H₂Bro Part I: River of Dreams

      I clap my hands as H₂Bro takes the stage, but in an instant my applause is drowned out by the hollers and shrieks of the fans of “Wisconsin’s most hydrated cover band.” Brothers Willy and Billy McHydro pose with charismatic smirks behind their mic stands and guitars. As Willy sets down his first of what will eventually total 20 Deja Blues, Billy guzzles from a gallon of what he calls “Mother Nature’s wet dream.”

          

      What began as a ruckus becomes pandemonium among 200 of the band’s “Drippies” when Willy addresses them.

           

      “I don’t know about y’all,” Willy shouts. “But we are HYDRATED AS FUUUCCCKKK!!!”

       Sensing synergy, Willy nods, counts off to four, and picks the familiar, jagged riff of “The Ocean.” Zeppelin was another band known for excess, but as I learn during our interview at the after-party, the McHydros do things a little differently. They follow their own stream—and sometimes that stream forks.

           My ventures into the Fond du Lac bar scene had decreased with the onset of my thirties, but the social media presence of H₂Bro—coupled with my curiosity and love of live music—drove me to cover this story. A review of their fan page informed the basics: They’re a septet comprised of strings, rhythm, keys, and horns, led by two passionate brothers who believe classic rock is as essential to survival as water itself. That explains the group’s H₂Overindulgence, as well as their choice in covers: “Aqualung,” “Catch a Wave,” “Black Water,” “November Rain,” and their ambitious medley “Take Me to the River of Dreams.”

          

          In the wake of their stunning performance that Saturday night, I get my first glimpse of friction in the brothers’ relationship, which could be described as delightfully combative. Mere seconds after the final notes have resounded, the McHydro siblings begin to bicker. The tiff has something to do with the encore. As I approach for a closer listen, I overhear the last gasp of Billy’s tirade.

          

          “You vetoed my jam, so now we’re drinkin’ at Kim’s, bro.”

          “That’s all the way across town!” Willy protests. “And my house is just a block away.”

          
          In a disarming gesture, I cordially ask for a picture and autographs. Frustration lingers, but a moment later, I’m nearly gusted a step backward by the collective sighs they exhale. The tension dissipates. They acknowledge my request and enhance the honor by signing the set list.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself seated beside H₂Bro keyboardist Swinkle as he groans despairingly and inserts his key into the ignition of his Volvo.

          

        “You OK?” I ask.

          

        “We gotta stop at a Kwik Trip,” he says. “‘Cause in three minutes, my bladder is set to detonate.”

          

###

We're the last to arrive at Kim’s place. Diminutive and chic, with a demeanor that charms and unnerves depending on high and low tides, Kim Bono is Billy’s girlfriend of four months. Swinkle and I stamp and smear our wet shoes into the Welcome Mat as the voice of an alpha male transcends the commotion coming from the basement.

        “Wet T-shirt contest!” 

        In retrospect I should not have raced downstairs with as much vigor as I did. Overcome by the urge to see gorgeous Drippies soaked in translucent tops, instead I witness the McHydro brothers thrusting out their chests and spilling water onto their plain white tees. Again. It’s a replay of the stunt they pulled between sets at their concert.

           
        “We love to show off our nips!” Billy declares.  

Willy commands a vote from the partygoers. To the chagrin of his kin, he wins this particular contest by a margin of 12-11. Willy is overjoyed, noting that their lifelong series is now tied. Drippies and bandmates disperse to start an H₂O Pong tournament at a far-off table in the basement, leaving us privacy to conduct an interview.

          

       When asked about their origins, Willy is proud to mention their parents, Hank and Olivia McHydro, who met working at Fond du Lac’s water treatment facility in 1982.

“Mom and dad were true romantics.” 

          “Yeah,” Billy nods. “They banged on the catwalk of the water tower.” 

          “Twice.”

           “And here we are!”

          Music, fishing, and swimming were instrumental in the boys’ upbringing. In high school, they cofounded the Super Soaker Club, and after graduation, the burgeoning adults landed jobs as plumbers. 

          “Lots of water,” Willy explains. 

          “Plus some shit.”

          “Right. But hey, that’s life!”

           

          The brothers pursued a reprieve from the drudgery of 40-hour workweeks—as well as “Water Nymphs,” as Willy puts it—and they found both, to a degree, by performing in a number of cover groups over the years. Willy regards their stints with The Sponges, Space Canoe, and Chmura Hot Tub Experience with mixed emotions.

          

         “We had some fun in those bands, but we kind of missed the boat. We just weren’t going all the way. I mean, only about 60% of the songs we did were water jams.”

          

         “Yeah,” Billy says. “Then that Ice Bucket Challenge got super popular.” (In July of 2014.) “The message was clear: The people were getting psyched about H₂O. And they needed a band to sing its praises. We wanted to be that vessel to dowse them with hydro-melodic joy.”

          

          “Like a Super Soaker that spurts refreshing notes,” Willy adds. 

          I’m amused by the harmonious nature of their insights. It’s as though the pair have tapped into the same stream of consciousness. As with any brotherhood, however, dissention happens. Having emptied his latest Deja Blue, Willy reaches for Billy’s unmarked jug. In a flash of ire, the younger McHydro slaps away Willy’s lunging hand. 

         “Get your own!” he snaps. 

          They glower at each other until I clear my throat, segueing to my next question.

          “Is it fair to say you two don’t always see eye-to-eye?” 

          “You could say that,” Willy allows, sustaining his sideways glare. “Like, we have our disagreements when it comes to set lists.”  

            “This guy refuses to play ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,’” Billy says, motioning his thumb like a dejected hitchhiker. 

          I’m reminded of the cryptic remarks made on the set list they signed.

“Augh, that song is so depressing,” Willy gripes.

  

          “So is ‘Like a Hurricane,’” Billy retorts. “But we play that.” 

          “That’s not depressing, it’s bittersweet!”

“Semantics! Either way, ‘The Wreck’ is a work of genius.” 

“Pfft,” Willy sneers. “According to Kim.”

She materializes at Billy’s side at the mention of her name.  

       

“Indeed I did express such a conviction,” Kim says. She swishes the clear liquid in her martini glass with a studious stare as she caresses her boyfriend’s back. “Yes, I do hope the band pays homage to Lightfoot’s true opus. My grandfather died aboard the Edmund Fitzgerald… or he knew somebody who did, or something. What matters is the sorrow in my bosom. If not H₂Bro, then who shall quench it?” 

          “Wow, how eloquent,” Willy says in an icy tone. “Did your girlfriend go to junior college?”

          “You’re Goddamn right she went to junior college!” Billy roars.

          A nervous bandmate intercedes to separate them. Todd, the drummer. He lures Willy to a distant corner to do a “water-cooler stand.”

          Social awkwardness resurfaces and I make plans for departure. It’s 3:45 in the morning. I phone for a taxi. While I wait, Kim gushes to her lover about the “organic, haunting splendor” of the version of “The Wreck” from Lightfoot’s All Live album. Minutes later, Willy returns, prompting scowls. The couple decides to resume their chat by the water cooler.

Willy’s foot bumps against the half-empty jug his fellow McHydro had placed on the floor. It seems pretty commonplace, yet his brow furrows deeply. He scrutinizes the thing.

          A Drippie taps me on the shoulder and asks if I called for the cab parked in the driveway. In a haste I scramble for my coat and say goodbye to Willy, but he barely seems to notice as he bends down to pick up the jug. 

          I hustle up the stairs. As I fling the back door open I’m struck with déjà vu when I hear that same voice of an alpha male transcending the commotion down there. But it’s an angry wail this time—ferocious enough to finally silence the party.

          “HOW DARE YOU!”

          I hesitate but then I detect headlights reflecting off the garage door, fading in intensity. My cab is leaving me. I chase after it. Running past basement windows, I see blurred snapshots, glimpses of chaos, a hurricane of humanity with two men at its epicenter, stamping in puddles of water, both screaming. Everyone screaming.

          The cab stops and I get in—headed home to bed and then a deadline to meet. I’d left at the crest of some gargantuan wave and I could only contemplate what it meant.

Wannabe Lovers

vs.

Spice Girls "(If You) Wannabe (My Lover)"

There's a trite expression about women that goes, “Can't live with them, can't live without them,” and the opposite has probably been said of men, but either way it's a futile complaint. We give in to bodily pleasure and companionship roughly 98.9% of the time, and when it comes to owning that desire, fools like me could use a few words of advice.

     Desire is a powerful force that men and women express in contrasting ways. The differences can be confusing, sometimes maddening, but relief of the confusion is out there, in the soundwaves, for instance. Singles from 1979 and 1996 have already taught us about as much as we’re ever going to know. In a triumph of funk over disco, Prince once pronounced “I Wanna be Your Lover,” and later the Spice Girls exploded into shopping malls and pop culture with “If You Wannabe My Lover” (which we'll call “Wannabe” from now on, since that is its proper title, although I did nail the chorus). These two hits speak volumes about the courting process from masculine and feminine points of view, and it's no coincidence that even the names of the artists imply gender.

     The dual nature of pursuit and protection is exemplified by these songs. Prince strives to overcome the gauntlet the Spice Girls have laid down. It’s a contest of desire and defense, volition vs. vetting. If all goes well enough, ultimately both sides crave a win-win, but only one wants an easy victory. What’s inside women is the boss and the countless applicants might as well be a horde of semen squirming for a hero’s welcome inside that glorious egg.

     Starting with the male perspective, let’s break down the dueling wannabes by putting Prince and the Spice Girls under the microscope in the heat of mating season.

     “I Wanna be Your Lover” begins with some irresistible funk strumming before Prince declares: “I ain't got no money.” Where opening lines are concerned, he's off to a shaky start, but at least he's honest. Give Prince a chance to elaborate. You won't regret it.

     It may be hard to imagine a man who has sold over a hundred million records being broke, but the earliest work of Prince Rogers Nelson barely charted. (In his first contract with Warner Bros., he sacrificed pay in favor of creative control and also ran up an exorbitant bill as a perfectionist in the studio, which likewise cost him money for a so-so debut.) “Lover” was therefore written at a time when his financial future was in question, years before Purple Rain ensured he'd always have enough cash to pay for flowers and dinner at a nice restaurant (or else a fucking roller coaster).

     The artist formerly known as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince has more declarations: “I ain't like those other guys you hang around.” He seems pretty declarative. Assertive, even.

     “And it's kinda funny,” he continues. “But they always seem to let you down.” Most men are disappointments. Ha! Not this alley cat, though, and even if his sense of humor has some quirks, he gets “discouraged” 'cause he never sees you anymore. He just wants to look into your eyes and listen when he asks how your day went. “And I need your love, babe.” In addition to the listening thing, if you eventually feel like touching his penis, that'd be great. “That's all I'm living for,” Prince confides. He's an emotional risk, and a passionate one at that.

      “I didn’t want to pressure you baby,” he claims. “But all I ever wanted to do…”

     Then comes the chorus, which has compelled so much intercourse that the Census Bureau now recognizes it as a key factor in population growth.

“I wanna be your lover

  I wanna be the only one that makes you come running

  I wanna be your lover

  I wanna turn you on, turn you out, all night long, 
  Make you shout, ‘Oh Lover!’

  I wanna be the only one you come for.”

     This hook is an essential part of Prince’s guide to getting lovers: He puts the emphasis on his singularity. He boasts an exclusive appeal. With determination to match that of the winning sperm swimmer, he’s obsessed with claiming success so pure he refuses to share it.    

     The second verse finds Prince aspiring to be 1.) a brother, 2.) a mother, and 3.) a sister to his romantic interest. His eccentricities resurface and his feminine side becomes apparent. He’s not a man’s man. He’s a ladies’ man who can capture that rare dynamic of confidence and vulnerability.

     “There ain’t no other that can do the things that I’ll do to you,” he reiterates. “And I get discouraged ‘cause you treat me just like a child.” Here Prince triggers the mothering instinct, in case there was any doubt about him covering all his bases.   

     “And they say I’m so shy,” he admits near the end of the verse. “But with you I just go wild.” The Purple Rain Man makes his sweetheart feel special; she has an enchanting effect on his sense of self and his sex drive.  

     Men can learn a lot from “I Wanna be Your Lover.” No one is obligated to enjoy Prince’s music, but anyone with an appreciation for the female form can at least Google his ex-girlfriends. Short, kooky, Chihuahua-like men are not supposed to bed the likes of Kim Basinger and Carmen Electra… not until they’re able to write a song like this to take down throngs of panties.

     On the Spice Girls’ end of the spectrum, I think it’s fair to say that what “Wannabe” lacked in artistry it made up for in mass appeal. In 1996, the ubiquitous slogan “Girl Power” became both a marketing machine and a vanilla nod to progress. Though many Spice fanatics had recently passed through an Elmo phase, the single is embedded in pop-culture history. I expect to see women flood the dancefloor for “Wannabe” at every wedding reception I go to, and that’s a beautiful, nostalgic thing to behold (once or twice a year, tops).

             
     Like a lot of pop sensations, the Spice Girls were assembled by talent managers in search of both the next big thing and a shitload of money. Once the proper Spice Girls were found, popularity and wealth ensued. After they prevailed over hundreds of competitors in a series of auditions, Melanie Brown, Melanie Chrisholm, Victoria Beckham nee Adams, Emma Bunton, and Geri Haliwell became the quintet of Scary, Sporty, Posh, Baby, and the one who must have caused an uproar at the Legion of Redheads: Ginger. Sure, the Spice Girls acted like luscious and peppy cheerleaders, but in truth, they also had something in common with an elite starting-five in basketball: they were assembled, coached, and managed into a winning combination.   

     The Spice Girls have sold over 80 million albums, the most ever by a female group. Their debut album Spice accounted for 30 million of those sales, and “Wannabe” was the lead single, the first and mightiest of their hits. Their formal introduction to the world’s airwaves was a gargantuan wallop of pop infectiousness:

“Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want

So tell me what you want, what you really really want

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want

So tell me what you want, what you really really want

I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh), I wanna (huh)

I wanna really really wanna zigazig-ah!”

It’s a spirited pep rally chant that builds intrigue until the revelation “zigazig-ah,” which means… nothing. Before I looked up the word, I thought maybe “zigazig-ah” was esoteric British slang for sex, like “shagging.” That’s not the case. The Spice Girls coined “zigazig-ah” without ever defining it. No matter, in ’96, we were all either hooked or at the mercy of the DJ at the school dance in spite of the gibberish.

Any man who claims it’s impossible to discover what women truly want might cite “Wannabe” as proof, but we shouldn’t give up so easily. They don’t respect that.

“If you want my future, forget my past,” Sporty demands. Baby wastes no time delivering a rhyme: “If you wanna get with me, better make it fast.” Scary and Ginger continue the teamwork approach. “Now don’t go wasting my precious time.” A smooth pass to the buxom redhead, who coos, “Get your act together, we could be just fine.”

Now the contrast becomes clear. Whereas Prince had to list his qualifications, the Spice Girls set the qualifications—and there are more to come.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends,” the British Beauties command. “Make it last forever/ Friendship never ends.”

Let’s consider these expectations. Not only is the vaginal applicant being challenged to woo one woman, he’s told he must also gain the approval of her closest confidants. In the case of the Spice Girls, this entails winning over a whole quintet in pursuit of one, and similar to a jury, it seems the vote has to be unanimous, which greatly reduces a man’s chances. He might feel the magnetism of Scary’s moxie and sweet pokey nips, but if he can’t shine in a half-hour chat with Sporty about badminton (in addition to three other challenges), forget about it.

Here are some of the other requirements for dating a Spice Girl:

1)    “You have got to give.”

2)    Prove you’re for real and capable of handling her love.

3)    Listen carefully.

4)    Memorize the names of her friends. (Degree of difficulty if inside a noisy bar: 10.)

This latest proviso emerges as the ladies begin to namecheck each other, including Posh/ Victoria, which leads to what has got to be considered the group’s best innuendo: “Easy V doesn’t come for free. She’s a real lady.”

A vagina pun?! Oh my God I’m in love. And it’s a vagina pun that conveys words of wisdom suitable for both kids and adults. Wow. Cheeky Girls. Marry me. All five of you. I want to wake up every morning on a huge bed with my head at the center of a star made of spread Spicy legs and V’s.  

Anyway. The ladies have devised a daunting obstacle course for Prince and his kind, and it’s all predicated on the following condition: “If you really bug me, then I’ll say goodbye.”

      That’s cold, Spice Girls. I retract nothing, but it’s still cold.

Hope remains for seducing Spice Girls and their ilk, but the most encouraging lyric they have to offer might as well have been sung with a shrug: “I’ll give you a try.” But with this window of opportunity finally cracked open, the frenzied females gush their most adult material: “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta slam slam slam slam slam your body down and wind it all around.”

OK, if “zigazig-ha” turned out to be false hope for dirty minds, surely the same cannot be said when cheeky birds repeat both “you gotta” and “slam” a total of five times, in reference to bodies, which are winding all around. I’ll be devastated if I learn they were only referring to breakdancing.

But if that’s what they want, a breakdancer I shall become. Dammit, I’ll get into shitty dub step and shatter some vertebrae if that’s what it takes to get a little sympathy. That’s how bad I still want to see Posh and Scary naked.

In summation, both “Lover” songs are keen to the relationship between supplicants and rewarders. That was the essence of Girl Power, which Prince understood long before it became a ploy for merchandise. In his music at least, he wasn’t threatened by the movement. Remember, in a claim that was as effeminate as it was ballsy, he claimed he wanted to be “your mother and your sister too.” 

That’s the main reason he won more mad-dashes to the egg than he lost. Like the sperm who won first place, he embraced it: Girl Power.