Crankies, start revving up your book deals. I have a new love (oh, I know, it’s been around since 2008 but I was busy working back then): the cute animal-loathing, curmudgeonly Fuck You, Penguin blog.
I’m especially happy about the fact that the FUP has moved on from simply adorable critters and misbehaving pets to mythical creatures and figments of our imagination like unicorns and Bigfoot. Hey, it’s an excellent excuse to give a nice, hard poke to those omnipresent cutsey-pie pics all over the Internets (always the most-popular pics on online news sites) and snappy-good bad-attitude writing.
Here’s a primo example of the hee-hee-larious stuff coursing off the site, under the headline “Jaded hipster owls think they’ve seen it all.”
“Rising above the smoke and debris” – yes, we can. More to do, see, and hear…
Undebateable: Eef Barzelay’s “I Love the Unknown.”
Clem Snide Hungry Bird (429), the latest release by the Boston-born band, almost succeeded in killing Clem Snide. Yet Eef Barzelay carries forth – sweet Snide ‘tude in hand – alongside Brendan Fitzpatrick and Ben Martin. With the Heligoats and Pepi Ginsberg. Wed/8, 9 p.m., $10-$12. Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. (415) 621-4455.
Love X Nowhere
Immaculate shoegaze and anthemic pop stream from the SF fivesome’s new self-released High Score Blackout. With Headlights and the Love Language. Thurs/9, 9 p.m., $10. Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. (415) 621-4455.
Call it no wave, noise, avant-skrock, or simply the harsh, grinding sound of the daughters of Mars and DNA writhing on their guitar necks and drum sticks beneath the light of a fiercely perturbed Venus. Though it might be less than visible on club bills of late, the underground of women testing the limits of dissonance never quite died, especially in the Bay where 16 Bitch Pileup, T.I.T.S., and Zeek Sheck have staked their ear-wrenching claim in a scene that can be as boy-heavy as any Mastodon show. Though the field has always been varied in its aural strategies, more contemplative, though no less challenging, music-makers like Grouper and Inca Ore – both with ties to these shores – have risen to the fore these days, thanks to last year’s Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill (Type) and Birthday of Bless You (Not Not Fun). Perhaps everyone – iconoclasts included – has toned themselves down for hard times, reserving judgement and preserving rage in anticipation of big-time change.
Brooklyn twosome drummer-vocalist Andrya Ambro and guitarist-vocalist Sarah Register, otherwise known as Talk Normal, do have their meditative moments, bent beneath Buddha Machine-y piano notes and sawed-at strings on the Secret Cog EP’s last track, “Rest With Me” until the drone dissolves into fragments of melody then miniature surges of glittered noise. But otherwise Ambro and Register embrace an aggro approach, issuing high-pitched squeals, horn peals, and lumbering counter rhythms on “Grinnin’ in Your Face,” which evoke not only Teenage Jesus and the Jerks but Pussy Galore and later NYC noise-mongers as well as Amphetamine Reptile rageaholics. Talk Normal, what’s normal?
A blast from a kinder, gentler past – complete with a whopping penile-shaped alien monster with a unnervingly large eyeball. That’s the sweet, funny, and ever-so-slightly spooky Alien Trespass, which rights the wrongs of the recent turgid remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008): this tribute to ‘50s sci-fi thrills and chills is fully aware of its throwback appeal and stays true to not only the spirit but the quirky details of its B movie predecessors – banish the Mars Attacks! irony. I talked to director-producer R.W. Goodwin, best known to some for his executive producer work on the first five seasons of The X Files.
R.W. Goodwin (as he signs a set of Alien Trespass lobby cards): I have all these collectibles from The X Files like the season one hats that Christopher [Carter] and I did for the crew. They’re all stuffed in closets, and I keep saying to [my wife] Sheila [Larken, who appeared in The X Files as Scully’s mother], “These are going to be worth a lot of money someday!” [Laughs] She goes, “Well, how about now?” She’s sick of finding X Files T-shirts and hats everywhere she looks.
SFBG: Now are you worried about being typecast as an alien lover?
San Francisco just can’t, just won’t stop. More musical – and comedic – worthies than one can jam into print.
The Get Up Kids
These lesser-known monsters of emo, progenitors of punk-pop, are back. With Approach. Thurs/2, 8 p.m., $26-$29. Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750.
After multiple career tangents, name changes, and rambles hither and yon, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, ne Will Oldham, appears to have finally arrived. The accolades are pouring in from NPR to small-town daily newspapers — a marvel when one considers the fact that the Louisville, Ky., post-punk scene that Oldham sprang from was so roundly ignored during its most vital years in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, when Squirrel Bait, Slint, and later Oldham and brothers Ned and Paul performed as Palace (Brothers/Songs/Music).
The most accessible, clean, and least eccentric recording to date from Oldham, Beware might be considered the recording in which the songwriter assumes his rightful place in the current rock canon as the music-maker who prefigured the so-called freak/out-folk scene and the enabler and encourager of such talents as Joanna Newsom and Dawn McCarthy.
This time, his roving sensibility finds its soothingly smooth fit with help from Josh Abrams of Town and Country, Emmett Kelly of Cairo Gang, Akita Youssefi, Jon Langford of the Mekons, Rob Mazurek of Isotope 217, and renowned pedal steel session player Greg Leisz, among others – likely his most accomplished set of contributors to date. Still, despite Beware’s full-bodied, country-soul sound, I feel almost nostalgic for the humanizing glitchy folk Palace and early Bonnie “Prince” Billy was known for – perhaps that’s just my indie rock values rearing their scruffy heads.
Pros to go: “A song by the Mae Shi celebrating the life and work of Xtian Bale.”
You have until Monday to find your place in the sun – or in the shadows. More fun musical offerings than we could fit into print – as usual in super-sweet SF.
Lil Wayne
The Nawlins rapper is said to pumped a good deal of performance-enhancement production values into his stage show – courtesy of a full band, a smoke machine, pillars of fire, and a set of backup dancers. But will Wayne deliver the goods? Or at least appear on time? With T-Pain, Gym Class Heroes, and Keri Hilson. Fri/27, 7 p.m., $42.50-=$147.75. HP Pavilion, 525 W. Santa Clara, San Jose. www.livenation.com
The Mae Shi, Pre, and Past Lives
Hey, it’s all good here. Well, I’ve never seen Pre but the Mae Shi are monsters (gag songs or no) and Past Lives – a band of ex-Blood Brothers – impressed at South by Southwest. Seems to me, though, that Skin Graft’s Pre combines squealing girly vocals with propulsive, clanging post-punk in a way that I’m sure SF kids can get with. Fri/27, 9:30 p.m., $8. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. (415) 923-0923.
Starfucker
Don’t hold the fucked-up name against them – the Portland, Ore., combo could be the next Glass Candy, with a newly amplified sense of humor. With Grand Lake and Guidance Counselor. Sat/28, 9:30 p.m., $8. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. (415) 923-0923.
Bonfire Madigan
Sometime SF dweller Madigan Shive whoops it up for her blessed b-day – and for the release of her new EP. With Excuses for Skipping. Sun/29, 8 p.m., $12. Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016.
White Magic
The Brooklyn psych-folk spell-casters send us spiralling. With Avocet. Sun/29, 5 p.m., $10. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. (415) 923-0923.
By the light of the moon: PJ Harvey and John Parrish at Stubb’s.
South by Southwest peters out with… Peter, Bjorn and John. Actually, not really – I dig those Scandinavian whistle-bait popsters and they were playing multiple shows – but there were other less familiar artists and rare diversions to seek out on Saturday, March 21, in Austin, Texas.
The sweet ‘n’ sunny Saturday morn started with slowly with some quality, low-price thrifting at Texas Thrift Store (Joanna Newsom and folk-psych gals would have appreciated the dusty rose, homemade patchwork vest and nautilus-shell purse) and a visit to western wear superstore Shepler’s, both off I-35. Then off to the Convention Center – which, by the end of the week during each SXSW, starts to seem a little like home (that is, if home was strewn with fat bundles of The Austin Chronicle and free bottles of Fuze green tea). There, Neil Young’s famed manager Elliott Roberts and his documentarian Larry Johnson talked up Young’s forthcoming series of box sets, starting with Neil Young Archives Volume 1 (1963-1972), on BluRay, DVD, and CD. Pretty amazing stuff – the BluRay edition will offer interactive components that will allow Young and company to offer up new photos, music, and film when they become available (one example, Robert said, are the Mynah Birds recordings made by Young and Rick James, which aren’t the now-locked box set – they just managed to license the tracks from Motown so when they’re available the BluRay owners will be notified and can likely download them directly).
Thrill them all: Metallica at Stubb’s at SXSW. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
“All my heroes are weirdos,” to crib the title of a !!! number – and Guitar Heroes, beloved weirdos, and pop party kids were out in force Friday, March 20, at South by Southwest.
I started the day with sweet tea and a conference panel, “Great Expectations: Artist Development Meets Economic Reality,” including Dan Mackta of Jive, Pete Ganbarg of Atlantic, Tony Kiewel of Sub Pop, and Michael Goldstone of Mom and Pop Music Co.
That’s their name – don’t wear it out: The Audacity take to the streets.
Funky love: Brazil’s Garotas Suecas seduces at Emo’s.
SXSW memories – fading now, but hey, it’s only Friday. Among the highlights yesterday, March 18: Brazil’s Garotas Suecas – the bright-eyed, fun ‘n’ funky heirs to Booker T. or at least Sharon Jones. My Portuguese is a bit nonexistent, but we got the picture loud and clear, thanks to the ensemble’s hyper-expressive vocalist.
Even more mind-blowing: Flower Travellin’ Band at Smokin’ Music. The band sometimes best known for its nekkid, motorcycle-riding album shot finally made it to the states for the last of five shows on its first U.S. tour. Previous sojourns have been scuttled for various reasons, but wow! Deeply eccentric power-centered psych-stoner rock – Hideki Ishima’s huge sitarla is only part of the story, generating resonant, almost boomingly bass-like sounds. Have to see more of them if/when they get to SF.
Massive massive: Hideki Ishima wields his mighty sitarla.
Chapel of the chiming guitar: SF’s Girls fill the Central Presbyterian Church March 19.
Impressions – watercolor, guyliner-streaked, skinny jeans-clad impressions – of SXSW. Here are a few from the frontlines on what turned out to be a stellar Thursday, March 19: I may have missed the Jane’s Addition reunion with Eric Avery at the Rock the Bunny after-hours bash at an old Safeway, but who needs the LA grunge-era implants when there’s so much happening elsewhere?
Rumor has it that Kanye West will be headlining the last Fader Fort show Saturday – a sweltering mecca of lines and bees drawn by the spilled fruity cocktails, out on the other side of I-35 – and that Neil Young is in town. Otherwise the vague official word round the Austin Convention Center is that attendance is down about 10 percent, though artist attendance is up. “Not bad, considering” – the new buzz words?
Charm (in)offensive: Quincy Jones gives the SXSW keynote.
Back to the basics: The Bronx whip it out March 18. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
Get away from the grip-and-grin events and rambles through parties that offer free drinks and barbecue (though Jackpine Social Club’s Nick Tangborn supposedly threw an ace bash yesterday for ex-Parkside honcho Sean’s Batter Blaster pancake spray product) – there’s music out there if you seek it out. The corporate sponsors may be relatively absent, but there’s still plenty of intrigue, sonically, if you seek it out: PJ Harvey and John Parish, J. Tillman of Fleet Foxes going solo, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Blk Jck, We Have Band, et al.
One great budding band of women: Portland, Ore., trio Explode Into Colors. An all-power two-drum approach draws from the Slits and Gang of Four to fashion impassioned, sinewy primal punk. Fully formed and in full possession of their own voice. The group played March 18’s Finally Punk-curated all-ages music-made-by-women show at Ms. Bea’s, which also included Pocahaunted, Yellow Fever, Micachu, and the East Bay’s Splinters.
More Mochi: 215 the Freshest Kids hurl some words at Daly City Records’ Pre-SXSW/St. Patrick’s Day Party at Beso Cantina March 17. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
Or is a whimper more accurate. Yes, the signs are in the air and in the program, as we scan the pages of the official guide and the unofficial day party lists. Welcome to South by Southwest on the downlow, rocked by the turbulent winds blowing off a global economic meltdown.
The big conference keynote names like Pete Townshend, Neil Young, Robert Plant, and Lou Reed? This year we get the uber-talented and esteemed but nonetheless much less sexy – sorry, Quince – Quincy Jones. Instead of the Stooges and Morrissey, we will have onstage interviews with Carlene Carter and the Hold Steady. The corporate banners are still here, but with a not-quite-as-splashy, diminished presence – just where is that MySpace South By Party Bus? The major labels and glossy publications are quieter than usual – whither the Vice party? Is there a Vice party?
Instead Rachael Ray – wholesome indie rock fan incarnate – is serving up the New York Dolls and the aforementioned Hold Steady at her showcase. Hey, after all, we’re all eating in these days – we can use some new recipes. This is SXSW on the cheap, forced onto a low-budg diet by a still-suffering music biz. Yes, music continues unabated, but can its makers afford to make it out here this year? The underground bashes around SXSW appear to slowing down or maybe they just aren’t on the public radar – in any case I still want to make Todd P’s Ms. Bea free all-ages shows and the French Legation outdoor bills – now Arthur-free (R.I.P.). We’ll see if there’s anything as fun as Dan Deacon and Fucked Up’s guerrilla throwdowns shaking up the university campus and the bridge, after hours.
Yes, San Francisco, you’re unstoppable. As usual, the city by the Bay bays – nay – howls at the moon. More worthy sounds that didn’t make it to print.
Judgement Day
The Bay Area band is using the tools of Bach and Beethoven for… devil horn-throwin’ eve-ill! Wed/18, 8 p.m., $10. Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016.
Eleni Mandell and Victor Krummenacher
The LA singer-songwriter strikes an arch, jazzy note with her praised **Artificial Fire** (Zedtone) and the ex-**Guardian** art director digs deep with **Patriarch’s Blues** (MagneticMotorworks, 2008). Thurs/19, 8 p.m., $12-$15. Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016.
Wake and bake: …And You Shall Know Us by the Trail of Dead’s “Another Morning Stoner.”
It all sounds so ethereal this week: dream-pop, shoegaze, and even, well, …And You Shall Know Us by the Trail of Dead. Here, you’ll know us by these breadcrumbs – and perhaps you’ll find a few intriguing musical diversions to check out on a chilly night.
Azeda Booth
Enter the echo chamber with the Calgary, Canada, threesome, then look for its music for the Bay’s Absolutely Kosher imprint. Wed/11, 10 p,m., $6. Knockout, 3223 Mission, SF. (415) 550-6994.
Elvis Perkins in Dearland
The Hudson Valley likes it sweet and low: this blues-folk combo likes to riddle their indie with Nawlins second-line lyrical soul. Wed/11, 9:30 p.m., $13-$15. Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016.
Manifest Destiny: the belief that divine forces lay in the vast American West before 19th-century settlers arrived to explore and conquer. The West meant progress, raw living, and the flourishing of the American dream. The edge of the continent has been a magnet for the brave, weird, and fringe-dwelling since the East’s puritanical purging sessions, and California continues to be viewed as the country’s wayward beacon of creativity.
The West has since been mystified and exalted in American lore – in the Western – spaghetti or not – and the maniacal prose of wild literati and the brain-burn of psychedelia, to name just a few cultural movements. Currently upholding the West Coast’s prismatic musical legacy are Los Angeles’ Spindrift, which is vigorously paying homage to everything the California sun has spawned in the past four decades. Follow the band from the phantasms brought on by the desert heat to the delirium of the open road to even the weightlessness of outer space.
I had the opportunity to check out some shows during the Noise Pop festival, starting with the opening-night performance by Deerhunter at Mezzanine on Feb. 25.
Deerhunter didn’t let anyone down. It played a majestic set that created feelings of isolation and reflection. The bright back-lighting and smoke machine setup helped create the mood. The music and performance made me feel as though I left the building and was somewhere alone. Not many performers can bring you into their realm.
“I bet you clean up real nice, fancy as can be, but I’m sorry to say, you’ll never be as fancy as me.” Ouch! Mr. Fancy Pants. With such confident lyrics set to a boom-chic-a-boom rockabilly beat, the Fancy Dan Band‘s debut, Born Fancy, is a winner. Frontman Fancy Dan is a Midwest-meets-West transplant, and his Bay Area band plays with enough barn-burning energy to make grandpa wanna hoe-down. No, really. The lyric is a throwback to the style of country pioneer Hank Williams, with the musicianship of Junior Brown and the flavor of Chuck Berry.
After realizing his dream was to be a country-folk vocalist, Dan decided to pack his bags and head out to the coast. Along the way, he made this album – the fruit of a three-day whirlwind Nashville pilgrimage last summer, boasting first-rate musicians on drums, upright bass, and electric guitar.
Sounds pretty traditional, I know, but in the realm of country, stars often take themselves far too seriously. It’s refreshing to hear these guys employ a bit of playfulness and what I hope is a pseudo-cockiness. For instance, the song “Wake Up Fancy” hinges on a wonderfully silly, self-referential double entendre concerning Dan’s greatness. I imagine him pulling away the sheets in the morning, already wearing a pristine pressed white suit and cocking his feathered hat just so in the mirror. Much like the picture on the album cover. Fancy.
FANCY DAN BAND
March 21, call for time and price.
Café International
508 Haight, SF
(415) 552-7390
Finding themselves at 50: Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater at Zellerbach Hall. All photos by Ariel Soto.
By Ariel Soto
Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater celebrated its 50th anniversary at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley from March 3 to March 8. The performance consisted of a succession of snippets from 50 years of work, and the company took the audience through Ailey’s work and the important mark he left on the.history of modern dance.
I was impressed by the dancers themselves: their toes appeared to almost touch the ceiling and their fluid, precise movements flowed like honey across the stage. I have had the chance to see Alvin Ailey several times in the past, but I still cried like a baby and clapped my hands in time with the music till they hurt because there’s no other dance company in the world like Alvin Ailey. The company can draw you so far into the dance that you forget everything around you and just become one with movement, the emotion, and those amazing twirls.
The Hotel Utah Saloon promises a lovely showcase for Bay Area voices Thursday, March 12: four local singer-songwriters will hit the stage, all of whom are deserving of serious attention. Berkeley vocalist Courtney Nicole and 515-representing folkie Rebecca Cross will bring their savvy strumming and thoughtful lyricism to the evening’s proceedings. Joining the roster will be two other songwriters who call San Francisco home: Anna Laube and Davis Jones. Both have excellent new CDs out – be sure to visit the merch table between sets!
Laube describes herself as a bit of a roamer in her press materials, and that wandering spirit tends to flavor her just-released second album, Pool All the Love * Pool All the Knowledge (Gingko), a comfortingly rootsy collection of songs that evoke memories of road trips and visits to quieter, less bustling locales than her current place of residence.
The setting: Jesse (Ethan Hawke), a young American, and Céline (Julie Delpy), a young French woman, have just met on a train. The duo disembark in Vienna, where they spend the day discussing life and love and getting to know each other. In this scene they are in a record store filled floor to ceiling with vinyl.
Jesse: This place is pretty neat.
Céline: There is even a listening booth. (Céline pulls out a record embellished with a black-and-white profile. The name spread across the top is indiscernible in the distance.) Have you ever heard of this singer?
You’re stormy, San Francisco – yet you still partay like no other city. Here’s even more worthy music – more than we could squeeze into print.
Har Mar Superstar
Sean Tillmann, Sean Na Na – hey whatever your name is: we know you got the stuff to write songs for the Cheetah Girls. With the New Trust and the Limousines. Wed/5, 8 p.m., $12. Rickshaw Stop, 155 Fell, SF. (415) 861-2011.
M. Ward
She and Him? No, him! The former South Bay teacher has made a pretty swell name for himself – though I’d love from him to break out of his Hold Time (Merge) shell.
Wed/5, 8 p.m., $29.50. Palace of Fine Arts, 3301 Lyon, SF. (415) 563-6504.
Color me evocative: Christopher Willits’ “Colors Shifting.”
Ghostly International Live
Michna, Tycho, Christopher Willits, and other phantoms party like it’s the label’s 10-year anniversary. With the Sight Below, Lusine, Kate Simko, Deru, and Eliot L. Fri/6, 10 p.m. doors, $15-$20. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. (415) 820-9669.
Bathed in reds, pinks, and yellows evocative of the breezy, sun-and-sand-filled love romps his music brings to mind, Dent May and his band of jaunty, falsetto-wielding cohorts took the audience to a place far from their hardened city lives. Seamless harmonies, maraca shakes, and gentle ukulele strums dovetailed at the warm, bursting heart of the Mississippi native’s throwback sound.
