 |
No-Man-Band |
 |
One-man-bands have always really impressed me. Until I met a man with no band: IMAGINE “the” BAND. The name perfectly describes the concept: wearing a too-tight wetsuit and headphones with “special education” printed across the top, Eric William Pierson (known as Egos Personos on stage, and just E.P. on planet Earth) hyper-earnestly performs original songs a cappella, and it’s up to the audience to imagine the band.
“I just had a bunch of songs, but everybody I wanted to jam with was busy,” E.P.
explains of the concept’s genesis. “Plus I didn’t have a radio
in my truck, so I was always making up songs and singing them to myself.”
Most funny guys think of thousands of ideas like this. But it takes a special
person to grab hold of one and actualize it. And on stage at least, E.P. takes
it very seriously; E.P.’s imaginary band has only “played” 12
shows since first opening for dirty girl rapper Peaches three years ago, but
due to the intensity of his performances, “The knees are already coming
out of the wetsuit, there’s a hole in the crotch.” Nor does he ever
wink at the audience. “I want to do more than just write a funny song,” E.P.
explains. “I want to blur the line of ‘is this guy serious?’ I’ve
thought about doing stand-up comedy, but it’s just not enough of a mindfuck.
Same reason I’m not so into having a traditional band.”
A traditional band’s volume would also obscure E.P.’s well-written
lyrics, especially since many of his songs are (I imagine) heavy metal (“Mean
Face” about testosterone rock) or even grindcore (“Ballpark Franks,” about
America). And while in most live comedy, silence equals death (notice how many
insecure stand-ups and talk-show hosts won’t stop yakking even while the
audience is laughing), silence is a punchline for IMAGINE “the” BAND.
Because no “real” singer sings during every note of a song, E.P.
too may sing over the first four beats of an eight-beat measure, then leave the
second four “instrumental”—meaning, in this case, silent.
Because of this silence, audiences either chatter less at ItB shows, or else
E.P. becomes a heckler’s dream. Between songs at a recent Howling Wolf
performance, one smart guy yelled, “Turn it up!” To which E.P responded
sincerely, “We’re gonna turn it up on a different level,” then
launched into his theme song “Imagine the Band,” in which each invisible
band-member—including the conga player—takes a solo.
E.P. claims the slower numbers, such as his country music send-up “Look
Both Ways (Before You Cross My Heart)” are the hardest to pull off. “There
were two shows that really flopped,” he recalls. “One was opening
for EyeHateGod. It was their idea; they like to badger their crowd. The other
time, my friend Pepper [Keenan, Corrosion
of Conformity] invited me to perform
at Le Bon Temps Roule. I was opening for Morning 40 Federation and you’d
think their crowd would be into it.” But E.P., a longtime Ninth Ward resident
and collaborator of Quintron (their killer rap group Drumbuddy
Badass unfortunately
breaks up after every show), blames that bellyflop on the crowd’s Uptown
attitude.
But the majority of the time, “I look out and see people bobbing their
heads!” E.P. laughs. “They’re hearing the beat!” ItB
has rocked crowds opening for Dead Moon and Canned
Ham, and won a special place
in the heart of hilariously unfunny stand-up comedian Neal Hamburger: “I’m
gonna go open for him in L.A. He says he’d love for me to ride his coattails.” ItB’s
official soon-to-be-released DVD Listen with Your Eyes! was filmed at a Hamburger
show. And I would bet that someday we will see ItB on Letterman or Conan.
If not, E.P. also has more than this one questionable iron in the fire. For
the past five years this former co-host of Louisiana Jukebox (“I like
to think I played a part in that show’s demise.”) has been hawking
a TV pilot called Quest for the Unknown: “I play E. Willy P.,” E.P.
drawls, “a
country guy with simple smarts who goes out and investigates supernatural goin-ons.” Two
full episodes can be seen at questfortheunknown.com.
In the process of playing a record store clerk in Carl Perkins’ (“Blue
Suede Shoes”) electronic press kit, E.P. and the king of rockabilly penned
a little ditty about astronauts having sex. He also had a bit part in B-movie
Candyman 2, and played drummer DJ Fontana in the recent Elvis TV movie: “Thank
god there wasn’t a drum- kit at the audition,” laughs E.P., a novice
drummer who practiced like hell after he won the part. “At the audition
the casting guy asks, ‘So can you play drums?’ I said, ‘Good
enough to be in Elvis’ band.’ The guy’s like, ‘That doesn’t
sound too good.’ I said, ‘What? You don’t like Elvis?’”
But currently, E.P. is focusing all his energy on Sleepstation 41, “A documentary
about my wife talking in her sleep.” After seeing clips, I can honestly
say this is one of the weirdest, funniest things I’ve ever seen. So amazing
that, “I’m afraid people won’t believe she’s asleep,” confides
E.P. In one scene E.P.’s wife loudly channels a Molson Golden beer commercial
that doesn’t exist, but should. In another, E.P. slips a keyboard beneath
her limp hands and—though she doesn’t play—she instinctually
tinkles-out a repetitive little melody.
IMAGINE “the” BAND plays (in your head) Saturday, August 13 at Circle
Bar, opening for Crimson Sweet.
|
|
Internet
Radio
Louisiana
CD's
Louisiana
Music Magazine