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We're Not Listening
Radio Heart - Fire Motion, pt. 3
They took their name from a Cap’n Jazz song. “Oh Messy Life,” to be exact. It’s not the actual lyric – the song really goes, “Fire is motion, work is repetition” – but it’s close enough to be considered a homage.
And in retrospect, it’s probably kind of weird that a band of their nature took cues from one of the founding bands of emo music. However, it wasn’t their name that attracted a certain Raimundo Asbury to the band. It was their sound – a raucous mixture of country and folk-punk, layered with lyrics about homesickness and heartbreak, and the night that Rai chose to check out this local Gainesville band was as revolutionary as anything else in the music world.
It was in the early months of 2000, where Florida nights were freezing in between sun-soaked days, and Rai had taken a brief pilgrimage to Gainesville out of wanderlust. He had those periods of time where all he wanted to do was explore places he rarely got to see, and he felt like he could afford it – Hooligans! had left him with cash to spare, and his fiance’s journalism gig had given them a pretty steady stream of money. It was a lucky life he lived and my God, he knew how blessed he was.
This whole idea of a record label hadn’t taken off until Rai saw Fire Motion in action. Until then, it had just been a nebulous idea that was riddled with “what ifs” and “maybe somedays,” and then the second Fire Motion had ran through their first song of the set that night, Rai knew what he had to do.
When they were done slamming through a few covers and a slew of original songs, the aging punk rocker avoided all security guards and ran backstage, eager to meet the band that had inspired him right then and there. And if he had not been a familiar face to nearly everybody in the punk scene in Florida, his impulsiveness might have gotten him killed – or mauled by drunken bodyguards, at the very least.
It was Gunner who first recognized the ponytailed fanboy gawking at them from the door of the dressing room. The rest of the guys were drying themselves off with sweat-soaked towels, too preoccupied with their post-show high to notice the legend standing in front of them.
Gap-toothed Gunner just whispered, “…Did someone drug my beer, or is that Rai Asbury?” to his buddies, locking eyes with him.
Anthony laughed, half-drunk from beer and half-drunk from happiness, but when he looked where Gunner had his attention, he immediately shut up.
Rai didn’t say anything. He was smiling so hard that he didn’t even know where to begin – he remembered how Hooligans! had been approached by a few labels, and all at once, he forgot how to make a compelling argument.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Justin grunted, out of breath. (Later on, he would swear that he didn’t mean to sound like such an asshole.) “Is this a prank?”
It all came out in a blur from Rai’s mouth. How he had been trying to start up a record label based in Florida with no luck, how he had come to the show that night out of curiosity and ended up amazed at the beauty that Fire Motion had come up with – a blending of genres that were so distinct and even seemed to fight one another. This was a force of nature to him. Fire Motion may not have seen the things they were creating, but Rai had to toot his own horn for a moment; if he had been in a successful punk band for years, he must have done something right when it came to music. He trusted himself. It was up to this band to do the same.
It may have been a combination of awe and starstruck feelings that compelled the band to agree to talk to Rai more, but regardless of where it came from, the places they went were unlike anything anybody in this cowpunk quintet could have dreamed of.
They were the first band to be a part of this Not Listening Records nonsense, and possibly the only reason why people bothered to care was because Rai was behind it all. Nobody seemed to mind. At least Rai was using his relative fame for good, and man, was it good.
And in retrospect, it’s probably kind of weird that a band of their nature took cues from one of the founding bands of emo music. However, it wasn’t their name that attracted a certain Raimundo Asbury to the band. It was their sound – a raucous mixture of country and folk-punk, layered with lyrics about homesickness and heartbreak, and the night that Rai chose to check out this local Gainesville band was as revolutionary as anything else in the music world.
It was in the early months of 2000, where Florida nights were freezing in between sun-soaked days, and Rai had taken a brief pilgrimage to Gainesville out of wanderlust. He had those periods of time where all he wanted to do was explore places he rarely got to see, and he felt like he could afford it – Hooligans! had left him with cash to spare, and his fiance’s journalism gig had given them a pretty steady stream of money. It was a lucky life he lived and my God, he knew how blessed he was.
This whole idea of a record label hadn’t taken off until Rai saw Fire Motion in action. Until then, it had just been a nebulous idea that was riddled with “what ifs” and “maybe somedays,” and then the second Fire Motion had ran through their first song of the set that night, Rai knew what he had to do.
When they were done slamming through a few covers and a slew of original songs, the aging punk rocker avoided all security guards and ran backstage, eager to meet the band that had inspired him right then and there. And if he had not been a familiar face to nearly everybody in the punk scene in Florida, his impulsiveness might have gotten him killed – or mauled by drunken bodyguards, at the very least.
It was Gunner who first recognized the ponytailed fanboy gawking at them from the door of the dressing room. The rest of the guys were drying themselves off with sweat-soaked towels, too preoccupied with their post-show high to notice the legend standing in front of them.
Gap-toothed Gunner just whispered, “…Did someone drug my beer, or is that Rai Asbury?” to his buddies, locking eyes with him.
Anthony laughed, half-drunk from beer and half-drunk from happiness, but when he looked where Gunner had his attention, he immediately shut up.
Rai didn’t say anything. He was smiling so hard that he didn’t even know where to begin – he remembered how Hooligans! had been approached by a few labels, and all at once, he forgot how to make a compelling argument.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Justin grunted, out of breath. (Later on, he would swear that he didn’t mean to sound like such an asshole.) “Is this a prank?”
It all came out in a blur from Rai’s mouth. How he had been trying to start up a record label based in Florida with no luck, how he had come to the show that night out of curiosity and ended up amazed at the beauty that Fire Motion had come up with – a blending of genres that were so distinct and even seemed to fight one another. This was a force of nature to him. Fire Motion may not have seen the things they were creating, but Rai had to toot his own horn for a moment; if he had been in a successful punk band for years, he must have done something right when it came to music. He trusted himself. It was up to this band to do the same.
It may have been a combination of awe and starstruck feelings that compelled the band to agree to talk to Rai more, but regardless of where it came from, the places they went were unlike anything anybody in this cowpunk quintet could have dreamed of.
They were the first band to be a part of this Not Listening Records nonsense, and possibly the only reason why people bothered to care was because Rai was behind it all. Nobody seemed to mind. At least Rai was using his relative fame for good, and man, was it good.