Chapter 7
The Summer of Steve
(1987)
He’s a long distance man
And he keeps on going
’Cause it’s not worth blowing
And he does what he can
’Cause it’s not worth losing and
There ain’t no choosing
—R. Pollard, “Long Distance Man”1
December 13, 1986—a cold, clear Saturday night. Onstage in the steamy, beer-soaked Building Lounge, a trio of tousled, ragged kids called the New Creatures played ’60s-tinged rock. The crowd was distracted, disaffected; most had come to see the headliner, Milwaukee noise band Die Kreuzen.
But in the back of the room, Bob and Jimmy Pollard and Pete Jamison were intrigued. They drank and nodded their heads to the riffs. “Look at those guys,” Bob said. “They’re fuckin’ weird looking!”
Greg Demos, age twenty, growled the lead vocals and played guitar, Don Thrasher rumbled along on the kit, and Bill “Stinky” Hustad—affectionately known to his bandmates as Der Schtinkelheimer—towered over the band and dwarfed his bass.
During a particularly spirited number Der Schtinkelheimer busted a bass string. To fill the break, Demos strummed the guitar intro to Spirit’s “Nature’s Way.” Almost nobody in the club recognized it, but Demos kept playing.
Bob leaned over to Jimmy and said, “I know the harmony to this song.”
Bob arrowed through the crowd as though threading into the paint for a layup, mounted the stage with a leap and stuck the landing, took two steps to a live mic, and was already singing the backing vocal as he arrived: “It’s nature’s way of telling youuu… something’s wrong.…”
Greg heard a voice guiding him, but had no idea what was going on. After the show Thrasher explained what happened and Greg told him, “I thought I was hearing things. A fucking weird voice from another dimension.”
Bob returned to the table with Jimmy and Pete. At the next table Die Kreuzen’s lean lead singer Dan Kubinski lounged with a beer, and he eyeballed Bob as if to ask, “Is that the kind of shit you do in Dayton?” In fact, they did. Joining another band onstage was, and remains, one of the charms of Dayton musicians. So Bob did it all the time… if he liked the band.
If the Pollards, Mitchell, and Jamison didn’t like a band, they elevated heckling to a performance of its own. Clapping and cheering like they were at a football game after a band’s opening number. “Play one more, man! Just one more!” They’d dance ironically, or make a show of holding their noses. Sometimes they brought individually wrapped slices of processed cheese to throw at the band—with just the right aim the cheese would go fwap! onto the front man’s cheek and slide away in a smear of oil.
After the show Thrasher—who knew of the Pollard brothers and had followed Guided By Voices’ fledgling career—introduced himself and Demos to Bob. They cemented their friendship in Dayton’s traditional fashion: they got seventh-level-shutdown drunk.
“I like you guys,” Bob told the ten-years-junior Greg and Don. “You’re precocious.”
Greg shot back with characteristic acerbic wit, “No, I’m actually way older than you.”
And while technically untrue, Demos seemed an old soul. Bob says he’s always acted the same way, brash confidence paired with a rapid-fire sense of humor.
Later in the night’s fog of drinking, Bob insisted the New Creatures record their next release at Steve Wilbur’s 8-Track Garage. “It’ll be a scene,” Bob pledged, with GBV and Fig. 4 already planning to record there. Before long Demos and Thrasher were on board.
Bob and Jamison had copies of Devil Between My Toes, which would be released the following February. Already among the few Forever Since Breakfast fans, the New Creatures left the Building Lounge in the wee morning hours with advance copies of the new record.
Next morning, back at their house on Sixteenth Street in Columbus, Demos and Hustad listened to Breakfast before they tore the shrink wrap off Devil.* They were blown away. As the needle slid across dead wax to scuff the label’s edge, Demos and Hustad looked at each other in shock: What the fuck was that…?
“Put it on again,” said Demos. He called the album the “Revolver of the ’80s.”2
Over the next six months, Demos and Bob hung out often, sometimes getting hammered at D’Jack’s Mexican Food—Demos: “Like a Taco Bell, but with beer”—other times listening to music in the Snakepit with Bob and Jimmy. For most of that span Demos believed the brothers recorded “The Little Black Egg.” Of course, it was the Nightcrawlers who had popularized the song, but says Demos, “It sounded just like something they’d write.” Flabbergasted to learn the truth, he demanded facetiously of Pollard, “What else did you not write?”
Demos and Hustad proselytized Guided By Voices in Columbus, Ohio—a statement simultaneously less and more religious than it sounds. Once Pollard went over to their place and was shocked to find a bunch of twentysomethings (including women!) listening to the record. He thought, Oh shit—we’ve got some fans! Even that snippet of hope was enough.
ELSEWHERE IN THE MUSIC WORLD—a world that sometimes blared into focus from radios and televisions tuned to MTV, but remained mostly on Bob’s periphery—U2 still hadn’t found what they were looking for, Whitney Houston wanted to dance with somebody who loved her, Madonna asked who that girl was, and George Michael wanted sex. It was a good year for wanting things in music, and Bob wanted something too: a life making records.
The idea of a music collective surfaced one night while drinking at D’Jack’s. Since they all had labels at the time—the New Creatures had Scum-fish, Guided By Voices had Schwa and Halo, Fig. 4 had AF4—they decided to form a semiofficial association called Gotham City Music. Lacking a scene, they made their own.
Each LP insert was mocked up to look like a letter from Batman’s Commissioner Gordon on “Gotham City” stationery. A later letter, dated March 5, 1988, read:
Dear Friends:
Gotham City Music is a newly formed alliance from Dayton, Ohio. In order to broaden our audience, we submit to you these two releases from Guided By Voices and The New Creatures. We hope you will not only play and enjoy these recordings, but will consider them for rotation on your station.
Any questions, comments, or feedback would be appreciated. We sincerely thank you for your time and help exposing bands such as ours.
Your friend,
Commissioner Gordon
Gotham City Music
The bands wrote their own simultaneously praise-filled and self-effacing reviews, and stuck the hand-typed and mimeographed pamphlets into records sent to radio stations and magazines. Of Fig. 4’s eponymous 7-inch EP an insert proclaimed, “This forerunner of the Gotham City explosion combines trebly vocals, ringing guitars, drums that transcend tribal genres, and, and, and… impossible concentration.” For Guided By Voices’ debut Forever Since Breakfast it instructed, “Immediately after each listen, write the entire experience down. You’ll soon gain insight to decisions that will guarantee you a happier, healthier life.”3
“We were excited about it then,” Bob recalls with a hint of sadness. “In fact, after that nothing was ever that exciting again, really. You know?”
The bands merged into Gotham City in the summer of 1987 at the 8-Track Garage. “They were smart kids, the New Creatures,” Bob says. “We all needed help, so we were trying to help each other.” He reveled in the possibilities. Musically, unlike at home or school, he could do what he wanted. He could “fine-tune the sound and work out the melodies that were forever spinning around his head.”4
Although the sound was hit or miss for various reasons, what brought the bands together was affordability—it was hard to beat $15 an hour. As Guided By Voices prepared to record a follow-up to Devil Between My Toes, Fig. 4 worked on their eponymous LP, and the New Creatures recorded Rafter Tag.
Bob, Jimmy, Kevin, and Pete paid for the new GBV vinyl with a Teachers Credit Union loan. The band for Sandbox consisted of Bob on guitar and vocals, Jimmy on guitar, Mitch on bass, and Kevin on drums. Once they loaded in and turned on their Marshall tube amps, the heat exploded. Demos groans: “Hot as balls in the middle of the summer.”
There was no ventilation, so the garage turned into a pressure cooker. Everyone’s clothes were dark with sweat. The soundboard heated up, combining its ozone stench with compressed body odor, amps overheating, and Wilbur’s gray cigarette haze.
One summer night, after Demos and Hustad listened in on a GBV session, they went out late and bought an enormous “Family Size” bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Back at Wilbur’s with the chicken and a pail of coleslaw—adding a salt-and-grease tang to the pungent air—they realized they had no utensils. Not even a spork.
Fortunately, they had plenty of Charmin. So they started eating slaw with their bare hands, dripping sweat into it, a communal rock feast. “It didn’t even need salt,” Greg jokes. “You knew at that point we were brothers, man. If you can share a big thing of coleslaw like that…” He shakes his head. “Just nasty.”
They took a few beers and went out front to smoke and cool off. Pollard was touched when Hustad played “Sometimes I Cry” from Forever Since Breakfast on acoustic guitar and sang it. The fact that someone else took the time to memorize one of his compositions jolted him.
Another of Wilbur’s musical foibles that sometimes ran contrary to Pollard’s were his tastes: He was into Megadeth and Iron Maiden and their ilk. Pollard had a specific goal for the type of power-pop rock he was trying to record, but Wilbur often just didn’t understand it. Demos says, “[Engineers] wanted to try to impose their will onto what Bob was doing.”
For all his quirks, Wilbur was a shit-hot guitarist. He had a small room with a rocking chair in the middle of it, and he’d lean back with his Les Paul and weave incredible leads. “He could smoke,” says Bob. “Northridge is the mecca of smoking, overweight guitar players—Leslie West types.” Wilbur quietly contributed guitar parts to a fair number of Guided By Voices’ classic numbers. “When something’s really good,” Bob confides, “that’s how you can tell Wilbur was on it.”*
But if the band had been on the right track with Devil Between My Toes and its eclectic collage-like statement, in retrospect Bob feels they careened off the rails on Sandbox. The band rented higher-end equipment, trying to make it sound like a polished power-pop record. Bob dismisses that tactic: “We got stupid again.”
Billed as “A Production Of… Gotham City Music,” the LP appeared on Halo Records—a clean break from the enigmatic Schwa. Despite missteps, Sandbox contained far more hints of the distinctive sound and style Bob would hone for Guided By Voices.
The Rupert Pupkin–esque announcer’s declaration at the end of “Lips Of Steel” and “Get To Know The Ropes”…
Back by popular demand
For your entertainment and spiritual enlightenment—
Electric Jam Soul Aquarium!
presaged Bob’s later commentaries on capitalism’s ridiculous promises and disposable pleasures. The operatic movements and time changes of “Barricade” prefigured his later prog-rock suites. “The Drinking Jim Crow” reveled in the sort of grinding, minor-key riff Bob would later perfect. “Trap Soul Door” summarized countless recriminations with a poignant couplet: “Just one spark makes a hell of a fire. I’m still wrong but you’re still a liar.” A spontaneous studio composition, “Common Rebels” highlighted the developing musical interplay between Fennell and Mitchell, and “Long Distance Man” put a spotlight on the band’s lush, gorgeous melodies.
In his Forced Exposure zine, Byron Coley dinged the band for an overabundance of Beatles allusions, but called the LP “a fuckin’ fine freak-out of happenin’ muscle-pop.” After coining a compliment—“slammy tuneshit”—Coley compared the band to “everybody from the Outcasts to Game Theory on PCP” and summed it as “a solid slug of Midwest gtr-pop/garage sike [sic].”5
The cover—a photograph of Jimmy (in Beatle boots), Mitch and Bob (both nursing enormous beers), and Kevin on a grassy lawn—is somewhat conventional in comparison to Bob’s other albums, even when adorned with a fairy drawing by his childhood friend Mark Greenwald.
Writer Gordon Anderson just about knifed the LP and left it for dead in Nostradamus magazine. “It’s post–Big Star power pop of the most generic variety, with a little Left Banke preciousness sprinkled on for flavor,” Anderson wrote, summarizing his criticisms: “thin production, poor vocals, derivative songwriting, etc.”6
“FIRST AND FOREMOST, WE HAD to fucking look good,” Bob says, “because we weren’t good.” He kept on the band about their image—stressing the importance of outfit and performance—and arranging photo shoots around Dayton whenever he could.
“I thought Jimmy looked the coolest of all of us,” Sprout says. Bob had fired people in the past for not having the right look, and if anything the chip on his shoulder grew more pronounced as Guided By Voices’ prospects improved and his confidence increased. “If you’re going to be onstage,” he insisted, “you’ve got to give them something extra.”
After the Sandbox recordings, Pollard planned a photo session and let the band know—thus setting in motion a sequence of events that may have inspired the unreleased track “Fisticuffs On Arthur Ave.” Bob wore his band captain’s jacket and bowling shoes. They were all drinking Jack Daniel’s. “You have to drink Jack Daniel’s for photo sessions.” Bob typically didn’t smile for photographs, at least when he remembered not to. “[Jack] also makes you mean. You gotta look mean.”
About a half hour past the scheduled time, Jimmy still hadn’t shown up. Bob began to simmer, then to boil, a process not ameliorated by having drunk a half liter of Jack.
Bob phoned Jimmy at their parents’ house and gritted his teeth. Jimmy answered. “Hello?” Casual, nonchalant.
Bob controlled his voice. “What’s goin’ on, man?”
“Not much,” Jim said. “Just over at Mom and Dad’s playing cards.”
“Playing cards? Aren’t you in the band?”
Jim didn’t reply.
“Are you in the band, Jimmy? Are you in Guided By Voices?”
Jim grew angry. “Well, fuck you, Bob.”
“Fuck you!”
“You’re a pussy, Bob. Fuck you.” Jim knew a little about needling his brother too.
“We’ll see about that,” Bob said, the whiskey talking. “I’ll be right over.”
Bob knew all too well Jim was in his prime and fully capable of beating his ass. So he grabbed his baseball bat—the Tennessee Thumper—and drove to his parents’ house on Arthur Avenue, muttering curses the whole way. The tires squealed as he shot into the driveway.
The Pollards were ready. Jim and Bob Sr. burst from the front door at a dead run before Bob could climb out of the car. They headed straight at him.
“Back up!” Bob brandished the baseball bat. “All I want to do is talk!”
But this was two Pollards to one. They circled, wrestled, struggling to extract the bat from Bob’s grip. Bob yanked the Thumper out of Jimmy’s grasp and the butt end tagged Bob Sr. in the ribs. He went down howling, clutching his side.
“Bobby!” Carol screamed. “You asshole!”
Finally Jim overpowered Bob and took away the bat. Bob got up, grass-stained, disheveled, and drunk, sobbing his eyes out. He sputtered, “You pussy-whipped motherfuckers! Got a fuckin’ ball and chain on your ankles. Fuckin’ let your old ladies run your lives!”
Dayton’s finest rolled up, some neighbor having summoned them when the brawl began on the Pollards’ lawn. The cops let it go and drove off.
Bob released years of frustration.
Carol patted him on the back. “OK, Bobby,” she said. “It’s OK.”
After a while Bob cleaned himself up and went to finish the photo session. Jimmy didn’t.
THE FOLLOW-UP TO SANDBOX WAS originally slated as The Everlasting Big Kick, a six-song EP. An imagined product of “The Greatest League of All Time!,” the release would have included songs called “Stumbling Blocks To Stepping Stones,” “Once In A While,” and “Bird”—six acoustic Lennon/Barrett–like ramblings. The cover was Bob Sr. smoking a cigarette. According to Greg Demos, the EP also included Bob’s “best guitar lead of all time.” But the band was forced to scrap the release when Demos lost the tape.
* Probably the first instance of what Pollard fans call the “Alpha/Omega.” Pollard engaged in the ritual as well. After they made Devil Between My Toes, they always had to listen to Forever Since Breakfast before they could play the new one. Before Sandbox, they had to listen to the first two in order. And so forth through Propeller. “Then it got difficult,” Pollard says.
* Guided By Voices songs on which Steve Wilbur is known to have played shit-hot lead guitar: “Psychic Pilot Clocks Out (Intro),” “Dying To Try This,” “Daughter Of The Gold Rush,” “Dancing With The Answers,” “Soul Flyers,” “Taco, Buffalo, Birddog And Jesus,” “Barricade,” “Navigating Flood Regions,” “An Earful O’ Wax,” “Chief Barrel Belly,” “Hey Hey, Spaceman,” “White Whale,” “Trampoline,” “The Great Blake Street Canoe Race,” “Slopes Of Big Ugly,” “Radio Show (Trust The Wizard),” “Dust Devil,” “Paper Girl,” “Long Way To Run,” “Short On Posters,” “Can’t Stop,” “We’ve Got Airplanes,” “The Qualifying Remainder,” and “What About The Rock? (Outro).”