The World Famous Weed Eaters

"And people, they don't understand ... Your grandsons, they won't understand."
-The Strokes, Last Night

The last three months had been brutal. The blizzards and frigid temperatures seemed endless. Massive snow banks made ever walk an expedition. Stranded cars littered the side streets. All-time records for accumulation were shattered a week into February. Overcast was the forecast. Columbus' gray skies and the vitamin D deficiencies they cause can really get to you. The experts call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, but anyone who lives in the Midwest just calls it winter.

Looking out my window with a free and easy feeling (no work PLUS it was Friday), I was very pleased to see the sun making its presence felt. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I awoke to clear blue skies. I had to go outside to have a cigarette, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Sometimes killing yourself with tar smoke, on a beautiful day, really makes you feel alive. When I got back upstairs I had this voicemail waiting for me.

"Yo, Jacob, it's Steve from work. Me and the guys are hosting a function tonight at The Vault. Corner of Gay and High. We'll be playing. There will be some DJing. Should turn out to be a righteous gathering. It's Mardi Gras themed, so grab some beads or a mask at Yankeetrader and come check it out. Good people and good vibes man. Hope to see you there, check ya later."

I loved the way this guy talked. Jerry Garcia meets Dave Mathews. A product of the sixties and a throw-back hippie all at the same time. He possessed a kind soul, he was a family man and a genuinely good person. Positive chi hung around him like gold chains on Mr. Tee's neck. Without a doubt, one of the bright spots of a shitty part-time job.

Steve had been asking me to come check out his band for awhile. I would try to make a show after work but hadn't. A couple times he would have a rehearsal for me to check out, which would then fall through. Tonight would be different.

After Shooter got off work, we headed downtown. Javan and Suzie met us in the alley beside the building, next to the pink dinosaur mural. I had been pals with both of them for awhile. Javan is a gifted local photographer, check out his stuff at http://theculture-vulture.blogspot.com/ ... stat. The four of us, (all wearing gold, purple, and green Mardi Gras beads) crept into the side of the building through the maintenance door.

The outside of the building is regal, professional and dated. The structure is an old reception hall, built in the late 50's to host weddings and other such events. However, looking through the first floor windows, the interior looked clean and up to date. I wouldn't get to inspect things up close. We would be spending the evening in the building's basement.

Walking down some stairs, following sharpied signs through cramped hallways, we found The Vault. It must have been a large storage room at one point, but now it was drywalled and carpeted. It had been made into some sort of frat house-esque party basement with a stage area for live performances. The partially punched-out walls, musty couches, and soiled carpet was a stark contrast to the glitzy facade of the upper floors.

A wide mix of people put dollars in a basket and poured their own beer from the keg. We were all on the honor system. There was a DJ mixing some old school hip-hop, just loud enough in the background. I Introduced Steve to my buddies and we had a laugh over a drink. He told me the story about how he got hooked up with The World Famous Weed Eaters.

"Well I sat in for a session," he explained in his soft, slow and mellow tone. "They asked me to play guitar a little bit. I told them I would help them out till they found somebody else, I was pretty much done with being in a band. That was two years ago man! Now here I am." We talked a bit longer then he had to start setting up. We rolled a spliff and waited for the music to start.

They opened with a cover of Dark Side of the Moon that got the crowd grooving. There were seven of them crowded onto the stage area: Todd Reed on vocals, Steve Moc on the acoustic guitar/harp, Mike Cooper on electric, Paul Mattox on bass, Dre Walker on drums, KGB on the turn tables and Nicole on flute/sax.

"Damn, they got more band members than people at the party," Psyco-1 (aka Todd Reed) said into the mic after the first song. Their sound was very eclectic; a mess of jam band, rap, DJing, and wood wind instruments. Some people won't understand, but I dug it very much. An original called Who Am I? had a lot of energy and flow. The crowd bobbed their heads in appreciation.

Psyco-1 was the perfect front man. He was tall and slender with bleached blond dreads that were surprisingly good, considering they sprouted from a white man's head. He had "Pain" tattooed on his stomach, in an appeared homage to Tupac's "Thug Life" tat. Part Perry Farrell and part Lil' Wayne. He oozed confidence, strutting on stage like a peacock, nappy white and yellow feathers blazing.

Each song seemed to highlight someone different in the group. A flute or sax solo here, a scratch session or guitar riff sprinkled there. I liked the experimental sound they are going for a lot. Crossroads was another personal favorite of mine and the harp on Sunshine was stellar. I've dabbled with harmonica but this man had it perfected. There isn't a hobo riding the rails across our great nation that has shit on Steve.

Walking to the bathroom, I was struck by the feeling that I had returned to college. The atmosphere was very campus but we were downtown. This sense of duplicity mixed with the alcohol made me feel like I was back in Lexington, at the Sigma Pi frat house. I drunkenly walked into the woman's bathroom by accident and went into the closest stall. While releaving myself, I saw "Crab's jump off here" scribbled on the wall with an arrow pointing down at the seat. I had a laugh and zipped my fly.

While washing my hands, a girl walked in and gave me a look like she recognized me from a picture on the sexual predator notices. I quickly glanced around and realized why. I mumbled something to the affect of "Sorry about that, they're drowning cats in the urinals next door," and hurried out.

The four of us had a few more brews and decided to leave. It was getting very cramped and the only places to stand were right in front of the speakers. Not a good idea if you value your hearing. We liked the tunes but we were out of smoke so it was time to go.

Outside I almost collapsed with laughter. Parked on the street right in front of us was a Mustang painted like Superman. Literally, the top half was red and the bottom blue. The owner even had the "S" decals on the doors. Congratulations pal, every 9-year-old in the neighborhood wants to be your friend on Facebook. Good luck getting laid, unless your dating Wonder Woman.

After some more silliness and tom-foolery, it was time to call it a night. A great Friday out and a wonderful show that I couldn't wait to write about. Check out their web site ... http://www.theworldfamousweedeaters.com/ ... for gig dates and info. Of course nothing can compare to my trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras in '07. Planning to post the article I wrote about my experience in Cajun country soon, so stayed tuned! That and much more to come.


-J.R.