This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Oct. 11, 2012 - Last week, a friend traveling from Utah stopped and requested an afternoon of low-key, East Side adventuring. We visited the bones of an old vehicular bridge; an African-American graveyard, partially reclaimed from decades of overgrowth; a train station, overrun by mature trees and brush; a bookstore with no actual books; a chop suey shop and soul food-serving bar, just across State Street from one another; and, finally, East Saint’s strange Fountain of Youth Park, with its central water feature long quieted.
In short, it was a perfect afternoon.
To ready yourself for that kind of fun, you need a good lunch (and, for my traveling partner, a quick, sneaked shot of whiskey). And when you’re on the East Side, the call for that kind of meal all but requires a trip to the Jacobsmeyer Tavern. In a quiet neighborhood in the heart of Granite City, Jacobsmeyer, under the ownership of Bob Kirksey, maintains a no-nonsense, corner bar tradition dating back to the 1930s. Most visitors to Jake’s are from Granite, folks who’ve been going to the bar well before they built on a restaurant in the last half-decade.
There, you can order your lunch by the pound, your iced tea by the gallon. Jake’s must make its lunch money back with the old formula of volume, volume, volume, because you get a lot for a little. During the day, it’s a quiet place, the multiple TVs turned to soccer games, the conversations and overhead music held to a reasonable volume. At night, especially on the weekends, the energy kicks in and the place takes on a whole new vibe. For sure that’s true when the small stage is home to live music, which happens when the right, local act comes calling for a show.
In booking music, Jacobsmeyer holds true to the idea of a regional bar. Bands from Granite City and the surrounding towns generally make noise there, drawn to the place for the company and a chance to play to friends. The appeal is not the on-stage amenities, for when a group gets more than four-, or five-strong, somebody’s going to be out on the floor. And that’s usually the singer. If they “get” the situation, that can actually be a strength, as the vocalist can quickly break the wall between performing and audience, engaging the listeners.
A couple years back, the whimsical ‘90s group Enormous Richard played the club, holding one of its irregular reunion shows. Forced off the stage by his five backing musicians, singer Chris King wandered into the crowd, singing directly to his friends, changing lyrics on the fly to include them. At a table nearer the bar, architectural historian Michael R. Allen and I sat, armed with the bottles of beer that Kirksey kept sending over. Not surprisingly, the show got better and better. And it got funnier when King simply sat down next to us, belting out a chorus and verse, taking a sip of our drinks, before ambling back into the packed room. It was an inspired moment.
And inspiring. Jazzed by the frivolity of Enormous Richard and the hospitality of Kirksey, Allen and I went straight to a nearby, abandoned slaughterhouse, creaking through the building minus flashlights and common sense.
It was that kinda night. The kinda night that seems to be born at Jake’s in all different forms.
Two bands, same initials
Enormous Richard had shifting membership and an unusual songwriting pedigree. While King contributed most of the vocals, lyrics and, eventually, melodies, other members of the group also took turns with those roles: Guitarist Rich Skubish early, accordion player Chris Bess later. A popular draw at the old Cicero’s Basement Bar in University City, the group eventually moved from being a quirky, joke rock success, born in the unlikely halls of Washington University. They went from being the sorta-kid brothers of the scene to a non-stop touring machine.
They traveled the country, alright, enjoying rockstar status in West Virginia, Louisville, Chicago and a few, other scattered locations, while sharing stages with some leading lights of ‘90s-era indie rock. Though they had something established, eventually the group called it quits, with the songwriting notions of King and Bess moving in opposite directions. The latter embraced and added to the funniness of the E.R. catalog, but King’s songs were incorporating new ingredients: translated poems, adaptations of field songs, the historical over the humorous.
Even as several of his early-incarnation bandmates moved on to other cities and states, King found that -- through tape-trading, roadtrips and long-distance phone calls --something like a band could be formed, even if all members weren’t always around for all shows.
Enormous Richard done grew up, becoming Eleanor Roosevelt. An avid and prolific chronicler of his musical roots, King’s been blogging lately about the “new” Eleanor Roosevelt album, “Water Bread and Beer.” From the group’s site, we’ll let King pick up the tale, starting with the main change in directions and emphasis:
As Eleanor Roosevelt, the band had it widest national exposure on recordings, with songs on early volumes of Bloodshot Records’ Hellbent series and East Side Digital’s Lyrics by Ernest Noyes Brookings. The band also released a 7,” "Head in a Hummingbird’s Nest," on Faye Records and scored a feature film, Dan Mirvish’s "Omaha: The Movie."
“Head in a Hummingbird’s Nest” later appeared on Snow Globe Record’s compilation of lost bands from the ‘90s, Tiny Idols. The band recorded two albums of material in the 1990s before effectively disbanding, though they would not self-release them until the new century: "Walker with his head down" (recorded 1993, released 2007) and "Crumbling in the rain" (recorded 1995, released 2005).
The band’s next evolutions would be from Eleanor Roosevelt to Three Fried Men and finally to Poetry Scores, a non-profit arts organization that translates poetry into other media and has bases of operation in St. Louis, Los Angeles, Istanbul and Hilo, Hawaii. "Water Bread & Beer" came together as the Poetry Scores model was emerging; it was recorded in many American states in the late 1990s while the musicians in the band were on the road recording poets and setting poetry to music, which resulted in the first Poetry Scores project, Crossing America by Leo Connellan (2003).
“Water Bread & Beer” will be released in two steps. On Friday, Nov. 30, there’ll be a house concert in Olivette, featuring the band’s longtime running buddy, Fred Friction. (Information here) On the next night, Dec. 1, the group returns to its roots with a gig at Jacobsmeyer, on a bill also featuring Dana Anderson.
Asked about what he likes about the “li’l bandstand” at Jake’s, guitarist John Minkoff says, “I like li'l bandstands. They feel about right somehow.”
Last minute runthrough
At this point, the core members of Eleanor Roosevelt (King, Minkoff, drummer Matt Fuller, multi-instrumentalist Elijah “Lij” Shaw, bassist Dave Melson) are used to putting tracks, even shows, together on the fly. The old system of trading tapes might be gone, replaced by such modern delivery as Dropbox. But there’s still an element of trust and risk with each new outing, whether it be done live or via pieced-together recordings.
In relation to process of putting together the next set of shows, Minkoff says, “We just do an exhausting cram session the day before, and also break the rule about not rehearsing the day of. Some of us prepare a little ahead of time. I know Rich and Joe (Esser) got together a bit before the last Enormous Richard gigs and that helped a lot. Of course, for these upcoming gigs, these are songs we have never performed, (and) were sometimes recorded over a period of years, so it's not just remembering the songs but probably more re-figuring how to play them.”
I must’ve caught some Eleanor Roosevelt shows over the years. Their single on Faye Records and the albums listed above are in my collection. But the band somehow missed connections with the memory maker in the brain, in a way that’s puzzling.
Now, Enormous Richard? Different animal, indeed.
When the group was in its local heyday, I was at nearly every show. Certainly the one at which a band member dropped his Jaegermeister on the carpet of the Cicero’s stage, only to suck it off the floor is one of the most horrifying sights I’ve ever witnessed.
And I was on the road with them when they played their first show in Chicago, at the landmark Cabaret Metro. Standing outside of Wrigley Field, the passenger of a nearby car yelled out that the U.S. was bombing Iraq. As young men of draft age, all of us were distracted that night, but the band’s cookin’ set helped everyone in the small audience to relax and smile, even as King peppered the set with up-to-the-moment lyrical references to the new war.
And speaking of Chicago, I was dating somebody there when the group was making regular runs up to the Windy City. One night, I spent all day driving there with them, anticipating that I’d be seeing the British shoegaze legends Lush and Ride that night. But my lady friend forgot to buy tickets. So off we went to see Enormous Richard. They eased the pain. A little.
At Jake’s on the first of December, I’ll try to keep these stories to myself. Different band, different dynamics, different day and age. I know.
But there’s something about The Jacobsmeyer that makes you want to tell a story.