By Peter Pocock

A warm Friday evening. Strollers near Dupont Circle pause at the Childe Harold, making up their minds on the evening's entertainment. A couple wanders up the stairs, listens to the music a little closer. They're more decisive coming down a moment later. Not their idea of a little night music.

"We don't play beer-drinking music, and that's what they want to hear," says Harrison Sohmer, bass player for the D.Ceats. "If people don't want to hear something different, fine. I don't care."

Some people want to hear the D.Ceats version of something different; the club is standing room only. They're getting bare-boned rock'n'roll, godchild of the driving music of the '60s, presented unpretentiously by a three-man band fronted by Bethesda's answer to Patti Smith.

FROM THE FIRST HUSKY note, singer Martha Hull has been the focus of all eyes and ears. Knees together, feet apart, she reaches out to the audience, clutches a handful of air, rocks into a backbend; a quick pivot turns her swaying back to the crowd as Harrison and guitarist Keith Campbell blaze through a short riff, grinning at each other. Drummer Vic Quick, hard at work, doesn't look up; the drum set might be his best friend.

Out in the audience, what you might call a broad cross-section, products of America's suburbs, '60s and '70s. Friends of the band. Walk-ins. Regulars on the new wave circuit: here and there clothes that verge on costume; a couple of punks from another band. Singles, couples, groups. Mostly just folks.

"There's a certain group of people around here who miss their '60s rock," says Keith about the D.Ceats' following. "They might have gotten a little tired of the whole Bonnie Raitt, Little Feat light thing, and they probably didn't get off on the Queen and Kiss thing—so maybe something had to come out of the middle.

"And of course they were so happy listening to that '60s music, and it brings back happy times...that's probably why they come out and see the band."

Music like the '60s, but with a twist. The lyrics are more introspective now. No angst (that's anxiety under a microscope); more like pragmatic optimism. Your life can get better, but nobody's going to hand it to you.

But the lyrics aren't what's really going on onstage. "We aren't out to educate anybody," says Harrison. Instead they entertain, sometimes enthrall, with accessible music and engaging stage presence.

IN THE STUDIO that afternoon the excitement of the performance was missing. Without it, the songs being laid down for a booking tape sounded a little pedestrian, still solid, but nothing memorable.

It's the first time they've worked with a producer. Mitch Berkowitz, who did sound for them at an earlier Childe Harold gig, has agreed to help translate the live sound to tape. The venture has an air of learn-while-you-earn to it. Only they're paying for the studio time.

"It's good to have somebody outside the group, with an objective view," says Harrison. "He can say, this part needs to be cleaned up, this sound isn't so good. Mitch has a good feel for our music."

The tape is at the clean-up stage right now. All the lead parts are done, Martha has gone home, Vic is packing the drum set, Keith and Harrison are laying down background vocals.

"It's a little bit off, Harrison," says Keith, setting down a beer he's been sipping between takes. "But it's always been, and who cares?"

"With rock'n'roll, we don't like it when people take it too seriously," Keith elaborates later, "because there's times when you make mistakes, times when you're just doing something new..."

KEITH AND HARRISON have clearly worked together long enough to be comfortable with each other. Once, before D.Ceats, they travelled to New York for some auditions. A contract offer intrigued Keith, but not Harrison: they returned to seek their fortunes in DC.

Both were involved in early new wave bands, Harrison with Overkill and Keith with Controls. Keith: "Me and Roddy Frantz started that; yeah, Roddy, who is now under the wing of Warner Brothers...(sigh)...that's nice."

Last summer Martha, then with Slickee Boys, was looking for something else. Harrison: "We tried it out, the three of us, and we put an ad in the paper and got Victor as a drummer, and when we got him and things started to jell together, she decided that she'd try it with us."

Vic came to the band with extensive experience in bands, and no experience of new wave music. "I told them right away, and they said, 'that's why we want you.' And musically we've gotten along since the beginning."

THAT WAS IN JULY, 1978, when DC's new wave was at a low ebb. Many bands were boycotting the Atlantis, protesting that club's treatment of bands and audiences.

"At that point, you had to either go back and become a scab at the Atlantis," says Keith, "or become a radical and just play at private parties, with drunken kids crawling up your feet. So we said, 'DC really eats,' that's the way we felt at the time." Hence the name.

"We had the same trouble everyone in the new wave had," Martha adds. "But it's so much better than it used to be. You should have tried to work this city before there was even an Atlantis. That was really bleak."

Now there's work for some new wave bands: an informal circuit of occasional nights at Columbia Station, Psychedelly, Desperado's, Childe Harold. D.Ceats now work every weekend and some weeknights.

"We're lucky enough just to be on the circuit," Keith says. "Because there's a lot of other new wave bands that can't even get on. The Nurses and the Young Turds are playing down at d.c. space tonight, and who knows how many people are going to show up there. (About 60 --ed.) We're a somewhat accepted new wave band."

ACCEPTED, BUT NOT solvent. Outside jobs pay the rent. It takes more than a few nights in a few DC clubs, even regularly, for a band to support its members. And so they look farther afield. New York, Philadelphia, Boston beckon.

New York's Hurrah was the scene of D.Ceats' unanimous favorite gig. "That was the best night of our lives," says Martha. "We drank a lot, and we still got a good response...I don't know why they went for us, we didn't expect them to, but they did. It was like a great surprise."

They have more shows scheduled in New York, but DC is still home. Harrison: "The reason we're here, you could be one of two hundred good bands in New York, and really get nowhere. Down here, you can be somewhat good and play a lot."

Martha: "Most of the bands in New York are terrible; that's why they respond so well to these bands from out of town."

Keith: "Of course, I would like the band to move to New York if anything good happens for us. 'Cause that's where you gotta be..."

BACK AT THE CHILDE HAROLD on Saturday night, D.Ceats are opening with two sets, followed by Slickee Boys, who opened the night before. Martha prowls through the crowd, which is bigger, more excited. About half seem to want to talk to Martha; she's trying to get a beer before the first set. It's tough going.

"Most of the time I spend in the city is in bars, and at night. Working." Now she's getting ready to punch in.

Making her way through the crowd, she seems smaller than she really is. All that disappears as soon as the music starts; her presence fills the room.

The band is cooking, Martha has the moves, she has the voice, she has the crowd in the palm of her hand. Catching the eye of a friend dancing in his chair, she flashes a wink and a grin.

Even the beer drinkers are having a good time.

return to d.ceats

Sohmer, Hull, Quick, and Campbell

Reprinted from the July, 1979 Unicorn Times. Without permission. Peter Pocock--get in touch!