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.
Is Lucy Kaplansky a folk singer, or a doctor masquerading as one?
Lucy Kaplansky, who knows music is the best therapy.
Live! 8 p.m. Thursday, October 11, at the Palms Playhouse, 726 Drummond Ave., Davis, with Nina Gerber accompanying and Alice Peacock opening, $15.
Let’s face it. Folk musicians have never been given their proper time in the sun. The general consensus, at least among a few modern-day pedants, is that such “folkies” as John Gorka, Bill Morrissey, Dar Williams and others don’t have the talent of those who came before them—Bob Dylan, Donovan Leitch, Paul Simon, to name a few.
What great artists like Lucy Kaplansky and her ilk deserve is just beyond the door. One listen to Kaplansky’s latest collection of songs, which she co-wrote with her husband Rick Litvin, should dissuade such misguided conventions.
Kaplansky moved from Chicago to New York just after finishing high school. She found refuge in lower Manhattan’s renowned singer-songwriter scene and immediately immersed herself in her music. She began her career by navigating the club circuit, performing alongside such folk luminaries as Cliff Eberhardt, Suzanne Vega and her longtime friend Shawn Colvin.
Just as she was beginning to receive critical notice, Kaplansky decided to pursue a doctorate in psychology instead, thus putting her nascent music career on the back burner. And, upon earning a degree, she set up a practice as a clinical psychologist, and also worked with mentally ill patients in a New York hospital.
However, at Colvin’s urging, Kaplansky recorded her first album for Red House, a label held in high regard by fans of singer-songwriters from the folk-music tradition. The Tide was released in 1994 to rave reviews. Then, Kaplansky hit the road and got back to her true love—music.
“I think the main way my training correlates,” says Kaplansky via e-mail about her background in psychology, “is that it has made me a much more perceptive, observant person in general, and much more savvy about people’s motivations.”
From the U.K. and Ireland to folk festivals across America, Kaplansky has delivered the goods. A self-professed lover of Steve Earle—“I think he’s a genius,” she says—and such lesser-known acts as the Louvin Brothers and Paul Brady, she’s tirelessly paid tribute to her inspirations. During the 22 hours in a day when she isn’t playing, unless she has an in-store appearance or an on-air performance scheduled, Kaplansky has had more than ample time to write and revise her latest album. While Kaplansky admits to eating “too much junk food” on the road, she says she tries to eat a lot of fruit to help keep her figure girlish.
Kaplansky keeps informed on world affairs and, being a transplant to America’s largest city, she was affected by the World Trade Center disaster. She just played a benefit concert in New York that also featured Freedy Johnston, Jill Sobule, Joan Osborne and a number of others. “It’s a free concert to help New Yorkers with the healing process through music,” she says.
Kaplansky has released four albums, including her latest triumph, Every Single Day. She recorded that one in only six weeks—mostly done live, albeit in the studio. In addition, Kaplansky worked with Cry, Cry, Cry, a collaboration that also featured Richard Shindell and Dar Williams, which seemed to awaken her talents even further. And Kaplansky can be heard performing on Nanci Griffith’s and John Gorka’s latest albums.
Through it all, Kaplansky has managed to circumvent a major-label deal while managing to live comfortably. “I can’t say there’s anything I’d do over,” she notes. “I’ve been awfully happy with the way my albums have been turning out.”
Marc Bianchi, aka Her Space Holiday, received much praise for his Home Is Where You Hang Yourself, a spacey double CD that landed him coveted tours with Cat Power and Arab Strap. Manic Expressive, although still bedroom-generated electropop, shows Bianchi’s scope broadening and a new sense of melody, with a dash of latter-day Thomas Dolby, Stars and Mr. Wright thrown in. Spiritualized’s formula—less is more, drive the melody to the floor—is evident on such songs as “Lydia” and “The Ringing in My Areas,” which lack any overburdening guitar drone. Radiohead fans circa Kid A and Amnesiac now have something to listen to while waiting for that band’s next effort. If you’re into such acts as Arling & Cameron, the Eels or American Analog Set, this should be right up your alley. Manic Expressive is a glorious piece of orchestral pop sweetness without any aftertaste of traditional pop confections.
Eddie
