This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Dec. 20, 2012 - Some weeks back, the Tower Groove Records collective held a high-volume, mid-afternoon party next to Apop Records, taking over a small stretch of Oregon Street, just off Cherokee. The event was held to highlight a variety of the groups taking part in the 24-band, 12-single, monthly compilation series planned by the group-run Tower Groove in 2013.
The event had a share of 20-somethings but it also gave a nod to the fact that many of the bands taking part have members with kids: There was a painting-and-drawing station, where children (and adults like omnipresent, super-creative musician and artist Mark Stephens) could spend time working on their marker skills.
At some point in the afternoon, I noticed an odd little pattern develop. It struck me suddenly and slightly irrationally: A handful of former students of mine play in Tower Groove bands. And many more play in bands around town, generally. This made me feel ... what? Beyond confirming the passing of age, it was just ... gosh. Odd. Unusual. Interesting. Something? Anything?
Onstage that afternoon was Christopher Eck, guitarist of Shaved Women. Though he was in two courses of mine over a couple semesters, good for 32 class sessions of face time, it took me a minute to fully ID him; his band was energetic and loud, playing in the middle of the street with a sense of abandon and a complete lack of self-consciousness about physically laying it out there, even in the daylight. When I returned later after an amble down the block, I noticed K.E. Luther playing flute for The Jungle Fire, a very different band for the Tower Groove label, what with its straight-ahead take on ‘70s and ‘80s funk. One of the more brilliant minds to come through my classrooms, Luther’s appearance was a surprise. On flute, no less!
Walking through the audience was Matty Coonfield of Bug Chaser, a group I’ve yet to encounter, despite a glowing reputation. Coonfield was in my first-ever collegiate teaching experience; I was as green as fresh lettuce and four of the five members of class were friends, setting up an immediately evident, bizarre dynamic. Founding a band called The Electric a couple years later were two of those five: Coonfield and vocalist Jason Triefenbach, who was an absolute trip. One week, he asked to skip the next to catch Pyschik TV at a club downtown. I let him, which seemed the only reasonable move at the time.
They’re everywhere these days. They’re on stages all over town.
It’s a feeling Jimmy Griffin knows, too, though he’s catching his students in a much different age and headspace. Let’s see if we can’t make the connection.
Rock School(ed)
Let’s follow a journalistic bread crumb trail: a few weeks back, Second Set featured “STL 2000,” Matt Meyer’s documentary on St. Louis’ punk rock scene of that moment. He mentioned mentoring a tween band called Million Hits, who employ him as a sort of coach and all-around sounding board; so I wrote about them in a blog at stlmag.com. On Saturday, I caught Million Hits, playing with two other underage groups, at a Cicero’s rock matinee. Though the sun had already dipped by my arrival at 5 p.m., or so, the slender gent leaning against the wall outside of Cicero’s was obviously Jimmy Griffin, pulling on a smoke, waiting to head back in to see Million Hits.
He was dressed in his usual attire: a T-shirt topped by a hoodie topped by a sports coat; slim jeans; and a pair of boots that seem to stretch from his legs to infinity. Connor Low, guitarist of the opening band, Lunar Levitation, quickly came over to him when leaving the building with his mom and some friends. Griffin complimented him on the group’s set, then did something interesting.
In between the praise, he mentioned that that group had floated out a new original, one that incorporated a reggae tinge. He suggested that the band consider playing the chorus straight, eliminating the reggae. “It’s just an idea,” he said. “If you don’t like it, you can go right back to how you’re doing it now.”
Inside the venue, he gave me a quick scouting report on the group. Ryan Hoffman, on bass and vocals, has some major talent, he indicated, at both skills. Drummer Dominic Anzalone, meanwhile, “can really swing, doing things you shouldn’t be doing until you’re 15.” Along with guitarist Henry Dieckhaus, the three walked over to Griffin during a set change, basically planting themselves in front of him, with crossed arms and open minds. As with Low, Griffin suggested that the group consider ditching the reggae tint on their original’s chorus, this time stating that they “should play like 14-year-old white kids would.” They shook their heads in full understanding.
He then suggested that the band check out The Police’s “Reggata De Blanc,” the name of which Hoffman quickly tapped into his phone, admitting that he hadn’t heard much Police yet. “Any band that’s adding reggae to rock got it from that band,” Griffin offered. “It’s probably their best album. Start with that.”
At some point Hoffman cracked that he’d be dropping out of high school to play music, which resulted in a “stay in school” speech from Griffin, including the caveat that “if you four guys are still making music together in four years, when you’re 18, then you get into the van and start driving.”
Copping to the fact that he’s actually already thinking about going to college in Nashville, where his sister attends school, Hoffman said he was considering studying audio engineering and wanted to eventually play and record there. Even here, Griffin continued to lay down some lessons.
He mentioned that even if the best player from St. Louis traveled to Nashville, the competition of the scene there meant that “at least 16 guys are ahead of you. And they’ve all been waiting for the guy in front of them to die, basically, or give it up.” With the line “best player in your own town,” Hoffman extended his hands, palms up, obviously giving a nod of respect to his former teacher.
Griffin laughed and brushed it aside, mentioning John Horton of the Bottle Rockets as the gold standard of St. Louis guitarists. Even he’d find it tricky there, Griffin reasoned, sketching out the exact rooms and scenarios in which players score gigs.
It was a gentle schooling, but super-effective. Upon leaving, Hoffman could be heard saying to his friends, “That guy’s so cool.”
When you’re teaching rock, you get to be the cool teacher, no doubt. Though it helps to just be Jimmy Griffin, too.
Lessons in slow release
About four-and-half years ago, Griffin figures, he got a call from an affiliate of Camp Jam. A national network of summer schools dedicated to week-long rock’n’roll camps for kids, Camp Jam had difficulties in St. Louis and needed a director who could come up with a full cast of instructors. The call was well timed and well placed.
“I was told ‘we need a guy who knows enough people to get a camp staffed in four, or five months,’” Griffin says. “I’d never done anything like it. But I initially liked the fact that it paid a decent amount of money. So I thought, ‘yeah, yeah.’ But I had no idea what I was getting into.” And what would be? “It’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.” So much so that he cut the chance to tour with critically acclaimed Alejandro Escovedo this past summer, so as not to miss Camp Jam sessions.
Cutting his own teeth in local music while still in grade school, playing with high-school-age bands in garages and basements, Griffin has his own experience of being young and immersed in rock’n’roll. But he knows that today’s culture has its own vibe.
“Well, it was different when I was a kid,” he says. “You had to go out and find people to play with. And kids were more social. I was more social than the kids today, for sure. ‘Oh, you have a guitar. You’re my friend. Let’s play out.’ This is generation that grew up with play-dates. But it’s easier to find the information today.”
Growing up in bands, Griffin’s group Broken Toyz became a huge hit in local circles, melding cover material and originals. Renamed Kingofthehill, the band signed a label deal and became more of a concert band, touring and playing fewer dates in town, rather than playing rowdy Eastside barrooms every weekend. But the initial death of the hair metal genre snuffed the group after one national release. After some time woodshedding, Griffin eventually founded The Incurables, a group that released a sophomore album called “The Fine Art of Distilling” just this month, after a five-year build-up.
But in those five years, Griffin became a desired player with a variety of tribute acts: Street Fighting Band (the Rolling Stones), Celebration Day (Led Zeppelin) and El Monstero, the Pink Floyd tribute that’s just started a run of sold-out gigs at The Pageant. Add in a host of open mic appearances and solo shows, along with work at Killer Vintage, a respected guitar store, and it’s obvious that he’s plenty connected to a talented, deep group of players and teachers.
“I’ve brought in Dave Grelle, Paige Brubeck, Tim Sullivan, Cubby Smith, Eric Grossman, Jordan Heimburger,” Griffin says, ticking off his instructor list. “All of these are people who are real musicians. That’s what the kid gets from it. We’re not just teachers, we’re doers.”
Even as his summer gig with Camp Jam is done, Griffin’s a guy who’ll show up at Cicero’s on a Saturday night to watch teenagers players play “Detroit Rock City” to their parents and siblings, while being able to critique with just the right balance of insight and empathy. And he has the long view in mind, whether his conversations with the kids take part while on-the-clock, or in a dark music club.
“Some kids get you right off the bat,” he says. “They think, ‘I like you, you’re cool.’ You have them. Others you have to tell, ‘When I was 12, I wanted to play Ratt songs. Now I’m 40 and don’t like Ratt, but PJ Harvey is always going to be cool. And 10 years from now you’ll get that.
“And if you’re still playing music when you’re 20, you’ll know 10 of the people that you’re in the room with” at Camp Jam, he adds. “But you’re already making those connections, just being around each other. We feel like we’re there to plant seeds. And some of them are definitely going to flower.”