|
Issue # 62 Sep 2004 thewigwambam.com |
|||||||
|
||||||||
| Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998
WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism” Lyric of the Month: "It
ain’t no fun being in love all by yourself"
– Shirley Brown, It Ain’t No Fun; 1974 Stax Records |
||||||||
| LOCAL SHOWS Local venues, bands from here or there |
||||||||
| DJ Obenjyo, Jason & the Argonauts,
Pistols At Dawn, Palisades, Lylah, Brixton Ex, Unnatural Element, MC5/dkt,
Suffrajet, the Prids, Of God And Science, Green Circles, Proudass,
Manhole, Old Man, Detroit Cobras, the Forty-Fives, Rasputina, Hazard
County Girls |
||||||||
| LOCAL RELEASES |
||||||||
| the Sleestaks Belly Up! [CD 2004] FOMA Icecaves [CD 2004] the FOXX [2nd pressing, CD 2004] the Mindy Set A Sugared Mind [CD 2004] Nels Andrews Sunday Shoes [CD 2004] FOMA / Boyd Reno Is John Center / the Oktober People [self release s/t split 7” 2004] |
||||||||
| LOCAL MEDIA NM radio, tv, web, gallery |
||||||||
| you give me anti Anti Anti “underground rock images, Los Angeles 1981-1988 from the inflamed eyeball/camera lens of Rocky De la Vega” |
||||||||
| THE WRANGLER REPORT |
||||||||
| Raveonettes, the Rogers Sisters, Elkland,
Black Tie Review, Curiosa Festival |
||||||||
| LOCAL SHOWS |
||||||||
DJ Obenjyo 7/7/04 @ Moonlight Lounge I’m normally not one for going to clubs to simply listen to somebody play records but its a good excuse to hear stuff not in your own collection. I always think “fuck that; I can hear records any time” but its not actually true. I mean, Ben’s a nice guy an’ all but I can’t envision him spinning for me while I sit around his living room for like three hours. So this event at the Moonlight (my favorite local dive) was a good excuse to go out and represent for Obenjyo (who by the way needs to write more for this rag). He was on an excellent vintage garage/pysch/soul kick tonight which is never disagreeable by me. And besides, I got to look all cool an’ shit hanging out with the deej even though I probably was more of a distraction. But likely not as much as all the girlies that came over to give him hugz, lucky boy. Jason & the Argonauts, Pistols At Dawn, Palisades @ Atomic Cantina Lylah, Brixton Ex, Unnatural Element @ Burt’s 7/9/04 I don’t think I was in each venue for more than twenty minutes at a pop. It was schizophrenic going from one style to another and back but damned if I didn’t feel like a bona fide journalist. Now if only my indulgent writing would catch up… Beginning my night at the Atomic, I was excited to hear Palisades since they’re made up of ol’ friends from Denver. Sorry one and all, but its textbook emo, a musical style I can’t stomach. Ya always want to like your friends’ bands but I really couldn’t find much I cared for. Over at Burt’s, I was also happy to finally see one of soundman Kenny’s projects. He’s up to, like, what? eighteen all at once now. I’d heard an Alchemical Burn set at Field & Frame long before I knew the man but there’s something about the dynamic of one guy tweaking equipment that--well, actually, that’s sort of the problem. By definition, how the hell can you be dynamic with yourself? It sounds like more fun to do than to sit & listen to. On the other hand Unnatural Element was like a brain tsunami as the two beings on stage wrenched sounds from their equipment like stuffing amplified cats in a blender over the doom-doom-doom drum beat of a slave-rowed Viking ship. I was reminded of being a kid in the Manhattan subway, standing as close as I could to the edge of the platform while the trains sped by, just for the overwhelming rush yet if I took one more step, I’d be dead. Messily dead. This set was like that. That the Unnatural duo was wearing gas masks only added to the festivities. Next it was back across the way for Pistols At Dawn from Phoenix. Toe-tapping pop power ala the very best of the Foo Fighters made me happy. Heavy pissed-off rock has its place -- although not necessarily in my record collection--but when will everyone remember that you can rock it the fuck out and still have plenty hooks? These guys have. I barely made it next door it time for a few Brixton Ex numbers. Remember how a few paragraphs ago I said its difficult if you don’t like your friends’ music? Well, I’ve been digging on but also ragging on these guys through all their incarnations (Telephones, Trans 66, Brixton Experiment) because…something… was always just a tad off. Either too punk rock or too funk rock or not enough electro in the clash. But this time..? I have no complaints! The rock and the electronics fit like a damn glove tonight although there’s nothing delicate about the Brixtons that would make you even consider wearing gloves unless it was to pick up the mess after they left the stage in sonic shambles. Lylah was a big disappointment. I’d always avoided them because I thought Lylah was a she, like a Melanie or a Jewel. I was wrong, making assumptions again. Since these boys wear make-up and lacey pretty things, it looked as if we were in for a gothic-industrio love fest. Looks can be as deceiving as names. The sound was like Creed covered by Sublime. Actually, I’m just pulling names out of a hat here; what I mean it was generic generic generic year 2000 alt.rock. Yuck. On the other end of the alt.rock spectrum was the final set I witnessed tonight, Jason & the Argonauts who I often confuse with the Jason Daniello Band. Overall, Mr Daniello earns nothing but respect from me but The Band just can’t compete with The Argonauts. I’m too stupid to know whether the personnel is the same but every time I’ve heard the JD Band, I’m sorta let down by the affair: well done for sure but too much in the Santa Fe KBAC-FM vein, “rock” for grown-ups with little grey ponytails. But when I hear the Argonauts, I hear the best mature rock with fine musicianship, stirring melody & strong vocals but gleeful like kids slurping cereal with sugar sludge at the bottom of the bowl, watching Ray Harryhausen’s 1963 Jason & the Argonauts on Saturday morning, the parents still asleep. MC5/dkt, Suffrajet 7/10/04 @ Launchpad Listen up jerks. I thought we’d been over this before with the BellRays. Pay attention this time. Don’t insult Simi Suffrajet or your own intelligence by comparing her to Lisa Kekaula & the BellRays just because they share a common ethnicity. You don’t compare Ray Charles to Notorious B.I.G. do you? Just as Lisa sounds nothing like Aretha (despite what every fucking BellRays review on the planet says), neither does Simi sound like Lisa or --as even the Suffrajets’ own website wrongly asserts--Diana Ross. Her vocal timbre and range are closer to the Start’s Aimee Echo or ex-Sneaker Pimps Kelli Dayton-Ali. But if you simply must have black females for comparison, then try Claudine Clark (1962’s Party Lights) or the Donays lead vocal Yvonne Allen (Devil In His Heart, 1961). Add a little Macey Gray inflection and Tina Turner execution (but not elocution) and you have the complete --if complex--picture. As for the music, the Suffrajet sound is hair-rock/Cheap Trick, while the BellRays are jazz-inflected rockn’roll. No comparison. Try listening to the two back to back and you’ll hear the difference. (note: oddly enough I just happened to be wearing my BellRays shirt that night, having no idea who Suffrajet was. Weird). Ok that out of the way, the Suffrajets kicked ass, all thanks to their frontwoman. The band is competent although not much you haven’t heard before but its Simi’s energetic presence and voice that plucks them from the ordinary. Their opening set was a surprise and revelation to all present. They were already sold out of their CD but I wasted no time in ordering it online the very next day. I was next surprised by how good the MC5 reunion was after a none too promising performance on the Craig Kilborn show a week previous. Wayne Kramer (guitar), Michael Davis (bass) and Dennis Thompson (drums) are the three survivors of the original Five, lately hailed as fathering both punk and heavy metal which isn’t quite accurate. The MC's are hopped-up smoked-out Detroit rock, blues-infused with minor (but regrettable) jam excursions, an antidote to the Summer of Love. Just how well ex-Lemonhead druggie/hunkie-posterboy Evan Dando fit in as a part-time vocalist was a revelation. No, not as a replacement for the departed Rob Tyner (Dando’s voice is way too smooth and crooning for that) but he could and did hold his own. Mudhoney’s Mark Arm handled most of vocals ably but didn’t really grab me. Nor did Wayne Kramer who hammed it up every turn at the mike (but surpassed his wildly uneven solo tour a couple years back). Kramer’s guitarwork was a different matter altogether: more restrained than someone of his era might be, much to his credit. Not being familiar with Marshall Crenshaw’s catalog I was also pleasantly surprised by his leads. Ever since he was announced as joining the tour, I’d been mentally lumping him in with P.C. rockers like Bruce Cockburn. My mistake. Of course there’s no replacement for original guitarist Sonic Smith but Crenshaw paid respect to the deceased Mr Smith by not jacking off too much--with the dreadful exception of the last half-hour of their long set. The final twenty-minute Sun Ra-inspired jam was useless, no good for anyone but only served to remind that the MC5’s debut was released a year after Cream broke up and was contemporary with that Clapton Is God rubbish. Face it: underneath it all, the MC5 were dope-smokin’ hippies. Aggro hippies but hippies just the same. It’s a good thing for us that their novice “little brothers” the Stooges also took notes on what not to do. the Prids, Of God And Science @ Burt’s Green Circles 7/17/04 @ Launchpad Here’s the story as I got it: the Prids are touring with Portland neighbors the Green Circles but the Circles are friends with the Killers. So the Green Circles jumped ship for the Killers bill that was booked at the Launchpad. This is where the Prids originally were supposed to play but not getting a confirmation, they went back to Burt’s where they’ve successfully gigged before. Somewhere along the way the Killers cancelled but the Circles had already committed to the ‘pad and the Prids stuck to Burt’s. But the Prids wouldn’t think of going on until the Circles finished, so the Circles opened the night to a smaller crowd than they might have if they’d played the later headlining spot. Meanwhile our own Dirty Novels filled in for the Killers. No loss there by the way; the Killers are a waste of time, indistinguishable from the whole Jets/Strokes/ Black Rebel Motorcycle Club “garage” scene (although the Novels ought to take a step away from some of their overly Stones-y material, they still generate excitement and make you want to dance). That’s how I heard it anyhow, partly from the Prids’ David Fredrickson afterwards, partly from Zed Stardust who’s not even here but on tour with the Foxx. Accurate or not, tour gossip is tossed about like gospel truth. Say Amen someone… So I started out my night at the Launchpad, curious to hear who the outstanding Prids picked as tourmates. I was not let down. In fact with each song, I enjoyed the Green Circles more & more. In a word, tasteful. I was reminded of the best of Interpol but with, at its most basic, Prids-like song structure. The Prids are luminous and luxurious, sweeping and majestic, the Circles much more small and intimate but grand in their own way. They seem to me two sides of the same coin, complimentary billmates. So mentally I treated their two sets as one show. When I saw Prids drummer bid the Circles good-bye a few songs shy of ending the set, I knew I had to follow soon. When the Green Circles finished, I bought as much merch as I could carry and high-tailed it to Burt’s. I needn’t have rushed since there was a small delay while Of God and Science set up. I kept asking everyone I knew if they knew these guys and were they local. No one seemed certain but as I later found out, they are. That's a good thing for me since amid all the schmoozing with friends in the back, I didn’t hear too much of their set but liked what I did when I finally got up front. So I have a chance to catch ‘em again; soon I hope. The Prids once again kicked our auditory asses, just brilliant really. My disappointment was only a 7” for new material but since they’ve been touring so much (this is their fourth NM show in three years) its not hard to imagine why. Lucky for us all, a new full-length is due in the fall, a few numbers of which we got the preview (and gave our approval) tonight. As a bonus, I’m happy, happy, happy to have seen two new favorites in the space of a week: the Green Circles and Suffrajet. Whew, am I ever glad! I was beginning to think I was doomed to spend the rest of my life listening only to my Nuggets and Motown/Stax collections, despairing of ever finding a new band that’s worth a damn. Proudass, Manhole, Old Man 7/25/04 @ Mecca Although Proudass comes highly recommended, they were all over the hard- & heavy-core map, not enticing me to join them on the journey. Nope, I wasn’t impressed although my friends who know this music style much, much more than me give them a fat thumbs up. One of my all-around loco--oops--local faves Old Man inspire in me all kinds of extreme comparisons. This time it was like the score to a tense film noir of an agitated sociopath hitman. Justin fronting Manhole hasn't been seen like this since he was the chaotic rolling-in-broken-glass singer for Fukrot. He started out here subdued, even polite on keyboards but soon erupted into smack-you-upside-the-head bedlam. Although Alan on bass/mayhem plays many solo gigs, he does share his toys and gets a “plays well with others” note on his report card. The pencil-thin moustache only adds to his panache. Detroit Cobras, the Forty-Fives 7/26/04 @ Sunshine Theatre Good thing the drinks were stiff. Otherwise it was everything you’d expect: over-priced, the sound was bad, Reverend Horton Heat was bad--oh wait! guess I can’t say for certain about them as I couldn’t be bothered to stick around for the Rev’s tired old foolishness, everything you’ve heard before, just like the Cramps or Social Distortion. Who gives a shit? They’re all turning into the fuckin’ Rolling Stones-- who should’ve had enough class to hang it up after Let It Bleed. No, I came out for the Cobras and incidentally the 45s who were highly recommended by our own Soni Reducer (a.k.a. Ice a.k.a. Marvel Girl). I rolled in probably halfway through their set (damn these early all-ages shows) and was favorably impressed with their Stooge-y rockn’roll. Yeah, I know, I know: everybody who ain’t emo these days gets compared to the Ig but I swear I actually heard the spirit of a raw Stooges-induced howl, not some lame-o half-assed copycat antics. As always, I danced from start to finish for the Detroit Cobras who were allowed a surprisingly long set complete with five count’em five new songs. Still, at the ticket price I’m guessing I paid about 60 cents a minute, like a phone sex chat line. Despite the poor sound and singer Rachel gasping for breath (what is it about Albuquerque? no touring act ever has that complaint in Denver which is about equal elevation) the Cobras put on a more-than-decent set, the only band who really understands black music, soulful pre-60s R & B from which their repertoire is drawn. No retro stupidity, no retardo antics on stage but pure to-the-spirit of the music and damned if they haven’t even improved it some for our modern tastes. You’ve got to be in the mood to put an Eddie Floyd or Benny McCain platter on your stereo but when the Detroit Cobras rev it up with some (very)obscure Otis Redding or Jackie DeShannon cover, you get in the mood. The usual caveat for the Sunshine holds: don’t go specifically for a band unless you are thoroughly familiar with their catalog because everyone sounds like amateurs here and the only remedy is like $20,000 worth of drapery on those bare walls… or maybe just turn the volume down a few measly decibels. The place was built to project the human voice and un-amplified orchestras. It could sound good in there if the sound-dude took this into account. I rocked anyway ‘cause I’m nuts over the Cobras but much as I love ‘em, the poor sound quality hurt the set. I mean, they’d have sounded as good or maybe better around the pool down at the Holiday Inn. Rasputina, Hazard County Girls 8/6/04 @ Sunshine Theatre From Louisiana, the Hazard County Girls looked sorta cute in their Rasputina-like dolly-bird gothic dresses (the drummer however dressed indie-rocker sensibly; how can you beat on things when your diaphanous sleeves get in the way?) but they didn’t even begin to approach Rasputina’s musical originality: half-baked chix rule slo-metal. One drunken buffoon in the crowd kept yelling “I love you” over & over but it was easy to see he was (a) a no-taste metal wanker and (b) liked them just ‘cause of their gender . Being a well-known girl-band geek, I won’t fault him for (b) but I think I have a little more flair. For instance, I can tell who’s who when Mary Lou Lord and Julianna Hatfield harmonize, no mean feat. The Hazards’ exception is a song called Sonic that sounds like an early melodic Hole outtake if Courtney had been taking her meds instead of smack. Nice. But otherwise… Rasputina kept us waiting for a little too long but are such a fine outfit that as soon as they wandered out, no one cared anymore, especially the capital-G Goth girls standing in front of me, leaning on the stage in rapt adoration of cellist Melora Creager. I’m not certain why two years ago she cut back to two cellos from the original three but since her work approaches genius (no shit) I won’t question. Although I miss the somewhat fuller sound of three cellists, two highlights the skill, flair and especially grace of Melora and second-chair Zoe Keating. Drummer Jonathan has a light touch completely in sync with the delicacy of the cello but jumps right in when the gals take it up a notch…or eight. For once the sound at the Sunshine was just right, maybe because Rasputina doesn’t lend themselves to over-doing the volume. And lest you get the wrong impression from my flowery prose, make no mistake: Melora rocks harder than most “rock” guitarists, as her bow will attest, loose catgut flying all about the stage. From a few cheesy AC/DC and Pink Floyd covers to stunning other-worldly originals, nothing and no one anywhere sounds anything like Rasputina. |
||||||||
| LOCAL RELEASES |
||||||||
the Sleestaks Belly Up! [CD 2004] These days there’s an increasing turf war for just who exactly is rock and roll: slavish Iggy imitators, mountains-of-the- moon stoner bands, jackass mofo’s like Jack White or greaser tattooed love-boys doing revved up Gene Vincent covers. The common thread among all of these types is that they usually arrived there via punk rock somewhere along the line. Then there’s bands like the Sleestaks who may have briefly had a blue buzz cut or a spike wristband during some adolescent indiscretion but mostly have been into plain ol’ rock and roll all along: no prog, no new wave, no Billy Joel. And that doesn’t mean they dug old bands with nowadays hip cachet like the Stooges or Dolls-- groups everybody and their grandmother these days claims to have loved all along even though their records didn’t sell when their careers were active. No, the Sleestak boys sound like they suckled at the Jagger/Richards teat *, teethed on Nugent and got laid to Lemmy and, full circle, even followed the Stones years past Let It Bleed, after which Mick and Keith should’ve exited gracefully or just put revolvers in their mouths. Getting drunk, smoking cigs, getting drunk, playing cards and uh getting drunk is what the ‘Staks are all about up in here. Yeah, its plain ol’ rock and roll through and through. Now, that’s not to say that I’m crazy over it. In fact I probably won’t listen to this disc again since I prefer my rock and roll with pop and soul influence (that is to say, NY and Detroit influence). This release would find favor with bikers and Confederacy of Scum aficionados, not known for their refined taste. But it is puro rock and roll, no doubt about it. And despite what I said about not being punk, they get extra punk points for the hundred-dollar bill rolled up and embedded in that little hinge area of the jewel case, about as subtle as all those ‘70s pictures of Jagger playfully holding one finger to his nose. * now there's a disturbing image… FOMA Icecaves [CD 2004] Little Kiss Records www.littlekissrecords.com, www.itsallfoma.com At first listen, I was a little disappointed that this full-length contains a number of songs from previous Foma, re-worked and re-mastered maybe, but "old". Of course, like all non-musicians, I always wanna know why my favorite bands don't write, rehearse, play and release new material each and every week--slackers! But as strikingly beautiful as this is, how can I complain-- besides asking for 35% more cello? Vibrant arrangements, deceptive shut-up-and-listen lyrics, a lotta fortissimo on the crescendo (huh?) and gorgeously breathy girly backing vox…sigh. This presents a full picture of a group reaching its height. For such a bunch of small-statured folk, Foma towers above the commonplace band that attempts but never achieves the same beauty--and kicks 'em to the gutter in the process. the Foxx [2nd pressing, CD 2004] Vinyl Countdown Records www.the-foxx.com I think its the third time I’ve reviewed this thing but the second press (can you correctly say that, “press” for a CD? I’m just showing my age ‘cause I still refer to songs on a CD as “cuts” instead of “tracks”), this edition doesn’t have--ahem-- bonus tracks but three added songs that tidily complete it, now properly a full-length rather than an EP. Nowhere is the fleshing-out more evident than the glam-packed last cut, Ballad of Buddy Holly, Juliette’s voice neatly soaring away like Steeleye Span’s Maddy Prior. It’s a good tune to end your next mix tape with, some sort of finality in the arrangement. Best of all, the three new tunes’ audio separations are in that sweet spot between “slippery clean” and “blurry mess”, more like what you’d hear at a properly mixed show instead of a bleached and spotless studio. Categorization of the Foxx is not so tidy though. Knowing the local musical history of the band (Fuck Taco Bell, the Phase, the Rondelles, Luxo Champ, the Alarm Clocks,) I hear some of it all here plus blue-eyed soul, a tiny bit o’ twang and of course the glam they’re aiming for. And its all on target like the array of bullet holes in a police shooting range silhouette – all dead on in the heart. the Mindy Set A Sugared Mind [CD 2004] Socyermom Records www.socyermom.com, www.themindyset.com Near perfection from the instrumental Beginning to the fly-away home Slide Show end, we’ve all been waiting for a polished full-length from these four (sometimes five) for a long time. The disc actually ends with two so-called bonus tracks (bonus as opposed to what? The non-existent vinyl version?):another instro Carnies and from the first EP demo In My Apartment. Carnies actually would’ve been a fine bookend closer and Apartment should’ve fit somewhere else in the sequence but those are minor points. Once again Alex Rose mixes this like a master alchemist, flawless showcasing of both Mike’s and Matt’s lovely guitars without diminishing the solid J/J rhythm section (Josh & Jill to you). Its an interesting release as half the tracks were cut with other personnel --Frank “Walls” Larson on drums and Isaac “Foxxy” Bonnel on keys--but it all flows together and illustrates how the band just wants to make great music, not piss about in-fighting over who-did-what. Even the Beatles couldn’t deal with crediting Eric Clapton or Billy Preston or Klaus Voorman where it was due. However now that the Mindies are back to the classic line-up, I hope it stays that way for a good long while; or at least long enough for another gem in about a year..? Nels Andrews Sunday Shoes [CD 2004] Little Kiss Records www.littlekissrecords.com, www.nelsandrews.com It seems that words like authentic will always find their way into Nels Andrews reviews. And so it does here. Not Woody- Guthrie-authentic but stirring-in-your-soul real-thang music. The vocals, lyrics, arrangements, production, mastering and band is top notch, quite frankly no surprise to anyone familiar with Nels and his posse. The El Paso Eyepatch only play up Andrews' strengths. A big Michelle Collins fan (she ought to be opening for --hell, headlining instead of -- Lucy Kaplansky or Lucinda Williams), I'd wish for a stronger mix in her back-up vocals but that's a minor point I guess; this is Nels' opus after all. Mr Chris Kitchen on bass opts for a bit more than the standard one-two-three country bomp and slides around melodically but -- professionally--only when the song warrants it. Tasty. You know how David Letterman's hack-sidekick keyboardist Paul Shaffer has it written into his contract that he gets to sit in with any band appearing on Late Night? I think it’s the same thing with Little Kiss Records mogul Heath Dauberman on drums --except that Heath ain't never heard the word hack-- but name me one Little Kiss release where he isn't drumming and I'll eat my hat. I'm not complaining mind you: the man has solid timing and the right touch for any band whether hard-rockin', slow-strummin' or fair-to-middlin'. He knows just what to do and does it sans bullshit. Jeffrey Richards (any instrument with strings and then some) has never done anything but good for any band he’s ever played in or recorded/sessioned with. If he'd been around thirty years ago he’d have been one of those legendary sideman that showed up on every country LP worth a damn, like Charlie McCoy, Kenney Buttrey and Pete Drake. Finally, add Brett Sparks, Ryan Martino, Jason Daniello and -- ahem-- Testy Kool and you have a virtual who's who of Albuquerque Insurgent Country. FOMA / Boyd Reno Is John Center / the Oktober People [self release s/t split 7” 2004] Yow! This has gotta be the only time I will never complain about the lack of cellos on a Foma song. I just dropped the needle on the opening groove for the fifth but not last time. Don’t Burn Babies is timewarp rock and no, I do not mean golden oldies throwback but swirly keyboards like sound effects from 1966 TV sci-fi The Time Tunnel. The tune has that dance-around-the-living-room-when-no-one’s -looking thing going on. This isn’t your mother’s Foma. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so surprised if I’d actually checked out their site before and found that Edward was in one of my fave but totally overlooked Albuquerque bands the Derelectrics who were rockin’ out long before the faux garage revival when everyone else was infatuated with emo vomit. I think I only saw ‘em twice but I had their seven inch for about a year before I ever found them playing out anywhere. At the time, it seemed like there were about a couple dozen orphan copies floating around in local shops like the much-missed Relapse Records (sorry, coffee/folkie heads-- Irysh Mac’s in the same building is not a substitute for the most well-stocked and reasonably priced [cheap!] store we’ve ever had). Next was local darling Boyd Reno is John Center (who I 've never managed to catch live) with the exact opposite, Devil In My Heart, a slow-burning slow-strummer; regret, remorse and apology never sounded so appealing. Finally the Oktober People weigh in with a picture perfect closeout, the coolly aloof but fragile Bye Polar Bear. Elegant. In all this is the prettiest, most well-rounded split-seven I’ve ever heard, difficult enough to do on a two-way but the three-way here is the magic number and this is starting to sound kinky… |
||||||||
| LOCAL MEDIA NM radio, tv, web, gallery |
||||||||
you give me anti Anti Anti “ underground rock images, Los Angeles 1981-1988 from the inflamed eyeball/camera lens of Rocky De la Vega” 6/1 through 6/30/04 @ Atomic Cantina Although New York is still my choice for birthplace of punk in the “who did it first, NY or the UK? ” sweepstakes, Los Angeles has gotten short-shrift for (a) coming later and (b) being dominated by slam-dancing boneheads. To be sure there’s been more books than ever about the L.A. scene in the past 10 years but the sheer volume of NY/UK books wins on gross weight alone. Most of the NY punk photo retrospectives are dominated by the same pictures: Debbie Harry in bed with Joey Ramone, the Heartbreakers covered in Hershey’s syrup to simulate blood, Patti Smith looking dire… There’s far less image compendiums of west coast punk so it was a pleasure to see these on display, photos snapped by our own left coast expatriate Rocky de la Vega, owner of Mecca Records & Books (conveniently located a few blocks from the El Paso/Juarez busline on Central and 14th). I guess you could call the subject matter second wave punk or something but Rock neatly sidesteps the label (and the whole premise of my intro to this critique) by just calling it “underground rock”. In any case, its all in fetching black & white. As we all know, everything looks more real in black & white so it lends a “you were there” quality . And if some publishers had any sense, these would be in a handsome coffee-table book by now, and perhaps under your own coffee table, beer-stained, cigarette-burned and dog-eared from poring over the luxurious photos again and again. |
||||||||
| THE WRANGLER REPORT |
||||||||
Raveonettes, the Rogers Sisters, Elkland, Black Tie Review 8/20/4 @ the World, Pittsburgh PA While visiting family in Pennsylvania last week, I happened to take in a show at The World (formerly the Rosebud) in the "Strip" district of Pittsburgh. The club itself sits among a warehouse row located across the 16th St. bridge and had a pretty open layout with a second floor seating area bolstered by steel (of course!) columns. I had been wanting to see the Raveonettes for some time now after being enthused about their revved up Jesus and Mary Chain feedback style combined with sweet girl/guy vocal melodies reminiscent of the Everley Brothers. The Raveonettes are a Danish duo who have been gaining notoriety touring with the Strokes and contributing a song of theirs to a Kmart commercial, and although some might see this as a sell out tactic and dismiss the band altogether, I really like their sound and was very excited to finally catch them live. The Whip It On EP was my first taste of Raveonettes but I'd like to send a personal shout out to Brett for leaving me a copy of Chain Gang of Love when he visited for the Detroit Cobras. The opening band, Black Tie Review, were from Pittsburgh and had a sonic pop structure similar to the Knack with a little Cars-esque keyboard vibe. A young band with a likeable approach and a lot of enthusiasm. If the cast of Goonies were to appear as the guest band on The Young Ones, with Chunk as lead singer/guitar player, while simultaneously moonlighting on an episode of The Monkees then you might get the idea of the energy and spunk output of this power/pop-rock ensemble. Next up, Elkland. I'm not sure where these guys are from, but when they're from is 80s . Remember that band Real Life Send Me an Angel, or Meaning of Love era Depeche Mode, or Talk Talk era Talk Talk or Meat is Murder era Morrissey? Well, these guys are all of those things and pretty damn good at it too. The drummer was a heavy hitter who played along to some electro-disco beats while the "low in the mix" guitar player and accomplished keyboard/synth player made up the backing band for the flamboyantly up front and confident lead singer. Although their gay disco sound leaned heavily on the mid 80s and could hardly be called ground-breaking, it was refreshing to deviate from the indie-rock overload that seems to be reaching the saturation point. The band was confident and possessed a dance worthy sound that would fit well at any 80s themed house party...think pastel IZOD polo shirts with the collars flipped up accented with a "New Wave" coif. I found myself bopping along while occasionally snickering at the irony of it all. Next, the Rogers Sisters a power trio consisting of two singing sisters (drummer & guitarist) and an action packed Jackie Chan look-alike bass player. This trio added some serious angularity to their rigid start stop tribal punk rock. Some of the guitar jabs reminded me of Gang of Four and there was a Yeah Yeah Yeah sexiness to their No-Wave fury. The main singer guitar player was looking especially foxy in her satiny red dress with low neckline and high heels, and she knew her way around the ax. So far I was quite impressed with the diversity and sound of all the opening bands and then Raveonettes took the stage and carried that impression even further. Although recorded mostly as a duo by Sharin (bass) and Sune (guitar) , there were four members on stage rounding out the sound and filling the room with live drums and heavily reverbed guitar goodness. Buddy Hollys Everyday kicked things off and was a great cover to choose as this band is heavily influenced by and loves the bubble gum smackin' rockabilly sound of the 50s and 60s; they also covered Eddie Cochran’s Come On later in the set. The feedback and reverb levels in the Raveonettes music is over the top but well controlled and the co-ed harmonies are definitely a highlight in this act. The crowd was receptive, energetic and appreciative and the only drawback I felt was that some of the "canned" percussion was lost in the mix especially at the front of the stage, but that's where the action is, so it was a small and easily overlooked drawback. The rest of the set was taken from their Whip It On EP and Chain Gang of Love full length and the only song I missed hearing was this song with "Johnny" in the title (one of my faves off of Chain Gang of Love). Kick ass show top to bottom! [the song in question is The Truth About Johnny, quite apropos here as the truth about Mr Wrangler is more than greets the eye... -ed.] Curiosa Festival 8/17/04 @ Coors Amphitheater, Denver CO the Cure, Interpol, The Rapture, Mogwai (main stage) Cursive Auf der Maur, Cooper Temple Cause, Head Automatica (2nd stage) With a 4:30 show time on a work day, and 30 minute band sets pressed between each other (and 2 stages) with 5 minute turn around times it was bound to happen...missing half the show that is! But hey, the ticket was free. Here's what happened... Came in as the Raptures last hip shakin’ measures rumbled through the amphitheater while drops of rain fell from grey skies, so I don't have anything to report on these tastemakers...missed Mogwai regrettably (played before I got there) and didn't quite make it in time for Head Automatica, Cooper Temple Clause, or Auf der Maur (bassplayer chick from Hole/Smashing Pumpkins...oh well); but good news is Interpol were in fine form and sounded revved and ready with a set that was about 50/50 from Turn on the Bright Lights and the anticipated Antics due this fall. You might recall the last review (WWB#54) that I submitted on these guys wasn't too favorable, but the first show I saw in Tucson was great...so, gotta go with Meatloaf and say "2 outa 3 ain't bad." The new stuff sounds less stuffy and a bit more upbeat...still got the Chameleons/Joy Division/Smiths albatross flying close by. Caught a bit of Cursive after Interpol, and all I can say is they had a guy holding a guitar while playing a keyboard and some girl had an electric cello and some of the singing reminded me of a gruffer Robert Smith kind of wail and , well, that's about it (Saddle Creek bands...hmmm). The Cure's entrance was spectacular with shimmery purple and white lights and drum chimes that added a sort of mystical panache to the evening. Long intros and silky string keys led the way as the crowd all rose to their feet to and cheered their cheruby maestro with the muppet hair. The sound was incredible for an outdoor gig, and Robert Smith’s voice was still as magnificent and strong as ever. The twelve string acoustic got a lot of play especially during Just Like Heaven and In Between Days while the electric guitar was reserved for the moody rockin’ of Disintegration Street and 100 Years. The encores definitely packed the punches with Love Cats, Why Can't I Be You, Boys Don't Cry, Let's Go To Bed and Friday I'm In Love. Spanning their whole discography, the show was a crowd pleaser and I definitely was pleased to be part of the crowd. I wasn't feeling ill, but I'm glad I got The Cure (get it). I just crack myself up sometimes yuk yuk. Until next time, Johnny Wrangler farewell |
||||||||
|
Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com) |
||||||||
| Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America |
po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196 |
||||||||