The Litter Box

HOW ABOUT 7X7'S first music issue, the "ultimate guide to the Bay Area's beat"? Since 7x7 bills itself as "San Francisco's Premiere Magazine," one might have had the right to expect a relatively deep if not exhaustive look at the local music scene. In reality, the only thing missing from this month's ish is a CD laugh track to play in the background while you read.

How bad is it? Well, it's amazing that it took two writers to misidentify Minneapolis's the Soviettes as a Bay Area group ready to "rip up sneakers." Then again, it's no more astonishing than running a piece that puffs up Nadine's Wild Weekend as some sort of band wonder camp, a requisite for making it big in the industry (as opposed to the play-to-pay annual rip-off it is), or that the Donnas are the hottest band in rock and roll this summer (as opposed to just a hard-working band who are doing pretty OK). Other illuminations for those recently out of their decade-long coma include: the Fillmore is a good place to see a live show, Amoeba Music is a good place to buy CDs, ecstasy is the vice of choice for club kids, jazz was popular in the 1950s, Erase Errata are on the punk tip, and apparently the hip-hop nation as a whole grooves on smoking marijuana. There's also a fascinating Q&A with Spin editor and chief and former Mission District resident Sia Michel. The article comes with a photo of Michel, which is appropriate because it seems as if there's nothing she likes more – aside from sending writers to suck up to Thomas Yorke – than to see pictures of herself in Spin.

So it seems that, at least when it comes to music, 7x7 equals zero. But it will still cost you four bucks. Unless you take advantage of the annual rate, which is 10 issues for $10, which, when you think about it isn't bad – if they really wanted to rip you off, they'd send two copies each month.

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Speaking of almost-Bay Area favorites the Soviettes, how about a hearty "job well done" to the fine folk at Adeline Records on their most recent crop of albums. Besides nabbing the Twin Cities' best-kept punk secret, the Influents' Some of the Young and the Effection's Soundtrack to a Moment are both on the short list for top 10 local releases. They also managed to get the vinyl rights to AFI's Sing the Sorrow; hopefully they'll sell lots of copies of it, so they can take the money and put it toward releasing more good stuff.

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Proving that you can't keep a good band down, even if area clubs seem to be in collusion when it comes to not giving them a regular gig, the Shimmer Kids Underpop Association have crawled out of the basement to heave their annual grenade at the local scene. Not that anyone is likely to take too much notice. A band who rank as one of the area's premiere low-fi psychedelic pop outfits has loosed yet another gem with the six-song, 28-minute Book of Mirrors. In keeping with their long-standing love of making easygoing, hazy, slightly obscured, partially damaged pop, they draw a lot of comparisons to the now defunct tribe of acid mumblers Elephant 6, as well as a less-artless Flaming Lips, which has worked to their detriment. Add to that the fact that psychedelic pop is only slightly more popular than, say, burnt toast or oral surgery with the average person, and you have a classic recipe for a band living in near-total obscurity, save for an occasional name-check in CMJ as an Oliva Tremor Control also-ran. Let it be known that the band have churned out some compelling, spacey, unafraid-to-go-out-and-by-out-we-mean-way-out pop in recent years. On Mirror, their woozy, dreamy soundscapes collide head-on with the need for revenge and getting last raps on those who piss you off. The 2002 album Natural Riot, on Hidden Agenda, is less expansive than their Bury My Heart at Makeout Point, but it still shows the band's neat-o ability to bump wildly around the pop landscape.

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If you're reading this July 9, the day the paper hits the streets, drop everything and get over to the Elbo Room to see Jesse Dayton play. Dayton is a pleasure, but the cat playing lap steel is the man to watch. Last trip through town, the crazy bastard retuned (untuned?) his guitar just to see what kind of noises would come out; he found out. Needless to say, he completely smoked the room with a unique space cowboy sound that was something between a buzz bomb and a fire-truck siren. It's must-see, seat-of-the-pants stuff. If you read this too late, carry on as usual.