The text came out of the blue.
"I want to sing for a punk band. Put a band together and I'll sing for it."
Okay, those might not have been the exact words he used, but it was something to that effect. The "he" I'm referring to is my brother, Matt, and by the direction and tone of his email, his wanting to sign for a band was now my problem.
I use the word "problem" loosely. I was up for starting a band. I always am. I'm always writing music too, so it wasn't a major ask.
The issue was that I didn't know my brother was even interested in being a singer. We hadn't discussed it. Ever. I also didn't know what he meant by punk. Our musical tastes overlap, for sure. In fact, he introduced me to many of the punk bands I've been listening to for decades (e.g., Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, The Alarm (lol), and the like). Plus, we have a shared history of the etched-in-stone playlist that 97 Rock has been beating to death for (at least) the five decades I've been on this planet, so there's that too. And yet, somewhere along the line I began to supplement the rock and punk with harder stuff. First hardcore. Then thrash metal. Then death and doom metal.
My musical tastes notwithstanding, I just started writing songs and recording them. Whatever I happened to come up with was fine. We'd sort it out later. I also began reaching out to musicians I knew to see if they'd be interested. It was harder than I expected. Musicians are a flaky bunch, it's true, but my inability to articulate a vision for what this new musical venture would entail probably didn't help, either.
Eventually, I shared my failure with my bro. To my surprise, he didn't really care. He was content to just put words to the music I'd been making on my own. That music consisted of pre-recorded drum tracks, the grooviest basslines I could come up with, and whatever guitar riffs meshed with the bass. It wasn't really punk (at least not to me) and it definitely wasn't metal … I didn't really know what it was aside from a fun and oddly exhilarating creative outlet — and, fortunately, my bro was into it. Now, all it needed was a name.
I keep a list of band names on my phone and somewhere near the top of it was "Clown Teeth." I envisioned using it for some kind of Cramps-like dirty, sleazy punk/rock band that performed songs about eating from the garbage and being drunk in church. Put simply, it's got an element of "ick" to it that I find appealing. (What that says about me, I'm not sure, but no need to unpack that right now. I'll take it up with my therapist.) Anyway, when I suggested "Clown Teeth" as the name for our band, Matt immediately approved. (Maybe he can take it up with his therapist too.)
Admittedly, the music I shared with my brother didn't necessarily have that dirty, sleazy
character, although I think a few of our songs come close (i.e., "Thank You Notes").
Either way, it hasn't been an issue. Whenever anyone asks me about Clown Teeth, I describe it as "pure creativity," and by that I mean there are no rules. So, while I may have "envisioned" using Clown Teeth for a Cramps-like dirty, sleazy punk/rock band, I confess I am under no pressure to attain that ideal.
When it comes to writing Clown Teeth music, there are no genres whose parameters I try to respect or no particular audience I'm trying to reach. I go where my ideas take me and I believe my bro taps into that vibe when he writes the lyrics. This is how Clown Teeth should be and it explains why our songs are all over the place. (Consider the difference between "I Wig Out" and "Burlington,” or “Clown Tooth Boy” and “Jesus Lives in Buffalo” — you'll see what I mean.)
This, I believe, is a good thing. I hope you agree.
(TO BE CONTINUED....)
コメント