Hudson Falcons, Machine Gun Vendetta, False Idle @ Liquid (4/15/13)

A bartender at Mulligans tipped me off to this 1332 Records show a few days prior.  He told me that I wouldn't want to miss the headliner, Hudson Falcons.  This particular gentleman named one of his kids after Joe Strummer, so I don't take his recommendations lightly.  After a listen to a couple of Hudson Falcons' songs supported his endorsement, I resolved to get myself down to Liquid.

The place was almost empty when I arrived, but the audience would build to around forty as the night progressed.  Pretty damn good for a Monday.  What made me even happier was seeing all three members of the Ratings Battle--Matt Hunter, Matt Wildhagen and Josh Gross--in attendance.  Word has it that they're looking to rehearse and play some gigs again.  Fingers crossed.

Local band False Idle opened the show.  Their buzzsaw guitars, charging rhythm section, smart arrangements and shouted choruses got the evening off to a fine start.  An especially nice touch was when they dedicated a song about brotherhood to the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.  Their guitar player sounded a little tongue-tied when he tried to make a speech about ending violence and such, but screw it--it's the thought that counts.

Machine Gun Vendetta, a four-piece outfit from Reno, NV, played next.  "This is a better turnout on a Monday than Portland was on a Thursday," bassist/lead singer Ay Dick said.  "You guys are f*ckin' rad."  This band deserved the turnout: dexterous, piercing guitar solos and agreeably rough vocals meshed with nimbly picked basslines and hyperkinetic drumming (the man earned that Minor Threat t-shirt).  Also, not only did they have a well-oiled groove, they had tunes solid enough to withstand the blitzkrieg.  The lyrics weren't bad either, from what I heard (freedom of thought and speech, f*ck tha po-lice, hope I die before I get old, etc.).  Ferocious, catchy stuff.

Hudson Falcons closed out the night.  I'm down with most any variant of punk you could name (and hey, I'll give the others a chance), but the one I love most is the Woody Guthrie contingent.  You know--the Clash, the Minutemen, Billy Bragg, like that.  With their lyrics about fighting for the people and not letting the bastards bring you down, this New Jersey group stationed themselves squarely in that camp.  They kept the tempos fast but not so fast that someone might have missed the train.  The touches of disco, funk and boogie signified not sellout but solidarity.  The camaraderie didn't end when the music stopped either: frontman Mark Linskey thanked the audience several times and crammed the set with shout-outs to the other bands, the venue, Levi Poppke, Matt Hunter, the guy who set up their first Boise gig (that got a big cheer), a guy they'd met a couple hours earlier and labor unions (now there's something you don't hear often enough nowadays).  Throughout, Hudson Falcons' anthemic tunes, sinewy groove, scorching guitar solos and winningly ugly vocals got the people pumping their fists and raising their tallboys high.  If I had to pick a favorite song, I might go with "Lonely Girl," an I-can't-believe-it's-not-Springsteen ode to rock n' roll salvation.  Righteous.

Playing slide guitar with a Budweiser bottle.  Now that is blue collar.

You can find info on these bands on Facebook and elsewhere online.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Every little bit helps.

Space Car (2013)

The joke, when you come over to my place, is to say, "Hey Ben, let's watch something light and cheerful!"  I don't do light and cheerful very well.  My shelves are crammed with stuff like 700-page Victorian and Russian novels, hard-boiled crime stories and books about the Yakuza, Occupy Wall Street and the NSA.  The Wire plays pretty much on constant repeat on my TV (it's playing even as I type this).  Let's not even talk about my Clint Eastwood and Sam Peckinpah collections.

Anyway, when I do find something that makes me laugh and let go, I think I appreciate it all the more.  When I listened to local band Space Car's debut album, I laughed so hard that I worried a little about crashing my car (I was driving at the time).  I appreciated that.

Space Car can tickle your funny bone a few different ways.  If you want some straight-up goofiness, try "Pamelama," a Flight of the Conchords-esque ode to Pamela Anderson and Dita Von Teese's panties, or the extraterrestrial cuckolded rage of "Man From Mars."  If you want something with a little more bite, you can go with the winningly callow kiss-off "Baby Yo Breff Stank" ("To top it all off, baby, you don't have red hair!") or the jauntily lovelorn "Fine Fine Fine."  The gleefully absurd intergalactic radio show skits that unify the album should go over well with fans of MST3K and Sifl and Olly.

You can't laugh at the album's craftsmanship, however.  Ian Jones, Nicholas Coutts and Phillip Johnson's vocals hit just the right raucous, sneering tone.  The consistently catchy tunes are well served by Exploding Head Trick Productions' production, which gives a warm clarity to the voices and acoustic guitar.  It also adds hand-claps, sotto voce asides, electric guitar, strings and other little touches without calling undue attention to them.  All of this helps the jokes go down smoother.

The odd track out is the last one, "Previous Sightings."  It's actually three songs strung together: a protest folk song that may or may not be a joke, a ballad about trying to write a song that doubles as a parody of Ziggy Stardust-era Bowie (it features one of the best imitations of the Starman's quavery delivery that I've ever heard) and a deceptively sweet folk-pop ditty ("She was pretty, I was prettier than her").  Is this supposed to show how drab life is without Space Car Radio (the songs are separated by the sound of someone switching between radio stations)?  Or is it an acknowledgement of realities beyond all the joking around?  Honestly, it works either way.  Or both ways.  I appreciate that.

You can find info on Space Car on Facebook and elsewhere online.  You can purchase Space Car at the Record Exchange or download it from Bandcamp.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, please click the yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Every little bit helps.

Hey Marseilles and Hollow Wood @ the VaC (4/13/13)

I didn't get to see Hollow Wood at Treefort, but their opening set for What Made Milwaukee Famous had impressed me very much, so I was eager to check them out again.  Also, I liked the handful of Hey Marseilles songs that I listened to, so I marked this show down on the calendar.

I counted about seventy-five people when I arrived at the VaC.  During Hey Marseilles's set, I counted over a hundred.  The crowd seemed split evenly between twenty/thirty-somethings and forty/fifty-somethings.  I'd hazard a guess that most of the former were there for Hollow Wood while most of the latter were there for Hey Marseilles.  In any case, it was nice to see so many folks staying out late.

Hollow Wood opened the show.  When I step back and think about this group, they puzzle me.  Why should I like them so much when I have so little patience or regard for Typhoon, Bon Iver, the Last Bison and their ilk?  After all, they clearly draw from the same synthetic folk well.  It might be hometown chauvinism, but I don't think so.  Maybe they just do it right.

Not only will their melodies and harmonies bring tears to your eyes, their intricate, infectious beats dare you not to dance.  The polish and assurance of their songwriting and arrangements would be impressive coming from musicians twice their age.  Their friendly, all-embracing, high-energy stage presence kicks any hint of false gentility to the curb.  While Adam Jones--with his gravity-defying hair, manic strumming and goofy banter--is the clear focal point onstage, each band member feels like a vital part of the whole.  Sure, the vocals and the lyrics get a little corny, but so what?  People like corny.  I like corny (sometimes).

I try not to make predictions.  Still, when I think about this set--how the music ebbed and flowed, how a hush fell over the crowd just seconds into the first song, how people got up and moved forward right when Adam Jones invited them to, how Brian Bays from the Deadlight Effect came up to me afterwards completely blown away--I can imagine Hollow Wood playing to larger audiences in larger venues.  I can imagine them becoming one of the groups that people talk about when they talk about Idaho.

Hey Marseilles closed out the night.  This Seattle septet kinda came off as Hollow Wood's older, more settled-down brother.  Their steady waltzes, bright guitar, tinkling keyboard, comforting cello and violin and gentle tenor vocals called to mind Automatic For the People-era R.E.M.  Between their music, their clean-cut look and their discreet, polite stage presence, I could imagine these guys being in a spunky little power-pop band back in their college days before settling down to a life of mortgages, NPR, 2.3 kids and a couple glasses of wine on the weekends.  They still had some fire in the belly, though: their keyboard/accordion player climbed onto a speaker during their rousing closer, and the second song of their encore featured some rumbling drums and a nice rocking riff.  Not bad at all.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Sam Stimpert and the Visual Arts Collective.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, please click the "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

The Weeks and Jonny Fritz @ Neurolux (4/9/13)

I was having coffee with a friend when the subject of this show came up.  My friend lit up like a roman candle as she started talking about the Weeks.  I took that as a sign that I should check this deal out.  Also, I was curious to see Jonny Fritz a.k.a. Jonny Corndawg, having missed the show with him and the Devil Makes Three at the VaC last November.  I just hoped the crowd wouldn't be too massive (the previous show had sold out).

Well, it wasn't massive, anyway.  I counted a little over twenty people when I got to Neurolux.  When the Weeks played, there were about thirty.

Jonny Fritz opened the show.  He and fiddle player Joshua Hedley may have looked like the sh*t-kicking rednecks of arty liberal jokes/nightmares, but their clean tenor harmonies were pure and true enough for the Louvin Brothers.  Meanwhile, Fritz's lyrics took old-school country tropes down the road apiece; one song featured him telling a married lady to text him if she wants to hook up.  Not up there with James McMurtry but still among the better Americana acts I've heard lately.  Highlights included Fritz's original "Time Marches On," which encompasses three or four decades of familial and societal changes in three minutes, and Hedley's solo cover of George Jones's "A Good Year for the Roses."  The latter was so lived-in and quietly devastating that I could've cried into my Mutton Buster (the hole in the can was a bit too small for that, though).

The Weeks played next.  It figured that these guys hailed from Mississippi.  Their blend of country, southern rock, soul and funk might have gotten the nod from Ronnie Van Zant hisself (yeah, I know he was from Jacksonville, but you know what I mean).  I couldn't make out many of the lyrics, but their fiery guitar, limber rhythm section, sparkling keyboard and smooth, stolid baritone vocals were so appealing that I didn't much care.  What I heard sounded pretty good, though: grounded, class-conscious, all that nice stuff.  Anyway, the modest crowd whooped, clapped and boogied it up.  Plus, Neurolux got to put its sweet new light show to use.  Dig that twirling, multicolored circle.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Every little bit helps.

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Brother, Can You Spare...

Okay, here's the deal.

I've been writing this blog for over a year now.  In that time, more has happened than I'd ever imagined possible.  I've heard more great music and met more wonderful people than I have at any other point in my life.  I've formed new friendships and deepened existing ones.  I've learned more about Boise--its culture, its politics, its history--than I have in the past twenty years of living here (I have a lot more to learn, but still...).  My work on this blog landed me a job where I got paid to write, which had been a dream of mine since I was fifteen years old.  But even leaving that aside, I've received recognition for my writing at a level that still astonishes me.  To put it simply, Here Comes the Dumptruck is the best thing that has ever happened in my life.

There's just one problem: I'm running on empty.

As some of you know, I was laid off from my day job in January.  I've searched for work since then that would leave my evening hours free and, consequently, allow me to regularly cover live shows.  So far, I've had no success finding steady employment.

My checking account balance is steadily diminishing.  I'm up to my chest in credit card debt--most of which was built up buying food, clothes and other necessities during fifteen months of unemployment in 2011 and 2012--and it's steadily rising.

Bottom line: if things continue as they are, I will not be able to continue writing this blog past October.  Not with the same breadth and consistency that I have maintained up to this point, anyway.  In short, I need money, and I need it very badly.

Not long after I decided to focus exclusively on covering music in Idaho, people started asking me if I'd given any thought to monetizing this blog.  I toyed with the notion but didn't take it very seriously.  After all, why in God's name should people give their hard-earned dollars to some nobody who'd started some nondescript blog just a few months ago?  What would they get out of it?  How would they know that this guy wouldn't just piss that money away and let the blog collect dust?

Well, after a year of writing this blog, I hope it's clear that I'm not going anywhere.  So long as touring and local bands are playing gigs and recording, so long as I've got the money for cover charges, notebooks, gasoline, etc. and so long as people read what I write, I'll continue to cover this music scene to the best of my ability.

So, how do I start making money off HCTD?  That's a good question.  I'm still working on the answer.  Right now, I'm giving some thought to renting out ad space here, shopping around for sponsors and possibly applying for grants.  If anyone out there has any other suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

However, two options are 100% off the table.  First, I will not take money to write positive reviews of a band, album, etc.  For one thing, some people gripe that I'm too nice as it is.  But seriously, getting paid to turn HCTD into a straight-up ad would completely defeat the purpose of what I'm trying to do.  I'd sooner let this blog die.

(And lest you call me a hypocrite, I will disclose once again that yes, Speedy Gray did briefly pay me $25 a month to contact blogs and media outlets on behalf of Like A Rocket.  I didn't do it for the money.  I did it because I believe that they're an excellent band.  At no time did Speedy Gray try to influence what I've written in this blog.  That's one reason why I like the man.)

Second, I will not charge any kind of subscription fee.  Even if I could do that on Blogger, I wouldn't.  And even if I created my own website (which I'm considering), the content would remain free.  I can be an arrogant jerk sometimes, but I'll NEVER be so arrogant as to demand that you give me your money.

I will, however, ask.

I've set up a Paypal account and started a campaign on Fundrazr as a tip jar of sorts (you've probably noticed the little widget for it in the upper right-hand corner).  If you like what I'm doing with this blog and have a bit of money to spare, please feel free to send some of it my way.  Every little bit really does help.  Hell, if everybody who's liked this blog on Facebook just gave $5, I'd be set for a month.

Now, what exactly would you get out of this?  Well, with sufficient funds, I'll be able to do more.  More live show reviews, more CD reviews, more interviews.  I'll be able to cover this scene with greater depth than ever before.

I'll say this again, however: if you're a musician or promoter and you give me money, DON'T expect a guarantee that I'll call you the eighth wonder of the world.  It's not that I'll be ungrateful.  Far from it.  It's that, if this blog has any value at all, it stems from the fact that I'm giving my honest, independent opinion about this music scene.  Again, I'd sooner stop writing altogether than compromise that value.

I won't lie: it feels very strange asking you to give me money.  When I started this blog, I'd never conceived of anything so ridiculous.  However, enough people seem to like what I'm doing that I'm daring to hold out the hat.  Any amount I get will receive my undying gratitude.  And regardless, I will play out the string with this blog for as long as I can.  Because, when you get down to it, I don't do this for money.  I don't do this for recognition or status.  I do this because I love what's happening in the music scene around Boise.  I'm not exaggerating much when I say that it saved my life.  I want to do everything I can to help people understand what's going on here and how special it is.

Thank You,

Ben Schultz

PS  If you know of any employment opportunities, please let me know.  I'm open to just about anything other than call center work and telemarketing.  I just need something that'll let me off by, say, 5 or 6 pm.  You can find my email address on my profile.

The Social Electric, Brown Shoe, Kat Jones and Minor Birds @ the Shredder (4/8/13)

Why do I do this to myself?

I'd marked this show down on the calendar, but as the day approached, I felt like taking a small break from this blog.  I'd halfway convinced myself to go hang out at the Crux's open mic instead.  Then I checked the names under "Sounds Like" on each out-of-town act's Reverb Nation page.  Band of Horses, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Siouxie and the Banshees, Tori Amos, hmm...  Then I listened to a couple of each act's songs.  "Great," I said afterwards.  "Now I have to go to this show."

Apparently, no one else wrestled with the decision to check out this concert (or they just didn't hear about it).  I counted three non-musicians when I got to the Shredder.  In all, I don't think that more than ten or eleven people showed up over the course of the night.

Minor Birds, a duo from Twain Harte, CA, opened the show.  In a way, I suppose that the meager crowd suited this group's music.  Not that it was especially esoteric: Joel Wilde's groaning stand-up bass and Chelsea Wilde's guitar and keyboard riffs were hypnotic in their simplicity.  It's more that, between the indigo melodies, the disquieting lyrics and Chelsea Wilde's swooning, somber wail, this set felt charged with a certain fraught intimacy.  This was music for dark nights of the soul.  Not that the musicians themselves were particularly gloomy: Joel Wilde's luchador mask felt more humorous than menacing, and Chelsea Wilde punctuated the set with loads of playful, self-deprecating, slightly loopy banter.  She told the tale of having her guitar stolen in Denton, TX and needing to pay the pawn shop to get it back in a tone that was much more WTF? than woe-is-me.

Portland musician Kat Jones played next.  "Um, yeah," she said early on.  "So I'm here to guide you through the apocalypse."  That's pretty much what her music felt like.  There wasn't a hint of cheese or cornpone in Jones's eerie folk/country tunes and aching, sinister, powerful vocals.  Her strong sense of rhythm further accentuated the cast-a-cold-eye feel of this set.  Even the songs that weren't part of the murder ballad section made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  Genuinely haunting.  Not humorless, though: Jones loaded the set with plenty of dry banter.  She introduced one murder ballad, "Luckily the Gun Did Not Go Off," took a beat, then added, "It kind of did."

After Kat Jones came Brown Shoe.  Commitment and perseverance count for a lot.  If you play a show with just a handful of people watching and you still give it your all, you'll get my respect at the very least.  So I'd be inclined to look kindly upon this group from the perspiration that soaked frontman Aaron Baggaley's hair and shirt alone.

Sweat wasn't all that they had going for them, however.  Bright, misty guitars, winsomely anthemic tunes and Baggaley's smooth, yearning tenor combined with pained lyrics, fluid basslines and surging drums to create a sound that was at once airy and roiling, turbulent and dreamy.  According to the bio on Brown Shoe's Facebook page, they've been compared to Sigur Ros, My Morning Jacket and R.E.M.  I could hear all of that in there.  I'll add, though, that, except for R.E.M., I like these guys a lot more.

Local group the Social Electric (formerly known as St. Helens) closed out the night.  I thought that these guys were outstanding when I saw them open for New York City Queens back in February.  Good to see that I wasn't wrong.  Mark Jensen's light voice and delicate, ringing keyboard, Joe Atchley's fleet-fingered, face-melting guitar work and Ben Clingan's intricate, propulsive drumming provided a fine finale to this show.  They had indelible melodies and well-honed arrangements to spare, but they still rocked hard.  If they can find a bassist (or figure out a way to fill in the bottom end of their sound, at least), they'll be unstoppable.

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

Gary Helicopter Crash (a.k.a. JamesPlaneWreck), Business Venture and Stepbrothers @ the Red Room (4/6/13)

This show caught my attention because of Business Venture, a new local band whose lineup includes the Ratings Battle's Matt Wildhagen and Jason "Bug" Burke.  Burke, as some readers will undoubtedly recall, has been recovering from a back injury.  I wanted to see how the man was doing and also hear what kind of music he'd come up with.  I was also curious about a band who had billed themselves under the odd moniker Gary Helicopter Crash.

I only counted thirteen people when I got to the Red Room.  That number would build to over forty as the night progressed.  Not too bad.

This show would've been worthwhile just to see this gentleman up and about.

Local pop-punk band Stepbrothers opened the show.  These guys sounded as tuneful and rousing as I remembered from the JamesPlaneWreck/Black Bolt show back in January and possibly a touch more confident.  I couldn't really hear what they were shouting up there, but their buzzsaw guitar and full-speed-ahead rhythm section rocked so hard that I didn't much care.  Their goofy, playful between-song banter helped ("This always happens.  I mean, his nipples are just so hard...  Before and after the show...").

Business Venture played next.  You can't keep a good punk down, I guess.  This set gave me the opportunity both to hear my friend Matt Wildhagen chug away on bass again and to see how well Jason Burke seems to be recuperating.  It did my heart inexpressible good to see Burke headbanging and slashing at his guitar strings.  Even better, the music was great: thunderous riffs, catchy tunes, blitzkrieg drumming (courtesy of Andrew Rader), smart lyrics, strong vocals (courtesy of Radillac's Nick O'Leary).  A group to watch out for.

I probably should have figured out sooner that Gary Helicopter Crash was a pseudonym for JamesPlaneWreck, but hey, I've never been too swift on the uptake.  Anyway, this set made me think of a story I read about a George Jones concert back in the day.  The Possum, the tale goes, was so hammered that one of his backing musicians had to whisper one lyric after the next in his ear.  When Jones opened his mouth, however, the songs came out so smoothly and inevitably that you'd have never known.

Aaron Smith admitted at one point that they were pretty darn drunk, but they only showed it by sounding a couple notches less intense and focused than has been their norm.  Judging from their seemingly effortless groove, you'd have thought that they were sober as a judge with Celiac disease on Palm Sunday.  The crowd certainly didn't seem to have any complaints: they whooped and cheered as loudly as usual.  Laid-back but still plenty forceful.

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