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Gonzo Report: Substitute Gym Teacher levels the crowd at Tower Bar
Closing the show amid a feeling of glee
Who would ever want to be spared The Gruesome Details?
“We love this place. So, even if something bad happens, we’ll still love these.” Newlywed Summer is referring to the matching tattoos she and her husband Dimitry got of The Tower Bar to commemorate their recent nuptials. They’re not alone in their bodily expressions of admiration for the City Heights bar. A collage inside the club has been created from pictures of tattoos of the iconic landmark on various body parts. It’s tempting to say that Tower Tattoo, located above the venue, makes it easy to get impulsive permanent homages, and that there may be some regrets in the future. But I don’t get that sense at all. There’s always a current of respect for the place, and a feeling of glee when attending shows here — as an observer or performer.
Locals Kenny Hill, The Gruesome Details, and Substitute Gym Teacher are joined by Lady Hump from Los Angeles — that last outfit is making its Tower Bar debut as performers, though they’ve eaten here during motorcycle rides when food was served. I catch up with Joseph the doorman and talk music in general and metal in particular. (A light bulb goes off over my head when he cites Metallica’s Garage Inc. as the single most important album of his generation. That covers collection led many to deep dive into bands and solo artists ranging from s Mercyful Fate and Nick Cave.) Kenny Hill starts the live music off with a literal solo set with him and his guitar providing the tunes. He’s played for over a decade with psychobilly band The Black Jackets, but is playing more on his own lately.
Outside, Kat Robershaw of The Pictographs tells me we got the same memo to smoke. I put her on the spot for a quote and wind up in an open-ended conversation about art as healing therapy. We talk about peeling off a layer of trauma, only to discover another one beneath it. It’s not until the light hits her face at a certain angle that I notice her pupils are red. It’s gotta be the light. They have to be contacts. Right? My brain is taking one of its detours when Lady Hump starts in, singing songs about serial killers to cutting melodies, drummer Danielle beating the drums like they owe her money. Between bands, “Subway Train” by New York Dolls is playing. It sets off “Vietnamese Baby” in my noggin — another stop along the detour. It’s the lyric “Everything connects and that ain’t nowhere.” It’s my favorite Dolls song, so it’s logical that hearing the band sets off euphoric recall. Or is it more that everything here seems to connect?
I meet Zach Simsay of Mythraeum, a band he plays in with my with my cousin-by-marriage Anthony Vivoli and a coworker of Dustin Blackesthart, the bass player for The Gruesome Details — who posted about the show on Facebook. Blackesthart has nerded with me and Joseph about the relative merits of Nosferatu, and his band sings songs about a creature from the gruesome lagoon. My kind of subject! When not extolling the coolness of monsters, vocalist Mark Darkly creates comic books. Well, at least one that he’s giving away at the makeshift merch table. He promises that though it’s full of bodily function humor, they’re new jokes — and he’s a man of his word.
The bartender, Heather, is the epitome of patience as she tells a man to close out his tab. The slapdick decides to engage in what Joseph calls “crowd killing” by throwing ninja kicks at people and glass drinkware, resulting in the Joseph the Doorman’s involvement. As the smackpecker leaves, Joseph declines a handshake. I wonder if Heather’s cool hat grants her superpowered patience or if I’m just ascribing saintliness to her because of her Motorhead shirt.
Substitute Gym Teacher closes the show. They all look like they really could be substitute gym teachers, but instead of barking orders or condescendingly sitting in their chair backwards for a rap session, they level the venue with what sounds like angry Ramones; undergirded by a busy bass player in the person of Sal Viesca. After they finish, it’s not the usual post-show vibe. No one runs for the exit. Half the house is choosing to hang out and chat, despite the late hour. In the bathroom, I cling tight to my merch. If I drop it, I’ll have to either abandon or burn it. It’s like the bog of eternal stench from Labyrinth exists in these cramped quarters, and I muse on the possibility that The Tower Bar exists in a spectral place where everything is indeed connected. Must be the residual effects of my recent Twilight Zone marathon.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Substitute Gym Teacher levels the crowd at Tower Bar
Closing the show amid a feeling of glee
Gonzo Report: Substitute Gym Teacher levels the crowd at Tower Bar
Closing the show amid a feeling of glee
Who would ever want to be spared The Gruesome Details?
“We love this place. So, even if something bad happens, we’ll still love these.” Newlywed Summer is referring to the matching tattoos she and her husband Dimitry got of The Tower Bar to commemorate their recent nuptials. They’re not alone in their bodily expressions of admiration for the City Heights bar. A collage inside the club has been created from pictures of tattoos of the iconic landmark on various body parts. It’s tempting to say that Tower Tattoo, located above the venue, makes it easy to get impulsive permanent homages, and that there may be some regrets in the future. But I don’t get that sense at all. There’s always a current of respect for the place, and a feeling of glee when attending shows here — as an observer or performer.
Locals Kenny Hill, The Gruesome Details, and Substitute Gym Teacher are joined by Lady Hump from Los Angeles — that last outfit is making its Tower Bar debut as performers, though they’ve eaten here during motorcycle rides when food was served. I catch up with Joseph the doorman and talk music in general and metal in particular. (A light bulb goes off over my head when he cites Metallica’s Garage Inc. as the single most important album of his generation. That covers collection led many to deep dive into bands and solo artists ranging from s Mercyful Fate and Nick Cave.) Kenny Hill starts the live music off with a literal solo set with him and his guitar providing the tunes. He’s played for over a decade with psychobilly band The Black Jackets, but is playing more on his own lately.
Outside, Kat Robershaw of The Pictographs tells me we got the same memo to smoke. I put her on the spot for a quote and wind up in an open-ended conversation about art as healing therapy. We talk about peeling off a layer of trauma, only to discover another one beneath it. It’s not until the light hits her face at a certain angle that I notice her pupils are red. It’s gotta be the light. They have to be contacts. Right? My brain is taking one of its detours when Lady Hump starts in, singing songs about serial killers to cutting melodies, drummer Danielle beating the drums like they owe her money. Between bands, “Subway Train” by New York Dolls is playing. It sets off “Vietnamese Baby” in my noggin — another stop along the detour. It’s the lyric “Everything connects and that ain’t nowhere.” It’s my favorite Dolls song, so it’s logical that hearing the band sets off euphoric recall. Or is it more that everything here seems to connect?
I meet Zach Simsay of Mythraeum, a band he plays in with my with my cousin-by-marriage Anthony Vivoli and a coworker of Dustin Blackesthart, the bass player for The Gruesome Details — who posted about the show on Facebook. Blackesthart has nerded with me and Joseph about the relative merits of Nosferatu, and his band sings songs about a creature from the gruesome lagoon. My kind of subject! When not extolling the coolness of monsters, vocalist Mark Darkly creates comic books. Well, at least one that he’s giving away at the makeshift merch table. He promises that though it’s full of bodily function humor, they’re new jokes — and he’s a man of his word.
The bartender, Heather, is the epitome of patience as she tells a man to close out his tab. The slapdick decides to engage in what Joseph calls “crowd killing” by throwing ninja kicks at people and glass drinkware, resulting in the Joseph the Doorman’s involvement. As the smackpecker leaves, Joseph declines a handshake. I wonder if Heather’s cool hat grants her superpowered patience or if I’m just ascribing saintliness to her because of her Motorhead shirt.
Substitute Gym Teacher closes the show. They all look like they really could be substitute gym teachers, but instead of barking orders or condescendingly sitting in their chair backwards for a rap session, they level the venue with what sounds like angry Ramones; undergirded by a busy bass player in the person of Sal Viesca. After they finish, it’s not the usual post-show vibe. No one runs for the exit. Half the house is choosing to hang out and chat, despite the late hour. In the bathroom, I cling tight to my merch. If I drop it, I’ll have to either abandon or burn it. It’s like the bog of eternal stench from Labyrinth exists in these cramped quarters, and I muse on the possibility that The Tower Bar exists in a spectral place where everything is indeed connected. Must be the residual effects of my recent Twilight Zone marathon.
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