Chapter 6: Mike Viola
A couple years ago, my bandmate Jim (AKA “Top Shelf”) and I were carpooling to a rehearsal (I used to really like carpooling because my car’s registration was expired for quite a while. I am a lawbreaker and a risk-taker, and, dare I say, a mischief-maker. Not much of a heartbreaker or love-taker, but don’t you mess around with me nonetheless). Jim’s iPod, instead of playing “More than a Feeling” by Boston or “Big Bottom” by Spinal Tap like it was supposed to, was playing something I didn’t recognize. So I asked him what it was. Following is a transcript of what that conversation probably sounded like, given the ultrageeky proclivities of both Jim and me (Jim has a tattoo of what it says on the One Ring, in the Black Speech of Mordor, on his arm):
Me: “What’s this? Star Wars Watchmen Buffy.”
Jim: “ It’s Mike Viola. He used to live in Boston where I used to live. Nightcrawler Wolverine Firefly Sam Adams Haaaavard.”
Me: “He’s good! I like it. Frodo Batman Shelob Rorschach Vader.”
Jim: “Yeah, he co-wrote and sang ‘That Thing You Do.’ Yoda Red Sox Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Nigel Tufnel.”
Me: “I’ll be damned! Gandalf Skywalker Nite Owl Preacher Cthulhu.”
That’s a pretty fair approximation, I think. Anyway, that was the last time I thought about Mike Viola until a couple years later. This year, to be precise. While I was looking at the schedule for Largo in preparation for my Jon Brion article, I saw that Mike Viola was playing a show a few weeks later in the “Little Room.” Cool!
So, later, I was having a drink in the Little Room before the Jon Brion show, and decided to ask the bartender if he’d seen Mike Viola play there before. Following is a transcript of what that conversation might have sounded like, taking into account the way I talk to people I don’t know:
Me: “Mumblemumble Mike Viola?”
Bartender: “Oh yeah, he’s playing here in a couple weeks. He’s really good.”
Me: (drinking beer): “Shlorp. Grumble. Hurm.”
Bartender: “Yeah, I usually see him when he plays here. I think he moved to LA a while ago. Here, have this copy of his newest album. It’s great.”
Me: “Gurgle. Grrrrr. Thanks. Hisssssssssss.”
Again, probably pretty accurate. Anyway, I took the album home (it was 2007’s Lurch), and damn if I didn’t listen to the whole thing in its entirety three times in a row. And I listened to the first track (“Maybe, Maybe Not”) by itself over and over. It made me happy instantly, which is not something I am accustomed to and which sometimes gives me acid reflux. The bartender was not wrong. Lurch is an immensely enjoyable album. Mike Viola’s songwriting is in the vein of what Jon Brion called “unpopular pop” (I really like that term and have co-opted it for my own use, sometimes shortening it to “unpop” to save valuable time and syllables): highly melodic, clever, and catchy, and there is no good or just reason why his songs aren’t more popular than they are.
It seems to me that irony is the main tool of the songwriter these days—I’m generalizing, of course, but it makes a sort of sense. Rejection in any form is easier to take if one appears uncaring and detached, and I’m as guilty as anyone of that little tendency. But in songs, I tend to find it off-putting. Mike Viola does not fall into this easy trap. His songs contain the sort of earnestness that makes you think you know the guy a little bit, or at least understand and sympathize when appropriate (I’m using the second person singular here. I don’t like doing that, but using the first person in that sentence didn’t feel near ironic or detached enough for my fragile psyche. A thousand apologies for foisting my opinions on you).
Anyway, after absorbing Lurch, I scoured Amoeba for the Mike Viola catalogue. All I came up with after hours of searching was an album by his previous band, Candy Butchers, called Play With Your Head. It was also great, with the same style of songwriting but slightly different instrumentation, but it made me think that this guy deserves much more exposure than he gets. Either that, or I should try buying things online once in a while instead of hunting around record stores like a caveman. Probably both.
So I continued my research by seeing Mike Viola’s live show at Largo. Let me begin by saying that the Little Room is a great place to see a singer-songwriter. It’s tiny and intimate, and the only amplification the performer needs is a microphone (probably not even that, but he had one).
Mr. Viola is an engaging and appealing performer. He switched between acoustic guitar and piano, with occasional assistance from a friend who played muted trumpet. His interactions with the audience were frequent, and frequently hilarious, especially during an improvised song he called “Childhood Trauma.” It’s always a great deal of fun to see a performer who seems to be having as much fun as the audience, and Mike Viola has exactly the same type of stage presence I’d hoped he had after hearing his songs. He mentioned doing a monthly residence of sorts at the Little Room, which I intend to see whenever possible. I recommend that everyone else in the world should do the same, although I have no idea how they’ll all fit into that room. Maybe if enough people get together, they can teach him to say his last name right. It’s supposed to be “Vee-ola,” like the instrument I play, but he inexplicably pronounces it “Vai-ola.” Clearly wrong.
Well, I’m off to find someplace “on-line,” as they say, where people can look for music and then buy it. If I can find that sort of website somewhere, I’m gonna find all the Mike Viola and Candy Butchers albums I can, and then listen to ‘em. In the meantime, why not make the trek over to www.mikeviola.com and buy Lurch? To whet the appetite, here’s “Maybe, Maybe Not” on youtube:
(Mike Viola photo originally published here)
