Lamson Lodge

When I woke up this morning, I had "Eva" by Coffinberry in my head. I hadn't listened to them in a while, so it was driving music during my morning commute into work after I had my NPR fix. It got me to thinking about something that I have wanted to write about for a long time: Lamson Lodge.

What is Lamson Lodge you ask?

It is this little rinky dink cabin on the campus of Denison University, my Alma. Denison was built on top of a steep hill and Lamson is at the base of this...cliff. There are usually gatherings by sports teams during warmer months and the like there. But for a brief period, Lamson was home to a counter-culture movement in Central Ohio.

It all began in the winter of 2004. Several of us at the radio station (WDUB for all you audiophiles) were not satisfied by the schedule of musicians coming to our school. So we took it upon ourselves to do the D.I.Y. thing.

The first act to come in our Lamson series (if you could call it that) was Tracy + the Plastics, an electro feminist/riot grrrl/whatever you want to call it performance artist from Olympia, WA. The sole performer, Wynne Greenwood, was on tour and by some stroke of luck, my friend Jordan (Music Director at the time) was able to get her on a bill with the Columbus thrash band, Necropolis, and himself, Jordan O' Jordan, a banjo troubadour that resembles a love child between the Magnetic Fields and the Smiths.

It was mid-January. The room holds about 75. Over 150 showed up. BYOB. I will leave the rest up to you.

Apparently people came from as far as Oberlin to see the show. There was this crazy hippy dude in front of me the whole time who smelled like a petting zoo and was high on something. He did this weird interpretive dance for the entire show and I just had to watch because there was no room to move. At least no one was cold after we filled Lamson.

So Tracy, I'm sorry, Wynne, goes on stage around midnight after Jordan and Necropolis do their sets. She starts with the now classic electro-clash song, "Henrieta." She had some interesting visuals in the background. Several songs in, she ducks into the bathroom. No one knows what is going on.

After twenty minutes, her partner, who is rumored to be in Le Tigre, comes out and says "Sorry everybody. Wynne has the flu and can't continue with the show."

Needless to say, it was still a satisfying night. And that was only the beginning.

In the spring, I booked a spastic bunch from Atlanta, GA who call themselves The Orphins (sic). As an Assistant Music Director at WDUB, I received their album "Drowning Cupid" and loved it so much that I asked them to come. They drove 10 hours to Granville in a beater Mark III van from the early 90s. They were a completely spastic bunch that played songs with the intensity of punk, but sounded more like faster and more screwed up surf tunes from the 60s. It was very much a melding of Dick Dale, Talking Heads, Slint, and 80s hardcore. 50 or so people showed up and we made veggie burgers for the band.

Then I brought Coffinberry the following year. We could not get Ted Leo + the Pharmacists and I knew that my friend Nick from high school was the vocalist of Coffinberry. They agreed to come down and played one of the finest gigs that I have ever been to. Unfortunately, the crowd was thin (about 10 people) because of other things going on that weekend I guess. They were unrelenting in their execution and Nick's vocals never skipped a beat. They said that it was their best show in months, and I was proud to have booked them. They gave me a copy of their album, which I was listening to during my morning commute.

After packing up shop in Lamson, nothing resurfaced the following year, or the year after that. Or the year after that. I stepped down from my administrative role at the radio station to explore other avenues like starting my own band. Perhaps all of us D.I.Y. nuts left with no one to carry the torch. Perhaps the funds have been limited the past few years. In either case, it is unfortunate to have sewn the seeds of a movement only to see it fade into that gentile night. The only documents that exist are two live recordings which I copped during my final radio show last spring in order to preserve what we created. No photographs exist to my knowledge and very few people remember.

I hope that we can remember now. As the legendary singer and guitarist Bob Mould once said, "We are living in an age where music isn't sacred." So let's make it sacred again, for the sake of future generations. Our children and our grandchildren deserve better.