Boston UnsceneOn the other side of the bar, there is a serious lounge revival lurking in well-styled suits and millionaire flair. Members from Eighties' Boston band Christmas go out on a lounge limb to perpetrate their latest incarnation in Combustible Edison. Catering to the nightcap-sipping fabulous corner of punk rock, they cast a lure to the universal inner swinger. Plunging into a lapse of luxury, their collective effervescence holds promise of a brief respite from the indie economy of worn black jeans and cheep beer. Convert Peter Prescott admits, "I'm absolutely fascinated by Sixties easy listening stuff, and they do it with absolute authority. That's cool because that's an underground that hasn't been tapped. And you know there aren't many places to go to check out stuff and styles that haven't been completely beaten into the ground."
The underground clamors on, impervious to the allure of national notoriety and creative compromise of big label budgets. Within the community itself, money is scarce. Profit pertains more to personal fulfillment than payability. Mark Erdody, who runs his own Cinderblock records in addition to playing in Kudgel, reasons that of the bulk of local labels, including Pop Narcotic, Sonic Bubblegum, 100% Breakfast and Reproductive Records, "Maybe one of them has made money on one release." The rest is inspiration, a fervent love of vinyl and giving new bands a groove of their own. "My goal isn't to make a career out of it," explains Mike Hibarger, "I have a job, I have a career. My goal is to make records, enjoy it and feel proud about it. My dreams are to play New York and have Thurston show up just to see, 'cause he heard about the band through the grape vine and wanted to see us. That to me would be cool. Or Albini in Chicago."
The stubborn slacker tag, misconstrued by a condescending older generation, holds no stock on the scenes. As noisemaker Mark Erdody observes, there is little passivity. "Tonight at the Slughog show at the Middle East, probably 80 percent of the audience is involved somehow, either in putting out records or they DJ or they work in a record store." And musicians. "Boston has a huge circle of musicians you can call," notes Morphine's Mark Sandman. And among that player pool "there is a huge range of styles." Few actually limit themselves to just one. Sandman recalls being in 5 bands simultaneously, and he is hardly atypical. Side projects proliferate, from one-time four track sessions to Saturday night headliners. Venues like the Middle East encourage this experimental vein by giving the stage space to vent the sound.