I had been relying on the Orlando Sentinel for musical information on this new city I had suddenly been forced to turn to for cultural sustenance. This had already resulted in my going down a list they'd provided of 100 local bands and links to each band's music. To my ears, most of them had completely sucked, and most of the few I thought were halfway decent had all either disbanded or skipped town already. So I was rightfully skeptical when they told me a "surf band" (who aren't even worth naming here and are surely long defunct anyway) was playing downtown, at a bar called Waitiki on a tiny little block ever so cheekily named Wall Street. But hell, I'd already been here almost three goddamn months by then, and I knew it was time to start getting out and seeing if I could find something good that way.
I sure didn't find it that night. For Wall Street, and downtown, were just horrible to experience for the first time, especially alone and new in town, and this was the absolute worst surf band I've ever heard in my life. They were completely drunk and made sure to announce that fact several times in between butchering every surf classic you could name from "Wipe Out" to "Surfin' Safari." Not that it mattered too much, for the room was wall-to-wall yuppie types who (albeit quite rightfully) completely ignored this truly awful band until they played out their very limited repertoire of surf tunes... and then suddenly morphed into a fucking Green Day cover band right before my eyes. I drove home in an angry haze, wanting to die, muttering that if this Orlando was going to be my city now, then just fucking shoot me now and get it over with.
That was in mid-September 2004. The three months previous had been just dismal for me and the couple of months following would be even worse. No friends, no clue how the fuck to get around Orlando, nothing. Just me and four enclosed walls. By Thanksgiving I was suicidal. The only thing that saved my life and my Christmas was a quick retreat back to my homeland, where I spent two weeks celebrating with the friends I'd left behind that summer.
It's a damn good thing I chose to stay alive and keep searching for something worthy in this town. Because somewhere in between that horrid first night out and that trip back up north, I'd stumbled across an entry in a music blog. I don't remember its name, who managed it, or even how I found it. What I DO remember is that the writer was raving about a band he'd discovered called Dodger... who just so happened to be based right in Orlando. His description of the band was interesting enough for me to download the mp3s the blog provided. I didn't expect much going in, such was my still-existing prejudice against local bands. But lo and behold, at last here was a very good one, with music quirky and catchy enough to earn a spot on my playlist. And besides Dodger being a good band, well, in them I had finally found a worthy lead to follow. And so I made a vow that I would track them down and try to meet them.
I didn't quite know it yet... but I had just discovered the band, and was about to meet the people, who would completely change my entire view of the Sunshine State forever and ever.
I finally saw my chance to pursue Dodger just after Christmas '04 in the form of the 110 Hours Marathon, on WPRK at Rollins College in Winter Park, my new state's one-up challenge to my old state's WFMU and its 100 Hours Marathon a few years earlier. It had been postponed from September because of a hurricane (the first one I'd see in Florida!), and rescheduled to the third week in January '05. That was the week when Dave Plotkin successfully beat out Glen Jones for the longest radio show by ten full hours... and when I heard that Dodger was playing live twice during this show AND that the station was looking for volunteers, I knew I had to be there. In fact, I made it over to WPRK on the first day of the marathon well before the Dodger boys did and even in the hours before their arrival, I immediately sensed a vibe that something was happening here, something different and bohemian and eccentric that reminded me a bit of back home (not to mention the fact that WPRK's studio still reminds me to this day of WFMU's old digs in the student center of Upsala College).
I was put in charge of being Dave's timekeeper, which meant making sure certain aspects of his on-mic segments stayed within the limits of time and space dictated by the Guinness Book's rules. Along the way I managed to strike up conversation with him and we discovered quite a bit of common ground. And when I admitted I volunteered specifically because I wanted to see Dodger, who not only happened to be Mr. Plotkin's favorite local band but had even recorded a special theme song for the marathon, we were an instant fan club. At last they arrived and set up shop in the band room. I was both giddy and nervous, knowing full well the moment of truth was here at last. I watched them play from a distance through the band room glass, and was not the least bit disappointed... in fact they were even better live than I'd hoped they'd be. Then, as they were breaking down and loading out their gear, I clutched the CD I'd brought with me of my "Racing Brain" album and approached the band's guitarist and lead singer, Matt Kamm. He was very appreciative of my interest in their music, and agreed to take a listen to mine. It was a very brief encounter, but in that short moment, I sensed it immediately, just as I'd sensed it from Dave -- these men were very important players in town. And they knew just what I needed to learn if I was to start appreciating Orlando.
When I returned to WPRK's studios on the final night of Dave's marathon to see Dodger play again, I arrived just in time to witness the record-breaking milestone of his 110th hour on the air. Of course, this meant the place was packed and I was lost in a sea of folks I still didn't know yet, but Matt managed to find me in the crowd and immediately launched into a rave review of my CD upon finding me, even naming specific songs he liked. "I've been playing it all week long, man, I'm blown away!" he exclaimed, and I sensed his enthusiasm was very real. I thought, hmmm, these guys could become my new friends!
Not long after, I now confess, I successfully sneaked past WPRK's security guards and broke into the band room to snag a front-row spot for Dodger's second set -- the marathon's big grand finale. Matt and the boys let me stay, and at last I experienced their sound up close and personal. In this set they played a song called "Find Another Way." This number flat-out hit me right between the eyes, a powerful tune with a stirring climax and a lyrical message my mind took as a sign that I should do just that as far as Orlando was concerned. And so, after a week which also saw me meeting other cool locals like Sean Moore (another Dodger member and a fine act in his own right) and the ever-so-British expatriate Syd Zed, I finally began to see some balance in my view of O-Town. The things I'd seen that week were of significant substance and had opened my eyes ever so suddenly to its underlying possibilities, the ones the Sentinel never told me about.
But as crazy and eye-opening as the 110 Hours thing and all that came with it was to witness, it still didn't fully prepare me for the night I finally got to see a proper Dodger live show one month later. On the night of February 26, 2005, at the now sadly-defunct Peacock Room, my world truly changed forever. This was the night of my Orlando epiphany, that moment of clarity which split the dark sky open and let the Florida sunshine into my world. On that night, Dodger gave one of the most brutal, most intense, most super-high-energy, and most musically devastating live performances I have ever seen in my life. Ever.
Matt Kamm was so intense on that stage I actually took to worrying about him, as I watched him taking flying leaps off the amps, rolling around on the ground, stagediving, whirling around the room, losing his glasses in the process but thankfully, miraculously cracking neither his specs nor any bones. And the band bled every note, raging through the music with fury and passion, charging through great songs which showed wisdom both musical and lyrical well beyond their preciously young years. The room was on fire and the crowd was just as unhinged as the band. It was pure magic to experience and I knew this was it -- this was exactly what I'd been hoping to find ever since I'd left New Jersey.
Somehow I wound up staying at the Peacock Room 'til closing time hanging out with the guys in Dodger, who were all so incredibly cordial and wonderful. I was quick (and relieved) to notice that the place was located on the outskirts of that still-dreaded downtown area, in a part of town known as Mills 50 (so named after the nearby intersection of North Mills Avenue and Colonial Drive a.k.a. State Road 50) that felt far more laid-back and welcoming. And then Matt invited me to an afterparty in one of the nearby houses in that quieter stretch. And that's where I walked into one of the craziest, freakiest, wildest little scenes I'd ever stumbled upon, filled with many attendees who I recalled seeing in the crowd at the show. It was like so many trippy little parties I've been to over the years back in NYC, but the fact that this was Florida and not New York made this party seem all the more surreal somehow. All I know is that it took at least two days for me to fully recover from the sheer impact of it all. And when I found myself back on earth, I realized I'd seen the future.
It was at this party where I first became aware of the Funbalaya Collective, a network of local artists, musicians and eccentric people the members of Dodger belonged to, which provided me with a new and considerably better list than the Sentinel's to investigate -- Yip-Yip, Ocean Floor, What's Yr Damage, Band of the Name, and Unicornicopia, to name just a few. Though this conglomerate didn't stay together very long, they made a significant impression on me nonetheless. I went on to see most of these bands live over the course of going out in Orlando nearly every weekend for the next several weeks following that big night at the Peacock Room. I still recall winning a lovely little dance contest (and a free t-shirt) at a Yip-Yip show (Orlando's foremost electronic duo!) in only my second or third weekend out, and getting my very first formal Florida party invitation from Mr. 110 Hours himself Dave Plotkin, a rooftop affair where I met the late, great Billy Manes, the amazing writer and gay rights activist who was at the time running for mayor amidst a total-bullshit election fraud scandal involving longtime Orlando mayor Buddy Dyer. And I made sure to attend every Dodger show I could during that time as well, getting to know them a little more each time.
I do admit I still felt a bit uneasy at times wondering if I was worthy of this young new crowd in this new city. But everyone seemed to accept me and no one ever turned me away from any scene I randomly wandered into, and it all left me with a much sweeter taste in my mouth than before. The respect would prove sincere and lasting as I've kept in touch with some of the wondrous people who introduced me to the wonders of Orlando to this very day. They saved me from a fate worse than death, and that is the absolute truth.
So of course, you would think I was completely sold on central Florida for all time at that point and there was just no turning around and going back up ol' I-95 ever again. I'd love to say that was the case. But that's not quite how it all happened. There was still a bit too much NYC & Jersey left in me at that point for me to make Orlando a permanent commitment yet. As such, I would go on to make two additional month-long journeys back to my homeland before finally settling into a year-and-a-half-long spell of rooming with my second cousin back in the very same house I grew up in.
Oh, but while the north may have won that round, I would soon discover that Orlando had already changed my ways. New habits quickly took over my everyday routine, like reading Orlando Weekly's online edition religiously and playing CDs I'd acquired by Orlando bands continuously and very loudly both in my car and in my room. And if I heard a good Orlando band was making a tour stopover in NYC, I would go see them play (I still remember surprising the boys in Yip-Yip on at least two occasions). Now and then I wrote to Matt Kamm and the guys in Dodger, and each reply made me miss them more and more. When I returned to Orlando for Christmas '06 midway through my spell back in NJ, I made a beeline for them. They and Unicornicopia leader turned future Baby DJ School creator Natalie Weiss (who had moved to NYC herself and I had also seen perform up there) put on quite a live show for me, after which they all invited me to Matt's place for a little holiday afterparty where I was showered with Dodger souvenirs. We hung out a second time just before I set sail northward again, and this time I ended up saying goodbye to O-Town with tears in my eyes, because suddenly it actually hurt to think I wouldn't be seeing the place again for awhile.
Or... would I? On Memorial Day weekend of '07, Dodger and friends came all the way up to NYC and wound up at the fucking Knitting Factory of all venues, completely decimating the place in one of the best shows I ever saw them play. Two nights later, I had an invite from them and an invite from some of my longtime NYC friends. I made plans to honor both, starting with the first. I never even made it to the second as I ended up hanging out with Dodger till well past 3 AM. The writing was clearly on the wall by that point, and when my cousin and I finally got tossed out of our old house just weeks later, I knew Orlando had won the final round by a knockout. "Oh, it's not so bad," I told myself as I made the long drive back. "At least there's Dodger!"
Well, no sooner had I settled in than I got the word that Dodger had broken up amidst personal tensions which had sprung up during their tour. The band that had taught me how to love Orlando was now suddenly dead, and I was livid, feeling betrayed. I even wrote an angry letter to the band protesting their breakup. It was a very stupid and senseless letter, and all these years later I wish to sincerely apologize to all ex-Dodger members reading this blog for writing it. What could I say, I was mad. But lo and behold, Matt Kamm very quickly reinvented himself as a man of many different variations on the name of Tele, and took his music in not one, but multiple new directions. And it was all even better than Dodger, and more than enough to win my forgiveness in the end.
For in the end, after all... Dodger was just the beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED...
(Here is an awesome Youtube playlist comprised of Dodger's never officially released album "Popullution" plus the first and third post-Dodger albums of Matt "Tele" Kamm, rounded out by several tracks from fellow Funbalaya acts The Ocean Floor and Timbers Shivered. Also available for streaming is this album of recently discovered Dodger material. All of it is essential listening. Oh, and here's a nice little song I wrote about the night at the Peacock Room when Dodger changed my world... and last but definitely not least, the full gallery of photos I took of Dodger that night!)
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