April 9, 2003

The Litter Box

MIKE LAVELLA HAS somehow managed to turn Gearhead into a full-fledged, almost-money-making empire, something that – as recently as two years ago – seemed impossible. What started as a project dedicated to celebrating cars and punk rock has developed into a once-in-a-very-blue-moon zine and record label dedicated to celebrating punk and, er, Scandinavian punk. The transcontinental lovefest with the Swedes started earnestly enough in 1996 (issue number four) when the Nomads, Sweden's greatest-ever rock combo, and Lavella knocked heads. The next thing you know, every Scandinavian band you never heard of was showing up on Gearhead. Puffball, "Demons," Maggots, Mensen, NRA, Sewergrooves, and Hypnomen all released material, as did a quintet from Fagersta, Sweden, called the Hives. Kaboom! Instant empire. As the lovelies at Gearhead enter their 10th year in the biz, they've taken on the Hellacopters and the New Bomb Turks, and they've given back to the Bay Area scene with a Dukes of Hamburg full-length and a boffo 7-inch single from dope-rockers the Nads. (There's also some vague talk of putting out a 12th issue of the mag, but don't hold your breath.)

After reading the San Francisco Examiner's recent assessment of the Sermon, I'm not sure which is funnier: the idea that there is hot label interest surrounding them or the fact that they were called "young." Both notions are most certainly the creation of columnist Bill Picture's mind. Meanwhile, the Sermon praise Picture's writing as innovative.

The new White Stripes album has finally hit the street! Queen fans rejoice! Everyone else, please take your $15, roll it up tightly, insert it in your ass, and light it with a match. I promise that'll be a lot more satisfying than having to listen to Elephant more than once. Five stars, indeed.

The Teenage Harlets' threat to release an album, once a horrific promise, is about to be realized. San Francisco's most hazardous crew of mental midgets will drop their half-witted bomb in mid May – which means you have plenty of time to set aside some petty cash for this soon-to-be-legendary vinyl release. Thirteen songs, seven inches, four bucks. It's a no-brainer.

It would appear that the fortunes of Carlos Guitarlos might be on the turnaround. Most of you probably know him as the guy with the red Stratocaster playing outside the 16th Street BART station. Or maybe you remember him as the dude who, at one of his rare club dates, cleared the room with his bellowing voice (like B.S. Pulley, Carlos doesn't require a mic or a telephone if you're within eight blocks of earshot). Once a member of Los Angeles' legendary Top Jimmy and the Rhythm Pigs (who toured the circuit with blood brothers X and the Blasters), and currently scraping by as a street musician, Carlos will unveil a new solo album, Straight from the Heart (Nomad), this May. Though 2001's Mission Blues is mostly acoustic, Heart finds him surrounded by a core group consisting of Joey Morales, Bill MacBeath, Dave Black, and Marc Dote, as well as old friends John Doe, Dave Alvin, and Mike Watt. The old buzzard swings like he never has before, on an album featuring 13 well-penned originals and a couple of covers. A prerelease buzz is building in L.A. and New York, and for good reason – it's a terrific album by a soulful guy. Carlos has booked a slate of shows to coincide with its release. He doesn't suffer fools (or anyone else) easily, and given that he'll receive a lot of attention, it'll be interesting to see how (or if) he makes nice.

Trying to imagine people walking out of a concert in a huff just because Eddie Vedder stomped on a rubber mask of Bush II is almost as sad as actually paying to see Pearl Jam. I mean, did any of these people read the lyrics to "Jeremy"?

Call me a softy, but man the new Bellyachers album, Heavy in My Hands, knocks me silly. After letting it sit in a pile on my desk for three months, I finally put the damn thing in the box, then spent the rest of the afternoon kicking myself for waiting so long. A little Texas honky-tonk, some Bakersfield twang, alt-country whatever, spaghetti western, a dash of psychedlia, and even some straight-up Nashville pop – the Bellyachers have a fine little hunk of plastic on their hands. It's sweet and edgy and though it works some well-worn themes, it never sounds tired. I like it. Go figure.