Tennis Pro

Usually when a band gets down to business time it isn't always fun: it can be a release of pent up disappointments and missed chances. But Tennis Pro do a complete 180 degree breakdance spin and, instead, throw a party of a record. And their world domination just means fun for everyone at that party. The opening lines of tight gut-funk opener "Dance Hit Number 1" (this isn't a track on a UK greatest wavo-disco 12" from the 80s compilation??), upon which is preached, "Are you downtrodden my brother? Afflicted, my son? Well, pick yourself up, you're not done."

From there, drummer Sean Lowry, vocalist and guitarist David Drury, and multi-talented bassist Philip Peterson (oh yeah, vocals, strings, backrubs, brass, breaking glass, keyboards, champion snogger, knows a guy, who knows a guy, works a room, keeps swinging, et al) just fully determined to break out of the miasmatic indie rock ghetto of focused failure and small club woes. The big fat bold blue sound of Shimokita Is Dead? puts all the clocks to bed and demands the guests have at least one more, to paraphrase the sweet warning of " Saratomi Bicycle" -- those beloved fellow partiers being Dita Vox (Thee Emergency!), Cristina Bautista, guitarist Matt Black, Jessica Abbey, and Blake Jeffcoat. Their crisp, welcomed talents add to the jumped-up franticness what all those weed dealers dealers did for The Clash on Sandinista! Except in one third the size and only dubbed out at the end of a couple surfy, bonfire-glowing burn-down tracks (and you got to have those by 3 am).

Honestly, where previous (third) album Are You There, God? It's Me Tennis Pro perfectly sort-of evoked the dark, down edges of the '00s (indie feeling creepy about the good times being almost gone), the band has brought a whole new barefoot, mock the cops before you get the pepper spray, antagonistic playfulness recalling their balls-hanging-beneath-the-dress live shows. The trio is a briskly playing, siren-winding shit-hot blur of sweet power pop and post-psyche on this fifteen track creature of joy. There's still some serious messages here beneath the messing-your-mind-up hilarity (the clap-dazed and Gary Glitter-crunchy "Clothing Optional Christian Barbecue," the vividly visceral "Song Detergents"), but every other track is a straight ahead MAKE THIS A TOP TEN HIT Fountains Of Wayne and Weezer first LP-type hit. My first pick: "Make You Think You Want Me," which I think I hear on a thousand radio stations with a true clue right now. Please fetch me a Captain Morgan's and Cherry Coke, and I'll give you my theory on the rest all ready for individual put-em-out treatment. Make it a double because summer's just starting, and there's plenty!—Chris Estey (Three Imaginary Girls)
- Three Imaginary Girls

The third Tennis Pro album (and the one with the best title and cover art) opens in a miasmatic soundscape of radio near-silence and very sincere customer service purgatory and then a two-chord acoustic strum. "Such a holy occasion/A multi-global celebration/So much love in the air/My one wish, my one prayer." Lead singer David Drury begs his woman not to break his heart on the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year. He doesn't want to cry on the bargains, and wants to "fight the traffic and not each other."

It's a softer, sadder -- though still pleasantly peculiar -- opening to an album that combines the caustic wit of the Violent Femmes with the intricate power pop of a Fountains of Wayne and the ultimate waver bliss of late 80s Posies. The two-note horn-driven bash and snap of "ASVAB" hard-steps a soul shuffle in the next song, introducing the trumpet and flugelhorn of Robert Parker and the French horn of Jacob Hoffman. "College Math" by co-singer and bass player Phil Peterson is a roller-coaster ride of candy cotton-melodic vocals indicting those who try to turn rock music into higher aesthetics. "It's not an art/It's rock and roll." But the composition is both frisky and compelling enough to challenge such an assertion. (The noisy piano bridge with its guitar blasts has the coolest mockeries of a professor's voice since "They blinded me with science!")

The Joe Meek on Everclear-sounding basement symphony "Shelly Gets High" is about a guy who doesn't but has a great time watching this girl "rocking (his) world" when she takes the MBH (monster bong hit), but it is all more about the thrills of seeing good girls go evil at punk rock parties. There are some funny phone messages spread throughout, the best probably being the long message from a casino owner who wants to kick someone off the Blackjack tables but still wants their business otherwise. It's pretty hilarious, because what do you say to a guy like that? How do you return a call to someone who wants your money but wants to kind of push you around and make you feel bad too? More inappropriate customer service. I see a theme here!

"Much Music ain't much at all" Drury complains about Canada, as drummer Sean Lowry and Peterson play tug and war with him on a sweet long outro riff. "Soak that mustache in that beer!" Then there's a great narrative about drawing ponies from ads in matchbooks, as if John Cale's protagonist/victim in "The Gift" wasn't stupid enough to mail himself in a box to his knife-wielding girlfriend but isn't that much sharper (the "Art School Pony" shout and hand claps with the chorus-refrain "There you go again/There you go again/Breaking everyone's heart again" probably have some sort of metaphoric value).

Soul-punk "With Kindness" is a carport threat at a BBQ with a steak fork, beer bottles knocking over the 'Nuggets' box set near the hi-fi. The tenderly melodic "Kimberly" is about a girl picking the weeds in the Beach Boys backyard, around all the pet sound-droppings. Then back to the earlier Tennis Pro finger-snapping mod stylings of "Small Shorts," which has another great guitar-bass-drums dance break-out for the kids. Then the phony spooky witch rock of "DEVIL" and its almost "In-A-Gadda-Davida" hypnotic hook. "Prom 2007" is a rock opera about a girl Peterson met in science class, and ends things all classy and girl-group harmonizing. "In 2007/It would be heaven/I want to hold you forever."

There's a ton more humor and hot playing in this homemade album than Weezer has released in at least three long-players (were CDs "longer-players"?). It makes me want to be a fucked up good kid, a subversive who actually reads a lot of books but does things like dresses up like a cop in riot gear for the "Battle of Seattle" movie premiere.

Which I could see these three guys doing.

-Chris Estey, June 09, 2008
- Three Imaginary Girls

The third Tennis Pro album (and the one with the best title and cover art) opens in a miasmatic soundscape of radio near-silence and very sincere customer service purgatory and then a two-chord acoustic strum. "Such a holy occasion/A multi-global celebration/So much love in the air/My one wish, my one prayer." Lead singer David Drury begs his woman not to break his heart on the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year. He doesn't want to cry on the bargains, and wants to "fight the traffic and not each other."

It's a softer, sadder -- though still pleasantly peculiar -- opening to an album that combines the caustic wit of the Violent Femmes with the intricate power pop of a Fountains of Wayne and the ultimate waver bliss of late 80s Posies. The two-note horn-driven bash and snap of "ASVAB" hard-steps a soul shuffle in the next song, introducing the trumpet and flugelhorn of Robert Parker and the French horn of Jacob Hoffman. "College Math" by co-singer and bass player Phil Peterson is a roller-coaster ride of candy cotton-melodic vocals indicting those who try to turn rock music into higher aesthetics. "It's not an art/It's rock and roll." But the composition is both frisky and compelling enough to challenge such an assertion. (The noisy piano bridge with its guitar blasts has the coolest mockeries of a professor's voice since "They blinded me with science!")

The Joe Meek on Everclear-sounding basement symphony "Shelly Gets High" is about a guy who doesn't but has a great time watching this girl "rocking (his) world" when she takes the MBH (monster bong hit), but it is all more about the thrills of seeing good girls go evil at punk rock parties. There are some funny phone messages spread throughout, the best probably being the long message from a casino owner who wants to kick someone off the Blackjack tables but still wants their business otherwise. It's pretty hilarious, because what do you say to a guy like that? How do you return a call to someone who wants your money but wants to kind of push you around and make you feel bad too? More inappropriate customer service. I see a theme here!

"Much Music ain't much at all" Drury complains about Canada, as drummer Sean Lowry and Peterson play tug and war with him on a sweet long outro riff. "Soak that mustache in that beer!" Then there's a great narrative about drawing ponies from ads in matchbooks, as if John Cale's protagonist/victim in "The Gift" wasn't stupid enough to mail himself in a box to his knife-wielding girlfriend but isn't that much sharper (the "Art School Pony" shout and hand claps with the chorus-refrain "There you go again/There you go again/Breaking everyone's heart again" probably have some sort of metaphoric value).

Soul-punk "With Kindness" is a carport threat at a BBQ with a steak fork, beer bottles knocking over the 'Nuggets' box set near the hi-fi. The tenderly melodic "Kimberly" is about a girl picking the weeds in the Beach Boys backyard, around all the pet sound-droppings. Then back to the earlier Tennis Pro finger-snapping mod stylings of "Small Shorts," which has another great guitar-bass-drums dance break-out for the kids. Then the phony spooky witch rock of "DEVIL" and its almost "In-A-Gadda-Davida" hypnotic hook. "Prom 2007" is a rock opera about a girl Peterson met in science class, and ends things all classy and girl-group harmonizing. "In 2007/It would be heaven/I want to hold you forever."

There's a ton more humor and hot playing in this homemade album than Weezer has released in at least three long-players (were CDs "longer-players"?). It makes me want to be a fucked up good kid, a subversive who actually reads a lot of books but does things like dresses up like a cop in riot gear for the "Battle of Seattle" movie premiere.

Which I could see these three guys doing.

-Chris Estey, June 09, 2008
- Three Imaginary Girls

TENNIS PRO- Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad (B-Side)
CLASS: Snide little pop ditties

JD There was a time when smart-assed pop music really mattered. Consider the snarky musings of Ben Folds, the adolescent middle finger of early Green Day, the poop humor of Frank Zappa, or even the rueful snobbiness of Pavement. Tennis Pro is a little band out of Bellingham, Washington (home of the Posies) who follow in that great tradition, backing their cheeky sense of humor with a Weezer playbook. Their 2004 debut, Happy Is the New Sad, established them as officially funny, and Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad is more of the same.

It would be easy to compare Tennis Pro to Fountains of Wayne, what with the “Stacy's Mom”-inspired “Taking Your Mom Home Tonight,” and the love for a good melody both bands share. But Cassie's is generally a heavier affair built on garage-band punch and a less suburban eye for detail, going from multi-part harmonies and acoustic flourish on “Can't Help Myself” to horn play and surf leads on “We Put the Punk In Punctuation.” And don't be fooled by the Isley Brothers-styled intro track; these guys are a solid rock band.

The temptation is to make jokes at the expense of the music, and end up with a gimmick or handful of novelty songs. Fortunately, Tennis Pro never fails to merge ambitious arrangements with a smile, and the good-times mantra works on songs like “Make-Out Squad” because they’re so well-written. Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad is an energetic, entertaining dose of power-pop that appeals far beyond its whimsical lyrics.
- InSite Atlanta Magazine

TENNIS PRO- Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad (B-Side)
CLASS: Snide little pop ditties

JD There was a time when smart-assed pop music really mattered. Consider the snarky musings of Ben Folds, the adolescent middle finger of early Green Day, the poop humor of Frank Zappa, or even the rueful snobbiness of Pavement. Tennis Pro is a little band out of Bellingham, Washington (home of the Posies) who follow in that great tradition, backing their cheeky sense of humor with a Weezer playbook. Their 2004 debut, Happy Is the New Sad, established them as officially funny, and Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad is more of the same.

It would be easy to compare Tennis Pro to Fountains of Wayne, what with the “Stacy's Mom”-inspired “Taking Your Mom Home Tonight,” and the love for a good melody both bands share. But Cassie's is generally a heavier affair built on garage-band punch and a less suburban eye for detail, going from multi-part harmonies and acoustic flourish on “Can't Help Myself” to horn play and surf leads on “We Put the Punk In Punctuation.” And don't be fooled by the Isley Brothers-styled intro track; these guys are a solid rock band.

The temptation is to make jokes at the expense of the music, and end up with a gimmick or handful of novelty songs. Fortunately, Tennis Pro never fails to merge ambitious arrangements with a smile, and the good-times mantra works on songs like “Make-Out Squad” because they’re so well-written. Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad is an energetic, entertaining dose of power-pop that appeals far beyond its whimsical lyrics.
- InSite Atlanta Magazine

Local preppy pop punks Tennis Pro take a swing at some lofty predecessors on their new disc, Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad. Elements of Weezer, the Beach Boys, and Fountains of Wayne ("Taking Your Mom Home Tonight," the least inspired concept of the bunch) get served snotty attitude, sweet keyboard licks, and subtle distortion as the Pro turn out a few ace power-pop tracks in the process. Indie-boy irony also finds a home here and works best when it's more clever than clumsy. "We Put the Punk in the Punctuation" is one of Cassie's more imaginative offerings, with the addition of both a horn section and such droll plays on words as "I'm planting kisses on your sweet ellipses." As the album moves along, Tennis Pro develop an increasing proclivity toward experimentation, unraveling an otherwise straightforward pop structure and pushing Tennis Pro out of the shadows of their obvious pop idols. JENNIFER MAERZ - The Stranger

Local preppy pop punks Tennis Pro take a swing at some lofty predecessors on their new disc, Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad. Elements of Weezer, the Beach Boys, and Fountains of Wayne ("Taking Your Mom Home Tonight," the least inspired concept of the bunch) get served snotty attitude, sweet keyboard licks, and subtle distortion as the Pro turn out a few ace power-pop tracks in the process. Indie-boy irony also finds a home here and works best when it's more clever than clumsy. "We Put the Punk in the Punctuation" is one of Cassie's more imaginative offerings, with the addition of both a horn section and such droll plays on words as "I'm planting kisses on your sweet ellipses." As the album moves along, Tennis Pro develop an increasing proclivity toward experimentation, unraveling an otherwise straightforward pop structure and pushing Tennis Pro out of the shadows of their obvious pop idols. JENNIFER MAERZ - The Stranger

Tennis Pro — "Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad"

{B-Side Records }

By Chris Estey

"But aren't jokes, in a sense, the primal form of Wisdom?" --Thomas Disch

The first time I ever saw David Drury perform was when he did spoken word from a story he’d contributed to the reading tour for "Little Engines," the small press magazine that launched the mighty indie-publishing TNI Books. It was at the Paradox when it was located in the old theatre on the Ave and not the ghastly outer-Ballard super-Starbucks it is now. Drury was hot that night, but not just sweaty in that moist little club — he was a master of timing and wit, contributing one of the best tales of the night, and so it was no surprise when later he got published in Dave Egger’s "2003 Best American Non-Fiction Required Reading."

Speaking of wit and timing, Drury’s band, which he shares with bass player Phil Peterson (who wrote and sings lead on five of the songs) and drummer Sean Lowry, has created a second album full of spot-on humor and extremely catchy music. Drury’s a guitarist on the order of Dave Davies of the Kinks, punching out power chords and peeling out squealing noises like prime 60s garage rock icons, and both he and Peterson are wonderfully deluding singers, with an amazing range (between Peterson’s Beach Boys choral-style "Intro" to Drury’s garage-grimy snidely boastful "Fastest Man"), able to effortlessly sound friendly and sarcastic at the same time.

An ability to write fetching tunes doesn’t stop Drury and Peterson from observing and poking fun at weird dating, endless summer surfing, meeting women by scaring animals with fireworks, seducing your mom ("don’t even think you‘ll inherit the house"), fantasy girlfriends, etc. Sean Lowry’s drumming connects perfectly with Drury’s riffing, often dropping out to just a bass drum thump so everyone can handclap, the sign of someone keeping perfect rhythm. The album can boast music as diverse as the wonderful string arrangement on "Kidnapped!" to the Vibrators-style punk of "Imaginary Girl."

With two excellent songwriters, Tennis Pro has it made, and Drury is in legion with other authors who play their own songs, like Patti Smith, Richard Hell, and Graham Parker. His work may not be as serious or as long-time successful as his brothers and sisters in lit-and-music, but it rocks none the lesser and is often a hell of a lot funnier.
- Three Imaginary Girls

Tennis Pro — "Cassie's Junior Varsity Make-Out Squad"

{B-Side Records }

By Chris Estey

"But aren't jokes, in a sense, the primal form of Wisdom?" --Thomas Disch

The first time I ever saw David Drury perform was when he did spoken word from a story he’d contributed to the reading tour for "Little Engines," the small press magazine that launched the mighty indie-publishing TNI Books. It was at the Paradox when it was located in the old theatre on the Ave and not the ghastly outer-Ballard super-Starbucks it is now. Drury was hot that night, but not just sweaty in that moist little club — he was a master of timing and wit, contributing one of the best tales of the night, and so it was no surprise when later he got published in Dave Egger’s "2003 Best American Non-Fiction Required Reading."

Speaking of wit and timing, Drury’s band, which he shares with bass player Phil Peterson (who wrote and sings lead on five of the songs) and drummer Sean Lowry, has created a second album full of spot-on humor and extremely catchy music. Drury’s a guitarist on the order of Dave Davies of the Kinks, punching out power chords and peeling out squealing noises like prime 60s garage rock icons, and both he and Peterson are wonderfully deluding singers, with an amazing range (between Peterson’s Beach Boys choral-style "Intro" to Drury’s garage-grimy snidely boastful "Fastest Man"), able to effortlessly sound friendly and sarcastic at the same time.

An ability to write fetching tunes doesn’t stop Drury and Peterson from observing and poking fun at weird dating, endless summer surfing, meeting women by scaring animals with fireworks, seducing your mom ("don’t even think you‘ll inherit the house"), fantasy girlfriends, etc. Sean Lowry’s drumming connects perfectly with Drury’s riffing, often dropping out to just a bass drum thump so everyone can handclap, the sign of someone keeping perfect rhythm. The album can boast music as diverse as the wonderful string arrangement on "Kidnapped!" to the Vibrators-style punk of "Imaginary Girl."

With two excellent songwriters, Tennis Pro has it made, and Drury is in legion with other authors who play their own songs, like Patti Smith, Richard Hell, and Graham Parker. His work may not be as serious or as long-time successful as his brothers and sisters in lit-and-music, but it rocks none the lesser and is often a hell of a lot funnier.
- Three Imaginary Girls