Photos from the 40th anniversary Woodstock celebration at Speedway meadow:
“This is righteous! It’s a part of history!” Terry Kennedy makes up the seriously daunting security behind the scenes at this year’s West Fest. He, along with many of his fellow security handlers and 2B1 record employees, lent a hand to the celebrations to commemorate the majestic memories from Summer of Love and Woodstock.
The Fillmore Theater was filled with yarmulkes and heart-pumping beats last Thursday as Matisyahu, a Hasidic Jewish reggae singer, bounced
his way across the stage. The eclectic crowd at the sold-out show seemed to represent everyone, from religious diehards to So-Cal blonds in high heels. Matisyahu's lyrics convey his strong religious beliefs, but somehow he's able to reach a broad and diverse crowd. With his long payots swaying to each reggae beat, one might imagine they were dreads and this was a Rasta show straight from Jamaica. But isn't that what makes going to see music so great? There are no rules, just pure creativity and a smorgasbord of cultures and ideas around every bend.
This week in the paper, I write about eight-piece Latin psychedelic funk outfit from Texas, Brownout. I'm really digging, in a mellow way, their new album Aguilas and Cobras on Six Degrees Records. You should throw on a rad patterned suit jacket and some slick shoes, light up something nice, and check them out at Elbo Room this Friday.
After 2006's somewhat tepid though promising True Magic (Geffen), Mos drops the best hip-hop album of 2009 thus far. Named after Victor Lavalle's novel, with cover art from Charles Burnett's Killer Of Sheep, this is a gem that I just can't stop playing — especially "Priority" and "No Hay Nada Mas"
You don’t get quite what you expect from the aptly titled electronic duo, PANTyRAiD. A side project of forward thinking producers Martin Folb (Marty Party -- he'll be performing this Fri/11 at 103 Harriet) and Josh Mayer (Ooah of the Glitch Mob), PANTyRAiD delves into the rich cross-sections of hip-hop, dubstep, and ambient. Although the duo was previously best known for heavy hitting remixes like “Do You” and powerhouse party mixes -- e.g. for XLR8R and Mary Anne Hobbs -- of synth knocking beats flipped over modulated crunk lyricism, their latest effort The Sauce (Marine, Ingrooves) salvages their place as solid beat conductors on the quest.
PANTyRAID, "Get the Money"
PANTyRAiD most impressively experiment with multi-tiered arrangements, changing tempo and bass tonality by way of a jazz inspired fluidity. In “Worship The Sun”, dissonant synth vamps grace chilling tribal drums and chants, building into a wobbling bass riding “hot sex on a platter” bars from Silk E. Fyne’s one hit wonder, and reemerging once more with a graceful intensity.
Some albums escape criticism...they just sound good. And as much as I try to pick apart Bibio's surprising breakthrough — from its heavy allegiance to Boards of Canada, J Dilla and other beat icons to its catalog of hip indie styles — I can't stop listening to it. I've played it on long drives to L.A., and I've fast-forwarded through it on quick trips to the supermarket. Perhaps what moves me about it is its humanness. When he begins to croon as "Lovers' Carvings" builds into a bright, sprightly square dance, it usually leaves a smile on my face. I'm a sucker for melody.
The title here rings all too true: 24-Carat Black is a memento of all that soul music could have been, had economic woes not killed its most ambitious tendrils. This dozen-plus ensemble's unfinished sequel to 1975's oft-sampled Ghetto: Misfortune's Wealth (Stax) is just as conceptual, but more downtempo. "The Best of Good Love Gone" is Dusty in the ghetto instead of a satin Memphis boudoir. "I Want to Make Up" does a slow burn then floats off in the nighttime breeze.
A sublime entanglement of negative space, lithesome riffs, and raw sentiment delivered by mush-mouthed lead vocalists Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sims, this xx-cellent debut by the young rock quartet gleams the post-everything cube. Tracks "Basic Space," "Islands," and "Crystallized" could be the anthems of a less-virtual, more physical generation of emotional wonderers -- even as the instrumentation and weird engagement-through-detachment mood hearkens back to the early New Order. (Justin Timberlake and Tracy and the Plastics are listed as influences).
I have a soft-spot in my cold, cold heart for East Bay electro-funk duo Wallpaper -- I grin at their catchy-kooky antics, and whatever wrong rub I get from the pair's unironic frat-boy sentiments ("If I wasn't me, I'd date myself") is quickly sanded off by the amount of beguiling musical ideas in their songs. I'm still working my way through my advance copy of their new Eenie Meenie LP, Doodoo Face (see what I mean about the level of humor here?), and I'll have more thoughts on it before it hits stores on 9/22. For now though, here's Wallpaper's latest -- you can judge for yourself. It could be a giant statement about the loneliness of a crowded dance floor, it could just be a party jam. It's kind of both to me. Plus, they totally sample themselves.
Wallpaper, "I Got Soul, I'm So Wasted"
Wallpaper Doodoo Face record release party
w/ HOTTUB
Sat/26, 9pm, 18+
$10 over 21/$15 under Rickshaw Stop
155 Fell, SF.
The first use of the word “glitch” traces back to fairly recent innovations in computer technology, initially describing a sudden burst or drastic change in voltage charge. More recently, glitch has become a frenetic pathos, an unexpected musical phenomenon, an intensely dissonant way of looking the world, and a methodology for mother fucking slaying crowds. I’m not even talking about genres; fuck a genre. Enter “Beats by the Bay”, a powerhouse dubbed out nastiness, glitch melter party featuring some of the most ridiculous production innovators of our day. Expect ferocious units geared with space age machinery and foot soldiers parading the illest beats. These cats together posses a schizophrenic style that blasts through free-jazz out thereness, supernovaeing (can I make that a verb?) hip-hop’s monster funk loudness into another dimension of “here I am”. And look at that, it’s right before Burning Man!
Beats By The Bay presented by Infinite Music & ArtnowSF
With Sub Swara, Marty Party, The Gaslamp Killer, Lazersword, The Flying Skulls, Djunya, Majitope, Emancipator, Bogl
Mission Rock Cafe, $20
817 Tery Francois St., SF
415 626-5355
More info: www.myspace.com/artnow
Odynophagia, "The Container is Pervasive" from Social Masque
Welp, just in time for our wobble-kneed Drug Issue, Odyn drops an exclusive freestyle just for us. Strap down your naked lunch and enjoy:
Note: Yo Marke, here's a freestyle. Ya know freestyle in the purist OLD SCHOOL tradition. Which is: writing something over a period of 11 weeks. Focus grouping it, then having your stenographer earpierce buzz it when you battle Kool Herc. The rap's about this retail accident demolecularizing my subjectivity, then me coming back as this ghastly thing assisted by lepers to turn YOU (the listener) into a infected prostitute mannequin that the male community will flock to (because you're hot, and either gender, but really just cuz I dressed you pretty, and slathered on this hot lipgloss. Your lipgloss be poppin')
I love how everyone makes Latin music their own, from the blonde dude shaking his head and slapping his leg in time, to the Asian couple cha-cha-chaing across the room with elegant ease and perfectly choreographed movements. At a performance on Friday, July 31st, at the Red Poppy Art House, Tito Gonzales, a renowned Cuban tres player (an instrument similar to guitar), stated that the bolero was born in Cuba, but then someone in the audience shouted out "No, es de Colombia!"
But none of this really mattered because the only important thing that night was that everyone had a good dance partner and just enough space to shake and twist a bit. Tito's band played all the classics, including "Besame Mucho," and made it totally impossible for anyone to stay in their seats. If you like the Buena Vista Social Club, you'll love Tito and his Son De Cuba. And if you missed the show on Friday, they'll be preforming again at the San Jose Jazz Festival on Saturday, August 8th. As for the original birth place of Latin music, well, that will always be a mystery.
Live Shots: Indigo Girls connect at the Fillmore 7/21
Text and photos by Ariel Soto
There something incredibly nostalgic about the Indigo Girls. When I hear them I'm transported straight back to the freshman dorm room that I shared with my roomie Melbell, which was affectionately called the hippie-love room by the rest of our floor. There was a constant soundtrack of Indigo Girls and Joni Mitchell blasting from our speakers, and when we finally got to see the Indigo Girls live on campus, my girlfriends and I all braided our hair and donned colorful floral scarves around our waists.
By Tomas Palermo. Vieux appears on Sat/18 as part of the two-night 5th Annual Afrofunk Festival at The Independent. Fri/17 features the full-blown stylish sounds of Sila and the Afrofunk Experience.
PREVIEW A torrent of questions arose amid the global mourning over Michael Jackson's sudden passing. Was he addicted to prescription pain meds? How much was he actually worth? Did his father's abuse scar the star beyond repair? Speaking of paternal influence, will 12-year-old Prince Michael Jackson follow his famous father's musical calling? If he displays even an ounce of MJ's talent, the pressure will be enormous.
A similar scenario played out in the African music world following the 2006 passing of Malian blues guitarist Ali Farka Touré from bone cancer. Farka Touré's son Vieux expressed an early interest in music, but his father objected, hoping to shelter him from a professional musician's grueling tour circuit. It didn't work. Vieux picked up the guitar, releasing a self-titled debut on Modiba/World Village in late 2006, followed by the creative, youth-embracing Remixed: UFOs Over Bamako (Modiba) in 2007. With guidance from legendary Malian kora player Toumani Diabat, the younger Touré's first two releases express a reverence for his father's emotive, blues-soaked guitar style while exploring rock and electronic music interests.
These traditional and modern threads entwine so thoroughly that they fuse on the new Fondo (Six Degrees). Vieux gives voice to swirling Saharan dust storms on the energetic "Sarama," explores Mali's quiet spirituality on "Paradise" (featuring Diabate's kora solos) and ponders West African struggles in the 21st century on the reggae-tinged "Diaraby Magni." Like his father, Vieux's music has taken him from Bamako, Mali to Bonnaroo, the massive Tennessee music festival where his American summer tour begins. As U.S. indie bands like Vampire Weekend and Fools Gold incorporate African rhythms into their repertoires, it's worth hearing a talented African guitar hero whose taste for rock isn't just skin deep, it's in his DNA.
VIEUX FARKA TOURÉ With Luke Top, DJ Jeremiah. Sat/18, 8 p.m., $20. The Independent, 628 Divisadero, SF. (415) 771-1420. www.theindependentsf.com
The fiercely invidious sound of psytrance has been popping up again all over, like, well, button mushrooms on the underside of this wet log we call meatspace. The gamma-beta-brainwave-boom-boom sound was an odd choice to headline Pink Saturday (and give more than a few unsuspecting Madonna queens headaches, I bet). Somehow, however, psytrance seems just right when it emanates from, of all Europhile places, Israel -- especially if mixed with a grandiose goth sensibility, a little clever world music parody, and a totally inappropriate guitar solo. Behold the quivery somewhat-astral thumps of Infected Mushroom, and tear out your hair a little to the beat.
Infected Mushroom
W/ DJ Taj
Fri/17, 9pm, $30
Regency Ballroom
1300 Van Ness, SF www.goldenvoice.com
Sorry, but I can't hate: Johnny Jewel's latest disco project is too lost in emotion to be dismissed as a hipster poseathon. The 1980s touches dig below irony the same way Glass Candy's cover of "Computer Love" gave that icy-by-definition track a successful heart transplant. "Don't Call" is my jam of the summer so far, not least because of its live "Beat It" rhythm.
"The mainstream of dubstep is becoming such an abortion," Kode 9 complained to electronic music advocate (and former Bay Area writer) Philip Sherburne in an eMusic.com interview. It's a curious statement from someone who is being marketed (along with Burial, Skream, Benga, and a handful of others) as leaders of the dubstep incursion, a hybridization of 2-step garage, jungle breaks at half-speed and good ol' ragga. (It's the amalgamation of "dub" and "step.") Only two years after Burial's Untrue (Hyperdub) brought pop's cool-hunters to this bastard genre, it seems, dubstep is already eating itself.
U.K. electronic music (and its Anglophile offshoot) is herded by theorists, and Steve "Kode 9" Goodman is one of them. He has a doctorate in philosophy, and recently received a commission from the New Museum of Contemporary Art's Rhizome technology initiative for a forthcoming documentary, Unsound Systems, that explores the use of sound as psychological weapon. His record label, Hyperdub, started out as a Web site spotlighting futurists like Kodwo Eshun and was responsible for the aforementioned Untrue as well as Zomby's recent spin on '90s 'ardkore dynamics, Where Were You in '92? (Werk).
Kode 9's first collection, 2006's Memories of the Future, pairs bleak echoing tones with pummeling bass thuds. One popular track, "Sine," finds vocalist Spaceape reinterpreting Prince's "Sign O' The Times" as dread intonation: "Sign o' the times mess with your mind, hurry before it's too late."
Declaring that a scene is "over" just as the great unwashed embraces it — recent dubstep parties in San Francisco have packed dance floors — seems particularly snotty and perverse. But by disappearing into thicker brush, Kode 9 stays ahead of pop mediocrity. His new singles, particularly "Black Sun / 2 Far Gone," add melancholic melodies and popping bass, retracing a path back to 2-step. Accordingly, U.K. critics have made it an example of a silly new subgenre called "funky." (George Clinton would laugh at that one.)
All this ideological shoegazing shouldn't distract you from enjoying Kode 9's tunes. But it should tell you that U.K. electronic music has traveled very far up its own arse. "I think U.K. electronic music is a bit of a mess right now and very microsegmented, to be honest," said Kode 9 in the eMusic interview. "But there are some lines of intersection that are promising."
THE FUTURE: KODE 9, SPACEAPE, THE FLYING SKULLS Fri/10, 10 p.m., $10 (advance). 103 Harriet, 103 Harriet, SF. (415) 431-8609. www.1015.com/103harriet/events
A small portion of music nurtures body, mind, and soul. A miniscule subsect does so by ripping you magnificently out of your familiar musical safety zones with unpredictable and compellingly fresh organizations of sound. Some have baptized the songs that fall under this rarefied territory of music "face-melters," and for good reason. Assiduously dissolving toughened aural skin, face-melting music inspires knowledge of the outer galactic and inner expansive reaches of the embodied mind. Its dangerous allure has solicited varied responses from thinkers, poets, and musicians throughout history. Plato advises to obliterate such enigmatic revelry in The Republic. William Blake seeks to illustrate its destructive purity in Songs of Innocence and ofExperience. More recently, Afrika Bambaataa's "Searching for the Perfect Beat" embodies the infinite quest for mystical rhythms.
The DJ, producer, and deep crate-digger Andy Votel has made a career out of cultivating and archiving the face-melting phenomenon. Conducting the freaked-out, electronic psych epic Styles of The Unexpected (Twisted Nerve Records, 2000), and helping spearhead Finders Keepers Records to reissue international instances of obscure and intensely monstrous tracks from around the world, Votel is a leading expert on the limit zones of post-World War II music. Notable Finders Keepers reissues and compilations that will rewire your neural networks have emerged from Anatolia (Mustafa Özkent, Selda), France (Jean-Pierre Massiera, Jean-Claude Vannier), and Pakistan (this year's comp Sound of Wonder).
One contemporary contributor to the Keepers catalog is Los Angeles' feral beatsmith and DJ the Gaslamp Killer. A mad scientist of the Low End Theory collective, GLK psychedel-ifies hypnotic boom bap cuts and mutates vocals into chilling hums and fuzzed out screams locked toward another kind of prayer. But don't believe me, peep his avant-garde corpse ringer mix I Spit On Your Grave (Obey, 2008). Once you've trained your ears on his radiated sewer funk, flip it fresh on Gaslamp's collaboration with fellow Theorist, Free The Robots, for the jazzier side of the gutter on The Killer Robots (Obey, 2008).
To mark the third birthday of SF funk wizard DJ Centipede's Catch the Beat party, Votel, GLK, and Free the Robots have come together for a face-melting good time. Leave your mask at home.
CHANGE THE BEAT 3RD YEAR ANNIVERSARY PARTY With Andy Votel, Gaslamp Killer, Free the Robots, DJ Mahssa, DJ Centipede, Citizen Ten. Fri/10, 10 p.m., $10. Paradise Lounge, 1501 Folsom, SF. (415) 252-5017. www.paradisesf.com
Any show that ends with a bunch of people in a conga line has to be great. This past weekend, Pink Martini, a twelve-piece band hailing from Portland Oregon, joined the San Francisco Symphony for an electrifying performance that covered everything from classical concertos to foot stomping Brazilian street music. The range in styles of music this ensemble covers makes a single night at one of their concerts seem like twenty different musical experiences and then some. Being part Puerto Rican, I'm drawn to their more Latin based songs, like "Donde Estas Yolanda" and "Andalucia" but there's really no way not to love all their music, especially when they get a little help for our very own San Francisco Symphony.
Have to admit I'm more blown away than I thought I wuld be by the new "Sun of Gao" joint by Mr. Raoul K. on local Afro-house wiz DJ Said's recently revived Fatsouls label. It's truly an Afrominimal journey that seems perfectly of the moment. The gently expanding elements never exactly build to a climax (a hallmark of current dance music production) but they flow over you like smiling waves ....
Said will be virtuosically throwing this and other choice cuts from his stable this Friday at Otis. If you missed it, here's what I wrote in my last Super Ego clubs column (with a couple corrections -- hey I was blazin' at the time). This one's not to be missed for everyone who takes an interest in the growing effervescent confluence of traditional and electronic sounds.
DJ SAID
A decade ago, when the Internet was still booming, Said Adelekan brought some serious dance floor spirit to that oft-soulless go-go period with his local Afro-House movement, his Fatsouls label, and his lovely Atmosphere parties. I'm absolutely delighted that he and Fatsouls have resurfaced — goddess knows we could use a little more Afro-injection — to release a new Fatsouls single called "Sun of Gao" by Mr. Raoul K. Joining Said (and many familiar friendly faces from those days, I hope) will be the luminous DJ Dedan of the great Brothers and Sisters party in Oakland. Expect everything deeply felt, from Afrobeat to minimal techno — oh, and Nigerian legend Rasaki Aladokun on the talking drum.
Friday, June 26, 10 p.m., free. Otis, 25 Maiden Lane, SF. www.otissf.com
Interview by Marke B. Photo by Alex Warnow. From our summer SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour -- on stands in the Guardian now.
For 15 years, the much-loved and lovable warm-weather Sunset parties have shaken various hills, isles, parks, patios, and boats with funky, techy house sounds. Launched by underground hero DJ Galen in 1994 (has it really been that long?), the outdoor Sunset gigs have amassed a huge following of excited party newbies and familiar old-school faces — and now their kids! Early on in the game, Galen was joined by fellow Bay favorite DJs Solar and J-Bird, and the three — collectively known as Pacific Sound (www.pacificsound.net) — have kept the vibe strong ever since. This year saw a remarkable expansion on the Sunset fan base: attendance at the season opener at Stafford Lake reached almost 4,000, and Pacific Sound just launched an annual — and truly moving — party on Treasure Island that had multiple generations putting their hands in the air. "The vision was to take electronic music out of the dirty warehouses, away from the dodgy promoters, and into the sunshine," says J-Bird. Summer's just begun, and Pacific Sound, with several gangbuster parties lined up, keeps delivering.
SFBG You guys have been a major part of the party scene here for a while. What do you think of it right now?
Pacific Sound There's a foundation for creativity in San Francisco — that is something that will never change. Also, there definitely is quite a bit more international talent coming here than 10 years ago. It's this constant exposure to musical stylings from around the world that will facilitate a thriving scene. The recent crackdowns by the SFPD and ABC may be dampening some spirits, but it will never stop our creative heritage.
SFBGYou mean all the pressure on venues lately ...
Interview by Billy Jam. Photo by Leo Herrera. From SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour -- on stands in the Guardian this week.
Like so much music and art these days, turntablism is easier to find online than in a public space. A turntablist can easily record their scratch practice session, upload it to YouTube, and sit back and wait for feedback to show up on their screen. But for sheer enjoyment, creative interaction, and advancement of the art form, turntable pyrotechnics really need to be experienced in the live, raw setting of DJ battles or sessions. That's why Bay Area turntablist duo Deeandroid and Celskiii recently decided to revive their hands-on scratch DJ club night, Skratchpad. Bay Area turntable fiends, missing the party's lively conviviality since it shut down earlier in the decade, were getting antsy.
The super-skilled, Vallejo-born female scratch duo who've toured with the likes of KRS-One now tears it up twice monthly at the Cellar in San Francisco. There, DJs from the aspiring to the established (Swift Rock, Shortkut, and Teeko have each turned in memorable sets) join the two and others like Winst-One and Bizibeats to carry on the sacred Bay scratch tradition. Skratchpad boasts two rooms, one with open tables for guest beat-juggling and the other for just plain getting down, and takes mighty inspiration from legendary late-1990s hip-hop joint Beat Lounge, where Deeandroid and Celskiii — and many others on the scene — got their start. Skratchpad even hosts the occasional DJ Q&A session, but all answers must be phrased in the form of turntable pyrotechnics only.
SFBG Why revive Skratchpad now?
Celskiii If we want to keep the music and culture alive, then we have to pass it on. A lot of younger cats didn't grow up during that raw '90s era, but that doesn't mean they can't experience what we were so lucky to have been exposed to.
SFBG How exactly does the open turntable policy work?
Deeandroid You must bring your own needles, headphones, and records, sign up on the list, and wait your turn for the MC host of the night to call the DJ names. We have seven turntables and five mixers usually for the open turn session. DJs rotate after they do their thing twice or we tell them to switch.
SFBG Is it ever a problem with some DJ hogging the turns?
Interview by Marke B. Photography by Keeney + Law. From our Summer SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlfe and Glamour. On stands in the Guardian now!
Reggae: still fresh? Yes. A lot of stereotypes have attached themselves to reggae over the years, not all of them good or true. But this is the Bay, a blazing nexus for the sound, and a spirit of liveliness and innovation can always be found here — especially if members of the classic Jah Warrior Shelter Hi Fi sound system are twisting it. Since 1988, the crew has been rocksteady on the roots scene — and hardly a evening goes by that you won't find Rocker T, Jah Yzer, I-vier, or Irie Dole lighting up the decks or the mic with his unique approach somewhere. Serious with that: besides Jah Warrior Shelter's weekly Bless Up joint at Milk every Tuesday (celebrating its five-year anniversary July 14) and Toppa Top blast at Club Six every Thursday night, the crew brings the fire to EndUp, Laszlo, Luka's, Pier 23, Oasis, Jelly's ... I-Vier co-helms KPFA's Reggae Express show with Spliff Skankin, the sound system has snagged numerous soundclash competition titles, and Jah Warrior Shelter mixtapes flow like rolling verbiage throughout the scene. Check out their mad productivity at www.jahwarriorshelter.com.
SFBG Why do you think reggae has found such a home here?
Irie Dole San Francisco has always been a hub for reggae music and performers. The hippie movement's peace and love vibration naturally attracted Rastas — foundation artists Jacob Miller and Hugh Mundell were known to be around the city quite a bit. With San Francisco's beautiful landscape, healthy food, and lax weed laws, reggae just fell into place with a lot of people of our generation. California is the ganja capital of the world, the Bay Area is the reggae capitol of California — San Francisco is the place to be.
I’m bumping the Latin Project’s second full length record, Musica De La Noche, in my headphones right now. The signature Latin-Electronica blended sound is the brainchild of British producers, Jez Colin and Matt Cooper, who now call Los Angeles home. Listening to the music transports me to the surreal place of one of those Hollywood film sequences where the slick talker dude walks into the smoky (not cigarette smokey, but fog-machine smokey) disco ball club where epileptic lights flash all over the sweaty dance floor. All of a sudden, a sultry red light shines on a sexy maroon lipped lady, and the eyes of our two protagonists lock in a moment of tidal crashing bass. Magnetism.
For this release, the Latin Project produce a finely polished fusion of house, broken beat, Afro-beat inspired polyrhythms, Latin grooves and vibes, with an occasional sprinkle of buttered hip-hop lyricism. The bass hits hard in that clean type of way and the jazzy horn sections uplift the mood, crafting easy going, dance friendly grooves. Some of the remixes venture into more experimental electronic territory, hinting towards a fresh Latin sound with coarser curves and layered intricacy. But most of the night music lives comfortably in a world without ghosts or werewolves or any other eerie spirits lurking around the corner, where your problems disappear in the heat of dance floor and your feet take you away.
Fresh for the heat of the summer, Brooklyn based beatsmith Nickodemus -- seasoned selector for the acclaimed Turntables on the Hudson party -- drops a gem on us. In his inspired sophomore effort, Sun People (ESL Music), Nickodemus delivers a groove pummeling sound collage that expands on the cosmopolitan spirit fundamental to the Afrobeat tradition. He manages to inform Afrobeat’s free-formed jazz sensibility and funkified polyrhythmic arrangements with raw elements of celebratory music from around the world. Swaying jazz horns give way to uplifting blasts of air from Latin American and Balkan brass sections that loosen up the heavy hitting, grounding percussion. This strategy allows the drums to thrust in endless hypnotics without feeling too claustrophobic, a subtle formula for creating holistically sanguine dance grooves. And the fusion feels organic, perhaps due to the lively multinational character and experimental ethos at the very heart of Afrobeat, allowing the music's dynamic nature to morph, mutate, and evolve in provocative directions.
Collaborations bless nearly every track on the record, giving Sun People an organic, outernational party flavor. Quantic helps to arrange the infectious Latin number , “La Lluvia”, where Richard Shepherd croons joyful bars over congas and drums, wistful vibes, and swaying horn riffs. On “Brookarest”, the name tells it all; New York’s multicultural sound, armed with a drum machine and transformer effects, meets Romania’s hypnotic vocals and boastful, wedding brass band. All the influences converge in “N’Dini”, a monster jam bookending the album (“Sun People” on the jump), simultaneously taking on the cyclic role as closing and opening. The joint is impressively crafted out of, well, the nearly infinite histories bounded within the album; Afro-latin rhythms, dub percussion, blaring Gypsy horns, and electronic inspired bass. Such cross sectioned travels across the globe from Columbia to Guinea to Hungary and everywhere in-between might seem crass in the hands of a less skilled producer, but Nickodemus effortlessly pulls all the pieces together in a simple, innocent cry of joy. The coherent element might just have something to do with the sun, that giant ball of heat and energy, that ultimate source of life, shining above every single one of us on terre nostre. This ain’t world music anymore. Time to get down to sun music my people!
Hey bay-bay, besides the wall-bouncing antics of DJ Stacey Pullen and The Martinez Brothers that I mentioned in this week's Super Ego clubs column, here's another party glamour to get your feet up off the floor. Also, for all you hip queer kids -- it's second Saturday, and that means another Cockblock vs. Cockfight showdown! As always, I recommend hitting up both. Because I care. Because I can.
Wallpaper at Blow Up
I can't get the stylishly jazzy electro-rap-lounge Oakland trio's latest treatment of Das Racist's "Combination Taco Bell and Pizza Hut" out of my freakin' noggin -- even though it makes my stomach a tad queasy -- but it's the lovely afrobeat-y remix of Passion Pit's "the Reeling" on their MySpace that really follows me around. They'll be at the ever-bonkers Blow Up at Rickshaw Stop on Friday, hopefully with live drums in tow .... be there, and if you're over 30 try not to try too hard to look cool, k?
Blow Up w/ Wallpaper
Fri/12, 10 p.m., $10,
Rickshaw Stop
155 Fell, SF. www.blowupsf.com
PS -- oh god, Perez Hilton posted about Wallpaper on the same day as me? Really? ugh.
For a brief time in the early 1990s, Evan Dando was an It boy. He wore great jeans and hid behind his hair — the shaggy pop songs didn't hurt either. His band, the Lemonheads, coasted to success with an easy cover of "Mrs. Robinson," and then Atlantic took a bath on Come On Feel the Lemonheads (Atlantic, 1993), an album that's likely still haunting remainder bins. These are the facts, but the melodies that snag your adolescence are destined to boggle any attempt at objectivity.
I still remember picking It's a Shame About the Ray (Atlantic, 1992) off the rack after spotting it in an older friend's collection — I must have been 11 or 12. Soon, I went the extra mile for a couple of bootleg cassettes I then listened to in ritualistic isolation. In Dando, I heard the sympathetic reticence of a dropout. I beached my shyness on his languid refrains; he was good company. I wouldn't say I wanted to trade places (Ben Lee took up this mantle on "I Wish I Was Him"), but the Lemonheads furnished my imagination with yearning and ennui — sensing those things without knowing them was sublime. I loved the band for coming from Boston; their stoned melodies padded the lonely stretches of Memorial Drive and sandy dunes of Cape Cod where I moved into my feelings. Nearly all Lemonheads songs are letters, and I imagined I too would come to know a "you."
Trying to sort out how memory imprints my continued weakness for these melodies would require a novel rather than a capsule review, but I like to think the Lemonheads albums still hold up because I wouldn't have had it any other way. I don't put them on very often, but I can easily lose a whole afternoon when I do.
THE LEMONHEADS With Kim Vermillion. Wed/10, 8 p.m., $21. Slim's, 333 11th St, SF (415) 255-0333. www.slims-sf.com
You may be worn out by indie dance acts that have "glass" in their name -- as well as those with "crystal," "soundsystem," and any kind of cute furry animal -- but the UK's The Glass have just released a summer anthem, about dancing outside in summer, that deserves to be as big as I hope it will be. The video is bananas good as well.
The Glass, "Wanna Be Dancin'"
Could that buried "It Takes Two" sample in the chorus be any more delicious? There's a killer mix of this track by one of my favorite, unfortunately overlooked, bands of 2k8, Clubfeet -- available at Beatport. I recommend downloading it and blissing out in the park, toute suite
Axel Willner of the Field borrows with the insightful and transformative intent of a master curator. On the title track finale of the Field's almost unanimously acclaimed From Here We Go Sublime (Kompakt, 2007), that means tapping into the Flamingos' 1959 "I Only Have Eyes for You." Kenneth Anger exploited that recording's deeply unsettling quality in the 1972 version of his Rabbit's Moon, paving the way for a dozen or more David Lynch imitations of such a tactic. Willner's trick was to distill the spectral eeriness of the recording into pure essence.
The Field, "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime"
On the new Yesterday and Today (ANTI-/Kompakt), Willner's something-borrowed gambit is a cover of the Korgis' glacial 1980 ballad "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime." On the surface level of trend, this is almost a stale move: Justice recently incorporated the Korgis' original into a mix, and Beck also has recorded a version. But Willner's interpretation is far superior. It is both minimalist and majestic. Here the sublime resides in what Willner leaves out: the chorus. In place of words, he piles layer upon layer of his trademark ghostly hums and drones so that a sonic cave becomes a cathedral. It's gorgeous.
Marke B chimes in: And check out this abso-brill recent collab between my favorite band of 2008, Foals, and Mr. Field-good. Rumor is more to come with the release of Foals' second album this year ...
The Field, "Foals Xiii (Foals Remix)"
The Field
opening for The Juan Maclean
Sat/6, 9 p.m., $20
Mezzanine
444 Jessie, SF
(415) 625-8880
www.mezzaninesf.com
Since 1984, Oslo's favorite sons Mayhem have had a reasonable claim to the title of most fucked-up band on the planet, the eagerly repeated stories of the lurid spectacle that is their live show representing only some of the milder aspects of their mythos. Colorful history aside, the men of Mayhem have established themselves as architects of the modern black metal sound, taking the nasty musicianship and overt occultism of Venom and early Bathory and using them as the foundation for a terrifying new kind of metal that mixes breakneck drums, guttural riffs, and croaking vocals with eerie, understated melody. Often imitated, the 25-year veterans' unique style is seldom matched in terms of sheer, unhinged intensity.
Co-headliners Marduk, one of countless bands to follow in Mayhem's footsteps, spent the better part of its career becoming even more gruesome and unpalatable to mainstream audiences with each successive album, until it was not inconceivable to mention the satanic Swedes in the same breath as their more established tour mates. By the late 1990s, Marduk began branching out instrumentally, refining its musicianship while remaining true to the genre it helped pioneer.
The two black metal greats are supported by a diverse collection of bands taken from all corners of the extreme metal scene. Progressive, black metal-inspired Withered makes a logical opener, and the presence of dizzying grindcore virtuosos Cephalic Carnage is strange but welcome. Rounding out the bill is the brutal Cattle Decapitation, a consistent favorite among fans of uncompromising, technical death metal. Fans of life-affirming music would do well to avoid this show.
MAYHEM Wed/3, 6 p.m., $25–$30, all ages. DNA Lounge 375 11th St., SF. (415) 626-1409. www.dnalounge.com
Writing about electronic music in this Age Of Everything Always Available seems to be more and more an exercise in nostalgia. Artists are caught up mousing over the pull-down menu of the past, widgeting it into today's latest technology -- especially in the case of video mashups. (A similar-type thing happened with the debut of the CD, when the past was rummaged through for reissue-mania, and, as the Guardian's Johnny Ray Huston has pointed out, reissues still hold dollar-sway and carry much label cred in the record industry). Earlier this year, I attempted to fathom how Israeli YouTube mashup genius Kutiman was working the nostalgia tip -- not in the literally referential, crate-digging manner of DJ Shadow, but in a melancholic, sampladelic way all his own.
Now -- joy of joys, for real -- we have the latest video mashup by one of Kutiman's indisputable forebears, Fagottron. This, you cannot deny the literal nostalgia of. Not just because he's tapping directly into the mid-90s heyday of electronica -- but because he's freaking sampling the Disney movies of yesteryear. "The track is composed of a sine wave bass, custom drum sequences, and sounds recorded from the Disney film Mary Poppins," the YouTube more info box relays, deliciously. Funny, that was going to be my epitaph.
Fagottron, "Expialidocious"
And Fagy's not just unleashing his dizzying Avid skills on the super-famous flicks (although I'd love to see his version of Ariel) -- here's a couple he did two years ago that took me back to those misty "movie afternoons" in the grade-school gymansia of my youthfulness, albeit in slightly freakier form:
Walking confidently on stage and decked out in tradition Japanese garb, the Yoshida Brothers took over the stage at Yoshi's SF in the Fillmore -- they'll be performing there until May 16th. The Yoshida brothers play the shamisen, a square shaped guitar like instrument with only three stings that twangs and resonates long after the stings have been plucked.
Enough about Thee Oh Sees already. Let's talk about Shannon and the Clams. John Dwyer's new outfit is great and all, but Shannon is bodacious. She's a peroxide-haired, punk-rock pin-up who gets real mean on her Danelectro bass.
I caught the classic beauty out and about last week with an unmasked Nobunny. They were catching a glimpse of those pretty Black Lips performing at the Great American Music Hall. A few months earlier, I saw Shannon and her Clams doin' their thing for the hometown crowd at Oakland's Stork Club. For sure, the highlight of the night was their rendition of Del Shannon's "Runaway." I can't get enough of that song. Anytime I hear it, it's embedded in my brain for days. I enjoyed the guitarist's mimicry of whatever high-pitched instrument is used in the bridge of the original recording. Surf rock interpretation at its finest.
Shannon and the Clams, "Blood"
Shannon's gnarly, gruff-sounding wail conveys the angst of an exhausted teenage wreck (see "Cry Aye Aye"). She's somewhere between a woman possessed by Little Richard and the vocal huskiness of the Gossip's Beth Ditto. Another standout track, "Blast Me To Bermuda," is pure teen-punk energy, with a slicing riff that propels the Clams' late-1950s, early-'60s style into a more contemporary garage rock sound.
Shannon is worthy in my book. Good ol' rock 'n' roll!
SHANNON AND THE CLAMS With Thee Oh Sees, Sonny and Sunsets, and the Mystery Lights. Fri/15, 9 p.m., $8. Amnesia, 853 Valencia, SF. (415) 970-0012. www.amnesiathebar.com
By Marke B., who thinks very highly of his ears, if not his latest dance moves. But he'll keep trying. View the previous Nite Trax here.
There are currently three Jamie Joneses in the music world. Two of them are kind of cute -- but I'd never ever listen to them again. As fate would usually have it, the REALLY cute one is the one who's turning me out lately, and has just produced what may well be the summer 09 jam, if I was lame enough to predict such things. Ladies and gentlemen and ladies, the only Jamie Jones that counts:
But I'm really only interested in his music.
The song is "You!" -- an eight-plus minute slice of loveliness, what I would perhaps call subtle tech-soul, that blends a couple grin-worthy retro effects with some serious mixing-board control (loving the dribble-dabs of tinkling percussion). Everything falls into the right place and climbs above genre-tiredness into a burnished place all its own.
The U.S. expat Mr. Jones sews up album of the year honors by track one, after jogging barefoot through hell to conclude "Stains are my nationality." As kickoffs go, it's as dramatic as the The Queen is Dead's title track — apt, since he name-checks Morrissey. From there, Chatterton traverses Cure-like goth, Marley Marl-ready rap, contemporary Euro techno ... and Fleetwood Mac? "The Cockpit" is a Cabaret Voltaire-meets-Giorgio Moroder minimal epic from the perspective of a plane crash's ungrateful sole survivor. The final lines of "Pompadour" are genius.
Live Shots: Boy in Static celebrates sweet suspicion
Text and photos by Ariel Soto. Read Marke B.'s take on Boy in Static's single "Young San Francisco" here
Alexander Chen
Newish to the San Francisco music scene, Boy in Static already has a fledgling following. Only one of the duo could make it, but Bottom of the Hill on Wednesday, May 6, Alexander Chen used everything from a violin, ankle bells and a toy piano to play pieces that expressed both joy and melancholy.
Super Ego: Mophono, wet jocks, tiny spoons, lazers
By Marke B.
Some smooth and mellow Mophono pho' ya
Oh, the transient grunts and groans of the dance floor: Just got word yesterday that the eagerly awaited appearance of disco progenitor Nicky Siano at Paradise Lounge has been cancelled -- my deep throat tells me there were sound and venue concerns (although I love the 'Dise!). In any case, there's plenty of other things to hold your ear-nterest and get you bangin' this weekend. Besides my rundown in this week's Super Ego column, below are some more earth shakers and affairs.
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He loves me, he loves me not
Wanna spoon?
I had absolutely no idea that those little plastics coffee spoons from McDonald's were banned because of illicit uses (or perceived one, anyway.) You'd think after all this time, plastic + noses = OK. But no. In any case, snort in luxurious style with the unveiling of a perfect publicity stunt: renowned hip mens' clothiers and artists Ju$t Another Rich Kid, Nice Collective, Terence Koh, and more have designed cute, exclusive, and most likely expensive little Bolivian helpers (watch that terrorism funding!). They'll be giving the dish at Harput's from 6pm-9pm tonight (expect beautiful people), and then there'll be a kiki afterparty at Triple Crown. Don't try to force your way into the stalls. It's all called "He loves me, he loves me not" which brings to mind a kinky game somehow.
Local future blap fave raves Lazer Sword are back from their whirlwind Euro tour with an uptempo live set to get you moving, supported by Bay man of intrinsic deep dance knowledge, Mophono at, yes, the Paradise. Put 'em up and get down, child -- and let's see if those speakers still work.
Why, yes, I DO host a wet jock strap contest. Come down to Bus Station John's retro bathhouse disco monthly, The Rod, at Deco this Friday around midnight and see me and Hunky Beau scare up a willing and wet bevy of gorgeous, unclad alternaqueer boys -- and see who'll win $100. (No muscle queens need apply, thanks.) Then stay and dance until 3am to the best disco you've only ever heard sampled in other songs before. It's fun and a little scary: frisson alert!
Fri/8, 10pm-3am, $7. Deco, 510 Larkin, SF. www.decosf.com
In addition to making music, Christopher Willits is a guiding force behind the art and experimental music site Overlap (www.overlap.org). In conjunction with Overlap's next event, I caught up with him by e-mail.
SFBGWhat was it like to collaborate with Ryuichi Sakamoto on Ocean Fire (12k, 2008)?
Christopher Willits It was surreal. We fell into an oceanic trance, and a bunch of music suddenly emerged. Then a Godzilla-like sea monster morphed out of his piano and he vaporized it with his max patch.
SFBGYou've also worked with Brad Laner of Medicine. Are you an admirer of that (ahead-of-its-time) band?
CW Medicine [had] a mind-splittingly original sound — it was a soundtrack to many high school adventures. Now it's an absolute joy to be friends with Mr. Laner. Together we are the varsity band members (guitar I and II) of the North Valley Subconscious Orchestra. We're aiming for nationals next year.
SFBG What do you like about the Bay Area's close proximity to the ocean?
CW The smell of fresh wind, and dreams of flying great white sharks.
SFBGI saw a fave list of yours once that had Magma, the Carpenters' "Close to You" and Sun Ra's Lanquidity on it. Who is inspiring or obsessing you at present?
CW That is a timeless list — can I say them again? Let's add Morton Subotnick, Wild Bull (www.merlindarts.com), all Eliane Radigue, all Elvin Jones, John Coltrane, and that band that plays at El Rio on Sunday night.
SFBGYou recently toured in China, including a performance with images on ice. What did you discover?
CW I discovered a resilient community of artists and experimental musicians pushing against the grain (and firewall) of this mammoth country or force. They understand my history and what I'm doing — another win for Chinese bootlegs? I also found some of the best food ever: huajiao (flower pepper) with asparagus! But hold the boiled big brains. Those I'm definitely not into.
LISTEN/VISION 06 With Christopher Willits, Taylor Deupree, and Classical Revolution. Sun/10, 8 p.m., $10. Café Du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. (415) 861-5016. www.overlap.org.
Live review: Kreator and Exodus deliver the quality bangover
By LC Mason
Kreator at a German fest earlier this year
Quality bangover: the gloriously painful aftermath that results after a night of heavy headbanging to brutal bass drum runs and diabolic guitar solos, characterized by roaring tinnitus, aching neck muscles, bruises and scrapes from slamming and stomping into others, as well as stiff hands from gratuitous handing and devil horn-throwing.
This was my condition when I woke up the next morning, ringing ears and all, after witnessing the merciless onslaught of the Kreator and Exodus show at Slim’s on Tuesday, April 28. Except I wasn’t brave enough to enter the roiling whirlpool of 200-pound man-bodies, because a lot more than bruises and scrapes would have gone down, especially as Kreator vocalist-guitarist Mille Petrozza repeatedly and ravenously commanded the audience to “kill each other in the mosh pit.”
In a rhapsodic homecoming performance that surely sated the entire pantheon of thrash metal gods, San Francisco’s legendary sons Exodus played faster and harder than any band half their age and challenged their fans, both young and old, to act accordingly.
What can I say? I'm cute and often clueless -- and as attested below I'm perpetually on Spring Break. In the print edition of my Super Ego column in this week's Guardian I mistakenly put the DirtyBird Pajama Jam down for Saturday, when in fact it's Friday at Mezzanine. Full and correct preview below. Somebody spank me!
Wig out to J. Phlip on Friday night, download her 2008 !@#$%^& mix (which I'm still wrapping my head around) here.
DIRTYBIRD PAJAMA JAM
Ha ha ha, I feel so spring break. Famed local techno label Dirty Bird matches its goofy sensibility with a no-slumber party, bunny slippers and all. DJs Claude VonStroke, Worthy, Justin and Christian Martin, and up-and-comer J. Phlip bring the post-minimal hijinks, you bring the stripy drawers and stuffed E.T. dolls.
In the 1960s Booker T. and the MG's served as Stax/Volt's house band, much like the Funk Brothers were for Motown. Playing alongside Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, and the Staple Singers, among others, they beat Love and also Sly and the Family Stone to the racially-integrated rock-band punch. It was 1962's "Green Onions" on the Memphis-based soul label that put them on the map. The song's recent omnipresence at sporting events has given it a bit of a "jock jam" tag, but it isn't tarnished completely.
Today Booker T. Jones is letting his signature Hammond organ sound sing alongside "the Great Lady of Soul," Bettye LaVette. After hearing her humbling rendition of the Who's "Love Reign O'er Me" at that group's Kennedy Center Honors, I knew LaVette's tag was legit. Even Barbra Streisand — in attendance that night — recognized it. She turned to Pete Townshend in disbelief, asking if he'd really written that song.
Bettye Lavette, "Love Reign O'er"
LaVette gives the rock opera ballad a gut-wrenching, soulful treatment. She owns it.
For most of her career, the Detroit native has struggled, but she's steadily built an audience, touring with late legends including James Brown and a young Mr. Pitiful along the way. LaVette's had one-off singles released by Atlantic and Motown. It seems she is finally getting her due, having had the honor of dueting on a song at President Obama's inauguration ceremony — even if it was with Jon Bon Jovi.
Now LaVette's career has paralleled Booker T's. Both are signed to Anti- Records. Booker's new album for the label, Potato Hole, features Neil Young and includes a playful version of Outkast's "Hey Ya," Expect covers aplenty — and some surprises, too — from this bill's soulful one-two punch.
BOOKER T. AND BETTYE LAVETTE Fri/8, 8 p.m. Independent, 628 Divisadero, 415-771-1421. www.theindependentsf.com
Wherein Marke B. does go on about dance music past and present. View the previous Nite Trax here.
In the current issue of the Guardian, I have a little devilish fun with white labels and tell a few possibly apocryphal tales of foundational electronic music label Warp Records' genesis. Before I multimedially augment that article a bit, here's a spectral white label that really calls up the toe-tingling ghost of the unknown in my third ear:
Reese, "Power Bass"
The 1990 white label rumbler above, whose B-side apparently played inside out, was produced by Detroit techno god Kevin "Master Reese" Saunderson -- he later released it under his E-Dancer guise. (When I hung with Kevin at last year's Detroit Electronic Music Festival, I believe he was drinking Black Label, however.)
My own former prize possession white label turned out to be "The Green Man" by Shut Up and Dance that I snagged from Detroit's amazing Buy Rite Records in 'round 1991-- somehow an unlabelled test press had found it's way from London and into my bin. Below is a vid of a promo copy version. Warning: Never, ever, let go of your records. I could retire a bit if I had this slice of vinyl on me now ....
Shut Up and Dance, "The Green Man"
Thank you, magic of youtube. OK, then ... Warp Records. It's their 20th this year, and in a typically nifty yet slightly desperation-whiffy marketing gimmick, you can vote online for your favorite Warp tracks to be included in their forthcoming anniversary comp.
Ancient Canadian glam-slam heroes Anvil, the touching Spinal Tap of our times who have a critic-ecstatic doc about them (Anvil! The Story of Anvil) out at the moment, will be PERFORMING LIVE at the Bridge Theater this Sunday after two sure-to-be-raucous screening of said doc. Here's Cheryl Eddy's review of the film:
Screw you if you compare Anvil to Spinal Tap. Yeah, there are moments of eerie similarity (and Anvil's drummer is named Robb Reiner — how's that for a coincidence?), but this heartfelt doc (first seen locally at last year's San Francisco Jewish Film Festival) doesn't mock. Friends and bandmates since the early 1980s — when Bon Jovi-level success seemed nearly possible — Reiner and vocalist-lead guitarist Steve "Lips" Kudlow have been chasing the rock god dream their entire adult lives, toiling at day jobs and raising families but leaping at every chance to capture glory, be it a poorly planned European tour or an emotional trip back to the recording studio. Even if you scoff at hair bands, it's hard not to get wrapped up in this tale of success, failure, and power chords. And with no less than Lars Ulrich calling Anvil "the real deal," there's no need to, uh, smell the glove.
Alive and kickin': Tango No. 9 revels in wild exploration
By Dina Maccabee
Entertain whatever stereotypes you will about tango as a relic of an openly macho era: tango in San Francisco is alive. Okay, and kicking.
You might envision a wacky, tacky ballroom competition — but not so rapido says Tango No. 9's founder and violinist Catharine Clune, whose explorations over the last decade have unearthed what she calls "the many faces of tango." With trombonist Greg Stephens, pianist Joshua Raoul Brody, accordionist Isabel Douglass, and newest member Zoltan Lundy singing the Argentine blues, Tango No. 9 revels in tango's many approaches to music, to dancing, and to life. And it's not alone. "There's an underground squadron of tango dancers, ranging from their 20s to their 60s," Clune says. "You can dance tango every night in the Bay Area. It's in these crazy little back rooms you didn't know existed, and that's where we've practiced our chops." As social dancing, which she notes hasn't been a mainstream American cultural movement since the '50s, tango is "something people seem to want."
Professional dancers will be on hand at Noe Valley Ministry to perform the sultry moves, but if you only ogle los bailarines, you'll miss half the fun, or half the pain. "If you can lose anything, from a horse race to a heart, they talk about it," Clune says of the moving and theatrical side of tango's songs — for listening, not just getting down at the local milonga. In a set that traverses the genre, from its roots to the obscure late works of Astor Piazzola, the group performs the first "sentimental" tango, Carlos Gardel's inspirational rendition of Pascual Contursi and Samuel Castriota's "Mi Noche Triste," which set fire to an international phenomenon mourning lost love and tragedy. Like, Lundy says, "being left by a woman who was also your prostitute."
TANGO NO. 9 Sat/2, 8:15 p.m., $16-$18. Noe Valley Ministry, 1021 Sanchez, SF. (415) 282-2317. www.tangonumber9.com
"Fuck macarena, we sun dance on that ass." Absolutely digging the breezy flow, witty U-turns, and stellar executive production by Big Dan on the Oakland rap quartet's new release (pronounced "brown buffalo" if you didn't know). The Jay-Z-like undertow brings some lush instrumentation and vibrant, retro-feel samplescapes into the mix, but these Latin lowdowners aren't afraid to screw around with some electro-wacky nintendo samples ("Big Sir") and even some Swisher-tips to hyphy. Best of all, though they ride hard on Chicano culture props and a dash of welcome positivity and humor, the exhilaratingly versatile skills of Giant, Jacinto, Somos One, and Big Dan launch this one out of the identity-rap rut into the "that shit's smokin'" stratosphere. The disc is plainly a labor of love; live they should be something else. The new album officially drops on 5/5 (Cinco de Mayo, natch) -- details about this weekend's big release party below.
BRWN BFLO, "The Reappearance" sampler
BRWN BFLO
Album release party
Sat/2, 9pm, $8/$13
The Uptown
1928 Telegraph Ave www.uptownnightclub.com
One of my favorite clubs, Afrolicious, the afro-beat/Nuyorican/Brazilian/funk/disco/global weekly hosted by cute (very cute) brothers Senor Oz and Pleasuremaker, is celebrating two years of sterling service to the eager dance floor community with a double-header this week featuring NYC's Nickodemus and Nappy G. of the legendary decade-old Turntables on the Hudson party -- a formidable happening that every year I cry my eyes out for not being able to make. My East Coast friends then laugh in my face. Well, ha ha to them, I've got Afrolicious every week, now with Nick and Napp.
Nickodemus, "Give the Drummer Some"
As per usual, there'll be smoking live percussion (man, I love me some bongos on the dance floor -- old EndUp RIP) and a room packed with beautiful -- but not that icky kind of beautiful -- people not afraid to get sweaty and down. (Check out the tunes and vids here if you want a taste.)
Won't you join me, shantytown butterfly?
AFROLICIOUS TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY
Thu/30: DJ Nickodemus and Smash, live drums by Nappy G
Fri/1: Pleasuremaker Live Band, DJs Nickodemus, Chris Nicholson, and Nappy G.
9pm, $7/$10
Elbo Room
647 Valencia, SF. www.elbo.com
Throbbing Gristle blur the lines at the Regency Ballroom, 4/23. Photos by Morlock E.
It’s a veritable rogue’s gallery at the Regency Ballroom on April 23, every single statesperson of the Bay Area underground having emerged from their respective lairs for Throbbing Gristle, the first, the foremost industrial noise band come back to destroy the universe, one eardrum at a time. The last time I saw such a profusion of familiar faces was, well, last week at Leonard Cohen. And just like at Leonard Cohen, the faces around me bear expressions that are expectant, electric, slightly starstruck. Unlike Leonard Cohen though, the band launches first into a sweet little ditty penned in tribute to the Moors Murderers Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, “Very Friendly”.
Genesis P-Orridge, hand out
“Could you imagine what might have happened if Myra Hindley and Ian Brady had met me and Cosey back than?” quips Genesis P-orridge, who wears the role of flamboyant frontperson like a comfortable pair of bright pink polka-dotted stockings. An array of “greatest hits” follows: “Persuasion”, “Something Came Over Me”, the infinitely creepy “Hamburger Lady”. The set may verge on this side of predictable, but honestly, these are the songs we all want to hear.
The venue lights stay on, loud; the sound system cranked, loud; Genesis P-orridge channeling Marianne Faithfull in a bright orange Stevie Nicks tunic, loud. More “disciplined” than dangerous, the evenly rhythmic computer-generated beats smack just as much of Coil as chaos unleashed. Still, at certain points in the evening, the relentless throb threatens to dislodge both my intestines and my equilibrium. “If I stand with my legs apart I get an erection,” I hear someone mutter. And ultimately, that’s the crux of this whole experience, this sonic onslaught. Industrial at its hard core is precisely the music of solitary erections, the music of intestinal distress, the music of bondage games, vertigo, and boots of shiny leather (just like Cosey’s). That said, all those iMacs onstage? Neither sexy nor disturbed. The blue-screened sea of iPhone photogs below me? Ditto. The price of progress, I suppose, disturbance demystified.
The Balky Mule rides to brilliance on rickety romance
By Todd Lavoie
THE BALKY MULE
The Length Of The Rail
(Fat Cat)
Stubborn? Who's stubborn? Don't be thrown by the Balky Mule name -- Sam Jones might have selected his pseudonym in honor of an unyielding beast of burden, but his newest release is quite an amiable fellow, actually. The formerly Bristol, England-based musician (known for his stints in Flying Saucer Attack, The Third Eye Foundation, Movietone, and Crescent) relocated to Melbourne, Australia and focused on crafting wobbly-footed D.I.Y. pop and alluring folk/electronica collisions. In spite of a resume flush with hazy spin-drifts of guitar feedback and creeping atmosphere, Jones' Balky Mule project is a considerably more playful affair; The Length Of The Rail is a bubbling, bleeping romp of toy-shop psychedelia and likable shy-boy vocals. On this sophomore release -- though best of luck to you in finding its predecessor, as it appears to have been a limited-run and self-issued -- the English ex-pat clearly seems to be having a grand ol' time, picking up every instrument in sight and banging upon every available surface in pursuit of finding the right combination of curious ping-pings and plunkety-plunks.
Still, the disc is very much a bedroom creation, and one can almost imagine Jones skipping and grinning from behind the safety of his teetering piles of instruments; behind that wall is a bashful, boyish warble, pitched somewhere between Robert Wyatt and a more lucid version of Syd Barrett. It's a thin, sweet, incredibly vulnerable tenor -- perhaps not always perfectly-pitched, but channeled wisely for tremendous emotional impact. Set against sputtering electronics and delicate guitar textures, Jones' innocent rambles trigger both the sad sighs of nostalgia and the cheerier heart-flutters of childhood memories.
In the era of Slow Food in the City of Fog, I wonder why more people don't slow down for a second and get out to taste some local music. Think about the last time you were willing to fork over more than a fiver for some local talent. Seriously. San Franciscans sometimes seem fonder and more aware of what the Bay Area attracts than of what it produces. Jimmy Sweetwater is out to change that. Sweetwater is the rare breed of promoter who is also a musician — he plays a mean harmonica and a dirty washboard. He has been giving his all to keep his series of local music going in a town drawn to touring bands. Sweetwater, a historian of Mission District music from the past 20 years, has put on five shows at the Great American Music Hall, four at Slim's, and one at Cafe du Nord. According to Sweetwater, club staff has largely been supportive, but it's a struggle to fill venues in these times of financial woe. "There's a ton of local talent that never gets to play the big clubs," he says, noting that he tries "to combine different kinds of music in one night." All-local nights and combinations of different genres — these aren't traditional strategies, but the Bay Area is the perfect place to unleash them.
This weekend sees a diverse Jimmy Sweetwater Presents lineup at the Red Devil Lounge, including the high-speed-Calexico-like Diego's Umbrella, honkeytonkers 77 El Deora, the East Bay's Ben Benkert, and the Mission Three, a group including Sweetwater that will play a number of tunes by the Band, even one of my favorite (and rarer) Band joints, "Acadian Driftwood." Sweetwater always seems to be doing a thousand things at once. It's all for the love of song in this songlike town.
JIMMY SWEETWATER PRESENTS: DIEGO'S UMBRELLA, BEN BENKERT, 77 EL DEORA, AND THE MISSION THREE Sat/25, 9 p.m., $10. Red Devil Lounge, 1695 Polk, SF. (415) 921-1695. www.myspace.com/jimmysweetwater
Morrissey may have crapped out of his stint at the Paramount, Belle and Sebastian are probably off looking for 20 more band members -- and whither the classic Bluebells, I ask you?
But at least on this overcast break from yesterday's heatwave we have the 13-year-old and much overlooked Scottish popsters Camera Obscura -- no, not this camera obscura, although the music has the same ethereal shimmer -- to keep us melancholically sunny with their new, lushly orchestrated My Maudlin Career (4AD). Somehow the 11 slightly countrified gems on this release seem like the ones that got away from both Neko Case and Rough Trade ...
Camera Obscura, "French Navy"
Bonus! Bluebells (Hey, I'm in the mood for jangly Scottish maudlin today)
The Bluebells, "I'm Falling" (much better sound quality here)
What do you know? The singers look quite a bit alike ....
Throbbing Gristle, "Discipline" live at Kezar, 1981
"Like always I persuaaa-aade you." My audiophile pals have been burbling for weeks about Throbbing Gristle's return to the Bay Area -- an event of enormous sonic-historical magnitude that both Brandon Bussolini and Nicole Gluckstern write about in this week's issue. And they've mostly been taken by the series of vids recorded at Kezar Stadium ("the stadium of dead souls") in 1981 that documents the raw, uninhibited mind-warp of the group at the time -- a perfect tonic for our still-obsessed post-punk indie-bop era. It's pretty amazing, and I'm loving the obvs tripped-out audience. Also, it looks to have much more in common with composer John Adams' Berkeley music-concrete happenings than the overloaded, multimedia Wax Trax spectaculars that industrial would soon veer into, livewise.
The above extended cataclysm, plus this one below by Germany's Liaisons Dangereuses from 1982, tells a seedy, sweaty, and dirty-sexy industrial story, with a space for women even ("are you ready boys, are you ready girls?"), that I wish had been pin-patched and bedazzled onto Haight Street kids' jackets rather than the hypersteroidal/paranoid-pop Skinny Puppy-Nitzer Ebb-Ministry one (and hey, doesn't Depeche Mode have a new album out?)
Liaisons Dangereuses, "Los Niños Del Parque"
It's a wonder to me how all those macho mid-80s big-time industrial acts could simultaneously be so testosteronal and yet so castrated. Maybe it was all the trying too hard (and it kind of happened again in the 90s with, ew, rap-rock). But, you know, I shaved off my devil lock and fled the industrial dance floor once KMFDM's "Control" became inescapable. Now that was torture, even though now I find them quite adorable. It'll be very interesting to see what kind of crowd shows up at the TG show on Thursday, to say the least, and whether they'll have the spikes to ride the experimental thrust into polysexual purgatory, industrial's true Valhalla (not hell at all), with barest, brief release.
From the LA Times Coachella blog: "I think I've had three orgasms already," Genesis P-Orridge said after the first song of Throbbing Gristle's set. All right, so we know it was good for the fair-haired, transgendered leader of the British industrial act, but how was it for us?
The Bay's Grass Widow sounds out mesmerizing shapes
By Michael Harkin
Grass Widow's harmonious post-punk tension is fostered below SF street level, in a former meat locker containing, among other things, a very charming quilt with the band's name patched into it. In anticipation of an impending record release -- the band plays Thursday at ATA -- I met there with bass player Hannah Lew and drummer Lillian Maring (guitarist and trumpet player Raven Mahon was overseas), who, although living far apart — Maring is on the East Coast at present — were clearly very happy to be together.
"It's not like there are any dispensable characters," explains Lew. After the dissolution of Shitstorm, Lew's former band with Mahon, the two started playing together in 2007 with Maring, who was in the city for the summer from Washington state. Though Maring went back up north for a bit, she says she quickly returned and the trio "got really serious" — serious enough to tour the U.S. the following summer after cranking out a wonderful demo CD-R/ cassette that makes up most of their upcoming self-titled 12-inch on the local Make a Mess label.
I first saw Dan Deacon perform at Oberlin College's venue the ’Sco, a den of nascent creativity that eventually brought me to a city sometimes referred to by the same three-letter abbreviation. Deacon was there, balding and bearded, his glasses taped to his head, his muffin-top iced by a bright pink T. He set up his mad scientist's table of electronics in the audience's usual domain. Different colored cords sprang out in every direction and there were multiple mics for his one-man show. Lit by a neon green skull, Deacon began stretching, then implored the audience to stretch. They did.
Not only did we all stretch with Deacon, we danced with Deacon. For a generation that has been taught that to move is to be judged — or whatever excuse keeps scenesters so static — such an act is similar to the miracle of the Virgin Mary getting pregos. Deacon's inhibition-less philosophy was infectious: not only were the undergrads dancing, they were willing to participate in a high-five conga line and compete in a dance-off.
Dan Deacon, "Crystal Cat"
Although the complexities of Deacon's music become clearer when heard on an iPod, the experience verges on seizure-inducing. Live, the same music becomes hypnotic. Like his earlier work, Deacon's newest album Bromst (Carpark) is as much a singular composition as a collection of tracks, which should make it exhilarating to encounter. In concert, he has arranged for it to be played by a 15-piece ensemble. Now that he's decidedly bigger — in band, popularity, and girth — it's hard to predict how the intimacy and audience participation aspects of his performance will be affected. But it is sure to be a blast. And a bromst. (Deacon said he made up the word for his album title because it doesn't have a meaning and he likes the way it sounds.)
DAN DEACON With Future Islands and Teeth Mountain. Thurs/23, 9 p.m., $13. Great American Music Hall. 859 O'Farrell, SF. (415) 885-0750, www.gamh.com
Two recent releases, both based on the Bay by Bay favorites. The first, "Young San Francisco" by SF's Boy in Static, aka Alexander Chen and Kenji Ross, from their new album, Candy Cigarette (Fake Four Inc & Circle Into Square) is way too cute -- check out their new "East Bay to Back Bay" XLR8R podcast mix for a great listen to some more new, slightly twee West Coast indie pop (loving "To the Sea" by Portland's Mint Julep).
Boy in Static, "Young San Francisco"
The second recent track focusing on the Bay is by SF hip-hop stalwart Kero One, "Welcome to the Bay," off his sophomore disc, Early Believers (Plug Label). I really wanted to like this one more -- I've been a fan for a while, and Kero's def got the chops, working with everyone from Talib Kweli to Mark Farina -- but it seemed a tad too polished for me, despite the nice groove. Still, it's a breezy listen for a steamy day. From what I've heard of Early Believers it'll be a perfect summer BBQ collection.
Kero One, "Welcome to the Bay"
Something both of these songs have in common is a young Asian American perspective on the homebase. Kero's is especially poignant, talking about why his parents came here at a time when "words like 'chink' were teachable." Really feeling the latitude of historical perceptions coming forth in two distinct tunes.
I've already freaked out to the atmospheric dubstep track "Maybes" by Mount Kimbie, and now comes along this just as lovely underground hit by London's Pangaea, "Memories" -- as remixed by Aaron Jerome, via Shook:
Sampling Gladys Knight, of course, is one of the easier ways for an earworm to burrow into my frozen heart.
Alas, though it's on every respecting dubstep DJs playlist, "Memories" probably won't be released singularly -- groove to it, and his too brief mix for Mary Anne Hobbs' Experimental Showcase at his MySpace.
I think that along with "Tea Leaf Dancers" by Flying Lotus -- was anyone else at his amazing show at Mighty last weekend? I told you FlyLo was the smilingest DJ ever -- well, we've got the beginnings of a lovely ambient dubstep mixtape on our hands ....
Mini-Japanther: a quick, claws-out Q&A with Ian Vanek
Kristy Geschwandtner caught up with the pun-happy, former-Brooklyn, art-punk duo Japanther's Ian Vanek after their show at the Hemlock on 4/13.
SFBG: When will Japanther perform “Dump That Body in Rikki Lake” in San Francisco? Ian Vanek: We are keen to do JAPANTHER performance pieces the world over. DTBIRL was a giant puppet rock opera we did on 06, if you didn't know. The puppets are in art storage so anything is possible. Know any investors?
SFBG: Did Japanther really relocate to Southern California? Vanek: Yes, we spent the winter in sunny LA and the greater west coast. Now that the spring is here it's back to work! Basically we went homeless to tour in 09. Paying rent in a recession is so 1990s.
SFBG: Where is your favorite place to play? Vanek: SF is up there for sure (and the whole Bay). We also love Australia, Montreal, Toronto, Juarez and of course our hometown, BROOKLYN.
SFBG: Did you ever make it to Russia to play? Vanek: Not yet but we got as far as the official invites... We will make there in the next year for sure!
Who cares about cherries in the snow — Cherry is in the air. I'm talking Don Cherry, whose spirit is casting new spells via mysterious vinyl reissues, renewed interest in Alejandro Jodorowsky's 1973 Holy Mountain — check Matt Borruso's new art show at [2nd floor projects] — and this proto-world music collabo, a reissue from 1982 taken from a one-day recording session in 1978, with tablas great Khan.
Text and photos by Ariel Soto. Devendra Banhart performs again Thu/16 at Yoshi's SF
"You're a sexy beast!" someone shouted from the crowd, as Devendra Banhart made his way onto the stage of the Independent to a sold out show, Tuesday, April 14th. After the openers, The Healing Curse, left the stage, Devendra started with an acoustic set and then later was joined by his band, serenading his fans with songs of about sweet little birds, wild wolves, and Latin love.
Late of the Pier is catchy while still retaining an essential core of flighty, fidgety weirdness. With its askew harmonics, squelchy synths, and wildly off-key vocals, Fantasy Black Channel (Parlophone, 2008) marks the big label debut of a band bent on peddling an oddball sound to the masses, to say nothing of a kitschy aesthetic. The album's cover presents a haphazard assortment of drums, kits, cords, and keyboards scattered atop outcroppings of granite — an apt visual for the band's chaotic approach. Some tracks suggest a recorder switched to on-mode at the site of a train wreck, while others rescue some order from the mayhem. Discerning musical adherents will peg the group as contemporaries of outfits like Metronomy, Hot Chip, and Klaxons. This quartet is inventive and almost extreme in how far they're willing to take their sprawling multipart sagas, instrumental transitions and elaborate glam guitar breakdowns. Plain-jane indie rock outfits have nothing on them.
Two quick takes on Junior Boys, who perform tomorrow with Max Tundra at Bimbo's (Thu/16, 7 p.m., $18. Bimbo's 365 Club, 1025 Columbus, SF. www.bimbos365club.com)
Junior Boys
Begone Dull Care
(Domino)
Johnny Ray Huston:
The knives are out at least a little for the critics' darling duo, and to be fair, this third full-length falters a bit in following the breakthrough of 2007's So This is Goodbye. But "Work" might be Junior Boys' best composition, and "Sneak a Picture" is simply sweet. A reward for those who care enough to dig: the title and lyrics braid through the life and work of Canadian animator Norman McLaren.
Johan Agebjörn
featuring Lisa Barra Mossebo
(Lotuspike)
Paging Vangelis: the songwriter and studio whiz behind Sally Shapiro (and official Glass Candy remixer) goes new age, replete with the requisite peaceful, tranquil blurry cover art. I'm not as enthused about this as I am about the news that a new Shapiro album is due out this year. Loaded with music, Agebjörn's site also links to the site for Diskokaine, a label which put out some early Shapiro songs. I say this because DIskokaine's site has a great Atari- or Commodore-era look -- and is annoying as hell.
Johan Agebjörn featuring Lisa Barra, "Unitas vitae" (Live in Linköping)
Live Shots: Yonder Mountain String Band at the Fillmore, 4/10
Text and photos by Ariel Soto
Yonder Mountain String Band has serious groupies. I mean really hardcore groupies. I talked to several String Band fans in the audience before the show. For one person it was his 36th time seeing Yonder Mountain and he has plans to follow the band through California and then up to Oregon for their tour. There was another woman in the audience who said she saw them at least 70 times ... how is that even possible? By then I was excited for the show to get started -- who were these string strummers? Once the band made its way to the stage the Fillmore was thoroughly saturated with sweet smelling smoke, feet were stomping, and hippy skirts were twirling as the folksy, bluegrass notes weaved their way between the band's eager, dare I say, obsessed, devotees.
Anyone who heard "Big Brother Beat" on De La Soul's 1996 album Stakes Is High (Tommy Boy) was soon saying, "Who's this kid Mos Def?" Still, it's hard to believe that, 13 years later, the radiant voice on that track would become the ubiquitous scion of that good old Native Tongue can-do.
Mos Def can turn up simultaneously in a movie (his next project is a film version of Iceberg Slim's Mama Black Widow) and on a television show (you catch him on House last a few weeks ago?), yet still find time to cameo on other people's albums, win an Obie for his performance in a play (Suzan Lori Parks' Fuckin' A), and come out with a book (Black 2.0, due this summer). It's like, wait a minute, there's got to be more than one Mos Def.
His four albums explore his tortured id and black people's rightful place as the inventors of rock 'n' roll and just about all forms of popular music — all that, and they still maintain the dedication to socially conscious protest we've come to expect from our once and future truth-tellers. His fifth, The Ecstatic, is due later this year. He's coming to Yoshi's in Oakland for a few sets with Robert Glasper on piano, Mark Kelly on bass, Chris "Daddy" Dave on drums, Casey Benjamin on sax, and Keyon Harrold on trumpet. Be a part of history in the making. It's not like you have a choice. His name is Most Definite, not Think So.
MOS DEF Tues/14–April 16, 8 and 10 p.m., $55. Yoshi's Oakland, 510 Embarcadero West, Oakl. (510) 238-9200. www.yoshis.com
Stereo Somewhere in the Night
(Minimal Wave 2008/ Carrere 1982)
"She's gotta be there, as you walk in the dark
Number four, at your door, number four
You're ost in the heaze, she's gotta be there...
Somewhere in the night"
1980s duo Stereo's criss-cross sunglasses put Kanye's Venetian shades to shame. Minimal Wave delivers once again with this synth jam gem. I'm on the lookout for another recent Minimal Wave release, a vinyl-only collection by Linear Movement. But Stereo -- not to be confused with Kompakt figurehead Wolfgang Voigt's early recording project of the same name -- has surprising songwriting chops. My fave track might be "Nowhere in the Island," which uses the echo vocal effect so beloved by circa-1983 new romantic acts to great effect. It includes saxophone and yet still has a potent air of melancholy. I wonder if these two French guys every rubbed pointy shoulders with Bernard Fevre of Black Devil Disco Club.
It took me too long to realize all my favorite tracks on 1972's classic Clube de Esquina are written by Lô. The cover of Lô's debut album is perfection, and I am completely in love with Nuvem Cigana's "A força do vento," "Uma canção," "Viver viver," and O vento não me levou."
What do you know about Lô? I'd love to read more perspectives about him and his music. He releases recordings at roughly the same pace as Scott Walker. That alone is enough to intrigue me in an era of talking loud and saying nothing, but the tunes are terrific and his voice has a true sweetness to it.
Get ready, kids -- this Saturday night's all about the new-bass (and I go in deep on it in this week's Super Ego clubs column). Do like I said and hit up both mindblowing parties featuring this amazing nightlife sound of now.
Ghislain Poirier, helloooo
In one corner is Montreal's "King of Bounce" Ghislain Poirier, whose Bounce Le Gros monthly in the MTL not only helped launch the careers of such wiggy Canadian future bass purveyors as Megasoid and the tres-tres atmospheric Sixtoo, but also put Quebec on the world dance music map. Ghislain will storm the Tormenta Tropical monthly's electro-cumbia castle at Elbo Room.
Below are two video examples of how Poirier wonderfully "plays it both ways" as it were -- super-danceable and brainily abstract -- with the dancehall boinger "Blazin'" and the headphone freaker "Hit & Red." The third vid, "Don't Smile, It's Postmodern" is his awesome kinda middle ground (although the visuals are waaaay goofy.)
Ghislain Poirier, "Blazin'" featuring Face-T
Ghislain Poirier, "Hit & Red"
Ghislain Poirier, "Don't Smile"
AND in this other corner, righteous kings of woofer-blowing abstractitude Flying Lotus, Kode9, and the Bug hit Mighty for a jam called "The Future." I'll let the videos after the jump give you an idea of each of their genius individual styles, but DO NOT MISS THIS PARTY.
Bosque Brown rides a haunting river through 'Baby'
By Todd Lavoie
BOSQUE BROWN
Baby
(Burnt Toast Vinyl)
One should be easily forgiven for thinking that Bosque Brown is the effort of one person, recorded under a group-name alias, a la Cat Power/Chan Marshall -- vocalist/songwriter Mara Lee Miller is such a dynamic presence on its just-released disc Baby that it isn't too tough to imagine everything coming from a single creative force. In reality, the Denton, Texas spinetinglers are a sextet, named for the Bosque River which runs through town; not sure about the “Brown” part, other than the color choice connotes an earthiness reflective of their rustic Americana bent. Miller's haunting visions -- funneled through an alluringly dusty twang and slow-drawled delivery -- are singular enough to separate the band from the ever-swelling masses of No Depression devotees, but her partners' careful construction of sighing backdrops and moody undercurrents not only testifies to their strength as an ensemble, but also adds more than a few exclamation points to their must-hear status.
There is something in the tense hushes and quiet understatement creaking away in the background which brings to mind a more melancholic Hem, or perhaps even a nervier Cowboy Junkies, circa The Trinity Session (1988, RCA). It also wouldn't take too much of a leap in imagination to consider Baby a spiritual cousin to Cat Power's immaculately restrained Moon Pix (1998, Matador). As you might have figured from the aforementioned reference points, there are shiver-inducing moments a-plenty here.
Pics: Habib Koite and Bamada have 'em dancing in aisles
Text and photos by Ariel Soto
Habib Koite and his band Bamada filled Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley with a myriad of rythms and beats Friday, April 3. Habib started the show with a mellow set of almost lullaby-esqe pieces, using his luscious voice and beautiful guitar playing to entrance his audience.
In the future when vids are vinyl, and vinyl is -- what? La Chanson de Roland, maybe -- people might claim that Kutiman, the Israeli Vegas Pro genius who collages up backwater YouTube vids into breathtaking electronic atmospheric joyrides (see the complete work at http://thru-you.com), was the DJ Shadow of the '00s.
Kutiman, "I M New"
I think those people would be wrong (and there are already a number of them). Searching through the all the minor dreck of YouTube to fish out suitable usable samples and build them into destabilized microsymphonies can surely be compared to Shadow's impeccable crate-diving technique. And the dense sound both derive from their purely sample-driven compositions elicits a similar melancholy (why is that?). But Shadow traded in rarity nostalgia -- who the hell else had that 78, man? -- whereas Kutiman's brilliant corners are purely of the moment and completely accessible to all. Except for one of them, now set to "private," ha.
Kutiman is also way more international in musical scope than Shadow -- something perhaps more necessary in our globalized age, that Shadow could only hint towards in his Endtroducing... '90s heyday -- which brings Kutiman more in line with the likes of that other frequent Bay boy Amon Tobin, another sample-based innovator who opened the West's ears to a different native music contextuality and who eschewed nostalgia in favor of up-to-the-minute headtrip breaks.
Well, great gosh-a-goddamn, what a sweet surprise: two weeks ago, I'd never even heard of Austin-based soul-whuppers Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears, and now here I am, once again, swervin' and stompin' away to their major-label debut for the millionth time. As far as brassy, blazing tear-'em-up and tear-'em-on-down soulful sonic bad-assery is concerned, this high-octane octet has the genuine know-how: gritty and greasy garage rock meets old-school Wilson Pickett/Otis Redding-style vein-popping r&b, packed into a lean and hungry thirty-minute roar.
With its quick-and-to-the-point playing time and unfussy, straight-to-tape production (courtesy of Spoon's Jim Eno), Tell 'Em What Your Name Is! could probably be easily mistaken for a lost treasure from the late Sixties/early Seventies--- and that's exactly the whole idea, judging from Lewis' obvious adoration for the Pickett/Redding era. Still, with the band frequently playing like their hair's on fire -- charging and crashing and running gleefully into the red -- these folks at times remind me of Texan spiritual cousins to The Dirtbombs and The Bellrays, two contemporaries also serving up swaggering minglings of soul and garage sounds. Live, I imagine they must be riveting--- we'll get a chance to catch them in the Bay Area at Slim's on May 16.
Black Joe Lewis, "Sugarfoot"
A look-see of the band's MySpace will steer you right to the sources of the disc's raw-and-ready firepower. The members cite James Brown, Hound Dog Taylor, and Rocket From The Tombs as influences, for example. They all make sense, too: Lewis' full-throated shout definitely hoots a potent analog to Brown's get-on-the-good-foot, and his formidable backing band the Honeybears are deserving of all the JB's comparisons they get.
Fuzz is the new black — at least according to the gospel preached by Thee Oh Sees and Eat Skull. The two West Coast combos will take the beer- and noise-soaked pulpit at the Eagle Tavern to bang out hazy sermons of garage wit and wisdom.
With Grant Hart and the Fresh and Onlys. Thurs/26, 9 p.m., $5. Eagle Tavern, 398 12th St., SF. (415) 626-0880. www.sfeagle.com
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DARK DARK DARK
Dark Dark Dark released its debut album in 2008 on Rhode Island's Supply and Demand label. The group's folky, rootsy instrumentation and female-to-male vocal tradeoffs take over the Caretaker's House.
Imagine you're in high school: Trans Am are the electronics nerds who jam to Rush, Anthony Petrovic of Ezee Tiger is the misunderstood indie guy who is into the Flaming Lips and Lightning Bolt while you're still spinning Sublime, and Futur Skullz are the long-hairs who know metal is cool five years before you will — and who just got busted for stealing Dad's whiskey.
Sun/29, 9 p.m., $14. Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. (415) 621-4455. www.bottomofthehill.com
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Taken from SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour -- on stands in the Guardian now. Interview by Marke B. Photo by Pat Mazzera. Art Direction by Mirissa Neff. Mens room courtesy of Matador.
Ultraviolet, Kozee, Roommate, Rob Cannon, and Blackheart
To say that the woofer-rumbling, ragga-ripping dubstep sound has exploded on the club scene in the past few years is an understatement almost as low as the genre's freakiest frequencies. Dubstep seems perfect for our hyper-multicultural, urban-nomadic age, blending street rhythms with the most intricate laptop sonic technology available. It's especially perfect for the Bay, with its shimmering blend of moody menace and artistic bombast, and has duly been embraced by a number of DJs here, many with roots that stretch back to the early days of 2-step, drum 'n bass, and even rave.
DJ Ultraviolet (pictured in red, at left), heads up the fab two-year-old RedLine dubstep collective, and has been bringing her immaculate technique and overflowing energy to the decks in San Francisco since 1997. She was a seminal player in the drum 'n bass and breakbeat scene, as part of the Sleeveless collective with the Femmes Fatales, and was associated with the legendarily raucous Sister DJ crew. As a true vinyl fetishist, she was being booked at the tender age of 19 to play jungle at underground '90s raves and played a part in the Future Breaks FM (miss you!) juggernaut of the early aughts.
Now, along with the wonderfully gifted DJ Kozee, her "second in command," Ultraviolet reps the burgeoning female dubstep explosion, producing tracks and bringing a touch of grimy glamour to the scene with the MakeOut Sessions, RedLine's regular blowout at Matador. The upcoming installment of MakeOut features Matty G of Santa Cruz (www.myspace.com/mattygbeatz) pumping tracks from his new album, Take You Back.
ULTRAVIOLET Kozee and I, who do a lot of the event planning and are working on a big project together; Babylon System (www.myspace.com/thebabylonsystem), a.k.a Roomate and No Thing, is one of the top production crews in dubstep, currently on tour in Europe; the three DJs of Blackheart (www.myspace.com/lordsofblackheart) from Oakland are our newest addition; DJ Rob Cannon (www.myspace.com/djrobcannon), our youngest member; our L.A. residents Emu and Pawn, who are also a part of the SMOG crew down there, and on our business end, Cyn, Bruxxy, and Dymphna.
SFBG Do you think the dubstep sound is reaching a critical mass? Is the scene in danger of getting stale?
Taken from SCENE: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour -- on stands in the Guardian now. Interview by Marke B. Photo by Matthew Reamer. Art Direction by Mirissa Neff. Crotch-buffing by Kalri$$ian. Location: Shattuck Downlow
In these trying economic times, does the Bay really need a motor-mouthed, drug-snorting, pussy-obsessed playboy hip-hop collective — one that shouts out Eric Estrada, acid house, and Optimus Prime while bragging about using paper bags for condoms and instructing someone to "juggle balls in your mouth like a circus act"? Well, yes, actually. Hilariously quick-witted San Francisco-based beastly boys Kalri$$ian certainly bring the sparkling regression to match the recession — by channeling naughty spirits from rap's past like Kool Keith, Shock G, and Prince Paul, and literally melting themselves to audio gaga as they "lick Cool Whip off your flatmate." The bouncy braggadocio of Kalri$$ian's new album, Tales from the Velvet Pocket (Psychokinetics) and over-the-top flashback image somehow seem perfectly refreshing right now.
Experienced Bay nightlifers will recognize some long-time scenesters among the Kal's colorful cast. No need to fret over missing all the in-jokes, though — Kalri$$ian's got a million of 'em, and most involve doing lines off your girlfriends' ass. Check them out live at the release party for Daly City cool kid Mochipet's new Bunnies & Muffins platter:
SFBG You sure got a lot of people — it's like you're a super group or something. Tell me about who's all involved ...
"UNCLE" TONY HIGHRISE (producer) You're goddamn right this group is super! I'll tell you what — I wouldn't have left Miami unless it was for something really, really super. I came up on the scene in Delaware back in the day. I was a freelance hype man for a while with my cousin Wicked Awesome J, rest his soul. After the accident, I drifted south and started wearing polyester. It just seemed like the thing to do. Polyester was tough in Miami — it's not that breathable, you know. But I was committed.
KEYLO VENEZUELA (producer) We ARE super group. We make fantastic sound music and tell our stories to everybody. The music is the passion that covers the world.
SMOOTH RICK CHOSEN (vocalist) I'm an ex-Barbazon School of Modeling student who got hooked on pills and realized he had a gift, in his pants.
Last Days climbs "North" into shimmering electronic shoegaze
By Todd Lavoie
LAST DAYS
The Safety Of The North
(n5MD)
Keep your best headphones handy -- you're going to want them for spins of The Safety Of The North, the third and most recent full-length release from Edinburgh, Scotland-based Graham Richardson and his ambient/electro-folk Last Days project. As ominous as the artist's AKA might be, the disc is nowhere near as fearful or nightmarish as one might expect. Rather, the music found here is intimate and ruminative, frequently glowing from ripples of electronics and shoegaze-y guitar textures. Delicate acoustic finger-picking and understated piano meditations add further flair to these largely-instrumental womblike pieces, and the occasional insertion of the human voice into the mix helps immensely in making this a thoughtful, emotional listen.
And while the proceedings sometimes veer towards melancholia, it's a strangely comforting, sit-around-and-ponder-on-a-grey-day stripe of melancholia we're talking about here -- a little maudlin and wistful, yes, but ultimately cathartic in the end. Even the cold chills which bluster forth from the disc's lower register from time to time offer their own curiously cocooning sensations to the listener -- especially with the help of a good pair of headphones. The Safety Of the North is something worthy of surrender -- of succumbing to its many hums and whirrs and whipping auroras of shimmering light.
There's a back story to the album, though it isn't required knowledge for appreciating its many charms: Richardson composed these 15 songs around the themes of of change, struggle, and hope. Specifically, it concerns a young girl, Alice, and her family. Disenchanted with city living, they decide to “move north” (the Arctic Circle, judging from a couple of contextual clues provided along the way) to find a simpler, quieter day-to-day life. Such major upheavals usually don't come about without their share of challenges, however. Thus Richardson has constructed a story-arc which from sadness to hope to struggle to sadness to hope once again. More or less so, anyway. Again, since this is mostly an instrumental recording, the itinerary on this emotional journey is up to the listener, I suppose. Still, the prevailing themes of The Safety Of The North -- change, struggle, hope -- remain palpable, even without too much assistance from lyrics. Forgive me for trotting out the “cinematic” tag (I know that the label gets used quite regularly for any sort of wordless music which manages to create vivid, stirring images) but it honestly does apply to Richardson's music. Even if concrete images fail to come to mind, the creation of particular moods is tough to miss.
"A DJ mix that stands alone as an album is a rare thing, but leave it to Jace Clayton, a.k.a. DJ/rupture, to make one, as he has with Uproot (Agriculture)," wrote the Guardian's Brandon Bussolini last year. "Deeply, er, rooted in the bass plate tectonics of dubstep and cut with the finest in eclectic samples, ranging from experimentalist Ekkehard Ehlers to lazer bass don Ghislain Poirier, Uproot rolls deep with dubbed-out ambience, but DJ/rupture is just as happy to turn things upside down, as when he plunks down Ehlers' gorgeous string loop, "Plays John Cassavetes, Pt. 2," around the mix's halfway point. And if bangers of the future don't sound like "Gave You All My Love (Matt Shadetek's I Gave You All My Dub Remix)," which subs out dub's organic space for Fisher-Price primary-color contrasts that split the brain evenly in two, I'm not sure it's a future worth living in."
I'd have to agree with all of that, but also emphasize DJ/rupture's extremely thrilling versatility when it comes to global musical styles with regards to both his recordings and live sets. That's why I'm tickled hot pink that he's putting together a special cumbia set for this Saturday's Tormenta Tropical with the Bersa Discos boys, who've consistently stirred some of the world's best DJs into their electro-cumbia-hop stew. Tormenta Tropical was bangin' last month, and this one should be a real ruptured doozy.
Yep, queeroids, it's one of those rare and muy delicioso head-to-heads that a nightlife writer lives for: This Saturday night, one of SF's biggest hot dyke parties, Cockblock, squares off against the highly anticipated launch of a giant new alternative fag party, Cockfight. That's right:
VS.
Could it get any better? Only if you trade your GluStik for paint thinner.
Southeast Engine quivers and lopes toward the deluge
By Todd Lavoie
SOUTHEAST ENGINE
From The Forest To The Sea
(Misra)
It's all right there in the title: From The Forest To The Sea, the fourth, just-released full-length from Athens, Ohio-based Southeast Engine, is the chronicle of a journey. Literal, figurative, geographical, spiritual... it's all of the above, rendered in nervy poetry, Biblical allusions, and volatile collisions of twisted Americana and restless indie-rock. Sure, the disc's characters begin in the forest and end up at the edge of the sea --- and in some cases, quite literally in the sea --- but ultimately their movement is focused around much more than mere topography. Vocalist/guitarist Adam Remnant is not only a compelling singer -- his quivering Appalachian yelp is perhaps the midpoint between Will Oldham (Bonnie “Prince” Billy) and Jason Molina (Songs:Ohia, Magnolia Electric Co.) -- but also a perceptive, precise storyteller, equally confident in clipped speech and extended, flowing narrative.
His subjects tend to be good people at their core, but not without their share of weaknesses, foibles, and lack of direction. Sin and salvation, along with all of the roaming which tends to go on between the two extremes, form the central themes of the disc, and they are presented without judgment and in clear, matter-of-fact detail. And just in case the potent storytelling here isn't enough: these guys furnish a rather resplendently rustic sonic backdrop for Remnant's redemption-seeking rambles. For all of its occasional echoes of other lonesome-howl enthusiasts -- the aforementioned Oldham and Molina ventures, as well as Phosphorescent and maybe Castanets -- From The Forest To The Sea offers up a distinct essence of its own. Distinctive enough, I should add, that I can't wait to dive into their back-catalog....
Southeast Engine, "Black Gold"
Southeast Engine recorded the disc in a creaky, abandoned middle-school auditorium, built in the 1800s, in the hills of rural Ohio -- a fitting choice, given that these songs appear to be populated by ghosts as well. Listen closely, and the odd atmospheric hum slides into perception, only to drift away as soon as the ears are pricked; once the moment is almost forgotten, a disembodied echo or a floorboard-sigh is just as likely to emerge. As much as these production touches give a nice chill, it's in the voices that the true goosebump potential resides. Remnant is quite adept at conjuring ghosts with his taut, choked waver, and the haunted backup supplied by the rest of the band does a convincing job of highlighting the restlessness which permeates these dozen songs.
I just came upon this 2k7 vid of the best-club-ever-after-Paradise-Garage Body and Soul tour in Tokyo. And I don't know if it's the beauty of DJ Joe Clausell's knob-tweaking, the pain of the recent Depression, the gay-soul-gorgeousness of Dan Hartman and Loleatta Holloway's barnstormer duet, or the sight of hundreds of off-their-nut Japanese boppers singing "Relight My Fire" -- but I'm bursting into tears.
Body & Soul Live in Tokyo Open Air 2007
Those kids are so amped up that by the time of the breakdown ("I'm strong enough to walk on through the night") they can't shout any louder. Srsly, it's time for a house comeback. There's already a couple of underground roving house revivals going down in NYC, and Body & Soul itself will rock Webster Hall there this Sunday. Let's pick it up SF!
We could do worse that pack Vessel on Thursday night for a very rare appearance by way-more-than-legendary Body & Soulmate Francois K.
Wait a minute, it's February? Sheesh. In the spirit, perhaps, of our recently bipolar weather systems and my on-again off-again memory banks, I've been raving in my cubicle to two disparate tracks all week -- one a tingly, moody laptop dubstep (lapstep?) zonker by Mount Kimbie:
Mount Kimbie, "Maybes"
And the other some good ol-fashioned achingly lovely wronged-woman house by Teddy Douglas of the Basement Boys, with his frequent collaborator, the immaculately voiced Margaret Grace. I've never really been a fan of Teddy's basic-seeming beats, but this one really comes together around the three-minute mark, and grows and flows like a classic track by Quentin Harris (who actually cribbed quite a bit off the old Teddy, melody-wise):
Neither of which will probably be played at any of the choice upcoming parties below, but hey -- a miracle mashup in my wobbly head can be dreamed and deemed righteous, no? Check these out, and also more in my latest Super Ego clubs column. Do whatcha like!
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ROLLER DISCO PARTY
In absence of a nearby rink, rollerskating parties have found a new home in nightclubs and galleries. Just watch out for those warped floors! Do the bump, indeed. SF Indie Fest is throwing a Big Lebowski-themed shindig on wheels at CellSpace, with tunes by the Black Rock Roller Disco camp. Rentals provided - snowball and bromance optional. Fri/13, 9 p.m., $10, $5 with costume. CellSpace, 2050 Bryant, SF. www.cellspace.org
This past Friday, Hunky Beau and I breezed through the new and a little lamely named Club Q (didn't every college town have a straight bar with a gay night called "Club Q" or "Q Bar" or something Q-similar on some random week day? Maybe that's the point, here. I'll keep mum on the continuing genericalization of the Castro.) In any case, it didn't look like it had transformed much beyond the location's past incarnation, Bar on Castro, which is now Bar on Church, on Church. Confusing! Well, maybe there was some more red lighting.
One definite vote for the new joint though: Joshua J. and Miss Juanita More have kept their fantastically successful Booty Call nights there.
Every Wednesday, fashionista gays (and alt friends!) gather to prance around to some soothing disco, funk, and soul, while fab photog pulls people into the theme-decored back room to snap them in party glory.
Give a little love and get a flamboyant and fabulous evening of cabaret-style entertainment on the night before Valentine's Day. (Yes, lonely people, I'm especially talking to you -- it's cheer up time.) The Richmond/Ermet AIDS Foundation is holding an all-star benefit performance Monday evening bursting with cabaret, Broadway, and silver screen stars. The proceeds from "All You Need Is Love", which is hosted by the Richmond/Ermet AIDS Foundation, will go to local non-profits like Sunburst Projects, which provides social and emotional support for families affected by AIDS. Which means your laughter and delight will be totally guilt-free as well.
Valerie's live end: Love's Baby Soft breezes of imagined youth
By Juliette Tang
Listening to College and Anoraak, two talented DJs involved with the French collective Valerie, is like driving back to the balmy summer of 1981 in a white Camaro convertible with the top down, a cold Tab in your hand, and a tiny silver disco ball hanging from your rearview mirror. Valerie, a group of musicians from Nantes whose dramatis personae includes acts like Russ Chimes, Minitel Rose, and The Outrunners, among others, uses retrofuturistic synthpop to evoke the magical '80s teenage years they were too young to experience.
Valerie has a very specific fantasy of the '80s, informed vaguely by John Hughes movies and V. C. Andrews novels, by images of roller rinks, drive-thru diners, Orange Juliuses, and Love's Baby Soft perfume. But rest assured that their sound isn't trying to enshrine those bygone days. Rather, by traveling back in time to the '80s [Ed Note: Or rather, back to '80s nostalgia for '70s nostalgia for the '50s], Valerie reinvents a future that was dreamed back then but which never happened, a past-modern interpretation of utopia that creates an alternative to the present -- with dancing.
In conjunction with making me want to dance like a teenager, College and Anoraak made me want to drink Malibu and pineapple like a teenager, which was the only lamentable incident that occurred last Friday at Mezzanine, where Valerie ended their US tour. The show itself was exactly what I thought it would be: lively but controlled, suffused with an easy, dance-y energy that never quite reached the point of unbridled release.
College played a wonderfully non-trancey, entirely instrumental synth set that left me wishing I was Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Want To Have Fun.
I just got word about another installment of the fantastic BiBi party, happening this Saturday night at Club Six. BiBi's the number one top happening for queer folks of SWANA (Southwest Asian–Northern African) descent -- ladies, the ladies who go are fucking gorgeous -- and their admirers. DJs Emancipacion, Josh Cheon of Honey Soundsystem, and Massood wil bring their exhilarating blend of traditional and contemporary Arab, Persian, Indian, and Latin hits, because basically if it's brown, they're down. Palestinian hip-hop duo NaR will be performing, as will fave-rave dancer Cherry Gallette. Part of the proceeds will benefit Middle-East Children's alliance.
Lucky for club kids like me (who also happens to be a big queer Arab!) the party will take place at the same time as dread bass monthly Surya Dub's huge 2-year anniversary bash that I wrote about in my last Super Ego clubs column, also at Club Six in the basement and main room for a separate fee. All-night belly dancing, Palestinian hip-hop, and bowel-shaking dubstep beats? I'm all over it.
It’s a good thing so many of the gents are equipped with vintage aviator goggles this year, since otherwise it would seem they’d run the risk of getting their eyes poked out—whether by parasol, peacock feather, or plunging décolletage. It’s the ninth annual Edwardian Ball -- a two-day affair that took place this past weekend -- and like most excuses to get all gussied up in San Francisco, the masses have appointed themselves with gusto. Though most of the costumes here are decidedly more Deadwood than dead and gone, more sumptuous than spooky, the spirit of patron saint Edward Gorey still wafts faintly through the proceedings like a clammy graveyard breeze. Black-and-white cutouts of Gashlycrumb Tinies adorn the walls along with cunning Paxton Gate-style dioramas of dressed-up rodent skeletons, while the Jules Verne-like “Goreyscope” offers microscopic evidence of the haunting qualities of Gorey’s curious bibliography.
A Jill Tracy accompanist
Friday Night at the Edwardian World Faire, headlining act geek-girl cello combo Rasputina sets toes to tapping with such “classics” as “Hunter’s Kiss”, “Watch TV”, and “Saline the Salt Lake Queen”, while upstairs in the fine arts gallery, fairies are being robotically squeezed to make libations (at least that’s what the sign says. Too bad January is my libation-free month, no freshly-squeezed fairy for me).
Jill Tracy (at keyboard)
Downstairs at the “fair”, much steam engine activity is on display thanks to the Kinetic Steam Works, and fabulous trinkets are for sale, mainly in the “jewelry made from sprung watch cogs, and studded leather utility belts” five-and-diamond vein.
Super Ego: Alien techno chickens go bang, with hacksaws
By Marke B.
It's time for you weekend nightlife forecast, but first this update from that horribly "hip" new Domino's BBQ chicken pizza campaign:
Viral! Compare that, of course, with SF's very own dirty techno birdie, Claude VonStroke -- and is anyone else 100 blog centuries old like me, and remembers that whole Burger King "subservient chicken" viral campaign where you could tell the guy in the chicken suit what to do? From like 2k3? OH MY GOD IT'S STILL HAPPENING!!!
I'll never understand why we always make cute what we want to eat. Except puppies. Even kitties are cheezburger on the Internetz.
But let's put away childish things, shall we, and dig into some of this weekend's better affairs:
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TONITE! THU/22
THE NOISE
New local promotion juggernaut Hacksaw Entertainment launches with a grab-yr-cha-chas blast at 103 Harriet -- featuring, of course, my laptop life-love Lazer Sword bringing the future bass soundz, plus the very talented Ana Sia who'll bring some of her techno-burner pedigree to the tables, and SF mashup psyphy duo Hookerz and Blow, who blow the hooker-roof off live .... High-tail it to the H&B MySpace page and check out "Blow the Whistler" and it's Too $hort meets Claude VonStroke (again with him!) for some pure traffic jam genius.
Beloved DJ Andrew Phelan and the rest of the chunky beats Prismatic crew -- the promos behind the hyperinventive Tonal color-coordinated loft parties -- bring in the big names for their AlphaBeats party, subtitled A is for Alien (I eagerly await B is for BetaMax). I would scoff a little at the umpteenth appearance of 90s god Doc Martin, but his set at LoveFest this summer was out of hand with its perfect blend of old school house numbers and new school choons. Doc's never really been known for his subtlety on the tables (it's all about bangin' hard into the cosmos), but he's definitely evolved stylistically as a major dance artist. BONUS: Sunshine Jones, of fave raves Dubtribe Sound System, will be on hand to spread it. DOUBLE BONUS: dress as an alien and get a free mix .... do it now!
I'm a-freezing my hanukkah latkes off in Detroit right now (-10 wind chill), so maybe it's appropriate, among the blizzard of end-of-year lists, that I pop in my hot mix of the year. All 45 Ghostworld conga-line minutes of Detroit wizard Jeff Mills' triple-table symphonic techno tour de force, "The Exhibitionist."
Before the techno purists claw my ears out, yes this mix came out in late 2k7 -- but I'm on drag time. What really got me about this mind-blowing performance (the sleeve clean at 17:20 made me burst into tears) was how Mills tweaked the massive global rhythms that have always existed subconsciously below fine techno's surface to come up with the kind of polyrhythmy that dubstep can only achieve at its best. Not that it's a competition -- and I was addicted to more dubstep mixes this year than I can count -- but I'm a technoist at heart, and this mix really said something I've been trying to say for years: that machine music possesses a global soul.
I will eternally worship the person who transcribes this for the New York Philharmonic. Or whips out the entire set at Carnaval.
Here's an interview with new-cumbia whizzes Bersa Discos -- on the eve of their party Tormenta Tropical's first anniversary this Friday at the The Elbo Room -- as published in this week's Scene: The Guardian Guide to Nightlife and Glamour magazine, on stands inside the Guardian...
DJ oro11 and Disco Shawn. Photo by Conor Collins.
"The reception to our sound has been amazing here," says new-style cumbia pioneer DJ Oro11 — who, along with partner DJ Disco Shawn, heads the Bersa Discos label (www.myspace.com/bersadiscos) and puts on the packed Tormenta Tropical monthlies at Elbo Room. "A place like the Bay Area is a perfect spot for new cumbia sounds to take hold. People here are always looking for new music, plus there's obviously a huge Latino population. A lot of younger Latinos who grew up hearing cumbia also listened to hip-hop and electronic music. They're really into what we're doing."
Cumbia, the irresistible traditional accordion-driven dance music of Argentina, has undergone a mutation of sorts, opening up to include electronic augmentation, hip-hop beats, and even punk styles. The new iteration has taken hold in clubs like the cutting-edge Zizek, in Buenos Aires, where Oro11 was living and performing when Disco Shawn sought him out in 2006 for a taste of the electro-cumbia sound. The two returned to San Francisco, their home base, to form the Bersa Discos label as a kind of sonic nexus. "DJs and producers were selling burned CDs and swapping MP3s, but nothing was very organized at the time," says Disco Shawn. "We just wanted to get some of these amazing tracks pressed up on vinyl and circulated a little more officially."
Bersa Discos is now on its fourth release, titled, appropriately, Bersa #4 and featuring Afro-Colombian-tinged tracks by Brooklyn's Uproot Andy and deeper sounds from the Netherlands' Sonido del Principe. And the Tormenta Tropical party has seen legends like DJ/Rupture, South Rakkas Crew, Buraka Som Sistema, Toy Selectah, and even the Zizek folks burn up the stage. Shawn says to keep a 2k9 ear out for DJ Panik's Texan "crunk cumbia." Meanwhile, UK "bashment" crew the Heatwave hop in Dec. 19 to enliven the party's first anniversary.
SFBG What originally attracted you to the new cumbia style?
BrokenCYDE: the musical equivalent of chopped fingers and molested children:
When anthropologists encounter bizarre rituals in faraway lands, they don’t pass judgment because it would defeat the purpose of the discipline. They try to remember that every culture has its own set of norms and taboos and that none of these belief systems is any more or less “right” than the next. Think about marriage for a minute. Most Americans insist that the nuclear family is the right way to go, but anthropology has shown us that other lifestyles are just as natural. Some men in India marry an entire line of sisters at the same time, rebellious Mormons may have twenty wives, Hugh Hefner lives in a robe and has sex with triplets half his age, etc.
These situations may seem fucked up to “us,” but you know what? Those people are happy and they get by just fine. Cultural objectivity is necessary because it promotes tolerance (pay attention CA voters!) and it encourages self-analysis. It is the key to enlightenment. Well, the same thing goes with music.
Look, I love all kinds of nightlife -- even zillion-selling sellout nightlife on occasion (yes, I've been to Ibiza) -- and I've championed a lot of dumb music just because it's fun. Ain't nothing wrong with a little fun, and I'm comfortable with being accused of being gushy about absolutely silly things at times.
But I've also spent most of my life trying to convince people that electronic dance music is so much more than lazy, repetitive drivel made for a million blank-minded lockstep androids -- that it can have true soul and experimental meaning, inducing both chills and progress in a subcultural community -- only for many of my arguments to come undone by this horrid bombast:
I would seriously follow local turbocrunk duo Lazer Sword to the ends of the earth -- and I just might have to, once they embark on their European Tour in February (come back, come back ...). One of the last times to see them rock the little electronic boxes live will be this Thursday at the fun-filled monthly Work party at UndergroundSF, hosted by the Unicrons crew.
I've had a few small reservations about the Work parties -- they've been popular, and I dig all the local music-making talent they've brought in. Particularly, I'm partial lately to Unicrons members Futuristic Prince, whose jam "Amok Time" has lodged itself in my ears. But the party seemed to follow a kind of tired banger party template, and the promotion has at times seemed a tad desperate. Once they even claimed to be celebrating the release of the new G4 iPhone and The Dark Knight Returns! I hope that was in jest, and I certainly understand that you gotta do what you gotta do to build a party. Twenty Myspace bulletins an hour, though, usually only serves to turn me off. (Can we make that a rule for all club promoters at this late point in the MySpace thingie?)
The Morning Benders, a collection of groovy kids from Berkeley, have been working hard to make a name for themselves in the music world. After the release of their first record, Talking Through Tin Cans (+1), they’ve been busying touring, but for their last show of the year, the Cal alums are returning to the Bay Area for a performance at the Rickshaw Stop tonight, Dec. 5. Their poppy love grooves are yummy, and their image is as enchanting as their music. Seriously, they dress well, and I am digging lead vocalist Chris Chu’s pastel pink Ray-Bans. I spoke with Chris Chu on a sunny East Bay day to discuss the band and life.
Srsly bent. Photo by Timothy Norris
SFBG: I saw you guys at Treasure Island this summer. There was a lot of blood involved in that show. Do you guys bleed at every show - what’s with that?
Chris Chu: Joe bleeds a lot, yeah. I don’t know why - it’s just his style. He just hits the strings hard, and he kind of keeps going after the first time, and so he just keeps bursting it open.
SFBG: Does this happen at every show?
CC: It happens a lot, yes. We’re trying to figure out how to get it to work better. At that show I burst my finger, too, so I was bleeding. But that doesn’t usually happen. I’m pretty healthy.
SFBG: You have Britney Spears stickers on your guitars. Why?
CC: Joe’s actually distant relatives with Britney Spears.
SFBG: What’s the connection?
CC: I don’t know what it is - second cousins or something. But the stickers were just sort of a fluke, we just got them. Someone was handing them out on the street - some crazy person. That was on tour in the East Coast, and since there was a little connection there, that’s why we put them on.
Morning Benders, "Dammit Anna"
SFBG: Was it intentional to have your last concert of the year be in your neck of the woods?
CC: Definitely yeah. It’s actually weird - we’ve been touring, and we ended up playing a lot of places more often than we get to play here. It’s been a fluke that when the record came out we didn’t have stops in San Francisco.
SFBG: When you first came to Berkeley, what was your intention in life? Was it to become a member in a band?
Oh, hai, the '80s -- ur doin it rong. Unless you've been hitting up the totally awesome roving monthly New Wave City for the past 16 years, right? I remember when NWC DJs Shindog and Skip were just a twinkle in the '90s eyes -- 1992, wha? -- going against the rave-inundated mainstream and reliving the cozy Morrissey-tinged conundrum that was the '80s: shy neon. Love those children. And take that Calvin Harris fans -- the '80s started again the minute they finished! Lather rinse repeat.
'80s! I'm just gonna write that a thousand million blood- and mascara-stained times.
NWC's planned a massive synthalicious hoedown at DNA Lounge this Saturday, Dec. 6, to blow out their Sixteen Candles with appropriate assymetrical haircut aplomb. Special guest DJs they've fi-Nageled for the occasion: Melting Girl, Donimo, and Andy T. PLUS: an '80s fashion contest to win those fancy new Smiths and New Order deluxe compilations! Be there or be Huey Lewis.
After the jump: My NWC sweet 16 top 7 special requests
Clubwise, this is an absoschmutely luverly weekend to catch up on your real house music education. Representing the actual, incredible old school is the Godfather of House (and the sqwonky inventor of acid) himself, Marshall Jefferson, moving your body at the steamy B.O.D.Y.H.E.A.T. party at Elbo Room on Friday, Dec. 5. Marshall recently brought it into the new a little with his smash Mushrooms, remixed by SF's own goofy-minimal darling Justin Martin -- which was nice after what seemed too many years of silence from the master.
But he didn't bring it exactly up to the minute, into the realms of underground German microhouse -- for that, I gaily urge you to hit up one of my most favorite minimal techno clubs, Kontrol at the Endup, to catch perennially poignant Perlon records' Cassy at work this Saturday, Dec. 6.
Cassy, oh! Photo by Marietta Kesting
I still don't know if I believe in microhouse -- which to my fuzzy, broken ears often just sounds like minimal techno with a very few softer sounds and soul samples thrown in. But I get that it's the proud polar opposite of the usual overproduced house bombast, even if it can sometimes lean dangerously close to trance at times, albeit barebones, non-carnival trance. Not that there's anything wrong with trance, but there kind of is.
In any case, Berlin native Cassy's on it with some fierce sets of deep-cutting suavity, and Kontrol's booth will see some much-appreciated female power. Its dance floor, however, will be as dark and fantastic as always. The Berlin invasion continues!
Cassy at Hamburg's Camp 77 party
Cassy at the 2008 Detroit Electronic Music Festival
A sad week -- possibly, see below -- for queer punks and their admirers: beloved monthly Trans Am, which has torn up the floor of Club 8 (and confused quite a few Korean tourists expecting a campy tranny floorshow) for two whole years is calling it quits. Dangit!
The mad punk spirit will live on at weekly dragtastrophe Charlie Horse and Trans Am promoters Bill Picture and DJ Dirty Knees's other monthly joint Chrome, but Trans Am booked a ton of live talent that wouldn't have gotten as much exposure without them. Plus, there were always a few hot boys.
I asked Picture about the club's tearjerking demise and plans for the future (drag ball!). His comments after the jump:
OK, I took a lot of shit for my recent velvet-gloved smackdown of French electro duo Justice and their cavalier ways, despite my total support of the local banger scene -- but, really, with their new movie A Cross the Universe about to hit Blu-Rays near you-rays, I must say I completely stand by my assertion that hardcore electro is the new hair metal.
Paraphrasing that indespensible Chroniblog Of Our Times, Hipster Runoff: "will public chick b00b ratio to meaningful tour driving road scenes = 1?"
BONUS: EDGY! Total mindfuck mid-90s-like gay-grabbing ploy for cred/attention! C'est francais!
BONUS BONUS: Everyone's doing it! (And yet I lurf it.)
And ... we're back! In honor of a fresh new crop of limpwristed video-drones (and the inclusion of my Gayest. Music. Ever. essay -- toot! toot! **own horn** -- in the just-released Best Music Writing 2008 book) I'm compelled to resurrect back our much lauded Gayest. Videos. Ever. feature. Possibly for the last time! And yet October releases are simply brimming with digigay overload. Here's a few that are getting my loafers lighter ....
Frankmusik, "Three Little Words" (will this vid finally make the Bar on Castro electro? The backups are 80s trannies who do robot plus giant rainbow keyboard equals I would have bought the 12" in 1985 on import)
Ssion, "Credit in the Straight World" (soooo FGGT/cruising/warjola, young marble giant!)
Pics: LoveFest whirls and twirls (and sometimes hurls)
Photos and text by Ariel Soto
Love was in the air this Saturday as thousands of scanty and colorfully clad party people made their way down Market Street, accompanied by beats so loud it even made the side line spectators shake a few moves. As the floats went by, ranging from outer space tanks to pink elephants, the passengers threw water, confetti and even pink panties at eager voyeurs below. I swear there must not a single pair of fishnets to buy anywhere in the city since every person in the parade seemed to be wearing one or two pairs. [Ed Note -- Word!] San Franciscans can't seem to pass up an any opportunity to dress up and wear a pair of fairy wings. Remember, all we really need is love!
Oh, how we love our very own famed gay bathhouse disco revivalist DJ Bus Station John and his decidedly hot man-centric cruisefest parties, thrown in the steamy-smoky spirit of the early-mid '70s and slightly beyond. (Read my 2005 interview with him here.) So how delightful that the anniversary of MANQUAKE!, his "sordidly savory SF mix of trickin' chicken, tourist meat, & sexy senior citizens" soiree would fall on Folsom Street Fair eve!
Spirits of the disco: "Karl" and "Phillip" at MANQUAKE
Spirit of the Piers: "Bruce" at MANQUAKE All masks loving crafted by Bus Station John
Return to the tender coal mining days of gay yore at the Gangway this Saturday night, randy boys and men, and feast your eyes upon the fair bounty lining the Gangway's man-mask-bedecked walls and X-traordinary vintage visuals curated by der Blaue Reiter -- and your ears on the impeccable vinyl selection of Bus Station John featuring "'70s/'80s lost disco, funk, and r&b classics & rarities from the glory days of pre-digital dance music. Festive attire or clothing optional? YOU decide!" Plus: a mystery go-go boy! See your loins a-plenty there.
MANQUAKE! 1-Year Anniversary (Folsom Eve)
Sat/27, 10pm-2am, $5
The Gangway
841 Larkin between Geary and O'Farrell
(415) 776-6828
After the jump -- a BONUS history flashback, sent from DJ BSJ, starring Ozzy!
Bonjour, Fifi! In this week's Guardian I go after French hardcore electro sensation Justice (Kim Chun wonderfully defends them), and share a few personal thoughts on the explosively glitzy banger scene that's grown up around their sound. Some people have written me to call me "old" and "a scold" -- that rhymes! Others have lauded me as an "old-school defender" and for "finally taking a hard look at today's materialistic youth."
I don't know about all that. I am old-school -- I've been around a while -- but that doesn't mean I want to divide stuff up and take sides. Move on dot org!
I can see good things and bad things about most kinds of nightlife. And I surely feel a positive energy and musical innovation at certain banger clubs like Blow Up, even as I worry over some of the materialistic and surface aspects of the hardcore electro scene. Nightlife is an art, and like any art critic, I retain a moralistic vision -- but I know that the wonderful purpose of art is to blow up (get it?) any moralistic vision to smithereens and go beyond mere words. But I'll always totally be down with, as fabulous DJ Richie Panic says below, "going out at night, doing drugs, having sex in bathrooms, and listening to DANCE music."
It's difficult to try to objectively critique an underground scene I love and support! BUT at least it's not this, roight:
Besides the hipster quotient and economic differences (the banger audience is def not $200 bottle service -- yet speaks better french!), and also A LOT more comfort with the gays and female empowerment, plus far less douchebags in dimestore cornrows laughing about rape -- HAHAHA -- I think I root the difference mostly in the music. I get chills when the change comes in on the lovely Empire of the Sun track above. (With mashups of "Obsession" .... not so much.) And that's a fundamental of underground nightlife right there -- better music and hair than the douchebags. See? We're still all one.
Anyway, back to Justice. They're weird! they can fill giant venues, which kind of forfeits underground cred, yet they still somehow retain underground cred. For illumination, I turn to Richie Panic, one of my favorite DJs, the king of the Cali banger scene, and a real sweetheart. Plus a genius. Oh, and he'll be playing a monster show at Mezzanine with Too Many DJs and Soulwax on Oct. 30 -- so catch that! His take below:
The amazing and gifted House god DJ Spen of the Code Red and Defected labels is coming to Temple this Sunday night (8/31).
Now and Spen
Spen's been in House so long, it wouldn't have walls without him -- dating back to his work with the seminal Basement Boys in 1989, up through his major diva remixes (I for one couldn't escape his Mandarin-plucky version of Mary J.'s "Beautiful" in the mid-'90s -- hi, DJ Rolo!) and into his current smooth matureness, spreading some deep sunshine all over the global floors. He'll be accompanied on Sunday for a very long set -- we do have Monday off, yes? -- by the ever-fab DJ David Harness of Thread Recordings. Househed reunion!
My real question, though, is will Spen play this, one of the undisputed underground jams of 1999? I'll bring a change of millennium shoes, just in case ...
DJ Spen w/ David Harness
6pm-late, $10
(Super Soul Sundayz Labor Day Celebration)
Temple
55 Natoma www.templesf.com
But first, a bonus! -- the ecstatical, fantastical, local maniac DJ Richie Panic at Dance, LA last week -- good lord, did half of hipster-perf SF go down there for this? Hilarious moment @ 2:47 = dancefloor opera, go Richie!
And now the meat. In this week's Fall Arts Preview, I thumb out a gaggle of rad parties happening in the near future, and sound off about a few of the lovely club jams I'd like to see hit the floor for fall. Here's some extra-poppy ones I bounce to right now that have interesting video accompaniment: for the ipod of your mind. Nothing too edgy or new -- we'll all fall softly and boppily into autumn's orange arms
Plug: Look out for our next stylish Scene nightlife and glamour supplement to drop on Sept. 17 for more club goodies.
I said you'd be "so over" this next track by last Wednesday -- but I was K.I.D.D.I.N.G. I love Cazwell, the gay rap dream from NYC, and in this one LA megafag Jonny Makeup, gives us the hooks and cell phone heebie-jeebies. It's 1989 in clubland and all's well again.
Cazwell w/ Johnny Makeup, "I Seen Beyonce at Burger King" (click here for hi-q)
![1terry[2].jpg](http://www.sfbg.com/blogs/music/1terry%5B2%5D.jpg)
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