Noise

“Kill yourselves!” Emo bashing besieges Mexico?

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Yes, it seems like some bizarre spoof: The Warriors mixes it up with Dashboard Confessional and West Side Story, across the border. But word – according to Mexican TV news reports and other print sources, along with this piece by Exclaim – has it that emo-bashing has become popular among assorted subcultural tribes in Mexico City and elsewhere. (Thanks to Amber Asylum’s Kris Force for tipping us to the insanity.)

Exclaim holds forth: “According to Daniel Hernandez, who’s been covering the anti-emo riots on his blog Intersections, the violence began March 7, when an estimated 800 young people poured into the Mexican city of Queretaro’s main plaza “hunting” for emo kids to pummel. Then the following weekend similar violence occurred in Mexico City at the Glorieta de Insurgents, a central gathering space for emos. Hernandez also reports that several anti-emo riots have now also spread to various other Mexican cities. Via the Austin American Statesmen, several postings on Mexican social-networking sites, primarily organizing spot for these “emo hunts,” have been dug up and translated. One states: ‘I HATE EMOS!!! They are not even people, they are so stupid, they cry over meaningless things… My school is infested with them, I want to kill them all!’

“Another says: ‘We’ve never seen all the urban tribes unite against one single tribe before… Emos, their way of thinking is for crap, if you are so depressed please do us all a favour and kill yourselves!'”

Yikes, what did My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy ever do to these haters? OK, yeah, I know… but still, why can’t kids just get along?

Clubs: Lady Tigra’s a switchblade uzi

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Amazing and vivacious electro-kitty Lady Tigra takes over Cafe Du Nord tonite. Look out! She’s “always got her foot firmly planted up asses”: (Watch those little spoons, kids)

Lady Tigra, “Bass on the Bottom”

I’ve been cel-chasing her all over town for an interview, following her lady tracks, but all I have to offer you is the video below and sweet memories of her purr on my voice mail. Here’s the decades-old hit you may know her flirty chirp from (hello, Avenue D, Fannypak, etc!) From 1988, boy-eee:

L’Trimm, “The Cars That Go Boom”

“When lo and behold there appeared a mirage, he was hooking up his speakers in his daddy’s garage.” See you there.

LADY TIGRA
Fri/28, 8:30 p.m., $15
Cafe Du Nord
2170 Market, SF
(415) 861-5016
www.cafedunord.com, www.myspace.com/theladytigra <

Tingly for techno: DEMF lineup announced

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First off: How old does it make me feel that some kid at UPenn is writing his dissertation on the techno parties I threw in Detroit in the early ’90s? *Ancient sigh*. Second off: the nine-year-old Detroit Electronic Music Festival, sometimes known as Movement for legal reasons but basically Mecca for tech-heads, has announced its initial lineup for May 24-26 (Memorial Day weekend). The big news is not that it’s sponsored by Big Boy this year (eek!) but that fest originator and knob-twiddling god Carl Craig is returning to perform. carl.jpg Carl Craig: BACK Carl bought my video camera in 1994 so I’d have money for Amtrak to move to SF (sweetheart!) so blame him for my presence here. Also performing will be a number of other wicked-wonderful characters from back-in-tha-D days, like my spiritual twin brother Alton Miller, who will be a highlite of the more complex, jazzy house side of the fest. altona.jpg Alton Miller: You should see him dance, really Other NAMES on the pretty soulful hitlist: Speedy J, Buzz Goree, Terrance Parker, Girl Talk, Moby, Mike Grant, Alex Under, Konrad Black, and for some hip-hop new old-schoolness Cool Kids. More lineup and info here. I’ll be there covering every backstage minute for SFBG. Put your hands up for Detroit. (That’s not me in the vid, it’s my cuz. I’m in no way responsible for his dancing or this entire music video.)

Who shot Tupac? LA Times apologies for latest botch in the continuing, sensational saga

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By Jamilah King

By now, the latest “who-shot-Tupac” fiasco is all over the news. The basics go something like this: LA Times reporter Chuck Phillips writes a groundbreaking investigative story that strongly implicates P. Diddy’s camp in the 1994 shooting that sparked the whole East Coast/West Coast feud. The piece, which relied entirely on a confidential source, sent shockwaves through the music industry.

Meanwhile, hiphopdx and the Smoking Gun were all, like, “Ummm…no.”

Now, the story is under investigation because it turns out that Phillips’s confidential witness is a con man. The paper posted an apology on their Web site late last night.

From the Smoking Gun:

The con man, James Sabatino, 31, has long sought to insinuate himself, after the fact, in a series of important hip-hop events, from Shakur’s shooting to the murder of the Notorious B.I.G. In fact, however, Sabatino was little more than a rap devotee, a wildly impulsive, overweight white kid from Florida whose own father once described him in a letter to a federal judge as “a disturbed young man who needed attention like a drug.”

Whoops.

Maybe the problem with journalism is that it’s always more than just a story. In this case, what’s really at stake is justice, that elusive and ever-changing ideal that’s been teasing black folks since slavery. The sensationalism that surrounds the Tupac-Biggie saga often overshadows the innate dreams that each rapper carried on his shoulders. They were the larger-than-life personalities who spoke for thousands of complex individuals caught up between the failures of the Civil Rights Movement and the success of Reaganomics. Of course, such artists weren’t without their gluttonous and painful vices, but so goes life for artists in their early 20s.

Ill doctrine takes the paper – and the industry – to task:

Clubs: Honey Soundsystem looks to ‘Dancer from the Dance’

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Honey! All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

It’s a story as old as disco. Attractive “straight” Midwesterner moves to the big city to find himself, only to get blindsided by a barrage of drugs, sex, and tea dances. True, dancing became a major component of gay life in the post-Stonewall ’70s, when the dance floor served as both a place of expression and escape for many gay men. It’s this defining period in gay history that novelist Andrew Holleran highlighted in his 1978 novel, Dancer from the Dance.

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Taking his title from poet William Butler Yeats’s 50 year-old line, “How can we know the dancer from the dance?” Holleran attempted to examine this brain-twister in his chronicle of gays looking for companionship and understanding in pre-AIDS New York City and Fire Island, by focusing on the misadventures of his beautiful yet provincial protagonist Anthony Malone, who loses himself in the shuffle and shag club scene.

Thirty years later, the Honey Soundsystem collective – DJs Pee Play, KenVulsion, Robot Hustle, Jason Kendig, and Josh Cheon – took cues from this groundbreaking work for their most recent theme party.

Clubs: Acieeed on Sfire

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Gurl, I was brought to. The inimitable DJ Jeffrey Sfire from NYC (2 cute!)

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blasted classic Bam Bam acid house track “Give It To Me” from 1988 at Sunday’s Honey Soundsystem Dancer From the Dance party at 103 Harriet — underneath 1015 Folsom, and the new party hotspot — and the roof burnt down. Yes, I’m ancient/legendary enough to have been there when this was originally tearing up the floors (at London’s Second Summer of Love, no less), but the kids went wild last weekend as well. Time for another acid revival? (DJs Derek B and Silence Fiction tried this a few years back with their Jack the Club night in 2005, and it was awesome, bring it back). No real vid, but song below:

Sfire, who also specializes in gritty Italo Disco and slinky rare Euro tracks, will be on local-hottie DJ Josh Cheon‘s West ADD Slave to the Rhythm show tonite 9pm-11pm, www.westaddradio.com and then live tonite at Booty Call, an actually pretty great party at Bar on Castro (I know, gag, but go! Juanita More hosts!)

PS Rumor has it Sfire will also be making many guest appearances throughout the weekend at select Portland underground venues …

SXSW: Scoping out Daryl Hall, Darondo, Bonnie Bramlett, Justin Townes Earle, David Garza, and more

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A little bit o’ London Souls.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW diary concludes…

SATURDAY, MARCH 15

As mentioned before, other than an in-and-out at Brush Square Park for a Japanese lineup, I simply did not make it to day parties, including the Frank 151 one where I had hoped to catch Game Rebellion again on Friday since they’d so courteously invited Kimberly and I en route to the Ironworks for ‘cue (did catch them rush the stage during N.E.R.D.’s disappointing non-starter of a late-night set at Stubb’s). Thus I missed Harp’s own shindig at the French Legation (and thus the chance to commiserate with my fellow contributors), the ‘ting of NYC-based Kemado Records for which I actually had a lam, and my annual Sunday trip down South Congress for western wear and eats (sorry Andy!).

Last minute, I did make the scene at Jelly NYC’s rooftop thang down West Fifth in the vicinity of Town Lake. And I am glad I did, as this foot-hobbling sojourn off the beaten track enabled me to let some ghosts go while hip-switching through the sequential, heavy volume-dealing sets of London Souls (actually from Brooklyn also, and fronted by a palpably Hendrix-loving brer) and Earl Greyhound. Before a rickshaw took me back to the Hilton, I made and re-met some friends, was hailed by some cool new folks (like sometime Rolling Stone lensman Michael Weintrob) and finally scored a decent drink.

The afternoon was enjoyable due to a very satisfying morning during which I arose early, 9 a.m., from the groggy swamp to breakfast at the soon-to-be-defunct Las Manitas on Congress with NYC friend Tim Broun and his Oaktown musician bud Paul Manousos – all in order to see Daryl Hall’s official SXSW interview at noon. Not only were Tim and I first in line, but we had a great front row view of Brother Hall being interviewed by my colleague Ann Powers of the LA Times. Seeming to be aloof behind shades, seated next to his compadre T-Bone Wolk and their six strings, the sometime 50 percent of Hall and Oates was actually very engaging and sharp, and it was clear from his responses that he never suffers fools gladly.

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“Engaging and sharp”: Daryl Hall and Kandia Crazy Horse.

SXSW: Kimya baby sighting no. 1, meathead hair-tossing at RTX, She and Him hrumphed

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Saw your baby, lady: Kimya Dawson.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW night-and-day diary continues…

THURSDAY, MARCH 13, AND FRIDAY, MARCH 14

The day began with my first IHOP run, and the late rising set me permanently behind on the day-party trail. In fact, I ultimately only made the scene at one on Sixth with our fearless leader/SX roomie Kimberly Chun, wherein we were irritated by “free” drink tickets that only provided low-shelf liquor.

It was fun to make the scene in the upper reaches of the Convention Center, catching up with such friends and colleagues as Manhattan cultural instigator Jim Fouratt, NC-born upstater Holly George-Warren at her trade show book signing for Punk 365 and her fine Gene Autry bio, Perfect Sound Forever honcho Jason Gross, veteran esteemed rock critic Dave Marsh, and (erstwhile) Harp editors Fred Mills and Randy Harward who, alas, came bearing bad tidings about the music magazine’s demise. I also met rock scribe/wife Laurie Lindeen, rockbiz vet Danny Goldberg (whose account of apprenticing to Led Zeppelin’s famed manager Peter Grant was thrilling), Hanson vox Taylor, rockwrite/rock orbit luminaries Jaan Uhelszki and Danny Fields, and played text tag with some other folks before and after dropping too many ducats at Flatstock for posters of the Black Crowes, Stevie Wonder, and the great Alejandro Escovedo (who I was saturated with in ’07 but very sadly missed this year).

The Day Stage tended to be dull or between bursts when I breezed through from the trade show, but I did see Kimya Dawson and her man keeping up with their toddling baby girl. That’s not to say there were no good-to-great performances provided within the Convention Center’s walls: in succession, I saw Hanson, the Noisettes, and (an amazing set by) X, all mercifully recorded for DirectTV.

SXSW: Up on Duffy, Ra Ra Riot, Carbon Silicon, Inca Ore, Kate Nash, and more

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Learning to love again with Ra Ra Riot. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

O SXSW, what a mixed bag thou art. Good-looking from across a crowded Kiwanis Hall, good-looking (if somewhat huge-pored and flushed with Lone Stars) close up, and even better-looking receding in the distance. Yes, I’m waving, not drowning, with this, a last, lingering, photo-centric dispatch from Saturday, March 15.

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Just breathe: Inca Ore.

Solo artists (from Portland, Ore. by way of the Bay) Inca Ore and Grouper stole an intimate house party, organized by Guardian contributor and Club Sandwich mastermind George Chen. A nice alternative to Todd P’s day-shows at Ms. Bea’s – on the sleepy, leafy, chill side of the Colorado River. Chen’s combo KIT also tore it up, following up their Upset the Rhythm showcase earlier that week.

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Meow! KIT.

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Off-kilter harmonies from the twins of Scary Mansion.

Smashing Pumpkins file suit against ex-label Virgin

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“We fought hard for the right to be in control of how our music is used, to avoid situations like this kind of crass commercialism and exploitation. Labels like EMI are no longer running the show, and we won’t be bullied by those in the ‘old’ music business who consider every artist to be easily expendable. Those days are over.” – Billy Corgan

This just in from the Smashing Pumpkins’ publicists: “The Smashing Pumpkins have filed a lawsuit this week against Virgin Records, their former record label, for the unauthorized exploitation of the band’s musical works and image as well as for devaluing the market value of its music and deceiving its fans.

“Filed in the Superior Court of the State of California in Los Angeles, the suit states that Virgin Records—without the band’s knowledge or permission—endorsed and sponsored a worldwide promotional marketing campaign by Amazon.com and Pepsi for both companies to promote and sell Amazon and Pepsi products for financial profit.

SXSW: This ain’t another fear and loathing praisesong

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The race is on: Earl Greyhound made an appearance at the Afro-Punk/Matrix showcase at SXSW.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

In the wake of my man John Edwards’s withdrawal from the current presidential race and subsequent taking up the torch for our fair music editor’s fellow Punahou alumnus Obama as Negro First, I officially became old. So I lacked sufficient energy and brain cells to take on SXSW 2008 – but, music ‘ho that I am, I did it anyway.

Clearly, Barack Obama’s sustained ascent as the most dissected American presidential candidate has by now confirmed his superfly rock-star status, crowding and overshadowing the field pursued by artists with recent/forthcoming new releases such as Jack White of the Raconteurs, the brers of Gnarls Barkley, Union Jack black singing cowboy Lightspeed Champion, and Saul Williams, a.k.a., Niggy Tardust – the latter two made the South By scene all around hip Austin (and Gnarls appeared via tacked-up Odd Couple lampoons, courtesy of Atlantic). I hesitated to fly down into Bush Country, considering the volatile political climate at present and the specter of terrorism making every airport visit unpleasant at best.

And, too, I had personal reservations: at the last three South By festivals, my life has fallen apart by degrees: in 2006, with the diagnosis of my late Mother’s pancreatic cancer and decision to divorce being the absolute worst. Still, I was invited to speak about press and, whether SXSW has completely devolved into “hipster spring break with bands” in recent years, the festival retains the possibility to offer exposure to unheard-of music and/or reconnect with rarely seen friends from the Left Coast and abroad.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12

Rising before cockcrow at 3 a.m., I saddled up in bespoke hat, denim and black leather to hit a too-early flight out of NY LaGuardia and made it to Austin’s Bergstrom already dazed and confused via Houston connection from George Bush Airport. After a swift check-in at the Hilton Garden Inn downtown where I happened to run into my panel mate, Nick Baily of Shorefire Media, and we concurred that we were in the dark about how to express ourselves (one of last year’s highlights was meeting O.G. Expressor Charles Wright), it was off to run the Convention Center gauntlet in pursuit of festival badges, assorted data, schwag and making it to the panelists’ green room on time. No surreys nor press satoris available. So Nick and I jes’ winged it (wung it?) before a surprisingly full room, and tried our best to respond to the artists trailing in our wake all the way back to the hotel.

Bob Mould and punk that ages gracefully

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By Todd Lavoie

“Growing old, it’s hard to be the angry young man/ Turn away. Turn and walk away” – so observes the discernibly less-vexed Bob Mould on his recently released District Line (Anti-), and the line is as good as any in summing up the mood shift we’ve seen in the guitar-wielding singer-songwriter in recent years.

With his latest, Mould still continues to stare down a demon or two, but he appears rather content to do so. Dare I say it? Oh, why not – there are moments on the disc in which he even could be described as sounding downright upbeat. Bully for him, I say, and double-bully for crafting such an engagingly diverse collection of songs. See the new Mould for yourselves Wednesday, March 26 – that’s when he and his band take to the Great American Music Hall stage, folks. Me, I’m already agog over the possibilities of the set-list, considering the breadth of his quarter-century-plus career.

Since the guy brought up the subject and all, it’s worth a little pondering. Ah, the angry young man thing: we music obsessives tend to really tighten our focus on this supposed issue, don’t we? Holding our heroes to high standards is one thing, but denying them the same inevitability that we all will eventually meet – growing older – has always struck me as absurd. Worse yet, we often insist on freezing them in time, keeping them bottled and bathed in piss ‘n’ vinegar and then carping away if they fail to deliver the same blister and bluster of their early to mid-20s.

SXSW: Flatstock abounds with poster pulchritude

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Landland of Minneapolis, Minn.

South By Southwest ain’t nothing but loud, loud music; industry speakers; white-bread-bedecked barbecue; protein bar giveaways; soused UT students; and lil’ pools o’ puke if it weren’t for the American Poster Institute-sponsored Flatstock show, presented every year for the last five years alongside the music conference. I checked the state of the art – and came away with an eyeful of music posters that popped.

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Leia Bell of Salt Lake City.

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Status Serigraph of Knoxville, Tenn.

Dose of Darondo in the E-Bay

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Get an earful of what everyone at SXSW was yapping ’bout: longtime Oaklander Darondo performs, backed by Nino Moschella, at Shattuck Down Low tonight, March 21. Low-ridah soul – with vanity plates, sho – and R&B comes to town once more in the form of the Ubiquity artist who once opened for James Brown and hung with Fillmore Slim.

DARONDO
With Nino Moschella
Friday/21, 9:30 p.m., $12
Shattuck Down Low
2284 Shattuck, Berk.

SXSW: Santogold is golden along with Sightings, the Ting Tings, Torche, and more

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It’s all Santogold. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

South By – why, a week later, the wrap-up keeps coming. Here’s what was on the plate Friday night, March 14 – in addition to the beef rib barbecue and banana pudding with Nilla wafers at Iron Works.

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Soft sweat: Kim Hiorthoy.

I was glad to catch a few songs by Kim Hiorthoy in the SXSW day stage at the convention center’s cafeteria. The Oslo, Norway, knob-twirler headed up the Smalltown Supersound showcase Wednesday night – here he performed with a percussionist pal, making more meditative, ambient sounds than the house-tinged music he ended up delivering at the Boredoms SF show on March 18.

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Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful – hate me because of my bad band name: the Ting Tings.

The evening started out at Stubb’s for the Ting Tings, art-pop duo from Salford, UK – the twosome has been surprising listeners with their infectious, dancey sass. Spunky, model-esque Katie White managed to hold the stage on her lonesome, thrashing away at her guitar.

Talk about School of Language

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Field Music, surely the best group to come out of Sunderland, UK, is no more – sort of. One of the group’s central songwriter’s David Brewis, 27, said as much while tooling around the country with his new project, School of Language. No fear, students of rock, the musical complexities of SOL’s new Thrill Jockey album, Sea from Shore, will impress those already missing Field Music. Catch Brewis at Hemlock Tavern Friday, March 21.

SFBG: Why make this album under the name School of Language rather than Field Music?

David Brewis: Because I didn’t let Pete or Andy play on it! So it would be a little bit of stress. We talked about doing a bunch of records separately and maybe putting them all out as Field Music records. I thought…we’re not splitting up, but we’re not going to be a band anymore. People really haven’t taken to that idea. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe it sounded like a complicated situation.

They ask, have you split up? I see my brother every day and Pete every week. I was certainly feeling like, after we finished the last Field Music record what I didn’t want to do immediatley was have the three of us tour and try to go back in the studio again. I didn’t feel like it would be much fun. I felt like what Field Music was supposed to be had solidified in people’s minds and in ways it shouldn’t. The idea with Field Music was me and Pete pool our resources in terms of songs and the three of us pool our resources in terms of skills as players, and always do whatever is best for the song regardless of what that entails.

Loving Flying Lotus

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Winnetka? Why-not-ka? Apologies to lovely Del Tha’s underground East Bay, but if there’s gotta be a new epicenter of nouveau-Cali alternative hip-hop (cue the searing lazer bass and sympho-poetic glitches) then you could do no better than the Outer-LA hometown of mixmaster amazo Flying Lotus, who’s currently stealing hearts and heartbeats on his WARP Records tour. And yeah, he’s this cute:

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If you’re in the mood for some woozy bottom-blasting with a high-hat twinkle, Lotus will be numbing Dr. Scholl’s at dread bass mecca night Surya Dub at Club Six this Saturday night, March 22. Lotus’s own releases get us where DJ Shadow hurts, and his remix of Mia Doi Todd’s 2006 soulful torcher “My Room Is White” has brightened our rhythmic footfalls to work for the past month. So yeah, come get zigzagged in a headtrip melancholy way this weekend …

Flying Lotus, “Tea Leaf Dancers”

Flying Lotus
at Surya Dub
Sat/22, 10pm-4am, $10
Club Six
60 Sixth St, SF
www.suryadub.com
www.clubsix1.com

Sonic Reducer Overage: Immaculate White Shoes, shining Headlights

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Baby wants to wear their White Shoes.

Too tuckered out by South By Southwest? Hey, I saw you at the Boredoms the other night! Surely you’re not too pooped to pop for these indie-rockers.

WHITE SHOES AND THE COUPLES COMPANY
Brimming with silky retro charm, this ultra-cute Indonesian combo on Minty Fresh scored a spot as one of Billboard‘s “12 Acts to Watch at SXSW.” Do they remind you of UK space-pop revivalists of the past ala Stereolab and High Llamas? Find out for yourself before the band hoofs it back to their homeland: these are their only other North American shows besides SXSW.

White Shoes and the Couples Company perform tonight, March 20, 6 p.m., at Amoeba Music, 1855 Haight, SF. Free. (415) 831-1200. They perform with Foxtail Somersault tonight, May 20, 9 p.m., at Make-Out Room, 3225 22nd St., SF. $12. (415) 647-2888.

HEADLIGHTS
The Champaign, Ill., indie-pop fivesome have played more than 300 shows a year since their 2004 inception. So you know they gotta have it down at this point: winsome is as winsome does on their new full-length, Some Racing, Some Stopping (Polyvinyl), which shows off Headlights‘ love o’ ’60s pop hooks.

Headlights appear with School of Language and the Evangelicals Friday, March 21, 9:30 p.m., Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. $10. (415) 923-0923.

Clubs: Chrome gets our headbanging rocks off

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Polish me off, Chrome. All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

Chrome makes me think of those metallic-plated bicycles that kids ride around on. It also reminds me of the same-name rock band that formed in San Francisco in the late ’70s. Promoter Bill Picture (Trans Am) managed to meld both elements together at monthly rock night Chrome at the Gangway.

Showcasing DJ Dirty Knees (Trans Am, Charlie Horse) and special guest DJs including March’s Metal Patricia, this metal night gets gear heads banging with heavy favorites like Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and Motley Crue’s “Too Fast for Love.” It’s like a metal hall of fame with something old and something newer.

Headbanging purists might divide the genre into two phases: the early years with bands like Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath and the later, new wave of British metal (NWOBHM), led by tougher, harder acts like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Motorhead. But I chronologize it differently: BRHCO and ARHCO, before Rob Halford Came Out and After Rob Halford Came Out, which finally brought the genre out of the closet.

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Alice Russell has our ears ringing

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By Todd Lavoie

My ears might still be ringing, but it’s totally worth it, I tell you: checked out English quadruple-lunged soul powerhouse Alice Russell’s white-hot-and-beyond groove-a-thon last night, March 11, at Mojito, and it was the best decision I’ve made all month.

Girl could sing the ass clean off everybody in that room, honestly, and so that’s exactly what she did – two explosive 45-minute sets and an encore later, she’d leveled that place. Best part of all? Russell pulled it all off with buckets of charm, quipping and chuckling and getting on with the crowd like a house on fire: no diva moments, no attitudinal posturing.

And while I didn’t exactly take a poll afterwards, I’ve got a sneaking feeling most folks in attendance felt the same way I did: we’d witnessed something very, very special. If you didn’t make it to either show (she also slammed the Mojito crowd this past Monday, March 10), you’re free to kick yourselves, but don’t get too carried away: there’s a good chance Russell might be coming back again soon. Most likely, when she does, she’ll be hitting Mojito once more, having played there a few times already and having clearly cultivated a love-love relationship between artist and venue.

Phosphorescent shimmers with strange beauty

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By Todd Lavoie

Old Weird America, indeed – the spectral-twangin’, gorgeously raggle-taggle ghost-folkster Matthew Houck, a.k.a., Phosphorescent, will be throwing mad shadows upon the walls of the Independent Sunday, March 23, when he takes the stage in support of his October-released spine-tingler Pride (Dead Oceans).

Now on album number three, the Athens, Geo./Brooklyn-based Houck has expanded beyond the largely go-it-alone parameters of Pride to include a backing band for this tour; should be interesting to see how the deep-in-the-earhole intimacy of the almost entirely self-recorded disc translates to the stage in the form of a full-fledged quartet. Not that there’s much cause to worry: if the guy can bring backwoods-gothic to Bed-Stuy, by crikey, I’m sure he’ll find a way to channel onstage the same gossamer-gospel hocus-pocus that makes Pride such a fascinating listen.

It’s an intriguing proposition, fashioning such distinctly rural sounds while surrounded by so much concrete, but Houck has done exactly that, and quite convincingly as well. This is no pard’ner-grabbing, knee-slapping hoedown, however: instead, Pride arrives in misty drifts, sighing and swaying over pine-cloaked hills, across Civil War battlefields and weed-overrun graveyards. If there’s a trace of Brooklyn on this record, I have to hear it – and while we’re at it, most of the time I’m not picking up too much 21st century here, either. (Other than the production, of course, which is goose-pimplingly exquisite.)

Best Boredoms interview ever: Eye gives up the goods on eve of Fillmore show

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The Boredoms‘ Eye Yamantaka is ordinarily a man of few words, but the Japanese experimental music veteran let the flood gates fly open via my e-mail interview. No snores here – just expect to whet your appetite for the Boredoms‘ Tuesday, March 18, show at the Fillmore. Ex-Black Dice drummer and current Soft Circle impressario Hashim Kotaro Bharoocha provided the translation.

SFBG: The new album is amazing — it sounds like positively symphonic! What was the idea, goal, or focus?

Eye Yamantaka: Recently I have been getting into symphonic progressive rock. I
want to buy music like that, but I don’t know who’s making it. I’m also a fan of progressive heavy metal from Scandinavia. On the album, I am taking a minimalist approach by manipulating sounds on the turntable (I am using church pipe organ music by Jon Gibson).

The sub-patterns from the church organ sounded like human voices to me, so we had that scored, and had an actual choir sing it. We weren’t doing anything on Christmas Eve, so we decided to do a show that day, and the choir fit the night perfectly.

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SFBG: I remember interviewing Eye and Yoshimi years ago in the late ’80s in San Francisco. How would you say the band has evolved since then? What has your muse been telling you? Where have your
interests led you?

EY: The band went through significant changes on SPR and GO!!!!!! We started to take a minimalist approach from SPR, but after this album we took that approach to the extreme. I think that those records were a rebirth point for us. After those records, we got rid of the guitar and bass in the ensemble, and I started to DJ a lot more (I was DJing a lot more than performing with the band). We started to think in terms of performing as if we were a record player, rather than playing as a normal band.

Clubs: Got soul? Succumb to Soul Knockout

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Scenesters go with the soul at Missouri Lounge. Photo by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

If it’s a soul night – be it Memphis, Philly, or Northern – I’m the first on the floor, spinning, flipping, and back-dropping. Still, I’ve never fully understood why white people, myself included, so identify with the genre – and seeing The Commitments several times has done little to clarify this for me.

So like a modern-day Penelope Spheeris, I took an anthropological adventure – to what felt like 20,000 leagues under and across the Bay via BART – to Berkeley’s Missouri Lounge for Soul Knockout to gain a better understanding of this phenomenon.

About to hit its first anniversary, Soul Knockout is hosted by DJ Hot Grits, Sweats the Bed, and seasoned veteran E Da Boss (Slept On Records) at a renovated dive bar that has become a pit stop for hip white kids, while still remaining down-home.

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