Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Seeing a Band Made Entirely* of General Hospital Actors
by Gabrielle Moss
What the hell are you talking about?
I am talking about … Port Chuck! They are sort of a boy band/ classic rock cover band hybrid composed of four actors currently appearing on General Hospital: Steve Burton, Scott Reeves,Brandon Barash, and Bradford Anderson. Which I guess makes them more of a … man band?
Wait, back up! I don’t even know all that much about “General Hospital”!
General Hospital, which has been on the air continuously since 1963, is a daytime drama about a large hospital that only hires army generals for every position, even the candy stripers.
Kidding! It used to be a medical drama, but now it seems to be mostly about mobsters. The men of Port Chuck play several of the show’s main characters. Steve plays a guy named Jason Quartermaine, who was training to be a doctor but, after suffering the kind of traumatic memory-clouding incident that soap opera characters are prone to, is now a mobster/ vigilante. My co-worker Molly (who would like me to note that she has not watched the show regularly since 1999) says that he has “a lot of secret babies.” Scott plays a doctor named Steven Webber, who Wikipedia describes as having been “involved in a ski resort bus crash.” Brandon plays a mobster named Johnny Zacchara, whose father is also a mobster; and Bradford plays Spinelli, a computer hacker who is supposed to be the physically unappealing comic relief, but in reality — if you are anything like me — looks like almost everyone you have ever had sex with. Oh, and the town they all live in is called Port Charles, so “Port Chuck” is like the relaxed, weekend, kicking-back-on-the-porch-with-some-Natty-Ice version of Port Charles.
And these guys have a band?
Yup! They perform classic rock and miscellaneous frat party classics, like “The Boys Are Back in Town,” “American Woman,” “Don’t You Want Me,” and (mysteriously) “White Lines.” Four backing musicians who seem to be having an okay-ish time provide the drums, guitar, bass, and keyboard, while the men of Port Chuck sing into four individual microphones. Scott sometimes holds a guitar, because he used to be in a group called Blue Country and once co-wrote a song for Toby Keith, but honestly, it did not look to me like it was plugged in.
Typically, in each song, one member of Port Chuck will sing the verses, and then the whole group will perform the chorus together, but there are exceptions — on “Jessie’s Girl,” in tribute to General Hospital alum Rick Springfield, all four members sing together.
What is a Port Chuck concert like?
The Port Chuck concert started at 2pm on a Sunday, but people had been on line since before noon, and people who had purchased the premium VIP tickets had been there since even earlier, for a pre-show meet-and-greet with the actors, followed by a sound check. The audience was 99% excited women of varying ages, .9% disinterested men accompanying their wives and girlfriends, and one actor’s dad, who had his reserved seat stolen by a fan while he was out eating lunch. A lot of people were wearing sparkly nightclub outfits, and everyone was drinking a ton of white wine, including me. For $200, you got the VIP meet-and-greet tickets, a nice table by the stage, and a bottle of champagne; for $40, you got to awkwardly lean against a wall in front of the men’s room while drinking your chardonnay, as I did. Molly and her mom, Nancy, had a table at which security would not permit me to sit.
Are Port Chuck good?
Oh, god no. They’re awful. Weren’t you listening when I said the thing about “White Lines”? They are energetic performers, sure, but they sounded like they should be doing Friday night karaoke in the back bar at Chili’s.
But that isn’t the point, really. I talked to a number of fans at the concert — some of whom also owned and listened to the band’s CD — and no one seemed too concerned about the music, or how good it was or wasn’t.
We can probably all agree that, with very few exceptions, bands with famous actors in them are terrible. But bands with famous actors in them continue to be successful, because people don’t go see them — your Dogstars, your 30 Odd Foot of Gruntses, your Honey Brotherses — to hear great music. People go see them to see an actor they like “be himself,” and to feel closer to that actor in the process. The music is an after thought. But traditionally, there is an elaborate charade going on between the band and the audience, where the audience (who is really there to gawk at the actor) is supposed to pretend they are there to take the actor seriously as a musician, and the actor is supposed to pretend that he is there because everyone takes him very seriously as a musician, which is who he “really is” — and thus, act negatively toward those who openly enjoy his band simply as an extension of their love for the actor.
There’s no half-assed dance of faux authenticity going on with Port Chuck. They make the dynamics of the “actor band”/ audience relationship absolutely clear: “actor bands” are a privilege actors get to indulge in due to the good will and obsessive interest of their fans. Thus, this obsessive fan interest should be rewarded and respected, not scorned.
And reward it the men of Port Chuck did — mugging for fan photos, tweeting mid-song, serenading a randomly selected fan on stage, and creating some pretty intense audience shoving matches by throwing free t-shirts out into the crowd. You weren’t at the Port Chuck concert to hear good music, you were there to see people you cared about enjoy themselves (or at least pretend to), and everyone in the room seemed to be on the same page about that. As Nancy later said, “I don’t think it was very good music, but it was great entertainment!”
Did your co-worker’s mother (benignly) steal your identity at any point during the concert?
Yes! Nancy showed up at the concert by herself a little after noon, and pretended to be me (quote, “a reporter”) in order to get into the sound check. She advised Molly to do the same thing when she showed up, but it didn’t work and she had to wait on the street until the doors opened. I didn’t mind the identity shenanigans in either case because, as is generally the case in my life, I overslept and then made a bunch of complicated breakfast drinks and then showed up like an hour late and, as usual, missed something important.
Why did you go see Port Chuck?
I thought it would be funny. Also, I have a hard time turning down opportunities to drink white wine with other people’s moms.
And was it funny?
Not really. Well, okay, when they segued directly from Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” into Linkin Park’s “The End,” that was pretty hilarious. But when I originally heard about Port Chuck, I had fantasized that the band would be supported by a rabid, ICP-style fan culture. But in reality, no one trades live show bootlegs or tracks their set-lists online. There is no Gathering of the Port Chucaklos. Everyone attending the Port Chuck concert seemed like they would have been equally happy watching those guys play ice hockey or slow-pitch softball, which I found kind of refreshing.
You were lying to me about the “White Lines” part before, though, right?
No.
What other songs do you think they should add to their set?
“Ride Wit Me” by Nelly or “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” by Steely Dan would be good picks, but I do not think they are currently taking requests.
And how do you feel about the whole thing now, several days later?
Thanks for asking! I feel a little bit like an asshole for originally planning an entire afternoon around ironically watching a bunch of soap opera actors harmonize Bon Jovi songs. I mean, I may eat candy for breakfast and not technically have a savings account, but I’m not 16, right?
But I thought the Port Chuck experience actually ended up being an interesting commentary about pop music right now — an era where performer back story dominates to the point where a band that doesn’t bring much to the table musically can still become popular, just because people like to write or talk or think about them.
But I’m not claiming that Port Chuck are Odd Future or anything. They’re just some guys from TV who realized that the moment was right to live out their rock star fantasies, and since I assume that steady work on daytime TV pays the bills, this must be a labor of love for them. Awww, man, see that? I went there to make fun of them and I left with all this empathy (and also maybe some respect) for everyone involved. This keeps happening to me lately! I have no idea why.
Also I had a white wine headache for about 30 hours after the show was over, but I’m better now.
*Except for the guys playing the actual instruments.
Gabrielle Moss is a writer, editor, and friend to other people’s moms. She lives in Brooklyn.
Photos courtesy Port Chuck