The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.

Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.

Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.

The Obelisk Questionnaire: Tim Cronin of The Ribeye Brothers

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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?

I sing in The Ribeye Brothers a garage rock band. I started in my mid/late 20s in a couple of bands that didn’t really do much, most notably Dog of Mystery with John McBain and later Dave Wyndorf which morphed into Monster Magnet. I initially drummed and sang. It started out being noisy repetitive heavy psych jams with the rhythm being pretty basic, as I was/am a non-drummer I was fine with simple heavy “cave man-esque” drums. Vocals were an afterthought, mainly drowned by the music.

As the band progressed, the song structures became more complex and my musical shortcomings were emphasized. Dave was becoming more comfortable singing and playing guitar and had the right “swagger” for the songs. I had/have what might be charitably described as “anti-swagger.” So after a brief uncomfortable tenure (two singles, two EPs) I ended up doing lights and liquid projections for Magnet where I was a better fit. I then started Daisy Cutter with Jim and Reg Hogan where I was happy being part of a two-drummer lineup. In ’97, Jon Kleiman (drummer for Magnet, guitarist for Ribeyes) and I started writing songs and that’s where I’m at now.

Describe your first musical memory.

When I was a little kid on a drive with my parents in our Datsun station wagon, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” by Dionne Warwick came on and something clicked. I know I’ve heard songs/music before that but that’s the one that stuck.

Describe your best musical memory to date.

Seeing Mudhoney at the Court Tavern in New Brunswick opening for Das Damen, like a fucking bomb went off.

When I was in Monster Magnet and the first time we played CBGB’s.

When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?

Probably one of the early European tours Magnet did. It really opened my eyes about America’s place in the world and how it’s perceived. I was part of a mainly European crew playing foreign venues and it was eye-opening.

Where do you feel artistic progression leads?

Hopefully to more progression which could go in any direction. Revisiting previous work with different eyes is also progression.

How do you define success?

Doing something that is challenging and even if it’s generally considered a failure, you get something out of it. More realistically, being able to pay your bills by doing something that’s artistically fulfilling.

What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?

Besides a couple of dead bodies (traffic accidents), some shitty movies and the Trump presidency, not much.

Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.

I have no idea until I actually do it.

What do you believe is the most essential function of art?

Think outside yourself, show the world in a different way.

Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?

Always the New York Mets.

https://www.facebook.com/TheRibeyeBrothers
https://www.instagram.com/ribeyebrothersband/
https://theribeyebrothers.bandcamp.com/

The Ribeye Brothers, “Eyes of Santa”

They touch every now and again on late ’60s psychedelic garage pop, but at their core, there’s very little about The Ribeye Brothers that one could classify in one way or another as nonsense. Not no-nonsense, no-frills, but very few. On their fourth album, Call of the Scrapheap — released this year on Main Man Records — the Jersey-based five-piece prove heavy on wit and self-deprecation and light on flourish. That’s not to insinuate the 14 tracks on the 40-minute album, all but five of which clock in under three minutes, are somehow lacking, just that they’re efficient in a classic pop sense. Verses lead to strong choruses, organs complement guitars, and vocalist Tim Cronin and guitarist Jon Kleiman lead the band through good-time misery that makes as much use of Cronin‘s lyrical wit as any other element, the earliest cuts “Apples, Plums and Pears” and “Come in Last” setting the tone for the mood that the rest of the album follows through.

That mood? Filled with dry sarcasm, pointed self-critique and sometimes hilarious turns of phrase. “Apples, Plums and Pears” offers a straightforward hook in, “It’s cloudy all the time/The sun it never shines,” but “Coward’s Way” turns cliche on its head with “Some say it’s the coward’s way/I say cowards stay/I say cowards stay too long,” and “Good as New” asserts that “My good as new/Is neither good nor new.” Cronin‘s voice is perfectly suited to delivering these lines, he keeps a tongue-in-cheek feel that neither undercuts the sincerity in what he’s saying nor makes Call of the Scrapheap too wallowing. In addition, the upbeat rocking vibes of “Come in Last” and buzzsaw fuzz of “Smart Like Aristotle” provide an endearing contrast to the negativity of prose, giving The Ribeye Brothers a more complex vibe than they’d have if all the tracks were as much downers musically as they seem on the surface to be lyrically. Even as Cronin asserts that it’s cloudy all the time, the music behind him — provided by Kleiman, guitarist Brent Sisk, bassist Joe Calandra and drummer Neil O’Brien (who also did the album cover) — is as sunny as one could ask it to be.

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Down at the Loop Lounge, the band on stage when I walked in ended their set by saying, “Stick around for The Ribeye Boys!” Another Friday night in Jersey. Outside it was pissing rain miserably, and inside a Newcastle cost an inexplicable five bucks. I paid it, several times over (and a special thanks to The Patient Mrs. for driving home), but never with a smile on my face.

The Loop Lounge is in Passaic, a little over the border from Clifton. And quite a border it is. Where Clifton is a middle-class haven, Passaic is more akin to Paterson in terms of places white kids go to buy drugs. Fortunately they’re all pretty close, right there in Clifton, so it’s not a long trip. I haven’t been there in years, and the last time I was, it was to go to a show at the Loop, where I unceremoniously got tanked by myself and felt miserable about it.

I was neither alone nor miserable this past Friday night (tanked, maybe), and the timing of when I got to the bar gave just enough pre-gaming to allow for joviality when The Ribeyes took stage at 11PM or somewhere thereabouts. They had an hour-long set of ’60s-inspired self-deprecating garage rock which, if it came from a bunch of 20 year olds with fancy haircuts, I’d find utterly intolerable. As it was, however, The Ribeye Bros. channeled oldies boogie with just a slice of modern, capital-h heavy and were a damn good time.

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