The Blinding Light of Milwaukee's Underground At The Intercontinental

The concept of Underground at The Intercontinental is of the purist intentions: giving local talent the opportunity to play for an audience in an environment they might not (strike that - definitely not) get the opportunity to play for otherwise. The environment? How about the classy, posh veneer of the hotel bar? On paper, in theory or as a "what if" conversation, the Underground series could potentially foster an enlightening live music experience for everyone involved - absolutely.... well, ideally it would.

This past Friday night's band was the enigmatic I'm Not A Pilot; a quartet lead by keyboardist and frontman Mark Glatzel, accompanied by Adrian Esguerra on bass guitar, Steve Vorass on drums, and the immensely talented Peter Thomas (of the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra) on the electric cello. It's Thomas's skilled showmanship, combined with Glatzel's pristine vocals that draw this band's following. Their songs are emotional pop gems, in a similar vein to Counting Crows' Adam Duritz, and their sweet melodic sound is universally digestible to a wide demographic. All of this in place, it's no wonder they were named "Band of the Year" (as chosen by Milwaukee Radio 88NINE) in 2010, and equally sensible would be their involvement in The Intercontinental's Underground series. But... herein lies the disparity between concept and actuality.

Most followers of Milwaukee's local music scene hold tightly two main passions: (1) original musicians from their own backyard, putting our locale on the map, and (2) the environment in which this occurs. I'm Not A Pilot, without question, is a band on the cusp of fame and fortune, and is beginning to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Furthering this, is that their followers are a patchwork of social classes ranging from earthy hipsters, to the bouncy club chicks, on out to the neatly dressed professional couple with a nice house in Whitefish Bay. These folks can come together under the roof of a venue like Linneman's or Mad Planet, in an atmosphere that offers comfortable enjoyment for all. When you take this universal appeal, though, pick it up and put it in the museum like atmosphere of a hotel bar - well, you kind of pare away two thirds of that dynamic. Suddenly you have a room where a fair amount of the people in it are feeling as out of place as they look. A good chunk of them want to stomp their feet, shout out and let loose. Seeing this band is a release for them - they want to feel it, and move with it - not look at it rigidly and politely golf clap after each song. It would be like making Jack Kerouac the keynote speaker at a literary convention - it's good stuff, but the atmosphere is stuffier, and everybody in the room is so wishing they could take it somewhere else.

The nobility of The Intercontinental's attempt here should be praised, however. This is not a corporate straw stuck into an untapped well. There is no admittance charge to see the bands featured every Friday - anyone can walk in and sit down unhindered. If anything, the hotel is actually cutting itself off from a small source of its revenue, considering a good portion of this unconventional clientele won't abide paying for any of the bar's exorbitant food and drink prices. They'll enjoy the show as best they can, but be assured they'll leave immediately afterward - so there is no apparent hidden agenda in why the hotel hosts the Underground series. "We want to keep focus on the music community," hotel General Manager Tim Smith states simply, "the idea was presented, and I have always loved live music in Milwaukee, and this was a perfect fit given the wealth of talent in the area." That said, it's hard to begrudge the man, and it is perfectly true that the hosted bands are being exposed to an audience that might never venture out to see them in their natural habitats. Still, the Underground at The Intercontinental series could inadvertently prove destructive and exploitative to a counter culture as unique as Milwaukee's music scene.

It goes without saying that as artists start to succeed, the propensity to fall away from their roots starts to rise. The wont to become a product for a brand name begins to loom, and often times before they know it, the suits are directing every move they make, and picking up the bills. I'm Not A Pilot are an ensemble held in great esteem by their listeners and critics alike, and this is the undiluted formula for the increasing likelihood to make that misstep dividing selling in from selling out . In its full blown enormity, that kind of fear isn't quite the band's concern just yet. They still need as many gigs as they can play, and any exposure within is good exposure throughout; but they're fast approaching that precarious position of deciding where they really want to go, and maybe who they really want to serve.