Places, Everyone: Display
Posted by: zac | From: January 15, 2005
To listen to it now must be sort of like how people talk about that first Modern Lovers record--as great as it sounds, you know it's not what it was meant to be. It's not what you heard in those living rooms and weird clubs and that practice space. It's sterile. It's too perfect. It's too stiff. It's too... something. And then I end up feeling like that guy who won't shut up about how nobody understands Black Flag unless they saw them play in his cousin's basement in the summer of 1984. But really, you just had to be there. You had to see it.
Display was a band that existed for what I'm going to estimate to be about two years (if memory serves, I'm having a difficult time distinguishing between winters all of a sudden) in the poorly insulated storage facilities of Everett, Washington--the town where I was born, raised, and educated in the subtle art of humility. It was after I left for the big city that Display took shape--the spill-over of several musical implosions (most notably, another former three piece called the Past) Display was born of three oppressively familiar faces from my teenage years: one my best friend, one the kid brother of the girl I lost my virginity to, and the third a long-time acquaintance-turned late companion just prior to my exit. Jeremy Cooper (guitar/vocals) and Danny Moore (drums/percussion) had been members of my first band, the ill-fated slowcore three-piece Gestalt (only the Krautiest, I assure you), and while Danny's patience was stretched beyond limit with that project, I somehow coerced Jeremy to be in another band with me briefly--that one a little more successful--called Swastika Girls. But Swastika Girls was merely a fling, and Jeremy's heart never once left Display.
After over a half year in seclusion, Display played their premiere show at the first Slender Means Society show. The stage was a wash of pretty blinking lights from their endless assortment of irrationally expensive effects pedals. At one point during the set, they simultaneously brushed their teeth. This was a lot cooler than it probably sounds. Display was my favorite band.
With the exception of Danny's girlfriend Emily--who diligently taped nearly every show--I may have seen Display play more than anyone in Seattle. Which is to say, any one at all. Some particularly memorable shows include, but are not limited to: a show played with Swastika Girls in the driveway of a keg party in Lynnwood, WA; the show played at the second floor bar of the Experience Music Project, wherein which Jeremy climbed atop of his amp and nearly plummeted to his death; a basement show in Portland--the only show outside of Washington--where they played a Silver Apples cover as Die Monitrr Batss set fire to their own 7"; the show at the Manor house, also with Swastika Girls, for Eric Yates' birthday party; the Pho Bang (drag cabaret) show that questioned Danny's sexuality; the Capitol Hill Block party show that I had to listen to from behind the gate; the record release show that wasn't; the many drunken evenings at Sit and Spin; etc.
Though their brief history was fraught with mis-fortune, Display existed long enough to hobble together what was theoretically a rather impressive 16 track studio, deemed People Operating (after a line in a Past song), that did little but cause the band endless headaches. After innumerable attempts to record their debut album on their own, the band decided to, somewhat tragically, throw in the self-recording towel in favor of a fancy studio production. Which became, again, something of a headache.
after months of delay, the band finally (and silently) released their one and only record--a self-titled opus cased in 4 pounds of glass, and hinged with... well, a metal hinge. the final recording, though masterfully performed, comes off a little cold on disc--Danny's drums paling their booming live performance, with both Jim Paschall and Jeremy's vocals occasionally tempered a bit from their on stage fury. but christ knows, it doesn't really matter--as no one who missed them live will probably ever hear it anyway.
the true tragedy of Display happened just over a year ago, as Jeremy abruptly curbed their trajectory at the onset a personal breakdown. Within a few months, he had moved to Portland, and Display was gone forever--no tour, no audience, no justice. As far as I know, the band still has a number of copies of their record (played without overdubs, by the way) available for purchase--and though it may pale in comparison to the moments that they were the Greatest Band of All Time, it is more than worthy of your consideration.
The thing about Display that informed a lot of the love for them at the time was, for me at least, a sense of hope. This was like in 2001-2003 if I'm not mistaken, more or less, and was contemporary with the rise and subsequent PR explosion of bands like Liars, the Rapture v2.0, Radio 4 etc. So to have three dudes, genuinely dudes, not men, not boys, not superstars, not fashionistas, not record label interns, just dudes play this amazing music that was removed and then not so removed from this hip record reissue inspired bands with vintage clothing employee appeal was just refreshing. I mean here were the real nerds, the guys who don't go to parties and instead just sit in some storage locker on Saturday nights coming up with crazy feedback, coming to take what was their's and wash the rest away. That's what I really thought.
I really thought that maybe, just maybe, in the wake of the death of Murder City and Botch that the Slender Means-Loss Leader fellowship would replace the stagnant and stylish cocaine and cheap beer fueled Seattle rock scene. To be comitted to Display was to be comitted to a deeper kind of cultural insurrection. We had inside agents, we had the tools and the talent.
Now, of course this seems naive on my part now and certainly shows a good degree of ignorance to both the history of my adopted town and to the power of the ever present rock scene/Music Industry connection in Seattle. But there was a heavy sense of excitement at the time that Seattle would explode artistically in the mode of PDX (which we all admired greatly in our own ways).
So yes, I will most definetly be that guy who had the Melvins and Nirvana play his birthday party back in '88 some day.
Posted by: Scott at January 15, 2005 12:43 PM
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I do believe you've brought a tear to my eye. I miss that band...
Posted by: Zach M at January 15, 2005 02:27 AM