Late to the Party--15-60-75: The Numbers Band's "Jimmy Bell's Still in Town" (1976)

While the music scenes based around Los Angeles and New York City get most of the press, Northern Ohio produced a healthy number substantial musical acts in the 1970s. Devo, Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders, Pere Ubu, and The Dead Boys all originated there, and so did lesser-known but no less brilliant groups like Rocket from the Tombs, The Electric Eels, Ex-Blank-Ex, Tin Huey, and The Waitresses. One of the hidden gems of the Kent, Ohio scene has remained 15-60-75, also known more simply as The Numbers Band. They formed in 1970 and are still active to this very day, primarily playing in small clubs in Ohio. The band has counted among its alumni Gerald Casale (later a founding member of Devo), David Robinson (who drummed in the original line-up of The Modern Lovers and in The Cars), Terry Hynde (Chrissie Hynde's brother), and Chris Butler (the leader of Tin Huey and the primary songwriter of The Waitresses, who had a MTV hit in the early 1980s with "I Know What Boys Like"). To most experts, their crowning achievement is their 1976 live album Jimmy Bell's Still in Town. It was recorded June 16th, 1975 at the Agora in Cleveland. Reportedly, The Numbers Band was the opening act for Bob Marley and the Wailers. When it was released in album form a year later, it appeared on their Water Records label, getting little distribution, and quickly falling into obscurity. Long since championed by David Thomas of Pere Ubu (who currently releases the album on his Hearpan Records label), it has maintained a small but loyal group of listeners.

Jimmy Bell's Still in Town is a remarkably tight set, and each of its five tracks flow smoothly into each other, as if there are no breaks between the songs. It is also rather difficult to categorize. Ostensibly, The Numbers Band are a roadhouse blues rock band. The title of the album even refers to an obscure blues 1958 song by Cat Iron called "Jimmy Bell." Their ten minute cover of the song, on Side Two, is without question the centerpiece of the album. While the stamp of the blues is all over this record, it is a remarkably off-kilter variation on the form. It hints at Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band's 1968 Mirror Man sessions, but is far more cohesive. Similarly, the lineup and musical arrangement of The Numbers Band is highly unusual by blues band standards. They have two guitarists (frontman Robert Kidney and Michael Stacy), a bassist (Drake Gleason), and a drummer (the aforementioned David Robinson), which is not all that aberrant. However, their sound is augmented by three saxophonists (Robert Kidney's brother Jack, Terry Hynde, and Tim Maglione). Their ensemble playing is disquieting and discordant, their horns often slipping slightly out of pitch. When they solo, they owe more to Ohio native Albert Ayler than to, say, Jr. Walker or King Curtis. The guitar solos vary range traditional blues workouts to oblique motifs that foreshadow the playing of Tom Verlaine or a more restrained Robert Quine. As a result, Jimmy Bell's Still in Town is an album in which comparisons to the first two Bruce Springsteen LPs and later recordings such as Pere Ubu's The Modern Dance, Television's The Blow-Up, and Morphine's Cure for Pain are all appropriate. It is not an album that necessarily resonates on first spin, though. This is because the material is so uniformly constructed and tightly delivered that it's often difficult to distinguish when they are improvising or deviating from the structure of the tunes. Vocalist Robert Kidney's vocals are largely free from emotion or theatricality, which can give off the initial impression that he is not all that enthusiastic about the material. But once you recognize the powerful and unusual grooves they are able to develop and pursue, it becomes a thoroughly rewarding experience.

Jimmy Bell's Still in Town is available from Hearpan Records' website.

Below is an audio clip of "Jimmy Bell."

Late to the Party: Debris' [1976]

The pre-history of punk rock is usually based around hip, cosmopolitan urban areas. The Velvet Underground, the New York Dolls, and The Dictators were based out of New York City; the MC5 and The Stooges in Ann Arbor, Michigan (just outside of Detroit); Pere Ubu, Devo, and Rocket from the Tombs out of Cleveland; and The Modern Lovers in Boston. These groups, who were far from popular during their own time (with the exception of Devo), have subsequently been elevated into the realm of the legendary thanks to a perceptive group of rock historians and cultural critics who were heavily influenced by these vibrant, perceptive, and prophetic artists. Thanks in part to texts like Lester Bangs' posthumously published anthology Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung (1988) and Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain's Please Kill Me (1997), these otherwise obscure groups have been unwittingly canonized and are now casually mentioned by some rock n' roll aficionados in the same company as The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. One group, however, that you will not read about in these histories is Chickasha, Oklahoma's Debris' (yes, there is an intentional apostrophe after the "s" in their name). Their self-titled debut, released in a private pressing of 1,000 copies in 1976, makes the argument that they should.

For those that don't know, Chickasha, Oklahoma is a small city located about forty miles southwest of Oklahoma City. Prior to the success of The Flaming Lips, the pride of Oklahoma City, in the early 1990s, the city was not exactly known for its punk rock bona fides. With this in mind, the mere existence of a group like Debris' should seem like some sort of proto-punk rock miracle. Helping advance this thesis is the relatively high quality of the music and just how many similarities it shares with the more legendary acts of that time period. Consisting of Charles ("Chuck Poison") Ivey, O. (Oliver) Powers (both assuming various duties on guitar, bass, and synthesizer), and drummer Johnny Gregg, the trio--with help from a session saxophonist, drummer, and female background vocalist--reportedly, as per the boast on the album's back cover, pumped out this well-rehearsed material in "Six hours and 59 minutes." In this relatively short period of time, spread across two different sessions in December 1975 and January 1976, they incorporate their influences (which the group notes on their myspace page include "The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, Captain Beefheart, and English glam rock") and produce sounds vocal yelps comparable to Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Alan Vega of Suicide (both of whom had yet to release anything), and David Thomas of Pere Ubu. The stuttering rhythms of their guitar playing, the free jazz textures of session musician Richard Davis's saxophone, and the sharp bursts of noise that emanate from their synthesizers draw immediate comparisons to the aforementioned Pere Ubu, Robert Quine of the Voidoids, early "hardcore" Devo, and The Silver Apples. Thanks to record collector Karl Ikola, the founder of Anopheles Records, Debris' was re-issued (and re-christened Static Disposal, the name of the group's short-lived record label) for the first time in 1999 on CD (with numerous bonus tracks) and again on vinyl in 2008.

As exciting as this all sounds, let us not confuse the historical importance of this album's anomalous existence with the quality of the material on it. As an album, it is more often than not good, sometimes great. It often meanders, especially on the longer tracks. Similarly, some of the material is just not that strong ("Witness" and "Boy Friend," for instance). That being said, there is plenty to like here. The opener, "One Way Spit," begins with Charles Ivey retching into the microphone as he counts off the track. This is a fitting introduction to the album, foreshadowing the spastic sounds that would follow, insuring their obscurity, especially as an Oklahoman rock act, in 1976. Another highlight is the sludgy "Tricia," as desperate a love song one is likely to hear, complete with a power tool to create added texture (and long before Eddie Van Halen, it's worth noting!). Side One ends with another favorite, "Leisurely Waiting," which features a pulsating two chord sequence that is rendered all the more unsettling by Ivey's vocals. Side Two begins with the most accessible track on the album in "New Smooth Lunch/Manhattan," a fun romp that foreshadows something like "Gut Feeling" from Devo's debut LP, and manages to stay surprisingly catchy despite spazz-skronk guitar runs worthy of inclusion on Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica. After two decent cuts in "Tell Me" and "Flight Taken," the album unfortunately ends with its weakest number in "Blue Girls," which is also, not surprisingly, the slowest number on the album. Ultimately, Debris' may come across as a novelty to those listeners with an inflexible conception of proto-punk. However, it is more than just a curio. It is an interesting piece of outside-outsider music that is refreshingly relevant, far more so than it was for the Oklahomans who were (un-)lucky enough to hear it back in '76.

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Listen to Debris' on their myspace page.