Dumptruck LP's: D is for Dumptruck; Positively Dumptruck; For the Country; Days of Fear

Dumptruck were the brain-child of Kirk Swan and Seth Tiven, a pair of singer-songwriters that each contributed their own songs to the band's set.Their partnership was unlike the kind of complementary collaboration that say, Lennon and McCartney shared- where songs were written almost in their entirety by one or the other, with maybe a bridge or chorus contributed by the partner, but where you could easily differentitate stylistically whose songs were whose. Seth and Kirk's styles were spookily similar- so much so that you couldn't discern which songs were written by which writer. When they switched off to sing their own compositions live there was never any sense of the musical schizophrenia endemic to bands with multiple writers and revolving front-men, and the records shared this sense of continuity. Whether it was a case of shared influences, similar psyches, or unconscious imitation, their meeting was a fortuitous event for both.

Initially a three piece,Kirk and Seth switched off on bass, then Steve Michener (later of Big Dipper) came along, and then there were four. While a number of sources I've read echo the Guide article above, which states they were "essentially a two-man project of Massachussetts natives Kirk Swan and Seth Tiven,with a rotating rhythm section", I'd have to say that drummer Shawn Devlin (Helium, Tackle Box, Blake Hazard,Kendall Brothers) was an integral part of the Dumptruck sound, as well as their individual brand of energy. Later on a number of others filled the bass chair, while Kirk and Seth shared guitar duties, but Shawn's inimitable drum stylings and presence definitely added that magical Rhode Island component until the demise of Phase One Dumptruck in 1988.

Shawn had been a member of Big World, one of the legendary outfits that along with the Young Adults and Bob Lawton's Boots paved the way for Punk to happen in Rhode Island. Someone should write a book about the Newport and Providence scenes during those mid- to late-70's days. Both Big World and the Young Adults were evocative of the early Tubes in their melding of guitar rock and irreverent, over-the-top theater, and their attitude and antics did much to influence the next generation of surfer-punks that poured out of Rhode Island. Perhaps it was the proximity of Rhode Island School of Design that added a gratifyingly cerebral bent to the Newport and Providence groups of the time- certainly many members of the key bands had matriculated at that celebrated art school. RISDI may have been to that scene what the Liverpool Art College was to the Merseybeat bands. All I know is that the group of musicians and artists that I call the "Middletown Mafia" are among the most talented and innovative of the personalities that have profoundly impacted Boston rock: Shawn Devlin, Doug Allan (Rubber Rodeo,author of Steven Comics), Greg "Skeggie" and Bobby Kendall (Lifeboat, the Kendall Brothers, Tackle Box, Middle East Restaurant), Gary Smith (Lifeboat, Fort Apache Recording Studios, Fort Apache Records, Pixies producer, manager for Belly, Julianna Hatfield and Natalie Merchant), former front-man, genius booking agent and manager Bob Lawton (Bob Lawton's Boots, the Labor Board), Julius Borges (guitarist extraordinaire), Tanya Donelly (Throwing Muses, Belly, Breeders), Kristen Hersh (Throwing Muses), Eddy "the Wadd" Sylvia, and everyone in Rubber Rodeo, just to name a few.

My own experiences with Dumptruck were limited to engineering a single 8-track recording session at Fort Apache South, on the cusp of the band's breakup. The song's, including "Carefree", Friends" and three others would be re-recorded and appear on the band's swan song "For the Country" LP. The versions we cut in '86 were stripped down but they had legs, and the tape became a favorite of mine for listening in my car for the next several years. When Kirk Swan left the band late in 1986, he also recorded demos at the Fort. Released initially under the name Boo Radley, the tapes sounded- well, like the other half of Dumptruck: good strong pop, with hooks de-emphasized in favor of the whole and a lovely moodiness. The tapes made the rounds but as far as I know failed to garner the interest of any record companies in Kirk's post-Dumptruck catalogue, and he headed for the West Coast. After those two 8-track sessions, Seth and the three-piece Dumptruck discovered Studio Red in Philadelphia. Red and the band recorded some great demos there, and they all became fast friends. It was Red who turned Seth on to the spec deal at another Phillie studio, where the sessions which were recently released by Unclean Records as the LP Days of Fear were cut. The tapes, as Robert Gordon says, "collected dust for a couple more years, but the music didn't get old". Seth's tunes have a way of doing that; last summer ('98) my cousin Joe Pernice was playing out with his band, the Pernice Brothers, and they launched into Dumptruck's "Get Off My Island". There are photos on the Pernice Brothers article showing mandolin ace Jimmy Ryan and Jason Hatfield singing their asses off during the chorus, in which they were joined by almost the entirety of the audience that night at the Green St. Grille; good pop is like that, infectuous, timeless, and inherently memorable.

I was pretty close to Shawn Devlin during the period when Dumptruck hit the legal wall with their record company. The situation was a nasty mess, based on the band believing they were freed of their contract and beginning to renegotiate with a major label, when their old label felt otherwise. Hell hath no fury like a record company lawyer scorned, and after litigation tied the band's hands, preventing touring, recording or signing with a new label, Seth Tiven was forced to disband Dumptruck in 1988. Seth then reformed the group after finally working out their legal difficulties in 1995, but with new personnel all around, and using Austin, Texas as a home base. They performed a small-scale US club tour and hooked up a new record deal.

One other side note: immediately after Johnny Thunders died, Seth, who knew I was a fan of the former Dolls guitarist, called me up. Why not do a tribute show, with Dumptruck and yours truly on guitar? It took me half a second to say "yes!", and after crossing wires schedule-wise a couple times, we ended up without any rehearsals, working out the tunes a half hour prior to the set sitting in a booth- was it at the Middle East or Hi-Fi Pizza? These were still in the days when I was a "sportsman", and in tribute to the Big Apple master I scarfed enough opiates for a small army, so certain details are unclear. Even playing those hyped-up Thunders tunes, the Dumptruck vibe was still pre-eminent; if anything, the songs had even more of a "dope feel" than the originals. This may also have to do with Shawn drinking like six hundred drinks before the show, too. But "Can't Put Your Arms Round A Memory", "Pipeline" and such went by as if in a dream. In any case, when we got to the last number, "Chinese Rocks", I was aching to burn. But we went through the tune as before, tightly reigned in and mid-tempo. As we finished, I looked at Seth, and we both laughed as we launched into the song again, this time at a breakneck clip that made the whole night worthwhile. It was cathartic, and musicians in need of therapy I suggest you first try playing "Chinese Rocks" with an AC30 or a Marshall set full out, balls-to-the-wall; repeat as necessary. It's good for what ails you. That experience was such fun I asked Seth if he was interested in adding a second guitar in Dumptruck to play ambient parts, noises and such, but he was at that point looking to play all the geet parts himself and focus on adding other sorts of instruments to the mix- which he did when he went to Wales for the Hugh Jones-produced For the Country.

As for the other members, the final rhythm section of Brian Dunton on bass and Shawn Devlin on drums has stuck together for a number of projects. They both play for indie biggies Helium, and both have alumni'd over the years with Greg "Skeggie" Kendall's Tackle Box, Blake Hazard and Jason Hatfield's Star Hustler. Steve Michener, the original bass player in the two-guitar version, went on to the awesome and highly underrated Big Dipper- one of Boston's best and my own personal favorites from the Fort Apache years (they recorded two LP's at the Fort: Boo Boo and Craps). Post-Kirk guitarist Kevin Salem went on to record his own LP Soma City...I ran into him in Columbus, Ohio, in 1994 or thereabouts, when his touring band included Graham Maby, the 4-string genius who played on the early Joe Jackson records. Spike Priggen, the only guy that looked as cool as Buddy Holly in those thick, black glasses also filled the bass chair at one point, and went on to form Hello Strangers.
One of the bitter ironies of the Dumptruck story, as far as I'm concerned, was the fact that the band never sounded better than they did during that litigious period before the break-up. I'd never thought of Seth as the sort of guitarist who could handle all of the lead and rhythm chores himself, but he surprised the hell out of me as he developed into a bitchin' stand-alone player. I had to grudgingly admit to myself that his decision not to add another guitar player was a sound one. The shows that they played in Boston, many of them "rent parties" to raise cash for legal defense, were outstanding. Of the many shows I'd seen them play over the years, these were by far the best. Ambient arrangements exploded into overdriven lead guitar breaks seemlessly, in the manner of classic Feelies performances, or recent Yo La Tengo sets. Perhaps it was the angst that lie behind their seemingly hopeless battle against record company authority (and cash) that fueled the band, but Shawn, Brian Dunton and Seth tore into the old songs- and the new ones -with a vengeance that made them seem like brand new compositions.

Shawn Devlin circa 1998

Brian Dunton guest starring with Three Colors for the T.T. the Bear's 25th Reunion show.

Brian and Shawn during lighter moments, on the beach at Newport, August 1998.

Days of Fear

If it wasn't for bad luck, Dumptruck would have had no luck at all. I remember in Austin one Saturday afternoon, they snuck their van into a bank parking lot while they went on an errand, but when they went back thirty minutes later, the garage had closed for the weekend, an iron gate between them and their vehicle. Kevin Salem, who was the guitarist at the time, and Brian Dunton, bassist and scrawniest member of the band, went to the police station, Brian working up a pallor as Kevin explained that the poor lad had left his medication in the van and it was of the utmost importance that they retrieve it as expediently as possible. That night in Dallas, for altogether different reasons, they were banned permanently from the venue.

Dumptruck was the first rock band I ever interviewed, so I've always had a soft spot for them. I enjoyed their debut album (which I bought after getting the assignment), liked much of the second one, and really really was impressed by their third, for the country, which was released in September of 1997. The founding partners, Seth Tiven and Kirk Swan, had by then split. Under Tiven's direction, and with a considerably larger budget, Dumptruck went to Wales and, with the producer Hugh Jones, cut an album of guitar-oriented pop songs, with incredibly depressing lyrics. People noticed. People bought the record. Other record companies noticed the sales numbers, and one large label began negotiating a six-figure contract to purchase the band from the mid-sized label.

Dumptruck was touring with for the country when they heard about the negotiations. Tours never seemed to really go in Dumptruck's favor, though individual gigs could be stunning. Their mid-sized label had promised much for the tour, and delivered little. During a stopover in Los Angeles, Tiven met with them and was informed that a formality in their contract -- the label forgot to pick up the band's option -- and they wanted Seth's assurance that rectification would be no problem. A wily motherfucker, Tiven knew he couldn't -- as he wanted -- tell them to fuck off because then he'd surely never see any of the tour money he'd been spending out of his pocket. Rather, he stalled, saying he'd have to consult the band.

In the meantime, Dumptruck's lawyer studied the papers and confirmed that they were indeed free and clear of their record label's ties. The lawyer sent a letter to the big label saying he was glad they were interested in signing the band, and to please pursue such a notion, but to do it with him and not the mid-sized label because that label had no rights to the band. El label grande examined the papers, determined the lawyer was correct, and direct talks began. El label punko was not only pissed, they were embarrassed. When one is caught negotiating a deal for which one has no rights, word gets around. When the con is for six figures, word flies first class.

Fucking Dumptruck, the ne'er do wells who barely seemed able to get to their gigs -- fucking Dumptruck, who invited you to snap along to lyrics like, "Drifting on an ocean / 'til you die" -- fucking Dumptruck, the nicotined depressives who were saved from factory work and shooting sprees by their arttistic outlet -- fucking Dumptruck got sued for five million dollars.

Five million dollars.

El label grande split like monkey shit. The litigation became an electric fence between the band and other labels. Court costs and lawyers fees became the subject of benefit concerts. The suit dragged on for three years and the band tried to stay afloat through constant touring, but unable to release a new album, their audience trickled away. After three years, when the prosecuting label missed their third hearing, the case was finally dismissed. The band was even denied vindicating themselves in court. But they won control of their master tapes and won a judgement for damages in the quarter million dollar range. They've since collected slightly more than one two-hundredth of what they're owed, and were informed by another label that there was a lien on their masters and the band couldn't have them.

Not much was left of Dumptruck. As a trio, they'd been cutting demos in Philadelphia at Studio Red. Finally free to record again, but colder than a nightclub's free meal, they got a spec deal through pal Red at a larger Philly studio. Tiven envisioned an album with less guitars and more outside instruments. Friends dropped by to add their talents, the camaraderie chasing away the bitterness of the forced delay. One guest was the Austin violinist Amy Farris, whose charm convinced Seth to leave Boston's cold winters for Texas warmth. With rough mixes in hand, and Seth's cat in the van, he relocated. The two stopped at my house in Memphis on the way, and while Amy was in the shower, Seth told me they were discussing marriage. That was Friday. Sunday morning, they said their vows and before the ceremony was over, the cat had shit on the floor and the minister stepped in it.

The tapes collected dust for a couple more years, but the music didn't get old. When Unclean Records heard Days of Fear, they decided to put it out. You know that, because you've got it in your hand. You probably didn't understand the delay between albums, but now you do.

Kirk Swan is these days in Los Angeles. He's been gigging with fellow mid-1980s rockers like Steve Wynn and Russ Tolman, but lately he's renewed his solo efforts. Kevin Salem's first solo album, Soma City, came out in the Fall of 1994. Shawn and Brian had been moonlighting with Helium and appear on their first disc; Shawn still plays with them, and Brian has moved to the biz of music, God help him. Sometime bassist Spike Priggen released an album with his own group, the Hello Strangers, and he's in New York still working on his own thing. Former Dumptruck bassist Steve Michener was in Big Dipper and is now believed to be a nurse in San Francisco. A couple years back I ran into former bassist Tom Shad on a New York subway. He gave me a fluorescent business card and said he was playing with Chastity Bono, but when her album came out, he wasn't on it. Seth Tiven got drunk in a bar in Saskatchewan and bet me five bucks he could limbo beneath the waitress station. His insurance covered the hospital fees, and he swears he'll pay me as soon as el label punko pays off his lawyers fees.

--Robert Gordon