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This is the story of a rock and roll band. It could be any band; it could be your band. Jim Evens (vocals/guitar), Steve Bishop (bass) and Clif Clehouse (drums) became Helen Stellar in Chicago in October 2000. After a tiresome string of minimum-wage jobs and schooling, the music they were making clicked so resonantly the guys couldn’t ignore it. So Jim and Steve and Clif gave up their individuality and anonymity in that weird way that only happens in a rock band, to be known for better or for worse as Helen Stellar. I first heard their work the way so many other people become acquainted with popular music: on the radio. But I’m not talking about mainstream, Top 40, conglomerate-owned and profit-oriented radio; I’m speaking of KCRW, the fantastic NPR-based station out of Santa Monica College that beams on the radio dial like a steady torch in the blinding blizzard of commercial crap. KCRW began spinning one track in particular off Helen Stellar's debut EP Newton that scrambled through my ears, grabbed hold of my heart and wouldn’t let go. That song was “Popris”, and I’ve now come to realize it was but the tip of the iceberg of what this band had to offer. In the spring of 2002, Helen Stellar announced they would be making their first visit to Los Angeles for a couple of small shows, just to gauge first-hand the insanity of the music industry in Tinseltown. Because I must confess I wasn’t yet completely convinced of Helen Stellar’s merit at that time (despite not being able to get “Popris” out of my head), it was my sister, a professional photographer, who contacted the band on our behalf, asking to be privy to their visit and chronicle those few critical days for posterity. Brian Spotak, the band’s manager and hometown buddy, graciously invited us to attend their shows and remain open to what went on from there. If you haven’t seen a band perform live before but have heard all their music and seen their videos and read their interviews, you might be prepared for what that in-your-face concert experience will be like. If you’ve heard maybe three songs and don’t even know the full names of the band members, you have no idea what to expect on that stage. That’s the vibe I was operating on the night Helen Stellar played their first show ever in Los Angeles at the Knitting Factory, in the tiny annex known as the Alterknit Lounge. Meeting the guys didn’t really help, either - they were so NICE, so normal, so not rock stars. A rock writer learns to steel themselves against the attitudes of musicians, however up-and-coming (i.e. unknown) they might be they all seem to, by virtue of their chosen path, be surrounded by an impenetrable aura of ego and protective distance. The Knitting Factory performance was something special, a stew of nerves and expectations. But that anxiety couldn't kill the magic the crowd was privy to that night. Nic Harcourt of KCRW was there and afterwards booked the band for an on-air appearance on his morning show the following Monday a huge coup for the guys as they became only the fourth unsigned band to play on the hugely popular program. In contrast to their first show at the Knitting Factory, Helen Stellar's last L.A. gig at the funky Silverlake haunt Spaceland took place in a truly compatible venue for the visual and sonic capacity of the band. Smoke machines filled the dark room while the music embraced the sizeable crowd with mystery. Everyone was mesmerized by the flickering light show Geoff (design, web and aesthetics mastermind) constructed to match the beauty and complexity of the songs. The affect of the smoke machines wasn’t just cool; it allowed the listener to go deep into their own head for visuals, not having what they are supposed to feel provoked by what they’d see the band doing. Many curious people seem to have been drawn to the show by the morning’s performance on KCRW; it was a hot topic of overheard conversation. Earlier that day, the guys had been with us at our friend’s house, chilling and enjoying a slice of L.A. high life up in the Hollywood Hills. Afterwards they headed for sushi and Roscoe’s Chicken & Waffles, both part of the quintessential Hollywood experience. They were grateful for it all, from the simplest things to those blessings of fate and fortune they were flabbergasted had befallen them. After the Spaceland show, I witnessed one young woman say to Clif on her way out, “Thank you for your music. I heard you on the radio this morning.” Stunned, Clif took it in stride and thanked her profusely right back. |
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