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Brophy's Auld Tyme Acoustic Jamboree Blowout Extravaganza
- with Billy Belmont, Mark Campagnia, A Hawk and a Hacksaw/Foma, Amos
Roddy, The World On Fyre, Shoulder Voices, Javier Romero, Nate Santamaria,
and John Brophy @ Launchpad 2/4/09
The Porter Draw @ Blackbird Buvette
2/6/09
Freddie Raygun, Dave Hooper, Rob Martinez,
Matthew Blank @ Slate Street Cafe 3/5/09
Black Market Goods Grand Opening with a
guy, a DJ, Bat Wings for Lab Rats 3/6/09
Howlin' Houndog, Long Gone Trio @ Atomic
3/11/09
The Foxx, The Grave of Nobody's Darling
@ Burt's 3/14/09
The Prids, Pan!c, Venus Bogardus @ Atomic
3/17/09
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BROPHY’S AULD TYME ACOUSTIC
JAMBOREE BLOWOUT EXTRAVAGANZA
2/4/09 Launchpad
Yay! Not only another always long-overdue installment in the Acoustic Showcase
series but as a bonus, John (Gingerbread Patriots) Brophy was back in town
for a few days.
Billy Belmont opened sweet of voice with lovely songs and
melodies, as always. He was followed by our Master of Ceremonies Mark
Campagna (filling in I take it for Mr Brophy whose throat was feeling
the ravages of creeping winter crud). Besides a couple of originals, Mark
picked McCartney’s 1967 She’s Leaving Home, a brave choice since
there’s lots of high vocal changes (with even higher harmony parts that
of course were lacking in a solo performance) and no time for breaths in
between. Later we agreed he could’ve used a couple of shots beforehand but
still, he’s to be commended for picking a difficult Beatles song that sounds
like it ought to be simple.
Not sure what they were calling themselves tonight but A Hawk and A
Hacksaw/Foma hybrid was a highlight despite a battle with the soundguy.
Included here were cello, accordion, banjo, some xylophone-type-thing and
a pretty fucking cool Transylvanian-style (for real) violin outfitted with
a gramophone horn. I didn’t know the other folks but put Heather, Ariel and
Jeremy on a stage together and something wonderful emerges, most times just
staggeringly beautiful. Tonight was no exception.
Next up was the knockout surprise of the evening a young guy named Amos
Roddy whose deep and strong voice was galvanizing with melodies he made
sound effortless. I’m ready for more from Roddy who is self-described as
somewhat closeted musically. From what I heard, there’s no reason to keep
that door shut.
The World On Fyre kept up the rep of all the Unit 7 Drain
contingents at this series and pushed the acoustic boundary with drums and
electric bass. Troublemakers! But it was Robert Smith-y with a New Order
cover that killed.
Although I missed a few recent Shoulder Voices gigs, these folks
were still kind enough to do my requested Mike Nesmith cover Tapioca Tundra,
an until recently underappreciated B-side of the Monkees’ 1968 chart-topper
Valleri. At the age of ten, I of course bought the single for
the Davy Jones hit but it was the neo-psych Nesmith side that-- after the
Sgt Pepper stuff had gotten too weird for my pre-tween sensibility--nudged
me back towards my beloved Beatles.
Shoulder Voices has reached peak form in the latest line-up. I’m really
loving the smooth trumpet work by one of the Voices whose work tonight reminded
me of the haunting theme from Polanski’s Chinatown, played by MGM Studios
veteran Uan Rasey, who coincidentally played on Goin’ Down (B-side of the
Monkees’ Daydream Believer), a near gem even though it was a Dolenz.
Julian (from Of God and Science) took a few fine turns on
a brand new ukulele just hand carried from Hawaii for him scant hours before.
Very nice!
By this time I was more than a little lubricated and paid less attention
than I should’ve to Javier Romero (Cherry Tempo) and Nate Santamaria
(Calico, Oktober People). Apologies! But between these two, Gingerbread
Patriot John Brophy stepped up with a couple of softly sweet
numbers despite what appeared to be a painful throat ailment. Bravo for
Brophy!
the PORTER DRAW
2/6/09 Blackbird Buvette
I love the traditional twang n’ harmony & punk rock covers of the Porter
Draw but trying to watch a show at the Buvette pretty much bites. Bands
must set up by the door. This leaves lonely spectators like myself with
nowhere to go without being in the way of entrants, in front of the seated
or in the midst of those trying to dance in the few allotted square feet
in front of the band.
Actually, on busy nights you can hardly be anywhere in the joint without
being in someone’s way. If you’re standing at the bar, you’re in the way
of folks trying to pass. If you’re sitting, you’re also in the way of folks
trying to pass because they’re routed through the table area because there’s
too many people standing around the bar. If you’re dancing, you’re in the
way of everyone coming or going. Even the staff looks cramped back there.
Me, I’d put the band in the back corner with an open area before them but
railed off from the central aisle. Of course that would disappear a few
more tables than could be moved to the current “stage” area up front. This
is something no pub can afford to do, I’m just sayin’ is all.
So all this is to preface that tonight I mostly overheard the Porters rather
than listened to them. That makes me sad.
FREDDIE RAYGUN, DAVE HOOPER, ROB MARTINEZ,
MATTHEW BLANK
3/5/09 Slate Street Café
This was my first time to Slate (conveniently located next to Pacheco Bail
Bonds! ) expressly for a solo set by local treasure Freddie Raygun. And
to make up for stupidly missing some recent Tattersaints shows, a rare commodity
these days.
There was no actual set by anyone but sort of a musician’s showcase with
four separate rotating “acts”: Rob (the Daddy-O’s) Martinez and Matthew
(Mystery Train) Blank, each armed with an acoustic guitar; David Hoover
playing lovely Celtic harp, and my main man Freddie on a Roland keyboard
almost as long as Mr Raygun himself …and that’s saying something.
While their playing and songwriting was fine, Martinez and Blank
didn’t grab me. I’ve listened to solo acoustic musicians since I was in
high school and by now it takes something extra special to make me sit up
and take notice.
My only exposure to a solo harpist is 1930s Marx Brothers movies where
Harpo provided much-needed relief from the shoehorned love-interest storyline.
Hooper’s original songs were quite nice and he pulled out a
few cool tricks like using a violin bow while plucking with the other hand.
I’m not certain I’d venture out again solely for harp tunes but it was a
nice quick n’ dirty education for a musical slob like myself. Well done.
Mr Raygun’s songs might be mistaken for less than serious since
they’re rife with an understated wisecrack or two and sly observation but
Freddie’s no novelty act. It’s a treat to see keys used intelligently, not
cheeseball Farfisa bleeps (which-- don’t get me wrong-- I love). Piano gets
overlooked too often in most rock scenes but here, it’s the star. Besides
the man himself I mean. I’m waiting impatiently for the day I can hear Freddie
sit before a baby grand.
Most disconcerting tonight was the format: Martinez acted as host, introducing
each musician one song at a time, asking a question or two and offering
observations on songwriting and creating music. I love to hear that kind
of talk but in the sedate Slate atmosphere -- people eating, like, arugula
and freakin’ brie -- it reminded of a PBS fundraiser special for people my
age. Either that or the (gag) Leno show where each guest shuts up to sit
quietly while another takes a crack at the spotlight.
Black Market Goods [grand opening]
3/6/09 Black Market Goods
Hadn’t been to this space since it was the Stove (R.I.P.) and physically
not much has changed except a new coat of paint but its new focus is art
gallery, and not particularly a show space. Tonight a few musical acts (most
were un-introduced so I didn’t get all the names) were on hand in support
of a fashion show: designs by Indiscretion and cvjeta. Much of it looked
like bellydance wear for pirates and outfits that would be suitable for glitzy
movie premieres. I don’t get the concept of clothes that aren’t really wearable
in your day to day but I’m the last person in the world to ask about fashion.
Or art for that matter. Hell, probably music too.
The first act of the night was a guy playing what looked like a
ukulele except it bore a teardrop shape rather than the normal guitar-like
curves. Somewhere Over the Rainbow is a fail-safe cover. Tugs at my bitter
ol’ heartstrings every time.
Next was a DJ who I didn’t care for much at first. Dropping a backbeat
behind standard FM hits like the Police isn’t all that creative but he finally
ramped it up with some much better original bass-thumping mixes when the
fashion girls emerged.
After the runway action, Bat Wings for Lab Rats were up. With extremely
rare exceptions, I’m not now and have never been a hip hop guy so the combo
of guitars & rap vocals were largely lost on me. Overall they struck
me as rapping over Weezer/Sublime with punky guitar riffs and a winkly keyboard.
I didn’t see the connection. I’d love to see Mr Rob rip out the guitar licks
in a purely punk rockin’ outfit however.
HOWLIN’ HOUNDOG, LONG GONE TRIO
3/11/09 Atomic
The Long-goners have been taken for granted by me for way too long since
I love the fuck out of what they do when I get around to seeing them. Their
devotion to real-deal low-down high-rollin’ rockabilly is impressive. This
ain’t no revival, there’s no psychobilly skull & crossbones attire and
few punk guys --if ever any-- with butt-flap patches in the crowd.
The Long Gone Trio don’t need no punk rock which-- if you’ve
all done your homework--you’d recall was originally about stripping bloated
prog rock down to rock n’roll and pop roots. The Trio has nothing to strip
down, nothing to prove except that el puro rockabilly is closer to real
rockn’roll than most any other genre to arrive since its inception. Outstanding.
I only heard a few licks from Howlin’ Houndog, escorted as I was
out of the joint, but there was some cool Chuck Berry riffing going on beneath
their ‘billy-tinged assault. Short as it was, I liked what I heard from
these guys immediately, something that rarely happens to my jaded ears.
The FOXX, the GRAVE of NOBODY’S DARLING
3/14/09 Burt’s
Couldn’t ask for much more than a couple of my top faves on the same gig.
The Foxx kicked off their South By South West invitation with
some romp n’ stomp. Its about time they wised up over there in Austin and
awarded the band a few slots. I’m hoping there will be someone with good
taste and better connections to give this act the promo they deserve.
Much of the time I see random people in the crowd sorta scratching their
heads in reaction to the band’s singular style. Glam isn’t well understood
in general because its more than glitter and stage presence. Even most Brits
latched onto only the platforms, teased out-to-here hair and the Marc Bolan
teen heartthrob angle. Nothing wrong with those but beneath glam is a heady
mix of good ol’ rock n’roll, Music Hall schmaltz and catchy heartbreak pop.
Tim’s guitar adds the powerpop riffs while Juliette’s vox, piano and songwriting
with unique time signatures fill the glam bill.
Tonight most of the crowd got it and rocked out to some new songs and reliable
tunes from the Foxx repertoire. Except the guy who kept yelling out for
more guitars. This is the kind of shit that makes me despair for the future
of music: the average bonehead who pays no attention to what a band is doing
and thinks their role is to spit out jukebox crap for his wanking pleasure.
There’s plenty of clubs that cater to this with mediocre cover bands and
umpteen hairy groups that feature “Blues” in their name somewhere. Please
go there. Thank you.
The Grave of Nobody’s Darling usually tear it up emotionally
but aren’t what you’d really tag a rockin’ band. Except that tonight pedal
steel player deluxe Mr Bud Melvin attacked his strings like it was one of
his and vocalist Jessica’s many avant/noise projects.
I thought about handing Bud a few whiskey drinks to see where it would
go from there but decided against it.
the PRIDS
Burt’s
[SUSPENDED], PAN!C, VENUS BOGARDUS
Atomic
3/17/09
In ten syllables each:
Venus Bogardus: Literate. Intelligent. Kick my ass.
Pan!c: They fuckin’ rock. Yes they do. Fun, fun, fun.
Suspended: Damn. Missed ‘cause Prids were next door.
Next time.
Prids: They never do anything wrong. Scary!
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IT AIN’T ME, BABE.
This issue’s contributors, otherwise known as “Not Captain America’s Same
Old Crap”.
THURSDAY NIGHT GIRL FIGHT
1/15/09 Launchpad
by Black Cat Danger
Reporting from the Thursday nite Girl Fight that went down at the Launchpad.
A smoker that ended in a little more smoke. Per usual.
Rarely dig hearing girls on vocals, a symptom of my terminal boy craziness
I’m sure. I think Loretta Lynn is the only female vocalist I have in my
entire music library. Basically. But Girl Fight nite just goes to prove,
women can do anything--even sing to win the heart of musical chauvinists
like me.
Round 1: Animals In the Dark, a dressed down guitar-drums-bass trio
with that classic ringer T-shirt feel. Even though these kids have
that I-don’t-work-out-or-fold-laundry alterna 90s look down to the greasy
cowlick, Mauro shows no trace of hipster sulk--her vocals shine with high-school-diary-naked
idealism. Chick writes smart pop like Frank Black used to do. She puts some
sugar in the recipe, but it doesn’t make my teeth ache. Not too much, anyway.
Round 2: The Gracchi, the world’s premiere generator of dancetastic
punk. Melody twinkles like rainbow metalflake paint, but there’s always
a steel hulk of punk integrity in the chassis underneath. Lead guitarist
and vocalist, Ms. Laura --who “carries us,” according to Gracchi guitarist
Alex in a 2005 interview in my backyard at my birthday party--goes at it
with her brand daredevil enthusiasm: That ten year old kid cheering up the
world with crazy back-flip cannonballs off the high dive. Laura also made
a joke about her muff (pedal), but I didn’t get it until, like, 20 minutes
later. I think about sex 53 out of every 60 seconds, and it still took me
that long to catch on. I know--I’m disappointed in me, too. Special Event:
All ladies on stage to wish Giovanna of Hit By A Bus a happy birthday.
Song initiated with a pitch pipe and concluded with a shot of tequila. Ms.
Gio is at work on a project called Five Star Motel. There will be glitter
involved.
Round 3: Ya Ya Boom, featuring hermanas Marisa DeMarco on
vocals and Monica on bass. Monica is attired in pure bravery: vintage vamp
in the hair and make up department, but punk rock princess everywhere else,
including some sparkly copper creased leggings and Chuck Taylors laced to
the knee--and still somehow kind of pulling it off. Count that special
fashion coup, Monica--perhaps one that cannot, should not, be repeated.
Kilowattage high, and Marisa’s voice emanates one part gospel and one part
feral.
After Party: Graciously invited to a friend’s apartment nearby to smoke
some hash oil, market price: $100/gm. Well, graciously invited after this
boy spent all nite bragging about his killer hash oil, and then I begged for
the chance to smoke it. It’s served from the head of a pin. And, true to
billing, that shit literally knocks me on my ass. The bass player strums
aimless acoustic as we all slip under the mesmer. Then someone puts on a
Greenhouse Effect cd and All-Is-One: listening to stoner rock with
a bunch of stoner rockers while stoned. Om.
SMOKE RINGS, MARK CAMPAGNA, THE CAROUSEL
1/20/09 Burt’s
by C.C. California
(Click Here for Show Photos)
At this very moment, there isn’t a more exciting band for me on the planet
than Smoke Rings. When someone successfully grabs a fistful of all
the music I like, mixes it up in their own unique way and declares victory,
I'm gonna fall for it.
Whale Song sounds like a brash new anthem but the song that hooked me for
life is Krag and if I had this song on cassette, it would’ve snapped by
now from constant rewind. It’s as grand a declaration as anybody who ever
decided they were gonna march on up to the castle and take over the fuckin’
throne. What’s so special about it is the combination of Nikolai’s hymnal
vocals which are utterly charismatic, Nathan’s gorgeously maneuvered slide
work on that pretty, pretty guitar, Dave’s deep rumbling fuzzy bass (which
is as sexy and irresistible as watching him play) all mutated into a rollercoaster
of majestic grooves just when Ryan tears into it like an angry tiger. Christ!
Where did these guys come from? Smoke Rings is the band I wished for 3 years
ago, and it’s about time they finally showed up .
One-man bands were always kind of a joke to me and I'm embarrassed to say
that I was one of the few that used to go see that Steve O'Neill guy at
Chelsea Street Pub back in college. Mostly maybe for the drink specials
- or at least that's my excuse anyway. But Mark Campagna is different.
He is probably one of the most creative and enthusiastic songwriters we
have today. Mark never fails to impress and I hope I get a chance to receive
some of his solo recordings.
Also caught a little of The Carousel - a new band fronted by Josh
Bottos. I honestly don't remember a whole lot about them as I was too busy
talking to Mike Day and Raven Chacon who always make me laugh when I suddenly
realized that these guys had been playing for a few songs. Was able to snap
some photos of them, but I owe them a good listen to next time they play.
SABERTOOTH CAVITY, DEATH CONVENTION SINGERS,
[BALSAMIC GARDEN]
1/23/09 1Kind Studio
by C.C. California
(Click Here for Show Photos)
First off -- the place! What a cool venue -- it’s a charming, giant room
with a good feel, and the people who run it look to be pretty cool (always
smiling and welcoming everyone who entered). The church pews crack me up
but it’s nice to know there’s some seating when you typically have to stand
for four or more hours, and in these heels, that's a blessing.
Balsamic Garden was wrapping up when I walked in and I’m ashamed
to say I was too busy saying hi to people and getting a feel for the place
before he ended. I did buy a cleverly packaged cassette from him but unfortunately
the only player I have is in my car -- so next trip downtown (or wherever),
I’ll have to plug it in and take a listen.
Sabertooth Cavity -- Wow! These guys are mere pups but they
put on a really exciting show and clearly have talent. Everybody needs to
go see these guys, ‘cause they’re really good. They’ve got all the killer
accessories that impress, but I love them for what they’ve got underneath
– and that’s one big bad wolf of a band.
Death Convention Singers is a loose cabal of some awfully
damned talented musicians who face off in a swirling orchestra of violent,
stuttering noise. It’s live and raw. They kicked off their first “song?”
and I hit the record button on the camera. It lasted well over nine minutes
– but good god, it was great! Nothing but a tidal wave of thundering drums
forcefully driven by Mike Day (Fando) along with guitars, basses, violins,
clarinets (damn, you name it, they had it). I couldn’t help but laugh inside
at seeing some of the audience’s reaction to this – not one peep from the
crowd who just before (during the Cavity set) were dancing and flailing about,
but now stunned and practically cowering in the corner as if they were watching
some horror movie (there were even a couple of moms in the crowd) --too funny.
Oh, but there was an exception. Some guy who literally leaped onto the floor
in front of me on all fours and began woofing and jumping around, thoroughly
digging the animalistic nature of it all.
Forget extreme “noise” or “experimental” whatever because all that sounds
dumbed down compared to what the Death Convention Singers have to say --
that there's something beyond rock and roll.. It’s the realm of the blackest
of hearts, of serial killers with musical instruments. I know this review
isn’t gonna convince everyone to take a trip to the dark side with them,
but for the brave few that do (like Squawk Jockey did), I salute you.
SUPERGIANT, OUTHOUSE, LEECHES OF LORE, CATFISH
HUNTER
1/31/09 Launchpad
by C.C. California
(Click Here for Show Photos)
Oh man, I needed this show badly. I'd been craving some full-on, straight
up, solid ROCK. And everyone who played that night delivered.
Outhouse are an amazing 3-piece (guitar, keys, and drums)
that came highly recommended by people whose opinions I respect. These guys
didn't have (and didn't need) a bass at all -- the guy on keys provided
enough of that on his own. They saved their best for last and that was Man
in a Blue Van - who someone said was written about Brian Banks.
Leeches of Lore - Totally LOVE these guys. Two little dudes
who played metal the way it oughta be played and their country ballads are
gorgeous. I couldn't make out any of the words, but I bet the lyric sheet
reads like Tolkien. Steve's a trip to watch - faster than my shutter could
catch at times.
Catfish Hunter - Before they even played a note, I could tell
they were going to kick my ass. And they did. Fully. By the third song,
my right ear went out, then the left. And it ended with a shower of beer
all over me and everyone else within Rick's radius. It was brutal. And most
fun.
SuperGiant - Was so heavy that night. They played alot of
the old faves (including Downtown Girl with special guest Mimo from Suspended)
but just so much bigger and better, you know? I was particularly enamored
with their new song, Pistol Star, and thankfully, captured it on video.
It starts off in total darkness, but when the lights turn on, it's magic.
GNOSSEROUS
2/14/09 Burt’s
by Black Cat Danger
Enter the Gnosserous, a psychedelic freak animal, core character
in the legend of an outcast named Nomo. So say they. Fair skinned, flush
face drummer in a purple tie dye T-shirt has sticks that skitter like insects,
then thunder like mallets pounding out some slow and heavy ancient rites.
Guitar man #1 is wearing some zebra print tights and flips all kind of tricks:
strum-strokes of the guitar neck, empyrianschizo hammer tap, allegro pick
of the strings at the headstock, and other crazy shit. Guitar man #2
with eyes agog sports a gold crushed velveteen toga and nests the microphone
into his bushy beard as he leans in to tell Nomo’s tale. Finish off
with sick cover of Sabbath’s Electric Funeral. Rock. Go see Gnosserous.
They’re from Santa Fe, so hopefully they’ll be back soon. Danava eat your
heart out.
Leeches of Lore headlining. Deep shame and regret that I missed
them, because they’re one of the best bands playing this town. I was just
beat-- a bad excuse and a boring one. But I’m looking forward to catching
you next time, Leeches. Promise.
SANDIA MAN, FIVE MINUTE SIN
3/7/09 Burt's
by C.C. California
(Click Here for Show Photos)
Sandia Man almost zipped right passed my radar, but it turns
out that Alan Edmonds (the former thundermaker of metal messiahs Devil Riding
Shotgun) has shown up with a clutch of heavy music for Sandia Man. It’s
been awhile since I had heard from this bulletproof bellower, but lemme
tell ya, the fucker hasn’t lost an ounce of his superpowers or his uniquely
macho swagger.
These are some serious musicians! With the addition of (also ex-Devil Riding
Shotgun) drummer, Jon Knutson (who sported a red kilt that night!) and bassist,
Steve “Sven” Esterly, Sandia Man rises from the collective unconscious of
ten-thousand generations of humanity (their words, not mine), and they’re
gonna drag your sorry ass right down to the eternally flowing river of rock
n roll and dunk your head into a sludgy sea of feedback drenched metal until
you are truly sanctified. And they obviously don’t give a fuck whether you
know how to swim through it or not. Powerful!
Finally got to see Five Minute Sin! I don’t have a clue what their
names are and their myspace page doesn’t help either – Zen, Voodoo, Diamond,
and Bartimus – what the hell? And it doesn’t even say who plays what, but
the singer has a remarkably soulful voice, the drummer is a trip to watch
(what a blast), I love that bassist, and couldn’t stop watching their lead
guitarist make some beautiful riffs on that teeny guitar (damn, that guy
is huge! He reminds me of Type O Negative's Peter Steele, who at one time
was the only reason I ever sought out an issue of PlayGirl).
All of these guys have mastered their instruments, but there’s a subtle
layer of melancholy to these guys that adds a wealth of depth to a genre (rock,
metal, alternative) that by design is supposed to be as shallow as their
lead guitarist’s cheekbones, and it really makes them stand out from the
rest. Their songs are infectious, possibly addictive, and the execution is
flawless. Excellent Show!
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