Detroit native gadabout Marke B. hits Movement ’08: Detroit’s Electronic Music Festival with a handbag full of what-what. Read part one here. The Techno Gods surely had a little laugh on the first (graciously sunny) day of the DEMF. Even though downtown’s sprawling, reinvigorated Hart Plaza on the waterfront – nestled in the shadows of the new casinos pumping serious cash into bigshot pockets and directly opposite the infamous “fist” statue that socks across-the-river Windsor, CA, in the kisser – was brimming with suburban kids and roaming tribes of fun-furred and mohawked candy ravers (love those kids!), and even though Moby (!) headlined, and started his closing DJ set by playing one of his own songs (albeit a remix of his classic “Go”), the old soul of the Detroit underground shone through in quite a few places. (Clarification: Oops my E must have kicked in then. See comment below.) 
Waiting for Moby Underground, quite literally. This year, promoter Paxahau Events has reopened the huge concrete-walled basement of the plaza, and has installed the soulful house DJs there, rather than the traditional hardcore noise experimentalists. By two o’clock, heavily muscled dance crews had stripped off their shirts and were throwing down – headspins included – to the sounds of Detroit classicists like Reggie “Hotmix” Harrell and Minx. (That night, freaky Terrence “The Phone Man” Parker and tribal-soulist Stacey Pullen would turn the underground area into a sweaty mass of writhing gay and straight bodies.) 
Upside-down to the morning beat 
Terrence Parker hits So much for the house – and notably missing so far this year have been the little independent DJ setups sprouting about the plaza like tiny laptop-vinyl mushrooms – what about the four other stages? What about the techno? The main, video-projected-upon VitaminWater stage, where Moby would later thrash about like a puggle to his electroclash-tinged pop-techno throwbacks, got a slowish start with way-cerebral live sub-dub fractal burbles from local DJ-band hybrid trio nospectacle, which included Jennifer A. Paull, one of the few female knob-twiddlers at the fest. (I went with my fabulous mom, who seemed to be briefly into it.) The stage didn’t really seem to catch fire, though, until Canadian techno purist DBX aka Dan Bell hit the stage in the penultimate slot at 9pm. What Detroit techno used to look like: DBX’s “Electric Shock” from a TV dance show (I think “The Scene” in the late ’80s)
Marke B.
DEMF: Moby’s Go-go, Hawtin clogs, DBX shocks ’em, and too high to skate
DEMF: Cold techno feet as big fest heats up
Native Detroit gadabout Marke B. hits Movement: The Detroit Electronic Music Festival That thing where you return to your hometown and immediately, or at least on the ride home from the ex-urb airport, begin to feel your former soul flood back into you – old or familiar buildings take on some weightier significance in the fading evening light, new buildings even more. And then you’re hooking up with old friends downtown, smoking a bowl or two, generally reminiscing and catching up, and driving around looking for a party, although you wouldn’t mind if you just stayed in the minivan bopping to 20-year-old Balearic beats and laughing your ass off with your BFFs. 
The grand, abandoned Michigan Central Train Station, two blocks from my Corktown residence in tha D. (Don’t try to throw a party here, you’ll get srsly busted.) All of which is a belabored way of saying that I didn’t get much afterhours in here in Detroit last night, the “official” pre-party night of Movement: The Detroit Electronic Music Festival, now going on nine years. Sure there were big bonanza advertised shindigs – this festival attracts tens of thousands of globe-hopping techno-lovers to the bowels of the Motor City, no mean feat, that – but for me and my SF fairy-dusted baggage none of them grabbed on all night long. That’s OK: where else in the world but here would you find yourself on a dance floor with legendary DJs Juan Atkins and Eddie “Flashin’” Fowlkes — and 20 other people? Their party “The Fuzion of Science & Techno” had moved from the Detroit Science Center to the grand Majestic Theatre at the last minute, due to what I judge to be poor pre-sales. At first that was cause for a little alarm – the Science Center party is a bit of a tradition, and with a line-up that included Theo Parrish, Mike Clark, Kenny Dixon, Jr, and Alton Miller, the lack of draw was a shocker. Plus, the usual tiny panic hits: is techno really dead? Have the “neo-electro faddists,” as Detroit music journalist Hobey Echlin calls them, taken over and relegated soulful tech-house to another early grave? Aw, hell no, it was just midnight on a Friday in downtown Detroit. We were probably way too early, wot.
Freaks afoot: More B2B pics
By Justin Juul
Naked dudes, drunk chicks, tortilla wielding madmen, Vikings, athletes, and homophobic Christian zealots. What a party! I came in 2,760th. Who says alcoholic chainsmokers can’t run?
Editor’s note: Though it went uncaptured in our photos, did anyone else notice how it looked like an American Apparel bomb exploded at Bay to Breakers this year? Weird.
For more Guardian pics of the fun run, click here.
Bonus Photos: Heatwave in the Park
Pics: Anime life, sushi soap, China pop at Asian Heritage fest
By Ariel Soto
San Francisco’s Japan Town came alive this Saturday, May 17, to celebrate the 4th Annual Asian Heritage Street Celebration. The air was filled with the smell of roasting meat, people grooving to Emcee T (a.k.a. Chinese King of the Bay), jade charms and everyone present seemed to be enjoying themselves while soaking in all the culture. There was also a Hepatitis B clinic on site giving free screenings, boxing matches and an excellent reggae band that got people dancing in peace plaza.
SPORTS: Black baseballers MIA
By A.J. Hayes
It may seem overly dramatic to call Giants rookie shortstop Emmanuel Burriss a member of baseball’s “lost generation” — but if you have any doubts just look at the numbers.
The fact that Burriss is young, African-American and playing professional baseball makes him a rarity in today’s game. It’s no different in college baseball.
Emmanuel Burriss
Sixty-one years after Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color line, the influx of new black in the sport’s elite ranks has all but dried up.
“It’s sad,” Burriss, 23, said. “I don’t think many young African-Americans kids would even know who Willie McCovey or Reggie Jackson is today.”
Born and raised in Washington, D.C. before playing three seasons at Kent State University, Burriss is the first product of the District’s public school system to be drafted by a major league baseball club since 1989.
A “sandwich” pick (33rd overall) by San Francisco in the 2006 amateur draft, the speedy Burriss batted .360 and led the nation with 42 stolen bases in his final collegiate season.
Now, less than two seasons later, Burriss has already graduated to the major leagues. In 22 games, the middle infielder has batted .255, and has demonstrated a sturdy glove and strong arm.
“I didn’t even know they had baseball in D.C.,” said the former African-American big league infielder and current Giants cable television commentator Bip Roberts, with a sadness tinged sigh. “When I watch Manny the thing I notice is that he has good baseball instincts. He has ability that a manager likes. He’s a switch hitter, has great speed and instincts to play shortstop at a high level. I can see why they kept him up here.”
Burriss also has a sense of social consciousness to match his high baseball I.Q. If Major League Baseball is really about making baseball attractive again to inner city kids, Commissioner Bud Selig should make it a point to pick Burriss’ brain ASAP.
For a number of reasons, including the skyrocketing costs of playing organized youth baseball, lousy promotion of the game’s top black stars and competition from other sports, baseball’s popularity in the inner city has dropped off the charts over the past 20 years in the inner city.
The Giants currently have four African-American players on their active roster. Across the bay, Oakland has three.
Burriss said it was so rare to run into an African American player in college his first two seasons of minor league ball, that he immediately forms a bond with them.
“I always thought it was exciting whenever I’ve run into another African-American on the field. It’s like ‘Wow there’s someone else. I’m not alone in this,” Burriss said. “I always make it a point to meet them and talk about the fact that we are African-Americans and that we have to work hard to keep the population up in baseball.”
Pics: Bay to Breakers gone wild
By Ariel Soto
I am a born and raised, homegrown San Franciscan, and it’s events like this weekend’s Bay to Breakers fun run that make me so proud to be from this crazy town. Although some jumped up this morning and forgot to put their clothes on, others took the time to make amazing costumes and even some friendly “traffic control” folks came out to make sure everyone got across the city in a somewhat organized fashion. (All my friends got too drunk to run and took cabs — Ed.)
Thai transvestite-friendly light bulbs winner
OK, it may ruffle some feathers and it’s not exactly global warming friendly, maybe, but I’m getting a little kick this Monday afternoon out of this. The Clio Awards, the Oscars of advertising, happened recently, and this ad spot from Thailand, a font of advertising genius lately, took home a Silver:
Yo, bangerz: Come get some
I meant to have posted this banger love letter yesterday, but I got caught up in gay marriage drama (did anyone else think the music at the Castro celebration party last was a bit dark for the occasion? Celebrate equal rights with psytrance! I kinda had to love it … )
So I’ve jabbered on and on about the banger scene, and about the tecktonik dance that goes with it (in Europe, at least) — but what about the music and the clubs, eh? Yeah, we’ll get to that, but first here’s the vid for the new N.E.R.D. song that’s everywhere — it’s pretty much an acoustic banger, heh — and the electro remixes are already flowin’ in. It’s a scandalously dead-on look at the scene, and I guess when I said that goofy over-accessorizing was out I misspoke, but I still can’t find any irony.
And now, click here for this bangin’ mix from one of my favorite people right now — and a damn good DJ — Richie Panic, called “An Amazingly Lifelike Companion.” listen especially for the “Bonus Track” — kiddie mosh-pit indeed. And an excellent example of the punk roots, or at least aspirations, of the scene.
And then check out 22-year-old local banger Public’s jaw-dropping mixtape of his own edits (Metallica! ELO! The Cardigans! “The Promise”?!) — I figure we’ll be hearing a lot more from this one.
As for clubs, kind-of weekly Blow Up at Rickshaw Stop is the epicenter right now, with its sister club Frisco Disco right behind (although Frisco Disco keeps it a little more old-school neon indie, with more actual guitar-driven songs from the past and even a little melancholy.) Here’s a couple vids from Blow Up — there’s a hot one tonite if you can make it — shot by Blow Up’s videographer Peter Noble, because no club would be anything without impeccable digital documentation. Noble’s editing technique is pretty rad, though.
Clubs: Return, disco children, to Paradise
By Vanessa Carr
If the last Gemini Disco Paradise party was any indication (18-piece disco band Escort, performances at midnight and 3 a.m., packed crowd, go-go dancers, balloon drop, cabaret-style performances), the second Paradise this Saturday night (5/17) should deliver on its promise to be a debaucherous, all-night disco dance party channelling the spirit of Studio 54 or Paradise Garage, the infamous gay NYC nightclub from the ’80s.
Christopher McVick’s Paradise Disco Trailer
Mezzanine and Gemini Disco are bringing the original disco divas from the ’70s Sister Sledge (“We Are Family” and “He’s the Greatest Dancer”), as well as DFA’s disco-revivalists Holy Ghost! (DJ set), with local supporting DJs Derrek Love and Nicky B (Gemini), BT Magnum and Black Shag (Beat Electric), and Honey Soundsystem. Christopher McVick and his entourage help ignite the disco fever with their outlandish circus/disco/cabaret antics, including theatrical choreography, stick ponies, and glitzy drag performances.
Sister Sledge perform “He’s the Greatest Dancer”
Paradise All-Night Disco Party
May 17th, 10 pm to dawn, $15 advance
Mezzanine, 444 Jessie Street, 415-625-8880
www.mezzaninesf.com
Leno, Migden, or Nation? Vote now
Anxiously counting down the weeks until the June election? Visit our new Election Center to listen to candidate interviews and vote for your favored State Senate District 3 hopeful there and on this blog to the right. We want to know what you think!
Also visit our Endorsements Page for our take on the upcoming races.
Big gay thanks, California Supreme Court
As a ginormous, idealistic faggotta, I of course can’t help tearing up at the news that the California Supreme Court overturned the ban on same-sex marriage. As someone who’s been with the love of their life for more than three years now, though, I’m suddenly terrified. How the hell am I gonna pull off a fuschia wedding dress in this heat? Thank goddess for Secret antiperspirant, ladies.
Of course, there’s still a big fight ahead — in California, with a heinous, probable November ballot initiative that wants to amend the constitution against love, and the inevitable “why can’t I marry this tree?” panicky bullshit from the right. (Well, why can’t you, treehugger?). And this is, alas, just a mere blip in changing this weird country’s attitude as a whole. But, despite my queer anarchist misgivings about legalized emotional contracts and human property, I’m ecstatic for all the brave lovers who went full in to win this one. Hey, I’m a sucker for romance.
SFBG will have more coverage coming this afternoon.
PS — yes, Florida: Rainbows ARE sexually suggestive.
Yo, bangerz
Also in this issue:
Rave it tecktonik: Hard electro’s dance du jour
Bang! The clubs, the music, the mixes
Super Ego Must the French rule everything? Is Justice revenge for "freedom fries"?
Anyone who’s recently squeezed themselves into a sliced-up silver Lycra T-shirt, pushed down a pair of Day-Glo Cazals, baby-oiled their coke-spoon anklet charms, and hit the city’s glitzier underground dance floors in the past year knows that the hardcore electro sound of Paris’s laptops — lahptoops? — is everywhere they wanna be. So yeah, this shout-out to the trenchant trend is late, and the French are already being usurped by English, Aussie, and American glam-tech innovators. But I’ve got hungry drag queens at home to feed. Mama can’t afford no glittery off-the-shoulder neon silk-screen slip dry-cleaning bills.
Also, it’s taken a while for the scene to coalesce into something tangible, nightlifewise. "Electro" has always been a catch-all — as long as it emanates from adorably entangled circuitry, the genre’s sound swings wildly from lowdown industrial grind to straight-up booty smack, vocoded howl to shuddering fwump to skittery blizzard of blips. It took French duo Justice, along with a slew of other big-name like-mindeds like MSTRKRFT and Simian Mobile Disco, to crystallize some of electro’s recent, disparate past — amped-up electroclash guitars, nu-rave airhorn screech, Philly and Baltimore cybernetic cartoon sexuality, bubbly London champagne rave, and triple-filtered Daft Punk euro strip-down — into the rock-candy party sound still blowing out woofers all over town, launching a genuine style. At first dismissed as mere Daft Punk knockoffs, these earnest Ableton addicts have transformed electro into this house generation’s gleaming hair metal, complete with fussy headbands, flashing tits, and on occasion, what my bf Hunky Beau terms "the most well-scrubbed mosh pits ever."
The scene is called banger — as in Ed Banger, Justice’s Paris-based label. The sound? Warped arena rock grandeur ripped asunder by fuzzy needles, taut bass arpeggios, pounding 808s with cymbal-crash breakdowns (they’re back!), dirty childlike vocals, and anarchic Prodigy posing to — cover your ears, discriminating queens — pop-rave 2 Unlimited keyboards. Banger kids arrive stripped of quotation marks (excessive goofy accessorizing and ironic retro bombast are out), fronting the tight sheen of perfect online shopping technique, 24-inch waists, Rockstar and rye on tap, wanton pantomimed sex, and a tang of American Apparel ennui. ("I’m on the club soda diet," a model confided matter-of-factly outside one bangin’ banger club. "I need to go to the bathroom and meditate for a minute before I pass out.") If all this sounds more like "da club" then the club, well, that’s the delicious line of tension bangers like to play against.
Banger style has even given rise, in Paris at least, to a dance craze (also back!) called tecktonik. Have you seen this shit? It’s electroclash break dancing — a splash of rave liquid by way of circuit fan–twirling, coupled with random Adderall withdrawal jerks. "Tecktonik" is now a brand-name T-shirt and a haircut, of course.
The above may look iffy on paper, but it works — there’s a blinding energy to the scene, and I’m held positively rapt by some local bangers. My next column will feature a few, as well as some young upstarts taking the bang into fidgety new directions. Let’s riot.
Yo, bangerz: Rave it tecktonik
In this week’s Super Ego clubs column, I finally take on the banger scene’s hardcore electro glitz riot on the city’s dance floors. The sound and style originated in France, mostly, and is helping to resuscitate the much-maligned term “euro” — commonly associated with over-caffeinated, hyper-sugary tunes that fitted really awful embroidered jeans and Gucci knockoff sunglasses on a couple generations of appletini swillers. I’m much more into the new euro, needless to say, and in Paris at least, bangers are associated with a dance craze, tecktonik (also spelled tektonik). Here’s what it looks like, to the wonderfully banged-up tune of fabulous French rapstress-chanteuse Yelle‘s “A Cause de Garcons.” (Her show here at the Independent last month was off the hook, btw, and she featured a sequined pink Stephen Sprouse-like dress reading “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Fierceness!)
Goofy, but sweetly energetic. The dance in fact originally started in the early-mid 2000s, in Parisian megaclub Metropolis, where it was performed to a much harder sound, a direct descendant of rave music: much more trancey and happy hardcore. (It’s said the term “tecktonik” actually refers to the clash of hardcore dance styles coming in from Belgium and the Netherlands then, crashing into each other like techtonic plates.) The two somewhat over-it-looking white dancers in the Yelle video above are famous lookalike tektoniquistes VaVan and TreAxy — household names in France. Here’s a video of them performing an early version of the dance, called “jumpstyle” (some still prefer to call it that, others use the name to refer to the music) and done to a “more traditional” musical style — you can really see the liquid rave-dance origins here, and yeah, it looks more than a tad ridiculous, but why not? There’s a reason for the term “jumpstyle.” Also happening at the time — around 2005ish, as with all underground phenomena the timing is fuzzy — and in the same clubs, but to more amped-up happy hardcore, was a revival of the Melbourne Shuffle, an old rave dance from the early ’90s that really only looks good when you do it in extraordinarily baggy pants. The “shufflers” often squared off with, or at least disassociated themselves from, the tight-pantsed “jumpers.” (In my head, they’re like the Jets and the Sharks.) Also, despite its name, “jumping” is much more about the upper body and random skips, whereas “shuffling” is all about lower glide. Here’s the Melbourne Shuffle: So, OK, what does any of this have to do with Justice, and the Ed Banger Records scene and sound?
Heavenly oboro: SFBG goes to Eiji
Really yummy …
Video: Meet the Makers
The third annual Maker Faire in San Mateo brought out some of the country’s most innovative inventions, ranging from lounge wheelchairs and mind machines to human-sized mousetraps and better crocheting.
Electronic Arabic: Jef Stott gets worldly at Bollyhood
By Vanessa Carr
Jef Stott has been a producer and remixer on San Francisco’s global electronica scene for over a decade. But this Saturday night (5/10) at Bollyhood in the Mission, Stott celebrates the release of his first full-length album – Saracen – on Six Degrees .
Stott fuses Arabic and Turkish rhythms with both electronic and acoustic beats and textures. What sets him apart from many of his world music peers is that – rather than merely sampling – Stott is a multi-instrumentalist who plays a wide range of instruments. On Saracen, he plays oud (Arabic lutes), saza and cumbus (Turkish lutes), the Persian santur, bass, and percussion. He also invites a number of guest musicians, including well-known Tunisian vocalist MC RAI.
Stellamara, whose blend of Middle Eastern and Balkan sounds and ambient rock awakened his interest in the devotional aspects of music beyond its entertainment value and led him to intensively study the oud under internationally known musicians Hamza El Din and Omar Faruk Tekbilek.
What is especially remarkable about Stott is his humility, reverence for his teachers and peers, and willingness to talk and think deeply about issues of cultural appropriation in world music.
SFBG: You have a background in heavy metal and art rock. When did you get interested in playing Middle Eastern music?
Jef Stott: [Playing in Stellamara] is when I made the big switch. That is when I picked up the oud, sold all my electric guitar equipment, and really got deeply interested in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish music. I almost abandoned everything I had done up to that point and started on a whole new path.
Dolores Park Movie Night — it’s people!
By Justin Juul
Thursday nights usually suck, but they just got a whole lot better. That’s right ya’ll, Dolores Park Movie Night is back in action. Last night’s screening of Soylent Green marked the second show of 2008, but there are plenty more to come. So get your BBQ grills, your mini-kegs, and a blanket; and don’t forget to bring a few bucks for the pot-brownie dude. You might not be able to hear the sound and you probably won’t be able to see the screen much, but you can rest assured you’re going to see some fresh costumes and drink a lot of beer. Plus, popcorn!
Dolores Park Movie Night
Free from April to October
The Second Thursday of Every Month @ 7:00pm
doloresparkmovie.org
Runnin’ through the Supergrass with “Diamond Hoo Ha”
By Todd Lavoie
Supergrass, “Diamond Hoo Ha Man”
Perhaps it’s perfectly fitting that the lads in Supergrass — cheeky as they’ve always been — are the ones in the much-ballyhooed Britpop pack having the last laugh after all. Chalk it up to their boyish exuberance, I suppose, or maybe to their steadfast refusal to take themselves too seriously, but the Oxford stompers are now deep into the double-digit years of their career, and still sounding remarkably fresh with each release, while so many of those acts once mentioned in the same breath have either broken up or lost their relevance.
The once-ubiquitous movement, which the British music press essentially heralded as something akin to the second coming of Christ, complete with its share of messianic drama and seething rivalries, had a great run for a while there, beginning around the mid-‘90s and lasting through the turn of the century. Blur, Oasis, Pulp, Suede, Elastica, Sleeper — they were some of the big-hitters at the center of it all, unapologetically celebrating Britishness, flag-drapery and all, through a spirited revisit of ‘60s Mod culture, punk/post-punk jitters, and New Wave electro-romanticism.
When Supergrass showed up, still in their teens and hardly concealing it, the bright-eyed scruffs seemed like the younger, sillier siblings to the art-school grads of Blur and Pulp. I imagine many folks would’ve never guessed at the time of their breakthrough 1995 single “Alright” (yep, as in “We are young/ we run green/ keep our teeth nice and clean/ see our friends, see the sights/ feel alright” — recently snagged by Walt Disney world for their feel-good commercials) that the band would still be going strong thirteen years later. Nothing against them, of course, it’s just that bands sticking together for more than a decade are a bit of a rarity.
But here they are, and their recently Brit-released sixth album, Diamond Hoo Ha (Parlophone/EMI) – to be released here 6/10 on Astralwerks — is a winner. With the demise of Pulp and Elastica and Sleeper and Suede fading further by the day, and in view of Blur’s highly unlikely on-again/off-again reformation rumors and Oasis’s having long since lost the plot, it looks like Supergrass might strike the double-bonus of longevity and sustained relevance. Hmmm, feel alright, indeed.
Cutest. Platypus. Ever.
So — at last! — the platypus genome has been decoded, and it’s apparently a doozie, much like the duck-billed, egg-laying, fur-covered, milk-producing wonder of nature itself.
Even more interesting for me this morning, however, was the discovery that a baby platypus is called a puggle. And that it looks like this:
Puggle-Aaaaw! Pic from NYtimes.com
May I be the first to cry out “Save the Nature!” at the sight of this adorable creature?
Pics: Reliving Coachella — That Pig! And more
Fab photog Tommy Brockert‘s Coachella photos keep streaming in …
The light side of the pig — from Roger Waters’ Pink Floyd flashback set
Future indie addicts
London DJ Erol Alkan’s first West Coast appearance blew the crowd away
The lights at night
Concours d’Vrrroooommm
While we shine a little frowny face upon fossil fuel burning for the sake of it, we’re suckers for antique motos (and, occasionally, their riders). David Carini checked out the International Concours d’Elegance.
Classic motorcycles sprouted from the lawn of the Ritz-Carlton in Half Moon Bay on Saturday May 3 as enthusiasts, mostly old white men, drooled over immaculate bikes of almost every brand and decade.
At Legends of the Motorcycle (aka International Concours d’Elegance), an annual event in its third year, contestants enter their meticulously restored motorcycles into one of several categories, from early production models from the turn of the 19th century to modern custom bikes, and then each category is awarded prizes.
Every year, there has been a focus on a particular brand, this time honoring Italian manufacturer MV Augusta and British Norton. As judges toured the golf course-like lawn, these bikes had the chance to rumble alive as many 70+-year-old men stared like children at a new toy under the Christmas tree.
The foggy morning started in the Dainese (a motorcycle apparel and helmet manufacturer) Tent with the unveiling of new safety technology and a collaborative effort with AGV (an Italian helmet) to unveil a limited edition Giacomo Agostini helmet.
Duran Duran again again
By Joshua Rotter
Call me overly-dramatic but Duran Duran have and will forever be my favorite band. They have been since I was five. That’s probably why one of my greatest regrets is opting for a Nintendo console over tickets to the “Arena” tour — what was to be the band’s final outing (with all five founding members) — for my sixth birthday back in 1984.
While seeing reformed lineups both onstage and at record signings in the 90’s, and even encountering John Taylor one fateful morning at the Noah’s Bagels that I worked at in 1997, offered some consolation, nothing would come close to seeing the Fab Five together again on their 2008 reunion tour.
All pics by Quartknee Kwatek
While guitarist Andy Taylor’s recent departure from the group may have sprinkled on my parade, I can’t say that their Bay Area Red Carpet Massacre tour stop at Sleep Train Amphitheatre in Concord May 2 suffered for it.
The three-act show, which debuted in late 2007 on Broadway, was highly-theatrical, incorporating all the necessary show-stopping elements.
There was unique staging in the band’s utilization of a simple skyscraper background and a variety of light sources — from stage lights to bulbs — to evoke a variety of moods instead of traditional video screens.
The musical numbers — from the darker tracks off their Timba-Lake-produced “Red Carpet Massacre” (2007) like bass-heavy opener “The Valley”, beat-driven “Night-Runner” and hip pop number “Skin Diver” complete with Timbaland rapping loop to rearrangements of the band’s lighter classics such as “Hungry Like the Wolf”, “The Reflex” and “Rio” — were mixed gorgeously.
The mid-section of the show was run entirely on synthesizers and drum machines, so
tracks like “Last Chance on the Stairway” “All She Wants Is” and “I Don’t Want Your Love” became even more electro-shocked, blending seamlessly with the band’s cover of The Normal’s “Warm Leatherette”.
Josh and the boys
Clubs: Cross-dressed Monster Salad
The storied Metro Bar in the Castro moved down the street to Church and Market a while ago (the old space became the suspiciously Metro-alike Lookout) — and people worried for its future. Luckily, the minds behind the Metro are sharp enough to know they need a draw, and the new Metro has already become a premiere trash-drag venue (multiple Joan Crawford tribute nights aside.)
It’s even managed to lure one of San Francisco’s bloody, beloved drag traditions, The Cookie Dough Monster Show, run by Cookie Dough herself (with her cute DJ partner MC2), from its pleasant perch at Harvey’s.
The biweekly Saturday night drag-stravaganza may be big on low-budget thrills, but its offal-covered heart is always in the right place. This Saturday, May 10, features the freakishly unexplainable House of Salad, whom I adore. These underaged children will grow up to be starz someday, I tell you — starz.
My Bloody $50
OK, yeah, I realize that after a 15 year absence or whatever, every one of chthonic “shoegaze” (ugh) legends My Bloody Valentine‘s fans are supposedly middle-aged Google coders now (or parking Daddy’s Pagani Zonda C12S outside Popscene on Thursdays). But $47.50 plus “handling” for their hopefully triumphant and thalassically massive comeback appearance at the Concourse on September 30? What am I, Jarvis Cocker?
Rollin’ and gazin’
Still, when I saw them in ’89 (?) they ripped my world apart. And the ceiling of the club actually rained down plaster from their ampage. I’m gladly going to fund Kevin Shields’s apparently still raging extasy habit. Fuck my dreams of front-row Cher in Vegas — bring on the luxury Googe!
Obligatory vid of “Soon” by MBV here: