by Ryan Scammell

photos by Katy Rosenberg

Three years after Buddha’s Belly congealed in the dorm rooms of Willard Hall, the band took their show where nether a college band has gone before (at least not to my knowledge, but I’m trying to make a point). The Belly took it straight downtown and onto the stage at the House of Blues to headline HOB’s Amateur Night. So I hear, the night was an absolute success, and the Belly had the crowd dancing like crazy hippies at a Phish show. Ryan Scammell, the band’s best friend, light man, and favorite curly haired film major was there…

…The next thing I know, every band member on stage is literally jumping up and down as they play the hits of James Brown’s “Pass the Peas” during the encore. The audience lights are flashing, and more than 1,000 fans are bouncing with them. You can literally feel the floor rising and lowering like a wooden trampoline. The experience is so overwhelming, it left me wondering, "How did we ever get here?"

I’d been doing the lightshow for Buddha’s Belly since their first Nevin’s Live show back in the winter of 2001, a few months after the band had originally formed. Playing House of Blues is quite the step up for five guys from Northwestern that have been hopping around Midwestern bars, drunken frat parties, and basements at random nearby schools.

Since that Nevin’s gig, they’ve been bringing their groove funk sound all around Chicago’s neighboring cities. They’ve rocked out at King Club in Madison, Club Soda in Kalamazoo, and Onopa Brewing Company in Milwaukee, among others.

But THIS is different. House of Blues is another whole level of venue. Those places pack at most three, maybe four hundred. House of Blues packs 1,300. I usually run a lightboard with 10 lights; here I have over 150. I know this is the band’s biggest gig they’ve had to date. The band knows this is the biggest gig they’ve had to date. No one could possibly guess, though, that 1,115 fans will show.

Nevin’s Live – March 13th, 2002

It’s the CD Release Party for the Belly’s first album “Waking up Ugly.” The cover depicts, lying face down on the couch, a man wearing what appears to be a sweater, but is, in fact, an inhuman amount of back hair. The album title is appropriately shaved into the man-beast’s thick cape of fur. He’s a friend of ours, fittingly nicknamed Quatch (short for Sasquatch).

Nevin’s is absolutely packed. Something around 200 people have shown up to see Buddha’s Belly, a local band of five Northwestern students—three of them music majors, one just graduated. They’ve started to establish a name around campus playing large frat parties (Fiji Funhouse and ZBT Fence-In) and the local bars (1800 Club, The Keg, etc.).

Evan, the saxophonist, is celebrating his 21st birthday and the Belly has been preparing new songs, ready for their first real “show.” During a drum solo, Matt Golden (the guitar player’s brother) comes on stage wearing a creation of his—a full-body jumpsuit with a blinking heart at the center and electric wire veins running the length of his arms and legs. The veins blink in rhythm with the drums. It’s called the heart suit. The band is on fire.

They call up former-singer Caitlin McKechney to sit in on Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man.” It’s a kind of bittersweet reunion. I think of how far the band has come since it was forged just one year ago.

Willard Room #121 (although known as 409) – Winter Quarter 2001

Everyone’s getting drunk. The six of them—that is, Caitlin McKechney (vocals), Pete Wojtowicz (bass), Evan Cobb (sax), Cory Hills (drums), Eric Miller (trombone), and the newest member of the still unnamed band Dan Golden (guitar) (who replaced Lee Rothenberg)—are trying to figure out what to name their new band.

Dan suggests “Good One, Shaggy.” Pete wants to name the band “Sketchy Steve and the Hitchhiker Seven” (because there are six of them—get it?).

The idea for the band was one that Evan and Miller toyed around with in orchestra rehearsal. They brought in Cory and Pete who were also music majors, later Caitlin to add vocals, and finally Dan for guitar.

They decide on the name “Buddha’s Belly” (Caitlin’s wearing one of those Rub-my-tummy-for-good-luck Buddha shirts). The name sticks even after Caitlin and Cory drop out of the band a few months later.

Over the summer, the Belly replaces Cory with Jason Hanggi, while they record the soundtrack for a student film. Jason plays well with them and brings a new dynamic; they ask him to stay.

First day of school – September 1999

Two guys come to my door. One looks like a giant cartoon bear. They introduce themselves. We laugh. Later in the day, we have a stupid getting to know you thing. One guy says as his introduction: “Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be an astronaut, so my mom told me to play the oboe. I’m a music major.” I say to myself, “I want to be friends with these guys.” They turn out to be Dan, Pete, and Evan. We all live on the same floor.

Practice Space – January 27th, 2003

There’s been more laughing than music for the past 15 minutes. Miller grabbed Pete’s ass as a joke. Evan keeps asking me to exchange shoulder punches (the momentary pain makes us forget our desire for cigarettes—we quit only the previous day).

Dan still looks like a giant cartoon bear. Evan’s trying out sounds with the new pedal he got for his saxophone. The pedal will harmonize his notes up a 4th, down a 4th, etc. He farts into his saxophone, hoping that the pedal will harmonize his fart.

Underneath it all: “House of blues” whispered the walls. “House of blues.” Two girls, friends of Jason’s and his roommates’, bring down a plate of brownies for us. Jason pauses playing the drums to receive his brownies, then passes them around as more homoerotic humor ensues.

There’s an excitement in the room, an electricity aside from the new halogen lamp illuminating this most important rehearsal. “House of Blues” echoing in the crack-fizz of a beer can opening.

They’re running through “Trance for Sir Fancy Pants.” Dan is suggesting they change the second break. There’s a general consensus that something ought to be altered, but there’s just too much to be done.

I think about all the lights they’re going to have at House of Blues. They decide to cut out a few measures at the end of the second drop. Pete’s been wondering what the back of House of Blues’ famous patchwork curtain looks like.

Technical shit: We talk about the logistics of getting a van for the Spring Break East Coast tour. Dan discusses issues with getting the live CD finished. Discussions of booking. Miller makes a joke.

On the way out, the furnace hisses…”House of Blues.”

Return from the confusing time travel: House of Blues – Feb.1st, 2003:

We sound-check at 4 p.m. after a quick run through of “Pablo’s Red Wagon.” Everyone’s been trying not to think about the approaching evening. Don’t want to get too excited just yet.

The back stage dressing room has a fridge stocked with beers, sodas, waters, etc. There are showers in the dressing room. I feel like a kid in a candy store. (Dan makes a good point: I don’t shower at home, why am I excited to find a shower in the dressing room?)

Dan’s brother Matt has come from San Francisco to see the show. A couple friends from Wisconsin are driving down to see it. There are three bands on before the Belly finally takes the stage.

We try and find something on TV to watch to pass the time (can’t decide between high school basketball and some awful Van Damme flick). We mill about the room taking moments to walk out to the third floor balcony and watch whatever band is playing below, see how the crowd is thickening up. We’re expecting 400, maybe 500 to show. It feels interminable.

And then, all of a sudden, after wading through the jelly of anticipation, it’s begun. Belly starts playing “Red Head” as the curtain is opening. It’s fast, exciting, and positive. The energy is blowing on stage in light and sound. By the first peak, it’s clear. Everyone’s hooked up.

The set flies by in the haze of a surreal interconnectedness and insuppressible energy. Six guys and a thousand fans carried off by the chariot of a moment, driven by a transient and ever-changing set of harmonies. The self becomes lost within the community of sound. It’s oddly reminiscent of the Grateful Dead’s “The Music Never Stopped”:

Say, it might have been a fiddle,
or it could have been the wind.
But there seems to be a beat, now.
I can feel it in my feet, now.
Listen, here it comes again!
There's a band out on the highway.
They're high-steppin' into town.
They're a rainbow full of sound.
It's fireworks, calliopes and clowns --
Everybody's dancing.
Come on, children. Come on, children,
Come on clap your hands.
Sun went down in honey.
Moon came up in wine.
Stars were spinnin' dizzy,
Lord, the band kept us so busy
we forgot about the time.
People joinin' hand in hand
while the music plays the band.
Lord, they're setting us on fire.

You’d think that an event like this, for all the excitement and surpassed expectations, every instant would be etched into the corridors of your memory. You always imagine that the significant moments in your life you can play back like a video—recall every crowd member whose face you glanced over—every right note, every wrong one. But instead we remember the significant the same way we recall the useless—through fragmented images, half-developed snapshots:

Pete does a flying heel-click to re-enter the stage for the encore. Hanggi’s playing the drums so hard he has to stand up. Dan blows a kiss to Pete’s mom in the audience. In the middle of “Trance for Sir Fancy Pants” they bust into the Spice Girl’s “Wannabe” (Evan practiced it a cappella to our waitress at Hooters only hours before). The applause and screams mix to create an atomic explosion when the band breaks out of the drum solo in “O.S.U.B.” Dan throws his towel to the audience.

Time ticks on: 1705 Ridge Ave. Apt. 305 (also known as 409) – Feb. 2nd, 2003

We return home after the show. We’re all intent on getting loaded to celebrate, but everyone’s caught between the mental rush and the physical wipeout. All the friends that have showed to share in the celebration are giving compliments. No one in the band really knows what to say or how to respond about the show.

Pete eventually says, “This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.” I think we all agree.

For more Belly filling go to www.thebelly.net.

Ryan Scammell looks nothing like he did in high school. He can be reached at r-scammell@northwestern.edu.

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