Introducing…The Dimes

“Is 18 too young?” I ask Steve without context. In characteristic deadpan fashion he shoots back, “Not if you have a chaperone.”

It’s barely 10 o’clock on a recent Saturday night, the wedding reception has wound down and I’m retrieving a voicemail from The Dime’s drummer Iram Guerrero (no relation) asking if there were any good shows going on tonight. He’s never called me before despite my open invitation to the band to come over to the house anytime. And softspoken Iram’s an easy target for Steve and my’s childish conversations about imaginary trysts.

Having established that there weren’t any shows that piqued our interest (a rarity for an October Saturday night) Iram and I meet up at Onion Creek Cafe and Bar. It’s a terrible choice on my part but it was close and I had to pick someplace where my tender Iram wouldn’t be carded. Despite the dreadful music and the frattish crowd, I buy my ersatz date a root beer and settle in.

Iram is gracious if just a little bit nervous (Steve: “I can’t imagine why.”) He inquires about Orion and Ramon. We talk about school and work. I learn the history of the band.

Not unlike any suburban high school band. Four kids who listen to the punk rock and get together. Iram and Carlos Sanchez are neighbors. Jose is Carlos’ brother. And classmate Cley Miller rounds out the foursome (“His audition was at HIS house!” Iram tells me with a the-nerve-of-us laugh.)

I picked up their debut self-titled CD (AKA “the animals” CD) at one of their umpteen Super Happy Funland shows this past summer. Superhappy is one of the only all ages venues in town – a must for their mostly high school fans. This is probably one of the challenges they’ve had at getting more ‘adult’ fans for whom a drink special is more important than a merch table and a set that will end in plenty of time for them to get home before Houston’s draconian midnight curfew.

In any case, The Dimes have this CD of music. And it is g-o-l-d. Even if you ignore the fact that the members were in high school when the music was penned, it’s the kind of record that would make any band envious. Local or national.

It’s a facile comparison to say The Dimes are influenced by The Pixies. (“Finally! A GOOD song!” gasps Iram…The Pixies are our exit music from the cafe.) But The Dimes reminds us that The Pixies were just as perverse and punk as power and pop. Do you remember dropping the needle on ‘Come On Pilgrim’ when it came out and just being mesmerized? In that vein other fair comparisons would be The Buzzcocks (more so even). The Talking Heads. Or even Blondie. In that sense The Dimes are the best punk band in Houston.

And their debut record is quietly making the rounds locally. Quietly because their distribution is lousy. There isn’t even a copy of the CD at local college radio station KTRU. That has a show dedicated to local music. And broadcasts at 50,000 watts. And streams on the internet. I’d recommend you pick up the CD at the local independent record store Sound Exchange but I’m afraid to ask. Too bad since the record is terrific.

Take the opener. It’s a killer: “Teenage Sex” starts off unlikely enough with guitar feedback and crashing drums. You’re fumbling for the light switch but before you find it you’re slammed into a roaring, soaring wave of melody which carries you off through two raucous rhythm changes before you’re washed gingerly back on shore. I need a cigarette at this point. …

Track two. The light fretwork and lilting vocals of the intro to “What a Gasp” are quickly rendered bittersweet by the driving disco beat laid down by the absurdly talented drummer (self taught, Iram has never so much as been in marching band) and Jose’s joyful bass thumping. Add in the aggressive jangle of the lead guitar and you have a song reminiscent of U2s “Gloria” or “Outlaw” by Mission of Burma.

This same measured frenzy of the rhythm section will come back on “Landlady” (my favorite if you held a gun to my head and made me choose) and “Delila” to remind us that this record is an “all for one and one for all” deal. No one gets left behind. Bass and drums cut through the underbrush for the vulnerable vocals and cocksure guitars. The guitars egg on the rhythm section to play meaner. Each intro, each solo, every creative use of guitar effect holds the door open to the next song part as if to say “We are holding hands and there is nothing sissy about it.”

The only hint we get that The Dimes are ages 18 and 19 is the sweet, plain, high, and ocassionally cracking vocal delivery of Dimes frontman Carlos. His lyrics reflect a boy who is at once emotionally bewildered and perversely happy. Never mind that I usually don’t know what he’s talking about. No matter. I’m here for you, Carlos. Lay it on me.

Hand clapping, sleigh bells, dog barks, group yells. An acoustic hootenany that begins “Cup of Water” (the only hickup on an otherwise flawless record). These are all devices that a less self assured (or less naiive) group might skip lest it sound silly. But The Dimes are incapable of sounding insincere or awkward. There is nothing that flat doesn’t work on this record including incredibly honest production values. Kudos to the Sugar Hill Recording studio for letting the Dimes live spirit shine through.

In the end, The Dimes bring us a gorgeous recording that encapsulates the optimistic but anxious spirit so uniquely familiar to Houstonians. Lucky for us that they were clueless that you’re supposed to start small, languish in obscurity for years before making a promising debut record. Instead The Dimes made a record that is ambitious in execution but humble in delivery and always honest about its roots.

Thanks, Dimes. I’ll always remember you “when”.