Shout Out Out Out Out celebrates 13 years
Members of dance-electro-punk band contemplate their rise on music scene
“We kind of totally blew our whole 10th anniversary thing,” the angular Willie Zimmerman was saying at the end of a long night down in 9910 under The Common.
Zimmerman, one-sixth of Edmonton’s long-running dance-electro-punk outfit Shout Out Out Out Out, says, well, if not 10 years, why not pull out the party for 13?
“That’s sort of how we roll,” he said with a smile.
Physical and intensely rhythm-driven by bass, drums and keyboards, Shout Out’s always been a name to drop from the weird list of Edmonton acts that made a difference beyond our city limits, including SNFU, Cadence Weapon, Corb Lund and more recent acts like July Talk, Purity Ring and Mac DeMarco.
Three albums, a Juno nom, a National Music Centre residency, three European tours and dozens of visits stateside are some proof of Shout Out’s impact.
And the band’s oral history includes being on a bill with The Police and Beastie Boys in Baltimore, plus a number of concert accidents.
Keyboard player Jason Troock once slipped down an emergency exit at a show. Bass guitarist Lyle Bell quit drinking for good after his infamous Wile E. Coyote spill at SXSW.
As for singer Nik Kozub: “I did split my head open on New Year’s Eve at the Citadel. I swung my microphone around and didn’t catch it. Still have a little scar there.”
As for the 13th birthday celebration (Friday and Saturday at 9910), Kozub says: “It feels kind of typical of our band to be that late.
“We thought it would be funny to do an 11th year. And then we didn’t do that, either. But 13 years kind of makes sense. So many of our songs are about having misfortune.”
Bell chimes in with a laugh: “Nice that you shoehorned that in there.”
While they’ve performed to as many as 15,000 people on huge stages, Shout Out’s been trying to play the modest Common/9910 enclave for years — their last booked date there was washed away by flooding.
Fingers crossed, “I like the idea of playing a smaller venue that’s similar to the size of venues when we started,” Kozub notes, listing off a graveyard of ghost venues from their origins, including Stars, Studio E, Sidetrack Café, Velvet Underground and Victory Lounge — all kaput.
“We also did the roller rink in the north end,” Clint Frazier, one of the band’s two drummers, laughs.
There’s something of a wedding planning vibe with the band sitting together at the club, reminiscing, deciding logistics.
“I think it’s fun,” says Gravy, the other drummer.
“I enjoy looking back.”
Bell admits: “Sometimes late at night I watch our old tour videos.”
Kozub steers many of the observations in this cheerful reunion, noting the band was actually an invasion of sorts into the electronic dance scene by a bunch of semi-clueless rockers and punks.
“We had no idea what we were doing, playing electronic music, dudes that played in rock band — kind of as a challenge to ourselves. There was a lot of actual technical knowledge we didn’t have at the time. Not enough knowledge about the music we were trying to play.”
Frazier notes they felt “a lot of stink eyes in the early days.”
He was 17 when the band started, and as their tour circle widened, he kept hitting a rising drinking age — 19 in Ontario, 21 in the states. But he’s sober now, too.
“I remember in Calgary,” Kozub continues, “this dude came up to me after and said, ‘OK, he’s playing keyboards, and he’s playing keyboards, he’s playing bass, and these guys are playing drums — what the f--k are you doing?’ He was willing to spend a long time invalidating my role in the band.”
Yet, Bell says, in those more naive early days, “It was kind of pure joy.”
“We were having so much fun it caught on,” Gravy adds, “and then we got kind of better.”
Notes Troock: “It was strange going along at the start — we’d recognize virtually everybody in the crowd. I always thought it was cool when I stopped recognizing people because it meant they were outside the obligation standpoint.”
“In hindsight,” says Kozub, “we did a lot better in the terms of public profile than we realized at the time. We did some pretty crazy s--t. My personal benchmark for success has always been being considered a peer by the other artists that I respect.
“I think we almost got there.” Adds Frazier: “At our peak popularity, we could sell out Lee’s Palace in Toronto two nights in a row.”
I ask the sharing circle if this means they’re not at their peak now, and everyone laughs. “Oh, you,” Frazier says in a granny voice.
“I have to admit,” says Kozub, “one of the reasons we don’t play very much, or write — at all — is I have it admittedly built up in my head that no one cares about our band any more.
“It always surprises me — we’ve done two shows at the Needle in the last year, and both of them were sold out. Maybe I’m wrong? But we haven’t been going hard … or reminding people we exist. Everyone is very active — just not doing this band.”
But 13 years kind of makes sense. So many of our songs are about having misfortune.
This is just scratching the surface, but Kozub and Troock run Normals Welcome, which has released 21 electro records sought around the world.
Both innovative photographers — Gravy and Bell are also power rockers Whitey Houston, while the latter fronts the Wet Secrets. Zimmerman and Frazier, meanwhile, make the hilarious electro duo Physical Copies, who smash together the words Saturday and Internet better than anyone on Earth.
Gravy muses: “That’s the hardest part about not playing, is not seeing these guys. I’ll see Lyle because Whitey’ll play. I’ll see Jay because we watch The Bachelor — oh, sorry for outing that.
“But it’s very rare to get all six of us together. Right now, Willie’s not even here.”
“But all of our utility belts start humming when we’re in the same building,” says Frazier.
Sometimes there’s talk of another recording, but Gravy says: “I don’t think it matters …”
“If we all end up in the same old age home?” laughs Frazier.
“I’m unwilling to say it won’t happen.”
This is Kozub. “But probably every time we’ve seen each other since 2012 we’ve talked about it and haven’t done it.
“With every album, we got more press and international praise and sold way less records. The bigger we got, the worse we did,” he laughs, “because of the climate of record sales in general.”
Right on cue, Bell chirps, “Well, can’t wait for the next one!”