Ox-y contained: Dragging an Ox Through Water.
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
SONNY SMITH‘S “FINE AND GOOD” LIST
– The Dry Spells
– The Fresh and Onlys
– Nodzzz
– Brilliant Colors
– Thee Oh Sees
– Sic Alps
– The Sandwitches
– Jeffrey Lewis
– Dragging an Ox Through Water
Caffeine-d: Sonic Youth’s Hits Are for Squares (Starbucks Entertainment)
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
YELLOW SWANS‘ GABRIEL MINDEL’S TOP TEN KILL-YR-IDOLS MOMENTS OF 2008
1. Sonic Youth’s “Hits Are for Starbucks”
Crap, you guys — really?
2. Obama’s cabinet
Ah, hope and change, I hardly knew you …
3. Guns N’ Roses, Chinese Democracy (Interscope)
What about this isn’t beating a dead horse?
4. Scarlett Johansson, Anywhere I Lay My Head (Atco)
I think my crush has worn off.
5. Ian Curtis’ gravestone gets stolen
6. The “free market”
Too late, capitalism.
7. Heath Ledger.
8. MIA “retires”
I hope she’s better at this than Jay-Z.
9. Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (Steven Spielberg, US)
10. The USAISAMONSTER announce their breakup
This is probably only a big deal to about 50 people, but it really does bum me out.
Doing it better: Chromatics.
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
MICHAEL HARKIN’S TOP 10
– Nobunny, “I Am a Girlfriend”
If the original Ramones replaced Tommy with a drum machine, it might’ve sounded as amazing as this track from Love Visions (1-2-3-4 Go!).
– Danzig at the Warfield
“Mother”… kicking a pizza box out of a roadie’s grasp … Glenn still rules.
– Nodzzz, Nodzzz mini-LP (What’s Your Rupture?)
Fantastic, distortion-free guitar pop.
– Special Disco Version at Mighty
God bless James Murphy and Pat Mahoney for their brilliant edits and many mirrorballs.
On the loose: Los Llamarada.
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
HANK IV’S TOP 10 OF 2008
-Los Llamarada at Cake Shop, November
-Newbridge Mayor-Elect Philly Boy Roy appointing Hammerhead as P.I.G. (Pit Inspector General) on the Best Show on WFMU
-Bassist Chris P. getting propositioned/accosted by a persistent lady superfan in the middle of playing a song at Budget Rock VII
-Los Llamarada ordering Pat’s cheesesteaks in Philly slang
-Mission of Burma’s road manager (and Clint’s brother) Jimmy Conley’s story about, as a teenager, being dressed up like a girl by Clint and taken to a mid-1970s New York Dolls show in NYC
–The Shield‘s final season
-Mayyors live
–In Bruges screening at the Shill Building
-Outdoor day party show at SXSW with Ross Johnson
-Buttholes Urfers live on the seventh floor of a Financial District office building at 4 a.m. for Donny Wyatt’s birthday
HANK IV
With Wooden Shjips and E-Zee Tiger
Jan. 22, 9 p.m., call for price
Eagle
398 12th St., SF
(415) 626-0880
Ladies do the same: Charles Hamilton’s “Brooklyn Girls.”
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
DANIEL N. ALVAREZ’S TOP 10
10) Lil Wayne, Tha Carter III (Cash Money/Universal)
If for no other reason, Tha Carter III belongs on this list, because it proves that in the age of illegal downloading, hip-hop can still commercially thrive. While the record is uneven, its widespread success was achieved by Wayne’s hard work and prolific output. Most of his mixtapes, especially the ones in the “Da Drought” series, are stronger than this record, yet this album does have some dizzying high points. His expansive collaboration with the elder with Jay-Z, “Mr. Carter,” brilliantly builds to an explosive crescendo, where Wayne lets his hair down and destroys Infamous’ soulful beat.
“Next time you mention ‘Pac, Biggie, or Jay-Z, don’t forget Weezy, baby!” – Mr. Carter
9) Kidz in the Hall, The In Crowd (Duck Down)
Bursting out of hip-hop hotbed, the University of Pennsylvania, the duo’s breakthrough effort is one of the slickest of the year. Riding old-school soul beats, provided by Michael Aguilar (a.k.a., Double-O), the group’s MC Jabari Evans (Naledge) effortlessly cruises through downtown Chicago, putting a premium on storytelling. Often unfairly lumped in with the “hipster-hop” crowd, Kidz in the Hall’s sound actually aligns more with the Chicago scene, drawing striking parallels to Common and pre-robot Kanye West.
“And I’m looking blessed, like I said achoo.” – “Drivin’ Down The Block (Low End Theory)”
› a&eletters@sfbg.com
PROFILE George Watsky was 15 the first time I saw him perform one of his poems. The venue was an afternoon open mic at the Stanford Jazz Workshop, a one-week program that immerses teens in the art of jazz. I was 14, and was impressed and charmed by Watsky’s fast-talking savvy. That the last line included the word "fuck" made the poem a crowd-pleaser to the teenage audience.
The following year, Watsky the San Francisco lyrical prodigy was back with another captivating poem. The one he read that summer was "Halflife," in which he expressed the insanity of what it means to call oneself half-Jewish.
"I forgot Passover last year and the year before that /and I just found out Yom Kippur existed / and I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I weren’t Jewish/ … well, half Jewish,/ when I see that half-and-half is cream and milk/ two shades of white combined into a condiment that no one wants to drink just by itself/ Then I’ll start to homogenize my culture and my time/ But no religion can envision claiming even half my mind."
Over the last five years, that poem stuck with me. And I wondered: what happened to George Watsky?
Turns out he mastered the art of spoken word, becoming the 2006 Youth Speaks Grand Slam Poetry Champion, a winner of Speak Green for his poem "Carry the One," and a performer at spaces ranging from the Herbst Theater to the Apollo.
Watsky delivers each poem in a fast rant, but lets the last words of his stanzas linger for effect. His spoken word technique intermingles with his everyday speech, a quirk I found amusing when I reunited with him for an interview. He has crafted his spoken word style over the years, but his speedy delivery comes naturally. "I think it started because I talked too fast out of a sense of nervousness," he says.
Since the release of his 2006 book-CD Undisputed Backtalk Champion (First Word Press), Watsky has been collaborating with friends Max Miller-Loren and Daniel Riera. On his next recording, he plans to integrate music into his poetry (after all, he was a drummer at Stanford Jazz). Currently Watsky brings spoken word to colleges across the country while earning a degree at Emerson College. Thanks to a set up with Auburn Moon Agency, which pays for his travel to various universities, he has a compact schedule.
In performance, Watsky might mutter one moment and abruptly yell poetic verse with great passion the next. One of his best-known pieces is "V for Virgin," which he performed on the Mos Def-hosted HBO show Def Poetry. "This poem is for every high school virgin who wouldn’t have it any other way!" he announces, revving up for a signature rampage: "It’s time to reclaim the high school virgin as sexy<0x2009>/ I’m talking damn, that’s some sexy peach fuzz sexy<0x2009>/ and I’m definitely talking check out the curves on that parabola sexy<0x2009>/ and understand that at least one dorky white boy from the 415 knows that’s the sexiest arm he’s seen in his entire sexy life!"
Watsky’s virginal pride poem and physical appearance have led many to see a connection between him and a certain Michael Cera. On his Web site, he even posted an entry titled "Declaration of Beef with Michael Cera."
I ask Watsky about his online brawl with Cera. "Michael Cera’s a punk," he says with a laugh. "Off the record, it’s a joke. On the record, it’s not game at all! I walked to my car the other day, and these people were like ‘It’s you, it’s you!’ and I was like, ‘Oh that’s cool, you watch Def Poetry Jam?’ And they’re like, ‘No, the kid from Superbad.’"
For more good times with Watsky, check out his Web site, or MySpace, Facebook, or YouTube pages. The kid’s pretty easy to stalk, and he’ll keep you updated on his next creative endeavors.
› kimberly@sfbg.com
SONIC REDUCER "I’m going to start smoking again. I’m going to start eating bad and quit working out."
Here, have a few determinedly daft new year’s resolutions from an old hand at San Francisco music-making from Chuck Prophet, who happens to be headlining the old year out at Starry Plough Dec. 31. Don’t say he never gave you anything. But seriously, our Prophet?
Actually ’09 vows are the last thing Prophet wants to be burdened with. "I’m just lazy," the singer-songwriter confesses from his South of Market mini-HQ. "Why would I put any more assignments on myself?"
You know what he means. New Year’s resolutions — what better way to hang an albatross round the old oak tree and set yourself up for FAILblog? Still, ’tis the season, and I have a few ideas on how to institute change in this recession-wracked music scene, inspired by the last time the pink slips flew round the turn of the century, post-tech boom. Call these my "Keep the Scene Strong Goals for ’09," all related to stamping out the scourge of many a creative milieu: passive consumption. Though, hell, who even has the time and cash to consume very much these days?
— Engagement. It’s as simple as talking to the performer after the show. And no, I don’t mean hit on the band. Instead, start a dialogue — of either the positive or constructively critical ilk — with your friendly neighborhood musicmaker. Who wants to play into a void, to a passive, glazed-look blank generation? Feedback ain’t just a whole lotta noise. If the spirit moves you, feel free to buy those hard-working musicians and DJs a round of drinks. The Hemlock’s $1 bag of hot peanuts is a nice gesture.
— Dance. OK, the early ’00s saw a rock crew shook it up at shows, but San Francisco is slipping, regaining that bad reputation of resembling zombie-like, arms-folded slabs of tofu. Hold up your end of the bargain and get a move on.
— Stretch. Yes, stretching before dancing helps with muscle aches. But I mean listen to new sounds. If you’re a metal dude, lend an ear to weird new America-style folk — think about Zep’s connections betwixt loud and languorous. If you’re an indie rock chippie check into Fania salsa reissues; a gangster rap head, a bit of death metal or a dab of indie-literati-pop.
— Prepare yourself for the worst — and possibly the best. Everyone’s wondering if they’re going to be laid off or face a work drought in ’09. Instead resolve to put that anxious energy and restless imagination to good use. Come up with some nice, meaty, beaty post-layoff projects. Take up an instrument, even if it is simply a shareware synthesizer. Switch up your recorded listening by swapping records or MP3s with pals — or dive into an affair like KUSF-FM’s Rock ‘n’ Swap on Jan. 11 (www.kusf.org/rocknswap.shtml). Throw a show at your abode, or better yet, put on a free music happening in a public space (i.e., the Toxic Beach throw-downs, mobile Flag Day jamboree).
Sure, everyone knows resolutions are made to be broken. Even Prophet spurned his faux resolutions after we spoke, via e-mail: "So last night after eating cereal for dinner, passing out watching the Food channel, I’ve decided my NY resolution is to cook more often. Taking up smoking is a bit daft, I have to admit." Tasty words — and food — for thought.
CHUCK PROPHET
Wed/31, 9:30 p.m., $26.50
Starry Plough
3101 Shattuck, Berk.
For more from Chuck Prophet, go to Noise blog at sfbg.com.
THE MOST INTRIGUING READER TOP 10: MITCH CARDWELL
"Budget Rock-er, zine scribe, lover, drunkard"
1. Hank IV, Refuge in Genre (Siltbreeze) They’ve made SF home to Earth’s greatest punk band once again.
2. Nothing People, Anonymous (S-S) They only play great shows, release great records, etc.
3. The Hospitals, Hairdryer Peace (Stonehouse) Ear-splitter of the year, without question.
4. Buzzer, Disco Kiddz EP (Douche Master) Glam, proto, pub — it’s all here.
5. Nobunny, Love Visions (Bubbledumb) Punk parody is always a winning concept.
6. Colossal Yes, Charlemagne’s Big Thaw (Ba Da Bing) Piano pop-psych crafted in a totally winning fashion.
7. Wounded Lion, "Pony People" 7-inch (S-S) Pop that is both brainy and fun.
8. Mayyors, both 7-inches (self-released) Mayyors wow with sheer force of volume.
9. Scarecrow and the Shuckers at the Stork Club
10. Thee Oh Sees, The Hounds of Foggy Notion CD/DVD (Castle Face) I’ll take this over their recent hit LP.
PRESSURE TO PERFORM: A FEW MORE NYE OPTIONS
The Bay Area original makes the leap from his longtime NYE venue at the Fillmore. With Zappa Plays Zappa and Tim Fite. Wed/31, 8 p.m., $69–<\d>$126. War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness, SF. www.goldenvoice.com
NYE Hemlock reg This Bike is joined by the SF troupe Kelley Stoltz describes as "fun SF weirdness without the Burning Man remorse." Wed/31, 9 p.m., $10. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. www.hemlocktavern.com
Most definitely "Sneakers Required" with DJs like Apollo and Sake One. Wed/31, 9 p.m., call for price. Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, SF. (415) 978-2787.
Funny fellahs W. Kamau Bell, Bucky Sinister, and Nato Green issue their response to all the ‘WHOOOOOOHOOOOO!’ that typically goes down on NYE. Wed/31, 7:30 and 10 p.m., $30 (friendofkamau discount code for $10 off). Phoenix Theatre, 414 Mason, SF. www.brownpapertickets.com/event/50525
PREVIEW Leave it to Joe Goode to come up at the end of the year with something as untried as a series of pieces, some as short as 30 seconds. Having enlisted the collaboration of Portland, Ore., singer-songwriter Holcombe Waller, Goode modestly calls the program small experiments in song and dance. The idea is to create works that, as Goode describes it, have music and dance "collide."
It’s another step in the choreographer’s ongoing search for new theatrical forms in which the aural and visual feed off each other, hopefully in surprising ways. On a practical level, this means Goode’s dancers will sing while Waller, whose voice has been described as "soft as white velvet," will dance. Waller, who arrives with two instrumentalists, is bringing to the performance his experience of stretching the concert format into more theatrical frameworks. Additionally, he has worked with dancers in past. But more than that, small experiments looks like it might be a meeting of two kindred spirits. There’s a wistfulness and poignant tenderness to much of Waller’s music that surely must have resonated with Goode. The opening night will be a special New Year’s Eve celebration and includes a pre-performance champagne reception and post-performance party.
JOE GOODE PERFORMANCE GROUP’S SMALL EXPERIMENTS IN SONG AND DANCE Wed/31, 9:30 p.m., $25–$125; Fri/2 and Sat/3, 8 p.m., $20–$25. Brava Theater Center, 2781 24th St., SF.
(415) 561-6565, (415) 647-2822, www.brava.org, www.joegoode.org
PREVIEW Los Angeles’ Orgone chose its name well: if you have a couple hours to kill, you could do worse than riding the Wikipedia reference trail in the direction of Wilhelm Reich’s concept and its ambitious attempt to link observable events with libidinal energy. What the idea lacks in scientific standing, it makes up for in its ability to st(r)oke the imagination. Orgone’s abbreviated Afrobeat-soul-funk jams might even make a good alternate soundtrack to the orgy of styles, stories, and moods on display in Dušan Makavejev’s W.R.: Mysteries of the Organism (1971). Even though Orgone has nine core members, there’s nothing flabby or random about the ensemble’s sound: Fela Kuti’s fusion of Ghanaian highlife and American funk sets the rules and agenda for the group on tracks like "It’s What You Do," and the playing is tight enough to put accusations of "genre exercise" to bed while brimming with the kind of coherence that might even make something as anarchic as W.R. make sense.
But even when dipping their toe in Afrobeat, Orgone’s overriding ambition clearly points to the soul/funk axis of Otis Redding and the Meters. Next to Antibalas’ jazzy flow, Orgone’s horns seem unable to content themselves with Afrobeat’s long-form, percoutf8g build, eager instead to burst out of the song’s frame. Romantic longing is the locus of this Angeleno nonet’s music, a point that’s unmistakable when vocalist Fanny Franklin steps up to the mic on tracks like "Who Knows Who." In submitting to its influences rather than vying for the romantic notion of the original artist, Orgone humbly hits all the pleasure points strewn across the genres the band venerates. It feels as bright and welcoming as it sounds.
ORGONE With DJ K-OS. Sat/3, 9:30 p.m., $15. Boom Boom Room, 1601 Fillmore, SF. (415) 673-8000, www.boomboomblues.com
The Guardian staff’s weekly list of recent raves:
(1) Ice skating at Justin Herman Plaza
(2) Live classical music, Revolution Cafe
(3) Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog — even better the second time!
(4) Midnight mass, Christmas Eve, Mission Dolores
(5) Braving the crowds for insane deals at Macy’s
Itchy and scratchy: Tomutonttu’s Ultra Eczema art.
‘Tis the season – here’s another in a series of top 10s from Bay Area musicians, writers, and scenesters.
JEFF RAY’S TOP 10
– Favorite album: Fennesz, Black Sea (Touch)
Should be renamed Endless Winter. So incredibly lush and can warm up any long Ukrainian winter night.
– Favorite band: MGMT
Fun, danceable, catchy but not stupid.
– Favorite music series, “Relay” at the Lab, Oct. 22–Nov. 15
Great experimental music series hosted by the Lab. Folks from Finland and Fonal Records, Tomutonttu, Thuja, and Loren Chasse all performed, along with others. The sonic works were inspiring to listen to and watch. The Lab is awesome: www.thelab.org.
› kimberly@sfbg.com
SONIC REDUCER Light a candle, burn a wand of sage, and singe your bangs. Then fondle a frosty pink hunk of rose quartz and ask the goddess, "Are crystals the new wolves — or at least the new bears? Maybe even the new alps/mountains?" ‘Cause I swear, I’m not a miner — ’49-er, tweenie-bopper, or otherwise — but I can almost smell the crystals everywhere. Especially when it comes to artist-band names like Crystal Castles, Crystal Stilts, Crystal Waters, and wow, now juxtaposing crystal with defensive head-growths, Crystal Antlers.
I clash gently this sparkling SOMA morning with said smiling, scruffy, shambolic Long Beach combo — half chimney sweeps by day and all capable of metamorphosing magically into fierce psych-garage warriors by the light of a mountain-wolf-bear moon. The obvious question goes to tousled vocalist-bassist Jonny Bell, his hoodie bunched over his brow in the very un-Cali cold and just roused from his slumber at Closer Recording where the band is completing its first full-length: what is it about crystals that resonates? Is this a conspiracy (of beards)? And more importantly — the goddess craves a response after spotting those vaginal folds on the cover of Crystal Antlers’ recent self-titled Touch and Go EP — do you believe in crystal magic?
"Yeah, well, we came up with the name three years ago, so we didn’t know about those other bands," mumbles Bell, weary of being given the crystal shit. "We’ve done a lot of interviews where they ask about that, and I’ve given a lot of sarcastic answers." The non-sarcastic rejoinder? "It sounded fragile."
No wonder the band leader is a wee bit wary about conjuring a name for the Crystal Antlers’ album, due out in April, which he says sports mellow and ambient musical percolations as well as "more of a soul influence." Crystal Antlers have been gobbling up old soul from ’60s Miami like Della Humphrey and George McRae and spilling out their own revamp — strained through the filter of their punk background and miles away from the well-inked and -oiled Daptone/Mark Ronson new-old-school. Judging from the EP produced by Mars Volta’s Isaiah "Ikey" Owens, Crystal Antlers roam another neck of the woods altogether: a noisier, more distorted dead meadow where hirsute beasties like Comets on Fire and Mammatus roam near Holy Mountains, where Andrew King’s careening guitar skirts squalling psych-cacophony and Victor Rodriguez’s textural, low-screaming organ revels in a garage-goth parking lot, out behind the rock ‘n’ roll wilderness preserve.
"We wanted to try to play beyond our abilities," Bell says of the recording. "I think we’re always trying to push our limits, and a lot of stuff on the EP was really difficult for us. None of us have any formal training." Noisy, dark matter far from the manic weekday traffic tearing down Howard Street as the Crystal Antlers tuck into eggs and bagels at a café near the studio.
It’s the kind of recession-strapped, pre-Christmas week — a ruthless admixture of hope and fear — that brings out the take-that holiday light displays in the Mission and makes it a great moment to get your fill of your friendly neighborhood Bay Area bands, as the clubs stock up on local talents choosing to staycation. Instead Crystal Antlers are here, forsaking primo chimney sweep season ("I can write songs while laying bricks," explains Bell. "It’s a nice contrast to sitting in a van") to record with engineer Joe Goldring (the Enablers, Touched by a Janitor). Today they’ll track keyboards, saxophone, and vocals, though Bell caught a cold from bunking down in their veggie-oil van during last week’s hail.
At least they’re out of the vehicle — now convalescing on a SoMa byway — though Bell is proud that it got the band out and on tour on a single tank of diesel. "Ten thousand miles and we only used one tank of diesel fuel the whole time. We were able to find vegetable oil all around the country," he says. "We filled up when we were leaving for the tour. We didn’t go to a single gas station the whole time on the way back." The group’s recent Fuck Yeah tour with Monotonix, Dan Deacon, the Death Set, and others was similarly veggie-oil-fueled, though somewhat nuttier from the sound of the stories of smashed vans and spilled instruments that drummer and kindred chimney sweep Kevin Stuart regales me with. There was also that time when Crystal Antlers were in Oakland, touring with Canada’s Fucked Up, and Bell offers, munching, "Kevin forgot to lock the trailer."
"Hey, I didn’t forget it!" Stuart protests. "That was Fucked Up’s fault!"
"We started driving," continues Bell, "and all their stuff started falling out onto the freeway." Word from the goddess: unlock that Crystal power — with limits. *
CRYSTAL ANTLERS
With Two Gallants and the Tallest Man on Earth
Fri/26, 9 p.m., $20
Fillmore
1805 Geary, SF
LOCAL POTION
Hamsters unite! The Invisibl Skratch Pikl re-emerges. With Mochipet and Joyo Velarde. Fri/26, 9 p.m., $20. Independent, 628 Divisadero, SF. www.theindependentsf.com
The Meters percussion mainstay whoops it up for his b-day. With Bhi Bhiman. Sat/27, 9 p.m., $20. Café du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. www.cafedunord.com
Gift of Gab’s Mighty Underdogs project weighs in at this hefty indie hip-hop hoedown. Sat/27, 9 p.m., $26.50. Fillmore, 1805 Geary, SF. www.livenation.com
Having a cracked Cracker-Camper Christmas comedown — and how good it is. Sat/27, 9 p.m., $23. Independent, 628 Divisadero, SF. www.theindependentsf.com
The Brooklyn-by-way-of-SF wolf king grows starry-eyed with the winsome Brittany-born Beam warbler at an Antenna Farm convo. With the Naked Hearts. Sat/27, 9:30 p.m., $7. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. www.hemlocktavern.com
Skating, designing, music-making — Tommy Guerrero veers off from Jet Black Crayon with his birthday bash band at this SF Food Bank benefit. With Marc and the Casuals. Tues/30, 8 p.m., $6–$10 sliding scale. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. www.hemlocktavern.com
Pan: SF Art Institute’s furlough
A humble proposal to those laid off for a month: exchange your individual voice for a collective one and begin intervening by employing the crafty tools of activism as an artful device of communication in order to effect positive change for your institution. As culture workers you are bound to succeed.
Pick: The Size Queens, Magic Dollar Shoppe (Bitter Stag)
A lineup of Bay Area all-stars have produced a multi-layered disc of anti-globalization, anti-pop culture anthems filled with pathos and wit. By turns literary, cheeky, melancholic, and celebratory, this music is the perfect accompaniment to a protest or a Naomi Klein lecture.
Pick: P&H 2 (Behemoth), 2007, oil on canvas, 84" x 92", from "Amy Sillman: Third Person Singular,"
at Tang Museum, Saratoga, NY
This painting stares you down and sizes you up. I lock a gaze. I’m a little scared. I can hear and smell every single thing near me. IT makes you bristle, puff, straighten and square the challenge, feet planted for a tussle. The hot center smokes and glows blood fire, breathes through clamped jaws, "What the fuck are you?". Turns a thick neck and swings an armored tail. THWACK. Hit, jolted, burnt? Part of me melts away, Oh, just my outers, clothes and skin. Hair.
1. Odetta at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival
2. Donal Mosher and Michael Palmieri’s documentary film October Country
3. Conspiracy of Venus at Adobe Books
4. "Ajit Chahuan: Milky Way of Breeding Stallions That Roll, Ejacuutf8g By Themselves," at Adobe Books Backroom Gallery
5. "Paul Schiek: the thing about you is that you will end up like me," at Stephen Wirtz Gallery
6. Leah Marks’ senior show at California College of the Arts
7. Jennifer Blowdryer
8. Andy Goldsworthy’s The Spire in the Presidio
9. Brontez at Dog Eared Books
10. Frederic Rzewsky, solo piano at Mills College
Pick: Odires Mlászho
At São Paulo’s Galeria Vermelho this fall, I saw the sexy and cerebral, disciplined and dissipated work of Mlászho for the first time. He juxtaposes ordinary mortal faces and Roman portrait sculptures with geometric rigor in his collage series "A Fossil Dig Full of Hooks." He cunningly cements pages of reference books together in his sculpture Enciclopédia Britânica. His most powerful works (from a series called "Butchers and Master Apprentices") involve elaborate collage rearrangements of male nudes that manage to look at once disemboweled and bloodless. Diaphanous yet strong, a body becomes a deconstruction of a flesh-colored Herman Miller lamp.
Pick: The current Berkeley Art Museum
A few months ago I found a pamphlet-like publication at an antique shop in Alameda, its cover austere, reading simply University Arts Center. Detailed within were the elevation plans of the elegantly modern yet utilitarian Mario Ciampi design for the Berkeley Art Museum’s current site. Opened in 1970 and constructed in a brutalist manner, with fanning interior cantilevers around an airy core, the concrete building is to be replaced soon with a design by international architect Toyo Ito. My past year of visits to the museum has been colored by this knowledge, and I’ve begun to mourn its impending loss. In spite of the current structure’s seismic instability, it remains baffling to me that a community is so quick to dispose of this local icon, not yet 50 years old. "The richness of this building will arise from the sculptural beauty of its rugged major forms," an awards jury wrote in 1966 regarding Ciampi’s plan. "We believe [it] can become one of the outstanding contributions to museum design in our time."
Pick: "Lautrec in Leather: Chuck Arnett and the Birth of the San Francisco Scene," at the GLBT Historical Society
If you missed the show, you can still see Arnett’s rendition of Michelangelo’s David in full leather gear (on view in the Historical Society’s exhibition on 18th and Castro), or you can make an appointment to visit the organization’s extensive queer archive.
Pick: The Federal Office Building by Morphosis, Renzo Piano’s Academy of Sciences Building, and Toyo Ito’s design for the Berkeley Art Museum
These buildings point the way to a new civic architecture.
Pick: The Hunky Jesus contest in Dolores Park on Easter Sunday
Street theater at its finest.
Pick: Nice Collective’s "Voix de Ville" Collection
How fortunate we are to have these brilliant designers among us.
Pan: Proposition 8
Pick: "One-Thousand Twenty-Six Eyes," at Hamburger Eyes Photo Epicenter
One thousand twenty-six eyes is a lot of eyes and it’s also the name of an awesome group show I saw this year at Hamburger Eyes. I like eyes. The show featured a ton of cool photos from the kids at Space 1026 in Philly. The best thing there was a large glowing geodesic dome with tie-dyed pillows all around it. I sat on a pillow and discovered a little peephole with a tiny photo inside. Turned out this structure was lined with tons of little viewfinders and each hole had a different pic! They also had a great merch booth in the back with a bunch of handmade prints, zines, t-shirts and stuff. I bought an awesome hamburger-with-eyes t-shirt there by artist Chris Kline. He rules.
Pick: Fag School #3
Naked men (Jewish Jason, Bob the Handyman, and My Best Friend’s Weiner), hilarious cruising reviews, mortifying blackout reviews, advice columns by Telfar and Allison Wolfe, interviews with New Bloods and Billy Cheer. All of this and more, created with scissors, markers, glue, and a manual typewriter. Nothing fancy, experimental or tricky about this project. Just rants, raves, and snapshots, served up hottt by San Francisco’s very own Brontez in glorious black and white photocopy. The price is right at just $3.50. Warning: Playing the weird Lovewarz DVD that comes with this zine could ruin a preppy gay birthday party!
By Michael Harkin
“Why’d they have to do the concert on this day, when they knew it’d be rainin’?” You posed a good question, Mr. Passerby. I arrived at Great American Music Hall at 11:45 a.m. on this damp, overcast Sunday morning, Dec. 22, and 150 people were already lined up around the corner from the club. Mostly teenage girls around, but lots of parents toted umbrellas and blankets – what good sports! – knowing full well that they’d be out there another seven hours with their kids before doors.
My neighbors in line had variously traveled from Stockton, Mountain View, and San Jose, willing to pay far more than the $20 door price to see Fall Out Boy that night. Their health ‘neath those Decaydance hoodies wasn’t quite as important as the close proximity the venue would afford them.
I can’t readily provide a sufficient rationale for standing out in the rain this long, especially when the band in question is the embodiment of commercial rock’s absurdity – they headlined the Honda Civic Tour last year, for heaven’s sake – and regularly employ such overwrought, cumbersome song titles as “I’m Like a Lawyer with the Way I’m Always Trying to Get You Off (Me and You).” That said, I like ’em anyway – hard to say why. And this beats paying 60 bucks to see them with some terrible bands at the HP Pavilion next summer, right?
ISOBEL CAMPBELL AND MARK LANEGAN
Sunday at Devil Dirt
(Fontana International)
By Todd Lavoie
In this week’s new pop canon spread, I got a chance to hail hosannas upon the late great Lee Hazlewood, whose presence has been quite deeply felt in some of the finest music of 2008. Perhaps the stamp of influence was most deeply inked, however, with Sunday at Devil Dirt, the second collaboration between wispy-piped ingénue Isobel Campbell and croak-baritoned brooder Mark Lanegan.
Here, sad-eyed orchestral pop meets dusty country blues, frequently with dreamlike results – much like Hazlewood’s signature showdowns with duet-partner Nancy Sinatra. Pitching Lanegan’s growls and grumbles against Campbell’s decidedly sweeter murmurs makes for a fascinating update of the Lee ‘n’ Nancy blueprint, but there’s a twist.
Whereas Hazlewood played the Svengali to Sinatra – writing the songs and arrangements and often taking the second seat, vocally speaking, to his partner – here the roles are switched, with Campbell at the helm musically but sticking largely to the second mic in deference to Lanegan’s bellowing lead. Having written almost the entirety of the disc, as well as handling all arrangement and production duties, Campbell has worked some spine-tingling trickery from her place in the shadows: Lanegan gets the bigger boom in the mix, yes, but behind the whisper-thin sighs and coos, it is Campbell who is in control.
I’m a-freezing my hanukkah latkes off in Detroit right now (-10 wind chill), so maybe it’s appropriate, among the blizzard of end-of-year lists, that I pop in my hot mix of the year. All 45 Ghostworld conga-line minutes of Detroit wizard Jeff Mills’ triple-table symphonic techno tour de force, “The Exhibitionist.”
Before the techno purists claw my ears out, yes this mix came out in late 2k7 — but I’m on drag time. (I also grew up listening to Jeff as the Wizard, with the Memorexes to prove it, so I can name him king of any damn year I want.)
What really got me about this mind-blowing performance (the sleeve clean at 17:20 made me burst into tears) was how Mills tweaked the massive global rhythms that have always existed subconsciously below fine techno’s surface to come up with the kind of polyrhythmy that dubstep can only achieve at its best. Kinda space samba-y.
Not that it’s a competition — and I was addicted to more dubstep mixes this year than I can count — but I’m a technoist at heart, and this mix really said something I’ve been trying to say for years: that machine music possesses a global soul. I will eternally worship the person who transcribes this for the New York Philharmonic. Or whips out the entire set at Carnaval.
BONUS: Some SF-made mixes I loved this past year:
By Justin Juul
Oh yes, it’s all real
Can we all just take a minute and stop pretending that the holidays are fun? I mean sure, there are more opportunities to drink before nightfall, and sure, we’ll probably all get new iPhones. But come on! Christmas is like the most annoying time of the year. Not only do we have to spend cash on other people, but we also have to donate an incalculable amount of our free time to activities we’d normally avoid. Forget about going to the gym or watching a movie; the next two weeks are gonna be nothing but awkward work parties, shopping, cooking, and listening to music that makes you remember your childhood. Not fun.
It’s easy to get depressed over the holidays for these reasons, but it’s always better to just bear through the ordeal with a smile. After all, there are millions of people with problems far worse than our own. Starving children, homeless people, and the housebound elderly come to mind, but that’s not who I’m talking about. I’m talking about the one group of people to whom the holidays are a true burden: obsessive decorators.
Think about it. The holidays may mean that you and I will have to throw some sparkly shit on a dead tree or light some candles, but that’s nothing compared to what folks like Tom Lawson and Jerry Goldstein (AKA the cutest couple in the world), have to deal with. These guys spend weeks preparing their holiday display and the cost is through the roof. I mean, dude, look at that tree! The lights alone must cost thousands of dollars to operate. And just imagine how much effort it takes to get all that stuff up there? It’s a wonder that Tom and Jerry even bother with the holidays, but they always have and they always will.
Why? Well, that’s a good question. The Guardian stopped by the Goldstein/Lawson residence (3650 21st ST) a few times this week to get the scoop.
Tom and Jerry, in the spirit
SFBG: That’s a helluva set up you got there. How long have you been doing this?
Tom Lawson: Oh, I guess it’s been almost 20 years now.
SFBG: Jesus, man. That’s a long time. Has it always been this big?
Lawson: Oh, it’s always been on the bigger side of things, but it’s definitely grown over the years. It’s gotten pretty out of hand, actually.
SFBG: How much does something like this cost?
Lawson: Well, we don’t discuss things like that, but I will say it’s not cheap. I mean look, that crane alone costs $3,000. And then I gotta hire a Santa Clause and everything. And then of course, there’s my crew. They’ve been with me forever.
SFBG: Are they like your personal elves or something?
Lawson: Ha! Don’t let them hear you say that. No, I’m a property manager and this is my work crew. When Christmas rolls around we stop working regular jobs and we put all of our energy into this.
SFBG: Why?
Hang time: High on Fire’s “Hung, Drawn, and Quartered.”
Cool, ain’t it? The fun just keeps coming in chilly-chilly-chill SF. Here are a few more musical note-worthies.
BART DAVENPORT
Soulful and sweet as it comes – thanks to the Oakland singer-songwriter. With Brian Glaze and the Night Shift, the Dry Spells, and DJ Lithuanian Prince. Thurs/18, 9 p.m., $8. Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. (415) 621-4455.
HIGH ON FIRE
Get an earful of this week’s “Year in Music” cover dude Matt Pike and his Bay power trio, High on Fire, a band that has gone far beyond being, as Guardian contributor Mike McGuirk put it, an “outlet for aggression/Yeti poems Pike uses in place of his defunct first band, Sleep, San Jose’s most seminal export.” With Drunk Horse. Thurs/18, 9 p.m., $16. Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750.
HIGHTOWER
The SF thrashers throw a benefit for Bordertown-Oakland Skate Park. With the Ferocious Few. Thurs/18, 9 p.m., $5. Thee Parkside, 1600 17th St., SF. (415) 503-0393.
Here’s some rockin’ bottle-pops for your 2k9 hello — followed by some all night dance affairs ….
One of the best parts of reading Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life (Little, Brown, 2001) is learning how psychotic the Butthole Surfers actually were. Whether filling an upside-down cymbal with lighter fluid and igniting and playing it or projecting scary-ass surgery footage onto huge smoke machine-generated clouds to terrorize the audience, the Buttholes clearly intended to have everyone walk away from shows with physical or mental wounds congruent to their own self-inflicted ones. By the time Electric Larryland (Capitol, 1996) gave them access to post-Nevermind commercial radio, the Butthole Surfers had transformed into a run-of-the-mill heavy rock unit, saving their perverseness for their lyrics.
But all’s you need to do is backtrack to Locust Abortion Technician (Touch and Go, 1987) to find the group’s secret reverence for classic rock juxtaposed with a not-so-secret love of tripping balls on tracks like the genuinely disturbing "22 Going on 23" and imagine that there was a time when the Butthole Surfers toured with a naked dancer named Ta-Da the Shit Lady but managed to devote enough energy to the whole "music" side of being a band to write something as enduring as the proto-grunge of "Human Cannonball." The group’s more recent output isn’t good, and it goes without saying that the ‘Urfers will never be able to equal the antics of their past. This one is a mixed bag, but I’m guessing that, while Gibby Haynes won’t be regaling us with tales of Chinese men with worms in their urethras, he won’t pull any cutesy "you are loved" Flaming Lips bullshit, either. (Brandon Bussolini)
With Negativland. Dec. 31, 9 p.m., $55. (Also with Fuckemos, Tues/30, 8 p.m., $35). Fillmore, 1805 Geary, SF. (415) 346-6000, www.livenation.com
"Bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yeh." That was the "Atomic Dog" mantra back in the day when I worked at a mega-music store for minimum wage: it kept us tame, it soothed our frayed nerves, and it never failed to remind all concerned that there was a little dog in me, you, and everybody. Hell, if "Atomic Dog" mastermind George Clinton stopped with just Funkadelic’s Free Your Mind … and Your Ass Will Follow and Maggot Brain (both Westbound, 1970, 1971) many a fan boy and babe would have been satisfied to sing his praises forever more, but nooo, the musical groundbreaker and funk-rock-R&B OG of a dogfather has had more creative lives than a nuclear feline — a good and bad thing, I suppose, in terms of quality control.
Later, I would come to associate Clinton with a tale divulged by a colleague who was once allowed into the icon’s smokin’ sanctum sanctorum — namely a venue bathroom — to, ah, do an interview. This time, however, when the man brings Parliament-Funkadelic to the Warfield for New Year’s Eve, I’ll expect candidate Clinton — settling into his golden years, it appears, with the recent release of his covers album, George Clinton and His Gangsters of Love (Shanachie) — to tear the roof off with a super-stupid rendition of his prescient par-tay anthem "Paint the White House Black." (Kimberly Chun)
With the Greyboy Allstars. Dec. 31, 9 p.m., $79–$89. Warfield, 982 Market, SF. (415) 421-TIXS, www.goldenvoice.com
For all those who don’t want to spend their New Year’s Eves puttin’ the lime in the coconut and twistin’ it all up, General Patton has got you covered. Patton and the melodicidal miscreants of avant-garde metal quartet Fantômas invade the Great American Music Hall on a mission to decimate eardrums and bring aural beasts to life. The San Francisco supergroup — which includes Buzz Osborne of the Melvins, Trevor Dunn, formerly of Mr. Bungle, and Dave Lomabardo of Slayer — formed in 1988, and is Patton’s longest-running project. The resume of the king of musical ADHD reads like an major-indie label discography, but the workaholic always finds time to confound and bludgeon with Fantômas.
The group’s beauty lies in its ravenous experimentation and intensity — and in Osborne’s Don King hair. Over the course of their four LPs, they’ve mix electronic glitches; nonsensical and horrifying utterings; Lombardo’s mind-boggling drum dexterity, which roves from blastbeats to technical jazz; and King Buzzo’s gigantic sludge riffs to create controlled chaos in its most primitive, powerful form. They’ve covered The Godfather (1972), worked with free-jazz sicko John Zorn, and, most of all, done whatever they fucking wanted to. As long as they keep doing that, we’ll keep listening. (Daniel N. Alvarez)
Fantômas’ "The Director’s Cut" with Tipsy and Zach Hill. Dec. 31, 8 p.m., $45. Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750, www.gamh.com
Here’s a very select blast of bubbly, DJ-driven New Years Eve parties. (Check the Guardian for more as the date approaches.) All events take place Wednesday, Dec. 31 — and those marked "late" go afterhours for your party-hopping pleasure.
Feel a warm, wet vibe of the new with DJ Sabo of Sol Selectas, residents Pleasuremaker and Señor Oz, live percussionists, and hundreds of gyrating lovelies.
10 p.m., $20. Elbo Room, 647 Valencia, SF. www.elbo.com
Arrrr — it’s 2k9! Swing from the mashup club’s mizzenmast with Smash-Up Derby live and DJs Adrian and Mysterious D, Party Ben, Dada, and Earworm.
9 p.m.–late, $25 advance. DNA Lounge, 375 11th St., SF. www.bootiesf.com
Drag mother Juanita More, playboy Joshua J., DJ Initials P.B., performer Hoku Mama Swamp, and star photographer Brandon — look smart! — bring all the hot boys together to pop a few corks.
8:30 p.m., Check Web site for price. The Bar, 456 Castro, SF. www.juanitamore.com
Shake your feathers and bhangra in the new with the NonStop Bhangra dance troupe, and then get global with Sila and the Afrofunk Experience, Daronda, and DJ Felina.
9 p.m.–late, $55. Gift Center Pavilion, 888 Brannan, SF. www.eclecticfever.com
Spundae and Mixed Elements explode with local house heroes Kaskade, Trevor Simpson, and baLi — plus, a jungle room and "shiny confetti rain."
8 p.m., $60 advance. Ruby Skye, 420 Mason, SF. www.rubyskye.com
Almost every fab disco crew — Gemini Disco, DJ Bus Station John, Honey Soundsystem, Ferrari, Beat Electric — comes together for this all-night beat blast with DJ Cosmo Vitelli.
9 p.m., $15 advance. Paradise Lounge, 308 11th St., SF. www.myspace.com/honeysoundsystem
Dancehall, reggae, and classic hip-hop go boom with Ali Shaheed Muhammad of A Tribe Called Quest, Amp Live of Zion I live band Native Elements, Trackademicks, and Jah Warrior Shelter.
9 p.m.–late, $25 advance. Club Six, 60 Sixth St., SF. www.clubsix1.com
Banger, turbocrunk, and electro freaks unite under the sheer speaker-blowing awesomeness of Diplo, Jesse Rose, Ghislain Poirier, Plastician, and hundreds more.
9 p.m.–late, $55 advance. 1015 Folsom, SF. www.1015.com
Wacky, burner-flavored breaks and bass from special guest DJs Lee Coombs and Blende, plus Mephisto Odyssey, Syd Gris + Aaron Jae, Jive, and more from the Opel crew.
9 p.m.–late, $25–<\d>$55. Mighty, 119 Utah, SF. www.opelproductions.com
"Reveal your inner light" is the dress code at this glamorous Supperclub affair, with DJ love from Ellen Ferato, Liam Shy, and Michael Anthony — and tons of performers.
8 p.m.–late, $120. Supperclub, 657 Harrison, SF. www.supperclub.com
The immense extravaganza is back, with a full live show by Thievery Corporation, beats whiz Bassnectar, circus stars The Mutaytor, and Brazilian soulsters Boca Do Rio.
9 p.m.–late, $79 advance. Concourse, 635 Eighth St., SF. www.blasthaus.com
The summer favorite lights up in winter with this special blowout, featuring Chi-Town house god DJ Derrick Carter, local legend DJ Dan, Jay Tripwire, and Sen-Sei.
8 p.m., $40 advance. Mission Rock Cafe, 817 Terry Francois Blvd., SF. www.2ndsunday.com
Cryogenic fog! Whirling lasers! Sonic Enlightenment! "Optix stimuli!" Oh, and a host of rockin’ techno DJs like Paul Hemming, IQ!, and Ben Tom bring the party knowledge to Temple.
9 p.m., $80. Temple, 540 Howard, SF. www.templesf.com
Poleng Lounge shoots back to its past incarnation with a jazzy house and hip-hop extravaganza. DJs Lady Alma, Mark De Clive Lowe, and Daz-I-Kue take you there.
9 p.m., $25 advance. Poleng Lounge, 1751 Fulton, SF. www.polenglounge.com
Here’s an interview with new-cumbia whizzes Bersa Discos — on the eve of their party Tormenta Tropical’s first anniversary this Friday at the The Elbo Room — as published in this week’s Scene: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour magazine, on stands inside the Guardian…
“The reception to our sound has been amazing here,” says new-style cumbia pioneer DJ Oro11 — who, along with partner DJ Disco Shawn, heads the Bersa Discos label (www.myspace.com/bersadiscos) and puts on the packed Tormenta Tropical monthlies at Elbo Room. “A place like the Bay Area is a perfect spot for new cumbia sounds to take hold. People here are always looking for new music, plus there’s obviously a huge Latino population. A lot of younger Latinos who grew up hearing cumbia also listened to hip-hop and electronic music. They’re really into what we’re doing.”
Cumbia, the irresistible traditional accordion-driven dance music of Latin America (originally from Colombia), has undergone a mutation of sorts, opening up to include electronic augmentation, hip-hop beats, and even punk styles. The new iteration has taken hold in clubs like the cutting-edge Zizek, in Buenos Aires, where Oro11 was living and performing when Disco Shawn sought him out in 2006 for a taste of the electro-cumbia sound. The two returned to San Francisco, their home base, to form the Bersa Discos label as a kind of sonic nexus. “DJs and producers were selling burned CDs and swapping MP3s, but nothing was very organized at the time,” says Disco Shawn. “We just wanted to get some of these amazing tracks pressed up on vinyl and circulated a little more officially.”
Bersa Discos is now on its fourth release, titled, appropriately, Bersa #4 and featuring Afro-Colombian-tinged tracks by Brooklyn’s Uproot Andy and deeper sounds from the Netherlands’ Sonido del Principe. And the Tormenta Tropical party has seen legends like DJ/Rupture, South Rakkas Crew, Buraka Som Sistema, Toy Selectah, and even the Zizek folks burn up the stage. Shawn says to keep a 2k9 ear out for DJ Panik’s Texan “crunk cumbia.” Meanwhile, UK “bashment” crew the Heatwave hop in Dec. 19 to enliven the party’s first anniversary.
SFBG What originally attracted you to the new cumbia style?
ORO11 I first got into cumbia in 2001 while I was in Buenos Aires — the same time that the Argentine economy was collapsing. Kids were still heading to the clubs all night, but as a whole the music was pretty unimpressive. Lots of ’80s, trance, Ramones, and Rolling Stones — seriously, whole subcultures based on those last two. But one day I caught a Sunday TV variety show called Pasion Tropical that had the group Pibes Chorros on. Those dudes were repping heavy keyboard-guitars, long hair, and skull tees. They had a different sound that grabbed me, meaner than most cumbia I had heard. So I started tracking down their mixes, chopping up their samples, and making cumbia remixes with dancehall and hip-hop thrown in. Guys like Marcelo Fabian, Villa Diamante, Sonido Martines, and Daleduro were messing with cumbia too. So we started linking up, throwing parties together. Shawn and I met not too long after and started throwing the idea of Bersa Discos around.
SFBG What are some of your most memorable Tormenta Tropical experiences?
DISCO SHAWN It’s all been amazing. But the best thing has been getting to play with artists whose music I was already a fan of. The crowd has also been great. It’s totally mixed — Latino cumbia diehards, hipsters, dancehall heads, etc. Even better, people are really into dancing. Most of the time we’re playing songs that people don’t know — most of the songs are in Spanish, so a good portion of the crowd may not even understand the language — yet everyone goes crazy on the dance floor. It’s really nice because we’re not slaves to playing any sort of “hits.”
SFBG Drop a new cumbia top five on us.
ORO11 How about these?
Petrona Martinez, “La Vida Vale la Pena (Uproot Andy Remix)”
Los Rakas, “Esa Mulata”
El Guincho, “Kalise (Frikstailers Remix)”
DJ Panik, “Gettin’ Some Head”
BananaClipz featuring MC TIDAL, “Bluetooth Riddim”
TORMENTA TROPICAL ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY PARTY
With the Heatwave and Paul Devro
Fri/19, 10 p.m., $10
Elbo Room
647 Valencia, SF
(415) 552-7788
www.elbo.com
› kimberly@sfbg.com
Pet Sounds (Capitol, 1966) not Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (Capitol, 1967). For that matter the Plastic Ono Band rather than the Beatles, and Brian Wilson before Paul McCartney. Scott Walker, not Paul Simon. Arthur Russell, not David Byrne — though regards to the Talking Heads. ‘Fraid no Bruce Springsteen but plenty of Neil Young. The Band not … well, Bob Dylan hangs on despite the unfortunate I’m Not There (2007), the seeming party-stopper in a never-ending stream of Dylan books and arcana. Prince, in lieu of Rick James, bitch.
Low-budg bedroom production, not Chinese Democracy (Interscope). Not reggaetón but Krautrock. Not Afro-Cuban but African. Not doo-wop but girl group. Nope to Phil Spector but yes to Lee Hazlewood or, better, Lee "Scratch" Perry. Stock on the Replacements and Hüsker Dü is way down, but Bad Brains and Black Flag shares are up. Sorry, the Who isn’t all right but Zep’s song remains the same. Nevermind Nirvana but hello, Sparks — and no, not Jordin Sparks. And oddly enough, not the Tubes or Huey Lewis and the News, but Journey — and specifically "Don’t Stop Believin’."
Now repeat, twirl around, pat your head whilst rubbing your stomach, click your heels together twice, and commit the aforementioned to memory: this is your new rock canon.
Just trust me on this. I’ve read a lot of music stories and CD reviews in ’08, and since I’m missing the crucial math gene, I can’t quantify the exact number of times the hallowed names of Arthur Russell, Neil Young, or Brian Wilson have been invoked, but believe me, they have, more times than group-think-phobic music writers care to admit. And that’s not to say the artists and recordings these canonical creators have displaced are now worthless: even admitting that a canon (or three or four) exists, let alone articuutf8g one, can be a dicey proposition — whether you’re among lit professors or cruising music crit circles. The very idea evokes exclusivity, hierarchy, neocon grandstanding, worries about exclusion, and allusions to dead white men. "I think most professors would not want to say there’s a canon but if you teach a course on American literature there are still things you want to teach," opined one tenured prof pal. "They’re critical of a canon but they still are creating a canon. It’s very implicit and unconscious in some ways."
Yet anyone who’s cared deeply enough about pop to critique it can’t help but notice the seismic shift in the ’00s — even as the state of criticism seems to wax and wane with the fortunes of a music industry still searching for an uploadable business model; music mags busily folding or scrambling for lifestyle advertising; and newspapers gutting their staffs and substituting arts criticism with reviews wrought by, say, sports copy editors. Meanwhile blogs generate a still-fluid mixture of earnest criticism, bracing truth-telling, and hands-free promotion. A canon — or the very idea of classics and common musical references that all agree on — presupposes a foundation of critical thought, and who can afford to judge amid the hand-wringing desperation of today’s music marketplace?
Who instigated this changing of the guard, this revised rock ‘n’ roll canon? Tastemakers, tastefakers, marketing minons, and branding blowhards? Writers, DJs, musicians, music store staffers, promoters, and Robert "Dean of American Rock Critics" Christgau? All Tomorrow’s Parties, Arthur, Pitchfork, and the Chunklet writers who dreamed up issue 20’s music journalist application form ("Would you admit to not actually being that familiar with your frequent points of reference you name-drop [e.g., Captain Beefheart or Gang of Four]?")? This very humble independently owned, independent-minded rag? We’ll never admit it — because the very notion of forging a new pop canon in this fragmented, un-unified, de-centered vortex of music-making, consumption, and collecting seems utterly ridiculous, if not downright moronic. Yet a generational aesthetic realignment has occurred, and as a wise friend once told me, shift happens.
• BEAT SUITE Benga, Diary of an Afro Warrior (Tempa); Flying Lotus, Los Angeles (Warp); Portishead, Third (Mercury/Island)
• EXOTICA Gang Gang Dance, Saint Dymphna (Social Registry); High Places, High Places (Thrill Jockey)
• J-HEAVY Acid Mothers Temple and the Melting Paraiso UFO, Recurring Dream and Apocalypse of Darkness (Important); Boris, Smile (Southern Lord)
• LIVE LOVES Fleet Foxes at Bottom of the Hill; High on Fire at Stubb’s; Jonas Reinhardt at Hemlock Tavern; MGMT and Yeasayer at BOH; My Bloody Valentine at the Concourse; Nomo at BOH; Singer at Rickshaw Stop; Stars of the Lid at the Independent
• LOCALS ONLY The Alps, III (Type); Faun Fables, A Table Forgotten (Drag City); Tussle, Cream Cuts (Smalltown Supersound); Dominique Leone, Dominique Leone (Stromland); Mochipet, Microphonepet (Daly City)
• PLEASANT NODS Beach House, Devotion (Carpark); Growing, All the Way (Social Registry); TV on the Radio, Dear Science (Interscope)
• POP NARCOTIC Crystal Stilts, Alight of Night (Slumberland); Magnetic Fields, Distortion (Nonesuch); Times New Viking, Rip It Off (Matador)
• PSYCHED Guapo, Elixirs (Neurot); Mirror Mirror, The Society for the Advancement of Inflammatory Consciousness (Cochon)
• PUNX Fucked Up,The Chemistry of Common Life (Matador)
• YESTERDAYS La Dusseldorf, Viva (Water); Graham Nash, Songs for Beginners (Rhino); Linda Perhacs, Parallelograms (Sunbeam); Rodriguez, Cold Fact (Light in the Attic); Dennis Wilson, Pacific Ocean Blue (Sony)
