a.k.a. Belle, The Sporx and Kif Bender @ Boise Rock School (8/16/12)

Looking back, I suppose that the path to this blog started when I was ten or eleven.  I was riding in the car with my dad one evening when a Motown song came on the radio (I want to say that it was the Temptations or the Four Tops).  My dad turned the volume up a notch and told me, "I'm going to teach you the secret weapon of all great Motown songs."

That was the beginning, as far as I can recall.  Over the next few years, my parents would tell me and my brother stories about seeing the Who in '71, Springsteen in '75, the Clash in '78 and on and on (my favorite story might be the time they saw Randy Newman play at the Troubadour, which I'll save for some other time).  As we got older, my brother and I started dipping into Mom and Dad's fantastic CD and vinyl collection (the latter of which included an original copy of The Velvet Underground and Nico--they'd peeled part of the banana peel away and taped it back in place).  I got a little embarrassed when my dad asked to listen to one of my Nine Inch Nails CD's, but that's dumbass teenagers for ya.

Anyway, I was and am a very fortunate son in a lot of ways, and I consider this musical education one of the biggest (y'know, aside from that whole roof-over-my-head and unconditional love thing).  Thinking about this made me want to check out something at Boise Rock School, which has been teaching kids how to play in bands and make music for four years now.  Last Thursday's show caught my interest because one of my favorite local groups, a.k.a. Belle, was scheduled to play a set.  I wondered what an all-ages audience might bring out of the Merricks, who I've heard are parents themselves.

One thing I would've bet money on: they weren't gonna play "Jesus Christ, Goddamn You for Killing My Dog."

The audience didn't get much larger than the handful of kids, parents and grandparents that I saw when I got down there.  Ryan Peck, one of Boise Rock School's co-founders, explained that they tend to draw bigger crowds when the weather's cooler.  That made sense--I started melting as I waited for the show to begin.

I walked around the outside of the school and peeked in at some of the classes.  I didn't go inside or look too long for fear of disturbing them (BRS's other co-founder, Jared Goodpaster, very graciously showed me around later on).  I did take note of this, though:

Little things like this give me hope for the future.

First up this evening was Kif Bender, a twelve-year-old musician from San Francisco.  An article that I stumbled across called him "Kif the Kid Wonder," and not without good reason: his clear, calm voice sounded twice as old as he was.  He handled both his covers (Florence and the Machine, Maroon 5, SF songwriter Megan Slankard) and his own originals (which didn't sound too shabby at all) with an impressive assuredness and self-possession.

Bender mentioned near the end of his set that he planned to record and release an EP soon (he got some studio time as a Christmas present).  Sheesh.  If he can keep this up, we might be talking about him one day like we talk about Jodie Foster now.  (I thought about writing Michael Jackson or Stevie Wonder there, but that would've set the bar REALLY high and sounded like an inadvertent curse to boot.)

Next up was BRS student band the Sporx, who had to substitute some personnel for this gig (a fellow student stepped in on drums while an instructor played guitar).  Keyboardist/lead vocalist Barrett Coyle sounded just a little forced on Duran Duran's "Rio," but dang if she didn't nail Cake's "Long Time" and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' "Home" but good.  Meanwhile, in a heartwarming display of proper instruction and values, the bassist and drummer laid down a promising groove.

Sam and Catherine Merrick from a.k.a. Belle provided a fine and mellow ending to the show.  Their cover of Jody Reynolds/The Gun Club's "Fire of Love" helped justify some of those John-and-Exene comparisons, and the warmth, playfulness and thoughtfulness of the rest of their set made me think, "Yeah, these are the kind of parents that kids oughtta have."  Highlights included Sam Merrick's running gag on touring with the Sporx, Catherine Merrick's reminiscence of meeting Pete Seeger as a little girl and (cuz I can be a softie like that) Barrett Coyle helping them sing the chorus to "Painted, Faded and Tainted."

You can find info on Kif Bender, a.k.a. Belle and Boise Rock School on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Oh, and by the way: Motown's secret weapon was/is James Jamerson, their house band's bassist.  Recommended listening: "Reach Out, I'll Be There" by the Four Tops, "Going to a Go-Go" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, "You Can't Hurry Love" by the Supremes, "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye.  Hell, just listen to most everything Motown put out in the 60's.

The New Slang, Marlene Marlene and Lakefriend @ the Flying M Coffee-Garage (8/15/12)

Originally, I'd planned to check out the Swinging Utters show at the Shredder last Wednesday night.  I'd had it on good authority that it'd probably be a fantastic show, and the general buzz I'd picked up suggested that a lot of people would be there.  The more I thought about it, however, the more sense it seemed to make to do a write-up on something that didn't have so much buzz.  That's one of the things that I love most about doing this blog: making new discoveries, venturing out into the unknown.

The Flying M out in Nampa isn't unknown to me anymore, but the Olympia group The New Slang and the Davis, CA group Marlene Marlene were.  Also, the price was right ($3 cover), and the bill included the Caldwell group Lakefriend, whose opening set for the Soft White Sixties last month I'd enjoyed quite a bit.

I didn't see many people inside the Flying M's garage when I arrived.  As the evening progressed, the crowd built to about thirty.  Decent enough for an off night.  At least the folks dug the music.

The New Slang started off the evening.  "I'll say it hesitatingly," the gentleman pictured here playing the bass told the crowd, "but I'm glad you guys haven't heard us before."  Some people are just too hard on themselves.  Although they played with a reduced lineup (their bassist had apparently had trouble making the gig) and may have sounded just a little loose at a couple of points, their surf-tinged guitar riffs, melodic basslines and quicksilver drumming blended together nicely and fell into a comfortable, confident groove.  Things got even better, though, when Danny Carlson from Marlene Marlene took over on bass and allowed the New Slang to create some gorgeously interweaving guitar lines.  Throughout, their smart, deadpan vocals delivered both their poppy tunes and their ominous lyrics ("Someone will die in a deep volcano. / Someone will die in the Arctic ice flow") effectively.

After the New Slang came Marlene Marlene, whose tense sound mixed funk, disco, psychedelic hard rock, pop and just a little bit of country into its surf-punk base.  Jake Magit's tuneful, humorous snarl and blazing, Billy Zoom-ish guitar found able support in Danny Carlson's calm harmonies and sly basslines and Rene Macleay's fast-stepping drums.  "Whatever happened to the twist?" they asked in one song.  The crowd's moving and grooving answered that question.

Lakefriend provided a solid ending to the night with their careening, infectiously happy tunes.  Although they still sounded a little rough here and there, these guys showed marked signs of improvement in every department.  Matt Stone and Mason Johnson's guitars sounded sharper (even got some very nice interweaving of their own going), Chris Jennings's basslines sounded firmer and Jacob Milburn's drumming sounded more limber and even swinging.  Not only that, their vocals sounded as confident and joyous as their music this time around.

"That was the best set we've ever done," a couple of them said when they were finished.  Took the words right out of my mouth/pen/word processor.  I just might tack on a "so far" at the end.

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

Murder By Death and Ha Ha Tonka @ Neurolux; Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars and Duckmandu @ the Red Room (8/14/12)

I'd planned to check out The Last Bison and A Seasonal Disguise at Neurolux this past Monday, but I got too caught up working on my backlog of posts and--gasp!--a genuine, bona fide paying freelance writing gig!  I'm both scared and excited about that last one.  Just gotta jump off the cliff and see if I can fly, I guess.

Anyway, I'd managed to put that work aside long enough to head down to this most recent Radio Boise Tuesday.  I'd seen Murder By Death once before a few years back at the Knitting Factory.  I forget whom they opened for, but I remembered being quite impressed with this Indiana-based band.  This show gave me the opportunity to put my memories to the test.

As I'd anticipated, there was a solid turnout for this show.  I counted over forty people when I got down to Neurolux, and at least another twenty people showed up after only twenty minutes had passed.  I chatted with a friend and a very charming MFA graduate at the bar until the show began.  I really hope I didn't bore them too much talking about this blog and poetry and such.

First up at Neurolux was the Missouri band Ha Ha Tonka.  The touches of blues, country and folk in their music basically added extra flavoring to what amounted to some darn good indie-rock.  Brian Roberts's friendly drawl found support in Lennon Bones's unflashily proficient drumming, Lucas Long's throbbing basslines and Brett Anderson's piercing guitar and rockin' electric mandolin.  Their groove sounded pretty uptight compared to that of, say, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, but in indie-rock, a certain uptightness tends to go with the territory.

Murder By Death played next.  As I listened to them, it occurred to me that a few bands I've heard recently go for a similar kind of genre mash-up (blues plus country plus rockabilly plus funk plus folk plus who knows what else) that this group does.  This prompted the question: how exactly does Murder By Death do it better than most of these others?  Part of it may have had to do with Adam Turla's stolid baritone purr, which doesn't sound quite like any other voice I've heard.  More than likely, part of it had to do with Sarah Balliet's cello, which serves as the emotional and spiritual center of the group as surely as Clarence Clemons's sax did for the E Street Band.  In the end, however, it may have just come down to better songwriting: stronger hooks, stronger tunes, definitely stronger lyrics (a highlight of their set was a new song about going to a wake for someone you hate and having such a good time with his friends that you wonder if maybe you're the bigger asshole).  Of course, Scott Brackett's thoughtful accordion/trumpet/keyboard contributions, Matt Armstrong's juggernaut-like basslines and Dagan Thogerson's swinging, muscular drumming didn't hurt either.

After Murder By Death finished, I headed over to the Red Room, hoping to catch at least a little of their Atypical Tuesday show.  I was in luck: I got there in time to catch the excellent set by local group Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars.  They may have decided to let go of electric guitarist Shane Brown, but Storie Grubb's deft work with his amplified acoustic and distortion pedal filled in that sonic gap.  Luna Michelle's bass playing sounded more confident than ever, and the high-octane drumming gave the music some extra punch.  And best of all, I could actually hear the accordion (sounded lovely)!

Duckmandu a.k.a. California musician Aaron Seeman closed out the night.  His gleeful solo accordion covers of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra," "Anarchy in the UK," "Sweet Georgia Brown," David Bowie, the Dead Kennedys, Tom Lehrer, Black Flag, Waylon Jennings, Mozart and a couple of polska (old Swedish folk) tunes brought a big ol' grin to my face.  He regretfully informed the crowd that, although he typically burns his duck hat at the end of his set-capping "Highway to Hell" cover, he wouldn't this night due to too much flammable-looking stuff around the stage.  He did, however, pull out a duck hand puppet to quack out "Old Macdonald" and "London Bridge is Falling Down."  Good absurd fun--exactly what you'd expect of Evil Wine.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.

Peter Murphy, Ours and Michael Shapiro @ the Knitting Factory (8/12/12)

I saw Peter Murphy down in L.A. last December, and it was one of the greatest shows I've ever seen.  Between the three solid acts (Murphy, She Wants Revenge and an up-and-coming New York band called Hussle Club) and the stellar between-set mix (Iggy, X, Tones on Tail, etc), I got almost four hours of awesome music.  Murphy himself was downright magnificent: he caressed the ballads, scorched the rockers, tore the strings out of his guitar on "Stigmata Martyr," twirled, glided, playfully teased the audience, invited a teenage fan onstage and sang a tune with his arm around the blushing lad's shoulder.

So when I saw that he'd be playing Boise, it was a foregone conclusion.  I would go see him, period.

Unfortunately, not many others felt the same way.  Attendance was disgustly dismal for an artist and performer of this caliber.  Especially disappointing was the fact that I saw almost none of the local Goths in the meager crowd.  I've got love in my heart for the Goth community here in town, but it made me sick that almost no one besides DJ Bones bothered to come out for the man who wrote "Bela Lugosi's Dead."

First up was Michael Shapiro, the frontman from the San Francisco band Reckless in Vegas.  He got the evening off to a good start with plenty of friendly, self-deprecating stage banter and some catchy, smartly crafted tunes.  The songs would've sounded more complete with a full band (duh), but they held up fine with only Shapiro's guitar and rich, dramatic baritione for support.  A highlight of his set were a pair of songs written soon after his breakup with his fiancee four months ago.  One honored their love while the other flipped her the bird.  The latter seemed to go over just a little better with the crowd.

The New York City band Ours took the stage after Michael Shapiro.  With their all-black attire, chiming riffs, vrooming bass, mournful keyboard parts, danceable beat and tortured lyrics, this group could've sprung fully formed from Peter Murphy's head.  However, the solid craftsmanship of their songs enabled them to bear the weight of their audible influences (Bauhaus, Siouxie and the Banshees, the Cult, etc.).  As did their indomitable drummer, sharp guitar solos and charismatic frontman.

After Ours came Peter Murphy, whose set disappointed me like no other set has so far this year.  It wasn't flat-out awful, but it did suffer from some serious detractors.  Chief among them was that Murphy was clearly sick: he kept chugging water and blowing his nose between songs, and a very audible frog in his throat crippled his singing.  Occasional feedback from his mic and a couple of drunken hecklers didn't help matters either.  Still, the three backup musicians were definitely on their game, and Murphy retained enough of his stunning voice to nail a couple of ballads and work through the rockers that dominated his set.  Also, aside from those drunken dickheads, the modest audience gave the man a suitably warm reception.  Like I said: not bad, but severely disappointing.

The most heartbreaking moment of the night came after Murphy left the stage.  The crowd clapped and hollered and waited for an encore that clearly wouldn't come.  That didn't surprise me, given the sub-par condition of Murphy's voice, but it made me feel bad for everyone else.  Especially considering that I got two encores down in L.A..

My night did have a nice, restorative coda, however.  I stopped by Grainey's Basement after the Knitting Factory show and caught part of the set by the awesomely-named AlcoJuana, a punk/ska trio from WA.  These dudes were just straight-up raucous, trashy fun.  I stood outside the concert bunker and watched the Rainier-fueled crowd playfully mosh and stomp around.  Like Calvin and Hobbes said, "There's treasure everywhere!"

You can find info on these various acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

AU, Tu Fawning and Point Break 2 @ the Red Room (8/11/12)

This show caught my attention because it featured yet another Treefort alumnus whose set I'd missed, the Portland experimental group AU.  It helped also that its bill included Point Break 2, a local group whom I like well enough but hadn't seen in a while, and Tu Fawning, another Portland band I'd never encountered before.

I headed down to the Red Room fairly early, anticipating a substantial crowd for this show.  I was proven right: I counted about twenty people there already when I arrived.  That number would at least triple by the time that Tu Fawning played.  It would also include quite a few familiar faces from Boise's hipster contingent (oh, the mustaches...).

I got a stool at the end of the bar and read a few columns from 1 Dead in Attic.  One told the story of a man who returned to New Orleans after Katrina and eventually killed himself in despair.  A couple of others detailed the author's first time in N.O. and the (pre-Katrina) moment he resolved to stay and raise his kids there.

This is what I occupy myself with on a Saturday night.

Point Break 2 started off the night's music.  This set featured the drummer using both his arms (he'd used only one during the Vanity Theft show back in May because he'd broken the other) and a new vocalist.  A couple of people told me that this group reminded them a little of Big Black, but personally, I thought they sounded a bit more like the Doors gone art-punk/metal.  This was due largely to the singer's Morrison-esque stage presence, baritone moan and verbose, pretentious lyrics.  As awful as lines like "From the abyss I pulled the gospel of your perfection" read, however, they didn't sound all that bad.  It may have helped that the words felt made to fit the intriguingly dissonant riffs, steady basslines and sharp drumming rather than the other way around.  I'm not sold on this group (some of those lyrics... oy), but I'm curious to see how they'll develop from here.

After Point Break 2 came Tu Fawning, whose moody take on art-rock was much more to my liking.  If Nico and Tom Waits spent a couple of months together getting high and listening to trip-hop, post-punk and African music, they might come up with something like this.  Corinne Rapp sang the cryptic lyrics and dreamy tunes in a low, throaty voice over ambient noises, hazily harsh guitar, jazzy trumpet, eerie keyboard and violin and stomping, tribal drums.  Their self-proclaimed "stoner jam" sounded more like a demented '20s jazz-blues number, and I coulda sworn that this one song was a PJ Harvey cover (that's a compliment).  The crowd pressed in close and swayed and bounced on their feet, making way for Rapp and the trumpet player to weave among them occasionally.  Mesmerizing.  Not humorless, though: one number late in their set featured not one, not two but three cowbells.

AU closed out the night.  As with Buster Blue at the VAC back in late June, this set drove the crowd wild (people danced, cheered, rode on each other's backs) but left me feeling a great big meh.  The strong African influence on AU's peppery drums, bubbling keyboard and loopy clarinet invited unfavorable comparison with my third favorite Treefort act, Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang.  While Nabay's music signified community and outreach, AU's music suggested privilege and, perhaps unavoidably, exclusivity: only reasonably well-off, unreasonably well-educated people could make music like this.  As the set wore on, this group's penchant for melodrama seemed to win out over their grooves.  Their head-scratching lyrics and mannered vocals (lotsa draaaaawn ooouuut voooowwwels) didn't win me over either.

Of course, all this comes from a guy who spends his Saturday night reading post-Katrina ruminations.  You might bear that in mind.

You can find info on Tu Fawning and AU on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.

Oh Dear! and Naked Apes @ the Flying M Coffee-Garage (8/10/12)

I have my superficial moments, as readers of this blog have undoubtedly noticed.  I'll look at the info on a show sometimes and say, "Ooh!  That's a neat name!  I'll go see that!"  Such was the case with this show.  But c'mon, you gotta admit--Oh Dear! and the Woodboogers are pretty neat names.

I counted a little over 20 people in the audience for this show.  A chunk of them left after the first act, which was really too bad.  But hey, that's one reason why I write this blog: it gives me bragging rights.  Not to mention money and women.  (Yeah, right.)

First up this night was the Caldwell duo Naked Apes, who had apparently changed their name from the Woodboogers prior to the show.  Whatever they choose to call themselves, they showed quite a bit of promise.  Gabe Arellano's guitar soared on top while Devon Roth's drums rumbled and boomed down below, and their unvarnished vocals gave their terse tunes a certain rough-hewn charm.  At least a decent amount of people got to hear their raucous set-capping cover of "Pipeline."

After Naked Apes came Oh Dear!, a five-man indie-rock band from Tacoma, WA.  Brandon Sagnella's boyish, slightly detached vocals sounded a little strained, but they delivered the pleasant tunes well enough and suited the neurotic lyrics.  And anyway, this group gave the handful of folks in the audience plenty of other stuff to listen to: intertwining guitar lines, stabilizing basslines and complementary dual drummers.  Their sinuous, assured groove and natty arrangements gave me hope that the smart, insecure guy in their songs will get his act together one of these days.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Nathan Walker and the Flying M.

Horse Feathers, Dark Swallows and Grandma Kelsey @ the VAC (8/8/12)

Even if everybody and their grandmother hadn't encouraged me to check out this show (the Boise Weekly, Radio Boise, Go Listen Boise, AudioGnome, etc), I might've gone just to see the odd juxtaposition of friendly folkie Grandma Kelsey and melancholy drone-rockers Dark Swallows.  I like them fine individually, but putting them on the same bill?  Seemed to go together like cherries and pickles.  So of course, it intrigued me.

I'll say one thing about all the crud that has been in the air the past few days (there have been a few forest fires as well as a dust storm): it has made for some gorgeous sunsets.  The sun looked like a bloody gold coin as I drove down to the VAC this evening.  When I arrived, the diffused light made everything look like something out of Days of Heaven.

Who knew Garden City could actually look beautiful?

I counted about thirty people when I arrived, and that number would double as the night wore on.  I found a seat, read a bit from a book I brought along and listened to the old-school doo-wop playing on the PA system.

Local musician Kelsey Swope a.k.a. Grandma Kelsey started off the night.  I suppose that if her slightly shy earnestness had come off as forced or calculated at any point, her set would've made me want to scream.  But since it didn't, when she asked the audience to howl along to the chorus of her closer, I happily obliged.  That howled chorus, which she took from a dog and which symbolized man's fundamental loneliness and yearning to connect, is emblematic of Swope's music as a whole: it combines the cute with the absurd with the profound.  The tanginess of her lyrics balanced the sweetness of her singing and melodies, and her steady guitar strumming helped the blend go down.  If you have any tolerance for folkies, check out Grandma Kelsey sometime.  She's a rare bird and a good egg.

Here's a picture of the "love shrine" that Swope set up at the foot of the stage.  She brings it to all of her performances and encourages people to leave something out of love (not money--a little note or trinket).  If you find that icky, well, too bad for you.

After Grandma Kelsey came Dark Swallows.  I'd seen this group quite a few times before and enjoyed each performance, but none of them prepared me for this night's set.  I don't know if there's anything in Boise quite like this band's intricate weave of plaintive, memorable tunes, rousing guitar and bass riffs and precise, driving drums.  Their singing, playing and arrangements all sounded much smoother and more assured, which only added to the music's hypnotic power.  From what I heard this night, Dark Swallows are well on their way to becoming one of the absolute best groups in town.

Horse Feathers closed out the night.  This Portland band's moody, all-acoustic yet still rocking sound proved worthy of such disparate opening acts.  Justin Ringle's murmured vocals made it hard to hear exactly what he was saying, but I say give folkies a chance when they bring gifts (specifically some lovely melodies, a good drummer and a strong groove).  Of course, it helped that I liked what lyrics I could make out: their last song before their encore featured some sharp words about working your ass off to go back to a home you don't own.  When your group includes two violinists and a cellist and you still don't come off as fussy or precious, you're doing something right.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Very special thanks to Sam Stimpert and the VAC.