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Squeezing the Facts Out of Toothpaste

from Matter 5

By Bill McRobb

"Bob once killed a man in Berwyn just to see him die," remarks Al, his
asymmetrical smile showing off his bright white teeth.

"I did it with a tire jack," Bob concurs smugly.  "It's a long story."

They're kidding, of course.  Bob works for a hardware manufacturer.  If he
bludgeoned anyone, he'd do it with a deadbolt.  If I didn't know better, I'd
say their little routine was a tongue-in-cheek punk parody along the lines of
the satiric "Skinheads Are OK" cut from their eponymous first effort, Toothpaste.

But I know better.  Toothpaste has no consistent point of view, much less an
ideology, just ask the bandmembers, Bob Damrau, Al Szopinski and Jon Lundin. 
About the only thing they agree on is that they have a new album out.  They'd
just as soon change their tires than change the world.  That is, if they had a
car between them.

"There was a time when we all had a mission in life," says Szopinski
wistfully.  "But not in this band."

Damrau lost his idealism in the original Silver Abuse and later with the
Wayouts, along with Szopinski.  Lundin misplaced his mission after dropping out
of Naked Raygun.

But there's more to Toothpaste than the facile nonchalance behind their vague
shrugs and sheepish grins.  Toothpaste is a local band with a difference--if
only because they have a record out.

"All these other bands struggle to put out a record," says Lundin earnestly. 
"They practice week after week.  Their whole life is involved.  And they
haven't even put a record out."  He pauses.  "And we've put a record out.  A
lot of bands can't say that."

No, but a lot of bands without records can tell you what their music is about.
Not Toothpaste.

"We're anti-everything," says Szopinski.

"No, no-we're pro everything.  Especially dental hygiene," Damrau reminds him.

"Our music's pretty punk," Lundin says hesitantly.  "At WNUR they say they
can't play it-too thrashy."

"Wait a minute," Damrau interjects, "we've only got one punk song, 'Amerikan
Beauties.' "

"What about 'Skinheads Are OK'?" Lundin challenges.

"Well..."

The Banana Splits had more cohesion.  Even something as generic as the name
Toothpaste becomes a point of contention.  "We thought it was a nice,
meaningless name," says Szopinski.

"Not meaningless, just wholesome," corrects Damrau.  "Sort of in the same vein
as Orange Juice."

"It's an anti-punk name," chimes in Lundin.  "We didn't want an angry punk
name."

If the obfuscation was intentional, a measured ambivalence let's say, then we
could curse Toothpaste for being incorrigible and label them inscrutable.  But
these guys don't seem to mean what they say.  Rather than coming across as cool
and calculating, they seem more confused than anything else.  All of a sudden
they have an album out and people are asking them all these questions.

It's not a distanced ambivalence they project, ifs a clumsy ambiguity. 
Despite what Szopinski claims, the band has more lofty goals than simply
"staying in tune."  They seem to be as afraid of taking themselves seriously as
they are of others doing the same.  If, as they claim, Toothpaste is a concept
band, why won't anyone say what exactly the concept is?

When someone mentions that the band seems to have a good sense of humor,
Lundin mentions that a lot of bands take themselves too seriously--something
Toothpaste doesn't want to do.

"We're serious, but only because we're sarcastic," he explains.  "When you're
sarcastic, you have to be a little serious."

Though no one will admit that something as tangible as satire is what the band
is all about, the influence is implicit.  From the cover of their album, which
pokes fun at an early Led Zeppelin album cover by displaying an exploding
toothpaste tube instead of a fiery Hindenburg, to the seven quirky songs
inside, Toothpaste reveals that it is a band with more than a shred of wit.

The song "Palestine" moves from a catchy but unspectacular instrumental to a
clever political diatribe set to the old Herman's Hermits tune "Henry VIII:"
I'm Menachem the Great I am / Menachem the Great I am I am / I've dominated the
neighbors next door / But they've been dominated a thousand times before / And
everyone was a terrorist / You can't say that about our boys / I'm the leader
of your world, Menachem / Menachem the Great I am.

While the rest of the songs are diverse-each member wrote a handful--they all
have a wry cast about them that can be at times taut and funny.

"Spyguy" is a Ventures meet Bauhaus romp, while "Skinheads Are OK" is a
frenetic thrasher that says just the opposite.  "Sex Bolts'" angry guitars and
deadpan lyrics belie its origins: sex bolts are actually fasteners which attach
windows to doors.  "It's a term that's been around the hardware industry for
years," says Damrau matter-of-factly.

Despite the band's affirmation that the EP is an "amateur effort," Toothpaste
is a record that commands immediate attention.  Even with the positive response
the band has received so far, the band-members say they don't expect even a
facsimile of stardom.

"I can't imagine making money out of this," says Szopinski seriously.  "I'm
more interested in underground notoriety than widespread fame."

While they won't go so far as to call the venture a lark, they all claim to be
in it for the fun.  "We had nothing better to do," quips Damrau.  "If playing a
guitar and making a lot of noise can't be unadulterated fun," says Szopinski
with exaggerated enthusiasm, "then why bother?"

"We're only doing this now because they're playing our songs on WNUR," Lundin
says half-seriously.  He mentions that a Toothpaste tour of Toronto is a
possibility for the not-too-distant future.

As for the distant future, the bandmembers say they'll stick with Toothpaste
as long as people like them.  "Toothpaste is not the Rolling Stones," says
Szopinski with a laugh.  "We're just a little more articulate than bands that
try harder."