Slim's

More Hellman and SFSOS

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By Steven T. Jones
I just got another call from Warren Hellman, who said he was saddened to see a group he founded but later disavowed — the sleazy conservative attack organization SFSOS — is one of the only groups in town to oppose the school bond measure Proposition A, which Hellman actively supports (his band will even be playing the campaign’s election night party at Slim’s tonight).
“For once, there is goodwill all around on something,” Hellman said of the school bond, which business groups such Committee on Jobs and progressives such as the SF People’s Organization enthusiastically support.
But he’s ashamed to see SFSOS opposing it, sending messages of concern to the group’s leader, Wade Randlett, and funder, Don Fisher, asking the group to send a message to its list noting that most business groups support it.
“It’s a personal vendetta on the part of the guy who runs SFSOS,” Hellman said.
That guy, Randlett, suddenly started attacking the school district last year when the superintendent was at odds with the school board. Randlett was secretly having an extramarital affair at the time with the superintendent’s spokesperson Lorna Ho (Randlett has since left his wife, Tamsin Randlett, and is still with Ho), which seemed to have been what prompted SFSOS to flip its focus from parks and potholes to the schools. And apparently, Randlett holds a grudge like few others, so he’s urging voters to deny needed school facilities to the kids. It’s a telling testament to the guy and the group that is leading the attacks on Chris Daly and openly supporting challenger Rob Black. It’s not too late to grab a Daly sign from his 16th and Mission HQ and do everything you can to keep this kind of sleaze out of City Hall.

More Hellman on SFSOS

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By Steven T. Jones
I just got another call from Warren Hellman, who said he was saddened to see a group he founded but later disavowed — the sleazy conservative attack organization SFSOS — is one of the only groups in town to oppose the school bond measure Proposition A, which Hellman actively supports (his band will even be playing the campaign’s election night party at Slim’s tonight).
“For once, there is goodwill all around on something,” Hellman said of the school bond, which business groups such Committee on Jobs and progressives such as the SF People’s Organization enthusiastically support.
But he’s ashamed to see SFSOS opposing it, sending messages of concern to the group’s leader, Wade Randlett, and funder, Don Fisher, asking the group to send a message to its list noting that most business groups support it.
“It’s a personal vendetta on the part of the guy who runs SFSOS,” Hellman said.
That guy, Randlett, suddenly started attacking the school district last year when the superintendent was at odds with the school board. Randlett was secretly having an extramarital affair at the time with the superintendent’s spokesperson Lorna Ho (Randlett has since left his wife, Tamsin Randlett, and is still with Ho), which seemed to have been what prompted SFSOS to flip its focus from parks and potholes to the schools. And apparently, Randlett holds a grudge like few others, so he’s urging voters to deny needed school facilities to the kids. It’s a telling testament to the guy and the group that is leading the attacks on Chris Daly and openly supporting challenger Rob Black. It’s not too late to grab a Daly sign from his 16th and Mission HQ and do everything you can to keep this kind of sleaze out of City Hall.

NOISE: By gum, it’s Boris and the Village Green and…

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Oh, Hump Day – what would we do without you, positioned perfectly between weekend bliss and workday toil? And who would expect so many intriguing shows to crop up in this humdrum time slot (to think we all wrote it off as Project Runway‘s)?

In short, check magnifico, metal-some Japanese guitar overlords Boris at Slim’s tonight, Oct. 18. Why? A humongoid gong, smoke machine, Tokyo-based loudness par excellence, and the most kick-ass lady distortion peddler around: Wata.

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Elsewhere, if you’re not getting down with SF’s premier glitch mavens and noise-makers Matmos at Great American Music Hall, trot over to Bottom of the Hill tonight for London’s Archie Bronson Outfit – out and about with a new disc, Derdang Derdang on Domino. Some compare ’em to Pere Ubu, Son House, Monks, and Faust — all at the same time! Whoa, Nellie, watch them outta-hand allusions. Still, isn’t your curiosity stirred – and shaken?

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And if there’s anything left of you by Friday, Oct. 20, and you’re not already planning to check out Yo La Tengo at Fillmore or have tickets to Beirut at Great American Music Hall in your hot lil’ ham fists, you might want to mosey down to the Rickshaw Stop for an early show with the Village Green from Portland, Ore. As you’d expect, these doods display much respect to Anglo rock forebears – and they add a dash of contempo jitteriness. Different drugs, you say? Get outta here.

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NOISE: Harder, louder, rocker

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So I guess this is the big hard rock week that y’all have been waiting for, huh? Portland, Ore.’s Danava – ’70s crunch meets ’80s keys and schizo shenanny-gans ensue – happens Friday, July 14, along with Parchman Farm and Snow Foxxes at Bottom of the Hill. Tonight, July 12: Austin, Texas’s Sword slashes its way through the underbrush, wielding its debut, Age of Winters (Kemado), like a silver chalice. Saviours and Akimbo round out the bill nicely at Slim’s. Danava and the Sword – both on Kemado Records; so what dya think of them apples?

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The Sword, good Lord…

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Akimbo descends on the city.

Oh yes, and incidentally, Flying Luttenbachers and Zs ain’t hard rock in the conventional sense – but damn, they do. That they do.

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Flying Luttenbachers mock those silly photos you took back in elementary school.

Both bands tore it up at 21 Grand last night, July 11 (7-11 Day, free slurpies at 7-11 – you missed out). Zs sat before sheet music and descended into a frenzy of jazzed-based drone, thrash, and chicken-fried repetition. Nice. And then Weasel Walter’s between-song commentary was worth the admission alone – Mick Barr might not have been in the haus but the entire band raged nonetheless. Go see ’em both tonight, July 12, with the Sword and Sandal (a new John Dwyer project) at Hemlock Tavern.

Taking spills

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> kimberly@sfbg.com

It takes a lot to knock an obsession out of Built to Spill singer-songwriter-guitarist Doug Martsch. Behind the beard, the down-low home life with wife and child, and the phone conversation padded with softly undercutting “Oh, I dunno’s,” once lay the heart of a raging pickup basketball junkie.
“I kinda got sucked into the NBA play-offs seven or eight years ago,” explains Martsch, 37, from his home in Boise, Idaho. “Then I quit smoking cigarettes five or six years ago, and when I quit smoking, I decided to go shoot hoops, and then I just got really addicted to it, totally loved it. That was kind of my main passion.
“Yeah, I played music somewhat, but basketball was what I lived for and did every day.”
A seemingly harmless hobby, except that Martsch threw himself so vigorously into the game that he was starting to do some real damage — to himself. Most recently, Built to Spill — one of Northwestern rock’s most respected representatives and one of ’90s indie/alternative/modern rock/whatev’s most influential bands — had to push back the tour dates for their new album, You in Reverse (Warner Bros.), because of a detached retina Martsch suffered while banging around the court. And then there was the last time Built to Spill played in San Francisco, two years ago …
The band was staying at the Phoenix, and as usual while on tour, Martsch ventured out, looking for a local pickup game. He found one at the Tenderloin Golden Gate YMCA. “I was playing noon ball with the people there, and I got smacked in the ear and popped my eardrum, and I was deaf in my right ear for a couple months,” he recalls. “I kept waiting for my hearing to come back. We had to finish the tour, and I could only hear out of one ear, and it was driving me crazy!” After he returned home Martsch finally, reluctantly broke the news to his wife, who had been worried about basketball injuries for some time. One can imagine the I told you sos ringing out all over Boise.
“Yeah, I had my right ear destroyed, and my right eye destroyed so far, and my right knee also,” continues Martsch, who, at one point, also suspected he had a torn ACL. “So, I dunno — I’m about done. I also started taking it a little too seriously. I started not having very much fun unless I was playing well. If I missed a few shots, I’d just become really frustrated, and I wasn’t really enjoying myself.” After his eye injury Martsch followed his doctor’s orders to stop playing for a few months, and in the process, some of the fixation dissipated (though plucky challengers can get a taste of it by playing Martsch via a game on the band’s Built to Spill Web site).
Luckily for patient Built to Spill fans, Martsch reimmersed himself in music. Those listeners had been waiting for five years for a studio follow-up to Ancient Melodies of the Future (Warner Bros.). Touched by Martsch’s passion for the Delta blues — which resulted in his 2002 solo album, Now You Know (Warner Bros.) — You in Reverse finds the band shaping less characteristic jams and experimenting in the studio, sans their longtime producer Phil Ek and accompanied by only engineer Steven Wray Lobdell (who ended up getting the producer credit). Pitting himself against longtime contributing guitarist–turned–permanent member Brett Netson of Caustic Resin, Martsch unfurls guitar solos that are both economical and impassioned, beginning with the lengthy, multitextured suite “Goin’ Against Your Mind.” He buries his vocals as guitars chime brightly in the foreground on “Liar,” then throws indie listeners for a loop with souped-up ska and flamenco tempos (“Mess With Time”). In all, Martsch sounds more like a ’burb-bound Neil Young than ever before, harnessing a semi-tamed Crazy Horse for his garage jams with his Seattle- and Boise-based bandmates while sidestepping the dangers of repeating himself and working in almost undetectable jabs at the current political environment.
Looking back at the gap between Ancient Melodies and You in Reverse, Martsch is quick to point out that the band actually took only a yearlong breather between tours and recording. But the reason they took the break, he confesses, was that “I just really burned out. I was just kind of tired of Built to Spill and wasn’t very interested in alternative rock in general.” He discovered Delta blues around the time he recorded Keep It Like a Secret and, he explains, “that’s all that sounded very good to me.”
That changed when the group got together to jam for You in Reverse, which Martsch describes as Built to Spill’s most collaborative album yet. He hopes with the official addition of Netson that he can write songs with the rest of the band while Built to Spill is on tour and recording songs at studios across the country. “I’m just kind of excited,” says Martsch. And that’s a major score for someone who claims he doesn’t think he has a “real lust for life.”
“I think the best things Built to Spill ever does are yet to come on some sort of level.” SFBG
BUILT TO SPILL
Wed/21-Sat/24, 9 p.m.
Slim’s
333 11th St., SF
$18
(415) 522-0333
www.builttospill.com

Our gang

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"Oooh, I do detect/ I can’t go on/ Without you," the latest lesbionic Chaka Khannabe, Leela James, rasps in the spooky reedit of "My Joy" that’s dominated dance floors worldwide for about five months now. The mix is by NYC’s deep house genie Quentin Harris, whose last smash crack-up, of Jill Scott’s "Not Like Crazy," whistled lonely through the graveyard on the grounds of soul’s asylum. "My Joy (Quentin Harris Shelter vocal)" is a classic melancholic spine-tingler. A Hammond B3 swirls toward climax, the bass skips a heartbeat, strings of life collide, and the woeful diva’s voice is drawn and quartered, pulled in four directions, wailing "My mind! My mind!" despite an uplift in the chorus: "No, no, no, ain’t no way/ You gon’ take away/ My joy, my peace, my strength." In the end, James dumps her psycho lover and moves on but we’re all left shaken to the bone.

Whatever happened to house? It devolved into circuit, all shrieking modulations and lame-ass breaks, the pale lingua franca of gays worldwide. It rode the elevator down to easy listening lounge, the wallpaper tube-topped bimbos spilled appletinis on. It got all lush and gospel, overeagerly fronting its blues-black roots. It stripped off its base and went seriously loony, fattening up Fat Boy Slim’s paycheck and Paul Van Dyke’s portfolio.

Poor little house, kicked to the curb with its shoelace untied, crying foul in its white-label milk. What’s an unabashed househed freak who loves working it out gonna do?

Go to Fag Fridays at the Endup, for one. Despite all the lip service to a house revival and a titilutf8g resurgence of underground queer clubs dedicated to old-school jacking, the national house scene’s been whittled down to a mere trifecta of well-respected bastions Shelter in NYC, Deep in LA, and our very own Fag, which gathers all the varied arms of house back into one long, sweaty embrace. I’m not saying Fag’s the only happening house gig in town, far from it, but it’s the only weekly joint where you’re guaranteed to hear slices like "My Joy" and not feel obliged to wonder if you look a mess while you lose your shit over it. No matter what you do, you will never, ever be the messiest-looking freak up in there.

Fag was started by grassroots impresarios David Peterson and Jose Mineros a decade ago, when queer was still a dirty word and sex columnist Dan Savage was getting hate mail from homosexuals because he allowed readers to address him as "Hey Faggot." The golden age of local fun houses Klubstitute and Product had just petered out, folks were still dying left and right of AIDS, and gay men were heckling me on the street because I sported gasp! baggy pants and a wallet chain. Homo-hop was unheard of, gay youth was a derogatory term, and Manhunt hadn’t been invented. People who did drugs had to actually leave the house to get laid! For the group of streetwise queer kids of color who clustered around Peterson and Mineros and had roots in House Nation, Fag was heaven a clubhouse, a get-down, and, for some of us, a home.

Now, 10 years later, Fag’s still going strong, featuring not only some of the best known SF DJs as regulars (David Harness, Pete Avila, Neon Leon, Rolo) but pulling in the globally acclaimed as well (Frankie Knuckles, Tony Humphries, Angel Moraes, Honey Dijon). The upcoming anniversary celebration kicks off with singer Dajae, she of back-in-the-day "Brighter Days" and "U Got Me Up" fame. Sure, Fag’s now become a kind of institution, associated by some with shirtless boys, GHB casualties, shit-faced queens, and on one occasion, raids for Versace’s killer. But it’s hung in there, proving that house isn’t dead. It’s alive. It’s joyful. It’s kicking.

It’s also relevant. I went there last month to hear Quentin Harris himself on deck, and he did this thing all night where he kept a little fuzz box of white noise going on behind the mix, which to my overanalytical mind, at least (metaphors! metaphors!) was a perfect representation of the global mess outside we were all hopping around to escape. Groovy, cute, and smart? Hey, Quentin, wanna date?

FAG FRIDAYS

10th anniversary with Dajae

May 12, 10 p.m.–6 a.m.

Endup

401 Sixth St., SF

$15

(415) 646-0999

www.fagfridays.com

marke@sfbg.com 

Pop goes the rock ‘n’ roll weasel

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Tonight, what to do? Mission Impossible: 3 is screening! And after that why not…La Rocca?

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The LA-by-way-of-Dublin unit serve up “sketches of a 20-something life,” while touring with French scruffsters Phoenix. Tonight, 8 p.m., Bimbo’s 365 Club, 1025 Columbus, SF. $16. (415) 474-0365.

Now they’ll just have to do something about their V-neck sweaters. Details, details.

Also tonight, hypemeisters: White Rose Movement from the UK gets the push, push, right in the rose over at Slim’s. 8 p.m. 333 11th St., SF. $13. (415) 522-0333.

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Otherwise, get ready for Cat Power, at last with her Memphis soul unit — after her concerts fell through a while back. She loves us, she loves us not, she loves us… May 3-4 at Palace of Fine Arts. www.livenation.com

Love is blond

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a&eletters@sfbg.com

"I don’t want to be compared to Blondie all the time, but I can absolutely see why people do it," the Sounds’ Maja Ivarsson says.

Calling from a tour stop in Albuquerque, the charismatic Swede readily acknowledges that as the blond vocalist of an infectious, synth-driven band that’s heavily influenced by ’80s music, she’ll never escape the shadow of Debbie Harry. Unlike most of today’s retro revivalists, however, who are so desperate not to appear derivative that they barely admit to even their most obvious influences Interpol and the Killers, you’re fooling no one Ivarsson doesn’t mind the comparison. In fact, she takes it as a compliment.

"The Blondie thing is flattering because it’s a great band," she continues. "At the same time, I can see why people want to be their own band. But I think it’s kind of silly to get upset about it, because every band that you’ve been listening to since you were a kid has been compared to something before that. It’s the way it works."

Of course, the Sounds aren’t the second coming of Blondie they’re even better. On 2003’s Living in America (Scratchie/New Line), the Swedish new wave sensations sound like they spent years deconstructing their favorite early-’80s hits, cribbing notes from Missing Persons, Kim Wilde, and, yes, Blondie, to create a danceable pop-rock album so outlandishly catchy it sounds less like a band’s debut than a collection of greatest hits. If that seems too good to be true and really, songs like "Mine for Life" and "Dance with Me" kind of are it helps to remember they hail from the country with probably the most hit-makers per capita in pop history, including ABBA, A-ha, Ace of Base, and Max Martin.

"We’ve been brought up with great, great melodies and songwriting," Ivarsson says. "We’re just suckers for hit music, even music like that Kelly Clarkson song, ‘Since U Been Gone’ it has a great hook! Maybe it’s not your favorite artist, but if you took that hook and added your shit to it, you could build a great pop song out of it."

Surprisingly, they weren’t always so smitten with such accessible songwriting. Formed in 1998 while still in high school, the Sounds started out playing six-minute rock epics that Ivarsson describes as "dark and weird and very arrrgh." When those songs failed to find them a fan base, however, they decided to shift direction and try their hands at new wave. "We were just like, ‘Oh, dude, this is the way we’re going to sound!’" she recalls. "It was so much more fun. It was cheesy, but it was good cheese!"

They weren’t the only ones who thought so. In 2002, after the Sounds signed a major-label deal with Warner Sweden, Living in America went putf8um and earned them a Swedish Grammy before getting released stateside a year later on James Iha’s Scratchie Records. Tours with the Strokes and Foo Fighters, as well as a stint on the 2004 Vans Warped Tour, ensued, along with massive word of mouth surrounding the band’s glamtastic, adrenalin-spiking live show. Unfortunately, the Sounds’ success here still fell far short of what they have back home.

That may change with the recent release of Dying to Say This to You (Scratchie/New Line). Helmed by Jeff Saltzman, who produced the Killers’ Hot Fuss (Island), and mixed by Paul Q. Kolderie (Radiohead, Hole), the Sounds’ second album is an even better blitzkrieg of retro wrist-pumping anthems glitter-punk riffs! Euro-disco keyboard lines! Ivarsson’s tough-gal taunts! that’s so relentlessly catchy it practically dares America not to listen. And while many people who’ve tired of the ’80s revival will do just that, it’s their loss: Stadium-ready stompers such as "Queen of Apology" and dance floor confections like "Tony the Beat" prove that sharp hooks even when rooted in Reagan-era nostalgia never go out of style.

Why should it matter, then, that we’ve heard all this before? The Sounds may not be today’s most innovative rock band, but they’re one of the most efficient when it comes to creating exuberant, unabashedly poppy rock. So it’s best to follow Ivarsson’s lead and shrug off the fact that her band will probably always be seen as Blondie wannabes. They’re not, of course, but nor are they overly concerned with anyone else’s notions of originality, authenticity, and indie credibility. Rather, quite refreshingly, the Sounds simply want to show as many people a good time as possible.

"We don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of if you’re a great pop band pop means popular, and it’s a pretty good sign if you’re popular," Ivarsson says, laughing. "In the beginning, only hip bands and elite people knew about us, and they were like, ‘This is my band.’ Of course, they don’t like us anymore, but that’s OK. As long as the people like us, then we’re happy. We just want to get you down."<\!s><z5><h110>SFBG<h$><z$>

The Sounds

With Morningwood and Action Action

Mon/1, 7:30 p.m.

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

$13–<\d>$15

(415) 522-0333

Zombies are back!

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In early 1981 a Los Angeles punk band called the Flesh Eaters made a record called A Minute to Pray, a Second to Die for the Slash Records imprint Ruby. The band members that recorded the album played only a handful of shows and then went their separate ways. Now, almost 25 years later, these monsters have crawled out from under a rock to perform just a few more times, concluding with an appearance at the influential All Tomorrow’s Parties Festival, in Great Britain. Minus any additional details, this might seem like nothing to get excited about, but for anyone who cares about the genesis of the West Coast punk scene, this is a bona fide event.

The Flesh Eaters began in 1977, masterminded by singer Chris Desjardins, hitherto known to the public simply as Chris D. The film school graduate and erstwhile B-movie junkie named his project after a particularly sleazy 1964 sci-fi-horror flick, foreshadowing the sordid lyrical matter to come. An embryonic 7-inch EP on the Upsetter label was self-released the following year (appearing as bonus tracks on the Atavistic reissue of their 1980 debut, No Questions Asked, also on Upsetter), featuring howling, almost cartoonishly intense vocal depictions of decay and desolation bolstered by vigorous, stripped-down, guitar-driven rock.

What ultimately set the Flesh Eaters apart from the glut of period LA punk identikit units was the macabre eloquence of D.’s words. Often channeling chilling imagery through his characters’ psychotic delusions, the results loom like some sort of cryptic, hallucinatory-schizophrenic crime-scene testimonial. Early songs such as “Dynamite Hemorrhage,” “Cry Baby Killer,” and “Jesus, Don’t Come Through the Cotton” evoke surrealistic images of murder, addiction, and religious dread with a focused, poetic articulation matched by few contemporaries.

By 1981, after cycling through a seemingly endless series of backing musicians (featuring people from Wall of Voodoo, the Plugz, the Controllers, and other influential bands), Chris D. hit upon a winning combination featuring John Doe and D.J. Bonebrake from X, Blasters Bill Bateman and Dave Alvin, plus future Los Lobos member Steve Berlin. The second Flesh Eaters album, A Minute to Pray (released by Slash and titled after a 1968 spaghetti western), revealed a perfect collision between D.’s outrageous noirshock prose elocution and hard-nosed rock ’n’ roll that also masterfully fused modern punk angularity with elements of jazz and subtle allusions to early rock and American roots music.

One of the striking things about the album is the unexpected integration of marimba and saxophone into the mix the former firmly punctuating and prodding the nimble rhythm section; the latter adding vivid color to the chord progressions before lashing out with succinct solos teeming with articulate dissonance. The overall feel of the music swaggers with raw emotion and force while retaining a sense of swing and nuance not necessarily commonplace in much of the so-called punk rock of the era. Chris D. is in fine form on standout tracks like “See You in the Boneyard,” in which his gurgling crypt-keeper mewling climaxes in hair-raising shrieks a crazed undertaker drowning in a life of decrepit damnation.

Performing together live only a few times during the spring of 1981 (documented on side one of the 1988 Live LP, on Homestead Records), the various members of this punk rock “all-star” incarnation went on to various levels of mainstream success with their primary concerns. Chris D. soldiered on through the decades with his various live and recording pursuits (including intermittent, sometimes heavy metalinclined Flesh Eaters formations) before the bright idea of momentarily reincarnating the mythological A Minute to Pray band came to pass.

While many rock ’n’ roll reunion acts tend unintentionally to err on the side of flatulent and half-baked either missing the point or lacking any of the impetus that made their own prime work great the musicians who make up this combo have never strayed very far from their original inspirations. After almost a quarter century away, skeptics might wonder what’s in store. But this crack ensemble comes armed with classic material, and it’s a safe bet the Flesh Eaters will once again rise from the grave and devour their fans.

Flesh Eaters

With HUD

Wed/5, 9 p.m.

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

$15

(415) 522-0333

www.slims-sf.com