TacocaT bassist Bree McKenna has made a solemn vow to the Seattle
music community: “I’ll make an effort to be more sober at our next
show.” A couple of weeks ago, after a deluge of cocktails, TacocaT accidentally became unwitting headliners. “We
thought we were going to play second,” guitarist Eric Randall explains.
“We got to the Funhouse and started drinking, and then we got pushed
back to last and we kind of got fucked up.”
“We got super fucked up,” corrects drummer Lelah Maupin. “We played
‘Peeps’ twice, once at the beginning and once at the end.”
McKenna jumps back in: “Well, it’s our favorite of our songs and so
we wanted to hear it again. I just started the bass line, because I was
thinking, ‘All right, it’s time to get it started,’ and everybody
followed.”
And Maupin for the win: “We hear that bass line and we just can’t
help ourselves.”
TacocaT are the easiest interview ever. I just turn on the recorder
and the Seattle foursome amuse the hell out of themselves. They’re a
group of longtime friends who started playing at house parties a few
months ago. McKenna and Maupin are still taking lessons for their
instruments. Randall plays in the Trashies, and McKenna has been in a
couple bands, but the lead singer, Emily Nokes, had never performed
before, though she insists that she’s “classically trained in
tambourine and kazoo.”
“I noticed one day when we were in the car together that Emily has a
crystal blue songbird voice,” Maupin says, “I asked her to come out and
sing with us when we were practicing and it’s worked out.”
The first thing they did was make matching outfits—tent
dresses for the ladies, a jacket for the gentleman—to perform
in.
“The matching outfits are the only gimmick that we have,” Maupin
says.
“Unless being shitty on your instruments is a gimmick, because then
we have that,” Randall adds.
I ask about their controversial name. “We’ve gotten a lot of hate
for the name,” McKenna mutters, and then Randall tells the story.
“TacocaT was the first name we came up with,” he says. “What sold me on
it was when Bree told someone about it and they said, ‘That’s what an
8-year-old would name his band.'” So now they’re committed to
palindromes: potential album titles include Lonely Tylenol and
Evil Olive.
With all the playing around, it’s easy to forget that TacocaT are a
good band, especially for one that’s only a few months old. They’ve got
at least 12 solid, catchy pop-punk songs in their repertoire. The other
day, they wrote a song about women with muffin tops; while we’re
chatting about how one of the band members modified a thrift-store
dress, Nokes suddenly shouts, “We should write a song about shoulder
pads!”
Their songs are unabashed fun: There’s the aforementioned “Peeps,”
which begins, “Peeps are delicious/squishy sugar-coated dream.” Other
songs are angrier than that bit of shameless Shonen Knifery: “Annual
Violation” is a grrrl-punk rant about going to the gynecologist.
Randall explains that he hates writing lyrics, which is why they have
so many, as McKenna puts it, “vagina songs,” adding that, “We were
going to do a toxic shock syndrome song, but Lelah thinks it’s too
gross.” Maupin defends herself: “I thought that took it too far. We
already have songs about urinary-tract infections and Pap smears.”
In concert, they’re incendiary—pop-rock mixed with ragged
screams. You’re drawn in by the sugar-high beats and your blood starts
pumping harder during the angry polemics about douchebag bicyclists who
take themselves too seriously. TacocaT are very open about their
influences: They cover Bikini Kill’s “Carnival” in concert, and Nokes
announces that they want to become the B-52’s.
She also insists that, after their upcoming show at the Comet,
“Recording is going to be top priority for us.” The friends could face
some turbulent times, though, if they keep writing angry songs about
such specific subjects. When I suggest that their splenetic “Bike
Party” is going to create some enemies in Seattle’s notoriously
hardcore cycling community, Nokes is blasé.
“I think we already have enemies,” she says, almost hanging onto a
straight face. “Bikers, girls with muffin tops, and gynecologists are
all enemies of TacocaT.” 