3 Bands Seek Strength From Unity

In Orange County, where the club scene for original rockers is worse than anemic, bands might do well to heed Ben Franklin’s famous admonition to his fellow Yankee revolutionaries: “We must all hang together, or we will surely hang separately.”

Three of the county’s most interesting and intelligent alternative-rock bands decided to hang together last Friday night at Night Moves, with excellent results. In a show of camaraderie and common sense, Eggplant, Don’t Mean Maybe and Lost Dog joined forces to rent the club for a night so they could appear together on the same bill.

None of those bands has a label pushing its music yet (although Eggplant recently signed with the local Dr. Dream Records), and none has arrived as a sure-fire drawing card on the local club scene. By pooling talents, the bands figured that they would have a compatible bill that might lead a fan attracted by one of them to hear--and perhaps like--one or both of the others.

At the very least, Eggplant, Don’t Mean Maybe and Lost Dog each would be assured of appearing with counterparts they like and respect.

As it turned out, the financial gains were modest--after paying off the $300 club rental, each band wound up taking home $90, according to Jon Melkerson, the Eggplant guitarist who handled most of the evening’s business details. But two of the three bands got to play for an enthusiastic audience of 200 people or more (most of the crowd was gone by the time Lost Dog appeared after 12:30 a.m.).

The theory of audience expansion through fan-sharing may well pay off. In any case, those who stayed through the whole evening got to hear three very different but worthwhile performances.

Eggplant, which led off, showed that it has all the ingredients for success on the college-oriented rock circuit. The band has an appealing, unassuming sense of humor, a wide stylistic range, and--particularly evident during this 50-minute set--a great deal of pure playing ability marked by what so many rock bands lack: an emphasis on the dynamic interplay between loud and soft, delicate and emphatic.

The refrain from a rollicking country-twang song called “Eli Riddle” may offer all the advice that Eggplant needs to heed: “Keep on the rails and you’ll get there.”

With drummer Dave Tabone lending potent but flexible rhythmic wallop, Eggplant rocked solidly. Melkerson, the primary soloist, was a consistently classy lead guitar player who kept etching concise, inventive parts. John Kelly, who doubles on bass and guitar, also supplied some effective garage-rock guitar leads, while Jeff Beals contributed sharp (if slightly overamplified) rhythm guitar work and teamed with Melkerson to give the band two interesting singing voices.

The set took off in several rewarding directions, with Eggplant showing itself to be adept at country-rock, jangling folk-rock, humorous garage-band sallies and atmospheric instrumental passages.

There were a couple of drawbacks: Vocals tended to be buried in the sound mix, and Eggplant never slowed down to deliver a ballad (its upcoming album will include a nice, winsome harmony number).

But Eggplant offered good, focused rock that remained fresh from start to finish because of the band’s varied influences and stylistic interests. At times, Eggplant played with a honed intensity that recalled the Feelies, but it also can rock in a looser vein played strictly for fun, in a way that sometimes recalled the fine Boston alternative-rock band, Big Dipper.

Eggplant’s reach exceeded its grasp during a sometimes-awkward version of Television’s “Marquee Moon,” but most bands would not even attempt this demanding guitar-band classic--and Eggplant’s version did finally catch fire in a driving concluding passage.

The band also showed a good deal of imagination in its recasting of “Just My Imagination,” a hit for the Temptations and the Rolling Stones. Eggplant slowed and darkened this bittersweet song about daydreaming, lending it a raw, threatening tinge that recalled Neil Young’s “Down by the River.” Beals, the quirkier of Eggplant’s two vocalists, sang it in a creaky, wizened voice that made him sound like an alternative-rock incarnation of Jerry Garcia.

Those looking for charisma and energetic display may find Eggplant lacking, but in their low-key way the band members convey a sense of friendliness and enjoyment in playing. But a little bit of well-timed flash and exuberant movement would not hurt. In that respect, another line from an Eggplant song seems to apply: “I need more confidence, that’s all I need.”

There was nothing reserved or diffident about Don’t Mean Maybe’s set. The band is a hard-rock power trio that likes to play at full thrust. But guitarist Mark Andrea, drummer Jeff Fairbanks and bassist John Hawthorne also negotiated enough rhythmic turns and swerves in their episodic songs to avoid turning their 35-minute set into a hard, undifferentiated electric slab.

It was smart of Don’t Mean Maybe to set up with Fairbanks in full view behind his drum kit: Even sitting down, he was a kinetic performer, pumping his body and jerking his head as if he wanted to pound the drums with his whole being. For all that, he did not sacrifice the precision that a rock trio format requires--and in Don’t Mean Maybe’s scheme, Fairbanks’ drums often take over as lead instrument.

Andrea is also an energetic performer. His guitar solos were high-octane workouts that kept the focused crunchy riffing of ‘60s psychedelia without indulging in that style’s spaciness and overplaying.

Humor turned up often, in songs that skewered trendy beach-goers (“Buff and Tan”) and sang the praises of coffee (“Happy Beans”). Don’t Mean Maybe also pulled off a nice bit of heavy-metal satire, laying down a convincing Led Zeppelin tromping beat while Fairbanks howled in a deliberately awful falsetto.

While the best songs of the set continue to follow the zigzagging pattern of the band’s key inspiration, the Minutemen, Don’t Mean Maybe is also trying to extend its range to include more pop-oriented songs, in which singing replaces yelling. While the melodies were not immediately grabbing, the direction shows promise and a mature realization that a good band must be able to do more than one thing well.

There is no mistaking the key influence on Lost Dog, which closed the evening with a 35-minute set. Singer-guitarist Mike Pekovich was wearing it strapped around his shoulder: the V-shaped guitar that was a trademark of Husker Du’s Bob Mould.

Lost Dog’s set had some of the advantages and drawbacks of its exemplar. Like Husker Du, this trio blazed hard while singing songs of deep, dark anguish. But also like Husker Du (at least live Husker Du), part of what Lost Dog gains in force it loses in lack of finesse and control.

When Lost Dog hit peak power, the equation worked in its favor. Highlights included the heavy dirge, “Ritual Protection” and “Lost Dog,” a rabid, but not unmelodic, punk-style rocker featuring call and response yells exchanged by Pekovich and bassist Scott Jessup.

But at other points, one wished for the softer textures and folkish accents that Lost Dog incorporated in its self-financed debut album. Like Don’t Mean Maybe, Lost Dog is trying to figure out when it should howl and when it should sing. Pekovich has a limited range, but he also showed in darkly melodic passages that he can be a singer, and not just a yeller.

Lost Dog’s unremittingly bleak tone made one wish for some change of pace--a song of humor or tenderness to add warmth and contrast. But there was no questioning that the feelings the band did express were passionate and real.