The Dials

by Tom Lynch

Local four-piece The Dials broke with a fury five years ago with their "Sick Times" EP, a garage-punk rock ‘n’ roll assault that reminded the world that not only can Chicago music still be fun, but you can get a lot of mileage out of a farfisa.

The all-female triple threat of Rebecca Crawford (vocals/bass), Patti Gran (vocals/guitar) and Emily Dennison (keyboards) matched with drummer Doug Meis and formed an intoxicating dance unit, every show, practically, an exercise session for the audience. If you didn’t move, that was your problem.

"Flex Time," The Dials’ first full-length, released by Latest Flame, was recorded in 2004 and captured an even fuller sound, the more confident band more assured in embracing its influences and seemingly more dedicated to making you shake your ass. Devo meets The Go-Go’s meets Sleater-Kinney. Bubblegum, vocal harmonies and sex appeal. A much needed jolt of energetic inspiration.

Most know the rest. In July of 2005, just before "Flex Time" was to be released, drummer Meis, along with Crawford’s husband John Glick (of The Returnables) and Michael Dahlquist (of Silkworm), was killed in a horrific car crash. A tidal wave of grief rushed through the entire local music community as it struggled to comprehend such unimaginable loss. With great strength, the band decided to move on, with the help of drummer Chad Romanski.

"It wasn’t even an option for us at time," Crawford says of the prospect of calling it quits after Meis’ death. "Everything was so turned upside down, and for me personally [the band] kept me going, us being able to continue. We knew that’s what Doug would’ve wanted us to do, it didn’t even enter our minds to quit."

Romanski worked out immediately. "He just worked really hard," Crawford says. "He had a tremendous amount of respect for Doug’s playing. He had no idea he was going to join the band permanently at first—he was just gonna help us out—but he quickly got addicted to us."

After the release of "Flex Time," when the band had time to begin working on new material, Crawford says the tragedy loomed overhead. "It was difficult to write happy songs for a while," she says. "Darker songs came out of that, but I think that the four of us are a really huge support system for each other. It was a therapeutic thing to continue writing… We’re like a family, pretty much. I think that there is a tremendous [amount of support], and it made it easier for us to keep plugging away."

The Dials’ excellent new record, "Amoeba Amore" (No Fun Records), not only builds on the band’s previous work, but across-the-board boasts the band’s best work, each song a fist, some of them featuring colossal crescendos of multiple vocal parts, thrilling moments that overwhelm with jarring conviction. "We definitely took our time with this one," Crawford says. "We wanted to make sure it was done the way we wanted—there were some similar songs we had on ‘Flex Time,’ maybe some that had a darker edge or were more on the new-wave side. We talked to our engineer about that, we wanted to bring out the keyboards a lot, add some layers some more… We wanted it to sound bigger and louder."

With dueling lead vocalists, the writing process may not be as streamlined as it normally is. "We’re really collaborative," Crawford says of her writing relationship with Gran. "Patti and I work really well together. We’ll flesh out everything, write the foundation for a song, work out vocals, arrange everything. Then Chad and Emily will add their parts—we’re a really collaborative band. But it tends to work better when there are less elements going on at one time. When you’re able to hear everything more clearly. Generally, we learned that about ourselves in the last few years."

Is writing the lyrics a collaborative process as well? "A lot of times that’s separate." Crawford says. "Sometimes it’ll just be like, ‘What are you singing about? I’ll sing this, it goes with what you’re singing.’ If there’s a song where she or I have more of a lead, we’ll write the lyrics by ourselves." Not to say they always know what the other is singing about. "Sometimes when we record, it’ll be like, ‘You’re singing that?!?!’" laughs Crawford. "‘I had no idea!’"

The album’s artwork features an amoeba-filled Petri dish, and two sets of tweezers set to place a rose and a little red heart inside. Thus, "Amoeba Amore." Though it’s also the title of one of record’s better songs, I couldn’t help but ask where the hell it came from. "We were in the van," Crawford says with a bit of sarcasm, "talking about amoebas—we have highly intellectual scientific conversations—and playing around with the double-meaning and the idea of self-reproduction. I think it might have been a time when the three of us were all single. And we thought we can still survive without, you know, our love lives being fulfilled. Amoeba love. It became a funny joke."

The Dials play June 28 at Double Door, 1572 North Milwaukee, (7 - Newcity Chicago

January 13, 2006

BY JIM DeROGATIS POP MUSIC CRITIC

There is no more powerful force for healing and catharsis than music. It can help us through the most trying times, including almost unimaginable tragedies.
The Dials have been one of the most promising bands on Chicago's thriving garage-rock scene for about four years now, and after releasing a strong six-song EP in 2004, they were gearing up to issue their first full album for the local Latest Flame label when bandleader Rebecca Crawford received a horrible phone call last July.

Crawford's husband, John Glick, the guitarist for the Returnables, had been killed at an intersection in Skokie, near the Shure microphone headquarters where he worked with his friends Doug Meis, drummer for the Dials and Exo, and Michael Dahlquist, the drummer for Silkworm. The Honda Civic they were driving was rammed by another car driven by a 23-year-old woman police say was trying to commit suicide. The woman lived and is facing criminal charges.

"It was the most tragic day of my life," Crawford said. "I found out about my husband, and I deduced from what was told to me that Doug was also in the car. They hadn't informed his family yet, but basically for 24 hours, while I was in shock, [Dials guitarist] Patti [Gran] and [keyboardist] Emily [Dennison] were trying to figure out what happened to Doug and Michael."

THREE FRIENDS MEMORIAL AND BENEFIT


WITH SILKWORM, EXO, THE DIALS, THE RETURNABLES AND THE NEGLIGENTS


6:30 p.m. Saturday

Metro, 3730 N. Clark

Tickets, $11

(312) 559-1212
The Dials had already finished recording the 13 songs on "Flex Time" with Meis on drums, and it wasn't long before Crawford, Gran and Dennison decided that releasing the disc as planned would be the best tribute they could give their friend and bandmate.

"We were all holding on to each other extremely tightly," Crawford said. "Grief is absolutely horrible, and I think that in desperate times, people hold on tight to what they still have. Playing music is what we do, and these guys are like my family. So we determined to honor Doug and keep going."

Six months later, the Dials are celebrating the release of "Flex Time" as part of a special show at Metro tomorrow night dubbed "The Three Friends Benefit and Memorial," featuring the surviving members of all of the slain musicians' bands.

Standing at the center of such a tragedy, it's inevitable that the Dials are being asked about the incident in most of the interviews they're doing to support the new album. "But we don't want to have that mark on our forehead wherever we go," Crawford said. "We want to be known as a good band."

The Dials aren't just a good band; with "Flex Time," they've become a great one, with insanely energetic and infectious tunes such as "Sick Times," "Phone Time" and "Do You Want Me?" hooking you in from the first time you hear them.

A veteran of the puta-pons, Crawford was looking for likeminded music fans when she linked up with Gran, who had been considering moving back to her native Miami. The two guitarists found an instant chemistry, and their dual lead harmony vocals form one of the band's two most striking signatures.

After initially penning songs on their own, it wasn't long before Crawford and Gran started writing as a team, and the harmonies started coming almost effortlessly. "If Becky's doing something, I just immediately do a lower voice under it, and it seems like when I sing lead, Becky comes up to the mike and those harmonies just naturally come out," Gran said.

The quartet's other musical hallmark became part of the mix shortly before the release of its EP, when Dennison joined on Farfisa organ.

"Originally, after Patti and I found each other through the musicians wanted ads, somebody approached us and said, 'Have you ever thought about a keyboard player?' " Crawford said. "I went, 'Oh, that would be a good idea!' So we all got together, and then once we had a keyboard player, it seemed like a necessity. Then she left to do some other project, but Emily had been a friend for a while, and I didn't even know she played keyboards."

Dennison's only other experience playing in bands had been a two-week stint filling in on guitar for the Returnables, but she had taken piano lessons as a kid. She proved to be a natural on Farfisa, bringing the classic trashy garage-rock organ drone to some of the group's tunes, and adding a compelling percussive counterpoint to others.

"I just kind of played off of the sounds that the band already had going, and some songs you play a lot, and some a little," Dennison said. Added Crawford, "When Emily and Doug joined the band, that's when it felt like the Dials really began."

Though Meis will never be forgotten, the group is now completed by drummer Chad Romanski. The band is planning to support "Flex Time" with shows throughout the Midwest (it will also perform at the Empty Bottle on Feb. 18), at South by Southwe - Chicago Sun Times

by Michael Franco

Some bands you're supposed to like. They've got an angle -- something unique in their background or composition that either makes them chic enough to avoid serious scrutiny (were the Strokes really ever that good?) or likable enough to make the listener want to root for their success. We're all familiar with these outfits; they seem to come out of nowhere, revealing their presence through a hip friend who knows everything about the music scene and swears they're the next biggest thing. Then the local press throws accolades in the band's direction, a big-time critic or two jumps on board and, well, you'd be completely ignorant to not reference the band the next time you talk music at the bar. You are, after all, the most devout student of rock 'n' roll in your gang.

The Dials are one such band. They're girls. They're cute. They're sassy. They play punk rock. They write lyrics about guys. They sound like the playful gals in the bar who will indulge you just long enough to tell you to go to hell at the end of the night -- after you've picked up the tab. And worse yet, you'd brag to your friends the next day about being used by such goddesses. Yes, the ladies in the Dials not only look killer in dresses, they also know rock history, borrowing freely from it in their songs. With all this going in their favor, it's little wonder this band is the one you should name-check before anybody else you know does. But do the Dials actually deserve the hype?

Upon first listen, the Dials seem like any other punk-influenced band. They rely on a few chords, repetitive riffing, propulsive drumming, and lots of snarling attitude. You can almost hear the disdainful sneers on their faces. Moreover, their particular brand of punk is most easily categorized as pop-punk, that genus of punk rock that garners quite a bit of vitriol, most of it deserved. After all, many of the pop-punk bands are products of the dreadful, deprived streets of suburbia, and lord knows life is rough there.

However, after repeated listens to Flex Time, the Dials' debut LP, something more substantial emerges than just another band whining about their privileged backgrounds as middle-class Anglo-Americans. In fact, the Dials are too busy rocking to whine at all. And while they might play with a limited musical vocabulary, they know how to make the most of their skills. Songs like "Bye Bye Bye Bye Baby" and "Sick Times" display playful phrasing and catchy harmonies, much like the girl groups of the '60s. Indeed, the label pop-punk is too limiting and convenient, for while the Dials are no doubt influenced by the Ramones, they also evoke the geometric structures of Television, the post-modern sensibilities of new wave, and the aforementioned Spectorian groups. In other words, like the best punk bands, the Dials transcend a very limiting genre by referencing others.

Musically, the Dials rely on the two-guitar attack of Rebecca Crawford and Patti Gran. Rather than just furiously riffing through each song, the two take turns playing rhythm and lead. In "Flex Time", the guitar work is angular and symmetrical, possessing a mathematical beauty that somehow sounds both controlled and frenetic. Such inspiration also appears in "Take It to the Man", but the robotic riffs are juxtaposed with distorted rhythm work. Crawford and Gran aren't virtuosos, but they create substantial damage with their modest arsenal.

But where the Dials really succeed is in attitude, which manifests itself in the lyrics of the songs; many of the songs possess a feminist bent that subverts the traditional male-predator/female-prey relationship. "Rotten", for example, features a simple, sexy refrain of "Rotten boy" repeated over and over while the drums and guitars build to an explosive climax. Sure, this is no Dylan lyric, but Dylan can't sing like a goddess in heat, either. In "Do You Want Me", Crawford warns, "Say what you will / Cause I can tell / What you're all about..." The effect is both scary and alluring, much like the Sirens sending out their seductive wail of demise.

Tragically, drummer Doug Meis (the only male member in the band) lost his life in a car accident this summer. Meis' drumming was the glue of the Dials' sound, simultaneously grounding the often acrobatic guitar work of Gran and Crawford while fueling the songs' explosive structures. The rest of the band has vowed to go on, and they should; the Dials sound like much more than the Next Big Thing. They sound like a band that just might make a contribution to the story of rock 'n' roll. It just so happens they're both chic and likable; most of all, however, they're good.

— 9 November 2005


- PopMatters

By: Lisa Donnelly

Chicago-based lipstick ruffians the Dials make pretty pop-punk like a soundtrack for smokin' in the girls room: gossipy echoed vocals, polished guitar licks and a flirty Farfisa. Stuttering whispers and pumping drum breaks split up taunting snarls backed by finger-heavy bass lines. Singers Rebecca Crawford and Patti Gran tattle on "Rotten" boys and screech like Kathleen Hanna, quipping, "You'll be sitting pretty in your new shitty city with your new girlfriend," as organist Emily Dennison coyly tickles the keys on the Ramones-inspired "Bye Bye Bye Bye Baby." While the Dials are usually a Dee Dee delight, the boy-toy teasing title track borrows B-52's call-and-response vocals and enough surf-slide guitars to make Gidget giggle. Perhaps the Dials' bubblegum punk is plucked straight from the Go-Go's arsenal, but their fired-up feminenergy keeps this pop sticking to, and rattling, the bedposts. - CMJ new music first

Okay gather together three young fillies with a collective CV that cites memberships with Electrelane, the Briefs, the Woggles, Puta-Pons and the Returnables – pair them with a demented drummer with the apparent onstage antics that suggest some kind of bloodline to Keith Moon but blessed with the work ethic and variation of Slits / Banshees / Creatures tub thumper Budgie and then set upon them the task to go away for a while and produce something vaguely spiky and wild with it.

Several months down the line and they return with the wiry self released ‘Sick Times’ EP (featured in all their naked glory here). This you might rightly (though misguidedly) think is a blip, the work of impish youthful exuberance. But then to repeat the trick again with a further nine (10 if you count the unnamed doomily frazzled reverb heavy mystery track which mooches in 10 minutes after the parting ‘High Tide’) party trashing wig flipping toxic cuts and you can already hear the deafening sound of the ‘your new favourite band’ whispers filtering from out of the underground.

‘Flex Time’ is an unholy hybrid, it never settles in any one specific generic medium preferring instead to assume a myriad of spiritual connections so disparate that its ultimately laying claim to it being their sound rather than anyone else’s – a trashcan trawling of mid 60’s Pebbles flashbacks, schizoid late 70’s no wave / new wave and post punk fall outs (listen out for the heavy influence of ‘Unknown Pleasures’ era Joy Division like dislocated manoeuvres that litter about the aural battleground like primed tripwires), effervescent 80’s candy pop and mid 90’s girl punk brat pop all moulded and finely tuned as if to sound like a must have acutely honed and distilled mix tape plundered from your cooler older brothers record collection. Yelping and cooing vocals that sound not unlike a bastardised mutation of Lene Lovich, Honey Bane, Kate Pierson with shades of Lydia Lunch thrown in to set you off guard (just check out the bop inducing ‘Stuck Inside’); kooky 60’s stylised organs that could easily be the work of the Mono Men via Blondie after a brief sabbatical at 1313 Mockingbird Lane and obtusely frenetic spastic rhythms that appear to be the work of a bullish forging of forces between the Fall and the Raincoats whose sole aim it seems is to kick that dippy clever grin belonging to the B-52’s back to ‘Planet Claire’ or better still further (especially on the zig zagging austere glazed head burrowing hypnotic blank generation licks amid ‘Flex Time’).

Wilfully catchy there’s an urgency that bleeds from ‘Flex Time’ – all at once discordant but with a serious pop heartbeat and caustically infectious so much so in fact that you’ll keep checking in the mirror for the obligatory rash. This baby wears its Ramones meets Helen Love heart on its sleeve none more so is this apparent than on the throbbing two chord cutesy college pop of the tangy self tanning ‘Bye Bye Bye Bye Baby’ which perhaps offers the most immediately accessible moment here with its early Primitives aftershocks. Elsewhere there’s the superbly atonal edge parading about on the viciously smarting ‘Rotten’ replete with feistily needling chords that at the close rear up into a seizure inducing cauldron of festering pyrotechnics. Best of the set though is the rampant bitten by the boogie bug volatile ‘Dead Beat’ a lovelorn bitter sweet comic book pictorial bruised and battered by the furious onslaught of staccato riffing all cutely tripped off with an adorable teen angst chorus to weep for. I could go on but I think you’ve got the general gist of things by now – buy or prepare for peer piss taking.

Additional note – Shortly after completion of the album The Dials drummer Doug Meis sadly lost his life in a tragic car accident on July 14th. He was one of three passengers killed (lead singer Becky’s husband John Glick of the Returnables and Michael Dahlquist from Silkworm) in a collision occurring in Skokie, IL. The accident was the result of a motorist attempting to commit suicide by ramming at high speed into the back of the stationary car that was carrying the three musicians back to work after a lunch break. A woman responsible for the accident and who escaped from the carnage with just a broken foot is being held without bail and has been charged with three counts of first degree murder. Our thoughts go out to the family and friends of Doug, John and Michael. For further information please visit the memorial site at http://www.dougmeis.com

MARK BARTON - Losing Today

by Erin Wolf

Album:
Flex Time

Latest Flame Recordswww.thedials.us

Chicago’s The Dials debut album Flex Time is an exciting encounter in the already well-behaved genre of dance-band pop/rock. Snarling like the throttled vocals of Sleater-Kinney and equaling their growly, growly guitars, yet jumping off of dance-y influences such as early Joy Division and Franz Ferdinand and pure poppers such as the Go-Go’s , B52’s, and The Waitresses, The Dials are a motley crew of influences, indeed.

With claims to the Chicago music scene, probably better known for its harder-edged sounds, The Dials’ music is a surprising shade of bubblegum laced with pop rocks. Patti Gran’s guitar crunches up chords, Rebecca Crawford’s bass devours the capable drum lines set by the late Douglas Meis, while Emily Dennison’s Farfisa combo organ nibbles at the main rhythms by creating intertwining surf-rock beeps. The whole effect is like listening to The Waitresses who have had too much coffee on the job – wiry and invigorating, and definitely in your face.

The lyrics are fun and pop-punchy in the same vein as The Ramones. In “Bye Bye Bye Bye Baby,” Crawford taunts, “You’ll be sitting pretty in your new shitty city with your new girlfriend / I can’t wait until it ends.” Crawford, Gran and Dennison trade vocal shrieks and sneers with the grace of well-executed high-school hallway insult swap. Flex Time is full of dynamic energy, the quartet slamming out notes and chords so fast, they threaten to self-combust. It’s dance music at its best for it has enough raw energy to not be coma-inducing, nor does it put on any airs – The Dials have a lighthearted yet raw and energizing sound, censored of any false pretences. VS

- Vital Source

From the Buzzcocks’ “What Do I Get?” to Green Day’s “Nice Guy’s Finish Last,” when done right, punk’s grit and fire have always fit nicely with pop’s melodic thrust. Chicago’s the Dials know this all too well, as they’ve spent the better part of the last six years seamlessly melding buzzsaw guitars with hard-candy melodies that reference everybody from sugar-pop princesses the Go-Go’s and riot grrrl pioneers Sleater-Kinney, to electro-punk godfathers Magazine and squiggle skronkers Devo. Three ladies front the four-piece outfit, but if you’re expecting cutesy-pie crush songs and glimpses into Hello Kitty-adorned diaries, you’ll likely be shocked when their aggressive fuck-you pop kicks you square in the teeth. Amoeba Amore, the band’s third record, comes to us post some unfortunate trauma, as original drummer Doug Meis was tragically killed in a car accident in 2005. So you can’t blame the band for getting a bit darker, angrier, and more angular this time around. Opener “Antonio” — propelled by new drummer and ex-Sarge skinsman Chad Romanski’s precise bashing — rages and grooves like Bikini Kill covering the Clash’s “Clash City Rockers.” Other tracks, like “Amoeba Amore” and “3 is Better Than 4,” hit the same shrill heights mined by 70s post-punks X-Ray Spex and the Au Pairs, but also nod to modern day dick kickers Mika Miko, Erase Errata, and You Say Party! We Say Die!. But, just as things seem like a rehash of the Rough Trade catalogue circa 1979, the Dials switch it up, and get back to adding a bit more pop to their punk. “Joe Lies” could be a lost Ramones track, and “Happy Afterall” imagines bouncy Cure-esque guitar lines playing catch up with the kind of speedy delivery that Husker Du would come up with. But whichever way they go, the Dials find a way to sink their hooks in deep, whether they’re bashing you over the head with ‘em, or cheerfully shouting them in your face. This is the kind of pop-punk that you shouldn’t be ashamed to dig. — Ryan Allen

The Dials • CD Release Show w/ The Coronados and The Dial Tones • The Belmont • 7/3/08 - Detour

Flex Time
Latest Flame Records

I've tried hard to come up with some sort of clever introduction to this review of The Dials' album Flex Time, but after a lot of thinking, I think there is only way to get started and that's by simply telling you that I love the damn album. The Chicago quartet doesn’t fill the album's thirty-five minutes (forty-three if you count the extended silence following "High Tide") with anything unnecessary and manage to fit fourteen tracks of energy and attitude within this brief span of time.

Ranging anywhere from an all-out aggressive attack to a carefree jaunt down bubblegum lane, The Dials manage to exude a certain amount of sass throughout the album. Powered forward by the drumming of Doug Meis which can go from controlled to chaotic in less than four bars, Rebecca Crawford and Patti Gran lure you in with call and response, vocal harmonies, and an overpowering confidence. The keyboards of Emily Dennison bolster the songs' melodic structures and provide The Dials with that extra something that distinguishes the group from your everyday guitar/bass/drums lineup.

If you're someone afraid to get a little active while listening to an album, you might want to stay away from Flex Time. No matter how hard you try the infectious nature of the songs will likely lead to some foot-tapping and head-bobbing followed by a serious case of jumping about that may also be called dancing.

Post-Review Note: The Dials' drummer Doug Meis was killed in a tragic car accident on July 14, 2005. The band continues on despite this tremendous loss in honor of his life and what they believe he would have wanted.

-PhiLL Ramey

- The Philler

FLEX TIME
Rating: 5/5
If the Distillers and the B-52's were to mate and have a post-punk baby, The Dials would be it. The quartet's debut album Flex Time is a scintillating concoction of energy and defiance with catchy, well written songs about life, love, and the frustration that comes with.

Rebecca Crawford, Emily Dennison and Patti Gran supply vocals, as well as guitar, bass and keyboards. Adding a bit of testosterone to the group is the late Douglas Meis, whose high-powered talent on the drum set acts as a glue that harmoniously holds the album together.

Lead vocalist Crawford does her best to channel all that was great about estrogen-powered punk in the 80's as she wraps her tantalizing voice around each song, creating a sound that is distinctively her own.

The album begins with "Dead Beat," a lament about lusty nighttime plans gone awry, as the protagonist asks "Why did you quit before we start/Was it something I just said/Is it me or are you dead?" Good question.

�Nothing But Crazy' could easily have been blasted from a boombox on a street corner in the 80's. This track proves to be pure anarchy, utilizing heavy drums, jarring guitar and lyrics that are almost screamed rather than sung.

The Dials seamlessly combine bittersweet angst with almost naive hopefulness and the result is pure dance floor ready post-punk perfection. Flex Time is non-stop energy from the first track to the last and would keep any hipster or indie kid out all night dancing like an idiot in his black rimmed glasses and too-tight tweed thrift store suit.

Marya Gates - The Daily Californian

FLEX TIME
Rating: 5/5
If the Distillers and the B-52's were to mate and have a post-punk baby, The Dials would be it. The quartet's debut album Flex Time is a scintillating concoction of energy and defiance with catchy, well written songs about life, love, and the frustration that comes with.

Rebecca Crawford, Emily Dennison and Patti Gran supply vocals, as well as guitar, bass and keyboards. Adding a bit of testosterone to the group is the late Douglas Meis, whose high-powered talent on the drum set acts as a glue that harmoniously holds the album together.

Lead vocalist Crawford does her best to channel all that was great about estrogen-powered punk in the 80's as she wraps her tantalizing voice around each song, creating a sound that is distinctively her own.

The album begins with "Dead Beat," a lament about lusty nighttime plans gone awry, as the protagonist asks "Why did you quit before we start/Was it something I just said/Is it me or are you dead?" Good question.

�Nothing But Crazy' could easily have been blasted from a boombox on a street corner in the 80's. This track proves to be pure anarchy, utilizing heavy drums, jarring guitar and lyrics that are almost screamed rather than sung.

The Dials seamlessly combine bittersweet angst with almost naive hopefulness and the result is pure dance floor ready post-punk perfection. Flex Time is non-stop energy from the first track to the last and would keep any hipster or indie kid out all night dancing like an idiot in his black rimmed glasses and too-tight tweed thrift store suit.

Marya Gates - The Daily Californian