Toasty Tempo No Tempo. All photos by Brandon Joseph Baker.
Photographer Brandon Joseph Baker caught the opening night of Noise Pop on Feb. 26 and checked out Mika Miko, DJ Amplive of Zion I, and Tempo No Tempo at the Rickshaw Stop.
Music Blogger
Opening Noise Pop: Mika Miko, DJ Amplive pull out stops at the Rickshaw
Alpine Noise Pop: Mountain Goats get ‘Hectic’ on their latest
By Alex Felsinger
“When the house goes up in flames, nobody emerges triumphantly from it,” sings Mountain Goats mainstay and lyricist John Darnielle, with thundering drums, piano, and cello at his side on the final song of Heretic Pride (4AD). But after their last album, Get Lonely (4AD, 2006), a recording filled with nothing but morose musings on the state of his own life, the Mountain Goats’ floorboards were beginning to warp from the fire building in the basement.
While The Sunset Tree (4AD, 2005) brought mainstream appeal, it too was autobiographical, along with the majority of the preceding album, We Shall All be Healed (4AD, 2004). Darnielle, who constructed a fan base on his vibrantly constructed lyrics telling stories of true-to-life fictional characters, began to lose his magic when the focus of his songwriting for the first time became his own life.
But with Heretic Pride, Darnielle maneuvered his way out of his burning building, and is back – triumphantly, even – to creating the types of characters fans have come to know and love. Lyrically, the full-length takes bits and pieces from the group’s past by revisiting themes. In liner notes, he says the track “So Desperate” is “a love song about people who are together when they probably shouldn’t be” – a description that could match any number of Mountain Goats songs from the past (most notably “No Children,” but also any of the “Alpha” song series that spanned 11 years and various albums).
Yippie! More from ‘Chicago 10’ director Brett Morgan
By Jamilah King
When I walked into the Berkeley Cinema screening of the Chicago 10, I didn’t know what to expect. I had only a vague idea of the infamous Chicago Seven trial and felt oddly out of place among the aging hippies: I fully was prepared for another boring lesson on why my generation sucks.
Instead I was met with an engaging movie that eschews traditional documentary filmmaking to capture the playful exuberance of the Yippie generation. Through animation and rare video footage, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin came to life with a message of resistance that transcended decades. I spoke to Brett Morgan, the film’s director, over the phone (for the first part of the interview go here):
SFBG: You mentioned that you were trying to really capture the energy of the Yippies. Do you see any of that energy in today’s anti-war movement?
Brett Morgan: The thing about the Yippies that I love is the sense of playfulness and the fun, and I think if you go to YouTube you can see viral videos from Obama Girl to a whole range of stuff that’s pretty illuminating and exciting. I think there are leaders who have the charisma that an Abbie Hoffman had that just aren’t getting the same media play.
Awesome sale alert: Nida clears out collection at hey-I-can-do-that prices
OK, this ensemble wasn’t at Nida – instead it’s actress Lou Doillon modeling a bit of Marant.
This week’s awesome sale – the type that will makes lil’ ole Shopping Spy feel better about missing out on those Miu Miu peg-legs at Marshall’s – has to be at Nida in Hayes Valley. When I sallied in there the other day, they still had plenty of women’s pieces by cool Parisian designer-to-the-models Isabel Marant, Vanessa Bruno, Alessandro Dell’Acqua, Paul and Joe, and others. And zut alors, the prices are hard to beat with items marked at $200 down to $40, $400 now $80. Fashio-philes will go into cardiac arrest at the hyper-affordability of it all.
Oh, yeah, and there was also plenty for guys, too – striped-shirt fiends, gather round!
Nida
544 Hayes, SF
(415) 552-4670.
Gaming Noise Pop: The Dodos give up the poop on their kinda pop culture, throw a listening party
Oh, those Dodos. The SF dudes aren’t adverse to mixing it up with the rest of the city’s music scene – even if it means working their skills as mischief-makers.
“I swear,” said Meric Long, Dodos vocalist-guitarist-multi-instrumentalist, “I used to play with these two girls in Mixtape, and we did Valentine’s Day at the Make-Out Room two years ago, and we opened up for Spencer Day and I just remember being so wasted. Spencer day is totally playing the piano, doing his thing, and I was a super-drunk dick, and I was dancing on the floor and being so drunk and obnoxious and ridiculous because [he and his Mixtape bandmates] hated the music. He got totally pissed off, and he was like, ‘Will you guys please stop dancing like that?’ And like, he stopped the song.”
“No way!” drummer Logan Kroeber blurted. “Dude – I’ve never heard that one before!”
Klubz: Lights Down Low – turn it up!
Lingering in the ‘Loin. Photo by Joshua Rotter.
By Joshua Rotter
When the lights are turned low and the music is turned up, it’s time to get down at Lights Down Low. This biweekly party in the heart of the Tenderloin’s seediest section at Hyde and Turk brings much-needed festivity to an otherwise bedraggled block.
The stylish crowd encompasses the latest local hipperatti, all the kids you see leaving Academy of Art College and entering gainful employment at Flax or one of the many retail clothing stores around the city. And you don’t even have to enter the club, hosted by DJ’s Sleazemore and Rchrd Oh?! and highlighting a revolving group of guest DJs, to see these seen-and-be-scenesters: many line the sidewalk out front, drinking from paper bags while debating whether Bob Dylan or Neil Young is the greatest singer-songwriter of all time. All that was missing from this style council’s spectacle were the passing tour buses of yesteryear from which tourists once gawked at the city’s wildlife.
Once inside, if you are fortunate enough to navigate past the narrow bar packed with peeps, make your way down to the crowded basement dance floor where the hi-octane electro, disco, and hip-hop jams will have you bumping. If you do down a few brews, be prepared to hold it, because those lines inside means the queues outside loos are as difficult to penetrate as the most exclusive VIP rooms. When bathroom breakers return to the dimly lit dance floor, their olfactory senses may be dulled, but they’re ready to dance and make romance, ’cause when the lights go down, the DJs give them something they can feel.
Lights Down Low
Second and fourth Fridays of the month, 10 p.m.-3 a.m., $10
222 Club
222 Hyde St, SF
(415) 440-0222
The Bush we love: Kate Bush’s ‘The Kick Inside’ turns 30
By Todd Lavoie
Can you believe it? Kate Bush‘s ain’t-nothin-else-like-it debut, The Kick Inside (EMI), turns the big three-oh this month! Yep, that’s 30 gilded candles sitting atop the unapologetically romantic gem’s scrumptiously rococo birthday cake.
Back in February 1978, the inimitable Bush burst into worldwide consciousness in a flurry of French horns, wind chimes, and pirouettes. Sounding like little which came before it and bearing few similarities to its contemporaries, it remains a bit of a shock that the album hit the big time like it did. No complaints: the huge success of The Kick Inside enabled her to continue following her muse with little regard for musical trends or record company expectations. Quite the enviable position to be in – maintaining such success over the years while still indulging an ever-roaming artistic spirit.
Bush was a mere 19 when The Kick Inside emerged, but she already sounded surer of herself than many of us. While I tend to shudder and shrug whenever I think back to my teens, before hitting 20, she’d already assembled a baker’s dozen of impressively mature confessionals and lit-minded reveries, two of which (“The Man with the Child in His Eyes,” “Wuthering Heights”) remain undisputed classics from the era. Did I mention that she wrote some of these songs at the age of 15?!
Six-six-Six Organs of Admittance, part II: Ben Chasny sets the record straight
Ben Chasny of Six Organs of Admittance might be chilled to the core and tour-ragged with winter travel, but he’s still willing to dust it up with the best of ’em. Here’s the rest of our interview; read the first part in this week’s Sonic Reducer.
SFBG: Where are you now?
Ben Chasny: We’re going from Milwaukee to Minnesota – it’s super-brutal outside. It’s 20 below – kinda fucked up. A few days ago it was fucking crazy, sheet of ice two inches thick.
SFBG: How did Shelter from the Ash come to pass?
BC: I thought I’d write some songs this time around.
[Pause]
Are you going to run a picture of me in a tiger outfit again?! [Chasny refers to a photo of his elementary school-age self in a tiger costume, with a kitten batting his tail, run alongside a Sonic Reducer.] It was like, what the fuck!? It’s hard to walk down the street after that! [Jokingly]
Brass Menazeri blow horns, minds
Brass Menazeri’s heart-racing performance of “Opa Cupa” from last year’s shoulda-been-there Rickshaw Stop show.
By Todd Lavoie
They’re brassy! They’re sassy! Oakland’s ambassadors of Balkan bump ‘n’ grind, Brass Menazeri will be raising a mighty floorboard-clobbering ruckus at the Ashkenaz in Berkeley this Friday, Feb. 22, when they join Bay Area gamelan-fusion ensemble Gamelan X for an evening of sweat-soaked revelry. If you’ve never seen this ten-piece horn-and-clarinet-fueled firecracker of a band before – well, then, you need to. Personally, I can think of few better ways to let loose the demons of the workweek than to kick it up on a Friday night with some joyful noise from these folks.
Thanks in large part to the success of Eastern European-enthusiasts Gogol Bordello, Balkan Beat Box, and Beirut, there’s been a revived interest in the sounds of the Balkans and the Near-East, particularly in the songs of the Rom (also known somewhat pejoratively as the Gypsies) of that region. It’s been a wonderfully refreshing development, seeing so many artists bring a definite rock-informed attitude and viewpoint to traditional folk forms, thus breathing new life into a genre which, only a few years ago, seemed in peril of remaining forever compartmentalized into a tight little “for world-music-lovers only” corner.
Much as the Pogues – particularly early in their career – opened up the possibilities of Celtic music to the more rock-reared listener, the new wave of brass bands and Balkan barnstormers are doing the same for the sounds of Serbia, Macedonia, and beyond. Brass Menazeri, while quite traditional in their approach – don’t expect any of the electro-hip hop interpolations of Balkan Beat Box here – belong to this new wave, mainly because they seem to be diligent about courting a younger audience.
Distracted Noise Pop: Magnetic Fields’ Stephin Merritt ducks the dog to chat longer
By Alex Felsinger
Magnetic Fields leader Stephin Merritt – what a chatterbox. Read the rest of his interview here.
SFBG: I made the mistake of listening to the new album on some laptop speakers, so when I plugged in a nice pair of headphones, it was nice to hear all the layers underneath the distortion.
Stephin Merritt: I’m curious to hear about people who hear it for the first time under crummy Internet conditions.
Reflections on the death of Alain Robbe-Grillet
By Erik Morse
The iconic French author and “phenomenologist” Alain Robbe-Grillet died Monday, Feb.18, at the age of 85 in Caen. His most lauded works include Le Voyeur (1955), La Jalousie (1957) and the critical essay Pour un nouveau roman (1966), which ushered in the titular literary movement synonymous with fellow authors Marguerite Duras, Claude Simon, and Nathalie Sarraute.
Alain Robbe-Grillet on Jean Genet, 2002
His very cinematographic style of writing also led to collaborations with noted French auteur Alain Resnais and the 1961 art-house classic L’Année dernière à Marienbad. Though he was not as celebrated – or as simultaneously vilified – in America as he was in his native France, Robbe-Grillet’s influence is immeasurable in the literary postmodernity he helped to engender.
A clip from L’Année dernière à Marienbad, 1961
Le Monde’s obit can be read here.
Getting down with the Donnas’ Maya Ford
Always good to hear from the Donnas, last year’s Noise Pop fest cover ladies. Bassist Maya Ford checked in via e-mail recently, anticipating the band’s show at the Fillmore tonight, Feb. 20, opening for the Hives. Here’s what she wrote:
SFBG: The band is putting out their own recordings now, right? How did you come to make that decision?
Maya Ford: The music business is changing right now. Nothing is concrete; people get hired and fired all the time, so you never know who to believe. Why not be safer and do it ourselves with people we trust? We met with other labels, but Purple Feather offered us the best deal: freedom!
Israeli Noise Pop: Monotonix’s cure for the perfection that ails ya
By Alex Felsinger
Certainly the Noise Pop band farthest from home, Tel Aviv’s Monotonix is also the most distinctive group scheduled to perform. The combo brings sweat, mustaches, and outright stage destruction from Israel, but their music – which sports a hint of the Stone Temple Pilots and some blatant hair-metal influences – takes a back seat to their stage antics.
They’re known for dismantling the drum set and flinging the parts across the stage, and sometimes they’ll even light small fires while the music disintegrates into cymbal crashes and guitar feedback. If Noise Pop has you sick of perfect-to-the-note performances, Monotonix promises the cure.
Monotonix performs at Noise Pop with Gutter Twins, Great Northern, and Apache. March 1, 8 p.m., $18. Bimbo’s 365 Club, 1025 Columbus, SF. (415) 474-0365.
Durty Noise Pop: White Denim – put it on…
By Alex Felsinger
White Denim‘s bluesy anthems evoke the Minutemen, but they replace the irreverent attitude with an unrelenting and refined drive found in the likes of Kings of Leon or the Thermals. They’ve been tearing up every venue in Austin, Texas, a town so saturated with indie rock that only the most unique make their presence known outside of the Sixth Street clubs.
Their only release, a five-song 7-inch EP, takes full advantage of the analog format and provides a rough-around-the-edges barrage of fist-pumping fun. On the mic, vocalist and guitarist James Petralli yelps and shouts like Lil’ Richard while bassist Steve Terebecki writhes and dances along – not only do these guys know how to play rock ‘n’ roll right, but they can work a crowd like at a 1950s high school prom.
White Denim play Noise Pop with Holy Fuck, A Place to Bury Strangers, and Veil Veil Varnish. Feb. 29, 9 p.m., $10. Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF.
Folked-up Noise Pop: Whispertown2000 harks back to Y2K handles
By Alex Felsinger
Ridiculous nicknames were once reserved for football locker-rooms and saloons, but the Internet has given everyone the ability to bestow any embarrassing name they please upon themselves.
In the early days, Whispertown2000 actually went by Vagtown2000, and then thankfully realized their mistake within a year. But the real mystery here is that instead of starting with a clean slate, they decided to stick with the millennium-village theme and changed their moniker to Whispertown2000.
All ragging on their naming ability aside, founder Morgan Nagler’s vocal delivery evocates female folk vocalists like Mary Chapin Carpenter, but since their songs include either sparse acoustic guitar or low-key synth over mid-tempo drums, the band becomes more of an indie-rock version of Melissa Etheridge. (Felsinger)
Whispertown2000 plays with She and Him, Adam Stephens, and Emily Jane White. March 2, 8 p.m., $18-$20 (sold out). Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF.
Get outta yo’ chair for the Monophonics
The Monophonics perform at Elbo Room in September at their CD release party.
By Ailene Sankur
Last Saturday I saw the seven-piece, horn-heavy funk band Monophonics at the Boom Boom Room, and they were freaking awesome. But let’s back up. Two summers ago, I saw legendary Bay Area funk jam band Vinyl – if you haven’t yet, go immediately – at the Boom Boom. It was back in my drinking days with a hard-partying boy, and we were both dancing – and fighting – like crazy to their old-school funk meets Latin groove music. I’m a pretty simple girl to please concert-wise: I only ask to feel the music deep in my belly and for it to make me want to move. That night, Vinyl did both.
I’ve been meaning to catch them again, so when I heard that the Monophonics were practically sired by Vinyl – drummer Austin Bohlman of the Monos was asked to bring together the “funkiest guys he knew” to make an opening band for Vinyl – I knew it was time to head back to the ‘Mo.
And was in love by the first blows from the sax. The Monophonics channel Tower of Power, the Meters, and Booker T. and the MGs, and, they would like to remind us, Vinyl.
Did Siouxsie suck? A hardcore fan laments
By Todd Lavoie
You know, I wish I didn’t have to say it, I really do. Everything would be so much easier if I simply sucked it up, declared it a no-biggie, and didn’t say it. What’s done is done, I’ve told myself I don’t know how many times since Tuesday night, so just flick off that OCD switch in your brainbox, buddy. But I can’t, unfortunately, so two deep breaths and here goes: I checked out Siouxsie‘s Mantaray tour show at the Fillmore on Tuesday, Feb. 12, and I must admit that I was more than a bit disappointed.
You know that ole quip, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you?” Well, it rings true here, folks, so lest anyone chalk me up as a Siouxsie-hater – and I’ve met aplenty in my day – or worse yet, a fair-weathered fan, let me say this: Siouxsie has been a fixture in my life for a couple of decades now. Her work with the Banshees kept me sane in the cruel cookie-cutter kingdom of high school. Songs such as “Metal Postcard” and “Swimming Horses” were perennial go-to sources for escape and solace not just as an awkward tenenager, but through college and beyond.
Every time I throw on Boomerang (Geffen) – her exotic marimba-fest with then-husband Budgie as the Creatures – I find the memory-bank floodgates opening up, gushing over with fond memories of friends who felt just as enthralled by her as I did. I reveled and raved when she hooked up with those collab-lovin’ blokes in Basement Jaxx to unleash some deliciously unbridled floor-thumping sass with the classic single “Cish Cash.” And yes, I went unequivocally ga-ga over Siouxsie’s slate-cleaning solo splash, last year’s electrifying Mantaray (Universal) – hell, I even blathered and jabbered away about it right here on this blog back in October. So, yeah, I’ve always considered myself one of the former Susan Dallion’s ever-faithful, ready to sing holy, holy to her whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Depth charge: artist Katsushige Nakahashi re-creates pieces of WWII
By Megan Ma
The depiction of war can seem alarmingly passé to the generation removed from it. Death and destruction are a given, and we glibly accept them through the linear narrative of documentaries or the History Channel. Of course, what we choose to reflect in art can sometimes, as Roland Barthes wrote, also reflect memories of past and present that coexist.
SF Camerawork‘s latest show, “Katsushige Nakahashi: Depth of Memory,” achieves a fusion of the historic and/or collective memory of what has been and the personal memories that seem to counter the former. Nakahashi makes a full-scale replica of the Kaiten, a Japanese torpedo used in the last days of WWII as a final, desperate resort by the Imperial army.
A literal death trap, kamikaze pilots delivered themselves to a horrible death in these steel machines. But there’s nothing solid about Nakahashi’s interpretation: it’s made up of thousands of glossy square photos of the actual thing, all taped and bound together into an imperfect replica. The 48-foot long surface of the Kaiten is deflated and somewhat baggy, a receptacle for our own interpretations and memories. True to his vision, Nakahashi asked hundreds of volunteers to arrange his photos, re-living together their own memories of war and swapping stories.
The organ and the ecstasy: in praise of Spooner Oldham
By Todd Lavoie
Who doesn’t love the organ? (Ah, hush – you know what I meant! Minds out of the gutter, you dirty birdies – we’re talking music here.)
Yes, that organ – y’know, ebony and ivory and the whole bit. Ah, the Hammond – where would we be without it? Somewhere far, far less soulful, that’s for sure. Truth be told, if push came to shove, I’d have to stick the instrument up there near the top of my list of sounds-I-can’t-do-without. And while I’m in the list-making mood and all, I might as well make myself another one and plunk Spooner Oldham’s name atop the upper tier of all-time best organists ever.
Not only did the man help architect the iconic Muscle Shoals soul sound of the ’60s – creating some heart-stopping classics in the process – but he’s remained just as prolific and influential ever since. Take a trawl through your CD stacks, and chances are, you’ll find his name in the liner notes somewhere. Recent examples? Hmm, how about Bettye LaVette’s The Scene of the Crime (Anti), Cat Power’s Jukebox (Matador), Drive-By Truckers’ Brighter Than Creation’s Dark (New West)?
My Weimar Valentine
By Erik Morse
“Berlin means depravity” begins noted performance scholar Mel Gordon in his Voluptuous Panic: The Erotic World of Weimar Berlin. “Moralists across the widest spectrum of political and spiritual beliefs have condemned by rote this chimerical metropolis as a strange city built on strange soil.” With its iconography of leather ‘n’ lace, absinthe, and smarmy zither scores, the early 20th century world of Weimar may seem as far removed as a Grimm fairy tale. But with all of tomorrow’s lusting and boozing, who among us doesn’t become a bit German on Valentine’s Day? Ich bin ein Berliner.
If you’re yet to determine plans for this most debauched of holidays, then consider San Francisco Museum of Modern Art’s homage to Berlin’s fabled era of cabarets and intoxicants. Brooklyn artist Earl Dax and his NYC company will present With Weimar New York: A Golden Gate Affair. Avant-impressario Dax is debuting a cadre of dancers, burlesque acts, and gender-bending provocateurs whose influences lie equally in the iconoclastic East Village no-wave scene and the decadent Germania of Christopher Isherwood. Slated to appear are post-Warholian legend Penny Arcade and performance artist Ann Magnuson, latter-day raconteur Holcombe Waller and others, with MCs Justin Bond – of Kiki and Herb – and Ana Matronic – of Scissor Sisters fame.
Marlene Dietrich’s screentest for Der Blaue Engel, c. 1930
Deerhoof’s Satomi and Tenniscoats’ Saya whoop it up at Aquarius tonight
Deerhoof’s Satomi – oh, my. Photo by Ryan Schreiber.
Cool beans! One of the best impromptu in-stores around is happening tonight, Wednesday, Feb. 13, at 6 p.m. at Aquarius Records, 1055 Valencia, SF.
Deerhoof‘s Satomi is playing a special acoustic set with Tenniscoats‘ Saya as Oneone. (To read Johnny Ray Huston’s review of Tenniscoats’ latest CD, Tan-Tan Therapy, go here.) You have been warned – now you have no excuse not to go!
Lob you, Tenniscoats. Courtesy of Fat Planet.
“What if she changed her name to Lenin?” Yoko Ono sues singer-songwriter Lennon Murphy for use of own name
Lennon Murphy bares some, if not all.
Boy, I love Yoko Ono: I think the woman is a genius and at 70-something she still rocks it live. (Yep, I can hear the oodles of boomers booing as I type.) But the news discussed in the open letter below, issued on a press release from singer-songwriter Lennon Murphy’s people, is totally bizarre:
“Yesterday I received notice that Yoko Ono had filed a law suit against me, asking for a cancellation of the trademark that I own for the name “Lennon.” This could very well mean the career that I have worked so hard at, the one you all have believed in, may come to an end. I wanted to address the situation to all my fans because without you I am nothing and it’s not fair to everyone who has believed in my music not to be properly informed of this pure bullshit.
“When I first started playing music at 14, I was known for the most part as ‘The Lennon Murphy Band.’ Not a name I was very fond of, no one could ever agree on anything so it made sense. A few months later some of the shows started being marketed using my full name as well as some that just using ‘Lennon.’ There was never really any consistency but there was well enough to justify stating that ‘Lennon’ had been used in fact since 1997. When I signed with Arista Records in 2000 at the age of 18, a marketing decision was made to continue being known just as Lennon. In all honesty, I didn’t care. I was just happy to sign a record deal, make an album, and pay my bills.
Show your love for 21 Grand
Recently on display at 21 Grand: works by Kerri Lee Johnson (above) and Chela Fielding.
By Dina Maccabee
To be honest, I don’t go to 21 Grand that often. I live in San Francisco, and 21 Grand is in Oakland. Plus, I have a tardy streak, and it’s really better if you get to shows there in a timely manner, since once the music starts, it tends to have a sit-down-and-listen type of vibe – which is as it should be; performances there are unique enough to deserve an audience’s full attention.
Still, it’s important for me to know that 21 Grand endures, even if I only enjoy its spartan decor and mismatched chairs in my imagination. Considering recent Grammy hype, I take comfort in the idea that there are songs, pieces, and players that can’t be assigned to any nomination category.
Sure, I haven’t composed any graphic scores lately for coloratura and Tickle-Me Elmo. But the point is, if I wanted to, I could, and I could probably perform them at 21 Grand. Not to say that, in this case, egalitarianism begets mediocrity. The roll call truly influential underground luminaries and celebrated artists that have visited 21 Grand since it opened in 2000 is too long to list here. Some of my own favorites have included locals like Myra Melford, Ben Goldberg, Phillip Greenlief, ROVA Saxophone Quartet, and Fred Frith.
Clubs: I feel so Debaser
Yes, shake yourself, wake yourself, shiver ye timbers, and don ye olde kinderwhore frock. There’s a newish club in town, courtesy of those Neon kids: Debaser, a ’90s alternative dance party that has yet to find its firm monthly footing but will nonetheless shake the rafters at the Knockout Saturday, Feb. 9.
Tomorrow’s Valentine’s special showcases DJs Jamie Jams (Avery Island), EmDee (Club Neon), and Jessica (Club Lovely); bearer of the best Courtney Love-style baby doll dress gets a gift certificate to Thrift Town. Sorry, no lurid imagery available yet: Jams confesses that lame ole 2D pics fail to convey the “sheer mania” going down. Last month, he says, “We seriously had 300 people in flannels moshing to records and screaming all the words to the Cranberries.” Scary! But fun at the same time, no? And never fear, Breeder babies, if you miss this month’s, you can always get your Kurt on at the next party on March 1.
Debaser
Saturday, Feb. 9; 10 p.m.; free with flannel before 11 p.m., afterward $5
Knockout
3223 Mission, SF