The Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival @ the VaC; The Matildas and Pacific Pride @ the Chamber of Death (3/1/13)

A friend of mine sent me a Facebook invite for this VaC show, and I grew intrigued.  Admittedly, I'm no expert on experimental music or highfalutin' avant-garde stuff, so I wasn't sure how I'd write about this.  That uncertainty gave me a powerful incentive to check this deal out.

I only counted about fifteen people when I arrived at the VaC.  That number included a fair amount of the participants in the evening's activities.  By my count, not much more than twenty civilians showed up while I was there.

As the Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival progressed, I encountered something humbler and more generous than I'd anticipated.  Some people, I imagine, might have considered it unbearably pretentious.  They'd be wrong.  "Pretentious" implies some lofty intent or ambition.  Conversely, I heard more than one person involved with the project say, "We don't know what we're doing."  That was the point of the show: to throw caution to the wind, try something out and see where the moment took you.  In other words, to have fun.

Musicians who participated this night included Krispen Hartung, Tristan Andreas, Ashley Rose Smith, cellist Melissa Wilson, guitarist Ted Killian and saxophonist/College of Southern Idaho professor Brent Jensen (as well as, in an impromptu cameo, Sam Stimpert on horn).  They tossed back and forth bumps, coos, honks, bleats, squeals, whistles, rattles, groans, chirps and any other kind of noise that they could squeeze out of their respective instruments.  A very pleasant ebb and flow developed as the two acts I saw unfolded.  At one moment, everything would coalesce and sound like something that Tom Ze, John Zorn or Ennio Morricone in his more eccentric moments might come up with.  At the next, it would dissolve into a glorious mess of noise.

Meanwhile, a group of dancers that included Kyle Johnson, Heidi Kraay and my friend Daphne Stanford writhed, shook their hands in the air, scooted across the stage on their butts and basically did anything that the situation seemed to call for.  This included spouting the occasional non sequitur--one especially enjoyable passage involved knocking the word "sh*t" about like a shuttlecock.  The visual component of the show also included a strobelight, the VaC's disco ball and some trippy montages courtesy of Yurek Hansen and Jason Willford.

It really was too bad that more people didn't show up for this.  Hopefully, the following night's show was better attended.

I watched two acts of the BCIMF and then headed out.  I would've liked to have stayed for the finale, but I wanted to catch at least part of the show at the Chamber of Death, a new Boise house venue and sister of sorts to Caldwell's Manor.

I found something sad in the fact that more people crammed into two modest apartments than went down to the VaC.  I estimated that there were about thirty people at the Chamber of Death, and that number could have been low.

I arrived just in time to catch the two sets by a quartet of Denver musicians, who played alternately under the names Pacific Pride and the Matildas.  The Pacific Pride material was your standard jittery surf/garage-punk: manic drumming, tuneful basslines, droning riffs, eerie keyboard.  Nothing I haven't heard two billion times before, and nothing I'd mind hearing again.

The Matildas' material proved more distinctive.  This was thanks in part to the alternating male-female vocals and thanks in part to the slight old-school Ramones feel to their pop-tunes and jangly guitars.  The lyrics weren't too shabby either--sweet, sassy, grounded.  The crowd grinned, jostled each other playfully and clapped to the beat.  I wanted to get a picture of the crowd-surfing, but I was too slow on the draw.

You can find info on these groups and the Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival on Facebook and elsewhere online.

The Rich Hands, Meth House Party Band, 1d and Rollersnakes @ the Crux; A Seasonal Disguise @ the Red Room (1/26/13)

I had fond memories of the Rich Hands' performance back in July, so I jumped at the chance to see them again on this joint Duck Club Presents-Manor bill.  I was also looking forward to seeing Meth House Party Band, who hadn't played a gig since last year's Evil Wine Carnival, and Rollersnakes, a local act I hadn't encountered before.

I counted about twenty people when I got down to the Crux.  The crowd would build to about fifty as the night progressed.  Not bad at all, considering that there were three other shows going on around town.

Rollersnakes kicked off the night.  I may not have heard of this duo before this night, but I'll definitely keep an eye out for them from now on.  Nimble drumming, catchy surf-metal riffs, pretty smart lyrics.  Their stage presence was a little on the wooden side and their groove came slightly unglued at points, but some more gigs should loosen them up and tighten them up.

1d played next.  Their bash bash bash, riff riff riff and bark bark bark had the same glimmers of promise--a sharp noise solo here, some rubbery bass there--that I saw at the State of Confusion show last September.  Those glimmers didn't seem as bright, however, considering that I could only make out one lyric: "F*CK YOU!"  I wonder when/if they'll take the hint from their "Rise Above" cover and recognize that more often than not, great punk rock requires intelligibility.  At least the younger guys in the crowd got into it: there was plenty of cheering, moshing, stomping around and grabbing the mic to sing.

Meth House Party Band played next.  If you're gonna be indecipherable, this is the way to do it.  Their poppy tunes and snarled vocals sounded so playful and articulated that even when I couldn't quite understand the lyrics, I was willing to take it on faith that they made sense.  They sounded a little ragged in spots--their guitar player told me that they hadn't played live since the Evil Wine Carnival--but overall, I was more than happy to hear their viscous basslines, manic drumming and terse, noisy solos again.  The crowd seemed happy to hear them too: there was quite a bit of playful jostling, moshing and crowd-surfing during this set as well.

The Rich Hands closed out the night at the Crux.  Their groove sounded more tight-assed and their songwriting just a touch less distinguished than I remembered.  Still, their simple tunes, peppery drums, buoyant basslines, jangly guitar and rough vocals proved immensely enjoyable a second time around.  The original song that they busted out for their encore sounded like some lost 60's pop classic, and they punked up Bobby Darin's "Dream Lover" very nicely.  Maybe some Motown would help make 'em a little more limber.  Anyway, the ladies in the crowd took this set as an opportunity to get their kicks in.  I mean that literally: a handful of them kicked, danced, leaped and ran around.

After the Rich Hands finished, I swung by the Red Room in the hopes of catching at least part of the show down there.  I counted about forty people when I arrived.

I missed Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars and CAMP, unfortunately, but I did manage to catch all of A Seasonal Disguise's set.  This night's lineup featured Jumping Sharks' Reggie Townley on guitar and Z.V. House's Cerberus Rex bandmate Jake Hite on drums.  Thanks to the new personnel, the band sounded fuller and heftier than they ever have before.  Hite's drumming provided a Gibraltar-like foundation for the ever-smoother keyboard, bass and xylophone.  Meanwhile, Townley's howling distortion and elegant soloing served as an ideal foil for House's gnarled, forceful guitar work.  Very impressive.  Very promising too.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.

Deaf Kid, Clarke and the Himselfs, The Shivas and First Borns @ the Red Room (8/29/12)

The Shivas came very, very close to making my Treefort Top 10.  This Portland-based group's surf/garage-rock sound reminded me of both Dick Dale and the Velvet Underground.  It was a given, then, that I'd go see them when they returned to Boise.

I'd originally hoped to catch at least part of Go Listen Boise's promising all-local show at Neurolux this same night, but some work at home had taken up so much of my time that I decided to head straight over to the Red Room for fear of missing something.  I sat at the bar and read a little from my book.  After an hour had passed, I shook my head and reflected once again upon that cardinal rule of rock: no show ever, ever, EVER starts on time.

Attendance was surprisingly low for this evening's show.  I counted about 30 people at its peak, most of whom seemed to opt to hang out on the patio and smoke (which seemed a bit redundant, considering the godawful smoke in the air).  Hopefully, the folks who could've come here were over at the Lux watching With Child, Sun Blood Stories and the Hand.

Deaf Kid opened the show.  Despite Jacob Milburn's professed and evident drunkenness, this Caldwell group's sunny surf-punk riffs, terse solos, guiding-hand basslines and sure-and-steady drumming got the evening off to a good start.  I liked their songs so much that I hope they get titles someday.

After Deaf Kid came local act Clarke and the Himselfs.  Clarke Howell's flat, slightly nasal singing sounded rather affected but was pleasant enough.  Of course, it helped immensely that he boasted some sharp songwriting: intriguingly bizarre lyrics consistently found memorable tunes and riffs.  Equally impressive was his ability to strum his guitar and hit his snare drum at the same time.

The Shivas played next.  Jared Molyneaux and Robert Mannering's twangy drones and piercing solos, Kristin Leonard's sturdy drumming and especially Eric Shanafelt's Entwistle- or Jamerson-worthy bass work all sounded as far-out and groovy as they did at Treefort.  Seeing/hearing them live a second time, however, I noted a certain forlorn insularity to the Shivas' music (as I did when I listened to their recordings a few months back).  They sounded as if they yearned to attain the open, uncomplicated optimism of their 60's pop influences but knew instinctively that they couldn't.  Not for nothing have they been touring with Calvin Johnson lately, I suppose.  Still, the undercurrent of moody self-consciousness didn't keep the crowd from hopping and bopping.

First Borns closed out the night.  To my surprise, this local band's set had greater visceral impact on me than the Shivas' did.  It probably helped that First Borns' music was more up-front about its own moodiness.  It undoubtedly helped too that they sounded even more confident than they did when I saw them at the Crux a few weeks ago.  Chris Smith's high, tuneful basslines, Alex Hecht's sparkling, buzzing riffs and Erik Butterworth's pumped-up drumming surged forth with such concentrated force that they achieved something of the emotional honesty that the Shivas invoke but keep at arm's length.  A nice, cathartic finale.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Wes Malvini, Scott Pemble, the Manor and the Red Room.

Doom Ghost, The Rich Hands, The Mallard and Teens @ the Manor; Project 213 @ the Red Room (7/10/12)

This last Tuesday, an opportunity came along that relieved me of my usual dilemma over whether to check out Neurolux's Radio Boise show or the Red Room's Atypical Tuesday show: I got a chance to see up-and-coming local band Teens at the well-respected Caldwell house venue, the Manor.

This was my first show at the Manor, and unfortunately, it may prove my last.  From what I've heard, the folks there may discontinue having bands play due to multiple noise complaints.  That'd be a shame, but I'm glad I got to see at least one show.

I'll say one thing: if I do get to see some more shows there, I'll make sure to bring my earplugs every time.

Texas-based punk trio Doom Ghost got the evening off to a good start with some rough, catchy tunes.  Sturdy drumming, thick-as-mud bass, some solid guitar riffs and solos.  The smoke in the air (created by a machine) made it look like people were steaming from the energy in the room.  Pretty cool.

Next up was another group from Texas, four-man garage/punk band The Rich Hands.  They knocked the energy level up a few more notches with some strong melodies, stomping drums, buoyant bass, twangy riffs and scorching solos.  They sounded like the Beatles one minute, the Troggs the next and the Who after that.  Raucous, caterwauling, grand fun.  The playful moshing during the set generated a tremendous amount of body heat.  Thankfully, everyone seemed to have remembered to wear their deodorant.

After The Rich Hands came San Francisco-based quartet The Mallard.  At first, their jerky beat, their machine-gun drumming, their stolid basslines, their screeching, droning guitars and their moaning, echoey vocals made me think of a variety of bands--Gang of Four, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, maybe some early Joy Division, White Light/White Heat-period Velvet Underground.  After listening to one roiling, hypnotic song after the next, however, I eventually just gave up the comparison game and immersed in the sound.  This was the most intense set of the night, and believe me, that's saying something.  I hope that I get to see this group again.

The momentum of the Mallard's set stumbled at a couple of points from audience members crashing into them by accident.  The downside of playing a house show, I guess.  On the upside, it gave the band's leader, Greer McGettrick, the chance to bounce around with the crowd during the finale while singing and playing the tamborine.  The latter balanced out the former, I figured.

When Teens played their set, though, the scale tipped the other way.  In one regard, I found Teens' set refreshing: it was the closest I'd come in a good long while to witnessing an unmitigated disaster.  The band might have spent more time tuning than playing (they apologized for that), and they barely managed to get through one song at a time.  Meanwhile, the audience got so frenzied that someone apparently got injured: I saw one guy go into a nearby room and roll around on the floor while clutching the back of his head.  That cast a severe pall over the rest of the show for me.  I will say, though, that Teens did enough this night to justify some of the hype around them.  I could tell that the rapport between the four bandmates was rock-solid, and some of their songs had the simple inevitability of classics.  Hopefully, I'll get to see them sometime when everything's clicking.

After Teens wrapped, I drove back to Boise.  I got down to the Red Room in time to catch the tail end of Project 213's set.  This local one-man act's quirky, humorous, polyrhythmic music provided a nice, mellow finish to my night.  Jared Hallock crafted layers of beats and hooks through some deft vibraphone playing and some skillful looping of kazoo, recorders and finger-snaps.  The what-the? spoken word sections made me think of The Finer Points of Sadism gone easy listening, but hey, that's what the situation called for somehow.

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