Noise

Treasure Island fest: Dan Deacon, the Streets, tree smarts, viz art, and more

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Dan Deacon, above, leads the mob, and a fiery dusk off Treasure Isle. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

By Kimberly Chun

Gawg-eous. And I mean both Dan Deacon – in full-tilt follow-me-folks mode and the jaw-dangler of a sunset Saturday night, Oct. 17, at this year’s Treasure Island Music Festival. So sad that I couldn’t get there early enough to catch Crown City Rockers and Federico Aubele and stumbled out too early to see alphabet-soup Bridge Stage acts MSTRKRFT and MGMT – nevertheless here are a few watercolor, waterside memories of the happenings mid-fest.

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You gots to hand it to Dan Deacon – the man knows how to power out a show, either solo or with his current 12-piece Dan Deacon Ensemble. “We can get in the zone in three minutes!” yelped Deacon happily – ever the leader of the flock as he sounded out the air-guitar/air-conductor hand gestures shortly before his set. Way to get the energy up: the band entered on the waves of excitement generated by a stage-diving/ascending chum, who was carried from the audience and deposited onstage. And what a stage – crammed with musicians and sidekicks like the cavorting feller in the orange dot costume and a note-worthy three-piece drum ensemble. Switching it up from jumpy happy beats to piping drone, the outfit sounded for all the world like a spazz-tastic, kiddie digi-hardcore orchestra. Not all of Deacon’s endeavors were a raging success – but try organizing a dance contest at the drop of Gucci-patterned fedora – and he continues to sound much better up close and on record than live (and across the Treasure Island compound) – but the man got the soiree started for sure.

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The Streets followed, praising the crowd for its fashion-forward garb (“You also look great with it off!”) and waxing humble about his own perpetual all-black ensemble and muttering about how well it hides dirt. The UK rapper was in a sexy yet unpredictable mood – dissing Sacramento, recalling his stage dive from a Fillmore balcony box, and commenting on the fact Treasure Isle is known for its solid sounds. At one point, he urged a woman perched on a pal’s shoulders to take off her top while also chiding her for blocking the view of other fans. Beatles riffs floated over it all.

Later DJ Krush provided future-beats before for dinnertime while LTJ Bukem broke those beats and picked up the pace. As the sun set in flamingo pinks and outrageous purples, Brazilian Girls provided surprisingly good, if ditzy fun, closing their well-played set with a paean to – did I hear right – pussies as audience members climbed onstage to shimmy.

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Other sights: the sad view of a tree broken by some jerk-offs who were watching the Streets from its branches. Puts a damper on the eco-friendly air surrounding the fest, no? A chainsaw came out as we bystanders gawked off to the side (one comment overheard: “Who cares?”). We found respite in the art booths on the adult midway, where we hung out stories written out on hand-painted petals in the Scales Project installation and checked out the live graf art. Sorry signs of the apocalypse: skate-board-ready Megan Fox and Kate Moss tributes.

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Sonic Reducer Overage: Dan Deacon, Ghostface Killah, La Roux, and more

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By Kimberly Chun

The tao of Au, the Wu of a Killah — that’s the spirit. More sounds to sit with and move to.

AU – RR vs. D from Rainbow Dropshadow on Vimeo.

Au
Toy pianos, ethereal vocals, and Portland, Ore.-steeped experimentation. With Why?, Mount Eerie, and Serengeti and Polyphonic. Sat/17, 9 p.m., $16. Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750.



Dan Deacon
The high Deacon of the laptop gospel preaches to the choir. With Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Teeth Mountain, and Nuclear Power Pants. Sat/17, 9 p.m., $10. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. (415) 820-9669.

Gil Scott-Heron today

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By Michael Krimper

I tried to curb my anticipation for Gil Scott-Heron’s performance at the recently made-over Regency Ballroom (10/2/200). But how could I? I wanted him to amaze, to enrapture with his musical poetics, and most secretly, to redeem my nebulous view of a ‘70s-era politicized soulfulness unrivaled by today’s musicianship. It’s an idealistic and surely ridiculous image we children of the ‘80s have cultivated of the decade before ours. But it’s one so ingrained and endlessly cited that we can’t seem to shake free of it.

While Los Angeles revival funk band Orgone grooved (peep their solid cover of “Funky Nassau”), singer Fanny Franklin expressed equal excitement about bearing witness to the legend. And when Scott-Heron finally stepped onto stage, strutting choppily to the microphone, the audience erupted in wailing applause and shouts. He looked older and moved with certain difficulty, his body appearing thin underneath his loose-fitting clothes. His face was angular and gaunt, with patches of gray hair pouring from the sides of his hat and from his chin. A lady sitting in front of me asked incredulously if that old man indeed was Gil. I nodded with certainty but really had no idea. After all, he’s hardly recognizable compared to his younger self clad with the iconic Afro and psychedelic garb.

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Gil Scott-Heron. Photo from allaboutjazz.com

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Gil Scott-Heron in the ’70s.

Today, it’s a rare occurrence to see Gil Scott-Heron. He has been in and out of prison for the past decade on drug and parole transgression charges. Scott-Heron perhaps indirectly addressed rumors about his well-being when he told the crowd at Regency that a media frenzy on the Internet continues to concoct all sorts of chimeras about his life.

Squeeze my box

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By Dan Abbott

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Skyler Fell, who performed at the SF Accordion Club’s September gathering.

In an age of accelerating cultural fusion and mutation, it should come as no surprise that the accordion has undergone something of a renaissance. A staple of musical traditions from as far afield as Eastern Europe, Mexico, and Italy, the various permutations of the squeezebox has resurfaced with renewed vigor. The San Francisco Bay Area has become something of a hub for this rebirth, aided by both its location at the hub of cultural ley lines and its rich history as – believe it or not – an accordion exporting powerhouse.

Frank Montoro, president of the, San Francisco Accordion Club has watched accordion culture wax and wane with the times. Until the middle of the 20th century, there were at least five accordion factories churning out instruments in North Beach alone, Montoro says, mostly by Italians who’d brought generations of craft knowledge over from the Old Country.

“I watched my accordion being built, back in the ‘40s,” he remembers fondly. The advent of rock’n’roll and mass culture swept much of the accordion’s prestige (and visibility) away, Montoro says, until it seemed an ethnic relic, the obscure province of nerds, wedding music and Weird Al Yankovic. “Times have changed,” the octogenarian Montoro says. “If you like Swedish music, where are you going to go?”

West Fest Posters: Wendy Wright

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As West Fest approaches, Noise is showcasing some of the 18 different concert posters created for the event, which takes place on Sunday, October 25 at Golden Gate Park.

Here’s a poster by Wendy Wright:

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Live Take: Part Time Punks fest, 10/9/09

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By Nicole Gluckstern

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The Raincoats. All photos by Morlock E.

Punk rock will never die, but as the years go by, old school punks often do wind up slowing down a bit. They start families, work at software companies or film studios, pay for rent and food — all acts of respectable members of society. But just because you get a full-time job doesn’t mean you have to give up rock forever, you just have to cut back to part-time. At least that’s the premise that LA’s Part Time Punks club night founders Michael Stock and Benjamin White might have begun with when they threw their first party of late ’70s-early ’80s post-punk music in 2005.

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Savage Republic

With time-tested acts such as the Slits, the Avengers, and Savage Republic and an impressive collection of URGH!-era rekkids to spin, the Part Time Punks have gained an eager following among older fans who were there to begin with, and younger ones who just wish they’d been. Both versions of fan were in broad attendance Friday at the Mezzanine, when the PTP crew and an impressive slew of live acts, including Joy Division peers Section 25, and the elusive, influential Raincoats, stormed the stage for the first-ever Part Time Punks mini-fest away from home.

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Viv Albertine

We get there just as San Francisco-based Magic Bullets are wrapping up their set, and are treated instead to a sharp DJ set which barrels down post-punk memory lane with fierce momentum. Viv Albertine, formerly of the Slits, armed with just her guitar and a slew of Sid Vicious stories, takes the stage next. Her often-confessional lyrics about the unwelcome passage of time, orgasmic dysfunction, heroin needles, and the lonely artist’s life were no less unflinching than any Slits ode to self-destructive boys and shoplifting, though the sheer ferocity of the delivery has been taken down a notch.

Live Shots: Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, 10/2-10/4

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Text and photos by Ariel Soto

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Continuing with the constant flow of summer concerts, the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival constructed five stages in Golden Gate Park and brought three days of music for one of the most popular events of the summer. The stages, with quirky names like the Rooster and Banjo, hosted musicians whose tunes ranged from hometown bluegrass to music that could have backed a Ford truck commercial. The crowds were rather overwhelming, with huge human traffic jams of people
trying to get from one stage to the next. But despite the throngs of fans, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, soaking up the last bits of Indian summer sunshine and throwing back more than a couple bottles of beers.

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Kylie Minogue at the Fox Theater

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By Ariel Soto

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“Kylie, Kylie, Kylie!” shrieked the ecstatic crowd on September 30 as Kylie Minogue, riding a gigantic gold skull, descended to the stage to start the what was the beginning of her very first US tour. From the stunning laser show to her edgy geometric costume, Kylie awed her fans with her energy and hot dance moves. The audience, which was largely dominated by beautiful boys and their beautiful boyfriends, were obvious devotees of the pop diva, and many were decked out in feathers, sequins and glitter. She must have known she would find hella love in the Bay Area and therefore honored us with the first show on her US tour. It’s inspiring to see someone in her 40s be so sexy and confident on stage. You go, Kylie! Take on the US — you’ll have no problem winning over every last one of us!

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Tornado Rider: Don’t call ’em mellow cello

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By Molly Freedenberg

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(From L to R): Graham Terry, Rushad Eggleston, and Scott Manke cast “sound tornados all over the world.” Photo by Guru Khalsa.

Tornado Rider isn’t just a great band name – it’s an apt metaphor for the three-piece musical phenomenon led by vocalist, cellist, and force of nature Rushad Eggleston. The often spandex-clad frontman wields his sticker-covered cello the way many before him have done with electric guitars – including leaps, jumps, and dramatic perches upon speakers – as he and Scott Manke (drums) and Graham Terry (bass and vocals) produce a unique, danceable sound that has more in common with punk rock than any other musical genre. Afraid you’ll have a hard time taking a punk band led by a classical instrument seriously? Don’t worry – Tornado Rider, though seriously virtuosic musically, delivers every show with an eye for spectacle and a sense of humor. After all, crowd favorites include songs with the lines “Oh no here comes a dinosaur!” and “I am the goat God,” and all band members perform in some version of outrageous (and usually uncoordinated) costume. Catch the whirling sound dervishes, if you can, before they head out on their national tour.

Tornado Rider
Fri, Oct 2, 9pm
$8-$10
Red Devil Lounge
1695 Polk, SF.
www.myspace.com/tornadoriderband

Live Shots: Quijeremá at Red Poppy Art House, 9/25/09

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Text and photos by Ariel Soto

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“I think this is going to be really romantic music,” J said to me, as we sat down in our seats, our toes literally touching the mics and instruments on the makeshift stage area at Red Poppy Art House (http://www.redpoppyarthouse.org/). It was a perfect Fall evening and we were about to embark on a musical adventure through Chile with trusty our guides, the Quijeremá quartet. And yes, the music was very romantic, but also very sad.

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Barney in Guantanamo? Torture playlist apallingly predictable

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By Marke B.


A different kind of torture

Well, this fascinatingly sucks. Mother Jones has compiled a playlist

The Torture Playlist

‘San Francisco Bay Blues’ revisited: Moving back to Jesse Fuller

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JESSE FULLER
Move on Down the Line
(Fledg’ling)

By Kimberly Chun

He was “the Lone Cat,” for sure. Bay Area blues-folk 12-string guitarist and vocalist Jesse Fuller went by that moniker back in the day — he died in 1976 at 80 — when he plied his one-man band (including his fotdella, a foot-operated hammer-and-pedal string bass of his own invention, and harmonica-kazoo-cymbals-washboard setup) on the streets of San Francisco.

The self-described “folk songster” spent years riding the rails after leaving his native Georgia, arrived in SF to work its shipyards as a wartime welder, and later opened an Oakland shoeshine parlor. He also penned blues-folk standard “San Francisco Bay Blues,” which went on to be covered by everyone from Ramblin’ Jack Elliott and Bob Dylan to Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney. Fuller certainly displays an inviting feline ease on the original version of that number on the lovingly assembled Move on Down the Line, supplemented by notes by music maven Joe Boyd and filled out with a number of tracks that aren’t on other Fuller discs in print. The songwriter’s version is the definitive ode to the city: brisk, breezy, driven by his evocative, supple drawl and bring-it-all-home kazoo solo. It’s the finale to a quirky, compelling, and essential document of a now-less-than-recognized piece of SF music history — a part of the Southern blues tradition that carved out his own place by the Bay.

Americana: More from Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong and ‘American Idiot,’ the musical

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Green Day’s Mike Dirnt, from left, Billie Joe Armstrong and Tré Cool. Photo courtesy of Warner Brothers Records.

By Kimberly Chun

Another helping of American Idiot, anyone? Berkeley Rep has obliged by extending the run of the musical through Nov. 1. Meanwhile here’s more from an interview with Green Day‘s Billie Joe Armstrong in August — for the rest of the story, see “No Brainer” in the Guardian’s Fall Arts Preview issue.

SFBG: So what does the album mean to you now?

Billie Joe Armstrong: Um, I think it means that we were right. [Laughs] I think it means … a lot. I love that album. It’s one of my proudest moments as a musician, for sure — having the guts and audacity to make a record that was that ambitious, but still, at the same time, be true to rock ‘n’ roll music, I guess.

Dewy decibels: Asthmatic Kitty’s ‘Library Catalog Music’

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VARIOUS ARTISTS
Library Catalog Music, Volumes 1-3
(Asthmatic Kitty)

By Kimberly Chun

Remember the to-do concerning the Shins’ “New Slang” on a McDonald’s commercial? Those days of outrage seem so far away now, in the throes of the continuing recession and ever-deepening music-biz woes. Licensing your sonic slang out to TV, film, and commercial endeavors has become a way of life — and a genuine ticket to recognition for many: Chairlift, whose “Bruises” popped up on an iPod commercial, is just the latest beneficiary of that success narrative.

So perhaps one of the oddest little musical artifacts to emerge amid those fading cries of “sell-out!” is this three-part series produced by Asthmatic Kitty. Library Catalog Music looks the phenom squarely in the eye, as its promo literature queries, “Are you a major multi-national corporate conglomerate looking for quickly recognizable audio branding?” I wish. Actually, I don’t wish. But like so many others, I can use the cash, and apparently Asthmatic Kitty can, too — though not without a certain level of integrity. These overt entries into the marketplace wouldn’t be too out of place among some of your more enticing Euro-ambient discs. Vol. 1, Music for Lubbock, 1980, dares to tug on the tails of Ry Cooder’s Paris, Texas, while Vol. 2, Music for Measurements, brings the funk to imagined buddy cop flicks, and Vol. 3’s Music for Drums yearns to set the beat to sci-fi fantasies. Who dreamed these ready-made scores up? Bellevue, Wash., band Law of the Least Effort takes the credit — led by sometime Pedro the Lion and Seldom member Casey Foubert. Quality aural wallpaper — coming right up.

Tubular: Vitalic’s “Poney” and Crystal Castles’ “Vanished”

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By Johnny Ray Huston

By no means brand new, yet still worth a view: Even if the music is Daft Punk cloning 101, there’s no hating the video by Pleix (whose “Astral Body Church” project intrigues) for Vitalic’s “Poney Part 1.”

Vitalic, “Poney Part 1”

By no means brand new, but still worth a view, part II: As TV Carnage maniacs wait with baited breath for Cop Movie, we have to make due with occasional viewings of Pinky’s music video for Crystal Castles. Considering the quality of the song and clip, the wait is better than it is long.

Crystal Castles, “Vanished”

Snap Sounds: Crocodiles

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By Johnny Ray Huston

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CROCODILES
Summer of Hate
(Fat Possum)

If it’s 1988 all over again, Crocodiles are our Spacemen 3, ready to deliver the perfect prescription: drum machines. vintage organs, drugs = god lyrics. They’ve got the best Jesus and Mary Chain death anthems too, and the occasional burst of energy, trading ’ludes for upper-spiked punk on “Soft Skull (In My Room).” The poise and epic production here are surprising for a debut.

Crocodiles, “Summer of Hate”

Snap Sounds: Blues Control

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By Johnny Ray Huston

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BLUES CONTROL

Local Flavor

(Siltbreeze)

A hot dog made Patty Duke lose control, but on this album Blues Control makes me lose control. Local Flavor is kinda like a short version of Daydream Nation minus the annoying vocals. “Tangier” is the track that hypnotizes me with an effectiveness akin to that of Jacques Bergerac in 1960’s The Hypnotic Eye. Cameo by Kurt Vile on one track.

Blues Control, “Rest On Water”

At last, the “Keep f*cking that chicken” remix

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By Marke B.

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In the grand tradition of the genius Christian Bale freakout remix (not to mention Pwak-Pwak Pelosi and several takes on this century’s greatest living hero of all time) — and oddly right after I discovered the Castro’s renewed fetish for the 1996 Armand Van Helden remix of Tori Amos’ “Professional Widow,” the backing track here — comes this, the pithy motto of our generation set alight. Taylor, I’m really happy for you and Imma let you finish, but watch this first and dance around.

SCENE: House of Salad gives a toss

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Interview by Marke B. From SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour, on stands in the Guardian now.

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House of Salad, photographed by Leo Herrera

I recently ran halfway across downtown with the mother of lunatic dragstravaganza House of Salad, Ambrosia Salad herself (pictured above, bottom center, with the big head), teased out extra wig and fake Louis Vuitton suitcase full of props in tow. We were on our way from a vogue ball at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts to Aunt Charlie’s in the Tenderloin, where she was set to perform. But first we made a quick pit stop at an Indian pizzeria for a huge slice of Hawaiian, which Ambrosia relished with gusto, lipstick be damned. I guess that summarizes the ragtag retinue of underground DJs, performers, promoters, artists, and freaks that she’s gathered around herself, who represent every alternaqueer tribe in San Francisco and put on a hell of a show: Who needs makeup when you’ve got ham drippings and pineapple juice?

SFBG You grew up in the fruit fields of Monterey …

Ambrosia Most of my wonder years were spent on a strawberry farm next to the ocean, where my bedroom furniture got front row to me dancing around to Stacey Q, Annie Lennox, and Grace Jones. I was no stranger to wearing mommy’s pumps and tube tops as dresses. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until five years ago that I revisited wearing women’s clothing. At first just silly swamp drag: a mustache with a shitty wig. It wasn’t until [drag mentor] Mr. David beat the shit out of me that I discovered that Ambrosia didn’t need to be so tragic after all. In fact, she looked pretty good.

SCENE: B.A.S.S. pours it on

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Interview by Billy Jam. From SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour, on stands now.

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B.A.S.S. ladies: Pam the Funkstress and DJ Zita, photographed by Keeney + Law

The B.A.S.S. (Bay Area Sistah Sound) Crew, which bills itself as "the Bay’s Premier Lady DJ Crew," kicked into gear in March 2008 with its first Everlasting B.A.S.S. party at Milk in the Haight. The wildly popular SF monthly, which prides itself on presenting all-female DJ and promotion talents, has now found a home at the lovely Poleng Lounge. Every fourth Saturday, founding member DJ Zita and Pam the Funkstress (formerly of the hip-hop legends the Coup) serve up a nonstop mix of hip hop, funk, soul, and dancehall. DJ Neta, currently busy being a new mom and finishing her PhD, and promoter Fiyah Lilly are also part of the Sistahood. Over the past 18 months Everlasting B.A.S.S.’s hot guest spinners have included DJ Shortee, Deeandroid, Celskiii, Melina Jones, and Conscious Daughters. On Sept. 26, DJ Similak Chyld and emcee Josie Stingray will join the mix.

SFBG What sets Everlasting B.A.S.S. apart from other parties?

Pam the Funkstress It’s all female DJs, all female emcees, and female promoters, too. It’s a whole lady thing. And our music selection is a lot different from what you would normally hear at a regular club. I mean you hear the club stuff, but Zita plays a lot of the old school stuff, and I play a lot more of the newer stuff but at the same time I play a lot of ’90s. But I don’t seem to play music that is derogatory toward women. Like with, say, Too $hort, I will play "Short But Funky" or "Blow the Whistle," but I won’t play some of his album classics that I know are hits but are derogatory.

SCENE: Funky C tears the roof off

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Interview by Mirissa Neff. From SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Bay Area Nightlife and Glamour, on stands in our regular issue now!

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Funky C with his band Joya, photographed for our SCENE cover by Spencer Hansen

Known throughout Latin America as C-Funk, singer, guitarist, and DJ Funky C, a.k.a. Cristian Moraga, was born during the bleak days of Pinochet’s dictatorship. He co-fronted popular funk-rock-hip-hop band Los Tetas and brought the groove back to a Chilean scene rife with disenfranchised punk rockers. When Los Tetas ended, Moraga vowed never to set foot on another stage. Lucky for us, though, his particular brand of funk (what he calls “Funk Latino”) was too chronic to shake. The mothership brought him to San Francisco where he recorded Joya (Sonic 360, 2007), an album full of nods to funk icons like James Brown and George Clinton and less-expected heros like Tupac and Snoop Dogg. With two recent slots at the Fillmore under his belt, Funky C is set to throw down his deep-rooted riffs and infectious songs at a series of new parties called “Latin Biatz.”

SFBG How did you end up in the U.S.?

Funky C I have family here and came here to play with my old band, Los Tetas. But I always wanted to come here to live. In 2007 I released the Funky C album with L.A. label Sonic 360 and decided to move here. Then my wife and I had our baby here in San Francisco, a California girl. It’s been a crazy year.

SFBG So the whole band came from Chile?

Funky C Well, I decided for myself, and they wanted to come too. And through my visa I got them visas. The drummer Pepino arrived last year. The bass player Chicho came last year, went back to Chile, and got back just in time for our show at the Fillmore last week. The only one who’s not here is the keyboard player. We’re missing one of our characters in the band, and I miss him a lot.

Sonic Reducer Overage: Hammer, Indian Jewelry, Rain Machine, MV and EE, and more

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By Kimberly Chun

Keep your ears open for the sound of rolling thunder, and your heart dilated with the music of yesterday and tomorrow. Today? Well, here’s some of the musical worthiness coming down the pike right about now.

Mark Eitzel and Victor Krummenacher
Singles going steady? The American Music Clubber meets up with his Camper/Monk chum, who flies solo. Thurs/24, 8 p.m., $12-$15. Red Devil Lounge, 1695 Polk, SF. (415) 921-1695.

Hammer
He won’t hurt you — though his parachute pants could cause damage. With Whodini. Fri/25, 8 p.m., $45.75-$65.75. Fox Theater, 1807 Telegraph, Oakl. www.apeconcerts.com

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