Part-time bands can often be quite frustrating. When a bunch of teenagers, unemployed college grads or even low-paid dead-enders decide to start a band, it can end up becoming a big deal. It’s certainly more glamorous than being a server or a cubicle drone, and some bands even manage to luck out to the extent where its members get to drop the low-paying dead-end jobs. It’s a different story entirely, however, when a bunch of older people with solid careers start a band; no matter how fun it is as a hobby, it will always remain a hobby—unless, of course, you become the Next Big Thing.

Where exactly that line is, it’s hard to say; Robert Pollard was a school teacher until about halfway through Guided By Voices’ lengthy history, and being a teacher isn’t such a bad gig. Toronto’s Wild Strawberries, on the other hand, are surprisingly active, given that the husband-wife duo of Roberta Carter Harrison and Ken Harrison are both medical professionals—or, at least, they were at the time of 1999’s Quiver, but it’s hard to imagine them suddenly leaving, given that Ken Harrison’s on record as saying he’d “never leave medicine.”

Fonda, a five-piece from Los Angeles, fall somewhere in between. The main songwriting duo, Emily Cook and David Klotz (also a married couple), work in various areas of the film industry—he’s a music editor, she’s a screenwriter. With the band’s average age hovering somewhere in the thirties and most of them settled with decent jobs, it’s clear Fonda will never turn into a full-time affair. Even the band’s MySpace profile claims cheekily that they get together for wine tastings more often that they do practice sessions.

It’s a bit of a shame, because there’s this small pocket of indie pop that’s grown older and disappeared over the years, led by the likes of Imperial Teen and Fonda. It must be something about Southern California—I think it’s the beaches and the ocean—that led bands like Fonda to produce beautiful pop songs perfect for the endless summer sunsets overlooking the Pacific. Or maybe it’s their day-jobs in the film industry that have led Fonda to fully appreciate the importance of the “golden hour”—the hour just before sunset when the light is absolutely perfect—and try to craft a soundtrack to suit.

In any case, the idea of having to make do with only an album every three or four years just doesn’t seem fair, and the complete lack of news on the Fonda front suggests it’ll be even longer before we see a follow-up to 2003’s Catching Up to the Future, if we ever see one at all. But maybe that carefree, relaxed vibe of songs like “Until the End” would disappear if Fonda were more active. After all, there are some things you just can’t rush.

When K-Tel starts putting out compilations about alternative rock in the mid-90s, and people like me post garishly decorated Virtuweb sites dedicated to the totally awesome decade when rock finally died (just like in the 80s and the 70s and the 60s), and old fogeys talk about how Lollapalooza changed their life and that the kids will never appreciate the likes of the Smashing Pumpkins and Soundgarden, and bad TV commercials blare out slogans for nostalgia shows about 90s nostalgia shows (”Remember when I Love the 90s swept the nation?”)…

When I grow old and the times have passed me by, I will hug my copy of American Thighs and cry for my lost youth.

Between their 2001 debut album and 2004’s Winds Take No Shape, San Francisco’s Call and Response underwent a metamorphosis of sorts. In one end of the black box went Call and Response, Kindercore sweethearts and purveyors of sweet, unabashed twee-pop with a soft spot for cute keyboard noises; out the other end came Call and Response, a decidedly melancholy indie-pop band with a soft spot for minor chords. Exactly what happened in the three years, only the band could tell you. But to shed some light on how that metamorphosis took place, Call and Response put out an EP called Tiger Teeth, made up mostly of songs that didn’t make it onto Winds Take No Shape.

The leadoff track, “Nervous Wreck,” is essentially the best parts of both bands fused together: the winsome indie attitude and hip-shaking aspirations of the old Call and Response combined with the stronger musicianship and more complex sound of the new Call and Response. You can even hear the joins at times: the bright, lively intro and Simone Ruby’s soul-singer chorus is clearly influenced by old Call and Reponse tracks like the groovetastic “I Know You Want Me,” while the bridge and outro atmospherics sound more at home amongst the more downbeat songs of Winds Take No Shape. It’s not just insight into the development of an indie band over the years, it’s also a glimpse into an alternate universe where Call and Response never lost its desire to make you sweat. And if you’ve never heard of Call and Response before, well, “Nervous Wreck” is just a load of fun.

Once upon a time, there was a band named Wire. They were an influential British punk band that started up in the late 70s and never seemed to stick together for more than a couple of years at a time. Various solo projects and other frustrations conspired to throw the band into the dustbin at regular intervals, and while their productive periods each show Wire in the process of aggressive evolution through guitar-fueled electronica to electronica-influenced clockwork guitar riffage, it’s still the band’s early post-punk works that seem to inspire other musicians the most.

Take, for example, “Three Girl Rhumba,” one of Wire’s early singles. If you’re even a casual fan of Britpop, you probably recognize the song, though probably not because of Wire. If you’re a slightly more interested fan of Britpop, you know the reason why: Elastica’s self-titled debut album and their breakout single, “Connection.” Elastica’s association with Wire has been somewhat tumultuous; Wire’s record label filed a lawsuit claiming Elastica had shamelessly ripped off two of Wire’s songs for the chorus of “Line Up” and the riff to “Connection.” Elastica never denied the—well, you know the pun—and settled out of court in 1995. Elastica headed off the problem five years later when they preemptively credited Wire for the riff on “Only Human” (which later appeared on The Menace as simply “Human”).

Wire, for their part, never saw very much from the 1995 lawsuit, nor were they consulted beforehand. Even so, arguably they had the last laugh; Elastica collapsed in 2000 after long struggles with drug addiction, a long time out of the limelight and the sophomore slump. The many hiatuses notwithstanding, that means Wire outlived Elastica by at least a couple of years, having last parted company in 2004 and rumoured to reform yet again in the near future.

While we’re on the topic of shows, the Long Blondes have made the trip from the UK as well and are stopping by Lee’s Palace next Monday for what I’m sure will be another bout of sweat-fueled dance party madness. Seriously, the few shows I’ve seen at Lee’s have all turned into dance-offs, and considering the band’s exuberant Britpop-meets-Blondie stylings I have no doubt that we’ll see more of the same, even factoring in the lethargic nature of Toronto crowds.

The June date coincides nicely with tomorrow’s domestic release of Someone to Drive You Home, which appears to be augmented with bonus tracks but otherwise untouched—a nice change from the usual trend of messing with tracklists to appeal to the North American audience, ex. Saint Etienne’s Tales From Turnpike House, Gemma Hayes’ Night On My Side, Go! Team’s Thunder, Lightning, Strike—and yes I know that was due to sampling issues but it got a British release, didn’t it? So long as the people at Beggars didn’t pull some other stupid stunt like copy-protect the CD, it’ll be an obvious purchase for anyone still catching up to the better releases in 2006 (like, um, me).