On the Bill

Ukulele Loki's Folderol Follies and the Gadabout Orchestra will perform with Vermillion Lies at 8:30 p.m. on Monday, Aug. 27, at the Fox Theatre, 1135 13th St., Boulder, 303-443-3399.

I was still a little high and perhaps vaguely paranoid when I arrived at the Odd Fellows Hall, an ancient, hulking facility that sits atop the Boulder Army Store on the corner of 16th and Pearl. The windows were dark and lifeless, but the front door was ajar — so I decided to take my chances.

I knew very little about the Odd Fellows, aside from their self-deprecating name and the fact that they were a fraternal men's organization, something akin to the Masons or the Elks. As I ascended the creaky, Hitchcockian staircase, laughter erupted from somewhere in the caverns above, and I imagined a room filled with distinguished gentlemen in phallic hats performing their nightly rituals (perhaps plotting the overthrow of Europe or dancing around a sculpture of William Jennings Bryant).

I followed the cacophony into an enormous chamber decorated with stained-glass windows and surrounded on all sides by wooden, throne-like chairs. At the north end of the room, gathered around an antique table, four young men were discussing Mahler and eating nachos. When they saw the look on my face, they smiled.

"I'm looking for someone named Ukulele Loki," I said. My voice echoed several times in the giant hall. Low-kee... Low-kee... Low-kee...

"He's running late," replied one, whose puckish grin was punctuated by a messy head of ginger hair. "Do you want a nacho?"

This was how I met the Gadabout Orchestra, a motley crew of rogue classicists, burlesque performers and music therapists, whose raucous concerts/sideshows have become something of an underground sensation in Colorado over the past five years. Their group — in its current incarnation — is composed of Ben Fausch (tuba/sousaphone/ bass), Kevin Reynolds (clarinet/saxophone), Davis Wimberly (drums), Mike Woodard (trombone), Travis Rosenberg (guitar/pedal steel) and Yuka Takeda (glockenspiel). They are accompanied by a constantly changing entourage of freaks and sideshow professionals, who include acrobats, contortionists, fire breathers and glass walkers, just to name a few.

And, of course, there's the ringleader himself, Aaron Rogers (aka Ukulele Loki), on lead vocals, uke and electric uke.

"It can be a bit of a circus at times," admits Fausch. "I'm trying to play my tuba, and there's a dancer taking off her clothes and a fire-breathing midget next to me. It's pretty distracting... but that's how we like it."

[Editor's note: "Midget" is a term that Lil' Miss Firefly uses to describe herself and is not considered a derogatory expression in the world of circus performance.]

I chatted with the band for about 15 minutes — discussing, among other things, the nature of their hectic rehearsal style — before Loki showed up, dressed like a Bohemian Huck Finn, his blue jeans rolled up to his knees, a pin-striped suit jacket covering a Colorado Shakespeare Festival T-shirt, the trademark mustache curled to perfection, his bare feet protected by a pair of green, sequined flip-flops (which would break later on in the evening, causing him to limp around the Sundown Saloon like a suburban pirate).

"Sorry we're late," Loki said with an endearing theatrical flare that the man just can't suppress. "We had a charity event to attend. Someone wanted to feed the starving musicians."

Perhaps partly due to Loki's natural showmanship persona, fans and music journalists often focus on the hyperactive carnival atmosphere surrounding the Gadabouts and overlook the carefully constructed music this group produces.

"I grew up in Salt Lake City," Loki said. "And we had a great independent radio station. I learned to play the ukulele because my grandmother was really into the music of the 1920s and '30s. But I was also into the Kinks, Bauhaus, A-Ha, Dexys Midnight Runners... and I want our music to reflect those influences."

This is a fair description of the frantically nostalgic style that Loki and the Gadabouts have invented, a unique sound that harkens back the Depression era while simultaneously recognizing the Reaganomics-inspired '80s and the current alt/indie scene. No one else in Colorado is deconstructing the musicology timeline quite like these guys.

As proof, the Gadabouts graciously allowed me to sit in on a rehearsal at Rosenberg's house, where the walls were covered with posters that seemed to reflect the diverse musical influences of the band itself. Johnny Cash stood back to back with Ol' Blue Eyes, who stared longingly at an image of Paul Simonon smashing his guitar against the Palladium's stage.

The group rehearsed for about an hour, stopping frequently for Loki to give strange, cryptic directions. "This song should sound like a lullaby written for a manic-depressive insomniac," he said at one point, a comment that apparently made sense to his cohorts because they immediately adapted this metaphor into the chorus.

"That's what Ben [Fausch] does," Loki explained when I expressed confusion. "He takes the adjectives that I give him and transcribes them into musical notation. I'll say something like, 'No, that sounds like a pirate ship, [but] I want it to sound more like a sunflower.' And everyone makes that happen."

I was still mystified, so Loki and the Gadabouts attempted to describe their technique further by playing the "sunflower" instead of the "pirate ship."

I had no idea what they the hell it all meant, but it sounded like damn fine sunflower to me.

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