The Nicotine Fits, Mr. Gnome, and Hopeless Destroyers
May 21, 2008
The Record Bar
Better Than: Band practice in the garage with the car running.
By GRANT SNIDER
I challenge you to find a review of a two-piece, male-female rock band that doesn’t reference the White Stripes. This comparison is unavoidable, so I’ll get it over with quickly. The Cleveland duo Mr. Gnome features Nicole Barille on guitar and vocals, and Sam Meister (an awesome name) on drums. The girl can howl like Jack and likewise shred on the guitar. The guy can probably drum circles around Meg. Are they married to each other? How the hell should I know? And thankfully, they don’t wear color-coordinated costumes.
Judging by their Kara-Walker-meets-Donnie-Darko album art, I expected Mr. Gnome to be much creepier. Instead, both members have the healthy, attractive looks of American Apparel models. And neither is less than four feet tall with a long white beard. Only one gnome-like tendency I noticed: the drummer played barefoot.
Their music was pleasantly weird, driven by Barille’s disarming wail. Not disarming in a Billy Corgan way – more like if freak-folk goddess Joanna Newsom dated Chino Moreno of the Deftones. Or if Cat Power had Robert Plant’s love child. My ears rang, and it was beautiful. The start-stop crunch of Barille’s guitar and the Sam-Meister’s nimble pounding made Mr. Gnome’s performance the most kick-ass of the night. And this was in comparison to two bands with little else going for them besides their burning desire to kick ass.
Openers Hopeless Destroyers played a quick set of hardcore punk, complete with unintelligible lyrics and plentiful neck tattoos. It was like watching a really violent animated mural: “Guernica” on the Cartoon Network, maybe. As proof of punk authenticity, the lead vocalist managed to grip the microphone and a lit cigarette in one hand midsong. The Hopeless Destroyers list “everything that’s good about early ‘80s punk rock” as their influences. If this includes the genius of the Brit-punk band Wire (as it should), they’d be advised to throw in a few pop hooks occasionally.
Before headliners the Nicotine Fits took the stage, I played the game “Who Here in the Crowd is in the Next Band.” A lot of ‘em, it turned out. The six guys who jumped up on the stage looked like they’d just left auditions for Dazed and Confused, and the lead guitarist resembled Tom Petty circa 90 years ago.
The Fits hail from Colorado Springs, land of the eternal ‘70s, in the shadow of Pike’s Peak. They played raucous garage rock, flailing wildly on stage with the sort of energy only seen in teenagers, drug users, or dudes who really enjoy playing rock ‘n’ roll. Kicking out the jams doesn’t have to sound original, as long as it’s raw, pure, and fun.
Critics Notebook
Personal Bias: My parents are fond of pink flamingo lawn ornaments, but have never stooped to buying lawn gnomes. If they ever buy one, I’ll name it “Mr. Gnome.”
Random Detail: While The Nicotine Fits thrashed away, an empty beer can fell off the front of the stage. It landed upright on the floor.
By the way: There were t-shirts and buttons at the merch table with the slogan “mr. Gnome: Better Than Porn.” I tend to agree. And despite what you’ve read throughout the review, the “M” in “mr. Gnome” was not capitalized.
0 Comments: