Super the Phat, Virginia Robot Manufacturing Co., TV People
Room 710, August 22
Standing outside the Rock & Roll Free for All Sunday, watching the new UT freshmen get their first gander at the Hole in the Wall, I realized I’m becoming what Chris Rock called “the old guy in the club.” Maybe not at the Hole (yet), but what about a new place like Room 710? Is 25 too old to become a regular? With a cheap cover, a cool jukebox, a great balcony, and a prime location on Red River, the 710 is a far roomier improvement on the much-missed Blue Flamingo and a punkier counterpart to across-the-street neighbor the Red Eyed Fly. Just make sure you stay awake, or else the door guy will. While my job ain’t exactly working for the Man, the lifestyle still messes with your head; how else did I manage to doze off at a noisy rock club on a Tuesday night, especially with Super the Phat doing their heavy-equipment stomp onstage? It wasn’t my Pascal’s Triangle, but then I think I skipped this section of rock algebra in pre-Cal. Still, it was fun trying to derive an apropos musical equation for the local outfit, like Promise Ring times Joy Division squared to the Type O Negative power, or locally, Paul Newman divided by Crust. The Wannabes on the hand — I mean “Virginia Robot Manufacturing Co.” — I’d go see anyway, anyhow, anywhere, even to watch them rehearse songs from an as-yet-unwritten rock opera about a robot who falls in love with rock & roll. (How Townshendian.) Unfortunately, the PA gremlins refused to let any of Jennings Crawford’s vocals escape, though he did explain at one point, “This [song] is called ‘Robots are Coming, Man, Fuckin’ Watch Out,'” to which guitarist Kevin Carney replied, “That’s what they’re all called.” Thankfully, there was no Erector-set stiffness in the music; it was ragged enough to tell it was a warm-up gig for their CD release at the Hole that Friday (which paid off), but in the manner of Creedence or Crazy Horse, where the sloppiness paradoxically gives the music a bite that otherwise wouldn’t be there. And speaking of not being there, my sincere apologies to TV People, whose dark, slippery, multilayered meditations would have been compelling if they hadn’t gone on after 1am and I wasn’t already zombified. Going out for a living is a fast shortcut to premature aging, sad to say, so much so that sometimes even a new club isn’t quite enough to keep your mid-20s from feeling like the wrong side of 40. Then again, new freshmen are much worse.This article appears in September 1 • 2000.