Strung Out

Whatever happened to sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Remember that? Each one so perfectly complemented the others. When did that sacred triumvirate go out of style? At what point was it replaced by not getting any, Frappuccino and skinny guys who stare at their shoes and spout bogus introspection? In short, whatever happened to rock just for the sake of straight-up rock, without any hip-hop embellishment or emo rambling?

In the case of local boys the Seastrings, the answer would be nothing, or at least almost nothing. “None of the music is pretentious,” explains singer/bassist Justin Collet, “But we’re not going to sing songs about getting drunk and jacked up on blow because we’re not that kind of guys.” He pauses briefly, then rewords his response, adding, “Well, we do get drunk.”

Perhaps the Seastrings will do just that when they open up for chainsaw-wielding metal refugees Jackyl, a gig thrown their way courtesy of United Entertainment. “For some reason, they seem to think we fit well with the ’80s-rock-vein thing, which is kind of it, but kind of not it,” Collet contends. “I think we can play with a group like Jackyl or we could play with a group like The Creature Comforts. That’s the diversity of the music, and I think people, whether they’re 35-year-old blue collar or 19-year-old black T-shirt, black leather pant-wearing kids, I think there’s something in it for everybody.”

However improbable that sentiment might seem after taking into account rock’s current dismal rating on the trendometer, it’s still most likely a correct one. Yes, the Seastrings do have the ’80s shit-metal monkey on their back, but somehow that beast has moved out of the music anathema basement into the closet of guilty pleasures. (And vaguely embarrassing as it is, having owned a copy of Warrant’s Cherry Pie is not an unforgivable sin.) Besides, when this influence is blended with sharp pop melodicism, the tuneful concoction that results is oddly appealing, even if only those truly secure with their musical tastes would confess to digging it.

Can’t please ’em all, Collet admits. “You can’t try to follow the next trend because you’ll always be five steps behind. We said what we’re going to do is honestly what we want to do. If people like it, fine, and if they don’t, they don’t, but we’re not going to walk away from this thing saying, ‘Well, we should have done this or should have done that.’ We’re just going to do whatever is in our heart and whatever is truthful to us. I believe that’s really the only thing you can do with music.”

The Seastrings continue to fight that good fight, even if their crusade is a lonely one. “We have a lot of admiration for a lot of different bands, local and national, but being one of the only tried-and-true rock and roll bands doesn’t bother us,” Collet says, shrugging. “I think it’s a good thing. It gives the Kansas City music scene a little bit more diversity, and it’s just something else for people to come out and see.”

Music fans who come out and see the Seastrings might be treated to another rock and roll staple: explosions, provided the venue is fireworks-friendly. “We started with just coffee cans and lamp wires,” says Collet, adding that the band has since graduated to a more professional array of flames. Such stunts also allow the group to develop an outlaw reputation, another rock and roll chestnut. “We blew our pyros, and the cops came and told us not to do it again,” Collet says, recalling a festival in Herman, Missouri. “The club owner said, ‘On the last song, blow the hell out of it.’ So we did, and the cops came back.” No one was arrested, “but we definitely raised some Cain down there in Herman.”

Pyrotechnics and flashy guitar action usually go hand-in-hand, and the Sea-strings’ sets are no exception. “We do some breakdown guitar solos where you have the guitar players go up there, which not a lot of bands do anymore,” Collet muses wistfully. “Just go and rock out for, like, two or three minutes and blow his amp up or something.”

The group’s fiery stage show and showy ax work have definitely increased its notoriety, but that’s not to say that the group would be nothing without its flash pots, or even its amps. That stuff is just gravy, Collet says, and if the band didn’t have such resources, members would still find another way to rock. “I’ve had a couple of people ask us, ‘Well, where would you be if you weren’t doing the big pyros?’ We’d be down at your tavern playing a four-hour show with acoustic guitars or something like that, because we just enjoy playing music. We don’t have to have the pyros, but we want to keep the people happy when they come see us and give the people something that they wouldn’t see normally every day. We can do the other thing just as well. We just love music.”