The Many Faces of Greydon Clark

When the mid-90s were turning into the late-90s four friends met in an Ypsilanti, Michigan basement to express their mutual love of playing pop melodies at double time and maximum volume. They wrote some songs and played some shows. Their friends encouraged them and occasionally a stranger said, “Good set.” But they had jobs, and school, and women, and beer, and other bands to tour with, so the practices happened less often and the shows got sloppy, but they still liked the songs and each other and their friends kept encouraging them.
Late one night they decided it was time to record some songs, so they started practicing and played a few shows, soon they visited Mr. Tim Pak, of Woodshed Studios. They recorded six songs totaling18 minutes and a 22-minute instrumental noise opera about a boy seeing the face of god in his bedroom ceiling. They recorded five of the songs in one take. One was a little tricky and took three takes. The guitars were Gibson’s and the amps were 100-watt tube dinosaurs with 4X12 cabs, all the distortion was produced naturally. The bass amp was 300-watts, transistor, and running at 2 Ohms while powering two 2X15 cabs, the square wave distortion was provided by a mid-70s rack mount effects unit -- known as “The Speaker Destroyer” because of its tendency to set speakers on fire. The drummer played a marching snare and taped two quarters to the beater of his kick drum. He didn’t bring a rack tam to the studio and only hit the floor tam once in the entire session. The band wanted the guitars to sound like jet engines. For the drums and bass an early ‘70s dance hall sound, inspired by The Upsetter, was the goal. The vocals were shouted into a mic hanging in the middle of the studio.
The next day they mixed the songs and took the tape home for their friends. Someone suggested a split 12” with Wallside, their friends and the best band in Detroit for much of the ‘90s. Joel and Aaron in Kalamazoo agreed to press the record. Money was saved, cover art created and more shows were booked. The record was reviewed in various punk ‘zines of the day and was compared to Gang of Four and Heroin (the band); all liked the chaos- none mentioned the melodies. Between the recording of the record and the pressing of the record, something happened, and they couldn’t write new songs. They unceremoniously called it quits before a show in Ypsilanti. All the members wanted keep the band going but they had jobs, and school, and women, and beer, and parties, and new places to live, and other bands to tour with.
All the members of The Shag Van Club are still friends. Some members play in bands in the DPA catalog. Some quit playing music because they heard the dogs of war howling in the drum kit while tripping on ‘shrooms. They now express themselves by eating sand and granite and pray for low-pressure systems in the Gulf of Alaska. They hope you will enjoy these songs; but want you to know they were never intended for a digital environment. At this point in time it is a worthless distinction to make, and only deserves mentioning because of the bands dedication to vinyl, vacuum tubes and magnetic tape. The songs are about youth and freedom, and volume and friendship, and working for an asshole, and staying up late, and having sex on the couch, and having a cherry car, and drugs, and Satan, and saying fuck you to the man, George Bush and his crippled bitch, your job, and responsibilities, and all the other things that led to their demise.
Fuck wax, the MP3 are coming…

So what is half the country is in the midst of a heat wave? Me and some friends, October 30, 2004. Kirkwood California.


Dawn Patrol, Tahoe California. Big Wednesday, January 2005.

>From: "scott m. stimac"
>Subject: Lungfish, Greatest Hits
>Date: Thu, 21 Jul 2005 12:27:21 -0700

in chrono-order:
1)friend to friend in the endtime
2)mother made me
3)**the song alec mackaye sings on towards the end of the song screaming"we're ready all ready all ready*** drawing a blank on the name.... (You might Ask Me What)
4)cleaner than your surroundings
5)to whom you were born
6)you did not exist
7)shed the world
8)love will ruin your mind
9)god's will
10)space orgy
11)the words
12)love is love
13)way out is the way out
………………………………………………………………………………………………

Damn, Scott threw down the gauntlet, but he forgot Creation Story. I guess I need to compile my own track list. If you’re interested in joining the fray, email you're top 13 Lungfish songs to Greydon_Clark_bmf @ hotmail.com. I’ll compile the results in a Greatest Hits CD.

Wow, it has been months since I last put pen to paper and spewed out my guts to the cyber optic world. What can I say? I’ve been busy. In May and June I did a bit of skiing, the highlight being Mt. Shasta. Me and a semi-acquaintance, Alex Stoy, climbed the trade route (Avalanche Gulch). We planned on summiting and then descending the West Face to Hidden Valley, but the thunderheads had other ideas. Despite leaving at 4AM, we only made it to Red Cliffs or a little below 13,000 feet. Honestly, it was a real motherfucker of a climb. We were averaging a thousand feet an hour for six hours or so, but by 10:30 I was gassed. Still, the ski down was amazing and we raged freaky tele steeze for over 5,000 feet—slashing turns at 45 mph and whatnot. Needless to say, I’ll be skiing Mt. Shasta next spring.

For the 4th of July I was in Detroit celebrating Patriot Day and watching my mate Rob get married. At the exact same instance, my friend Ben was doing this ... Hopefully he will let me join him next year.

When I was in The D, the Ghetto Blaster was in full effect and I poured many pints of sweet Motown goodness down my throat while bull shitting with the bros. I was hyped to catch-up and rant about music, friends, and whatnot, but, to my astonishment, none of the bros owned the new Lungfish record, Feral Hymns. What the fuck? Thankfully I rectified this situation, at least on my end.

Feral Hymns… When I purchased this record, the nice looking young woman working the counter at Aquarius Records claimed it was the best Lungfish record ever and she was recommending it to everyone. Is it the best? No. I don’t think it has the power of Pass and Stow or the simplicity of Rainbows from Atoms, but it might be the best record of the post-John Christ era--maybe. Feral Hymns doesn’t have any Mitch Mitchell Feldstein drumming, druid chanting, or Jews harping; just endless repetition, fiber-optic birdcalls, multi-tracked guitars (21st Century studio trickery, eh?) and THUMPIN’ bass. I’m stoked. Buy this record on vinyl and listen to it at MAXIMUM volume when your teeth are humming and the Unholy Christ Beast is gnawing at the back of your skull. Your neighbors will love you and Higgs will make it all better.

But what the fuck do you expect me to say? I love Lungfish. Right now my IPod free ears are listening to Rainbows from Atoms, Pass and Stow, Indivisible, Necrophones, and Feral Hymns on shuffle. If you want, I can start mumbling about these records being mile markers in my life or talk about opening for Lungfish on their first tour with Sean Meadows on bass, but who wants to read that? As a band, Lungfish transcend entertainment and create art. The sea greets the sewer with a perfect kiss. The words the words the words the words…