April 16, 2003

The Litter Box

THE QUESTION OF the week is, When exactly did locals Bottles and Skulls cross the border from sorta decent to drop-dead great? It's amazing these four rejects made it out of Florida alive in the first place, but all of the sudden they're playing on a whole new level. What's more, with the release of their second long player, Born in a Black Light, they can no longer be dismissed as a semihardcore, little-bit-metal punk band. Black Light – recorded in Seattle with studio "legend" Jack Endino – pulls from disparate sources, owing as much to Bauhaus and the Murder City Devils as it does to any hardcore upbringing. In fact, any trace of punk seems to come from a Turbonegro direction, meaning it's pretty accidental. Bottles and Skulls muscle their way through 11 often tongue-in-cheek tracks with subtle nods to goth, psychedlia, white trash garage power, and even pop on the album's safer, less-severe moments. The band can never be accused of having written in the same style twice – they've gone in a different direction with each release. Born in a Black Light finds them ready to wear the mantle as gold-plated, guaranteed-not-to-tarnish rock idols. Bottles and Skulls are about to tour the SoCal coast before going to Texas. When they come back, catch them at the tiny, sweaty Molotov's May 17, for full effect.

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It would appear that English megastar Robbie Williams's attempt to conquer America is headed for the rocks, a commercial disaster. Across the pond Williams is a familiar figure on the charts and in the tabloids – Escapology (which finished number-one for 2002) is a horrid album. EMI paid Williams a reported $80,000,000 for his contract and promised to put 4,000,000 copies of Escapology in U.S. retail stores. As of this writing, roughly 21,000 copies of said drivel have been purchased by the record-buying public. So, let's all breathe in and then exhale a big sigh of relief – a tragedy averted, like a B movie doomsday scenario in which Earth narrowly escapes being hit by a rogue comet.

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Yes, yes, I know. The White Stripes, the White Stripes, the White Stripes. Elephant! Genius! Perfect! Hooray! Hey! Did you know Jack and Meg really aren't brother and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Now, on the other hand, how 'bout dem Deadly Snakes? Of all of the bands currently residing in the neo-roots movement, these Canadian-bred soul-gospel-garage-slop miners have just weighed in with the masterstroke of the season, Ode to Joy (In the Red). Stylistically, the album falls somewhere between the horn-and-bluster frenzy of Rocket from the Crypt and the more out-of-control elements of the Dirtbombs. The Snakes' take on rock and roll is nothing short of a catharsis. "Closed Casket" is the song of the year. Without former guitarist Greg Cartwright, they might be short one guitar, but the kids from Toronto ended up making their best album yet by a mile.

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For all of you who miss the warm sound of analog keyboards with your dance music, we offer for your approval Secret Synthi, San Francisco's answer to Gary Numan (if he were three chicks in pleather pants). Even though the band features two members of the usually abysmal Ghosts, one shouldn't be put off by S2's suspect lineage. It turns out they play in tune and end all songs at the same time, giving them a distinct edge over their other outlet. Their debut disc, Katzchenkollision, is a warm, fuzzy throwback album that's sometimes otherworldly, innovative, and a laugh-out-loud good time – 100 percent fun.

Bottles and Skulls play Molotov's May 17, 582 Haight, S.F. Call for time and price. (415) 558-8019.