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Fast Heart Mart,
Kate Mann, Gunsafe
7/5/08 Burt’s
I needn’t have worried. See, I figured its been over a year since I caught
Fast Heart Mart and that I ought to support them at this Burt’s
Tiki Lounge outing where a large crowd wouldn’t be expected. Too, I’d heard
good things about local cowpunks Gunsafe (who turned out to be more punk than
cow but not to their detriment). As it happened, there were more FHM attendees
than anyone would’ve thought: dancing and getting down. And acting like demented
Hee Haw cast members, as too many people think is appropriate when acoustic
music rears its misunderstood head but, hey. I won’t bag on them tonight.
A good time was had by all.
Tonight found Mart on his double-necked guitar, (“Herman”) Robblyn
trading in her high-hat and rack tom for that pretty, pretty acoustic bass
and ex-Into The Quick stickman Murdock o’ Mooney whipping it on with a full
drum kit. As per usual, it was raga-punk-folk at its best.
The local noise contingent has praised Gunsafe all over the neighborhood
so I was glad to see them at their ragged street-spare-changing best, three
Raggedy Ann’s and one Andy. Don’t expect any semblance to the long-running
spate of roots Americana that at times gets a little too earnest for my tastes
but a quartet ripping out gallopin’ & sloppy profanity-laden fractured
c’untry honk. Its like a two-step danced to by people with one leg.
But it was the unknown-to-me until tonight Kate Mann who won my Best
of Show. Turns out Portland citizen Mann is a ‘burque native who used
to hang in this very club when it was the Fabulous Dingo Bar, mercifully minus
the annoying Tiki crap. I don’t believe she ever graced the stage when it
stood where the foosball table is now but I’m betting she spent lots of time
in front of it, whiskey in hand.
A lonester onstage with an acoustic guitar rarely commands the attention
of a boozy crowd but her riveting voice & strong delivery of tops lyric
content grabbed me immediately. Sort of name dropping P.J. Harvey as an influence
-- Polly’s Song -- I heard other references, intended or not. Mann’s
strong vibrato reminds of Sam Phillips (the singer/song-writer, wife of T-
Bone Burnett, not grumbly ol’ Sam Phillips of Sun Records fame) mixed with
some Syd Straw from her landmark 1996 countrified disc War and Peace and a
bit of the mostly unknown Eleanor McEvoy. The themes are the usual -- to quote
Straw “Love and the lack of it” -- but the skilled presentation and compelling
lyrics make it fresh rather than another undistinguished voice clamoring
for attention in the overcrowded Americana field.
Mann’s latest release Devils Rope (on her own Orange Dress records, 2007)
finds her joined by the rotating back-up outfit known as the Calamities but
it’s to Kate’s credit that her voice, lyrics and tunes command attention full
band or solo, as evidenced by her performance tonight and a few of Devil’s
numbers reprised from her sparely accompanied November Songs disc (Speed of
Light CDs and Vinyl, 2005).
I’ll be at her next Albuquerque show, of
which she assured me there will be plenty more. So should you.
Company Circle, Ghostkimo
7/18/08 Atomic
I caught the live-electro stylings of Ghostkimo a few months back
at Ralli’s and was impressed. Even moreso tonight with more experience under
their belts and the addition of Oktober Person Nate Santamaria pounding the
drums. The other revelation (I don’t get out much) was that the band name
is pronounced to rhyme with “Eskimo”.
My fave tunes feature not one but two vintage ‘60s organs (encased in formidable
wooden frames) instead of the cheesy Farfisa/ ? and the Mysterians sound (which
I love, don’t get me wrong) give a churchlike feel. Its Hallelujah, brothers
and sisters! all around especially when frontwoman Lindsay Kane gets the
spirit, shaking her tambourine and butt jangles. The drum machine isn’t quite
buried in the mix but for once is part of a whole rather than a driving force,
which agrees with an analog freek like me.
Ryan Kane and Mark Opperman take swift and lovely turns from jangly guitars
to organ and back again. No bass guitar tyranny! Lindsay’s harmonica brings
you back into that mood when you first heard Blonde On Blonde: Dylan blowing
raunchy rheumy harp paired with Al Kooper’s moving organ. I could happily
see Ghostkimo playing a song for 11 minutes 23 seconds, just like Sad Eyed
Lady of the Lowlands. Never mind the fact that these people weren’t
even alive when that landmark LP was released in 1966.
In what I think was their live debut, Company Circle didn’t do it
for me. A few songs in, I was out. It was purely that soundstyle that was
done to death for me by the early 2000’s.
I realize “emo” is a fighting word but I’m
at a loss for anything else. Sorry, guys. Who knows, though. In this day and
age when reality shows stage “reunions” a couple of months after the fact,
maybe the kids are nostalgic for it by now.
Volume Volume, Bellemah
7/19/08 Launchpad
Billy Bellmont is one of our best unsung singer/songwriters so any
project he’s involved in is worth a listen or three. His latest Bellemah
(so, is he Billy Bellemah now?) builds on the soft-loud-soft framework that
too many inferior bands devolved into that “classic” emo sound that deluged
us in the early 2000s and brought rock n’ rollers to tears. And they weren’t
tears of joy either. Unlike them, Bellemah heads into the logical progression
that genre should’ve gone instead of breeding soundalike after soundalike.
With a sweet voice and acoustic guitar, Billy leads in kind tunes of thoughtful
melody and yearning. Backed by Gabe Bass on the bottom end, Stue Trory on
keys (he cleans up nice), my fave powerhouse drummer Noelan Ramirez on the
sticks and skins and Erin Phillips on violin. She could’ve been miked a little
louder but otherwise the mix was perfect. Instead of each instrument and harmony
voice standing out or above, there was a wall of sound quality melding into
a pleasing whole. The endings of many songs aren’t abrupt but come to a swift
coda to good effect. Bellemah rocks but they don’t smack you over the head
with it. A fine set.
Next Volume Volume amped the volume volume and pop punk factor in
what may be their best personnel line-up yet. Tight, stripped down and snotty
(but in a nice way )attitude. This set primed me to see them again next week,
when I, for one , was a little drunker and ready to raucous n’ roll.
Small Flightless Birds, the Grave of Nobody’s
Darling, Calico
7/25/08 Burt’s
Nate Santamaria (Oktober People, Ghostkimo, the Eternal Puppy) is vying
with Bud & Jess (Grave of Nobody’s Darling, Lionhead Bunny, Bud Melvin,
Veery, Blue Rose Ramblers …um..I lost count) for Most Number of Bands &
Side Projects In Varying Styles award. His latest and solo deal Calico
is right up my alley: dancey but with a guitar and a wonderful twist. I’ve
nothing against Apple Notebook bands (there’s some I really like)but at times
the prerecorded loops get stale just by virtue of digital non-variation: maybe
interesting at first but ultimately vacuous, like airbrushed supermodels with
perpetual tooth-whitened smiles and counterfeit bodies.
Nate starts by recording the loops live, right then and there on stage.
First maybe a single snare rimshot. Then he’ll pick up the guitar to lay
down a single riff. Next perhaps a ghostly vocal ooh or ahh. Finally a bleep
loop, vocals and maybe some real-time (read: live) guitar. The layers build
as does the anticipation to see where it’s all going and what it will become.
Then whoosh! it all comes together beautifully and makes your body sway even
before you realize it.
The genius of this is that there’s no forgiveness. That is, if Nate starts
even slightly off the beat he was going for, all the rest of the loops have
to be on that beat. Each have to be in tune with all others, looped or live.
You can reach that point by doing the tracks over and over in your bedroom
until you get it just right but not in front of an audience whose patience
will wear thin if you take too long. No do-over’s! Too, depending on
Santamaria’s mood, each show will take on a different quality and je nais
sais quoi . Besides the technical virtuosity, we’re in luck because the melodies
are top notch. Beautiful. Delicate but not fragile. And just fuckin’ kick-ass
all around.
The excellence continued with Grave of Nobody’s Darling who I unforgivably
haven’t seen since their first lo-fi incarnation a year ago or more. Now,
it’s Jessica on lovely sunburst Gibson and just as lovely vocals, Bud on phase-shifting
banjo and hot & glassy pedal steel, Jill (Foxx, Mindy Set) drumming her
li’l heart out and Clifford (Ipytor Gavyen Machislav, Shoulder Voices) on
bass that’s more than the old thump-thump- thump. Jilly even slipped
in a few background vocals but me, I’m waiting for her golden-throated lead
vox. Or maybe a solo record.
It’s barre-chord drone, surf/waltz and celestial twang. This ain’t no hoe-down
but it’s staggering how much energy is unleashed in their downtempo mélange.
Quietly astounding.
Small Flightless Birds played to a much smaller crowd but are
better than the people that bailed thought, someplace between that old Matador
Records indie sound and pre-Grunge alt.rock. Driving, punchy melodious jam
with reverb and lots of tom rolls & fills. Not all the songs grabbed me
but enough to make me stand and listen. But overall? Nice.
Volume Volume, Lousy Robot, Mexicans At Night
7/26/08 Atomic
Volume Volume rocked it rocked it tonight tonight, tight as
fuck and full of punk snot like a little kid unaware of the glistening booger
on his upper lip. Jumping from guitar to keys and back again Sean proved he’s
not the new guy anymore while Rachel poured on the Lookout! guitar licks,
Levi crooned like Sinatra if he had grown up with noisy rock and our man Noelan
slammed the fucking piss out of the skins. I think this was my favorite VV
set ever.
Lousy Robot preceded them with spot-on … well, spot-on everything.
Even when they suck (which they didn’t tonight) they’re an amazing outfit,
one of my top of all time. So why the hell aren’t they moving zillions of
units in sales?
The outstanding surprise tonight was a last
minute add-on set by Mexicans At Night, one of the best outfits out
of Chuco in years (that’s El Paso to you).
Rocka is a beast of a drummer, hard-hitting but in excellent control with
the masked bandito Pistola hitting the vox and guitar no less hard. Don’t
be fooled by the quiet mp3s online (myspace of course):this duo delivers the
goods live, de veras! Beware however of a zillion songs, youtube’s and
other crud on their site that try to start all at once, a hard-drive overload
fiesta. Mexicans at Night will be back soon and I suggest you make it a point
to go and witness this hammering duo.
Let’s hope & pray this will begin a renaissance
and renewed cross-pollination between the ‘burque and Chuco scenes, a connection
that’s been ignored for too long, since los duros Chinese Love Beads walked
the earth. And let us not forget the prolific if low-key Las Cruces scene
in between. And if we’re really well-behaved, maybe a few Juarito rockers
will make the trek north as well...if the Federales don’t build that godamn
wall.
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Flight of the Valkyrie Dept.
As I’m fond of saying, I can’t tell Slayer from
Ratt so finally you’ll find some intelligent and informed reports here
about the “hard stuff” from Ms. Danger. -- ed.
SuperGiant, Icky & the Yucks, the Gracchi
8/8/08 Launchpad
by Black Cat Danger
SuperGiant Rock is correct. Assembly of Albuquerque greats at the
Launchpad on the celestially auspicious 8/8/08 for the release of SuperGiant’s
new album, Antares. King Lear weather made for dreamy dewy scenery as The
Gracchi, Icky & the Yucks and Super-giant rocked their fucking hearts
out and drunk attendees of a quinceñera reception party at the El
Rey and drunk dirty children of rock intermingled outside.
Powerpoppunk quattro the Gracchi opened
up with an uncharacteristically sleepy first song before switching up to
their rapid heartbeat signature sound. It was quite a gathering, but distressingly
bright lights frightened people away from the immediate stage area. A pleasure
to see this band still kicking up a little sugar fury after four years and
the loss of charmingly charmless founding member and drumming powerhouse
Jeff Jones, neé Scared of Chaka. Latest drummer Rob Reagan
was the primary energy source for the Gracchi this evening, as Alex, Laura,
and Ashley Gracchus put in a performance that was just a touch low on the
juice.
In between sets, took a short walk off campus, and got caught up in the
street melee after another stupid fucking raid by Abq’s finest, this time
on Club 7. Those beautiful horses are the best thing about The Man’s downtown
presence, we got to see those gorgeous beasts galloping down Central as all
the action went down. Didn’t know what was up at first. Forbidden by cops
against crossing the street, we hung out on the sidewalk and conjectured
about what just happened as the police and news crews refused to comment.
No exaggeration, about 15 various emergency vehicles parked outside. The
EMTs casually wheeling a gurney around in front fueled our imaginations (Shooting?
Stabbing? The guy must be dead already, the way the emergency crew
is taking their damn time) but a few hours later we learned it was just Marty
Chavez making up for his erectile dysfunction with another offensive against
New Mexico revelers.
Anyhoo, we missed most of Icky’s set thanks to that stupid drama. Only managed
to catch the last song, T N T of course, which fucking burned the house down,
as always. Seriously, Icky and the Yucks, y’all are true rock stars.
AAA professionals, man--Icky, you always deliver.
The main attraction, SuperGiant, dressed all in white and ministered
to a rabidly loyal fan base as they presented their second release to the
public with pure powerrocksoul. Space-type video was projected
on white sheets draped in the background. No fear of those scary bright lights
up in front for this set. People were jammed against the stage. Almost new
material exclusively, and the crowd was locked into their cosmic hypnotics.
A sweat soaking, mind altering experience, heavy and hard. Finished up with
the excellent Luna at the command of an electrified audience. Congratulations
on your new album, Supergiant. Proud to be a rock fan in Albuquerque tonite.
Ferocious sets under the Scorpio moon.
Mei Long, the Foxx, DJ Cherry Lee
8/8/08 Burt’s
The Foxx opened and came on strong with a controlled but rocking
set which I’m afraid was lost on most the crowd. Subtlety in music is not
appreciated by the average bar-goer, few I’m sure who attended specifically
for our torch-carrying glam heroes. Juliette’s operatic qualities--not unknown
in classic glam --I think bewilders casual listeners. Not me. I eat it up
with a spoon. “New guy” Tim (who proved straightaway he’s not just a replacement)
even took a vocal turn during one of their latest tunes. As time goes on,
the Foxx become more and more unique in our local scene leaving them not only
the best at what they but the only ones who do what they do. Although the
band might blanche at that paraphrase of an old Grateful Dead axiom, it’s
entirely true. And I’m thankful.
Basement Films (represented tonight by Mr Keif Henley and friend)
projected random loops on and behind the band: Mack Sennett’s bathing beauties
(c.1914), sweeping lunar landscapes -- all the bases were covered.
Mei Long delivered the powerhouse set of the band’s life--right
at its end! This was the last ever Mei Long outing, improbably combined with
their first CD release, an almost posthumous double disc of psych-rock, their
final love letter to adoring fans. The stops were pulled out with Mark macking
all over the place, bassman Josh & drummer Gonzalo delivering
the rhythm section outing of the year and
Brandon keeping the keys hot. This was also a going away party of sorts
for Gonzalo, a powerhouse of constant rolls and fills. I’m a huge sucker
for that shit and will miss seeing him in action. Buena suerte, Gonzalo!
Even when the set was over Mark didn’t let go but keep issuing feedback
from his axe and then jumped onto the recently vacated (and probably still
smokin’ hot) drum stool for a bit. If local bands have any sense, they’ll
be standing in line to see who gets first dibs on Joshua, one of our top
bass players. Take a number.
Between the live sets DJ Cherry Lee (congrats to Lee and wife
Alison on their newly-arrived firstborn) spun some killer tracks culled from
his extensive playlist that includes Iggy Pop, Beatles, the Screws, Girls
Against Boys, Neon Neon and others too numerous to count. Unfortunately, average
bar goers prefer only the obvious techno-based bump bump bump stuff to get
them on the dancefloor. Most continued drinking with Lee’s great choices reduced
to background music. I don’t get it, I just don’t get it.
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Goddamn it, it was a killer fucking metal weekend
in Central NM. Out near Laguna Pueblo, there was Buckfest, a two day
rock event featuring 20 bands, including Creepshow and The Suspended.
Here in town, Dead Child, Early Man, and Valiant Thorr left fans deaf and
ravaged with some really exquisite musical violence. --B.C.D.
Buckfest 8/9/08
Budville Rodeo Grounds, Budville NM
by Black Cat Danger
A major share of Laguna Pueblo, plus a few strays from ABQ and Grants, assembled
at the Budville rodeo grounds to rock out at Buckfest. The bands started up
early in the day on Saturday and rocked deep into the night under a tarp and
the glare of sporadically operational flood lights. Up close to the stage,
rowdy crowds attended to each act. A little further back kids pitched
tents and families set up campers. In Dante’s outer ring, people just chilled
in their parked vehicles, drinking beers. Maybe something like 120+ people
in attendance, old men, little kids, ages across the board. Black T
shirts and jeans were the uniform.
When I got there, some horrible teenage horror punk band was on stage. That’s
when I realized that if the music was sucking, there would be no way to escape.
It’s the wide fucking open out there, New Mexico Heartbreak Landscape.
You can hear for miles.
It was clear at the rodeo grounds, but clutches of thunder-storms were 360?
around. Night was falling, and we pulled out a blanket and cookstove and boiled
up some chorizo in beer. I was still healing up from last nite’s super
Supergiant CD release, and Jesus, I just needed a little medicinal herb and
some good music--how many songs to go in this horrible horror punk band’s
set? It got dark, and at long last, the atrocious band was somehow put
out of its misery. And here it was, friends, the first of two beautiful metal
moments of the night: Lightening seared open the night sky just as
the next band’s first power chord rang out across the mesa. ROCK. Laguna Pueblo
is metal.
Buck Concho, the “Buck” of Buckfest, introduced Creepshow,
appealing to an already raucous crowd for reasonably good behavior--“Be cool,
guys, so we can have this again next year.” The crowd seemed to respect the
man, if not the message. Then he made a special introduction for his daughter,
Chan, of Creepshow and Suspended, with obvious pride that his baby girl is
a drumming badass. Oh my G-d, it was so sweet, I almost shed a tear.
Sorry, still hurting during Creepshow’s set, and making myself well with chorizo
and booze. Sounded great from afar, though.
Finally in good condition and ready to check out the stage for the next
act, Manias. About twenty people--all ages, again, plenty of
men in their 40s and 50s alongside the kids--and the moshing was unusually
barbaric. Two giants stood near the stage handling security, and they were
kept pretty busy. Manias is grindcore, and I’m just not into
that kind of shit. They wore some impressive spiked leather wrist cuffs,
and it did seem like they were good at what they did. The crowd was definitely
into it. The singer took a moment to recognize someone’s dad who died
in Iraq a couple years ago, laying down a heavy vibe for a second. But from
there he started rattling off some crackpot rightwing political shit and the
scene turned into a circus again.
Then, finally, The Suspended took the stage. Some guy named
Thomas, sweet, well educated about antiquity, looking a little he’s done some
hard living, was chatting with me on the periphery. He took a little
shine to me, I guess, and when the music started, dragged me up to the front
of the stage. Fine with me, happy to be there. The Suspended played
an excellent set to an audience that was totally in love with them.
And plenty of young women up front. Would like to see more of that at the
metal shows, girls. Step right up. The mosh pit was as vicious as ever, all
boys, big, brutal boys. Anyway, shit went down--devolution into a knock
down, drag out fight. Tussling, jostling,
ten men tackle on top, then out of the chaos, a couple guys get dragged away.
One boy’s face was washed over in blood. The Suspended didn’t miss a beat--they
just kept thrashing their shit and everyone else just kept rocking out. But,
wait, where’s Thomas? Swept out in the melee, I guess. Well, nice to meet
you. Hope to hear you finish your thoughts on 2nd century Egyptian politics
next time!
The Suspended played Prelude to Indignance, a tune with melodic
guitar nailed to furious chorus, and the crowd was rapt. Me too. Right next
to me is a young guy, 21, with his 3 year old daughter up on his shoulders.
And here’s the second beautiful metal moment of the night: that little girl
was pounding the air with her tiny hands in devil horns, just locked into
the music and rocking the fuck out. Goddamn precious memories.
We were going to camp and spend the night out there, but it was seeming
a little too disorderly. More and more skirmishes, guys all agro metal-ed
out and totally wasted. So we picked up sticks and took off. Good times,
though. And there were bands scheduled for the whole day Sunday as well.
Will try to hang in there for that next year, for sure.
Dead Child, Early Man, Valient Thorr
8/11/08 Launchpad
by Black Cat Danger
To all the half-boners who missed the Early Man/Valiant Thorr show because
it was on a Monday nite, it’s time to cry bitter tears of remorse. You
missed the show of the year.
GUITAR GUITAR GUITAR--like, 15 of them between 3 bands.
Opening band Dead Child was mostly
semi-acceptable hard rock, but they did have a few guitar solos that melted
into that electro-metal-scream that is so delicious. Also of note, a
couple of guys in the band were easy on the eyes. But I wasn’t present
100% for their set because 1) I went outside and got high as fuck with Valient
Thorr and 2) the Launch-pad was pretty empty, and I had the pleasure of chitchatting
at length with the band that towers in my top ten--Early Man. Valiant Thorr,
I don’t want to sell you as the unloved step cousin, because you guys are
pretty great, but my heart belongs to Early Man.
After Dead Child, Early Man took the stage and did not disappoint.
They had Orange 100 watt half stack guitar amps and an Ampeg SVT with
an 8 x 10 Cabinet stacked on the stage, and for any other band I would have
cowered like dog by the bar. But, it was Early Man, and I just had to
suck it up and let the pain in my eardrums burn out to numb. Early Mike played
a white Jackson Randy Rhoads model guitar and the other guitar player played
a yellow Gibson Flying V. A few songs from their super fucking killer one
and only album so far, Closing In, but mostly new material. Thank G-d,
because I have played that first album to death since it came out in 2005.
New songs sound tight, right in line with that shriek-corroded music they
won my love with in the first place. The new album comes out October 14.
The set list:
Four Walls
Feeding Frenzy
Sinking In the Blade
Coiled Like A Snake
Undertaker
Beware the Circling Fin
Fight!
Now You’re Someone Else’s Nightmare
DEATH IS THE ANSWER
They finished their set long before the audience was satisfied. “Like
A Goddamned Rat! ” one guy was demanding, and Pete, the guitar player, threw
his busted stank-ass guitar strap into the audience instead. This other guy
was like, “We don’t want your trash! We came to see you! LIKE
A GODDAMNED RAT! ” But that was it.
I think I blew my last drop on Early Man, cumming as I was off
that brutal Gracchi/Icky/Supergiant/Buckfest marathon. But I stayed
to rock out to a few of Valient Thorr’s songs, at least. Herbie--
I mean Valient-- I covet your shiny red wrestling shoes. Not that many people
left at this hour, midnight on Monday--you fucking cowards--but Valiant Thorr
put on a 1,000,000 volt performance anyway. Their diehard fans were swarming
by the stage. Special communiqué to the Launchpad--could you please
dim those fucking lights in front of the stage? Thanks.
And just around the corner, Anaesthesia, Leeches of Lore, The Melvins, and
the Heaven and Hell Tour. It’s like I died and went to metal heaven. DEATH
IS THE ANSWER.
Pan!c, Lousy Robot
8/14/08 Albuquerque Press Club
Everything’s great about the Press Club: a 1903 log-facade building with
acoustics as warm as a cat on your lap, a porch bigger than the show room,
no cover, a homey bar in which one can smoke (I’ll all for not passing on
secondhand smoke but alcohol & tobacco are as much a part of rockn’roll
as blown amps & bloated egos) and best of all, shows are never packed
beyond comfort. Either no one knows where it is or they give up with inadequate
parking despair. The Club has usually host to quiet acousti- acts such as
Shine Cherries, Nels Andrews or Selsun Blue. Until tonight the most rockin’
band I’d ever seen there was Foma. That says it all.
Tonight was the Camp Scoot Meet-up, a party for a bunch of bruising, chain-wielding
scooter trash-- the bad element at any gathering. Lock up your daughters and
your drugs!
I arrived minutes before Pan!c rattled the dust off the many hoary volumes
lining the walls (there was some discussion afterwards that books would make
better sound dampening in any studio or practice space than dozens of egg
flats nicked from the Frontier Restaurant dumpsters).
The Pan!c trio’s tighter than ever with Rob (who double downs with
the Gracchi) driving Mistress Eva and Rachel Rachel (of Volume Volume) like
an Egyptian overlord whipping pyramid-building slaves. From time to time the
gals stepped aside to direct your attention to this controlled maniac on
the drum stool, their svelte arms extended gracefully like Carol Marrol on
the old Let’s Make A Deal tv show. No word from Monty Hall. I don’t think
he punk rocks.
Eva’s wonderful full throated vocals were shown to great advantage in this
room that loves voices. And no one else can sing the words “bitch cunt whore”
and almost make them sound lovely. At first her bass was absorbed a bit too
much into the abundant wood of the Club but came on stronger after a few numbers.
Rach riffed out her signature poppunk guitar lines likely learned from long
sessions in her teenage bedroom listening to Sludgeworth, the Queers or Screeching
Weasel. I had one question though. Eva introduced the song “about divorce”
followed by the song about “being naughty”. The question is, which came first?
There’s a direct ratio between how long Lousy Robot front-man Jim
Phillips’ hair gets and how much he rocks out. Luckily, it appears he
hasn’t had a haircut in a while. This was definitely the most amped-up rocked-out
set of theirs in recent memory, so much so it made you forget that Lousy
Robot is heartbreakingly beautiful, in both lyrics and melody. Consummate,
superb and just damn good. There’s not enough superlatives to go around after
one of their shows.
Post-show, a splendid time was had my all hanging around the porch while
bands traded stories about auditioning possible new members: try-outs
of dubious individuals packing heat, “drummers” that have self-admitted problems
with timing and guys who just want to (shudder) jam. This was followed by
loading out equipment and some most questionable parking lot wrestling
until almost 2 am.
Lionhead Bunny, Eternal Puppy, Calico,
Olds
8/17/08 house show
Its been awhile since I’ve hit a house show but since I’m at risk of being
that guy who stays home complaining that music will never get any better than
my old Wilson Pickett vinyl, it was time to get out among the humans. Sadly
though, I did what I hate to see others do: hear my friends play and split
before the touring act came on. Warm foamy keg beer makes me sleepy and it
was time for bed anyway.
First up was Olds, a one-man, one-notebook set of mildly interesting
canned beats, bleats and bleeps. The guy kinda reminded me of Nardwuar the
Human Serviette (of the Evaporators) what with antics like jumping on
people in the crowd, getting them to hoist him aloft, etc. I say the music
was mildly interesting since Mr Olds pretty much just punched a couple of
keys on his laptop and convulsed on the floor while his stuff played. The
digital format has so many possibilities I just can’t get next to watching
someone merely press play. Sorry, man, but I could have stayed home and downloaded
yer mp3’s offa myspace and not missed a thing. Performance art notwithstanding,
the craft & process of creating music is what gets me out of the house.
Otherwise I might as well stay home and spin those ol’ Wilson Pickett records.
Calico is getting good buzz around these parts with good reason. Nate is
an exemplar of what one person can do with a few instruments, a notebook and
a dozen f/x boxes, the interplay between “real” instruments, loops and a
live being is outstanding. Here, the contrast between Calico’s >>>
one-man-jam method and that of Olds was magnified like a Nikon 405mm zoom
lens.
Next, Nate swept aside his pile of instruments-- digital, electric and acoustic--to
make way for Eternal Puppy which is himself and Ryan Ghostkimo. I guess
a few techno glitches cropped up ‘cause they only managed one song that was
about as long as their set-up time. At least they had that bottle of sake
to comfort them. The rest of us slobs were left with room temperature bottom-of-the-keg
PBR, not my idea of a good time. In any case, one song wasn’t enough to form
an opinion so I’ll leave off until next time I have a chance to see ‘em.
Capping my early night, Lionhead Bunny rolled out the banjo, violin,
empty whiskey bottles and digital pedals/ tweakers for some drone-o-rama while
a remix of Zardoz was projected in cinemascopic glory across the wall. Most
everyone else watched the movie. I watched Bud & Jessica create. I can
rent Zardoz any old time.
8mm
Atomic 8/23/08
Hyperfest was in full effect this weekend and of course I failed miserably
in seeing any of it. I have an unreasonable block against such fests and crawls.
It’s a good thing that they bring out crowds who normally never go out for
shows. Its also a bad thing that they bring out crowds who normally never
go out for shows. The latter because most are, as always, just looking for
a good time (i.e. getting lucky) rather than exposure to new & different
music. The obvious Hyperfesters (yes I’m afraid it is obvious) came and went
like flies buzzing around spilled sugar.
Guess I’m some kind of weirdo. Humans have been evolutionarily hot-wired
to seek shelter, food and fucking. I’ve been known to pass up all three in
favor of good live melody. Still, thanks are due to the Hyper-organizers for
bothering to put such an event together. No thanks to me for missing it third
year in a row. Except for the last song by the down-tempo 8mm. En route to
Burt’s I stopped into the Atomic to hear this L.A. outfit and wished I’d
made it twenty minutes sooner. I wouldn’t say they’re anything new, not really.
Nor striking -- except for the calculated presence of slinky singer Juliette
Beavan-- but the few mp3s I heard had a quality vaguely akin (not alike)
to last decade’s fem-fronted outfits like Mazzy Star, Portishead or Elysian
Fields.
Self-described Nu-Jazz Trip Hop? I didn’t hear it. Dreamy and moody? Check.
Smokey I’m-over-you lyrics? Check. Spare but well-placed keyboards? Check.
Cred? Of a sort. Guitarist/brains behind the organization (?) Sean Beavan
co-produced NIN and Marilyn Manson, not an enticement to me. No word on drummer
Jon Nicholson’s pedigree even with multiple online searches, the hack journalist’s
last resort. The poor guy’s not even mentioned in 8mm’s website which makes
one wonder how tenuous his role is.
Their last song was Give It Up with jangly guitar exemplified by ‘90s “alternative
rock”, a loosely defined genre I love unapologetically. 8mm has a very nice
sound for a three-piece of drums, guitar and voice. A stage full of people
can hide each other’s mistakes but it’s naked when pared to a trio.
Public prude that I am I was a bit embarrassed to watch
top-model material Juliette make sultry eye contact with the males in front
of the stage who were transfixed by the sight of her in a skintight red cocktail
dress. Eye candy’s not a bad thing since modern homo sapiens are more visually
oriented than any time previous in human history but if that’s all you’ve
got going for you, you may as well be some talentless American Idle (no, that’s
not a typo).
Fortunately 8mm had more going for them. The gig is the real measure of
worth and talent. Anyone can Pro-Tool their way to the top these days but
when’s that’s the case, I’ll keep rooting around at the bottom for what pleases
my ears first.
I was impressed by that sole tune I heard and damn, this is a long review
for a four-minute song.
the Gracchi, the Pleasure Kills, the
Foxx
8/23/08 Burt’s
Technical difficulties plagued the Foxx tonight. Zed’s bass was buzzing
like a horde of angry wet killer bee with the only solution to mix it so low
as to be inaudible. Juliette’s Nord keyboard was acting up a bit and also
buried grave-deep. Jillbilly did just fine on drums since as an acoustic instrument,
the worst that can go wrong is a busted head or unruly snare and even a cracked
cymbal is playable. As the coup de gras, it was sounding like Cheap fucking
Trick up there with Tim’s guitar cranked way too loud, unintentionally highlighting
times when it sounded like he was in a different band altogether. Guitar
is an essential part of the Foxx sound but they’ve never been a guitar band
but melody driven which requires subtlety and finesse.
The Gracchi tore the set open like bleeding wound. Speaking
of which, pickless as always, Laura shredded her cuticles but with less blood
than usual which means there were no flecks of shed scabby epidermis
flying into the crowd this time. Hot heated punky rock with a sense of humor
but with taste, like a less asinine Dead Kennedys.
The very minute the Pleasure Kills opened I regretted getting rid of my
tickets for the Wild Weekend Power Pop fest in Austin one week hence: venerable
headliners the Boys, Nikki & the Corvettes, Paul Collins’ Beat supported
by tons of catchy-riffed Farfisa-driven hipster pudding-bowl haircut
rock-and-fucking-garage-roll bands like the Ugly Beats and yes the Pleasure
Kills. I have no excuse except for relative poverty after lately giving my
dentist enough money to help him buy that new Maserati. Bastard.
The Pleasure Kills won my Best of Show tonight. This was not
only for their rollicking hi-energy powerpop stick-in-your-head melodies &
fun fun fun performance of the style that few bands play anymore--- or I
should say, few bands that bother to come to Albuquerque. And why should they
when black t-shirt bands rule the roost here and audiences here love “rock”
but have forsaken the “roll”.
Where was I, oh yes, “Best of Show” but not only because they make me wanna
dance-- hip shakin’, backbone slippin’ and hair waggin’ but because of this:
the van broke down in Gallup or someplace and they still played because (second-hand
quote) “Well, we have a show”, a rare sentiment these days. The PK’s not only
had to mostly make do with borrowed equipment (and rather well) but all three
guys & gal made sure they had their suits/ties & party dress
--like they said, “Well, we have a show”.
Bassist A-Dutch moved back, forth, up and down, bodily illustrating
his rhythmic beats. Jeffrey Ject kept picking up his keyboard brandishing
it like a deadly musical weapon. Atom Bomb nuked the drums with radioactive
beats. James Jameson appeared more subdued than the others but pulled charged
pop power riffs from the six string. Singer Lydiot bounced all over the tiny
stage and just how the hell do you jump around and remain stable and decent
in high heels and short skirt? Practice, girl, practice-- a woman possessed
of
the garage pop n’ roll spirit.
The Pleasure Kills get compared often to Blondie and that’s ok as far as
it goes-- which isn’t very: just because they’re fronted by a woman doesn’t
mean they sound like the defining girl pop band. There were musical similarities
to be sure but in Lydiot’s voice I heard more of Faye Fife (Rezillos) or the
manic gotta-shout energy of Helene 33 (Tucson’s Okmoniks who don’t play here
enough by the way. Zac, can you do something about that, please? Thanks).
Unexpectedly there was a good size showing at Burt’s tonight. But I think
it had to do with the fact they were drawn in by the Hyperactive Fest although
this show was not officially part of the program, but booked long ago. The
positive reaction of many who just happened to wander in proved to me that
audiences enjoy this style more than they think, in spite of themselves.
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