Bad Weather California, Sauna, Skating Polly and Deaf Kid @ The Crux (8/18/13)

Bad Weather California was one of my favorite acts at this year's Treefort.  Sauna was one of my favorites from last year's.  So it didn't take me long to decide to check this show out.

I counted eighteen people when I got down to the Crux.  When Bad Weather California played, I counted twenty-seven.  Not exactly a Treefort-size audience, but what're you gonna do?

Sidenote: this may be the most awesome show poster that I've ever seen.

Deaf Kid opened the show.  They changed their name to Black Lodge a while ago, but apparently, they changed it back.  I don't know why, but whatever--they sounded damn good here.  Jacob Milburn's voice sounded deeper and fuller, and Theo Maughan's sprightly drumming gave the music some extra muscle.  Even got a pretty solid groove going on the last song.

Skating Polly played next.  If you're not even eighteen and you can get Exene Cervenka to produce one of your albums, chances are you're gonna have something going on.  Which this very young duo did.  Their grungy drones, steady drums, screeching vocals and smart arrangements made me think a little of early Sleater-Kinney.  Their confident stage presence suggests that they may be in this for the long haul.  Time will tell, I guess.

Sauna followed Skating Polly.  It took them a couple of songs to get warmed up, but when they did, their serene vocals, playful tunes, propulsive grooves and fierce guitar solos sounded even better than I remembered.  The girls from Skating Polly went nuts (jumping, headbanging), and much of the crowd followed suit.  Easily one of the most fun surf/garage bands I've seen in the past couple of years (and I've seen a LOT of them).

Bad Weather California closed out the night.  At one point, it occurred to me that James Plane Wreck could've made a good opener for these guys.  Both groups seem to have a certain transcendentally trashy spirit, one which embraces the slackers, losers and working stiffs (i.e. most of us).  In any case, this Colorado band's anthemic tunes, smart lyrics and fiery guitars sounded just as fantastic here as they did back in March.  Would that every surf-garage-punk-etc. band could be this shrewd, this compassionate.

It's just a shame that this'll be their last tour.  But hey, you never know--Sauna said that they were going to break up last year, and look at them.

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

High Desert Hooligans, Trigger Itch and Piranhas BC @ the Red Room (6/7/13)

This night's Neurolux show had a definite buzz to it, no doubt owing to its headliner, the Grizzled Mighty, having played Treefort this year.  However, I'd already written about that concert's openers, the Blaqks and Parade of Bad Guys, a few times before.  This Red Room show, on the other hand, featured two acts I'd never seen.  That was enough to tip the scales in its favor.

I counted about fifteen people when I got down there.  There were about forty there when High Desert Hooligans played, but most of them chose to hang out on the patio during that set.  So it goes.  At least, judging from the crapload of people that I saw when I walked by earlier in the evening, the Neurolux show was well-attended.

Piranhas BC opened the show.  Boy, these guys sure do grow on you.  I've liked their catchy tunes and fluid, piercing solos from the first time that I heard them.  The more that I see this group, however, the more impressive that their tunes' consistency and their groove's sturdiness become.  The same goes for their smart arrangements and James Thomason's offhandedly deft vocals (a little mock-Phil Anselmo here, a little rapid-fire reciting there).  I dig Thomason's non-stop hopping, strutting and mugging as well (though he does make it difficult to take a picture of him without using a flash).  Winningly unpretentious.

Local group Trigger Itch played next.  Between their manic rhythm section, their metallic, rockabilly-ish riffs, their ferocious soloing and their rough, shouted vocals, these guys called to mind my favorite metal band, Motorhead.  They seemed to drag the beat a little on one song, but then I realized that it was a split-second tempo shift.  Most of the Red Room's patrons were outside when this set started, but it didn't take long for people to come back in and cheer the band on.

Redmond, OR rock band High Desert Hooligans closed out the night.  If you look up this group on Facebook, you'll find plenty of bands listed under "Influences": Dead Kennedys, the Runaways, the Ramones, AC/DC.  Respectable names, no doubt.  Influential, I'm sure.  Still, I smell what Harold Bloom might call an "evasion."  With their hard-driving rhythms, buzzsaw riffs, harshly catchy tunes and growled vocals, these guys and gals were damn near a dead-ringer for L7.  Nothing wrong with that, especially when you factor in the Hooligans' funny, bitchy lyrics and playful stage presence (sarcastically golly-gee mugging, some gentle nudging).  It really was a shame that most people drifted back out onto the patio during this set.  At least they got a chance to see the lead singer and bassist when they hopped down and ran out the door during a massive drum solo.  They didn't get to see Piranhas, Trigger Itch and others dancing and jumping around onstage with the Hooligans during the finale, though.  Smart, rowdy fun.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Wes Malvini and the Red Room.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 would help.

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

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 and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 would help.

Eons, Rocky Mountain District, Banned Books, Rollersnakes and Hot Lava @ the Red Room (5/13/13)

A press release that I received piqued my interest in this show.  A band who makes "beautifully damaged avant-pop music" and opened for Deerhoof, tUnE-yArDs and Delicate Steve?  Sounded like they'd be worth a shot at least.  Also, I'd never seen Hot Lava before and wanted to see how Rollersnakes struck me a second time around.

There were about fifteen people at the Red Room when I arrived.  I don't think that the audience ever rose above twenty for the entire night.  So it goes on a Monday, I guess.

Hot Lava kicked off the night's music.  This young local band sounded a little stiff here and there--their lead singer admitted that they hadn't played in a while--but overall, they got a more than decent groove going.  They had plenty of other stuff going for them too: well-crafted songs, chugging bass, charging beats, rousing riffs.  I guess you could call them pop-punk, but that doesn't sound quite right.  Power-pop, maybe?  Halfway between late-seventies punk and early-eighties "new wave"?  In any case, good stuff.

Rollersnakes played next.  Their fuzzy guitar, bashing drums and unvarnished vocals proved every bit as enjoyable as they did at last January's Rich Hands show.  Probably more, actually, since I could reflect on just how sharp their riffs and tunes are.  Also, while they still seemed a little shy, they looked and sounded more comfortable and confident than I remembered.

Up next was Banned Books.  I was tempted to call this Philadelphia group what Deerhoof might sound like once the Blue Fairy turns them into a real band, but that's a touch too snarky and not entirely accurate besides.  Still, their jerky, lurching grooves called Deerhoof to mind, and their robust rapport and smoothly crooned vocals topped them.  I don't know how Deerhoof fans would feel about their gleefully ear-wrenching guitar and synthesizer.  Me, I liked them fine.  The meager crowd seemed to as well: almost everyone stayed close to the stage for the duration of the set.

After Banned Books came Rocky Mountain District, the first of two Utah hardcore bands who got added to the bill at the last minute (a gig at the Shredder had apparently fallen through due to some scheduling mix-up).  This may be the only hardcore band I've heard where the silence around the tumult resonated as powerfully as the tumult itself.  Not that this duo's frantic drums, bipolar guitar and howled vocals weren't respectably tortured and furious.  It's just that their penchant for ominous, ambient drones and the spaces in their spare sound gave the music a fascinating screaming-into-the-cold-void feel.  Arty, brooding, lonesome stuff.

Eons closed out the night.  This quintet's sound was more straight-ahead melodic hardcore than Rocky Mountain District's: relentless rhythms, raging guitars, bellowed vocals.  They concentrated most of their power in the bass and drums, however, and their limber groove helped win me over.  It was also nice that they didn't feel the need to show off their chops too much.  Seemed like awfully nice guys as well: they joked around a bit, thanked the audience more than a few times (particularly the Boise friend who'd helped them get this gig), urged people to support Banned Books and movingly disclosed how one song was inspired by a close friend killing himself (condolences to lead singer Matt Wiley).

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Wes Malvini and the Red Room.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 could go a long way.

Marnie Stern, SISU and the Funs @ Neurolux (4/23/13)

I'd heard from a few folks that Marnie Stern could do some serious shredding on guitar, so I figured that this show would be something to see/hear.  The chance to see SISU, whose Treefort set I'd missed, made this concert doubly attractive.

There were about twenty-five people at Neurolux when I got there.  When Marnie Stern started her set, I counted over seventy.  Now that's what I'm talking about.

The Funs, a duo from Chicago, opened the show.  "Wow," I thought, "those dudes in Art Fad have really let themselves go.  Jacob Milburn's put on some weight, and man, I don't even recognize Theo Maughan now.  I guess the slower tempos make sense, under these circumstances.  But how come their tunes and riffs don't sound nearly as good?  And why's Jacob's voice sounds so sad and high-pitched?  And when did he dye his hair blond?"  I'm kidding, of course.  But not about those tempos, tunes and riffs, unfortunately.  And while it feels awfully mean to fault musicians for their age, the four or five years (I'm guessing) that Jessee Rose Crane and Philip Jerome Lesicko had over Milburn and Maughan didn't do their brand of punky incoherence any favors.  Indeed, they made it feel less like growing pains and more like protracted adolescence.  A lot more insular than Art Fad, in other words, and a whole lot less fun.

Just to show that I wasn't kidding too much about that whole Art Fad thing...

SISU played next.  Now this was more like it.  Between their massive bass sound, their propulsive drums, their spooky keyboard hooks, their spindly guitar and their breathy, cooed vocals, this Los Angeles group could've sprung fully formed from Ian Curtis's anima.  Some lights, lasers and black-and-white projections augmented the music's ominousness.  I couldn't ID their cover song (New Order?  The Cure?  The Jesus and Mary Chain?), but whatever it was, it sounded just as good as their originals.  Eerie, enticing stuff.

Marnie Stern closed out the night.  While her playful, squealing vocals suggested Kimya Dawson on helium, her hummingbird-speed strumming and tapping suggested Robert Fripp or Richard Lloyd on speed.  Her bassist served as the maypole around which she and her drummer danced and skipped.  They wore their chops lightly, however, which suited both the punk enthusiast and the pop enthusiast in me just fine.  Spunky, dexterous fun.  I just hope that the broadcast didn't get cut because of that F-bomb that Stern accidentally dropped.

You can find info on these groups 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 yellow "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

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.

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.

Gramma's House Treefort Kickoff Party @ the Red Room (3/18/13)

I'd heard quite a bit of buzz about this show around town and on Facebook.  That and the fact that it featured older local acts I'd never seen before (and might not see again) gave me enough reason to check it out.  I just hoped two days would be enough rest before Treefort started.

I counted about twenty-five people when I got to the Red Room.  That number would build to at least eighty as the night progressed.  I saw two guys get onstage wearing animal masks.  I got the feeling right around then that this was gonna get interesting.

Acts who played:

For Fuck's Sake--Johnny Rotten once described himself as a "noise structuralist."  I thought about that as this duo worked the knobs on a distortion pedal and banged on a guitar-like instrument with drumsticks to create rhythmic pulses of buzzing, howling distortion.  Then they took up a bass and drums and played a couple of stone-simple, droning punk-tunes with lines like "That's why you're always getting high./ That's why you're always telling lies."  Good fun.

Tuck and Adam Ruin Your Birthday--Rumbling drums met with tuneful, funky basslines.  Their first number kinda sounded like Zeppelin, their second kinda sounded like Primus and both sounded dandy.  A little loose, but hey, they probably hadn't played together in a while.  The crowd bobbed to the beat regardless.

Palm Reader--A nice warm-up of sorts for Earth's Treefort set.  Dirge-y beats combined with faint, high-pitched synth whines and waves of rattling, roaring guitar noise.  The folks closest to the stage sat on the floor and let it all wash over them.  Ominous, haunting stuff.

La Knotts--One of the big-ticket items on this bill.  They decorated their catchy tunes with thrashing drums, chainsaw guitar, tuneful basslines and pleasantly snarled vocals.  Grunge lives (or it did for this set, anyway).

Electric Jesus and the Flying Dream Machine--A nice mix: raw but dreamy.  Trashy organ, clanging riffs, steady drums, surf-tinged tunes, Lou Reed-ish deadpan vocals.  The crowd went wild for their ramshackle, Sid Vicious-esque closer (a cover, they said, but I don't know of what), but I much preferred their garage-drone take on Sonny Boy Williamson's "Help Me."

Scarf--Hardcore shmardcore.  This duo's thudding drums, first-lesson organ chords and tuneless screams had their true roots in temper tantrums, nursery rhymes and those doody jokes that you thought were hilarious back in Kindergarten.  The crowd channeled their inner brat during this set: they moshed, bounced around and jumped onstage to holler into the mic.  Snotty, stoopid fun.

Sidenote: these guys actually got a set at the El Korah during Treefort.  Don't ever say Doug Martsch isn't generous...

This is right before two of the girls onstage took their tops off.

The Jungle Fucks--There's goofing around and then there's goofing around.  The touch of genuine musicianship in this trio's rubbery basslines, bashing drums and demented carousel organ helped make their one-joke concept a lot funnier than Scarf's one-joke concept.  Guest screamers/groaners during this set included Saxton Turner from Meth House Party Band, Taylor Levi Campbell, Ditch Tiger's lead singer and the Red Room's own Meghann Cahill.  Transcendently ridiculous.

You can find info on these acts on Myspace and elsewhere.  Maybe.  I dunno.