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The Lottery League: Where lots of Pabst and idealism have turned the Cleveland music scene on its head

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It's now the fifth round. One person's already passed out in a corner, still clutching a balloon. After five hours of drafting players, almost all 147 are assigned to bands. People begin stumbling around the room, searching for their new mates, squinting into strange faces between glances at trading cards. They jot down phone numbers and dole out hugs to complete strangers, moved by the Pabst and the possibilities of the unknown.

When the members of band No. 27 find each other, they quickly start bouncing around ideas for names, like giddy fifth-graders at summer camp. "Anal Cheater," one suggests. But his bandmate mishears. Thus, the Anal Cheetahs — a band that includes a brooding singer-songwriter and an Autoharp-playing neuroscientist — are born.

It's around midnight when the draft finally ends. P.P. Envy, bassist for Ghandi SS, is the final draw — the Lottery League's version of football's Mr. Irrelevant. The council shoos everyone from the room, ordering them into the next-door bar. "That's it, folks," Sotelo announces. "Now get to work!"

A month after the draft, back in room 408 at Rock and Roll City, the members of Ghandi SS barrel through their new songs.

As Fish busts into a symmetrical beat, Straub's beefy frame hunches over his bass, picking out a catchy, almost prog-rockish riff. Meanwhile, Hrbek, the shoegazing axeman, layers on atmospheric guitars as Bertolone tosses in even more noisy, atonal effects.

At first, everything is a little off. But somewhere in the fifth or sixth bar, the band clicks into a groove. Everyone finally finds the song's real rhythm. Each instrument helps the hook along, adding a unique touch, just as it should.

Despite its members' differences, Ghandi SS has quickly found its sound. You could almost compare it to the established stoner-metal outfit Sleep — a strange pick, since there's not a metal dude to be found in room 408. "I was surprised how we all immediately saw eye to eye," Bertolone says. "We just got right into practice, and it felt like a band I've been in for a while."

The writing process has been surprisingly organic, Straub says, usually starting with a part someone already wrote and building from there. "I just came in here and hoped to learn something," Straub says. "So far, I've never played with someone like Noah, with his shoegazer sound."

"It's cool to hear what Noah is putting over songs," Fish chimes in. "It's like, 'Whoa! I never would have done that.'"

The members of the new Chicago UK have made similar discoveries. At a charming old house in Tremont on a recent Monday night, the band gathers to practice in a living room cluttered with records, music equipment, and screen-printed posters. Morte Treehorn, the longtime leader of local legends Kill the Hippies, sits at the drums, though he typically plays guitar and sings.

The Chicago UK somehow ended up with three different crooners. But the compromise came naturally. Treehorn quickly offered to play drums, while David Russell said he'd happily play keyboards and do backup vocals. Lead vocal duties were left to Ken Janssen, the raspy-voiced frontman for garage rockers the Hot Rails .

But like Ghandi SS, the Chicago UK quickly locked into their sound — a sort of noisy riff rock with "stupid lyrics that'd be pretty racy for 1941," Janssen says. They already have three songs and are working on more. "No one wants to be that guy — that asshole," Janssen says. "So it just makes the writing more efficient. We muscle through the songs and eventually get somewhere."

Eight weeks after the experiment went live, all 33 bands have begun rehearsing. Shockingly, not one has quit. If nothing else, the Lottery League has proved useful in creating some of the world's most ridiculous band names. Among them: Born Raped, Big Sex, De-humidifier Vs. Humidifier, Twist It Nasty, Old Dildo, Bourbon Outfitters, and the consensus favorite, Good News for People With Credit Problems.

But for the organizers, there is much more at stake. In two weeks, all 33 bands will play the Cleveland music scene's home stadium, the Beachland. And Chief Mike Pultz, a WRUW DJ and concert promoter who's organizing the show, has set out to create a gig never before seen in Cleveland — with 33 bands playing seamless 10-minute sets on three stages, one of which he's having built specifically for the show.

Pultz can see it now: the Ballroom completely packed as the first band lights up the main stage. Barely able to wipe away the sweat, the audience turns toward the second stage, where the next act blasts into another powerful set. Then the whole group wanders into the Tavern, where yet another band is getting started. "It's going to be insane," he says. "We're completely revamping the whole place to make this happen."

Wrapped up in the new, almost surreally positive sense of community that the Lottery League has instilled in the music scene, Pultz says he's most excited about the communal pre-show meal. "That's gonna be my favorite part," he says. "Just the feeling of this big family, celebrating all that we've worked towards — let's eat this meal and then have the time of our lives and make this night exactly what we hoped it to be."

As the bands fine-tune their songs, a buzz is building around a few specific acts. The Anal Cheetahs have sparked curiosity, as they've supposedly adopted their Autoharpist's country-music influence. Born Raped is also drawing interest, thanks to its wildly diverse lineup, which features Jim "The King of Death Metal" Konya and Roxanne Starnik, a songbird from pop acts like JJ Magazine and Blisse Anonyon Atu. Rumors also abound about Hapsburg Lip, an indie all-star band that includes a member of the Akron Symphony Orchestra. "I've heard they have like 10 songs already," Straub says.

But mostly, everyone is talking about Good News for People With Credit Problems. And it isn't just the name that has their attention. The band's MySpace page already features five songs, including an artful cover of Parliament's "Maggot Brain." Their influences range from rock and blues to "blood, guts, bruises, and quality late-night local television." Their sound is a mixture of fuzz, experimental riffs, and blue-collar rock — an aural portrait of Cleveland.

Though the Lottery League will officially end with the April 12 showcase, Good News bassist Tony Erba says his band might continue playing beyond then, as are several others. "The last thing I need to be doing right now is another band," Erba says. "I recently had a heart attack. I'm supposed to be slowing down. Which of course means, fuck yeah, we'll keep doing the band."

As for another Lottery League — well, it probably won't happen. Musicians are hopeful, and have even talked about reunion shows and a local-celebrity version. "They should get Mike Stanley to do it," Straub jokes. But for the organizers, what makes this project so unique is the fact that it was originally destined for failure, successful only because of the contagious wave of excitement that filtered through the scene.

"It's never as good the second time around," Kristoff says. "We're just focusing on all the excitement and build-up now. But we'll see."

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