Issue # 33 Dec 2001 thewigwambam.com
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Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998 WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism”
LOCAL SHOWS NM venues, bands from here or there
Antonia, Les Savy Fav, Rock*A*Teens, International Noise Conspiracy, the Hives, the Eyeliners, Cry Baby Cry, Heimlich Maneuver, Unidentified Floating Humans, the Tattersaints, Cowboy Up, Natalie Merchant
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Me First, Bitesize, the Smarties 11/17/01 @ Voodoo Lounge
LOCAL SHOPS where a fool and his money are soon parted
Snob Hill Body Jewelry 3122 Central SE
LOCAL SHOWS
ANTONIA 11/27/01 @ Burt’s Boy was it tough to listen to this set. Antonia herself (an ex-New Mexico gal) was fine, playing some strummy folky rocky sort of tunes but the sound was atrocious. You know how they say that singing in the bathroom makes for great acoustics? Well this sounded like a bathroom that was in the middle of being remodeled: gaping holes with loose pipes sticking out, broken tiles on the floor and walls stripped down to that green water-resistant drywall. It’s a tribute to her talent that, still, she sounded good enough spend seven dollars on; the advance CD-R EP (Soundtrack To You) is some really good alt.pop with a backing band. Antonia’s voice comes out somewhere between Letters To Cleo’s Kay Hanley and Juliana Hatfield with songs not quite as “lite” as the former nor as morose as the latter. Nice work. LES SAVY FAV, ROCK*A*TEENS 11/27/01 @ Golden West Les Savy Fav had a few good funked beats and mixed things up a bit complete with rock n’ soul in that white-boy-sings-the-blues way. The singer did all he could to involve the crowd and at times looked as if he’d eaten too much of the brown acid but it was a good challenge for an audience of suburban kids who probably never had a serious challenge in their lives. Things were quite lively though and their music was hard to stand still to; I was caught tapping my toes a time or three. The Rock*A*Teens were good solid indie rock but a short set that I missed the beginning of wasn’t enough for me to get a handle on what makes them stand out in their field. I was promised a review by someone who knows their shit well but at press time, he missed the deadline (yeah, you know who you are! Its not too late for next issue y’ know…) INTERNATIONAL NOISE CONSPIRACY, the HIVES, the EYELINERS 11/28/01 @ Launchpad The Eyeliners opened at the last minute when some band or another cancelled so this wasn’t their usual gung-ho go-girl crowd. A decent enough set but why only about four new songs when they just released a brand new full-length a few weeks back? At set’s end Laura announced that they’re gonna lay off gigging for awhile and when they return, there will be a new drummer. Hmmm; I didn’t think they had any more sisters left. It ought to be an interesting change in a band that hasn’t changed much. I’m certainly curious. The Hives (from Sweden) were great showmen who rocked and rolled much more than I would have guessed from that messy video that’s getting some airplay on eMpTyV. They remind me of the best of any number of these bands who all dress alike in the heighth of mod fashion; good eye & ear candy. The LP I picked up however was ultra disappointing as it had little to do with rocknroll but mostly plain “punky” yelling. Unfortunate. The International Noise Conspiracy’s lyrics are all anarchist propaganda even if you can’t understand a word. Like traveling freak-show the Bindlestiff Family Circus (who recently passed through NM), the Conspiracy usually has a bookmobile in tow offering all kinds of anarcho lit to the kiddies (get ‘em while they’re young!!!) but I hear it was held up in a snowstorm en route from the previous show in Texas. That was a shame ‘cause the Noise Conspiracy’s politics can be more interesting than their music. They weren’t bad, don’t get me wrong; there’s hints of the ol’ rocknroll what with cheap keyboards and such but its more a means than an end. But they are the best new shit off the Epitaph label in some time. They exhibited good taste by stealing the unmistakable signature bridging riff from Blondie’s 1978 Hanging On the Telephone for their tune Up For Sale. Also unmistakable was that hairy opening riff of the Stooges’ TV Eye (1970), their cover of the night which has nothing to do with politics but is about looking to get laid which, if you think about it, can at times take some political maneuvering. CRY BABY CRY, HEIMLICH MANEUVER 11/29/01 @ Golden West This is the kind of stuff that gets the label “eclectic”: Heimlich Maneuver sounded like Dan Hicks & the Hot Licks and the Dave Matthews Band locked in a death match, clawing at each other’s throats. I’m not sure who the winner would be but surely not me (I thought it was awful); everyone else in the house seemed to like this “wacky” threesome. Lots of the kids in the crowd with their rave-influenced style sort of remind me of hippies but with jobs and in better clothes. Cry Baby Cry however woke me right up out of my grumpier-than-thou attitude. Out of D.C, they had strong two-part girl/boy harmonies and a rock-solid rhythm section. Bassist Drew played firm, clean & funked lines, mixed right out front where good bass ought to be. On drums, Jenn pounded out some heavy beats with a not-quite (thank god) metal/ hardcore flavor: muscular and coming from the same place just not that fast & flailing. James (guitar & keyboard) took most of the vocals in a thin but classic indie-pop voice that I liked better combined with Kathy’s chameleon vocals. She sounded variously like Rebecca Gates (Spinanes) with a wider range or a more exciting Brenda Sauter (Wild Carnation) but also quite capable of roaring like the best of Heidi Ore (Mercy Rule). She told me they’d been together about two years and I’d say it shows; they’re pretty tight. Their brand-new Jesus Loves Stacey CD (on Skoda/ Dischord) is all over the place stylistically speaking but it works. The adamant rhythm guitars combined with determined drums and dense bass cut through any bullshit (although there’s very little of the latter) and the whole thing sounds almost as good as the live band. And to think I almost stayed home & went to bed early. Whew! UNIDENTIFIED FLOATING HUMANS, the TATTERSAINTS, COWBOY UP 12/1/01 @ Burt’s Cowboy Up! There’s some great fucked-up twang going on here. Cowboy Up! The one word that could describe this three-piece is askew. Cowboy Up! Picture the Red Aunts (just about my favorite live band of all time) covering the country-esque tunes of X. Or maybe a couple of cowpokes singing around a desert campfire under the saguaros, after sippin’ a little too much tesguino and someone slipped a pinch of locoweed into the beans. Waa-hoo!! Cowboy Up! Los Tattersaints were on tonight, this being my first show of theirs since Rhonda went on kid-raisin’ hiatus. She’s missed, of course, but young’uns will always be more important than a bunch o’ people prancing around with guitars. Everyone was in fine form, even new-but-soon-to-be ex (already?!) bassist Rachel (ex-Dusted, Blame It On Rachel). Jeffrey managed to batter not one but two guitars into submission and so enjoyed half the set from the audience. Drummer Heath must’ve had his Wheaties for breakfast that morning because he pounded the hell out of his kit tonight (hey now here’s a thought: how about putting rockin’ musicians on the front of the Wheaties box instead of gymnasts, dog-sled racers and testosterone football freaks? Hell, that’d make me buy a box or two!). Unidentified Floating Humans pretty much did nothing for me. Joke-y stuff always gets my goat and makes me wanna leave early (which I did). Sorry. NATALIE MERCHANT 12/2/01 @ Kiva Auditorium The former 10,000 Maniacs’ frontwoman opened with a nod to George Harrison: his most well-known song Something (although its far from my favorite and in my minority opinion far from his best). It was especially nice that she felt no need to eulogize or comment, the choice enough of a comment in itself. After being cranky through the first few numbers (complaining about the lights & stage set-up, trying to nail someone for taping in the fifth row [nope! The blinking light was from his wheelchair ]), she lightened up and moved into the business of making her music… which by the way, I don’t really like all that much. It’s OK, that’s about it. So why did I go? I love her voice so much more than her choice of songs although a few are catchy (the radio hits of course). After the whining was out of the way, her stage presence is very accessible and she’s got dance moves like no one else with the exception of Bjork. In all it was a pretty enjoyable show but I sure wish she’d pulled out her cover of Space Oddity (from 1976’s Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars), probably the best Bowie cover ever especially since she’s never tried to do it like Bowie (why bother?).
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA Recently, Colonel Aureliano (our Boston correspondent) and I found ourselves in the land of hippies.com visiting our sister (who is the only one among the siblings not to have a stupid alias). The first leg of my journey started of course in the ‘burque’s bus station of an airport but with a quite noticeable difference: a few GI Joes were on patrol. Now, while having soldiers about is never a good sign, I don’t see why everyone’s so flipped out. I mean, they’d just be hanging around the fort anyway, peeling potatoes or marching around in circles in the heat. We don’t need to spend any additional fed funds to hire new security for airports. These guys are already on the federal payroll; let ‘em earn their keep! That concept really came home to me when I watched the baggage X-ray line next to mine. The kid running it spent all of his time chatting up the cute assistant rather than keeping on eye on his monitor. Dozens of bags rolled by on the conveyor and he didn’t take more than a glance at two or three. And this fuckhead is who our network of unions fight for? His job is one that liberals want to protect? Throw the little shit out on his ass, I say. I hope he gets an anthrax letter. Gotta admit though it was a little disconcerting at the Oakland airport to see the army dudes carrying (not slung over their shoulders but actually carrying) their rifles. Times are creepy… So anyway the first order of business in San Francisco was to check out Amoeba Records on Haight Street. Holy hell! It was a damn good thing my sister, her boyfriend and the Colonel were on hand to limit my time. As it was, I dropped a hundred bucks in barely an hour (the Screws, Blake Babies, Richmond Sluts, Action Time etc). Meanwhile, out in front of the joint, the Colonel had this to say: ON THE CORNER OF HAIGHT AND NOTHING We were standing there on Haight me and my brother, about thirty years late but hey shit happens. I had really meant to make it sooner, 1969 to be precise, but I accidentally fell in love instead. We practically had the car packed too or maybe we were going to hitchhike but then I went and fell out on my best friend. I could blame it on serendipity but really it was the knee socks. She was a Catholic school girl, you know? I shoulda had a V-8. Meanwhile back in the lovely present two guys across the street are on the sidewalk playing guitars, one with an amplifier and the electric guy not only has the balls to cover Hendrix on Haight but he's doing Hey Joe. Shit. Because as luck would have it, he was that good, maybe the best alive now that Stevie Ray is gone. I mean it. He gave me goosebumps. His battery was getting low too and the music was fading in and out. It was like coming down hard off acid at Woodstock and hearing Hendrix in the distance fading in and out as the wind changed. These things kind of stick with you. -- Colonel Aureliano Next we strolled around the former tune in-turn-on drop-out zone. There were a few cats there who looked as if they’d never left and hadn’t yet come down from that hit of Owsley. Too, there were the usual hip-hoppers, trend-o-matics and tattooed freaks with like pierced spleens and copious amounts of hair gel. Speaking of tats, we stopped at the Anubis Warpus tattoo shop next; no, not for any bodymod but to scope the wall of zines I spied from the street. Quite unfortunately, their selection was the usual prurient interest lowest-common-denominator crapola found at any “hip” shop (y’know, Bettie godamn Page, UFOs, etc – doesn’t anyone have any aspiration above sub-mediocre anymore?). I am glad I managed to unearth a copy of Nina Antonia’s bio of the New York Dolls though. Its good bedside readin’. As luck would have it, we missed the real shit a few doors down (it was after closing time); an anarcho-book store complete with pirate radio tomes, issues of Bamboo Girl and copies of all kinds of shit that actually matters in the window. Recycled Records on the same block was a good consolation prize with lots of old vinyl where the good Colonel took home finds like jazz great Sidney Buchet, some vintage Tom Waits and a rare John Fahey LP that the counter-guy sold him out of his own collection. By this time, the Colonel and I were ready to say goodnight to our sis and her squeeze while we remained on this side of the bay in search of rockn’roll. Sometimes things don’t turn out like you figure… ME FIRST, BITESIZE, the SMARTIES 11/17/01@ Voodoo Lounge; Mission St, San Francisco The neon outside the joint is (sort of) true to the club’s namesake, featuring a skull in top hat. So far so good; it looked rocknroll to me! Then the Colonel and I step inside and damned if we’re not slapped in the face by the fact that yes we are indeed in California—there’s a sushi bar in the front room. To further complete the picture, we’re actually in a Mexican/Salvadoran ‘hood as evidenced by the bakeries & taco joints cheek by jowl a few doors down (not to mention the bait & tackle shop…We thought maybe it was a little far inland to pick up fishing supplies but hey, we f’m out of town,man). So we shrug off the sushi scene and head for the back half of the place where, as we pay the cover, the doorgal asks which band we’re here for. That’s another new one on us but I pipe up “Me First” cause that was one of the only names I recognized in the local weekly when perusing the choice of shows that night. She dutifully writes this down in her log book. Incredibly (read on), all the bands are about neck-and-neck in votes. The Smarties are on playing some nondescript post-indie jingles with vocals ala Billie Joe Greenday and the girl bassplayer harmonizing on occasion like a low-key Lisa Loeb and believe me, this is about as kind as I can put it. It wasn’t quite bad, fair enough for an opening band; no great shakes in the songwriting department either but they looked like Brain Wilson, Lennon/McCartney & Tom Waits rolled into one compared to the travesty that next took the stage. Without a doubt Bitesize was the most godawful piece of crap I’ve ever seen and ask the Colonel about my taste, he’ll tell you I like some terrible music but this…! The bass player was worse than Dee Dee at the Ramones first practice, the drummer was a mook who I’m sure would much preferred covering Slipknot tunes but sounded damn good in comparison to the rest of the band, especially the vocals & guitar guy who warbled as if he’s gotten his package slammed in the car door en route to the gig. He hopped up & down on stage like Blink 182 crossed with that for-shit “comedian” Carrot-top. Each & every song was an exercise in histrionics like the Flaming Lips most lame-o number She Don’t Use Jelly covered by the Bee Gees huffing helium balloons. We braved a few songs but this kept popping into my head: Groucho Marx (circa 1932) speaking from the screen to the movie audience about the musical recital behind him, “I have to stay here, folks, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out into the lobby until this whole thing blows over”. The Colonel agreed (actually he was just humoring me otherwise he’d have been out the door ten minutes ago) so we stepped out onto the sidewalk to light up a couple of Luckies. It was quite a relief like coming up for air (yes, I am aware of the strange analogy of “fresh air” and “Lucky Strikes” ). Most surprising was the fact that only a few other people were out there with us, including Denise Me First who was heard to quip “We’re gonna sound really good after this! ” Besides a few laughs at Bitesize’s expense (no, don’t feel bad, they really deserved it), we got the chance to observe the sushi chefs who were all Japanese and looked as if they actually knew a thing or two about sashimi and norimaki (especially the oldest guy, the head cook [is that correct? Can you call a guy who cuts up sashimi a “cook”? Anyone know the protocol for this?]). When the squealing finally cleared and it was safe to approach the stage again, we went back in (cautiously mind you. It’s like being in a car wreck; you’re a little bit uneasy about getting back behind the wheel for a few weeks). Me First was unlike what I expected; the song I know Drunk and Walking Home Alone (from Remedial’s 1998 Girl Crazy comp) is more like indie pop than the Lita Ford tuff gurl stuff we heard this night. It was the most enjoyable set of the show (I realize that’s a back-handed compliment but whaddyagonna do?). It had to suffice for us since the Colonel was jetting back to Boston in about four hours. Even better though was getting mildly lost back to my sister’s place across the bay; we found ourselves in the wide open spaces for perfect meteor shower viewing. That was the best show of the night by far. “I went to Haight-Ashbury [in 1967] expecting it to be this brilliant place and it was just full of horrible spotty drop-out kids on drugs” – George Harrison, interview; 1980s
Colonel Aureliano’s Closing Thought I fell asleep on the couch watching some boring special about the Vatican and the show changed to one of those god awful doo-wop specials with the guys that are too old to even sing anymore and so they just talk the old hits to music and I'm in some semi-conscious state thinking its a damn shame the Pope didn't invite them to sing in Saint Peter's while they were young.
LOCAL SHOPS
SNOB HILL body jewelry 3122 Central SE preface: it’s become fashionable these days to denounce any-thing decrying sexism as PC bullshit; yeah right. And buying new tires will help in the global fight against terrorism. I haven’t been in this place (and since I haven’t yet punched any holes in myself I’m not sure I will) but I gotta comment on the shop’s logo/signage: a reclining slinky chick with barely her ass covered and bare tits prominent (there’s no other word for those things; they’re not breasts but big honkin’ tits. No wonder she’s lying down; I doubt she could stand upright in earth’s gravity). Of course our laws allow such things and I wouldn’t want it any other way but I also believe in taste & discretion of which these people have none. Maybe you’d understand me better if you had a teen-age kid like I do. At 17, she’s quite aware that in our culture, women’s bodies are for public display, gazing and commentary. I know that keeping naked women off billboards isn’t gonna protect her or change much of anything; attitudes will remain the same. Censorship sucks but I’m not gonna lie: I thought it amusing that a spray painted bikini top appeared one morning (right on sisters!). Snob Hill retaliated by removing the offending article of clothing and are offering a reward for identifying “the Taliban-like prude” who perped the cover-up. They have the right to do so of course but an act of censorship (itself in as questionable taste as the original picture) being compared to the Taliban is incredibly stupid and ill-informed. Go wave your flag somewhere else and stop insulting our intelligence. And it’s not like this sign has some higher cause in mind; it’s a fucking advertisement meant to catch eyes and sell body jewelry. I’ve grown to expect this crapola from the corporate world; its nothing new. But for a small shop like this, using sex to sell is not hip or cutting edge; it’s as lame as everything you’ve ever rebelled against your parents for. In the final analysis, it is precisely this commercial sexism which is more objectionable than a naughty pair. I know it will never happen but all I ask is that otherwise intelligent free-thinking people don’t rub this crap
Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com) sure finds a lot to complain about monthly and may (or not) be found at AstroZombies, Bow Wow, Burt’s, Golden West, Insomnia, Insurgo, Launchpad, Lesmen’s Music, mecca Records & Books, Natural Sound, Sprockets, University Comics and the New Mexico Livestock Bureau.
Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America  | po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196