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That's no easy task. While varying lumens of limelight have fallen upon numerous Elephant Six groups, Von Hemmling is only now emerging from the shadows. What at first was a McIntyre solo project is now a bona fide band that features contributions from several familiar Denver players: Dressy Bessy bassist Rob Greene, Perry Weissman 3/Tunas Mekar Gamelan drummer Dane Terry, and guitarist Rich Sandoval, who plays with Koala. "That's why I picked everybody to play in my band--because they all play in other bands and they're all people who are into playing music," McIntyre explains. "That's all they do--all day, every day. And that's all I do--all day, every day."
This may be a slight exaggeration: McIntyre has a part-time gig as a chemist for Public Service Company of Colorado. But the majority of his hours are spent contributing to Elephant Six's growing oeuvre (he's currently crafting a compilation for Japan's Traittoria Records that will feature familiar acts and new recruits like Admiral and Essex Green) or pumping life into Von Hemmling, an act that upholds the musical ethic he and friends like the Apples' Robert Schneider established nearly a decade ago. A Von Hemmling tape was among the first Elephant Six releases of the early Nineties, and McIntyre played a series of shows under that name backed by Apples drummer Hilarie Sidney. (The dates were headlined by local eccentric Little Fyodor, who is responsible for the Germanic handle McIntyre reluctantly embraces.) But McIntyre also loaned his skills to numerous Elephant Six endeavors, including the Apples; he served as a member of the band until its grueling touring schedule and issues of creative independence induced him to step out on his own. However, he continued to see the musicians regularly even after his departure thanks to Pet Sounds, which slowly but surely took over a substantial part of his Golden Triangle-area pad.
The arrangement began innocently enough: The Elephant Six musicians occasionally received money to make albums, but instead of spending it on studio time, they poured it into gear they stored in a spare room that opened up when McIntyre's roomie moved out. "It was just going to be a temporary thing," McIntyre remembers, "but it's been a lot of fun. We're real poor, but we'll have a lot nicer studio at some point. It's like having a roommate that's not here, and I can use the studio for practice." Gesturing around the ramshackle pad, which doubles as a gallery for wall-sized Steve Keene paintings, he says, "If I need amps, there's amps around everywhere."
Using this equipment while his friends were on the road, McIntyre scratched out the six tunes that make up J.W. Kellogg, an oddly dynamic EP recently put out by Shrat Field Recordings, owned by Apples guitarist Eric Allen. The result is elaborate and demanding, often requiring a listener to cross the floor and adjust the volume, usually in an upward direction. "I got really addicted to the mute buttons, and I mixed it all down like seven times to get it like that," McIntyre confirms.
The delicate quietude of certain passages may have been intentional, but other effects were less so. On "Heads Up, Tin Man," McIntyre's blithe and crinkly voice stutters as if he were singing through spinning fan blades because, he says, "the battery went out in the microphone" when he was recording it. He adds, "We took the mike off and got it fixed, so you'd have to break it to get that sound again."
Another low-tech high point of Kellogg is the intro to "For the 5th Time in 4 Years"--a montage of recorded personal ads from the back pages of Westword. Sexual themes also surface in the hilariously profane samples that are sandwiched between songs, most of which seemingly have little to do with the ditties themselves. By way of explanation, McIntyre asks, "Everyone is so obsessed with sex, and everything's always sex, so why not have a little bit more?" Hence the presence of an excerpt from a 2 Live Crew song (McIntyre lived in the Crew's hometown of Miami during its Eighties heyday but was too shy to go see them) and a brief appearance by The Sensuous Woman. "Anyone over the age of 35 knows immediately what that is, because it was huge in the Seventies," McIntyre says. "Basically, it was a...tender...uh... help manual...to help women to...throw off their inhibitions and leave the Fifties behind and join the sexual revolution." For good measure, McIntyre also tosses in a recording of Dylan Thomas reading a poem ("so there's a little culture in there, too"), albeit one slowed to an incomprehensible warp.