Thar she blows: Or, the Whale. All photos by Brandon Joseph Baker.

Photographer Brandon Joseph Baker checked out Noise Pop's sold-out Dodos/Or, the Whale/Bodies of Water/Willow Willow show at Cafe du Nord on Feb. 28. The sets were eclectic with Willow Willow quietly starting the evening out. The crowd grew as Bodies of Water took stage and played a fierce yet short set due to time constraints - much to the audience's dismay. Next, Or, the Whale prepared the listeners for the Dodos' set with their strong ballad-driven Americana tunes.

By Dina Maccabee

I first jumped on the Selda Bagcan bandwagon back in 2006, and I was pretty amused by that earnest bit of 1970s nostalgia, awash in reverby lead guitar lines, vibrato-laden organ, and loping “Age of Aquarius” shuffles. Her compilation of tracks from the '70s, released by Finders Keepers two years ago, went into rotation at fashion boutiques and cafes nationwide: I was introduced to Bagcan in two different stores in Chicago on the same day. Her music was really sweeping the hipster nation.

But for me, Bagcan's sounds were enchanting in their similarity to the dated but uplifting Israeli music I grew up listening to: crackly tapes of tapes of records by Poogy, Tzvicka Pick, Arik Einstein, and Boaz Shar’abi. “Other people like this stuff?” I thought. Well, German label Normal had correctly gambled in 2005 that they might, when they added a Turkish entry to its Love Peace and Poetry series, a line of compilations spotlighting artists in the psychedelic tradition from all over the world.

Love Peace and Poetry: Turkish Psychedelic Music starts with a track titled “Bundan Sonra” by Bagcan, the Turkish folk star who first hooked me. Like any nostalgia-driven trend, the mass penchant for Bagcan’s trippy washes of sound and dramatic vocal style, which had been thoroughly steamrolled out of the global pop lexicon by synthetic kick drums and vocoder way back in the '80s, seemed contrarian and even ironic. Still, “Bundan Sonra” dispels any hint of clever disaffection. According to one online translation, the last verse mourns, “Death is what the Lord wisheth / Your words are wounds on my soul / Even if you were the bridge to heaven / I will not pass you anymore.” Serious stuff for us non-Turkologues to innocently take in while shopping for leg warmers.

Groovie Ghoulies back in the day.

By Alex Felsinger

Some old dogs don't need to learn new tricks

The burn-out - or sell-out? - rate for punk-rock musicians can be high, but the Bay Area has some long-standing forces who make a point to keep their fires glowing.

Kepi Ghoulie, the long-time frontman of the Sacramento pop-punk trio Groovie Ghoulies, has played essentially the same music for the past 22 years, since recording his first 7-inch EP in 1986. He still looks the same, wearing tight black pants, Converse All-Stars, and striped T-shirts. He makes music and sells his art for a living. At 43, he still epitomizes the do-it-yourself ethics of punk rock.

Okay! All photos by Brandon Joseph Baker.

Photographer Brandon Joseph Baker checked out the Feb. 29 Okay performance at Bimbo's 365 Club and the same night's Blacks opening set at Great American Music Hall, and the March 1 Port O'Brien and Delta Spirit co-headlining show at Cafe du Nord.

By Alex Felsinger

Punk venue 924 Gilman Street is notorious for two things, both equally insidious in thwarting the average person from attending shows there: a horrible sound system and an overwhelming elitist vibe from the staff. Pinhead Gunpowder, who recently performed at Gilman for the first time in 15 years on Feb. 10 (read the review here), proved that while a new sound system can work wonders, the off-putting vibe of the staff is harder to change.

On the surface, the show was a raging success. Fans flooded in for what was clearly the biggest show for Gilman in years, and from what I saw, almost everyone left with a smile. Every band that performed, not just the headlining super group, put on a fantastic show. But from talking with various people involved in the club, I knew not everyone was tapping their toes.

Weeks before the show, the band - which not only includes Billie Joe Armstrong, but also Green Day's tour manager, Bill Schneider, and their touring second guitarist, Jason White - offered to donate money to the club. Instead, Gilman told the group that a new sound system would be the best way to help, and it would also make the sound better for their show. The band immediately obliged by installing beautiful new JVC speakers, and later provided a new mixing board as well. According to the club, the band instigated the donation on their own and was not encouraged to make one.

Dreamy Dreamer: Michael Pitt breaks out of Pagoda mode to perform solo.

Ah, SF, gotta love your live music. There's more music than we can shake a stick at in the next few weeks, SXSW or no SXSW. Hark, are a few more ways to get into trouble:

Kira Lynn Cain

Track The Ideal Hunter (Evangeline), singer-songwriter Cain's forthcoming album, live as “Class of 2007”’s noirish class act opens for her paramour Jeffrey Luck Lucas and American Music Club player Danny Pearson. Wed/5, 8 p.m. doors, $5. Red Devil Lounge, 1695 Polk, SF. (415) 921-1695.

By Todd Lavoie

Sweet sufferin' divine, I'm smitten! Liam Finn's just-released debut, I'll Be Lightning (Yep Roc), is quite the fully formed, sure-footed opening howdydoo - nothing but pure shiver-me-timbers falsetto flutters and endearing pop-thrills melodies, frequently offered with disarming vulnerability. It's an honest-to-goodness gem - the musical equivalent of a late-night get-together with an old friend. It's warm and comfy and familiar, yet still pulsing with the potential to surprise. Most impressive of all, Finn practically orchestrated the whole thing himself: guitars, drums, keyboards, you name it. And apparently our man knows how to work the same go-at-it-alone magic onstage - see for yourselves Friday, March 7, when the veritable one-man-band headlines the Bottom of the Hill.

Diehard Kiwi-pop fans will be quick to point out that I'll Be Lightning isn't Finn's first charge out of the gates: prior to going solo, the 24-year-old son of Crowded House crooner Neil Finn was the lead vocalist of Betchadupa, a New Zealand band specializing in oddball pop. Good luck finding any of their stuff over here in the States, though, and if you do, expect a hefty import-price sticker slapped on the front of that baby. And if we're going to indulge in any further hair-splitting, I might as well mention that Finn's solo spin has been available in Australia and New Zealand since August of last year. For most of us, though, it's a fair bet to say the guy's only just now sliding within the reach of our radar. Hell, last night I even caught one of his videos on MTV while flipping channels - and I didn't even think they still played music on MTV anymore!

First off, I'll address the inevitable question sure to be a-popping in the minds of many: yes, Liam does indeed share a few vocal similarities with his dad, the honeyed tenor gliding atop such timeless swooners as Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over," "Better Be Home Soon," and "Private Universe," as well as Split Enz classics such as "I Got You." Finn the Younger is hardly a dead-ringer for Finn the Elder: Liam appears more willing to show off his rougher edges than Neil ever was, but it doesn't exactly require much straining to pick up on the likeness, either.

Why?'s "Dumb Hummer."

Yoni Wolf of Why? is a card - and full of great tales of adventures here and away. Here's more from his interview; for the first part, see this week's Sonic Reducer. Why? also performs tonight at Great American Music Hall.

SFBG: How did you get into jogging? And where do you jog?

Yoni Wolf: I jog in the hills behind Piedmont Avenue usually.

SFBG: What about Mountain View Cemetery?

YW: Everyone seems to know about that shit. I'm not telling anyone exactly where I'm jogging because I look like a fucking idiot. Actually my ex-girlfriend told me an incredible story. This is the girl that a lot of these songs are about and shit.

Why?'s "Rubber Traits."

The Raveonettes
Independent, March 5

By Chris DeMento

Minimalism is a science too often associated with badly played and poorly written rock 'n' roll. That inane, barely listenable mush can become noise art in the burning hearts of burrito-munching garage enthusiasts. You know, of course, that burrito means "Hey, you in the little donkey costume."

Thankfully, the Raveonettes' brand of minimalism is by no means a consumptive joke, but the enchilada proper, drowning in truth: three great good chords; a sweetly sexed, girl-on-boy approach to harmonizing whose average results in unfailingly lusty melodies; a trusty, persistently quaternary time signature; and, to my surprise, nary a kickdrum. Sune Wagner, Sharin Foo, and a would-be Taiko drummer - standing in a sleeveless T behind a tom and a snare - created a steady stream of sleepy homage to the early days of rock on Wednesday night. Lingering perhaps a bit too long on their old stuff, they eventually got around to new cuts like “You Want the Candy” and even a Stereolab cover, “French Disko,” to boot. New, old, or other, the music they play comes deadeningly [sic], unmistakably alive in its solemnity.

Their 4's, 8's, and 16's are layered to taste and well loved by the San Franciscans who packed the house, one of whom couldn’t restrain his zealous “Welcome to San Francisco!” between the first and second numbers of what was to be a compact, though nonetheless decorous set. A quiet “thank you” was returned by the 6-foot, superduper-Cholula-hot Foo, who proceeded to slay the same three chords over and over to the indolently unanimous enjoyment of the audience. They even played a song in 6 (or was it 3?) towards the end of the set: good news for fans who’d like to see them expand their horizons just a bit.

Too too much going on this Saturday March 8, kids, and these are just the above-ground parties! I don’t know how I’m gonna make ‘em all, but we just finished work on the next issue of Scene, our nightlife mag which drops next wednesday in the guardian (look for it!) and I'm ready to party my pumps off. Good thing I always carry an extra pair of bedazzled flats in my Safeway paper bag purse …

Leslie and the Lys, spaz-hop queens straight outta Iowa (via Boston) who recorded the immortal line “Wearing gold spandex pants/ I made a hip-hop album” will be rocking their goddam GEM SWEATERS at an early set (9pm) at the lezbo-rock heavenly Cockblock at Rickshaw Stop for only 10 stinkin’ bucks, which lets you stay the whole evening to hear the adorable DJ Nuxx and friends throw down.

Then it’s off to Kafana Balkan at 12 Galaxies (more info here), the city’s premier Romany dance party, with awesome, way-deeper-than-Balkan-Beatbox DJ Zejlko and friends. If it’s anything like the last one (with crazy pics we featured in the last Scene nightlife magazine) then we may not be able to tear ourselves away ….

Brass Menazerie at Kafana Balkan

to hit up one of the best-sounding parties at Mezzanine in, like, a week – Zizek featuring DJ/Rupture and Tormenta Tropical.

By Erik Morse

What was Orson Welles’ scene stealing line in The Third Man? Oh yes, it goes like this: "In Italy, for 30 years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed - they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock." Never mind that the contraption in question was actually invented in the Black Forest of Baden-Württemberg or that Welles egregiously absented the Zurich-based dada movement from his glib verdict. But this bitch slap at the Swiss’ expense has now become an ecumenical platitude: nothing cool has ever come from the land of Helvetica.

Well, burn down the chalet and throw out the flugelhorn! Composer-pianist Nik Bärtsch and acoustic quintet Ronin have departed from the craggly bluffs of Switzerland and landed on the snobbish jazz shores of America. Despite establishing themselves in the '90s, Bärtsch and Ronin only came to prominent attention in 2006 with Stoa, their first release for experimental jazz label ECM.

No doubt playing on the architectural definition of its title, Stoa was a magnificently open affair with tinkling melodies underpinned by floating, Can-style grooves and large swathes of quiet space. In order to christen Ronin’s new direction, Bärtsch dubbed his sound “zen-funk” with tongue most likely placed firmly in cheek. Reviews at the time compared Stoa’s compositional structures to those of Steve Reich and James Brown, and one critic noted it was “digital-age music performed with analog sensibility.” And, in fact, you can hear within the precise bass ostinatos and repetitive keyboard figures the postmodern electro-jazz of Jaga Jazzist or Squarepusher. No small feat for a cadre of musicians reigning from Alpine country.

By Todd Lavoie

The name might not set your world on fire, but damn these guys are on to something good: Brooklyn's Nation Beat will bring their one-in-a-billion blend of Brazilian Maracatu, Appalachian roots music, and New Orleans-style funk to the Elbo Room this Saturday, March 8. What - scared at the prospect of such brazen genre-colliding, are you? Ah, don't be, sweet cheeks. By the time the night's over, you'll have long forgotten about silly little things like musical genre-pigeonholing. Honestly, why over-think when you can just follow your feet instead?

First, an explanation to the band's name. In northeastern Brazil - the birthplace of the percussion-heavy Afro-Brazilian dance/performance style known as Maracatu - practitioners of the genre identify their ensembles with the word nação ("nation"), a reference to the African countries from where they (or their ancestors) originally came. Most groups in Recife - the epicenter of Maracatu - begin their names with the words "Maracatu Nação," usually followed by some form of geographical reference.

Now, Nation Beat plays a variant of a traditional Maracatu known as "Maracatu de Baque Virado" - literally, "Maracatu of the Flipping Beat" (baque is "beat" in Portuguese). So, the band whittled down the name from these origins and translated it back to English rather than keeping it in Portuguese. What the moniker lacks in flow, it at least compensates for in cultural reverence.

NYC socialite Andrew Butler and warble-meister Antony Hegarty of Antony and the Johnsons have teamed up with slinky songstresses Nomi and Kim Ann Foxmann to create Hercules and Love Affair -- and have produced killer club tune "Blind" that's been rocking after-dark boxes from the Transfer to Pink lately.

Hercules and Love Affair

(Anyone who caught DJ Frankie Knuckles throwing down his own lush remix of the jam at the final Fag Fridays won't soon forget it -- or Frankie's entire tearjerking surprise set, either.) When we walked into A Different Light Bookstore in the Castro this weekend to snag a copy of super-faggotty Butt Magazine (featuring local fashion superstar duo Nice Collective showing their junk and the former drummer of local glamsters Mon Cousin Belge pounding the skins naked) and heard this loveliness pumping thru the speakers we knew it had arrived ....

Self-titled album "Hercules and Love Affair" dropped March 10 on EMI/DFA and we can't get enough of it ...

By Kandia Crazy Horse

Roughly two decades after Run-DMC and Aerosmith’s fruitful pairing showed rock could still be danceable in the emerging hip-hop era, negroes remain nonetheless officially skurred of guitars. Endless samples later, it’s not unusual for hot tracks to be powered by a skillful blend of beats and rock volume. Yet when a young black artist emerges from the community (or outside of it) desirous of doing a different thing, he or she is often still accused of wanting to play “whiteboy music.”

And so, we loop straight back to 1969 and the central sonic and social dilemma of rock history’s greatest black rock superstar: Jimi Hendrix. Before the eve of New Year’s 1970, electric magus Hendrix had attempted to free himself from the harsh realities of Jim Crow America by eschewing the strictures of the Chitlin’ Circuit – where he supported stars like Little Richard and the Brothers Isley - for music scenes and venues in Greenwich Village and then (swinging) London. Oftener than not, the response his career elicited in regular blackfolks was resentment that he left the Black Bottom to move to London and return as “white” and his proto-metal sound was baffling (as were his two white sidemen – the British rhythm section’s simulated Afros or no).

Meanwhile, the Panthers were already putting the touch on him, urging shy, spacey, “music has no race” Hendrix to come out strong on the side of blackskin chauvinism and actively support the revolution. This ish would plague Hendrix for the rest of his short life – and, in many ways, the ever-burgeoning afterlife of his career. Yet with the sequential formation of both the ill-fated big band Gypsy Suns and Moons (who accompanied him at Woodstock) and the power trio Band of Gypsys, he attempted to resolve the racial conundrum sonically as fitting for the manchile who’d slept with his guitar since youth.

I've made no secret of my audiolust for Brooklyn grime-pop chanteuse (and former punk band Stiffed frontwoman) Santogold, but the new vid for her "LES Artistes," directed by Nima Nourizadeh, is blowing me away:

Santogold's heavily related to the stripper-loving Spank Rock scene, sharing some producers, remixers, track appearances, and party bills, although on a much higher intel tip (everyone kind of over "bitches and ho's" DJ Assault circa 2002 ripoffs say "He-eyyy!") -- and look for many, many tired comparisons to MIA to follow in the wake of the release of her self-titled album Santogold (Downtown), which drops on April 22, and her performance at Coachella this year -- because, you know, freaky women artists of color sure are similar. Still, her already-legendary bass-heavy ragga crawler club jam "Creator" has swept people onto the same global-hop dancehall dancefloors as Ms. MIA, and the more like that (and the above) the merrier, say I ...

And this quote from a recent NYT article on her is priceless: “You get these images of women in sexy clothes, walking around in, like, panties,” she said. “Even Beyoncé — that’s what it is to be a woman and make music. But now there are all these other women doing cool, interesting things, wearing styles they came up with, and it’s not about being naked.”

Santogold, "Creator" (live at Fader 51 party)

Living Legends
March 7, Fillmore

By Chris DeMento

Not much to say about Friday night's hip-hop variety show at the Fillmore except that the Legends flat-out rocked it on some Altered Beast shit - that is, once again rising from the underground to save your 18-year-old daughter and all her tank-topped friends.

Grouch met with a warm reception, second only, of course, to Murs, who couldn't get enough of the energy the crowd was giving him. Dude was bouncing around like a male cheerleader on an upskirt high at homecoming, but who could blame him? A Fillmore stuffed with youngsters was clearly about it, throwing up their double L's and rhyming right along to Living Legends songs that have become new underground classics.

It was a grip of MCs sharing the stage together and having at posse cuts and shouting out Hieroglyphics Crew the way they're wont to do. They themselves admitted that the audience's youth made them feel a bit old.

By Michael Harkin

The South American sound of cumbia has its very own hour-of-power in San Francisco: Tormenta Tropical, whose fourth incarnation rolled up to the Mezzanine last Saturday after prior appearances at Rickshaw Stop and the Dark Room at Club Six. Tormenta is a new monthly party thrown by Bersa Discos, an Oakland record label showcasing the experimental cumbia/electro/dancehall underground of Argentina.

Bersa especially digs into what's up around Buenos Aires, where the label's two founders, Disco Shawn and Oro 11 (say that 11 as "once"/OHN-say), moved separately from the Bay Area and met up amid the woolly, melodica-filled excitement to be had at club nights like Zizek.

It was, in fact, several regulars from Zizek that started off the night as Zizek Urban Beats Club, including sets by El Remolón, Frikstailers, and other fixtures from the Buenos Aires night that so inspired Bersa's founders as well as such hip jocks as DJ/Rupture and Diplo of Hollertronix and Mad Decent. The crew are touring to SXSW this week, also making appearances in New York and Chicago later this month.

Won't you listen to Cassettes Won't Listen.

"Punk rock - we don't have that category in this country." Oh, the quotables already emanating from Austin, Texas - albeit from a boomer-rock-oriented radio commentator interviewing aging Aussie punk vets.

SXSW, here we go again. The plane was packed on the way from Denver to Austin. Baggage claim was filled with checked guitars and black-garbed hollow-eyed scenesters. Todd P already had a Juicebox show going at 2 a.m. at his party central, Ms. Bea's. And rumors are already swirling - has Dolly Parton cancelled? Is it possible to squirm into the already-closed-guestlist Playboy afterhours party Thursday night? Where is Perez Hilton having his ssseeecccret soiree (with Robyn no doubt working her rework of Snoop Dogg's "Sex Eruption")? Rachel Ray is having a party - huh?! You can spend more time planning your sked than actually seeing music, but the one-man band sounds of Cassettes Won't Listen drew me into the Austin Convention Center's dark, semi-depressing, school-caf-like Daystage.

Most disturbing news: so many longtimers aren't making it this year due to industry cutbacks. Most disturbing stuff in the fest bag o' fliers: an Armed Forces Entertainment card with a little green toy soldier attached ("Plug in your weapon, turn up the power and fire away. Your limo is a Humvee and your ride is a Blackhawk"). War is so cute - and glamorous! And a card announcing a casting call for Blue Man (I guess the blue face paint fits any ole one - except maybe women?).

What's up tonight? Free Yr Radio is throwing a bash with Simian Mobile Disco, Yeasayer (all the buzz here, natch), and Times New Viking (Ohio-ans do it so good) at La Zona Rosa, a black rock showcase with Lightspeed Champion courtesy of Vice, a Kills show at the Fader Fort, an Emusic showcase, White Williams at the Gorilla vs Bear party. Also drool-worthy is the Terrorbird/Forcefield PR party with Yacht, Raveonettes, Why?, These New Puritans, the Blow, Radar Bros., Bowerbirds, and the return of the Mae Shi. Kimya Dawson will likely be at the Keep Austin Good event at San Hotel's parking lot, and Dan Deacon and Deer Tick are making some very late-night noise - shhhh! - at one o' UT Austin's quads at, oh, 2 a.m. And most of those events aren't even official.

Hal Willner and Lou Reed get down and sorta brief at SXSW. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

Lean, not so mean, and ready with both sage music-biz advice and disarming wisecracks - that was SXSW keynote speaker Lou Reed, chatting comfortably with collaborator-producer Hal Willner two hours ago today, March 13, at the Austin Convention Center.

The pair discussed Reed's new concert doc capturing his 1973 LP, Berlin, at the behest of Julian Schnabel who considers the record one of his favorites. Reed talked about recreating the album in Europe, "but it won't be here. But not in LA. Music business town. Not in the states."

They showed a clip from the film of his band playing "Men of Good Fortune" with particular intensity. Cribbing from his own 2007 film, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Schnabel drifts watery, transparent, shadowy imagery, seemingly pulled from the photo collage backdrop behind the band. The group includes guitarist Steve Hunter, Willner pointed out. Reed added that Hunter was in the Rock 'n' Roll Animal band, which was actually Alice Cooper's combo. "It's emotional music - that's what's so great about rock 'n' roll," said Reed. Berlin was marked by the time: 1973, a time much like our own. "Don't you agree? Terrible."

UK's Does It Offend You, Yeah? had the crowd thrusting their fists in the air.

Hid out at the Fader Fortress for a patch on the first full-tilt SXSW convention day, yesterday, March 12. Making up for a lackluster and unimaginative Chikita Violenta, England's Does It Offend You, Yeah? had a crowd of hipsters quaffing free booze bouncing and throwing their hands up to crunching beats and spectacularly trashy synth sounds - can a live band replicate the heavy dance-pop of Justice et al? The T-shirted everyguy combo sure did - with plenty of stage antics to boot.


Mean it: Does It Offend You, Yeah?

Yacht closed out the night with their party-starting (or, eh, -ending) dance tracks and move. Someone give this boy a ghostwriting pop songwriting job - or better make him the next Justin Timberlake. It was tough to follow Does It Offend You, but JB managed with a little help from his dance partner.

Yacht closed the party with a crash.

Stomp! Scotland's Sons and Daughters walk all over us at SXSW's Domino showcase. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

Showcases at SXSW: it's a strategic sport - which ones can you get into, which ones will be futile endeavors (the Carbon/Silcon show, for instance, last night, on March 13 at the renamed "Clash"/Friends club), which ones will be too far off the Sixth Street beaten path? I hovered round a few joints the first night, Wednesday, March 12, first catching Paper Rad at the Knitting Factory showcase.

A packed crew of hip kids in bright clothing showed up early for the 8 p.m. set, which started out with a series of videos: Rihanna melted into/mashed up with the Cranberries and Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry Be Happy" cavorted with happy face snowmen and rainbows, undulating kids in home-made hip-hop dance clips broke down into pixelated Halloween revelers in skull face paint. Eye candy for the DIY-infatuated art-punker and to top it off Paper Radster Jacob Ciocci got behind the mixing board with a drumming/laptop-rocking pal to make some righteous noise after 20 minutes of visuals.

Way west at Antone's, I settled into the Domino showcase, missing the buzzed-about New Puritans but catching hot lavendar boy Lightspeed Champion, who unearthed a slew of acoustic guitar-propelled tunes, accompanied only by friends on occasional fiddle and backup vocals.

Totally high on High on Fire. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

"Purple is the color of sexual frustration," quips one English SXSW conventioneer to two ladies asking about their wardrobe choice in the elevator. Not so over at Stubb's and Vice's metal showcase yesterday, March 13. I missed Napalm Death, damn it all, but made it to see High on Fire totally kick arse! Lordy, who knew Matt Pike and company had it in 'em? All assembled would have to confess: they totally blew away metal-punk grandpappies Motorhead. (OK, I only stayed for a portion of Motorhead's set but chances looked slim that they were going to kick up more dust.)

"This song goes out to all my friends who came here from Oakland!" Pike exclaimed before launching into a brute, pummeling rendition of "Speedwolf." Holy mother of fuck...

You can't envy Lemmy and his weathered road warriors, following that. But you can admire the devil horns getting thrown up front.

High on Fire @ Stubb's

High on Fire @ Stubb's

High on Fire @ Stubb's

High on Fire @ Stubb's

Signage modification - Austin, Texas-style. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

What a weird lil' South By this is? Can it get any stranger than the evening of March 13, which started out at Stubb's for a sold-out anti-war concert, "Body of War," linked to the feature documentary on 25-year-old Tomas Young, who was paralyzed from a bullet to his spine, taken after serving in Iraq for less than a week. System of a Down's Serj Tankian accompanied himself on piano, Billy Bragg presented a powerful "Farmer Boy," and Kimya Dawson, Ben Harper, and RX Bandits filled out the bill. (Sightings of the Dawson's infant being cartered by her partner, abounded throughout the fest).

Gimme more Ex Cocaine.

Then it was off to the Siltbreeze showcase at Soho Lounge for a hand drum-driven Ex Cocaine from Missoula, Montana, and the stirring guitar-electronics invocations of Blues Control from Brooklyn. Good to see such a sizable crowd out for what many might see as a micro-niche night.

Outta-hand Blues Control.

Made few pitstops at Friends for the soon-to-be capacity Carbon/Silicon showcase (witness the scores of disappointed Clash fans milling around before their 11:30 p.m. set outside, cordoned off by police tape just so they don't get raucous). London's Noah and the Whale plied their rootsy folky harmonies with sweetness and high spirits.

Swallow this: Noah and the Whale.

More ambitious but definitely more streamlined lineup-wise, was Florence and the Machine, also from London town, over at BBC/Steve Lamacq's event at the Rio. Like a sweet, over-the-top cross between Kate Bush and a high school musical theater star, Flo mimed drowning, quasi-tap-danced, and threw her gold-sequined jacket to an audience member when she grew encumbered. All accompanied only by ukulele. And with plenty of drama for all.

The Fantasticks, anyone? Florence and the Machine.

Time to queue for the Playboy/C3 (presenters of Lollapalooza, et al) ninth annual late-night party. The line wound round the block of the "301" warehouse and the media line (through the back entrance - I felt like I ought to be helping with the dishes!) was just as crazed. Once inside, after watching oodles of would-be media types getting turned away at the list, I spied Perez Hilton all in white, with white shorn locks, got my beverage (check the ample barbecue midnight snack), and studied the Heavy as they cozied up to playmates in sad drooping bunny ears and cotton tails.

Things got Heavy.

Scenesters go with the soul at Missouri Lounge. Photo by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

If it's a soul night - be it Memphis, Philly, or Northern - I'm the first on the floor, spinning, flipping, and back-dropping. Still, I’ve never fully understood why white people, myself included, so identify with the genre - and seeing The Commitments several times has done little to clarify this for me.

So like a modern-day Penelope Spheeris, I took an anthropological adventure - to what felt like 20,000 leagues under and across the Bay via BART - to Berkeley’s Missouri Lounge for Soul Knockout to gain a better understanding of this phenomenon.

About to hit its first anniversary, Soul Knockout is hosted by DJ Hot Grits, Sweats the Bed, and seasoned veteran E Da Boss (Slept On Records) at a renovated dive bar that has become a pit stop for hip white kids, while still remaining down-home.

The Boredoms' Eye Yamantaka is ordinarily a man of few words, but the Japanese experimental music veteran let the flood gates fly open via my e-mail interview. No snores here - just expect to whet your appetite for the Boredoms' Tuesday, March 18, show at the Fillmore. Ex-Black Dice drummer and current Soft Circle impressario Hashim Kotaro Bharoocha provided the translation.

SFBG: The new album is amazing -- it sounds like positively symphonic! What was the idea, goal, or focus?

Eye Yamantaka: Recently I have been getting into symphonic progressive rock. I
want to buy music like that, but I don't know who's making it. I'm also a fan of progressive heavy metal from Scandinavia. On the album, I am taking a minimalist approach by manipulating sounds on the turntable (I am using church pipe organ music by Jon Gibson).

The sub-patterns from the church organ sounded like human voices to me, so we had that scored, and had an actual choir sing it. We weren't doing anything on Christmas Eve, so we decided to do a show that day, and the choir fit the night perfectly.

SFBG: I remember interviewing Eye and Yoshimi years ago in the late '80s in San Francisco. How would you say the band has evolved since then? What has your muse been telling you? Where have your
interests led you?

EY: The band went through significant changes on SPR and GO!!!!!! We started to take a minimalist approach from SPR, but after this album we took that approach to the extreme. I think that those records were a rebirth point for us. After those records, we got rid of the guitar and bass in the ensemble, and I started to DJ a lot more (I was DJing a lot more than performing with the band). We started to think in terms of performing as if we were a record player, rather than playing as a normal band.

By Todd Lavoie

Old Weird America, indeed - the spectral-twangin', gorgeously raggle-taggle ghost-folkster Matthew Houck, a.k.a., Phosphorescent, will be throwing mad shadows upon the walls of the Independent Sunday, March 23, when he takes the stage in support of his October-released spine-tingler Pride (Dead Oceans).

Now on album number three, the Athens, Geo./Brooklyn-based Houck has expanded beyond the largely go-it-alone parameters of Pride to include a backing band for this tour; should be interesting to see how the deep-in-the-earhole intimacy of the almost entirely self-recorded disc translates to the stage in the form of a full-fledged quartet. Not that there's much cause to worry: if the guy can bring backwoods-gothic to Bed-Stuy, by crikey, I'm sure he'll find a way to channel onstage the same gossamer-gospel hocus-pocus that makes Pride such a fascinating listen.

It's an intriguing proposition, fashioning such distinctly rural sounds while surrounded by so much concrete, but Houck has done exactly that, and quite convincingly as well. This is no pard'ner-grabbing, knee-slapping hoedown, however: instead, Pride arrives in misty drifts, sighing and swaying over pine-cloaked hills, across Civil War battlefields and weed-overrun graveyards. If there's a trace of Brooklyn on this record, I have to hear it - and while we're at it, most of the time I'm not picking up too much 21st century here, either. (Other than the production, of course, which is goose-pimplingly exquisite.)

By Todd Lavoie

My ears might still be ringing, but it's totally worth it, I tell you: checked out English quadruple-lunged soul powerhouse Alice Russell's white-hot-and-beyond groove-a-thon last night, March 11, at Mojito, and it was the best decision I've made all month.

Girl could sing the ass clean off everybody in that room, honestly, and so that's exactly what she did - two explosive 45-minute sets and an encore later, she'd leveled that place. Best part of all? Russell pulled it all off with buckets of charm, quipping and chuckling and getting on with the crowd like a house on fire: no diva moments, no attitudinal posturing.

And while I didn't exactly take a poll afterwards, I've got a sneaking feeling most folks in attendance felt the same way I did: we'd witnessed something very, very special. If you didn't make it to either show (she also slammed the Mojito crowd this past Monday, March 10), you're free to kick yourselves, but don't get too carried away: there's a good chance Russell might be coming back again soon. Most likely, when she does, she'll be hitting Mojito once more, having played there a few times already and having clearly cultivated a love-love relationship between artist and venue.

Polish me off, Chrome. All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

Chrome makes me think of those metallic-plated bicycles that kids ride around on. It also reminds me of the same-name rock band that formed in San Francisco in the late '70s. Promoter Bill Picture (Trans Am) managed to meld both elements together at monthly rock night Chrome at the Gangway.

Showcasing DJ Dirty Knees (Trans Am, Charlie Horse) and special guest DJs including March’s Metal Patricia, this metal night gets gear heads banging with heavy favorites like Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and Motley Crue’s “Too Fast for Love." It’s like a metal hall of fame with something old and something newer.

Headbanging purists might divide the genre into two phases: the early years with bands like Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath and the later, new wave of British metal (NWOBHM), led by tougher, harder acts like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Motorhead. But I chronologize it differently: BRHCO and ARHCO, before Rob Halford Came Out and After Rob Halford Came Out, which finally brought the genre out of the closet.

Baby wants to wear their White Shoes.

Too tuckered out by South By Southwest? Hey, I saw you at the Boredoms the other night! Surely you're not too pooped to pop for these indie-rockers.

WHITE SHOES AND THE COUPLES COMPANY
Brimming with silky retro charm, this ultra-cute Indonesian combo on Minty Fresh scored a spot as one of Billboard's "12 Acts to Watch at SXSW." Do they remind you of UK space-pop revivalists of the past ala Stereolab and High Llamas? Find out for yourself before the band hoofs it back to their homeland: these are their only other North American shows besides SXSW.

White Shoes and the Couples Company perform tonight, March 20, 6 p.m., at Amoeba Music, 1855 Haight, SF. Free. (415) 831-1200. They perform with Foxtail Somersault tonight, May 20, 9 p.m., at Make-Out Room, 3225 22nd St., SF. $12. (415) 647-2888.

HEADLIGHTS
The Champaign, Ill., indie-pop fivesome have played more than 300 shows a year since their 2004 inception. So you know they gotta have it down at this point: winsome is as winsome does on their new full-length, Some Racing, Some Stopping (Polyvinyl), which shows off Headlights' love o' '60s pop hooks.

Headlights appear with School of Language and the Evangelicals Friday, March 21, 9:30 p.m., Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. $10. (415) 923-0923.

Winnetka? Why-not-ka? Apologies to lovely Del Tha's underground East Bay, but if there's gotta be a new epicenter of nouveau-Cali alternative hip-hop (cue the searing lazer bass and sympho-poetic glitches) then you could do no better than the Outer-LA hometown of mixmaster amazo Flying Lotus, who's currently stealing hearts and heartbeats on his WARP Records tour. And yeah, he's this cute:

If you're in the mood for some woozy bottom-blasting with a high-hat twinkle, Lotus will be numbing Dr. Scholl's at dread bass mecca night Surya Dub at Club Six this Saturday night, March 22. Lotus's own releases get us where DJ Shadow hurts, and his remix of Mia Doi Todd's 2006 soulful torcher "My Room Is White" has brightened our rhythmic footfalls to work for the past month. So yeah, come get zigzagged in a headtrip melancholy way this weekend ...

Flying Lotus, "Tea Leaf Dancers"

Flying Lotus
at Surya Dub
Sat/22, 10pm-4am, $10
Club Six
60 Sixth St, SF
www.suryadub.com
www.clubsix1.com

Field Music, surely the best group to come out of Sunderland, UK, is no more - sort of. One of the group's central songwriter's David Brewis, 27, said as much while tooling around the country with his new project, School of Language. No fear, students of rock, the musical complexities of SOL's new Thrill Jockey album, Sea from Shore, will impress those already missing Field Music. Catch Brewis at Hemlock Tavern Friday, March 21.

SFBG: Why make this album under the name School of Language rather than Field Music?

David Brewis: Because I didn't let Pete or Andy play on it! So it would be a little bit of stress. We talked about doing a bunch of records separately and maybe putting them all out as Field Music records. I thought...we’re not splitting up, but we’re not going to be a band anymore. People really haven't taken to that idea. Why, I'm not sure. Maybe it sounded like a complicated situation.

They ask, have you split up? I see my brother every day and Pete every week. I was certainly feeling like, after we finished the last Field Music record what I didn't want to do immediatley was have the three of us tour and try to go back in the studio again. I didn't feel like it would be much fun. I felt like what Field Music was supposed to be had solidified in people's minds and in ways it shouldn't. The idea with Field Music was me and Pete pool our resources in terms of songs and the three of us pool our resources in terms of skills as players, and always do whatever is best for the song regardless of what that entails.

It's all Santogold. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

South By - why, a week later, the wrap-up keeps coming. Here's what was on the plate Friday night, March 14 - in addition to the beef rib barbecue and banana pudding with Nilla wafers at Iron Works.

Soft sweat: Kim Hiorthoy.

I was glad to catch a few songs by Kim Hiorthoy in the SXSW day stage at the convention center's cafeteria. The Oslo, Norway, knob-twirler headed up the Smalltown Supersound showcase Wednesday night - here he performed with a percussionist pal, making more meditative, ambient sounds than the house-tinged music he ended up delivering at the Boredoms SF show on March 18.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful - hate me because of my bad band name: the Ting Tings.

The evening started out at Stubb's for the Ting Tings, art-pop duo from Salford, UK - the twosome has been surprising listeners with their infectious, dancey sass. Spunky, model-esque Katie White managed to hold the stage on her lonesome, thrashing away at her guitar.

Get an earful of what everyone at SXSW was yapping 'bout: longtime Oaklander Darondo performs, backed by Nino Moschella, at Shattuck Down Low tonight, March 21. Low-ridah soul - with vanity plates, sho - and R&B comes to town once more in the form of the Ubiquity artist who once opened for James Brown and hung with Fillmore Slim.

DARONDO
With Nino Moschella
Friday/21, 9:30 p.m., $12
Shattuck Down Low
2284 Shattuck, Berk.

Landland of Minneapolis, Minn.

South By Southwest ain't nothing but loud, loud music; industry speakers; white-bread-bedecked barbecue; protein bar giveaways; soused UT students; and lil' pools o' puke if it weren't for the American Poster Institute-sponsored Flatstock show, presented every year for the last five years alongside the music conference. I checked the state of the art - and came away with an eyeful of music posters that popped.

Leia Bell of Salt Lake City.

Status Serigraph of Knoxville, Tenn.

Oh you're not so silent, Jens. Photo by Kimberly Chun.

If imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, then Swedish indie pop maestro Jens Lekman must be feeling pretty swell: by his own estimation, he's accrued an army of faux MySpace and Facebook followers-poseurs since he took his own MySpace site down. The 27-year-old singer-songwriter - currently based in Melbourne, Australia, though not, he claims, for long - is embracing both the love and fictitious narratives being spun by his Jens puppets/impersonators, and likewise, he encouraged me to make up more outta-hand tales when I spoke to him at the eerily generic, brass 'n' business-class Omni Hotel in Austin, Texas, during South by Southwest.

We'll see how wild it gets - and how crazy Lekman will be tonight, March 23, at Bottom of the Hill, when he plays solo, sans band, and full of, he promises, surprises.

SFBG: What have you seen at South by Southwest so far?

Jens Lekman: Tough Alliance - it's really interesting because they're such a Swedish phenomenon in one way. I think they're the most influential band in Sweden right now. But it's so hard - the crowd there at that place, I think, were a bunch of bloggers, who were like, "Hmm, what should I think about this," you know. And they got so frustrated because they're very much about energy. They play for 10 minutes and they just go offstage.

SFBG: Do you get that tough blogger crowd?

JL: No, when I play in New York, maybe. I think I've always had those people standing there smiling. That's my favorite reaction.

SFBG: Any superfans?

JL: I met this guy last night, this 45-year-old guy. Well, I dunno if he's 45 but he's in his 40s. He's going to see eight shows, I think, on this tour, with his whole family, and they're organizing this big barbecue party in Madison when we get there.

SFBG: So the last album, Night Falls Over Kortedala [Secretly Canadian, 2007], is a collection of older songs? What made you want to put them out in an album format?

JL: Yeah, I think all my albums have been like that. They've always been a collection of what I've been doing in the last three or four years. I just write songs - that's all I do. I can't put them together into an entity. So this time I had a bunch of friends pick them for me. I gave them about 30 songs, and they called me up and had a little bit of a Eurovision song contest. They'd say, "Song number eight - that's definitely 10 points, yeah, and song number seven, that's seven points." I think I'll do that in the future as well. It works so well. They saw the golden thread through the songs that I couldn't see myself. I always had a problem with putting things together like that. I couldn't see the connection myself.

By Todd Lavoie

"Growing old, it's hard to be the angry young man/ Turn away. Turn and walk away" - so observes the discernibly less-vexed Bob Mould on his recently released District Line (Anti-), and the line is as good as any in summing up the mood shift we've seen in the guitar-wielding singer-songwriter in recent years.

With his latest, Mould still continues to stare down a demon or two, but he appears rather content to do so. Dare I say it? Oh, why not - there are moments on the disc in which he even could be described as sounding downright upbeat. Bully for him, I say, and double-bully for crafting such an engagingly diverse collection of songs. See the new Mould for yourselves Wednesday, March 26 - that's when he and his band take to the Great American Music Hall stage, folks. Me, I'm already agog over the possibilities of the set-list, considering the breadth of his quarter-century-plus career.

Since the guy brought up the subject and all, it's worth a little pondering. Ah, the angry young man thing: we music obsessives tend to really tighten our focus on this supposed issue, don't we? Holding our heroes to high standards is one thing, but denying them the same inevitability that we all will eventually meet - growing older - has always struck me as absurd. Worse yet, we often insist on freezing them in time, keeping them bottled and bathed in piss 'n' vinegar and then carping away if they fail to deliver the same blister and bluster of their early to mid-20s.

The race is on: Earl Greyhound made an appearance at the Afro-Punk/Matrix showcase at SXSW.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

In the wake of my man John Edwards’s withdrawal from the current presidential race and subsequent taking up the torch for our fair music editor’s fellow Punahou alumnus Obama as Negro First, I officially became old. So I lacked sufficient energy and brain cells to take on SXSW 2008 – but, music ‘ho that I am, I did it anyway.

Clearly, Barack Obama’s sustained ascent as the most dissected American presidential candidate has by now confirmed his superfly rock-star status, crowding and overshadowing the field pursued by artists with recent/forthcoming new releases such as Jack White of the Raconteurs, the brers of Gnarls Barkley, Union Jack black singing cowboy Lightspeed Champion, and Saul Williams, a.k.a., Niggy Tardust - the latter two made the South By scene all around hip Austin (and Gnarls appeared via tacked-up Odd Couple lampoons, courtesy of Atlantic). I hesitated to fly down into Bush Country, considering the volatile political climate at present and the specter of terrorism making every airport visit unpleasant at best.

And, too, I had personal reservations: at the last three South By festivals, my life has fallen apart by degrees: in 2006, with the diagnosis of my late Mother’s pancreatic cancer and decision to divorce being the absolute worst. Still, I was invited to speak about press and, whether SXSW has completely devolved into “hipster spring break with bands” in recent years, the festival retains the possibility to offer exposure to unheard-of music and/or reconnect with rarely seen friends from the Left Coast and abroad.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12

Rising before cockcrow at 3 a.m., I saddled up in bespoke hat, denim and black leather to hit a too-early flight out of NY LaGuardia and made it to Austin’s Bergstrom already dazed and confused via Houston connection from George Bush Airport. After a swift check-in at the Hilton Garden Inn downtown where I happened to run into my panel mate, Nick Baily of Shorefire Media, and we concurred that we were in the dark about how to express ourselves (one of last year’s highlights was meeting O.G. Expressor Charles Wright), it was off to run the Convention Center gauntlet in pursuit of festival badges, assorted data, schwag and making it to the panelists’ green room on time. No surreys nor press satoris available. So Nick and I jes’ winged it (wung it?) before a surprisingly full room, and tried our best to respond to the artists trailing in our wake all the way back to the hotel.

“We fought hard for the right to be in control of how our music is used, to avoid situations like this kind of crass commercialism and exploitation. Labels like EMI are no longer running the show, and we won't be bullied by those in the 'old' music business who consider every artist to be easily expendable. Those days are over.” - Billy Corgan

This just in from the Smashing Pumpkins' publicists: "The Smashing Pumpkins have filed a lawsuit this week against Virgin Records, their former record label, for the unauthorized exploitation of the band’s musical works and image as well as for devaluing the market value of its music and deceiving its fans.

"Filed in the Superior Court of the State of California in Los Angeles, the suit states that Virgin Records—without the band’s knowledge or permission—endorsed and sponsored a worldwide promotional marketing campaign by Amazon.com and Pepsi for both companies to promote and sell Amazon and Pepsi products for financial profit.

Learning to love again with Ra Ra Riot. All photos by Kimberly Chun.

O SXSW, what a mixed bag thou art. Good-looking from across a crowded Kiwanis Hall, good-looking (if somewhat huge-pored and flushed with Lone Stars) close up, and even better-looking receding in the distance. Yes, I'm waving, not drowning, with this, a last, lingering, photo-centric dispatch from Saturday, March 15.

Just breathe: Inca Ore.

Solo artists (from Portland, Ore. by way of the Bay) Inca Ore and Grouper stole an intimate house party, organized by Guardian contributor and Club Sandwich mastermind George Chen. A nice alternative to Todd P's day-shows at Ms. Bea's - on the sleepy, leafy, chill side of the Colorado River. Chen's combo KIT also tore it up, following up their Upset the Rhythm showcase earlier that week.

Meow! KIT.

Off-kilter harmonies from the twins of Scary Mansion.

Saw your baby, lady: Kimya Dawson.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW night-and-day diary continues...

THURSDAY, MARCH 13, AND FRIDAY, MARCH 14

The day began with my first IHOP run, and the late rising set me permanently behind on the day-party trail. In fact, I ultimately only made the scene at one on Sixth with our fearless leader/SX roomie Kimberly Chun, wherein we were irritated by “free” drink tickets that only provided low-shelf liquor.

It was fun to make the scene in the upper reaches of the Convention Center, catching up with such friends and colleagues as Manhattan cultural instigator Jim Fouratt, NC-born upstater Holly George-Warren at her trade show book signing for Punk 365 and her fine Gene Autry bio, Perfect Sound Forever honcho Jason Gross, veteran esteemed rock critic Dave Marsh, and (erstwhile) Harp editors Fred Mills and Randy Harward who, alas, came bearing bad tidings about the music magazine’s demise. I also met rock scribe/wife Laurie Lindeen, rockbiz vet Danny Goldberg (whose account of apprenticing to Led Zeppelin’s famed manager Peter Grant was thrilling), Hanson vox Taylor, rockwrite/rock orbit luminaries Jaan Uhelszki and Danny Fields, and played text tag with some other folks before and after dropping too many ducats at Flatstock for posters of the Black Crowes, Stevie Wonder, and the great Alejandro Escovedo (who I was saturated with in ’07 but very sadly missed this year).

The Day Stage tended to be dull or between bursts when I breezed through from the trade show, but I did see Kimya Dawson and her man keeping up with their toddling baby girl. That’s not to say there were no good-to-great performances provided within the Convention Center’s walls: in succession, I saw Hanson, the Noisettes, and (an amazing set by) X, all mercifully recorded for DirectTV.

A little bit o' London Souls.

By Kandia Crazy Horse

A SXSW diary concludes...

SATURDAY, MARCH 15

As mentioned before, other than an in-and-out at Brush Square Park for a Japanese lineup, I simply did not make it to day parties, including the Frank 151 one where I had hoped to catch Game Rebellion again on Friday since they’d so courteously invited Kimberly and I en route to the Ironworks for ‘cue (did catch them rush the stage during N.E.R.D.’s disappointing non-starter of a late-night set at Stubb’s). Thus I missed Harp’s own shindig at the French Legation (and thus the chance to commiserate with my fellow contributors), the ‘ting of NYC-based Kemado Records for which I actually had a lam, and my annual Sunday trip down South Congress for western wear and eats (sorry Andy!).

Last minute, I did make the scene at Jelly NYC’s rooftop thang down West Fifth in the vicinity of Town Lake. And I am glad I did, as this foot-hobbling sojourn off the beaten track enabled me to let some ghosts go while hip-switching through the sequential, heavy volume-dealing sets of London Souls (actually from Brooklyn also, and fronted by a palpably Hendrix-loving brer) and Earl Greyhound. Before a rickshaw took me back to the Hilton, I made and re-met some friends, was hailed by some cool new folks (like sometime Rolling Stone lensman Michael Weintrob) and finally scored a decent drink.

The afternoon was enjoyable due to a very satisfying morning during which I arose early, 9 a.m., from the groggy swamp to breakfast at the soon-to-be-defunct Las Manitas on Congress with NYC friend Tim Broun and his Oaktown musician bud Paul Manousos - all in order to see Daryl Hall’s official SXSW interview at noon. Not only were Tim and I first in line, but we had a great front row view of Brother Hall being interviewed by my colleague Ann Powers of the LA Times. Seeming to be aloof behind shades, seated next to his compadre T-Bone Wolk and their six strings, the sometime 50 percent of Hall and Oates was actually very engaging and sharp, and it was clear from his responses that he never suffers fools gladly.

"Engaging and sharp": Daryl Hall and Kandia Crazy Horse.

Gurl, I was brought to. The inimitable DJ Jeffrey Sfire from NYC (2 cute!)

blasted classic Bam Bam acid house track "Give It To Me" from 1988 at Sunday's Honey Soundsystem Dancer From the Dance party at 103 Harriet -- underneath 1015 Folsom, and the new party hotspot -- and the roof burnt down. Yes, I'm ancient/legendary enough to have been there when this was originally tearing up the floors (at London's Second Summer of Love, no less), but the kids went wild last weekend as well. Time for another acid revival? (DJs Derek B and Silence Fiction tried this a few years back with their Jack the Club night in 2005, and it was awesome, bring it back). No real vid, but song below:

Sfire, who also specializes in gritty Italo Disco and slinky rare Euro tracks, will be on local-hottie DJ Josh Cheon's West ADD Slave to the Rhythm show tonite 9pm-11pm, www.westaddradio.com and then live tonite at Booty Call, an actually pretty great party at Bar on Castro (I know, gag, but go! Juanita More hosts!)

PS Rumor has it Sfire will also be making many guest appearances throughout the weekend at select Portland underground venues ...

Honey! All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

It's a story as old as disco. Attractive "straight" Midwesterner moves to the big city to find himself, only to get blindsided by a barrage of drugs, sex, and tea dances. True, dancing became a major component of gay life in the post-Stonewall '70s, when the dance floor served as both a place of expression and escape for many gay men. It's this defining period in gay history that novelist Andrew Holleran highlighted in his 1978 novel, Dancer from the Dance.

Taking his title from poet William Butler Yeats's 50 year-old line, "How can we know the dancer from the dance?" Holleran attempted to examine this brain-twister in his chronicle of gays looking for companionship and understanding in pre-AIDS New York City and Fire Island, by focusing on the misadventures of his beautiful yet provincial protagonist Anthony Malone, who loses himself in the shuffle and shag club scene.

Thirty years later, the Honey Soundsystem collective - DJs Pee Play, KenVulsion, Robot Hustle, Jason Kendig, and Josh Cheon - took cues from this groundbreaking work for their most recent theme party.

By Jamilah King

By now, the latest "who-shot-Tupac" fiasco is all over the news. The basics go something like this: LA Times reporter Chuck Phillips writes a groundbreaking investigative story that strongly implicates P. Diddy's camp in the 1994 shooting that sparked the whole East Coast/West Coast feud. The piece, which relied entirely on a confidential source, sent shockwaves through the music industry.

Meanwhile, hiphopdx and the Smoking Gun were all, like, "Ummm…no."

Now, the story is under investigation because it turns out that Phillips's confidential witness is a con man. The paper posted an apology on their Web site late last night.

From the Smoking Gun:

The con man, James Sabatino, 31, has long sought to insinuate himself, after the fact, in a series of important hip-hop events, from Shakur's shooting to the murder of the Notorious B.I.G. In fact, however, Sabatino was little more than a rap devotee, a wildly impulsive, overweight white kid from Florida whose own father once described him in a letter to a federal judge as "a disturbed young man who needed attention like a drug."

Whoops.

Maybe the problem with journalism is that it's always more than just a story. In this case, what's really at stake is justice, that elusive and ever-changing ideal that's been teasing black folks since slavery. The sensationalism that surrounds the Tupac-Biggie saga often overshadows the innate dreams that each rapper carried on his shoulders. They were the larger-than-life personalities who spoke for thousands of complex individuals caught up between the failures of the Civil Rights Movement and the success of Reaganomics. Of course, such artists weren't without their gluttonous and painful vices, but so goes life for artists in their early 20s.

Ill doctrine takes the paper - and the industry - to task:

First off: How old does it make me feel that some kid at UPenn is writing his dissertation on the techno parties I threw in Detroit in the early '90s? *Ancient sigh*. Second off: the nine-year-old Detroit Electronic Music Festival, sometimes known as Movement for legal reasons but basically Mecca for tech-heads, has announced its initial lineup for May 24-26 (Memorial Day weekend). The big news is not that it's sponsored by Big Boy this year (eek!) but that fest originator and knob-twiddling god Carl Craig is returning to perform.

Carl Craig: BACK

Carl bought my video camera in 1994 so I'd have money for Amtrak to move to SF (sweetheart!) so blame him for my presence here. Also performing will be a number of other wicked-wonderful characters from back-in-tha-D days, like my spiritual twin brother Alton Miller, who will be a highlite of the more complex, jazzy house side of the fest.

Alton Miller: You should see him dance, really

Other NAMES on the pretty soulful hitlist: Speedy J, Buzz Goree, Terrance Parker, Girl Talk, Moby, Mike Grant, Alex Under, Konrad Black, and for some hip-hop new old-schoolness Cool Kids. More lineup and info here. I'll be there covering every backstage minute for SFBG. Put your hands up for Detroit.

(That's not me in the vid, it's my cuz. I'm in no way responsible for his dancing or this entire music video.)

Amazing and vivacious electro-kitty Lady Tigra takes over Cafe Du Nord tonite. Look out! She's "always got her foot firmly planted up asses": (Watch those little spoons, kids)

Lady Tigra, "Bass on the Bottom"

I've been cel-chasing her all over town for an interview, following her lady tracks, but all I have to offer you is the video below and sweet memories of her purr on my voice mail. Here's the decades-old hit you may know her flirty chirp from (hello, Avenue D, Fannypak, etc!) From 1988, boy-eee:

L'Trimm, "The Cars That Go Boom"

"When lo and behold there appeared a mirage, he was hooking up his speakers in his daddy's garage." See you there.

LADY TIGRA
Fri/28, 8:30 p.m., $15
Cafe Du Nord
2170 Market, SF
(415) 861-5016
www.cafedunord.com, www.myspace.com/theladytigra <

Yes, it seems like some bizarre spoof: The Warriors mixes it up with Dashboard Confessional and West Side Story, across the border. But word - according to Mexican TV news reports and other print sources, along with this piece by Exclaim - has it that emo-bashing has become popular among assorted subcultural tribes in Mexico City and elsewhere. (Thanks to Amber Asylum's Kris Force for tipping us to the insanity.)

Exclaim holds forth: "According to Daniel Hernandez, who’s been covering the anti-emo riots on his blog Intersections, the violence began March 7, when an estimated 800 young people poured into the Mexican city of Queretaro’s main plaza “hunting” for emo kids to pummel. Then the following weekend similar violence occurred in Mexico City at the Glorieta de Insurgents, a central gathering space for emos. Hernandez also reports that several anti-emo riots have now also spread to various other Mexican cities. Via the Austin American Statesmen, several postings on Mexican social-networking sites, primarily organizing spot for these “emo hunts,” have been dug up and translated. One states: 'I HATE EMOS!!! They are not even people, they are so stupid, they cry over meaningless things… My school is infested with them, I want to kill them all!'

"Another says: 'We’ve never seen all the urban tribes unite against one single tribe before… Emos, their way of thinking is for crap, if you are so depressed please do us all a favour and kill yourselves!'"

Yikes, what did My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy ever do to these haters? OK, yeah, I know... but still, why can't kids just get along?

By Joshua Rotter

Bon Jovi's iconic "Livin' on a Prayer" video, showcasing the band's fresh faces and glossy personas, did much in the way of packaging the so-called metal band for pop consumption in the late '80s. Clearly, no group encapsulates the poppy side of the sound like Bon Jovi, making their greatest hits and latest hits "Lost Highway" and "(You Want to) Make a Memory," off their number one disc, Lost Highway (Mercury Nashville, 2007), popular among both the day-care and home-health-care sets.

Last week, however, things appeared a lot lighter on the pop and heavier on the metal when Bon Jovi guitarist Richie Sambora was arrested on a DUI charge, while driving his 10-year-old daughter, Ava. Due in court in May, he is also expected to face child endangerment charges.

This is only Sambora's latest setback over the last couple years following a high-profile divorce from actress Heather Locklear - over alleged infidelity with friend Denise Richards - in addition to a stint in rehab for alcohol abuse, and the death of his dad from lung cancer.

Last month, as the band prepared to launch the 36-city North American leg of their Lost Highway tour, a sober Sambora discussed how he overcame some of these difficulties by starting work on the Lost Highway LP and planning one of the biggest tours of 2008. Bon Jovi appears April 2 and 8 at the HP Pavilion in San Jose.

SFBG: Bon Jovi is known for massive stage shows. What can fans expect this time around?

Richie Sambora: We’ve got a bunch of HD screens that are just morphing into different things. It’s going to be a spectacle that people have never seen before. From what we know after 25 years of experience in these stages and stuff like that, it looks like a holy-cow moment. People are going to walk away going, "Wow, this is really cool.”

I never saw Say Anything or read High Fidelity (for me, mopey indie straight dudes are cute in theory -- just not as John Cusack). But I am a nerd, and subject to all the emotional turmoil and reward a good mixtape can heap upon the recipient and maker. Yeah, I mean mixtape as in "fire up the ol' press play-and-record and unleash your TDK, baby" -- not the semi-underground hiphop cds that the big record companies have unsuccessfully hijacked of late.

Trouble is, the tiny plastic or chrome (eek, remember those being eaten every third play?) reel-to-reels have bit the dust, CDs are so un-green it hurts, and MP3 shareware is too complex for me and probably good ol' High Fidelious Jack Black.

Enter, then, Muxtape, this neato site with a very indie bent that launched a little bit ago. You can upload up to 10 MBs of MP3s to a handy little link and email it to your friends. They then can click on individual tracks and listen. Also: it's free. And: anyone in the world can click on your muxtape and hear what your thing is. You can RSS your favorite Muxtapers, even.

Pretty nifty -- although I still miss the lovely rickety squeaks and hisses of cassettes. Anyone got a good app on hand to insert them? TapeSqueal? Memorexia?

Tip o' the nib to my pal Steven Reaume for turning me on to this. Check out his Detroit classics muxtape (including lost early house tune "Liferaft" by Juicy Fruit) here.