This entry is categorized under “Noise Consultations” because that’s where all the feature-based writing tends to end up. But the story of Steverino – who he is, how I met him, and how it is that this guy actually exists, probably deserves its own category. Nevertheless, I’d like to introduce you to Steve Hayes, who performs under the name “Steverino.” As foreshadowing to this story, it might be relevant to add that I made the graphic above from a picture Steve uses as the background on his website. The file is called “steverino4u.jpg,” for what it’s worth. This tale of indescribable weirdness is 100% true.
Steverino is a stalwart gentlemen, roughly Roman in proportion, and in his plainclothes motif is conventional in fashion and appearance. He’s probably in his 50s, if I had to guess, with sandy and graying hair, spotted wrinkles and crevasses in his face. His casual wear generally consists of Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. Just a dude, ya know. I later found out he’s in some faction of the military. He has a flat tenor of a voice, sounding like a corn-fed laggard Midwestern boy, a product of growing up in parts of the country not intimately touched by the latest diffusion of innovations (or I have to assume). This explains a certain naivety or obliviousness that borders the pencil-thin line between endearing and obnoxious.
I first encountered Steverino in 2006. At the time, I was the promoter for The Dame in Lexington, Ky, a music venue that specialized in hosting indie rock, punk, alt country, and some hip-hop shows. On Monday nights, unless we had a national act coming in, The Dame would usually host an open mic night as a means to assuage the need to have some sort of music on a slower weeknight. Lots of white dudes playing shitty blues and acoustic covers was the usual fare.
The pervasive mood of stagnation and apathy was shattered one spring evening when Steverino came in to perform – and nothing was the same. This is not hyperbole – skies parted, food tasted differently, et al.
No one remembers when he and his friend came in, but we all certainly remember when they stormed the stage. Steverino brought with him a woman who doned an intense mullet about her dome and spoke with an airy, soft-spoken voice. They did not perform together on stage on the first night (or any subsequent evenings), but rather, it seems as if the ladyfriend was an “opener” for Steverino. An opener for your open mic gig is a ballsy move that I have to applaud. That first performance was described by one of the trusty barkeeps as something from a dream sequence in Twin Peaks.
The lady, Lee, sings quietly and about a half-octave under her background music – a blanket of Christian contemporary praise music, half of which is in German. We were quite astonished from seeing her for the first time. Nothing… nothing could have prepared everyone for what Steverino had to bring to the table.
Enter stage left… a shorter-than-average sized stocky man wearing a zoot suit, top hat with a radiant red feather that looks like something almost symbolic. He begins each song with the redundant phrase “write all these songs myself, and I wrote the music myself” (his version of Wesley Willis’ “Rock Over London, Rock On Chicago,” though I’m sure he has no idea who Wesley Willis is). He boogies, strikes an emotive stage presence, and sings karaoke-style over his own music. And his music? In essence, it’s a background of pre-produced, low-key, MIDI keyboard melodies and repetitive synthetic beats (which included samples of his own voice). On his MySpazz page, Steverino escapsulates his music thusly: “My taste for music is both in beauty and beat. I try to write my songs and compose his music with the best of both worlds. For example, the beat of Sugar Ray, but with the beauty of the music of Enya. My taste is diversified in the genres of pop rock, smooth jazz, rhythm ‘n’ blues, hip-hip [sic], some alternative rock, some southern rock, some hard rock, and some country rock.” He cites Al Jarreau, Seal, Chicago, and Outkast as other influences. Steverino “has also been impacted by a Japanse techno psychodelic [sic] music artist, Isao Tomita.”
His influences are, however, a bit far removed from his actual product (and for my money, better). As far as my personal assessment, think punchy dance beats that resemble some sort of downtempo, future shock-informed Devo with a touch of insanity by way of Daniel Johnston and zaniness by way of Frank Zappa (sans the commentary), all wrapped in a rainbow-tinged, David Lynch-crafted Molotov cocktail of bizarro lounge singers-cum-prophets who have seen the true face of God. His songs are all love songs – written sincerely, but all radiate an air of creepiness that Gary Wilson mastered in his pinning for the mysterious “Linda.” My journalism B.A. did no justice in trying to comprehend, much less describe, the ethereal, astonishing shit I had just witnessed that night. It was truly Biblical.
Fascinated, I run after him. I had to get this guy’s contact information, so I asked for his e-mail address. He obliged and wrote it down on a cocktail napkin… twice (”just in case” he said cryptically). Since that debut, Steve became a staple of open mic nights, and my friends started to come out to see what I was talking about.
At this point, it’s worth noting that during my visits with Steverino during his rise to open mic stardom, I discovered that his performances were not exactly performance art – he didn’t create some kitsch stage persona. No facade, no pretension. The “Steverino” of the stage is the real Steve Hayes, and “Steverino” is his earnest attempt to be a pop star.
Steverino’s candidness in tandem with his complete lack of awareness creates this serendipitous, curious brilliance that makes him and his music really fascinating (to the right person, of course). Steverino does not understand that his music, though elementary in the way The Shaggs were elementary, is truly intriguing… though he probably wants his music to be cool or popular, not intriguing. There is certainly an audience for this, especially the kids into noise and who might listen to WFMU.
Never once was he made fun of (intentionally) by us, our regular Monday night patrons, or our friends – we all thought Steve was decidedly awesome. Irwin Chusid, author of Songs in the Key of Z called this “outsider music,” a small faction of musicians who play honest songs way too far outside conventional performance and scope for the masses. Some could go as far as to say that they live in their own universe. However, such esoteric music garners a cult audience interested in something entirely against the grain, even visionary, while building a sympathy to the artist’s endearing demeanor. Steve is outsider music to the Nth degree.
In June of that year, the club’s general manager and I decided that the rest of the world needed to know about Steverino and his fruits. I called him inquiring about a performance, to which he agreed. I labeled this show as “A Truly Cosmic Concert Experience” because, well, that was the most concise way of describing it. Then things got really weird…
I added the show to the website with a fairly generic public domain image next to the show details. Steverino calls within five minutes. “I don’t understand, that’s not me.” Okay, then. So I tell Steve to send me some photos of himself. He calls later to let me know that he e-mailed me “three fabulous pictures.” He sent three files with the same picture – one in color, one B&W, and one in color that didn’t look any different than the first one.
While I had him on the phone, I asked him if Lee, his mulleted companion, could open the show, respecting their traditional open mic protocol. I, evidently, mistakenly called her his wife. “No, she’s not my wife, she’s just my friend… and you need to make sure that everyone knows that she’s just my friend. I am single!” Okay Steve, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re on the market.
Within the week, Steverino requested a wireless mic, so that he can traverse about the tables, and possibly sing on the bar. We had to rent a wireless mic. At the open mic the week before Steve’s headlining show, Lee pulls me aside and mentions that her name, despite the fact that her heinous Christian karaoke is the opening act, should not be mentioned on the website, calendar, newsletter, or any other promotional material. “Why?” I ask. “Well, Steve has a serious ego. He’s a star, you know.” Yes, he sure is, Lee.
The day before the show, Steve took a huge stack of events calendars, circled the square with his date on it using a Sharpie I provided him, and took them to his friends and cohorts. He also requested a lengthy sound check. So at this juncture, questions starting racing through my mind: what kind of friends does Steve have? And what the fuck is actually going to go down on June 27, 2006?
Well, this video will give you some idea:
Cue the night of the show. We opened the doors at 8 p.m. People usually don’t show up until an hour or so after doors for a local artist. But this wasn’t an average evening, and Steve’s friends were waiting outside for the doors to open. I kinda assumed, judging by appearance, that these were probably Steve’s church friends (all in their Sunday best, of course). They probably weren’t the type who appreciate Jandek, and they probably came out to support Steve without knowing exactly what he did.
It turns out that he didn’t have enough material for the 45-minute slot he was granted. Instead of taking his bow and exiting the stage though, Steve asked if anyone had requests – that is to say, if anyone wanted to hear any of the songs again. At this point, the Baptist congregation left, but my friends and various stragglers were still around shouting track numbers “play six,” “do three again!” And he obliged until after midnight. This next level astral theater was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen there (up there with the time Mogwai partied with us after their show and their merch guy ended up in a tree shouting curses at each passerby).
Since then, Steverino released an album, Sweet Perswazion. A true soft rock meets outsider music artisan with an acumen for pandemensional music, his debut is nothing less than oddball interstellar brilliance, a monumental gander at the “other side,” if you will. Listening to Steverino’s enchanting canticles of lovelorn whimsy and longing will provoke your brain to take a voluminous shit.
He still plays in Lexington to my knowledge (supposedly at his last show, he called upon the crowd to “bring on the new age”), and maybe this post will generate some interest in him elsewhere, too. I also anticipate Steve finding and reading this entry sometime soon, as he strikes me as the type of guy that would Google himself. Whether he will understand how my adoration is different than perhaps the type of fan sycophancy he seeks – well, that’s another story.
I started a FaCeBoOk group for Steve not to long ago. I encourage you to join if you can dig on some “Candy Mint.” Also, you should venture over to Steverino’s website. It’s pretty great, and rather revelatory. If you read the fine print at the bottom, his music is supposedly registered in the Library of Congress. In a perfect world, that certainly would be the case.
MP3 :::
Steverino – Candy Mint
