Keep up that wine-ing

Barflies, curmudgeons, and beautiful losers – get down with local band the Winechuggers.

By Kate Izquierdo

'I woke up on the wrong side of the bed / I was under it."

With that simple twist on a common phrase, Bill Cameron invites you into the dreamy, sun-filled attic inhabited by his San Francisco band, the Winechuggers. Lurking beneath the sweet timbre of Cameron's voice, however, are lyrical hints of resignation, loss, and worry.

"My songs are like that because I spend a lot of my time worrying about shit," Cameron says with a laugh. At this moment it looks like Cameron's Potrero Hill living room has also fallen prey to creeping worry – this time in the form of an invading neighborhood cat that has snuck in his back door. After a few distracted trips across the living room, Cameron is satisfied that he has contained the situation and settles back into his armchair, relieved. "He's a hellion," he warns.

Having warded off all invasive animals, he refocuses on relating the winding tale of the Winechuggers and his own life history. Cameron was raised in Indiana and cut his musical teeth in Chicago, where he was in the groups Brown Betty and Emperor Penguin. In 1995 he also began to write quieter, moodier music for a project that existed primarily in his head and on four-track recordings. "I was writing songs that weren't right for a rock band," Cameron says. "So I started recording this stuff for the hell of it." One EP and several intrastate jumps later, Cameron has completed the Winechuggers' debut, Grand Rapids (Arena Rock). And local listeners like Brian Brophy, editor of Mesh magazine, have taken notice. "They're of one of those bands that, because they live in SF and because of the type of music they make, don't seem to get as much attention as some of the trendier bands, and they really deserve it," Brophy explains. "The music that I've heard from them live is incredible. It's also really fascinating that some of the songs are 10 years old."

Cranky records

The story of the Winechuggers in their current form begins with the road trip that brought Cameron to San Francisco in 2001. "I'm the kind of person who, wherever I live, I'm going to complain," he says. The self-effacing songwriter mocks his previous disdain of Chicago, which encompassed everything from the weather to people's accents, before admitting his complaints were mostly unfounded. "I'm a crotchety dude. I had to move all the way across the country before I finally realized that my problems are because of me, not because of where I live."

Personality quirks notwithstanding, that move landed Cameron a band he really enjoys playing with, and one that materialized naturally. "Michael [Cormier, formerly of Milk Chopper] started working at my job. We really hit it off. Then I met his wife, Ashley [Adams, bass player for the late local band Zmrzlina]. Not long after that, Greg from Arena Rock got in touch. There was a nice – what would you say – confluence. Everything was happening at the right time." The recent addition of drummer Charlie Knote rounded out the quartet.

In spite of these strokes of luck and timing, optimism is obviously not part of the Winechugger credo. A spin through the tracks on Grand Rapids reveals songs that are bittersweet and claustrophobic. For every alluring vocal nod to Mark Eitzel, there is a sharp-edged swipe of a lyric that makes the listener recede in caution. The barroom piano rag "Long Circuitous Path" is an anthem for the frustrated musician trapped in a cubicle. "We were on a long circuitous path / Not enough music / Too much math," Cameron sings wryly.

"I was spending all my time sitting in a cubicle. So it all felt like math – commuting to and from work," he says, then pauses and considers. "I'm in a different cubicle now. It's a mixed blessing." Grand Rapids, however, isn't all about hapless office types bemoaning their fate. Another song, "Pharmacists of the Sun," is propelled by guitars straight out of Big Star's "Sister Lovers," and honey-whipped singing to make Joe Pernice swoon. Throw in layers of fuzzbox and distorted vocals and you have just the kind of heady solar-powered trip the track title implies.

Cameron also finds inspiration in somewhat less classy cultural landmarks on his quest to bring the listener to him. In the acoustic and hilariously painful "Walk of Shame," we get ringside seats to the scene of someone waking up in a stranger's apartment and finding his way home. "I could not recall her name / It was Kelly / Or Shelley / Or something."

It's a perfectly awful city moment wrapped with a perfectly succinct, spare melody. But in keeping with Cameron's sense of pathos, and lest we consider the protagonist a total cad, he lets us know, "I feel last night in my back and knees / Said I wasn't going to do this again."

'Hurrah for life'

Cameron's comments are peppered with gentle jabs at the Midwestern roots that probably steer his straight-shooting lyrical concerns. A conversation that digresses into specialty microbrews makes him exclaim, "In Indiana you'd get your ass kicked for drinking raspberry beer: 'You fairy, what are you drinkin' that raspberry beer for? I'll kill you!' "

Speaking of libations, it's that preoccupation – and sense of humor – that spawned the group's moniker. "I didn't even drink wine for the longest time," he explains. "But I guess I thought: Bacchus, god of wine, spirit of revelry. I thought it was funny to have these really depressing, sad songs and to call it a 'Hurrah for Life!' band."

Cameron leans forward and divulges a final selling point: "I realized if I put Winechuggers into a search engine, I'm only going to find stuff about my band. If my band was called Happy Mondays, you'd get all kinds of shit about happiness and Mondays and calendars. That's an unexpected benefit."

The Winechuggers play with Michael Talbott and the Wolfkings and the Bel Hevis Thurs/5, 9 p.m., the Make-Out Room, 3225 22nd St., SF. $7. (415) 647-2888, www.makeoutroom.com.