Couches, Naked Apes and Teton Avenue @ the Flying M Concert-Garage (5/21/13)

This show caught my attention because it featured Couches, a San Francisco group whose Treefort set I'd missed.  They'd played the previous night with Red Hands Black Feet at the Red Room.  I chose to cover this one instead, however, because 1) I didn't want to miss the Heligoats, 2) I can't write about EVERY goddamn Red Hands Black Feet show, and 3) part of me worried that not many folks would show up.

Being right really does suck sometimes.  I counted seven people when I got to the Flying M.  When Couches played, I counted twelve, most of them members of the other bands.  Oh well.  At least the Shivas' Radio Boise Tuesday show seemed well-attended (judging from the crapload of people I saw out on the patio when I walked by Neurolux later that night).

Teton Avenue opened the show.  In my last write-up on this band, I wrote that they "made me think a little of what the Strokes might sound like if they weren't a bunch of spoiled rich boys."  Their lead singer seemed to have taken that comment to heart: with his shades, his coolly bored demeanor and his talk of "my guitarist" and "my bassist" [italics mine], the guy was the very picture of an a**hole rock frontman.  Thankfully, he joked around enough with his bandmates to show that he didn't take that stuff too seriously.  In any case, their propulsive rhythms, catchy tunes and fluid solos sounded even better than they did at the Torn ACLs show.  They still have some rough edges--a false start here, an unconfident vocal there--but overall, they're coming along nicely.

Naked Apes played next.  Speaking of coming along nicely, this duo may have played their best set yet (that I've seen, anyway).  They slipped around on the beat some, and while Gabe Arellano's low-string riffs do what they can, the bottom end of their sound could use a little filling in.  All the same, their raw vocals, fuzzy guitar and rumbling drums proved immensely enjoyable.  This was especially true in the case of the lumbering, mid-tempo numbers at the end of their set, which also featured some ominous, spacey distortion.  Also, I could hear the lyrics pretty well this time around (not bad, from what I caught).

Couches closed out the night.  Between their tight groove, their smooth tempo shifts and their pleasantly plain vocals, these guys called to mind a less eccentric Built to Spill.  Mike Dubuque's clipped, smartly restrained drumming and Chris Griley's sly basslines provided a sturdy platform for Dave Mitchell's jangling, clanging riffs and terse, tuneful solos.  I warmed to this group quickly, but their love song to California clinched it.  The stuff about dreamers, peace of mind and talking about outer space wasn't bad either, especially since it came with such pretty melodies.  I also appreciated the energy that they put into their performance in spite of the meager crowd.  As for Mitchell's Giants cap, hey, I can respect hometown pride (the Dodgers will rise again, I can feel it...).

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Nathan Walker and the Flying M.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 would help.

Teton Avenue, the Torn ACLs and Naked Apes @ the Flying M Concert-Garage (3/9/13)

I always enjoy seeing shows at the Flying M, so this show attracted my interest right off the bat.  Even better, it featured the Torn ACLs, a Seattle group I'd never seen before, and Teton Avenue and Naked Apes, two Idaho bands I hadn't seen in a good long while.

I counted about thirty people when I got out to Nampa.  By the time that the Torn ACLs played, the audience had built to around forty-five.  A pretty solid number.  Also, it turned out that I wasn't the only one covering the show.  In the crowd was Samantha Donaldson, a young lady who has recently moved to Nampa from Hollywood.  She's been doing some impressive work on her blog Indie Band Finder.  Check it out at www.indiebandfinder.blogspot.com.

Naked Apes kicked off the show.  They sounded a little ragged but not nearly enough so to tarnish the appeal of their sunny tunes, buzzing guitar and rapid-fire drumming.  I couldn't really make out the lyrics, but their songs were well-crafted enough to give me hope.

The Torn ACLs played next.  Just when I think I'm gonna scream if I have to listen to one more 60's surf/pop/garage knock-off, some group shows that there's still some gas in that little deuce coupe.  These guys' limber groove belied that touch of knock-kneed shtick and went a long way towards distinguishing their boyish vocals, jangling guitars, propulsive basslines and steady drumming.  Some sharp lyrics about urban dysfunction and trying not to crash the boss's car helped a lot too.  Also welcome was their dry, self-deprecating stage banter.

Teton Avenue closed out the night.  These dudes have come a long way since I saw them last May. Their light vocals, chiming guitars, piercing solos, smooth basslines and fast-stepping drums made me think a little of what the Strokes might sound like if they weren't a bunch of spoiled rich boys.  Although they still had some rough edges, they got about eighty-five percent of the way towards realizing their catchy tunes and savvy arrangements' considerable potential.  They went for a clap-along and got it.  They also gave shout-outs to the Pemble brothers, the Android House and Caldwell as a whole.  Good for them.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Teton Avenue, Art Fad, A Sense of Porpoise and A Seasonal Disguise @ the Red Room (5/31/12)

This has been a busy week for me.  I've gone to a show every night starting on Monday (including Jonathan Richman at Neurolux on Wednesday--I'll get my post on that one out soon), and the next three days each have shows that I'm eager to check out.  There's a lot more cool stuff coming up in the next few weeks too.  Geez.  I may need to find a job just to take a break.

Financial constraints persuaded me to pass on seeing Austin Lucas play the Shredder this night.  That doesn't bother me too much; I imagine that he'll come back around sometime soon (he's played here at least once before).  Besides, I was happy for the chance to check out Art Fad and A Seasonal Disguise again.

First up this night at the Red Room was Teton Avenue, a very young (16-17 years old, Wes Malvini told me) five-man band from Caldwell.  These guys looked pretty nervous and sounded pretty ragged, but there was still more than enough in their music to make me feel bad about how little I've done with my life so far: arrangements with some savvy, lyrics with some bite, guitars with some sting, basslines with some flourish, drumming with some dynamite.  Very promising.

Art Fad took the stage after Teton Avenue.  After seeing them a second time, I'm fairly confident that nearly everything that Jacob Milburn and Theo Maughan say through their faux-Cockney sneers is straight-up gibberish.  I did catch one coherent lyric, though: "You're a c*** and I f***ing hate you."  They didn't mean that, and they didn't mean it when they said that their first song was about getting high on bath salts and eating someone's face off.  All the same, these utterances helped me figure out what this Caldwell group's sound and fury truly signify: they're a distillation of the transgressive thrill that suburban adolescents get from listening to (and, sometimes, making) punk rock, no less and no more.  Don't get me wrong--punk sympathizer (and former suburban adolescent) that I am, I still like Art Fad just fine.  I'll like them more, however, when/if they actually find something to say.

After Art Fad came A Sense of Porpoise, a group from Boulder, CO whose folky take on punk (or vice versa) seemed to take a page from the Mekons' playbook.  Jaunty tunes, jokey lyrics, shrewdly guileless singing, buzzsaw guitar, non-bluegrass banjo, Maureen Tucker-ish drumming.  Cute stuff, but not so much so to give me a tummyache.  I gave them bonus points for being the only band that I can recall to pass through these parts with a theremin player.

A Seasonal Disguise closed out the night.  They didn't come off nearly as cute or awkward as I remembered them being at Treefort.  In fact, between their rock-steady rhythm section, their fetching melodies and harmonies, their clarinet and keyboard hooks and their lyrical guitar solos, I'm now tempted to think of them as After the Gold Rush to Range Life's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere.  The rapport between the five band-members seemed to have doubled in strength and assurance, and their instrumental passages called to mind Television's eccentric, romantic wonder.

You can find info about all these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.