Kick ass
You're stuck in "Hotel California," but from where you're sitting, you can safely say S.F. still rocks.

By Mike McGuirk

IN KEEPING WITH the theme of this issue of Noise, I'm supposed to write something about the San Francisco sound. Unfortunately, for the second year in a row, I've spent the majority of my time in my room listening to various degrees of embarrassingly "classic" rock rather than going to shows. I say "embarrassing" because there's just no other way to put it when you listen to "Hotel California," by the Eagles, on a daily basis. The song is a jam, but I'm not lying to myself. I mean, it's "Hotel California," for Christ's sake. I mean, why? Why did I suddenly become obsessed with it? I don't know. I also spent, like, a month with the lights off listening to "The End" and playing Vietnam-themed video games. Other great songs this year were "The Rover," by Led Zeppelin; "Louie Louie," by the Kingsmen; "Louie Louie," by Richard Berry; and "Seasons of Wither," by Aerosmith. What can I say? Things are weird for me.

The one thing I can say is that last night, as I watched No Doctors make everybody look bad at the Hemlock Tavern, I thought that maybe the S.F. sound is about to get its ass kicked. No Doctors just moved here from the Midwest, and they're apparently here to rearrange the S.F. sound's face. The band have come with a reputation for creating controversy in cool-dude circles, dividing hipsters, and eliciting extreme reactions on both sides of the fence.

Last night they opened up with a song that was decidedly indie rock but with some kind of Saturday Night Live saxophone playing, and I was faced with the idea that they're gonna make indie rock cool again, an idea that seems to have been bubbling up here and there. Then they played some kind of emo thing, and then all of a sudden they were playing, like, heavy rock with guitar breaks and screaming arena-rock solos erupting out of an untuned guitar mess. But the mess was played with a tightness and chops you only see Weasel Walter strive for. And on top of that, this shit was positively breathing. Sax player-singer Cansafis started screaming and shaking his head with his hands on his knees like an extra from some superhippie acid-rock documentary, and all I could think was "What the f– ?"

I mean, the guitar player named Elvis was wearing a white tuxedo, Cansafis was dressed like a mountain man, the other guitar player (and singer) was dressed in semi-indie rocker clothes, but with a little bit of the Fort Thunder "sew shit on your shirt" aesthetic, and the drummer looked like a college kid. I was like, "How the fuck did these people become friends?" Anyway, it ruled and was the best show I've been to all year. I've been to three, so you should definitely take my word for it.

After No Doctors, Burmese played. I don't have the space to go into it, and actually by now you should know, but Burmese are the best band in the city, especially live. Nobody can touch the dudes. The negative vibe their growling spasmodia creates is my favorite thing in the world almost. You could say they're ripping off Whitehouse too much, but shit, if it weren't for Burmese, I never would have heard Whitehouse, and I know I'm not the only one.

So the San Francisco sound is going strong – thank god. Thank god, the San Francisco sound is still amazingly awesome.