Grooves
Les
Georges Leningrad
Deux Hot Dogs
Moutarde Chou (Blow the Fuse)
The mysterious Montreal quartet Les Georges Leningrad sound like they
crawled out of a wormhole in time. Chunks of Deux Hot Dogs Moutarde
Chou's post-punk stew might remind you of the Slits or Kleenex,
but it's so anachronistic that it might be a nightmare of our future,
a polyglot zombie set loose on North America. The bent strings, keyboard
bleats, and retarded beats are a familiar fare that is rendered totally
alien.
Simple bass rumblings and binary drums sound like the dub experiments
of Flying Lizards crossed with the spacier moments of now-wave supergroup
Lake of Dracula. Though it's hard to make out words, voiced by an aural
doppelgänger of Nina Hagen, one gets the thrust of cartoon violence
and Esperanto lessons by way of Philip K. Dick. "Lollipoplady"
's plunky bass and junkyard percussion free up the feral mutterings
of the female singer. The co-ed vocals on "Georges V" sound
truly demented and reluctantly dancey. "Didi Xtra" sounds
like Glass Candy and the Shattered Theatre when they were good, but
way more fucked-up. Keyboards twitch and stutter with bipolar energy,
and the filler songs are way weirder than the rock songs saxophone
skree, warbling records, and minimal keyboard mood-killers add lumps
to the groove. The improbably mellow and folksy "Unimpermeable"
even busts out an accordion. LGL's theatrics hint at a damaged vision
of their own skewed universe, the kind that must be seen to be believed.
Les Georges Leningrad make their West Coast debut Thurs/26, former
Clit Stop, S.F. (415) 861-2883. (George Chen)
Aceyalone
Love and Hate
(Project Blowed)
Aceyalone is the rapper most likely to be consistent to a fault. Every
time he opens his mouth, he's writing love letters to language, whispering
secrets to syllables lyricism isn't just his job, it's also his
all-consuming passion. Yet for all his mastery over the written, Acey
isn't quite as adroit with the musical a problem that recurs
to the point of being cliché. Alas, the chain isn't broken on
his latest solo effort, Love and Hate. Acey finds himself once
again dogged by whimpering tracks that can't match his verbal virtuosity.
Paint-by-numbers production leaves "Lost Your Mind" wandering,
while the glitchy, electro-buzz of "In Stereo" and "Take
Off" fizzle, not sizzle. Stronger efforts, like the plush ripeness
of "The Saga Continues" or the dark smog of "City of
Shit," provide some balance, but it's mostly Acey's talents that
turn the tide. His brilliance shines with the incisive political bite
of "Ms. Amerikkka" and the playful egotism of "Junkman"
and "Ace Cowboy." Bay Area cameos abound, including crooner
Goapele and bruiser Casual, but it's still Acey's show wherever he goes.
The veteran lyricist might be lacking the right sonic support,
but at least his wit and word are as keen as ever. Aceyalone plays
July 3, Fillmore, S.F. (415) 421-TIXS. (Oliver Wang)
Kaito
Band Red (spinART)
Four people's for-the-people party music, Kaito's You've Seen Us
... You Must Have Seen Us ... (Devil in the Woods) transcended its
potentially tired indie trappings to become one of 2001's most exhilarating
dance rock revelations. Now, with their second LP, the Norwich, England,
combo keep up their own manic, panicked pace. Splitting the diff between
Clinic's overcaffeinated frenzy and a Ritalin-deprived Elastica, Band
Red makes good on its predecessor's frayed-nerve verve and racing,
arrhythmic chaos with more of the same bugged-out beats. But while the
art-school cool of "Try Me Out" and "Should I" makes
for some of Kaito's best moments, the album is so similar to Seen
Us that it's only as enjoyable as your tolerance for predictability
allows.
Likewise, the quartet's ace in the hole remains singer-guitarist Nikki
Colk. Shouting and slur-singing like she's got a mouthful of marbles,
the LiLiPUT disciple sounds like she's drowning in her own giddy obsession
with non sequiturs and garbled gobbledygook ("Shake that re-pronounce
/ Manual contrast!," "Arhh ohh on ree!"). Colk's anxiety-ridden
warbling hasn't changed much in the past two years, but it's still compellingly
off-kilter enough to warrant repeated listens. Which is why, despite
its déjà vu-inducing songs, Band Red ultimately
succeeds as a worthy sequel to See Us. Still, it's hard not to
wonder what would've resulted had Kaito taken their party a little further
out of bounds this time. Kaito play July 2, Bottom of the Hill, S.F.
(415) 621-4455. (Jimmy Draper)
Thermals
More Parts
Per Million (Sub Pop)
Northwestern indie rock supergroup the Thermals' debut album, More
Parts Per Million, doesn't quite fall into the rubric of lo-fi
and who wants to use their registered trademarked "no-fi"
so can we agree to call it "now-fi"? The term slips
on and hugs the curves of your zeitgeist as snugly as a sticky, hot
article of thermal thunderwear. That's because this recording sounds
as now as striped shirts, bondage pants, and newspaper boys'
caps. About as now as the '80s. Which isn't too current, sure, but can
you blame a band that was born only yesterday spring 2002, to
be precise.
Speedy, superdistorted, recorded through a crappy four-track, More
Parts Per Million sounds good like only an intentionally meddled-with
work de punk could. Vocalist Hutch Harris, bassist Kathy Foster of All
Girl Summer Fun Band, drummer Jordan Hudson of Operacycle, and guitarist
Ben Barnett of Kind of like Spitting make no secret of flaunting their
old-school punk underpinnings or their melodic savvy. Still, more than
once, notably on "Brace and Break" and "Goddamn the Light,"
the Portland, Ore., four-piece hit and run the Buzzcocks, baldly swiping
their riffs and staccato, streamlining tricks. For the most part, Harris
uses the reductive nature of the 'Cock-y style to his frantic advantage,
carping in short, pointed monosyllables about love, cash, and a lack
of safety on "I Know the Pattern" and spazzing about his own
negative capabilities to attack art, ideals, and old lovers
on "No Culture Icons." Seemingly omnipresent Death Cab for
Cutie member Chris Walla drove the two-track mix and, along with mastering
engineer Tony Lash, managed to boil the whole prickly kit down to one
sorta-unified piece (which nowadays seems a tad long for a form best
parceled out in small, frenzied doses). But despite their efforts, you
wonder why More Parts Per Million sounds even better when it
ends. The Thermals play Sun/29, Bottom of the Hill, S.F. (415) 621-4455.
(Kimberly Chun)