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someone, so you're kind of like... those are
the essential things you need."
So says Ella Sternberg. The place was
Brooklyn, the jobs were probably immaterial,
the band was punk/pop (not punk-pop) trio
Dead Dog, and she was seeing John McLean.
In 2002, when two of these punk-life creature
comforts were thrown into disarray, a regroup
ing was in order, and, besides, Sternberg says,
"We were kind of looking for an excuse to
leave New York for a long time."
Dead Dog formed as a creative partner
ship between Sternberg, McLean and drummer
Matthew "Skip" Callahan in 2006 after having
met on the New York punk scene. Sternberg
had played upright bass in jazz ensembles
throughout all levels of schooling; she has a
degree in music composition from Purchase
College in New York. McLean had screwed
around with bass for years and had only
started on guitar after his neighbor sold him
one for $20. The two shared vocals and all
was well. After two years, "Skip quit and John
lost his job in pretty quick succession," says
Sternberg. Uprooted, the pair found them
selves free of responsibilities and ready to take
advantage of their newfound freedom. They
embarked on a road trip to determine where to
set up shop anew, checking out Chattanooga,
Richmond, Asheville, Bloomington and, with
some coaxing from their longtime friends in
the band Witches, Athens.
The Classic City won out due to "the fact
that it's so walkable and friendly and human
sized [that, and the J&J Flea Market]," says
Sternberg. It was there that they re-met drum
mer Lexie Gay, who had recently transplanted
himself from his home in Cleveland, MS. The
three had met previously in passing, playing
one another's homes on the house-party cir
cuit. Formerly the drummer for widely beloved
DIY punks One Reason, Gay had followed his
friends in Hot New Mexicans to Athens, where
"there was a blind date set up with these
guys," he says, motioning towards Sternberg
and McLean. The trio were an instant and
obvious fit for one another, and Dead Dog was
reborn; they began touring in earnest from
Athens' advantageous location.
One significant six-week tour and a couple
of weekenders later, the band was ready to
cut a record. They opted to work with Mike
Piick of Chattanooga band Future Virgins at
his Revolution Sound recording studio, located
above well-trod venue JJ's Bohemia. The band
bum-rushed their way through three days,
while attempting to drown out music coming
from the floor below.
"We tracked all the music in one day, did
vocals and overdubs the next day, and mixed
punks] Leatherface, and then came back up,
really, really wasted, and mixed till four in the
morning."
The result, Don't Touch Me, is a digital
recording but is tailor-made for the resur
gent cassette culture. (Sternberg: "John
almost kind of fetishizes cassettes." McLean:
"I just have a lot of them.") At 18 minutes
all totaled, the ramshackle production has
lots of sharp elbows, but can't mask the
thoughtful craft applied to the songwriting.
The lo-fi take was no mistake. "We were try
ing to make something that had production
gaps, something kind of Guided by Voices or
Shellshag-sound," explains Sternberg. "They'll
have one song that's a pop song and sounds
really pop, is produced pop, but then they'll
have a snotty punk song that sounds like it
was recorded on a hand-held cassette recorder
in your basement. I mean, who wants to hear
a snotty punk song recorded like a fucking, I
don't know, Foo Fighters song?"
The finished product was mastered by none
other than Dave Rarbe, who was more than
happy to leave Don’t Touch Me the rough-
around-the-edges gem it is. Bloomington, IL
label Let's Pretend will be doing the honors,
releasing the album on cassette and vinyl.
Just as the newly arrived musicians were
a coincidentally perfect fit for one mother,
they've found genuine family in the Athens
punk community. Cara Beth Satalino of
Witches worked alongside Sternberg in the
Purchase College music program, where the
two would compare notes each week on new
songs. During our interview, Steve Armstrong
of American Cheeseburger stopped by to invite
the band to go "blow shit up" with rifles. This
is where they belong—"this" being not only
Athens, but the punk scene at large.
"I don't know how else to function," says
Sternberg. *1 feel like every time we try to
break out and play other kinds of scenes and
venues we feel really uncomfortable," says
McLean. "We always want to branch out and
play clubs and stuff, and it always feels weird.
I never feel comfortable on a stage, or a big
stage anyway." Feeling comfortable, after all,
is essential.
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