Singer for late 90’s Alt-Rock group “Buzz Poets” waxes nostalgic about the band’s most enduring legacy
by Jeremy Miller (@11JustBreathe11)
“I still remember the day my Nokia rang. You know that stupid Nokia ringtone, man? The one that’s been in movies since, like, the late 90’s? Yeah, it was that one, man.”
Buzz Poets guitarist and singer Phil MacDowell leans back in his chair, allowing his long, flowing grey beard to whisk gently on the bistro floor. His eyes adapt a far-away gleam, clearly seeing a time long passed.
“The band had been gigging pretty heavily in the early 2000’s. It always seemed like we were just this close to making it, you know? So we were trying to push things pretty hard. I remember it like yesterday. We had just played a gig at Mr. Small’s in the strip the night before, and I was sleeping off a pretty wicked scotch buzz. Anyway, that stupid ringtone goes off, and I roll over to see who it is. I didn’t recognize the number, but I thought, you know, what the hell? Maybe this is fame calling.”
He pauses, chuckling under his breath.
“Little did I know, man. Little did I know.”
MacDowell buries his head in his hands, his fingertips pushing his eyes ever wider. It is the look of a man in utter despair, driven insane by a dream that is now forever beyond his reach. His hands move up, smoothing his mop of grey hair into a more presentable fashion. There is a pause, during which bistro patrons sip coffee and stare awkwardly. Perhaps they pause to wonder who this husk of a man is, and what brought him so low. More likely, they do not.
“So the voice on the other end says, ‘Hey Phil, it’s Cam Bonifay with the Pittsburgh Pirates.’ I mean, this was freaking weird, man. He says, ‘We’re going to be opening a new ballpark next year, and we’ve decided that what the fans really need to get them good and excited is an anthem. Something that evokes hope. It doesn’t have to be actually hopeful, but it needs to make people feel hopeful. You think you can do that for us?’ So the first thing I did, of course, was throw up, and then I took the job. We got into the studio the next day, and the thing was in the can within a week.”
Since 2001, each home game at PNC Park has ended the same way. The result of the Buzz Poets’ labor of love pounds out of the loudspeakers, urging fans toward the exits. As the crowds fade into the night, so does MacDowell’s voice.
Root, root, root for our home team
A new Pirate generation everybody shout, “Let’s Go Bucs!”
“That first game, it was magic, man. They had promoted the song in their advertising, and it was awesome seeing little kids in their brand new Derek Bell jerseys actually shouting ‘Let’s Go Bucs’ at the right part in the song. I mean, that was friggin’ neat, dude. I thought we had done pretty well. It was a Gen-X anthem that evoked hope, alright. Cammy B was right; there wasn’t any hope actually there. But we evoked it, man. That was our job, and we did that.”
Generation X has since given way to Generation Y and Generation Z, so the “New Pirate Generation” has chronologically outlasted three actual generations of human beings. I ask MacDowell about this. He slumps in his chair, clearly deflated, although he had to have seen the question coming.
“I don’t know, man. They bought the song. What they do with it now is out of my hands. The team doesn’t look bad now, right? They got some young guys. This Huntington dude seems to have some idea what he’s doing. They can’t…you don’t think they’ll play it…forever, do you?”
MacDowell’s haunting, pleading look scares a small boy nearby, who is quickly ushered out of the tiny café by his mother. I want to reassure this broken man that the losing must stop soon, that it has to stop – that his song might one day be remembered as having been played after the 162nd game of a winning season.
Instead, I stop my recorder and pluck it from the table, patting MacDowell on the back on my way out the door. As I disappear into the night, his softly sobbing voice follows me:
I listen to the game with my radio on
Clap along to the rhythm of a Bucco song
Two aboard, full count with nobody out
Stomp your feet, line drive everybody shout
Root, root, root for our home team
A new Pirate generation everybody shout, “Let’s Go Bucs!”
