This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, June 14, 2012 - If the story’s not 100 percent accurate, it’s still true.
There’s this night, sometime in 1988 or 1989. As a writer for my college paper, I’d already developed the keen sense of where go as an underage reporter, finding those places that might extend the courtesy of a sub-21 entry on nights when I wasn’t technically supposed to be there. At that point in time, 1227 was about as cool as nightclubs in St. Louis could get, a black-box venue in the heart of a largely-empty Washington Avenue, near the setting (not that many years before) for the film “Escape from New York.” Being off-the-grid might have made it that much more appealing.
A contemporary to a very, very small number of other venues downtown, 1227 provided a needed place for music in St. Louis, its capacity of 350-400, or so, filling in the space between larger and smaller venues, with a booking policy that tended toward independent/college rock and the burgeoning industrial scene. I was lucky enough, over time, to catch bands at 1227 as different as Social Distortion, the Sneetches, Caterwaul, the late Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and, twice!, Nine Inch Nails, who packed the place for a pair of, well, let’s-go-ahead-and-call-’em-legendary shows. Local bands, too, were part of the mix and the rough, basement venue provided a home for DJs and adventurous, offbeat performance art.
So on the night in question, I’m at 1227, minding my own business and figuring that I’d be driving back to Webster Groves unless something interesting turned up. And it did, in the form of three, beautiful women just over the age of 21. It’s the magical age, of course, that moment of demarcation that gives someone having a little bit of fun and entry pass to new horizons of entertainment. For some reason, this trio of angels decided to pluck my sorry self out of 1227, convincing me to follow them to Kennedy’s on the Landing where, they assured me, the doorman would let me slide, providing that I walked in with them.
As if commanded, I drove the few blocks down Washington, walked from a free spot on the top of the Landing and reconnected with my new friends (who I wouldn’t see, or know, for another 18 years) in front of Kennedy’s. As they promised, the doorman let me walk right on by; not even sure that I paid a cover, but I do remember walking into a room that was basically full, with just nooks and crannies of standing space near the stage. Kennedy’s was an unusual space, with the bandstand near the doorway and with a second-floor mezzanine jutting out over the first floor's elevated seating, creating some cramped quarters when the venue’s biggest draws were booked.
And at that moment in time, there was no bigger draw on the Landing than The Eyes. Maybe I’d seen them before, but I doubt it, because I was mystified by the energy that whooshed through the room when the band’s rhythm section of bassist Dan Angenend and drummer Greg Miller began to play the opening of Bauhaus’ signature track “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” As vapors began to pour from the smoke machine, the room filled and the tension was heightened as guitarist Richard Fortus began slashing at his guitar, as the track built, and built, in tension.
People around me began to talk, the general message being a sort of hushed “Michael’s here.” As in vocalist Michael Schaerer, The Eyes’ charismatic frontman, who as the legend of the evening has it, rode up to the front of the venue on his motorcycle, disembarked, walked through the audience to the stage, then climbed to the top of the PA stack. As the cut’s long intro concluded, while crouched atop the speakers, he began singing and the crowd went nuts. They continued doing so for the entire set, which I watched with a combination of emotions, most of them bordering on complete jealousy. I might be lucky to get into the club, but these guys, just a couple years my seniors, basically owned the place.
It was a time and a place. A fun one.
Hard rockin’
Last Thursday evening, I went to see Michael Schaerer sing, on the back patio of the Hard Rock Cafe at Union Station. He was playing a private event for the front office staff of the St. Louis Blues hockey team, but stuck around to play for the general public afterward, as tourist families began taking over the back patio. With his gear tucked away in a corner, he was playing the music of his own band, Pale Divine (nee The Eyes), over his personal PA during the break, which we used to catch-up.
These days, the solo experience keeps Schaerer busy, as he balances teaching with gigs at night, performances that take place at a small group of regular locations between Thursday and Saturday evenings. These aren’t at locations you’d necessarily expect, rooms like Truffles, Syberg’s on Dorsett and Franco; though you might expect a gig like Harrah’s Casino. At these shows, he mixes in a few original songs, some dating back to his early 20s. But the lion’s share are covers.
“I know hundreds of songs,” Schaerer says. “And I’ve written hundreds of songs. I’ll play the originals as much as anybody wants. I’ll look through the room and see if there’s anybody who wants to hear them.”
If so, he’ll cut loose with a track or two, from Pale Divine, which enjoyed a brief run on Atlantic Records with the album “Straight to Goodbye.” Lots of folks from that era still show up to hear Schaerer sing. But he’s also aware that people come and go, that there will be folks who come out to a bar without even the intention of hearing live music. For them, he puts together a set that contains just everything under the sun. And that was on display at the Hard Rock.
At one point, he played a true version of “Brilliant Disguise,” noting with a tongue-in-cheek outro that “the song was written by Bruce Springsteen. He’s a really great songwriter. You might have heard of him. You should check him out. His name is Bruce.”
That track was preceded by something even more surprising, “Night Moves” by Bob Seger. Interestingly, as we chatted, we discussed whether, or not, musicians had ever come to him to front a tribute act. He’s had talks, but nothing’s ever materialized. Partly because he enjoys the solo performance world more; with fewer musicians, there are less mouths to feed. Also, he wants time off, to spend with his wife and 12-year-old son. There’s also the matter of the material he’d want to pay tribute to; on one hand, you’ve got indie darlings like Nick Drake and Elliot Smith, on the other there’s Cat Stevens and Seger.
“If I thought anyone want to listen, I’d play Nick Drake all the time,” he says.
But it’s Seger that he breaks out for this show, maybe a sensible pick considering the venue and the audience, most of them in the 40s and 50s, a few of them dining with their teen-age kids. And with “Night Moves,” Schaerer really breaks out the piece of equipment that’s changed his live sets. Playing along with a looper, his right foot’s constantly tapping at his pedal board.
Early in the track, he loops the rhythm guitar line, allowing his to play atop that. At another point, he clips a bit of the sung chorus. And then he captures another bit of vocal, layering all that to create his own harmonies, while he also plays a solo over the original, rhythm guitar.
He considers playing along to backing tracks a type of cheating and he’s not in love with performers who set up an iPad and sing along to a battery of pre-recorded drum machines, basses, etc. The looper, he says, is an instrument, manipulated in real time and allowing him to pile a variety of sounds into his sets at a moment’s notice. And “notice” might be the apt term here. As he performed “Night Moves,” the building cascade of new parts caught the attention of a couple folks, who paused from their meal to peek at what was happening in the far corner of the patio.
That kind of thing can happen when Michael Schaerer’s “on.”
But the Hard Rock set was indicative of, in some respects, the plight of all solo performers. You can be a simple part of the background, especially in a space as vast as the Hard Rock. With the high, partial ceiling over the old train station; the pumpers blasting water into the man-made lake; the simple noise of an outdoor setting ... a guy with a microphone and a guitar can get lost. But Michael Schaerer, from day one, has been able to talk to a room, keeping himself a part of the focus.
This isn’t something new to him.
Doin’ the Time Warp
“It was huge,” Schaerer says of his time at the city’s Visual and Performing Arts High School. “It had a lot to do with ... everything.”
Finding a kindred spirit in his choir director early on, Schaerer basically booked himself years of vocal work, “singing for half of my six hours of school a day. That kind of thing really strengthens your voice.” Also taking acting, visual arts and all the other amenities offered by VAP, Schaerer also socially found himself. The key connection was hooking with guitarist Richard Fortus, who was already playing in an early, but jazz-fusion-inspired version of The Eyes.
“They decided they needed a new singer,” Schaerer says. “And Richard told him that he was going to get the best singer in the high school. And he did.”
Eventually, the group coalesced around the prodigy in Fortus, the supple rhythm section of Angenend and Miller, and Schaerer, who seemed built for the frontman role. The group paid their dues at underage venues like the old Animal House, eventually graduating to the bigger, over-21 and all-ages venues. Kennedy’s was essentially the second home, often alternating weekends with the other massive Landing band, The Unconscious. They set up shop frequently at 1227. And they drew enough bodies to basically write their own check at the king of clubs, Mississippi Nights.
“They didn’t even like us musically,” Schaerer insists. “But we were able to bring in enough people that we controlled our own production and ran the door. We were good for business.”
The band would change its name from The Eyes to Pale Divine and would get signed to Atlantic Records. For a combination of reasons, things stalled. The label didn’t see hits in the group’s second record, which was cut, but not commercially released until the band did so in 2009. Internally, some stresses began to show and eventually it was Fortus who left the group. Though ably replaced, skill-wise, by the Stranded Lads’ Liam Christy, the group’s mojo was off.
When they called it a day, it certainly disappointed a core of fans, but Schaerer would attempt to satisfy them with the group Rainbox, built from a core hand-picked scene veterans. That group had its moments, but was never able to build a lasting niche for itself. Schaerer went on to record a solo record, 1998s rather gentle-and-lovely “Cross to Bear,” which featured a different side of the vocalist, with lots of piano, slowed-down pacing and a new degree of introspection.
But fans always wanted one more taste of the bombast, the spectacle that was Pale Divine. In 2009 and 2010, the band performed sold-out shows at The Pageant, which also brought reunion shows for The Nukes and The Stranded Lads, respectively. (And, in the interests of disclosure, I got to deejay before-and-between-sets for both shows, a real thrill in that kind of setting, I gotta admit.) These days, Schaerer’s not shy in saying “Oh, yeah,” when asked if there’ll ever be another Pale gig.
“Sure,” he says. “We’re tighter than ever. I love those guys like my brothers. All of ‘em. I love and miss playing with those guys like I can’t even tell you.”
The problem here — and it’s a good one, in a sense — is that Fortus has gone on to a career that includes pretty much full membership in both Guns n’ Roses and the Psychedelic Furs, with tons of side gigs salted into his schedule, as well. That doesn’t leave as much time for nostalgia as he might like, but Schaerer says that he and Fortus have talked about it; and the next time out might not be at The Pageant.
He envisions playing a small room, a tiny space guaranteed to not fit all the fans wanting to get in. The band might not even advertise, but just show up, play, work with the little room in a way that you can’t on a massive stage.
There’s a little bit of wistful tone that Schaerer adopts when talking about this.
He loves teaching vocals, guitar and stage performance to kids. He enjoys the people-watching afforded him at Truffles. He fully appreciates being a working musician and having the time to watch his son, who’s “full of piss and vinegar,” grow into a young man. He’s even taken time to produce, playing all the instruments on an album for an act called Roses for Lola, with the songs written by this friend Jim Minton.
But we all fire up our mental time capsules from time to time. We can even share them. I’m in the audience, underage, digging a band that fully and unapologetically embraced the “big show” concept. (But where’d those three young ladies go?) And Schaerer, no doubt, enjoyed the view from atop that speaker, the crowd treating The Eyes’ version of “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” as the highlight of their week. Which it no doubt was.
We should all try to do it again, sometime. And, you know, really appreciate the moment.