album review: Stonecutters

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Good news, guys, we found Riki Rachtman! Turns out he was hiding inside the new Stonecutters album, Creatio Ex Nihil (Latin for “Creation from Nothingness,” apparently). Fans of the old, real “Headbangers Ball” will be thrilled by the new collection, and any thrashers who just woke up from a 1988 coma will not be surprised by Stonecutters’ traditional approach to the style popularized by Anthrax, Megadeth, Testament and other skateboarding-friendly dark lords. Some of the genre’s favorite tricks are employed, like the standard slow classical guitar intro merging into fast and heavy guitar riffage. While some mad-at-everything lyrics might be too typical and expected, the musicianship is top-notch and tight. Also, bonus points go to the band for choosing Dave Pollard’s typically dark but beautiful artwork, for those who buy the physical version.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Sweet meat

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Adam Colvin juggles two different approaches to local cuisine



It might look simple enough: a guy standing at a cart three or four days a week, when the weather’s nice enough, selling sausages on the side of the road. But for Busta Grill proprietor Adam Colvin, it’s just one part of a unique business model. His food reaches many more people around Louisville on a daily basis, and not just via sausages.

In 2004, Colvin’s sister, Rachel Torres, started Dolce, a wholesale bakery, in what is now known as the NuLu district. She bought the space in what had been a pre-Civil War firehouse to make pastries for high-end restaurants like Lilly’s, Azalea and Artemisia. By 2011, burnt out on the long hours away from her family, Torres was ready to step down.

But Dolce stayed in the family, as her brother — who had worked there part time, washing dishes and making deliveries — took over. Under his direction, Dolce has become more focused on making bread, and today provides such for Proof, Game, Feast BBQ, Please & Thank You, Eiderdown and a dozen other operations. “Some we do a lot for, some just one thing,” Colvin says.

“I thought it was the best-tasting stuff, so I wanted to push the bread,” Colvin continues. “We can’t make a ton of it, because everything is made by hand. So we can only make a certain number per day before we start going crazy.” An average day turns out 800 buns.

In 2011, he also started his sausage cart, originally at a “tough” location at Sixth and Chestnut. Because the Metro government regulates locations, ensuring enough distance from other carts, trucks or restaurants, vendors must submit a wish list of five locations. Colvin didn’t get any from his initial list. When First and Washington became available, he jumped on it.

Back at Dolce, his employees work from 6 a.m. until 3 p.m. The boss typically comes in at 7, preps the cart if it’s a Busta Grill day, helps out in the kitchen, and takes care of all the less glamorous details: purchasing, payroll, accounting, deliveries. The idea of opening a retail space has been dismissed, as it would increase labor and compete against accounts that already buy Dolce’s goods. Plus, that space is needed now for Busta Grill’s carts.

It’s a job filled with long hours, but Dolce is an otherwise relaxed place to work. On a recent morning, head baker Aaron Sortman rolled dough while Colvin experimented with a new recipe as Hall & Oates blasted from a speaker. His father, retired from jobs making bourbon and PBR, comes in daily to “steal some coffee,” as the son jokes.

Busta Grill can be a more intense job. It takes someone with experience feeding hundreds of people in a few hours to be able to handle big crowds. Colvin has that experience — his career in the food industry began with janitorial work at an Old Spaghetti Factory, followed by serving and dishwashing at the Limestone Bay Yacht Club, pantry work at the Louisville Country Club and De La Torre’s, and, at 19, a detour to Key West. There, he worked the grill at the Half Shell Raw Bar in between drinking and carrying on, “living like a pirate,” and learning how to work those big crowds.

After returning home, Colvin, also a musician who has drummed for numerous bands, worked as a pipe organ technician for four years before getting back into the food business, working for Creation Gardens and the Come Back Inn. He went back to school, studying at ITT Tech and then U of L, where he graduated with a philosophy degree. He considered becoming a lawyer, even taking the LSAT, before making the philosophical decision to buy a food cart.

He was inspired by his travels: Panama, Ecuador and Portland, Ore., among others, where carts and trucks inspired a nation and offered “a cheap way to get a gig” without having to answer to anyone else. His plan to sell Indian food was halted by the local government — “no raw meat on the street,” as Colvin summarizes the law. “I didn’t know that, so I had to sell sausages.”

In Ecuador, where Torres’ husband is from, Colvin saw the “outrageous hot dogs” covered with mayonnaise, chimichurri and potato sticks. “I took little bits of that and came up with this goofy idea.” Another goofy, and very American, idea was “Joe Pesci Fridays,” where Busta Grill customers can offer their Pesci impression in exchange for a discount.

Soon, Busta Grill will have a second cart at Fourth and Jefferson, which will mean adjustments to the current operation. Also, Colvin and his wife are expecting their first child. It’s the next chapter in a journey where, as Busta Grill’s sign promises, “Awesome is guaranteed!”

Photo by Ron Jasin

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

The Staves’ family values

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Twenty-something sisters Emily, Jessica and Camilla Staveley-Taylor have been performing together for many years, though their first record was only released in 2010. Now the trio from Watford, England, on the road promoting their first full-length album, Dead & Born & Grown, is happy to be returning to the United States.

“I don’t know if Americans will understand the thrill for British people coming over to the land you’ve grown up hearing so much about, through films and music and television programs — it’s such a big part of our culture,” Emily says. “It’s brilliant, it’s such a pleasure to come over here.”

Though they’ve yet to score a Mumford-sized hit, they’ve sung with Tom Jones and toured with Bon Iver, Josh Ritter and others, including a sold-out night opening for the Civil Wars at our Brown Theater. “One of our best friends has some family who live in Louisville, so she’s always going on about Louisville. I feel like I’ve known about Kentucky more than other states for a good few years before I ever came out to America,” Emily says.

The Brit says she especially loves the accent around here, as well as how warm and friendly the people are. “Whenever I see it on our list of tour dates, I call my friend. ‘Louisville’s brilliant! I’ve got cousins and aunties there!’”

While they are headlining most shows on this tour, their Louisville stop has them playing first in the evening at Waterfront Park. They’ve had experience performing their gentle folk songs at outdoor gigs, which she says can be difficult due to the unavoidable factors that can impact such shows — cars, weather and the like. “But then we’ve played some gigs where people are sitting down on blankets and lying down and able to completely relax in a way you cannot do in a theater or a club, and let the music wash over them. I think for an audience member, that might be a wonderful way to experience the gig.”

When the sisters are singing together in public, are they singing more to the audience or to each other?

“Well, that’s quite an interesting question, actually … I guess it is to the audience. But we always make sure that we can see ourselves. If you can’t see each other, you can get a bit locked into just singing your part,” she says. “As soon as you start focusing on yourself, rather than the thing as a whole, it kind of falls apart … I guess I would say maybe 50/50 singing to each other, but allowing other people into that.”

When they received a call asking if they’d like to sing backup for Tom Jones, “I was like, ‘Ummm, yeah!’ (The label representative) said, ‘Ethan Johns is producing it.’ We said, ‘Right, definitely then.’” Since then, Johns and his father, Glyn Johns, have come together to produce Dead & Born & Grown, the first collaboration for the father and son whose collective résumé runs from Led Zeppelin and The Who to Ryan Adams and Kings of Leon.

Family is the thing for these folkies. Their parents were a big influence. “I guess they taught us … everything, really. How to get along as sisters; they taught us to enjoy music, how to sing, how to hear a harmony — and they did that without appearing that they were teaching us anything.”

The eldest Staveley-Taylor daughter says their parents shared a joy for music as a way to be sociable and a way to express emotions — happy or sad — in a healthy way. They kept a steady diet of Simon & Garfunkel, Neil Young, Fleetwood Mac and Motown flowing in the home and sheltered their girls from the horrors of bad music.

The girls remain grateful. “By listening to it, you are able to empathize with whatever expression is going on through music … even if you’re not the one behind the music making it,” Emily says. “It’s a big release to people, I think, to hear it and have it expressed on their behalf.”

What if they had been a different family? If The Staves were the Jacksons, which one would be Michael, Jermaine and Tito?

“Oh, my god,” she laughs. “OK, I’m gonna go with Jermaine, because I think Jermaine’s awesome. I’ll claim him for myself. I’ll say Milly is Michael Jackson, and Jess can be Tito.”

WFPK WATERFRONT WEDNESDAY WITH THE STAVES, THE LONE BELLOW AND THE REV. PEYTON’S BIG DAMN BAND
Wednesday, May 29
Waterfront Park (Big Four Lawn)
wfpk.org
Free; 6 p.m.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Bourbon Street

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Mark Hamilton has played in many Louisville bands. But it took a trip to New Orleans for the guitarist to find the inspiration to start a band of his own.

The Billy Goat Strut Revue was founded in 2011 to play the “antique jazz” of the 1920s and ’30s, with the players’ respective Kentucky flavors added. It’s riverboat music, perfect for boozy journeys down the Ohio and outrunning sheriffs and husbands. Hamilton put the band together one at a time. He’d ask, “What do you think of this idea?” Some musicians liked it; they became members.

Their first gig was with vocalist Brigid Kaelin. When she moved away, she recommended Laura Ellis, who had sung and played accordion with Shine-Ola for a decade.

“I’m like the imposter Brigid,” laughs Ellis. When the original had to leave, the part was recast, as on “Roseanne.” “I’m like the second Becky!”

The band started out backing for burlesque dancers. At first the dancers were supposed to be the main focus of the evening. Eventually, the band became the stars, with the dancers providing added value. “It was like a partnership — we’ll provide live music for burlesque dancers, and in between while they change, we’ll play some other stuff,” Ellis says. “That was really fun, but then you’re talking about seven people in the band, five dancers, everybody wants to get paid, nobody can practice at the same time … whew, it was a lot.”

How did they manage it?

“Well, we really didn’t,” Ellis says, and she and Hamilton laugh. On their fifth gig, the band played a wedding and realized they could hold a crowd’s attention on their own. “I hope we get to play with them again someday,” she adds.

Their debut album, This is Bourbon Jazz, will be released at a show at Uncle Slayton’s on Friday. The songs are all covers, chosen by various members. “We’ve talked about (writing new songs),” Hamilton says. “It would be really cool. We’ll see what happens. Right now it seems fresh to breathe new life into these old tunes.”

Photo by Chris Boone

Go back at facebook.com/billygoatstrutrevue.

album review: Louisville Leopard Percussionists

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Louisville Leopard Percussionists
In the SPOT Light
SELF-RELEASED

It’s a shame the LLPs (who are between 7 and 12 years old) weren’t aren’t around for 1970s game shows, because their millions o’ mallets and sticks approach to jazz (and often, by accident, swingin’ bachelor pad lounge music) would have been perfect for those leisure suit-wearing hosts. For their fourth studio album, the collective has recorded another set of fun tunes from Basie and Parker, Davis and Waller, as well as Mozart, the Jacksons and Rush (yes, the power-trio Hall of Famers) and more. Musical director Diane Downs has again selected a winning group of titles, from the “Rocky & Bullwinkle” and “Angry Birds” themes to a smattering of Cuban-themed classics (Ray Bryant’s “Cubano Chant,” “Besame Mucho,” “Manteca”). What the kids lack in Lincoln Center-level experience is more than made up for with heart and soul.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly

Forging a path

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The life and riffs of Coliseum's Ryan Patterson

When Ryan Patterson met his wife, he screamed in her ear.

His band, Coliseum, was on tour, playing this night at an all-ages youth center in Birmingham, Ala., called Cave 9. As the hardcore punks tore through their blistering set, Patterson — the band’s founder, leader, songwriter, singer and guitarist — kept getting shocked. The waves reverberated through his skull, and the imposing Patterson got angrier. He smashed the mic stand and jumped into the crowd, screaming into the faces in front of him. That’s when Ryan met Jamie.

Jamie Beard was a Coliseum fan and offered to let the band sleep at her home before they moved on to their next stop. Patterson looked around her place, saw that her tastes and interests were similar to his, and the two began to talk. Quickly, he realized, “She’s really awesome.”

It might not have gone any further than that, but drummer Matt Jaha left his glasses behind. Beard tracked down Patterson to return them, and they kept talking and emailing, and within months, she moved to Louisville.

“We knew right off the bat that we were meant for each other,” Patterson says today, eight years later. “That was that.”

The wonder years

Born in Lexington in 1977, Ryan Patterson comes from a family of South End Louisvillians — “fourth or fifth generation” — though his parents had moved away for college and work. When he was 8, they moved to Elizabethtown.

In middle school, Patterson wanted to be an actor. He earned roles in local productions of “Hello Dolly,” “The Miracle Worker” and “Annie,” but it wasn’t the kind of performing that would give him the confidence he lacked. He was awkward — not athletic like his father and brother — but didn’t feel like he fit in with the theater scene, either.

His brother, Evan, is four years younger and also a guitarist, vocalist and bandleader. Would Evan have taken up guitar without his big brother’s example? “I would assume the first time he ever picked up a guitar was one of my guitars,” Patterson says. “I wouldn’t say that I’m the reason why, but we grew up with that together, for sure, very much so.” In turn, Patterson says Evan’s guitar playing has had “a huge impact” on him, adding that his little brother is “an extremely creative guitar player.”

Ever feel jealous? “Absolutely,” the older brother quickly replies. “It’s just a sibling thing. Not a straight competitiveness,” he says. “I don’t know if he does or not; for me, it’s part of deep-rooted insecurities ...”

Their parents were very supportive, letting them practice in the basement, even letting them put on a show there. “So few parents would do that,” he marvels. “If I had kids now, I wouldn’t let them put on a show in my garage,” Patterson laughs.

It was through dad’s record collection that the boys began discovering music, from Led Zeppelin and The Beatles to Black Sabbath. Dad even had a single by The Clash. “That was huge for us.”

Through skating, Patterson discovered punk rock. “That was when my identity as a human was formed. Skateboarding and punk, it’s all about creating your own identity, finding your own path, doing things yourself, looking at everything in a different way. Politically, punk and hardcore and indie rock changed my perspective. That set me off on the path.”

Early music

At age 15, Patterson bought a guitar. He learned some chords and some songs by Minor Threat and the Ramones. MTV and Thrasher magazine taught him more about punk and a related sub-genre then called “alternative,” turning him on to bands like The Cure. “Or, there were a couple of older punk dudes in E-town who had Misfits jackets. You’d see those things around; you’d see a Black Flag shirt on a skateboarder and you’d go, ‘OK...’ So then you figure out what those bands are, and then you’d buy everything on that label you could find.”

In the local mall, the punks had Disc Jockey Records, where they could buy cassettes on the SST and Dischord labels. “That was it. That was how we discovered the world,” he says.

Meanwhile, “I didn’t know there was a local scene up here (in Louisville) or anything like that. I was completely oblivious to that.”

Louisville hardcore, punk and more

For Patterson, entry into the local scene came through the band Endpoint, who released a 7-inch with covers of Misfits and Dischord band songs. “That was when I realized that a music scene can happen anytime, anywhere. You just make it and there it is. So that was a really good thing for me, that there were actual bands putting out records in this town. That was a huge turning point.”

His first show as an attendee, at the Machine, featured a Dischord band, Jawbox. That band’s leader, J. Robbins, has since produced records by Coliseum (including their latest, Sister Faith, released last week) and an earlier Patterson band, Black Cross. Once he could drive, Patterson was coming up to Louisville as often as he could.

He sang in a band, Synapsis, and passed their demo tapes to local scene stars like Duncan Barlow, Chris Higdon and Mark Brickey. “Those guys seemed so larger-than-life to us,” Patterson says. He and his friends were now putting on shows in E-town and booked Louisville bands such as Guilt, Enkindel and Metroschifter to play with them.

He was still finding himself, and music gave him an identity and “a confidence that I think I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“I’m sure there were things I said or did that were annoying or obnoxious. One time, Mark Brickey from Enkindel had me stay the night up at the house he lived in with Duncan Barlow and Benny Clark on Grinstead. That was, like, ‘Holy shit!’ To hang out in Duncan’s room … we’re all talking and I’m looking around at all his guitars and posters and records in the room. I think Duncan showed me the Teen Idles 7-inch on Dischord … it was just awesome.”

The Louisvillians began inviting Synapsis to play in their city. Enkindel shared their list of promoter contacts, and when Synapsis got added to a couple of shows, Enkindel let them borrow some equipment. “I don’t know if they saw something in me and my friends that was worth them lending us a helping hand, but it changed my life, for sure.”

“That acknowledgement — you give your demo to somebody and they write you a letter and say, ‘Hey, the demo was great, thanks a lot,’ that was very meaningful to me. That was a big, big part of my late high school experience. After that, that was when, I guess, I kind of integrated into that world.”

What else are you doing?

A couple of bands later, Patterson became closer with Enkindel vocalist Mark Brickey. When that band’s bassist left, Patterson was asked to replace him. They told him they were going to make a record and tour — possibly in Europe. No longer thinking the band was all that cool, Patterson initially declined, even though all he was doing at the time was working “some crappy job.” Looking back, he says, “There was a point when maybe I had got too cool.”

It was Patterson’s mom who convinced him that passing up this opportunity was a mistake, pointing out this was everything he wanted to do with his life.

Only 19 when he joined, his new bandmates quickly took to mocking him. “I thought they were so cruel, but I know, in hindsight, that I was such a little putz. I had no experience in the world — that world of really touring in a band.”

He had $17 at the time. After one record store performance, Patterson cleaned the store’s bathroom in exchange for pizza.

His year with Enkindel was “a huge turning point,” he says — first tour, first album — but he wasn’t into the music, and they parted ways. Patterson felt his identity slipping away again, and so he went in a new direction.

The musician had previously met Andy Rich, owner of Initial Records, who hired him as the label’s “zine guy,” in charge of getting press coverage for their bands. He would go on to also be their graphic designer, and, eventually, the manager, signing bands and booking their KrazyFests.

“It felt like my label, for the last two years, but ultimately it wasn’t my label. It was Andy’s, it was owned by somebody else. So when Initial closed, it was the right time for me to go on and do my own thing.”

Decade of aggression

In 2003, Patterson formed Coliseum. He added his cousin Matt Jaha on drums, bassist Keith Bryant and guitarist Tony Ash for their first album, Coliseum, which was released by a label in New York, Level Plane. “I remember sitting at my desk at Initial, designing the (first Coliseum) record,” he says. “But I wanted Coliseum to be on a different label, not always associating myself with Initial.”

A year after Coliseum’s birth, Initial closed, but Patterson was in control of his own destiny. “Maybe I’m just a control freak. But that was why I started the band — I didn’t want to have that thing where you have a band for years and then someone else quits, and you have to stop what you started.”

For their second record, the Goddamage EP, Bryant was replaced by Mike Pascal. Jaha and two more replacements left quickly before Chris Maggio took over on drums, though he, too, would leave after three years, replaced finally by Carter Wilson.

Ash left before their next full-length, No Salvation, a collection that would test the band’s mettle — and metal.

Patterson says, “I’ve never seen anybody in the band as being temporary, and when anyone has ever been in the band, they have been a full member and are treated as such.” He started Coliseum with the idea that “I have the ability to control this band’s destiny. No one else can pull the rug out from under me. And that’s … maybe kind of cut-throat, but I do feel like there’s a point of self-preservation.”

“And I will say that we have good relationships with everybody who’s been in the band, and some of them have joined us onstage — things like that.”

Bassist Pascal leaving after seven years was the most difficult change. “I very much believe it was better for him and me that he was no longer in the band. I do believe that, with time, that relationship will be good again, at least in terms of friends. I don’t know …”

Life on the road can be grueling, contributing to the instability of the band’s lineup. “To be in a band that’s touring, that’s a lot to ask of somebody. Most people, even if they think they want it, when they get into it, it’s not what they want. Your priorities might be all over the place. You might enjoy doing this, but there might be a band you like more. Or you might have a job that you can’t get out of.”

Today, Coliseum tries to only stay out for two or three weeks at a time, then comes home for several weeks. In the last few years, “A lot of things (made me say), ‘What am I doing?’ … Being a guy who lives on the road is not interesting to me. So it’s a challenge, there’s a balancing act. It’s a little stressful right now to think about how much we’re going to be doing for the rest of the year, but we were home all of last year — that’s the give-and-take.”

He doesn’t want the band to feel like “Ryan and the other guys,” reiterating that they all are a part of the whole. “I want it to be Coliseum. Even though I may be most identified with it, we’re a band. We’re experiencing everything together, and what we’re accomplishing, we’re all accomplishing together.”

Both of his current bandmates, best friends since childhood, are from Birmingham — just like his wife — though bassist Kayhan Vaziri lives in Nashville now. Brother Evan Patterson found drummer Carter Wilson for Coliseum when Evan’s band Young Widows played with Wilson’s band.

When Vaziri joined, Patterson sat him down, just like the others, to give him the speech: “It’s a huge commitment. We’ll be gone a lot; if it’s something like a marriage ceremony, we can try to schedule around that, but we don’t schedule around other bands. This is the top priority.”

“Also, sometimes you have to invest some money. Most of the time you’re paid back and you make money, but …”

Patterson adds, “I probably told him I can be intense to deal with, that I’m extremely passionate about this. It’s really nice to be able to 100 percent count on these guys, as friends, and to do their part — there’s never any bullshit or any foot-dragging.”

Coliseum is stronger than ever these days, he says. “I love everybody that’s been in the band. I’m so happy to have had the times I’ve had with them, and I hope that they’re appreciative — no, that they look back fondly on what we’ve done. I hope that they’re not unhappy.”

Growing pains

Coliseum is a punk rock band, according to Patterson, and he dislikes being labeled as heavy metal. But the tag has stuck to the loud, heavy band partly because Patterson accepted an offer from powerhouse metal label Relapse Records in 2007 for their second album, No Salvation. On paper, it was a good idea: Coliseum would now be available not just in small, independent stores, but also internationally, in chains like Best Buy. To date, their Relapse record is still their biggest seller.

But the metal world rubbed Patterson the wrong way. Its culture didn’t match up to how he identifies himself and what he believes in. “We were just a band on a package. It wasn’t part of a community, it wasn’t part of anything, it was just this gear turning. I really hated that.”

Though the band’s popularity did grow as a result, “I think that we got a little bit tripped up, in terms of what we wanted to do. I think, musically, we felt like we should compete — we should be a Relapse-caliber band. We should be crazier, we should be a bit more intense.”

Though Relapse was interested in another record, Coliseum asked to be released from their contract.

“It’s not like at any point we’re going to be a household name,” he says. “The difference in this and that is so minute, you might as well do what feels right to you.”

Coliseum has since signed with Temporary Residence, a label run by a Louisville native, which also now releases Evan Patterson’s Young Widows records.

Life and death

After the more indie-inspired House with a Curse in 2010, Patterson says Sister Faith is “the most comfortable record we’ve ever done. It’s not a reaction to anything, it’s just the joy of creating.”

“I don’t think that means that it’s boring or lazy,” he adds. “I just think that means it feels good in its own skin.”

The new album was inspired by loss. Last year, both Patterson’s father-in-law and fellow musician Jason Noble died, resulting in an album he describes as “more personally inspired.”

Noble — who died last summer of a rare form of cancer — worked with Coliseum on Curse and became close with Patterson. “We’d known each other for a long time, but we had never hung out until he was sick. And I don’t know anyone else’s experiences — I don’t know if it was because of the situation, but we’d go see movies and hang out and talk and eat food. He had a huge impact on me, as (he did) for all of us.”

The album is full of dark places, he says, but also a renewed appetite “to embrace life and keep finding adventures, experiencing things that most people don’t get to experience … appreciating time while we’re here, and realizing that people live on with you, even if they’re not here. That, to me, is as close to an afterlife as you’ll get.”

Patterson, Louisville’s man in black, is pretty happy these days.

“This is my identity. This is my legacy … I would be happy for Coliseum to define my public life. I want to be a good brother and son and husband, and be this guy. I want this to be the body of work I can look back over … I wouldn’t be sitting here, talking to you, otherwise, you know?”

And though sometimes he questions his path, in the end, he says, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s very much worth it. It’s just a beautiful experience. I couldn’t imagine life any other way, really.”

Coliseum plays Friday night at Zanzabar.

Photo by Nick Thieneman.

c. 2013 LEO Weekly