Ideas are definitely not a scarce for Voices Underwater. Sadly, however, bandmembers are about to be: Menchaca and Howard are both relocating at the end of the summer to begin internships in Houston and Seattle, respectively. The move will leave two gaping holes in the group, with DeVoss and White scrambling to plug the leaks.
"We'll definitely have to do some repair work," says DeVoss. "It's kind of weird for Chris and I. The other guys are going off and starting their new lives, and we're just sitting here doing the same old shit. There'll be some remixing of the lineup."
Anthony Camera
The Voices are coming out all weird: Voices
Underwater.
Details
With Against Tomorrow's Sky and
Bright Channel
7 p.m.
Saturday, June 28
Bug Theatre,
3654 Navajo Street
$5,
303-477-9984
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"Voices Underwater will be ever evolving," Howard says. "There's always been a lot of adapting and changing and experimenting. It'll keep going. But we're hoping to do some recording beforehand, get another EP out."
"There's going to be some tears shed when they leave," adds White. "Really. Tears."
DeVoss looks down into his bottle. "The bottom line is we're very sad. I'm getting a little misty-eyed talking about it. People grow, people go," he says. The table gets a little quiet. "It's something we don't even want to talk about. We know it's approaching, but...."
The final question on the Voices Underwater pop quiz was inspired by the Kingston Trio folk tune "It Takes a Worried Man to Sing a Worried Song." The four members of VU were asked if they consider this statement to be true. Curiously enough, Menchaca and Howard -- the two who are leaving the group -- answer yes, while DeVoss and White answer no. ("People fake it all day, every day," DeVoss writes.) Perhaps Menchaca could apply some psychoanalytic theory here and read into the hidden meaning of their answers as if they were Rorschach blots. Maybe some hypothesis could be made about what they all truly, subconsciously think of the group, of their music, of each other.
But right now, nobody cares. It's time to mooch a few bucks off a bandmate, quibble over the tip, listen to Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man" bleat out of the P S jukebox and linger over another round of beers in the slanting, dusty rays of a Colfax afternoon.