Live Shots

Christmas in February: The Residents come home

Tony Robles
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Bimbo’s was packed to the rafters Sunday night for the triumphal homecoming show of music-and-neo-surrealism group the Residents, which was celebrating 40 years of relative obscurity with a blowout tour.

The stage was set with a whimsically unseasonal Christmas theme — huge inflatable candy canes, Santa, and Frosty the Snowman — draped with a hand-lettered banner emblazoned simply with the band name. 

The days of elaborate sets and 16-piece ensembles are over for the Residents, and their current incarnation — a stripped-down trio of masked musicians known simply as “Randy,” “Chuck,” and “Bob” — relies mostly on electronic sampling and assorted effects to create the unsettling soundscapes and dissonant jangles they’ve been (un)known for since their very first public release in 1972 — the “Santa Dog” single.

In keeping with the general décor and our armchair roadtrip down memory lane, “Santa Dog,” was the second song of the show, after the burst of the first song, an excellent, elongated version of “Kick a Picnic/Picnic in the Jungle,” written originally for now-deceased Residents’ collaborator, Philip Charles “Snakefinger” Lithman.

The almost chirpy “Give it to Someone Else” followed, from The Commercial Album of 1980 — a time period that lead singer “Randy” quipped was when the Residents “were headed straight for the top…we’d die before our day, and we still will.”

The tone of the show thus established, “Randy,” in a Santa suit of his own and old man rubber mask, continued his spoken confessional interludes throughout the evening, concocting more and more detailed tales of tours past, his 11 ex-wives, and his ailing feline companion, Maurice, as the hooded figures of “Chuck” and “Bob” communicated solely through their instruments: electronic keys and guitar, respectively.

There may be a sense of Zappa-esque whimsy about the Residents, particularly in terms of song titles (“The Confused Transsexual,” “Bad Day on the Midway”) but darkness is never far behind, and lyrics such as “if there was no desperation/would we still be alive?” coupled with dirge-worthy layers of electronica and aggressively distorted vocals that appeared at times to be lifted straight from Coil, and soaring power riffs that no ’80s rock band would be ashamed to claim, lent their music a deliberately disjointed flow — hard to sing along to, but impossible to forget.

Even songs with a salacious bent (“Touch Me”) or an hint of vulnerability (“Honey Bear”) contained an undercurrent of open-eyed mortality, exacerbated in no small part by “Randy’s” wrinkled visage. But in the end, whimsy ruled the evening after all, with the sudden “birth” of a towering inflatable Christmas tree topped with an eyeball, that dwarfed the stage as the Jimi Hendrix-worthy strains of “Happy Birthday” rang out from Bob’s guitar, a burst of “Auld Lang Syne,” and finally the last song in the set, “Mahogany Wood” which included the repeated croon: “I wish I was something/I wish I was good.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWM47SCZ_zM

No word on whether or not the Residents have found a buyer for their $100,000 boxed set yet, but at least it appears that they can still afford balloons.

Afterwards, it’s like a dream/You can’t remember but it seems/To stay alive inside your mind/And prey upon your leisure time…

Live Shots: ‘Dance + Diaspora’ at ODC Theater

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Strong drum beats, hip shimmies laden with bells and voices coming together in song. This show has it all. Presenting “Dance + Diaspora” two performances this Friday and Saturday — pics above are from the dress rehearsal — by choreographers Jill Parker (with her Foxglove Sweethearts troupe) and Tania Santiago (with her Movendo con Capoeira troupe)   — a showcase of steamy belly dancing and heart-pumping Capoeria.

The belly dance performance includes solos, but is a mainly a group dance, with multiple belly rolls and wrist rotations happening in unison by all the dancers. Their piece also includes live music, like some pretty great clarinet and double-reeded zurna tunes. After intermission, the mood shifts and takes you to Brazil, for an energizing Capoeira piece, mixing both incredible acrobatics and traditional Afro-Brazilian folk dance. The show as a whole is a wonderful combination of music and dance, creating a true cultural dance experience.

Dance + Diaspora, Fri/22 and Sat/23

More info here

 

A taste of Jill Parker and the Foxglove Sweethearts

 

Live Shots: Tomahawk at the Great American Music Hall

Tony Robles
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Tomahawk gave two rare live performances this weekend at the Great American Music Hall, the second of which this photographer attended, and — as to be expected from most things involving Mike Patton — it was flawless, aggressive, and there were lots of dudes in the crowd.  

The night started interestingly enough, waiting in line behind Jello Biafra at will-call and hearing him give his name to the woman behind the glass, while a few people behind me whispered, “that’s Jello Biafra.”  I don’t think he remembered me, but he stepped on me during the last Melvins show I photographed at GAMH. That time, I looked up and he said, “sorry” and I was like, “awesome.” 

Anyway, back to the show. Aside from a stricter than usual photo policy forcing me up into the balcony (there was no way I was pushing up front, Patton fans worshippers are rabid), it was spectacular. Tomahawk opened with “Mayday,” from Mit Gas, Patton quickly emerging from behind his computer and drum machines and charging towards the crowd, whipping it up and still giving plenty of attention to the band, often turning to face drummer, John Stanier, to whom he remained precisely, rhythmically locked all night.

The band maintained the same level of energy throughout most of the show, with the occasional pause to simultaneously admonish the audience and make sure everyone was having fun. One audience member who made the mistake of having his iPad out during the show, presumably to take a photo, clearly provoked Patton’s ire, and was called a “fucking idiot” from the stage and told to “put it back in his man purse.”

The set included a healthy dose of songs from every album, culminating in a highly energetic performance of “Laredo,” in which Patton used the repeating line “The cat’s in the bag and the bag’s in the river” to showcase the full range of his vocal, tics, growls, and whispers.

The group returned to the stage for two encores, the first being the jazzy “Rise Up Dirty Waters” off of its new album, appropriately titled Oddfellows. Duane Denison remarked that he was nervous to play this one, as it had not been performed live before, but they all seemed to nail it, with Trevor Dunn’s walking bass line and the Lynchian vocal-guitar melody putting what many thought was a quiet cap on the night.

But no, Tomahawk returned to the stage again, this time Patton in a hockey mask, the eyehole of which he fed his microphone through and proceeded to blast into Bad Brains’ “Pay to Cum” and “How Low Can a Punk Get.”

Vocally, he was a pretty convincing HR and although he didn’t do any backflips, he did manage to get a few stage-dives in, much to the chagrin of security who immediately found themselves engaged in a tug-of-war, Patton as the rope, against the crowd. It was an exciting end to a highly entertaining show. Also, props to the guy that jumped off the balcony on to the speaker stacks.

Setlist:

Mayday

Flashback

Oddfellows

101 north

Stone Letter

Birdsong

Rape This Day

Honeymoon

Capt Midnight

White Hats

God Hates a Coward

IOU

Rotgut

Southpaw

Point and Click

Laredo

Encores:

Rise Up Dirty Water

Pay to Cum

How Low Can a Punk Get

 

Black Choreographers Festival takes flight

Andrew Lam
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This weekend, go watch some dance. Sam Love and I stopped by Dance Mission this week to check out a final rehearsal of a piece choreographed by Gregory Dawson and left feeling elated. Dawson has gathered a group of ridiculously limber and supremely talented dancers for refined, minimalist, yet achingly beautiful pieces that pulse with a strong, affirming spirit. His company is just one of several featured at the Black Choreographers Festival, a celebration of African American dance, art and culture. The piece we saw clearly stemmed from classical ballet roots, but also found inspiration in contemporary dance, creating a performance that displayed awe-inspiring athleticism (those extensions!) as well as thought-provoking drama, tension, and story. Go get your tickets already. It will be fabulous!

Black Choreographers Festival

Fri/15-Sun/17 and Feb. 22-24, various times, $15

Dance Mission Theater 

3316 24th St., SF 

www.bcfhereandnow.com

Live Shots: Soundgarden at the Fox Theater

Tony Robles
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It took Soundgarden a full 10 songs before it began to flex its muscles at the Fox Theater on Tuesday night, before the band dialed in and proved what out-and-out Badmotorfingers the four musicians can be. I doubt that the enamored (and now half-deaf) crowd leaving the Fox would have agreed with me on this point about the band’s early setlist sluggishness. Soundgarden delivered in a big way, and you would have been hard-tasked to find an audience member complaining after the dynamic, eardrum-crippling, 27- song performance.

Even still, the band languished a bit in that first third of the set, partly a result of a muddy sound mix that rendered hard-charging classics like “Flower” and “Jesus Christ Pose” to just a massive rumble. But mostly, it was the stream of tracks off of its painfully tepid new album, King Animal, that kept the early set surprisingly disjointed. 

Yes, you’d be inclined to think that a Soundgarden album titled King Animal might infer some epically heavy songs, the growl of some primordial beast lurching forth from the muck of Puget Sound. Instead, it’s a creature without teeth, a ho-hum late career effort (think Jane’s Addiction’s Strays or the Stooges’ The Weirdness), with long odds on breaking its rusty cage.

So it wasn’t until Soundgarden delved into the snarl and sludge of “Nothing to Say” – off its fledgling 1988 debut Screaming Life/Fopp album – that the band tapped into its nerve center, of biting Black Sabbath riffs hooked around a punk mindset, to the sound of a band formed by a city with a heavy heroin addiction and a weather forecast of perpetual rain. 

“Nothing to Say” stood out as the tipping point, and the band soon gained its momentum, mostly from a big section of Down on the Upside crowd pleasers that took the lion’s share of the spotlight during the latter part of the set – “Pretty Noose,” “Burden in My Hand,” “Ty Cobb,” “Blow Up the Outside World,” and the lesser known “Tighter and Tighter.”

Nearing the end of its North American tour dates, Soundgarden is in serious fighting form these days, a spectacle to watch from song to song, from individual members to the collective sum: Kim Thayil’s livewire guitar work amid Ben Sheperd’s hefty bass lines, all set against Matt Cameron’s furious backbeat. At 48, Chris Cornell’s voice is still (amazingly) in formidable shape, seeming to gain greater strength as the night wore on.

The band closed with a stunning five-song encore of classic tracks – “Black Hole Sun,” “Mailman,” “Hands All Over,” “Superunknown” – that brought the place to a fever pitch by the time it reached “Rusty Cage” to end the night. 

Cornell sang the final verse in a wailing falsetto that tested the limits of the house sound system, as the band pushed and pulled the song to its crashing close, finally driving home what it really means by King Animal.

 

Bay Area fashion set celebrates release of Liz Caruana’s photo book

Andrew Lam
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Photographer Liz Caruana has put Bay Area fashion designers on the other side of the lens – and they look pretty damn good. Select photographs Caruana shot for her new book, The Bay: Creators of Style were unveiled last Friday at the book launch and opening reception for her solo exhibit at Valencia Street’s Carte Blanche Gallery, on display through Feb. 13.

Caruana’s new book is a beautifully curated collection of 61 intimate black-and-white portraits of Bay Area designers. In true San Francisco fashion, the photographs capture some distinct personas. An eye-catching image of Olivia Griffin of Paul’s Hat Works has immortalized a hand brushing up against her face, a perfectly tilted hat, a mysterious woman who is far off in thought. To her left, Paulina Berczynski of FluffyCo is pictured looking shy, covering up most of her face with an old arts and crafts book. The biggest and perhaps most memorable portrait in the gallery is an image of Gangs of San Francisco‘s Laureano Faedi ­– the book’s cover model. Faedi looks like he is up to no good, gifting the camera a mischievous smirk.

In addition to the striking portraits, The Bay: Creators of Style features short bios about each designer and their company. You will also find words from select designers on their influences, their inspiration, and their thoughts on what the phrase “Made in America” means to style mavens today.

Some of the city’s most stylish arrived to pick up their copy of the book Friday night — you can get yours at Carte Blanche, or through Caruana’s website — eagerly flipping through the pages to search for their spread. Caruana was greeted with a congratulatory hugs from those featured. 

All the portraits have an air of ease and about them, but as Caruana explained to the Guardian, shooting people who are usually on the other side of the lens can be a challenge.

“Some people were incredibly shy, like this woman here, [milliner] Jasmine Zorlu. She was the most shy but I feel like her image is so welcoming and open – that it is nothing like what it was when she [entered the studio.] I allotted two hours for everyone but we spent an hour and a half talking and only a half-hour shooting.”

The photographer eventually quieted down the crowd for some thank you’s and reflections on her experience creating the book. Between glances at her notes she boldly told her guests, “We [the Bay Area fashion community] do not try to design to impress other cities. We design to impress ourselves. We have a different climate, a different mood, and a different culture. This difference is what has created our community in fashion design. The designers I chose to be apart of this project are the ones I feel best represent the Bay Area. They are the ones that have been around the longest and that represent haute couture to ready-to-wear.” 

Live Shots: Wovenhand at Bottom of the Hill

Tony Robles
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Although the notoriously devout David Eugene Edwards would probably be appalled to hear it, attending his shows is about as close to a religious experience as I ever get.

The ferociously intense frontperson of Wovenhand (as well as the former 16 Horsepower), Edwards was instrumental in the foundation of the hyper-localized alt-Americana/gothic-folk genre known as the Denver Sound, a category filled with moody ballads of shaken faith and raucous, C&W-tinged fire-and-brimstone.

And there’s just something about the sheer unapologetic bombast of his live presence that makes me want to don sackcloth and ashes on the spot and follow the path of the righteous — a feeling which lasts at least until I manage to break away from his sermon on the mount (or any rate, the Bottom of the Hill) to stumble home, still a sinner.

Clearly I’m not the only heathen who feels this way, as evidenced by a cluster of audience members at Saturday’s show clad earnestly in t-shirts proclaiming pagan-esque affinities (“Keep Thor in Thursday” is my favorite) bobbing their heads solemnly like everyone else to Edwards’ unmistakably Christian lyrics; music our common sacrament.

Watching Edwards onstage is not unlike watching the charismatic theatre of a revival-meeting minister, from his unwavering focus, to his fearless exhortations for repentance and mercy. Himself the grandson of a traveling preacher man on one side of the family, and a nomadic Native American entertainer who traveled (it’s said) from town to town with a trained bear, Edwards always appears to be equally influenced by both.

At one point speaking in tongues, eyes rolled back, at another whooping into the mic as Ordy Garrison on drums pounds out a tribal rhythm seemingly pulled from the very bones of the continent. In various incarnations, Edwards has displayed facility with all kinds of instruments, but for Saturday’s show he limited himself to three — two guitars and his signature hybrid mandolin-banjo built in the late 1800s, which gives off an almost ethereal twang from four nylon strings.

A word about Garrison. A Wovenhand collaborator for every album since ‘03’s Blush Music, he may well be the unsung driving force behind the evolution of the music, which grows heavier and more deeply layered with every progressive album. His timing is impeccable and he clearly sits in a position of power, directing much of the ebb and flow from his upstage perch.

A much newer recruit, Sir Charles French, who played guitar on Wovenhand’s latest album The Laughing Stalk (Sounds Familyre, 2012), but bass for the show, gave off a less anchored aura, perhaps due to less familiarity with the instrument in his hands, perhaps for other reasons, but fortunately with Wovenhand there are few fancy bass lines to worry about — a throbbing pulse sufficed quite well, pairing neatly with an undercurrent of pre-recorded drone — another Edwards signature.

The set-list, comprised in large part with tracks from The Laughing Stalk included representatives from almost every album since Consider the Birds — including a melancholy old favorite, “Swedish Purse,” an introspective “Kingdom of Ice,” and a bone-shaking “Long Horn”. 

But ultimately with Wovenhand, it’s rarely the precise setlist that gets remembered, so much as the overall effect of spending a solid hour communing with the band. You could almost liken the experience to a midnight mass for lost souls in search of redemption in song — we the flock, and Wovenhand the guiding light.

Boning and binding spines (the old-fashioned way) at SF Center for the Book

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When was the last time you sat down and made a book? You know what I’m talking about — those beautiful bound things that are filled with words and pictures.

They’re pretty awesome, in my opinion, and they are seriously celebrated and loved at the SF Center for the Book. For years I had been wanting to take a class from them and last week the opportunity arose to join in on an intro to bookbinding class, taught by Nina Eve Zeininger-Byrne. It was fun to hear, after a few quick introductions, that most students in the class had also had an inkling to take a class at the SFCB for years and were finally taking the leap.

So off we went for three hours, starting with some library lingo like “folio” and “signature” (that’s right, we’re all going to sound hella cool at our next dinner party), then some tips on proper tool use: the boning tool is your best friend — hehe — is it bad that I’m smirking as I write this? Finally we dove into some actual binding (more silly smiles).

We learned several techniques, with super sweet names like the accordion book, single-section pamphlet stitch, combined concertina, and Japanese stab. My favorite was the combined concertina, which is a book with three sections, the perfect writing vessel for those of us with too many things on our mind. It was wonderful to take an art class and leave with a new skill that is actually very useful and taught me to make pretty things for my friends.

If you want to make pretty things for your friends, take a class at the SFCB or check out Nina’s Etsy shop here.

Live Shots: Jessie Ware at the Rickshaw Stop

Tony Robles
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It’s only a matter of time before British R&B-pop sensation Jessie Ware outgrows the small, cozy Rickshaw Stops of the music world. Last Thursday, at her first-ever SF show, Ware’s commanding, poised performance showed massive potential, more befitting of a full-on diva for the 21st century than a blog-popster du jour.

While her stateside popularity hasn’t yet caught up to her reputation across the pond, Ware captured the full attention of the indie-music press with her debut LP, Devotion, released last year. Influenced by her earlier work with producers like SBTRKT, the album demonstrated a level of artfulness and musical nuance, atypical of your average vocal pop album. Much like Katy B and AlunaGeorge, Ware has raised eyebrows by integrating big, upfront, Sade-esque vocals into the music-first world of bloggy electronica.

The integrity of Ware’s productions calls for a solid touring band to bring them to life onstage, which her live ensemble delivered in full. With real drums, guitars, and bass added to her synth-dominated textures, live renditions of “Still Love Me” and “Devotion” were noticeably groovier, funkier, and harder-hitting than their studio counterparts. Vigorous cuts like “Running” and “No to Love” lent themselves perfectly to the live treatment, with robust drum kicks, bass slaps, and guitar stabs punctuating Ware’s soaring vocals to great effect.

“Wildest Moments” and “If You’re Never Gonna Move” (titled “110%” before a recent legal dispute) were slightly less successful, if only due to their live interpretations not deviating much from the originals. Still, they were the biggest crowd-pleasers of the night, working the sold-out crowd into a frenzy.

A cover of Bobby Caldwell’s soul ballad “What You Won’t Do For Love” came about halfway through the set, performed solely by Ware and her guitarist, while Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” made an appearance, right smack in the middle of her own “No to Love.” Though her hour-long set was never in danger of going stale, these little surprises and dynamic shifts made it all the more engaging.

Despite the steely professionalism of her musical output, and the elegance of her public image, Ware’s stage presence was completely disarming. She seemed awestruck by her success, approaching the audience with endearing modesty and self-deprecation, while never failing to make a compelling case for her talent.

Ware’s vocal delivery was impressive and magnetic, but not the least bit showy, revealing a level of restraint and refinement beyond her years. This, coupled with her engaging persona, and her backing band’s cool competence, resulted in a wholly captivating hour of music, which left little room for criticism or deduction.

It’s quite amazing that Ware has arrived on the scene so fully formed, and with such a righteous vision of pop music’s potential. She is clearly going places, and on Thursday night, 350 lucky fans likely witnessed the start of something big.

Do brew: Coffee class with the author of ‘Left Coast Roast’

Andrew Lam
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Hanna Neuschwander loves coffee. She adores it so much, that she’s written a whole book about coffee roasters called Left Coast Roast. On a chilly evening this week, she had a small crowd of equally excited coffee aficionados join her for a home brew coffee class at 18 Reasons in the Mission.

The class started with a brain-teasing aroma sensory test that included sniffing little jars of unknown aromatics. The ones I felt were most difficult to identify, oddly enough, turned out to be the most straight-forward flavors, like apple and vanilla. Once the test was over, our senses were ready to take on the even more complex scent of coffee. We tasted coffee from Guatemala and Kenya and then learned the proper way to make coffee at home using a French press, the pour-over method, and the trendy AeroPress — which supposedly has quite a following, but requires brewing hot coffee in plastic. Hmmm.

It was impressive to hear Hanna’s daily coffee routine (which usually starts at 5am before work). She measures, in grams, coffee beans on a kitchen scale, grinds them in a burr grinder — which usually produces a more even grind than your normal blade grinder — brings her water up to 195 to 205 degrees Farenheit, and then slowly and methodically pours the water over her grounds to make the perfect cup.

That is some serious coffee making, not to mention attention to detail in the weeeee hours of the morning! What I found most interesting about the class was learning about the two methods for cleaning the cherry fruit off the coffee bean, called wet and dry processing. Wet means taking the cherry off first using a machine, then waiting a few days for the mucilage around the coffee bean to loosen, before rushing water over it to clean the bean. It sounded rather water-intensive and wasteful. Dry process means letting the fruit dry in the sun, sometimes on raised netted beds, which seemed much more environmentally friendly, and also gives the beans more of a chance to develop and absorb more sugars from the fruit, while they bask in the sunshine.

Apparently, many coffee shops consider the dry-processed beans dirty because of the possibility for fermentation and mold to occur while the coffee cherries dry, favoring the “cleaner” taste of wet-processed beans. Just another factor to consider the next time you’re out for a new bag of beans.

While some elected to spit, I finished all my coffee, and left the class at 9pm, walking home with a happy coffee buzz while I hoped fervently I would be able to get some sleep.

Pinback delights fans at annual Bimbo’s show

Tony Robles
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The audience at Pinback’s sold-out show this Saturday night filled Bimbo’s with a pleasant air of mellow enthusiasm. The eclectic (albeit extremely white) crowd was excited without being obnoxious, and its quiet, genuine appreciation was the perfect match for Pinback’s own casual expertise.

Those coming for theatrics and bombast were most likely disappointed, but anyone looking for a laid-back display of musicianship and no-frills indie rock certainly got what they came for, and then some.

The duo at the core of Pinback, Rob Crow and Zach Smith, has been making music together for 15 years, and its seasoned comfort shines through an unassuming yet commanding stage presence. The pair plowed through a 23-song set, only pausing to briefly address the audience exactly one time each.

Smith maintained somber focus throughout the concert while his fingers glided across his bass guitar, slinging slick fingerpicking with stunning ease. Crow, who has a well-used beer holder affixed to his mic stand, threw back a great number of Newcastles during the set, often emptying an entire bottle in one incredible pull, and using half-full bottles to tap at the strings of his Les Paul.

The first half of the setlist was composed of soft, pretty ballads and down-tempo cuts off the band’s new album. Smith’s falsetto and Crow’s nasal croon blend into a honeyed harmony that hasn’t tarnished a bit over the years. Their most recent single, “True North” was executed beautifully, accompanied by two cellists.

The duo surprisingly sandwiched its two longtime fan-favorites, “Penelope” and “Fortress” into the middle of the set. “Penelope” was considerably sped up from its original tempo, giving new life to the love song that the fans have all listened to a thousand times to help ease the pain of every crush and breakup.

For “Fortress,” the Pinback song that everyone knows without knowing they know it, Crow did away with his mic stand and guitar and busted out some dance moves, including an remarkably successful worm, despite his prodigious beer belly.

The audience, thrilled with the band’s surge in energy, roared as Crow jumped off the stage and into the crowd, letting excited fans sing the chorus —“Stop, it’s too late!/ I’m feeling frustrated!” — into the microphone.

Post-“Fortress,” the setlist continued to steadily build energy as Pinback jammed its way through a more rock’n’roll repertoire, transforming the formerly stoic audience into an amiable dance party. At the end of the night, when soft-spoken Crow called out, “Thank you guys so fucking much!” there was no question that he really meant it.

 

Estamos atentos: Photos and lessons from Friday’s anti-violence march in the Mission

Andrew Lam
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It’s hard to say if the march of neighbors from the 16th Street BART station, to Valencia Street, to 24th Street, and back down Mission Street will stop attacks like the January 6th assault on 23rd and Guerrero Streets that inspired last Friday’s anti-violence demonstration and walk. But for a community that feels nervous about walking one’s own sidewalks at times due to an ongoing spate of sexual assaults, that wasn’t really the point. 

“No violence, no police! From the bathroom, to the streets!” went the crowd’s chant, led by an ambulatory drum circle past the 1,000 new restaurant seats on Valencia and the tourists snapping photos of the massive, swaying protest puppets above our heads. Making the violence visible? Check. A disempowering situation turned into a show of strength? Check.

Bilingual handmade signs, bodies made out of roses on the sidewalk at the 16th Street BART plaza, musical instruments, famous writers — that was how the Mission spoke its mind at the march. Information was passed around about the International Women’s Day protest in UN Plaza, and a bright orange “Manifesto for Safe Streets” called for the right to be on the street safely at any hour (head to Mission Mission to read the full manifesto.)

Events were kicked off by a rally at the BART station, where announcements about Impact Bay Area self-defense courses and safe cab services shared time with a poetry reading, a first-person testimonial from a local sexual assault survivor, and remarks by writer Rebecca Solnit, who recently moved to the neighborhood after living in Western Addition for decades. Solnit is working on a new book which examines the various permutations of violence against women today — the recent attack in India, football players and rape in Stuebenville, the Republican Party. 

Impact Bay Area passed out a flier with the following tips on how to stay safe in the streets. (Though we think these “10 Ways to Prevent Rape” would be way more effective):

Be alert: Using awareness and intuition are two of the best ways to keep yourself safe. Pay attention to where you are, and what is happening when you are out in public. Texting, looking at a smart phone, or even talking on the phone divides your attention and may prevent you from noticing important information. If your intuition tells you something is wrong, listen to it and take steps to get to a safe place (even if you can’t articulate why you feel like something is wrong.)

Use strong, confident body language: If someone sets off your internal alarms or gives you a bad feeling, don’t look away and don’t be afraid to make eye contact. Often we have the instinct to avoid eye contact for fear of provoking someone. A person with no bad intentions will not harm you because you look at him. On the other hand, someone who is looking for a victim will read you body language and by facing that person you send the message that you will not be an easy target. 

Use your voice: Your voice is one of your strongest self defense weapons. Not only did the neighbors hear her and open a window, scaring the man off, but yelling is a good way to start harnessing your adrenaline by breakign the common “freeze response.” If you don’t know what to say, you can just yell “NO!” as loud as you can. 

Fight back: Every situation is different and you must use your best judgement about whether to fight back. But don’t assume that you can’t fight if you don’t think of yourself as particularily strong. Adrenaline dramatically increases strength and speed. The element of surprise is also very important. Most assailants don’t expect their victims to fight back. The moment you start fighting back, you force that person to reassess their plan, and if they were looking for an easy victim you have shown that that’s not going to be you. 

 

Pitting before dinner: Trash Talk, MellowHype, Sabertooth Zombie, and Antwon at DNA Lounge

Tony Robles
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By Greg Weissel
All photos by Matthew Reamer

A half hardcore, half hip-hop bill at 6pm on a Monday in San Francisco. What could possibly go wrong? Nothing, in fact, did go wrong – and the writhing masses wreathed in weed smoke hovering over the concrete dance floor at DNA Lounge proved that mixed bills can make for the most energetic live shows.

The mood for the night was one of joyful irreverence, marked by the line of young men and women lined up on 11th Street, holding their skateboards, wearing Odd Future or punk rock shirts, cutting in line and hassling the strict bouncers.

Antwon, from San Jose, appeared on stage by 6:30pm, just himself in a black metal Deafheaven shirt , and his DJ in front of the anxious mass. His dark lyrics and threatening instrumentation inspired the crowd to start moving early. The first pit of the night broke out during “40 Bag” as Antwon asked if anyone had 20 on a 40 bag.

Sabertooth Zombie hit the stage next, playing the familiar opening chords of the Monday Night Football theme song before launching into its mix of thrash, psychedelia, and heavy metal riffs. The North Bay quintet played ragers from its earlier, punker releases and mixed in the more intellectual compositions from its Human Performance series of seven-inches.

STZ gave way to MellowHype, the LA-based duo made up of Odd Future members rapper Hodgy Beats and producer Left Brain. The stage grew crowded with dudes lighting joints and then with kids from the crowd stage driving. Enthusiastic nihilism that had everyone chanting “Fuck The Police.” The two behind MellowHype bounced around between songs, throwing themselves into the crowd and hitting blunts in between verses.

As MellowHype was leading the crowd through its last hit, Trash Talk was setting up behind them. Time was growing short, DNA Lounge had another event booked for 9pm and it was already past 8. The now-LA, formerly-Sacramento foursome wasted no time, charging into a set that featured tracks from all its releases, including its new 119 full-length, recently released on Odd Future Records.

But there was no hip-hop here, just pure aggression funneled into the maelstrom of the pit. By the end of the set, frontperson Lee Spielman had relocated to a structure in the middle of the crowd and was spitting venom directly in the faces of the frenzied crowd.

Live Shots: SantaCon sleighed SF

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Photos by Bowerbird Photography

A city wide pub crawl wearing santa costumes. How could San Francisco not be thrilled for this annual event, the city where everyone loves to dress up and drink! (Well, OK, some of us were terrified of the more tipsier St. Nicholas cohorts, who may have gotten a little too jolly. But still.)

The annual SantaCon festivities started in Union Square this Saturday, as aantas, Christmas trees, and odd furry animals gathered for the impending debauchery. The variations on the round jolly man were creative and quirky and pretty much came down to whether or not you owned something red and white. And despite the cool weather and drizzle turned downpour, no one seemed to mind, especially layered in their warm, fuzzy outfits. What a fabulous and fitting way to ring in the holidaze!

 

Live Shots: Santigold at the Fox Theater

Tony Robles
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Santigold was barely a full song into her sold-out performance at the Fox Theater Wednesday night when she began to stoke the lovefest with her Bay Area fans. “You know you’re my favorite place to perform…you guys have so much energy!” In a different room to a different crowd it may have come off as a cheaply-pedaled stage sentiment, but the show that ensued lived up to her assessment: the crowd never stopped dancing and Santigold never stopped smiling.

At just 80 minutes, the show was short but sweaty…a scorcher of a live performance that rendered the ornate theater a tightly packed dance party well into the upper reaches of the balcony.

Working through her two albums of material, the Brooklyn-based singer showed off her vocal range as she was backed by a trio of Devo-looking musicians who kept the sound beat-heavy in one instant, loose and textured in the next. More notably (and often scene-stealing) was Santiold’s stage dancing duo: a matching pair of hype women gracing the stage with all sorts of rump shaking antics and too-cool-for school posturing (complementing Santigold’s ear-to-ear Cheshire stage presence to a ying yang-like perfection).

“L.E.S. Artistes” and “Hold the Line,” (her collaboration with Major Lazer) proved crowd-pleasers early in the set. Later, the stage was swarmed with fans as Santigold worked through “Creator” amid an ecstatic bustle of concertgoers.

Santigold had scarcely left the stage for an encore break before the crowd responded with a foundation-rattling ovation. They kept dancing as she returned for two more songs, and then, as she said farewell with the house lights coming up and Prince beginning to blare through the speakers, they just kept dancing. Santigold was no longer in view, but I’d have guessed that somewhere backstage she was still smiling.

Sufjan Stevens as the Christmas Unicorn at Great American Music Hall

Tony Robles
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When I walked into the Great American Music Hall on Wednesday night, I was handed a Christ-Mess Sing-a-Long booklet with a unicorn on the cover. While I had already gathered from the name of the event — Surfjohn Stevens’ Christmas Sing-A-Long: Seasonal Affective Disorder Yuletide Disaster Pageant on Ice — that it wasn’t going to be a standard holiday concert, I wasn’t quite prepared for the awesome eccentricities that awaited me.

The Great American, which is already one of the Bay’s most gorgeous venues, was literally aglow with strings of Christmas lights reflecting off bows and baubles attached to headbands, elf ears, vests, and ugly sweaters throughout the dedicated audience. On stage, incense was burning and guitar techs were wading through piles of inflatable Santas and unicorns.

Sufjan Stevens and his band, decked out in capes, chicken suits, sombreros, nun’s habits, and so much more, opened with a few Christmas originals off the new Silver & Gold — Stevens’ second (!) extensive collection of holiday Eps — before letting providence take the wheel — literally. “They said it couldn’t be done,” Stevens shouted, “but we brought the Wheel of Christmas into the Great American! It was an engineering feat!”

The enormous, Wheel-of-Fortune-style disc had a different carol brightly painted on each of its wedges. Fate decided that “Joy To the World” should begin the sing-a-long. Stevens smiled. “It’s a Christmas miracle!” The band launched in, and we opened our songbooks. The sound of 500 voices, alive with the Christmas spirit and mulled wine, is a truly incredible thing.

What we lacked in pitch, we made up in gusto. As we worked out way through the carols, our small hearts each grew three sizes.

“We had some really weird Christmas traditions growing up” Stevens divulged between songs. “I used to think my parents were like, bohemian and New Age and crazy, but I’ve come to realize that they were actually kind of socially inept. I actually just realized that this year.” As Stevens told us about one year’s tree of healing crystals and another year’s 12 trees for each of the 12 steps, thought up by his recovering alcoholic father, the Christmas madness on stage started to make more sense — that is, if he wasn’t just messing with us.

As the show built to it’s climax, the stage and some of the audience grew awash in bubbles, confetti, silly string, and streamers. For the big finale, Stevens transformed himself into the Christmas unicorn, dressed in a repurposed bike helmet and an impressive amount of balloons, singing over a frenzy of instrumentation, “I’m a Christmas unicorn/Find the Christmas unicorn/You’re a Christmas unicorn/It’s alright I love you!” as confetti and giant balloons rained down on everyone.

Despite the undeniably enjoyable bravado and theatrics, those rare, quiet moments with Stevens and his banjo are what make his music magical. The hushed simplicity of “Concerning The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois” was the highlight of the performance. By the end, the entire audience had joined in with his soft croon. “As we sing together it’s a very powerful thing,” Stevens reflected. “I think it’s very important that we do this more often.” Here, here.

Live Shots: Drag Queens on Ice (with the SF Bulls!)

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They twirled, twisted, leapt, and also sometimes fell, on their very well-padded booties. Glitter dusted the smooth rink, as the drag queens took the ice.

Fun for the whole family, except for maybe the last renegade routine that incorporated a taser (shield the little ones eyes!). Who knew that drag queens had so many talents? No seriously! There were some truly sophisticated ice moves dished out in this performance. I can see it now: a traveling ice capades performance by drag queens that becomes a hit worldwide. Disney on Ice, watch out! I can’t really think of a better way to ring in the holiday cheer than with beautiful ladies, dressed to the nines, giving their all as they slide, shimmy and slip across the frozen water.

And to top it all off, our fabulous professional hockey team, the SF Bulls, joined in! Happy Holidaze San Francisco!

More photos here!

Live Shots: Death Grips at Slim’s

Tony Robles
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When I first saw Sacramento’s Death Grips — about a year or so ago at 1015 Folsom — they had to work especially hard. The room was half full and Stefan Burnett made up the difference, jumping down into the crowd and taunting it into action. The intervening time before a repeat performance was longer than expected (Death Grips suddenly canceled their last scheduled tour to finish their second album of the year) and at Slim’s Monday the crowd seemed prewound, eager to see the sold-out show, jockeying for position near the front, and admiring freshly purchased t-shirts showcasing the attention-baiting cover art for No Love Deep Web.

“This is a dick,” said one guy who looked older than he sounded. “It’s actually a dude’s dick. And I know whose it is.” For the uninitiated (or at work – don’t Google it), the cover is a photo of drummer Zach Hill’s erection, on which the title is scrawled with a Sharpie marker. The guy finished his observation by pointing to the part of the shaft nearest to the testicles and saying, “That’s like, the grossest part.”

Death Grips came on about two hours later, launching into No Love album opener “Come Up and Get Me,” and I didn’t last particularly long up front. Burnett released a lyrical tide of amped aggression, the feeling of being backed into a corner too many times, and the crowds answered in kind. A wave of people swelled across the pit and I ended up beneath half a dozen other people, desperately attempting to hold onto a shoe, a camera, and my default unflappable expression. But clearly I’d been flapped, and having spent a long time between sets staring at the vertical gashes on the wrists of the 15-year-old cutter in front of me, was fairly relieved to head to the back of the room as the band went into “Little Boy.”

Three albums in, I would still describe my interest in Death Grips’s brand of angst-ridden hybrid punk-rap as morbid curiosity. “Ruthless and free, it’s all suicide to me,” Stefan intoned on “Black Dice,” with the same sense of nihlism that elsewhere says “Fuck this world, fuck this body.” Since the only time I cut myself was slicing a grapefruit with a dull knife, the lyrical nihilism only goes so far. But that doesn’t diminish Death Grips as a live band. Burnett, Hill, and a backing production track layer feed into each other, forming a feedback loop of hype.

When “Guillotine” – the best song off their first album – came on, it was instantly recognizable from the clicking hi-hat that continually rides through the song. The programmed hi-hat is one of the band’s most constant features, freeing up Hill to go wild with complicated syncopated snare beats over his doubling kicks. His kit was little more than a three piece setup, and while the broken assortment of cymbals from his Hella days were noticeably absent, he bought the same furious intensity, rising out of his chair and smashing down onto the snare for full intensity.

The production track set the pace for the night. It was nonstop, peaking with “I’ve Seen Footage.” From the band’s other, slightly neglected album this year, The Money Store, the song showcases the playful variety that’s beneath the the Death Grips’ borderline single minded thematics. When the ’80s guitar riff, played out over a sped up “Push It” beat came on, a few people in the back ran forward, clearly wanting to get in on the action.

The end of the set snuck up on me. Burnett spoke for the first time outside of a song: “Thank you,” he said, and walked off. Maybe sensing that Death Grips isn’t much of an encore band — or just exhausted — the room began to file out. But one guy stood by the bar, holding a beer in is hand and noticeably not clapping. “That’s it?” he asked his friends, more of a statement than a question. “That was only a 30-minute set. That’s some bullshit.” A line from “Lock Your Doors” is stuck in my head: “I’ve got some shit to say, just for the fuck of it. Don’t even ask me.”

Opener: “Life is real, life is real,” Cities Aviv said over and over, pacing the stage as a DJ modulated some noise on a laptop, with just the hint of a beat behind the noise. As it went on, puzzled over what I was seeing and hearing, more like a performance art piece than what was billed (probably at this point more for convenience than anything else) as a hip-hop show.

Distracted, I hardly noticed building bass until I was struck by the Memphis performer dropping off the stage next to me, signaling a slam of the audience.“It’s not that I’m anywhere,” Cities Aviv continued to say in his set, toying with contradictions and asking, “Are you real or a simulation?” Could have asked him the same thing.

Live Shots: Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings at Davies Symphony Hall

Tony Robles
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Sharon Jones took to the stage at Davies Symphony Hall on Saturday night with all the energy of fourth-grade recess on a sunny afternoon. Not that she seems to ever take the stage in any other way, but it was the right approach for a big show in a big room.

After all, her sold-out concert with the Dap-Kings at the Symphony was a prestigious booking that spoke to her ever-increasing popularity over the past few years, a reputation that has been steadily earned through the infectious soulfulness and old-school cool of her dynamic live performances.

Saturday night’s show was the perfect showcase of Sharon and company at their best, not because it was a slam-dunk, but because they had to earn in. For as grand of a setting as Davies Symphony Hall can be, it proved more than a bit stilted early in the night, as the diverse audience remained seated and awkward in their space. A dance floor was in order for this performance, if not an out-and-out hefty dose of sweaty, drunken rowdiness. In this regard, the venue was at a disadvantage for what was taking place in its confines.

But Jones didn’t seem to be concerned in the least, and blazed through a 15-song set that increasingly set off pockets of dancing throughout the building, and steadily drew enthralled audience members down the aisles, revival-like, to the front of the stage. By the time the Dap-Kings laid into the opening of “100 Days, 100 Nights,” the entire hall was fully transformed into an appropriately matched dance party.

Indeed, if there had been any question as to how Jones and the Dap-Kings made it to the Symphony, the scores of people dancing their asses off in the aisles was answer enough.

Baby steps: Pregnant Ana Tijoux headlines at an evolving La Peña Cultural Center

Andrew Lam
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Unlike the last time I saw her perform in California, there was no reason for Chilean rapper Ana Tijoux to apologize to her audience for her English in the La Peña Cultural Center at her pre-Thanksgiving show on Wednesday.

“Quien no habla español?” she asked the crowd. “Muy bien,” she continued when no one could understand Spanish well enough to yell out that they don’t understand Spanish. “El mejor publico in los Estados Unidos.”La Peña was perhaps the perfect venue for Tijoux’s return to the Bay Area (she’s spent a lot of time around here in 2012, playing the New Parish as recently as August.) The 45-year old center is undergoing a sea change. A group of young activists calling themselves La Peña Second Generation are re-doing the famous 3-D mural facade of the building, looking to minimize the center’s dependency on grant monies, and, said the Second Generation guy who jumped on the mic in-between sets by Oakland’s Raw-G and Tijoux (I hear Bang Data also turned in a stellar opening set, though emcee Deuce Eclipse was already hanging out in the crowd by the time we made it to the show), open to new programming ideas.

Anyone wanna host a spoken word event? You can do it at La Peña, whose intimate space hosts science lectures, Chilean feasts, Marga Gomez’s “Day of the Dead Republican” stand-up, and craft fairs celebrating the work of women of color (the 18th annual Womyn of Color craft fair, in fact, takes place this weekend).

Most of the crowd that night was there for Tijoux’s political awareness — she touched on the Palestine-Israel conflict, the possibility for connection between poor people in all countries — which was good because it was a way more mellow set than the times I’ve seen her when she didn’t have a baby girl growing in her belly.

I took notes during the show comparing her outfit with the M.I.A.-like patterned leggings/oversized tee combo she rocked the last time I saw her, because she’s a female artist so obviously her clothes are really important. This time around she had on a flannel shirt that fit her and hella black spandex — stay comfortable, Anita.

After closing her set with her hit single “1977,” Raw-G hopped on stage for a few songs to give Tijoux a rest before coming back out with “La Rosas de los Vientos,” a song from Makisa, her fierce group from before she launched her solo career.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9vfmcfB1cc

“Me siento que estoy en un boliche de Latin America,” said my date. (Earlier in the evening he made us beat a hasty retreat once we had our plastic-cupped Peruvian Cristal beers from the bar in La Pena’s Cafe Valaparaiso — his Argentinian soccer team was being beat by Brazil on the bar’s TV.)

His vote of confidence was high praise for a spot in Berkeley, and it suggests that the Second Generation group is doing alright in its mission to bring continued life to the beloved La Peña. Maybe in 20 years Tijoux’s babe will be taking the stage, on her own feet this time.

Flamenco goosebumps: Buika at Herbst Theater

Andrew Lam
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Large portions of my life have been chronicled by music. Chopin waltzes from when I was starting to learn piano, Iron and Wine from my college Seattle days, and this summer, Spanish flamenco singer Buika. Sam Love and I have had her music playing literally non-stop, whether it’s while we’re editing photos, having dinner parties with friends, or driving north to Point Reyes for a hike. We’re totally addicted.

But the discovery of Buika and her sultry music came at random one evening when we were curled up on the couch watching the very disturbing Almodovar film The Skin I Live In. (The perfect choice for inducing super-creepy dreams). Buika makes a cameo in the movie, singing at a holiday party.

Although the movie was too scary for my tastes (too much chopped liver, thank you very much!) we Googled the beautiful voice that stood out from all the mayhem. It was Buika. And after a month of total immersion in her music, we found out she was coming to SF for a concert, and we knew we had to go.

Ok. So here it goes. I’ve been to many, many, live concerts. Big shows, small shows, even tiny living room shows. Buika’s concert on Friday night was the most amazing performance I’ve ever been to. I cried throughout the whole show and had a permanent layer of goose bumps frozen over my skin. Buika sings with every inch of her body, her voice wrapped in warmth and passion. She mixes her African and Spanish roots together to create music that is unique, but also traditional and classic in a way that enables everyone to easily connect with her music. Buika has the energy of Janis Joplin on stage, a burning fire that is truly magnificent.

 

Tango at Red Poppy Art House: A photographic foray

Andrew Lam
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Tango is spicy music. It makes you think of deep red dresses, glasses of rich wine, and warm nights for taking a long walk with your lover. Although we didn’t have one-way tickets to Argentina, an evening with the Redwood Tango Ensemble at the intimate and tiny Red Poppy Art House made the audience feel like they were that much closer to the real deal.

This five-piece ensemble of passionate and talented musicians performed a mixture of well-known and danceable tango pieces, along with a selection of its very own originals, which were sometimes a little more dark and moody, but also very different from traditional tango, posessing a certain home-grown flavor.

To top it off, there was even some tango dancing to accompany the music, showing the beautiful collaboration that tango music can bring between musicians and dancers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQ24va21P6c

 

Put some cream on it: Warming up the holiday kitchen with Studio of Good Living

Andrew Lam
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Five yogis walk into a kitchen and prepare seven dishes made with heavy cream.

This sounds like the beginning of a ridiculous and hilarious joke, but in all honesty, it’s pretty much how Saturday morning started out, with the very first recipe being homemade Irish cream (note: it was 11am). Things were off to an awesome start at the Studio of Good Living, Phoebe Schilla’s school of experiential cooking.

After introducing ourselves in chef Schilla’s beautiful home kitchen (and finding out that we’re all yoga fanatics), we got down to the business of preparing a variety of holiday sides and desserts, excited to master a few new recipes before this weeks holiday cooking bonanza begins.

Our chef, who trained at the Cordon Bleu and the Culinary Institute of America, is a personal chef and cooking instructor whose goal is to teach people how to cook simple, delicious food — and also eat it. Phoebe teaches out of her home, combing cooking with a yoga session and trips to the spa or the Ferry Building Farmers Market for her “signature experiences” offerings. She usually keeps class size under five students, so the experience is intimate, informative, and very hands-on. We not only learned new recipes, but we also got instructions on how to properly hold a knife, the perfect way to dice an onion, and how to crack an egg with one hand (more practice at home may be required on this last item!)

For our holiday cooking class, our lessons included the art of the perfect pie crust, two delectable stuffing recipes (one made with chestnut, another with wild mushroom), a chocolate truffle tart that would make an chocaholic beg for more, and a creamy vegetable soup that came with the option of increased richness with the addition of some heavy cream.

Overall, it was extremely fun — and a wonderful way to explore your kitchen and feel confident for the holidaze.

To add something wonderful to your Thanksgiving table this year, consider baking up a pan of Phoebe’s wild mushroom bread pudding

STUDIO OF GOOD LIVING WILD MUSHROOM BREAD PUDDING

Ingredients (serves 10-12):

1 (1-pound) loaf crusty-style white bread

¼ cup olive oil

1 ½ tsp. dried thyme

2 garlic cloves, chopped

4 TBS. butter

1 pound assorted fresh mushrooms

2 oz. dried porcini mushrooms, rehydrated in 1 cup boiling water, strain, and chop.

Reserve the liquid.

3 cups heavy whipping cream

8 large eggs

2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup finely grated aged parmesan, pecorino or gouda.

Instructions:

Preheat over to 375 degrees F. Butter a 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. Cut the crust and short ends off the bread. Cut remaining bread with crust into ½ inch cubes. Place cubes in very large bowl. Add oil, thyme, 1 tsp of salt and ½ tsp of pepper; toss to coat. Spread cubes out on large rimmed baking sheet. Bake until golden brown, about 15-20 minutes. Transfer the toasted cubes to a large bowl.

Melt butter in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add sliced fresh mushrooms. Saute until golden and juices have evaporated, about 15 minutes. Continue cooking and allow to brown – about 10 additional minutes. Deglaze the pan with the porcini mushroom soaking liquid. Add chopped porcini mushrooms and reduce the liquid until it is almost dry. Whisk heavy cream, eggs, salt and ground pepper in large bowl. Pour egg and cream mixture over the bread. Let the custard soak into the bread for 15 minutes. Fold in the mushrooms and grated cheese. Transfer stuffing to prepared baking dish. Bake stuffing uncovered until set and top is golden, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

 

 

Live Shots: Tame Impala at the Fillmore

Tony Robles
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Man, there were a lot of beards at the Fillmore last Thursday. Not the close-cropped beards that I swear some Bay Area men grow in hopes that a girl or boy wants to talk about it. But shaggy ones. The kind that you really can’t make a statement about. Because they aren’t a statement, unless it’s about their state of unwash.

I was at the Tame Impala show, and the beards were out in force. There were also a smattering of mods and hippies, a larger group of rocker girls with tough eyes and shiny hair, with their boyfriends, and a small slice of older music lovers.

I suppose that’s what happens when a band of quality has such disparate influences – think Beatles, circa “Tomorrow Never Knows” with all the musical toys of the Flaming Lips, a good dose of groove, and big, Nirvana-esque drumming. Tame Impala is an Australian psych-rock band with only two full-length albums under its belt, Innerspeaker, and most recently, Lonerism, and it was on its second to last stop of a sold-out tour. 

It was a promising start for Kevin Parker, and his chums. Parker, the mastermind, takes a Brian Wilson-type of musical approach –  bury yourself in the studio, write the songs, and play almost all the bits, make the album, and call in the band for the live shows.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H570ifQfpDk

Tame Impala is Parker’s baby, and it kind of showed a bit more than I would have liked. Yes, the band can play faithful reproductions of the music from the albums, and and I did get the shivery tingles on songs like “Gotta Be Above It,” the show’s opener, and “Apocalypse Dreams.” But in general, the band lacked showmanship, and energy.

Call it tour exhaustion or what-you-will, but Parker, with his politeness and shy smiles, took the stance of a young boy playing at a recital, while the rest of the band pretty much took a step back from the audience and played things spot-on. The most character came from drummer Jay “Gumby” Watson, who took some serious risks during his solos, and leant some drama to the show.

There were some really strong moments, though; “Elephant,” one of the singles off the new album, was one of them, the groove driving and everything played hard, to the wall. And, the audience was into it; there was plenty of bouncing shiny hair, and the bearded folks nodded their heads emphatically. The encore turned into a sing-along for the die-hards.

But there was a lurchiness to the performance — songs didn’t flow from one to the next, and my emotions just weren’t effectively manipulated, dammit. One minute I wanted to dance. The next I just stood and looked at the visuals, an acid-green scribble that pulsated to the beat, like an exploding star on repeat, until the show grabbed my attention again.

I have high hopes for Tame Impala, perhaps too high, which is why I’m disappointed. I think their albums are some of the best in the past couple of years. But they aren’t cohesive performers, and I can only give them a middling grade.

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