The line between Burlington’s music scene and the Seven Days staff has always been a fuzzy one.
For starters, the paper’s cofounder and first music editor (among her many other hats), Pamela Polston, was the front woman of the Decentz, a much-loved post-punk/new-wave act in the 1980s Queen City scene. Many of her music editor successors were also local musicians. (Fun Seven Days trivia: Former music editor and current culture coeditor Dan Bolles and I both appeared with our old bands — the Middle Eight and Lobot, respectively — in an October 20, 2004, story called “7 Bands to Watch,” penned by then-music editor Casey Rea … also a musician.)
Rough Francis vocalist Bobby Hackney Jr. had to navigate the weirdness of laying out stories about his own band during his time as a graphic designer at the paper. And because our Wednesday paper delivery allows for evening and weekend gigs, our drivers are often Burlington musicians, from the High Breaks’ Matt Hagen to the Smittens’ Colin Clary to my Dino Bravo bandmate, the inimitable Matthew Stephen Perry.
Contributing photographer Luke Awtry is in at least 15 bands at all times. Freelance music writer Justin Boland has been a massive presence in the 802 hip-hop scene, rapping as Wombaticus Rex and running the now-defunct vermonthiphop.com, a much-missed repository of local rap news. There have been many other examples in Seven Days’ three decades. The paper doesn’t just cover the local music scene — it’s part of it.
So it’s not surprising that Seven Days has its own house band, Enemy of the People. Though maybe don’t tell the band that.
“I want to get one thing straight: Enemy of the People is not the fucking Seven Days house band.”
So spoke no less an authority on the subject than the band’s lead singer, Seven Days art director Diane Sullivan.
“Look, I get crazy on that stage and absolutely cannot be held responsible as a representative of anything, do you know what I’m saying?” Sullivan explained. “Who cares, anyway? You’re getting ahead of yourself, Farnsworth.”
It’s true, I am. Let’s start at the beginning.
It was Christmas 2019. I was still just a freelance writer, but my music editor predecessor Jordan Adams had invited me to the company holiday party at the Skinny Pancake on the Burlington waterfront. I had developed a raging crush on the calendar writer at the time and was determined to do something about it, only to find out upon arriving to the party that she had moved to Michigan a few months earlier. (Maybe I should have iSpied her.)
Still, I was at my first staff party, having a blast and meeting so many people who would become my coworkers and friends over the next six years. Before long, I noticed a band setting up. Sullivan, production manager John “Jingles” James, designer Jeff Baron and digital production specialist Bryan Parmelee all hopped onstage, grabbing instruments and gripping microphones.
I knew most of them from the local music world already. Baron was part of the killer Burlington indie-rock scene of the ’90s as a guitarist with Guppyboy and later the Essex Green. I’d seen Parmelee’s excellent indie projects Parmaga and Pours multiple times. And the number of shows I’d played with Sullivan’s boozed-up hard-rock outfit the Dirty Blondes could only be defined as “too drunk to count.” Even James, one of the most dedicated concertgoers I’ve met, had recently joined Sullivan’s St. Patrick’s Day outfit, Everybody’s Favorite Irish Drinking Songs Band, as the harmonica player.
I’d never seen Parmelee on the kit — he’s better known as a guitarist, keyboardist and vocalist — nor did I know James could play bass. But as I watched them launch into a hard-charging set of original garage-rock songs, I realized I was looking at a proper band, not just some outfit thrown together to play a party. Better still: All the songs were composed about specific coworkers in attendance or in-jokes only Seven Dayzers could truly appreciate.
Sullivan, or “Sully” when she’s onstage, bellowed into the microphone with her signature booming, gravelly voice as Enemy of the People ripped through “Sasha’s Getting Drunk,” an ode to deputy news editor Sasha Goldstein. That one was especially hilarious considering that, in all my time at the paper, I’ve never seen the dude tipsy.
The band’s name most likely derived from a right-wing slur popularized by (who else?) President Donald Trump. In his first term, he’d become fond of labeling the press the “enemy of the people” — taking a cue from those famed champions of freedom and democracy before him, Joseph Stalin and Mao Zedong.
“Thankfully, all those attacks on the press stopped,” Parmelee quipped with a smirk when I recently spoke with the band about its beginnings.
Sullivan, however, offered an alternate origin of the band’s name: “It’s from the Henrik Ibsen play that explored the conflict between personal integrity and societal norms, OK?” she said. I was polite enough not to reply with, “Bullshit, Di.”
Whatever led to the name, the members all agree the beginning was simple: The four musicians gathered in the basement of Sullivan’s house in Essex Junction, made some food, got pretty drunk and started to play. They wrote songs such as “Rutland Hookers,” which the band stresses is pro sex work; “Paper Jam,” an ode to a very hated office printer; and “Petunia,” a slow-your-roll-Diane anthem about what happens when Sullivan overindulges at practice.
“I saw her tokin’ on the bong / she hasn’t eaten all day long,” Sullivan roars, singing about her own excess. “Drinking vodka and lemonade / she thinks she’s got it made.”
The group started to play weekly, getting tighter and tighter.
“It was so awesome, but we were just getting way too drunk for weeks,” Baron recalled with a laugh. “We had to check ourselves a little and make pizzas first, that sort of thing.”
Once the band found a way to balance its rock-and-roll excess, it started to gather momentum and move out of the basement. Enemy of the People played a few real gigs and were even booked for the 2020 Waking Windows festival in Winooski. They began laying down basic tracks for a debut album with producer Joe Egan at his Colchester recording studio.
Then came the pandemic, and the band lost any traction it had. The quartet did, however, play a set from Sullivan’s basement for a virtual work party during quarantine.
I wouldn’t see Enemy of the People again until Polston’s retirement party in 2021, when they played an acoustic ode to the cofounder in the Burlington backyard of the other cofounder, Paula Routly. Clad in a leopard-print jacket, Sullivan sang directly to Polston, belting out: “Debbie Harry’s got nothing on you!”
The band has played only sporadically since and doesn’t get together in Sullivan’s basement as much as it used to. That hasn’t stopped the four of them from having endless debates on Slack, text threads and even out loud across the office about when Enemy of the People might finally release their debut.
“C’mon! Egan wants to know when we’re going to finish the goddamn thing!” Sullivan barked during one group hang last month.
“I mean, I’m down to get back in there in November, maybe Decem—,” James said before Baron’s laugh cut him off.
“It’s only August!” Baron protested.
“Yeah, but I’ve got a few vacations coming up.”
“I’m pretty sure we just have to finish overdubs,” Parmelee, the band’s resident producer, pointed out. “Basic tracks are good.”
“Listen,” Sullivan said. “I think we should shut up about it, pick a fuckin’ date in September—”
“That’s next month!” Baron said, laughing again.
“OK, OCTOBER THEN!”
“Let’s get Noah Kahan and Grace Potter to guest on it,” Baron offered, clearly having a good time winding up his bandmates.
They never did nail down plans to finish the long-delayed debut, so the world will have to continue waiting for Enemy of the People’s opening salvo. In the meantime, they’re still writing songs and even broadening their horizons — a new tribute to WCAX-TV anchor Darren Perron is in the works. They’re also recruiting other Seven Dayzers to join the crew. Or trying to.
James heard a rumor that staff writer Colin Flanders was a decent rapper. When I asked the intrepid news reporter about that, the speed with which Flanders left the room was uncanny. “That was 10 years ago, man!” he shouted as he fled the scene.
Hopefully the band will drop its album before Seven Days’ 40th anniversary, but Enemy of the People answer to no master but their own limited attention span. And if Flanders doesn’t end up dropping some bars on the record, they’ll probably just write a song about him.
The original print version of this article was headlined “Seven Days ‘House Band’ Enemy of the People Rock the Presses”
This article appears in 30th Birthday Issue.
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