Vexar Entertainment Articles

Bellingham in July

Dave Stanley - 7/10/07

The smell of barbeque... the sounds of an acoustic jam band hashing out Robert Johnson numbers... the cool breeze from the water harmonizing perfectly with the pink sunset as it gives way to dusk. Memphis in May? Not quite...try Bellingham in July.

My impromptu sojourn from the Land of Elvis to the Birthplace of Grunge and Modern Rock has taught me much, from quirky dialect subtleties to higher costs of living to mildew prevention. And for the most part, I feel better for it...more mature, uh...'worldly' if you will. Yet there is one lesson this self-proclaimed renaissance man missed until just recently: the far reaching influence of Southern music.

Blues has the clues, indeed; the more things change, the more they stay the same. And it was a lesson learned immediately upon my arrival here: on a Sunday night, I was exposed to the Wednesdays, a power trio from Alabama. "Like a thousand coal mining hammers" from the Old South, home of the Burning Church. Personally, I was awash in a wave of nostalgia. Yet much to my surprise, the uber-hip kids up here dug the hell out of it. The next month, I discovered the DTÕs; the hard soul outfit who write and play the best songs that late-70Õs AC/DC never wrote. They're regulars and local favorites up here...when they're not touring Europe. And so my metaphorical journey back home began.

Bellingham Bay, WA

In many ways, a good majority of the music up here is "out there," as some of my southern compadres would describe it. But, in a paradoxical twist, what seemingly defies convention simultaneously reminds one of the roots of Rock and Roll. Forget the formulaic 'intro/ verse/ chorus/ verse/ what- would-Boston- do' school of thought, this for those who like it raw. It is the jammin' juxtaposition of 'out there' having a one night stand with Chuck Berry in a sweaty, backwoods honky-tonk with Jerry Lee Lewis there to film it. It's the classic irony of a group of disenfranchised, anti-establishment rockers doing their own thing, with only raw energy and bare-bones technical accuracy as their respective guides, getting back to the true spirit and roots of the old school they were rebelling against in the first place.

The other day, as I was looking out at a Bellingham Bay sunset, cooking up a New York-style pizza with a barbeque Southern twist, I saw an advertisement for the Deming Log Show Blues Festival, featuring Coco Montoya and Jeff Healy among others. It's almost sold out. I suppose this Memphis man isnÕt so out of place after all.

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