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Rearview mirror

0

emilysavage@sfbg.com

Year in Music “Out of all the records I’ve recorded, that was the worst experience,” says prolific Dinosaur Jr. bassist and Sebadoh guitarist Lou Barlow. He’s speaking of Bug, the classic, feedback opening alternative rock album Dinosaur Jr. released on SST in 1988.

Why then, did the band tour the East Coast during the spring of 2011, playing the album start to finish, and why does it continue to play it now — appearing at the Fillmore this week? “All the negative associations I had with it are gone. What I hear now is a really great batch of songs that J [Mascis] wrote.” He goes on to describe the early days of Dinosaur Jr., “when we formed it was my first textured, creatively ambitious band — and that was at the age of 17 — so it’s a real part of my DNA now. Musically, it’s a very familiar spot to be at.”

There, in a history-rich bed with a familiar texture, is the spot where aging rock fans crave to be. According to Simon Reynold’s exhaustive and polarizing 2011 tome Retromania, it’s also the space in which we all now inhabit, new listeners and old. His introductory words are harsh, if provoking. “The 2000s [was] the decade of rampant recycling: bygone genres revived and renovated, vintage sonic material, reprocessed and recombined. Too often with new young bands, beneath their taut skin and rosy cheeks, you could detect the sagging grey flesh of old ideas.” Brutal.

In some sections, Reynolds is dead on, and his methodology applies equally to the year in rock that was 2011 (though the book was written in the summer of 2010). We couldn’t possibly look back at these twelve months without including the grander trail of rock’n’roll, and how it was again repackaged throughout the year.

Given the retro-crazed times we live in, to judge the year, we must also fall deeper down the nostalgia inkwell, in part due to the onslaught of monster reunion tours, complete album trips, rereleased records, anniversary celebrations, and retro reverential new rock/garage/punk acts of 2011. One point Reynolds makes, is that the span of time elapsed between creative endeavor and nostalgia for said endeavor is rapidly fading.

Just recently the Weakerthans — which formed in 1997 — spent four power-pop nights at the Independent, playing one whole album from its catalogue each night. Earlier this year, Archers of Loaf launched a reunion tour (13 years after its demise) and the reissue of four of its studio albums on Merge. There were also reunion shows and tours from the Cars, Kyuss, Pulp, Cibo Matto, Masters of the Hemisphere, Death From Above 1979 (big up to Treasure Island Music Festival), and strangely, J. Geils Band, the Monkees, and System of a Down.

There were rereleased Smashing Pumpkins albums, a Throbbing Gristle greatest hits, and a Hot Snakes one-off (at press time) at All Tomorrow’s Parties’ Nightmare Before Xmas in Minehead, England — a fest also headlined by Archers of Loaf.

There was Nirvana’s Nevermind 20 year anniversary celebration, and Metallica’s 30 years strong, though the output for these celebrations was obviously disparate given the nature of the acts. Nirvana’s label released a series of singles and special edition anniversary batches. Metallica took perhaps the most surprising turn a no-frills metal act could — it paired with Lou Reed and released a confusing collaboration, Lulu, though the real anniversary celebration was yet to come — a four-night, devil-horned, juicy guest-starred tête-à-tête for hardcore fans at the Fillmore.

There were also the bands that just felt retro, or at least, stood with one foot in rock’s not-so-distant past. But the good ones were more reverent than carbon vintage copy, acts like Dum Dum Girls and Cults, played on romantic ideals of ’60s garage and slipped in some doo-wop and girl group-esque vocals, but neither directly mimics a particular era. In its debut follow-up, Only In Dreams (Sub Pop), Dum Dum Girls also referenced a distinct ’90s Mazzy Star vibe. Meanwhile, Canadian chanteuse Austra looped back to the ’80s with prominent synth and operatic love songs, and the Beets happily alluded to its own ’60s garage-meets-Ramones influences on fourth album Let The Poison Out (Hardly Art), like something out of a Nuggets boxset; a modern, bilingual Seeds.

Locally, longtime Ty Segall band member Mikal Cronin finally made the move to San Francisco in 2011. Raised on surf and garage rock down south, he brought with him a distinctive nostalgic sound; his solo self-titled record — released this year on Trouble in Mind — was one of the most intriguing of the year. Like many now living and playing in SF, he’s drawn to vintage rock’n’roll and garage, but his style stands out above the pack.

This year he released a multifarious record of crusted garage-punk and swirling psych-pop, glamorized with the hazy, sand-swept beach days pictured in vintage Polaroids. Opening track “Is It Alright” could be plucked from a psychedelic Beach Boys LP, laid thicker with grime. And Cronin, when pressed, reveals a long history of influences — along with current bands such as Thee Oh Sees and Strange Boys — mentioning longtime favorites “Emitt Rhodes, Del Shannon, the Beatles, the Beach Boys,” adding “I’ve been trying to relisten to the classics” And yes, the remaining Beach Boys were said to be planning yet another reunion for next year, a thrill for likely a few young fans (though the same can not be said for Brian Wilson’s 2011 Disney covers album).

Here’s another spot where Reynolds and I tend to split: I’m an unabashed rearview mirror fan. And while I agree that the “re-s” in our sonic world are sometimes overwhelmingly dull, the opportunity to see live bands that broke up before I was cognizant has just too strong a pull on my psyche. Even Reynolds seems to consent to that last bit, stating in Retromania, “The exceptions to my ‘no reunions’ policy are a few bands that I loved as a youth but never managed to see live.” So wouldn’t that be the case for someone in every audience? The giant pink headphones-wearing toddler I saw at the Iggy Pop show undoubtedly missed the punk singer’s first 40 odd years of shows. Now, will somebody please reunite Operation Ivy, Minor Threat, and Neutral Milk Hotel for complete album tours, or is that too sacrilegious for your precious memories? It’d just be for my own comfort, obviously. *

 

 

EMILY SAVAGE’S TOP 10 SHOWS OF 2011

Feb. 26: No Age, Grass Widow, and Rank/Xerox at Rickshaw Stop

April 27: Steve Ignorant plays Crass songs at Slim’s

June 1: Gayngs at Independent

July 13: King Khan & Gris-Gris, Shannon & the Clams, King Lollipop/1-2-3-4 Go! Records Showcase at Oakland Metro Opera House

Sept. 22: Hightower, Black Cobra, and Walken at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

Oct. 6: CSS at Fillmore

Oct. 13: Gardens & Villa at Bottom of the Hill

Nov. 5: Wild Flag at Great American Music Hall

Dec. 4: Iggy Pop at Warfield

Dec. 10: Tycho at Independent

The ones you love

1

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC There are certain people in your life that you will always forgive. No matter how noxious or unreasonable their actions, you’ll always find the silver lining, like a delusional Sam Spade. They could be responsible for defiling a gaggle of farm animals, and you’d convince yourself that the roosters were asking for it.

Generally, you are either bonded to these people by blood or have been friends with them for years. However, if you are tragic enough, sometimes this extends to people that you have never met. These are not symbiotic relationships. They don’t care about you, but for whatever reason, you care enough about them to defend them to the death. It’s called being a fanatic.

In April of 2009, I made an absurd decision. When roughly 60% of your monthly income goes into paying for your crappy apartment, spending $100 dollars on a concert ticket — ANY concert ticket — is an impossibility. If Jesus Christ and Alexander the Great were in town performing In The Aeroplane Over the Sea in its entirety for a hundred bones, I’d probably settle for watching the clips on YouTube. But this was different. The Moz was in town, and I had to go. Even if it meant eating nothing but ramen for the next 47 days, I had to go see him.

Those who had tickets to that Oakland show know what happened next. The day before the gig, Morrissey canceled, claiming that he had returned to England because he had been “sickened” at the smell of barbecue at his recent Coachella performance. As absurd as that excuse was, it turns out that it wasn’t even true. He was photographed hanging out at the DNA Lounge the night of the scheduled gig. Reports later surfaced that he really bagged the show because the Fox Theater wasn’t close to sold out. Maybe it was because tickets were 100 FUCKING DOLLARS a pop. I don’t know. I’m not a concert promoter.

As angry as I should have been about this, I wasn’t. In fact, I kind of understood. This is Morrissey. As he’s said a million times over, he’s not sorry. And, you know what? He shouldn’t be. How dare the brutes at Coachella infect his air with the smell of murder? How dare the unwashed masses criticize where the great Mozilla spends his evenings? He will play for us when he’s damn well ready.

And ready he is (we hope). And like a battered wife, here I am again, prepared to make the exact same absurd decision. Maybe he’ll break my heart again, but I’m willing to take that risk just to see the frontperson from my favorite ever band roll through a couple of his old classics (even if it’s just a couple). Why? It’s because I am a fanatic. And I’m not sorry either.

MORRISSEY

Thurs/1, 8 p.m., sold out

Fox Theater,

1807 Telegraph, Oakl.

(510) 302-2277

www.thefoxoakland.com

Carved up

0

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC Mexican garage punk act Le Butcherettes has been making a clamorous bang touring ’round the world — that noise thanks in no small part to wild ringleader, Teri Gender Bender. Back in early fall, Bender was expertly matched to fellow wild child, Iggy Pop, in a tour that seemed destined to rule. Tragedy struck when Pop was injured during a live show, and the future of the tour was unclear. Fast-forward three months and the rescheduled shows are finally here, going down at the Warfield. Before the tour, I spoke with the enigmatic Bender — a feminist, a performance artist, and most importantly, a rock’n’roll force to be reckoned with.

SFBG What was the reaction when you heard you’d be opening for Iggy Pop?  

Teri Gender Bender All three of us absolutely fell apart with joy. It’s a dream come true for sure, still pinching myself that it can’t be real.  

SFBG Any particularly memorable moments from the tours with Dead Weather, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, or Deftones?

TGB Getting to play in Mexico very early on in this band with Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Dead Weather were such mind blowing experiences. I was only 19 and they were our first big shows. It was a great [yet] nerve racking experience and a real eye opener. We did the Deftones tour with our new lineup, Gabe Serbian who is now the drummer, and Jonathan Hischke who plays bass — I did not have a bass player in the early days of the band. We had a lot of good times and weird times — it’s always strange to play first in front of people who really are there to see the headline band so it’s very hard work to get them to open their ears and minds to a band they have no idea about.

We had a lot of fun also with the Dillinger Escape Plan who were also on the tour. Both Gabe and Jonathan were friends with all of them from their days in their old bands the Locust and Flying Luttenbachers, they all had toured together before. It was also a great honor when Chino invited me to sing with him during their song “Knife Party” each night during the Deftones set. Overall we just feel really fortunate to be able to play with and for all kinds of people, not just one genre.

SFBG How did Serbian end up joining the band?

TGB Gabe joined in December of 2010, I met him through my manager Cathy who has known him for a while and suggested that I try jamming with him. We clicked immediately and that was that. She also introduced me to Jonathan, who lives at her house and was also friends with Gabe, he had just finished his touring with Broken Bells and said he would love to jam with us and again it just felt great. Our first real shows as the band we are were this year’s SXSW, which we all had a blast playing.

SFBG What music did you grow up listening to?

TGB I am not too proud to say I was all about Spice Girls, when I was really You Go Girl power. But I grew up with the music of my father who was all about classic rock and bands like the Beatles played constantly in our house when I was young. However, I will say that definitely the Spice Girls were not Gabe and Jon’s first CDs.

SFBG What inspires your lyrics?

TGB My sadness. Loss, expectations, deceptions, women’s rights.

SFBG Does the live show still include food, blood, and/or animals?

TGB The live show does not have any of those things now, when I first started the band I used many things like blood and meat as metaphors and symbolism — the meat represented how I felt women were treated, but I grew to realize that people don’t see or necessarily understand that was the message meant by the blood and meat but instead took away a whole different meaning and it became bigger than the music and more the talking point of our show from media — it was not meant as some kind of gimmick, so as soon as [I] felt like that was what it was becoming, I stopped because that was not ever the intention.

It came from a place of rage and I channeled those emotions into the music now versus having anything that could be called antics. The only thing left from that period is my bloody apron which really is the notion of the housewife stereotype rebellion. That will go away soon now too as it is also becoming a focus that does not really have the same importance or message once it is co-opted into an icon of the band. 

 

LE BUTCHERETTES

With Iggy Pop

Sun/4 and Tues/6, 8 p.m., $47

(415) 345-0900

www.thewarfieldtheatre.com

How does it make you feel?

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC Africa Hitech makes intoxicating music. Programmed polyrhythms snake over punchy bass lines. Synthetic chord progressions crescendo and fall, disrupted by surges of 808 kicks, constellations of snares, outbursts of electric energy.

All the while, an offbeat rhythm assaults the interweaving drum patterns, unsettling any steady flow that might have taken shape. This tension pulls the music forward, destining outwards, while the bass anchors the body, whether on the dance floor or just mesmerized inwardly, a head in the groove.

The sound builds in momentum, in suspense, but with subtle patience, producing a great gathering of intensity — which if you happen to hear on the right sound system — exceeds its limit, and disorients, overwhelms, destructs, rejuvenates. It’s the Dionysian rave rewired for our times.

“We grew up in that whole bass line culture in the UK with dub, reggae, soul, and everything that’s come about after it and around it,” says Steve Spacek, who together with Mark Pritchard makes the duo Africa Hitech. “We try to tap into that amazing feeling of the frequency in the club when everyone’s getting down together on one vibe, one of the best feelings imaginable.”

Seasoned producers-vocalists Spacek and Pritchard have pursued this utopian vision of sound in their latest project. In the past couple years, Africa Hitech has released three EPs, including this month’s Do U Really Wanna Fight on Warp, and dropped a brilliant record earlier this spring, 93 Million Miles. The songs navigate two topological poles: the cosmic and the streets. While “The Sound of Tomorrow” and “Light the Way” evoke otherworldliness, the ecstatic openness of galactic space channeled by the likes of George Clinton’s Mothership and Sun Ra’s Arkestra, “Blen” and “Gangslap” gurgle in the enclosed terrain of frenetic polypercussion and dread inducing low end. Their vocals wreak both havoc and bliss on language: soulful croons give away to disembodied vocoder chants; or, Spacek unleashes a growling patois, and sample cuts dissipate in mutilated mantras, reconfigured on a stuttering trigger pad: “Out/ Out/ Out/ Out in the streets/ Out in the streets/ They call it murrderrrrr.”

“We’re trying to preserve the Jamaican sound system in the music we make,” says Spacek. “There’s all these so-called different genres, but we just see them as all just one family. In the end they’re just different tempos and sensibilities of the same rhythm.”

That rhythm, the swing, carries traces of its past. Its body has been dispersed across the Atlantic: marked by violence, labor, hybridization, creative upheavals and reversals, restless paths of migration and commerce, moments of resistance and dreams of redemption. In these diasporic unfoldings, the swing has evolved, adapted, mutated. Those struck by the rhythm have both reinvented its prosthetic origins and conjured alternative prophecies, sometimes in folkloric traditions, sometimes in the margins, on the limits of popular music or in the neglected underbellies of familiar acoustic space. Recall the recent ancestry. Mystic purveyors of dub armed the bass line in a highly weaponized electronic form; techno rebels programmed the soul of the machine with analog drum machines, keyboards, and sequencers; hip-hop and jungle collagists digitized the beat through cut and paste sample techniques, effect, and manipulation. Today, footwork, dubstep, funky, and all their kin tap into the same alchemy, spread spontaneously through the planetary dissolution wrought by cyberspace. Africa Hitech picks up here.

For Spacek and Pritchard, sonic oscillations between the cosmic and street, inner and outer, traces of the past and hyper-tech future, collapse in the simple and pure feeling of the intoxicating bass line. “We’re not trying to make music that’s deep and meaningful. We’re trying to make music that feels good … the kind of feeling that you can’t escape, and you don’t want to, you get lost in it,” says Spacek, the words now rushing out. “The bass becomes so immense that it’s literally rattling your ribcage. Some call it spiritual. It resonates. It makes sense, intuitively. But there’s some kind of emotion in there that we don’t quite understand. To some degree, we don’t want to understand it, maybe we can’t. We just want to feel it.”

AFRICA HITECH

With Jonwayne, Kush Arora, DJ Dials

Thurs/1, 10 p.m.

Public Works

161 Erie, SF (415) 932-0955

www.publicsf.com

Garage troubadour

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC “I did something really stupid,” was pretty much the first thing Ty Segall said to me as we walked to Philz Coffee in the Mission. Originally the plan was to sit at El Metate, but that got nixed as we agreed an afternoon jolt of caffeine was more important.

I asked what he had done that was so stupid, but it wasn’t specifically clear which act he was referring to. On the defensive, he went off on a tangent about how he perceives his guitars almost as talismans. “It’s like voodoo,” he said. That’s how he explains his behavior when he gives a guitar away to somebody. Other times he goes with the more cliched rock ritual of destroying one on stage. This also led to his purchase of a 1965 sea-foam green Mustang Fender. The excitement in his voice as he described his new toy was apparent. Music is what makes him tick.

I interviewed him in 2009 when Lemons (Goner Records) came out, but that was forever ago considering his well-documented abundance of releases. Now that Goner is putting out a double LP, Singles 2007-2010 (out this week), it seemed like an appropriate time to catch up and see how constant touring may be taking its toll on the 24-year-old garage rock answer to a troubadour.

We settled at a picnic table at a nearby soccer park where Segall, clad in Ray Bans and a brown cardigan, explained his fatigue from life on the road. He had just wrapped up a slew of local gigs, including a Halloween show where he and his band performed as the Spits. There, they struggled for the spotlight as an unruly woman from the audience — who was allegedly “humping everything” — stole a purse, and had to be bounced. Then it was off to Austin for a couple of dates where he performed alongside Thee Oh Sees, who he considers the best live band San Francisco has to offer, Black Lips and the Damned at the three-day Fun Fun Fun Fest.

“We never really stop touring. I wonder how we’re still here,” he said in bewilderment of both the physical and mental drain bands endure. “Everybody hits a wall.” He was referring to breaking points, but was also responding to my prodding about a previous interview he gave to Spinner.com where he commented on the fragility of one’s mind, and how you can “lose it at any moment”.

Just as he was admitting his own sensitivity, three pugs walked over to him, as if on cue. I watched him pet the triplets in a moment of adorably comforting symbiosis. It appears he’s learning his limits, coping with an over-analytical brain and growing a thicker skin.

But that’s not to say his creative well is running dry any time soon. While the singles compilation is a retrospective, along with some unreleased material, Segall said he’s still “psyched” to record something new. 2012 promises to be fruitful as his booking agent claimed the native So Cal. surfer has three records coming out next year.

While he doesn’t see himself as being in a “party band”, he’s been given the unique opportunity to partake in the second annual Bruise Cruise. It’s a three-day cruise to the Bahamas loaded with garage bands, their fans, and 75 percent regular ol’ tourists, according to Segall. The concept seems a bit ridiculous in the sense that trash rockers will converge with such decadence. This year he’s joining a super group of sorts called the Togas with Shannon Shaw of Shannon and the Clams, Phillip Sambol from Strange Boys, and Lance Willie (drummer from the Reigning Sound).

But for now Segall can hold off and breathe for a second before setting sail. He can enjoy what he considers the vacation of just being home, doing his laundry, and all the other domestic yearnings that come with wanting a house with a yard and a basement.

Tradition!

3

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC Row after row of sentimental — sometimes kitschy, sometimes renowned — vinyl albums are lining pristine white walls in a small storefront, waiting for the opening of a record store that will exist for just one month.

Quite possibly the world’s first Jewish pop-up record shop, it’s in San Francisco on the edge of Mission and Bernal, in rotating art-music space, Queens Nails.

Like flashes of nostalgic dreams, each cardboard cover at the shop is its own piece of art: there’s the colorful impressionist style square enclosing Fred Katz’s trippy 1958 klezmer-meets-folk record Folk Songs for Far Out Folk, the shelf above holds Johnny Mathis’ breathtaking Kol Nidre, along with the campy Mickey Katz album, Mish Mosh — the cover of which depicts the artist as a (hopefully kosher) butcher posing with both meat-links and brass instruments.

There also are brand new copies of the recently released Songs for the Jewish American Jet Set, a compilation of wildly varying tracks (surf rock from the Sabras, deep soul Morrocan-born singer Jo Amar doing “Ani Ladodi”) culled from the archives of now-defunct Tikva Records, a Jewish label that was around from 1950 through 1973.

The Idelsohn Society for Musical Preservation released Songs for the Jewish American Jet Set, and is hosting the pop-up store, also dubbed Tikva Records. The group, whose mission focuses on preserving the 20th century Jewish experience through recorded sound, also has put out a number of reissues and hosted live music events in the past — this store will encompass both.

“When we initially did the reissues, we went out and found a lot of the artists on these records and we realized we really wanted to tell the stories of the music,” explains David Katznelson, the music biz veteran behind Birdman Records, president of the San Francisco Appreciation Society, and one of four Idelsohn Society co-founders.

So, in addition to selling vintage records and reissues, the store also will play host to a series of Jewish and Hebraic-themed live acts. Beginning Dec. 1 with the official opening party, artists will drop by for free, by donation performances: on Dec. 2, founding Los Lobos member Steve Berlin will original score a silent film, Los Angeles band Fool’s Gold will celebrate the release of its second LP with an in-store performance Dec. 7, classic duo the Burton Sisters will perform live for only the second time in the past five decades on Dec. 8, members of Dengue Fever will play live Dec. 10. And plenty more follow.

The Chanukah candle lighting ceremonies will begin with a performance by Zach Rogue — the leader of Oakland’s Rogue Wave who recently released Come Back To Us under the name Release the Sunbird. While some of the others acts were a natural fit in the Tikva lineup, Rogue was one that surprised me — his music has always seemed rather secular to me, so I asked him about it. Turns out, it will be his first time playing a Chanukah event. So will he play Rogue Waves songs, Release the Sunbird jams, or traditional Chanukah melodies? “I’m trying to figure that out now. I wouldn’t say that Chanukah songs are necessarily the top my repertoire.”

He explained his reasoning for participating in the event, “When I think back in terms of what got me into wanting to play the guitar, my parents raised me on psychedelic, ’60s British invasion stuff, but in terms of the actual acoustic guitar, a lot of it was Jewish summer camp — Camp Swig in Saratoga,” adding, “I was fascinated with the song leaders and the cadence of Jewish folk songs and Eastern European sound.”

Weaving around the ’50s epoch furniture (solid hand carved shelves and credenzas that look like wet bars, record players) of the newly constructed pop-up shop with “Tikva Records” in red lettering on the window front, I got a sense of a cozy, hangout for record lovers, Jewish or not, which lead me to again question: what exactly makes music Jewish?

Vibrant, and clearly enamored with these albums, Katznelson was on hand with some helpful thoughts. “I think, like all music, it’s open to interpretation. What we do is use this music to look at Jewish history — it’s beyond Jewish music, it’s music that has affected the Jewish experience.”

Jewlia Eisenberg, leader of SF group Charming Hostess, was also previewing the store — it was her first time taking a peek around too, and she seemed ecstatic, slipping records out of the shelves and commenting, “oh my god, look at this one!” Along with the help of a few volunteers, Eisenberg will be running the shop during the month of December.

Katznelson and Eisenberg pulled out records to examine, including the classic Fiddler on the Roof, but more so albums that recently came back to light, like the Latin-tinged Bagels and Bongos — another album the Idelsohn Society reissued. Says Katznelson, “Hybrids happened, and it created new sounds — so what are those new sounds called?”

An example of the modern Jewish hybrid: Jeremiah Lockwood, New York-based bandleader of the Sway Machinery and grandson of legendary cantor Jacob Konigsberg, who will light the final two nights of Chanukah candles at the store, and perform live.

During his second appearance, Ethan Miller of Howling Rain and Luther Dickinson of the North Mississippi All Stars will join Lockwood in performance. He met Dickinson back in 1998 when they worked on a friend’s album together. Says Lockwood. “It was my first trip to the South after spending my adolescence obsessed with country blues and it made a big impression on me.”

The rest of his performances will be a mixed bag, reflecting decades of the Jewish — and American — music experience. “I’m most comfortable playing blues-oriented material when I play solo, but I definitely plan to hit some tunes from the new Sway Machinery album,” he says, “I will certainly dig out some of my family’s Chanukah standards…very beautiful bits of Jewish folklore I grew up on and that were a part of the family Chanukah lighting ceremony.”

And just like that, after a month of record-selling and live performances culminating with holiday revelry, the pop-up will end, and it’ll be on to the next great idea for the Idelsohn Society. Like it was all some nostalgic, far-out folk dream. 

TIKVA JEWISH POP-UP RECORD STORE

Dec. 1-Dec. 28, times vary, free (donations suggested)

3191 Mission, SF

www.idelsohnsociety.com/tikvastore

www.tikvarecords.eventbrite.com

 

Thoughtful hooligans

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC A somber organ chord rings out on the opening track of WU LYF’s Go Tell Fire To The Mountain, “L Y F.” As the distant clash of cymbals grows louder, a wailing guitar lures you in like a siren song. Then Ellery Roberts unleashes a desperate, hellish growl, and you realize that WU LYF is unlike any band you’ve ever heard.

Characterized by Roberts’ guttural snarl and a rich, grandiose sound the band refers to as heavy pop, Go Tell Fire To The Mountain is a cathartic masterpiece born from the restless adolescence of four young Mancunians. WU LYF (an acronym for World Unite! Lucifer Youth Foundation) came together through a firm resistance to a conventional transition into adulthood.

“I didn’t want to go to university,” says Roberts. “I felt like it was kind of the only option I had.” On the phone, Roberts is a far cry from the gravel-throated animal on WU LYF’s debut. The 20-year-old is thoughtful, reserved, and exudes a remarkable intelligence.

Roberts and bandmates Tom McClung, Joe Manning, and Evans Kati were in their mid teens when they began playing together in their native Manchester, England. “When we wrote [the single] ‘Heavy Pop,’ that was the moment,” Roberts says. “It didn’t feel like we were trying to sound like anyone else.”

Sure, Roberts’ vocals easily draw comparisons to Tom Waits, and the band’s epic sound is reminiscent of Godspeed You! Black Emperor or Explosions In The Sky. In an era of rampant imitation and recycling, however, WU LYF has stumbled upon a sound that’s refreshingly unusual.

Expecting “Heavy Pop” to reach only a handful of friends, the group posted the track online. Media outlets caught hold of the song and began speculating wildly about the mystery band from Manchester. Rather than sign a record deal, WU LYF set up a website with vague, anti-authoritarian musings where fans could join the Lucifer Youth Foundation. For a small entry fee, members received the band’s single and a white “bandit flag of allegiance.” This worldwide alignment of hoodlums funded WU LYF’s full length debut.

If “Heavy Pop” marked the genesis of WU LYF, the abandoned church where Go Tell Fire To The Mountain was recorded is the mother that nurtured the beast. The group abstained from working in a studio, which Roberts says “seemed like a mathematic way of making music.” Instead, the foursome went out in search of big, empty spaces.

“We were walking around this old, industrial part and we just came across this church in the middle of a maze of factories,” he says. “It added so much to the record. None of us were really controlling the sound.”

Though Roberts’ impassioned vocals render his words nearly incomprehensible, a quick look at his lyrics reveals a literary astuteness. Go Tell Fire To The Mountain‘s narrative structure was inspired by a screenplay Roberts wrote at the age of 17, and the cinematic album explores themes of camaraderie, mortality, and ambiguous religion.

“We put a lot of ourselves into it,” says Roberts. Although the record’s only been out for a few months, WU LYF has achieved a cult like following that Roberts calls “pretty amazing, but strange.” In the wake of the monstrous reaction to Go Tell Fire To The Mountain, WU LYF is embarking on its most extensive tour thus far.

The band’s been in the US for a few days when we speak so I ask Roberts if he’s spotted any LYF members in the audience. “We’ve seen a couple,” he responds. “It’s always nice to see when you come on stage, [the] fans that have their white flags. You know you’ve got your friends out there.”

WU LYF With Crystal Antlers

Mon/21, 8 p.m., $15

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

XX hardcore

0

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC When Blatz, a political punk band connected to all-ages Berkeley music venue 924 Gilman Street Project (the Gilman), was looking for a girl singer to join the act in 1990, it wound up with two new additions.

Annie Lalania and Anna Joy Springer were separately asked to audition, but the band didn’t realize they were already friends. When the women arrived, they decided they didn’t want to leave, and so they both joined the band, which made for chaotic, memorable live shows with massive pits in crowd and sometimes double of every instrument on stage. It was like “a silly American version of Crass,” says Springer.

Now a published author and professor of creative writing at U.C. San Diego, Springer recounts this story and other anecdotes, laced with humor and debauchery, about maneuvering through the ’90s Bay Area punk scene as a feminist queer woman in the new documentary, From the Back of the Room.

Directed by D.C.-based filmmaker Amy Oden, the documentary — which screens at the Center for Sex and Culture this week — follows the trail of women in punk, hardcore, riot grrrl, and other DIY music scenes beginning in the 1980s. Its clusters of interviews span generations, scenes, and states, with vintage and contemporary footage of live shows sprinkled throughout.

Via phone, on an eight-hour road trip during a Southern tour with the film, Oden tells me she hopes the documentary will start a dialogue on the issues faced by women, adding “My other big hope is that if younger women see it, they feel they can be a part of this community, or whatever community they want to be a part of.”

Following initial introductions and clips, From the Back of the Room is segmented into sections discussing different aspects of sexual politics — categories such as violence in the scene, and later, motherhood, arise and are addressed by female musicians, roadies, bookers, graphic designers, and house show providers.

“I started coming up with people whose bands I’d always admired, or listened to a lot,” explains Oden, also a musician. “It was bands I’d listened to growing up. [The film] was half that, and half people being like, ‘oh you should talk to this person’ or ‘have you met this person?’

The end result is a film that includes Leora from NYC hardcore act Thulsa Doom, Slade Bellum from San Francisco’s Tribe 8, Laura Pleasants from current sludge act Kylesa, hard-rocking twin sisters Janine Enriquez and Nicole Enriquez from Witch Hunt, Jen Thorpe from experimental Canadian punk band Submission Hold, and Allison Wolfe from seminal riot grrrl act Bratmobile, among dozens of other interviewees.

Riot grrrl is likely the most consistently recognized form of female punkdom, thanks to the media frenzy in the early ’90s surrounding Wolfe’s band and acts like Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney.

“It was overwhelming,” Wolfe says of the hype during a phone call from her home in Los Angeles. “At first you’re flattered…but what it ends up feeling like is that your community is being taken from you and served up in a really watered-down way. The message was heavily edited — declawed and defanged.”

Wolfe, who now plays in the band Cool Moms, says riot grrrl was very much a part of third-wave feminism, adding, “I don’t feel riot grrl is super current, I think it does exist in a certain time and place, but it’s part of a [feminist] continuum.”

And therein lies another issue Oden addresses in her documentary — while riot grrrl is no longer contemporary, or at least, no longer hounded by media, there are still plenty of females in the punk scene that deserve recognition — and many more that came before it.

“I definitely think riot grrrl did some amazing things,” says Oden, “But I think that often times the other side of that story gets left out, the women that were active contributors to the punk scene before riot grrrl, during riot grrrl, and since riot grrrl.”

Clearly, women in punk did not die off in the ’90s. This week, there’s a show in San Francisco at Public Works with T.I.T.S, Grass Widow, and experimental punk act Erase Errata — the continuing torch bearers of the DIY punk movement, the Bay Area band formed in 1999 that toured with electro post-Bikini Kill act, Le Tigre.

From the Back of the Room explores longevity, but also contradictions — punk is not a cohesive scene, and it’s not void of the usual trappings of mainstream society. It’s a many-layered, impassioned, conflicting, world. Lyrics screamed about equality do not always match actions.

Springer of Blatz and later, Gr’ups, knows well the disconnect. Just last year, on a reunion tour with Gr’ups, she played with anachro-punks Subhumans and the old power struggle with the audience was alive and well. She tells me, “We were on a stage and there were all these people shouting the words to old Subhumans songs, all these amazing lyrics about freedom and equanimity.” Then, some “no shirt-wearing pseudo skinhead looking guy” in the crowd yelled “shut up and show us your tits.”

Says Thorpe from Submission Hold in the trailer for From the Back of the Room,”A lot of people come into the punk scene thinking it’s an ideal world where they’re not going to come across sexism, racism, homophobia — all the isms — but that’s not true, it exists there as well, and it needs to be addressed there as well.”

“FROM THE BACK OF THE ROOM”

Sat/19, 8-11 p.m., $5–$7 sliding scale.

Center for Sex and Culture

1349 Mission, SF

(415) 902-2071

www.sexandculture.org

 

Unaffiliated yet tangentially related show this week:

T.I.T.S, GRASS WIDOW, ERASE ERRATA

Thurs/17, 9pm, $8

Public Works

161 Eerie, SF

(415) 932-0955

www.publicworks.com

Playlist

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CASS MCCOMBS

HUMOR RISK

(DOMINO)

Cass McCombs’ Wit’s End, released in the spring, was as elegant and somber as a candle-lit church. It was consistent, too, both sonically and thematically. In contrast, Humor Risk, the singer songwriter’s second LP this year, is eclectic, brighter, and less restrained. “Robin Egg Blue” is a breezy, nod your head side-to-side number, and “Mystery Mail” is crunchy hard rock. However, Humor Risk is hardly all smiles. After all, it’s Cass McCombs. “The Same Thing” is upbeat, but the lyrics are chilling. And “To Everyman His Chimera” (a female monster that breathes fire) sounds like a sequel to Wit’s End‘s “County Line”— it’s stripped down and fraught with tension. On the whole, Humor Risk is as infectious as pop but so substantive that it resists being called it. (James H. Miller)

 


 

 

THE MUSICAL ART QUINTET

NUEVO CHAMBER

(CLASSICAL REVOLUTION RECORDS)

This lively local string quintet formed at Sunday jam sessions at Revolution Cafe (homebase of its label) with the purpose of fusing classical to Argentine, Cuban, African, and electronic dance rhythms. Not a novel concept, but main composer-bassist Sascha Jacobsen’s concoctions hop nimbly through a world of styles while impressing with ear-catching intricacy and handsome technique. (“Turtle Island String Quartet high on Ástor Piazzolla” springs to mind.) Occasionally the project errs slightly in its earnestness — the jazzy positivity of “Life is Beautiful” is a bit relentless, although little kids will dig it — but indelible tracks like “Milonga de San Francisco” and Afrobeat-inflected “Fela Feliz” are spirited treats that will have you twirling across the floor. Musical Art Quintet performs Fri/18, 8 p.m., $10/$20 at the Collins Theater, 1055 Ellis, SF. www.musicalartquintet.com. (Marke B.)

 


 

 

AYSHAY

WARN-U

(TRIANGLE)

It’s nice when a record begins and immediately you feel as if you are being summoned into a secret ceremony. Raised in Kuwait and born in Senegal, Ayshay (Fatimi Al Quadiri) translates traditional Islamic songs into haunting and hypnotic spells on Warn-U. These tracks creep way under your skin, layered and looped vocal chants, alongside witchy electronics that bridge the gap between Grouper, Zola Jesus, Dead Can Dance, and Ofra Haza. There is something refreshing and rewarding about a debut that understands its scope. These four songs, coming in at 20 minutes, illuminate a singular vision and new voice that we’re sure to hear a lot from in years to come. Simultaneously sensual and creepy. (Irwin Swirnoff)

 


 

 

ATLAS SOUND

PARALLAX (4AD)

The incomparable Bradford Cox’s genius lies in his ability to mate transcendent lightness with cumbersome human vulnerability. His third release as Atlas Sound, Parallax, is the most refined example of this skill thus far. Shimmering harmonic tones blossom throughout Cox’s celestial pop songs, but his stream-of-consciousness vocal musings are forever steeped in melancholy. “When you’re down, you’re always down,” Cox cries over twinkling harpsichord loops on “Te Amo.” “My Angel Is Broken” is an anthem for the downhearted driven by summery surf guitar riffs. Featuring piano and backing vocals from MGMT’s Andrew VanWyngarden, “Mona Lisa” is a jangly cosmic joyride. The album’s closing track, “Lightworks,” floats off into oblivion like a lost balloon in the night sky. (Frances Capell)

 


 

WAX IDOLS

NO FUTURE

(HOZAC RECORDS) It’s unnerving when you realize you’ve been subconsciously waiting for something. Wax Idols’ No Future, is the record that filled an unknown void in my music collection, the slim crack between 1980s sleaze and modern post-punk. On the album, the Bay Area trio offers a sweet taste of the past without dipping its dirty fingernails too deeply into the punk classics pie. While songs like “Hotel Room” have the paranoid drums of the Germs, and snarling female vocals of Lydia Lunch, tracks such as “Nothing At All” lean more toward a shoegazy, garage-y Pretenders. The disaffected mood throughout is set by titles like “Uneasy,” and “Bad Future,” and yet, No Future sounds to me like the future of punk. (Emily Savage)

GOLDIES 2011: Dirty Cupcakes

4

GOLDIES It was the summery music video that launched a thousand bubblegum crushes. Guitarist-vocalist Lauren Matsui, drummer Laura Gravander, and bassist Sola Morrissey, a.k.a the Dirty Cupcakes, adorably lust after unrequited love. The cute boy of their dreams prefers other boys, and he sexily smooches another man, while the girls swoon from different spots around San Francisco, including a Sandy-in-Grease bedroom scene. “I feel like it’s a San Francisco thing to be in love with a gay man, or somebody that you can’t have,” says Matsui.

The addictive video, created by their pals Jen Dorn, Kevin Jardin, and Aya Carpio for the band’s garage pop jam “I Want It (Your Love),” was an insta-hit this summer, gaining the relatively unknown trio more than 15,000 page views to date.

It was a rough cut of the video that convinced Matthew Melton of Bare Wires to put out the trio’s record as the first release on his new label, Fuzz City. Just released last month, the I Want It seven-inch was recorded in Melton’s bedroom in Oakland and a studio in the Tenderloin beginning late 2009. The Cupcakes were born just a year prior.

It almost began on a lark. On a sunny day in Dolores Park in 2008, some strippers were holding a bake sale, and a friend of Matsui and Morrissey’s brought back a treat. Hence the name, Dirty Cupcakes. “We didn’t even have a band, but we had the name,” Matsui laughs. Matsui, who had been playing guitar since she was 13 (thanks to A Hard Day’s Night), taught Morrissey to play the bass and they picked up Gravander shortly there after.

Gravander was playing with Nobunny at the now-shuttered Eagle Tavern when Matsui gathered some “liquid courage” and asked Gravander to join her band: “She was so awesome and totally had the energy we needed.”

The band, influenced by stripped-down bubblegum punk like Nikki and the Corvettes and early Go-Go’s, has since played throughout the Bay, most often at the Knockout (“we’re basically the resident band,” Matsui jokes) and house shows in the East Bay — Nov. 9, they’ll play Oakland’s New Parish for the first time.

Live, they play fast and loud, wearing matching costumes — colorful ’60s-esque stripey shifts, Girl Scout uniforms, dinosaur heads. At one Oakland house show, Gravander recalls things getting particularly hectic. “During the last half of our last song, the drums collapsed and I was like, ‘No! I won’t end like this!’ So I pulled the snare and held it on my lap and kept playing.”

It’s the band’s cheerful take on punk that has endeared them to locals and other bands like Shannon and the Clams. They make fun songs (including one about robot love) and videos, wear creative frocks, and say they feel the freedom to do whatever they want as band — I guess, save for making out with gay boys.

GOLDIES 2011: Religious Girls

2

GOLDIES If they suddenly became stupidly rich, the trio behind Oakland’s Religious Girls would purchase a warehouse to turn into an all-ages venue/home-recording studio, with maybe some laser tag. Or they’d buy a food cart. If that isn’t the epitome of the modern Bay Area band, I don’t what is.

Gutted, then formed from the meat of other local acts, Religious Girls — Nicholas Cowman, Guy Culver, and Christopher Danko — became a unit in the summer of 2008. When asked if Oakland influenced their sound, Danko says, “It really did. We came together in Oakland, and grew together, our music as well.” The arty noise act’s music is that of the futurist multitasker: overflowing synth and samplers, beeping keyboard, near-tribal drumming, and three wordless chanting vocalists. Conspicuously absent are the given instruments of traditional rock ‘n’ roll.

The band is electrifying live, all loose limbs, hard-hitting drums solos, and musty, foggy chants, formed in a claustrophobic circle (more like a triangle, to be mathematically accurate), each musician clearly feeding off the energy of the others. This past summer, the rest of the country got to catch the live act — the Religious Girls (time to note: no actual females play in the band) spent 45 days on the road on their own Shred Til We Ded tour. They toured the East Coast in a giant school bus (dubbed “The Rad Bus”) with Blastoids and the Prophet Nathan, both of Tennessee, and from that trip fondly recall “jumping off a bridge and riding a waterfall in Washington, making a whirlpool with Japanther in Montana, and [getting] the stomach flu!”

The cross-country journey was in support of the recently released 12-inch EP Midnight Realms, which came out on two labels, Everybodies Stomached (in L.A.) and Echolalic Records (Seattle). To be released yet again next year, this time on German label Alien Transistor, the record is fraught with mind-expanding moments of ecstasy. The thrill of the twinkling keyboard build-up in “OG” (named for BART cop shooting victim Oscar Grant) plateaus with guttural screams and fuzzy daggers of laser synth, breaking down into near chiptune digi-video game bleeps and clacking drums. It’s pieces like this that explain the band’s magnetism, having been described as “feral and bubbly,” “fucking MONSTERS” (in a YouTube comment), and “like a more ambient Battles “(okay, that last one was me).

And in truth, it’s just really getting started, the momentum building thanks in no small part to the EP. The band is in the final stages of mixing its full-length record, set to be released next year, and has more tour plans in 2012: the trio will hit the West Coast in January, and take its first European jaunt in April after SXSW — where they’ll undoubtedly pick up a few additional fans, further spreading the good word on Oakland sound.

Resurrection

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MUSIC In a once-pink house, atop a hill where San Francisco and Daly City collide, freak folk four-piece Little Teeth practices its trash thrash in a small living room decked with tawdry holiday tchotchkes year round, as if suspended in a never-ending Christmas.

When I arrive, pajama-clad vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Sofia Bell is baking Christmas tree-shaped vegan cookies. As she enters the bedroom, she serves percussionist Sean Real and the band’s newest addition, Brian Rodriguez, her freshly baked confections. Her wife, vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Dannie Murrie, is in their bed, watching 16 and Pregnant. When Bell ensures everyone is eating, she gets in the bed and cozies up next to Murrie. The room’s energy shifts when the interview commences.

Weeks prior — to accompany Daly City/Andalusia, an EP of demos — Little Teeth posted a tell-all bio on Bandcamp, scrupulously detailing the dissolution of the band’s original lineup (Ammo Eisu, Andy Tisdall, Murrie — Murrie remains the only original member).

On New Year’s Eve 2008, after she was introduced to Little Teeth’s music by her boyfriend, Bell saw Tisdall perform solo. His music — simple folky melodies above clamorous creaky piano, banjos, and cellos — made for enchanting chamber folk. “It was like a religious experience. Everyone blacked out of the room. Doves were flying. [There were] huge choruses of kneeling skeletons,” she says, catching her breath. “It was a very dramatic experience for me.”

She also met Murrie that evening. “I saw her come up the stairs. And I will never not remember that ’cause it really [was] like that love at first sight thing,” she says.

To Bell, the music Tisdall and Murrie were making both together as Little Teeth and separately as solo artists was what she had been waiting for her whole life. “I just felt like nothing had ever played the sound of a person — what it felt like to be on the inside in your nervous system running and the voices in your head arguing with you,” she says. “I just felt so completely naked in front of their music.”

So enamored with Tisdall’s music, Bell began cheating on her boyfriend with him. A room opened up in the Pink House — where Murrie resided — when the band was at SXSW. Bell moved in. And upon his return, Tisdall shared a room with Bell.

During what Bell and Murrie call “the golden era,” Bell was experimenting as Stanzamaphone, her solo project, while Murrie was producing Little Teeth’s debut album, Child Bearing Man (Absolutely Kosher). In it, Murrie’s snarling, metallic gruff rises above the banging of pots and pans and wailing of mandolin, accordion, banjo, and cello. When Murrie began working on Stanzamaphone with Bell, they fell in love.

“It was the Chernobyl of the house,” Murrie says, referring to the day she and Bell decided to disclose their feelings for each other with their housemates. “It went the worst way it could have possibly gone. It went the way of hospitals and 5150s” — involuntary 72-hour hold in a psychiatric hospital.

All the while, Bell had developed a gastrointestinal disorder. After her hospitalization, she began to write down what had happened over the past six months. The pared down version of that story was posted to Bandcamp, as the band worked on repairing itself. With sagacious hindsight, in the house frozen in Christmas time, Murrie says, “Our sentence is to face the ghost and do it justice and do it service. And live with it everyday. And live it through our songs.” *

 

LITTLE TEETH

With Faun Fables

Fri/4, 9p.m., $10–<\d>$13

New Parish

579 18th St., Oak.

www.thenewparish.com

Beautiful pop

2

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC I half-expect Jhameel to be sporting face paint whiskers swiped across his cheeks as I walk up to meet him at Cafe Strada near the UC Berkeley campus. Lyrically, he’s inspired by Ben Gibbard, musically by Sufjan Stevens, but aesthetically, it’s early Bowie.

After listening to Jhameel’s latest full-length — The Human Condition, which came out in early 2011 — on repeat, I’ve grown accustomed to seeing his face painted with black streaks like on the cover, or in rainbow stripes like in the frenetic video for the poppy “How Many Lovers.” The rational side of my brain, however, assures me he’ll show up in street clothes.

It’s not like the multi-instrumentalist singer-songwriter wears face paint in real life, or even in all of his output. In reality, his style is gradually morphing. It’s fluid, like the danceable baroque-pop music itself, which Jhameel (his legal name, meaning “beautiful”) composes and creates almost entirely solo. He played every instrument on the album: guitar, piano, bass, drums, violin, cello, trumpet, keyboard. While it’s not his biggest strength (that would be violin), he says he’s most in line with the cello. “I relate to its personality,” he explains, fresh-faced when we spot each other at the cafe wearing similar black pea coats, “It’s got a strong foundation. It’s rooted in the ground. I get a good vibe out it.”

The son of a master violinist (who appeared in the original Fame) Jhameel spent his childhood surrounded by instruments. “I’ve been writing [music] since before I can remember, it’s been like a language for me.” It can be included in the long list of languages he knows, including Spanish, bits of Korean and Chinese, Latin, some Russian, and near fluency in Arabic.

He majored in Arabic at Berkeley and graduated in two years, paying for schooling through ROTC (Reserve Officers’ Training Corps). But something happened during that time, a “cliché self-identity crises” — a seismic shift of values, mentality. He won’t shed too much light on the life change, but he says he had to let go of ROTC. He joined a co-op; the contrasts enlivened his lyrics. “I only have one life to do this. I’d like to have a positive effect on the world.”

In a stroke of DIY music-maker ingenuity, Jhameel this week announced that beginning Nov. 8, he’ll release a new song every week for the next five weeks in a series called Waves. Each song will be accompanied by individual photography, and will be totally free to download. He calls the upcoming series more primal and animalistic then the highly poetic The Human Condition, which is an analysis of emotion.

He does have some experience mining pop culture. Early in this musical journey he covered T-Pain’s “Buy You a Drink” — on violin — and posted it to Youtube. It’s the perfect slice of modern music. Go watch it now. He’s not wearing any fancy face paint, but he’s got style.

(Note: this article has been changed from its original print version to reflect Jhameel’s decision after press time to change the nature of his next release.)

JHAMEEL

With Company of Thieves, and Motopony

Nov. 14, 9:30 p.m., $12

Cafe Du Nord

2170 Market, SF

(415) 861-5016

www.cafedunord.com

 

Mood setters

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emilysavage@sfbg.com


MUSIC Water Borders, a gloomy beat-driven San Francisco band with a new release (Harbored Mantras) on Tri Angle Records, spent the past few weekends practicing the art of creating atmosphere for obscure vintage films.


The band was picked for the first San Francisco installment of Celluloid Salon, a multimedia series that also takes place in cities such as New York, Chicago, and Austin, Texas. At the event — Nov. 15 at Public Works — the trio will live score four silent shorts from the 1920s and ’30s. “We’re good at soundscapes,” explains the group’s singer Amitai Heller, sitting amongst pedals, synths, stacked TVs, and laptops in the band’s Tenderloin practice space. “It’s kind of what we do best, is create moods.”


He’s right. The textured tracks on Harbored Mantras creep from black velvet-swaddled eerie (“What Wiwant”) to veiled ethereal (“Waldenpond.com”). Moody synths and drum machine beats are layered with cinematic samples that recall snake rattles, dragging chains, even bird chirps. The album — which is the band’s first full-length release after putting out a CD-R, a cassette, and a few records on labels such as Disaro — also takes hints from post-punk and experimental industrial, most notably, Coil.


Heller’s doomed, swallowed vocals are the most startling. “There’s definitely a lot of studio tricks with the vocals,” says Heller’s partner-in-sound, Loric Sih. “Our music is generally dense and cavernous, the vocals have to be mixed in a specific way to sound right sitting on top of that. There was a lot of experimenting, a lot of trial and error, a lot of long nights in here.” Here meaning the practice space, where a nearby metal act’s muffled guitar bleeds through the walls.


While this project arose in 2009, the two met 10 years back at UC Santa Cruz when Heller was the “flamboyantly dressed” singer of Gross Gang. After Gross Gang ended, Heller started New Thrill Parade and asked Sih to join. With Water Borders, Heller says they had a plan: “everything in reverse from how we did things in the previous band.” In the other band, they “self-promoted aggressively, toured insane, and lost tons of money.”


Says Heller, “With this, [Loric and I] decided that we wanted to get everything in order first, have concise direction…and not show people the evolution as it unfolded. So it’s record it, perfect it, show it.” While that was the theory, the reality was a bit more complicated. They had to work at bringing the synth-and-machine music to the stage in an engrossing way. “It’s taken us about this long to understand how to make electronic sound good live. I think the [record release] show we just played at Amnesia was probably the first time that nothing went wrong.”


Part of that newfound live strength comes from the band’s newest member, Matt Rogers, a longtime friend and recent Seattle transplant. At shows, the multi-instrumentalist plays guitar, keyboard, and an electrical kalimba, among other pieces. The addition of Rogers, who joined in August, meant Heller could focus mainly on vocals. And those are important to him. While they’re murky, under a thick goth-y haze, the lyrics on Harbored Mantras touch on themes of dissatisfaction, systemic and institutional change, and colonialism. They come from Heller’s sociopolitical awareness; raised on a kibbutz in Israel, he’s now a volunteer counselor at the Tenants Union and frequents the Occupy SF grounds.


While likely not so in line with his personal politics, he once composed music for a documentary on the Seastedding Institute (which, he says, is basically an organization of rich libertarians who want to colonize the ocean by creating autonomous cities). The event at Public Works will be the first scoring for Water Borders as a band though. Sih and Heller seem stoked at the prospect. “I would be happy if this band was able to score films professionally,” enthuses Sih. The tones of the short films vary wildly, one even has a slapstick element — which seems worlds away from the Water Borders vibe. Says Heller, “It’s challenging in a good way.”


 


WATER BORDERS


Nov. 15, 7 p.m., free with RSVP


Public Works


161 Erie, SF


(415) 932-0955


www.myopenbar.com/celluloidsalon


www.publicsf.com

Strength of song

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In Cuba, there is just one group that specializes in traditional Haitian songs — the Creole Choir of Cuba. “Some of the songs in our repertoire are those we learned from our parents or grandparents, others we learned during the many visits we have made to Haiti,” says choir director Emilia Diaz Chavez, through translator Kelso Riddell.

Riddell is the group’s tour manager for this journey, which is the choir’s fifth trip through the U.S. The vibrant ensemble — featuring Creole vocals and percussion — appears in San Francisco at the Herbst Theatre on Nov. 3, through the California Institute of Integral Studies’ public programs and performances series.

Diaz Chavez created the group in 1994 in Camagüey, Cuba. The core ten members — Rogelio Torriente, Fidel Miranda, Teresita Miranda, Marcelo Luis, Dalio Vital, Yordanka Fajardo, Irian Montejo, Marina Fernandes, Yara Diaz, and Diaz Chavez — were already part of the Regional Choir of Camaguey, which Diaz Chavez also directs (and has for the past 32 years). “The Haitian descendents of the Regional Choir got together to form the Desandann or the Creole Choir of Cuba with the objective of promoting the songs of our ancestors,” she explains.

Desandann literally translates to “descendents.” The choir is made up of the descendents of a people twice displaced, first from West Africa, then from Haiti. Some of their ancestors escaped slavery in Haiti near the end of the 18th century, others came to Cuba more recently to work in the coffee and sugar plantations.

Diaz Chavez was born in Camagüey, and remembers nights at home singing — she says her whole family enjoys song and dance. She studied music at the School of Arts in Camagüey, then completed her studies in Havana. “After graduating, I became particularly interested Haitian music and bringing it to the rest of the world,” she says.

While the journey of her people may have included displacement and sorrow, the songs the group sings are mostly uplifting — lyrics include messages of love, humor, and happiness, along with struggle. “These make us all laugh and cry and sing and dance,” say Diaz Chavez. And the consistent hand percussion and moving vocal compositions maintain an air of excitement, urgency. Live, the group dresses in colorful prints and engages audiences in participation. On this tour, which includes 30 performances during a six-week period, the choir also has been holding workshops at schools throughout the country.

“We hope people leave our concerts knowing more of our Haitian music, and that they have received our messages of love and friendship,” Diaz Chavez says, “And [we hope] they enjoy a little Cuban music too.” *

CREOLE CHOIR OF CUBA

Nov. 3, 8 p.m., $25–$65 Herbst Theatre

401 Van Ness, SF

(415) 621-6600

www.cityboxoffice.com

 

ADDITIONAL GLOBAL MUSIC EVENTS

The annual San Francisco World Music Festival, now in its 12th year, will premiere “The Epic Project: Madmen, Heroines & Bards from Around the World.” The performances bring together singers, musicians, and epic chanters from Azerbaijan, Kyrgyzstan, and the Tamil Nadu rivers of India, among other worldwide locations. Performers include Azerbaijani kamancha master Imamyar Hasanov, Chinese nanguan master Wang Xin Xin, North Indian tabla master Swapan Chaudhuri, South Indian carnatic violinist Anuradha Sridhar, and more.

Fri/28-Sun/30, 8 p.m., $20

Jewish Community Center of San Francisco

3200 California, SF

(415) 292-1233

www.jccsf.org

 

Riffat Sultana, daughter of legendary singer Ustad Salamat Ali Khan, performs traditional and modern music including Sufi, folk, and love songs from Pakistan and India. The vocalist is backed by an ensemble playing tabla, bansuri flute, and 12-string guitar. Sultana, who comes from eleven generations of master vocalists, is the first woman of her lineage to perform publicly and to tour the West. Since moving to the US, she has performed with Shabaz (previously known as the Ali Khan Band) — an acoustic group of world musicians — and more recently, her own Riffat Sultana & Party, a paired down group focused mainly on her velvety vocals.

Fri/28, 8pm, $12–$15

Red Poppy Art House

2698 Folsom, SF

(415) 826-2402

Playlist

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FUTURE ISLANDS

ON THE WATER

(THRILL JOCKEY)

Recorded at a quiet waterfront house in North Carolina, the third studio release from Baltimore, Md.’s Future Islands showcases a slower, more refined side of the synth-pop trio. In a sense, it’s a departure from the raw emotional frenzy of last year’s In Evening Air. However On The Water is perhaps its most frighteningly moving release to date. With a powerful, bone-chilling voice, Samuel T. Herring narrates an emotional pilgrimage over lush synth and bass arrangements augmented by cello, violin, and marimba. “The Great Fire” is a haunting duet featuring Wye Oak’s Jenn Wasner. “Balance” is sunny, romantic, and totally infectious. True to Future Islands form, On The Water will pull at your heartstrings and leave you begging for more. (Frances Capell)

 

TOM WAITS

BAD AS ME

(ANTI-)

Bad As Me (Anti-) opens with the horn blaring “Chicago,” a tough track that chugs forward like a hell-bound locomotive, letting you know straightaway that Tom Waits can still take you by surprise. On “Talking at the Same Time” he’s stretching his voice to a new range. On “Satisfied” he’s growling. On the raving mad “Hell Broke Luce” he’s mocking war with claps, distorted guitars, “Lefts!” and “Rights!” and one shocking couplet after another. Elsewhere, Waits is the old tender dreamer, like on the jazzy “Kiss Me,” for instance. But it’s the concluding “New Year’s Eve” that Waits is at his finest — a simple, touching narrative with a Spanish air. Though not as encyclopedic as Orphans, of course, Bad As Me lives up to all the rowdiness and romance you expect from Waits. (James H. Miller)

 

THE FIELD

LOOPING STATE OF MIND

(KOMPAKT)

The Field has mastered the craft of using minimal techno’s precise intensity as a launching pad for satisfying waves of spaced out and hypnotic sounds. With Looping State Of Mind it continues to demonstrate how repetition used right can bring you to an ecstatic state of mind. Miniature melodies stretched out in ways that make you want to float as much as they make you want to dance. With slight tension and no clear cut release, it’s a record that keeps you in its groove, while also introducing new found moments of dreamy and slowed down come down after taking you so high. This is what getting lost in an elegant trance sounds like. (Irwin Swirnoff)

 

SURFER BLOOD

TAROT CLASSICS

(KANINE)

Tarot Classics begins in familiar territory for West Palm Beach, Fla., indie rockers Surfer Blood. “I’m Not Ready” recalls the vocal power-hooks and catchy melodic guitar of 2010’s reverb-soaked debut Astro Coast. “Miranda” and “Voyager Reprise” maintain its retro seaside vibe while showcasing tighter, more ambitious instrumentation. With synthesizers, layered vocals, and jungle-bird samples, “Drinking Problem” finds this quartet venturing into previously uncharted waters. Though it’s a bit more restrained, JP Pitts’ distinctive voice remains boyish, sweet, and slightly morose on Tarot Classics. The four song EP also comes with a distorted, bass-heavy remix by Oakland based one-man project Speculator. Tarot Classics is a brief and tantalizing glimpse into the bright future of Surfer Blood. (Capell)

When it’s over

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC “The reason why my rhythms are so repetitive and feel almost infinite is that, in a way, I fear closure. In the same way that I can never finish a book, I have trouble ending my songs. I have trouble ending anything. I can’t even finish a meal,” Luis Vasquez, frontrunner of the Soft Moon, tells me. (The group plays Mon/31 at the Independent.)

Thinking about beginnings is equally problematic. The Soft Moon is a music project built on unsettled grounds. It’s magnetized between the poles of late 1970s and early ’80s post-punk, the motorik beats of techno and Krautrock, and organic forms of Afro-Cuban poly-percussion, but all equally disrupted from their roots, on a search for some other destination.

The anxiety about endings is strange, on the surface at least, because Vasquez — singer, songwriter, multi instrumentalist — has accomplished more than your average procrastinator. Since last year’s self-titled debut on Captured Tracks, a desolate and rapturous composition, the Soft Moon has steadily seduced a devoted listenership. Vasquez, along with fellow Bay Area-based musicians Justin Anastasi on bass and Damon Way on drum machines and synthesizers, just performed a few shows on the East Coast after returning from tour in Europe earlier in the summer. The band is also working on material for a second full-length and preparing for the release of a new EP, Total Decay, coinciding with a launch party on Halloween in San Francisco.

Songs by the Soft Moon often begin in full throttle, as if they’ve already begun. They move forward carried by the sheer propulsive gravity of their engineered drum patterns — driving their gutted vehicles according to shapes and zigzags, towards endings that dissolve, break in static, submerge into chaos, or collapse abruptly as if the frequency on the radio has just changed or connection suddenly lost. Despite whatever glimmer of hope or flicker of light is carved out by the oscillating guitar strums and the burning synthetic melodies, the songs never find their way out of claustrophobia.

They have geometrical names: “Circles,” “Parallels,” or frightening ones: “Tiny Spiders,” “Dead Love.” They conjure moods of loss: forgotten memories, clouded nostalgia, a future that never came to pass, harrowing desire, and love. Vasquez doesn’t sing so much as chant in a corrosive whisper, “You can’t pull yourself out of the fire,” or he screams, yells, moans, gurgles from the depths — his voice degenerates into a mechanical short-circuit, primal electric emotion. “I don’t know what it is about endings,” he says. “Maybe I want to hold onto the moment. Sometimes I take a snapshot of it as if it’s still there. Maybe it’s simply my fear of death.”

The substance of the Soft Moon is raw, cutting. Yet the music feels good, even approaches heights of euphoria. Streams of pleasure charge the rawness; optimism suspends fear. It’s delivered in pop formulas, forged from hours, years of digesting Prince, Madonna, Joy Division, Kraftwerk. But the Soft Moon also turns pop upside down. Hope is never realized. Familiar intensities of pleasure and desire are disturbed. The music spurs an emotional awakening in your guts, in the ghost of the machine that beats its mechanical rhythms on and on. A haunted undercurrent of pop washes up on the shore — like all promised lands, a tragic place.

Vasquez thinks the Soft Moon evokes his childhood growing up in Victorville, a suburban desert community nestled in the heart of the Inland Empire just outside of Los Angeles. He recalls empty space, tract houses, malls, skies that went on forever, blinding flashes of sunlight, and a soft moon hanging low in the horizon. He remembers riding in the car for endless stretches, the rhythms of commuting, “isolated in music as if it was a sanctuary.”

I ask, so how do you ever finish a song, at least in the sense of putting it out there? “I just abandon them,” Vasquez says. Why bother making them? “I get attached to songs and put a lot of effort into making them. Occasionally they become revelations for me.” How do you recuperate your abandoned revelations when you perform, repeating all over again what you could never finish in the first place? “When I play live, it gets to a euphoric level, and it’s very cathartic, but I never get a sense of overcoming anything. Or the overcoming is really only my chance to express something to the crowd, to be vulnerable, finally.”

Perhaps the Soft Moon’s most revelatory song yet is “When It’s Over.” It’s something of a post-apocalyptic nightmare, anticipating the end, a bleak and empty one, and at the same time recovering the traces of a past, revealing the specters and ghosts that still inhabit the present. Recurring dreams serve as inspiration; “You know, the typical: alien invasions, planets colliding, comets, the sun exploding — very cosmic — the earth stopping, or falling,” he says. “It always has something to do with the galaxy. It’s always so devastating … I never could finish [Cormac McCarthy’s] The Road either.”

The EP, Total Decay, follows these same themes of temporal and planetary displacement, or rather, diaspora. But the core engine, and enigma, of these songs is always one full of life, vital and imaginative. “I want to hold onto the organism, since technology is developing so fast that we have difficulty adapting.” Vasquez says. “Body, sensitivity, emotion, skin, flesh, blood — I think that’s why the nostalgia is so prevalent in the music.”

The Soft Moon holds on just as equally to the machine. The songs are produced organisms, synthesized from spirit and electronics; they are born, grow, mature, and wither away. In “Total Decay,” swirling alarms disperse, echo, derail into static breath. Synthetic wind gusts into the hypnotic poly-percussion of “Visions,” dancing frenetically around punctuated low end bass. Claps chatter and keys bubble up from the ether, and return to their source, without justification, just as suddenly. *

THE SOFT MOON

With Led Er Est, Chelsea Wolfe, Michael Stocke, and Josh Cheon

Mon/31, 9 p.m., $13

The Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

 

The last hurrah

0

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC On the final day of Budget Rock 10, the endmost moment of the Budget Rock showcase itself, there will be pancakes and local ’80s surf-punk band the Phantom Surfers. Likely a few tear stained cheeks as well.

The daylong event at Thee Parkside — which tops off four days plus 10 years of weirdo, trashy, slack rock shows — also features the annual morning record swap and a ticketed evening lineup that includes the Legendary Stardust Cowboy, the Mothballs, Midnite Snaxxx, and Okmoniks, amongst others.

The organic pancake batter, donated by former Thee Parkside co-owner Sean O’Connor, will come in a pressurized can (he created Batter Blaster), while the bands, many brought back together specifically for Budget Rock, will come to the venue courtesy of Chris Owen and his longtime fellow organizer, Mitch Cardwell.

This year’s fest, Thursday, Oct. 20 through Sunday, Oct. 23 at Bottom of the Hill and Thee Parkside, not only brings back Phantom Surfers from the first ever Budget Rock showcase, but also returns Boston’s Lyres, the classic ’80s punk band formed from the ashes of DMZ. Organizers also recruited bands that played subsequent years — the masked Nobunny (this time playing original budget rock-esque covers), Subsonics, the Statics, Personal & the Pizzas (whose first ever show was at Budget Rock), and booked a Ripoffs reunion show — a coup for Owen, who’s been a fan of the ’90s garage rockers since college.

“The fact that Lyres and the Ripoffs are playing in San Francisco in the year 2011 is fucking incredible,” Owen enthuses from his perch at Gio’s, an old school Italian FiDi spot he says reminds him of Thee Parkside when he first started going there in late 2000. “Carpet on the ground, tablecloths on the tables.” (Obviously things have changed immensely since then.) But it was there, sharing beers after work with his friend John O’Neill, that Owen says they first came up with the idea for a Budget Rock showcase — a term he borrowed from another of his all-time favorite bands, the Mummies (which he later got to reform for Budget Rock 8). Owen and O’Neill had both been booking shows at the venue, and came up with the concept to concentrate all the then-scattered acts.

That first fest took place in 2002. Including the 2011 showcase, 190 bands will have come through Budget Rock. Over the decade it survived a move to the East Bay for a couple of years (to the Stork Club), lead organizer shifts (Owen bowed out for most of last year as his wife was pregnant) and the general chaos of unrefined rock’n’rollers. O’Neill vividly recalls when Peter Zaremba of the Fleshtones ran outside mid-song onto 17th Street to sing to a Muni bus that had just pulled up. And Phantom Surfers’ guitarist Maz “Spazz” Kattua claims “All I remember about [Budget Rock 1] was that we played in matching boxer shorts with hearts on them and sock garters.”

So why end it now? Owen chalks it up to two main reasons: the organizers of Budget Rock are in different spots in life (he now lives in Fairfax with his wife, son, and baby daughter); and the influx of other like-minded showcases like Total Trash and 1-2-3-4 Go’s contribution.

“You want to fill a void, not create one,” says Owen. “That is the guiding principle. The whole concept of this festival was filling a void, there wasn’t anything like this. There was no local garage rock or kind of dorky minimalist music showcase [then].”

Plus, he says, “Once we got to six [years], we knew we would shoot for 10. And we were like, ‘if we can get to 10, we should get Lyres to come back.'”

While all the other bands at Budget Rock 1 were local, and most other acts throughout the years have been Bay Area bred, Lyres was a special case. O’Neill had booked shows in Boston before moving out West, and managed to fly Lyres to SF through alcohol endorsements that first year. Lyres evoked the ethos of the fest, a clear marker, unlike “careerist” bands, as Owen refers to others that try to make it big or take themselves too seriously — those types have never been the Budget Rock style.

“It’s a certain kind of ‘I don’t care about the rest of the world’ mentality,” Lyres organist-vocalist Jeff Conolly says about his band’s longevity, “and a genuine love for being in a group where you enjoy the results of the process.”

It’s about having a good time in your band, without a lot of expensive hoopla. “Big picture, the whole idea of [Budget Rock] was just having fun — not professionalism or competition or reputation. Those things aren’t important,” Owen stresses. “I would like to remember having a good time. That’s the only purpose that this was ever supposed to serve.”

He later gave me a list of “perfect budget rock bands” (those that have played the fest in the past, or simply fit the vibe): the Mummies, Icky Boyfriends, the Brentwoods, Captain 9’s and the Knickerbocker Trio — and any band with Russell Quan, Tina Lucchesi, or Mike Lucas.

Lucchesi, of the Trashwomen and a zillion other Bay Area bands, has played the fest in different incarnations 18 different times. This year, she plays the final Budget Rock on Saturday with Tee’N’Dee Explosion, then the next night at Thee Parkside with both Special Ed and Midnight Snaxxx. “There’s a lot of that friend-rock thing going on this year,” Owen says, “Sunday’s going to have a lot of it, pretty much all day long.” He later adds, “This is the last hurrah, so we wanted to do something cool.”

Jokes the mischievous Nobunny, “I don’t believe for one second it won’t be back next year.”

BUDGET ROCK 10

Thurs/20-Sun/23, $5–$20

Bottom of the Hill

1233 17th, SF

(415) 621-4455

www.bottomofthehill.com

 

Thee Parkside

1600 17th, SF

(415) 252-1330 www.theeparkside.com

Bittersweet bear

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC Over beers one night, a friend of Himalayan Bear (a.k.a Ryan Beattie) described for him a tattoo he wanted: a boat full of sailors being swallowed by a kraken with the inscription “Hard Times” beneath it. Thus, the title of Himalayan Bear’s third, and most fully formed album to date, was born.

“I wanted to make it a bit more LP-centric,” Beattie says of the record. “I was trying to explore a concept — every song is a love song.”

The Victoria, BC native (and former Frog Eyes guitarist) opted to go electric on Hard Times; abandoning the mainly acoustic sound of his previous albums in favor of heavy reverb. “I’ve had an obsession for a few years with Hawaiian lap steel,” he confesses. For Beattie, the lap steel guitar embodies a balance between complete despair and total bliss. This dynamic — a juxtaposition of soaring highs and agonizing lows — serves as a surprisingly fitting description for another instrument: Beattie’s incredible voice.

He’s been making music since his teens, but it wasn’t until his early twenties that Beattie discovered he could sing as mournfully as his heroes. His voice can be low, soothing, and subdued in one moment, only to launch into a howling falsetto in the next.

Although Hard Times often evokes the leisurely tropical repose of the Hawaiian music Beattie enjoys, it also meanders into the shadowy, foreboding wilderness where he resides. He calls his Victoria home a “paradise of darkened woods.” Beattie’s artistic environment appears on tracks such as “The Caballo” — a sparse forest hymn on which he repeatedly croons, “there is a darkness that quakes in me.”

For Himalayan Bear, recording has traditionally been a solitary process. This time around, however, Beattie wasn’t alone. He chose to record the eclectic batch of songs at the Last Resort — a Victoria house with a basement recording studio that he describes as sort of a drop-in center for touring musicians. “You can run upstairs, and someone will be there that you haven’t seen for maybe a year.” For this reason, he was able to enlist the help of friends to contribute a range of instrumentation such as trumpet, double bass, and of course, lap steel. “Coming out and engaging with people is far more helpful,” Beattie says. “Having other people’s hands on [a] record makes any record better.”

It took about a year for the album to come to fruition, yet the accomplishment for Beattie is bittersweet. On Sept. 20, Absolutely Kosher founder Cory Brown announced that due to financial hardship, the serendipitously titled Hard Times would be the Bay Area record label’s final release. “I’ve been really fortunate to work with them,” Beattie says of Absolutely Kosher, which has also put out several Frog Eyes albums. “They’ve had some pretty amazing releases; seminal releases. Certainly, to be the closing chapter is quite an honor.”

He’s toured extensively with Frog Eyes over the past several years, but playing a Himalayan Bear show is an entirely different animal. “To me, playing live is the greatest thing ever,” says Beattie. “Obviously singing is a bit more intense for me, a bit more emotional. I tend to work myself into this wailing frenzy.”

When I ask where his inspiration comes from, the amicable, talkative Beattie suddenly goes quiet. It becomes apparent that music is somewhat of an involuntary response; it simply pours out of him. After a moment of silence, he offers, “just beautiful things in your head, you know?”

HIMALAYAN BEAR With Garrett Pierce and Ready Steady Tues/25, 9 p.m., $7 Hemlock Tavern 1131 Polk, SF (415) 923-0923 www.hemlocktavern.com

Maiden voyage

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC In 2010, while Franki Chan contemplated the pros and cons of bringing back his much-beloved Los Angeles-based Check Yo Ponytail party concert series, he wasn’t entirely sure where it all might lead. All he knew is that he’d become detached from the rapid takeover of the DJ scene and the lackluster dance parties that were becoming the norm.

At the urging of a friend, he resurrected the popular event from a two-year hiatus, knowing there was an undercurrent of exciting electronic artists and bands just waiting to break out. Now, less than a year and a half later, Chan is excitedly discussing the first ever 10-stop, two-week, cross-country Check Yo Ponytail tour featuring Spank Rock, the Death Set, Pictureplane, Big Freedia — and DJ Franki Chan.

Chan, who also runs the IHEARTCOMIX record label, started the first version of Check Yo Ponytail in 2006 at a downtown Los Angeles club called Safari Sam’s. The shows quickly developed momentum, filling a niche that perhaps people hadn’t yet realized they’d been yearning for.

“At the time, we were one of the first parties in town to put a focus on the breaking electro scene,” Chan says. “And that attitude of mixing bands, electronic artists, and DJs was part of what made it feel different.”

Soon word spread outside of Southern California and Check Yo Ponytail began drawing high-profile acts such as Justice, The Horrors, Boys Noize, Das Racist, even Andrew W.K., whose relentless party anthems actually might best encapsulate the underlying spirit Chan strives for at his shows.

Though it tends to favor electro, rock, and hip-hop most, the characteristics of a Check Yo Ponytail show go beyond genre limitations. Chan doesn’t care what kind of music an artist or band makes as long as it’s fun and adds to the whole tight-knit, projector screen visual-fueled, dance-minded feel of the evening.

“There’s a linear feeling in these bands’ outlook that is expressed in their energy and how they perform,” he says. “We want it to feel like a very family style show and we invite all the performers to join each other onstage. We hope audiences will come and want to be there from the start to the finish. It’s run like a show, but it feels more like a party.”

Spank Rock, a.k.a Naeem Juwan, is of those performers expressing energy on the tour — fresh off the release of his long-anticipated sophomore LP, Everything Is Boring and Everyone Is a Fucking Liar. Forgoing some of the straight-up party rap and Baltimore club bangers of his debut for a decidedly more all-over-the-map approach, the album’s excellent mashing of pop, electro, hip-hop, and rock sounds like a business card for the Check Yo Ponytail “sound.”

“I just get bored with the same genres, dealing with the same sounds,” Juwan says. “I think it’s a pretty cohesive album, but the parts that might feel weird or schizophrenic about it I think are just because it’s my album,” he continues, referencing his decision to release the album on his own label and break free of his previous one producer approach.

Juwan was very familiar with Check Yo Ponytail even before Chan asked him to headline its maiden tour voyage, describing it as “one of the few parties in LA where you get to be exposed to a lot of new independent dance and rock music together.” He’s also well acquainted with New Orleans bounce rapper Big Freedia, who guest stars on his new album, and the Death Set, after befriending the Australian electronic punk group during its stint living in Baltimore. This familiarity will no doubt come across at a show that is essentially a big group of friends traveling around the country, partying, and playing music together.

“Every act has a ton of energy,” Juwan says. “So if people are packed in there, I’m expecting it to get pretty wild.”

CHECK YO PONYTAIL TOUR

With Spank Rock, The Death Set, Pictureplane, Big Freedia, and DJ Franki Chan

Fri/21, 9pm, $20

Mezzanine

444 Jessie, SF

(415) 625-8880

www.mezzaninesf.com

 

Battle hymns

0

MUSIC On the winding beach roads of Central California, in the cool coastal stillness of midnight, I remembered what the music hive mind spewed forth when it came to recently released record (and previous albums) from Philadelphia’s the War on Drugs: road trip music.

I pushed play on Slave Ambient (Secretly Canadian) — the band’s first full-length since the departure of Kurt Vile — and was greeted by Tom Petty. Well, not actually Petty, but the milieu in which an album of his might exist. It was the War on Drug’s charismatic leader Adam Granduciel, a vocalist, guitarist, and harmonica playing samplerphile, and friends, pouring out of the speakers, wooing me with layer upon layer of crunchy rock.

The next week, I spoke with Granduciel while he cleaned dirty dishes in preparation for another tour away from his home base in Philadelphia.

San Francisco Bay Guardian You used to live in the East Bay.

Adam Granduciel I had a friend who was living there [in 2001], and I was like ‘maybe I’ll go see what California is all about.’ I actually had never been there so I flew out with a bag and my guitars. I loved living there. It’s just, I was so young and so restless that I stayed for two years…then moved back to the East Coast via train. I’d like to hopefully one day go back up there.

SFBG Tell me about making Slave Ambient.

AG Eighty-five percent of it started at my house. We had informal sessions where we would record, maybe just drums — or two drummers at once — and I’d record everything to tape and then spend days dubbing it out, sampling, resampling, then I’d transfer all the tapes at my friend Jeff Zeigler’s studio.

We also did some stuff in Dallas, Texas for a week…in December 2009. A lot of people say that stuff was scrapped — it was really never scrapped, I would keep like, a vocal chorus, or some guitar or drums.

[Zeigler’s] got a great collection of synthesizers, effects, and mics. A lot of the crazy sounds are just myself at home off the tape machine. I think the record is the journey in my growth as someone who is constantly recording at home and learning new ways to do things. Like all the stuff that’s under “Come to the City,” without that beat in the background — the electronic pulse — that song would be super straight-forward. I wasn’t always working on a song, I was working on a tone. It was about a year of doing that, then finally I was like, ‘alright, I’m now ready to focus on the record.’

SFBG Sounds like a lengthy process.

AG There are 12 songs on the record, I probably had ideas for 30 and they all ended up being thrown in through various ways to songs on the record. Like, “Baby Missiles” we worked on for almost three years, just trying to get the right feel. I mixed it like, 50 times.

SFBG What’s your take on the whole road trip/driving music thing?

AG I think it’s cool. I’m definitely sometimes just like, ‘really?’ But I think it’s cool because when you’re driving and a great song comes on you’re like, ‘this is the fucking life.’ But at the same time, driving music sometimes means that it’s music you don’t have to think about, you just cruise like “Boys of Summer” or “Take it Easy” — I guess those are both Don Henley — but I think maybe it’s just that freedom or spirit in the songs that people relate to. Or it’s just something people write without having experienced it.

SFBG I’d read it enough times that I made a point to listen to it on a road trip.

AG I think maybe the other thing too is that I spent a lot of time on the sequence of songs — on the all the records — the sequences have always really flowed. You can just put it in and you don’t have to press fast forward, you can just cruise on [Highway] 1 — so I can see it.

THE WAR ON DRUGS

With Purling Hiss, and Carter Tanton

Sun/23, 8 p.m., $12–<\d>$14

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com