Issue # 70 October 2005 thewigwambam.com
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LOCAL SHOWS NM venues, bands from here or there
Fast Heart Mart,  Fighting Chance, Empty Silos Echo War, Jason Daniello, Sin Serenade, Pan!c, Open Mic Night w/the Backseat Rockers, Roñoso, Manhole, the Wives,  Metal Tribute V, the Dirty Novels, Darlington Horns, Gingerbread Patriots CD Release Party @ Launchpad, the Foxx, Romeo Goes to Hell, the Mindy Set, Holiday Sail, Blastamottos, Roustabouts, 1st Annual Silver Skate Jam, the Giranimals, Black Maria, Tanuki, Nels Andrews, Fast Heart Mart, Shine Cherries, Manhole, Unnatural Element, Enigmatic
LOCAL Releases NM bands, any label
Gingerbread Patriots Wax Lips and Hummingbirds [CD 2005]	Roxieharts ep [CD-R 2002 ]	Primates Principles Plus Four [CD-R 2005 ]
LOCAL CONTRIBUTOR
Loser Take Nothing: A Tragic Diary of Interesting Times Episode 2:  Arm on the Bar by Doctor Bloor
LOCAL SHOWS
Fast Heart Mart, Fighting Chance, Empty Silos Echo War, Jason Daniello 6/30/05 @ Sol Arts   Jason Daniello opened the show early because he had a later gig at the Flying Star Coffee/yuppie daycare-center across town. In fact it was so early that there was no one in attendance at SolArts but for me & my escort. So we ventured across Central Ave for some grilled cheese and fries action at Milton’s, that diner that looks like it closed down four years ago but keeps serving food anyway. Soon, our bellies full and greasy, Jason treated us to some of his signature thoughtful and pretty  acoustic numbers with that unbelievable voice that sounds like the man has his own personal echo chamber wherever he goes.  He was backed by Ryan on various percussive instruments like the cajon --you know, that wooden box that looks like a bunch of mangos were just unloaded from it? The next accompaniment was an insistent electronic buzz, a nice marriage of techno-acoustic music-- oh wait! That was Jason’s cell phone! Good thing it was during his own set or he might’ve been tossed out for not following standard show rules… Next from Long Island, New York was a trio of peace-punk types called Empty Silos Echo War, doing some acoustic stuff  (on nice Martin guitars) since their drummer bailed mid-tour. Over the years, I’ve seen dozens of acts like this: a few young kids, fiercely dedicated to playing non-commercial vaguely experimental, pre-emo drone and just about starving as their van limps across the country. Well, sorry, guys, there’s a reason you’re practically starving: very few people want to hear you. Your cause and your moral stance  are admirable. The music is not. I’ve shelled out all kinds of money over the years, to (reluctantly) help support “artists” like this. And even did so tonight since the audience was two. Us. It was quite  awkward.  In bars and restaurants, I tip well for good service and good food or drink. If the food or service is poor, why should I shell out extra for it? Same here. I already paid to get in and it sucks to feel obligated to spend more on something I don’t like all that much in the first place.  Like I say, its admirable to head across the country into the unknown and attempt stuff like this buy they need to keep something in mind: no one owes them anything. There’s people more needy than suburban kids in a van, unprepared for emergencies. Next, another traveling group--this one better prepared, better fed and better bathed. From California, Fighting Chance played acoustic duets with a six and a twelve-string guitar and vocals almost hiphop in delivery. I bet these guys needed money too but I’d already bought a bunch of crap off those other dudes. I wasn’t prepared for another penniless band. It felt like I was back at the Insurgo show space where every band --and every audience member --was broke and needed a cigarette. To close out the show, Fast Heart Mart played an upbeat show, like a horse trotting at a good comfortable clip. By this time I was acoustic-ed out and didn’t pay as much mind as I should’ve. Maybe it was the grilled cheese and french fries wrassling in my gut… Sin Serenade, Pan!c 7/18/05 @ Burt’s   Sin Serenade’s pile o’ twang is the Knitters on valium, washed down with too-green backwoods Kentucky bourbon. Except for Henningsen’s lap steel : here, substitute mescaline for the downers. It was country bop n’ roll all the way. Steve, New Zealander guitarman of PAN!C is a pro sound engineer which explains those hugeass stacks that just about crowded everything and everyone else off the stage. His first leads of the set had that way-up-the-neck weer-weer-wee-e-er wank and scared the heck out of me but the rest was more tasteful and restrained even while wailing it out. I heard one wag say of Steve, he needs a band. I wouldn’t put it that severe, but it seems to me he’d benefit from personnel at his level, more capable of backing up his expertise. Sadly, though, all through the night the vocals were ill-mic'd and flat as can be. Can’t win ‘em all I guess.   Open Mic Night with the Backseat Rockers 7/11/05   @ Burt’s   I’m taking a stab at the date since its over two months since this show I forgot to write it up before. Nothing like loss of brain cells and dotage to help embellish my already um whimsical writing. Meaning: fuck it, I’ll make something up if I have to since I haven’t missed writing about a show since sometime in 1998, anal bastard that I am. Even if I have nothing to say, I’ll go ahead and say it. All I’m left with here are impressions, no real semblance of order or accuracy: A guy named Jaime on drums, T from Sleestaks on guitar and our ol’ buddy Quatro handing out songs like Tom Petty as covered by George Thoroughgood.  Shine Cherry Michelle Collins with sweet & lovely sigh-songs and, to  quote Wonder Woman, “just sprinkles of talcum powder”. I wish I’d said that.  Boris McCutcheon sounding like Evan Dando if he’d been a country boy. Scotty Roustabout on that bull fiddle he loves so much. Someone named Pat playing well on a nice (aren’t they all) Danelectro guitar.  The memories are good ones even if my memory isn’t….   the Wives, Roñoso, Manhole 7/17/05 @ Albuquerque Center for Peace & Justice Among modern weaponry we’ve all heard of smartbombs, right? Well, Manhole is smartnoise. Sure, they might occasionally waste a civilian wedding party or two but, hey, its all friendly fire. Judging by his uncharacteristic remarks about himself, Alan seemed to be of the opinion tonight that he wasn’t really getting anywhere. Balderdash. There was noise aplenty but with melody and chord progressions usually lacking at noise shows. So, whether Intelligent Design or Big Bang, it was all fine Creation. I’ll be a (ahem) monkey’s uncle if I know for certain… The artistes-formerly-known-as-Fukrot, played their first show since the departure (ouch!) of their long-time drummer a few months back. As Roñoso, there’s a few old songs, a few new ones and a few strange hybrids of both, like mutations from a toxic crusty sludgecore dump, one probably not  licensed by the DOE. But when this WIPP-truck of a band rolls through your town, you ought to show up in force; not to stop or reroute it but to bathe in the soothing ooze.  New drummer Mike is stepping into a loaded situation with tons of expectation from Fukrot friend and foe alike (some-times both at once!) but he held his own. A few more power rolls & fills would be appreciated but give the man time.   Lots of tattooed love boys seemed to have forgotten but bands can sometimes be more punk by concept than by musical style. Such was the case with tonight’s touring act, LA’s the Wives. Unbelievable  as it may seem, they pumped the excitement level up even higher. Unbelievable, since many of us were present to see Roñoso, already excited as fuck(rot). Stick-splintering drummer Jeremy power-catapulted the trio into a pulse-pounding, eardrum-wracking feverpitch of spastic clamor, all with a rhythm and beat. Man, I’m out of breath just recalling it.  In the midst of an under-the-radar tour of all ages shows and house parties, these guys are as earnest as you can get in their obvious appreciation of anyone coming out to hear them. They sort of treated us, the crowd, as the show that they came to see. An interesting take and honestly refreshing, cleaner of heart & intent than the muzzle-deserving Ian MacKaye. And they rocked harder than he’s done since back in his DC days. Metal Tribute V 7/23/05 @ Launch Pad   Just call me a jerk now okay, since I can’t stand metal and its laughable bad-boy posturing. To  me its just “rock” and has little to do with “and roll”. I’ve never gone to any of these metal trib shows before since I can’t tell Slayer from Ratt and so require an interpreter. Well guess what! Generous and gorgeous, Wonder Woman offered to be my “hearing aid” and guide. So, on with the snide remarks! Sin Serenade began with just about my favorite set of the night: covers deep in their own style. Yeah! Let’s hear it for interpretation rather than regurgitation! I was told they pulled out one by Sabbath, one Maiden and a Lita Ford/Ozzy thing. Yeah, this is my kinda metal. With a li’l ol’ twang to it. Next I was pleased by the Darlington Horns --with special guest Quatro on vox, busted leg an’ all. The Horns rock my little world anyway, so there was enough of their own inimitable drunk n’roll style coming through to keep me happy. I hear a Danzig and a Priest were among their choices. And in the midst of everyone duded up in leather, with scraggly wigs and bandannas tied around their legs, Mr Rod Shot hands down won my Most Metal Couture award: naw, he didn’t look like one of those self-important metallic rock stars but that dude chugging 40-ouncers before the show in the parking lot, the stringy-haired diehard fan wearing a battered trucker cap and maybe sleeveless flannel. Dude! Next up was a new one on me, Amber Avenue who I was informed played some Maiden. It too was in their own style:  pop-punk, with whoa-oh refrains. Not my fave bit but refreshing in that it sounded more pop than anything else thus far. Looking most like no-bullshit metal’ers was Dead On Point Five. With  (it was said) AC/DC and Priest, DO.5 get top honors for no tongue-in-cheek crapperoo but rocking like they mean it. They always do. With his Argonauts, Jason Daniello looked as if he hadn’t shaved for three days in prep for this set. Bespectacled and wigged, barely anyone recognized him until he flashed his patented nice-guy smile. Extra points for the green fuzz on his pedals but especially for the  smoothest metal vocals ever heard, like stainless steel instead of rusty ol’ pig iron.  My interest was waning by this point so I  stepped outside for a bit. I missed some band (and unfortunately their name) but all reports said they that were musically sincere as hell but decked to the nines like the worst no-talent band you’ve ever seen. Everyone seemed to dig their showmanship though. To close out the show (and drive the true metalheads out -doors), the Mindy Set played the most un-metal set of the night Yeah! Cover that stuff in your own style and I’m all ears. The Mindies pulled out some Zep, a li’l Sabbath, and the inspired choice of the Beatles’ Helter Skelter, which isn’t metal by the book but for its time, commercially speaking, was as dense and heavy as it got.  Which brings me to my suggestion: for the next metal trib, why not metal-style covers of other genres?  The Hollies’ Carrie Anne done doomcore?  Eddie Cochran as Eddie Cockrock with Twenty Flight Rock? Pavement ala Sabbath? The Archers of Loaf played Scandinavian Black Metal style? That would certainly be more inventive than “homage” reiteration .   Dirty Novels, Darlington Horns 7/28/05 @ Launch Pad   I’d already caught the Von Bondies in El Paso last year and although I boogied along, I wasn’t impressed enough to seek them out again on purpose. Except that Mr Ben Action was gracious enough put me & my lovely escort on the comp list, so we went. But not for the Bondies (we left mid-show) but to hear the Darlington Horns play as they have never before. These aren’t my drunken- wailing woefully out-of-tune Horns but a rock and roll machine driven by Heath Moon pounding the shit outta his kit. All that Shine Cherry and Foma slow-dive action has just gotta result in lots of pent-up energy for our heroic drummer and here Heath unleashed it full-force. Meanwhile geetar-ist Action, crooner Rod Shot and bassman Chris the K rocked our souls with some sweeping Stax-tinged melody, like the MGs out of their heads on handfuls of white crosses tempered with a bottle of mid-priced wine. Next the Dirty Novels brought us back down to earth with some diamond in the rough rocknroll --sorta gritty, sorta sweet, like a piece of cake you just picked up off the floor. This was the first time I’d seen new leadsman Len A. who done good, looking like un tipo suave in his white shoes and sharp guitar stance. The proof in the pudding (or cake. whatever) was that dancing was still in order--yup, the new line-up is gonna work just fine.   Gingerbread Patriots CD release show 7/29/05 @ Launch Pad   The pile of free food here almost made me think it was the deli tray release show rather than the Gingerbread Patriots CD release party (wish I could claim credit for that line but I can’t;. someone I can’t recall said it while we were gorging on luncheon meat and thinly sliced cheeses). But soon enough, a host of bands was onstage, each playing a few songs and each covering a Gingerbread Patriots tune. A great concept, one that made me wish I was more familiar with the Patriots catalogue to better appreciate the efforts. A Hawk & A Hacksaw was somewhat abbreviated. Abbreviated as in Jeremy was sans his one-man-band gear but the set was no less impressive as he & Heather backed each other on lovely airs and breakdowns. Always impressive, no one ever wants to follow this duo onstage.   But Foma took them on with a sweet and tight set, shown to full advantage with the Launchpad’s sound system, particularly since Ariel was fully audible for a change.  Unit 7 Drain’s interpretation of the Patriots sounded like the Ramones covering Kurt Cobain but like a kinder gentler junkie.  A funtastic set by a combo of Jealous Gods and Foxx personnel -- the Foxxy Gods !- was psych-pop grandiose, led by Mark’s smooth vocals. Their cover of choice gave the Ginger-bread song the full stadium rock treatment.  The Mindy Set always sound like the Mindy Set, even while doing covers, which is actually cooler than it sounds since its not always easy to play someone else’s material in your own style and have a seamless fit. Well, this fit was snug and sleek with no VPL’s.  Oktober People worked hard for Loudest Band of the Night status. This gave their Patriots material a touch of danger which was kinda cool since the usual danger of Gingerbread music is that you’ll sigh yourself to death during the most moving moments.  Finally, the G-Pats themselves capped the night with a stunning and lovely set and sound, like a sweeping and monumental U2, if U2 actually made good music (they don’t).  And how gosh-darn nice can ya get: since their factory-burned CDs didn’t arrive in time for the night’s giveaway, the Gingerbread Patriots spent what must’ve been hours burning CD-R’s with a promise to mail the real deal later on. Sweethearts! the Foxx, Romeo Goes To Hell 8/03/05 @ Sol Arts I missed half the show here partly because I was late and partly because the traveling band never showed. In time for the last half of Romeo, I never made it inside but ended up in the parking lot with a Gracchi and a Foxx, smoking a cig and drinking things that you’re not supposed to drink at an all-ages show. But the sound was actually great! It rang like a pistol shot on Central Avenue on a clear day. Noelan kept the beat going for the entire neighborhood and, wonder of wonders, the King Dogg Experience was in full effect: I could hear Josh’s keyboards better outback than anyplace ever before. Inside it was another story however. While the Foxx played just fine, the sound in that cramped place with no real quality PA was like trying to hear the Beatles play at Shea Stadium. Isaac was in stand-up-comedy form between songs. Musically, he triumphed with that sweeping glam-ballad about Roosevelt Park, a new favorite of mine that I hope to hear again soon.     the Mindy Set 7/6/05 @ Natural Sound   When was the last time you saw an “In-Store”? A show at a record or book store? For me, its been ages since places like Nob Hill Book Store or mecca or Bow Wow Records or love-of-my-life Mind Over Matter (R.I.P.) hosted a live show. Drop-out Records, Backdoor Music… all gone, all gone. So it was that I enjoyed this set even more than usual. The Mindies played a fine rock’ n’ melody set and even sounded great there in between the CD racks. Whoever hooked up the system ought to be congratulated. Here’s hoping Natural Sound keeps it up although I can’t see how its all that lucrative. Do you buy stuff from the band or from the store? It makes you realize that no matter how much you love the music wherever you see it, its really just a commercial for the merch. Holiday Sail 8/17/05 @ Launch Pad   Ok, I’m a close-minded jerk ‘cause I kept thinking Holiday Sail was emo without even listening to the MP3s. Well, smack me upside the head with a backpack holding a water bottle, a pile of chapbooks and a pack of Skittles candy because it was not even remotely teensy-weensy close to that. Sure, I coulda done without the last reggae-style number (I can always do without reggae, with the exception of Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare). But otherwise it was an inspired contrast of Rob-o-rama’s old school rahr-rahr-rahr punkcore (both vocally and on guitar) and Minnie’s acousti-sweet vox.  I kept thinking Josie & the Pussycats (no not that piece of crap movie but the soulful 70s kiddie TV tunes) and maybe a dash of alternarock’s Letters To Cleo (a conundrum in itself since Cleo’s Kaye Hanley was responsible for the Pussycats movie soundtrack but it really wasn’t her style at’all). And all tempered with some early Maximum Rock n’ Roll growl.  Add their lightning-pop drummer and the set was satisfying as can be. I’m sold on the Holiday Sail. Sin Serenade, the Blastamottos, the Roustabouts 8/19/05 @ Atomic   I finally happened upon a Roustabouts’ show and was more than pleasantly surprised. I’m not a huge rocker-billy fan (except for some o’ the gals: Kim Lenz, a little Wanda Jackson and the venerable Janis Martin) but this was, drummerless,  a stripped-down, bare-naked, bare-knuckles epic brawl. Killer guitar, hoppin’ bass and vocals smooth as a-cigar-smokin’-baby’s behind. Toe-tappin’ and if you swing, why, you’d have your dancing partner all over the floor. Which a few cats did. From Las Cruces, ex-‘burqueno ex-Jonnycat Kenta Henmi led the Blastamottos  through a fineass set of rock n’ billy, emphasis on the rockyroll. This ‘cat has earned lots of respect around these parts for his old days here in town and the rep still stands. A closing cover of Cash’s Ring of Fire somehow says it all for this trio. Sin Serenade I’m certain was as good as usual but was-- umm -- I dunno. My mind was occupied elsewhere, but not at all through any fault of theirs. Sorry, guys (and gal) I’ll pay mo’ attention next time.   Some kinda homeless dog fashion show I’m still confused over; the first annual Silver Skate Jam 8/20/05 @ Silver Board Shop   I’d been leaving garbage on the doorstep of the Silver Board Shop for months now-- garbage in the form of this rag you’re reading--without having met or knowing who the owners are. So here was a perfect opportunity to meet an’ greet while listening to music and watching skate kids of all ages blunt, fakie, ollie, wreck, flip and other assorted moves I couldn’t begin to explain. Silver Street from Yale to Harvard was closed off, courtesy of Rock-and-Roll-Nicole, proprietor. By the time I rolled on over (not literally, I ain’t skate), the reggae contingent was going strong with Mystic Vision. No doubt they do what they do well but reggae never did much for me, except for a brief fling in the early 80s: it was a bad break-up. And I’ll never tired of that joke about Ragu music and Pastafarians… The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering about Harvard Mall waiting for some action at some kinda homeless dog benefit fashion show I’m still confused over. No don’t ask, that’s about all I can tell you except that there were canines, used clothes, tarot readers and chair massages but no live music until darkness fell. A DJ was spinning some Germanic techno-ish stuff early on but got shouted down by some intolerant old hippie who complained that the deej was chasing people away.  Whoever you are, Mr Hippie, you lost: you’ve turned into your parents. Bummer vibes, m-a-a-a-n. So it was back to Silver Street in time for UHF B-Boy Crew action and some of them could really throw down. A couple of tweenagers were impressive, especially since they could break it right on the beat to remixes of James Brown and old soul that their grandmas listened to. Righteous. Taking a break, we strolled over to El Patio for their usual so-so New Mexican food. A long-time local fave, I could never understand why but it was the best dining experience I’ve ever had there since the background music was the hardcore With These Weapons, raging away in sight of the patio. Some of my fellow diners, expecting a quiet outdoor meal,  were obviously displeased. From their age, I’d guess Steppenwolf was about as hardcore as they’d ever heard and even then, they probably changed the station. Call me a shit but I was gleefully enjoying the scene. Soon the Garbage Pail Kidz duo was rapping away with their message-laden hip hop. I’ve seen ‘em better with a larger crew but the audience participation segment backed by beat-box was the shit. Just before nightfall (and it gets dark quick under the stage tent) Black Maria stepped up in full effect for yer finest in local stoner-doom mayhem. Not much favored by skate rats, an older crowd took over for this one… except for the kid maybe ten or eleven who stood on a table stageside, arms folded taking it all in intently. Rock on, little brother man! A couple of kids a year or two older kept jumping in, front and center, to headbang wildly in parody for a few seconds at a time before rushing off to fall all over each other in giggles. Some peeps seemed annoyed but I thoroughly enjoyed their wordless put-down of long-haired old-geeze rock. At set’s end, we wandered over--once again --to the Harvard Mall and finally, finally, finally live music was about to commence, three hours later than announced. Whoever organized this one did a disservice to their canine companions. And I never did figure out how a free show can be a benefit but what the hell. Two full sets by Unit 7 Drain and the Foxx were satisfying as always, in special part due to the superior acoustics of the back-alley brick plaza. They even sounded--ahem--professional. Who’d ever of thought that would be such a great place for a show, augmented by a free (?) keg inside what appeared to be an art studio. Even the teeny-weeny dixie cups couldn’t bring anyone down: you filled your cup, went outside, drank it and were back in line for more in under two minutes. You can bet the planners won’t likely get anyone to listen to their swell ideas again anytime soon.   Some Piano Bar guy 8/24/05 @ Mykonos Restaurant   Look, all I wanted to do was get some dinner, y’know, and use up the twenty-five dollar gift certificate that somebody bribed me with. The food was great, very nicely done but first thing when you walk through the door and into its décor, ya feel like you’re in a Skyy Blue Vodka bottle. It was sort of fitting because it was like Little Miami inside, with retirees lining the bar and, yup, blue-haired little old ladies. Only on the way out did I notice a Skyy bottle prominently displayed by the entrance. ‘suppose they get kickbacks from the company? Or is Skyy all Greek mafia money? Anyway I’m enjoying my Souvlaki when another retiree sets himself down at the baby grand, tip jar on the lid, and begins a set of standards and show tunes, most of which are annoyingly familiar but you never really knew them by name. Oh yeah,  I recognized a few--As Time Goes By, Ain’t Misbehavin’ and Jerry Jeff Walker’s Mr Bojangles but I guess that one belongs to the masses now, being covered by people on the scale of Bobby Goldsboro. The dinner crowd applauds mechanically, not even pausing their conversations and I just have to wonder, can this ever be fulfilling to any musician? I guess it gets him out of the house so the wife can vacuum but was this really why he learned to play? Its not like he was a slouch either, technically not bad but the soul quotient was zero, as ice blue as that vodka bottle. the Darlington Horns, the Giranimals @ Windchime Champagne Gallery Black Maria, Tanuki @ Burt’s 8/26/05 Never believe anything you read (including this rag). We show up at the Windchime Gallery right on time since --not being your usual venue--- maybe, just maybe things will start as advertised. What the hell was I thinking? An eight-thirty start time of course turned into eleven-thirty. So what to do? Elementary! its off to Burt’s for some head-stompin’ from Black Maria. Of course its early there too so there’s time to sit around, drink and drill Mr Sells for some dirt on his two sons in the band. A man of discretion, we couldn’t get much out of him except that he hasn’t missed but one of their shows so far. Quite commendable! Being a judgmental sumbitch, I wasn’t sure about the first band before they started. I ain’t goin’ to see no band named Tanuki, I thought. What the hell is a damn tanuki anyways? Now, the other bands on the bill, Black Maria and Super Heavy Goatass--there’s names you can sink your teeth into. Umm, well, not literally in the latter case (I hope) but you know what I mean: you can hazard a reasonable guess of what you’re gonna get. So as usual I turn out to be a chump since Tanuki played a good set of some smooth jazz-informed rock, like early Girls Against Boys but with Mahavishnu John McLaughlin on leads. Those up-the-neck sounds always leave me a bit cold but the tempo changes and what sounds like a little improv-- not jam--were impressive. No vocals was a refreshing change of pace but isn’t likely to grab your average audience hack who can’t grok without some over-glorified frontman handing over cues to enjoyment on a silver platter. But a few people seemed to like it pretty well. In all, it was a nicely done set. By the time Black Maria was up, we only heard a song and a half  (a kickass song and a half by the way) and slipped out the alley and on back to the gallery. A guy name of eT has been hosting a series called Genesis for the Arts tied into art promo, fund-raising benefits and good stuff like that. They’ve been going probably about a year and I’m just now checking one out. Usually at the Golden West (there was some action over there as well), I’m not sure how a free show at a gallery benefited cancer research but we  just had to check the Giranimals after their six-month baby-birthing hiatus. They sounded better than they thought, almost as if they hadn’t stopped at all, with that sweet and lilt-y Velocity Girl style. At the Tops of the ‘burque Pops, it was just lovely. Anyone bold enough to cover the Lovin’ Spoonful and pull it off gracefully --You Didn’t Have To Be So Nice -- deserves hugs from John Sebastian himself. Welcome Back. Amidst an array of Leroy Neiman-type paintings on the walls (no comment), next up was the new & improved Darlington Horns. No longer the old unshaven unruly unwashed un-sober rockyroll band but lo and fucking behold, a fine-tuned startlingly tight rock and twang outfit. The addition of ex-Saddlesores Mr Chris Martin on drums was  brilliant, as is the fine interplay between those long-time drinking-buddies, (the Lennon and McCartney for the dive bar set) frontman Mr Rod Shot and tasteful-as-heck guitar god Mr Ben Action. Mr Chris Kitchen’s upstanding bass work completed the scene of upshot rockin’ roll, as mind-bending as Mr Action bending those notes into total submission. What wasn’t complete was a few song endings, just trailing off into a quick three-chord coda, sorta falling flat like the face on the barroom floor. Maybe in response to that lack, Mr Shot decided to add a touch of class and end the set by hurling his guitar into the mikestand and onto the floor, and tossing his gallery-issue plastic wine cup to the ceiling. It wasn’t empty. The owner either didn’t see it or took it all in stride. No way I was gonna inquire about getting red wine stains off of twelve foot ceilings. Nels Andrews, Fast Heart Mart, Shine Cherries 8/29/05 @ Pearl’s Dive This night was some a music crawl type event sponsored by Rocksqueak--oops--Rocksquawk.com. Not much in the mood for crawling, we opted for Pearl’s Dive, a joint that I’d only entered once before, oddly enough, for some rockabilly action during one of the Weakly --oops--Weekly Alibi crawls. Opening the show and somewhat jammed into the corner the Shine Cherries played about the most rockyroll set I’d ever heard ‘em do. Yes, once again Ryan Martino sitting in on drums upped the pace way past anything the band had before played. It was fun seeing the interplay between he  and Jeffrey on guitar but especially the look of utter delight on Martino’s face the entire set. He looked like he’d swallowed a Cheshire Cat whole. Next up, Fast Heart Mart accompanied by one Sidewalker on drums;  the other (the bass player) had got hit by a bus or something and is no longer in the trio, now duo. As usual, I’m not certain most folks really paid attention to Mart’s strong and moral  lyrics since that’s more investment than the crowd usually wants to pay. Their loss. Nels Andrews began the set solo with a harp around his neck for three tunes or so, awaiting the return of drummer Heath who’d just returned that very day from Foma tour duty. Hmmm.. I spied him around a few minutes earlier, soaking up some suds on the outdoor patio with the 'Cherries. Not sure where he ran off to (Little Kiss HQ?) but what the hell: getting home from the road and playing a set that very eve? Kudos for Mr Testy Kool himself.  With Heath on the throne and the rest of the El Paso Eye-patch on deck, Nels gave us a big chunk of li’l ol’ power twang to end the night. Far from crawling, I think I set a record for perching on my corner bar stool all damn night. Fine musicianship to my left, good Pearl’s chow in front of me and a lovely companion to my right--why leave a good thing? Manhole, Unnatural Element, Enigmatic 8/30/05 @ Launch Pad Hardly anyone showed up for this one (industrio-noise on a Tuesday night? Gee I wonder why) From Satan Fe, a seventeen year old guy name of Enigmatik had a few good sequences  as his background score but he was pretty much singing (flat!) the same song with different words over and over again but to a new beat each time. Sure, maybe he was a little nervous in front of the tiny crowd of about four or five but after he mentioned his CD for sale the fifth time and asked for applause the third, I was done. And in words I never expected to utter before, I’d say the closing Ministry cover was the best of the lot. Not what an original songwriter wants to hear but there ya go. Pairing the lyrics with the beats may not be easy (what the hell do I know) but I thought that was the point of musical performance. Music had little to do with Manhole’s set tonight, except in theory. Sadly, due to technical difficulties, Alan’s guitar was inaudible almost the entire set. His guitar and drum rhythm section seemed to wanna just (gag) riff and (yuck) jam on pseudo heavy metal all night, like High School guys playing around in the basement, trying to get their first band together after being inspired by old Sabbath. Anyway I’ve lately been impressed by Manhole more each time but here with Alan visible only while rolling around on the floor, breaking his guitar or passionately shouting poetry, I was disinterested musically. But that’s the thing about  noise: sometimes it gels like a cool meringue pie and other times its runny and you need a spoon instead of a fork: just not as satisfying. Mid-bill, Unnatural Element kept my attention throughout, with solid techno-oscillator beats, uplifting despair, and some soulful gospel cries against a Wailing Wall of Sound. Spot on.
LOCAL RELEASES NM bands, any label
Gingerbread Patriots Wax Lips and Hummingbirds [CD 2005] How can one CD be so sweet and yet not leave your teeth aching? No, its not some artificial sweetener but as natural and nutritious as you can get with an Apple Notebook as a lead instrument.  Sincere, cordial and warm like being greeted by that now-ancient pet you grew up with--the one that never forgot you but you never see except when you sporadically visit your mom, you ingrate. Still, you’re petting its little head while it snoozes on your lap, and you’re on good terms with the family and everything seems secure and cozy like you were a kid again. And you almost feel like crying for no reason.  A perfect antidote to the standard labored I-hate-my-life-and-yours angst.
Roxieharts ep [CD-R 2002 ] Apparently, you have to have a birthday party to get one of these damn things. I almost stole the copy Boozerella got at her birthday party early this year. I swear. It was sitting on the counter of Amy X-Rated’s kitchen, surrounded by empty bourbon bottles, denuded bowls of dip and paper plates of congealing BBQ burgers, unattended and calling out to me. Take me home it said. I somehow resisted. Not because of any altruism or anything; no,  it must’ve been the effects of the whiskey & Mountain Dew I was drinking (yeah, well, there was no other mixer left by the time I rolled into the party). Yup, that made me forget to heist this gem of an un-released CD. But here it is, six months later after the anniversary of my own nativity --which I usually ignore but Wonder Woman wouldn’t hear of it and opened her house to almost 100 local hipsters, the cream of the crap --er--crop of the local music scene. The selfsame Amy X-Rated put that demo in my grubby mitts along with other stellar recording by the Sonics, Mummies, Fastbacks and the Weirdos but this is the one I was most excited to get. Hell, I’ve only been waiting for some recorded music by Albuquerque’s own answer to the Red Aunts (if the Red Aunts were oversexed drunks & stoners) since they were called TNA. Bless you Amy and Penny and Cara and Melissa. Yeah, I could complain about it being only four songs of grrrl-punk goodness but I won’t. If my house ever catches fire, this is one of about five CDs I’d grab on the way out.
Primates Principles Plus Four [CD-R 2005 ] 314 14th St NW Albq NM 87104   jurich@unm.edu Uptempo and catchy or low-key and considered, with--best of all!-- melodic lead bass-lines and jangly guitars the likes of which you haven’t heard since Merge, Matador and Caroline were fresh and innovative labels; a style you’ve barely heard since it was recklessly ditched in favor of watery emo. Although the subject matter is often bleak (you see I’m a lonely man/‘cause I’m a principled man), this one gets me happy all around. Its new, its sincere, its darn good. Get it.
LOCAL CONTRIBUTION
Loser Take Nothing: A Tragic Diary of Interesting Times Episode 2:  Arm on the Bar by Doctor Bloor Launchpad, late on a Saturday night. We didn't know where The Gracchi were, right? And they were up next. We sent Rexx to get them, secretly wondering to ourselves if he'd ever return. Turns out they were practicing over at the Alibi. So, get this: Practicing, playing a show at the Launchpad and then running over to play another at the Atomic. Strange days. You bet your life. We all enjoyed The Gracchi's set. It was some display and we were glad for it. Afterwards, I was waiting at the bar for another whiskey when I spotted Laura from The Gracchi. She had a pained expression on her face. We hugged and then chatted as I waited for the bartender's attention. "Who you looking for?" I asked. She was twisting her head this way and that, looking and wincing. Clearly in misery. "Ah, my sister is supposed to come and help me Super Glue my cuticles before we play over at the Atomic." "Uh . . . once more. With clarity." Laura held up her right hand, fingers spread. The source of her distress became quite clear. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph . . . !" It was her fingers. They were wrecked. Ruined. The space just below her nails looked like it had been skinned. Like with a paring knife. Or maybe a potato peeler. Yeah, honestly. Just like that. Laura explained that she used Super Glue to keep the skin on her fingers after playing. She did not play with a pick. She just thrashed away on the strings with her fingers. And she needed someone to help her apply the glue before running off to play the show at the Atomic. Some poor bastard to hold her hand down and prevent her from doing herself and others harm during the process. "What?! Are you crackers?!" I shouted. "Maybe. I learned to play folk guitar and just never really used a pick." I have always been able to sense when others are in need. So I offered to restrain her and apply the Super Glue to her suffering hand in exchange for a whiskey. Laura agreed and laid her arm on the bar. I held her roughly by the elbow and carefully applied several drops of the awful stuff to her fingers, spreading it along her cuticles. A small crowd began to draw. (An expression of genuine pain can bond even complete strangers together.) Laura made no sound. But her face was a mask of agony. She had the expression of a wounded animal. She looked angerous and I worked fast. I finished, making sure that I had done as much good as possible. As I let go of her arm, fearing Laura's terrible retribution, the bartender stepped over and asked for my order. But I did not get the chance. "Whiskey." Laura managed with a bewitching smile. "Actually . . . make it two."
Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America  | po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196