I first learned about the now-defunct and much-missed Lookout Records through Maximum Rocknroll in the late 1980s—my first issue was #62 in July 1988. That zine and Lookout’s two-LP compilation The Thing That Ate Floyd opened up a whole new world of music for me, and as a teenager in the Midwest, northern California was definitely where most, if not all, of my favorite bands came from. I first heard Larry Livermore’s band the Lookouts on the Floyd comp and soon found my way to a used copy of one of the Lookouts’ 7-inch EPs (bought without the cover insert from the Cat’s Meow off State Street in Madison, Wis.) and his own densely-packed, verbose, and world-expanding zine, Lookout. As a youth, I was impressed by the sheer amount of writing Livermore was able to produce, as well as his—and David Hayes's (later of Very Small Records)—efforts to document the effervescent, energetic punk rock scene of San Francisco, Berkeley, and other parts.
The Lookouts weren’t active for long, and Lookout was never a vanity label, so between 1987 and 1991, there were just two albums and two EPs. Besides, there were plenty of other records to listen to, including Crimpshrine, Fifteen, Green Day, Monsula, Operation Ivy, and others. Regardless, the Lookouts stood out from the other bands and recordings on the label. They were a little more influenced by folk and other roots music, perhaps. A little older in its point of view. A little more based in or celebrating the value of place.
Listeners didn’t have to wait long, though, for another band fronted by Livermore. The Potatomen came out with a demo tape in 1993 before releasing its first EP the next year. And this record, the Potatomen’s first album, was released in 1995. The album was recorded at Andy Ernst's Art of Ears in Hayward, Calif.
Already, Lookout had started looking beyond northern California, putting out records by Fun Bug (England), the Queers (New Hampshire), and Screeching Weasel (Chicago). In 1995, the label was expanding its scope even further. In addition to the 1995 album releases by Citizen Fish, the Mr. T Experience, and the Riverdales, Lookout was taking a slight turn toward twee pop and other sonic palettes with a Go Sailor EP (a joint effort by members of Tiger Trap and Henry’s Dress, and Paul Curran), a split EP with Cub and the Potatomen (one of the first co-releases with Canada-based Mint Records), and this album.
Five of the seven songs on the Potatomen’s demo tape appear on this record, performed by a trio consisting of Christopher Appelgren on drums, Patrick Hynes on bass and guitars, and Livermore on guitar and vocals. Appelgren had previously played in Bumblescrump (which released a split 7-inch with Rice) and would take the helm of the label in 1998 after Livermore’s departure. Hynes had largely worked as an artist and designer. And both Appelgren and Hynes were Lookout employees.
The Potatomen were originally intended as a Hank Williams cover band called the Hanks—and perhaps to be acoustic, often playing sidewalk shows—but soon transformed into the sound documented on this compact disc. At times sun-drenched jangly country; sometimes sounding like Buddy Holly-style pop, complete with hand claps; occasionally tinged with a thoughtful dark sadness suggesting the Chris Isaak-, Roy Orbison-, or Morrisey-like vocals that would show up on 1997’s LP Iceland; the bulk of the record is arguably not punk rock—though its intent and production was 100 percent punk.
The album offers ample lyrical content giving nod to the Bay Area punk scene, particularly in the song “Punk Rock Boy.” In various songs over the course of the album, there are references to girls, Gabe Meline (formerly of the zine Boy Does High School Ever Suck and now working for KQED—he even sang backing vocals on the song “Gabe Wonders Why”), skateboarding, fanzines, 924 Gilman, Cometbus, MRR, Absolutely Zippo, Fugazi, the Bay Area Rapid Transit, Telegraph Avenue, and other topics near and dear to me even today.
A couple of years ago, Don Giovanni Records reissued the Potatomen catalog, at least online, giving the songs—and stories—new life for listeners. Now is a sleepy Sunday kind of record, full of love for people, places, and the music they can make there. It's also a CD full of people and their stories. Despite being a slight anomaly for the original label, it’s a wonderful example of what made Lookout work so well while it worked well.
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