In 2002, six years after the dissolution of Velocity Girl, lead singer Sarah Shannon released her first eponymous solo album. A wide departure from the jangly distorted guitar and shoegazey harmonies of her work with the band, this album offered us a mature songstress in the vein of Carly Simon. Her signature sing-songy twee vocals persevere in this recording and is an addictive draw to this very Adult Contemporary sound. The album was not a commercial juggernaut, but the listener gets the message that this is an album that Sarah Shannon made for Sarah Shannon.
This was the age of Myspace; a time when social media did not yet monopolize communication. Internet quizzes gave rise to identity politics, and the fall of Western civilization gained that much more speed. I was able to check out a few songs. I felt blessed to hear her swing into the hight notes again with the cadence unique to her only. But it was not Velocity Girl, I was young man attempting to cling on to the warm security blanket of youth. The void persisted.
Two years later, I became a father. Work and new obligations took me to the West coast of Florida, and with it a search for child care. I searched for, and eventually found, the babysitter that met one of my highest criteria items: access to Kindie Rock.
The early 2000's gave us the rise of Kindie Rock: music performed by indie rock artists and intended for children. DEVO, They Might Be Giants, and The Aquabats were among the throng of seasoned musicians creating music for this new demographic. In this milleu, Sarah Shannon gave us her most ambitious, accessible work since VG With her new Kindie Rock band The Not-Its, Shannon gave us a new-found energy, using her noticeably trained up vocals in conjunction with the rock sensibilities of a full band. Other bandmembers include Micheal Welke of Harvey Danger and Danny Adamnson of Kentucky Pistol. With a proper indie rock pedigree, Sarah Shannon's new vehicle was the offering that would make me whole.
Velocity Girl broke up in 1996. Their final album, Gilded Stars and Zealous Hearts, played in a small coffeehouse on the east side of Orlando in the summer of that year. As a newly minted "grown-up", I had began taking up the myriad responsibilities of supporting myself such that I no longer had the teenage time to pursue my musical interests. As such, I had not heard the album yet. Having taken a rare mid-day break to investigate a tiny coffeehouse in the heart of college town, I bonded with the barrista when recognizing Sarah Shannon's sing-song voice. Doug would become a dear friend and roomate not many years hence. Our mutual fondness of music stirred up the then-latent passion that used to conflagrate in me daily. The news of VGs demise further cemented the harsh reality that, as a new man, life will be rife with disappointment.
Velocity Girl had one singer before Sarah Shannon. Her name is Bridget Cross, who recorded just one song with them, "I Don't Care if You Go", before leaving to play bass guitar for another seminal indie rock band, Unrest in 1992. In 2002, a decade after the breakup of Velocity Girl, Bridget Cross went on a camping trip to Skagway, Alaska with companion Franswa Fernandez. Fernandez is a Black man and a South African national. Bridget is white. Unfortunately, that detaii is germane to this story.
Much of the data regarding what transpired on the trip is collected from 20-year-old Metafilter data and info captured from Gecities websites right before that web provider reached end-of-life. Varying accounts conflict. Some maintain that Franswa was the object of derogatory and racist treatment from the locals in this secluded Alaska working-class town. The majority of that treatment being received at the Red Onion Saloon, one of very few taverns in the area. Other accounts assert that Cross and Fernandez were drunk and obnoxious, causing discord in this remote bar where fights were a weekly norm. Whatever the reality, a brawl broke out between the bar patrons and Franswa Fernandez. A railroad worker was slashed by a blade wielded by Fernandez, inflicting a critical wound. Cross and Fernandez fled the scene by car, attempting to make the Canadian border and a hasty retreat. They were stopped at the border by Alaskan authroties. Franswa Francisco was charged with intent to kill, Bridget Cross was charged with fleeing a crime scene and DWI. Accounts suggest that Franswa Francisco was denied contact with the South African Consulate.
While Cross was released and returned home to the contiguous United States, Franswa remained in Alaska awaiting trial. Bridget Cross first accepted a state-appointed attorney, but eventually had to retain a private lawyer to dispense with some of the more superfluous "bogus" charges against her.
Velocity Girl, having been frozen in carbonite in my memory, agreed to reunite for one performance at the Black Cat club in Washington, DC to raise money for Briget's legal fees. To see Velocity Girl again would be a near-religious experience. While definitely talented, it is safe to say that my obsession with them is not wholly based on their musicianship. They imprinted themselves on me during a formative and emotional time in my life. When you're young, emotions are so much more intense, and can be scarring.
I did not see the show at Black Cat. In fact, It would be several more years until I even learned of this reunion on Wikipedia. An opportunity missed, and as a young man I came to terms with how to deal with missed connections, chances not taken, and loss.
By Fall of 1996 I had been listening to Simpatico! on pretty heavy rotation for two years. Velocity Girl had given me an obsession that I could claim as my very own. Those fringe bands who broke onto the music scene in '91 were all commonplace by this time, and rock n roll radio had reverted back to the same five song rotation formula, removing all the taste and excitement from alternative music. On the Sub Pop label, VG was a personal experience that did not saturate the airwaves. True, Velocity Girl was Sup Pop's biggest seller second only to Nirvana, but their just-below-the-radar presence defined Indie music.
This was my first year of independence. Freshly 19 years old, I moved out of my family home in Melbourne to live in Orlando; the "big city" by comparison. In Florida, cool temperatures are at a premium, and the slight autumn chill sent electricity up my spine. On this particular August night, I was going to see Velocity Girl live for the first time.
This time, the anticipation was validated. Downtown Orlando was a bustling contrast to sleepy Melbourne. Marquis lights reflected off of the rain-slick sidewalks. "Six Underground" by the Sneaker Pimps played loud through an open bar door as I speed-walked to my destination: The Sapphire Supper Club. The place was packed. I scored the lone empty seat next to an attractive woman; small talk would reveal that she was an embalmer.
Velocity Girl were already on stage, milling about and setting up. A rather swish gentleman standing in the pit ventured to speak to lead singer Sarah Shannon and came back to his friends, reporting that she was distracted and "not into it". I was glad I did not risk the same venture. When they began performing, they started with the jangly guitar intro "Drug Girls", my absolute favorite song by them. I was ecstatic. They could have just spent the whole time screaming atonally and clanging pots and pans; I would have still loved every second of it.
I would learn several months later that this was their final tour. Their endmost album "Gilded Stars and Zealous Hearts" would fail to catapult Velocity Girl into stardom, and they called it a day.
That summer, I remained blissfully unaware. Seeing Velocity Girl was the final step of the imprinting process, and they were my personal escape from the mundane. Outside of my Velocity Girl obsession, I worked a third-shift gas station job to afford my share of the rent on an apartment shared by four people and three cats. The body never gets used to the 10pm to 6am shift. My relationships suffered and my social life was as inconsistent as my circadian rhythms. But in the mornings after work, when most of those around me were still fast asleep and I was the sole owner of consciousness, the music of VG soothed me. These morning moments fueled my creativity as I would write poetry on my apartment balcony, watching the dawn sun filter through gray clouds, providing an other-worldly illumination for these meditative mornings. This would set the tone for my creative output over the next few years.
