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From the ground up: While enjoying major-label success, Illiterate Light stays connected to its roots

Nearly a decade ago, a traveling troupe of musicians was midway through its set at the now-demolished Random Row Books in Charlottesville when the power went out. While darkness settled over the crowd, the band continued its performance undeterred, with no noticeable change in sound. That’s because the group’s set-up was running on a bike-powered generator: With one member pedaling a bicycle on a generator stand, a small PA system kept functioning. From the darkness sprang Charlottesville’s next big thing: Illiterate Light.

That night at Random Row, JMU alums Jeff Gorman and Jake Cochran were playing in Money Cannot Be Eaten, one of a handful of socially oriented bands cycling around the state together under the heading of Petrol-Free Jubilee.

In 2015, Gorman and Cochran set off on a new project, the rock band Illiterate Light (the name is taken from a line in the Wilco song “Theologians”). Since then, the pair has toured widely, developed a devoted following, and signed a deal with a major label. But they still find themselves recalling those foundational days.

Petrol-Free Jubilee “really pushed Jeff and I to think like, alright, there’s definitely big-picture solutions that we [don’t] know how to contribute to yet,”  says Cochran. “But diving in with a bunch of friends and biking around Virginia to talk about environmentalism and sing songs was something we could get into.”

The band’s experience with the jubilee, along with other volunteerism, directly informed the ethos of Illiterate Light, establishing community building and social consciousness as guiding tenets for its musical output.

In their early days, during junior and senior year, Cochran was on the medical track at JMU and worked as an EMT.

“So much of the pain that I was seeing in the ambulance and the runs we were going on were people with food-based illness,” he says. “We were going to the same neighborhoods picking up the same people. It was all food-related and it was addiction-related and it weighed heavily on my spirit to know that there was this bigger problem.”

In response, Cochran and Gorman helped out at a local nonprofit, Our Community Place. The center operated as a soup kitchen and offered resources for those who were formerly incarcerated, or facing homelessness or addiction. There, the duo connected with area farmers, which inspired them to do an organic agricultural internship. After graduation, they continued to grow produce and sold it at the farmers’ market and co-op. They’d often bring hoards of potatoes, onions, and tomatoes door to door, offering them to nearby restaurants.

“It was really a big part of integrating so deeply into the community here,” Gorman says. “We [were] playing music at night and then living this totally different lifestyle during the day.”

The main venue they played was the Blue Nile, an Ethiopian restaurant whose basement served as a club. Opened by the Arefaine family, who immigrated to the United States in the wake of the Ethiopian civil war, the Blue Nile was a counter-cultural hub.

“The Nile was the only place that really was permissive to outsider music—alternative, punk, metal, hip-hop—being played live in their facility,” says former bar manager Paul Somers. “That really changed the music scene in Harrisonburg.”

Somers took over in 2014 and reopened as The Golden Pony the following spring. Gorman and Cochran helped Somers book and promote shows—and even created a Harrisonburg guidebook for touring bands rolling through town.

“It showcases where their hearts are when it comes to live music, you know, it’s not just about them,” Somers says. “It’s about the whole scene and the larger scheme of bands that they see and know and believe in, and think that other people should appreciate.”

The duo took it a step further by booking The Golden Pony as Illiterate Light’s home base and doing several shows a year at the venue. After extensive touring across the United States, the band had a reputation for its high-energy performances and unusual setup, so it wasn’t uncommon for these shows to sell out.

“It’s always cool to put on a show with them because we know it’s going to be this huge, utterly cathartic rock and roll,” says Somers. “Every- one’s just moving and dancing and surging with the music.”

 

Jeff Gorman and Jake Cochran push positivity through raucous tunes and a holistic approach to their lives as musicians, supporting big-picture solutions through volunteerism, environmentalism, and mentoring. Image: Joey Wharton

Magical musical universe

Gorman sings lead vocals and plays guitar and a “foot bass.”

“There’s some tap dancing that’s going on; I’m actually hitting a big keyboard with my feet as we play and then I run that through its own bass,” he says. “It’s its own little universe that I’ve created.”

Meanwhile, Cochran plays a stand-up drum kit, taking a normal drum kit and raising it up higher. He stands on his left leg and plays the kick drum with his right foot.

“It started out as a very visual change. Jeff and I, as two people, really want to be able to interact. The way I decided to do that was to bring the drum kit up front and one time I just tried kicking the stool out and standing up,” Cochran says. “It was a fun way to trade energy and we set up right on the edge of the stage so it’s in your face—and drums are very rarely that forward.”

After establishing a signature live sound, the duo had to figure out how to harness that same energy in the studio. Richmond artist Charlie Glenn (The Trillions, Palm Palm) connected them with Adrian Olsen, producer and owner of Montrose Recording in Richmond, and they set to work on Illiterate Light’s first full-length LP.

“The main critique I had heard coming into recording Illiterate Light was that they sounded massive live, but the recordings they had done up to that point didn’t represent the sound they had developed live,” Olsen recalls. “So my approach was to have them play live in the studio and go for as much of a maximalist approach as possible—lots of room mics and amps…Jeff usually gets a pretty epic pedalboard going with I’d say upwards of 40 pedals at his feet if I had to guess.”

The duo’s work with Glenn and Olsen caught the attention of another stalwart on the Richmond scene—Tyler Williams. While Williams might be best known as the drummer for The Head and the Heart, he’s also worked with Lucy Dacus and was seeking another local project to champion, so he  checked out one of the duo’s shows at the Richmond venue The Camel.

“I immediately was taken by the energy on stage when I walked into The Camel,” says Williams. “It just felt like there was like an electricity in the room…that’s the first sign when you know that something is happening with a music artist. You feel it in the room. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever felt to magic.”

As the band propelled forward, Williams took off with them in a management capacity. It wasn’t long before major labels came knocking, and Illiterate Light signed to Atlantic, releasing its self-titled label debut last year.

Illiterate Light’s self-titled debut was released in October 2019 by Atlantic Records, further propelling the Harrisonburg duo from house band at The Golden Pony into the national spotlight. Image: Joey Wharton

Shining their light

In 2020, the band launched an ongoing series that captures live performances from past shows called “In the Moment: Illiterate Light Live.” One of the series’ most featured venues is The Golden Pony. This nod to Harrisonburg isn’t the only way Gorman and Cochran continue to acknowledge the community that made them.

Professor Joseph “Ojo” Taylor remembers Gorman as a student in the music industry program at JMU.

“My songwriting class is where we get our hands dirty, you know, get under the hood and really analyze a lot of songs,” Taylor explains. “[Gorman] stood out to me initially because he just had a depth and an interest and passion for this that a lot of students don’t have right away.”

Gorman and Cochran keep in touch with Taylor, guesting during class workshops, sharing what they’re working on, giving students an insight into life as a nationally touring band. Before COVID-19, the duo would often invite students to shows or offer mentorship over a cup of coffee.

“The way that they create community and support their community is the thread that binds their whole vision together,” says Williams. “You know, we are on a major [record] label, but we still use the same video- graphers from Harrisonburg that have always made their videos…Virginia makes them who they are and they want to give back.”

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Arts

Over hard: Punk band Fried Egg goes beyond its hardcore roots

One week before the winter solstice, the weather is nasty in Charlottesville and it’s cold as fuck inside Magnolia House. The four members of hardcore punk band Fried Egg—guitarist Tyler Abernethy, bassist Sam Richardson, drummer Sam Roberts, and vocalist Erik Tsow—sit on mismatched couches and chairs in the dim living room of the DIY venue where Roberts lives and books shows. Richardson and Tsow drove in from Richmond, as they regularly do.

There’s an old piano in one corner, and a crucified Mikey Mouse, a Buddha figurine, a couple of Kermit the Frog dolls, and other miscellany on the mantle. Neat rows of show posters are taped to the robin’s-egg blue walls.

The band members crack open cans of beer and flavored seltzer and take turns leaning into the weak waft from an old space heater. Tsow blows into his hands to keep them warm.

Fried Egg shares some band lore before getting to the music. How the band started in late 2014 with Daniel Berti on guitar; how they had to cancel their first shows when Roberts broke his wrist; how Abernethy joined after Berti’s departure. The sick shows they’ve played to 15 people, 150 people. The long drives on two hours’ sleep; the fragrant one past a garlic farm; and the foul one past industrial livestock facilities.

There’s the time they kicked off a West Coast tour drinking beers on top of an inactive volcano in Portland; the time their borrowed van had a shitty radio and A/C that died in Death Valley. There was a show hosted by a guy too old to be living in his mom’s basement, where Fried Egg played to maybe 10 people, through a crap PA, and made $30…but the next night, in Washington, D.C., they met bands they’ve shared bills and music and camaraderie with ever since.

The newest Fried Egg story is about the recording of the band’s first full-length LP, Square One, to be released in the coming weeks on Richardson’s Feel It Records label.

It almost didn’t happen, they say. Or, more accurately, Square One almost didn’t exist as it does.

After recording and releasing a number of shorter projects—The Incredible Flexible Egg flexi disc, the Delirium and Back and Forth EPs pressed to 7-inch records, the Beat Session Vol. 4 cassette, and the band’s contributions to the Fried Egg Mixtape cassette—the band took nearly two years to write (and in a couple cases rewrite) enough material for a full-length record.

When it came time to put the songs to tape (yes, analog), Fried Egg sought out Montrose Recording, a Richmond studio with plenty of allure. Built and run by father and son Bruce and Adrian Olsen, Montrose has some of the best gear on the East Coast, and its credits aren’t bad, either: Bruce engineered some seminal Richmond punk records, like White Cross’ What’s Going On? LP and Graven Image’s Kicked Out Of The Scene 7-inch, and Adrian (whose recent work includes records by indie rockers Lucy Dacus and Natalie Prass) had recorded a single for garage rockers The Ar-Kaics, and Richardson dug how it sounded.   

Montrose books a few months out, so Fried Egg nabbed two days in mid-September 2018 and set to playing shows and practicing their asses off; they wanted Square One to reflect the urgent energy of the band’s live performance, something that’s often difficult to achieve in a studio setting. “We were in really good shape to record” when the date came around, says Roberts.

That same weekend, Hurricane Florence was in really good shape to thrash the East Coast. Some meteorologists thought the storm might pummel Virginia, and Fried Egg considered postponing the session—located deep in northside Richmond and at the end of the gravel road, Montrose is the last building on its power line. When the power goes out, it’s out for days.

Fried Egg took a chance—the band had experienced worse on tour anyway—and it paid off. Florence slowed to heavy rain, the power stayed on, and Fried Egg laid down all nine songs on Square One in mostly first takes; Adrian mixed it the next day, with sci-fi film classics Forbidden Planet and Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla playing silently in the background for a bit of what he calls “visual inspiration for the Fried Egg sound.”

“It’s not often that I get to do an all-analog tape record from start to finish in two days,” says Adrian. “The immediacy and run-and-gun nature of the process was a lot of fun, which definitely fit the spirit of the project. In general…punk records should not be overcooked experiments anyways,” he says.

“It’s really good that we didn’t cancel because I don’t know if we could have gotten the same performance ever again,” says Roberts.

The result, aptly described on the Feel It Records Bandcamp page, is “a concise and unnerving album—one that echoes the anxiety, tension, and disenchantment running rampant through modern-day America.”

Behind the cover

The back cover art for Square One “ties thematically, lyrically” to the music, says Fried Egg vocalist and lyricist Erik Tsow, who came up with the idea. Artist Jason Lee drew a nine-panel comic in which each square shows someone going through daily life, experiencing some measure of suffering. “It starts and ends in the same place,” back at square one, says Tsow, an illustration of “feeling like certain things in your life come together and others totally fall apart, feeling like you’re in the same place all the time.”

Song titles indicate a bit of what Tsow growls about: “Bite My Tongue,” “Apraxia” (loss of the ability to perform certain learned movements), “Grin and Bear.” “Lyrically, I use Fried Egg to concentrate on what frustrates me in my life,” says Tsow, and every song on Square One touches on “an inability to communicate how you feel.”

And while Fried Egg plays hardcore punk, it’s not “hardcore with a capital-H” punk, says Tsow.

After putting down straightforward hardcore roots on earlier recordings, Fried Egg branches out on Square One, letting stoner rock and noise rock—and the confident ambition captured in album cuts from experimental artists like Captain Beefheart—influence its music. It’s not what a listener might expect from hardcore punk, and that’s part of the point, a defining feature of what the band constantly refers to as the “Fried Egg vibe.”

Square One’s music, lyrics, and cover art is all “pretty intentional,” but it’s not formulaic, says Richardson. It’s not “programmed for other people” or “pandering to just our genre” in order to attain some sort of status, sell a certain number of records, or tour Europe at a loss just to say they did, he adds.

In Roberts’ opinion, a good punk band expresses a singular identity wherever and whenever it’s making music. “There are so many different times, and places, but people are always expressing their shit, their frustrations, their issues,” he says. “Or they’re just copying someone else who’s expressing their frustrations,” he quips, to laughter from his bandmates.

No one who hears Fried Egg would think it’s copying another band. “I think it comes pretty easy that we just do our own fucking thing,” says Roberts as the band members head into the other room and switch on their amps.

Square One “is our band. This is our record,” says Richardson. “This is what we’re doing, this is what we are. It’s deep in a lot of ways…it’s coming from more of a gutsy place.”

 


Fried Egg plays Magnolia House on January 9. The band will have cassettes of its gutsy first full-length, Square One, available for purchase.