July 2001

Clinic

Although any inference to Radiohead these days comes with an obvious smirk from this writer, I had to check into Clinic, the United Kingdom’s latest entry into the garage-rock/electronica foray. Such tracks as “The Return of Evil Bill” and “Internal Wrangler” show the band is rooted in distortion-heavy dissonance and cerebral soundscapes. The band’s first domestic release (U.S. label deal not yet announced) is a veritable pastiche of everything good in the Matador roster and late Radiohead. Thom Yorke’s favorite band, Clinic, delivers a heady affair laden with sampled beats, billowing guitars and some great melodies à la Sigur Ros or Flaming Lips. Internal Wrangler is an intelligently planned album with nods to eras gone by. Guitar rock isn’t altogether dead; it’s just buried between the loftier, ambient moments that make this album so special.

(SN&R)

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold

Corpse Fucks Corpse, perhaps one of Sacramento’s greater unknown talents, has been busy churning out a disgusting dose of distortion and vocal chaos, surrounded by its own backdrop replete with anti-religious artwork. You’d never guess that Sacramento was responsible for such wackiness. Although burdened by sound problems—the vocalist was practically inaudible during the entire set—the band trounced upon the Monday night masses at Capitol Garage. Sound withstanding, Corpse Fucks Corpse could be either an Amphetamine Reptile spinoff (à la Surgery or the Cows) or a garage version of early Jesus Lizard. The band features former members of another infamous Loft act whose name escapes me. When asked for the band’s names, the singer—let’s call him “He Who Tries Too Hard to Be Indie”—replied, “I don’t wanna give you my name.” True rock ’n’ roll. Indeed, in the spirit of Arch Hall Jr.’s immortal portrayal of Bud Eagle in Wild Guitar. Where’s Cash Flagg when you need him?

Next up was the evening’s highlight, the Soiled Ones from Seattle, with a sound akin to Brainiac and the best moments of Scratch Acid. Judging by the sweaty antics (in the form of water weight loss) of vocalist Johnny Whitney alone, the 100-plus crowd received 110 percent of his energy. Drummer Hannah Blilie beat the crap out of her kit while bassist/vocalist Adam Miller laid down a mean foundation to nauseate and titillate the crowd’s espresso-filled senses. Although extremely loud, the Soiled Ones won over the majority of those in attendance with the help of percussionist/guitarist Devin Welch’s overt enthusiasm. From a band that picks up dates (and parties) where it can get them, it would suffice to say that the Soiled Ones deserved a real venue tonight.

Pleasure Forever, a three-piece from San Francisco, played an uninteresting blend of indie rock, mostly from its Sub Pop debut. Although billed as co-headliners with the Faint, it was obvious who the real headliner was.

Everybody has been talking up the Faint’s live show like it was the second coming—of new wave, at least—so naturally I was a little anxious to catch the band’s live set. Again, the hype didn’t live up to my expectations. Given a changeover that took over half an hour, the general consensus was to leave while the going was good. And, after launching into their first track, it was apparent these boys had a couple of Cabaret Voltaire and Red Flag albums in their collection. Sporting trademark black clothes, cool indie lighting (in other words, very little) and energy to burn, the Faint kept my interest for about, oh, 20 minutes. Ummm …

After my fifth iced espresso, it was obvious I needed something more. Roughly 10 minutes later, I felt the urge to dig up my Econochrist compilation: True rock ’n’ roll, indeed.

(SN&R)

Prolonging the motorcade

“Shhhhh. Don’t tell anybody. Cake’s gonna do a secret show at Capitol Garage tonight and nobody knows,” one of my trusted friends at the Beat stage-whispered.

“How can that be possible, since you already know?” I responded, slightly disgusted by this friend’s rock ’n’ roll elitism. “Do you honestly think I’m going to keep that one under wraps?”

The very thought of a “secret” show made public—one boasting a $10 cover, no less—makes this writer nauseous. Yeah, we know what you’re thinking: John McCrea wants to get back to his roots and play for the “real” fans.

Hogwash. Wednesday’s show was a chance for Cake to work in new drummer Pete McNeil before doing an onslaught of radio/promo dates to promote the new album, Comfort Eagle, its first for the very major Columbia Records. Once more, it’s a way to see if there really is a street buzz after Cake’s long hiatus.

Having followed Cake from the group’s early Cattle Club days, when it opened for such disparate acts as Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy and the Deftones, I’ve watched McCrea and company come a long way. Even after encountering the success of such radio hits as “Rock ’N’ Roll Lifestyle” and “The Distance,” not to mention the publishing checks that showed up as a result, Cake quite apparently has survived—much like Gloria Gaynor, whose immensely popular ’70s hit “I Will Survive” Cake covered late in its set.

In addition, Cake arguably has kept it real with its fans. The band’s frontman-singer-songwriter McCrea played the hits, asked for requests—was I dreaming?—and even had an audience member come forward to hold lyrics to one of Cake’s newer songs.

Cake motored through a set of tunes from the three previous albums that were released by the now-defunct Capricorn label (Motorcade of GenerosityFashion Nugget and Prolonging the Magic have since been reissued by Volcano Records; disclaimer: I work for BMG Distribution, which markets Volcano), while working in new material. The band played for the 100 or so people in attendance, in what was perhaps its most relaxed setting to date. Those in attendance at Cake’s recent Capitol Garage show—the Deftones did a similar one before their recent European trek—were treated to something special. Although quirks with the new drummer were evident, guitarist Xan McCurdy, bassist Gabe Nelson and trumpeter/vocalist Vincent DiFiore seemed to settle back into the live setting quite nicely.

If Prolonging the Magic didn’t bring the throngs of screaming teens and 20- to 30-somethings out of hibernation, Comfort Eagle should give Cake a few RIAA certifications come 2002. I’m sold, anyway.

(SN&R)

Silence Magnifies Sound

Instrumental bands have become increasingly popular in the Bay Area, perhaps due to bad experiences with “frontmen” that should’ve invested in vocal lessons. What separates TSPS from the hordes of bad instrumental startups is its ability to write brooding melodies without relying on overt repetition. From the album’s opener, “In a Late Style of Fire,” to the magnificent title-track, the presence of viola, e-bow and even lapsteel are welcome additions. Allen Karpinski and Tim Gerak play around the confines of sweltering, downtempo rhythms. As leading exponents of an extremely elite movement, which includes Swords Project, Oma Yang and Mogwai, this Brady Lake, Ohio-based band makes melancholy music for those downcast days driving along the coast or the great expanse of Interstate 5. Just as silence magnifies sound, beautiful, non-lyrical ventures like this can leave us dumbfounded and silent.

(SN&R)

How I Do

Res (pronounced Reese), a 23-year-old from Manhattan via Philadelphia, is sure to baffle throngs of listeners. The reason? How I Do is not just another hip-hop record; from the catchy chorus of “They Say Vision” to “If There Ain’t Nothing,” she urges listeners to use her lyrics as a lesson book. If Ambersunshower collided with the groovier moments of Jill Scott, we might understand where Res is coming from. With the production work of Doc (Esthero), who handles most of the production chores, and A Kid Called Roots (Memphis Bleek) on “The Hustler,” Res’ debut is a combination of laid-back hip-hop, sultry rock and electronic beats. Res is takin’ care of business by bringing elements not common with urban artists (acoustics, electronic beats, etc.) and fusing them with a smooth R&B tenor. A nice first effort from a girl who claims the Eurythmics and Stevie Wonder as influences in the same breath.

(SN&R)

Zakk Wylde Black Label Society

Zakk Wylde was slated to play last month’s Ozzfest, which will be history by the time you read this. In fact, most people know his name from his short-lived—but integral to his success—stint with Ozzy Osbourne. After succumbing to Ozzy’s periodic ax-wielding, Wylde found solace in a solo career. After a brief period on Geffen, a huge change in his guitar playing (and demeanor) occurred. Wylde’s latest double-CD is a live set of songs from past and present that showcases the Queen of Vilification himself—if it hasn’t been slandered or messed with, Wylde probably hasn’t gotten his grimy hands on it. Although it’s a far cry from the tuneage of such nu-metal bands as Nonpoint, Endo, Spineshank and others, Wylde’s music (even the five studio bonus tracks) drips with his passion for good-time rock ‘n’ roll. Kudos to the lad for staying true to his name. At least he hasn’t ventured into prog rock—yet.

(SN&R)