DRUMMER WANTED for Chapel Hill-area punk-inflected hard-rock band. Screamy, young-Iggy-Pop-like vocals. Twin guitar heavy-riff attack. Main influences: And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, The Catheters, Queens of the Stone Age. Must have exceptional drum-rolling skills and total disdain for loud/soft dynamics. Band already booked for regular gig at Jack's Saloon & Fishhouse, as well as appearance at the Wilmington Cherry Festival. Practice space a bonus.(86%)
I SAW YOU at The Catheters show at the Bottom of the Hill last Saturday night. You: short dyed-black hair, black tank top, tight jeans & belt with chrome highlights, Ramones tattoo on right arm. Me: red hooded sweatshirt, messy blond hair, backpack with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club patch. We stood next to each other near the bar; did you notice me? I could've sworn we were fist-pumping in unison during the guitar solo of "Build a Home," and I tried to start a conversation during the band's only song with significant sub-overdrive portions, "Clock on the Wall," but kept getting drowned out by the chorus. Suffice to say, "I Fall Easy"-- want to get together sometime? (62%)
FOR SALE: vintage, barely-used medical equipment. Scalpels, forceps, sutures, hemostats, syringes, etc.-- the catheters are like new. Don't worry-- all items sterilized thoroughly with soap and water. No questions asked. (58%)
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SWF SEEKING SBM: I'm tired of dating rock 'n' roll men and their unsexy musical tastes, be they hang-dog acoustic guitar journal-writers, idealistic freeze-dried-Beatles microwave meals, or choking on their own androgen amp-worshippers like The Catheters. I need to be romanced away by music with soul and sex appeal; music that I can swing my hips to, not just nod my head at the appropriate speed. Take me away from these self-obsessed white boys and their paranoid obsession with six-stringed phallic symbols. I'm yours. (52%)
FOR SALE: review copy of The Catheters' Static Delusions and Stone-Still Days album, only played through a handful of times. Sub Pop quartet's sound falls somewhere between the hi-octane intelli-metal that put their label on the map and that no-frills, no-keyboards, distortion-pedal guitar band sound that the kids are ennui-ing to these days. No doubt, the album hits on certain levels-- the proceedings are recorded with the appropriate amount of fuzz, and tracks like "Nothing" and "Endless Avenues" have sharp (if familiar) hooks. And while singer Brian Standeford's ceaseless yowling gets on my nerves by album's end, I've got to admit he's got a certain sweaty charisma. Basically, it's an okay effort that's not really my cup of tea, and I'm looking to give it a good home that will give it the love and appreciation it deserves. 99 cents. (42%)
