Some Tapes, Perhaps, Really Shouldn’t Be Played Again
Recently I agreed to a trade a Manwich recording for music of a band about I was curious, 16 Bitch Pile-Up from Columbus. Manwich (1986-1987) was a group of which I was a member (actually, the unofficial “music director” or leader) consisting of four boys and three girls – vocals, 2 guitars, bass, farfisa organ and two drummers. Our sound could be, and was described (by me at the Cleveland talk last month) as “noise, noise, noise!!” Manwich broke “noise” in Cincinnati, and was probably the most popular group I ever played with.
Well, looks like we’re moving, so I really don’t have time to sit down and go through our compilation song by song and convert it to digital. I wouldn’t do that without Bill Weber anyway, as he is sort of the “keeper of the flame” vis a vis Manwich. So I thought to transfer a live show would be easier. Problem with that is my file on the band is not a particularly large one - I only have about three live Manwich shows. The group was so popular that in the 80s people would steal our tapes out of my tape case at parties. To make matters worse, our vocalist Lala (i.e. Laura) Allen would borrow show tapes from me and deliberately record over them without my knowledge - she was afraid that they would come back to haunt her later in life. Judging from the tape I have been working on, perhaps Laura’s fear was not wholly unjustified.
What I’m working with is a Manwich show from, God forbid, Sudsy Malone’s Laundromat and Bar, a Vine Street “institution” then owned by John Cioffi, a man who had few, if any, redeeming qualities. We had been barred from Sudsy’s early on in our history, but we played a show at Bogarts across the street which went very well, and suddenly Manwich was being asked to play there – through the week, for no money. At the time I was working at Sudsy’s and its sister club, The Plaza, as the soundman for $15 a night. Many nights I worked both clubs, running back and forth on foot, and still made the same $15. (Incidentally, Cindy Streiley wrote this week to tell me that the University of Cincinnati has lately demolished the building The Plaza was in.)
This particular night, March 23, 1987, someone had installed a new sound system in the club. The old one went out the door because John Cioffi was in arrears to the sound company, and the bar scrambled to get something together. It wasn’t until the end of the first song played that I realized that the PA had a blown-out right channel. I never did realize that the mains weren’t hooked up either, at least not in time to rescue our set, which was already in progress and could not be stopped. From the stage I can be heard begging for help with the sound, but there was no one there to help. Between songs I can be heard arguing with the booking agent of Sudsy’s, Jam Stryffer, that something needed to be done to make Laura’s vocals audible in the club. With the way I busted my butt for every band in town doing sound, I often wondered why I could never get any of my fellow musicians or soundmen to help me out when I was up there playing. That was cause most of them figured if I was so good at it, I could do it myself.
Once thing I can’t stand is to hear myself whine, and I’m doing a lot of whining on this tape between numbers. But I had a damn good reason – essentially I had to put down my guitar and go out in the club and figure out what’s going on with the PA. I keep protesting “but it’s not my job to do sound. I’m playing in the band.” For all the good it did me; finally I just turned the monitor speakers toward the crowd and you can hear the vocals at last - horrible! Also, without my rhythm guitar and visual cues, Manwich didn’t play as well. Few of them would admit to this even today, but we negotiated the changes more readily and kept better time when I was onstage with them, even though most of time you couldn’t really hear what I was playing.
I was probably the only person in the room that night that was concerned about this last-mentioned attribute. At this time audiences loved Manwich so much they really didn’t pay attention to what we sounded like – they just hoot and holler after every song. But I did – I really cared about how well we played. On this tape, guitarist Bill Weber sings “You’re So Vain,” a song that was one of Laura’s specialties, horridly. Bill tells the audience “We are playing here EVERY night, this week and next!” At least Bill had the right attitude about it. I really couldn’t be there with him, friends – the crowd was screaming “You can’t hear Laura!” And some of my fellow band mates are also heard on tape, likewise pressuring me to do something about it. As the tape runs out, Laura and Heather Prescott (one of the drummers) are heard telling me “C’mon David, the crowd wants to hear more!” I tell them “then go ahead and play more!” I was in no mood to play an encore by that point – can you blame me?
Not long after that, perhaps even that night, some Manwich members cornered me at a party and basically told me to find a way to quit the band. They asked why I had to be up onstage with them; it would be better if I were to do sound and play cutup tapes with them rather than play guitar. Honestly, had the band stuck around a bit longer I might have welcomed this Kramer-like solution to their problem. But in mere weeks we learned that Laura was moving to Minneapolis, so the point became academic. In any event, a week went by, we had rehearsal, I showed up and no one asked me to leave. No one apologized to me either; I guess I had been sufficiently chastised for my troubles.
Ahh – bad show, bad vibes, bad sound, bad recording. Bad memories too. But not necessarily bad playing on the tape, at least not all the way through. There are a few interesting spots here and there; sometimes a whole song is good if you can tune out the fact that there’s supposed to be a vocalist that you can’t hear. I recorded it over an old Aldo Nova tape that someone had thrown away – perhaps that’s why it was never stolen from my tape case! Even after some rehab in Sound Forge it still sounds just terrible. I’m going to finish it and send it out – sorry 16 Bitch Pile-Up, this will have to do for now.
But in retrospect, I am really sorry that my smiler got broken during this show and I couldn’t rise to the occasion and salvage the date, like I did at other times for Manwich. My bad behavior on the tape is appalling to me now. But on the other hand it would’ve been nice if my band mates had stuck up for me and tried to help me out in turn. Like not doodling on instruments while I was trying to fix the vocal or even stopping altogether for awhile so we could really work it out. And if it couldn’t be solved, unplugging and leaving in protest. What did we think we were doing anyway? Manwich should NEVER have played Sudsy Malone’s.
In any event, I do miss playing out regularly for an audience. There’s nothing to replace that in your life. But there are many, many things that I don’t miss about playing in a band. I still love all the members of Manwich like they are my brother and sisters, and am proud of every note that we played. Our compilation “It” is about as pleasing an album to me as anything I’ve ever played on. I love the romantic, idealized way that Cincinnati music fans regard Manwich, and the music on “It” helps to support that myth. But this tape from Sudsy’s brings me a little closer to the reality of this time than I care to be. Oh well; edit out all the stuff between songs and it’s just another live tape.
Uncle Dave Lewis
UncleDave41@comcast.net