The Hard Lessons
(with the Avatars and Tyvek)
Live at the Halfway Inn, Ann Arbor, MI
January 13, 2006
Deep in the bowels of U of M's East Quadrangle, between the laundry machines and the dumpsters, lies the Halfway Inn: a small, fluorescently lit basement dining area, known to natives as "the Halfass." By day, the Halfass functions as something of a collegiate greasy spoon, serving up diner-quality food - along with overpriced pints of Ben & Jerry's, loud "underground" music and some of the worst customer service in the known world - to a steady stream of college kids and socially awkward hipsters. But by night, the Halfass becomes something else entirely: that most treasured of college indie-scene necessities, the ALL-AGES VENUE. Picture, if you will, a hundred or so undergrads; packed like sardines in all their American Apparel finery, with fair-to-middling sound and no booze or cigarettes to cover up the distinctive odor of close-proximity fart. Oh yes, it's glamorous. And the shows? Noise, mainly, or K Records also-rans - music to wear unnecessary scarves to. It's all very indie, very grass-roots...and frankly, it's about the least auspicious place for a real, live rock show one could imagine.
Unless, that is, the Hard Lessons are on the bill. It's a damn-near indisputable fact (at least in Detroit, Lansing, and their respective metro areas) that the Hard Lessons can deliver their rock to any venue, be it all-ages cafeteria, high school prom, senior center or funeral home. And on Friday night, deliver they did: right to the basement of our beloved dorm.
Not that there weren't a few bumps along the way. Local openers Tyvek made the unfortunate decision to take the stage with a tentative guest guitarist and a few tuneless, droning "songs" which gave a pretty good impression of what it would sound like to hear the Cale line-up of the Velvet Underground being tortured by a cheap synthesizer. Granted, the set improved once the auxiliary player was jettisoned and their songs stopped trying to be "textured"; Tyvek's strengths are in loud and brash spazz-punk, no less and certainly no more. But as much as these guys have mastered the art of making a racket in cardigans and coke-bottle specs, even the most bracing of their music is missing one vital element: namely, hooks. By the time the singer (who had just taken an unintentional dive off the stage) regaled us with the story of his first band smearing Twinkies on the Halfass stage and getting banned for life, I found myself wishing Tyvek had brought the Twinkies and left the lame tunes at home.
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