Sunday, June 27, 1999 | 4:36 a.m.
First published May 15, 1998.
"We've got Apollo 14 coming up next," says Dirk Vermin to a fair-sized Wet Stop crowd. He grins and gestures at the stage with his cigar as he adds "Surf band. Lots of one-note leads and reverb. I've certainly never heard anything like it before."
And with that ringing endorsement, Apollo 14 -- lead guitarist Ben Dubler, rhythm guitarist Eric Chamberlain, bassist Scott Bruns and drummer Bill Simmons -- plug in and wail. Well, sort of. Simmons is new to the job. He's never played these songs before; he only got the job this afternoon. But he's game, and with a little help from Dubler, he whips through the set. "A Run Across the Border," "Flood" and "Booty Junkie" retain their stamina.
To no one's surprise, Rob Ruckus and Vermin shout insults at Dubler as he cranks out his leads, which only serves to charge him up. He stomps on the floor after each number and waits for the corresponding report from his reverb box, smiling at the man-made thunderclap.
The hosts won't let the band off easy. Ruckus shouts "One more!" every time the band tries to end the set; Vermin demands "Two more!" So they pull out what for nearly any other band would be an act of pure self-indulgence: a surf-rock take on Ministry's "So What." Chamberlain and Bruns face off, chunking out the tough rhythm line of the industrial anthem. Dubler looks possessed. Even Simmons seems to plug into the telepathy between the guitarists -- he pulls the tempo from Dubler's bobbing head and hooks straight into the groove.
It isn't perfect - Simmons needs to practice with the group at least once - but good nevertheless. Pretty damn good, for a neophyte surf band whose members are culled from such unlikely surf-rock breeding grounds as scrappy punk group Cebollas de Satanas and potty-mouth metal outfit The Aborted Children of Butt. Dubler and Simmons are still in Milkhouse; other skeletons in Apollo 14's closet include Futhermucker, The Splats, United Cracker Front and a trio of Dubler vanity projects, "Ben-anarama," "Ben Jovi" and "Fishben."
If this sounds like a particularly demented episode of The Kids in the Hall, all I can say is that you haven't sat down and interviewed them. It gets worse. "We're not surf in the same vein as the Beach Boys," says Dubler after the set. "However, we are somewhat ... surf."
"Oh yeah, and they're nuts, too," says Chamberlain. He is drawing eyes on his clenched fist, Se-or Wences-style, to represent the departed Simmons.
"And half of 'em are dead," adds Dubler.
"Half of 'em drowned in the lake," Chamberlain continues, "and the other half should. Including John Stamos."
"We're gonna do 'Sloop John B'," Bruns cuts in.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," says Chamberlain.
And that's about all I can print in a family publication such as this; the rest of the interview was mostly doody-talk and off-color sexual bombast. A few informational tidbits manage to slip through -- the band hopes to record a CD soon, Bruns does a weekend show on KEDG -- but by and large the band cuts up, shredding surf music, the music business and each other. D
ubler is right: Apollo 14 ain't the Beach Boys. They have no overblown egos, no crippling sense of entitlement. They'll play one more song as long as the crowd keeps demanding it, and if they don't have one more handy, they'll make one up. It's refreshing, and fun as all hell, to see Apollo 14 mocking the institutions that made them.
The evening is capped by a strange episode. As The Vermin rip through their set, Bruns, Dubler and Chamberlain take flanking positions, and on a prearranged signal hit the punk band with multiple cans of silly string.
"This is the best motherf***in' thing that's ever happened to me!" announces Ruckus.
"Man, this is great!" Vermin howls. "We love Apollo 14!"
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