The lead singer, Brenden Green, scares me even more. Donning more eyeliner than me (Correction: I don’t even know how to apply that shit), he screams sideways at the camera and writhes around, semi-spastic. The bass players, Jackson Atkins and Andy Meuwissen seem a tad tamer, but still...remind me why I invited these guys to dinner?
“Mayhem on the menu…with a possible side of debauchery,” Josh promises me when he confirms the date and time of our rendezvous.
The anxiety wasn’t so bad when Josh was the only one coming over. Then Cody, from Broccoli Management, called to say all of The Goondas wanted to get in on the interview. I couldn’t exactly say no…but I did take precautions by requesting an afternoon meetup (which gets rescheduled twice) and stocking my countertop with paper plates and plastic forks. No knives allowed. As for beverages: bottled water. Finally, I sent my daughters off on a playdate, despite their “We promise we’ll stay in our room!” pleas.
“Where’s your wild frontman?” I ask as soon as The Goondas walk through the door in one big clump of scruff and flip-flops. I’m sort of bummed the live wire of the band isn’t in attendance.
“We don’t know,” Cody says with a shrug. “He’s MIA.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” I ask.
“He’s probably with his girlfriend and too tired to come.”
“He probably lost his phone,” someone else suggests. (FYI: There's so many baritones in this group, I don't always know who's speaking.) “Or his girlfriend lost her phone."
“They might just be lost, period,” Josh scoffs.
“Does Brenden need a babysitter?” I ask. “He seems like he would be hard to control.”
I think back to the night I first witnessed The Goondas live at The Kitty Kat Club. During the show, Brendan swung the microphone stand around, jumped offstage and rolled around on the floor, then tied himself up in the curtains. By the end of their set, he’d stripped down to the bare minimum of clothing required by law in a public place. It was quite a sight. I'm surprised any of them are still alive considering the hundreds of similarly shocking shows The Goondas have done together.
“Actually, when the group first started, Brenden was a nervous Nancy,” the guys tell me. “He used to throw up onstage.”
“No way!” I say.
“Now she’s gonna write that!” Andy says anxiously. “Brenden might be mad.”
“Who cares? He’s not here,” Josh says sassily. I am digging his attitude more and more by the minute. Getting right down to business, Josh boils a pot of water and dumps a box of pasta into it. He turns and smiles, pushing his gaudy yellow glasses back onto his head. His sun-kissed locks are sticking straight up, perfectly disheveled. Knock me over with a drumstick. He is hot.
“We brought everyone so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable being here with only Josh,” Cody says, clearly misreading my come-hither body language.
“Yeah, what’s the deal?” I say. “Are you guys going to watch?”
The room goes quiet as though they can’t believe I just suggested something pornographic. Did I just do the impossible? Did I shock The Goondas?
“So,” I say, turning toward the delicious drummer, who is turning up the heat on the stove. “I was hoping you’d cook with your shirt off.”
“Ehh…” Josh says, suddenly shy. “We’ll see.”
Just in case the mood in the room isn’t uncomfortable enough, I ask about the guys’ relationship statuses.
“It’s bizarre,” Jackson says, reporting that he and Josh recently broke up with their girlfriends. (Yessssss!)
“Though not by our choosing,” Jackson adds. Andy and Brenden are now the attached ones.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, turning to Andy. “What’s your girlfriend like?”
He smiles shyly. “Um…she’s having a good time.”
“That makes it sound like you keep her locked up in a basement,” Cody scoffs.
It might not be too far fetched. Andy is a little nutty…and a tad neurotic in that adorable Woody Allen way. He refuses to wear white socks and is an “obsessive compulsive tooth brusher.”
“And what about Brenden’s girlfriend?” I ask.
“They’re a match made in hell.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re exactly alike. And they’re either pissed off…or they’re not. We figure out what’s happening through his lyrics.”
That must be one tumultuous relationship, because The Goondas specialize in hard-core, head-banging tunes. Andrea Swensson of The City Pages calls it “rail-whiskey cocktail of rockabilly, post-punk, and blues.” I call it addictive.
Andy hands me two of their CDs. On the cover of their album is a photograph of a nearly naked guy, seemingly giving himself a snuggie.
“Recognize anyone?” someone asks.
Andy gives me the slightest eyebrow wiggle.
“Andy’s the exhibitionist of the group,” Josh says.
I scan the titles of the tunes. With names like HPV and Devil Woman, these guys are pushing the envelope before the CD is even out of the case.
“So why haven’t you gotten much airplay?” I ask. “You are right up The Current's alley.”
Cody shrugs.
“We’re going to do a séance,” Josh says. “Dancing naked around a campfire should do the trick.”
Still in gift-giving mode, Andy hands me a bumper sticker that reads The Goondas are Good. I know right away where I want to put it. I only wish Josh would put it on me.
The Goondas are good. Perhaps too good. Offstage, they’re your stereotypical Midwestern boys. As in: cautiously polite.
A drink might loosen them up. The Goondas must’ve thought the same thing, as they arrived with a bottle of wine in hand (and here I’d pegged them as PBR Tall Boy kind of guys), but there’s just one problem: I don’t drink and thus, am in need of a corkscrew. (Oh, the pun potential there!)
“Can’t one of you open it with your teeth?” I ask.
“If Brenden were here, we’d make him do it,” Jackson says. He checks his phone for the umpteenth time, looking utterly exhausted. Or bored. “Whose idea was it to do this at high noon anyway? When Josh called me this morning, I’d just gone to bed.”
“I like waking up!” Josh says, dropping garlic and onion into a sizzling skillet. “Shit. I may have put too much in. When we sweat during the show tonight, it’s gonna smell like garlic.”
He chuckles with twisted pleasure.
“Josh has ADD,” Jackson explains. “It’s what makes him a good drummer.”
“ADD was invented by Pfizer,” Josh says.
A mini-debate ensues about whether people should be diagnosed with such a thing and subsequently medicated.
“Wait a minute,” I interject. “Is someone here complaining about scoring drugs?!”
“I was medicated when I was a kid,” Josh says. “But I never slept and I only ate two meals in two days, so I had to stop.”
That settles it. Any med that takes away your appetite should most definitely be banned.
“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” I ask as Josh sautés sun dried tomatoes and slices of green pepper in the skillet. A big link sausage would really round out this pasta dish...
“Noooo,” Josh says. “I like raccoon, squirrel, and…oh! I had an awesome possum steak last night.”
In all seriousness, Josh likes his beef bloody.
“You don’t want to lose the pure essence of the animal spirit by overcooking it,” he says with the passion of a hippie preacher.
I ask about the other dudes’ foodie faves. Andy’s include “a nice piece of chicken or turkey”, club sandwiches, PB & J bagels, popsicles, Twix, “and anything with peanut butter and chocolate. That’s the way to my heart. But Josh got me eating healthy.”
“This isn’t healthy,” Josh says, stirring the pasta with a wooden spatula. “It’s actually kind of oily. But I care more about the food being tasty.”
What is healthy is the pre-performance meal: Subway.
“Because it has a shit ton of carbs!” Josh says. "Hmm...this is almost ready."
“Did you put the poison in it yet?” Cody asks.
“I was going to add some cayenne pepper, but I couldn’t find any.”
Josh likes it spicy…and spontaneous. “I’m more of a throw-random-shit-together kind of cook,” he says. Rice and beans are staples, as are eggs and any kind of vegetables.
Josh extinguishes the burner. “It’s ready!”
“So is this your go-to dish?” I ask Josh as he serves up the first plate.
“You mean to seal the deal?” he asks with a naughty grin and matching twinkle in his eye.
“I didn’t actually mean that, but okay,” I say.
“Yup, this usually does the trick.”
This hottie and I could totally cook up some trouble. If only he hadn’t brought the posse along, we’d be delving into...well, you know...
Instead we eat. Lunch, that is, but the rest of the boys aren’t satisfied. When they start picking out the vegetables, Josh gawks, “Do you know how long it’s taken me to perfect the ratio of noodles to vegetables?”
“You remind me of my Mom,” Andy groans.
“Because she used to guilt you into eating?” Cody asks.
Before Andy can even answer, Josh exclaims in a stingingly sarcastic tone, “Your mom cooked for you?! What a bitch!”
“Captain Planet is not on your side,” Andy retorts.
“I didn’t like the vegetables, either,” Cody says to Josh. “I’m not scared of them, I’m just not hot on them. It’s not you. It’s Mother Nature that I don’t like.”
“I don’t take it personally,” Josh says with a puff of his chest. “You don’t like anything.”
“I like sprouty things,” Cody says. “Asparagus, cauliflower, broccoli.”
If The Goondas’ boss man rarely eats anything green, why the Broccoli Management moniker? I wonder aloud. Cody responds by lifting up his sleeve.
“We all have vegetable tats,” he says. “Except Andy. But we’ll get something permanently scarred on his body while we’re on the road.”
Cody pats Andy on the shoulder reassuringly.
“I’m thinking a glass onion,” Andy says. "That's a Beatles reference, by the way."
OMG. That these bad ass boys have Technicolor vegetables inked on their skin may be the most shocking revelation all afternoon.
One by one, they show off their inked spots. Cody dons a broccoli stalk on his upper arm, Jackson has a carrot on his forearm, I'm told Brenden has a radish, and Josh…
Hmmmm…
Josh gathers the hem of his muscle shirt in his hands and lifts it up, exposing a tan, taut six-pack…and a very lickable nipple. It’s all I can do to keep from whistling. But wait, I’m supposed to be describing the tattoo! It’s a corn on the cob, surrounded by flames. If only I could get a little nibble…(Insert flood of drool here.)
Josh’s attention is on the other kind of appetite. He’s a hungry man and unapologetically eats up the lion’s share of his own pasta dish.
“Remember when we went to that buffet in Winona?” Cody muses as Josh wolfs down his food. “You went through the line six times.”
“God, that was a good day!” Josh says, shaking his head.
As the carbs settle in everyone’s stomachs, silence descends. While the pasta was perfect, flavor-wise, I wouldn’t recommend it as a seal-the-deal meal…unless you just want to, ahem, get in and out while your date’s unconscious, sweat-free, and closed-mouthed.
After lunch, we step onto the deck for an extended cig break, and the conversation gets dicey.
“Josh was dating a model,” Andy brags on behalf of his band mate.
“Turns out she was fucking nuts,” Jackson says.
“People told me she was crazy,” Josh explains, “But I just said, ‘No she’s not. She’s a model.’ ”
Now, Josh’s heart belongs to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. (No joke.) As for other loves, Andy is obsessed with cinema. He claims he spent most of his childhood watching movies and frequently quotes from Goodfellas, Forrest Gump, Spinal Tap, and Back to the Future during our conversation.
Brenden hearts, of all things, sewing.
“He locks himself in his room and say, ‘I’m creating’,” one of the boys explains.
“That’s good, I guess, because he must go through a lot of clothes onstage,” I say.
“Yeah, he just ripped up my favorite shirt,” Jackson says. “I am so pissed.”
“The one with the naked chick?” Cody asks.
“Yeah,” Jackson laments. “It said, Come only wearing a smile.”
Josh’s hobby? Drinking games. Apparently, he kicks ass at them, having recently won a Wizard Staff contest.
“A what?” I ask.
Josh explains that a “wizard staff” is a tower of beer bottles taped together. The contestants must construct said tower, then drink all the beer. Josh’s staff was of such impressive length (heh heh) it won the contest.
“Fourteen Special Export tall boys,” Josh boasts. “I could barely get through the doorway.”
“And then what happened?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” Andy says. “I was on the floor and I heard Josh falling into the walls. Then he unzipped his pants and he pissed on the carpet. He almost got me.”
“Where was this?” I ask.
“A housewarming party,” Josh says, erupting into self-satisfied chuckles.
“I guess you won’t be doing that again anytime soon,” I say.
“I can still play,” Josh insists, tapping the ashes off his cigarette. “I just need to pace myself.”
“How do you handle these boys?” I ask Cody, aghast.
“I hunt the homeless to deal,” he replies, deadpan.
If The Goondas never reach superstar status, Cody may be to blame. “I don’t ever want to be an asshole,” he says. He mocks the superstars that request certain brands of bottled water, then looks at me, points an erect index finger in the air and circles it. “By the way, you’ve got five minutes.”
With the clock ticking, the conversation quickly zig-zags from The Goondas’ visit to Graceland to The King of Pop (Jackson: “Can you believe it’s been a year since he died?” Andy: “I don’t miss him.”) to child abuse to using Catholicism to justify unsafe sex.
“Come on baby, I’m Catholic!” Josh pleads to some invisible virgin. “Don’t make me wrap this shit up!”
“Do you have anything to contribute to the butt bag?” Andy asks his fellow band members. He holds up a sandwich baggie and collects the remains of the nicotine sticks.
Before they go, I insist on pictures. Josh sidles up to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I reciprocate with an arm around his waist. He’s smiling. I’m smiling. If only these guys hadn’t carpooled…
Before I know it, The Goondas are gone and the only clue that they blew through here is the dirty saucepan on the stove, unused garlic on the countertop, and my spinning head. The house feels so empty. There’s too much space and not enough noise. Oh, how I love me a houseful of boys!
**
Visit The Goondas on their My Space page to get a taste of their tunes and see them on tour. (Twin Citians, they’ll be back home at the end of August. Don’t miss ‘em!)
Pix of the testosterone fest are available on Man Eater's Facebook page.
Below, you’ll find the video that almost scared me off, followed by Josh’s Debauchery Pasta recipe. Freakin’ deliciousness!
DEBAUCHERY PASTA
Ingredients
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cloves garlic
½ cup chopped onion
1 box penne, boiled to al dente
1 jar sun dried tomatoes in oil
1 green pepper, sliced
Method
• Heat oil in skillet over medium heat.
• Add garlic and onion to skillet; sauté 2-3 minutes.
• Add green pepper to skillet; sauté additional 2 minutes.
• Add cooked pasta and sun dried tomatoes (plus about 1/3 of the sun dried tomato oil) to skillet; stir to coat.
• Serve immediately. If you wanna stay awake post-consumption, you better put on The Goondas’ self-titled debut!
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