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Dark Meat: Key Bumps, Communism, and Hard Work

by The Bridge
04/26/2006

photo of Dark Meat taken by Rich Merritt

Dark Meat are a bunch of communists, I have decided. Zen communists. You know how poli-sci majors are always saying that communism is great in theory, but inevitably a failure in practice? The theory of Dark Meat works kind of like that, only in reverse. I remember a friend of mine explaining why she skipped one of their first shows, even after a member enthusiastically invited her to attend. "He said it was, like fourteen people all playing at once, horns and guitars and bells and whistles, and running around and doing whatever they wanted. I said, 'That sounds awful.'"

It's really not. Almost every review of a Dark Meat show contains some remark along the lines of "This shouldn't work, but it does." As trumpet player Roosevelt "Chips" Cantrell (yes, it's a nickname. Everyone in the band has "at least two") pointed out, it works because they work, and they work hard. Practices are pretty frequent and, while there may be an improvisational spirit, "There's a clear structure to all of it. Those songs are played the same every time." Well, maybe not to a T. "Last Saturday's show was a little rough, not our best," he admitted. "We were way too drunk."

photo by Rich Merritt

An afternoon porch party appparently left, by Cantrell's estimation, two thirds of the band in a slightly altered state when they took the stage. There is also the problem of keeping everyone in synch when the band is broken up into the disparate groupings that a venue as small as the Caledonia neccessitates. Not that they haven't done it before. According to trombonist Aaron Jollay (his real name - I don't know his nickname. My apologies for resorting to reality), several of the dates on their last tour took them to clubs that size or smaller.

At any rate, I have to agree with Cantrell's assessment of last Saturday as not quite the Meat's finest hour. Still, at least half of the fun is the spectacle, and Saturday was full of the usual theatrics. For the unitiated out there, Dark Meat is a loud, bombastic 15-or-so piece, which boasts a horn section known as the Vomit Lasers, a bevy of strong-piped backup singers called the Sub-Tweeters, two drummers, two guitars, a bass, and a rotating cast of what the band calls "key bumps": hyper, audience-participation happy extras that play various icing instruments (there has been an organ, panpipes, a didjeridoo, an accordian, and a kazoo or two...) whilst running madly about, encouraging mayhem.

photo by Rich Merritt

As busy as this all sounds, it is true that Dark Meat's sets are centered around songs that are generally quite coherently structured. Despite the fact that the band began as a four piece Neil Young cover band, they mostly play originals. According to Cantrell, there were no covers Saturday, which leads me to assume that singer/guitarist Jim - or, rather, F. D'Artagnon - Boughnier was fucking with us: "This next one's by a band called the Ferrets. Ever heard of them?" I diligently wrote that down in my notes. When am I gonna learn that rock stars are liars?

Anyhoo, Dark Meat's set was fast and loose and not without mishap - the bassist, who goes by the charming moniker Dr. Cal Barfton, apparently fell off the stage at one point. "I was worried about the possibility of [Barfton] breaking a bass string, since he was the only bassist we had that night. But he when he fell on it, he broke the whole fucking bass in half," Cantrell laughed. Despite the unsually disjointed nature of the show, the Meat managed to impress the crowd and lay out some good times. The Sub-Tweeters were in top form. Even though they were one girl short (regular member Claire Campbell was in Peru), the girls' deep soul wailing was always audible over the top of the cacaphony, a sort of sultry eye in the testosteronated storm.

photo by Rich Merritt

Dark Meat's party vibe always infects the audience. They've gotta be one of the only bands in Athens today that actually gets results when they suggest that folks start dancing. Roughly hewn or not, it's difficult to resist the surly pulse of bombastic sing-alongs like "Well Fuck You Then." Whether or not they're operating at peak performance levels, Dark Meat is always aiming for the common good. "We love each other, we love you, we just love everyone," a drunken Barfton assured the crowd at the beginning of the set. Which is when I decided that they are communism perfected. That's why it didn't work in the Soviet Bloc - they forgot the love.

Drakkar Sauna, a two-piece from Kansas, followed Dark Meat - not an enviable spot in the line up, they noted. But their charming, whiskey-whining folk managed to win over the remains of the crowd (there was a sort of drunken exodus once the Meat blew offstage, leaving me to assume that a good bit of the crowd had been porch-partying themselves), myself included. Drakkar Sauna are a very bare-bones set up. One guy played the kick drum with one foot and a tambourine with the other while playing what looked and sounded like a harmonium, while the other dude strummed an acoustic. Their songs tended towards the slightly morbid lyricism of classic moonshine-style country, with frequent references to mortality and religion. These dudes harmonize rather well, performing a lovely whistling duet at one point. They both share a drony vocal style that goes quite nicely with the harmonium. The tunes had a somnulent, woozy appeal offset by the warm tenor of the vocals and a gentle sense of self-parody in the guys' demeanor.

photo by Rich Merritt

As for Phosphorescent, the evening's headliners - well, it was apparently a very interesting show. Frontman Matthew Houck was the only member present. According to some (fairly reliable) wagging tongues, he is now the only member, period. Rumors abound as to why that is, and none of them are worth repeating - I'm sure these folks have their reasons. At any rate, one of Dark Meat's freashest key bumps, a friendly spirit named Kayla, took pity on Houck ("He looked lonely," she explained) and jumped onstage to play drums for him. "But I suck at drums. So [Dark Meat drummer] Jason Robeira asked if he could take over, and I said hell yeah."

I talked to a couple of different people about the set - one guy called it "powerful," and the other one said it was "a bunch of bullshit." I'm telling you what they said because I dropped the ball on this one. I was, truth be told, a bit too tipsy by this point and had to go outside for fresh air. Purely in the interest of good journalism, I had finished out the night with a couple of ill-advised shots of tequila while chatting with a couple of the "key bumps" from Dark Meat. Be forewarned: Audience participation with this band can be deadly. The Meat's Party Manifesto is a powerful one.

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