Threadwaxing Space & Steve Keene

By Sam Brumbaugh

An exclusive excerpt from the forthcoming Steve Keene Art Book (Hat & Beard Press)

Any old record could be beautiful. Brazil ’66. The Frost. UFO. Orpheus. O.C. Smith. Tom Ghent. The Buckinghams. Renaissance. Johnny Rivers. Wishbone Ash. Danny O’Keefe. Melanie. Glass Harp. For a dollar or two, Steve Keene and his wife, Star, found the most amazing songs on cut-out bin albums. Breezy tunes with a creepy edge, heartfelt pop injected with dark hooks, equally joyful and awkward. The easy price and diamond-in-the-rough vibe mirrored the wide-eyed humor, sly depth, and openness of Steve’s art. Records like his paintings on the Threadwaxing Space walls, great stuff right there, cheap and within reach. We used to play Steve’s music at Threadwaxing shows, and I remember suddenly feeling like we were doing something right when a couple of kids came into the room one night while the Left Banke’s “And Suddenly” played over the PA. They were singing along in such a good mood, bouncing on their heels like the floor was made out of Jell-O. Getting a Brooklyn Lager from a keg for a dollar a cup, hundreds of bargain-basement paintings coating the walls in red glow as far down the impossibly long space as you could see. The room felt like it could go on forever, walls as full of color, motion and shadow as the crowd. The paintings not quite exact replicas of each other, hurried brushstrokes and comments across the images as if somehow the art was heckling itself. Or heckling the idea of prints, and somehow at the same time, of unique “pieces.” $1. $2. $5. $10. $20. Signs stapled to the walls: Art for Sale. Cheap!

Image courtesy Threadwaxing Space.

To claim a painting, half the time you had to get a ladder, and (probably) drunkenly climb it in the middle of a dense crowd watching intense bands such as Shellac, Slant 6 or Boredoms. You’d balance there while writing your initials on a strip of masking tape, stick it on the painting, and then descend. We didn’t know enough at the time to fret over slip-and-fall lawsuits. We didn’t really know much of how to do anything. I’d worked at a magazine and a restaurant, knew Keene and a couple of the Pavement guys, and that they wanted to do a show together. I vaguely knew Tim, the owner of Threadwaxing, a long second-floor loft space on lower Broadway, so I called him up, and we just jumped into doing live shows one night in 1993, completely without a clue. We were always running out at the last minute to buy cups, fans, bags of ice. Late on soundchecks, behind on doors—a long line always snaked out the building, down past Broadway’s gated textile shops and around to Broome Street. Neglecting to introduce bands or introducing them when they didn’t want that, forgetting to put up the city-mandated “No Dancing” signs, overloading guest lists, running late on the run-of-show, our capacity always in mysterious flux. It was all part of the charm of the place, I’d try to tell myself. But Steve was on time from day one, there two days before a weekend of shows to begin his hard labor, double all-nighter installs (painstaking wiring in hooks to hundreds of freshly painted and sawed plywood, hanging them by the dozens on makeshift wires he’d stretched across the walls).

Image courtesy Threadwaxing Space.

With the sudden success of the shows, the big crowds, the agents calling, the press coverage and MTV crews, things quickly felt precariously close to overwhelming. But Steve had a work ethic and self-assurance I took careful note of. And soon enough, I saw that behind Steve’s slapstick lines and slapdash surfaces was a rigor of theory, skill and a method of original process so atmospherically definable that all I had to do was book good shows and make sure there was plenty of beer and booze.

Image courtesy Threadwaxing Space.

Fortuitously for booking shows, the early ’90s indie scene was finally beginning to get going in the city, gelling around record stores such as Kim’s Underground (soon to morph into Other Music) in Manhattan and Pier Platters in Hoboken, the Lower East Side bar Max Fish, college radio stations WFMU and WNYU, and venues such as Maxwell’s, the Knitting Factory and Irving Plaza. Art students in ski sweaters. Scrawny musicians in corduroys and T-shirts. Zine girls in pigtails. Pale, bearded dudes looking like they hadn’t crawled out of their rent-controlled apartments since 1978. Dame Darcy in her wicked witch shoes, white makeup and flowing black Victorian gear. The kid who dressed like a Don’t Look Back–era Dylan, complete with peg pants, dark Wayfarers, fuzzed-out hair and a kinetic bop to his stride. Leonardo Drew. Tinuviel. Rita Ackermann. Grasshopper. Jacqueline Humphries. Stewart Lupton. A lot of these artists and musicians coalesced at Threadwaxing.

Image courtesy Threadwaxing Space.

Until then—outside of the Sonic Youth crowd—there hadn’t been much natural comingling between the downtown art and music worlds. Bands out of the New York art scene were categorically self-conscious and usually pretty bad, and there wasn’t any decent kind of local indie scene. A lot of aging rockers and art denizens had a pinched vibe, seemed “pickled” with coolness, as Steve liked to say, with a collector kind of possessiveness about who you were seen with, where you were seen, and when. Superficially and in conversation, art world people were pretty self-confident, while the indie kids didn’t take themselves so seriously. Steve bridged the worlds by being both those things, and by also being both instinctively enthusiastic and sharp-tongued. He was a relief with his alert cackle, oddly hunched amble, and anything-goes tuneage, with his hectic art-covered walls that gave Threadwaxing a loose, carnival-like atmosphere. Steve brought humor and accessibility to the scene, and these were an essential part of the community.

Image courtesy Threadwaxing Space.

Community is a word that can sound kind of corny, but in the early ’90s there was a (necessary) cold standoffishness to living downtown—a lot of the Lower East Side was perpetually shitty, getting worse, and at night you had to know how to traverse certain patterns of blocks to avoid gun-toting dealers and agitated crack crazies. People seemed angrier back then, more alone, and there was often some kind of confrontational vibe in the air. I, for one, was never too psyched to be walking into some isolated bar full of hard stares and a jukebox’s brittle sounds of Helmet or Alterations. Community was needed, and suddenly there were all these indie bands coming through that crackled with new forms of delivery, who were somehow—like punk—needling the sacrosanct. Steve was able to frame them in a room with an equally bright kind of energy. His art aligned perfectly with the scene, was a focal point even, in both subject matter and method. Hard work not appearing to be hard work, a loose cleverness and warmth of judgment. There was a charm to the serious intent of the amateurism. Nobody was in any kind of hurry, to paraphrase Stephen Malkmus, and—taking another cue from punk—if you imitated a good sound well enough, had something to say or a certain way of dressing, you’d get your shot.

Steve Keene by Daniel Efram

Steve was one of those artists, like Chris Johanson, whose work has the illusion of self-taught naivete. At a cursory first glance you’d think, Oh, I could maybe do that… Which, of course, was not true. But I remember the thousands of people going through Threadwaxing in those years staring at the incredibly vast array of images, and how it might have stoked belief in the possibility of their own attempts. The scene was good that way. It was fine to try. This guy was flinging it out there. Why shouldn’t I? And you could. You’d get an airing, a listen or a look. I mean, most of the people who worked at Threadwaxing were either artists or had bands. I’d just throw their band on one of the opening slots. A practitioner of junkie boogie schtick, a reedy and hesitant singer-songwriter, a Mudhoney-style grunger, it didn’t matter. Some were okay, but even if a band wasn’t good, their friends would come and watch and have a good time, and the set would be fine. James Murphy was our soundguy, and had a band named Pony. Sure, you can open for Railroad Jerk, or whoever it was. Why not? He worked hard, did a good job. Help your friends. Trust people a bit to get on with what they are doing. Give them time to find their way to LCD Soundsystem. The trust and tolerance in the scene, at least early on, was partly a reaction to all the sleaze and fuckery in both the art world and the music biz, and it was exemplified by Steve’s honor system. He’d bring a couple giant, brightly painted plywood boxes and you’d shove one or two or five or ten bucks into the slot at the top of the box when you’d take your painting off the wall.

But all this trust, this polite patience, could also be a problem. I remember the guy from Bitch Magnet complaining about how so many indie bands couldn’t play anything even remotely capably on stage, and what did they think they were doing, putting people through that shit? He got a lot of blowback, but he was right in some ways. There was way too much grating amateurism to endure. Also, the early indie scene was rife with preciously intense fans, and certain shows had a hushed, serious vibe verging on cultish. Reference points could be ridiculously studied. God help you if you looked too preppy or too fashionable or wore a Lemonheads T-shirt to a Bratmobile or Royal Trux show. When Royal Trux signed to Virgin Records, they supposedly bought a purple Jaguar and cruised up and down Avenue A. This was considered pretty cool. This reaction was unusual. Success, money even, was distrusted. Most bands going to majors, their rep dropped a peg. Indie bands at the time didn’t believe in the established methods of a career path and—initially at least, avoided music-biz marketing characterization or the temporary attentions of major labels. Just like those bands, Steve was looking for another way. He seemed to distrust success—or, more particularly, the success of art world acceptance. Threadwaxing was a different kind of opening.

Everything was the process, a system lived night and day, and there were almost no exceptions. At one of the early Threadwaxing shows, Steve came out with the first series of United States presidents. They looked great, popping off the walls. I went up to him while he was hanging. “Wow, Steve, those are amazing. Can I put my name on one of the James Garfields before doors?” “You have to wait,” he said, shaking his head and frowning disapprovingly. No insider access. No exclusivity. Which was okay, I respected this attitude. At doors, I was immediately busy running around doing whatever, and by the time I turned around the presidents had all been claimed. I was pissed, but then felt bad about the instinct to possess. It was the kind of thing Steve hated. (And in a way, he was much more responsible for the shows than I was.)

All art by Steve Keene

Later that year, he sent me a painting as a Christmas card. Really nicely done with care. Chinese food cartons and a plate and chopsticks. “Chinese Takeout. Merry Christmas from Star and Steve.” I had it up in my Bleecker Street apartment for years until some skater kid friend of a friend stole it along with a bunch of records. Skater kids steal with such ease. There was a skate shop on Lafayette a couple blocks away from my apartment. One time after the painting had disappeared, I went in there to look at shoes. They used to play a lot of Beatles and Scott Joplin (pretty contrary taste for what you’d assume their clientele was into), and Magical Mystery Tour was going around on the turntable. The cover was propped up, and I looked at the faded discount sticker across the mustard yellow and realized it was my record. I was pretty sure the Chinese takeout painting was back there behind the closed office door but Steve’s paintings were always winding their way into random places. This was crucial to him. He loved hearing about the strange locations his paintings would pop up in; someone’s grandmother’s apartment in San Antonio, Dennis Hopper’s L.A. bathroom, on the wall of a bail bonds place in Queens. “Wow, that’s so amazing, that’s so great,” he’d respond with genuine glow. His cheerful feeling of randomness, you see it all in the humor and demystification in his images. An old-school classical view of Venice with “Heavy Dub” written along the bottom. A tossed-off Here Come the Warm Jets or some other fetishized album, where he wouldn’t even bother to write the entire record title. Or Made in the Shade, with Mick and Keith as stick figures with yellow blobs for heads. It was still somehow obvious he loved these records, even though the plywood he used would often warp and paintings would balloon out and wind up un-hangable. Essential demise: probably just another part of Steve’s intent. Like the better indie rock back then, he always had such an ease in his ability to demystify things. And while his work ethic was completely methodical, there was something to the whole ethos of randomness he loved, and that exists not only in the surface of his painting, but deep in his core philosophy. Whether it’s an unpainted plywood edge, dots of unrelated color, a crimped word or a slightly off-kilter hook so you can’t ever hang the painting evenly, there are flaws right there contentedly in plain view. Like the city back then, like the way we ran things at Threadwaxing.

At the end of any given night, the Threadwaxing walls would be pretty ragged and bare, most of the crowd heading out the door and down the steps with a painting or two under their arm. The floor would be strewn with red plastic cups, sticky bits of masking tape, and torn ticket stubs. Clouds of weed smoke evaporating in the air with the sweat, the bands hanging around having a drink before load-out. Steve, wired and tired, drinking beer and chatting to lingerers, but looking around with a mixture of contentment and anxiousness, ready to get going dismantling. When we’d finally clear everybody and lock the front entrance, Steve would take the big plywood box, pry off the top, and dump all the money out. Hundreds of bills swirling in the air, floating to the floor as Star and Steve sat down to begin counting. Mostly all one-dollar bills, but at that moment it seemed like a fortune.

Sam Brumbaugh is a D.C.-based novelist (Goodbye, Goodness) who has written for Open City, Chickfactor, The Minus Times and Vice. He coproduced the documentary Be Here to Love Me: A Film About Townes Van Zandt. He is a music producer and programmer who booked shows in NYC in the ’90s, and has worked for the Guggenheim Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

All photos and flyers courtesy Threadwaxing Space except where noted.

This is an excerpt from The Steve Keene Art Book (Copyright 2022 Daniel Efram, All rights reserved). Order a copy of the book here. Follow the artist Steve Keene, book producer Dan Efram and Hat & Beard on instagram. The book was designed by Henry Owings from Chunklet. Conflict-of-interest alert: The Steve Keene Art Book was edited by CF’s Gail O’Hara.

10 previously unreleased recordings from The Pacific Ocean out today on our label

Cover design by Jen Sbragia; cover photo by Adam Woodward

Happy Bandcamp Friday! On August 6, our label, Enchanté, will release The Other Shore Demos, 10 unreleased recordings from THE PACIFIC OCEAN: three are completely new and seven are different (some very different) takes on songs that appeared on their third record, So Beautiful and Cheap and Warm (Teen-Beat Records). Recorded by Ian James (Flower, Cell, French) in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn, in winter/spring 2001, the demos were recorded by main songwriters Connie Lovatt and Edward Baluyut along with drummer Steve Pilgrim.  

The Other Shore Demos track listing: 
All songs written by the Pacific Ocean 
Connie Lovatt: vocals, bass and keyboards 
Edward Baluyut: guitar and vocals 
Steve Pilgrim: drums and keyboards 
Recorded by Ian James in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn, winter and spring 2001 

“Lights On” (LISTEN)
Connie: This is a long-distance story song. The kind of nonsense words that worked as place holders grew on me so I kept them. Mostly for it being fun to sing. The situation deserved more pointed words but these words had more see-saw to them. “Lights On” is just a better title. 

“Fifty Dollars” (LISTEN)
Lyrics written with David Berman 

“It’s Too Late” (LISTEN)
Connie: A reliably unreliable scenario got some focus on this one. Somewhat. And “Give” seemed a more generous title. Most situations deserved some generosity. Even dumb ones. And then the lyrics went through a big change too. Gail calls this song “British Pop.” 
Vocal melody to the verse written with Fontaine Toups.

“Rainbow” (LISTEN)
First time being released. 

“It Is Something” (LISTEN)
First time being released.  

“Have You Ever” (LISTEN)
First time being released. 

“People to People” (LISTEN)

“I’m Part of Everything Again” (LISTEN)
Lyrics written with Bryce Kass 

“Honey” (LISTEN)
Ian James: guitar solo 

“Spanish” (LISTEN)
Connie: The song, as we worked on it, we called “Spanish” because of the tone Ed was getting from his strings and the kind of “neck up” fun playability he was having with it. After lyrics were set and it was time to record, we named it after my friend Adam. Lyrics were sprung from a certain social gathering he told me about. It’s a hug for Adam in song form. 

The Pacific Ocean back in the day. Photo: Adam Woodward

The Pacific Ocean formed around 1996 and made music through the early 21st century, releasing one EP and two albums (2 on Enchanté, 1 on Teen-Beat). The heart and soul of the band were Edward Baluyut (Versus, Flower, Containe) and Connie Lovatt (Containe, Alkaline), with Steve Pilgrim as a pretty regular member. The band played at many chickfactor events in NYC. 

The Pacific Ocean, Arlington, VA, 2000-ish. Photo: Gail O’Hara

Who is Ian? What was his role in it? 
Ian is a longtime forever friend from late teen years who was in a band with Richard Baluyut called Flower. He was also in Cell and French. He knows how to crush it on guitar and bass, and he was kind enough to share his space and equipment and record these songs. 

How does this music sound to you now? 
We love it. We were a good band. We worked hard for each song and practiced often and hung out more than we practiced. Not every song we made was perfect but we made a lot of perfect songs. 

Why didn’t you make more records after this as The Pacific Ocean? 
Good question. Connie moved to the city of angels. Everyone had babies. Babies can take the wind out of anyone’s sail for a while. Nothing against babies. They’re better than songs. 

Read our oral history of THE PACIFIC OCEAN

The Pacific Ocean: An Oral History

The Pacific Ocean was Edward Baluyut and Connie Lovatt; NYC, 1997. Photo: Gail O’Hara

The Pacific Ocean was a band that formed around 1996 and made music through the early 21st century, releasing one EP and two albums that remain criminally neglected and underrated. The brains, brawn and beauty (and heart and soul) of the band were Edward Baluyut (Versus) and Connie Lovatt (Containe, Alkaline), with Steve Pilgrim as a pretty regular member. As Enchanté and Teen-Beat both premiere their music on Bandcamp this Friday, we rounded up some friends, family and fans of the band to try to remember what was so great about them!

Why did you decide to form the Pacific Ocean? 
Connie Lovatt (The Pacific Ocean): 
Have you seen Ed play guitar or drums? He’s very thought out and precise. But he’s also really responsive and open. He’s also very supportive and patient. And I required patience. I didn’t know anything about playing instruments compared to him. We were friends for a while before we started playing together so I just remember it being really easy.

How did you meet?
Connie Lovatt: All things that involve me playing music start with Richard Baluyut. He introduced me to the songs of a million bands. I met Ed and Fontaine through Richard. I met Richard when I was a baby19. My first interaction with Ed was when he was on the phone with Richard, and I remembered he said something really crass about me and I liked him instantly. Or wanted him to like me. 

What was the biggest inspiration for the songs you wrote? 
Connie Lovatt: 
Love that righted me and love that wronged me.

How did you write and record songs? 
Connie Lovatt:
 Ed wrote ideas on guitar. If I could manage worthwhile vocals and bass, then we had enough to structure things. Ed was the captain. 

Poster by LD Beghtol

What was Ed like as a child? Were you guys all musical? 
James Baluyut (Versus, +/-): Ed was an overachiever as a kid. Super competitive with his older brother. Reading Tolkien in 4th grade. Advanced math. Honors student. He was even a football star in middle school. He had a considerable size advantage in eighth grade. He was the same height in eighth grade as he is now! Unfortunately, everyone else grew the following year and his future football career evaporated. Both Ed and Richard played organ from a young age and then stopped. My parents didn’t really push me into that though I kinda wish they had. We listened to classic rock radio a lot in the car. Detroit’s a good place for that. For some reason, our parents let us kids control the radio. Our older cousin had a guitar and a Marshall. He took us to see Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii. That’s probably where it all started. The Abbey Theater 1-2-3.
Richard Baluyut (Versus): Ed is the classic middle child, innately driven to try to be better than his older brother, and occasionally succeeding; he is a much better drummer and basketball player than I am. And at organ. 

How long have you known the Baluyut Bros?  
Patrick Ramos (Versus, +/-{Plus Minus}: I have very few memories in my life of a time before I knew the Baluyut Bros. They aren’t in all of those memories but the ones in which they are, are all traumatic. Kidding! We lived about a mile apart from each other and our parents were friends, so our families pretty much grew up together. True story: I lent them my drumset and Casio keyboard for some of their earliest musical ventures.

Tell us about the ideas that went into making the records: 
Birds Don’t Think They’re Flying (Enchanté, 1997)
Edward Baluyut (The Pacific Ocean): We recorded the album spontaneously in basically 3 days. Nicholas Vernhes (Rare Book Room) was just starting to build his new studio and he recorded it and produced it for basically nothing as he was testing out his new equipment. Since he was doing us a favor, we did our takes very quickly without worrying about correcting small mistakes. Also, I had to come up with drum parts on the spot since we didn’t have a drummer yet. The result was a relatively raw-sounding record, but we were definitely proud of our first EP, and for me, it felt good to be a primary songwriter for the first time since, with Versus—as much as I enjoyed finding my “voice” as a drummer—I was playing more of a supporting role.
Connie Lovatt: This was our first time recording. It went quickly. Nicolas was trying out his new space and stuff. I was so happy to be getting the songs down and playing with Ed. I remember it being loose and easy. And the way Ed took my sense of melody seriously was a game changer for me. He was vocal about it in a way that still gives me a spine. We were with Nicolas. So it was comfortable. 

Less Than the Needle, More Than the Shotgun (Enchanté, 1999)
Edward Baluyut: We spent more time on this album, which had a more polished feel. We had Alex Trajano, a real musician who went to music school, on drums, and we had James Baluyut come in to produce it. We sat on the recording for a while and then wrote three new ones a few months later with Steve Pilgrim on drums. These ended up being my favorite songs on the record: “Nothing Is Too Kind,” “Fantastic Trip” and “All the Better Luck.”
Connie Lovatt: We had more time and knowhow with this one. Things felt more cohesive yet spread out song wise in that we covered more ground. Ed is kind of a quiet workhorse. He just gets things done in a studio. The songs felt bigger this time. Jimmy was there! A lot of Thai food. And Steve Pilgrim was now in the band and he brings a barbed sweetness to things. He’s fun to record with. Again, we were with Nicolas and we all knew each other well enough by then so it was easy. 

What were you like back then? 
Connie Lovatt: 
According to Ed and Steve I was “a ball of emotion”. But adorable, obviously. 

Did you play with the Pacific Ocean? When? 
Patrick Ramos: The degree of my memory loss hadn’t really occurred to me until now but it came back to me that I played on TPO’s first album. I’m the drummer on “If I Could Fall” and “You’re Always Somewhere Else,” which is simultaneously thrilling to remember and depressing to have forgotten. 
Alan Licht: I don’t remember how it happened that they asked me to play on [So Beautiful and Cheap and Warm] but I really liked the songs, and it was nice to be in the studio with Bill Callahan, who I already had known for a while. We played a few shows around New York which were sort of low key but fun. Then we did a tour with Smog (can’t remember if it was still Smog or Bill was going under his real name yet) in the South, New Orleans, Texas. I remember being sort of stuck in New Orleans because Bill’s tour manager had misplaced a bunch of merch, or gear, and that was being sorted out. I also remember going to a hardcore show that was happening across the street when we were playing in Houston, because it was the same promoter for both shows, and that was intense—the audience was standing a mile away from the stage at our show, and they were swarming the band at the hardcore show. We wound up staying at someone’s house there, and I offhandedly said I’d like to see Rothko Chapel while I was town and they said, “It’s across the street from us”—it was true, the next morning I woke, crossed the street, and it was right there. It was a different drummer on that tour than Steve Pilgrim, who played on the record—Chris Deaner, who was amazing and I think went on to play with Kelly Clarkson.
Steve Pilgrim (The Pacific Ocean): It would have been 1997. I was looking for a band to play with, and actually Joey Sweeney said Ed had left Versus and they needed a drummer. So I looked Richard up in the literal phone book and cold called him. If I hadn’t known Joey, he probably would have hung up, but I ended up practicing a couple times with them to feel it out. They ended up going with Patrick as we know, but Richard said Ed had a good band and I should play with them. I met Connie and Ed at an Unsane show at Coney Island High, we got along, and the rest is world famous history. Actually the first TPO song I heard was when they played me the cassette of the Birds EP in Ed’s van. About 60 seconds into “Duet”, I was in. I’m a sucker for the trademark Baluyut majestic rock sound.
Richard Baluyut: I’ve played with TPO a few times, once playing the aforementioned organ, and then a few years ago filling in on bass so Connie could fully wield her star power.

Ed and Connie lying on the ground in Washington Square Park! NYC, 1997. Photo: Gail O’Hara

Do you remember the recording process of Less Than the Needle
Steve Pilgrim: I wish I could! It was mostly recorded by the time I joined. But we came up with some good new songs in practice, so we went in with Nicolas Vernhes to add “Nothing Is Too Kind”, “Fantastic Trip”, and “All the Better Luck,” which only took a day or two I think. 

Were you involved in the songwriting process at all? 
Steve Pilgrim: Only to the extent that songs were written in practice. Generally Ed and Connie would bring ideas, parts, fragments of songs, and we would play around with them until they turned into something. Sometimes they’d have a song almost fully written, but generally we felt our way there by playing. Coming up with drum parts to their ideas could be difficult, and there was a lot of soul searching in the practice room. Sometimes practice felt more like therapy, and I may have quit once or twice, but things always seemed to come together sooner or later.

You coproduced Less Than the Needle, More Than the Shotgun with Nicolas. What was that process like? 
James Baluyut: Connie and Ed always liked to joke about my “no big deal” production. I’m about as far as you can get from an iron-fisted tyrant in the studio. I was there mainly to provide another perspective. The band knew what they wanted for the most part, and it was up to Nicolas and me to help them get it all on tape. I helped mainly with guitars and guitar sounds, and I tossed in a few production ideas. I played a little guitar, but I was treading lightly as I didn’t want to get in the way of what was already special.

What do you remember about making Less Than the Needle?
James Baluyut:
 Not much to be honest! I do remember sitting in the control room at Rare Book Room a lot. I sat with Nicolas while the band knocked the takes out in the live room. I remember it mostly being easy… and easy-going. It was a joy to hear the songs as they were being recorded. Also, I loved watching Alex Trajano and Steve Pilgrim drum.   

What was it like working with the Pacific Ocean?
Bill Callahan (producer, So Beautiful and Cheap and Warm): I was blown away by the distinct musicality of the group. The way Ed and Connie’s voices worked together to make an organic third voice. The way they played their instruments—the parts they came up with were unique to them. I asked them to do things and they usually knew what I meant and did them very well. I was never really sure how much the entire band wanted me there because they were accustomed to me not being there. 

What did the Pacific Ocean sound like? 
Heather Larimer (Corvair, Eux Autres):
 Connie’s voice has an intimacy and purity that reminds me of the ethereal singers of the ’70s but also a frankness that makes you feel like she’s telling you and only you something very directly. TPO feels like sitting in a San Francisco Inner Sunset apartment on a day that’s a duel between fog and sun and you’re making coffee and slightly high and wondering why you feel feelings so intensely and what that means for your ability to shape any sort of coherent future for yourself.
John Lindaman (True Love Always): Apart from basic genre descriptions and the level of quality of the work, both Containe and TPO had a similar uniqueness to them, which came from a successful combining of two distinct strong musical personalities. It’s pretty unusual for bands to be able to do that instead of “one of X’s songs, one of Y’s songs” or “Neil writes the lyrics but Geddy sings.” And maybe that’s how it actually was and it just didn’t come across that way—either way it worked!
Richard Baluyut: People were surprised at Ed’s guitar playing, but I wasn’t. Way before Versus, he always brought a unique tonality to the table in Flower. And Connie at that time was kinda just finding her voice, still had “beginner’s mind,” a state we all strive to get back to, and really expressive. So the two together just sounded different, and great. They had a song that was called something else originally, but became “Five”; that was my favorite. Also the one that gets loud, “I’m Part of Everything Again.”
James Baluyut: A moody collision of intellect, poetry and emotion with pop sensibility.“Fantastic Trip” is my favorite. Just so perfect and weird and catchy. I can’t imagine any other band coming up with that song.  
Patrick Ramos: I have a distinct memory of listening to an early copy of The Pacific Ocean’s Birds Don’t Think They’re Flying for the first time in the tour-van after an in-store show at Stinkweeds in Phoenix. Hearing “Duet,” then “Letter/Doctor,” then “Two Twenty,” and “Last Minute was like a series of gorgeous punches to the heart.

The Pacific Ocean at Now Records in Arlington, VA, 2001. Photo by Gail O’Hara

Do you remember any live shows?
John Lindaman:
 I remember the TLA/TPO/Versus show we played in 1998 at The Point in Atlanta—TLA at that point were mostly vegetarian, and the Versus crew was naturally going to all the finest BBQ places, which meant we tagged along but denied ourselves the good food in front of us. We said, “Well, we’ll just eat at the club,” and when we got there the club was like “and the vegetarian’s delight—two bowls of freshly popped popcorn.” But the shows were great of course!
Bob Bannister (Fire in the Kitchen): I am sure I saw both bands live multiple times. I did appear as a guest guitarist at a show in the early 2000s, pretty sure it was at The Fez.
Gail O’Hara (Enchanté Records, chickfactor): I have fond memories of the Pacific Ocean at Tonic, just because I shot video and it blows me away to watch it now. Also the reunion they did at Union Pool in 2017, when they felt way too huge for the stage and room, and Connie had evolved into this superhero frontperson I always knew she was, backed by the foxy Baluyut Brothers™. They’re the only men on earth who can rock a man-bun. 
Steve Pilgrim: I remember the driving more than the shows, probably. We did a couple road trips, including a few shows on the west coast with the Magnetic Fields that we joked probably had the longest miles-traveled-to-shows ratio in history. Coming from New York, we played a show in Chicago, and then the next one was LA, and we went up the coast from there. But the trip, especially traversing the southwest, became its own whole experience. The three of us had a definite dysfunctional family dynamic, with Ed, the rhetorical master of the gentle cut, possibly holding the thing together in his wry and steady way. We laughed a lot, yelled a bit (mostly me), but I don’t know if any of it amounted to very tellable stories. I can say Connie would almost certainly never have heard Rush’s “By-Tor and the Snow Dog” without me on that trip, but I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad memory.

What are some of your fondest memories of shows you played? 
Connie Lovatt:
 The shows you really remember are the ones when something goes wrong. I won’t tell tales. Even on myself. The good memories become part of that thing that makes you want to be on stage with those people anytime.  
Edward Baluyut: My favorite shows were always the Chickfactor shows at the Fez. They always had a cool cabaret feel to them, and you could always count on sharing the stage with other great musicians. Gail O’Hara really knew how to curate a show!

What was it about “Last Minute” that made you want to cover it? 
James McNew:
 I loved that song from the first time I heard it. It’s effortlessly perfect and cryptic. I felt like I had to sing it, too.

What made you want to release the Pacific Ocean’s music? 
Mark Robinson (Teen-Beat Records): Mostly because the album they had recorded was (and still is) pretty incredible.
Gail O’Hara: It just evolved out of Containe, made sense. We are family. And they’re great.

Artwork for the Pacific Ocean’s So Beautiful and Safe and Warm (Teen-Beat Records) by Mark Robinson

The Pacific Ocean was often described (dismissed?) as a Versus side project. Did it seem like their records got enough attention at the time? 
Bill Callahan: I was surprised the record I helped with didn’t blow up. 
Alan Licht: It was always an underrated band—they had great songs. I wish it had lasted a bit longer. I don’t really think of other bands in relation to them. I think Steve Pilgrim called it “baroque folk pop” or something like that, which is sort of funny. Connie was close to David Berman so maybe there’s a little bit of a parallel in terms of an interest in poetry and how to apply that to writing songs; and I think at least one song on the Teen-Beat record is co-written with David.

Edward and Connie in NYC, 1997. Photo: Gail O’Hara

What was it like being in the Pacific Ocean as opposed to your other bands? 
Connie Lovatt: Well, there’s that famous Baluyut humor. Which involves psychological pointing and taunting. And Steve notices everything and is in no shortage of looks or comments. And I was a ball of emotion apparently. And both Ed and Steve are ceaselessly generous and kind. So it was great. 

How do those records sound to you now?
Bill Callahan:
I still have a lot of the songs in my head! 
Steve Pilgrim: They sound great—definitely of that late ’90s, early ’00s time and sound, but I believe they’ve weathered the years really well as a good example of that particular sound. Of course it’s nostalgic, listening to them, but Ed and Connie’s writing is just so good that those songs will always hold up. And I still don’t know what half the lyrics are, so that gives me a reason to go back and keep listening.

Tell us any other stories you remember about Connie and the Pacific Ocean. 
James Baluyut: I initially heard the first TPO EP while on tour with Versus. I remember we were all like, “Damn, that’s good.”
Bill Callahan: We had an afterparty on the last day of recording. Connie had two sips of vodka. I’d never seen her drink before and was worried after the second sip, which she drank as if it had a baby snake in it. We ended up having to pull over so she could hurl in the street. CF

Poster for CF25 by Tae Won Yu, 2017

Containe: An Oral History

Containe at the Old Town Bar, 1994. Photo: Gail O’Hara

All the way back in September 1993, chickfactor had its first ever live show at Under Acme. Something like 11 bands played (with a few others jumping on the mike), all sharing the backline. The show was $5. Versus were originally meant to play but couldn’t so I asked Fontaine Toups to play solo; she asked Connie Lovatt to join her and they played a few songs: Containe was born. I was so chuffed that I asked if I could put out their debut 7-inch. They were people I saw all the time, we all became friends, the rest is history. In honor of the band putting their records on Bandcamp this week, we asked a few friends, fans and collaborators to try to remember the details… —Gail O’Hara, Enchanté Records & chickfactor

When did you first meet each other?
Connie Lovatt (Containe, The Pacific Ocean):
In the early ’90s? We met through Richard. Her approach to awkward social situations and her humor are often wonderfully otherworldly so of course I liked her. 

Tell us about writing songs and recording. 
Fontaine Toups (Containe, Versus):
 It’s difficult to remember the details but what I can say is that writing music with Connie was inspiring and a lot of fun. She is one of the best lyricists I know. Our recording and writing process was done quickly. We never spent much time on either, at least this is what I remember. The less-is-more attitude was definitely at play. We will all have different versions of the same story and I’d love to hear Ed and Connie’s. If I could go back in time, I’d do the same thing all over again. 
Connie Lovatt: We both wrote songs in guitar and/or bass and shared them. The other would write bass or another guitar part and some vocals. Fontaine had a much stronger sense of what she wanted arrangement wise. 

Do you remember the first Containe show? What was it like?  
Fontaine Toups: Yes, terrifying and amusing. Where was it? You must have that answer because I certainly can’t remember. (September 10, 1993 at Under Acme)
Connie Lovatt: Gail put together our first show. Fontaine was going to play solo to fill in for Versus? Something like that. She asked me to join her. I remember it sounding really really good. It was memorable in that I was aware of every note and our voices and I loved it. 

Containe in NYC, 1995. Photo by Gail O’Hara

What was the biggest inspiration for the songs you wrote? 
Connie Lovatt: Playing a guitar for the first time. It was a whole new thing. 

What do you remember about making the records?
Connie Lovatt:
We made I Want It All with Adam Lasus (Studio Red) and he was always up and always energetic. He added so much levity to the process. If anything went wrong his first instinct is to laugh which was a big help. It was just Fontaine, me and Dave Frank on drums. We were a low-key crew. Fontaine had more experience, so I followed her lead. But I remember being so happy to be doing a full record of just our songs. 
We made Cowards with Nicolas Vernhes (Rare Book Room) and a whole host of characters. We had a lot of supportive input around us. There was much more jumping around between instruments and sounds but Nicolas kept all the trains running. He was great. It had momentum. I remember Fontaine had a bunch of good songs ready to go so the sense of direction was strong. I love all her guitar playing on that record. Spike Priggen deserves a note here. He took time out to help record some songs I was working on and Cowards came out sounding good enough to put on the record. 

When did you first meet/see/hear Containe? The Pacific Ocean? 
Gail O’Hara (Enchanté Records, chickfactor): 
chickfactor used to have parties where we would give out our new issue. Versus was scheduled to play at our first ever party with live music, but Richard had to bail for some reason. I suggested to Fontaine that she just play anyway: She asked Connie and Containe was born. I loved them so much I suggested putting out a 7-inch single and then Enchanté was born. 
Patrick Ramos (Versus, +/-): I heard both bands for the first time in ’96 when I joined Versus on drums. I liked both bands immediately. 
Mark Robinson (Teen-Beat Records):
 I actually can’t remember. This was so long ago! I first met Fontaine and Ed at a Versus show when my band played with them in 1991. Chickfactor was one of the most important (THE most?) zines of that era, and Containe and TPO were covered pretty regularly, if not in the interviews/record reviews, then in the ads for their records, so I think pretty much every Chickfactor reader was pretty well informed about them.
John Lindaman (True Love Always): 
I can’t remember exactly when we met, but it was around when we joined the Teen-Beat cavalcade of stars in 1997. I never got to see Containe live, but we did a few Pacific Ocean/ TLA/Versus shows in 1998.
James McNew (Yo La Tengo/Dump):
 I honestly can’t remember. I just feel like I saw them whenever I could.
Bob Bannister (Fire in the Kitchen): Having been a fan of Versus since their early days (wearing out the demo cassette that preceded the first couple of 7″ singles), I can’t remember exactly when, but I surely heard of Containe almost as soon as they came into existence. Same for TPO.
Alan Licht:
 I don’t remember seeing Containe or the Pacific Ocean playing live (before I played with them). I knew Fontaine from Versus, and then Connie just socially from knowing those guys. I remember bumping into Connie and Fontaine in the elevator at the Music Building when I was on my way to Run On practice and they were going to Containe practice…if Containe played Chickfactor nights then I would have seen them then, but I don’t have a clear memory of it.
Heather Larimer (Corvair, Eux Autres):
 I saw Fontaine play for the first time with Versus at The Crocodile and I was so mesmerized and thought she was the coolest girl in the world. I was obsessed enough that I very much wanted to name my firstborn Fontaine but he was a boy so I had to name him Lewis instead. The first chickfactor I ever read had a bunch of quotes from Containe and I just thought they were impossibly cool. In all the photos they looked like they were having the best time and just didn’t give a shit about what anyone else was doing.

Containe in NYC, 1995. Photo by Gail O’Hara

Are you a fan? 
Patrick Ramos:
I am. And not only because I like all the members as people, though that does help. And no, they aren’t paying me to say this.
James McNew:
Oh yes.
John Lindaman: OMG YES.
Bob Bannister: Yes!

What made you want to cover “Shy Song”? 
John Lindaman: I love “Shy Song” so much. Sometimes when you hear a song you think, “I could really add something unique to this with the singular power of my artistry” and sometimes you think, “man that would be fun to play, and I can probably just coast on what a great song the original is.” This was definitely the latter! Also I thought it would be good as a man singing it to change the lyric from “I want to fuck you like you’ve never been before” to “I want to thank you like you’ve never been before” because that seems like a more realistic attitude for a guy in a pop band.

Describe any memories you have of Containe, especially any live show experiences. 
Stephin Merritt: 
Yes! Containe is the worst band name in history, and The Pacific Ocean is the best band name in history!
James McNew:
 I saw Containe at Brownie’s (?) early on and was blown away. It was amazing to see Fontaine, a goddamn powerhouse, in such a vulnerable light. Connie seemed freaked out to be onstage in front of people, but once the music would start she had this instantly soothing, wise presence. The onstage banter between them was pretty priceless, too.
Gail O’Hara: I loved the East Coast tour we did in summer 1995; they had a great show at the Middle East. Also Stevie Jackson from Belle and Sebastian was a Containe fan, and B&S invited them to open on some shows in 1998. Georgia Hubley came along on drums. Seeing Containe, who were by this point my BFFs, open for Belle & Sebastian at Town Hall was a dream. Then hearing Belle & Sebastian play “chickfactor” live for the first time that night, well, I was in heaven. 
Richard Baluyut (Versus): All three bands did a set together at CF21. I was thrilled to finally get to join the club!
Patrick Ramos: I have a vague memory of playing drums for Containe and looking up from behind the drum set at Connie and Fontaine stage right and left, but maybe that was just a wishful dream.
James Baluyut: The only times I saw Containe live, I was in the band. Does that count? I think it only happened a couple times. At any rate, the first time, in particular, I was thrilled, not only because Containe was excellent, but also because we were opening for Belle & Sebastian on one of their super early tours. It was super fun. I wish I’d taken some photos.

How would you describe Containe? 
James Baluyut: Effervescent, hooky and brilliant—what you want to hear on a spring day.
Richard Baluyut: To me, Containe is all about the confluence/collision of Fontaine and Connie’s beautiful voices and quirks (they’re both kinda weird). 
Bob Bannister: Some bands mostly write the songs together in their rehearsals while Containe sounds more like Fontaine and Connie wrote them at home with just guitars and voices and then fleshed out the other parts in rehearsals or recordings. (Of course, I don’t really know their working methods.) Connie started adding keyboard parts on the second Containe record, which was a great addition. Containe songs remind me of Marine Girls, early Tracey Thorn solo, and late ’80s New Zealand bands like Look Blue Go Purple and The Bats (and I’d be surprised if they weren’t fans of those bands). One thing that strikes me relistening to Containe is the number of different vocal approaches Connie and Fontaine used. Sometimes they’d do straight harmonies (different notes, same syllable, same beat), sometimes they’d have one holding sustained oohs and ahhs, while other sang the main melody, sometimes (and I think this is underrated in general), they sang in unison, which gives a really rich timbre. Finally, there is whatever they are doing on “Say Please,” which sounds like two people singing four parts without doing it via overdubs. Although Ed Baluyut contributed to the Containe records, I’m thinking his role as a leader in the Pacific Ocean brought a more art-rock sound: more dropped beats, angular guitar parts, etc.
James McNew: Kinda like Fleetwood Mac with Peter Prescott on drums, or like 100 Flowers led by two Denise Roughans.
Gail O’Hara: The sound of a dozen exes being exorcised. Perfectly balanced: Fontaine is pop. Connie is art. Loud, quiet. Containe was tailor made for fans of Helium, Cat Power, the Spinanes, Barbara Manning, Scrawl, etc. 
John Lindaman: Apart from basic genre descriptions and the level of quality of the work, both Containe and TPO had a similar uniqueness to them, which came from a successful combining of two distinct strong musical personalities. It’s pretty unusual for bands to be able to do that instead of “one of X’s songs, one of Y’s songs” or “Neil writes the lyrics but Geddy sings.” And maybe that’s how it actually was and it just didn’t come across that way—either way it worked!

Containe in NYC, 1994. Photo by Gail O’Hara

Containe and the Pacific Ocean were often described (dismissed?) as a Versus side project. Do you think they should have been bigger? 
James McNew: Everybody in that band is so talented, how could that be a bad thing. I wish they would/ could have released more music and played out more. 
John Lindaman: Both Containe and TPO were bands that should have been as big as whatever the biggest bands were at the time—the music was just light years ahead of what other people were doing. And the music is so different from Versus that I don’t see it as a valid point of comparison.

How are they different from Versus?
James McNew:
Similar in some ways, but it gave me an even finer appreciation for Fontaine’s perspective, as well as her power and creativity. Also, they cuss more in their songs, and cut down the guitar solos.
Gail O’Hara: More lyrically raw. They were playful and fun but also heartbreaking, devastating. Connie and Fontaine seemed to revel in the freedom to be in charge of their own thing. 

Is there a particular Containe/The Pacific Ocean song/album/era that resonated with you? 
John Lindaman: Only Cowards Walk Like Cowards is really one of the most perfect records of that decade, and really achieved what a lot of people were going for but failed to come close to! But those four records together represent a real body of work, and I’m glad to see them being brought back out together.
James McNew: The feelings that are bluntly revealed on those first EPs make them pretty magical. You sort of hear the sound of them deciding to be a band, or if they even want to bother with that route.
Gail O’Hara: For me it’s the second records from both: Containe really kills it on “Say Please” and “Summer”—I feel like it’s the most fully realized version of them. My favorite TPO songs are on Less Than the Needle: “Five” and “All the Better Luck.” All of these songs should have been on the Clueless soundtrack or in some teen film. 
Richard Baluyut: I’m terrible at song titles, so I’ll have to default to the hit, “Shy Song.” Surprising and joyous.
Mark Robinson: My favorite Containe song is probably “Shy Song”. It’s a hit and it has a bad word in it, which was oddly not super common at the time.
Bob Bannister: It has been a couple of years since I listened to the records, but returning to Only Cowards… over the weekend, I was reminded just how much I listened to it at the time. There was probably no mixtape I made in that era that did not include “Say Please,” “Why Why Why” or your “Your Brother’s a Star.” The same was true a few years later with “All the Better Luck” on the second Pacific Ocean record.

How do you see these records and the bands’ legacies at this point? 
Patrick Ramos: Both bands are grossly underappreciated. The songs are complex, catchy, honest and still refreshing to listen to 20+ years on. FYI:  I’ve added them both to my Spring 2021 Playlist. I want to believe that one day they’ll both get their due credit in the lineage of rock history but who decides these things? Cleveland?
John Lindaman: I don’t know how much of a legacy anyone has at this point, but if you heard them then you tried to rip them off, and if you hear them now for the first time you’ll understand where some other bands you liked were getting their ideas from!

What other bands/musicians spring to mind when you listen to Containe? And the Pacific Ocean? 
James McNew:
I think fans of music from New Zealand in the ’80s and or NYC/Chicago/ Louisville etc. in the ’90s would be moved by it. I don’t really see them fitting squarely into anything or any time, which I think is a plus. They were able to be themselves, together.

Tell us any other stories you remember about Containe and the Pacific Ocean. 
James McNew:
I remember they were really nice people who made special music together. I consider myself lucky to have seen them play.
Patrick Ramos: Versus, Containe and the Pacific Ocean when not playing the same shows were always at each other’s shows so we had a lot of fun together. The problem again—and I’m really not trying to make this about me—is that all of the details and nuance of those times that make for a good story and should have been put to paper are now lost to me. But answering these questions made me dig out the CDs and I’m blasting them now. If I remember anything, it’s that it feels just as compelling and exciting as it did when I first heard them, like the gift someone gives you that you didn’t realize you really needed.

What was it like being on Enchanté?
Connie Lovatt:
Being on Enchanté is exactly what you think being on it would be like. Gail is a fierce defender of artists. And once we became great friends, it also felt like famIly. And a place I could cook. And a place I could sleep. CF