Slim Cessna's Auto Club, Munly and the Lupercalians and A Seasonal Disguise @ the VaC (7/26/13)

I'd heard the name Slim Cessna's Auto Club, but I hadn't thought to look into them until I received a press release about this show.  A listen to a few songs, some glowing write-ups in the Weekly and the fact that this band got Jello Biafra to sing a song about how Jesus Christ died for our sins persuaded me to put this show on the calendar.

There were already about sixty people when I got to VaC.  The official head count for the night was approximately ninety.  Not the 300 that showed up for Peter Murphy, but certainly not bad.

A Seasonal Disguise opened the show.  This performance made good and then some on the promise of the band's Red Room set back in January.  Z.V. House's unvarnished vocals sounded in fine form, and his guitar solos were as tuneful, elegant and fierce as ever.  Meanwhile, Karen Singletary's clean harmonies, Aaron Sup's rippling keyboard and Reggie Townley's roaring distortion blended and weaved with Josh Shapel's steady basslines and Jake Hite's implacable drumming.  The cool, spacey aura of the music didn't quite sound like anything I've heard by anyone else in town.

Munly and the Lupercalians played next.  I imagine that Wovenhand might have looked and sounded like this if David Eugene Edwards went out to the crossroads and sold his soul to the devil.  Munly J Munly's sepulchral croon and bluesy, hypnotic drones fused with tribal drums and atmospheric keyboards.  The band's bizarre outfits--straw/twig masks, KKK hoods and gowns (that's what they looked like, anyway)--augmented the sinister feel of the music.  Strange, powerful stuff.

Slim Cessna's Auto Club closed out the night.  Their music wasn't as creepy as Munly and the Lupercalians' but was still plenty weird.  Frantically plucked basslines, hard-charging drums and buzzing guitar decorated twangy, wailed vocals and cockeyed, religious-themed lyrics (one song celebrated hard-rocking Baptist church founder Roger Williams).  Happily, these guys rocked more than hard enough to keep from drowning in their own shtick.

The crowd worked itself into a nice frenzy during this set.  They danced, bounced, raised their hands high and shouted along.  One mustached gentleman got particularly unruly; he peeled off his shirt, writhed around on the floor, tugged people around, stole one guy's hat (the guy's friend stole it back) and formed a one-man mosh circle.  He also ran onstage and jumped around during the final number.  Slim Cessna and Munly stayed deadpan until he left.  They then gave him a golf clap, did some humorously robotic dance moves and went right back into the song.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Wes Malvini and the Evil Wine Show.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate.

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.

a.k.a. Belle, A Seasonal Disguise and Danielle Galucki @ Neurolux (11/20/12)

This show was something of an indulgence for me.  When I'm planning out my calendar, I usually give special attention to shows featuring groups I've never seen before.  A Seasonal Disguise seems to improve each time I see them, however, and I never get tired of seeing a.k.a. Belle.  So, it being so close to Thanksgiving, I decided to treat myself a little.

I saw about thirty people when I got down to Neurolux.  A few more would trickle in as the night progressed.  Not a huge crowd, but not bad.

First up was Danielle Galucki a.k.a. Kailie Leggett from the dearly departed local band Range Life.  She sang her plain ditties in her high, sweet voice and strummed her guitar in simple downstrokes.  She forgot lyrics, stopped mid-song when she just wasn't feeling it and looked pretty nervous throughout.  I imagine that some people would've found all of this unbearable.  Me, I found it funny, brave and utterly charming.  Half of the trick lay in Leggett's smart, detailed, acerbic lyrics, which undercut the sweetness of her singing and her melodies' childlike simplicity.  The other half lay in the fact that, while she did look nervous, she didn't sound affected, smarmy or smug (which is often how stuff like this comes off).  Her forthrightness gave the rough edges of her performance a refreshing, almost punk-like quality.  Call it perverse if you want, but I haven't enjoyed too many recent sets quite as much as I did this one.

A Seasonal Disguise played next and sounded in fine form.  Their deepening rapport and sturdy groove gave Z.V. House's guitar a more solid foundation from which to take off.  And take off it did: House's elegant soloing called to mind not just Neil Young but Richard Lloyd and Tom Verlaine.  They started, stopped, slowed down and sped up without stumbling, and their increased confidence added an extra sheen to the melodies.  They got some warm applause from the crowd, and rightly so.

a.k.a. Belle set a record with this performnace (as far as I can recall): they didn't even play one song before they started bantering with each other.  It all began with Catherine Merrick warning Sam Merrick not to cuss, since they were being broadcast live on Radio Boise.  Sam Merrick proceeded to tell the audience a little story that led up to the show, bleeping out the curse words with a few guitar chords.  It went on pretty much like that for the rest of the set.  I hope that the folks out in radioland found this as amusing as I did.  Too bad that they couldn't see Catherine Merrick's classic I'm-gonna-kill-this-f*cking-idiot glare (I see it a lot when I'm hanging out with married/dating friends).

Oh, and I should probably mention that the music sounded great too.  This set featured the return of Mike Rundle, whose smooth and steady work behind the drumkit kept the songs swinging.  Bass player Jason Griesa greased the groove nicely in spite of his reportedly having to play on painkillers (Sam Merrick mentioned that the man had to undergo back surgery soon).  Catherine Merrick had apparently been sounding hoarse over the past couple of weeks, but you sure couldn't hear it as her voice rang out across the bar.  Meanwhile, Kayleigh Jack's serene fiddle and harmonies complemented Sam Merrick's jagged, searing guitar.  While their older songs sounded as gorgeous and rowdy as ever, their newer material makes me look forward to their second album, which they're apparently working on now.

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

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.

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.