By Lauren Wise
By Anthony Sandoval
By New Times Staff
By Chris Parker
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Lauren Wise
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Chase Kamp
Just as fortunetellers have their little fishing expeditions to crack a sucker's psyche, so, too, rock writers have their shortcuts on deconstructing a band's sound without using the dreaded catch-all phrase "eclectic" (which, in truth, we've already exhausted in this article's headline). Here's the laziest methodology: Just ask the band members how they describe their sound to their prospective employers, club owners, and go from there. A fair question for Banana Gun, a quintet who's stopped for an afternoon drink at the Swizzle Inn before trucking to play an untried venue in Sedona, land of crystals, clairvoyants, clairsentients, and clairaudients. How did they sell Banana Gun to that club owner?
26 S. Farmer Ave.
Tempe, AZ 85281
"I told them we're a zydeco/funk/ambient psychedelic jam band," laughs singer/guitarist Kevin Loyd. "Naw, I just tell them we're rock 'n' roll band — that's probably the easiest explanation. That covers a lot of ground."
Yes, rock 'n' roll, that vague catch-all phrase bands shied away from for years, a phrase meaning anything from Slayer to Leo Sayer. Perhaps the much-abused term has fallen far enough into disuse to be operable again. If so, Banana Gun fits the bill. They cover enough musical terrain on their first full-length, The Elephant in the Room, to give a typical A&R man pause for concern. "Attic," the song that the band agrees upon as the signpost of where Banana Gun's sound is heading next, incorporates good-timey folk, Cookie Monster metal, and punk jumbled together in one headspace. At the same time, they are capable of "Blue Sky," an effortlessly laid-back R&B folk groove, the kind that John Mellencamp has been chasing since people stopped calling him "The Coog" and that could make Kid Rock untold millions if he sampled it and called it something else.
"Just be one of those kinds of bands," you can imagine Mr. A&R saying. Would it make for a more easily marketable band? Undoubtedly. But that band wouldn't be Banana Gun, and that would be too bad.
Watching the band set up for a typical show at the Sail Inn or Long Wong's underscores the inexplicable style of the band. Have the dual lead guitarists warming up tricked you into imagining Thin Lizzy (or maybe Molly Hatchet)? Does the skronking sax player have you primed for free jazz or jumpin' R&B? How about the singer with dreadlocks halfway down his back switching from his ax to a banjo? Is this band insane or simply impossibly scatterbrained?
"I think that's a good thing," says saxophonist Kyle Scarborough of the potentially puzzling vibes. "[People] think one thing, and it gets us through the door."
Loyd agrees: "Duke Ellington said there are only two kinds of music — good and bad. I just love that."
Three years ago, Loyd's band Ghost of America fell apart at the same time Bad Rabbit, a band that included drummer Ian Breslin, guitarist Nic Dehaan, and bassist Ross Troost, was about to break up. "Bad Rabbit and Ghosts of America — we used to play Joe's Grotto all the time," says Troost. "And they were the only bands there that didn't play metal, so we got along great."
"It was either join them or move to California, and I didn't want to move to California," Loyd adds.
"Our two bands were very focused-sounding hard rock bands at the time," says Troost. But that slowly changed.
"When we got the banjo, and it was getting into the country shit, well, none of us had ever played that kind of music before, so it was a bit of a challenge," Dehaan says. "We needed somewhere to jump off of, so the song 'Light On' was it. We were trying to find our way."
Also confused was future reed player Scarborough, who'd moved to Phoenix from Rochester, New York, and answered an ad on Craigslist. "I had been touring for nine years in an R&B band and didn't know anybody here," says Scarborough. "I needed to be in a band. I thought it was going to be stoner rock, but then it's country, too?"
"We got together with the idea that it's not gonna be the type of band where there's one singer," says Breslin. "We soon realized that Kevin was the singer. He was so shy when he came in — all he wanted to do was play guitar."
"It was nice to have the confidence that everyone was behind me. I could let loose. Proving that most artists have huge egos and little self-esteem," Loyd chuckles. "And some people have to feed that in order for me to do good."
"Then Kyle came in and she said, 'I can sing, too.' And I said I bet you can!"
Loyd raises his eyebrow for comic effect. Perhaps more eyebrow-raising was Loyd's predilection for inviting anyone who could play an instrument to join the new band, as well. It wasn't as bad as having every douchebag with a didgeridoo crashing your show, but it did lead to some drum-circle nightmare moments. At their most padded, Banana Gun was firing on nine cylinders.
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