I’m unprepared for what’s inside: toys everywhere, two kids toddling around, a mother-in-law, and YouTube baby videos blasting from the laptop on the dining room table. It’s complete and utter chaos.
I discreetly do a double take. Am I in the right house? These guys, who gyrate like 80’s pop stars all over the Twin Cities, are fathers?
"I was going to bring my kid, too, but daycare was already arranged,” Michael says with a shrug.
“Had I known, I would’ve brought my daughters!” I say. "We could've had a playdate!"
Chris Hill, the other founding member of Mercurial Rage and the father of the two tots at the table, stands to greet me, jumping right in as though we were already mid-conversation.
“I can’t wait to move to a suburban condo,” he says, craning his neck to eye the house across the street. “Drug dealers live over there.”
I’m about to offer some verbal commiseration when Chris exclaims, “And look at their yard! They take much better care of the grass than I do! It's embarrassing!”
Back on the laptop, Darth Vader flashes on the screen.
“That’s what happens when you don’t listen to your Daddy,” Chris warns over his son’s shoulder, then says softly to me, “We don’t have much in the way of religion in this household.”
Though Michael and Chris have the domesticated status in common, physically, the duo are polar opposites in every detail. Chris’s dark hair is all mussed up and he dons an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Michael’s sandy brown locks are more coifed, and he sports a plaid button-up shirt...with a pack of American Spirits poking out of the pocket. WTF?! would be an understatement.
To understand my shock, we must back up. I discovered Mercurial Rage by mistake on a random Saturday night when restlessness got the best of me. Despite tornado warnings, I sped off to Cause (f.k.a. Sauce) in Uptown for some tunes. (Death from boredom seemed more plausible than being sucked up by a twister.)
When I arrived at the club, a flashy techno group took the stage. Theirs was the kind of music you’re embarrassed to admit you like, but with a beat your body can’t resist dancing to. The frontmen were like snake charmers for stiff Midwesterners, and with lyrics so innuendo-laden they'd give Man Eater a run for her money, it’s understandable that I instantly fell under their spell. While are there few actual instruments involved in a Mercurial Rage show, what I remember upon leaving Cause that night was the unparralelled energy that Michael and Chris brought to the stage.
Now, Chris tells me Mercurial Rage started "from the bottom on purpose. We paid our dues. We cabbed to shows. We used other people’s amps. We just kept showing up with the attitude that we’re awesome and soon people started coming to us.”
Though they’ve been together for over 5 years, they’ve never toured.
“We’re as successful as we want to be,” Michael says.
The group’s name has multilayered meaning. “Mercurial” is symbolic of the unpredictable, like fleeting quicksilver. “Rage” isn’t just an explosive emotion; it’s fashionable. And, somehow, it all comes back to Depeche Mode. Michael and Chris are so gung-ho about their role models, they could start a cult.
“We are not like the B52’s,” Michael says. “Our music can be kind of scary. We like that goth energy. Mercurial Rage is the seedy underbelly of the techno scene.”
“We’re intentionally intense,” Chris says, disappearing momentarily to retrieve what could be called Mercurial Rage’s mission statement. It is a sketch of the frontmen performing in a venue so large, the fans need a JumboTron screen in order to see them.
“Mercurial Rage is a stadium band,” Chris declares. “We’re at our best on big stages.”
“People can’t contain themselves,” Michael adds.
I know the feeling. In fact, I’m barely containing myself now, and there’s no music playing. Michael is ten times hotter than I remember him being onstage. Was it the funky club lighting that made me think he was a red head? (Carrot Tops = instant turn-off.) He’s tall and trim (Do I even need to state that anymore? Skinny seems to be a prerequisite for rockstars.) and, damn, I'm feeling...vibeage. If only it weren’t for that wedding ring on his finger...
“Our shows are like a weird dance assault,” Michael continues, his voice tearing me away from fantasy land.
“Yeah, that trips me out,” Chris says.
“But that’s what we want. It’s the difference between listening and being entertained. Like Prince. You have to see him to really appreciate him.”
Michael recalls a time when the Purple Yoda himself stopped mid-concert, sat down on a couch, and pulled out a copy of Rolling Stone (with his own face on the cover, natch). The audience was understandably pissed, until they realized that they were the ones at fault. Prince refused to bring the energy if he wasn’t getting any in return.
“What we’re doing is performance art,” Michael says. “I know that sounds pretentious, but when we do a show, we are characters. We entertain.”
I ask the guys what they see for the future of Mercurial Rage.
"I still think something magical is going to happen," Michael admits. "I think we need to believe that to keep going."
"Personally, I'm chasing the perfect pop song," Chris declares.
"Chris is the architect of the group. He’ll come to practice and say, ‘I’ve got an idea…but it needs a hook’,” Michael explains. “And I’m the guy whose material gets cut for being ‘whole sections of gay’. But ultimately, we’re trying to fulfill that childhood dream from back when we were singing Duran Duran in front of the bathroom mirror."
As for their "real" lives, Chris is studying to be an advertising copywriter by night and does stay-at-home dad duty by day, a decision he made to “be less insane” after attempting the dual-wage-earner arrangement with his wife.
I ask Michael what he does outside of making ladies melt in bars.
“Nothing sexy,” he says.
No kidding. Michael is studying to be...wait for it...an elementary school teacher.
Who would've thunk it? The only parental inkling I got from these guys at Sauce/Cause was of the “Who’s Your Daddy?” variety.
We move to the kitchen, but before things really get cooking, Chris lifts up his daughter’s skirt and takes a peek inside her diaper. The cringe on his face says it all.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Michael asks as Chris kneels to change his daughter’s diaper on the kitchen floor. Any other interviewer might be grossed out, but as a single mom, I’m not. And though these guys keep reminding me how old they are (Michael is 33, Chris is 36), I’m the one with oldest kids. I say a silent "Thank you" that my diaper changing days are far behind me.
Once the toddler’s tush has been restored to a pristine state, it’s onto the cooking. (And for those germaphobes out there, yes, Chris washes his hands.)
So how did these crazy dudes learn to cook? At Espresso Royale, a café where they both worked, of all things, the morning shift.
I don’t know if I’d trust these guys to handle hot liquids after staying up all night; then again, if it weren’t for their mutual exhaustion, today’s quirky cooking technique might never have been invented.
“Which cup?” Chris asks Michael, holding up two coffee mugs. Before Michael can answer, Chris says, “The presidents.”
Crack goes the eggshell on the rim of the mug…out comes goes the egg…and there it all goes into the microwave.
The egg-in-the-microwave is nothing new to me (I’ve been making my breakfast omelette that way since I moved into my shitty basement abode sans stove), but it never occurred to me to cook it in a coffee cup. It’s brilliant because the egg comes out set in a circular shape, which is just right size for an English muffin.
“We can’t forget the Spam,” Chris says.
“Hold it up for the camera!” Michael instructs.
After I document the wannabe meat, Michael turns to me. “You are going to have some, right?”
“I suppose I’ll be adventurous,” I say.
Michael flashes a wicked smile. Watching me choke down spam is going to be this vegetarian’s great revenge.
Chris gives me the pseudo food’s full history, spanning from World War II to the present day.
“It’s easy to ship,” he tells me more than once. “They love it in Hawaii. Did you know cannibals call human meat ‘long pig’? It’s true. So when I eat spam, I pretend I’m eating the program directors of local radio stations.”
Hmm...it appears we have hit a nerve...
“Do you have an axe to grind with the media?” I ask.
Chris shrugs. “We get airplay on Radio K and KFAI, but…”
“Not The Current?” I ask.
The guys shake their heads.
(This seems to be going around...most of my Rockstar Guest Chefs have complained of the same problem.)
“Why do you suppose that is?” I ask. “Politics?”
“I probably had sex with the program director in the 90’s,” Chris says casually. “She’s probably still pissed that I was a dick.”
"Seriously?" I ask.
“It’s gotta be that…” Chris says. “Or else Michael had sex with someone at the station.”
Michael smiles as though the possibility is very real. OMG. This sounds way too much like my life!
Switching gears, Chris removes an orange block of plastic-wrapped cheese singles from the fridge.
“I love America!!” he shouts. “This stuff is amazing. It’s so…melty!”
Chris unwraps a slice of processed cheese and passes it to his daughter. Then he pauses, stumped at the geometrical equation of square cheese on a round English muffin.
“They should make these in circles,” he says. “Coming soon! Circle cheese! You’ll see!”
Chris completes construction of his “Hawaiian style egg McMuffin”. Tater tots and chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs round out the meal.
“All brown food,” Chris observes as he plops his kids in their respective chairs at the table.
“That’s why we need these,” Michael says, collecting two kinds of mustard, barbeque sauce, and ketchup. “I’m a condiments guy.”
“What is it with men and breakfast food anyway?” I ask.
“You have to pretend you’re hungover,” Chris says.
Having never been drunk, it’s hard for me to imagine…until the conversation shifts to sleep deprivation. Now that’s a sensation I am intimately familiar with.
“The music scene is not the same now that we have kids,” Chris mourns. “I rarely go to the after-parties. I can’t deal with the consequences of drinking like I used to. I always have to evaluate how hard it will be the morning after.”
In line with sobriety, today’s drink of choice is…Kool-Aid.
“Is it sugar-free?” Michael asks as Chris retrieves a pitcher of red liquid from the kitchen.
“Yes, it is,” Chris replies. “Which means it’s full of chemicals.”
Chris pours the beverage into kiddie cups. His is Spiderman.
“At least the strawberries are organic,” Chris says, indicating a plate of fruit that his son is hoarding. “Everything else comes from a can.”
So. Man Eater drank the Kool Aid. (It really hit the spot.) And, I must confess, I also ate the Spam.
“What do you think of my fuckin' fancy breakfast?” Chris asks.
“I’m embarrassed to say I like the Spam.”
I’m not the only one. Within minutes, an entire platter of the stuff disappears.
“Did she just steal the last piece of spam?” Chris asks, gawking in disbelief at his daughter.
Yes, she did. After thoroughly gnawing on the ketchup bottle.
“Why did you become a vegetarian?” I ask Michael, who is clearly enjoying dipping his tater tots into an array of sauces.
“Because he’s dumb,” Chris answers on his bandmate’s behalf.
“I was waiting for him to say that,” Michael sneers.
“Because he loves animals,” Chris mocks.
“I don’t love animals. I have a sensitive digestive track.”
It’s not the most titillating vegetarian story I’ve ever heard, so Chris fills us in on his own flirtation with the meat-free lifestyle.
“I’m all about ideologies,” Chris says. “So once I got on the ‘be kind to animals’ bandwagon.”
He pauses for dramatic effect.
“That was Monday.”
Michael starts chuckling uncontrollably. It’s clear what punchline is coming.
“And then on Wednesday, the school cafeteria was serving barbequed ribettes on a bun…”
Chris closes his eyes and moans.
“As soon as I smelled it,that was it. I knew from that moment on I’d never give meat up again.”
Somehow, this odd couple learned how to compromise. On Burger King runs, for example, they used to order a Whopper for Chris and another for Michael…with the meat on the side.
“You’re paying for the meat whether you get it on the sandwich or not,” Chris says. “So this way, I got double the meat for the same price and Michael stayed a vegetarian.”
“I always told the BK employees that I didn’t like my meat to touch my sandwich,” Michael says. (I swear there's a pun in there somewhere...) "That really threw them for a loop!"
“ ‘Whopper’ is the funniest word!” Chris’s son exclaims a beat too late.
“That is a funny word!” Chris replies with equal enthusiasm. Then he flips back into weary adult mode. “Sometimes I wish we were more like our dads,” he sighs. “Our generation was scared of their fathers. They had the ‘shut up an eat!’ mentality. I remember times when I was a kid and there were a bunch of guys working around the house and they'd ask us to pick up lunch. Dad would send one of us out for 20 burgers and 20 fries. It was simple. That’s what dudes ate. But now that we’re parents, it’s different. We’re pansy dads.”
“Which is why you picked an odd time to start a band like Mercurial Rage,” I said.
The group’s first gig was two days after Chris became a father. Despite his son's stint the NICU, Chris refused to cancel the show. He ducked out of the hospital, did the gig, then went back into parenting mode.
“That’s why we need Mercurial Rage,” Michael says. “It’s an escape. When I’m at home, I’m Daddy. When I get in the car, I’m still Daddy. But by the time I arrive at rehersal, I’m not Daddy anymore.”
Plates cleaned, we move to the couch for photos. Michael and I plop down next to each other. He puts his arm around my shoulders and grins that adorable Howdy Doody-esque grin. (Insert butterflies in stomach here.)
Before I can contain myself, my body seemingly spills all over him. Suddenly I look down and see that my hand is rubbing his thigh.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I say and transfer my hand back to my own leg.
I don’t know what got into me. Touching Michael just felt so…natural. Or magnetic. Certainly irresistible. (Cue Mercurial Rage’s “I’ve gotta give it up to you” chorus.)
Michael doesn’t seem to mind that I unintentionally molested him; hell, he doesn’t even seem surprised.
“Do you guys have a lot of groupies?” I ask.
“When we’re in performance mode, I’m internally focused," Michael says. "Once, a girl reached out and touched me during a song and it was…weird. It was like she’d broken the fourth wall or something. Since we don’t respond to that sort of energy, I don’t think we attract it.”
Chris concurs. “We try to keep to ourselves before the shows. And afterwards, we’re the ones that say, ‘Nah, we gotta go home to our wives’. It’s not exactly a turn-on for the fans. Besides, we’re old.”
“You’re not old,” I insist, thinking that I've dated dudes two decades older than these guys.
“Our alter egos are ten years younger than we are,” Chris says. “But compared to the other guys in the band (Butch McQueen, Brock Landers, Richard Heyworth), we feel old. Before shows, I pull out what I call the ‘band sack’. It’s a Ziploc bag filled with Rolaids and Advil. Since it’s been in my pocket, by the time I whip it out, it looks like powder and pills. The guys get all excited until they find out what it is.”
Aged though the frontmen may feel now, pre-performance, it often feels like the first time.
“We still get nerves before a show,” Michael confesses.
“No way,” I say.
“I’m very shy,” Chris insists.
“I’m not getting that at all…” I say.
“That’s because I’m an introverted extrovert,” Chris explains.
I still don’t buy it.
“Nervousness is good," Michael says. "It keeps us humble."
Of all the whacked-out adjectives I could think of to describe these guys, “humble” is not even in the top 100…though I’d have no problem thinking of another “h” word that would fit them perfectly…
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
View the full photo album from our interview on Man Eater's Facebook Page and enjoy this booty shaking preview from YouTube, followed by Mercurial Rage's Spamtastic Breakfast recipe.
MERCURIAL RAGE’S SPAMTASTIC BREAKFAST
Ingredients
1 bag frozen tater tots
1 bag dino nuggets
1 can Spam, sliced lengthwise
1 dozen eggs
6 English muffins
6 slices processed American cheese
Method
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 baking sheets with cooking spray. Spread tater tots and dino nuggets evenly over their respective baking sheets. Bake 15-20 minutes or until cooked through and slightly crispy on the outside. Remove from oven and set aside.
• Meanwhile, grease large skillet with cooking spray and allow to heat over low burner. When warm, add slices of Spam. Cook 2-3 minutes each side. Transfer to serving plate.
• Cook eggs two at a time by cracking into coffee cup, covering with a paper towel, and microwaving for 1-2 minutes or until set.
• Transfer cooked eggs onto half of toasted English muffin. Top with cheese slice and second half of muffin. Microwave sandwich 15-30 seconds or just until cheese has melted. Repeat with remaining sandwiches. (Makes 6 total.)
• Serve sandwiches and Spam on separate serving plates. Transfer tater tots and dino nuggets to large bowls and serve with excessive amounts of condiments and Kool Aid.
• After a breakfast like that, you’re gonna have a lot of energy. Put on some Mercurial Rage tunes and shake your booty.
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