Rubber Brother Records Gives Fans and Bands Something to Be a Part Of

Categories: News

Rubber Bros
Label execs.
So this one time, my brother left a large tube of salami under our bunk bed -- because he likes to hoard food -- and totally forgot about it for three weeks, until it started to smell so bad that we almost called the paramedics. We looked down there and there's this dildo-shaped green pickle that's practically glowing, and the mold has spread all over the wadded up tissues, dirty socks, and lost Pokémon cards that also found their way under our mattress. My mother almost killed us.

Rubber Brother Records has been growing in the dark for God knows how long, and now its scent is getting a lot of wind, but in a much cooler, not puketastic, way. Founded by 19-year-old Gage Oleson and 23-year-old Robbie Pfeffer (known for fronting spastic garage rock outfit Playboy Manbaby and maintaining local magazine Tempe Starving Artist), metro Phoenix's newest label is a testament to all that is fucking awesome about DIY.

What good is it making a record company in 2013, you ask? Well, it's way more than that, you cynical bastard. For Olesen, Rubber Brother is a way to "facilitate something in the community that we felt was lacking." For Pfeffer, "it's a good format for getting all my friends to have a stated group to be a part of."

The co-founders are two sides of the same coin, having become instant friends almost two years ago when they met at The Fixx, the defunct coffee shop Pfeffer used to manage. Now they've taken their self-described "little brother, big brother" bond and turned it into an outlet for local musicians to be a part of.

"Specifically," Olesen says, "we wanted a garage rock community that was more cohesive."

So far, it's been exactly that. It all began with a gig on June 21 at the Trunk Space featuring Wolvves, Instructions, Playboy Manbaby, Petty Things, Mickey & The Mountains, TK & The Irresistibles, Naked Pizza, and Vinewine. Plus, kick-ass new art by Daniel Funkhouser, Dain Q. Gore, and James B. Hunt was hung on the walls. The evening was full of bruising excitement, ear-splitting noise, and screaming kids, and it genuinely did feel like a movement.

You know, something to be a part of, especially for an underage crowd that, unfortunately, gets shit on by Arizona's draconian liquor laws.

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