Dirty blues and frayed nerves make Little Hurricane churn
“Fourth Of July” (download):
Forgive the members of blues-rock duo Little Hurricane if they describe the past year as a whirlwind. Since their first practice in drummer Celeste “C.C.” Spina’s apartment in late 2009, they’ve gone from playing for crowds they could add up on one hand to earning the title of San Diego’s best new band and landing coveted spots at South By Southwest, Austin City Limits and Lollapalooza. Despite the fuss they’ve kicked up with their live shows and debut album, Homewrecker (Unknown Breakthrough), success hasn’t translated into overconfidence.
“I almost had a heart attack the morning of Lollapalooza,” says Spina, a Chicago native. “I was up at 4 a.m., at my parents’ house, pacing, thinking, ‘What if this ends our career?’ I was just terrified.”
When Spina turned to Craigslist in search of a bandmate a few years ago, her expectations were fairly low. The culinary-school grad had spent nearly a decade hopping from kitchen to kitchen in pursuit of her dream to open a restaurant—and afford a house that could accommodate her drum kit. After moving to San Diego and continuing to disturb her neighbors with paradiddles, she realized music was her true passion. That revelation led to Spina’s online post, resulting mostly in responses from “creepy dudes or people like, ‘I can play with a chick.’”
She eventually agreed to meet with guitarist/singer Tony “Tone” Catalano and was impressed by his jazz-band chops and soulful vibe. “When Tone came over for that very first practice, and he had this amplifier in a ratty old suitcase that looked like you’d find it at the swap meet for five dollars, my eyes just lit up,” says Spina. “I love old stuff. Even if you don’t know the history, you just feel it.” Considering they met online, she also appreciated his non-threatening demeanor. “I analyzed him and decided he probably wouldn’t murder me,” she says.
As it turned out, the duo who’d become Little Hurricane were like two lost pieces of the same puzzle, waiting to be put together. Catalano was the industry veteran who was feeling burned out after years playing in the pop-punk outfit he formed in high school, and later, recording other artists and live shows for the Grammys and MTV. That Spina hadn’t played with other musicians since her marching-band days was actually a bonus in his eyes. “She had a fresh energy,” says Catalano. “There’s a lot of jaded musicians out there. She made it exciting for me again.”
Little Hurricane’s drum-and-guitar setup recalls both the White Stripes and Black Keys, comparisons that Spina takes as compliments, for the most part. “I really like both of those bands,” she says. “Although the other night someone said I drummed a lot like Meg White, and I vowed to myself to practice a lot before the next tour.” One listen to Homewrecker and it’s clear that most of those parallels end with a head count. Spina’s drumming swings from subtle to sledgehammer-heavy, complemented by Catalano’s nimble guitar work and voice, which shifts from whisper to wail in an eyeblink. “We really like that ‘dirty blues’ term,” Spina says of their sound. “But it’s also folky. There’s some rock elements to it. Other stuff is really dark, really sad. I think its music that plays on people’s emotions, including our own.”
Anyone expecting a sunny postcard from California will be disappointed in the menacing stomp of “Crocodile Tears” and “Haunted Heart,” with its slinky groove and lyrics of aching love from beyond the grave. “A lot of the songs are experiences in our lives,” Catalano says, pointing to “Sweet Pea,” inspired by the passing of Spina’s grandmother, and “Lies,” an explosive howl aimed his ex-girlfriend. “It worked out as a song,” he says, “and a way to get out some aggression.”
That energy carries over to the stage, where the photogenic pair is hard to ignore. Spina, who’s dabbled in modeling, is a study in contrasts, both girly (she often wears baby-doll dresses onstage and plays barefoot, with her cowboy boots stationed by her kick drum) and badass (as evidenced by the colorful half-sleeve tattoo wrapped around her left arm). Lean and handsome, Catalano’s soft-spoken persona disappears when the amps are turned on, and their live sets are a chemistry lesson set to music—whether exchanging quick glances or locking eyes, there’s rarely a moment of disconnect. That electricity leads to the inevitable questions about whether they’re more than bandmates.
“We get that a lot,” says Catalano. “I think some people wish we were together. It just makes sense in their heads. But we both have love for the music.” As for all the eye contact, Spina chalks it up to her own awkwardness: “I don’t know who else to look at. I get really uncomfortable looking at the crowd.”
In their short time together, Spina and Catalano have embraced a road-dog mentality, playing gigs across the West Coast and an unofficial residency at the swanky Cosmopolitan casino in Las Vegas, where high-rolling bros and high-heeled babes in wrap dresses are known to roam. Given the band’s glitter-free sound, it’s no surprise that one of Catalano’s favorite gigs was far less glamorous—a joint called Divebar in a strip mall near the Vegas airport, for an audience of three.
“We were obviously disappointed, but we had to impress those three people,” he says. “We go up to the bar and ask for a beer, and the bartender said, ‘The band doesn’t get a beer until after they play.’ They’d had bands that just drank their beer and left. We thought, ‘What kind of place is this?’” Their efforts paid off after the show, when a patron asked them to record a song for his film, an indie crime comedy starring Coolio. That led to “Crocodile Tears,” one of Homewrecker’s standout tracks. “It’s one of our favorite songs to play,” Catalano says. “It’s just funny how the universe works out.”
The band hopes its good karma flows through this fall for Little Hurricane’s first Northeast tour and a two-week sprint through Australia. Though they’re playing to bigger crowds these days and mixing in some surprising covers—ranging from Sinatra’s “Feeling Good” to Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing”—one constant is their living-room stage set. Inspired by their cozy first rehearsal, they always perform with a dresser that doubles as an amp cabinet, topped off with an antique lamp.
“I can tell some bands think it’s just bells and whistles, but I think of it as detail,” Spina says of their accoutrements, which also decorate their album cover. “We’re trying to figure out how to get it to Australia right now. They’re like, ‘Do you really need to bring a dresser and a lamp?’ We do. But the lamp is on its last legs.”
With mounting accolades, the current tour and enough new material for their sophomore release, which they’re targeting for early next year, Spina can laugh at her mini-breakdown on the morning of Lollapalooza. “It started raining, but the clouds parted and it was a beautiful day,” she says. “We had a terrific set, so it all worked out. But it was kinda scary, to be honest.”
Yet there’s no trace of fear when talk turns to the future, as Spina says their high-profile shows have only made them hungrier. “You get a taste of the big thing,” she says. “Then it’s back to reality and you realize you have to work 10 times harder to get where you want to be.”
—Richard Rys
