Issue # 38 Jun 2002 thewigwambam.com
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Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998 WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism”
LOCAL SHOWS local venues, bands from here or there
…And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, Red Bone, Natay, Native Roots, Frank Black and the Catholics, the Mindy Set, the Phase, the Electric Hobo, the Ladykillers, TNA, the Phase, Villianueva, HHS Guitar Concert, the Mindy Set, the Phase, the Ladykillers, the Beggars, TNA
LOCAL SHOPS cool places where a fool and his money are soon parted
Cheap Shot Music (Santa Fe)
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Trans Am, Oneida, Pines From Nowhere @ Emo's, 33° RECORDS, Antone’s Record Store, Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, Household Names @ Club DeVille, the Krumbums, the Strap-Onz @ Emo's
LOCAL SHOWS
…And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead 4/19/02 @ Launchpad contributed by the Madcow I first saw this group about four years ago down at the Launchpad, when I was asked to participate along with 10 other music heads in the opening "band" [The Terminal Wasteband –ed.]. We did some sonic mayhem that would have surely gotten bottles thrown at us had we been able to repeat it this time. At that time i had not heard of this band with the ridiculously long name, so there were no expectations to be had.  When they finally took the stage... i was blown away. Fast forward: a friend of mine that lives in Austin has been keeping me up to date with the Trail of the Dead boys as the word about them spread--one of Austin's babies that was not allowed to play anywhere in town.  But they were gaining ground in the rest of the US and more importantly abroad. Which figures... the Brits seem to dig this shit...  Also, in the past year, they were signed to Interscope. The way that i figure it is these guys deserve it more than any of the other bands out there. They are not an overnight sensation as MTV would have you to believe. They have been touring and releasing records for at least 4 years that i am aware of.  As well, they are the best at what they do. So after a couple of years of missing them due to late work hours, this was my chance once again. I had a nervous anticipation of what sonic assaults I would endure. Would their new material be watered down for a more commercial audience?  Would they still carry the same level of intensity on stage?  Has the label changed them any?  Not yet! They play what is best described as Indie Rock with influences of Sonic Youth and Live Skull penetrating deep into the songs’ construction.  For any other band this is just a cop out. Not for the boys in the Trail of Dead. They do it with a sense of perfection. I wondered at the crowd at the Launchpad. Packed house, and lots of faces that i see only at the "important shows". This kind of scared me at first, but it really added to the energy that night. The set started off with material i was not familiar with, so i assume it was some new stuff.  It was a little more poppy (which translates to "less noisy") and fairly melodic. Then song by song they upped the level of intensity so that by the end of the night it worked everyone into a frenzy. As each song became rougher, noisier and more rockin’, i recognized more and became more enthralled with their set. Then, it was time for it to be over. With a bang, crash, and a lot of destruction to musical equipment that made me want to cry ‘cause no matter how much i want to do the same when i play... i know that i can't afford to.  They ended their set, and their 7 week tour with as much if not more energy that I have seen from anyone in a long time.  Damn... it was so good! Indie Rockers Take note: in order to grab my attention, this is what you have to live up to... If this is any indication that their life on the majors will only allow them more freedom, then i hope they ride it well. Again, more than anyone else they deserve it. It is my sincere hope that they can survive the ride without imploding (take a look at what happened with At the Drive In). If they do, then this won't be the last time i see them in a bar. But if the don't survive the push from the majors then the only way to see them in the next few years will be at a larger venue, first as tour support, then later as headliners...  which means i won't be able to see them for a while. Red Bone, Natay, Native Roots 4/28/02 @ Ohkay Casino, San Juan Pueblo My head hurt when I got out of this show. No it wasn’t the music but that the fact that the show wasn’t inside in the casino showroom but outdoors in the dusty rodeo grounds mid-day and me without a hat. Simply put, I burnt to shit like any white man would. To be fair, Indi’ns burn too (the crowd was 99% native) but less noticeably to us blue-eyes. Actually except Natay (more later), for my tastes, the show pretty much sucked. New Mexico-based Native Roots opened with nothing-you-haven’t-heard-before reggae but with tribal values themes. I have nothing against the one-love thing but I simply find reggae music incredibly boring. They featured a guitar player formerly of Xit (a groundbreaking rez-rock band from the 80s) and a percussionist from the Specials (yes, those Specials, the legendary British ska band that emerged after the first wave of punk in 1979-80).With this in mind, the musicianship wasn’t bad-- just an interminable yawn. Its interesting that besides country & western, the biggest musical genres generally favored by Native Americans seem to be reggae and metal. The reggae connection sort of makes sense, being songs about unity played by oppressed and colonized people. The metal connection I’m not so sure. Headbanging away your frustrations could be part of it but we’ll leave that to the anthropologists. Except for isolated pockets, punk & indie rock, by the way, pretty much don’t exist anywhere on the rez (any rez) being mostly the province of spoiled white kids. Red Bone are local heroes to Indians who aren’t used to seeing ‘skins in the spotlight this way. Too bad they’re based in LA and they show it: typical bar room rock tweaked with a feather or two, it was quite awful. So why was I even there? For the hip-hop of Natay, another NM group. My sort-of-niece Rose piqued my interest in them not by spinning their discs for me but by being one of the group. Its good to hear a female voice in the male-dominated style but its taken further by rapping about their take on being red in the white world, leaving the songs about ho’s and gold chain to the vast wasteland of MTV rappers. Natay is actually the main man with the other three tagged TNT (True Native Thugz). It was a forceful but quick set. Natay got hisself lost on the way up from Albuquerque, cutting the gig short and disappointing what seemed like dozens of Rosie’s family & friends come out to support her. But I was glad to check it out and hear this college-gal I’ve known since about she was three years old as well as hang out at the Pueblo where I used to work another lifetime ago with friends & familiar faces from the Espanola Valley. If there’s any place I feel right at home (besides with punk rockers ) its here. Since this is a music rag and while I’m on the subject, I’ll mention that some of the best stuff I’ve ever heard (and still do regularly) was/is at a couple of hundred native feast days and dances over the past decade and a half. Writing, sketching, photographing and recording is forbidden at these events (rightly so) so I’ll say no more about them except that being welcomed to see two or three hundred people dancing & singing in unity is awe-inspiring and sort of makes you feel like a chump for being angst-ridden and alienated in your own culture. Frank Black and the Catholics 2/3/02 Launchpad contributed by Lester the Molester A fellow I met during some drunken night or another at the ‘pad clocks in with (his first for this rag but hopefully not the last) this report on the illustrious Mr Black: First, to all of you “baseball hat wearing motherfuckers” as Mr. Black put it himself, what the hell was that? Not only did Frank Black stop three songs because of you and your 30 something aggressions that you haven’t let out since you sang Karoke at Leisure Bowl four and a half years ago but he even yelled at you to knock it off. So let us recap, the Pixies broke up almost a full decade ago (I know, that is probably how long it has been since most of you have been to a show, you moshing bastards; time to get the flannel out of the closet or something like that anyway) but Frank Black is no longer Black Francis of the Pixies and he has put out numerous great works since. And to that lunatic that jumped up on stage after the show to “hear it for the Pixies,” fuck you, you are probably the 32-year old narcissistic bastard reason why we didn’t get an encore. So now for the show, it was phenomenal. Frank Black and Catholics blew through almost two solid hours of music, making it the longest set I have heard played since, huh, um, I saw, ugh, U2 in Seattle last year. Nevertheless the balls-out approach of Frank Black, his music professionalism (“turn that fucking smoke machine off”), and the length of set could teach a thing or two to some up and coming bands, maybe I will hear a set longer than 35 minutes one of these days. Anyway they played no less than five Pixies songs including Mr. Grieves, The Fight Club favorite Where is My Mind?, and they even opened with a very mellow version of This Monkey Has Gone To Heaven, all of which were a pleasant surprise. They also played songs from every Frank Black album but by far the freshest, clearest, most enjoyable songs from any era came off of their last album, Dog in the Sand. I’ve Seen Your Picture, Robert Onion, Bullet, Hermaphroditos, the tremendous Llano Del Rio, If It Takes All Night and probably a few more (that were obscured by the beer-spilling 30-something’s getting hernias by pushing all the other guys with baseball hats around) were from Dog In The Sand. The only low points of the show came when Frank Black actually yelled at the much deserving crowd, three times no less. The high point came in the form of a Tom Waits song taken from a play of the same name, The Black Rider. The Black Rider ended the show on a great note, evoking spirits of punk rock, whiskey, and sad luck dames. Frank Black can kick the shit out, thank god for fat, bald, sweaty, pissed off white guys that can wail. the Mindy Set, the Phase, the Electric Hobo 5/4/02 @ the Nursery The Electric Hobo rocked as much as a man with one drum-stick & a full kit and a guitar across his lap can… which is a fuck of a lot. Brilliant & badass. How much more can I say for yet another Phase/Mindy Set show? Just watch..! The Phase officially rock these days even if they’re mostly shoegazing mothafuckers but the Mindys sucking down Tequiza during their set was rather questionable but we’ll let that pass ‘cause they all play so good. Oh yeah, the cops showed up for the last Mindy Set tune which was quite amusing as they shined their flashlights on the band, resembling that raise-the-houselights schtick for stadium band encores. It would have been so much more amusing if they hadn’t handed out citations to underage drinkers the Ladykillers, TNA, the Phase, Villianueva 5/8/02 @ Launchpad Not a bad turn-out at all for a Wednesday night here in the Dirt City especially for a full compliment of local bands. Of course the recent demise of both Sprockets and Burt’s couldn’t but help attendance as there just isn’t fuck-else to play these days, not in this part of town anyway. I’m not hip enough to be privy to what happened but the rumor mill sez Sprockets sold to the Copper Lounge people (who ruined the venerable Jack’s [oh the humanity!]). As for Burt’s, of everyone I’ve spoken to, no one nose --oops, I mean knows--exactly why it went down. Of course by the time you read this, things may have changed. Every few years the cooler music clubs here go through some kind of Kafka-like existential metamorphosis: the Time Out turns into the Launchpad, the Dingo Bar dies and in its place rises Burt’s Tiki Lounge, the Golden West Saloon fucks up year in and year out through a parade of earnest attempts (ditto El Rey), the Fat Chance (which was always a horrid little squalor parlor as far as music goes) changes to Sprockets and remains mostly sucky until lately. So don’t hold your breath but the venues will be back sooner or later (likely later) in some form or another (probably another). The Ladykillers reunion set (oh no not another band cashing in on the comeback trail! First the Sex Pistols, then Blondie, now this..!). They closed the show as if they never left sounding like your tenth-grade music teacher doing Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs covering standards like The Hokey-Pokey with a boogie-beat for drinks & tips. And if the crowd had been so inclined, the ‘killers would have been awash in coins & cups ‘cause everyone still in the joint by this time thoroughly enjoyed ‘em. TNA wheezed through the first four or five songs before hitting their fine stride (actually more of a strut, baby) with a sound somewhere between the Red Aunts and the Softies, which covers lots of ground indeed. Including debuting new bassist Melissa (ex-Hopefuls) the band seemed incredulous that all the applause & noise was meant for them. Fuckin’-A right it was. And about time too you hipster-come-latelys. Where you been all their lives? TNA rock. The Phase zipped through a little ol’ set with a few warts this time but even at their ugliest, they sound better than most at their prettiest. Soni was amped way up tonight --no, not her persona but the guitar volume. She always looks so intent on playing that I expect her tongue to poke out like some kid trying not to color outside of the lines. In fact, they all sort of reminded me of siblings this set: Drummer Elton’s hopping around in his seat like little brother who’s been scolded not to fidget at the dinner table but just can’t help himself because, well, just because. Bassist Felice is the solid and responsible older sister trying to keep the household clean & together when mom & dad are out for the night. And singer Zed is second-oldest who could give a fuck about the rest of the sibs because he’s practicing rock star moves in front of mom’s full-length mirror (with some of mom’s clothes) using a hairbrush for a microphone and Lemmy, Joey, Billy Idol and (The Real Kids) John Felice as role models. The Phase: it’s the Partridge Family turned rock n’ roll with a drinking problem! This was my first Villianueva set, another local outfit but at only a few months old, the babies of the night. I didn’t know what to expect but certainly not what I heard which caught me way off-guard. Straight-up indie-rock covering all the bases from crunchy guitar-pop to surf-grunge through angst-ridden (not emo) alt.rock with a little DJ scratch for good measure. They were all over the nineties-rock map on a road trip looking for America like the quintessential 60s movie Easy Rider but with a happy ending sans hippies. I hope they stop over in my town for a burger or chicken-fried steak again soon. HHS Guitar Concert 5/15/02 @ Highland High School “This is gonna be a long night” was my first thought upon the opening of this recital I was attending in the honor of my favorite high school senior (get a job, you bum!) Somebody ought to tell music teachers that having their students play the Beatles or (gag!) Creedence Clearwater Revival hasn’t been cutting edge for a long, long time; I guess they think it merits approval from the aging baby-boom parents in the crowd. Well, Mr Music Teacher, I am one of that demographic and it’s a rotting bore! To my utter surprise, things picked up once that dinosaur crap was out of the way. These are not my favorite bands by any means but there were covers of Weezer, Josie & the Pussycats, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and (!!) Slayer. Most fun was the impromptu (read: not on the program) version of Freebird. Yes, that song that mooks everywhere yell out for encore, erroneously thinking that they’re possessed of an absolutely hilarious as well as original comedic mind. But this! It was brilliant! Before the chords of a solo acoustic Cannibal Corpse song finished ringing, two other students jumped back onstage and went right into Freebird. They hadn’t even made it through the first bar when the teacher gave them the boot. Bad taste, Mr Nielsen! Letting them finish would’ve been the coolest thing you could’ve done. He did redeem himself a bit, however, because the last ten minutes was not acoustic but full-on band: drum, bass and guitars. Their musical numbers (all originals by the way) were quite wankin’ but played well enough. By the end of their songs, the kids were barely warming up when once again the plug was pulled and Mr Nielsen kept the world safe from loud unrehearsed music... the Mindy Set, the Phase, the Ladykillers 5/17/02 @ “super secret location” Even though the occasion was “the Graduation and Intoxication of Zed Stardust” (no problem on either count), what the fuck can I possibly say about these bands that I haven’t before? It was fun. the Beggars, TNA 5/31/02 @ mecca records & books In-store! I’d go hear ABBA cover bands at an in-store ‘cause everyone knows these shows rock all around and attending one makes me cooler than you. Really. Ice (bassatrix of the Phase) gave me a ring days before which gets her extra points for the early warning. Rocky de la Mecca called me too but mere hours beforehand so he’ll have to be punished by me buying one less 7” than I would have. TNAmy (Amy X-Rated) left a message too but even later than Rocky so I’d have no choice but to dis her except that she also left a threat to castrate me if I opted for the Queers show tonight instead. Amy’s a woman you don’t fuck around with; she’s one of those Westside girls who have learned how to carry razor blades in her mouth. She’ll cut you up good if you flash the wrong sign, verdad! So its an hour and something before the show and the Ramones are on my stereo. I’m gonna shower, shave and go; be right back after the show, I promise… Ok, I’m back; you didn’t really wait, did you? sucker… The Beggars are a sideline of Sioux City Pete’s (the Chicken-hawks). If you thought the ’hawks were loose, wait’ll you hear this barnyard blues-rock; ruckus enough to defeather all the hens, send the mare crashing through the fence and curdle cow’s milk straight out of the udder; looser than a ’48 Studebaker pick-up losing parts every half-mile down the washboard ruts of dirt lane up to the old homestead. Covering Johnny Cash, the Rolling Stones and the great Son House, they broke guitar strings and lost drumsticks but managed somehow although it didn’t always sound like the four were playing the same tune at the same time. The Beggars are bassless but the guy playing the cool blue Danelectro guitar kept the rhythm square & solid. TNA roared out a great opening set. You could tell new bass-gal Melissa is really part of the band now ‘cause Midnight Penny and Amy were calling her names that would embarrass Ernest Borgnine. One of my faves tonight was the twang tune Black & Blue showcasing Penny’s fine vocal range that’s usually buried deep in the tumult. TNA rock like the early Red Aunts working out their chops in a tin chicken-shack during a hail storm. Even though Amy was a good eight inches from the mike her audacious voice rang as clear as the noontime chow bell; a cracked bell maybe but that’s a good thing. Mixmaster Mike whips the skins at a brisk gallop, just where and when and how he ought, no more no less. In these days of diminishing musical venues, an in-store like this was music to my battered ears.
LOCAL SHOPS
Cheap Shot Music Santa Fe You know never know with small record shops whether you’ll unearth anything cool or just find the same old tired ELO and Leo Sayer LPs that linger in used bins nation wide. It was different the second I stepped into Cheap Shot: open for exactly two minutes before; already the original Modern Lovers1972 demo album was playing (the most perfect rock n’roll recording ever made!). That was followed with the Stooges when I noticed the guy behind the counter (owner Tom) was wearing a well-worn Ramones tee. Talk about salesmanship! I was sold right off the bat. Before I knew it, I had a fifty-dollar stack not counting the five 99-cent LPs that Tom pulled from my pile, crossed out the price-tags and handed back to me. I didn’t actually pick up much rock n’ roll this time (besides the Fall’s post-punk BBC Radio 1 sessions) although there were lots of Johnny Thunders and Iggy boots & outtakes (which are cottage industries these days). No, I went for the amazing selection of 30s-40s jazz (Sidney Buchet, Artie Shaw, Jack Teagarden) as well as other 40s/50s vintage LPs like Las Hermanas Mendoza (corridos mexicanos), Pueblo Indian field recordings (songs that no one will ever be allowed to record again) as well as stuff from my misspent youth like Hot Tuna, Paul Kanter/Grace Slick (all ex-Jefferson Airplane) and lots more. What I’m trying to say is that its well worth digging around at Cheap Shot, easily the best prices I’ve found since Relapse Records shut down here a few years back (and the only shop I’ve ever seen besides mecca Records that has bizarro obscurities like old Yma Sumac 10”s). One caution: it ain’t the easiest place to find tucked away near the intersection of Cerrillos & Saint Francis and likely to have moved by the time this hits print. Good thing its also worth seeking out.
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Yes, once again, your tax dollars at work sent Captain America to far lands under the guise of “training” but we all know that the only reason I agreed to go at all was the music! The flight, the four nights at the Hilton, the thick charbroiled Texas steaks were just perks. I’d have slept in rat-hole fleabag motels and ate at IHOP for all the difference it made to me. Well, actually, I did for one night cause I stayed an extra day and being the upstanding exemplary citizen of the US of A that Captain America is, the cost difference was my responsibility. No, don’t thank me; it’s just what I do… Okay, so first of all, the training sessions (boring work shit; you don’t wanna know, believe me) were at the Hilton which these days don’t mean a damn because I’ve had equal quality rooms at the Motel 6 in Omaha. What it did mean however was being stuck vehicle-less with Austin’s equivalent of Albuquerque’s Big I to the north, the bus station to the west, the city’s biggest mall to the east and to the south miles & miles of strip mall until downtown where the happening music scene is at. Like every other poorly-planned city, the city buses screech to a halt around midnight, leaving me with the choice of a twenty-five dollar cab ride to my sixth floor room(with the killer view of Dillard’s and a wide expanse of parking lot). Needless to say, I passed on the taxi action and one afternoon bussed it to downtown to stroll and get my bearings as to club locations in planning for my real nights out at the end of the trip. I needn’t have bothered; Sixth Street is wall-to-wall clubs with good, bad and indifferent music of every style blaring out of every joint. You can’t spit in any direction without hitting a musician in the face (some of them you might actually want to spit on but that’s another story). The first few nights I hung around the hotel, seeing such sights as the lost hooker wandering the Hilton parking lot until she got picked up by some guy in an SUV (hope he didn’t take an STD back to the ‘burbs!). To my rescue however came two old partners in some--shall we say-- less-than-legal FM broadcast activity here in the ‘burque about five or six years ago. Racer X and Betty Crocker had enough sense to bail out of Rebel Radio before the feds got all hot & heavy for our asses. Too, they had school and family things to attend to in Austin, not least of which is their cute-as-a-bug’s-ear one-and-a-half year old daughter Rory who tried to escape the house at every chance she got (yeah! a rebel already!). They picked me up one evening for a home-cooked dinner, a few Lone Star longnecks and my very first game of Washers, a local equivalent of Horseshoes but perfect for small backyards, the course being about 20 feet long and played with 3” steel washers. Joined by Tim of Rhythm Of Black Lines, we tossed, we drank, we talked shit about Albuquerque bands. Since Rebel Radio is long gone and the statute of limitations has run out, I think I can safely name names here: Jud & Terri, you guys rock! Jud’s recently demised band Halcyon Shell started up here in the ‘burque years ago. They came back through on tour with the Black Lines about six months ago. Anyway, Tim hipped us to the good show the next night. Trans Am, Oneida, Pines From Nowhere 5/22/02 @ Emo’s, 603 Red River St It was with some trepidation that I went to a place called Emo’s but I soon found out that its been called that for years, probably before emo music was given its name. That was a relief! It’s an L-shaped joint with two entrances around the corner from each other but the corner is another shop or something. Best of all, there’s a fenced-in outdoor area to hang in between acts; sit on the picnic benches or talk to merch folks (tonight there was a book table with the usual anarcho-activist lit any self-respecting politi-punk knows if not actually has read. I’m afraid this wasn’t the crowd to hawk that stuff). You can even hear the music outside too; not great but you still... No word on the Ladies’ Room but the Men’s Room has a communal pissing trough like all true western public restrooms. Not that you really needed to know that but I added it for Tex-ass ambience. Opening act Pines From Nowhere were competent but standard indie rock, leaning towards emo just a tiny bit and with hints of , oh, maybe Superchunk or Spell. Trans Am--the show’s headline band--had a very misleading name; I expected at least some muscle-car/muscle-head rock if not outright rockin’ roll. But alas, not even that scrap was to be had. Rock isn’t even their starting point; its techno. I don’t know about you but any band that has a projection show behind them (a boring & repetitious one at that) makes me suspicious of what percentage of interest they have in the music itself. But is was the mid band Oneida (from NY) that got my “best of show” tonight. They flirted with the techno sound but rock was definitely their start point. I heard a slight (slight mind you) resemblance to 70s fusion-guitarist Mahavishnu John McLaughlin but with attention deficit disorder; it was meditation music for methamphetamine-heads. I’d recommend their show anytime. Thursday was my last day in Austin so of course I spent most of it sleeping off the night before rather than taking advantage of the rental car I picked up to drive out to the hill country or the lakes or what-have-you. It was late afternoon by the time I dragged my sorry ass out to check out some shops before the music started up again that night (although I swear the city has a secret club or something that only lets select people know what godamn street you’re on. Every few blocks, some major intersection will have absolutely no signage. I guess I’m not cool enough to be part of that exclusive club but I found where I was going in spite of my inherent un-hipness. First stop: 33° Records 4017 Guadalupe In a musically-minded town like Austin, there’s probably a zillion shops but my impression was that this is the preeminent indie-cred store. Prices weren’t great but about what you’d expect from anyplace. Its sort of sparsely stocked and that total drops dramatically when you realize half of the place is reggae, dub and whatever-the-hell-the-correct-term-for-techno-is-these-days. Normally that shit would send me right back out the door but I figured the vinyl section marked Garage was worth a look. It was although these guys got some funny ideas about Garage, stocking crap like US Bombs and Black Flag there; not in my garage, boy. Among other things, my best scores were storewide were a Bomp! label Nikki & the Corvettes comp (1979-80 garage-pop girls), the Hope Sandoval [ex-Mazzy Star] and the Warm Inventions debut (what you’d expect of Ms Sandoval but minus Mazzy’s coming-down-off-LSD pyschedelia, music to contemplate suicide to but while wrapped in a warm & cozy opiated comforter), and The Boys on Italian LP import (1977 fine-ass rockin’ roll). Although its not great, I got Fall On Deaf Ears, a re-release CD of a 1996 El Paso cassette. One of the favorite 7”s in my collection is a split (In Memory) of this band and their sister project Rope that I picked up in ‘Paso about five years ago. The two 17 year-old girls in the band died just previously in a wreck. Truth to tell, I always liked the Rope side best is more akin to Bikini Kill than the Deaf Ears which sounds like a pre-cursor for the band their drummer went on to form, At the Drive-In who I never cared for at all. Anyway, call me a jerk but I hope the 33° clerk didn’t think I was buying the Deaf Ears CD just cause of the Drive-In connection (OK, I’m a jerk, so what?). Although I should’ve known better, I guess I hoped it would be more like Rope. I’m not sure what all this has to do with 33°(a decent shop), but you know how I go on. Never an editor around when ya need one… Antone’s Record Store 2928 Guadalupe www.antonesrec.com/vinyl doublewide@earthlink.net Back in the rental car after leaving 33° I popped Nikki Corvette in the player instead of the John Doe CD I ‘d been playing all day. I found Doe at the mall next to the hotel a couple days before. It was 99¢ at some crap chain “music” store-- ‘figured it was up to me to give him a home. “Attention mall-mart shoppers: how many of you know who fuck John Doe is?” I was heading back towards downtown on Guadalupe, looking for a Vietnamese restaurant I saw on the way up when --screech! hit the brakes! -- I spotted the shop that Rocky from mecca told me to not miss--the one that I’d forgotten about immediately. Antone’s is a legendary joint for vinyl of the preferred type in Austin: blues, country, R&B, zydeco, cajun and all sounds twang. They even carry 78 RPMs. These slabs of shellac (this was pre-vinyl, kids) were the only recorded music format until the fifties. You think indie-rock dudes are geek collectors? The old guys who collect 78s could mortgage the house on a short stack of them. Since I don’t (yet) have a phonograph capable of spinning these dinosaurs, I took a cursory look at the CDs (which were not even worth the time) then turned my attention to the vintage vinyl. Holy crap! Good thing my time & funds were limited or else I’d be there yet. Too late for a good bowl of Pho at the Vietnamese place, I barely made it to my next stop and guess what! they serve food… Alamo Drafthouse Cinema 409B Colorado www.drafthouse.com I’ve heard about these food/beer/movie houses but since the idea is too cutting-edge (ahem) for a burg like the ‘burque, I figured this was my big chance to do (ahem) big-city stuff. Too, there was no way I was gonna miss Black Tight Killers (Japan 1966) on the big screen. Legendary in certain rocker circles, this combo karate/spy flick was made at the height of James Bond/Mod mania. Named for the black tights they wear [literally; even though the dialogue was in Japanese, “Black Tight” was spoken in English] the Killers are a group of Go-Go Girl ninjas who (when they’re not swinging to the latest mod hits) are ruthless assassins who use 7” records, bubblegum and exploding golf balls as weapons --why golf balls were hip in 60s Japan, I can’t tell ya but the girls clocked a few guys over the head with their clubs too. Somehow, a stewardess, lost gold, the Yakuza and American gangsters get into the mix. Wearing mini-skirts and black wigs with that sixties flip, the Killers become good guys after all. The funniest scene was where one of the girls gets shot or stabbed or something but since she somehow lost her shirt, she holds her hands over her nipples rather than the wound as she delivers her dying soliloquy (this was pretty hot stuff for 1966). The lay-out of the place is normal movie house except that every other row of seats has been replaced by a long counter top. Not a place were you’d want to study Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal or anything, its perfect for the Alamo’s low- to mid-brow fare including Batman (no, not the Tim Burton one but the TV show one from 1966), 1940s non-Disney feature-length cartoons, spaghetti westerns, and a live version of the Mystery Science Theater-style movie-roast, Mr Sinus Theater, with that Titney Spears’ movie or similar crapola. The food was decent too: fresh salads, 8” pizzas, burgers, those snobby Italian sodas… Hell, for the cheap admission, I’d go there just to eat and see whatever happened to be on the screen. Movie over, it was time to stroll around the club zone and see what was up. Not much appealing as I found out… Household Names 5/23/02 @ Club DeVille, 900 Red River I was loitering in the shadows towards the edge of the clubland strip too early for a punk show but listening to alt.folkie gal Patty Griffin’s music from over the stone wall of some outdoor venue when some good fuzzrock/ keyboard new wave-y stuff wafted from across the street and caught my ear, luring me into the DeVille. As soon as I paid my cover and turned to the stage, whatever band it was played their last chord and begin loading their gear. Drag. So I settled down into a chair holding a Maker’s & Ginger Ale with a twist (my drink of choice these days; thanks Kamille!) and waited to see who was next. Just my freakin’ luck, it was the Household Names. If they were a household name in my home, I’d have the place fumigated; they sounded like personnel from both the Refreshments and the Gin Blossoms covering Paul McCartney’s songs from the Beatles 1966 Revolver LP. That can’t be good. Turns out it was a benefit for some Austin women’s shelter so I hope my seven-buck cover went there instead of to these guys’ puke-pop pockets.Too, sitting outside on an unseasonably cool Texas night under trees and hanging vines and greenery was refreshing but the musical gobbledygook onstage soon drove me off in search of more & better mayhem… the Krumbums, the Strap-Onz 5/23/02 @ Emo’s Mostly useless bonehead mohawk punk. Two bands down, three to go but I just couldn’t stick it out despite the always crowd-pleasing cuties in the audience with cropped green hair and leather mini-skirts over torn fishnets. After that, things went further downhill: back at the roach motel, clicking through 103 channels and I swear to god I caught a glimpse of this guy I went to school with in fifth grade on one of those How-To-Get-Rich-In-Real-Estate infomercials. Nobody--not even teachers-- liked him back then and he still looked pretty damn weasely. Took off the next morning, first day of the Memorial Day weekend with no mishaps like flying into tall buildings or anything regardless of Federal alerts.
Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com) at Bow Wow, Insomnia, Launchpad, mecca Records & Books, Natural Sound, University Comic Warehouse and Castle XXX Superstore.
Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America  | po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196