The Raising Arizona Song, Sanford and Son, music from Dr. Mario (esp the chill setting), Nine Inch Nails, Dirty Rap, Ted Nugent, castle house dance parties, Boston (the band), the Grand Canyon, our best friends.
Sounds Like
throwy uppy
ghosts in a basement:
a brief history of broken windows
We've toured a lot. With touring comes battle scars. We look presentable, sure, but it's easy to wipe tour off. All you do is shower, shave, and go eat a seafood buffet. No problem. Jackson's Hole? Where's that?
The Van is the real beast of tour. It has all the scars. It will always be the independent variable of the band's livelihood. You can't tour without it. It's the bread and the butter. Even after a perpetual rotation of bad drivers, a day by day demolition, and housing all of the worst smells of the world, you begin to get this feeling that it wants you to succeed. Despite the abuse, it's on your team. The catch is, like a diva, it needs the attention of a newborn baby. It wants you to worry about it. Constantly. And do you have a choice?
In good times, it is our best friend. It often dons a new sticker of exceptional personality courtesy of its inhabitants. Windy whispers blow "hero" as it scorches through the Mojave in mid-July. "May you never melt, tin lightning." If it needs a real confidence boost, we throw in the extra money for a new air filter even though it's probably not that important.
In bad times, it is the scapegoat. Its status falls from Ol Ironsides to Steve fucking Bartman with one blow of a gasket. Until it starts driving again, nobody will look it in the eyes. Quiet appreciation flips to ugly browbeating. "Why did we even buy you? Nice fuckin timing belt. HONK! HONK!" But like it or not, the Van tells all, and there is no denying the physical proof of the places it has taken you.
After our most recent Van suffered a brick through the windshield, the trend really set in. I could no longer count broken Van windows on one hand. As long as I am associated with Van, Van will continue to collect broken windows.
And now for a brief history in chronological order. It starts a bit hazy because I wasn't around for the first few.
Van 1 Band driving: Stop it!! Window: left middle sliding 1 City:? Culprit: some lil dude Method:? Reason: basic thieving Status: not replaced Band comments: It takes a brave, tiny person to fit in this window, and it's breezier in the back without it. A for effort and A+ for courtesy.
Van 1 Band driving: Stop it!! Window: Left middle sliding 2 City:? Culprit: Stop it!! Method: lil bassist with brass knuckles Reason: locked keys inside Status: not replaced Band comments: A little Juresko and a little Parma, Ohio magic went a long way for this classic boner.
Van 1 Band driving: Snack Truck Window: Left Back City: Charlottesville, VA Culprit: Jorge Brito Method: Pabst Bottle Reason: Drunk and Underthrown Status: Replaced with plywood and duct tape Band comments: After getting shit from our friend, Jorge apologized to the entire crowd over the PA, seconds before Snack Truck's set. He also offered to pay for it to be replaced. No hard feelings, mysterious acquaintance. Big back pound to Talls for his home-turf heroicism.
Van 1 Band driving: Ultra Dolphins/ Snack Truck Window: Left Sideview City: Somewhere, Nebraska Culprit: Frayser Method: Veering off interstate and sideswiping a reflector pole at 85 mph Reason: Some part of me wanted everyone to die Status: replaced Band comments: The pole also severed the brake line which we discovered the next day when I nearly killed everyone again. This time in Iowa.
Van 1 Band driving: Ultra Dolphins/ Snack Truck Window: Driver's side City: Chicago, IL Culprit: Logan Square local Method: weird metal object Reason: he saw a wallet with money poking out Status: replaced with plywood and duct tape Band comments: The most beligerent Sam Vanneman (bravest roadie ever) ever got was one second after he woke up to the sound of glass shattering in his ear after 4 hours of sleep inside the van. Quoth he, "Fuck you motherfucker, get the fuck out of here!" Situation resolved...go get the duct tape. If you see him, hug that beast hard.
Van 2 Band driving: Eat Forever Window: Windshield City: Philadelphia, PA Culprit: ? Suspects: Osama Bin Laden, Tony Pointless, Tim Westberg Method: Brick Reason: That's how West Philly rolls Band comments: Who's the faggot now?
We'll update this as the mayhem continues.
i really like this review:
As a certain Wu-Tang banger would say, anyone can grip a fookin’ spiked bat and club someone over the fookin’ head with it until they’re covered in fookin’ brains. But what fun is that? Ultra Dolphins would rather stray from the metal map, traversing ill-advised shortcuts full of hairball twists and turns, crossing creak-y, rickety bridges, asking muck-faced local yokels like Daniel Striped Tiger and Le Joshua for directions, and submerging their vehicle of expression neck-high in murky bo(n)gwater. If it sounds messy, it’s because it is; sometimes, however, you’ve got to cut through the forest if you want to ’feel the burn.’
And when’s the last time you heard multiple piano solos/accompaniment on an album sluggish with screams? When’s the last time a hardcore band opened an album with an accordian solo? When’s the last time you had a Clark Bar? All important questions, all answered within Mar’s spin cycle of tumbling, red-hot grooves, moods and hues (except the Clark Bar thing, that’s yer own trip). Somehow, some way, Ultra Dolphins throw their influences in a blender without the whole concoction exploding all over their faces and hands.
Take "Matthew O’Connor," for example. Darting from the gate on the rump of a galloping bass line and an almost No Means No slant, the track sluffs through two unremarkeable verses before gunning the engine, skidding, and peeling ass through a lunging section reminiscent of a Black Mountain power riff contorted and distorted and crafted to kill rather than maim. All the while, singers Tim Morris and Nate Rappole play off the chaos without becoming its foil; they affect a contrived hardcore style — shrieking, singing, half-talking/ranting/chanting — in just the right way, stepping to the forefront when they need to while also letting the fracas take full precedence on sprawling instrumental tracks like "The Great Neurasthenic."
You’ll have to hear it yourself though; describing how well many of the delicately — a strange word to use for such a brutal band, but whatevs — placed aesthetic choices fit together is difficult without having audio and visual models to assist in the process. Just know that you’ll be hearing from this band in the future if Mar is any indication, and that the Miami Dolphins proved pretty Ultra themselves by ending the Bears’ undefeated season this last week. [Spanish accent]: "Jhey, now we jhafe two Ultra Dolpheens! You like dat righeet?"
ULTRA DOLPHINS debut album Mar is now available! Both CDs and LPs have been made and can be obtained from the band on tour or through Robotic Empire's Online Store.
The Mar vinyl was pressed on several different colors, and both the CD and LP have artwork and an elaborate lyric booklet courtesy of Travis Robertson!
ULTRA DOLPHINS' Why Are You Laugh CD / LP collection of older material is also in stores and distros now, and available through mail-order directly from Robotic Empire. This prelude to the Mar full-length is six older tracks (24 minutes) from the EPs and was nicely remastered at Sonya Sound in DC, with glorious new artwork via Travis as well!
Our vans like to get broken windows. We love breaking strings and drumheads. Nate is a lady but he's getting stronger. He lives in Richmond with a pit bull named Pudge. Frayser has dreams. He lives in Richmond with a wiener dog named William. Tim gets sick a lot and goes to school in Brooklyn. He lives with a husky named Janie. Slammin extra girthy double sixes. Tuna casarole. Kicker. These are just a few of the pastimes that make us grand. This album is like pretty done or something. Make sure to listen to it all the way through before you decide it sounds too much like yani.
Online Now!
