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Old 3C Digital Jukebox
One MP3 from each of our releases is provided here for your listening pleasure. The files have been kept small to download easily, and they're not as high-quality as those you'd buy online, but you're welcome to keep them. We hope you enjoy the songs, and please use the provided links to purchase our digital releases. Thanks.

Play Track 24 | "Revolver"
Vena Cava, self-titled CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 23 | "Pardon The Morning"
Mike Hagen, The Ballad of Fungobat CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 22 | "Lonely Heart" (Peck of Snide) Various Artists, Twenty One and Hungover CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 21 | "Seven Years"
Ron House, Obsessed CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 20 | "20 or 30 People"
Ron House, New Wave as the Next Guy CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 19 | "Internet is Just Bad Pot"
Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, No Old Guy Lo Fi Cry CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 18 | "RnR Hall of Fame"
Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, Bait and Switch CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 17 | "Bottle Island"
Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, You Lookin' For Treble? CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 16 | "The Way She Runs a Fever" (Live, Pop Shop, Cleveland, 1983)
Great Plains, Slaves to Rock N Roll CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 15 | "We Are Carloadbuyers"
The New Normal, The Sprightly Sounds of The New Normal CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 14 | "Pizza You"
Shades of Al Davis, Midwest Peace Talks Vols.1, 2 CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 13 | "Everyone Is Wrong"
Saint Paul & His Coalition of the Willing, Everyone Is Wrong CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 12 | "Radio City"
Fungobat, Greatest Hits Vol.1 CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 11 | "Still There's Hope"
Log, Logjammin' CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 10 | "Black Sox Scandal"
Great Plains, Live at the Electric Banana, Pittsburgh, 1985 CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 09 | "Hollywood Years"
Log Almighty CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 08 | "Ahab's Leg"
Shades of Al Davis CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 07 | "My Evil Friend"
Log, The Early Years CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 06 | "Toward Picturesque"
Paul Nini, Life in These United States CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 05 | "No Beginning, No End"
Peck of Snide, Moot CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 04 | "Po Mo Fo PO Folks"
Great Plains, Cornflakes CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 03 | "Vague Uncertainties"
Paul Nini, The Mannerist Age CDR
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 02 | "Old 3C"
Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89,
2-CDR retrospective set
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Play Track 01 | "Reference"
Log, Auto Fire Life CD
iTunes | eMusic | Amazon MP3

Click here to play the Columbus radio show that profiled the Log Almighty release.

How to purchase Old 3C downloads
Old 3C works with the good folks at IODA to supply MP3s and other downloadable audio files to a wide variety of on-line vendors, including Apple iTunes, eMusic, and the Amazon MP3 store. Please visit these vendors (or many others out there in cyberspace) to get your legal download on. Viva la capitalism y'all.




The Other Paper, July 20-26, 2000 issue, review by Marty Cole.
Columbus Alive, August 3-9, 2000 issue, review by Stephen Slaybaugh:

Folk-punk pioneers: Almost 20 years ago, Great Plains fertilized the Columbus music desert.

As much as Columbus sometimes seems devoid of entertaining diversions, it is important to remember that it used to be much worse. When it comes to music, many touring bands may surpass our town, but thankfully we have a fairly large selection of good local acts.

Such was not the case when Great Plains formed in the early '80s. Springing out of the cultural abyss, Great Plains combined literate witticism with idiosyncratic folk-punk. Their music went against every grain of music popular then. It was anti-tuneful before leagues of lo-fi bands madethat acceptable. It was anti-sentiment, anti-fashion and unapologetically sloppy in the midst of a stylized fad called new wave. It is hard to imagine a more antithetical band for the time. For the Plains' small legion of fans, the band must have seemed like an oasis.

Old 3C, which is owned by one-time Great Plains bassist Paul Nini, released "Length of Growth" this week, a two-disc compilation of the majority of the band's recordings. The set comprises their three full-lengths, two EPs, and two singles, the majority of which appeared on the now-defunct Homestead label.

Great Plains consisted of Ron House (later of Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments) on vocals, Matt Wyatt on guitar, Mark Wyatt (now with One Riot One Ranger) on keyboards and Dave Green on drums (save for the "Exercise" single) with a revolving cast of bass players including founding member Don Howland, who went on to form the Gibson Bros. and then the Bassholes.

The strongest material comes from the band's second LP, "Naked at the Buy, Sell, and Trade." It was at this point that the band peaked in all aspects: lyrically, musically, and recording wise. "Letter to a Fanzine" and "Hall of Shame" are perhaps Great Plains' finest moments. The earlier material, while instantly likable, at times displays the band struggling to match House's intelligent commentary with equally exciting backing. And unfortunately Paul Mahern's heavy-handed production on "Sum Things Up" glazed over many of the outfit's unique charms. Nevertheless, "Length of Growth" is a long overdue compendium to one of the most seminal bands to make music in Columbus.
Philadelphia CityPaper, August 17-24, 2000 issue, review by Sam Adams:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-1989 (Old 3C)
If you thought Ron House's strangled yelp sounded odd above the clatter of the recently disbanded Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, it's even stranger to hear it over the oh-so-brainy sounds of Great Plains, the Columbus outfit House fronted for most of the 1980s. Very much of its time-- that tinkly organ sound just screams 1986-- the band's unexceptional college-rock sound is lifted by House's one-of-a-kind-thank-God voice and his witty, snotty lyrics. (Sample titles: "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking," "Time to Name the Dog.") If one song makes this modestly-priced, 50-song collection worth owning, it's the laugh-out-loud "Letter to a Fanzine," which opens with the timeless question "Why do punk rock boys go out with new wave girls?" and dissolves into a breathless string of non-sequiturs like "Isn't my haircut really intense?/ Isn't Nick Cave a genius in a sense?" Bands as diverse as They Might be Giants and Neutral Milk Hotel probably owe these guys a debt of sorts, but not one that couldn't be paid off with a few rounds of domestic beer. (www.old3c.com)
Washington CityPaper, Sept. 1-7, 2000 issue, review by Mark Jenkins,
in his "What Goes On" column:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-1989 (Old 3C)
Someday, scholars of scruffy '80s indie rock will be grateful for this 2-CD, 50-song overview of the career of Great Plains, Ron House's pre-Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments band. Non-professional listeners, however, will probably want to skip from track to track, landing on such almost-classics as "Rutherford B. Hayes,""Letter to a Fanzine," and "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking."
The First Church of Holy Rock and Roll, Text by the Man in the Pulpit, The Reverend Wayne Coomers (on-line, 2000):

 Friends That Last: Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-1989
Hard to imagine hundreds (much less thousands, or millions) of rockaroll denizens waiting intensely and impatiently for nearly a decade for someone to reissue the works of Columbus, Ohio's Great Plains (who?), but, dammit, that's what I've been doing, and finally it's happened. Old 3C/TMIV's release of a super-cheap 2 CD set (which in itself is pretty hilarious) is twice as much as I could have hoped for, and, aside from a curious omission ("Chuck Berry's Orphan"), it delivers the goods-- 50 challenging songs that demonstrate that great rock and roll can be about anything under the sun.

Ron House (currently the pilot of Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments) is certainly one of the most literate songwriters ever to rock a garage and, while that sounds like the kiss of death, believe me, it ain't. House is far from limited to big idears and esoteric references; he's as sharp as "barbarians" like the Replacements when it comes to good ol' rock and roll subjects like sex ("Physical Fact") and booze ("Long and Slow Decline") and rock and roll itself ("Letter to a Fanzine," which includes the philosophical refrain, "Why do punk rock guys/Go out with New Wave girls?"). More importantly, when a guy's reading and observation leads him to songs like "Rutherford B. Hayes" (about* being a big loser -- and it mentions Woody Hayes, too!), "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking" (about a meeting between two of House's heroes), "Black Like Me" (about Panthers holed up with Highway 61 Revisited), "Fertile Crescent" (about the birth of civilization and...dancing), or "The Wind Blows, The Law Breaks" (about, well, the impulse to knock shit down with a rock and roll song), and the songs are funny as well as smart, you know he's in no danger of being pretentious. As House sings in "Pretty Dictionary" (and the quote's also emblazoned on the CD's jacket), "Without a book in my hand/ I'm a desperate man."

Speaking of desperate, House's vocal style recalls that of a drunk with morning-after DTs and fucked-up tonsils who just keeps nattering on and on and on, until you suddenly realize he's making more than sense. He sometimes makes Richard Hell sound like Al Green, but, like another gutter-wiseass with a wet-rat mewl named Bob Forrest, his conviction and humor (which applies more than liberally to himself) force you to identify with him. Where he moves past Hell and Forrest is when his volume and desperation swell with the climactic chorus-tides of many of the stronger songs on the collection (listen to, for example, "The Wind Blows, the Law Breaks") -- no matter how many beers he's downed in the studio, or how many existential laments he's gobbled up with his eyes and brains, he never seems alienated from his own emotions. I don't know about you, but that's the rock and roll shit I NEED. Right now, man.

For many of you out there, words and vocals aren't nearly enough. What about the music? Well, Great Plains didn't really power-chord or punk-rawk like Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments do. Occasionally, yeah, but more often, driven by organ and folk-rawky rhythm chords, they're straight out the Nuggets garage. They're not exactly hooky -- if they were,House's attack'd be a lot easier sell to the tire-kickers; if they were, though, they'd be a whole lot less scruffy and charming -- but, upon repeated listening, catchy bits and pieces rise up through the modest production and implant themselves in your memory. One way to look at it is they were either incapable of or maybe even conceptually disinterested in dramatic "rock" structures; if you're familiar with House's take on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the latter possibility isn't that far-fetched at all. Folks, it's just very honest three-chord rock and roll...with some intelligent, hilarious, and dark words attached. What are you waiting for?

A special treat here is the song "Dick Clark," which -- I think -- is the greatest song ever written by a front man to his band. Admittedly, I don't know that many to begin with, but it's positively inspirational. They want to be on the auction block, "naked at the buy, sell, and trade," but he frees them from the need for fame. They want to throttle him, but they still follow his orders: "Leave it to me/Let Dick Clark sort out the details." Really, it's the story, I'm sure, of a thousand bands within this collection's chronological scope, pre-indie r ock termites infesting the mantle above Reagan's living room fireplace. Almost brings a tear to yer eye....

Great Plains reminds me of a lot of my friends: they aren't initially easy to get next to (too many people craft their personas for easy social access, anyhow), but, with time and familiarity, they become positively addictive. And...they last.

A big salute to Old3C/TMIV for giving Great Plains the chance to last.

*(Note: Most of House's songs are "about" a helluva a lot more than they're about, if you get my drift).
Cleveland Scene, October 12, 2000 issue, Review by Kurt Hernon:

Great Plains with Them Wranch. Saturday, October 14, at the Beachland.
Coming from the early '80s generation that saw the American Dream take its place at the end of the unemployment line, Great Plains was one of many indie rock bands that sprouted up from the demon seeds of late '70s punk. With purposeful guitar strums, whirring carnival keyboards, and beguiling but intelligent lyrics (captured on the recent, 50-song career overview disc "Length of Growth 1981-89"), Great Plains was the band that holed up in the coolest garage on the block. Conquering subjects as weirdly varied and eclectic as forgotten Presidents ("Rutherford B. Hayes," which boasts lyrics such as "the grandfather of Woody Hayes/Saw the future in a sudden gaze/He couldn't believe they lost the Michigan game"), baseball history ("Black Sox Scandal/What Are You Living On?"), fanzines ("Letter to a Fanzine"), and historic social movements ("Martin Luther and Martin Luther Drinking"), Great Plains not only showed wit and smarts, but a real grasp of converting such arcane knowledge into a reasonable commentary on modern American culture as well. All the while, the band rocked away recklessly -- always seemingly at the edge of collapse. Over the course of three terrific LPs, a pair of significant EPs, and a handful of singles, Great Plains -- which disbanded just over 10 years ago, but has temporarily reunited -- separated itself from the indie rock masses by producing some of the era's most unique, honest, and intelligent garage-punk. And, along the way, singer/lyricist Ron House became the small, quiet voice of a generation that never heard him.
Cleveland Free Times, October 11-17, 2000 issue, "Rewind" column, review by Franklin Soults:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89
This two-CD set includes every major long-lost recording of this decidedly minor yet thoroughly inspiring Columbus collective. Since leader Ron House appreciates better than most the unique pleasures and severe limitations of post-punk bohemia, it's no surprise that it's more cleverly organized than the straightforward chronology suggests. "Exactly 50 songs," boasts the cover, a number that hooks the fastidious slobs who buy economy-sized bargains but also splits his band's history, well, fifty-fifty.

The first CD is a glass-half-full portrait of a prototypical '80s indie band. In place of solid musicianship and melodic invention, it offers desperate enthusiasm and catchy motifs: mad keyboards (usually cheesy organ), modest guitar and vocal tricks, and bon mots so beguiling that you'll curse the lack of a lyric sheet. The second CD then transcends the underground the band was born to celebrate, kicking off with their funniest, tersest statement, "Letter to a Fanzine," and closing with the perfectly titled "Standing at the Crosswords." In between, the band finally does House's lyrics full justice, even when they still drown them out.

Grade: A MINUS. Great Plains reunite at the Beachland Ballroom on Saturday, October 14, at 10 pm.

erasingclouds.com review by Dave Heaton (on-line, 2000):

 Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89
Until now, I mostly knew Great Plains from their reputation and from bands that cite them as an influence. I knew them as a legend more than anything; I'd only heard their music in handed-down fashion, through Nothing Painted Blue's cover of "Love to the Third Power" and Swearing at Motorists' version of "Letter to a Fanzine." On the other hand, I'm quite familiar with Plains singer/songwriter Ron House's subsequent group Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments. The recently disbanded Slave Apartments were a rough, ragged powerhouse. Their call to burn down the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame might have garnered them a bit of notice from MTV News, Rolling Stone and the like, but that same confrontational attitude and love for honest-to-goodness rock-n-roll ran threw everything they did.

Great Plains rocked just as hard and as well as the Slave Apartments, but with more heart and more musical variety, at least as far as I can tell from the two-disc retrospective "Length of Growth 1981-1989." These songs musically meld dirty punk rock (in the Ohio sense of the word "punk," not your traditional UK, NYC or California sense) with new wave melody, and lyrically are all over the living map, dealing with topics from Rutherford B. Hayes to when is the right time to say hello when an attractive person walks past you on the street.

"Length of Growth" consists of 50 songs, taken from the band's debut EP, three LPs and a handful of 7"s and appearances on compilations. Absorbing all of this music for the first time is like finding a missing block of history, a really cool one. From Great Plains, it's easy to follow a path (genuine or imagined) to the wide-eyed innocence of Built to Spill, Beat Happening's sloppy enthusiasm, Nothing Painted Blue's witty historical/cultural observations and a host of other current musical strains and forms.

Great Plains wrote great songs of all sorts, from heartfelt love songs to commentaries on historical situations and societal developments. It's pretty hard to write about this compilation in terms of the songs that appear on it, because in picking certain songs to write about I'm inevitably ignoring scores of others that are just as good. Disc One, which begins with a quick intro from Dr. Demento and relies heavily on the "Mark, Don & Mel" EP and the "Born in a Barn" LP, has a ton of gems. One of my favorites is "Confetti", a jaunty look at politics as usual which will suit this upcoming election season as well as any: "Let me tell you why I cry/people choose the wrong leaders all the time/ Let me tell you why I laugh/a year goes by and they want those choices back."

Another great one is "I Must Have Made It All Up," a real heartbreaker of a song about confusion, regret, anticipation and all of the other feelings wrapped up with love. House gets so much across with every tear-soaked word, right from the start: "Out of the corner of my eye, I see you and then I start to cry/Oh I must have made it all up, there's no such thing as love/What am I thinking of?" It's a far stretch from there to the explosive "Black Sox Scandal/What Are You Living On" (which blows me away every time), but this sort of change of gears seems to come naturally to Great Plains. This quick medley starts with a lament about, as the title indicates, Shoeless Joe Jackson, which uses the scandal to discuss disenchantment and the American dream. Then the band slams into a quick rocker asking listeners to examine what's wrong with the world and what they can do about it.

Disc Two, much of it featuring songs from the "Naked At the Buy, Sell and Trade" and "Sum Things Up" LPs, ups the energy and the synth presence. On one song House imagines meeting "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking," the two "brothers" celebrating with "libations for the liberation theory." That the same band made "Animated Innocence" is the fantastic thing about Great Plains; this is a killer pop song with a hint of Sesame Street about it, dealing with the power the look on someone's face and the way they walk can have on you. Another favorite of mine is "Physical Fact," a jerky little number that takes a scientific look at lust. House lectures/ponders, "Irresistible forces explode upon impact, that's a physical fact/ The body's ideas are not always clear to me, as far as I can see."

From start to end, this collection rocks, yet their music is about a lot more than just rock n' roll. Their lyrics touch on topics weighty and silly in way that is smart, fun and, most importantly, extremely relevant to life. "Length of Growth" is a hell of a testament to a hell of a band, and, as someone unfamiliar with their music, I appreciate it greatly. Count me in as a fan, albeit a decade or so after the fact.
spledidzine.com, review by Beth Lucht (on-line, 2000):

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89.
Back in the old days, before the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, there was Great Plains. Hailing from the not-quite-great plains of Columbus, Ohio, Ron House and company made a solid dent in the college music scene with their releases, including a trio of records on Homestead (trust me, kiddies, the mark of coolness for a band back in the mid to late eighties). Sounding not unlike a happy Gordon Gano, House asked all the questions everyone was wondering about at the time (like "Why do punk rock guys go out with new wave girls?" from "Letter to a Fanzine"). I probably hadn't heard a Great Plains song for a decade until I received this CD in the mail. And you know what? They still sound pretty darn good. A little dated, but not in a bad way. Gems like "Dick Clark" still glow with Great Plains' off-kilter, whimsical pop sensibilities. "Length of Growth" is a thoughtfully selected compilation, suitable for oldsters whose Great Plains records have worn through or youngsters curious enough to wonder about what came before.



Spin Magazine, December 2000 issue, pg. 216, review by Eric Weisbard.
Perfect Sound Forever (on-line), by Kurt Hernon from his Top Ten of 2000 list:

 Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89.
Hardly fair to put this all-encompassing retrospective on a best of this year list. But then again, it's hardly fair that no one else ever got to hear America's premier garage pop punks.

Columbus Dispatch, Saturday, October 21, 2000. Article by Aaron Beck, Pop Music Critic:

 Back to the Flatlands. A decade after breaking up, Great Plains still manages to win new fans.

Few rock bands have been as serious about their music as Great Plains.

Yet a list of whimsical song titles -- such as Time To Name the Dog and Martin Luther King & Martin Luther Drinking -- might have an unsuspecting listener mistaking the Columbus group for a joke band.

Syndicated radio host Doctor Demento bought the 1986 album Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade thinking he had picked up a comedy recording.

"I was going through a long list of records for sale," Demento said. "I came to a listing for 'Great Plains: Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade.' I had never heard of them. They were somehow off my radar."

Then he listened to the album.

"For about a minute or so I was disappointed: 'Hey, I don't think this is a comedy record.' But I let it play, and I realized I liked it. The next night, I played it again. The tunes somehow got under my skin."

In town for a sci-fi convention last year, Demento asked the folks at WLVQ (96.3 FM) whether they knew anything about Great Plains.

"They'd never heard of them," he said.

He was sent north up High Street to Used Kid's Records, where Great Plains lead singer Ron House happens to be employed. He ordered the rest of the out-of-print Great Plains albums and volunteered to do an introduction for a new, two-disc retrospective, Length of Growth 1981-89, on Old 3C Records.

For almost a decade, Great Plains smashed together folk, new wave and garage rock. House wrote cerebral, politically pointed lyrics and sang them off-key in a nasal, witchy whine.

Demento -- a big fan of 1980s rock, especially the Meat Puppets and Replacements -- found Great Plains oddly endearing.

"By the second play, I got to actually enjoy Ron House's singing," he said. "Most of the tunes seemed to have these two- or four-bar hooks to them that really helped me remember them. It's the same reason Nirvana stood out from the rest of the pack of their time."

Singing the guitar line from Smells Like Teen Spirit, he continued: "Everybody remembers that if they can't remember the words. A lot of Great Plains songs are the same way."

Former Great Plains bassist Don Howland is less generous.

"Ron's voice just drove me nuts," he said from his home in Asheville, N.C. "I always thought Ron was cursed. He writes great songs, great lyrics, but just couldn't sing them."

The group disbanded in 1989. Not to be outdone by Kiss and the Who, however, it performed a handful of reunion shows during the '90s.

The only "real tour" -- a six-week jaunt from Portland, Maine, to Lawrence, Kan. -- broke the band, according to keyboard player Mark Wyatt.

Great Plains -- which then included brother Matt Wyatt, House, Bill Bruner and Jim Castoe -- stayed together for more than a year afterward and released another single (Exercise).

Still, as de facto manager Mark Wyatt said, the journey "was pretty much over." In various interviews, everyone else in Great Plains has said he viewed the band as a full-time hobby -- a hobby that inspired Trouser Press and The Village Voice to coo.

Fans -- and Wyatt, too -- speculate about what might have been.

"We put out that Exercise single in '89," he said. "Then Ron started the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments -- which cheesed me off. I thought we had one more album in us."

"Well, we were just repeating ourselves," House said, "and doing things that just weren't as fun as they were before.

"But I don't think Great Plains would have turned into the next Yo La Tengo if we'd pursued it for 10 more years."

Great Plains featured numerous lineups on the Mark, Don and Mel EP; Born in a Barn; Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade; Sum Things Up; and numerous singles and cassette compilations.

House and the Wyatts remained the core. Dave Green, Howland, Paul Nini, Mike Hummel, Bruner and Castoe came, had fun and went.

When the band reunited to play one concert in 1994, House told The Dispatch that he'd rather "have a good review in The Enemy or The Village Voice than make $200 at a gig."

In the beginning, though, he viewed the group differently:

"I'm surprised at how naive I was. I really thought the world was going to have to get ready for me when I made that first record: 'Make way for Ron House and Great Plains.' I thought the world would have to respond. Now I have enough defense mechanisms to act like I've stopped."

At one time, the band represented more serious a hobby "than bowling on weekends," said Nini, who played guitar in the 1986 lineup that made Naked at the Buy, Sell & Trade and the Dick Clark single.

"We carried over the hobby to trips out of town. Mark took it more seriously because he played the role of the fast-talking manager. But for the rest of us, it was getting together and playing and having fun."

What appealed most to Howland were practicing every Friday and drinking beer with the Wyatt brothers afterward.

Part of the original lineup, he joined Great Plains before he knew how to play the bass he bought from a kid who wanted cash to buy a shotgun.

When he later did interviews for his primitive-blues and rock bands, the Gibson Brothers and the Bassholes, he denied his Great Plains history; he had used the pseudonym "Hank O'Hare."

"I like those guys as people, but I didn't like the music," Howland said. "But it's nice to have that stuff on CD now because they did have some undeniably good songs -- not when I was with them but afterward."

And he was bothered by that voice, a high-pitched wail that a reviewer once described as a "harp-seal yelp."

House has a favorite characterization, from a fanzine writer:

"He called it a 'drunk Rex Reed.' He, of course, became a fan."

House didn't have to look beyond his Midwestern college town for many of his songs.

He focused his sights down High Street for Columbus Dispatch: "If the streets are cold, the bums have a use for you."

He also wrote about Ohio native Rutherford B. Hayes, who was assassinated by "the bearded anarchist who pulled a gun on our favorite son."

He is proudest of the "intensity levels" that songs such as Black Like Me have -- songs with "that Pere Ubu feel to them."

"But I like Dick Clark for the idea of what it's like to make music in a world where basically people are just going to buy and sell you."

Although his lyrics were praised by Robert Cristgau of The Village Voice for their sophistication, House demurred:

"I never really thought of it all as lyrically being all that important. . . . I've had a novelty-song complex my whole career.

"I was always more into just trying to get an intensity and a passion going, and to try not to sound stupid on the lyrics. I failed more than once."

The melodies on Length of Growth, made with garage-rock know-how, stick to the brain like a six-pack.

Last weekend in Cleveland, Great Plains performed a show that Wyatt described as typical.

"At one point, Ron's knocking guitars out of tune every song. At times the whole show was falling apart. Other times, it all felt great."

San Francisco Weekly, December 27, 2000 issue. Excerpt from an article by Dan Strachota:

Personal Best : What the world needs now is a wholly subjective, occasionally snarky awards ceremony.

Here then are some of the best, weirdest, and most perplexing releases from the year 2000, arranged in a very particular order with no readily discernible pattern -- like hand-me-down furniture. Start at the beginning, start at the end: It will all start to make sense eventually.

Finally Someone Asks the Important Questions Award
Great Plains -- "Letter to a Fanzine" OK, so this song was originally written in 1986, but its main question still holds true: Why do punk rock guys go out with new wave girls? During its tenure, which was recently collected on the retrospective Length of Growth, 1981-89, Columbus' Great Plains asked this and other meaningful queries (like "What would Martin Luther King and Martin Luther talk about?") while playing a racket halfway between punk and new wave. Unfortunately, I get the feeling from the songs that the band didn't attract much attention, from new wave girls or otherwise.

Minneapolis City Pages, CD Roundup, Vol 22, Issue 1048, January 3, 2001, review by Keith Harris:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C)
"WHY DO PUNK-rock guys go out with new-wave girls?" Even if Ron House had never again posed so pressing a query to the Eighties indie-rock subculture he both typified and embarrassed, that question, from "Letter to a Fanzine," would have earned the sardonic Ohioan a place in rock 'n' roll history. Not that House has much cared for what rock would bequeath to posterity. By 1995 he was suggesting that Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, just a few hours up Highway 71 from House's hometown, Columbus, should be bombed to rubble. ("I don't want to see Eric Clapton stuffed, baby!" he sings.) A punk to his unruly heart, House always sounds comfortable with the disposability of his homemade culture--as the spoken coda to "Letter to a Fanzine" asks, "A subscription for life means how many issues? Five?"

But in our great boutique culture, no one can slip under the reissue radar forever, and so here comes the collected entirety of House's output with his band Great Plains: two compact discs and, as the label boasts, "Exactly fifty tracks!" which is only true, actually, if you skip track one, "Dr. Demento's Intro," which I certainly recommend you do. Rarely do that top-hatted quack and I laugh in unison, but apparently a song about "Rutherford B. Hayes" (which focuses less on his purloined election than his imagined disappointment at grandson Woody's Buckeyes losing a bowl game to Michigan) is capable of traversing great divides of cultural sensibility.

Is two discs overkill? Well, sure--only frantic collectors and light sleepers will want to fully document the band's evolution from rhyming standup spoofs set to dimly recorded organ-drenched garage rock, to rhyming standup spoofs with a sentimental undertow set to punchily recorded organ-drenched garage rock. But no one should live without "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking," an ode to "two dead men...toasting to freedom and protest," which is grandly celebratory in tone. House still exists, incidentally, and rambles in his Jad Fair grown-up-wrong warble with his new band, the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, who reportedly released a new album this year. I never saw it, and I still haven't been able to track down 1997's Straight to Video. If you find a copy of either, drop me a line, will ya?
slipcue.com, review by Joe Sixpack (on-line, 2001):

 Great Plains, Length Of Growth: 1981-1989 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv, 2000)
Columbus, Ohio is probably one of the hardest-drinking college towns in the Midwest, and as such helped keep alive the venerable tradition of smart-assed, hard-rocking Ohio punk rock and postpunk that started in the '70s with bands such as the Pagans, et al. Great Plains are one of the most fondly-remembered bands to come out of the Columbus scene, although they are more in the unapologetically brainiac, Devo-esque category than other '80s contemporaries such as Scrawl. This 2-CD set will be quite welcome by old fans, though newcomers may be a bit baffled by its jittery, skinny-armed demeanor. It's certainly not for everyone, and probably best taken in small doses. Still, if you like other pencilneck rockers such as The Embarrassment, or even the Residents, this anthology may have some appeal.

gutless, winter 2001 issue, review by stephen cramer:

 Great Plains, Length Of Growth: 1981-1989 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv, 2000)
music from the heartland, ohio, my native state. the recent release of the retrospective double cd for the great plains on old 3c records certainly does showcase their releases from the '80s on homestead records in the u.s. and shadowline records in the netherlands. entitled "length of growth 1981-89," the 2-cd set chronicles the career of the great plains (from columbus, ohio) through various lineup changes. it certainly gives me a better appreciation for singer ron house (later the singer of the thomas jefferson slave apartments) and paul nini (solo artist, and member of log, peck of snide and the househearts). although i first heard the song "love to the third power" when nothing painted blue covered it, the original version is proof-positive of the great plains' legacy of intensity and a fondness for unabashed enthusiasm for the music they created. like guided by voices, you can somehow sense the fact that these are working-people, creating music for the love of it, in their free time. with songs like "black sox scandal/ what are you living on," their influence on the jangly guitar music of today becomes apparent.



Shredding Paper #8, Winter 2001 issue, review by J. Edward Keyes.

swizzle-stick.com, review by Karen E. Graves (on-line, 2001):

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
The first time you hear a Great Plains record you will hate it, and that's OK. You probably won't like it much the second time either. However, if you're lucky enough to hear it that magical third time, you'll be hooked for life. In that moment, the off-kilter folk-punk musical amalgamation of a warm synth, treble-heavy jangling guitar riffs, just enough bass and drums to hold it all together, and barking vocals taking a stab at actually singing will all make sense. You'll be baffled as to why this amazing band wasn't ridiculously popular.

At two discs with a grand total of 50 songs, the Great Plains retrospective Length of Growth is a generous offering--some may say too generous. Not me. (Well, not until I sat down to write this anyway). Drawing songs from the three full lengths and two EPs released during the band's 1981-89 lifespan, Length of Growth marks the first time this Ohio act's music has been available on CD. Although some of these songs are 20 years old, they still manage to sound fresh, at least in part because the production is clean and straightforward enough that it doesn't date the music.

Great Plains had a bit of a revolving door member line-up, with mainstays Ron House (vocals), Dave Green (drums), Mark Wyatt (keyboards) and Matt Wyatt (guitar), and sometimes members including Mike "Rep" Hummel, Paul Nini, Dave Green and Don Howland. Despite the instability of the line-up, Great Plains' music maintains a sense of continuity.

With a 60s/70s pop sort of sensibility, the band plays bouncy songs that seem vaguely familiar on the surface, but House's smart (alecky) lyrics and gruff vocals (kind of like a less hammy Jello Biafra) will keep you from confusing this with a pop record. The music lures you in and then House spits in your face, but you just laugh it off and keep dancing, especially to ultra-hooky tracks like "Origin of My Silly Grin" and "Dick Clark."

While Mark Wyatt's organ-toned synth is often the driving force of the songs, providing much of the melody and hook (and foundation for any accusations that GP was a new wave act), ultimately the focus tends to get drawn away from the band's music and placed on the always entertaining (especially when he's dancing) Mr. House.

House's lyrics in Great Plains seem less overtly venomous than those of his post-GP outfit Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments. The songs are often about, um, well, sex. Others are a bit more lighthearted, as with one of legendary radio weirdo Dr. Demento's favorites, "Letter to a Fanzine" which poses the age old question: "Why do punk rock guys go out with new wave girls?" My guess is that punk rock guys are lonely and new wave girls are easy, at least based on some of House's other lyrics.

Although he writes more than his fair share of songs about drinking and sex, amazingly catchy tunes about Ohio landmarks and ex-Presidents ("Serpent Mound" and "Rutherford B. Hayes," respectively), and even a song about bassist Don Howland's need to urinate ("Real Bad"), House will accidentally say something sweet or even sad now and again, as on "Same Moon," a song about a 13-year-old witnessing his father's nervous breakdown.

However, in the end you're left wondering whether House is a nice guy acting tough, or just a dirty old man who accidentally writes a nice song now and again. Maybe the mystery is what keeps it interesting. In either case, his presence is always engaging and often oddly endearing. In a way, I guess that sort of sums things up regarding Great Plains: They have just enough awkward charm that the listener can't help but like them, and I do.

hearsay.com, review by Kurt Hernon (on-line, 2001):

 Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
Much like the independent rock scenes of the present, a large identifier of '80s indie- rock was that ol' credible hipness of obscurity. The culture surrounding that scene was laced with the amateurism of punk, the staunch D.I.Y. independence of youth, and, most notably, the collegiate smarts of a bored generation. Smart-alecky kids playing sharp-witted songs expecting nothing of it except, possibly, a mention in a hip fanzine somewhere. The obvious downfall with this approach is that some of the finest moments of independent music were quickly left wafting on the airs of nowhere-ness. Great Plains deserved better -- much better.

Their story is fairly pedestrian: A wonderful songwriter (Ron House, who has since formed the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments) mixes things up with a few guys who own some instruments and then proceeds to outdo most of the best of their "contemporaries." Loads of critical acclaim swamp each release, and their live shows become shrunken legend. Oh, and no one ever hears of them. Which is a shame. But Length of Growth -- fifty songs, in chronological order, that represent the total output of this lost indie-rock treasure -- tries to correct the injustice. Songs with unbelievably smart titles ("Duet Between Buyer and Seller," "Martin Luther King & Martin Luther Drinking") and equally concise lyrics wind up playing even smarter when put together by a committed spirited, rag-tag garage-punk band. The music, a stunningly energetic and melodic post-punk rock and roll played loosely under a wild grinding organ (or Farfisa, or whatever else could make a whirring racket), is punctuated by Ron House's guy-who-sings-like-every-guy-who-can't-sing-but-does-anyway voice -- which only serves to make every brilliant moment more brilliant, every funny moment absolutely hilarious, and every record essential. And now, one disc does it all. Great Plains Length of Growth thus becomes essential.

fakejazz.com, review by Luke Ferdinand (on-line, 2001):

 Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
I've often considered whether or not the "legendary" indie rock of days gone by would some day be reissued after the bigger labels fold. Will people be buying Polvo reissues in the year 2020? And what about everybody else -- the not so legendary artists? The Weird Pauls, the Nice Strong Arms, etc., second stringers whose records were purchased by a few souls back in the day but who have pretty much been long forgotten. Apparently, I don't have to wait that long; what I'm reviewing here is essentially everything ever released by the Great Plains, Ron House's (currently of the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments) old band who, though great, certainly didn't make any big splash in their day. Though I'm sure a number of readers will remember the Great Plains from their college radio days, but I'm also sure your younger Braid fan will probably have no clue who these guys were.

The Great Plains were a great college rock band of the very distinctive 80's variety. A sort of post-new wave jangly garage pop band of the sort that seemed to die out with the onslaught of Amphetamine Reptile and Touch and Go. Their music, while not necessarily the most tuneful, the most technical, or the most inspired, is usually great fun and great listening. House's singing (a kind of heaving, high pitched warbling) can leave a bit to be desired at times, but he's always been known for his lyrics. He spins great little tales of the Midwest and punk rock, with a particularly Ohioan perspective that you are unlikely to pick up anywhere else. The songs themselves range from almost They Might Be Giants-like novelty ("Rutherford B. Hayes, Martin Luther King & Martin Luther Drinking") with a bit more attitude, to relationship, boy/girl stuff and of course there are the songs that almost did make them famous -- the great "Letter to a Fanzine" (change the names and it's just as relevant now as it was then) or "Dick Clark."

It's no surprise that Dr. Demento, who opens up the album, was a fan, but don't let that affect your opinion of these guys. No one is really making music like this any more, and though it does show signs of its age (in particular the bad 80's production that plagued almost all 80's Homestead releases), this is a great record to own, a document of an underappreciated band whose time has unfortunately long gone.

seattleweekly.com, review by Michaelangelo Matos (on-line, 2001):

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
Despite the Dr. Demento intro, this double-CD containing the complete output of Ohio's Great Plains isn't a comedy record. Yet it's often damn funny -- many of the 50 songs are reminiscent of They Might Be Giants, only played straighter, particularly given singer- songwriter Ron House's penchant for running pop-cultural artifacts through an absurdist wringer. (I'm still trying to get the background shouts from "Lincoln Logs" out of my head: "Abraham! Abraham!") House, who went on to form the Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, also had the gift for giving his best songs his best titles. "When Honesty Gets Old," "Martin Luther King and Martin Luther Drinking," "The Wind Blows, the Law Breaks" ("Destroy it with a song/And be free") and especially the priceless "Letter to a Fanzine": "You like everything that comes out on 4AD/You like everything that comes out on SST/You like almost everything that comes out on Homestead/I like everything that I get in the mail for free -- how about that?" This being '80s indie rock, the guitars chime enticingly, the organ pumps energetically, and the drums sound like shit. Since Great Plains are the very definition of a great unknown band, only toward the end does this collection's energy and inspiration flag.
seattleweekly.com, excerpt from The Culture Bunker column, by Michael Krugman and Jason Cohen (on-line, 2001):

 We can't imagine why, but here at the Culture Bunker, we're sometimes accused of being negative. "Since you a-holes don't like so-and-so," certain well-meaning correspondents wonder, "what do you like?" Well, here's your answer: our fave raves for the year 2000. The records on this list fulfilled two simple conditions: We loved them, and we couldn't stop listening to them over and over again. Can you say the same thing about Kid A?

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C) Arch, nerdy, post-punk classics. Jason lost his virginity after one of their shows. He's not saying which tour, but suffice it to say Michael was having lots of sex by then. Probably 'cause he didn't listen to Great Plains.

Rock Critic Web-Page, review by Brian Gettler, March 2001:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
Damnit! This is great. I've been looking for this for a long time (yup, without knowing it). Really, this is one hell of a collection (2 discs for the price of 1). This set collects nearly all of the material that was released by this "oughta be seminal" punk group from Columbus, Ohio. They've got that jumpy 80s feel that was violently removed from the underground scene courtesy of the early 90s indie rock revolution (see Slint, et al). It's really too bad, 'cause this band knows a thing or two about kicking out fantastic rock n' roll. See "Letter to a Fanzine" (especially for the pretentious hipsters out there), "Martin Luther King, Martin Luther Drinking" and "Time to Name the Dog" (not to mention the rest of the album). Should be required listening for fans of Mission of Burma, Devo and the Minutemen.

swizzle-stick.com, feature story by Karen Graves (on-line, 2001):

Great Plains: It's never gonna get any better
With one white-knuckled fist clenched around the microphone, the other resting on the strings of a hollow-bodied electric guitar, face borscht-red, blue eyes squinting nearly shut and mouth wide-open screaming, "THIS IS MY LAST CHANCE TO BE FREE," Ron House sings the words he wrote nearly 20 years ago as if they are a freshly penned manifesto.



It's a little like watching a ghost.

The band on stage, Great Plains, has been broken up for in the neighborhood of 12 years. This is merely one of a handful of shows the band decided to do as a promotion for the Old 3C release of their 50-song retrospective. This release marks the first time the seminal Columbus, Ohio folk-punk act's work has been available on CD, a tribute that is long overdue.

Although Great Plains is without question one of the most inspired bands you could ever hope to encounter (Lou Reed should be jealous of House's lyrics), chances are you've never heard of them. Allow me to introduce you.

Affectionately referred to as "Cowtown" by many residents, Columbus, Ohio has produced more than its share of important rock'n'roll over the past several decades, including Scrawl, Howlin' Maggie, V3, the New Bomb Turks and Great Plains. Formed in 1981 by a rock-loving pair of brothers from Groveport, Ohio, Matt and Mark Wyatt, and Wooster, Ohio native Ron House, Great Plains are among the legions of Columbus bands that should have taken the music world by storm.

"I think we look bigger in hindsight," Great Plains keyboardist Mark Wyatt says, rather humbly. This quickness to dismiss his former band as having been less important than some people may think typifies Wyatt's responses throughout our discussion. However, by the end of the interview, this position seems less like modesty and more like a way of fending off sadness for thoughts of what could have been had the band not broken up.

Known as much for their music as their endearingly unendearing frontman Ron House's wiseguy lyrics and unusual delivery style (which includes some of the best dancing you'll never see on "Soul Train"), over the years Great Plains have earned a place in the hearts of alt-rock gods like Sonic Youth and Yo La Tengo. Actually, Great Plains had a hand in getting Yo La Tengo their first shows outside their home base of Hoboken, NJ. Slip that into a conversation at the next indie-rock party you go to and you'll be the envy of all of your white-belted friends.

With an unexpectedly peppy sound that blended the merrily strummed chords of country-twang and rock with the throbbing keyboards of new wave and Jello Biafra-ish vocals, Great Plains wrote songs that echoed the pop sensibility of the '60s and '70s, but 20 years later manage to sound almost undated, which is amazing.

"That's really nice of you to say," Wyatt says politely. "I think the fact that we were out on our own little limb means that we never got to jump on any bandwagons of the day, and thus never became bigger. But it also means that we're not obviously aping a certain sound of the time that would date us terribly. There's some pretty cheesy synth stuff on the Mark, Don and Mel EP I wish I could erase for all time, though."

In a town whose scene has long been dominated by noise-driven punk-rock, and more recently by heavy metal, it comes as little surprise when Mark admits that the band wasn't exactly embraced for its new wave leanings, namely the keyboards.

"We got a lot of grief for having keyboards at all--it was the mark of crappy skinny-tie new wave back then. In fact," continues Wyatt, "on more than one occasion I saw people scoff and leave when I would start to set my keyboards up."

Great Plains keyboardist Mark Wyatt came to rock'n'roll, as many boys do, through siblings. Mark watched as his younger brother Matt played in high school punk/new wave acts like Vorpal Gallery, later the Vorps, and Autoducts.

"I was studying to be a priest until my junior year of college, just playing church organ mainly and listening to the Ramones and Mott the Hoople," Mark explained in true rock'n'roll fashion. "After I left the seminary, I joined up with my youngest brother Chris' band, the Americans [formerly the Oylers], which was the late Captain's [of Used Kids] favorite band, right up there with Iggy and the Stooges."

As a testament to their coolness, there is a picture of the pre-Mark line-up of the Americans hanging behind the counter of the Used Kids Annex, next door to High Street's premier record store/employer of several Columbus rockers, Used Kids.

Speaking of Used Kids...One day, at the hipper-than-thou Ohio State University campus record store, I spotted my first slab of Great Plains vinyl and quickly snatched it up. As I continued wandering around the claustrophobically small store, wondering what this record would sound like, someone came up behind me and barked, "Ugliest band in rock'n'roll."

Caught off guard, I paused for a second, but had little doubt whose face I would see as I turned around. Standing there, graying black hair and crinkled blue eyes, with a rather silly grin on his face, was Ron House himself. "Weren't you in this band?" I asked knowingly. Still grinning, House nodded. Ron House's introduction to music wasn't as storybook as Wyatt's.

"None of my siblings shared my mania for music," reveals a surprisingly friendly House, adding "I guess I wasn't as lucky as Mark." Continuing in his characteristically frank/ sarcastic manner, House says, "I knew very early on in life, and have been told by many people, that I would never be a musician."

Critics be damned, House went on to front a fistful of bands between 1978 and the present. While there were probably bedroom bands before, House identifies his first bands as being Twisted Shouts (1978) and Moses Carryout (1981). Longtime House co-conspirator Wyatt reveals that while the latter band was named after a real carryout, "Ron always says the name came about because he, 'wanted to lead his people to the beer.' Yes, he was always a wiseass," adds Wyatt jokingly.

Playing songs that were bare bones punk rock, with fuzzy, clumsily chorded guitars and yowling vocals, Moses Carryout seems a far cry from the almost poppy new wave/ folk- punk songs about fanzines, DickClark, Serpent Mound, Rutherford B. Hayes and the state of Don Howland's bladder that Ron would write with Great Plains shortly thereafter. Although its tone seemed somewhat out-of-character, Great Plains adopted a Moses Carryout song, "Chuck Berry's Orphan," as their own. The song, which features lyrics like, "The big city had nothing for us/ They said we needed a pretty chorus," seems to convey House's disappointment in never having broken through to a big audience. The fact that it was written at the start of House's career makes it seem like a sad premonition.

On his final record with Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments in 1999, House sings the line, "Local hero and anonymous/For him the two were synonymous," perhaps confirming the unhappiness with his career that his song from almost twenty years earlier had hinted at. Or, perhaps I'm just a bored, pompous writer looking for deeper meaning than House intended.

For his part, House says he is completely satisfied with the music he has created, as well he should be. Mark agrees that Ron always wanted bigger things for Great Plains than just to be critical darlings, which they were, having drawn praise from legendary critics like Lester Bangs' contemporaries Robert Christgau and Greil Marcus.

"I have no doubt that Ron wanted to rule the world," Mark says in perhaps the understatement of the century, "but I don't think he was ever willing to do the kind of touring that would entail. I loved traveling and road gigs and still do," continues Wyatt, "I don't think I've ever had any illusions of being a rockstar--I just wanted, and still want, to take my music as far as it'll go while still doing things the way I want to do them."

House sees things differently.

"Touring, per se, was never a problem -- if I saw glory," states House. "Playing to lesser people at the same places was."

While nobody was ever fired from Great Plains, the band went through several bass players, most of whom, according to Mark, were just young and on the move. Among these bassists was Don Howland, who went on to form the Gibson Bros., a band that counted among its ranks the man who went on to be probably the most famous blues-punk figure in the world, Jon Spencer. Spencer, of course, went on to form the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Howland currently plays in the Bassholes.

"Although he was and is a friend, I don't think he [Howland] really wanted to associate his name with us, he used the pseudonym Hank O'Hare on our first EP," says Wyatt, sounding more amused than offended.

Over the course of their eight years together, Great Plains released three full lengths and two EPs, several of which were for the legendary Homestead label, a fact that led many people to believe that Great Plains was on the road to something big.

"I think other people in Columbus at the time thought we were stars, since we were the first band in the scene to get an out-of-town label, but they never saw the minuscule crowds we would often draw...we were the least popular band on Homestead-- and we knew it," says Wyatt, matter-of-factly. "I think we did accomplish something musically." Wyatt's willingness to talk about this band he was in so long ago reinforces this fact. "I do regret that we didn't do one last record -- right at the end. Homestead hooked us up with the English label Diabolo [an offshoot of Elvis Costello's Demon label] and they put out a 'greatest hits' comp," Wyatt laughs good naturedly, as he often does, at the thought of Great Plains having "greatest hits," then continues, " the record was called Colorized! and was intended as the introduction to European audiences before our next studio record and subsequent tour." However, things are never that easy. Just as they were about to be unleashed on a new, perhaps more receptive audience, Great Plains dissolved.

"Why did we break up?" asks Wyatt. "I think the short answer is that the one long tour we did, six and half weeks, really did it -- at least for Ron. We didn't break any attendance records or anything, but we had some good shows and became a much better band after that run. But I think it killed Ron, both physically and spiritually. We didn't play for months after we got back, and then Ron wanted to work in a very different direction. I hate to sound so accusatory, but I think even Ron would agree that his decision to quit was the only reason we broke up. The rest of us were ready to keep rolling." While House acknowledges that he is the reason the band broke up, he again disagrees with Wyatt's view that it was because of his aversion to touring.

"By 1988 things just were not happening for the band and I was very stressed," says House. "I played music to be part of a scene, to get respect from my peers, and to have something to do in bars besides get drunk. By 1988 the returns were diminishing." House continues, "Aesthetically I was having problems with the unwieldiness of a five-piece band and our accrued stereotype. It wasn't until the 'lo-fi' scene emerged at the start of the decade that I felt re-energized and ready to rock." [This is when the very-rockin' Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments formed.]

"I killed Great Plains..." confesses House. "Mark is still mad at me, but there would have been no One Riot One Ranger [Mark's current bluegrass band] if I hadn't--so all hillbilly fans should be thankful," quips House.

Concludes House, "...I feel pretty satisfied with what I've done musically so far and I've never regretted breaking Great Plains up."

With the endless cycle of new bands embracing old music, one can't help but think that maybe Great Plains were just ahead of their time and that they would have been more readily embraced were they just starting out today.

"I have not a clue as to whether we would go over better now than we did then," says Wyatt. "In an age when you can hear a Buzzcocks song as the music backing a Toyota commercial, though, who knows?"

End notes: Great Plains' keyboardist, Mark Wyatt, currently plays with the bluegrass outfit One Riot One Ranger (which may very well be named after a Chuck Norris movie) and handles things over at oneriot.com.

Great Plains' singer/guitarist, Ron House, who can still be found at Used Kids, isn't in a band at the moment but says, "If I ever play music again will depend on need: Mine or the world's." Stop by Used Kids, pick up Length of Growth and tell Ron to start a band already. In the meantime, House is considering writing a novel. Great Plains' guitarist, Matt Wyatt, isn't in a band at the moment, but his bro Mark thinks he may be getting the bug again.

Great Plains' first drummer, Dave Green, aka Dave Manic, also did time in Screaming Urge.

Great Plains' second drummer Jim Castoe, currently plays in Men of Leisure. Castoe's past bands included the Squids.

Great Plains' first bassist, Don Howland, currently plays in the Bassholes. Howland's past bands included the Gibson Bros.

Great Plains' second bassist, Mike Hummel, aka Mike Rep, aka Amrep Tellegewe, is a man of mystery. Hummel's past bands included the True Believers.

Great Plains' third bassist, Paul Nini, currently heads the Old 3C label and plays in Log. Nini's past bands included the Househearts and Peck of Snide.

Great Plains' most recent bassist, Bill Bruner, was on loan from Dark Arts.

Village Voice, Consumer Guide, May 30, 2001 issue, review by Robert Christgau:

Great Plains, Length of Growth 1981-89 (Old 3C/Nu Gruv)
Every goddamn drone and whine Ron House and his Columbus friends ever released, 50 songs that evoke both the punk that set them off and the alt-country they spied coming down the road. Quick, kids, where do the Great Plains start? Well west of Columbus, right? And by the way, who was this Mark Hanna guy? Pol behind four presidents fROMOHIO, two of whom were assassinated and one of whom Great Plains did a song about. Other subjects include Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Martin Luther, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Dick Clark, the fate of the family farm, how bad onetime Voice crit Don Howland has to piss, and, most famously, why punk rock boys go out with ne