Autumn Clock at Spirits. Photograph courtesy of Autumn Clock
Just prior to his band’s set this past Saturday night, Doug Raffety of Judge Nothing pulled on a T-shirt advertising the Bluff City Oyster Bar’s Mid Summer Jam 1994, featuring The Bishops, Judge Nothing and Autumn Clock. This wasn’t a random fashion decision, since all three groups were back in action for a one-night reunion show of the three leading lights of the Alton music scene of the 1990s. For the openers in Autumn Clock—and the closers of The Bishops—it was a show over a decade in the making; Judge Nothing, meanwhile, went on a regional barnstorm tour earlier this year, with six gigs in three days.
This time out, the decision to host the event in Alton, for a one-shot event, was a smart one. The groups played a somewhat-funky, somewhat-elegant banquet hall on the third floor of Spirits, a multi-roomed, reputedly very-haunted venue in the heart of Alton’s bustling nightclub district. While lots of the rooms nearby play to the young crowds that come together on weekend nights from the nearby small towns (think: Wood River, Cottage Hills, Roxana), the fans gathered inside of Spirits were safely nestled between the ages of, say, 38–50, many of them cutting their teeth on these bands some two decades ago.
Anyone in the 300-strong audience would have their own picks, but here are one fan’s highlights.
The Mood: At some point midway through their set, The Bishops’ guitarist Tim Bramstedt mentioned the event feeling like “a high school reunion, but with people you want to see.” And it did have that vibe. Had a little bit of a hall party feeling, too. For those too young to appreciate the term, bands used to rent VFW halls, or the like, bringing in a PA system, sometimes buying kegs. They had an old-fashioned, “let’s put on a show” energy. Spirits has more amenities than those oldies venues, but there was still a feeling of making the room for a rock show. It worked out. It had just the right feel, after all.
(Hi, I’m Awkward: As a quick personal aside related to the above, I’d never, not once, not ever, spoken words to Bishops songwriter Fritz Beer, despite writing thoughts about his bands for some 20-plus years. At the end of the night, longtime Cicero’s/Side Door booker Marla Hare Griffin introduced us, and while it was a pleasure to meet him and speak actual words, I’m sure I rubbed a small hole in the carpet from shuffling my feet. Oy! Social awkwardness is truly a lifelong condition, with no over-the-counter help available.)
Multimedia Merch: The merchandise table just inside the doorway had a little bit of everything. T-shirts (vintage era and new), CDs, 45s, tapes. By the end of the evening, I’d sampled about one of each, with a Judge Nothing 45 that slipped through my hands over the years, a CD of unreleased music by The Bishops, and a cassette by Autumn Clock, which is one that I do have tucked away in a box somewhere. But as that band is the one group of the evening that I hadn’t invested as much time in the first time around, I picked up Autumn Clock’s four-song “Bed in Summer” ep and slipped it into my truck’s tape player after the show. Perfect accompaniment for the nice, long drive down Route 3.
Old Favorites: On their last round of reunion gigs, Judge Nothing hadn’t played “Old Houses,” a standout from the heyday; the track just hadn’t come together during rehearsals. But this time out, it was on their set list, along with a passel of their other, best-known tracks, like “Memphis,” “Aug Mouth,” and “Junkpile.” With the exception of being joined by guitarist and supporter Rob Wagoner for the last three tracks, the band stripped down to their three-piece roots, and the sound didn’t lose anything. Similarly, The Bishops, utilizing their own classic, four-piece lineup, pretty much emptied out the onion bag, writing out a 24-song set that neatly divided things between pre-’92 (with drummer Gus Kodros) and post-’92 (with skinsman Eric Harnetiaux). Plenty of favorites in their set, too, like “Words are Left,” and “Tale of Two Religions.”
Transcendence: Everyone in the room would have their own “best moment,” but for me, there was a moment of strange clarity at the beginning of The Bishops’ cut “Coming in Color,” one of their earliest standouts and finest songs, overall. Retiring to the back of the room after punishing my ears with Judge Nothing’s set from the front row, I looked up at the stage and saw all the heads bobbing along in time. For a quick second, I imagined Cameron Crowe or John Hughes being from St. Louis. Casting “the uncredited bar band” for the inevitable break-up scene at the end of the second act of one of their films, The Bishops would be that band, and “Coming in Color” would be the song that caused Molly Ringwald or Kyra Sedgwick to shed a tear in 1990. That song, at that second, made all the sense in the world. And bands breaking out nationally, or not, is indeed a random thing. The Bishops coulda, shoulda, woulda. Was nice of them to remind us of their special qualities, if only for one night, playing a soundtrack for our memories, real and imagined.
Practice, Practice, Practice: Some of the guys onstage last Saturday still play a bit of music; a couple have original projects, a couple more are in fun cover bands. But a bunch of them aren’t active these days, which made all three sets especially impressive. Not only that each individual band came together with a bare minimum of rehearsal; it was that each player held up their end of the bargain, playing songs that their fingers and heads hadn’t dug into for many years. This was the farthest thing from a couple old friends having one-too-many beers at the local open-mic night, wincing their way through decades-old originals. Everyone here brought their chops and their stage show. Bravo.
Unrequested Career Advice: Several times over the evening’s course, an overly-enthusiastic fan jumped onstage, cajoling for, if not demanding, another reunion of the same bands next year. It was funny, but you got the sense that some of these cats played their last set together. That said, in the digital age, you can give your niche, splintered audience an occasional treat, for less money and pain than in the old days. In 2010, Flea Bodine, Andy Dykman and Raffety got together in an Edwardsville studio, dusted off three unrecorded tracks from their earlier days and recorded them, releasing them online as a mini-EP. While I can’t speak for anyone’s time or interest, it seems like these groups (and dozens more like them) could keep a small flame alive, while keeping friendships going and fans happy. Trade tapes (er, mp3 files). Find a small, affordable studio. Bang out a couple of cuts every year, or two. Release them to the audience remaining. Keep a self-selecting community alive. Or not. But at least consider it. All those people jumping up and down at the end of the night, for the three groups’ inevitable superjam, jumping so hard that the old wood floors of Spirits were moving? Yeah, we’d be open to some more music. And we don’t want to freeze you in time, so hit us with the B-sides, the unreleased cuts, the new stuff, too. We still care. We care a lot.
