Radical Dudes

“What if we just sent the bill from our coke dealer to the
Mercury?” asks Christian, tipping back another plastic cup of
vodka and soda. The financial pains of the print industry come as some
disappointment. “I thought the fuckin’ Portland Mercury was
gonna be buying us filet mignons.” Quickly he comes with a solution:
“Don’t even write an article—there’ll just be a blank page and
we’ll go get high.” And that blank page—or perhaps a picture of
some coke piled up next to a can of piss beer and an
ashtray—would do a fine job capturing the Mean Jeans.

The trio—drummer Andrew (AKA Jeans Wilder), bassist Howie
(Howie Doodat), and singer/guitarist Christian (Billy Jeans), all of
whom refuse to use their real last names in press materials and
credits—are upstairs in a house full of band posters,
skateboards, records, and couch surfers. There’s a painting above the
fireplace; a fierce ocean surfed by a piece of pepperoni pizza. A band
is practicing in the basement. Just another night at the punk
house.

Solidified after a move from Washington, DC, in late 2006, the Jeans
played as a duo until Howie appeared at Slabtown’s Bender festival a
year or so later. He wanted to jam and they exchanged numbers. “The
next day I got a text from him,” Andrew remembers. It read: “Yo bro,
when’s practice?” Howie, who felt the Jeans needed some low end, turned
out to be “too awesome to say no to.” Plus, he knew how to party.

“You brought us to Walmart, wasted, and bought us outfits,”
Christian laughs. “We went to Slabtown dressed as the Backstreet Boys
and you were fuckin’ getting pulled over barfin’ on yourself. You were
smoking crack, taking shrooms, barfin’ shrooms into the toilet.”

Throughout the interview three bands keep coming up. “We like the
Ramones, Riverdales, the Queers,” says Andrew. “I think when we first
started out we were trying to be a band that ripped off a band that
ripped of the Ramones.” And they’re strikingly proficient. The Jeans’
Are You Serious? blazes through 13 two-minute pop songs about
partying, drugs, and grime. All are catchy and precise. Perhaps a
well-constructed song is the only thing that really matters—aside
from partying.

“I’m a self-depreciating ass who doesn’t take myself seriously,”
Andrew says with a smile. “I’ve been wasting my life.” Andrew then
gestures toward Christian, “He either is, or pretends to be.”

Indeed, the Jeans frontman is canny at times. Back in DC, Christian
made shitty white emcee party-rap under the name C-Rex, proclaiming he
had the “most ignorant rap video ever.” It was not without production
value. Then there was an earlier stint teaching metal guitar.

“I was a major league shredder,” Christian admits. “The Berklee
School of Music, they gave me a major paycheck to go teach youngsters
how to shred. And ’cause I knew how to shred I said, “All
right—I’ll shred it.'”

A glimpse of their skills outside power pop flashes at the end of
Serious‘ “Slime Time.” Suddenly the vestiges of punk vanish,
uncovering a new age-y wash of synths and electronic blips. The scrap
of electronica lasts for a mere 40 seconds. The Jeans have yet to put
together a real tour. They want to, but say they’re “generally too lazy
and/or wasted.” Their label, Dirtnap, is helping, but really, the Jeans
insist, it’s not about business or popularity. Christian lays it out,
“M.O. being: play music that doesn’t suck, with bands that don’t suck,
and have fun.”

And since the Mercury isn’t paying off their coke dealer, the
Jeans pull the last 50 bucks from the band fund and reach for the
phone.