Inquiries/booking:

vandelayrockband@gmail.com

Full band/acoustic/live band karaoke

The Gospel of Vandelay: White-Collar Rebels with a Blueprint for Rock

By Kenny Bania, Rolling Stone

⸻

“We’re not a band, we’re an expansion project.” That’s how Vandelay’s lead singer—insurance salesman-turned-frontman Craig Morrison—describes the group that’s become Eastern Washington’s most talked-about white-collar rock phenomenon.

Dressed in pressed suits and ID badges, Vandelay look less like rockstars and more like your company’s quarterly review committee. But once they take the stage, the spreadsheets give way to sweaty power chords, pounding drums, and a crowd that somehow screams louder for an accountant than for a guitarist.

Their name? A nod to Art Vandelay—the enigmatic architect who (depending on who you ask) designed the Guggenheim’s legendary addition or never existed at all.

“Art’s our spirit animal,” says bassist (and CPA) Tom Jenkins. “If he can add on to a masterpiece, we can add some noise to this city.”

⸻

The Origin Story

It started in a conference room after hours. A tax lawyer banging on staplers, a consultant strumming a dusty Strat, an insurance guy who wouldn’t shut up. One night, fueled by too much break-room whiskey, they decided they were a band.

“We wanted to build something together,” says Jenkins. “Some people build hedge funds. We built Vandelay.”

Their first gig? A karaoke bar in Midtown where they snuck in instruments and hijacked the machine. By the second chorus, the place was chanting: “VAN-DE-LAY! VAN-DE-LAY!”

⸻

The Cult of Art

No Vandelay show begins without the ritual. Morrison, tie loosened, steps to the mic and shouts:

“This one’s for Art Vandelay—the man, the myth, the architect!”

Half the audience cheers knowingly. The other half googles it on the spot. Either way, the legend grows.

“It doesn’t matter if Art was real,” says drummer Linda Cho, who also manages corporate litigation at her firm. “What matters is that people believe in him. And when you believe, you play louder.”

⸻

The Guggenheim Incident

The band’s most infamous moment came last summer when Vandelay hauled their gear to the steps of the Guggenheim and performed an impromptu set. Security broke it up after ten minutes. But for a brief moment, the dream came true: Vandelay played Vandelay’s masterpiece.

“I swear, the building was vibrating with us,” Morrison insists. “Like Art was watching.”

⸻

Where They Go From Here

They’re not quitting their day jobs—at least not yet. (“Dental benefits,” Jenkins shrugs.) But their myth keeps growing, and so do the crowds.

“People come to see us because they want to believe there’s more to life than emails and status reports,” Cho says. “And maybe because they like seeing accountants sweat.”

Rolling Stone asked if they’d ever met Art Vandelay.

“Every time we play, we meet him,” Morrison says with a grin. “Because he’s in the room with us. He’s in the music. He’s in the blueprint of rock.”

And with that, Vandelay heads to the bar—loosened ties, empty beer glasses, and the sound of a crowd still chanting their name.