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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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First Communion Afterparty: A farm near Portland
Wednesday 04 April @ 13:42:41 |
  by CHARLIE VAUGHAN
Walking through downtown Minneapolis, I come across an old bum. He's holding a small cardboard sign that reads "Hungry and Separated from Family. Please Help." Except there's no punctuation or capitalization. It's a warm afternoon with a long low smear of cloud, the saddest color of gray, stretching over the city.
"Can you spare a few extra dollars?"
"Extra dollars?" I laugh. "Sorry, I'm a rock critic."
"I was a writer once," the bum says suddenly. He motions to me for a cigarette. "Before I was taken onto a boat and made retarded."
"Sounds awful."
He takes a cigarette and sighs, "Now I just want to get back to my family."
"Good luck." I light the cigarette and push on down the street. There's a coffee shop two blocks west where I'm scheduled to meet Liam Watkins and Mama Carin of First Communion Afterparty. During the next three hours I'll hear the word "family" used no fewer than 15 times. The image of the bum and his ugly cardboard will hang around far longer.
Liam Watkins is a thin man with big ideas: moving the band to Portland, buying some land, founding a commune. "The ultimate goal is to start a commune and live with our family and friends. We've got a group of at least thirty people who believe in this. Who believe in our unit, our music, our idea," he states, his eyes steady, without a trace of humor.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or start packing my bags. We have abandoned the coffee shop for a drink at the posh and tony restaurant around the corner and the bourgeois atmosphere is fucking with my brain. It's a weird place to riff on communes and rock and roll. The old woman working the hostess stand was reluctant to seat us and her eyes fill with horror when I keep pressing for a booth. I mention arm wrestling. It's fairly certain none of the well-heeled diners will ever read this article.
"On a basic level," says Mama Carin, sipping from a slender gin and tonic, "Liam and I have been best friends our whole lives. We love making music together and if we can find a group of people who want to make music and live on a commune, raise our families … that's the final goal."
Liam spreads a warm smile and runs his palms over the wooden table. "What could be a better idea of Heaven?"
I can think of a few things--but he's pretty close. We finish our drinks and Liam heads to the bathroom. Outside on the sidewalk, it feels comfortable talking with Mama Carin. She is still a girl--age is a tender spot for all of First Community Afterparty--but it's easy to see she is going to be one hell of a woman. She's already a singer, a percussionist, a shaker and a mother to the band. We feel each other out until Liam returns and then we all head under the freeway to their practice space.
I've never seen First Communion Afterparty perform. I have never heard a song. They have not released an album. I probably heard about them the same way you did: word of mouth from their live shows. First Communion Afterparty is in the first stages of sudden local popularity, but that might be changing. The band is coming off an appearance at the South by Southwest music festival in Austin, Texas. The earth is beginning to turn under their feet. They know all of this as we head down the stairs inside a plain warehouse.
 The rest of the band is waiting. The practice space is a small, oddly shaped room with tapestries on the walls and a mess of cables running everywhere. It's crowded, but there's room for everyone. And there's a bunch of us today: Liam and Mama, Sarah Rose, Sister Marie, Mara, Jane Magnitude and Kieran Holcomb. Five girls and two guys plus myself make eight; First Communion Afterparty and a rock critic shuttered in a basement under the freeway. The two weirdos sitting on a spare couch makes ten. One of the weirdos wears fat black sunglasses and has a high forehead--he looks like a member of the lame gang in "Grease." Everyone is pleasant, if a little mannered.
The band starts playing a song that pushes calmly toward the cliff. Then it stops and a guitar is tuned. It starts over and stops again. A guitar is tuned. The song starts again and something's wrong. A tuning pedal is produced. Everyone starts again and it's great. They run through a solid hour of material with me three feet away. I watch them move together through tight spaces with a grace familiar to all close friends and fall into the rhythm of a bittersweet tambourine. I can feel the drums … the message … the bond. It's a damn fine Saturday afternoon.
First Communion Afterparty's music belongs to a distinct family: psychedelic rock. It's true: there is no other honest way to describe it. The point is they belong. Their sound is built on psychedelic bands you've heard and some you haven't. There is nothing unfamiliar but there's a fresh personality behind it. With seven band members it would be easy to get tangled up in too many limbs, but that never happens. Each song is an artful balance of dual guitars, bass, keyboard, tambourines, drums, floor tom and vocals from all over. The songs stay with me like the devilish stink of gasoline on your hands. I feel good and wicked.
Afterward we all sit together around two shitty couches. The idea is to press them on questions about a Pulse-sponsored residency at the Nomad in April and the band's mix of sexes. I end up just watching them interact with each other. It's like being at someone else's Thanksgiving dinner. I cannot understand half of what they're saying. They speak their own language, laughing at each other's jokes, huddling together, taking turns running over a shared memory, finishing each other's thoughts, making plans, sharing secrets. It's beautiful and warm and makes me root for them.
When I leave the warehouse, it's dark and raining. The damp air tastes good. Lights from a parking lot burn high into the sky, but I look further and see a beautiful night. A beautiful night with hearts, moons, stars, clovers, horseshoes, pots of gold, rainbows and red balloons. And a little farm on the outskirts of Portland. I think about the old bum and wonder if he'll ever find his family. I'm suddenly rooting for him, too. ||
First Communion Afterparty perform on Thu., Apr. 5 at the Nomad World Pub as part of the Minneseries with Plastic Chord, Stand Alone Burner and Calusa. 9 p.m. Free. 21+. 501 Cedar Ave. S., Mpls. 612-338-6424. They also play Fri., Apr. 6 at Big V's with Mystery Palace, Belles of Skin City and Buildings. 9 p.m. $5. 21+. 1567 University Ave. W., St. Paul. 651-645-8472. For more info on First Communion Afterparty, check out their MySpace page at myspace.com/firstcommunionafterparty.
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