Pop of Gold
April 4, 2001
As I walk out of the duplex that is home to the three male members of Pookey Bleum, and headquarters of Bi-Fi Records, I realize I am leaving with more than the tape recorder and notebook I came with. I now hold two Karma Lab albums, a new Pookey Bleum promo poster and a copy of “Fine Things” by Danielle Steel.
But what’s more, I also have a head full of stickier-than-Gonzo-Grape-Bubblicious pop songs that refuse to leave my brain for the rest of the night – even though I’ve only heard them once. And all I bargained for was an interview with the band.
Earlier in the day I had called Pookey and asked if they had some time to talk to me about their new album, “Lo Fi Rainbow,” which comes out today.
“Sure,” Patrick Fleming, Pookey’s guitarist, told me. “You can come over and talk and have a Hy-Vee pop.”
This is the randomness and quirkiness that is Pookey Bleum.
After all, we’re talking about the band that has a song called “Milk,” which is an ode to the highly unrecognized glory of the white stuff.
This is the band that has been known to set up a microwave on stage during their shows and cook burritos for the audience.
“It helps that burritos take about two minutes and so do pop songs,” Fleming informs me.
To promote the “Lo Fi Rainbow” CD release party, Fleming once threw romance novels wrapped in paper out to the crowd. The paper had messages that read something like, “Read this book. Eat your vegetables. Come to the show April 5th. You’ll get married in the next year.”
“Just shameless self-promotional fortune cookie type stuff,” says guitarist and lead singer Aaron Hefley. (Hence the Danielle Steel book I left the Pookey abode with. Fleming apparently had extras.)
Pookey Bleum’s live shows have attracted quite a loyal following. This may be due to songwriter Hefley’s irresistible hooks or bassist/vocalist Melissa Sorbo’s angelic voice. Or maybe it’s Jeremy Johnson’s tireless drum beats or Fleming’s buoyant guitar work.
Or it may be because of their stage presence, which is looked upon with reverence in the Ames local music circuit.
Much of this presence emanates from Fleming, who is literally all over the stage – and off of it – during shows. Jumping in the air. Lying on the ground. Playing guitar above his head. Making crazy faces. Crashing into his bandmates. Inviting his friends up on stage.
I ask Fleming where he gets all of his energy.
“Purple Skittles,” he replies, straight-faced.
“No. Really, it’s just that I’ve been going to shows for a long time and it’s just something that I like to do,” he continues. “I’m a better music fan than I am a musician. The bands that I really like are the ones that not only play, but put on a show. You know, like The Who. If I could be half as cool as Pete Townshend, I would be happy. He is probably my stage presence idol.”
But Fleming concedes, “you could watch anybody in the band and be entertained . And Melissa’s cute, so that gets her by.”
Sorbo kicks him in the leg.
“You are!” he shoots back.
“Thank you, Pat,” she says.
“Well, I’ll take it back later.”
“I know you will.”
This is typical of the brotherly-sisterly joking that goes on between the foursome all evening, as we sit in the living room that is strewn with guitars, compact discs, Bi-Fi paraphernalia and a jar filled with coins and dollar bills labeled “Save the Pookey Fund.”
And it is this blithe aura that comes through loud and clear on the new album. “Lo Fi Rainbow” is almost a concept album, according to Fleming.
“It’s all about being in a band,” he says. “And it’s about the lifestyle of a band at the level we’re at. It’s about loving other bands. And there’s a couple of inside jokes on there, too.”
For example, there’s a song called “Tasty” that Hefley penned after the group was asked to quit playing a graduation party at Blank Park Zoo, because the zookeeper warned them that the lions were “wigging out.”
And there’s the title track, “Lo Fi Rainbow,” which is already becoming a hit at Pookey’s live shows.
“We’ve been closing shows with it,” Hefley says. “It really gets people excited.”
“The cheese is cheesier, the hard is harder and the pop is poppier on this album,” Fleming adds.
Many of Pookey’s friends also make appearances on “Lo Fi Rainbow.” Most of these contributors are on the Bi-Fi Records label, which was founded by Johnson, Hefley and Fleming.
For example, Kathryn Musilek, a Bi-Fi artist who is opening for Pookey tonight, plays piano on one of the tracks. And Jeremy Grace, formerly of Badger Haus, helps out on guitars.
This kind of camaraderie is at the heart of Pookey Bleum. But it goes much farther than the band. Pookey is just one player on the field of like-minded artists who huddle up around Bi-Fi Records for support and esprit de corps. Since its formation in 1999, the Bi-Fi label and studio have served as the fulcrum of the power pop/folk/geek rock/punk/and-everything-in-between community in Ames and the surrounding areas.
“I think we all just really like each other’s bands,” Fleming says. “The level of bands is really good here. We’re all kinda the same age, too, and we all kinda like listening to the same things. And if we don’t, we’ll play it for the other people.”
They always give their friends great deals on recording. They are generous with their music (which explains the two Karma Lab albums I left with). They have no qualms about playing free shows. They always come to each other’s shows. And they support local music, even if the bands aren’t on the Bi-Fi label.
But back to the living room. We have been listening to the band’s favorite tracks from “Lo-Fi Rainbow.” An animated discussion has started up. It centers around Pookey’s fresh-off-the-presses promo poster. The photo of the band was taken in front of a fake woods and stream background at the K-mart photography studios. In the picture, Hefley is wearing a pair of highway patrolman sunglasses. Johnson is sitting with his hands crossed neatly. Sorbo is holding a trumpet that she doesn’t know how to play. And Fleming, wearing a sweater with grapes and apples on the front, is stretching out an accordion.
“Melissa, you look pissed in that picture,” Fleming tells her.
“I do, don’t I?,” she says.
“Hopefully we’re going to get some polka gigs out of that picture,” Fleming says.
“Come on,” Hefley interrupts. “My glasses are bad-ass.”
“Actually you look like a child molester,” Johnson says.
“Yeah, my girlfriend said that picture of you would probably get a seven-year-old boy or girl scared,” Fleming adds, sipping on his Hy-Vee soda.
But despite all of the playful banter that has been going on all evening, Pookey obviously couldn’t be more serious about their passion for making music and of course, for their new album.
“We’re focused on this,” Hefley says. “We’re not looking any farther than this right now. We don’t want to leave Ames, but we do want to push our boundaries.”
Johnson adds, “It’s something we can build on, something we can help happen, to make the scene better-“
“And just wait for things to happen for us,” Hefley finishes. “And if they don’t, they’ll happen for someone else. And we’ll help it happen for someone else.”
This generous attitude leaves me with even more than a romance novel, two new CDs and a wacky promo poster at the end of my visit.
It leaves me with a renewed respect for bands like Pookey Bleum that dedicate themselves to putting the power not only back into pop, but into the entire local music scene.
Hear Pookey Bleum:
