By Drew Ailes
By Courtney Harrell
By Kyra Scrimgeour
By Jena Ardell
By Mary Willson
By Bree Davies
By Tom Murphy
By Tom Murphy
The bar crawlers gathered at Herman's Hideaway this brisk Friday night in October know exactly what they want: accessible funk grooves, catchy melodies, good-time lyrics and the steady thump-thump-thump-thump associated with the evening's headliner, Furious George and the Monster Groove. But when the members of the opening act, Fort Collins-based Won Lump Some, take the stage, the throng gets something else entirely. They get Jason Hyland "Mamma Hymen" Mather perched on a stool, his head whipping from side to side as he slaps a bass silly and barks out lyrics to tunes such as "Flaps of Silly Putty Skin" and "Lovely Rolling Lawns." They get Matthew "2 Cents" Farina attacking his drum kit as if he were getting even with it for having just trashed his apartment. They get Stephen "Reg" Bartenhagen, who reels off more twisted guitar riffs per song than most players manage throughout entire albums. They get saxophonist Clifford "Jonas Dome" Parker III wandering the stage in home-workshop glasses and a hooded sweatshirt that leave him looking precisely like the FBI sketch of the Unabomber. And, most important, they get a chance to hear some of the most vibrant and novel music being made in Colorado.
Not everyone is thrilled by this opportunity. Even a sprightly, half-ska/half-punk version of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid," featuring Won Lump Some manager Joe Lusi on lead vocals and harmonica, doesn't prevent some of the more impatient dudes in the audience from shouting "Furious George!" a time or two. Still, a sizable percentage of the crowd keys into the band's energy, inventiveness and humor. As the Won Lump Some set nears its conclusion, a man and two female companions actually venture to the space in front of the stage and begin to dance--and when the tune that's attracted them undergoes four separate shifts in tempo and style, they change tempos and styles with it. "See," says Bartenhagen a few days later upon being reminded of that moment. "It's possible to dance to our music. It's not always easy, but it's possible."
Possibility: It's a quality that all but drips from Won Lump Some's Clean Hits, a bracing CD produced by Kramer, the idiosyncratic founder of Shimmy Disc Records, and recently issued on Boulder's Sh-Mow imprint. But the album doesn't succeed merely because the quartet (recently joined by Matt Gordy, a bandmember so new he doesn't even have a nickname yet) takes risks. No, Hits makes an impact because the players understand that imitation is the sincerest form of creative bankruptcy--and besides, innovation is a hell of a lot more interesting.
"The only kind of music we stay away from is the unoriginal kind," Bartenhagen notes.
"Yeah," adds Mather. "You should have the balls to try something different."
Clearly, the Lumps don't just espouse this maxim; they live by it. Clean Hits occasionally recalls the work of other artists--the Mothers of Invention, perhaps, or They Might Be Giants. But what's most surprising, especially considering that this band has been together for only three years, is how often it doesn't. The disc isn't a difficult listen. In fact, it's jammed with so many hooks and harmonies that some folks may be overwhelmed by it. Others, however, will be entranced. And talk about value: Of the eighteen songs on Hits, not one can be described as filler.
A more accurate tag is eccentric. A prime example is "Toothpicks," which contains the lines "Now we have kids/ And they all have human heads/And a couple legs/ And like salamanders/We think they're ugly." Farina offers no apologies for these excursions into surrealism. "It's not bad to puzzle people sometimes," he notes. "I mean, it's better to puzzle them than to get them pissed off."
Won Lump Some has been doing a little of both since forming in 1992. None of the musicians is a Colorado native: Farina hails from Pennsylvania, Parker from Connecticut, Bartenhagen and Gordy from Iowa, and Mather from Alaska. Their tastes are just as disparate, as they demonstrate while eagerly declaring their guiltiest musical pleasures.
Upon getting together, Won Lump Some's founding foursome sat down to write songs; from the beginning, they focused on their own material. Their initial shows were at private parties. "I remember this one at Winter Park," Bartenhagen says. "There were six people and 39 stairs."
Over the course of the next year or two, the gig situation in Fort Collins began to improve. So, too, did the music scene itself; it's presently more stimulating than ever thanks to the arrival of out-of-town combos such as All and the blossoming of northern Colorado talent. The Won Lump Some mates sing the praises of band after homegrown band--Armchair Martian, Jupiter, the Switchblades, Hoss USA, Bucket, Element 79, A Band Called Burn--as well as KCSU-FM, a college station that's helped nurture a fertile atmosphere. "Everybody really supports each other," Farina claims. "And because the scene is so new, there isn't any of the arguments and jealousy that you hear about in other places."
As Won Lump Some became more established in Fort Collins, the members decided to take steps toward professionalism. The first of these was to find a manager, and Bartenhagen knew a candidate, albeit an improbable one. "I used to play with Joe Lusi in a band," he recalls. "After that, Joe moved up to Idaho and spent a year living in a cave at a place put together by this old hermit guy they call Dugout Dick."