| swearing at motorists |
BANDLIVESTUDIOWEBSTORE |
from sponic
Every town has one.
Dayton's was on the north end of Main Street, over the river, past some car dealerships and pawn shops, just before the Santa Clara Arts District. It was a huge yellow house with a wide second-story porch that looked out onto an urban landscape of fences, brick and metal.
It was called the Rock 'n Roll Bed & Breakfast. Almost any band that was notable, and tons that weren't, would crash there after an area show, sometimes playing an afterhours gig in the basement.
In the mid-1990's in Dayton, Ohio, the Bed & Breakfast was the social axis of a rapdily expanding indie rock scene that included The Breeders, Brainiac and Guided by Voices, among others. The mood was hopeful, as The Breeder's Last Splash ruled the radio, GBV's Bee Thousand was getting rave reviews and Brainiac was making a name for itself touring and recording with some of the biggest names in underground music. For a few short years, the house was a multi-purpose lodging/recording studio/chill-pad for every important experimental or underground band in Dayton. There were few structures in the city that served quite the same purpose.
My first visit was during a Swearing at Motorists interview (see "The Fear of Low Flying Squirrels" in SPONIC #2). Dave Doughman, lead singer and guitarist of the group, invited SPONIC co-editor Rob Heater and myself over to the house for a chat before hitting the town. Dave shared the house, at separate times, with Tim Taylor (the late genius behind the defunct and criminally under-appreciated Brainiac), John Schmersal (Brainiac's signature sound guitarist), Neil Blender, Dorsey Fyfe (former music director of 97X FM in Oxford, lead singer in Johnny Smoke) and others.
The following interviews with Dave Doughman and John Schmersal (now in the NY-based outfit Enon) were conducted in the summer and fall of 2001, long after everyone had moved out of the quickly deteriorating structure. SPONIC felt it was time to look back at the role it played in the cohesion of the mid-90's Dayton scene, and to use the opportunity to recall some of the more significant events there.
Some of them, like Robert Pollard's 40th birthday/Halloween costume party, were loud, drunken jams where people overflowed onto the lawn well into the night. Others, like Marilyn Manson's impromtu visit resulting in a game of spin the bottle, ended in shocked bemusement.
Regardless of the event, the house emitted a vibe and served a purpose that few in the scene could articulate, but everyone felt.
SPONIC: When did you first move into the house, and why?
John Schmersal: It was January or February of 1994. I moved into that house when I moved back to Dayton to join Brainiac. Timmy (Taylor) hooked it up prior to my arrival. He was moving into the place with me. Although, he didn't spend but one night there until Dave Doughman moved in like a year later. I didn't choose the place but it was huge and it was very, very cheap. So it was easy. My rent after the three way split was $69 dollars a month. By any standards...dirt cheap.
What was your first impression of the place?
My first impression was not that great, only because I came from Athens and was used to doing everything on foot and did not have a car. It was great for musicians because it was next to an alarm system installation company that never seemed to have anything going on. And across the street from two abandoned houses swarming with crack-smoking activities. They didn't seem to mind the noise that emanated from our building.
We practiced in the basement which we eventually had to stop doing because it got too damp and too moldy from leaking pipes. I had lofty aspirations at times for that place which, in one form or another, I guess took place. But I really wanted to put on shows in our basement. There were a handful of shows in the house but if I were living there now I would have worked that more.
Our upstairs neighbors also turned out to be musician folk; the peoples of Walaroo South and what became the Concord Frequency lived there. So it made the noise issue even less of an issue. Of course it was no library either.
Years later Dave came to inhabit the whole place including the upstairs. Dave and Tim were more instrumental in the dynamics of that place as it related to the community.
I spent most of my time recording around the house in different rooms. I got really into the kitchen downstairs. I would set up my 4-track in the kitchen and leave it there for weeks on end. Doing things here and there... It had been yellow with a white piece of edging dividing the wall in half horizontally and I painted the lower half purple. The room looked insane and I liked spending time in there, although there was no stove or way to cook except for a toaster oven and hot pot. Many frozen French bread pizzas were made in that kitchen over the years by all.
My other big obsession was buying up turntables at thrift stores and making setups in every room in the house. For awhile there was a functioning record player in every room including the bathroom and kitchen. Doughman came to town fresh from recording school and that was when bands started to get recorded. I would have considered myself more of a private recording enthusiast at the time. I recorded things for practice and for experiment. John Neiser, who lived above me, was a great drummer and I would just record him playing drums in different mic setups.
Did it seem particularly suited as a living space for musicians?
Well, because it was so cheap it was of course a great place to be from (as a) touring musician. And the noise thing was not an issue since we were in the basement. The folks upstairs would get complaints if they practiced later then 11:00 p.m. sometimes.
Were you aware the house used to be a doctor's office? As the story goes, the doctor that originally built the house was convicted of murder after performing an illegal abortion there. The woman later died at a hospital. Apparently it also used to be a Montessori School...
I heard about the doctor story but it was always a slightly different story depending on who told it. I never looked into it and I didn't really believe it since sometimes the stories were so ridiculous. The landlady was in fact the head of Montessori for the county and surrounding area. She had a key role in the survival of that house for us mainly because she was so lax.
I never saw her face... I couldn't tell you what she looked like and after awhile I had a phobia about what she might look like. One time I saw her from behind. She was pruning the bushes in front, and I saw the back of her head. I can't believe she was pruning the bushes. She never came around, never fixed or maintained anything otherwise. Which was great, that place would never have been what it was for so long had she been any kind of responsible property owner.
Some of the people who played upstairs actually attended school in the house as a youth, and now lived in it, all surrounded by crack houses and prostitutes. How's that for upward mobility?
Did you feel any particular affinity for the house, or the neighborhood, like Doughman did?
Um, yeah in a way. It was a very important and forming time period in my life. I worked at Omega--the record store up the street on Main--when it was on the other side of the street. And it really gave me a strong sense of that neighborhood in particular. I got some amazing records from there. That's when I really got into Dayton's rich Funk past. They hired me in hopes of getting their alternative music section stocked and being the authority...har! har! har! Wrong neighborhood for that.
I remember that area happily and sadly for many reasons. I get particularly depressed whenever I start thinking about the barricaded Five Oaks streets. I don't care what anyone says, it's 3 a.m. and I want my 25 cent buttered potatoes from Chicken Louie's. Now that is a good memory.
Were you there the night Marilyn Manson stopped by with his entourage?
It was a very weird night. We were with some people from Interscope and they took us to the Marilyn Manson show. Afterwards we went back to the house, just about 10 of us, and one of their handlers called up and asked for directions from Hara (Arena). Awhile later two real big guys came in the door with walkie talkies and headsets to check the scene out. As you can imagine we were all cackling inside at this point.
Finally the entourage came in and eventually there were all kinds of people in the house that I didn't quite recognize. After chatting with a few I discovered there were Mansonheads from all over the country in that place. Apparently there was someone guarding the door also. I went up to him and he was like, "Hey man, trust me."
Sure enough, out in the front yard were gaggles of kids in tore up fishnets with black duck tape all over themselves milling about like Halloween. And I was like, "But what if our friends are trying to get in?" And just then Nick Eddy and Morgan Taylor (from the Dayton band Mink) were walking up onto the property howling and laughing at all the lil' goth lawn ornaments. And the bouncer was like, "Don't worry, see? I can recognize your friends." It was a pretty fun night.
I had a shitty headache that night and didn't want any alcohol. Manson took me out to the tour bus which was parked in that fenced-in lot next to the house and gave me some EXTRA strength pain relievers. He was pretty cool. He seemed mostly interested in asking me what random peoples names were at the party and then calling their name out and giving them the finger when they turned around. He was like the goth Jeremy Frederick (spazzed-out lead singer of the Dayton band Let's Crash).
What's the craziest event you can remember happening there (party, practice, etc.)?
Gee whiz, there are many incriminating events that are too personal to recount without getting many, many people in trouble and in jail. I think I'll be safe and say the Marilyn Manson party. Most of the things I remember are personal and maybe not interesting to others.
Doughman and Neil Blender would leave the front window open and put a trail of nuts in onto the furnace that would lead squirrels in for these short term encounters. We would be hanging out and all of a sudden everyone would go massively quiet as a squirrel cautiously came in gather nuts and leave.
Another time, I remember meeting up with Tyler and Juan at the house after Tim had died (Note: While living at the house, Brainiac's lead singer Tim Taylor was killed in a car accident days before a trip to meet with record execs in New York). We were sitting in his room talking and looking around his room. His walls were orange with baby blue trim and he had these crazy looking Jesus color-by-numbers that were done in really fucked up colors hanging up that he had got from the village thrift.
We were looking through his records and splitting them up. Bob Pollard (of Guided by Voices) was over at the house doing vocals on demos with Doughman for Waved Out, his second solo album. The only sound was Bob singing acapella that song, "Rumbling joker hides a lot, rumbling joker lies a lot to you...we are growing old as planned." It seemed to make a lot of sense that day.
When did you move out, and why?
I had moved to Cincinnati about a year or more before that. My girlfriend got pregnant and we decided to give the baby up for adoption, so I moved down to be with her. She had moved to New York by the time Tim had died and that is why I ended up moving here (New York).
Were you still living there when Brainiac was using the warehouse next door as practice space?
No, but I spent a lot of time in both. I still had keys to the house even though I didn't live there anymore. Too bad both of those spaces had such bad leaks. They just went to waste. Now that I live in New York, I really appreciate the size and cost of those spaces.
That space next door was very massive and only $100--no utilities. On the other side of it was another abandoned building, key for noise making, because it used to be an alarm system company. They of course had a really kick-ass alarm and a barbed wire fence that closed in the parking lot. That place could have been a crazy recording facility.
But all Brainiac really did there was a couple demos. I recorded two tracks with Matt Schulz (Let's Crash) there that ended up on the John Stuart Mill record. Now Matt plays with Enon in New York.
After Brainiac dissolved and moved away do you think the house lost some of its spirit?
Doughman could probably most accurately answer this question. I moved away to New York at this point. I don't think the spirit went away, it just changed. Tim was more about trying to renovate it then Dave. Dave was more about it being a place to actually record, play and have gatherings. Had Tim lived, next door would have contained those focuses. And the house would have maybe gotten nicer and more decorative. Who knows?
When was the last time you were at the house?
I remember being there one of the first times Enon was in Dayton. That was before Doughman moved out. My time line is terrible, probably two or so years ago now. It was getting wrecked up and I was glad Dave was moving out and onto somewhere else.
------------------------------------------------
Probably the biggest proponent of the B&B as a multi-purpose space was Dave Doughman, the longest continous resident just before its abandonment. Dave was also responsible for much of the recording that went on the house (including Robert Pollard, Brainiac, etc.)
SPONIC: So when did you move into the house?
Dave Doughman: Probably late spring or summer of 1994. At the time Timmy and I were dating two girls that were roommates, so we got to know each other (that way). My parents were out of town for the summer and I was commuting from their house in Union into Dayton to hang out and party, and had been looking for some place to live in town.
A roommate of their had just moved out and Brainiac was getting ready to go on tour. They were like, "Hey, this would be a perfect opportunity. You could move in while we're gone, we could have someone watching the house. Everyone gets hooked up."
And that was spring, summer '94?
Dave: I just know because I moved there in March of '94. My first week there I saw The Breeders, Guided by Voices, Afghan Whigs and New Bomb Turks at Hara Arena. And then two weeks later I was starting to hang out with the GBV guys, because I went to another one of their shows--when they played Canal Street—and I taped it, then gave it to Bob.
That was before Crying Your Knife Away, the semi-official GBV live album that you recorded?
A couple shows before that.
So when you moved in it was you, Tim, and John?
Yep, us three. Then there was a brief time, six months maybe, when Tim was out. Then Neil Blender moved in, so it was me and Neil and John. And then Neil moved out and John moved out. It was me by myself for a little bit, then Dorsey Fyffe (at the time music director for the nationally-renowned 97X FM radio station in Oxford, Ohio). Then Tim moved back in and Dorsey (moved out again). And when Tim died it was pretty much just me. I lived there for another year or so. And when I moved out they boarded the place up.
So you were the last resident before it was left for dead?
Yeah. When everyone eventually moved out, I took over the whole place. I don't know, I might have lived by myself for a month before Dorsey asked to move in. Then Tim, etc.
When you first moved in, had there already been a lot of recording going on there? Were John and Tim doing stuff there?
Yeah, I think Tim was doing the majority of stuff at first in his bedroom at his mom's house, even though he'd been living (at the B&B). Brainiac practiced in the basement for a long time. It wasn't until maybe the third record that they got the practice space next door. It might have been when Bonsai Superstar came out, or a little bit after it.
They just decided that Tim wanted (the music) to be removed from the living space. And he was definitely not a big fan of my always setting up in the living room. He wanted to have a nice house, not a band house. We always had the shows there and stuff. Prior to when I moved in there wasn't a whole lot of recording going on.
When you say setting up, do you mean Swearing at Motorists practices and recordings?
Just anyone's stuff. There was a lot of times where we'd leave stuff up. It was no big deal. Everyone encouraged there to be recordings going on. I had a bad habit of setting stuff up and leaving it there for days. I always tried to make sure that when Brainiac came back from a tour that the house looked like a house, not like a recording space or a band rehearsal space.
That was how it worked out for everyone the whole time we lived there. Everyone was pretty respectful of everyone else's space. You tried to do things when no one else was around, and because everyone was doing so much and involved with so much, it wasn't really hard.
When you first moved in were you working at Trader Vic's? (local record store/label owned by rabid indie music proponent Vic Blankenship)
No, basically I took Timmy's shift at Vic's. To this day there's a lot of people thinking they used to hang out with me when I was working at Trader Vic's, and the thing is, I wasn't working I was just sitting behind the counter. I'd be in the back smokin' weed and I'd come up front and sit on a chair. When people asked for stuff I'd help them because I didn't want to go on the other side of the counter and stand up. So I actually didn't start working there until...shit...I mean, we had records out before I worked there.
We had at least done The Fear of Low Flying Clouds before I ever worked there. I wasn't actually looking for a job. It was like, "Hey, I got this shift. You wanna work at the record store while I'm on tour?" And I was like, "Hey, yeah, I think that might work out. I might as well be down there getting paid doing the same thing."
So I worked there part-time taking Tim's shift, and when he came back from tour he would work it. I was always making my money back then from doing freelance engineering. I would engineer projects out in Yellow Springs. When I first moved to Dayton, what I was hired to do in Yellow Springs, was to be a tape duplication engineer. To make cassette tapes. They have blank cases and spools, like a 7 minute tape, and you would duplicate whatever they recorded in the studio onto the cassettes for them.
Well that's how I got to know everyone so well, is because I had a DAT. That's why people always called me DAT Dave. I would go to shows, record the band, go back that night, dub it, make perfect length cassettes and then make 10 or 11 copies. I'd hand number then, shrink wrap 'em, and then show up the next time to the band's show with their last show on tape.
Even when you'd never met the band beforehand?
Yeah, that's how I got to know some of those people. Based on that, people liked the recording I was doing, and they wanted me to work on their demos, and I had this space. Pretty soon I didn't even work in Yellow Springs for probably six months. I quit, because at that point I was doing sound part-time at Canal St. Tavern.
So many people were just having me go do sound for them there than Mick (Montgomery) was like, "Do you just wanna work here?" I was like, "Yeah, okay, great. I'll do that part time. Then I'll meet more bands." People would pay me $50 to demo them on the 4-track, or buy weed and pizza or whatever. And the people that had more money, we would go into the studio.
And you would primarily record people in the main living room of the house? The Rock Room, as some called it?
Wherever. When I did the O-Matic album we did it in their rehearsal space above what used to be Club Safari. But tons of things, like Ten O'Clock Scholar, and even Brainiac and the Robert Pollard stuff, and the Guided by Voices stuff, was all pretty much in the living room.
When you say the Robert Pollard stuff, do you mean Waved Out?
Yeah, and all the Suitcase box set stuff that I recorded was from that first session. He and I got together and in 10 hours recorded and mixed 15 songs. A few ended up being on Waved Out, and a couple ended up (as different versions) on Do the Collapse. We also did the song for the SPONIC 7" there, "One Track Records."
What Brainiac songs were done there?
Nothing that ever came out. We recorded some stuff, and they ended up doing different versions. The one that sticks out in my mind the most was "Beekeeper's Maxim." The version that ended up on the record, lyrically, is so far different. I love both versions. It's not like what we did was sub-par, it just wasn't what the songs were (supposed) to be.
Did you do a lot of spur of the moment recording? I remember when my band The Circuit Riders set up and did that 13-song album in like a day...
We did a lot of stuff where bands would just come in. And not all of it worked out. It was like that with Gary Spencer and The Esoterics. It totally didn't work out. None of us were happy with it. That was because of the style of music they were playing--we didn't have what it took to record it. It was just huge, noisy, loud, low-end songs. And when you're working on a 4-track with mostly dynamic microphones, we couldn't get a recording that we all enjoyed.
But besides that, I was happy with most everything that was done there. We had people that would come from out of town to play a show, and they'd have a day off and they'd just be like, "Okay, set your stuff up in the living room and I'll record you."
There's tons of stuff I recorded that I don't even know who the people totally were. You know? They were just friends. So inevitably a lot of those people would end up the next day with a 4-track in front of them, demo-ing out something. I'm sure I recorded a bunch of compilation tracks that I'll never know about. I handed so many tapes to people, like "Here you go." And I didn't even bother to double-copy backup or anything. It was just something to do.
How many bands can you name or remember that have either played shows there or practiced there?
Swearing at Motorists, Johnny Smoke, Brainiac, Guided by Voices, Ten O'Clock Scholar, Let's Crash, Nostromo and tons of others. And then upstairs, Concord Frequency used to practice a lot. Guided by Voices practiced there a lot right before Do the Collapse. And actually, we let the Kommandoz OGC (a Dayton rap/funk group) practice downstairs one time. A couple of the guys got in a fist fight so that was the last time they were ever allowed to rehearse there. That was pretty funny, actually.
As far as shows, for three or four years Johnny Smoke had the annual, Halloween bash. One of those Halloween's was Bob Pollard's 40th birthday. That was crazy. It was a costume party so everyone dressed up like a Guided by Voices song title. You can imagine some of the costumes. And of course, Jim Shepard (of the late Columbus band V-3) had his 40th birthday at midnight on November 1st. It was actually really weird, because it was like the last time I ever saw Jim Shepard.
I know, me too. I remember that.
Yeah, that was a crazy night man. Swearing at Motorists had their first show in Dayton there. Actually we played in Kelly Marchal's basement once. But besides that the first show we had was the one at the house. It was like Nostromo, Johnny Smoke, and us, I think.
God, it was years ago. We had so many people come through there, people that on one's heard of like Ornamental Music. We had their show in the basement with all the little kiddie chairs. It was really funny.
Kiddie chairs?
We set up like 20 of those little chairs downstairs in the basement. It was what I imagined shows would be like when I was a kid. We had one bare light bulb in the basement lighting the whole thing over the band. I swept everything out and set up chairs. Everyone sat there until they were full and a few more people stood around. This band played this really, really great, kind of depressing pop music. I was just like, "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm in Dayton, in a basement, 20 feet from hookers and crack dealers, and there's these guys from Baltimore playing music that no one's ever heard of but me."
We did a lot of that. I'd meet somebody and I'd enjoy what they were doing, and they would need a show. So we'd be like, "If no place in town will book you, we'll have a party at our house. And maybe you can sell some tapes, whatever."
We never had any shows that you had to pay for, but anyone that ever played there left with a full tank of gas, if not $50. It wasn't like we ever said, "We'll take a collection." People would just come up to me and give me $5 I wish I would have kept a log book of all the bands.
That's why I liked the house. It wasn't a commercial place, it was a residence. There's a communal feeling automatically because of that, but you're doing all these different things there. You're using it as more than a house.
In the early days they weren't doing much (there). But when Tim moved back in from Cincinnati, that's where he was doing a lot of creating for the Brainiac records. And of course, that's where I did all my creating and recording, for the most part. We all practiced there.
I remember so many times, Brainiac would be going on tour the next day, and there'd be all five of us, the band and me, screen-printing T-shirts and drinking beers. There'd be a hundred Brainiac hanging everywhere, or Swearing at Motorists shirts hanging everywhere, over ledges, from the chandeliers. We used it to do everything. It's where we lived, it's where we entertained, it's where we practiced, it's where we created.
So the practice space next door--what was that space before you got a hold of it? Was it empty? Was it a warehouse?
I think it was a door company. They installed garage doors for trucks to drive through, or glass sliding doors for businesses, like automatic doors and such. Tim got ahold of it and Brainiac and Let's Crash used it. Swearing at Motorists practiced there a couple times, but we didn't like it. Tim wanted us to share the space as a ploy for S@M to not practice in the house.
We played over there for a bit, and it was great for those guys, but for the way I operate, I'd prefer to be in the house. But they were recording over there too. I'm pretty certain that's where Brainiac's Electro-Shock for President was done. Tim got an agreement with the owners and split it with Jeremy Frederick (of Let's Crash), and Johnny Smoke (Dorsey Fyfe and Don Thrasher), among others.
I remember there were these church pews in one of the living rooms. Where did those come from?
Dorsey Fyfe's father, Dorsey Fyfe senior, is a minister and his church was getting rid of them, so he asked if we wanted them. So we were like, "Hell yeah." Well, we didn't say "Hell yeah," but you know... We brought them over in my Blazer. It took us a couple trips out to Fairborn, but we got 'em all. It was perfect for the way that house was. Like you said, it was a communal thing. How many late nights did you go to a show and know exactly where you were going to be at 3 a.m.? On one of those church pews.
Yeah, I remember the first night I hung out there. We did the Swearing at Motorists interview, then went over the Monument Club (Robert Pollard's bar) with Tim, Tyler Trent (Brainiac drummer), Don Thrasher and Rob Sponic. When we got back, we had an advance copy of GBV's Mag Earwhig! we were listening to. The guys in Mink were in the kitchen playing guitar and I was slowly getting hammered on the couch with a bunch of people. The last thing I remember as I passed out on the church pew was Tim giving me a blanket and saying "goodnight." That was the last time I ever saw him. He was killed two days later in that car accident...
Yeah, that was a crazy night. I remember it pretty well.
So tell me your version of the Marilyn Manson, spin-the-bottle episode.
I'll never forget that phone call on Valentine's Day. It was like, (British accent), "Is Dave or Tim there?" I was like, "Yeah, this is Dave." And he goes, "This is, uh, Marilyn Manson's tour manager and we were wondering if the invitation was still open." Interscope was trying to woo Brainiac at the time, and Marilyn Manson was on tour, and of course MM being an Interscope band, the idea was, "Yeah, you guys go the show, hang out, see what's it like when you're a big rock star like Marilyn, and maybe you'll let us turn you into one too."
We all went to the show to have fun, and our friend Debbie from Interscope was there--it was all a big hoot. As we're leaving Tim jokingly says, "You're more than welcome to come back to the house. We're having an after hours." Ha ha, chuckle chuckle...and we leave.
Fast forward 25 minutes later to that phone call. It's the tour manager taking us up on the offer. And he's like, "Where can we park?" So I give him directions. I'm like, "You can park right in front of the house if you want." So about 5 or 10 minutes later I hear these air brakes, and I look towards the windows. We had the shades all drawn, but I could see through them this line of blinking lights. So I'm like, "What the hell is going on out there?"
We rip open the front door and what do I see but my yard, and across the street, but tons of kids dressed like various members of Marilyn Manson. And right in front of our house is the tour bus, on this huge busy street in the ghetto. I would have figured they had a limo or something. All these fans had followed the tour bus from Hara Arena to our house.
This big security guy gets off, comes up to the door, and he's like, "Do you mind if I have a look around first?" I'm like, "I guess not." He gives it the once over, gets on his walkie-talkie and says, "It's clear, bring him in." The doors open on the bus and Marilyn Manson and his band enter the house. This big security guy comes out after them, follows them to the door, then he stops and turns around. Like, these two guys are working security, at MY HOUSE.
So I'm like, "You know, I have friends that are coming over, we're having a get together." And he's like, "I'll know who your friends are." It was surreal--there were more people on our lawn than in the house.
For the most part, Brian--excuse me--Marilyn and I were talking about keyboards and guitars. Marilyn had two young girls that came with him. But it didn't look like any kind of sex thing. More like companionship. Everyone was just kinda hanging out, talking.
It was really funny to be standing in the Rock Room (the main living room), looking towards the kitchen, seeing Morgan Taylor (of Mink) sitting there with his big hair, telling a story. Leaning up against him, leaning against his chair with his head resting on Morgan's knees, is fucking Marilyn Manson. That's pretty surreal.
Those guys stayed til about three in the morning. All at once they politely got up and were like, "Thanks for having us over. We really enjoyed ourselves. Hopefully we'll see you again some time." They all left really quietly, got on the bus and of course were followed by all those kids.
Was there anything that went on?
There was a small spin-the-bottle game.
Who did Marilyn Manson kiss?
You're baiting me, you know this story...you just want to hear me say it.
Any other people that stopped through?
When Neil Blender lived there there were random pro skaters stopping by. So much happened all the time, it just kind of blends together. Sometimes I'll be telling a story and someone's like, "No, that wasn't this band, that was THIS band." Are you baiting me again?
No...
Just weird things like, after Schmersal left, calling to say he's on the freeway and he's able to pop in and hang out for two hours. Or Britt Daniel from Spoon calling, "Hey man, I'm coming through town, what's going on?" And I'm like, "Oh nothing, you wanna spend a few days here?" "Yeah!" he says, "You think I could play?" "Well how bout you play at my house?"
I'm surprised we never got in trouble. We only had the police come once, and that's because there were shirtless people outside yelling, howling at the moon. It had nothing to do with the fact that we were playing music and it was five in the morning. It was that you're not allowed to run around without a shirt, howling, down North Main Street.
And you got some noise complaints from neighbors, right?
Yeah, but that was pretty rare. I can only recall maybe three times, and they were all towards the end. In the beginning no one ever cared. In the end I think someone pretty much trying to get rid of us anyway. We knew who it was.
I remember one night, the Swearing at Motorists interview. There were people on the upstairs porch, pouring in from downstairs...
I know, I thought everyone was nuts. There's a guy RIGHT out front getting arrested for speeding and there's like 12 on the patio drinking beer and passing joints around in full view. I was like, "This is not right, man!" I totally remember that.
Do you think the location had anything to do with who hung out there and what went on?
Definitely, the location helped. No one in that neighborhood was going to say anything to us. People in that neighborhood were either really old, or doing something really illegal. You look in our backyard, it was two lots long, so there's no one behind to care. Looking north there's that big practice space and parking lots. To the south there's that boarding house--most of the people staying there were not on the up-and-up, so none of them were bitching. And then straight across the street to the east, well it's across North Main Street!
When we first moved in, all three of those houses from the corner down were abandoned. Then the next house in line isn't even a house, it's an insurance agency. So for years, we ruled the block. There was only one other occupied house within a six or seven house radius.
Over the years people moved in and it got a little more (conservative), but it was north of town, you know? It was no big deal. Most of (our friends) lived South of town near University of Dayton, so it was kind of a little jaunt.
Not to sound too hippie-ish, but do you think the house had a palpable vibe to it?
It definitely had a vibe. Everyone I ever knew that had ever been there, they were like, "There's just something about your house." It was inviting. It was relaxing. It was abeautiful old that hadn't been kept up all that well. Messy but clean. And everyone in the house was doing what they wanted to do. As I grew up--if you will--in that house, I saw what it was I REALLY wanted to do. And then I began doing that.
Same with everyone else that stayed there. Everyone that left there left for a better situation. I was bummed when I finally moved out, but there were a lot of factors involved. One of them being that the heating bills for $350 to $450 a month. And the rent was only $400!
So you didn't have much of a choice...
Yeah. Every time I'm back in Dayton I drive by it. I have this fantasy that I'll make a little money and buy it. I'd love to own that house. It would be amazing to buy it and refurbish it the way it deserves, restore it to its former glory. Who knows? Some day maybe.
Where'd you get the infamous neon sign from in the front room?
It was a gift from (drummer and producer) Kelly Marchal, the Miller Genuine Draft sign. The blue light bulbs that we always had, Kim Deal started that. And then when we ran out of blue bulbs we'd start using that purple light gels or whatever. Everyone contributed...
I remember listening to Waved Out for the first time in that room.
Totally. It was like, "Let's sit here and listen to it in the room it was recorded in." The thing about that house, it was just soooo big. Even when there were a lot of people, you could find a place to be by yourself. That's why I was able to successfully create in it. Our schedules were disjointed enough that no one was really around at the same time.
Did you ever use the backyard?
The most neglected part, besides the huge and amazing attic, was that backyard. It was so giant and wide open. When we first moved in there was a privacy fence that went all the way down, but the neighbor kids kicked it out. They played this game they thought was cool of karate-kicking it and breaking it. I don't remember doing anything in that yard except letting my ex-girlfriend's dog take a shit there.
Or for beer keg storage, like during Bob Pollard's party
Quite a few people, puked, pissed and passed out in those bushes. Over the years I find out that so many more people vomited at my parties than I knew about. It's funny. They'll be like, "Man, we used to come to your house. We'd get so hammered." And I'd be like, "No way, you never got sick." And they're like, "Oh yeah, we did, in the backyard." Oh man...the neighborhood cats must have loved us when we had parties.
Even when you had just a few people over...when I would just hang out and watch you guys practice, I would often get pretty trashed with whoever was there.
Well, you had the Scary Mart (Dairy Mart) right down the street. Then you had the Double L down the block, like a block & half south on N. Main, across from the Rite Aid on the side of our house. It was this craaaazy little bar with country music on the jukebox, and for $5 you got a 6-pack of mini Budweisers in a bucket of ice. That and the Scary Mart being right there, you could just walk down til 10 o'clock to get beer. Then you had until 1 a.m. to walk down to the United Dairy Farmer's. So yeah, there was always beer around, and of course weed. Everyone was always in the mood to party.
When I'd walk in there, and it'd be hard to not smoke, play music, or strike up a conversation.
People would just drop over all the time. The only other person that lived on my side of my time was Bob Pollard in Northridge and Nate Farley in the Santa Clara Arts District, right at the top of the hill. It was odd that it was a congregation spot. The majority of our friends lived within a 10 block radius of Walnuts Hills, or the Oregon District. It wasn't a place you would drive by on your way somewhere. When you drove by our house, you were driving by to see if we were home.
Did Kim Deal ever record anything there?
Um, we recorded some stuff, just her and I. It wasn't like "Kim Deal" stuff though. It wasn't Dave Doughman stuff either. It was a thing we called four-track chess. We would get fucked up and she would record a track, then I would listen to it. We made the rule that you could only listen to it twice. You could listen to it once, but the second time you had to be recording. We'd just keep layering it until we said it was done. I've got a few of those on tape somewhere.
Do you wish you still lived at the Bed & Breakfast?
I really miss that place. It definitely looms large. It's unfortunate all the happenings there weren't documented. But I guess, why would you document it? We were just living. Just a few guys living together in a house.
And if you're documenting it all the time, you're not living in the moment, however cheesy that may sound.
Right, you look back and it seems extraordinary, but at the time, in reality, it wasn't. We're no different than anyone else. We were all big on the Golden Rule: everyone wanted to be treated nice on the road. When you go to someone else's town you want to have a good time, a clean place to stay and a good party. That's what we gave them.
Do you know anything about the history of the house? There are lots of rumors about it.
It sat empty shortly before we lived in it. Before that, it was a Montessori school. And before that, a doctor owned it. That's the reason the downstairs is laid out like it is: it was originally a doctor's office. And the upstairs was for the doctor's family. It was built as a residential/commercial building and it's still zoned that way.
There's that secret way through the bathroom to go upstairs. When the doctor would come to work in the morning, he'd go through the bathroom and wash his hands. When he'd leave at night he'd do it again and go up the stairs. For years, there were people that didn't know how to get upstairs.
Do you know when it was built?
I think it may have been built in the 1920's. There's a whole story behind it. Supposedly this woman came to the doctor and told him she had been raped. She said couldn't handle the child, that it would ruin her family. And abortions were illegal back then, of course. So he gave her an abortion, but after she went home she hemorrhaged and died. The doctor was tried for murder and found guilty. He went to prison and I think his family lived there until he got out. I think he moved back in and they took care of him until he died.
It was a big deal when this happened. This guy was really well-respected. That neighborhood was one of the first affluent, suburb-type areas in Dayton. When doctors and lawyers started moving out of downtown at the turn of the century, those were the neighborhood they built first. I mean, you're driving down the street and you can't believe you're in such a cracked out neighborhood because the houses are so beautiful and huge. That's why, because the neighborhod was all doctor's and lawyer's office-houses.
Any remnants in there from the doctor's office?
No, we never found anything but Montessori school stuff. There was so much junk there when we moved in, and so much junk when we left.
-- John Wenzel
for questions or comments contact: webmaster@swearingatmotorists.com