Running Rotten

Written by D.T. Pennington Wednesday, 14 January 2009 04:17

Running Rotten: Four Days on the Road with The Dollyrots

“We don’t do drugs in the van,” is practically the first thing Kelly Ogden tells me after her and her band, The Dollyrots, kidnap me. “But, if you want, I’m sure we could stop somewhere and find something for you.”

Those who work entry level jobs in Denver aren’t supposed to skip town in the night after consuming ten beers at the local dive. I was supposed to be in bed, resting for another day of the office grind. Instead, I was forgoing every possible responsibility for several days to travel halfway across the country a rock band.

Yes, it’s just like that movie.

When I have free time, I listen to everything I can think of and try to enjoy what I hear. But lately, it hasn’t been much. Clear Channel and radio personalities destroyed any concept of a quality DJ, MTV has focused itself more with asinine culture than it has with actual music. Even “revolutionary” internet applications like Pandora and Last FM failed me when, no matter how finely I thought I had tuned a station, the programs would find a reason to stuff Nirvana into every single mix. Clearly there was something wrong with rock and roll. The music world spins awkwardly when not even pop music has any pizzazz left.

Which is why I tried to justify my kidnapping by The Dollyrots a godsend.

Even in the recording I listened to ahead of time, I could tell the Dollyrots weren’t quite the punch my ticket needed, but it was a hell of a good start. On a Monday night the Dollyrots (from herein ‘The Dollies’, or, depending on the context I wish to apply, ‘The Rots’) at Bender’s Tavern in the heart of Downtown Denver. I could only imagine the kind of young, supple crowd a girl like Kelly Ogden (lead vocals, bass) could draw to this 21 and up venue.

The Dollies appeared a little fragile against the other Denver punk bands that performed that night (for the most part they were all male quartets talented in the art of mercilessly pounding away on their instruments). But they brought along an energy and a dynamic that I can say, for certain, most bands can never even dream of bringing to the spotlight.

One thing The Dollies couldn’t bring to the stage, however, were the slew of beautiful women and potential girlfriends that I was counting on. Instead, most of the audience that night was made up of the usual Denver selection of cock-rockers and a clan of overweight, balding men who lack enough teeth to make a smile who tried, without success to take a picture of what was up Kelly’s dress. After their set, Kelly was approached aggressively, hugs and all, by the very same crew of shameless men. She took it all with a smile and her trademark squeaky voice. This crowd was her bread and butter, and she was really laying it on thick with them.

A drink later I learn The Dollies are next driving to Fresno - 1,100 miles away - and they could use another driver to help them out. I was seven beers in. Any man, after seven beers, is more than willing to do just about anything a pretty woman asks of them.

We pull through the Eisenhower tunnel around two thirty in the morning and the alcohol starts to fade. I’m told that the band’s next show is in Fresno at a small stage at the Warped Tour. I’m sharing the middle bench of the van with Fuzzy, the band’s merchandise manager, while talking with Kelly, who has since changed into pajamas and is piled in with a fortress of pillows and blankets in the back seat.

“Everyone’s grandma lives in Florida, grandmas and racists,” is the next gem Kelly lays on me. The gravity of my situation sits in on my. I start to fabricate excuses to get out of my nine-to-five (dead uncle, family estate, super messy) and wonder if I even have enough cash to buy a ticket back to Denver, and whether or not I will even have a job to return to.

“I’m not actually a murderer, but I did play one on TV,” at this hour, Fuzzy is asleep and I’m having a hell of a time keeping up with the conversation as the last few beers really start to take their toll. All I know is that I am sheltered in a dark van with people who were strangers all of three hours ago, one of them talking about racists and murder. And I can’t help but thinking there is a story here.

Kelly started the Dollyrots around five years ago with band mate Luis Cabezas. They met in their teenage years and shared the college experience in Florida (oh! I get it, Grandma! Racists!). After W. stole the election in 2000 they decided the world was coming to as much of an end as anyone would see, and that a rock band was a better idea than a practical job. It was only after the stereotypical run of drummers that the band finally settled on Chris Black, and the latest generation of The Dollies was formed.

This was the generation that DIDN’T do drugs in the van.