Iconoplasty, Schwervon!, JamesPlaneWreck and CAMP @ the Crux (5/29/13)

I learned about this show thanks to a press release that I'd received about a month prior.  It came from Olive Juice Music, a DIY label now based in Kansas City.  It invited me to hear the new album by one of their bands, Schwervon!, and to see them play the Crux.  After I listened to the album, I emailed back that I definitely wanted to see them.

It didn't hurt either that this show would be the last (around these parts, anyway) set up by my friend Keesha Renna's Vagabond Promotions.  Keesha's moving to North Dakota to work and to see what she can see.  I wish her all the best.  I also hope that she doesn't forget about us here in Boise.

I counted eight people at the Crux when I got down there.  The crowd never rose above twenty.  Also, that number consisted mainly of people connected in some way to the bands (friends, girlfriends, bandmates, etc.).  So it goes.

Cameron Andreas of CAMP played a solo set to kick off the show.  After his set, Andreas said that he hadn't known beforehand what he was going to play.  It showed: his straight-ahead riffing, heavily reverbed vocals, metronomic beats and whirring, hissing noises felt scattered.  His songs were still plenty appealing, but they'd have been more so with a full band.  Or, barring that, a more deliberate presentation.

JamesPlaneWreck played next.  I'd approached this set with some trepidation, having read on Facebook that a wrist injury had sidelined bassist Shaun Shireman.  They made up for this lineup shortfall, however, by playing what amounted to a plugged-in unplugged set.  Aaron Smith and Shane Brown kept their guitars at a nice simmer while Andrew Bagley injected a gentle, jazzy swing into his brushwork.  The reduced volume allowed the grim wit and somber stoicism of Smith's lyrics to move to the fore.  In this regard, this performance felt not dissimilar to, say, Nirvana taking a seat and turning down the noise.  As for the handful of sour notes?  Hey, like the songs point out, life has sour notes.

Schwervon! played next.  While this Kansas City (Kansas) band's consistently catchy tunes called to mind R.E.M., their sharp arrangements called to mind Wire or Sleater-Kinney.  Matt Mason's buzzing guitar and earnest murmur bounced with and off Nan Turner's sturdy, angular drumming and strong, sweet chirp.  They sounded thin when they needed to and massive when they needed to.  They liked their drones but knew better than to regard them as the secret of life.  Best of all, not only did they take care to make their lyrics heard, they took care to make their lyrics worth hearing.  "Daydream Ration," for example, is definitely among the smarter put-downs of indie ironic cool that I've heard ("You've got the reverb hanging from the bathroom wall./ You're just a little too eager now to not care at all.").  Now if only I didn't feel so dumb for not realizing that Mason was the one with whom I'd been communicating via email.

Josh Gross closed out the night with the strongest Iconoplasty set that I've heard so far.  His set structure may have solidified, but that let him lean harder into his riffing and make his layers of beats hit with greater precision.  The smoother transitions between segments also helped the music bite harder.  Chances seem good that he won't get caught slacking when he goes on tour with Red Hands Black Feet in August.

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The PirkQlaters, the Useless, JamesPlaneWreck and Skittish Itz @ the Knitting Factory (5/23/13)

"I know you motherf*ckers know the words!" Ryan Sampson shouted midway through the second song.  And he was right: when the chorus rolled around again, the lyrics boomed out from the crowd.

I didn't really know the words.  In fact, prior to this show, I'd never heard nor seen the PirkQlaters before.  I knew the name, however, and their rep as Boise's premier ska band.  Also, I'd come to like many of the band's members both as musicians and as people; Sampson's last project, the now-defunct Hotel Chelsea, was one of the best punk bands in town, and I really don't want to think about how many drinks I've bought from him, Red Kubena, Justin Andrews and Luke Strother over the years.  Anyway, when I added all of this up, I had more than enough reason to check out this Knitting Factory show, which marked the PirkQlaters' rebirth.

There were already ninety people there when I arrived.  When the PirkQlaters played, there were so many that I didn't even bother to count.  I'll say this much, though: except maybe for Sonic Youth, I can't remember any other Knitting Factory show that was so well-attended.  I saw plenty of familiar faces as well, including Ivy Meissner, Dustin Verberg (Black Bolt), Josh Gross, Geno Lopez (the Sneezz), Travis Abbott (Obscured By the Sun) and at least two members of Piranhas (who were originally on this bill but didn't play, for some reason).

Local punk band Skittish Itz opened the show.  "It's not rocket surgery," lead singer Russ Worstell's t-shirt said.  Stupid on the surface but clever when you think about it--suited this band very well, I thought.  Not that their music sounded dumb; it was just that their catchy melodies and buzzsaw riffs did their damnedest to perpetuate that so-simple-anyone-can-do-it punk myth.  Their smart lyrics, complex arrangements, indomitable drums and fluid solos gave the lie, however.  But that just made their love of punk's idealized simplicity even more commendable.

JamesPlaneWreck played next.  After the show, a member of this band told me that they felt uncomfortable being on that big stage.  I can understand that, but from where I was standing, they looked and sounded as if they belonged up there.  Blasting out of the Knitting Factory's speakers, "F*ckin' With Ghosts" and "When We Start to Fold" never sounded more anthemic.  Aaron Smith's rough voice and guitar roared, Shaun Shireman's bass surged along underneath, Shane Brown carved some stinging leads out of his Idaho-shaped guitar and Andrew Bagley redlined his drums.  When the tip of Bagley's drumstick broke off at the end, I couldn't help but wonder why that doesn't happen more often.

Up next was the Useless.  Any fears that one may have had of a restrained, tactful performance were swiftly allayed by the blow-up doll that the band set down on the PirkQlaters' drum kit (it didn't stay up there for too long: one of the horn players chucked it into the pit, where the crowd proceeded to toss it, swing it around and bap each other on the head with it).  Anyway, this groups' throaty vocals, curling guitar licks, woozy brass and bouncy rhythms all sounded as winningly raucous as ever.  In keeping with the revivalist spirit of the evening, when people called out for a number from their straight-up punk days, the band busted it out in spite of their protests as to their age, weight and blood-alcohol level.  The mosh circle started up as soon as the first number kicked into gear, and the crowd in the pit kept up the cheering, jumping, dancing, chanting and fist-pumping straight through to the end.

The PirkQlaters provided a truly grand finale to the night.  Kris Simmons's chugging, melodic bass and Chris Devino's rip-roaring drums provided the engine for the blitzkrieg ska and pop-punk tunes.  Red Kubena's dreads flailed as he slashed away at his guitar, and his and Aaron Clayton's buzz complemented Ryan Sampson's manic chicken-scratch.  Meanwhile, Ryan Sampson's tuneful holler sounded in good form, and it met its match in Justin Andrews's rousing harmonies.  Andrews also pitched in with some jabbing saxophone solos and did pretty much everything he could to whip the crowd into a frenzy (strutting and jumping around the stage, hopping onto the drum riser and urging the crowd to clap to the beat, etc.).  Last but definitely not least, College of Idaho professor Luke Strother contributed some elegant trombone work, grinned, slapped his chest, sang along with and without his mic and generally looked the happiest that I've ever seen him.

Almost everyone in the audience was on their feet for the duration of the set.  The pit became a maelstrom of bouncing, moshing, singing, roaring and crowd-surfing.  The Useless's blow-up doll got popped and torn to shreds (I saw someone holding its arm later on).  A bra materialized on Luke Strother's mic stand.  Andy A from Demoni (and Eightball Break, which Sampson cited as the PirkQlaters' biggest influence) came onstage to play bass on a couple of numbers.  Shane Brown hopped onstage with his shirt open and jiggled his belly at the crowd.  Justin Andrews wished audience member Sage Cooper a happy sixteenth birthday and tossed him a frisbee signed by the band (it got tossed off to the side of the stage not long after; hope the kid got it back).  Between songs, Ryan Sampson crammed in jokes, stories, thanks to the audience and shout-outs to original PirkQlater Zak Gilstrap, the openers and the Boise music scene as a whole.

All told, this was easily one of the best shows that I've seen this year.  "And this is not the reunion show," Sampson told the crowd near the end.  "We're back, motherf*ckers!"

Ryan Sampson holding court at the after-party at Sammy's

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Starskate, the Hoot Hoots, JamesPlaneWreck and Sun Blood Stories @ the Red Room (4/26/12)

I'd liked what I'd heard by the Hoot Hoots but missed them at Treefort, so this show caught my interest right off the bat.  And sure, I've seen Sun Blood Stories and JamesPlaneWreck more than a few times, but it ain't like I can't stand to see 'em again.

I grew a little concerned when I got down to the Red Room and found only seven people there.  "On a warm Friday evening in Spring?" I thought.  "What is this town coming to?"  Thankfully, the crowd would build to over fifty as the night wore on.

Sun Blood Stories opened the night.  I don't know if their Country & Western look (sequined shirt, bolo tie, Mexican dress) was a tip of the hat to the late George Jones, but regardless, they sounded in excellent form. Amber Pollard's vocals sounded especially fine--gal's got some heat in her voice.  Not that Ben Kirby got caught slacking: he worked his purr and growl with even more nuance than usual.  Meanwhile, Kirby's primal riffs and shrieking solos, Brett Hawkins's lumbering drums and Andy Rayborn's cooing, bleating sax fell into an easy, seemingly effortless groove.  The sound was just clear enough and just murky enough to create a nice, sweaty Exile on Main St. feel.  I'll admit, though, that I kinda missed seeing this group on a big stage.  Oh well.  All in good time, I'm sure.

JamesPlaneWreck played next and kept the ball rolling.  Aaron Smith and Shane Brown's vocals were strong and on-key (the soundboard work did right by them too: I don't think Brown's voice has ever sounded clearer).  Their guitars snarled, Shaun Shireman's bass zoomed down the tracks and I'm still amazed that Andrew Bagley's arms don't just fly off his body.  Sure, they hit a few sour notes, but with music so proudly down-and-dirty, you almost want a few sour notes.  In any case, the crowd whooped and boogied throughout and sang the chorus to "Fuckin' With Ghosts" good and loud.  A couple people told me during the set that JPW is their favorite local band.  Can't fault 'em for that.

Up next were the Hoot Hoots.  This Seattle band could've gotten over just fine on their slashing guitar, bouncy beats and mega-catchy tunes.  However, with the addition of Christina Ellis's 8-bit synthesizer and hilarious pantomiming and dance moves (the Monkey!), they were utterly irresistible.  Of course, the jokey, horny, snarky lyrics didn't hurt either.  Their music had a slight 60's pop-rock feel to it, but they felt much smarter and warmer than your average revivalist/appropriator.  Except maybe for Andy D or Bad Weather California, I can't remember the last act I saw that was so much straight-up fun.

Apparently, Andy Rayborn got so carried away with his dancing during this set that he accidentally punched Amber Pollard and Nathan Norton in the mouth.  Always gotta watch the quiet ones...

Starskate closed out the night.  This Oakland band wasn't quite as enjoyable as the Hoot Hoots, but their rough vocals, rousing tunes, buzzing guitars and angular, robotic rhythms still provided a solid finale to the night.  The crowd thinned out some, but about thirty people stayed to cheer these guys on as they jumped and lunged on the stage.

You can find info on these groups 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.  Even $5 can go a long way.

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.

JamesPlaneWreck, Black Bolt and Stepbrothers @ Neurolux (1/23/13)

The past few days have been a little rough for me.  I'd been getting over a cold, which kept me from checking out the Coven show at the Shredder last Saturday (woulda been a great headline, though--"Boise Music Blogger Headbangs Himself to Death").  I was feeling better on Tuesday, but not quite enough to check out Krystos and Antique Scream at the Red Room.  Thankfully, I felt fit as a fiddle by last Wednesday, which meant that I could go down to this show at Neurolux featuring Black Bolt, a punk/garage-ish band that I hadn't seen in a good long while, and Stepbrothers, a local act I'd never seen before.  And of course, JamesPlaneWreck's presence on the bill didn't hurt either.

I counted about twenty people including the musicians when I got to Neurolux.  The audience would build to about thirty.  Not bad, considering that it was a Wednesday night and miserably cold outside.

Stepbrothers opened the night.  BANG! BAM! SCREECH! went their instruments during their soundcheck.  "We're writing a song now," one of them quipped.  I got the feeling right about then that I was gonna like these guys. Their twangy, tuneful basslines, thrashing drums, manic riffing and charmingly caterwauling vocals proved me right.  Their songs and arrangements were so sharp and their deadpan banter so funny that their oh-so-familiar pop-punk whine didn't bug me in the least.

Black Bolt played next.  These guys seemed to have tightened up a notch or five since I saw them at the Venue last May.  Their buzzsaw riffs, stinging leads, rail-greasing basslines and quick, clipped drumming all felt much more assured, which made their rowdy, catchy punk-tunes hit harder.  I'm on the fence about the guttural growl that leader Dustin Verberg adopted for his singing: it didn't do the songs any favors, but it was a nice change of pace from that pop-punk whine.  Then again, it didn't hurt the songs either, which I thought said good things about both the songs themselves and Verburg's brains.

JamesPlaneWreck closed out the night.  These guys were clearly in a good mood--Shane Brown and Aaron Smith joked around with each other and with the audience between songs (I heard shouts of "Bon Jovi!" and "Freebird!" from the crowd).  When they played, however, it was all business (well, mostly).  Their growled vocals, grinding riffs, twangy leads, rubbery bass and powerhouse drums all sounded in fine, thunderous form.  I swear, the out-of-staters at Treefort are not gonna know what hit 'em when this band plays.

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

JamesPlaneWreck, Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars and Chris Jennings @ Neurolux (12/11/12)

JamesPlaneWreck and Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars.  Admittedly, the pairing struck me as a little odd at first--kinda like putting together Lynyrd Skynyrd and Neil Young (though they actually really liked each other, believe it or not).  But hey, I wasn't gonna complain about seeing two excellent local bands on the same night.

There were about twenty-five people at Neurolux when I got down there.  I counted a little over thirty by the time that JamesPlaneWreck took the stage.  Pretty modest, but decent enough.

Starting off the night was local musician Chris Jennings, who debuted as a solo act with this set (he played bass in the Caldwell group Lakefriend up until a couple of months ago).  This performance had plenty of rough edges: Jennings's basic picking and strumming wandered off beat, he forgot lyrics occasionally and he looked pretty darn nervous in general ("I'm a little bit shaky," he admitted with a grin at one point).  All the same, he definitely showed potential.  His simple tunes and unaffectedly plainspoken lyrics went together nicely with his multiple George Jones covers.  Also, while Jennings was no match for Jones vocally (who is?), his subdued delivery had a certain charm to it (don't know about that faux-twang, though).  I'll be interested to see where the man goes from here.  Maybe he could do some duets with Kailie Leggett.

Storie Grubb and the Holy Wars played next.  Their spot on this bill attuned my ears to the elements of folk and country that run through their melodies and riffs.  This set was also noteworthy as the debut of Dustin Jones (The Hand, The Evil Wine Show) on bass.  The man certainly didn't waste time making his presence felt: the casually expert interplay between Jones's muscular basslines, Storie Grubb's jangly guitar and Bruce Maurey's intricate drumwork added a whole new dimension to the group's older material.  It also gave them the confidence to venture out into some lyrical instrumental passages.  Meanwhile, Matthew Vorhies's accordion floated on top as serenely as ever.  Luna Michelle's tambourine jabbed in and out skillfully, and her lovely harmonies continued to temper the smart abrasiveness of Storie Grubb's vocals.  A great band is getting even better.

JamesPlaneWreck closed out the night with their best performance yet.  Aaron Smith's rough vocals sounded more assured than ever.  Shane Brown's twangy leads zipped and stung.  Shaun Shireman's bass kept the music gliding along.  Andrew Bagley let off enough dynamite for two drummers.  Their indelible tunes, chugging guitars and thunderous rhythms got people on their feet and dancing.  When the band reached the chorus of the anthemic "Fuckin' with Ghosts" (which they changed to "Walkin' With Ghosts" for this show--they were being broadcast on Radio Boise), the crowd sang along loudly.  No doubt about it: this is one of Boise's best bands.

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

Titus Andronicus, Ceremony and JamesPlaneWreck @ Neurolux (11/17/12)

I had a feeling that this show was gonna be huge.  I learned about Titus Andronicus from Robert Christgau's review of their Civil War-themed album The Monitor.  Any band that earns an A-minus or above from the Dean will at least be worth a look, I figured, so I marked this show down on the calendar.

I counted about 40 people when I arrived at Neurolux.  A good start.  The long wait for Ceremony and Titus Andronicus to arrive (their all-ages show at the Crux apparently started late) allowed for a pretty substantial crowd to build.

First up was local band JamesPlaneWreck.  Apparently, no one told them that they were just the opening act: they blazed through their set with the confidence, intensity and focus of a headliner.  Andrew Bagley's high-octane drumming and Shaun Shireman's streamlined bass made Aaron Smith and Shane Brown's grinding riffs soar.  Aaron Smith's friendly growl led the formation.  Thunderous, tuneful, superb.

After about an hour (I think), Ceremony played next.  Their pounding rhythms, rubbery basslines, monolithic riffs and shouted vocals had a distinctly old-school UK punk feel.  No problem with that--my favorite band's the Clash, after all.  Of course, it helped that their slow-burners and their rave-ups proved equally catchy.  In any case, it would've been worth seeing this group just for the chance to see people moshing in Neurolux (nothing really severe, but still...).

Titus Andronicus closed out the night.  I thought about complimenting their massive guitar sound, but with three guitars, the sound damn well shoulda been massive (they did pop off some badass solos, though).  Anyway, much more impressive was the way that their simple, rousing tunes sustained interest even at epic lengths.  It helped that they had a built-for-speed rhythm section to ram them home.  The intelligent lyrics helped too (I must confess here, though, that my favorite song was the goofy, dunderheaded "(I Am The) Electric Man").

Given their late starting time and the tendency of their songs to cross the five- or six-minute mark, I worried at first that they'd only play two or three numbers and then split. Thankfully, they managed to play a fifty-minute set in spite of Neurolux's live music curfew.  Also, while they probably could've gotten by on their music alone, these scrawny, geeky-looking dudes put an amazing amount of energy into their performance (especially considering that they'd come right over from playing another gig).  The audience responded in kind: they cheered, danced, clapped to the beat, collided with each other, crowd-surfed and stage-dived right up to the end.  That was all great, but I gotta admit that it was kinda odd hearing everyone chant, "You'll always be a loser." 

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