JJAMZ, Superhumanoids, Red Hands Black Feet and Kristopher Rabbit @ the Venue; Amy Bleu @ Grainey's Basement (9/9/12)

I've never made any secret about how much I love Red Hands Black Feet, but what really attracted me to this show was JJAMZ.  I'd dug what I'd heard from lead singer Z. Berg's previous band, the retro-60's outfit the Like, so I was curious to see what this project was all about.

Regrettably, not many others felt the same way.  This show might have suffered from the Lightning Bolt show at the Shredder and the simple bad luck of taking place on a Sunday.  I counted about twenty-five people there at its peak, including me and a few members of the bands.  So it goes.

First up this night was local group Kristopher Rabbit, whose industrial riffs and beats, tortured lyrics and angsty vocals owed a clear debt to groups like Nine Inch Nails.  These guys looked awfully nervous--I overheard one of them say afterward that they'd only rehearsed a week--but their songwriting definitely showed promise.  If I may be so bold, though, I would offer a piece of advice: it's usually good for frontmen face the front of the stage.

Red Hands Black Feet played next.  The modest crowd grooved out to the blending and weaving guitars, the surging basslines and the ever-more-supple drumming.  Their growing confidence and finesse gave the songs extra power and lyricism.  Another excellent performance.  Yawn.  (Just kidding.)

After Red Hands Black Feet came the Los Angeles-based band Superhumanoids.  Their Facebook page says some stuff about how they employ "summery '60s harmonies" and "the adventurous dissonance of '90s indie-rock," but what I heard was straight-up '80s: some Echo and the Bunnymen, some Kraftwerk, some Georgio Moroder, some Miami Vice soundtrack.  Murmured and cooed vocals, catchy tunes, glinting guitar, smoothly funky rhythms, multicolored synth hooks.  Their luded-out "I Wanna Be Sedated" cover spoke volumes for their brains, good taste and sense of humor.

Last up was JJAMZ.  This group owed a VERY clear debt to Blondie, and I'm not saying that just because Z. Berg was almost a dead ringer for Debbie Harry with her gorgeous cheekbones, breathy/growly delivery and coyly provocative stage act.  This wasn't some cosmetic job, though.  Their bouncy tunes, chiming guitar interplay, charming synth and tough, slinky, swinging rhythm section struck a nice balance between "Heart of Glass" and "One Way Or Another."  Premium grade pop-rock.  It's just a pity that more people weren't there: when/if this group comes back around, everybody else may have to pay double or triple what I did.  So it goes.

I stopped by Grainey's Basement after JJAMZ wrapped up in hopes of catching the set by local experimental duo the Finer Points of Sadism.  Unfortunately, I had to leave before they played (I started my new day job at 7 am the next morning), but I did get to catch some of the set by Portland-based songwriter Amy Bleu.  Her sly quaver, sweet folk melodies and twisted lyrics provided just the right coda to my night.  Highlights included "A Young Man Going to the Movies," a nice little original ditty about a guy who beats to death a couple of jackers (true story, she said), and a brilliant cover of Alice Cooper's "Poison."

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

Marshall Poole, Pacific Nomadic and Mickey the Jump @ the Crux; the Mad Caps, First Borns and Skittish Itz @ Tom Grainey's (9/8/12)

This was a busy night.  I'd already planned to check out a show set up by Orriginal Promotions at the Crux when Keesha Renna told me about a promising bill set up by Vagabond Promotions at Tom Grainey's.  Honestly, I'm glad I started my new job: it may give me a chance to take a break.

There were over forty people at the Crux when I got down there, and some more trickled in as the show progressed.  Joseph Morgan of Pacific Nomadic mentioned that he saw a whole lotta friends and family in the crowd, but I doubt that that accounted for everyone.

First up was Marshall Poole, a power trio based in Caldwell, Nampa and Boise (according to their Facebook page).  I've said this before, and I said it to a friend who watched this set with me: groups like this really make me feel like I haven't done enough with my life.  The members of this band are only 18 or 19, I learned, but they've already got it all together.  Between Rider Soran's clean, firm voice and Melanie Radford's tough, sultry one, they boast two solid singers.  Between Soran's astonishing guitar solos, Radford's humongous, funky basslines, Mike Hoobery's fluid but foundational drums and the swaggering groove that held them all together, they didn't remind me of anything so much as Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsys.  Between their spit-shined tunes and hooks galore, they sounded as if they could take the classic rock canon and at least wrestle it to a tie.  My friend wondered where they could go in five years' time.  So do I.

After Marshall Poole came Pacific Nomadic, a band from Boise originally but now based in Seattle.  Their sparkling guitar, streamlined bass, pensive melodies and pinched, nasal, moaned/whined vocals called to mind swoony popsters like the Cure and Coldplay.  They didn't too mopey, though, thanks in good part to Nate Ihli's drumming.

Nampa band Mickey the Jump closed out the show at the Crux.  Hearing their striking tunes, intriguing lyrics, protean guitar and bouncing, stomping, driving drums again confirmed my good opinion of this band.  Unfortunately, it also confirmed my sneaking suspicion that they have a weak link in Nate Berrian's lead vocals.  Berrian isn't the worst singer that I've heard in this town (no, I won't tell you who that is here), but as it stands right now, he just doesn't have the pipes to put the songs over like he should.  I should hasten to add, however, that I could tell that the spirit and the brains were willing even if the flesh was weak.  There's gotta be a vocal couch out there who can help the man.

I headed straight over to Tom Grainey's after the Crux show ended.  I got there too late to see Dear Rabbit's return to Boise, but I did get to catch the set by the Mad Caps, a duo originally from Las Vegas but currently based in Seattle.  I couldn't hear much of this group's lyrics, but I didn't really concern myself with that, what with Ted Rader's bluesy, elemental riffs and Jon Real's clipped, steady, pounding drumwork.  Rader told the crowd at one point that some state troopers gave them a hard time on their way to this gig.  I hope that doesn't turn them off Idaho.  Stripped-down, gloriously primal rock.

Local group First Borns played next.  Admittedly, I wasn't sure how well these moody dudes would go over with the crowd at Grainey's.  Happily, they sounded if fine form this night, with Alex Hecht's guitar cutting through the noise in the bar like a chainsaw.  Their strong beat and tunes got the people moving.

Local punk band Skittish Itz followed First Borns.  "SKiTTiSH iTZ [sic] have been playing shows since November 2006 and don't intend to quit," it says on their Facebook profile.  I certainly hope not.  Their catchy tunes and lead singer Rekn Russ's clear, charming wail combined with metallic dual guitars and a hard-charging rhythm section to close out the night's music in solid fashion.  It makes me happy that, even with all the shows that I've seen this year, there are still cool local bands out there to discover.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Keesha Renna and Vagabond Promotions.  Oh, and I've got a shiny dime right here for anyone who can tell me where Marshall Poole took their name from.

The Old 97's and Those Darlins @ the Knitting Factory (9/7/12)

The best comment I've ever heard about the Old 97's came from my dad: "They're what the Beatles would sound like if they hired Neil Young as a guitar player."  That gets them just about right, I think.  The Old 97's frequently get slotted as alt-country, but while they certainly make clear their strong roots music influences (hell, they took their name from a country song), you'd be hard pressed to find better straight-up pop-rock tunesmiths than this Texas quartet.  I've loved them since I discovered them in college, so it was a given that I'd go see them when they came to town.

I counted about fifty people when I got down to the Knitting Factory around 7:30 pm.  That was a pretty solid crowd, I thought, considering that showtime was listed as 8:00 on my ticket.  By the time that the Old 97's took the stage, the audience must have numbered well over a hundred and looked evenly split between twenty/thirty-somethings and forty/fifty-somethings.

At the request of the Knitting Factory's security, I didn't take any pictures with my phone during the show.  This means that my reportage will have to suffice for this post.  Sorry about that, folks.  I know it's not that big a loss, but still...

Rhett Miller, the lead singer and songwriter for the Old 97's, started off the evening's music early with a solo acoustic set.  From what I caught of it, he just performed songs from his recent solo albums (not counting his more than fitting cover of "Wreck of the Old '97").  His rapid, rhythmic strumming, his witty lyrics and his sly, aching tenor combined to provide a nice coming attraction for his set with the rest of the band later on.

The Nashville-based country-punk group Those Darlins played soon after Miller.  I'd seen them twice before at Neurolux, once opening for Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears and once headlining.  I'd greatly enjoyed them both times, and although they felt a notch less intense playing this far less intimate venue, I greatly enjoyed them this night too.  Sporting a skimpy, sparkling red dress and cropped, curly black locks, petite Jessi Darlin tossed off searing guitar solos and sang in a twangy, girly snarl that called to mind Wanda Jackson.  Nikki Darlin slashed out the rhythm on her guitar and complemented her fellow Darlin vocally with her low, breathy, sultry voice.  Meanwhile, new guy Spencer Duncan's limber bass and Linwood Regensburg's strong, restrained drumming kept things strutting, swaggering and zooming forward.  During his acoustic set, Rhett Miller told the crowd that Those Darlins were the Old 97's favorite new band.  The Darlins' smart, sassy, tunefully tough songs suggested that that may not have been your usual rock show jive.

Not long after Those Darlins finished, the Old 97's took the stage.  Wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, they looked as if they could've just climbed onstage from among the folks in the Knitting Factory's pit.  The higher end of Rhett Miller's voice show some signs of wear and tear and his bandmates had plenty of gray in their hair, but those seemed to have been the only concessions to ageing that this twenty year-old group has made so far.  They blazed through the entirety of their 1997 album Too Far to Care and an assortment of old and new songs with the joyful rowdiness of dudes half their age.  Miller did some cute little windmilling moves on his guitars and gave ample proof that his mid-range, shout and falsetto are holding up just fine.  Bespectacled Murry Hammond contributed some liquid basslines and got to croon lead on a few songs with his friendly, twangy drawl.  Ken Bethea delivered one fiery guitar solo after another for the entire set.  Philip Peeples's muscular, turbo-charged drumming sounded like he was channeling the spirit of Keith Moon.  By the end of their set, the 97's had nearly everyone in the crowd dancing, jumping and shouting.  Personal highlights included the careening, I'm-so-lonesome-I-could-explode opener/closer "Timebomb," the supernal one-night-stand vignette "Barrier Reef," the punky swing/stomp "The Grand Theatre," the utterly gorgeous "Question" and the raucous "Four Leaf Clover," which featured Jessi Darlin ably handling the Exene Cervenka part.

You can find info on the Old 97's and Those Darlins on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Moonface with Siinai and Sad Baby Wolf @ the Flying M Coffee-Garage (9/5/12)

(Apologies in advance for the variable quality of the pictures.  I forgot my camera at home and had to resort to my phone again.)

 



The chief selling point of this show was that man behind Moonface, Spencer Krug, was also the man behind Wolf Parade.  I can't honestly say that I've ever heard a Wolf Parade song before, but I respect people who respect that band.  And as usual, two bands that I haven't seen yet are two bands that I wanna see.

Only fifteen people or so were inside the Garage when I got to Nampa's Flying M.  I took a seat back by the soundboard and waited for more folks to arrive.  Sure enough, I counted a little over fifty people in the crowd by the time that Moonface and Siinai took the stage.

The Albuquerque, NM band Sad Baby Wolf opened.  Marty Crandall's light, boyish vocals made it a little hard to hear the lyrics, but the audience had plenty of other stuff to listen to: poppy melodies, alternately sunny and harsh guitars, massive basslines, thunderous drums.  They jangled, swung, droned, raved up and melted down with equal aplomb.  A very fine start.

Moonface a.k.a. Spencer Krug played this night with Finnish instrumental band Siinai.  The music evoked a whole slew of post-punk and New Wave rock from the Bowie-Eno collaborations to Joy Division to Peter Murphy to Echo and the Bunnymen to Interpol.  Krug's solemn, transported moan combined with gorgeous melodies, chiming guitar drones, tribal/industrial drums, delicate keyboard lines and waves of mysterioso synth sounds.  The whole audience danced, bounced and swayed as if locked in a trance, and some issues with the microphones and monitors didn't come close to breaking the spell.  Powerful, hypnotic stuff.  Were it not for the two eye-rollingly bathetic dirges that closed out the night, I'd have easily called this one of the best shows of the year.

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

Holy Water Buffalo, Brass Bed and Uintahs @ Neurolux; A Seasonal Disguise @ the Red Room (9/4/12)

The UT band Holy Water Buffalo has been through these parts a few times before, but I'd never gotten the chance to see them.  That in itself would've given me a reason to check out this most recent Radio Boise Tuesday.  It helped too that the bill featured Brass Bed, a Louisiana band whom I'd also never seen, and Uintahs, a local band whom I've grown quite fond of.  And of course, "Holy Water Buffalo" is one funny name.

Some work at home had tied me up, so I got down to the Neurolux a little late.  Thankfully, I managed to catch most of Unitahs's opening set.  Attendance was pretty sparse (only about 20 people), but at least the crowd gave the music an appropriately warm reception.

I'd very much enjoyed Uintahs's set at the Red Room a couple of weeks back, and this one was even better.  Marcus Youngberg's rapturous, aching howl sounded in fine form.  His and Perry Bentley's guitars sparkled, swirled and cascaded while Patricio Torres's chugging bass and Malcolm Youngberg's rumbling drums pushed the music relentlessly onward.  This was their first gig at the Neurolux, Marcus Youngberg told the crowd.  "I hope they let us come back."  I doubt that they'll need to worry about that.

Up next was Brass Bed.  Their dreamy yet clanging guitars, streamlined bass and muscular drums sounded just a little similar to Uintahs, but their evident classic rock influences gave them plenty of distinction.  They sounded like the Beatles one minute (pop melodies, boyish vocals, dancey beat) and Black Sabbath the next (screeching solos and sludgy, stomping outros).  "This is our first time in Idaho," their lead singer said at one point.  The way his face lit up when the audience responded with a big round of applause could suggest that it won't be the last.

Holy Water Buffalo played last.  Their long hair and tall, skinny frames screamed 70's classic rock, and their music matched their look--I heard some Stones, some Skynyrd, some Zeppelin, some Sabbath.  Luckily, they had the chops to pull it all off.  Crooned vocals joined with twangy, elemental riffs, bluesy solos, soulful keyboard parts, rubbery basslines and dynamite drumming.  Their strong groove and catchy melodies proved irresistible to the crowd, who cheered so loud that you'd have thought that there were two or three times as many people there.  "You guys are the shoot!" the lead singer told them.  "We're on the radio, gotta be careful."

After Holy Water Buffalo finished, I headed over to the Red Room.  Wes Malvini had been excited about booking a band from Oakland called Silian Rail for this week's Atypical Tuesday, which made me eager to see/hear what they're about.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance: both Silian Rail and the Dirty Moogs had canceled.  This left A Seasonal Disguise with the task of playing an extended set.  From what I caught of it, however, the local group handled the challenge just fine.  Z.V. House delivered stunning solos throughout, and his bandmates sounded even stronger and more confident than they did when I saw them back in May (especially drummer Annie Berical).  Consequently, their original material rocked harder and sounded lovelier than ever, their brooding take on "When the Levee Breaks" could look Led Zeppelin's right in the eye and their "Cortez the Killer" cover was an act of flat-out shamanism.  On that last song, House invited a member of the meager audience to sing when he couldn't recall the words.  That left him free to demonstrate just how eloquent his guitar can be.

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

WHY? and Serengeti @ the Reef (9/3/12)

I saw thirty-three acts in all during Treefort but none of the big headliners.  No Built to Spill, no Of Montreal, no nothing.  That wasn't a conscious decision on my part; it just panned out that way.  This show excited me, then, because it gave me a chance to see one of that select company.

Not too surprisingly, I encountered a fairly substantial crowd when I made it to the Reef.  It wasn't anything like the crowd at the Treefort main stage, of course, but definitely respectable for a modest venue such as this.  I counted myself lucky that I could find a seat at the bar.

First up this night was Chicago-based hip-hop act Serengeti.  His rough timbre and flow reminded me a bit of Method Man initially, but as his set progressed, his warmth and dorky-like-a-fox charm felt much closer to Jonathan Richman.  He seemed to pick up speed, smoothness and power with each rap, and his lyrics kept it real for real--his sharp, funny rhymes about crappy relationships and un-beautiful losers certainly struck home for this broke, thirty-something nerd/wastrel.  Meanwhile, DJ Tony Trimm supplied some effectively spartan, old-school-honoring beats.

After Serengeti came WHY?, whose set left me wondering WHY in God's name I didn't see this group back when they played on Treefort's main stage.  (Answer: I was watching Cheyenne Marie Mize at the Red Room.  Well, OK, that's a reasonable excuse...)  Anyway, I'm at a bit of a loss to describe this Cincinnati group's music.  "Indie-rap-rock" just doesn't have the right ring to it (makes me think of Fred Durst wearing a fake mustache), and it feels too immediately accessible and pleasureable to be dubbed "avant-garde."  Whatever you choose to call it, WHY?'s cool, slinky, quirky music came packed with hooks galore: rumbling dual drums, etherial guitar, elegant basslines, cute girl harmonies, bubbling keyboard and xylophone lines.  Frontman Joni Wolf rapped/crooned the irresistible tunes and the sly, eccentric, detailed, incisive lyrics in a shy deadpan whine that only underlined his humanity.  The crowd pressed in close and danced and sang and clapped to the beat.  Cheers filled the room when the band launched into the audience's favorite songs.

"We're starting to gain a real love for Boise," Wolf said at one point.  Pronounced "Boise" with an "s," not a "z."  Very nice.

You can find info about WHY? and Serengeti on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.

State of Confusion, Little Miss and the No-Names, 1d and Sandusky Furs @ the Venue (9/1/12)

Before this night, I'd never heard of State of Confusion.  Now, before some of you get all offended or indignant over that, please bear in mind that I was only eight years old and hadn't even moved to Idaho yet when they played their last gig.  Anyway, this show caught my attention because it marked their one-night-only return and because it featured three local punk acts I hadn't written about before.  And besides, I was just itching for a reason to write about the Venue again.

I showed up about an hour before the gig, and there were already a handful of punk scenesters hanging around.  By 7:20 pm, I counted at least forty people.  That number would at least double as the night wore on.  The crowd seemed nicely balanced between underagers, twenty-somethings and gentlemen and ladies of a certain age.  I also noted with pleasure the plethora of bitchin' band T-shirts (Black Flag, the Ramones, Husker Du, the Vibrators, the Runaways, the Germs, etc).

Sandusky Furs' grinding, tuneful punk-metal hybrid got the evening off to a fine start.  Tony Wright's rough bellow and thunderous drumming locked in perfectly with Dave Wall's fluid bass and Terry Harvey's buzzsaw riffs and ripping solos.  I couldn't ID any of their covers, but they sounded as tough, melodious and galvanizing as their originals.

Up next was young hardcore trio 1d.  At first, this group didn't strike me as anything special.  Howled vocals, jerky tempo shifts, manic drumming and riffing--with hardcore, all that stuff is just par for the course.  As their set wore on, however, I noticed that their tunes and riffs got sharper and that they laid down a damn solid groove when they slowed down some.  Also, their guitarist cranked out some impressive Greg Ginn-esque noise solos.  I take it as a good sign that my favorite of their original songs was also the newest.  Highlight: their set-capping cover of Black Flag's "Rise Above," during which a bunch of guys in the crowd grabbed the mic and shouted the lyrics in unison.

Little Miss and the No Names followed 1d.  Their harshly catchy songs, equally Greg Ginn-esque guitar, hard-driving basslines and whirlwind drumming all sounded fine and dandy.  What really put them over the top, though, was "Little Miss" Rebecca Noel's sneered/screamed vocals and fierce, heedless stage presence (flailing her hair, colliding with the crowd, etc).

By the way, I'm sorry about the crappy picture.  I wanted to move closer and try to take a better one, but...

...that really didn't seem like a good idea.

State of Confusion's headlining set justified the substantial audience that had come out for them.  Sharply crafted chants and riffs met with screeching guitar solos, massive basslines and hyperkinetic drumming.  SOC's music wasn't all just straightforward thrash-and-burn either: they managed to work in a groove even at their most frenzied, and a couple numbers near the end featured some jerky Minutemen jazz-funk and savory Sabbath sludge.  Their set had a couple technical difficulties--the guitar conked out now and again--but somehow, that just added to the warm, friendly vibe in the room.  The only real sour note was the knowledge that you probably weren't gonna see this group again.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Jenean Claus and the Venue.