The Brothers Comatose
From July until October, Solana Beach’s The Belly Up tavern is celebrating its 50th anniversary. Artists of differing genres and musical styles are arriving to commemorate this milestone. Among those featured singers was singer-songwriter Steve Poltz, who’s renowned for his comedic personality and eloquent verses. He was joined by five-piece string band, The Brothers Comatose. They sang for a sold-out performance.
Ben Morrison, vocalist and guitarist, was the first to address the crowd. “What’s up everybody? How’s it going out there?” The band began with “Hole In My Pocket.” People were already stomping their feet at the first strum of the bass, played by Steve Height. They were a bluegrass folk-rock band, one that made it feel as though the Belly Up had transformed into the heart of the south. Their music speaks for itself.
“We’re stoked to be here, we woke up in Vermont this morning. We drove three and a half hours to Boston. Our flight was late for a couple hours, so we had to hang out in the airport. We flew six hours here so that we could play the 50th anniversary alongside Steve Poltz!” The crowd hollered wildly. “We’re going to do a song by an indie band from the sixties. You’ve probably never heard of them. They’re The Beatles.”
The Brothers Comatose
Their coordination was fantastic. The sound they created was larger than life itself, pulsing with an energy felt only when watching the greatest Western classics. Folks were drunk off the music, cheering so loudly that it was difficult to hear the musicians speak. Next was “Run Boy Run,” written by Alex Morrion, who provided vocals, and played banjo and guitar. There were many moments throughout their act where the music would charge up overtime, interjected by breathtaking solos that warranted long-lasting applause.
Anyone could gather how exciting it felt for them to go full throttle, picking up the tempo, and dropping the vocals. Life would be bubbling up in their faces and in an effort to chase it, they would be unable to stop. The band toed the line between sentimental and rowdy without breaking a sweat, and was the perfect complement to Poltz. After “The IPA Song,” the Morrison brothers sang “Running On Back To You.”
“Working For Somebody Else” was dedicated to Morrison’s uncle. Philip Brezina, who played violin, and Greg Fleischut, who played mandolin, shone especially at this point. As if they had not been doing that already. “Toon Many Places” was yet another song full of longing. They thanked the audience for having them. “Morning Time” appealed to every romantic, and through sound, captured the joys of spending time with a partner in the early hours of the day. A female vocalist was invited on stage to sing it with Morrsion. It was followed by “Tops and Trees,” and Garth Brooks’ “Friends In Low Places.” People knew it instantly.
The Brothers Comatose
Poltz, their honorary brother, was welcomed onstage early for the last song. They played John Prine’s “Spanish Pipedream.” Poltz bounced around, cracked jokes, and made everyone laugh until their sides hurt. Even the members of The Brothers Comatose were feeding off his infectious energy. “We’re going to do a song that we were supposed to do,” Poltz laughed, “they didn’t even know we were going to do that, and for some reason, I thought that’s what we practiced.” He said that he had forgotten he wrote a song called “Hot Box,” even though they were with him at a festival at Stanley, Idaho, when they all wrote it.
Poltz expressed how much he loved them all, that they were so beautiful. Turning to the audience, he said that The Brothers Comatose need their own baseball cards, because they are superheroes. He would want to collect them first. He pointed out individual traits for each of the five band members, mentioning some of their hobbies, and all the things they had impressed him with. From designing logos to residing part-time in Mexico. To reconstructing a carburetor in the front lawn after expanding the family, or passing off as Bill Gate’s illegitimate son who put a microchip in the vaccine, these men were a joy to learn about.
“Please welcome, ninety eight pounder recording artist, Steve Poltz!” Poltz announced, already standing on stage. People laughed and cheered, while he claimed that not only is he wearing a Canadian tuxedo, but underneath his jacket is another denim shirt. His set began with a story, one where he had the night off in Park City and found himself standing in a thirty million mansion that belonged to Mr. Rothman.
Mr. Rothman was the guy who invented the harp diamond, and he got his royalties on all these diamonds. Poltz had never seen such opulence. He spotted artwork from Keith Haring and Pablo Piccaso on the wall. “So I have this long-running gag, whenever I get around people that have something very precious,” Poltz said, “I thought it would work with this rich guy.” He first worked out this bit when he was on a private jet with Jewel, her then-husband, and his father–a big cowboy who drank his beer and spit in his tobacco.
The father had a turquoise watch and rings, and Poltz asked him where he got them. The father claimed that he got them from an old Indian he used to know, someone he used to go hunting with. He could track and hunt any animal. The father went on about how much he loved him. On his deathbed, the Indian took off his rings and watch, and gave them to the father. Poltz responded by asking if he could have it.
The father spit out his beer and wrapped an arm around him. “You’re crazy! I like you a lot,” he laughed. Next thing Poltz knew, he was friends with him. Now, being inside the mansion, he asks if he can have it. The man showing off the space for a crowd of people shouts that he cannot, that he couldn’t afford one night there. In that moment, Poltz knew he kind of had that coming to him, after all the times he’d done it.
He talked about his time with James Blakesberg, photographer for The Grateful Dead, dancing in the middle of the floor with hippie spinners, and reuniting with people he met at the Naked Sauna Oregon Country Fair. Soon after, Poltz remembered that the last time he visited San Diego was in July. He flew in to attend a wedding, specifically his son’s wedding.
Poltz shared that his beautiful son married an amazing girl, that he watched him grow from a boy who got busted by his mother with weed in his Altoids tin, into a UCLA graduate who makes more money now than Poltz ever made. They married in San Juan Capistrano, and Poltz wrote a song for the first dance, a dance his son shared with his mother. He asked if the crowd would like to hear it. He also asked if they would like to meet the newlyweds, as they were there. He invited them onstage, and jokingly asked his daughter-in-law to hold up his phone so he could read the lyrics. It was a sweet moment between family.
“This is a ‘this is your life’ kind of show,” Poltz said. He graduated from the University of San Diego, and mentioned how he would be attending a lot of Padre games because the man who hired him for his first job was attending the performance. He’s the reason Poltz ended up playing on the streets of Europe, as he gave him nine months off as a sales rep. Poltz dedicated a song to his baseball-loving friends, and Tom.
“I’m so happy to be here for the 50th anniversary of the Belly Up! This is my home-field advantage. I’ve been playing here since the eighties,” Poltz said. The other day, he was looking through the dictionary and found the word “petrichor.” It refers to the earthy scent when the rain stops. He joked that while it may not rain often in San Diego, it does in Nashville, where he lives. “Petrichor” is also derived from the word “ichor,” which refers to the blood of Greek gods. “I thought, well holy shit, that word deserves a song!” Poltz said.
When leaving Dead and Co. during its final weekend, Poltz was called out to by someone in a crowd of eighteen thousand people. The man who addressed him was Lyle McGraw, the son of Kevin McGraw. Poltz’s song “I Want All My Friends To Be Happy” was written about Kevin, a larger than life character who once lived in Ontario. Poltz recalled when McGraw flew him out to Athens, Greece.
Along the way, Poltz said he was pulled over by a state trooper in Virginia. At a time when his hair was dyed all sorts of colors, and he had released records called “Morning Wood,” and “Mommy, I’m Sorry,” the encounter couldn’t have been more unorthodox. Stacks of those records were inside the van Poltz had been driving, which read “Saint Joseph’s Catholic School” on the side. The windows were boarded up too.
Poltz, naturally, thought that nobody would rip off a churchman. The state trooper glanced at Poltz’s hair and asked what he was doing. “Singing for the lord,” he said. After being asked if he had any new records out, Poltz reached into the back, hoping to grab a copy of “Morning Wood,” but got “Mommy I’m Sorry” instead. The cover art depicted him in a pink dress, running on a train track with his band, The Rugburns. The state trooper looks at the disc, then whispers, “I see what’s going on here.” Rather than giving Poltz a ticket, the state trooper provides him with a pair of handcuffs and a key, saying he might need them. Poltz asks him why, and the state trooper replies maybe one day he will use them. Gleefully, Poltz thanks him.
In Chicago, Poltz met a booking agent named Anastasia. Since it was the early nineties, he fetched a thick book and pointed to a page depicting Mykonos, asking her to meet him there. God must have been looking out for him, as the two did reunite there. However, Poltz was sharing a hotel room with McGraw. He did not disclose that Anastaisa was meeting with him, nor did Poltz have the money to afford another room. But he still had the pair of handcuffs that the state trooper had given him, so Anastasia thought of a plan.
“Let’s get Kevin drunk, so we can get busy on the other bed, and he won’t know,” she said. Suddenly, the three of them were drinking shots and stumbling down the streets. She whispers into his ear, saying that she brought lingerie, much to his excitement. McGraw is passed out on the hotel bed, Anastasia begins to change in the bathroom, and Poltz handcuffs himself to the ceiling fan. He had neglected to turn it off all the way, meaning he was spinning like an undressed rotisserie chicken. Anastasia returns, exclaiming he’s a bad boy, while McGraw sings drunkenly. Poltz dedicated “I Want All My Friends To Be Happy” to him.
After recalling a memory involving tacos, guacamole, and a low-rider parked on Sunset Cliff Boulevard, Poltz put a song together using nothing but beats into the microphone and his harmonization machine. He also wrote a song for “Notting Hill,” a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Titled “Everything About You,” Poltz mentioned that many of his friends have gotten married to it.
Vince Herman, a bluegrass guitarist from the band Leftover Salmon, is friends with Steve Poltz. On the night of the show, Poltz mentioned that Herman had recently visited him at his home. They wrote a song that he didn’t know if he remembered entirely, but he performed it anyway. It was titled, “Tied to You.”
During the midway point of the show, Poltz walked off the stage and into the center of the pit. Sam, who was operating the sound, was asked by Poltz to come down and hold up his microphone. Sam knelt down and remained there for a few songs. The crowd surrounded the two, so much so that it was difficult to spot them at all. Poltz commented on Sam’s hair, saying he had the greatest red hair that he had ever seen.
“I remember this one time, I was writing songs in San Diego. It was so much fun. I was writing with a girl named Jewel, and she said this to me.” Poltz recounts not even wearing a shirt during the exchange. Jewel turned to him, asking if he knew how she would kill him. He asked her how. She explained that she would take a hunting knife, split his chest open, peel his skin off, hang it up, and make a coat out of it. She would wear it to all the coffee houses that she sang at. Poltz said that he had a better idea. “Let’s write a song!”
The song they wrote was “You Were Meant for Me,” a piece that has paid his bills for twenty-five years. It is regrettable that so few words fail to describe his performance and authenticity. But Poltz deserves to be heard in person, and audiences deserve the music he writes. He thanked everyone for listening to him. Ben Morrison returned to the stage afterwards, singing a song with Poltz while playing the tambourine.
Poltz is a brilliant singer-songwriter, that much is true. But with so many songs to his name, many would think it difficult to claim one as his favorite. They would be wrong. His favorite is “Shine On.” A slice of Heaven all its own, the song sounds like a mantra one would say to themselves in a moment of catharsis. It was followed by a cover of The Grateful Dead’s “Ripple,” which Poltz sang beautifully.
Phil Einsohn, Poltz’s manager, flew out from his home in Denver to watch Poltz sing at the Belly Up. It was apparent how much Poltz appreciated him and everything he did for his work. He excitedly told the crowd he would be singing at Einsohn’s upcoming wedding too. When Einsohn approached Poltz about performing at the Belly Up for the fiftieth anniversary, Einsohn encouraged him to do it. Poltz instantly agreed, but said he would only do it if The Brothers Comatose opened for him. Einsohn made it happen.
An appreciation for the San Diego Padres is integral to Poltz’s identity. It’s understandable, considering his background. He would bring it up often throughout the performance, incorporate it into stories he told in-between songs. But “Hey Hey #19,” which he sang that night, was a melodious love letter written for Mr. Padre himself, Tony Gwynn. Poltz claimed the song was used for the end credits of his documentary.
Shawna Sarnowski / Backstage360.com
His songs were the stories of his life, and they were rich stories to tell. It felt as though the crowd already knew him, and to a lesser extent they did. Many people within the audience were friends and loved ones. Poltz read as someone who laughed at himself, and with others. A man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He thanked the bartenders, the crew, Sam on the monitors, the Belly Up, and The Brothers Comatose.
“This is the greatest show I have ever played. They say never miss a Sunday show, and this is why. The church of the Belly Up,” Poltz said wistfully, beckoning everybody to sing along, and stay forever young. Visit https://www.thebrotherscomatose.com/ to listen to their discography, and see where they are playing next. For Steve Poltz, visit https://poltz.com/ to catch a show close to home, and hear more of his music.