If the last Gemini Disco Paradise party was any indication (18-piece disco band Escort, performances at midnight and 3 a.m., packed crowd, go-go dancers, balloon drop, cabaret-style performances), the second Paradise this Saturday night (5/17) should deliver on its promise to be a debaucherous, all-night disco dance party channelling the spirit of Studio 54 or Paradise Garage, the infamous gay NYC nightclub from the '80s.
Christopher McVick's Paradise Disco Trailer
Mezzanine and Gemini Disco are bringing the original disco divas from the '70s Sister Sledge ("We Are Family" and "He's the Greatest Dancer"), as well as DFA's disco-revivalists Holy Ghost! (DJ set), with local supporting DJs Derrek Love and Nicky B (Gemini), BT Magnum and Black Shag (Beat Electric), and Honey Soundsystem. Christopher McVick and his entourage help ignite the disco fever with their outlandish circus/disco/cabaret antics, including theatrical choreography, stick ponies, and glitzy drag performances.
Sister Sledge perform "He's the Greatest Dancer"
Paradise All-Night Disco Party
May 17th, 10 pm to dawn, $15 advance
Mezzanine, 444 Jessie Street, 415-625-8880 www.mezzaninesf.com
I meant to have posted this banger love letter yesterday, but I got caught up in gay marriage drama (did anyone else think the music at the Castro celebration party last was a bit dark for the occasion? Celebrate equal rights with psytrance! I kinda had to love it ... )
So I've jabbered on and on about the banger scene, and about the tecktonik dance that goes with it (in Europe, at least) -- but what about the music and the clubs, eh? Yeah, we'll get to that, but first here's the vid for the new N.E.R.D. song that's everywhere -- it's pretty much an acoustic banger, heh -- and the electro remixes are already flowin' in. It's a scandalously dead-on look at the scene, and I guess when I said that goofy over-accessorizing was out I misspoke, but I still can't find any irony.
And now, click here for this bangin' mix from one of my favorite people right now -- and a damn good DJ -- Richie Panic, called "An Amazingly Lifelike Companion." listen especially for the "Bonus Track" -- kiddie mosh-pit indeed. And an excellent example of the punk roots, or at least aspirations, of the scene.
And then check out 22-year-old local banger Public's jaw-dropping mixtape of his own edits (Metallica! ELO! The Cardigans! "The Promise"?!) -- I figure we'll be hearing a lot more from this one.
As for clubs, kind-of weekly Blow Up at Rickshaw Stop is the epicenter right now, with its sister club Frisco Disco right behind (although Frisco Disco keeps it a little more old-school neon indie, with more actual guitar-driven songs from the past and even a little melancholy.) Here's a couple vids from Blow Up -- there's a hot one tonite if you can make it -- shot by Blow Up's videographer Peter Noble, because no club would be anything without impeccable digital documentation. Noble's editing technique is pretty rad, though.
Girls make us dance - whether we want to or not. Photo by Jen Synder.
By Jen Snyder
I know that there's a big battle going on about whether or not the Internet is evil - and whether or not technology is making people super-mean. But you've got to admit that while some things may be getting a more impersonal, others are getting a lot cooler. Like bands.
Has anyone noticed that there are a million groups out there that are actually really good? That is so weird. Remember when you used to go to the Warehouse with your dad and every other CD was completely horrible? Now I walk around a music store so bewildered by all the pretty album covers that I get an intimidation contact high and end up leaving with my 19th Leonard Cohen album. Geez. I blame the Internet and its infallible ability to get awesome stuff to anyone, even if you don't live in a cultural hub like San Francisco.
So the next time you're stumbling around Amoeba, wondering which disc has the sweet song your coworker played for you, just go to the G section and go pick out anything by Girls. Actually, they don't have an official album out, but I do know that they have some great songs on their MySpace page, including a particular favorite of mine, "Hellhole Ratrace." Their songs evoke the pleasantly masochistic feelings you get from listening to something like Nirvana Unplugged. And in an era where one can describe the '80s and even the '90s as vintage, Girls has this "yesterday" feel to them that makes you yearn for those years when you were sadder and more creative.
Good to know Joey Ramone Day marches on - just as it was fun to hear, at last night's Eric Lyle reading/event at CounterPULSE for his new book, On the Lower Frequencies: A Secret History of the City, the Guardian contributor talk about his own personal observance of Joey Ramone Day - playing Ramones songs on a boombox through the streets, meditating on the frontman.
Well, it happens on every coast. This just in - the details for this year's Joey Ramone Birthday Bash on May 19 in NYC:
"Celebrating what would have been the 57th birthday of punk-icon Joey Ramone, the annual Joey Ramone Birthday Bash will take place Monday, May 19, at the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza. Mickey Leigh, event organizer and brother of Joey Ramone, has announced that, as part of the eighth annual Bash, fans will be treated to a special reunion appearance from Manitoba's Wild Kingdom featuring Handsome Dick Manitoba, Andy Shernoff, Ross the Boss, and JP Thunderbolt.
'Member when you first heard Nirvana's Bleach (1989)? 'Member when you first spun 1986's Sub Pop 100? Yeah, it was the '80s, and college-alternative-indie-whatever-rock was a piping hot, tumescent, rich vein, ready to bedazzle. Still, the lil' label from the Northwest, Sub Pop, stood out from the slew of worthies with its prescient picks from a roused, riled, and increasingly loud underground, a wise-acre attitude, and a forward-facing outlook on the state of the rock.
So gather round as the Seattle imprint celebrates its 20th anniversary - yeesh, it's been that long - with a fine comp, Happy Birthday to Me: Terminal Sales Vol. 3 (including tunes by Mudhoney, Foals, Wolf Parade, No Age, Kelley Stoltz, Flight of the Conchords, and the Helio Sequence); a series of reissues begining with Mudhoney's Superfuzz Bigmuff: Deluxe Edition (coming May 20); a limited relaunch of the lauded Sub Pop Singles Club; a July 11 comedy show with Eugene Mirman and Patton Oswalt; and a benefit fest, which runs July 12-13 at Marymoor Park outside Seattle in Redmond, Wash.
The Bay will be represented by Comets on Fire on a bill that includes Flight of the Conchords, Foals, Iron and Wine, Low, Pissed Jeans, Wolf Parade, and Ruby Suns. And those who remember the '80s (and early '90s) will be psyched to hear that such reunited grunge-meisters and rock hurlers as the Fluid, Green River, Beachwood Sparks, and Red Red Meat will also put in a few appearances. Yes, there will be a half-pipe.
For a $35 single-day or $60 two-day pass to the fest or a $20 ticket to the comedy calvacade, call (206) 628-0888 or go to the Ticketmaster site.
In this week's Super Ego clubs column, I finally take on the banger scene's hardcore electro glitz riot on the city's dance floors. The sound and style originated in France, mostly, and is helping to resuscitate the much-maligned term "euro" -- commonly associated with over-caffeinated, hyper-sugary tunes that fitted really awful embroidered jeans and Gucci knockoff sunglasses on a couple generations of appletini swillers.
I'm much more into the new euro, needless to say, and in Paris at least, bangers are associated with a dance craze, tecktonik (also spelled tektonik). Here's what it looks like, to the wonderfully banged-up tune of fabulous French rapstress-chanteuse Yelle's "A Cause de Garcons." (Her show here at the Independent last month was off the hook, btw, and she featured a sequined pink Stephen Sprouse-like dress reading "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Fierceness!)
Goofy, but sweetly energetic. The dance in fact originally started in the early-mid 2000s, in Parisian megaclub Metropolis, where it was performed to a much harder sound, a direct descendant of rave music: much more trancey and happy hardcore. (It's said the term "tecktonik" actually refers to the clash of hardcore dance styles coming in from Belgium and the Netherlands then, crashing into each other like techtonic plates.)
The two somewhat over-it-looking white dancers in the Yelle video above are famous lookalike tektoniquistes VaVan and TreAxy -- household names in France. Here's a video of them performing an early version of the dance, called "jumpstyle" (some still prefer to call it that, others use the name to refer to the music) and done to a "more traditional" musical style -- you can really see the liquid rave-dance origins here, and yeah, it looks more than a tad ridiculous, but why not?
There's a reason for the term "jumpstyle." Also happening at the time -- around 2005ish, as with all underground phenomena the timing is fuzzy -- and in the same clubs, but to more amped-up happy hardcore, was a revival of the Melbourne Shuffle, an old rave dance from the early '90s that really only looks good when you do it in extraordinarily baggy pants. The "shufflers" often squared off with, or at least disassociated themselves from, the tight-pantsed "jumpers." (In my head, they're like the Jets and the Sharks.) Also, despite its name, "jumping" is much more about the upper body and random skips, whereas "shuffling" is all about lower glide. Here's the Melbourne Shuffle:
So, OK, what does any of this have to do with Justice, and the Ed Banger Records scene and sound?
ABDEL HADI HALO AND THE EL GUSTO ORCHESTRA OF ALGIERS
Abdel Hadi Halo and the El Gusto Orchestra of Algiers
(Honest Jon’s)
By Erik Morse
The style and history of chaabi may be recognizable to few if any Westerners. But the examples performed on Abdel Hadi Halo and the El Gusto Orchestra of Algiers represent a unique and fascinating exchange between French, Spanish, and Algerian musical identity as well as the miscegenation of Jewish, Berber, and Arabic street culture in the heart of North Africa.
Translated from Arabic as “popular," chaabi – originating in the Casbah as part of a Moorish/Andalusian tradition that stretched back to the 15th century – reached its height during the 1950s. Primarily performed in bars and clubs where many French expats, American GIs, Sephardic Jews, and Algerian Muslims congregated and swapped native instruments and scales, the cosmopolitan interplay of chaabi marked a complex colonial parity comparable to American Delta blues. With Algeria’s independence from France in 1962, over 100,000 pied-noirs (mostly Jews and European colonials) fled north from their homes fearing reprisal from the Muslim sanctioned government. And with them went much of the cross-cultural popularity of chaabi.
Although it lost much of its mystique among younger musicians, the forefathers of chaabi played on. Some, like El Hajj Muhammad El Anka, referred to as the “father of chaabi,” continued to teach and spread the genre’s musical heritage throughout Algeria until his death in 1978.
Bjorn Kristiansson, a.k.a., Borko, is not only a chronic day-dreamer but a procrastinator as well. A music teacher and film composer living in Reykjavik, Borko has finally assembled an album, Celebrating Life, to follow his 2001 debut EP, Trees and Limbo (Resonant). The result - a collection of varying electronic and folktronic experiments that reaches back to 2002 - is a pleasing if dilettantish grab bag of bright charmers and absurd homages to the tundra. Kristiansson’s inspirations suggest an ambitious musical mind that seeks grand scope rather than minute detail.
The album’s opener, the appropriately titled “Continental Love,” is a wonderful introduction to Kristiansson’s musical topology, using synthesized horns and sampled vocal beats to simulate the expansive void of the Great North - a space more than a place - and, left largely to the romantic imagination, the perfect wintry allegory for longing. The next track, “Spoonstabber,” abandons these mammoth instrumentals for the doe-eyed vocals and electro-acoustic soundscapes of Amnesiac-era Radiohead, revealing Borko’s m.o. to be one less of tonal focus than generic catch and release. Lest we forget, this is pop and not process music.
Despite the childish titles, “Shoo Ba Ba," “Sushi Stakeout,” and “Ding Dong Kingdom” dovetail into melodrama, using heavily processed keyboards, plangent electric guitars, and hypnotic coos and chimes - not unlike fellow Icelanders múm or Air in its lush soundtracking for The Virgin Suicides. Throughout, the playful melancholia of Borko evokes the cinematic regionalism of Guy Maddin or Dagur Kári, whose works similarly equate romance not with equatorial heat but with arctic hibernation. And Celebrating Life is filled with the kind of hit-and-miss magic that comes when an imagination overburdened with the possibilities of music seeks to create not only a new genre but a whole new continent of sound.
Jef Stott has been a producer and remixer on San Francisco's global electronica scene for over a decade. But this Saturday night (5/10) at Bollyhood in the Mission, Stott celebrates the release of his first full-length album – Saracen – on Six Degrees .
Stott fuses Arabic and Turkish rhythms with both electronic and acoustic beats and textures. What sets him apart from many of his world music peers is that – rather than merely sampling – Stott is a multi-instrumentalist who plays a wide range of instruments. On Saracen, he plays oud (Arabic lutes), saza and cumbus (Turkish lutes), the Persian santur, bass, and percussion. He also invites a number of guest musicians, including well-known Tunisian vocalist MC RAI.
Drawing early inspiration from art rockers lke Glenn Branca, Brian Eno, and Peter Gabriel, Stott got his musical start playing guitar in rock and metal bands is his hometown of Los Angeles in the 1980s. Stott went on to form the band Stellamara, whose blend of Middle Eastern and Balkan sounds and ambient rock awakened his interest in the devotional aspects of music beyond its entertainment value and led him to intensively study the oud under internationally known musicians Hamza El Din and Omar Faruk Tekbilek.
What is especially remarkable about Stott is his humility, reverence for his teachers and peers, and willingness to talk and think deeply about issues of cultural appropriation in world music.
SFBG: You have a background in heavy metal and art rock. When did you get interested in playing Middle Eastern music?
Jef Stott: [Playing in Stellamara] is when I made the big switch. That is when I picked up the oud, sold all my electric guitar equipment, and really got deeply interested in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish music. I almost abandoned everything I had done up to that point and started on a whole new path.
Perhaps it’s perfectly fitting that the lads in Supergrass -- cheeky as they’ve always been -- are the ones in the much-ballyhooed Britpop pack having the last laugh after all. Chalk it up to their boyish exuberance, I suppose, or maybe to their steadfast refusal to take themselves too seriously, but the Oxford stompers are now deep into the double-digit years of their career, and still sounding remarkably fresh with each release, while so many of those acts once mentioned in the same breath have either broken up or lost their relevance.
The once-ubiquitous movement, which the British music press essentially heralded as something akin to the second coming of Christ, complete with its share of messianic drama and seething rivalries, had a great run for a while there, beginning around the mid-‘90s and lasting through the turn of the century. Blur, Oasis, Pulp, Suede, Elastica, Sleeper -- they were some of the big-hitters at the center of it all, unapologetically celebrating Britishness, flag-drapery and all, through a spirited revisit of ‘60s Mod culture, punk/post-punk jitters, and New Wave electro-romanticism.
When Supergrass showed up, still in their teens and hardly concealing it, the bright-eyed scruffs seemed like the younger, sillier siblings to the art-school grads of Blur and Pulp. I imagine many folks would’ve never guessed at the time of their breakthrough 1995 single “Alright” (yep, as in “We are young/ we run green/ keep our teeth nice and clean/ see our friends, see the sights/ feel alright” -- recently snagged by Walt Disney world for their feel-good commercials) that the band would still be going strong thirteen years later. Nothing against them, of course, it’s just that bands sticking together for more than a decade are a bit of a rarity.
But here they are, and their recently Brit-released sixth album, Diamond Hoo Ha (Parlophone/EMI) – to be released here 6/10 on Astralwerks -- is a winner. With the demise of Pulp and Elastica and Sleeper and Suede fading further by the day, and in view of Blur’s highly unlikely on-again/off-again reformation rumors and Oasis’s having long since lost the plot, it looks like Supergrass might strike the double-bonus of longevity and sustained relevance. Hmmm, feel alright, indeed.
Call me overly-dramatic but Duran Duran have and will forever be my favorite band. They have been since I was five. That's probably why one of my greatest regrets is opting for a Nintendo console over tickets to the "Arena" tour -- what was to be the band's final outing (with all five founding members) -- for my sixth birthday back in 1984.
While seeing reformed lineups both onstage and at record signings in the 90's, and even encountering John Taylor one fateful morning at the Noah's Bagels that I worked at in 1997, offered some consolation, nothing would come close to seeing the Fab Five together again on their 2008 reunion tour.
All pics by Quartknee Kwatek
While guitarist Andy Taylor's recent departure from the group may have sprinkled on my parade, I can't say that their Bay Area Red Carpet Massacre tour stop at Sleep Train Amphitheatre in Concord May 2 suffered for it.
The three-act show, which debuted in late 2007 on Broadway, was highly-theatrical, incorporating all the necessary show-stopping elements.
There was unique staging in the band's utilization of a simple skyscraper background and a variety of light sources -- from stage lights to bulbs -- to evoke a variety of moods instead of traditional video screens.
The musical numbers -- from the darker tracks off their Timba-Lake-produced "Red Carpet Massacre" (2007) like bass-heavy opener "The Valley", beat-driven "Night-Runner" and hip pop number "Skin Diver" complete with Timbaland rapping loop to rearrangements of the band's lighter classics such as "Hungry Like the Wolf", "The Reflex" and "Rio" -- were mixed gorgeously.
The mid-section of the show was run entirely on synthesizers and drum machines, so
tracks like "Last Chance on the Stairway" "All She Wants Is" and "I Don't Want Your Love" became even more electro-shocked, blending seamlessly with the band's cover of The Normal's "Warm Leatherette".
The storied Metro Bar in the Castro moved down the street to Church and Market a while ago (the old space became the suspiciously Metro-alike Lookout) -- and people worried for its future. Luckily, the minds behind the Metro are sharp enough to know they need a draw, and the new Metro has already become a premiere trash-drag venue (multiple Joan Crawford tribute nights aside.)
It's even managed to lure one of San Francisco's bloody, beloved drag traditions, The Cookie Dough Monster Show, run by Cookie Dough herself (with her cute DJ partner MC2), from its pleasant perch at Harvey's.
The biweekly Saturday night drag-stravaganza may be big on low-budget thrills, but its offal-covered heart is always in the right place. This Saturday, May 10, features the freakishly unexplainable House of Salad, whom I adore. These underaged children will grow up to be starz someday, I tell you -- starz.
OK, yeah, I realize that after a 15 year absence or whatever, every one of chthonic "shoegaze" (ugh) legends My Bloody Valentine's fans are supposedly middle-aged Google coders now (or parking Daddy's Pagani Zonda C12S outside Popscene on Thursdays). But $47.50 plus "handling" for their hopefully triumphant and thalassically massive comeback appearance at the Concourse on September 30? What am I, Jarvis Cocker?
Rollin' and gazin'
Still, when I saw them in '89 (?) they ripped my world apart. And the ceiling of the club actually rained down plaster from their ampage. I'm gladly going to fund Kevin Shields's apparently still raging extasy habit. Fuck my dreams of front-row Cher in Vegas -- bring on the luxury Googe!
Oh, U2 -- they might not have changed the world as much as they’d hoped (or, not yet, anyway), but at least they’ve made it a warmer, more hopeful place, yes? Hard to fathom a band more deserving of the tag “global phenomenon,” but there it is, slapped upon every stirring chorus and grand sweeping gesture from Bono’s anointed fingers -- the sheer enormousness of it all would be mighty hard to take if the guys didn’t have the goods to back it up. But they do, and what’s more, they’ve kept the flow for longer than some listeners have even been alive -- to whom else on the international airwaves could we ever say such a thing? Michael Jackson? Once upon a time, sure, but not anymore. Mariah Carey? Please. And you’d best bite that lip before suggesting Britney! But honestly: has anyone else in modern-day rock/pop ubiquity had the same level of social impact as U2? For all of the mumbles and grumbles about Bono’s perceived messiah-complex, it’s worth remembering that he and his mates have pushed far beyond the familiar celebrity-pose of half-hearted idealism in favor of honest-to-goodness optimism, championing countless causes with honest-to-goodness conviction. Take that, Ms Spears.
Further testimony can be found on the recently-released In The Name Of Love: Africa Celebrates U2 (Shout! Factory). An intriguing collection of interpretations from U2’s catalogue by some of the continent’s most notable musicians, the disc serves as more than just a reminder of the band’s utmost uber-importance -- this tribute also offers fresh insight into their unimpeachable songwriting skills. Language barriers? Pshaw! How nineteenth century!
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