A little bit at a time...

I don't mind saying, The Derby was dead on Thursday night. Dead, dead, dead.

April 24, and someone had tried to throw together a last-minute Armenian Genocide Commemoration, of which several go down every year, usually to biggish local crowds.

2008, and I didn't have to be there to know the one at The Knitting Factory, put on by Visa and its Greek frontman K'noup, was bangin' compared to the scene at The Derby, which is dead, dead, deader every time I'm there. Including this lackluster latest time.

Nonetheless, theAE -- having disrupted the whole "writing" process to take a show that they (Hamlet) believed promising -- took the stage and, well, rocked.

Played as tightly as I've heard them live, thanks much to beat-keeper Garrett. Sang as boldly and effortlessly as I've heard in a while. Tossed and turned and head banged their half-hour of the night away in style.

And, by the end of the short, six-song set, I'd gotten used to the mini roar emanating from the bar behind me after songs and, when coaxed by Dave, during songs. A drunk, short Kanye-a-like had made it to the front of the stage, and was diggin': "You guys, rock, man. You guys rock." When the last metal note of Red Divine had drifted away, I turned and saw that the starkly empty room that they'd started with was 20 or so heads fuller, a good handful of souls who didn't retreat into the back room, or to the back of the room, but who'd moved toward the stage for a better look, listen, whiff. 

Moments like these.

Enough to make you believe.

 

A New Reader?

Sometimes good stuff is happening so far behind the scenes, even someone who lives behind the scenes can't tell.

But first, the official update from the official updater, Hamlet, as sent out in bulletin form on MySpace:

"Hey guys,

It's been a while since our last show, but rest assured, there'll be plenty of AE gigs and new music coming in '08.

In case you hadn't heard, we parted ways with drummer Art Andranikyan two months ago. It was a mutual decision, and it was for the best for both of us. Like most band splits, "creative differences" was the culprit. Put it this way, Puddle of Mudd and Hed P.E. we weren't going to be (needless to say). We wish Art nothing but the best in his musical future. It was great to share the stage with him for much of 2007.

But just because we haven't played a show since Art's departure in November doesn't mean we haven't been busy. We've been rehearsing and getting ready for some upcoming shows with a talented drummer from Baltimore named Garrett Henritz (check out his previous band Martini Henry: www.myspace.com/martinihenry).Our first show of '08 will be in a few days (Jan. 10) at On the Rox (right above the Roxy in Hollywood). More info on that will come shortly. We also have a couple cool gigs coming in February (at the Viper Room on the 3rd and The Scene Bar in Glendale on the 17th). Again, check our page for more on that.

Until then, have a Happy New Year.

rock on be well peace,

theAE

ps: If you're looking to really keep tabs with us, check out this cool blog at thealchemistelement.blogspot.com. And keep checking back, 'cause that blog (which is not affiliated with us) figures to get more updates than you'll find here (or anywhere else)."

You get that last part? "Cool blog?" That's us, kids!

So anyway, have you ever watched a friend, fresh off a break-up, delve right into something with a new significant other and claim to be "taking it slow" except, except... they rehearse at least three or four times a week, and at all hours of the day.

Or had that friend assure you that all's well, even if there's been no discussion of commitment, which means that new sig other is free to ... play in other bands.

Or seen your friend let this new guy more or less move in... but not pay rent.

After enough of this, it gets to the point, doesn't it, where you want to grab your friend and shake some sense into... the band?

Sometimes though, you keep your mouth shut long enough and it starts to make sense, this business with your friend and the ... might-be new drummer.

You get a report of a text message sent just as 2007 drifted into history, from drummer to singer: "Let's kick ass in '08."

You steal a peek at (and an excerpt from, in this case) a MySpace message from -- dude! -- this drummer's mom, "Garrett is great and very sensible and knows what he wants in life and that is music!!!!!!!!! ... do come East, that way I could hear my son play and the band. ~Stay Cool~ Darlene."

Then you have a look at Mama Garrett's profile and see that she's not only placed the alchemist element in her top 8, but she's uploaded an old video of theirs, a grainy, crappy-sounding recording of theAE killin' it at the Key Club.

Suddenly, you're not so worried about the new drummer.


p.s.

Darlene's message reminded me some of Dave's mom, who's a regular at theAE shows, and who was the first to jump out of her seat and head for the stage when her son once implored those seated in comfortable theatre seats to "make him feel like a fucking rock star!" Damn supportive, though she's told me at least twice, "I didn't teach him to talk like that!"

Dave's Dad shows up a lot of the time, too. The former member of The New Christy Minstrels, a folk band that produced a gold record in their time, dude's evidently good with perspective. After listening to Dave complain once about a drummer's tempo problems, he told his son, "You're no Freddie Mercury." Touche.

Hamlet's parents have proved even tougher, dropping this critical bomb after viewing the video of theAE's first Whisky A Go Go performance: "If this is good, what is bad?" Hamlet, who doesn't have a middle name, but for whom Chin Up would work, didn't flinch, secure that "they just don't get it."

Omar, of course, is Dad. Only his eldest son Anthony has made it out so far, attending a pair of shows, including an early weekday slot at the Roxy. Hard to say what was more fun that night, watching Omar and mates rock out on stage, or watching this little boy try and fail to keep his hands in his pockets before exploding into an all-out, one-person mosh pit.

And now, perhaps, they've got Darlene -- which excites me, because maybe, just maybe, this blog will get a reader other than Hamlet!

Property Rights

A band isn't serious, can't be, unless it has a lockout.

A lockout is like an apartment for rehearsing -- and recording, if you're poor.

It's where you keep your favorite toys in all the world, which happen to be worth thousands of dollars.

And, if you're poor, you almost certainly have roommates. Another band whose schedule jives with yours and who you can trust to split the rent.

Talk about a leap of faith.

You hope the other band doesn't touch your shit. At the least, you expect that it won't hurt it.

TheAE used to share space at Downtown Rehearsal with a quality rock-punk band that changed its name from The Cobras, habitually littered the floor with smoked cigarette butts and once left behind an almost full bottle of Jack Daniels.

TheAE never even breathed on the band formerly known as the Cobras' stuff, except for on this occasion.

Omar emptied that bottle, y'all.

And so the next time theAE entered the room, they found a note scribbled on the white board:

"That Jack Daniels was a birthday present. The next time we come in, we expect a full bottle to replace the one you stole."

Dave erased the message and left one of his own: "The next time we come in, we expect 12 new drum sticks, 30 bottles of water, a case of beer, two new cables, one new drum seat, one new drum cymbal and five guitar strings to replace the ones you stole."

So.

A new band lives with theAE now. They've also changed their name, from Viscera.

The might-be new drummer's kit is staying over at theAE's place these days, and its driver, Garrett, has noticed that its pieces seem to have grown legs, shifting about while he's gone. The kick pedal never is exactly where he left it, nor is the cymbal stand, nor his drum sticks.

So I feel obligated to present a few words of warning to the former Viscera members: Just don't leave behind a bottle of Jack.

The stick hits the fan: Potential New Guy meets the Manager

Actually, as far as introductions go, this one between Garrett and Billy was quite benign.

Just Hamlet saying to Garrett, the might-be drummer, during a momentary break in the action: "Oh, hey, Garrett. That's Billy, our manager. Slash friend. Slash photographer. Slash... (interior decorator -- see the snazzy red soundproofing boards and new Nerf hoop above the door.)"

And Garrett saying: "So... friend?"

And Billy responding: "Yeah... basically."

Now, I've read in a how-to-get-your-band-signed book or two that bands should never, ever hand management duties over to a friend.

And yes, wouldn't every band love for Velvet Hammer to show up on their doorstep with a management deal in tow.

So, sure, bands, send your press kits and demos out to every local label whose Web site hints that it might accept unsolicited stuff and you see where that goes.

Into a big slush pile that no one's ever gonna look at and which (hopefully) eventually will get recycled, that's where.

Then try calling to follow up, let 'em know about a big show you've got at the Roxy that weekend, as Dave did.

Keep in mind, Dave is a natural-born salesman. It's what he does and does well for a living: Get on the phone and sell tools he has barely any knowledge about to people who probably do.

"Never have I been hung up on so quickly," Dave said after his round of calls to prospective management companies.

"Who do you represent?"

"My band."

"No, what label?"

"Uh, label?"

Click.

"Who do you represent?"

"Uh, Zzzzz-enith Productions." (Or whatever it was Dave was looking at at the time.)

Click.

"Hi, I'm calling because my band--"

Click.

OK, so try going another route.

A stranger finds you online. A stranger whose dream it is to get into the music industry managing bands.

Stranger No. 1 is a good-looking nearly middle-aged woman with a daughter in high school. Her ideas have to do with having her daughter spread the word at school, bring lots of friends to shows, even play theAE's CD at her job, at, like, Urban Outfitters. Couldn't hurt, right?

Except that after the band provides her arms full of CDs and stickers and whatever paraphernalia she might send out to labels and give to would-be fans, she disappears off the face of the earth -- except for a nonsensical, drunk MySpace message a few months down the road.

Try it again with Stranger No. 2, another good-looking middle-aged woman who actually is taking classes on band management, and who has memorized all the rules of what she can and can't do. She can promote a band's "story." She can't book shows.

After Hamlet took a long lunch one day to meet her in Long Beach somewhere to discuss "the band's future," a couple weeks later, all three members (yes, this was between drummers) drove down for another lunch meeting to continue discussing "the band's future."

She gave them homework: "Come up with a gimmick, something about you I can pitch to magazines. Also, decide what you're going to say when people tell you you sound 'too much like System of a Down.' Also, consider hiring my friend to redesign your Web site. That's very important -- and he'll only charge you $400."

After that they didn't hear much from her until the week of a big show at the Roxy, when they were opening up for local favorite Opus Dai.

A week like this can be hellishly stressful for a young band like theAE. They've gotta prepare to play well, obviously. And if that's all there were to it... life would be sweet.

But that's NOT all there is to it.

For starters, in this case theAE was preparing with temporary drummer No. 2, a sweet, enthusiastic, talented drum rat named Jay Setar. A quick learner, to be sure, but also what they call a "drum whore." As in, someone who drums for multiple projects in addition to or instead of being IN a band. So, schedule, oh, one practice before this very big show.

Secondly, know that the Roxy is a pay-to-play establishment. So, the young band has signed a contract that it will sell at least 80 tickets at $10 a pop. In other words, theAE has committed to showing up the night of the gig with $800 if it wants to A) get on stage and B) remain in the good graces of the Sunset Strip clubs.

Third of all, theAE had auditions with two drummers set up that week.

And this is when Miche-- whoops, Stranger No. 2 e-mailed to ask the band to make time to come down to Long Beach again to, you guessed it, "discuss the band's future."

Hamlet's written reply laid out for her chaos of that week and offered to let her lend a hand, if she was so interested.

That disappeared her, too.

So. Billy.

Billy, who loves the damn band and has since it formed.

Billy, who introduced them in their original shape almost three years ago to a manager who turned out to be too sketchy to trust, but who still sat down with the group and gave them a half-assed offer.

Billy, who might or might not have something to do with the thousands of alchemist element flyers and stickers littering Hollywood.

Billy, whose job building sets on music videos has him in regular contact with folks such as, say, SOAD's Serj Tankian.

Billy, who is very intent on making money off of this not-always-functional group of diverse and spirited musicians, including Omar, with whom he's been friends longest.

"Yeah, I want to make money off these guys," Billy told me not too long ago. "But it's not just that. I believe in them too. I mean, look at Omar, he just loves playing and he's got a family to support. Same with Hamlet, you can tell how hungry he is. And Dave, Dave's just crazy. If we don't help him make it, who knows what's gonna happen to him."

So. Billy meet Garrett, who has two other bands, two jobs and sits behind a drum set that's about half the size of anything any of theAE's recent drummers has piloted. And who might be a sensational fit, when drummer and band are done trying each other on.

For now, I must say it's fascinating for a non-musician to experience the same songs to so many different beats. It's like, REEEEEE-MIX!

Jay, who you met a minute ago, paints fast. Rock 'n rolled through those tunes, baby.

Haro, who played the role of Temp Drummer No. 1, is peculiar and spacey and incredibly unique. And so were the songs, when he was keeping time.

Art, the most recent not-so-permanent permanent drummer, was solid, steady, by-the-books and never unlistenable.

And Elvin, OG drummer of the alchemist element, was wildly creative and hard-hitting and will always be a co-author of not just many of theAE's songs, but of their overall sound.

Garrett might be as close a player to Elvin as those songs have experienced since, considering splash and creativity and the fact that Garrett studied for five years with Grant Menefee, who tutored former Mars Volta drummer Jon Theodore, who majorly inspired Elvin.

Garrett's pretty polished. Dude knows, say, that it's not wise to clutch his sticks in a vice grip, but rather to hold them as loosely as possible. But that's more of a challenge in a hard-driving, heavy song than it is when he's playing with Bedroom Walls, his Indie rock project.

Which is probably why that Vic Worth stick went flying high, over Dave's head and somehow missing the spinning ceiling fan before finally landing harmlessly on the other side of the room.

Dave couldn't help himself: "The stick's about to hit the fan, man."

We'll see.

For now, theAE and Garrett are learning enough songs to play live, and planning to spend some time creating new stuff thereafter.

To find out what happens from there and in between, keep reading.

Yo.

My boss's idea, this.

"Why don't you start a blog (and charge a subscription)?" he asked.

And I go, "Hey, that's a good idea." ('Cept for the subscription part.)

Good idea 'cause everyone's always asking: "What's up with the band?"

As if I were in the band.

I'm not, but I am endlessly entertained by the band, freakin' weirdos.

By lead singer Dave Podell, who is among the wittiest, smartest, most conflicted people I've known.

Dave's dad, Art Podell, was a member of The New Christy Minstrels, a folk band responsible for a gold record once upon a time. So when Dave goes to his dad, sweating his big show coming up at The Whisky A Go Go, Dave gets a dose of perspective: "That's not a big show, son. That's a nice show, but that's not a big show. Come talk to me about a big show when you're playing the Greek."

In-studio, Dave is a perfectionist, nit-picking each and every detail of each and every part of each and every song. For the better, mostly.

Lyrically, Dave's honest, honest, honest. It tickles me that I catch myself singing along in my car with him as he wails about wanting to fucking kill terrorists.

Or, more recently, that I find myself belting out the words to their latest and best candidate yet for a would-be, could-be hit, "Humble Me": "... and when I drive myself into your/whole existence disappears/and then I/come to realize/that separation is the only key to harmony."

(Read that again, and you'll appreciate the, uh, sexy cleverness.) (Now go listen to it -- http://www.flashrock.com/cgi-bin/calendar/calendar.pl?month=11&view=Event&event_id=223 -- and you'll be blushing at yourself when you start humming it later too.)

Dave's day job: Telemarketer. Actually, I think he's a manager at a company that slangs tools to unsuspecting midwesterners. Poor folks who buy the "Dave Dalson" on the other end of the line.

Hamlet Nalbandyan, the guitarist, is the heart and soul of the band.

He manages their myspace account and Web site. He makes their flyers. Their practice room at the massive Downtown Rehearsal facility in Los Angeles is under his name, which means that when his bandmates or their roommate band come up short or late, Hamlet makes up the difference.

One of their former drummers (yes, I wrote former DRUMMERS, plural) liked to call everyone "captain." Title worked for Hamlet.

On stage, Hamlet always wears jumpsuits. Or tracksuits. Whatever you want to call 'em, they're the least "metal" looking thing a guitarist could wear on stage. But it's become his trademark.

Hamlet's day job: Design chief/superuser/layout guy at the Costa Mesa Daily Pilot. He commutes an hour-plus from his apartment in Glendale daily, except for those rare days when he gets the OK to work from home. In those instances, he works in front of his HD big screen, listening to ESPN repeat the same four stories all day long.

Omar Marin, the bassist, has four kids. But I'm not supposed to write that.

So strike that from the record.

He brings his Echo Park neighborhood out to shows. It's a big collection of rowdy, loud drinkers, quite possibly the most supportive, loving group of friends I've seen. The centerpiece of the contingent is Omar's wife, Ida, who is quite possibly the loudest cheerleader I've known.

Omar's generally a quiet, smiling dude. A bad-ass, tatted, Little League coach who's easy to work with and so solid in his way.

There've been times when the band seems to be spinning out of control, on the verge of expoloding or imploding, and Omar's been known to say: "I just wanna play, man." Or, when his bandmates complain of practicing a song for the 3,500th time, to remind them, "Hey, man, it's only old to us."

His day job: Mr. Mom.

The drummer... uh. Well, they're working on that. Again.

(Actually, there's good reason to hope. They've been playing a lot the past couple weeks with someone I'll call, hmm, Garrett. But after rushing into the last situation, they've learned that it might be best to "take it slow.")

Some history: Omar and Hamlet once were members of Underpush, which became theAE after Dave joined and petitioned for a new band name.

After plenty of deliberation, they settled on the alchemist element.

Or is it the The Alchemist Element?

Anyway.

The name has come to represent both the collective and their music, a melting pot of styles and experiences, all rooted in metal and mixed with the intention and hope of producing gold.

But, really, "the alchemist element" comes from a combination of words that Omar's buddy Adrian jotted down on a scrap of paper at practice on day. Words that, well, sounded cool.

Naturally, Dave still isn't happy with the name.

... and one, two, one-two-three, here we go!