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Occasional Detroit, AGL, The Booty Green,
Stallove
1/19/08 @ Burt’s
A few months ago after a fancy dinner and some fruit
of the vine, my escort and I stopped by the Albuquerque Center for
Peace & Justice to see what all the fuss was about over Occasional
Detroit, a hiphop/noise duo recently moved here from Michigan.
In a dark room lit only by a rapid strobe and deafening beats, we were
impressed. Full of steak and wine however it was physically difficult
to endure so we left in five minutes flat but not without regrets. We
made a vow to see them soon with lighter stomachs and clearer heads.
We’d been laying low for awhile and tonight found ourselves
in a back booth at Burt’s surrounded by friends and well-wishers
to the point of not getting up to the stage for the first three acts
so I can’t offer but a few observations from a distance. The normal feedback
drenched squeal of AGL tonight was instead subdued, Alan himself
being a sub-dude. Stallove was BPM dance floor sounds
with which I don’t have enough familiarity to judge yea or nay. Booty
Mark literally played his Get Out of Jail Free card tonight, barely making
it out of the clutches of the Law to lay down some solo Booty Green
monkey shines, at one point swinging from the ceiling.
Finally, though I waded my way up front for Occasional
Detroit.
Talk says their act is either killer or indifferent
depending on how things mesh during any given performance. Tonight
it was awesome, not in the sense of the annoying slang of “Awesome,
dude!” but as inspiring awe and wonder.
The word ‘dangerous’ is thrown around in the world of
rock n’ roll way too often, usually associated with what’s merely
the willful prolonged adolescence of swaggering ego-drenched bad
boy rock, or self-titled outlaws who despite their onstage break-the-rules
personas really want nothing more than a comfortable six pack on
their couches and a pack of smokes. O-D is truly dangerous on many
levels with distorted guitar, headphones tweaked into acting as microphones,
rapidfire mixing, f/x boxes and defiant rapping. Towando and Demetrisa
are confrontational not only to the audience but moreso to themselves.
And maybe to each other.
The pair must guard against two kinds of damage: physical
damage from wild abandon like someone who just got the spirit at
Sunday service and the emotional damage from brutally baring soul
and psyche not only to strangers but to self. More than once Demetrisa
had to put herself bodily between her man Towando and the wall or floor
he was throwing his entire body against. Its probably not as easy to
deflect emotional pain during such a performance.
Inspiring, enlightening, confusing, confounding. It
was staggering. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Oh, and it had a good beat and you could dance
to it.
AGL, Olvidese
2/17/08 @ The
Stove
See Show Photos
Here
Sorry, bands, but the real star here was biscuits
and gravy. This was the second (?) edition of the Sunday Speaker
Waffle Breakfast Club. Loud music at breakfast. Pancakes. Eggs.
Biscuit. Bacon. Beer. Sunday at 10 am, aberrant and only mildly
psychotic music wafts from the chain-link back yard of the Stove. The
smell of hot grease and bubbling coffee in the air. Tweaked music and
tweaked people of all artistic and musical stripes. And kids. Lots of
little kids (my favorite people!) running around wreaking havoc and
delight.
Griddlecakes and syrup go surprisingly well
with the low-fidelity irrational rumblings of AGL tweaking f/x boxes
every which way and the guitar & drum duo Olvidese bringing audio
metaphor/metamorphosis to your Sunday morning reality. The only thing
missing was the Sunday funnies. Somebody bring the paper next time.
Ghostkimo, Mei Long
@ Ralli's
Colourmusic @ Atomic
2/23/08
See Show Photos Here
It figures. I finally get my slack self out to see the
“new” Mei Long and its revealed to be their last show for awhile.
It was a fine easybeat/Merseyside affair, lilting and with some two-part
harmony backed by droning swirls that sounded like those old blob-y
light shows looked. Newest member Joshua (ex-Mindy Set) brings his
bassline melodies to the fore where they fit like a well-appointed
paisley ascot. A fine showing from a fine outfit. I’m hoping they return
rather sooner than later.
Before they played, I wasn’t sure if Ghostkimo
had an after-life connection to longtime local singer/songwriter
Kimo No, Kimo’s still alive and kicking and this band is a different
kettle of song structure altogether than Kimo’s folkesque work. And
quite wonderful. Ghostkimo showcases my favorite type of electro-centric
stuff: live performances eased seamlessly into preprogrammed beats,
the promise of the ultimately disappointing electroclash genre fulfilled.
Guitar, bass and one of two rumbly vintage organs play off the beats
with the occasional harmonica solo, coming together like Dylan’s landmark
Blonde On Blonde LP as if recorded at a 4 a.m.
rave in Prague instead of Memphis, with an ecstasy-fried Booker T. covering
Al Kooper’s keyboard work.
With two such fine performances, I was content to call
it a night but everyone we met kept asking if were we going to the
Atomic to hear some band called Colourmusic, the subject of
much SXSW anticipation. By the third time, we finally gave in and said
yes. Besides when was the last time you heard a band from Oklahoma that
wasn’t Leon Russell?
I wasn’t so sure though about their music being influenced
by color. Sounds like artstudent rock to me but maybe the college-educated
among you can hip me to the veracity or bullshit of such claims.
No matter; they were good but quite high on Concept with a capital
C: all dressed in white, all named Roy, and so forth. I was reminded
conceptually of the Causey Way who took the stage in here in 2000 posing
as cultists, each dressed in surgical whites. Or retro-futurists Manplanet
who each sported color-coordinated jumpsuits and instruments.
Their recorded musical palette of Colourmusic ranges
from precious kitten-cuddly ditties (like a saner Devendra Banhart
backed by any number of Bee Gees) to ear damage riff rock (like--oh,
pick any fuzz guitar outfit--they all sound alike to me) to anthemic singalongs
like a crank snorting the Polyphonic Spree. Tonight was more on the
heavy edge, never an avenue to win me over but nevertheless I thoroughly
enjoyed myself during the set, even dancing and (ohgod) headbanging a
bit, buoyed by audience enthusiasm. Everyone was getting down. But strangely
I can’t say Colourmusic left a big lasting impression. I wasn’t humming
any songs the next day or giving ‘em much thought. Not like Mei Long
and Ghostkimo whose songs I’ll return to much more often and with greater
gusto.
The Dirty Novels, The
Freewheelin’ Skky Phoenix, the Foxx
3/5/08 @ Atomic
submitted by
Eva Blaylock
See Show Photos
Here
The Foxx. Bow-tied, Stardust-haired, the
lovely Juliet keeps on keeping on, alongside enviably-skilled Zac,
with two new dogies – Jill of numerous-band-Albuquerque-fame and
shiny new guitarist Tim. As though they’d been playing together for
eons, they busted out the glittered, poppy, nightingale-throated ear candy
that has made the Foxx a must-have staple of Albuquerque’s most distinguished
aural palates. Jill, in as steady and concise a manner as in any genre
she attempts, marked time flawlessly, punctuating with well-placed staccatoed
fills and smiles.
Newcomer Tim rocked as hard as we could hope, to be
in line with the superbly talented trio – energizing and strumming
into spaces that may not have even been there before. Juliet, of course,
was dazzling, armed with contagious, frenzied energy, having finally
been allowed to re-redebut her band of merry-makers after yet another
(if thankfully) brief hiatus. Zac, well, the man puts most of us four
(or five) stringers to shame.
The Freewheelin’ Skky Phoenix.
The only question is, where the fuck has this guy been? A welcome
addition to Albuquerque’s dwindling number of original acts, Skky
brings a slew of country-folksy-rock songs, performed solo or with drummer
Rob and puts out enough energy to power his diminutive amp. Secrets of
this crew, however, are that Rob plays along without much prior knowledge
of set list, lineup, or actual songs…kid takes his cues and marks time
to what-ever deviation Skky tosses at him. Commendable. Don’t let the baby-faced,
oft-solo Skky fool you, though -- he’s as old-time dive country bar as
they come. Definitely worth the hear.
The Dirty Novels. There’s no way of disguising
my absolute love of these hip-shaking rockers. As soon as they start
a’banging, I’ve already lost my ability to control my derriere. First-class,
as usual, with ridiculous ability to pull any shadowed wallflowers
from the room’s recesses into the limelight of twitching and toe-tapping
along to Joe-Go’s beats and newest member Goiio’s thumping bass. Paul
and Brian, of course, wind their guitars in and out of one another’s strumming
space in perfect synchronicity. As for Paul’s mad vocal seductory phrasings…just
pull back a moment and watch the girlies swoon.
A fine night – resplendent in the Atomic’s reddened
light…
I don’t think it was the booze Lenny was dishing out
that made the Wednesday crowd spill onto the sidewalk in a state
of supreme dizziness.
The Dirty Novels, The
Freewheelin’ Skky Phoenix, the Foxx
3/5/08 @ Atomic
See Show Photos Here
This is about guitarist
#4 for the Foxx. Either Juliet and Zac drive them away like
junkyard dogs or they’re buried in the backyard someplace. Latest
axeman Tim brought a new dimension, following in the footsteps of
his predecessors: Izzy’s jangly pop New-er Wave, Alan’s studied psych
fandango and Dameon’s full-toned Johnny Thunders swagger. Tim confirmed
Juliet’s voice and/or keyboard not as echo but as answering counterpoint
while bassman Zac reflected the melody. And since drummer Ryan is more
concerned these days with the Bar (no, not falling down drunk--not much
anyway-- but the Bar Association) his seat has been given over to ex-Mindy
Set Jill, the human metronome. Although I can’t vouch for her personal
life, she’s always on time musically.
The handful of new songs are-- so far -- more in the
rock and roll vein than English Music Hall/ Glam style but as tonight
was the debut, these can still go in any direction before they’re polished
and finalized. I can’t wait to see where it all goes: new tunes, new
personnel…new attitude?
I was pleased to finally hear northwestern transplant
the Freewheelin’ Skky Phoenix and his big country handjive,
tonight a duo. Even if you knew nothing about the man’s style it
was easy to see by the way drummer Rob kept his eye on Skky that anything
could happen. Practice? Set list? That’s for sissies. Could be country
strummin’ one night, could be rock the fuck n’ roll another…
Although I was mite disappointed not to see Mr Phoenix
go for broke tonight with full-on distortion wail n’ roll like an
emotionally tortured backwoods saint (as I’ve seen in some of his
yootoob vids), it was still a fine showing of sweet-throated twang
with big ol’ galloping backbeats. Yeah, I’ll keep going to see/hear
what happens next.
By the time the Dirty Novels were up, I’d had
my three beers -- my outside limit these days-- and was wound
up enough by the previous two acts that I just had to bust some
moves. Not good ones, mind, but moves nonetheless. Man, I hadn’t danced
like that that for Las Novelas since back in the early Ernie days,
still some of my favorite shows.
Since I haven’t been paying attention lately, I didn’t
snap that Dandee had recently relinquished bass duties until new Novel
(sequel) Greg/Goiio filled those white leather boots ably. Mr Fleming
is now keeping his bass attention focused on the pop genius of Lousy
Robot (formerly known as --for reals--“Hey Dandee!” ) which for my money
is where its best suited.
No matter: I enjoyed the set more than I had in a long
time. Guess I was just ready to slip n’ slide again.
Afternote: Since this night, the Novels have been abridged:
down to a trio with Goiio dropping the bass and filling Joego’s
place on the drum stool. Reports were he learned an entire set’s
worth in like twenty-four hours, an effort to be congratulated, toasted
and applauded. I look forward to seeing the latest incarnation soon
but I’ll miss Joey’s exquisitely timed flourish: rolls and fills and
hot shit showmanship.
A Man About A Horse,
the Giranimals
3/14/08 @ The Stove
See Show
Photos Here
Its been many months since I’ve seen the Giranimals,
long enough that Connie’s ready to deliver another offspring soon.
If we’re all patient enough I think we can convince her and papa Maury
to form a Cowsills-like family outfit. I’m counting on it.
The G-animals are a two-piece these days: Maury on drums
and Connie on keyboard or guitar with surprise! both on vocals. I’ve
always admired singing drummers, like Laura Eyeliner before she
moved to frontwoman status. Or I must concede, most singing drummers:
I’ve never found any use for Phil Collins in any form. Regardless, Maury
kicked off the set with not only beats but a strong vocal in the timbre
of Neal Young singing After the Goldrush.
In response to the new band configuration, there were
a few jokes along the lines of “Maury and Tenille” but these disregarded
the fact that although Maury’s drums are the Giranimals’ heartbeat,
Connie’s voice and songwriting is the heart. His rhythms are in counterpoint
to her melodies and virtuous voice, with which I’ve once again failed
to find any favorable comparison except to Velocity Girl’s Sarah Shannon.
Which is why I like it so much.
Its rare to find such a delicate presentation as Connie’s
that can stand up to a drummer being such a prominent part of the
performance. She’s not as fragile as her delivery might suggest.
Song subject matter is not quite as obvious or pronounced
as the proverbial rose with thorns but perhaps a fuzzy kitten whose
claws are sharp and appear when needed.
Although I’d seen the name, actually hearing A Man
About A Horse was new to me. They remind Maury of Pavement
(who, he says, the band professes not to have heard of). I concur
and would also add a touch of The Band with some “classic” (circa 2002)
emo influence. A four piece (guitar, bass, drums and keys) they were
pleasantly leaning toward accomplished jangle rock but didn’t really
grab me much, perhaps because I already went through my heartfelt indie
rock period: like, Silver Jews Built To Count Crows of Loaf. If you don’t
get my ‘90s indie references, don’t worry. I’m not always sure what
I’m talking about either.
Noisear, Roñoso
3/19/08 @ The Stove
See Show Photos Here
Something about the corner of Morningside and Central
makes it the nexus of the universe for ‘burque all-ages showspaces,
especially since these places have been frequented by lots of the
same characters. And I do mean characters (although you’re not the
only one, DCat, I’m lookin’ at you as an exemplar of ‘em all).
On Central Ave, facing each other in space but separated
in time (encompassed in Einsteinian physics as it were) stood the
precocious EVOC Gallery and the indomitable Insurgo, conveniently located
betwixt the 7-11 and Domino’s Pizza, mainstays of their crusty/noise
habitués.
Just around the corner down Morningside a scant couple
of doors now stands the Stove: part gallery, part cinema, part music
venue, all parts willing to take a chance on the outré and
unordinary. The Stove is a work-in-progress at all times. Rotating
exhibits up front, workshop in the interior and a backyard full of art
deteriorating into junk and junk transforming into art. In the deeper
interior is an office with loft/bunk for traveling bands. It’s soon
to be transformed as the management takes hammer and wrecking bar in
hand to upgrade the stage, install a shower and make the place band-friendly.
The bathroom door could use a lock while they’re at it.
Opening --when do they ever close a show?! I’m
dying to see it-- were the roaring and redoubtable Roñoso,
my all time favorite heavies. Crusty as old pizza ends, grinding like
a Chevy Impala low on oil and metallic as the taste of your tongue
on a car battery, they rock, roll, weep and wail. Fueled by coffee,
Tecate and Gatorade, respectively, guitar cranker Miles, bassman Greg
and drumbeast Mike leapt into their set in near darkness, akin to a
cheap carnival haunted-house attraction. A few folks fucked with the
lights to reach an agreeable compromise between the audience who couldn’t
see shit and Mike who was revealed as a furtive creature of the night
whose very soul burns at the touch of daylight.
At first, it was way too bright like a cop’s searchlight,
prompting taunts of “Where’s your I.D., son? ” then it was too
dark like a game of Blind Man’s Buff with Miles’ guitar peghead zipping
too close to my face when I wasn’t looking. Finally it was just right
like an old man comfortably slipping into a warm bathtub. Like a pair
of low-riding saggy jeans, Miles wears his guitar almost to his
ankles as if his riffs are too heavy to hold his axe any higher. Greg’s
fingers spider their way all over the neck of his pretty fretless bass
while Mike double-kicks, beating hell out of his kit. It was roar n’
roll at its best.
Sporting members of the incendiary legendary seditionary
Laughing Dog, grindcore rockers Noisear next took the stage.
Or should I say took the floor, eschewing the stage as did Roñoso,
all the better to share blood and sweat with your audience.
Starting with an old “tune” or two, they then tore the
crowd new earholes with a bunch of stuff off their new release.
It was a power-packed set but short so the boys could catch some zzz’s
before motoring off on tour. The zzz’s were calling me as well and
since I’m A.D.D. for metaledge mania, I found my way to waiting bed,
ears not ringing as much as they would if I hadn’t worn my trusty earplugs.
Three String Bale
3/30/08 @ Rio Grande
Community Farm
See Show Photos Here
In my “other” life
(I’m not sure which is the “real” one) I work with farmers, something
that doesn’t really mesh with late nights and obnoxious music. Nevertheless
I keep a foothold in each world, incongruous as they may be. Case in
point: three days after being asked to be the guest speaker at a fundraising
event at Rio Grande Community Farms, Dameon (Lowlights) Waggoner
hipped me to Scared of Chaka playing their first gig together in almost
ten years at Sticker Guy’s 15th anniversary blowout in Reno that same
weekend (see next month’s all Chaka issue! )
As luck would have it, the reunion was Friday night,
leaving plenty of time to make it down to the Community Farm for
their party. In the barn over food catered by Martini Grill, we were
treated to the relax-o twang of Three String Bale, ranging from
old-time music (pre-bluegrass hill-country breakdowns, hollers and murder
ballads) to sort of unplugged Uncle Tupelo cautionary tales of
freedom, death and historical romance. Simple and unfettered by useless
licks, this three piece features clawhammer banjo, pickaway mandolin,
big strumming guitars and the occasional hollowbody ee-lectric slide
guitar.
They’ve got a simple country cookout musical recipe:
a Dutch oven of campfire beans and a slab of pork sidemeat with salt
and pepper as fancy as it gets.
Another helping, please.
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