J. Guevera is a black Jew from Montreal who speaks English, Polish, French and a few words of Russian. Special J is a white boy who carries a Nebraska driver's license. They front an original rap band from Brooklyn named the 2 Skinnee J's....They also know how to separate colors from whites when doing their laundry. Need any elaboration? Just ask the drunk at the end of the bar.
"I don't know when we can do this," says J. Guevera politely, with a sagging black garbage bag slung over his shoulder.
"We have this dinner at 7:30, and we have to go do laundry... Hey, we could do this while doing the laundry."
Hmmmm. Never considered the Laundromat for an interview. A unique funky flavor to the day. Kitsch. Apropos for this random collection of 20-somethings. Why the hell not?
But where are they going with the laundry?
After some discussion, it becomes obvious that it would be more appropriate for me to drive them, rather then to schlep the laundry around in a 40-foot school bus in the middle of Chicago downtown rush hour. So off we go, J. Guevera, Special J and myself.
After filling two washing machines at Yo-Yo's Laundromat on West Chicago Avenue with more polyester pants, leisure jackets and shirts than compiled since the filming of "Boogie Nights," we head across the street to Rothschild's Liquors. Here, in the back bar, a dingy, dark hole inhabited by career alcoholics, a man passed out on the corner stool, head plastered to the bar, echoes of discussions on the pains of living and Bay Watch previews playing on the old color TV, we begin to unravel the mysteries of the 2 Skinnee J's.
The first $4 pitcher of Old Style: The legend of Stumpy and dare not say Beastie Boys
Any discussion of the 2 Skinnee J's begins and ends with A.J. Stumpy Johnson, the band's owner, manager and spiritual advisor. As legend has it, Johnson, a Las Vegas native, "won" the band in a poker game, bluffing with a pair of twos. He now stands on stage at every show, taking 80 cents on the dollar, smoking cigarettes and pounding Heinekens. Nothing that J. Guevera, Special J, drummer Andy Action, bassist Eddie Eyeball, guitarist A. Mays or MIDI player/trombonist/singer The Spice do on stage goes unnoticed by Stumpy.
Who was the previous owner?
"We can't talk about the previous owner," Special J remarks. "Let's just say you'll never see or hear from him again."
"As far as Stumpy is concerned, the band began with him and will end with him," J. Guevera adds.
"Our motivation is Stumpy. There's nothing worse than having Stumpy tear into your hide because you suck," Special J says. "He always stands on stage to make sure that we do all right. One show, early in our career, he didn't come because he had an engagement speaking with Boris Yeltsin. He got a tape of us doing a show without him, and he was so appalled that he vowed never to let us grace the stage again without him around.
"He's going to cuss at you anyway, because we're never doing as good as we should be. But we have gotten so we never get downgraded to subhuman status. Except for our guitar player."
"A. May is working his way through the evolutionary chain backwards these days," J. Guevera agrees.
Why?
"He's a madman who walks to the beat of his own drummer...," says J. Guevera.
"...and when it's a non-Stumpy beat, he gets a beating," finishes Special J. "There are never any scars, but believe me, what happens is not fun. That's why the rest of us are really well-trained. We love Stumpy."
"It's entirely voluntary. We're glad to be with Stumpy," J. Guevera says.
Even while simply talking over a beer, the two front men play off each other with the cooperation and laissez-faire air that has propelled them to their rising status in the pop world. After almost three years of incessant touring and two independent EPs, the J's signed with Capricorn Records and released Supermercado!, a 12-track journey filled with buoyant, rap/rock grooves and satirical lyrics. It's House of Pain meets Sir Mix-a-Lot, meets 311 meets, dare we say it, the Beastie Boys.
Doh! Don't even think of extending the pigeonhole there.
"Yes, we are tired, we are sick and tired of being called the Beastie Boys meet 311. Even though people are usually very well-meaning when they say it," J. Guevera proclaims. "It's fine that fans of the Beastie Boys and 311 liken us to their favorite band. But it has never been a stated or unstated objective of the band, for us to say, 'Let's emulate the Beastie Boys.'"
Special J sees the band in an entirely different light. "More like Liberace meets Snoop Doggy Dogg."
Pitcher No. 1 drained, we head back across the street to put the costumes in the dryer. Nice to see the light of day, moving from this grungy bar. By the way, the man passed out at the end of the bar (who, as the bartender informs us, has been there since 11 a.m.), still lies face-first with no sign of movement.
The second $4 pitcher of Old Style: Rock legends, What the hell is a Riot Nrrrd? and the popping bag test
Even the lowest places in Chicago have a certain charm, and the mystic siren song of Rothschild's Liquors called us back across the street to once again imbibe cheap, pale beer.
The first single off Supermercado!, "Riot Nrrrd," is a tribute to all the dorks, dweebs, geeks and losers in high school, a call to arms for the unhip and uncool. For the J's, scrawny and dressed in thrift shop threads, they cannot seem to shake the stigma.
"I went bowling in my home town two months ago, and every time I stood up to bowl, the guys in the next lane sang 'Buddy Holly' by Weezer," says Special J, who wears black-rimmed specs. "So for an hour, every time I stood up I heard, 'OOO EEE OOO, he looks just like Buddy Holly.'"
"I think that it's hip for musicians to say that they were unpopular in high school," chimes in J. Guevera.
"I could see that Marilyn Manson would have had a hard time adjusting," Special J says.
"Everyone was a fucking misfit in high school," says J. Guevera. "It seems like everyone who is involved after high school was a misfit in high school. It was not that I was unhappy. I had a good time, just not at the high school."
But now, as up-and-coming rock stars, everything has changed, right?
"I joined this band purely for limousines, designer drugs and models," jokes J. Guevera. "So far, I am in a green bus, drinking Old Style on tap in a bar full of old men. I was in this for the supermodels, and I have not met any yet."
"We haven't even met any aspiring models yet," says Special J.
"I met an aspiring model. Didn't get to see her naked or anything, but I met her through the band," asserts J. Guevera.
Well, with pitcher No. 2 drained, a good buzz on and two loads of laundry waiting in the dryer, it was time to bid Rothschild's farewell...but not until we completed one final act: the popping bag test. Old man still face down at the end of the bar, one paper bag filled with air and...WHAM!
He didn't stir an inch.
"One question," asks Special J. "When you don't wake up after that, do you fail or pass the popping bag test?"
With that, we're off to the show, another trademark in-your-face, entertaining, crowd jumping up and down, hands in the air from the beginning tune ("The Best") of 2 Skinnee J's show.
And manager/owner Stumpy stands onstage, collecting 80 percent, of course.