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Issue # 31 Oct 1/2 2001 thewigwambam.com |
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| Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998
WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism” |
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Pre-Shakedown Show: the Briefs, the DC Specials, the Lucky Stiffs. Shakedown 1st Night: the Briefs, the Richmond Sluts, The Excessories, the Smugglers, the Embrooks Shakedown 2nd Night: the Evaporators, the Short Fuses, Throwrag, the Demons, Immortal Lee County Killers, Red Planet, 68 Comeback, the Dragons, the Fleshtones, Supersnazz, DMZ, the Humpers, Invisible Men Shakedown 3rd/Final Night: the Peeps, the Come-Ons, Speed Buggy, the Chickenhawks, the Mullens, Fireballs of Freedom, the King Brothers, The Gaza Strippers, Zen Guerilla, the Dirtbombs |
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| THE LAS
VEGAS SHAKEDOWN |
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| Sept 28, 29 & 30 2001 Huntridge Theater, Las Vegas NV no, this isn’t a “scene report” from Las Vegas Nevada because I didn’t really see anything except the 2nd annual Shakedown (“three nights of punk, broken blues & primitive rawk” it says here). Unlike most everyone else in attendance, I have absolutely zero interest in the Vegas Strip. Its all about wanting to be somebody else somewhere else doing something else. Sure, part of the whole human spirit is about striving for something new and for betterment but this? It’s about striving to be purposeless. It’s not glamorous, it’s not exciting and it’s certainly not punk to enjoy the same thing the average American Joe aspires to. Vegas is a travesty, a horribly useless piece of shit showcasing our country’s crass excess and greed. No wonder there’s people in the world who’d like to bomb us off the face of the earth. First, the pre-Shakedown show: the Briefs, the DC Specials, the Lucky Stiffs 9/27/01 @the Cooler Here you could get a look at the caliber of people you’d be spending the next three days with, not a pretty sight… At first I was a little concerned: the Stiffs tried way too hard to be the Stooges, the Specials ditto the MC5. I hoped I hadn’t risked airborne terrorism just to see unoriginal music. Luckily the Briefs tore it up in a very good way. They reminded me of a more rocked-out Buzzcocks. I don’t know who the other guys in the band are but drummer Chris Bell is ex-Blind 9, a NM punk band from about a million years ago. Being assholes from Albuquerque, my trip mates and I stood right up front and shouted “Blind 9!” repeatedly at every lull in the music. I bet Chris secretly liked it… Shakedown, 1st Night At the last minute the Briefs were selected as the sacrificial opening band. The first act is usually ignored anywhere but at six in the evening, forget it. Actually, a good number of people who wanted to rock rather than throw away their money on the strip showed up. Quite a contrast to hear the band with a large sound system in a larger venue compared to the dive the night before (it was a good dive, mind you, but a dive nevertheless). A fine kick-off. After hearing their name for months, the Richmond Sluts were better than I expected; 60s stuff right in between the time that Brit bands were moving away from Muddy Waters covers through Chuck Berry pop and towards original material. By far, these guys were my favorites of the night, complete with keyboards & cowbell (“ I got the fever and there’s only one cure: Cowbell! I got to have more cowbell!” – Christopher Walken on Saturday Night Live last season). One of the Sluts downed an heroic bit of alcohol and was rightfully the butt of cruel jokes by the rest of us but he didn’t even care (or notice). The best bit was when someone sent him to Room 128 at the hotel for a party at about 2AM where he found a large middle-aged black man who wasn’t pleased by the sight of this skinny mod drunken fool. Never forget, kids: Rockn’rollers aren’t really your friends; anything for a laugh is fair game. The Excessories were a wimpier Muffs crossed with the Eyeliners (who cancelled along with the X [Australia not L.A.; apparently someone died], the Toilet Boys, the Black Haloes [damn it!], the Zeros and a few others). Frontwoman Melanie was sporting her Kim Shattuck shag hair-do and singing charm-bracelet pop that was a bit cloying but better than their records. Most welcome was a cover of X Offender, the first cut from Blondie’s debut LP, 1977. Next, Vancouver BC’s the Smugglers’ brand of exaggerate-o pop rocked more than I remembered and was enjoyable. I was looking forward to the Embrooks but the soundwoman was MIA from her board (otherwise, this crusty punk girl did a fantastic job of mixing, miking and keeping the communal drum kit in one piece. Ever notice now some of the best soundpeople are hardcore crusties? They can handle any type of music from thrash punk to old school to pop and beyond. Quite amazing when you think about it considering the volume & abrasiveness of the shit they listen to). The vocalist was inaudible and seemed not to give a shit when the crowd yelled over & over for more volume. The overpowering guitar player really needs to learn how to play rhythm rather than jerking off on leads the entire time, especially being a three-piece band. Even though it was barely 11PM, our ‘burque crew pussied out and bailed to the hotel, missing Bob Log III (no tears there), the Swingin’ Neckbreakers, Sons of Hercules and the Hard Feelings. Maybe we were unconsciously saving ourselves for the next two nights. Shakedown, 2nd Night: Nardwuar the Human Serviette (of Flipside zine fame, now featured regularly in Razorcake) opened the evening with his band the Evaporators. He’s a dorky guy who probably got beat up alot in the third grade but no one can resist his goofball demands: making people in the crowd hold hands & dance in a circle or hold up his shirtless sweaty & hairy crowd-surfing body or getting four guys on stage, two to hold up his keyboard and two to hold him up to play it; then he climbed on the fuckin’ thing while they struggled to keep it upright. No one says no to Nardwuar. The Short Fuses didn’t impress me much, just sounding like typical club rock with singer Georgia Peach falling out of her dress and such. Throwrag -- there’s a fine line between having fun and just being an ass. Nardwaur can pull it off but these guys were sort of the Village People of thunderbilly. None too impressive at that. I don’t groove with much rockabilly anyway but if I do, give me something authentic like old Janis Martin records. From Sweden, there was the pleasant surprise that the Demons weren’t black metal or wank-riffage purveyors like lots of their countrymen but slammin’ rock n’ roll. The two piece Immortal Lee County Killers were fantastic rockass blues, baby! Backed by a drummer, the slide guitarist tore it wide open with manic Delta riffs, a refreshing change from all the other whitey “bluesmen” out there who think matching old 78 rpm sides lick for lick or playing clean-as-Clapton equals the blues. This is the shit, original, wild & fucked up. My travel-mates were psyched for Red Planet and even moreso when mid-set, the band announced a song that they wrote after crashing on their floor during the last tour through the ‘burque. Me, I liked their energy but the music was full-on hesher-pop. Tennesssee’s 68 Comeback could play any roadhouse anywhere in the south to a good reception; plain ol’ barroom rock isn’t what I’d call Shakedown style. They need to punk it up a little. The Dragons rocked pretty hard & messy with but with some metal-y wank leads but fortunately, these were somewhat covered up by the trashiness of the whole affair. The frontman/ vocalist acted a friggin’ rock star although he generated the least amount of excitement of any member of the band. Typical, no? Contrary to the buzz out there, folks, these guys ain’t New York Dolls style. The Fleshtones sounded like an early 60s revival act. An early 60s revival act that was working in 1967. I’ll pass. From Japan, I was excited to finally see Supersnazz. They were good but like a lot of Japanese stuff, just way too cute; almost embarrassing to watch. The highlights were when singer Spike dropped her sweetie-pie voice and sung a little gruffer like the original 7”s I heard years ago. The guitarist was good and had a cool take on rockn’roll leads. Its always interesting to see American culture reflected back through Japanese eyes. The band played a set later at a local spot called the Double Down but otherwise nothing lined up. Spike told me were just visiting the US for another week before heading home. Nobody can play interpretations of Chuck Berry rock and roll like people who grew up with it. Berry was still on the charts when DMZ’s JJ Rasler was learning his licks and it showed. Rather than slavish imitation, they cranked it up to a roar quite impressive given the gray hair & stomach girth of the bandmembers. This was one of the most powerful & authentic sets of the weekend. I was flagging by this point and the Humpers did nothing to rouse me, just punky rock n’ roll, pretty ho-hum stuff. Finally the Invisible Men shrugged off the Mummies comparisons I heard beforehand by playing some MC5-style surf plus vocals.There was barely anyone left in the theater at this point, somewhere around 3AM, time to shuttle back to the hotel that had split up the block of Shakedown-reserved rooms far enough to foil any crazy parties like last year’s thousands of dollars in damages and blowjobs-in-the-elevator madness. Shakedown, 3rd & Final Night An early (5PM) and disappointing set by the Peeps (they said they knew only seven songs?) ; a poor way to start out. I think they’d be better in a smaller and drunker venue. The Come Ons!!! This band was the finest of anyone on the bill. Slower & soulful and quite accomplished, their Detroit-style rock n’ R&B had a smooth and danceable groove. They made their point loud & clear but were the quietest act of the entire show. I can’t say enough good about them. Frontwoman Deanne’s voice & demeanor were lessons in cool control. And although I usually avoid such observations, the few reserved smiles she flashed were incredibly sexier than the gash-red lips, fishnet stockings and exposed flesh of all the rocker girlies in the crowd put together. I took a breather (well, a bourbon & coke in the courtyard) and missed Speedbuggy (who?) but jumped back into the fray mid-point during the Chickenhawks set and holy hell! it certainly wasn’t anywhere near the best of the Shakedown but, sounding like a harder-edged 440s, they were miles ahead of the piece of shit CD I picked up earlier this year. Quite the puzzle. The Mullens were much better than expected. I breathed a sigh of relief they didn’t play rockabilly although they sorta looked the part. The set was sort of Exile On Main Street-era Stones but a bit more cockrock as if they had their peckers hanging out of their pants onstage. I sat out the Fireballs of Freedom (the name didn’t grab me at all; sounds like a punkrock John Cougar Mellencamp) but I jumped right up front & center for the King Brothers from Japan. Like Melt-Banana meets Helmet, they thrashed all over the place, easily the most hardcore-tinged band of the show but with a beat. Numerous waves, whistles and calls from the stagehands couldn’t get these guys to finish off their set. They were an unstoppable juggernaut that blasted me out of my skull and cleared my pallet of all the predictable tattoo-sideburns-and-wifebeater-T-shirt-rock we endured the whole weekend. Two guitar players and a drummer produced more noise than any three bands put together. One of them had moves like Michael Jackson’s best and creeped us out a bit with his intensity but it was oh-so-good. After this, the Gaza Strippers paled, just more-of-the-same rocknroll but even worse like Styx with a backbeat. Blues-based rockers Zen Guerilla rocked pretty hard using sixties bands such as Blind Faith as a runway to take off into noisy skies. The singer had the spastic religion of Joe Cocker, the squeal in his voice like Alvin Lee (of Ten Years After), the boozy soul of Janis Joplin. Hmmm…sounds like a damn Woodstock reunion or something but they slammed it out to the great approval of us all. Finally, finally, finally the Dirtbombs ripped out a killer set of soulful Motown Punk. Singer Mick Collins voice sounds like nothing if not the Four Tops frontman Levi Stubbs at his peak. Seems like Detroit-style is the “next big thing” in punk rocknroll. You’ll hear no complaints from me… Afterwards, I finally relented and accompanied my crew and a couple Canucks to a tiki bar inside the Renaissance-themed Venetian Casino (quite the international mix there I’d say!). After some drinks and the requisite drunken clowning around on the casino battlements, me & Linc had enough and slogged back to our rooms, leaving our companions to head to the Double Down for alcoholic mayhem & spying on people having sex in the bathroom. At the airport the next day while I resisted telling terrorist jokes (nobody got a sense of humor these days), that Sheryl Crow song Leaving Las Vegas popped into my head. I tell ya, it never sounded so good before… |
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Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com) |
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| Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America |
po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196 |
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