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.

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.

Vietnam and Gap Dream @ Neurolux (5/7/13)

I looked up some information on the band Vietnam prior to this show and grew intrigued.  Fond of the Stones and the Velvet Underground, a stint living and playing in Austin, contributions from Jenny Lewis on their self-titled album, hmm.  A quick listen to a couple of their songs stirred some reservations, but I still figured that this show would be worth seeing.

I counted about fifteen people when I first got to Neurolux.  When the show started, I counted thirty-five.  I estimated that the audience peaked at around fifty.  Pretty good.

Gap Dream opened the show.  I've groused occasionally about the plethora of 60's revivalists, imitators, etc. out there nowadays, but when a group does it right, I ain't gonna complain much.  This group did it right.  Their lean, smooth rhythm section helped keep their jangling riffs, terse solos and pleasantly plain vocals afloat.  While one song sounded like Neil Young gone surfing, another really did sound like the Velvet Underground (less "Venus In Furs," more "Foggy Notion").

Vietnam played next.  Their steady tempos, droning violin, misterioso keyboard and clanging, spidery guitars  went down quite agreeably.  The lyrics weren't bad either, from what I heard--archetypal stuff about walking with devils and such.  The only rub was Michael Gerner's grating vocals.  Hearing him on record, I get the Dylan/Reed feel he's going for.  Hearing him live, I wished he could at least hit the right wrong notes.  Still, I dug the solos and the way that their dreamy thunderousness ebbed and flowed.  The crowd seemed to also: they moved up close to the stage and cheered loudly throughout.

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 yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.

The Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival @ the VaC; The Matildas and Pacific Pride @ the Chamber of Death (3/1/13)

A friend of mine sent me a Facebook invite for this VaC show, and I grew intrigued.  Admittedly, I'm no expert on experimental music or highfalutin' avant-garde stuff, so I wasn't sure how I'd write about this.  That uncertainty gave me a powerful incentive to check this deal out.

I only counted about fifteen people when I arrived at the VaC.  That number included a fair amount of the participants in the evening's activities.  By my count, not much more than twenty civilians showed up while I was there.

As the Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival progressed, I encountered something humbler and more generous than I'd anticipated.  Some people, I imagine, might have considered it unbearably pretentious.  They'd be wrong.  "Pretentious" implies some lofty intent or ambition.  Conversely, I heard more than one person involved with the project say, "We don't know what we're doing."  That was the point of the show: to throw caution to the wind, try something out and see where the moment took you.  In other words, to have fun.

Musicians who participated this night included Krispen Hartung, Tristan Andreas, Ashley Rose Smith, cellist Melissa Wilson, guitarist Ted Killian and saxophonist/College of Southern Idaho professor Brent Jensen (as well as, in an impromptu cameo, Sam Stimpert on horn).  They tossed back and forth bumps, coos, honks, bleats, squeals, whistles, rattles, groans, chirps and any other kind of noise that they could squeeze out of their respective instruments.  A very pleasant ebb and flow developed as the two acts I saw unfolded.  At one moment, everything would coalesce and sound like something that Tom Ze, John Zorn or Ennio Morricone in his more eccentric moments might come up with.  At the next, it would dissolve into a glorious mess of noise.

Meanwhile, a group of dancers that included Kyle Johnson, Heidi Kraay and my friend Daphne Stanford writhed, shook their hands in the air, scooted across the stage on their butts and basically did anything that the situation seemed to call for.  This included spouting the occasional non sequitur--one especially enjoyable passage involved knocking the word "sh*t" about like a shuttlecock.  The visual component of the show also included a strobelight, the VaC's disco ball and some trippy montages courtesy of Yurek Hansen and Jason Willford.

It really was too bad that more people didn't show up for this.  Hopefully, the following night's show was better attended.

I watched two acts of the BCIMF and then headed out.  I would've liked to have stayed for the finale, but I wanted to catch at least part of the show at the Chamber of Death, a new Boise house venue and sister of sorts to Caldwell's Manor.

I found something sad in the fact that more people crammed into two modest apartments than went down to the VaC.  I estimated that there were about thirty people at the Chamber of Death, and that number could have been low.

I arrived just in time to catch the two sets by a quartet of Denver musicians, who played alternately under the names Pacific Pride and the Matildas.  The Pacific Pride material was your standard jittery surf/garage-punk: manic drumming, tuneful basslines, droning riffs, eerie keyboard.  Nothing I haven't heard two billion times before, and nothing I'd mind hearing again.

The Matildas' material proved more distinctive.  This was thanks in part to the alternating male-female vocals and thanks in part to the slight old-school Ramones feel to their pop-tunes and jangly guitars.  The lyrics weren't too shabby either--sweet, sassy, grounded.  The crowd grinned, jostled each other playfully and clapped to the beat.  I wanted to get a picture of the crowd-surfing, but I was too slow on the draw.

You can find info on these groups and the Boise Creative and Improvised Music Festival on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Black Soul by Gayze (2013)

"Record collectors shouldn't be in bands."  As I listened to Black Soul, the debut EP by the quasi-local project Gayze, I thought about this Joe Carducci quote.  I thought about it because Black Soul feels so self-conscious.  The whole thing comes across as an objet d'art made by collectors for collectors.

How else can one regard these fourteen minutes of sun-bleached tunes, fuzzy surf-guitar riffs, chunky acoustic strumming, unwavering 4/4 beats, trash organ and muffled, studiously detached, predominantly incomprehensible vocals?  This group--whose membership on record consists of David Wood and Gabe Rudow from the Boise band Teens and Cody Mauser from the San Antonio band the Rich Hands--seems hell-bent on making their record sound like some dusty, worn-out seven-inch that you stumbled across at the Record Exchange.  The shoe seems to fit even better when you consider that the only physical copies of Black Soul currently available (as far as I know) are 250 clear vinyl seven-inches.  If that doesn't scream, "COLLECTOR'S ITEM!", I don't know what does.

In a way, Black Soul makes me think of the change-up that Bob Dylan made when he released John Wesley Harding back in 1967.  At a time when things seemed to be falling apart and the center could not hold, Dylan put out an album that was all about Tradition and The Good Ol' Days: black-and-white band portrait on the cover, overwhelmingly acoustic instrumentation, lyrics that seemed to cry out for historical footnotes, jes' plain folk melodies.  Conversely, in a time when proponents of so-called Traditional Values (laissez-faire capitalism, fundamentalist Christian dogma, etc.) usurp, pervert and otherwise squander our resources, liberties and opportunities, Gayze releases a record that, from its acid-dropping cover art to its hazily menacing undertow, evokes a period in our nation's history when it felt as if everything was on the table and the future was out there for the taking.  In both cases, an idealized past seems to be invoked to compensate for--or, at the very least, distract from--an unsettling present.

But enough of this academic noodling (and, admittedly, rather reductive political analysis).  Bottom line: is Black Soul worth your time?  Well, there are certainly worse ways to spend fourteen minutes.  Aside from a few megabytes, it literally doesn't cost you anything to stream the record or download it via Bleeding Gold Records' Bandcamp page.  Also, as a guy who grew up listening to "Dead Man's Curve," "96 Tears," "Pipeline" and "I'm Waiting for the Man," I do find said fuzzy riffs and sun-bleached tunes pretty groovy when I give them a play.  Given their built-in obsolescence, however, I can't imagine that I'll play them that often.  As for buying the vinyl, if you wanna slip these guys a few bucks, good on ya.  But caveat emptor if you wonder what it'll get you on eBay in ten years.