: We get a lot of requests
not to play.
Johnson: Really? From who?
Smith: Your wife. His wife. My
husband. The neighbors. Our kids. No, I take that back. The kids
upload videos of us to YouTube and wait for them to go viral.
Anything you won't play?
Smith: Billy Joel. His music is
sacrosanct.
Johnson: And he uses more than
three chords. Show off.
Jones: You'd think we could at
least play “Piano Man.” It's the same damn thing over and over
again.
Johnson: Yeah, but she can't
play the piano, man.
Smith: Aspersions cast,
aspersions carried.
Saturday's show will also be the
public debut of the band's newest (and quietest) member, Andrew
Jefferson James Washington, Accounting Professor at the local junior
college.
Johnson: He's the whitest black
boy you'll ever find.
Washington: I resemble that
remark.
Jones: He holds the dubious
distinction of having the least natural rhythm of us all. And that's
saying something. He's going to fit right in with our percussion
section.
But isn't rhythm kind of a
requirement for a percussionist?
Johnson: Not
necessarily. For us, anyway. Laurie Anderson, our drummer, sets a
pretty steady beat... for the most part. It depends on what she's
been working on that day.
Smith: She's
a clerk-typist at PG JuCo. If she's had to catch a lot of grammatical
and spelling errors that day she tends to be a little edgy. Sets a
quicker tempo. If something came in from the athletic director...
it's “Katy bar the door!”
Washington: “I may not have
much soul, but...”
Johnson: “Any. You don't have
any soul.”
Washington: “No, I don't have
any funk. I don't have much soul, but I play a mean
tambourine. I think. I've never actually played with a band before,
but I've got the moves down from watching “Josie and the Pussycats” cartoons. Mostly I just shake a paper plate along with the kitchen radio while I'm
getting dinner ready.”
Jones: I saw him playing air tambourine
at our neighborhood picnic and I knew he would fit right in.
Smith: We stole him away from
the Tambourine Tamers. They put up a good fight, but the group kind
of fell apart when the lead 'bourine developed tinnitus.
Washington: Rumor has it he was
experimenting with adding a triangle to the group.
Johnson: Sad, really. Know your
limits, I always say. Don't let them stop you, but know them.
Washington: I also had an offer
from Martha and the Accordion All-Stars.
Smith: You play the accordion?
Washington: Play... own...
potato, potahto. I was a punch card operator in another life.
Smith: Mad skills, A.J. ...J.
Mad skills.
Sad situations and, dare I say,
scandal, seem to lurk in the Slug's backstory, in particular when it
comes to percussionists....
Johnson: Ahh, yes. Patty the
Postal Worker, our original drummer. Such force, such precision, such
a stickler for the rules. You know, I really can't comment on her
situation, other than to say the court-ordered anger-management
classes conflicted with our practice schedule.
Sounds a little cliché.
Johnson: Isn't all rock cliché?
Washington: It's like Freud
said, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
Smith: Did Freud really say
that?
Washington: Beats me. But he
should have. Anyway, sometimes a postal worker goes postal. Don't we
all? But if you said “she went accountantal,” it just wouldn't
have the same... umph.
Smith: I can't believe you
didn't tell us about the Accordion All-Stars. You're a man of
mystery. I like that.
I have to say, you don't seem like
the stereotypical rock and roll band members. The talent limit, the
whole three chord thing, the white-collar jobs...
Smith: See? I told you I added
credibility to the band.
Jones: How
do you figure?
Smith: I spent one summer
filling all the tampon dispensers on the University of Iowa campus.
Definitely not white collar.
Washington: We're the new face
of “Dad Rock.”
Jones: We're not just the face. We're the gut, receding hairline and bifocals of “Dad Rock.”
Smith: You guys do look more
like Richard Simmons than Keith Richards.
Johnson: We're not a
typical band, or typical band members. Amy Yoder, our … well, we're
not really sure what Amy plays...
Jones: She calls it's “rock
oboe.”
Johnson: Ummm, yeah, we'll go
with that. Anyway, Amy works as a parking garage cashier...
Jones: In a pre-paid pass
only parking garage.
Johnson: She says if she didn't
have The Slugs, she'd go...
Washington: Accountantal? That
woman is hard core. Joan Jett has nothing on her. Except for talent.
Smith: Jon Nesmith, our theremin
player-slash-manager, works summers as a detasseling crew leader when
he's not holding a stop/slow sign for road construction crews.
Jones: And in the off season he
candles eggs and works as a mall Santa. He says he's used to herding
cats, so we keep his skills sharp.
So your band is a cure for mass
mid-life crises?
Johnson: No.
That name's been trademarked. And they protect it ferociously. We're
the No Talent Slugs. Or at least Pleasant Glen's No Talent Slugs.
Sheesh. And you call yourself a journalist. Try to keep up.
I'm beginning to think that's not
just soda that you're drinking.
Smith:
Reminiscent of a soda, yet....
Johnson: Now
who's casting ashpersh... asbergs... oh, you know what I mean.
Jones: We're
just a group of people who like music and have a good time playing
music.
Smith: But
through some horrible, horrible twist of fate, none of us have any
talent for it.
Washington:
We're very serious about our band. We couldn't be this bad
without being serious.
Johnson:
We're like the kids that always get picked last for the dodgeball
team, but who really like dodgeball. So we decided to make our own
damn team.
In a weird way, I think I kind of
get it. But what I don't get is why the legendary Bob Viner, owner of
The Bar, and avowed patron of the musical arts, the man
credited with launching the career of near-superstar recording artist
Joe Davenport of The Average Joes...
Smith: I had
Joe autograph my boob once, when I was in college.
Johnson: I
have Joe's autograph on a restraining order.
Jones: I
have Joe's partial crown on display in my office.
Washington:
Who's Joe?
My question is, why is Bob is
letting you play at The Bar? This is one of Eastern Iowa's
most popular and respected venues for live music. I've heard rumors of bribes. Care
to comment?
Johnson: No
bribes were exchanged. He lost that card game fair and square.
Washington:
Never bet against an accountant.
Smith: Boobs
for beads... or bookings.
Jones:
Nepotism is alive and well, right Uncle Bob?
Viner: You!
(Pointing at Jones) I'm not your Uncle. You! (Pointing at
Smith) Keep those things covered up. You. (Pointing at
Washington) Hand over the ten bucks you owe me. And you (Pointing
at Johnson) couldn't win a game of “Go Fish” if you cheated.
Because you did cheat. And I still beat you. Your friends better
drink as much as you say they do, or you'll be scrubbing toilets to
pay off your bar tab.
As for you, Miss
Reporter Lady, it's a fundraiser for the school. These yahoos play for free.
Fewer expenses equals more money raised. End of story.
Well, that clears that up. Any final
comments?
Jones: Get
there late. Leave early.
Smith: Drink
lots. Please.
Washington:
Tip your waitress... but, like, with money... don't actually tip her
over.
Johnson:
Support Pleasant Glen's Fine Arts, so your kids don't end up like us.
Viner: Amen.
For booking information, contact
jsalemink through this publication.
Viner: After
consulting a licensed health care provider.
No comments:
Post a Comment