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Issue # 34 Jan 2002 thewigwambam.com |
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| Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998
WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism” Fuck New Year’s Resolutions; ya wanna make a change,
do it & shut the hell up.
However, the lasting regret I have from 2001 is only a few weeks old and that was missing the unexpected Word Salad reunion, made possible by the appearance of ex-burqueno Dutch Worthington, in for the hollowdays from sunny Califas. Ah, shit; well, like all reunion shows, I bet it was only for the money anyhow…- ed. LYRIC of the MONTH:
“The brain damage/ is all in your head” --Brain Damage from God Bless the Blake Babies [2001] |
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| Hit and Run X-Mas Tour (Rage Against
Martin Sheen, Mistletoe, Oh, Ranger!, Kaotic State, Unit 7 Drain, Inspired
By Less), Beefcake in Chains, the Chickenhawks, the Alarm Clocks, the Blue
Bottle Flies, Cowboy Up!, Mistletoe, the Mindy Set, the Phase, Calexico,
Handsome Family, Bright Carvers, Shades, Pilots to Bombadier, Halcyon Shell |
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TNT [2001 CD ] The Badholes [2002 s/t CD-R] Halcyon Shell Rotation of the Water [2001 CD] the Terminal Wasteband The Six Idlers of Bamboo Valley [2001 CD-R ] |
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Monkey Wrench #5, December 2001 |
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| LOCAL
SHOWS |
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| Hit & Run Xmas Tour 12/23/01 all over the damn place Anyone out there remember the Taco Bell Tours a few years back? Y’know, a bunch of bands doing hit & run sets at darn near every location of that fake-Mex food place? Well, I don’t either but I heard about it. This was the same idea: a few bands roll from house to house (people foolish enough to invite a caravan of drunken yahoos to wreak havoc in their ‘hood and cause ill will from the for years to come) on a flat bed with amps and drums strapped in place and then rock the fuck out with an Xmas tune or three and split before the Law shows up. What fun! And only in America by god. 
Mike & Joe Launchpad (the Hardy Boys of the local music scene) put this together with a crew of folks from Rage Against Martin Sheen, Mistletoe, Oh, Ranger!, Kaotic State, Unit 7 Drain, Inspired By Less and more that I’ve forgotten. 
Apparently, a patrol car showed up soon after this rolling thunder review left my place as well as at BlameItOnRachel’s house -- which may account for their lack of humor when they finally caught up with us at two other locations, warning of arrests and the usual. The officer in charge looked like Montel and was just about as threatening. Fortunately the boys in blue followed the wrong car to the next locale, thrown off the trail for the rest of the beer-y day/evening. A Merry little Xmas indeed. Beefcake In Chains, the Chickenhawks 12/28/01 @ Burt’s I hadn’t been through the Tiki’s doors but a minute when Sioux City Pete called me over to his table. The guitarman of the Chickenhawks spotted my 440s teeshirt (a good rawk n’ roll band plus one that the ‘hawks had done a split with last year on Steel Cage Records of Carbon 14 zine fame). So I found myself at the table with the band, singer Betsy Badly and none other than Mr R. De la Vega (mecca Records & Books featuring the best vinyl selection in town! ). It was Rocky’s fault that the Chickenhawks were even here in the first place. The original idea was for them to play mecca where maybe fifteen people would’ve shown up (as usual) so Burt’s was a better option. The ‘hawks are pretty nice folks for a band that sings about ass-fucking. Betsy even sweetly asked us beforehand what we honestly thought of the polka-dot briefs she would be wearing on stage later that evening. And of course how could one forget Ike, her shitzu doggie who was quite calm hanging out at the booth surrounded by all us drunks? I enjoyed their company so much that I barely paid attention to the metally pseudo-hardcore band on stage called BG or PG or something (sorry guys) but I was right up front for the Chickenhawks’ good bluesy set. The music’s pretty stripped down but quite good to jump around to. Beefcake In Chains did their first show that I can remember that didn’t feature (nearly) naked women onstage but this was actually a good thing so that the music could stand or fall on its own rather than the T & A. It mostly stood with band attired in little hula skirts and leis, appropriate for a tiki joint. Mike Bobroff jumped in for a turn on the drums but refused to take off his shirt even though the crowd were calling for its removal so he’d match the other Beefcakes. Me, I kept my mouth shut and stood back, well away from the spectacle. I never did find out whether dropping the cheesecake from Beefcake is for real or just that no Spooky Sisters were available during the busy holidays. the Alarm Clocks, the Blue Bottle Flies, Cowboy Up! 12/29/01 @ Launchpad Cowboy Up! I missed all but the last song one of my new favorite ‘burque bands due to a schedule change. Curses! I was at first unimpressed by the Blue Bottle Flies; the trio was better than I figured but still, it seemed like something was missing though I’m not sure what. The best numbers featured some slide guitar leads that had the quality if not the power of Denver’s 16 Horsepower. The Alarm Clocks’ semi-annual show (whenever Isaac and Andrea happen to pass through town simultaneously) is always a treat but this one was a gem. They actually rocked rather than popped; picture the best of mid-Stones coupled with the earliest and rawest Elvis Costello. Isaac got into the rock spirit by breaking guitar strings one after another. Andrea (ever the fashionplate) looked decidedly lovely in a pink Linda Evans skirt/pant/jacket ensemble with matching ashtray and cigs. Drummer Jeffrey was having some flu & bronchial trouble but I’m sure the heavy use of the fog machine tonight fixed him right up, you bet. This was his second Clocks gig preceded by his second full practice; at this rate in a couple of years he’ll have it nailed. Bassist Chuck says he’s working on a super-secret (well, not really secret so much as slow-moving) pop project with Aubrey of the Phase. And Tanya, the Mistress of the Tambourine, rounded out the band with some great jingle-jangle and attitude. And as usual, lots of folks with good taste in music (you know who are) came out to shake it up on the dance floor to the Alarm clocks, the very best in Brand-New Wave. Mistletoe, the Mindy Set, the Phase 12/31/01@ the Emo House oops, sorry, I meant the Evil House Have a New Year! The Phase’s premiere gig, the first couple’a numbers were rather weak but by the third song, the band was rockin’, the keyboards were on target and Zac found his voice (somewhere between Joey & Dee Dee’s). Aubrey’s voice fell victim to miking problems which was unfortunate ‘cause its hard enough to sing while you’re drumming as it is. Zac Stardust was last seen in Fuck Taco Bell (and a loser band that barely made it to practice). Ms Aubrey’s done stints in Cymbaline, Light In August, the Hopefuls and the Honeys among others; Mistress Felice was last spotted in Shanghai Testarosa but before that her sordid past (you can never escape it!) includes the smutty Beefcake In Chains. Although Soni never played in front of a crowd before, she personally rocks more than all of you scenesters put together. With boppin’ originals tunes and a Ramones cover (53rd and 3rd), I liked them more than I was supposed to (they are my friends after all) but they rock besides. Even Andrea said so and her word’s good enough for me. The Mindy Set were much better than I’d given them credit for and worth a listen. Sometimes I need a kick in the head to get me to pay attention. Some of the wimpy parts (ok ok, the quiet parts) went on longer than I’d have cared for but I’ll be going out to see the Mindys again soon regardless. Mistletoe opened with a cover of U2’s New Years Day but don’t hold that against them. Well, go ahead if you want to. I sort of do ‘cause I fuckin’ hate Bono & his band of bozos. The song would’ve scored higher points if they played it other than straight, say as ’77 punk or even hardcore or something. It was getting pretty drunk inside by this time and soon various permutations of the bands pulled off some Ramones covers (how can you go wrong there really) that made up in attitude what they lacked in virtuosity. Then the Evil House’s most evil denizen Tim jumped in for some evil axe-work on what were surely some evil metal covers but of course I didn’t recognize a one cause I’m not hip to that evil genre. It was amazing to see how he could actually play all that riffage though because I thought his hands were permanently stuck in the devil-sign. Inebriated fun was had by all especially our man Lincoln who videotaped the whole motherfucker from start to finish and was good and drunk in honor of the new year and a visit from his baby sis who’s way cooler than yer fave rocker. Calexico, the Handsome Family, Bright Carvers 1/5/02 @ Launchpad I’m a little pissed off. After going to the Launchpad for years, besides all-ages shows I have never seen the opening band on the stage before ten o’clock at (very rare) earliest, sometimes as late as 11. Who the fuck decided this was an early show without promoting it as such? I walked in at quarter after ten and the Bright Carvers were already done with their set and packed up. I think they’re one of the best bands in town and were the main reason I came out at all. Calexico is good but quite highly over rated; any band that draws a full house like tonight has got to be over rated because the average person has little taste to begin with. That’s not to say that there was anything wrong with their set: they’re accomplished musicians who know their way around a tune. The horn section rounds things out nicely and really shows their Tucson roots The norteno music in Arizona seems to have a larger mariachi influence rather than the more raw style popular in northern New Mexico which is sort of like the hillbilly version of conjunto (if you wanna check out the real deal as far as border music goes, search out CDs like the Gu’achi Fiddlers or the Joaquin Brothers who play wai’la, the traditional string band music of the Tohono O’odham [Papago] tribe, known in English as Chicken Scratch style). I stuck around for half the Calexico set but grew bored with their rather academic approach to roots music. They just think about it too much. Besides, no matter how well they play, they don’t rock. Second openers the Handsome Family on the other hand were three times as imaginative with half the personnel. Either a duo (husband & wife Brett & Rennie Sparks) with a drum machine or a trio (when brother Darryl Sparks [Selsun Blue] sits in on drums), there’s also guitar, bass, harmonium, autoharp (one of the prettiest sounding instruments ever invented), keyboards and banjo all added at just the right time in just the right way in just the right songs. The Handsomes are one of the few twangcore bands that make their own compositions sound like traditional country ballads passed down on the front porch – that is, until you listen to the lyrics about spilled milk or tall people (unlike, say, Norman Blake whose authentic-sounding originals have words to match, lamenting about lost loves [which could either be some gal or the railroads] ). The Handsome Family saved my night but I know what will happen next time. I’ll roll in for the opening band I simply don’t want to miss at 9:45 and will have to nurse my drinks until 10:50 when the show actually starts. Guess I’m just whining now but it sounds like a good y’allternative country song in the making. Shades 1/11/02 @ Burt’s This is not a fair review by any stretch of the imagination: I was in the joint five minutes for some expansive free-jazz noodling before I left disgusted. Because the ad said the Shades, I thought they’d be a rock n’ roll band. What a difference a “the” makes! As much as I think that I ought to appreciate jazz greats like Bird, Trane, Dizz and Miles all I can do is say I admire their influence and let it go at that. Pilot To Bombardier, Halcyon Shell 1/12/02 @ Launchpad Halcyon Shell are from Austin via Albuquerque via other parts of Texas (got that?). About five years ago, singer Jud lived here in the student ghetto at the Silver House which then hosted shows by the likes of Roman Candle Choir, Anchorman and that whole incestuous ilk (as well as Rebel Radio broadcasts but shhh! you didn’t hear that from me). The household went through a Sea Change (ahem) as roommates shifted and moved on but the Silver House still kept a cool population of freaks & weirdos. Of course by the time Nata moved in (hi Renatapoo!) the hardcore element did too and the neighborhood went downhill, so to speak, terrifying the neighbors to no end while birthing what would become Insurgo. And everyone lived happily ever after etc. Normal people live in the Silver House now, with no inkling of the malevolent musical spirits still trapped inside, scratching desperately at the basement door on lonely nights to get out. So, I recall Jud writing tunes at the Silver House on his granddaddy’s Martin guitar (what a beautiful machine that was! ); tunes that changed when he pulled in Mark on bass then changed again as Jason joined on drums and now yet another change with (…ummm… I forgot his name; from Rhythm of Black Lines [also Austin] ) on keyboards, these four now being the present-day Halcyon Shell. A couple of years ago, the band might have qualified as “emo” but today, they’ve gone miles ahead of that worn-out tagline (hint, hint all you emo kids: keep growing…the genre’s getting awfully tired by now). They’re smooth as satin, albeit worn comfortable satin with a few loose threads & snags in the material that don’t diminish the comfort of the garment. The addition of keys make the whole affair slightly reminiscent of the intervals, pauses & slow parts of Chick Corea’s stuff from the early 70s (but nowhere near dated as the whole of Corea’s fusion jazz goop). Quite nice with a few emotional disturbances lurking below, trying to get out of that basement. Pilot To Bombardier are pristine as always and Travis, Sean & Miguel are truly the best at what they do, whatever you wanna call it. Pilot resists the emo tag quite well although there’s stylistic conventions that rope them into that. I think the music that is emo needs a new name: the people who play it don’t like it (can you blame them?) and those who use the term do so with scorn. Some would just categorize it indie rock but that’s more proper for bands like Versus, Velocity Girl or Varnaline that actually have little in common, stylistically speaking. To me, the classic emo sound ( I don’t use the term “classic” without some cheek), the sound conventionalized to tommyrot these days, is badly in need of vitamin injection therapy. It’s taken the best of its roots and over-simplified them, gutting what power it had in the first place. Case in point: Samiam’s title track from their Don’t Break Me 10” EP is the best “emo” song ever recorded. It’s ten years old! And it kicks modern emo’s teeth down its constricted throat. So, with only a small amount of snotnose, I propose emo now be called prog-punk as in prog-rock, the term adapted from progressive-rock -- which was overly-ambitious crapola like Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Rick Wakeman or that out-to-pasture sacred cow Pink Floyd. Back in those days, everyone wanted to progress away from rock’s roots, to grow up and be taken seriously. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, the Beatles pointed the way but the it was Who that dug the grave with Tommy; although it was hot shit at the time the album is quite unlistenable today. Well, for me anyway. My big sister had it in her high school days and looking up to her, we spun it non-stop for weeks while I contemplated smoking pot for the first time. Anyway, I’m off on a tangent with no way back and sounding awfully angst & emo so I’ll shut it on this topic. For now. |
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| LOCAL
(and not-so local) RELEASES |
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Natay TNT [2001 CD ] Warrior/SOAR PO BX 8606 Albuquerque NM 87198 soundofamerica.com I’m as out of it about hip hop as my swing-raised parents were about rock n’ roll. However, unlike that generation’s opinion of rock, I’m not about to pronounce rap as the end of civilization as we know it --although commercial rappers are eroding intelligence & taste just as much as dumbshit rockers who have ruled America’s airwaves for decades. As usual, a look to the underground will reveal the true form, its value and provide a comparison of what happened after mass-acceptance: witness the original hard-livin’ blues masters instead of today’s blue-eyed soul-less guitar wanks or the pre-punk Velvet Underground’s influence that eventually led to shitheads like Blink 182. I don’t claim to know who raps true in the underground but I’d be willing to bet that this excellent disc from Natay / True Native Thug Soldierz bridges the gap between original rap & its concerns to the current popular format. TNT has taken a few listens to grow on me and no, it’s nothing I will spin lots (I’d rather rock) but it’s pleasing which is something I never thought I’d say about hip hop. Most impressive is that there isn’t one mention of expensive rides, gold chain or the “bitches” that plague MTV rap. It’s about brotherhood and times on the street/ in lockdown through not African Americans but Native Americans. All the crew here are Indi’ns. I’ve been working/ hanging around/ getting in the way on reservations all around New Mexico for over fifteen years, which brings me to how come I got hooked up with this disc: singer daRoze. I’ve known Rose all these years since she was about four years old, her mom one of my best buddies ever (hi, Rox!). Like every woman in her Pueblo family, daRoze is tough (although its difficult for me not to think of her as little snotty-nosed Rosie; I’ve got lots of embarrassing stories I could tell but I’ll stop here so she won’t trip on me); the story is that Roze got this gig by going backstage at one of Natay’s shows. She told him straight up he needed better back-up singers, which resulted in-- Yo!-- dude calling her on it. She proved herself more than capable of writing and backing up Natay and the Boyz. Of course I would think that, eh, by her being almost my niece, no? I’m not sure where the rest of the Thugz come from but daRoze got to see/be lots of stuff they rap about, raised as she was a stone’s throw from Espanola, a town where (if I have my facts right) almost half the land is actually owned by Santa Clara Pueblo to the south and the other by San Juan Pueblo to the north. I lived briefly in all three of these places and the Thugz (whether Native, ‘manito or mujado) are throughout the valley. After all, at one time, there were more bajitos in Espa’ per capita than all the lowriders in L.A., de veras! Anyway, this is one of the few hip hop/rap CDs in my collection, right alongside righteous discs by NWA or the original Indi’n rap release, 1993’s Reservation of Education by Robby Bee & the Boyz From the Rez. Unlike Bee’s somewhat dated songs however, Natay & the Thugz are to be commended for not including eagle-bone whistles and hide drums on TNT, additions that have become cliché on every contemporary Native American record. One last observation: I’m sure there’s many Indian parents out there who are concerned that their kids have forsaken their native roots for “that damn nigger music”. I’d say to them, you might look back to your grandparents who I’m sure were upset that their kids were two-stepping to “ that damn cowboy music”. Me, I’m curious as to what kind of music the hip hop generation’s kids will outrage their parents with. The Badholes [2002 s/t CD-R] Guerilla Euphonics, Oakland CA dutchw@hotmail.com Mothers worry when their children go wrong, when they shut themselves in the bedroom and play metal & hardcore with its crude satanic overtones and general filth. But what happens when a hardcore kid goes wrong? How much worse can it get? Where can he possibly turn? Why, to rock n’roll, of course! Ex-Word Salad (hardcore/metal to the bone!) bassist J. Dutch is now rockin’ with the Badholes who dish up some tattoo-trash rock and damn roll. Fast, furious and fucked up, this is r & r just the way I like it, roaring & messy. I have no clue who plays on this slab except for Dutch but I like it better every time I slap it on. Even if that mother I mentioned earlier grew up listening to music that shocked her parents (like Elvis Presley or Chuck Berry) this is vaguely familiar but trashed & raucous enough to put the scare back into her. And isn’t that what rock n’roll is really all about? Halcyon Shell Rotation of the Water [2001 CD] Maenad Projections PO BX 301300 Austin TX 78703 maenadprojections.com This is not the current line-up but three-piece Halcyon Shell although drummer Jason dubs in some keyboards here & there. The addition of full keyboards to the band expands the sound for the better (as in their recent gig here, see LOCAL SHOWS for it & obligatory ‘burque reminiscences) but this CD is far ahead of previous Halcyon stuff while clearly pointing the way towards where they are now. On the whole this bypasses many but not all obvious emo conventions but is thoughtful, and deliberate music. I can’t wait to hear the next recording, of what they’re doing now. It may be that by that time the band will actually be elsewhere musically and the CD will just be a snapshot taken along the journey. the Terminal Wasteband The Six Idlers of Bamboo Valley [2001 CD-R ] American Barn Rock Recordings Barnrawk @hotmail.com Holy shit, sounds as if the former any/everything goes ensemble Terminal Wasteband has found discipline. Must be the fact that Scotty D. is an actual teacher now (God help us all!) and used to sending unruly youngsters off to the principal’s office. If they only knew! Now when I say this disc is disciplined, that’s in comparison to their previous free-wheeling electro mayhem. The Terminals were never really known to more than a few handfuls of people. The band was a floating amorphous shape-shifter with all kinds of musical-psychopaths walking on & off the stage at any given moment--that is, when, anyone actually let them set foot in a club proper. I recall when someone at the Pulse booked them sight-unseen sound-unheard for the short-lived new music night. The guy literally pulled the plug mid-way through the first set. The asswipe made some lame excuse about needing to get his patrons to dance before letting the Wasteband back on. The decision was made to pack up & leave probably left the guy relieved but we (the band and their eclectic but minute following) were pretty put-out about the whole deal. I think that particular gig may have had something to do with the Pulse’s showcase-night demise but nevermind. Much of the time instruments were passed out to all comers, everything from guitars to little kids brightly-colored musical widgets found in your finer Wal-Marts but obscenely and electronically perverted. This new CD won’t have many label reps beating down doors (what do they know anyway) but it’s killer. Sounds are flying all over the place making you dodge ‘cause you think something is gonna whack you on the side of the head but then the next track dips back to a sweet little twangcore- laced ditty as if Kim Gordon & Thurston Moore were at the soundboard in Nashville; or a beautiful wispy psychedelic number ala the Chocolate Watchband meets John’s Children in 1966 when psychedelic meant smoking some weed and a handful of diet pills. So who are these people anyway? Before they moved back to California about three years ago, Master of Evil Scott and the lovely arch-villainess Christen Mc C. had a seemingly ordinary domicile in red-of-the-neck Edgewood, New Mexico. Yes, ordinary to the innocent eye but lurking in the barn was enough electronic gadgetry to kill farm crops for miles around. If Edgewood was closer to Roswell, neighbors would have sworn that the spaceships were back and this time with a vengeance! Soon others were entangled in the couple’s web of aural intrigue like sometime-Chinese Love Bead Chris Ruiz (who digs up graves for a living!) and that Cleopatra & Marc Antony of (the very best in) Albuquerque garage rock, Lorca & CJ Drag, all of whom are to be found on this disc. I was witness to more than one debauched session in the barn but like an H.P. Lovecraft protagonist, most of the details I dare not repeat. As for this recording, I will only hint at an orgy of guitars, synthesizers, drums, bugle, flute, violin, steel drum, clarinet, cello, lap steel and little black boxes with knobs. Damn, I love this CD! |
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Fixed Resistor Newsletter #1 2pp , 16 _ x 11, ?; 50¢ “or free if I like you” www.homewars.com/fixedresistor fixedresistor@ hotmail.com This showed up in my mailbox and I couldn’t figure out who in hell it was from until I opened the envelope and found DanDan’s mug staring back at me. Along the lines of A Modest Proposal (that Swift thing we all had to suffer in high school English Lit), Fixed Resistor is full of great ideas like providing welfare mothers with gainful employment and pleasing anti-cow vegans by nursing the moms a few more years for human dairy products (which is more sensible than at first meets the eye) or why the Sexual Revolution isn’t like a real Revolution with “beheadings and stuff”. By its own admission “stupid & tasteless”, this newsletter is as fun as eating caramel apples in the library and about as politically correct. Yum! Monkey Wrench #5, December 2001 8pp, half-size, ?; free diva@abqmonkeywrench.com I don’t run across this zine too often ‘cause I don’t know the scene or the DJ/synthpop/gothie/industro music covered here; I don’t understand the preoccupation with computers, video games or, from a short interview, why on earth anyone would want to spend “a lot of my time…watching executions and concentration camp footage”. Be that as it may, Monkey Wrench is always well-written, literate and snotty like any good zine should be. |
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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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