Who is “Bobby,” you ask?
Enter Pottery. Enter Paul Jacobs, Jacob Shepansky, Austin Boylan, Tom Gould, and Peter Baylis. Enter the smells, the cigarettes, the noise, their van Mary, their friend Luke, toilet drawings, Northern California, Beatles accents, Taco Bell, the Great Plains, and hot dogs. Enter love and hate, angst and happiness, and everything in between. Beginning as an inside joke between the band members, Bobby and his “motel” have grown into so much more. They’ve become the all - encompassing alt - reality that the band built themselves, for everyone else. So, in essence, Bobby is Pottery and his motel is wherever they are.
But really, Bobby is a pilot, a lumberjack, a stay at home dad, and a disco dancer th at never rips his pants. He's a punching bag filled with comic relief. He laughs in the face of day - to - day ambiguity, as worrying isn’t worth it to Bobby. There’s a piece of him in everyone, there to remind us that things are probably going to work out, ma ybe. He’s you. He’s him. He’s her. He’s them. Bobby is always there, painted in the corner, urging you to relax and forget about your useless worries. And his motel? Well, the motel is life. It might not be clean, and the curtains might not shut all the way. The air conditioner might be broken, and the floors might be stained. But that’s okay, because you don’t go to Bobby’s Motel for the glamour and a good night’s sleep, the minibar, or the full - service sauna. You go to Bobby’s Motel to feel, to escape, to remember, to distract. You go for the late nights and early mornings, good times and the bad. You might spend your entire life looking for Bobby’s Motel and just when you think you will never find it, you realize you’ve been there all along. It’s filthy a nd amazing and you dance, and you love it.
The 11 songs on ‘Welcome to Bobby’s Motel’ – Pottery’s debut album - don’t just invite you t o move your body ; they command you to . Fusing reckless, manic energy with painstaking precision, the record is part post - punk, part art - pop , and part dance floor acid trip , hinting at everything from Devo to Gang of Four as it boldly careens through genres and decades . The music is driven by explosive drums and off - kilter guitar riffs that drill themselves into y our bra in, accented with deep, funky grooves and rousing gang vocals . The production is similarly raw and wild , suggesting an air of anarchy that belies the music’s careful architecture and meticulous construction . The result is an album full of ambitious, complex performances that exude joy and mayhem in equal measure, a collection that’s alternately virtuosic , chaotic, and pure fun.