The Mallard with Thee Oh Sees and Sic Alps 9/9/12

Wow, it's been a real long time since I posted, but it takes a lot to motivate me away from my own band Super River which has occupied most of my time for the past year.

So I went to this show with three  of my band mates Sunday night.  We missed the  first band that played.  I heard they were good, but that came from someone whose taste I question.  We  were planning to miss the  second band as well, but thank god that didn't happen.

The curtain went up  at the  El Rey and  the four-piece was lined up in a row.  Apparently they don't do that all the time which is disappointing but immediately my eyes were locked on their drummer despite him being flanked by two beautiful women slinging guitars.  His beats and  motion were unlike anything else I've seen, innovative,  clean, yet painful.  It helped  that  everything  else  about this band was great.  They had a cohesive noisy sound with by far the best energy and  songwriting I saw all night.  While performing they were such a single unit it was impossible to tell if they even had a single leader.  I found out later it's frontwoman/guitarist/songwriter/engineer  Greer McGettrick, but what can you do?  The rest  of the band was no less talented, especially  evident after lead guitarist and bassist switched instruments and  revealed themselves to be better in the latter role.  We seemed to be the only people in the audience who got it, sadly, despite for the relatives of one member standing near us.  Well with that crowd what could you expect...

The Sic Alps were revealed and their hippie-ish lead guitarist stuck out the most.  His playing was one of the best parts, but who cares?  The singer and drummer were both  wearing  baseball caps which begged the comparison to the Beastie Boys.  It was embarrassing, especially after I heard  that the band used  to just be the two of them.  So apparently they used to not have a bass player.  More on that later...  Bottom line they lacked any  essence, I couldn't even tell what they were going for.  None of us could!  I may have thought they were okay apart from the aesthetic if I hadn't just seen the Mallard, but I was  the lucky one, not them.

Then there was Thee Oh Sees.  For years this band had never connected  with me.  I had just been waiting them to be my next Deerhunter and finally catch up and hear what I'd been missing.  Turns  out I wasn't missing a thing.  Judging by the crowd's reaction, the band's energy and enthusiasm, and the tightness of the songs I am certain this was  not just an "off night."

If  I hadn't already known that this "band"  was a product of the god-awful New England hardcore scene of yore I would have known it instantly.  It's like ska, even if you move to SF  and drop a lot of  acid that's still what you are.  Then I see there's no bass  player, just some skinhead with a guitar and an octave pedal playing repeated bass lines like a machine.  Wow.  This review should end there.   It's almost always the worst choice to not have a bass player (local newcomers Spaceships suggest otherwise), but if you're gonna cut it at least  CUT IT.  So I stood there  for hours of this hardcore kid soloing while his  backing band did a job that could be done more easily with Fruity Loops.  This band I from now on will describe  as "The Olive Garden of  Psychedelia" was actually more boring live than on their rushed, spotty records.

So basically buy the below record and forget the other two bands  exist.  If you're reading this I'm sure you don't have time for them.

Standing Before King Everything

This was of course the kind of thing I would give my life for: Two nights in a row of Guided by Voices’ classic lineup in the two best places on Earth.

The first night at Los Angeles’ Wiltern Theater was a special occasion as I was joined not only by fellow GbV devotee Paul Igaz, but by two newcomer friends of ours (including a true Pollard). After a number of canned American macrobrews we were ready to head down the street for the show. Doors were at 7 that night and we arrived at almost 8:30. Missing Times New Viking was an unfortunate but doable sacrifice, but what was surprising was that had the schedule been followed to the T we would have missed some of Guided by Voices set. They started not much later, but as Uncle Bob and company entered the stage with “A Salty Salute,” we learned where out lateness was a mistake. Paul and my attempts to get closer were met with unpermissive security forced us into be the most enthusiastic fans in the middle sea of Hollywood poseurs.

However, as Mitch led us into “Shocker in Gloomtown,” the reassurance that we would have another chance the next night was enough to let it go. The band continued to lead us through all the classics from the obvious “I am A Scientist,” “Motor Away”) to the obscure (“My Impression Now”) with fantastic showmanship not only from the Fading Captain himself, but equally from cohorts Mitch Mitchell and the fantastically dressed Greg Demos. Staging hit its peak with the Tobin Sprout cuts – particularly the ones in which he was joined by Pollard and “Cut-Out Witch” (one of the few Under the Bushes Under the Sttars cuts played.) Bob hit us with all his classic moves – the windmills, the kicks, the hops, yet kept them in check to give his band the credit they deserve.

At San Francisco’s Warfield even more friends joined me after an invigorating drive across the Bay Bridge. This time Times New Viking confirmed their importance as one of today’s best bands leaving me, unlike the rest of my crowd speechless. They evoked not only their all-encompassing home state, but some of the cosmic power of Young Marble Giants with Beth Murphy reminding me of an awkward Chrissie Hynde and Adam Elliott as the greatest singer songwriter to sit behind a drum kit.

Then it really started. Was this show better than the one in LA? It is impossible to say, but what I can say is this: Being much closer to the stage surrounded by people who know every word to “Gleemer (the Deeds of Fertile Jim),” “Smothered in Hugs,” and the symphonic high of “Don’t Stop Now” one can only think of commercials for Christian rock compilations for comparison. You know, the ones where the massive audience throws their collective hands towards the sky in transcendent ecstasy. It was like that, but with a lot more motion in the body, a bit hard to stay on your feet, well, and beer, obviously. Likewise the new proximity to the stage allowed me to finally witness the legendary “crazy Kevin face” which was all its cracked up to be possibly due to, or perhaps despite the fact that Mr. Fennell had aged particularly well in spite of the worst substance abuse.

While the songs were the same, some things differed between the shows. Perhaps this was only due to the location of my party, but the SF show was much more male-dominated, yet despite all your outsider sneering had no apparent gay element to it. Obviously Guided by Voices, right? On a similar note, The Los Angeles show featured a long string of banter between Pollard and Mitchell on the topic of Los Angeles pussy, which I am sure was enjoyed by all single members of the group particularly Mitch. The Los Angeles show also featured a great rush to the stage on “Motor Away,” in which at least 30 people joined the band onstage to everyone’s delight. This was not repeated, but neither was Pollard’s improvisation on “Lethargy” which reminded us that no one in the band gives a fuck, so why should we?

With all the songs intact the band changed it up a little bit by switching from two encores into three, but both ended the same way. First a sing-along epic rendition of “Johnny Appleseed,” and the closer to end all closers “Weedking” in which Uncle Bob sends his fans home early with the right idea I am sure almost all of us followed.

That’s right you will be home early to give your own neighborhood a taste of the Monument Club where you can watch your newly initiated friends transform from child to Official Iron (Wo)Men. That’s all you’re getting. Gotta leave some surprises for you suckers on the East Coast.

But here’s one they certainly won’t be swinging in Boston: Mitch has maintained the cigarette with unfathomable constancy and at many point, so does Pollard.

The Vaccine to Hearing Loss

Whether you love or hate Antone Newcombe this is going to make you feel stronger either way.


Now, despite what Newcombe says in the above video it is not as easy as you might hope to find all of his music on the internet. After struggling though, I did.

This release, I feel, is particularly important to share as the usual and understandable place to start with BJM is Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective. This album was recorded on TVT Records, which as we all know may function more like a major than any other indie. Though actually with even less patience as this was BJM's only record with them, and they were followed by an almost as brief period with GbV. Naturally, the label would not share these tracks for that wonderful compilation. It sure is a shame as the band was on a roll as much as ever and the record highlights many of the band's strong points.

Recorded during their time in Los Angeles, their sound is rooted as much in 60s psychedelia and the Velvets as ever. However, his album named after an 80s Bowie quote not only is the most typically 90s indie rock I've heard from them but also explored the subtle nuances of 90s psychedelia revivalists. There is no better example of this than the Elephant 6 (Specifically Gerbils-esque) pop of "Jennifer," besides maybe "Dawn" with Newcombe seeming emulating Wayne Coyne. Likewise the magnificent opener "Going to Hell" Newcombe gets in touch with his inner Dylan more than just musically to outstanding results. Tracks like "Nothing to Lose," "Dawn," and "Lantern," are typical BJM at their finest being the perfect medium between Spacemen 3 and Rain Parade. This album is a little more acoustic guitar and organ heavy than a lot of BJM's other work, but not of course with any less of Joel Gion's famous tambourine. Keep the revolution going!


The Brian Jonestown Massacre - Strung Out in Heaven (1998)

Gonna Break You Down, Gonna Pop You In The Mouth!

Just now, a friend of mine who was visiting New York City told me a bout a great concert experience he had there seeing a band called Personal & the Pizzas. It sounded like an amazing show featuring songs with titles like "You = Beat Up" and "Nobody Makes My Girl Cry But Me" and the singer whipping chains around while threatening the sound guy. The group is from San Francisco but their gimmick is being from Hoboken. They are quite similar in image, lyrics, and sound to the Ramones and The Dictators.

Here is a link to their myspace.

In a lot of ways, this is the best parody of the Northeast you could ever ask for and it's a whole lotta fun. The intro to "I Don't Wanna Be No Personal Pizza" says it all. Other great tracks to check out on there are "Brass Knuckles" and "I Don't Feel So Happy Now." "I Can Read," though is perhaps the rebuttal the Dictators would give their detractors after going Girls Crazy.

The Felix Dukes

real entry coming soon.

for now, check this out

The Felix Dukes

I recommend "My Pleasure" for some great use of falsetto.