Bela's Basement

Fuck the numbers, with "Midnight Run" by Connections

If this band claimed their biggest influence was anything other than Guided by Voices, I’d smirk like I used to in the ‘90s when an act on Tooth & Nail would say they weren’t a Christian band. But unlike being a Christian Rocker, there’s no shame in sounding like Guided By Voices. If you’re ripping with abandon from a basement in Ohio paying homage to your home-state heroes, all the better.

Okay, I don’t know if they recorded this in a basement, but that’s where I first encountered Connections. Not at a show, but down below Bela Koe-Krompecher’s house in Columbus.

I loved Bela’s book Love, Death & Photosynthesis, and after reaching out to tell him that, we made friends on our cellphones. When I was headed to Columbus for a show this past summer, I reached out to see if he’d like to meet up in the flesh. We had pastries and coffee at his kitchen table the morning after the gig, and then Bela told me he wanted to send me home with some records.

Bela’s basement is the de facto warehouse for his label, Anyway Records. It’s perfectly midwestern Ohio, but could also be Minneapolis or Bloomington, and it’s a mess. When he creaks down the steep steps, he doesn’t acknowledge or apologize for this. Everything down there is one of three things: a spider web, a set of electronic drums, or an LP.

Bela high-stepped some boxes to get to a shelving unit against the back wall. The morning light was coming in just right. He gathered a stack of records, Midnight Run by Connections among them.

The album sat in my To Listen crate for a while, and if I’m honest, it’s the only record from the pile Bela gave me that’s made it onto the turntable so far. It was the artwork that drew me in, which looks a little bit Rick Fork, a little bit Dischord.

It ended up being my most played record of 2023. It’s the only album which made Mal, who has eternal patience, eventually say, “Okay, I’m ready to hear something else.” But if you asked her if she likes it, I bet she’d say yes. So would baby Walker if she could talk, I’m sure of it.

I know nothing about this band. I don’t know the name of any band members. On the back cover there’s what appears to be a photo caption saying that from left to right you’ve got guitar, vocals, another guitar, bass, and drums, but oddly there are no names and no picture of the band. I peeped their Spotify profile briefly and saw that they have nearly zero listeners and several more albums, including one that came out recently. I’ve only listened to these 14 songs, which all fit on a single LP, god bless them.

As I spun the record the first several times, it gave me some discomfort. It wasn’t the music, which I loved immediately, but something was itching. Eventually, I identified it as a second guessing: Was I wasting my time getting into a record virtually no one else was listening to, by an unknown band who will almost certainly remain that way forever? Pinpointing that feeling was not a highlight of the year, but ranks high on my list of Best Wake-Up Calls. Adam, ya dumbass, what have you become?

I’m not saying that Connections are solely responsible for me finally getting off Spotify and moving to Apple Music for my digital listening, but the lack of numbers has been a revelation.

Okay! So listen, there’s this lo-fi band from Columbus called Connections, who have been putting out records for a decade. This year, I discovered one from 2016 called Midnight Run, and you should get into it with me.

Some favorite songs and moments: “Month to Month,” especially the bend at the 2:14 mark. “Weapons,” showcasing the band at their most GBVy but also very Superchunky. “ABCDE,” with its surprise keyboards at the end. I think someone’s guitar is out of tune on “John from Cincinnati,” and I wouldn’t have it any other way. When the second chorus hits one octave up in “All In All,” I start to wish again that Connections were less underground, that I could go to a show and sing along with a massive crowd.

If you’ve ever wanted your Guided By Voices a bit more punk, and if you can somehow inexplicably imagine what that might sound like brewed with Denton Texas’s unsung heroes Centro-matic and The Baptist Generals, this record is for you.

The album’s got bits of many things I love, but the clincher, as always, is whoever the fuck this guy is who’s singing. I hardly know what he’s saying. The vocals are low in the mix, there’s no insert with lyrics, and the internet does not seem to know they exist. My younger ears might have plucked all the words out, but now I’m just making shit up. I’m sure he and I are singing the same thing here and there, but I’m okay being wrong about the lyrics. There’s no one paying attention to correct me. The only person thanked in the minimal liner notes is Bela.

NEW INFLUENCERS:

The first things moving me this year include: Goth: A History by Lol Tulhurst (and re-listens of early Cure records), Jessica Hopper’s The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic: Revised and Expanded Edition, and The Holdovers, which is good like everyone’s saying, and yes of course Paul Giamatti is a killer, but this young actor Dominic Sessa deserves some fawning, too.