Holy Yalta: Crime In Choir, arguably Sea of Azov vocalizing at its finest.
Darla-distributed label Omnibus Records has consistently released some of the Valley’s greatest music. What separates Omnibus from most indie labels’ shortcomings—signing only close friends, limiting roster size, etc.—is its attention to multiple genres and the cross pollination of styles. This weekend’s show at the Capitol Garage, 1427 L St., showcases pollination at its finest. It’s a celebration of Omnibus’ current roster that includes a reunion of the sadly defunct Crime In Choir—which effectively marries the Fender Rhodes piano into a deadly dose of intricate instrumentals. Also on the bill are Electrogroup, ent, Trackstar and the Cave-ins. Forget Temptation Island, this show is tempting enough. The show is Saturday, December 1; cover’s $6 and the show is all ages, as always. www.omnibusrecords.com.
U2’s drop-in date, on only two weeks notice, was as much of a surprise to this writer as it was to the capacity crowd at last Tuesday’s show. Unlike most events at Arco Arena, the colossal package, touting Interscope star acts U2 and No Doubt, boasted triple-digit ticket prices. Could the band fill a venue at $130 a pop? Or, even more importantly, live up to people’s expectations?
No Doubt, openers for the West Coast leg of the tour, were given the insidious task of opening for U2—which, no doubt, were the night’s headliners. From the beginning chorus of “Spiderwebs,” Gwen Stefani and her Orange County brethren played an energized set, highlighted by their TRL smash and current single “Hey Baby.” Sporting her navel and long blonde extensions, Stefani commanded the stage with reckless aplomb and her bandmates, who date back to the Tragic Kingdom era, worked the early crowd into a frenzy.
Those in the pit section, located in between U2’s heart-shaped walkway—part of that band’s minimalist stage show—showed great enthusiasm for No Doubt and were treated to the hits, including the smash ballad “Don’t Speak.” Although the band was confined to a small (60 x 40) section of stage, and couldn’t use U2’s platforms, all six players—including two horn players, percussion and keyboards—worked their magic. There were some avid fans throughout the venue. But, of course, nothing could prepare the crowd for the spectacle that is U2.
After the appropriate blasting of “All You Need Is Love” through the house speakers, U2 launched into “Elevation” and, similarly, took the crowd to dizzying heights. The first section of the show, pairing songs from All You Can Leave Behind and Achtung Baby, worked astonishingly well. Bono, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr. played like seasoned road veterans, even changing bridges in songs like “Mysterious Ways” and the time-sensitive “Sunday Bloody Sunday” from the War album.
During such numbers as the epic “Where the Streets Have No Name,” any other songs in our collective memories were rendered diminutive. You could forget everything watching Bono sway and run the ramps alongside The Edge. Even “Angel of Harlem” from Rattle & Hum was given renewed vigor in the live setting. My favorite track, “Bullet the Blue Sky,” set behind a backdrop of red gels and the rhythm section’s plodding repetition, never sounded so good.
Even compared to the band’s Joshua Tree tour stop in Oakland several years back, the evening’s performance far exceeded people’s expectations; it exuded all of the important qualities in a rock ’n’ roll show. Even the band’s memorial to the victims of September 11 were played to the numbers—names of the deceased or missing were displayed on the backdrop canvas—with the utmost respect for the families. U2 may have not changed the world but, for a fleeting moment, we were able to realize how life-affirming a good rock show can be. Amen.
This pristine collection from Germany’s finest experimentalist band features previously unreleased and hard-to-find versions of its songs from the last 10 years. Unlike most shoddy attempts to chronicle rare back catalog, this package helps to tune global consciousness, once again, into the true “industrial” genre. Not satisfied with dissonant guitars and keyboards, EN took on the insidious task of introducing the world to mobile button noises, steel bars and motorized book hi-hats. Strategies takes cues from opera, new wave and classic German folk, yet these tracks are as fresh and organic as the day they were put to tape. Highlights include the live version of “Redukt,” “Querulanten” and “Der leere Raum.” No wonder Trent Reznor turned up at the band’s California tour dates several years ago. Fans of Young Gods and early neo-industrialists from abroad should do themselves a favor.
No, San Diego trio Pinback probably won’t be future VH1 fodder
Pinback’s Armistead Burwell “Zach” Smith IV and Rob Crow: “At least now we won’t have to contribute to that Wipers tribute album.” (Not pictured: Tom Zinsor.)
Live! 8 p.m. Thursday, November 15, at Capitol Garage, 1427 l St., with Hella and Boilermaker. All ages; admission is $7.
Over half the overexposed trash that commercial radio shoves down our throats comes via bands that never paid their dues. Whether it’s a result of someone copulating with an A&R rep, laying out payola for record spins, foisting a band on the VH1 show Bands on the Run or onto tours sponsored by Nescafé or Honey Nut Cheerios, it would seem that the music has taken the back seat to a quickie paycheck.
Speaking of VH1, Pinback, a San Diego-based trio that plays Capitol Garage on Thursday, is a veritable Behind the Music episode waiting to happen.
It’s a safe bet that Pinback’s three members have become disenchanted with the music industry by now. The trio was signed to the Portland-based Tim Kerr label, an Astroturf indie that had the Wipers, Pere Ubu and Dandy Warhols on its roster. But Pinback’s contract with Tim Kerr had some major pitfalls, which precipitated a six-month legal battle that eventually landed them on Ace-Fu Records, home to Tight Bros From Way Back When, the Champs, Heartworms (ex-Velocity Girl), and Sucka MC’s. Blue Screen Life is the trio’s second full-length platter—although the band has released a self-produced, low-fi live effort titled Live in Donnie’s Garage, along with a 7-inch single and a hard-to-find EP called Some Voices.
Bassist/vocalist Armistead Burwell Smith IV, better known as the monosyllabic Zach, and drummer Tom Zinsor both had a short-lived run in 3-Mile Pilot. But that band suffered from the same lousy distribution, via the San Diego-based Cargo Music label, that effectively marginalized such local heroes as Forever Goldrush and the now-defunct Drop Acid, the latter featuring Kevin Seconds and Heckler magazine’s Sonny Mayugba. Pinback also features vocalist/guitarist Rob Crow, whose CV includes such luminary combos as Optiginally Yours, Heavy Vegetable and Thingy.
Crow has a few opinions on why certain releases come to fruition, particularly the band’s live CD-R, which is available only at Pinback’s live shows. “It’s mostly just kind of killing two birds with one stone,” he says. “It’s cool to have something different to sell to people that want to see you, [so they] have something to take home. We don’t purposely make it so people can’t have something.”
As for paying dues, Crow has worked at his share of shit jobs—McDonald’s, Jack in the Box, Carl’s Jr., apartment manager/slumlord. Whether or not he finds “success” with his current bandmates has yet to be determined. Fortunately, the daunting task of going on tour pales when compared to flipping burgers. What’s most important for Crow is that, these days, he seems focused on just making good music. “All I want to do is write music and try to make something with integrity,” he says.
Anyone looking for sonic dissonance and overt song structures can find solace in Pinback. From Brian Eno to the Jam and the Beatles, Crow and Smith aren’t afraid to post influences on their sleeves, whether they originated from their previous bands or came from current music. The result is Blue Screen Music, an album overflowing with melodic, introspective rock.
Perhaps on this November’s tour, one of whose stops is Capitol Garage, Sacramento’s last bastion for true indie rock, the band will bring along another CD-R to satiate the appetites of its acolytes and newfound fans. If Pinback’s live show is anywhere near as good as performances by its members’ former bands have been, you should be in for a real treat.
Why should you bother to leave home to see Pinback? Why not? It certainly beats waiting 10 years to see a rehash on VH1’s Behind the Music.
A little knowledge of your history—whether current or past—goes a long way.
Michael Franti had been politically active long before most Spearhead fans had reached puberty. As the frontman of the Beatnigs, San Francisco’s answer to Gil Scott Heron on biker swimming-pool chemicals, this onetime Davis resident made considerable headway in bringing politics into music without dulling the content.
After the ’Nigs demise came the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, whose first and only disc for the one-time, independentally distributed Island Records subsidiary label 4th & B’Way neglected to dent the pop charts. However, the record got favorable press notices and landed the Heroes—which included Franti, Rono Tse and guitarist extraordinaire/future jazz star Charlie Hunter—a national tour with Public Enemy.
However, it wasn’t until Spearhead—a durable blend of hip-hop, reggae, soca and other world musics—that Franti finally became an activist who could sell records.
A recent Sunday show at Harlow’s turned out to be a gosh-darned swell homecoming for Spearhead, as the group parlayed that anticipation into a sweaty set that kept the 300-plus in attendance on their feet. Hot on the heels of Stay Human, Spearhead’s latest album on the San Francisco boutique label Six Degrees, the band’s performance was incendiary, and its 6-foot-7 frontman rocked the mic like no other. Even Franti’s a cappella raps on this particular evening salted any underground rappers’ material.
What makes Spearhead different from the typical reggae act, with its reverence to Jah and the Almighty I-and-I, are Franti’s lyrics, which seem derived largely from current events and his interpretation of them. Franti has rewritten the way reggae music should be played, and his band helps him deviate even further—with upbeat jams, jazzy breakdowns and hip-hop inflections.
Fans of Canada’s late, lamented Messenjah, Inner Circle or Bob Marley’s latter years should investigate Spearhead’s catalog and, most important, see the band live. If you’re looking for intelligence and grace within a reggae context, any of these fine artists will do. Fortunately, Spearhead actively tours and promotes its albums, and local promoter Renegade Productions’ Robby and Kaati always find a way to bring them to the area. Don’t miss ’em next time, OK?
Ever wonder where an Alice Donut or Trenchmouth fan could turn since those bands’ demise? Leave it to the four young girls of San Francisco’s Erase Errata. Jenny yelps and wields a trumpet, Ellie holds down the low-end frequencies, Bianca rocks the kit and Sara tortures the guitar. The band has revived dingy, low-fi rock and taken the meaning of coarse to a new level. Its recent show with Black Dice at Retrofit Studios earned it praises from those in attendance—most of them admitted the band stole the show. Following the band “New” Terror Class, Erase Errata could be Troubleman Unlimited’s next breakthrough act for 2001. If elements of Dead Kennedys’ “Holiday in Cambodia” were fused with rumblings of early Sonic Youth, the end result might resemble Other Animals—a gritty, poignant record that demands your attention and is isn’t afraid to play with your psyche.
Red Planet, a hard candy quartet from SF, wants to rock you into orbit—or something like that
Red Planet: Mind-roasting rock ’n’ roll über alles!
Live! 9 p.m. Friday, October 26, at Old Ironsides, 1901 S St., with the Brodys and Snubnose, $7.
Face it. Van Halen never was the same without the egotistical, hedonistic antics of frontman David Lee Roth. Most local bands, for fear of rejection by peers, would never admit Van Halen had a good moment.
Red Planet guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist Chris Dunn, on the other hand, is pictured on the back sleeve of Let’s Degenerate, the band’s latest album, with the cover of the ridiculously over the top Van Halen II resting on his chest (which partially obscures his Mötley Crüe T-shirt) while he holds a blond Telecaster with an Eddie-style tape job aloft; copies of Van Halen’s 1984 and Fair Warning are positioned nearby, among a few empty Budweisers.
Kudos to Red Planet, a San Francisco band that flies the flag of American rock ’n’ roll without shame.
Let’s Degenerate was released a few months ago by Gearhead Records, a label launched by the hot rod/beer rock magazine of the same name, which often polybags 7-inch singles with its issues. Let’s Degenerate’s predecessor, Revolution 33, came out on Gearhead last year. Gearhead’s roster includes “Demons,” Mensen, the Pattern and the Hives, to name a few. But Red Planet is Gearhead’s trump card; the band has garnered a considerable buzz in Northern California and, consequently, has become a sizeable club draw in these parts—playing such local haunts as the True Love Coffeehouse, Old Ironsides (where it performs this Friday) and Davis’ G Street Pub.
Let’s Degenerate boasts some of the best originals heard anywhere these days—songs like “Get Back at You” and “Orbit.” The album’s unabashed rockers give subtle nods to ’80s pop crunch; the tunes flow remarkably well, with such tracks as the awesome title number giving an obvious thumb’s up to the likes of Cheap Trick, the Ramones, the Cars and, locally, the Groovie Ghoulies.
It takes a well-oiled machine to produce that kind of rock ’n’ roll and, like any working band, each member has his essential duties that help make the machine run smoother. “It’s kinda like the A-Team, the soldiers of fortune that escaped into the Los Angeles underground,” explains bassist Gordon Evans, Red Planet’s resident funny guy, in an e-mail interview with the band. “Jeremy [Powers, on vocals and guitar] is Faceman; he gets the girls and deals with the public. I am Hannibal; I love it when a plan comes together. John [Messier, on drums] is B.A. Baracus, the tough guy who drives the van, and Chris is Murdock, the crazy one with multiple personalities.”
And pity the fool who doubts the ability of unadulterated rock ’n’ roll to transform an audience and pull in new victims. “It seems the more we go to a town, the bigger it gets,” says Powers, who shares the band’s guitar and vocal duties with Dunn. “The more we came up [to Sacramento], the more people would come out. Now we have a group of people who come out every time we come to town.” Perhaps any newfound allegiance on the audience’s part might have something to do with Red Planet’s raucous live shows. Apparently, something’s hitting a nerve.
With an international tour in the works—the band plans to tour Europe next month—Red Planet’s upward momentum is undeniable. Where, exactly, is the band growing in popularity? “Everywhere we play, really,” Powers calculates. “Does going from five people at a show in L.A. to 15 count as growth?” asks Dunn, a question he soon answers: “I think so.” (It’s safe to say that, these days, the head count at any given Red Planet show is slightly higher than 15.)
Today, Northern California, tomorrow America—does Red Planet have the goods to rule the world?
Sacramento never gave Death Angel—or Swarm, the latest incarnation of Death Angel—much love. Even during DA’s heyday on the Restless/Enigma and Geffen labels, when the band was selling out 300-500 capacity clubs around the U.S., attendance was far from stellar in the Valley. Death Angel, five Filipino dudes with long manes and a penchant for speed metal à la early Megadeth, Metallica and Speedway, might have gone completely unnoticed if it wasn’t for such (then) up-and-coming acts as Habeas Corpus, Deftones, Brutal Groove, along with the help of the now-defunct Cattle Club.On the flipside, a recent Friday CD release party for Swarm was nothing short of a heavy-metal homecoming, held in its hometown of San Francisco at a club called the Pound. After the recent success of Chuck Billy’s “Thrash of the Titans”—a benefit for the ailing frontman of Bay Area band Testament—it would seem that the resurgence of late ’80s/early ’90s metal is back, hearkening back to the days of good old thrash metal.
Wingnut, the night’s support act, featured the talents of Dave (ex-High Gain) and Tim Solyan (ex-Victim’s Family), served up a hearty dish of Helmet-like fare from both of their self-produced releases. Eric Lee (bass guitar/backing vocals) prowled around the stage resembling something out of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are and laid a nice foundation for the plodding rhythms of guitarist Greg Clecak. “Fresh Eggs,” the night’s closing track, was simply crushing and could have been mistaken for a Jesus Lizard outtake (sans Dave’s clean vocals).By the time Swarm hit the stage, at roughly midnight, the Pound’s patrons were ready to implode from anticipation. The evening’s show didn’t disappoint and revolved around the release of the band’s new EP on the Industrial Strength Records, which showcases a more straight-ahead rock sound when compared to Death Angel’s brand of speed metal.
Not even singer Mark Osegueda’s heartfelt dedication to the victims of New York’s holocaust could keep the band’s affable fans from smiling. Such songs such as “Bleed” and “Heaven’s Cage” showed off Osegueda’s pipes and Rob Cavestany’s fretwork. Andy Galeon (drummer) played a slightly scaled-down kit (compared to his Death Angel days); he worked well with bassist Michael Isaiah. The song “Dark Western” was, easily, the night’s showstopper.After a recent, successful national tour with Jerry Cantrell (ex-Alice in Chains), Swarm’s audience should have broadened immensely. Perhaps the new album, a mix of sludgy rock and nu-metal, will get these talented young lads the recognition and kudos they deserve. Interested folks can visit the band’s Web site at www.swarminfo.com or www.industrialstrengthrec.com.
San Diego-based Convoy, which plays Old Ironsides on Wednesday, October 24, emerged from the ashes of Dishwater, a band more akin to Blind Melon and Mother Hips. Convoy plays glorious country-tinged pop soaked with multi-part harmonies. If you fancy California twang or No Depression bands like Wilco and the Jayhawks, such songs as “Wet Cement” and “Eleventeen” should be right up on your porch. And a couple of early Convoy classics—“Weekends” and “Here’s Looking at You,” from the band’s self-produced album The Pineapple Sessions—have been reworked on Black Licorice by producer David Bianco (Tom Petty, Teenage Fanclub). Guitarist-vocalists Jason Hill and Brian Karscig weave melodies with the candor of early Beatles, playing off their bandmates—Robbie Dodds on lap steel and guitar, Jeff Winfrey on bass, Mark Maigaard on drums—with relative ease. Black Licorice never had such a thrilling aftertaste.
Rock Star could have been Judas Priest’s meal ticket. The band was offered a generous, undisclosed sum for rights to Ripper Owens’ story as its replacement for Rob Halford. If Owens’ Halford-esque screams didn’t seem genuine on Priest’s last effort, wait ’til you hear Demolition, easily the band’s worst to date. Owens’ vocal gymnastics are feigned and stale, which is a state they’ll likely remain in as long as he’s an active member of this band. Drummer Scott Travis, who belongs in Racer X, puts in a fine performance, and bassist Ian Hill holds the crumbling foundation together somehow. Were it not for a great love of K.K. Downing’s and Glen Tipton’s dual-guitar wizardry, I would have demolished, pun intended, this album on arrival. Ripper was and remains a tribute-band frontman, at least as long as Rob Halford walks the earth. Kiss and make up, boys. We need our metal gods.
Eddie
