Keeping Pace

While he was in utero, Artimus Pace’s parents lived in the Jimmie Van Zant Band’s rehearsal space. Watching Pace now, screaming and frothing in this dim bar, it’s not hard to believe that southern rock is in his blood. After three songs, the bartender kicks the band out—it’s too loud for a Monday. Pace takes it in stride, and works the room before leaving with his band.

“Abstract Artimus is the embodiment of me if I was in the Manson Family. That’s Abstract Artimus, my crazy side,” says Pace, a grin just visible through his biblical beard.

Abstract Artimus has been Pace’s stage name since he moved to Washington Heights from Mobile, Ala., four years ago. He began his career solo, but, craving the cohesion of a band, soon began the search for musicians to join him.

“I’ve been going through people like socks in the past couple years,” says Pace. “I needed someone like me, someone with a punk attitude that’s not afraid to eat bologna for a month straight.”

This past summer he found his match in drummer Drew Adler. After a sports injury, the Long Island native was unable to continue his baseball career and turned his full attention to playing the drums. He looked around for a long time, playing briefly for Sealed With A Kiss, before stumbling upon Pace.

“Once I heard his music I was like, this energy is something I need to be a part of,” says Adler. “I needed a change of speed, something to get my adrenaline going.”

Adler introduced Pace to bassist Chris Nuñez, a San Antonio native who had been casually playing with Adler over the summer. Within two months a band was formed, and a new genre that Pace jokingly refers to as “tortured child trash rock.”

For Pace, this is an inevitable step in a career that began with his first live show at the age of 14. Although his parents were supportive, they were never able to back him financially, so he had to find his own way.

“My parents were always extremely surprised at how far my money went,” laughs Pace. “Like, ‘You’re going on tour? For two weeks? You don’t have any money!’ And I’d say I know, but this one guy has a van, and he plays, so…” This is also why the band does its own recording, although the guys do profess to prefer the dirty sound of home recording to the crispness of studio tracks. Pace did the entire recording for his recent album, Barba de Dendritas, on a Tascam 4-track in his girlfriend’s Washington Heights apartment.

The result is a collection of lo-fi garage punk, all the words and music written by Pace. The scratchy whiskey undertones betray Pace’s Southern roots, falling asleep to Jimmie Van Zant in his mother’s belly, whereas the powerful vocals are all about his youthful worship of Pantera.

Abstract Artimus is best when experienced live, if only for the spectacle of Pace’s magnetic frenzies on stage. Pace writhes, shouts and sweats profusely, whether playing to a packed house or a near-empty bar. When asked about his wild stage presence, Pace looks bashful, and Adler laughs aloud, saying:

“What stage presence? It’s like saying somebody has an accent. I don’t have an accent, you have an accent.”

Teasing Pace and discussing favorite artists, Adler’s exhilaration is apparent. Having quit baseball to focus on music full time, he has officially left his comfort zone—today, he walks the tightrope of hoped-for success with his new band.

“It’s that commitment, that nervous decision to live poor for a while and really put in the time to do what we want to,” says Adler. “Even if we never get any recognition, hey, at least we tried.”

>> Abstract Artimus Nov. 19, The Charleston, 174 Bedford Ave. (betw. N. 7th & N. 8th. Sts.), Brooklyn, 718-782-8717; 10, $7.