Photo: Mike D

KILL THE PRECEDENT

by Stace


Kill the Precedent, a great album with an impossibly clever title, is Kalvin Koolidge's premiere release. It’s a sonic journey: each song builds upon what has come before until the listener ends up a little wiser and somewhere entirely different from where the journey began. The band’s own journey involves Wales and New York City; a band can learn a lot about itself during its first world tour—three friends, one hired driver, and the world for their playground. Tommy Koolidge (as he is credited on the album—there are at least four different names for this guy) is the charismatic and affable singer/guitarist. He can really play and write and has a wonderful rock ’n’ roll voice with a larger-than-life personality to match. Kevin McDevitt, drummer and current keeper of the band's cool facial hair, has been friends with Tom for a very long time and only seems slightly understated in comparison to Tom's extreme extroversion. Jonny Clancy, a classically trained musician who tears it up on bass in this trio, is gregarious and passionate, with an easy smile and several talents that he tries to keep well hidden.

The very first night of the tour, the trepidatious trio hits a venue in Wales. It can only be described as a biker bar. To the left of the stage hangs a large American flag; to the right hangs an even larger Confederate flag. The gang inside calls themselves the Patriots, which Kalvin Koolidge hopes is a good sign. Blaring techno starts to pulse, and sets a surreal scene. Kevin articulates what everyone is thinking: "These guys are either going to start making out with each other, or kick the shit out of us." Neither scenario materializes and Kalvin Koolidge is warmly received throughout their set. The bikers insist that the three join them after the show in a tribute to the great American ability to pack away pints.

They eventually venture into a subterranean antechamber filled with American war memorabilia where an unknown substance circulates and is politely declined mostly because of the ambiguity of both the intentions and the substance. When nothing untoward happens, an American band is afforded the opportunity to embrace a cultural difference; it turns out that in Wales, techno can be openly appreciated by straight bikers.

Too drunk to even blow up an air mattress on that first night, they use the uninflated cool vinyl as a blanket instead. When day breaks, heady with success, they are whisked by their driver to the next gig with the kind of reckless speed that is only reasonably afforded those who know the roads extremely well. As they get out of the car, still residually drunk from the night before, they notice a cow pasture abutting the parking lot. Apparently the cows notice the band as well and in one of those eerie yet inexplicable cow tides, a dozen or so coalesce from nowhere to the fence edge. Some sort of connection has clearly been established. Before even stopping to consider that one of the large animals might be a bull or something decidedly not docile, Tommy scales the fence. He finds himself at the center of the herd. He takes out his video camera and starts filming. In a massive rush of bovine inspiration, they take off, the entire herd running as one. What does Tommy, Kalvin Koolidge’s spiritual leader, do in a situation like this? Run with them of course. His feet slap onto the pasture in a perfect beastly rhythm. There is just enough time for everyone to momentarily register, wait, couldn't this be terribly dangerous?, when Tom's foot plants squarely upon a large cow patty, upending him, slamming him onto his back, rampaging hooves just inches from his vitals. This of course, minus any real gore, is the funniest thing anyone has ever seen.

Once inside the club for the gig, things get shuffled and Kalvin Koolidge is forced to go on first to try to coax to life into an older and resistant crowd. Perhaps this was a poorly selected venue. Jonny chucks down his bass in disgust at the end of the set and just walks out the door. Contemplative yet pissed, he decides to walk it off in between the rows of a cornfield. An hour into his solitary sojourn, he realizes that he is completely lost. Plus the band is leaving town that night, and now the sun has set and the light of the moon only occasionally lifts the utter darkness. His anger totally dissipated, he decides it is best to keep moving.

Something starts to seep into his consciousness. Rhythmic sounds—it’s music! He must have somehow walked in a large circle. He follows the happy sound, triumphantly sees the club, and, surprised to hear the crowd so lively, peers through the window from the parking lot. The bands have combined into a musical supergroup, and it's a pant party. A pant party happens once in a blue moon and is hilarious, all sloppy and funky. It is the celebration of a magical convergence of events; the proper ratio of fun, libation, and a funky groove that spontaneously causes every musician to de-pant, if you will. A celebration of anything goes, and to think, Jonny almost missed it. Instead he removes his pants right on the spot, leaves them in the parking lot and dashes inside. He sees a slight glow in the distance. It seems impossible that he didn't notice it before. There, in the middle of the room, is a stripper pole. Jonny bounds over to it; his deceptively lythe body twirling, defying gravity, master of a forbidden dance that stuns everyone who witnesses it. Kevin recalls of that night, "Not only do we learn that Clancy, in the first time that he has ever grabbed the mic, has a natural talent for scatting, but also this guy can play around a stripper pole as if he works at the Golden Banana!" "I mean, to the point where the crowd is only clapping for his moves around the pole." To think they thought they knew Jonny before.

In New York City, one girl was so interested in getting to know Jonny a little better after a show that she was willing to have all three guys back to her place. They should have suspected that they were in for an interesting night when even at 4:00 AM, a formal doorman was at their service to drolly welcome and assist them into the elevator. Especially when the risked the bends in the Manhattan elevator that just went up and up and up to ear popping heights. When the doors finally opened, they found an almost royal, three-level apartment with all the trimmings at their debaucherous disposal. This might have been Tommy's night for the ritual death that they all reported experiencing on one night or other during this tour. He is the first to pass out at any rate. This affords the others the opportunity to paint his full, pouty, rockstar lips a vibrant, seemingly permanent purple while he slept blissfully unaware. The only thing that could rouse him the next morning was the urgent insistence of his bladder that he find one of the many bathrooms and find it in a hurry. He burst into the kitchen shirtless and resplendent with his purple mouth only to find their new friend's mom shocked at his appearance. "Where is the bathroom?" he uncomfortably demanded of her, unaware of his somewhat odd countenance.

Over time, these stories take on the flavor of lore and legend. Kevin seems to have, on at least on some occasions, developed into the voice of reason: "Are you sure you want to tell THAT story Clance? I mean you are the one who didn't want to mention the time you 'paid the rent' for us in New York." Jonny thinks for a second and opts to plow forward. Kevin gives away the ending well in advance by pointing out, "All of Clancy's stories end with [Kevin summons his best Rick James affect] ‘I told ya, bitch!’”

Certainly it is at least an exaggeration, if not a flat out fabrication when Tommy recounts that the mansion mom was actually so turned on by his purple-lipped glam look that she burst through the bathroom door and started to make out with him mid-piss. It has to be poetic license when he describes her removing her bra in order to attach it to his bare torso. But hey, it is New York. You never know for sure.

Much like the journey that unfolds before the listener with a good album like Kill the Precedent, you find out that you thought you knew yourself before you experienced it, but it turns out that you really didn't. On tour, as it is in life, you never know when something that seems bad can actually surprise you and turn out great. Once upon a time the crowd was pretty old and tired, and Jonny stalked off that night, and everyone was feeling down. Kevin recalled, "Like, why did we even come here? Then an hour later, we're having a pant party and laughing our asses off. The next show at a local University turned out to be the best night ever." Back in the States, Kalvin Koolidge is just hitting their stride. The closeness that can only come from the road is evident onstage in the perfect way they compliment each other. The camaraderie has strengthened their sound. It is amazing what can be learned about oneself and others in a quintessential journey such as this. Valor, the willingness to take one for the team, and strange experiences allow previously unrevealed traits and talents to bubble up to the surface at the most unexpected but perfectly epic moments.

www.myspace.com/kalvinkoolidge