West Philly for Life

Satellite Cafe is the center of the Stinking Lizaveta universe.

by A.D. Amorosi

HOUSE BAND: Stinking Lizaveta's Yanni, Cheshire and owner Alexi have made the Satellite the center of their scene. Photo By: Michael T. Regan (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

On the outskirts of the University City District, at 50th Street and Baltimore Avenue, the Satellite Cafe makes for one funny little hangout: wrought iron gates underneath a tile mural of trumpeters and drummers; a grassy courtyard and a bricked-up patio filled with mosaic-top tables; the high ceilinged red and orange room loaded with Stephane Rowley's Madonna-and-Child art and Harpo Marx stencils; the lopsided shelves filled with yellowing books and board games.

"Where else can I hear Eno, read, drink fair trade coffee and get a 'Bike Messenger Special' for $2.25?" asks Matt Stevenson, bassist for Philly's post-everything ensemble Radio Eris, pointing to a chalk-board menu fave: a bagel with cream cheese, pesto, spinach and roasted peppers. "Besides, it's the Stinking Liz place."

West Philadelphia is Stinking Lizaveta country. And now that the pioneering power trio's bassist, Alexi Papadopoulos, and his wife, Wendy, own the Satellite, located in part of the disused West Philly farmers market that also now houses Firehouse Bicycles and the offices of PhillyCarshare, that country's been more jittery.

The Cedar Park neighborhood from 46th Street to 52nd Street, Larchwood Avenue to Kingsessing Avenue, in particular breathes the rarified air of this city's most metal trio. Doom jazz, avant sludge, stoner punk, post skronk � that's what guitarist Yanni Papadopoulos, bassist Alexi and drummer Cheshire Agusta have brought to the fore since 1994. On their just-released fifth album � the Steve Albini-produced Scream of the Iconoclast (which the band is touring in support of in Europe) � the trio elbowed and shoulder-slammed through their furriest arrangements yet. "All of our albums are different and have their proper listening context," says Yanni, 38. "But we went to our breeding ground � Albini [who recorded their debut Hopelessness and Shame] � and kicked out an album in six days with no fixes. Live in the studio works for us."

Though occasionally touched by the breeze of Middle Eastern-inspired melody, album No. 5 is airier, more viciously complex yet blunter than any in their catalog, with a song like the title track going through seven changes in under four minutes. "We start with chaos, but not just noise � Sun Ra-style chaos," says Yanni, enthusiastically.

"Without proximity none of this would be possible," he continues. "The new-age people will tell you: Philly has a strange and powerful energy source."

The trio live (separately) and rehearse within a block of the Satellite ("Espresso from my own machine then play riffs for a few hours ... mmmm," muses Alexi), and they always have. Around the world, people know Stinking Liz as more than a Philly band: They're a West Philly band. And Satellite is Stinking Liz central.

While Alexi, 34, points out "cheap housing, freaks, falafel" as reasons to have remained in West Philly for over a decade, Yanni laughs about having trees and basement shows at his disposal. "It's pretty much an equal-opportunity clique. This past summer I hardly had to leave the neighborhood at all."

The smelly, sweaty, funky house parties in West Philly done in the spirit of the collective? If Stinking Lizaveta didn't invent them, they sure as fuck perfected them. When the band first started in 1994, they had scads of shows and after-hour parties at their home rehearsal space on Ludlow between 40th and 41st. The trio is still about basements and warehouses. "Our last show at the Avant Gentleman's Club was fantastic," says Yanni. "We don't need a PA so we can play anywhere."

"Hopefully we all maintain the old house party ethos, while still managing to pay PECO, know what I mean?" jokes Alexi.

Along with Wendy � his then live-in girlfriend � Alexi turned their house on Ludlow into a speakeasy/cafe called Melvins. "We thought that it would be cool if there were a cafe that played only the Melvins all the time," says Alexi. They didn't play just the Melvins. And they didn't make just coffee. The pair opened The Comet around the corner at 41st and Walnut as an extension of that scene.

"Wendy's the coffee queen," says Alexi of his missus, a renowned barrista. "When she'd come on tour we'd run into people � like at this hot spring north of Sante Fe, this guy recognized her tattoos from when she worked at the Coffee Cart in Iowa City."

She runs the business when Alexi's on tour. But Wendy and Alexi are known together for putting the Stinking Lizaveta ethos into most every aspect of the Satellite. You could say that there's something Lizavetian about letting the pair's employees/friends take peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and see what it's like to put them in a blender with a banana and a double espresso.

"You could say that," says Alexi.

Letting those same friends/employees put up their art and sell their crafts, too, is Lizavetian. And while most coffee houses that curate any form of live music host acoustic, folk and singer/songwriter stuff, Alexi says, "I had a rule for a while, no poetry, and no acoustic guitars." Rather, Alexi has had the likes of Rick Iannicone, Levin, Charles Cohen and other avant-ambient-noise-improv-music at Satellite for once-a-month visits. "I don't know if the kids at the Café even know I'm in a band," says Yanni, who has played there as a solo artist.

Alexi may bend that rule if friends/employees take greater control over the evenings. That's just the type of laissez-faire cat Alexi is. "The Satellite's basic theory is: Let people be," he says. "But don't pee on the seat."

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)

Satellite Cafe, 701 S. 50th St., 215-729-1211, http://www.myspace.com/satellitecoffee.