In recent times, well after the crow’s feet have landed upon my aging face, I went back to school to become a journalist. Part of my academic responsibilities in my first semester with the Current was the production of a multimedia profile, and I chose to make a band the subject of my assignment.
After traversing the halls of the American River College Music Department, asking anyone with a hint of hippie in their cadence if they knew of any bands within profiling distance, I was supplementarily introduced to Analog Banana. Following some random footage and an interview, I then produced and published that profile, but a studio session doesn’t capture the gravitas of a live performance.
As curiosity is my greatest asset and worst enemy, I find live performances by Analog Banana with the benefit of their Instagram. Much to my appreciation, I had the pleasure of seeing their first show back in early August at the Orangevale Grange, opening for the band Red Voodoo.
The Orangevale Grange as venue grounds were encompassed by a large, sweeping grassy knoll, sloping gently down into the ravine below. Opposite the gravel parking lot exists spaces for vendors, in this case a barbeque truck and what appeared to be a medical tent. Being broke, I had no business smelling barbeque. This would only lead to disappointment.
The knoll itself sloped gently down into a ravine, where grasses had died in the unirrigated expanse of flood abatement. It was here that the band was set up, saved from the beating rays using canopy shade and a banner promoting “Orangevale Summer Nights,” the event where we all found ourselves.
It was one of the many days this past August where remaining in the heat outside for an extended period of time was a fool’s errand. It being Analog Banana’s first show, I couldn’t tell if their sweat was the product of their first live performance or the blistering Sacramento heat.
Before I get into their performance, I should disclose my biases. I’ve never interviewed a band myself. I’ve seen family friends play live, and I’ve had a bassist brush me off on a San Francisco street corner as I tried to express admiration, but that’s the extent of it. The joy that I got from recording the profile piece is something that I look back on fondly.
The fact that I still encounter their lead vocalist Samantha Miller working at the ARC coffee shop when I purchase overpriced bottles of gatorade lends itself to my connection with the group. Their guitarist/saxophonist Thomas Buethe appears to play a leadership role, no doubt a product of his previous band experience. His cadence, hairstyle and respect for his craft reminds me of John Gourley from the “Waiter, You Vultures” era from the band Portugal. The Man.
They all are clearly professional musicians, and that profile I had published only captured rudimentary technical aspects of music recording and performance, so watching talent develop in living color is something I have difficulty criticizing.
It is, however, my job to critique. I noticed the small missteps in their rhythm when those infrequently emerged. It was hot, like mid-August Sacramento hot, and I could see when the string performers’ grips slipped. I also saw that when those instances occurred, they hardly lost a beat. The coordination, practice and skill of the band made these minor inconsistencies disappear as soon as they emerged.
The cover songs they performed included, among other things, Stevie Wonder. I would consider this a risky venture for any vocalist, no matter the range, but only if they went in with the foolhardy decision to duplicate him. Miller’s vocal range in the songs weren’t tethered to the originals, but offered a sound just as ranged, yet slightly more subtle. It was as if designed to remain closer to the band’s collective sound, rather than a boisterous and blustering doppelgänger of the original artist’s album recordings.
When they were mercifully allowed to leave the scalding stage, I left the event with a further appreciation for the band as well as an unbridled lust for air conditioning. As I left the venue, I recall hearing a woman say “They would be great at a winery,” an idea that was no doubt inspired both by the band’s relaxed performance style as well as this woman’s dixie cup chardonnay.
In the more recent past, on Oct.18, they appeared at another gig in a venue called The Press Club in Midtown. The club is housed in a nondescript beige building, tame in tone against the backdrop of the loud design from the adjacent Hot Boys Chicken Shop as well as the streetlight shenanigans that make up any late night in a big city.
Taking a step in the front door, you’re greeted to a surprisingly well-lit bar with circular columns wrapped in running light, creating an illusion of class then marginalized by the presence of scene kids.
The venue itself, specifically the hall behind the bar where the music is performed, has the vibe of a high school basketball court converted for a school dance. A vibe expanded through sneaker stained maple floorboards and Christmas lights strewn through exposed and blackened steel structural rafters.
Analog Banana’s half-hour set featured more originals than their set in Orangevale. Although the unique approach to cover songs is appreciated, their mix of psychedelic, yacht and indie styles of rock lends itself more to modern sounds than it does to the classics. For example, their cover of “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding, while entertaining and well performed, limits the capacity of the band.
The originals felt more crisp this time around, and as such more appropriate for an enclosed venue such as The Press Box. Their uptempo and aggressive songs like “Let Me Go”, a song yet unpublished and can only be seen live at this time, enveloped my ever-decaying eardrums without becoming a wailing blur that may be found from other hard rocking bands. A significant portion of the credit goes to the rhythm section composed of bassist Joseph Piper and drummer Guillermo De La Torre, who seemed to be in uncompromised lockstep.
It’s important to mention their keyboardist/guitarist and resident jack-of-all-instruments Nick Spiess. His keyboard accompaniment helps to differentiate their music from being just another rock group in a river city that embraces the three piece guitar-bass-drum combo fanatically.
The penultimate song of their set, and the only single currently released called “Runaway,” showcased the intricacy of their performative abilities between the guitarists. Myself being physically closer than I was at their last show, I could observe how Thomas and Nick played together. Hearing the recording of their single, it’s easy to assume that a single guitar is playing some intricate lick, but it was in fact two guitars played in precise unison.
To witness artists develop, adding further songs to their catalog while growing sharper and more aligned as the months progress, is exciting as much as it is entertaining. Many may expect music to be perfected through relentless practice in a garage, awaiting the neighbor’s call to the police citing noise ordinances, but Analog Banana’s growth has been supplemented through the education they are pursuing in music. It speaks volumes to the value of the music program at ARC, and speaks even higher to the gift of tenacity in the creation of art.
