Two Pump Chump

First off, this is long overdue. And since this is my first time writing for LMN (and hopefully not the last), Im thrilled to be writing about these fools. And dont get me wrong, thas exactly what these guys are ¦FOOLS, both on and off stage. But that is one of their many hidden talents as entertainers and musicians, and its a good enough reason for you to get out and see them the next time they play. Ive seen a lot of bands over the years from Louisville but these guys are definitely one of the most entertaining group of musicians in the city, and there is a lot of talent in Louisville. I recently went and saw them again for like the 100th time at a live taping for Artists International Independent Radio, which was streamed live on the web at aiiradio.net Its all done from a basement in a home in south Louisville which for a few hours seemed more like a venue. There was about 20 or 30 people all packed in to the studio basement drinking, eating, smoking, laughing and screaming for and at 2PC. Of course 2PC was screaming right back at them as well. Cool stuff.

Just for the record, 2PC is no newcomer to Louisvilles music scene. Forming in 1999 from 3 lesbians and a can of tuna-fish at a Billy Graham Crusade? 2PC has managed build a steady fan base of redneck maniacs just as F'in crazy as they are by playing all the major 502 venues, opening for a variety of national acts including Quite Riot and Black Stone Cherry, and playing a few music festivals like LRS Fest. They also have a full length album titled Deep in the Shag? that is basically any given trailer parks documented audio biography. Im not sure if they are glorifying that lifestyle or making a mockery of it. Whatever there intent was, Im sure it was a collaboration of massive amounts of cheap beer, funny cigarettes, and of course a careful selection of actual life events that would eventually give birth to lyrics for songs dubbed Trailer Park Love, More Than a Lesbian, Cant be Bought, Underage Girls,& Knocked Up Lisa just to name a few.

Back to their show. Even though it was an acoustic set, it lacked none of their trademark enthusiasm for playing. On top of that it gave their drummer Sean a chance to walk around the crowd of people saying Good Game? while smacking their ass. But they could really careless to who or how many people they are playing for because its all about having fun while playing. These guys definitely know how to have fun to. From my experience there is usually some kind of grab-assin going on with those guys before, during, and after the show. Its just like that with them. Im not under the impression that they are writing songs to win a Grammy or any other over rated trophy for being musicians. They simply love playing. Thats it. The when and the where always seems to be irrelevant so long as they have some cheap beer and an audience. Speaking of which, I suggest you readers become one of their audience members ASAFP (as soon as F'ing possible). Visit their website at www.twopumpchump.com to find out where they are playing next.

They used to have these T-shirts that said, Your either with Two Pump Chump or with the terrorists. Its true. If you cant find a reason to like these guys then you must be a terrorist and Im with Two Pump Chump. Period. - Louisville Music News

So it's a cold night in early November and I'm standing in the foyer of my home with Dave Bennett and Scott Cook (bassist and lead vocalist, respectively, for Two Pump Chump), and in one of those synchronicital moments, we start talking about filmmaker David Lynch, the Eraserhead/Blue Velvet/Twin Peaks/Lost Highway guy. I tell them the David Lynch moment I had:

Several springs ago during the Audubon Park Dogwood Festival, when that neighborhood of large, sturdy old houses in the center of the city celebrates the blooming of all the dogwood trees that line its streets, and no matter what time of day it is you always feel like you're under a canopy of snow. It was night. Cars were slowly driving up and down Audubon Park Drive, the sidewalks crowded with people admiring the trees and the homes. Several people were stopped in front of a house with a wide front porch bathed in silvery floodlights. We had slowed our car to look. The porch itself was carpeted in red. Standing at the top of the steps was a white-haired man in a tux standing behind a microphone singing show tunes to karaoke background music. Next to him in a wing-backed chair was a woman dressed in a red gown. Even from where we were parked at the curb, we could see tiny glints and twinkles from the tiara she wore. And the microphone the man stood behind was unmistakable: a Shure PE 55 unidyne, or its replica, the one with a silver rectangular head and the black screen lines that run across the front, back, and over the top. When the man finished his song, canned applause roared from the speakers. And he bowed.

There's always a surrealistic twist to the everyday in Lynch's work, like the weirdest dreams just insert themselves into reality and, well, just fit. In this instance, however, six guys full of beer and profanity had just walked a quarter mile to my home in the cold and were lined up to use my bathroom. One of them wore a neck brace of opaque plastic and black fasteners that looked like a Klingon's miniature corset. Another was dressed in a black shirt, sport jacket, contrasting white tie and a black narrow-brim hat as if he'd just stepped out of a casting session of Saved by the Bell . In a few minutes, they would be draped in Christmas lights on my front porch, some wearing Santa hats. The only difference between this night and something out of a David Lynch film was that nobody was going to huff amyl nitrite from an aerosol can hidden in his coat, nobody was going to lip-sync to Roy Orbison into a work light, and nobody was going to lose an ear.

The only other difference was this visit had been planned. Everything but the lineup to the bathroom.

And the same could be said for Two Pump Chump, where five guys who seem to do nothing but laugh loud and make off-color jibes at each other can pull their talents together and make tight, hard-rock music that brings a party to wherever they play, like one of David Lynch's movies that seem to spiral out of control halfway through but always pull together and tie off cleanly at the end. Sometimes.

"We play well with each other," stated electric triangle player (and drummer) Sean Burton. "We're not trying to show how many licks we can do in a song. We know how to play together."

"We're an ensemble in a lot of ways," said bassist Bennett. "Apart, we don't do anything worth a crap. But together we're Seinfeld ."

The band members exploded into laughter. We were sitting outside Wick's Pizza on that chilled night in early November, asses getting numb from sitting on frigid aluminum patio chairs. Inside Wick's it was warm, but too crowded and noisy to record an interview. Outside the only thing we had to contend with was a occasional passing of a noisy TARC bus and a sharp cold wind that snacked at us every several minutes. We tried to keep the conversation short, the questions direct, but, like Seinfeld , it sometimes became about nothing, the talk veering off into the creepy-elf appearance of the dude on the Shamwow commercials ("Ya followin' me, camera guy?"), to what it's like having an army of people who have your back if you are born and raised in the South End of Louisville, to the real reason assistant lead guitarist Travis "Traz" Mudd was wearing a neck brace (the story changed as the discussion went on, from being attacked by a grizzly bear to having a degenerative disc, to a getting whacked in the face while pairs-skydiving in the nude).

Niq Wittig, the guy dressed as if he had raided the Saved By the Bell wardrobe room, whom the band hired to be their manager, producer, and guy who generally had the testicular fortitude to tell them which songs of theirs sucked and which ones sucked less, had some difficulty in getting used to how the band members relate to each other. This from a guy who had worked with Motley Crue and Linkin Park.

"This is the way everybody gets along," he said. "This is something I had to get used to."

It was mutual, however. The band wasn't use - Louisville Music News

So it's a cold night in early November and I'm standing in the foyer of my home with Dave Bennett and Scott Cook (bassist and lead vocalist, respectively, for Two Pump Chump), and in one of those synchronicital moments, we start talking about filmmaker David Lynch, the Eraserhead/Blue Velvet/Twin Peaks/Lost Highway guy. I tell them the David Lynch moment I had:

Several springs ago during the Audubon Park Dogwood Festival, when that neighborhood of large, sturdy old houses in the center of the city celebrates the blooming of all the dogwood trees that line its streets, and no matter what time of day it is you always feel like you're under a canopy of snow. It was night. Cars were slowly driving up and down Audubon Park Drive, the sidewalks crowded with people admiring the trees and the homes. Several people were stopped in front of a house with a wide front porch bathed in silvery floodlights. We had slowed our car to look. The porch itself was carpeted in red. Standing at the top of the steps was a white-haired man in a tux standing behind a microphone singing show tunes to karaoke background music. Next to him in a wing-backed chair was a woman dressed in a red gown. Even from where we were parked at the curb, we could see tiny glints and twinkles from the tiara she wore. And the microphone the man stood behind was unmistakable: a Shure PE 55 unidyne, or its replica, the one with a silver rectangular head and the black screen lines that run across the front, back, and over the top. When the man finished his song, canned applause roared from the speakers. And he bowed.

There's always a surrealistic twist to the everyday in Lynch's work, like the weirdest dreams just insert themselves into reality and, well, just fit. In this instance, however, six guys full of beer and profanity had just walked a quarter mile to my home in the cold and were lined up to use my bathroom. One of them wore a neck brace of opaque plastic and black fasteners that looked like a Klingon's miniature corset. Another was dressed in a black shirt, sport jacket, contrasting white tie and a black narrow-brim hat as if he'd just stepped out of a casting session of Saved by the Bell . In a few minutes, they would be draped in Christmas lights on my front porch, some wearing Santa hats. The only difference between this night and something out of a David Lynch film was that nobody was going to huff amyl nitrite from an aerosol can hidden in his coat, nobody was going to lip-sync to Roy Orbison into a work light, and nobody was going to lose an ear.

The only other difference was this visit had been planned. Everything but the lineup to the bathroom.

And the same could be said for Two Pump Chump, where five guys who seem to do nothing but laugh loud and make off-color jibes at each other can pull their talents together and make tight, hard-rock music that brings a party to wherever they play, like one of David Lynch's movies that seem to spiral out of control halfway through but always pull together and tie off cleanly at the end. Sometimes.

"We play well with each other," stated electric triangle player (and drummer) Sean Burton. "We're not trying to show how many licks we can do in a song. We know how to play together."

"We're an ensemble in a lot of ways," said bassist Bennett. "Apart, we don't do anything worth a crap. But together we're Seinfeld ."

The band members exploded into laughter. We were sitting outside Wick's Pizza on that chilled night in early November, asses getting numb from sitting on frigid aluminum patio chairs. Inside Wick's it was warm, but too crowded and noisy to record an interview. Outside the only thing we had to contend with was a occasional passing of a noisy TARC bus and a sharp cold wind that snacked at us every several minutes. We tried to keep the conversation short, the questions direct, but, like Seinfeld , it sometimes became about nothing, the talk veering off into the creepy-elf appearance of the dude on the Shamwow commercials ("Ya followin' me, camera guy?"), to what it's like having an army of people who have your back if you are born and raised in the South End of Louisville, to the real reason assistant lead guitarist Travis "Traz" Mudd was wearing a neck brace (the story changed as the discussion went on, from being attacked by a grizzly bear to having a degenerative disc, to a getting whacked in the face while pairs-skydiving in the nude).

Niq Wittig, the guy dressed as if he had raided the Saved By the Bell wardrobe room, whom the band hired to be their manager, producer, and guy who generally had the testicular fortitude to tell them which songs of theirs sucked and which ones sucked less, had some difficulty in getting used to how the band members relate to each other. This from a guy who had worked with Motley Crue and Linkin Park.

"This is the way everybody gets along," he said. "This is something I had to get used to."

It was mutual, however. The band wasn't use - Louisville Music News