kNOw Deposit, kNOw Return

Unsafe As Milk

The Safe As Milk festival, scheduled to be held at Pontins Prestatyn Sands Holiday Park in Wales over the weekend of April 21 - 23, included a mouthwatering, eclectic line-up, including Shirley Collins (who was my main reason for deciding to buy a ticket), Nurse With Wound, Circle (who were scheduled to do two sets, one of which was an acoustic one), Grouper, Butthole Surfers, The Residents, Ulver, and many more. I checked out a lot of the other artists online as my excitement for the festival grew, and I discovered that I especially liked Moor Mother, Richard Dawson, and Ndagga Rhythm Force.

The online reviews for the Holiday Park made it sound like sort of a shit hole, but rooms were included in the price of the tickets, and I figured we'd be too busy to care too much about the rooms. It was going to be all about the music. 

This article from The Guardian sheds some light on the cancellation.

I had been in touch with my friend Nidge, who was also going to be attending, and then I received the e-mail, steaming forth from my laptop screen like a turd in a microwave. The festival was canceled and the company behind it had gone into liquidation. They weren't sending out refunds (presumably because their other, more powerful debtors vultured in and swooped off with our ticket money), so I had to contact my bank and request a charge-back. The money is back in my account, although the bank claims to be still investigating the matter (edited to add: the investigation has been concluded and I've officially gotten a refund).

So what does one do when the flight is booked, time off of work has been arranged, and the weekend in question is looming? We figured we'd go anyway ("we" being my wife, Jeanine, and I). I started haunting venue websites and doing searches for upcoming shows in London (we were flying into Heathrow because it was cheapest). I reasoned that a lot of the bands had already booked flights too, so there would be some last minute substitute shows added.

I managed to miss getting tickets for the Grouper shows, which wasn't too bad because Grouper, aka Liz Harris, is from Portland, Oregon, which is almost local, relatively speaking. I did manage score a couple of tickets for Ndagga Rhythm Force at Cafe OTO  in London though. By the time I noticed that they were playing two shows, the Saturday one had already sold out, but the Sunday matinee show wasn't. Sunday matinee it would be.

Even better, Nidge offered to let us stay at his place in London. We had three and a half days to play with, so I started thinking about what else we could do during that time. I considered trying to make it up to Bath, but we eventually decided to stay closer to London. The Atlas Obscura website gave me  few ideas, and there were also a number of things I'd done before and wouldn't mind doing again. Plus, it was a good bet that Nidge would have some suggestions. It was also not lost on me that we would be in London for Record Store Day. That wasn't really a priority this time out though, because I was aware that Jeanine probably wouldn't want to be dragged into a bunch of record stores.

Like most long journeys, this one started in the middle of the night. I managed to get a few hours of sleep, but Jeanine stayed up. It rained on the way to the airport, and the automated gate at the parking lot wouldn't accept my prepaid code, so I had to go inside the hotel next to it and sort things out. Inside the airport, we got through all of the regular security hurdles in good time and settled in.

The sun rose.

The flight was uneventful, with a quick stop in Dallas before winging toward Heathrow. A security line, money exchange, and a bit of a tube ride later, and we were walking the short walk to Nidge's place. He met us in the street.

The last time I stayed at Nidge's, I was with my brother and we were preparing to head homeward after attending two evenings of Current 93 at the HMV Forum. That was seven years ago. In some ways, it was like no time had passed at all. Jeanine hadn't met Nidge before, so after introductions, we decided how to best fill the day. Nidge mentioned the possibility of going to one of his favorite places,Watts Chapel.

Getting to the chapel involved a drive into the suburbs and parking along a quintessential English lane. We then wandered uphill through the cemetery and into the tiny chapel. It was indeed beautiful and worth the visit.

Earlier, Nidge had revealed that the cemetery featured the grave of none other than Aldous Huxley, which was coincidental because I had recently purchased his novel, "Brave New World" because due to current trends (political and otherwise), I've gotten it into my head to read all of the classic dystopian novels this year (It's shameful that I haven't yet). 

After paying our respects to Mr. Huxley, we drove down the lane for a bite to eat and a spot of tea. I can't now remember exactly what I ordered, but I remember that it was excellent and involved cheese. This is what I get for not writing this account sooner.

After our repast, Nidge announced that he was going to show me some British lizards. He's a passionate birder, and I'm a passionate herper, and the two passions are quite compatible, both requiring the visiting of natural areas. The day was overcast and cool, which isn't the best herping weather, but we gamely set out on a meander over a nearby heath. Nidge, true to form, casually identified every chirp and cheep as we walked. If I remember correctly, he was especially happy about hearing a Dartford Warbler.

I found a Raft Spider on one of the the wooden walkways, and then a  little later on, saw my first UK lizard. It was an unassuming little creature simply called a Common Lizard. They must really be common if they can be found on chilly days. Common or not, I was happy. Before the end of the walk, we found at least a couple more.

I even convinced the first lizard to walk onto my hand:

Nidge also found us some little Sundew plants.

In the evening, we descended on The Ship Tavern (est. 1549, rebuilt 1923) to meet up with Jo0lie and Ian. They're all part of a group of friends who have been delving into London's history in a quest to find and visit all of the oldest pubs still open for business and serving food. A pub that originally opened over 200 years before my home country was founded definitely counts. The food and company was excellent. Joolie hasn't changed a bit.

 The next day, Jeanine and I took in a couple of museums, namely the British Museum of Natural History (which I had visited before) and the Hunterian Museum (which I had learned about via Atlas Obscura). Looking this up to provide a link, I notice that we got in under the wire. There are two conflicting notices on the page, one stating the museum is now permanently closed, and one stating that the museum is closed until 2020. The British museum was fun, but crowded, and the Hunterian Museum was fascinating, despite the fact that a large percentage of its exhibits were of the "things in jars" variety. I took a few photos before noticing the "no photos" sign.

We later met Nidge at Rough Trade. We got there early and discovered that despite it being 4:30 in the afternoon, there was a big queue of people waiting to get in. Record Store Day in England is no joke. Here in the states, the lines usually dissipate before noon. I had already secured a copy of the Popol Vuh record I was after (or more correctly Nidge's early-rising friend had secured it), but I figured I'd see what else I could find. I had decided to not spend as much time in records stores this trip because I knew Jeanine would rather be doing other things. This is a far cry from my initial visits to England during which all records stores were visited, some multiple times. I picked up a Def Leppard 12" (a repress of their first 7") and a Gnod CD (not a RSD release, but I'd recently read a good review of it).

Afterward, we went and saw the theatrical production of Woman In Black. Nidge and I had both seen it before, but it was Jeanine's first time. It was as good as I remember it being. Beforehand, we watched a street performer doing juggling and balancing. I wasn't doing as good a job, and managed to dropped my camera lens on the cobblestones, which broke the autofocus knob. At least the lens itself didn't crack.

Afterward, we sauntered along the Thames. I tried to recreate the photos Greg and I took on our last trip, with mixed results.

At some point during the trip, we wandered by platform 9 and 3/4 at King's Cross. There was a big line of people waiting to take selfies next to it, so we wandered on.

On Sunday, we slept in a bit, and then Jeanine and I rushed off to see the Tower of London before the 2:00 PM Ndagga Rhythm Force show at Cafe OTO. We arrived at the Tower to discover that we were in the midst of the London Marathon, with crowds lining the streets and the Marathon route blocked off. We eventually managed to enter the Tower and take a quick walk through the buildings. We got to see a tower raven sitting on a railing, the crown jewels, and various other related sights.

Then, it was a mad dash toward Cafe OTO, first on the tube and then on one of the aboveground train routes. It looked like we were going to be late, but when we finally made it to the Cafe, the band hadn't started yet.

I've been aware of Cafe OTO for awhile because artists I like tend to perform there. I've even bought music from them online, and it was because of this that I found out that Ndagga Rhythm Force was performing there to fill the void left by the implosion of Safe As Milk. the venue itself is a small cafe that doubles (triples) as a performance space and record store. The record rack is small but potent, the food is good, and the audience filled the space. I'm not sure if the Sunday matinee was sold out like the Saturday evening show was, but if not, it was close.

The group is from Senegal, but they seem to have been taken under the wing of German techno musician Mark Ernestus. Their earlier releases are credited to Jeri-Jeri, and they have since expanded into Mark Ernestus' Ndagga Rhythm Force. Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of techno, but give me some real drummers pounding out complicated rhythms, an undercurrent of melancholy, and heaps of sheer exuberance, and I'm there in the front row.

The show was a riot of percussion, dancing, and the honeyed tones of Mbene Diatta Seck's expressive vocals. As the name suggests, the drums are the driving force behind the music. In fact, the guitarist was off in a corner while the various percussionists took center stage. Modou Mbaye's talking drum skittered along the top of the percussive depths like a manic surfer.

Dancer Fatou Wore Mboup was the visual focal point, and she looked like she was having a blast. At one point, both Mboup and Mbaye parted the crowd and brought the show into the audience. At other times, audience members were dragged onto the stage.

I came away wanting more. I had to console myself with some purchases at the merch table before following Jeanine back out onto the street.

Our next stop was the Hardy Tree, which was a short walk from King's Cross. It was hidden by a hedge in a churchyard. Nidge, who had actually seen shows in the church, hadn't ever noticed it. Thanks again, Atlas Obscura.

Afterward, we set out for Kensal Green Cemetery, only to find that it was already closed for the evening. At least we were on the outside of the gate when it was shut. I wonder if the two hapless people peering out at us from the inside managed to find a way out without having to climb a wall.

Not wanting to waste a trip, we took some photos between gaps in the fence as we walked back toward the tube station.

We rendezvoused with Nidge at Crossbones Cemetery for some, as Nidge joked, hippie bollocks. Actually, it was quite nice, and we were treated to a skit featuring St. George and the Dragon, and some heartfelt speechifying about recognizing and remembering the woman whose remains had been disturbed there. We even got to take a quick walk around inside the fence. There are no gravestones or other markers, of course, since the area served as a huge common grave for the downtrodden and dispossessed, most of whom (if not all) were prostitutes.

Afterward, Jeanine and I found a quick bite to eat and then we joined Nidge and one of his friends at an old pub up the street. His friend, who turned out to be an amateur historian later showed us a nondescript wall that he said was one of the oldest still standing in London.

Back at Nidge's, we slept the sleep of the exhausted. The next morning, he brought us to the airport. Our flight back was (wonder of wonders) nonstop. It started raining as we left.

It was more of a hassle getting back into the U.S. than it was entering the UK. Number forty five is more of a number two, if you catch my meaning.

The trip was a whirlwind of activity. We were only there for half a week, but I'm glad that I got a chance to take Jeanine to the UK, and it was great to reconnect with Nidge and to simply be there. There is this indefinable feeling I get when I'm in England. I've only been there a handful of times, but in some ways, it feels like home. Sure, right now the politics of both the UK and the U.S. are a shitshow of ignorance, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's the little differences between there and here. It's the charming old buildings and the ease of their public transportation system. It's the cemeteries and skylines. I could go on, but It's time to wrap this up for now, since as I type, it's already July.  Where does the time go?

 

Diamanda Galás at The Masonic, San Francisco, CA, 4/8/17

 

For me, a local appearance by Diamanda Galás is a drop everything and clear the calendar kind of event, so I purchased tickets early. For my wife, an appearance by Diamanda Galás is a "have fun, and I'll see you when you get back," sort of moment, so I went alone. I guess I shouldn't have played the "Plague Mass" in the car that one time... Oh, well.

The last time I was inside the Masonic was to see Loreena McKennitt on May 14th, 1998, so it has been awhile. In fact, at first I didn't remember ever having been there at all. McKennitt played there last year too, but I found out about it too late.

Located up on top of Nob Hill across the street from Grace Cathedral, there is a steep drive which is rewarded with a nice view.

Feeling extravagant, I parked in the Crocker garage, handing over an arm and a leg before hopping toward the Masonic. I didn't bring my camera this time out because I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get it in, so all photos are from my severely outdated iPhone.

Inside, still feeling extravagant, I found the merch line and got a shirt and the two new albums, one on autographed vinyl. I missed out on the shirt featuring Galás' own artwork (my friend Jessica was in time to get one though - it was nice). Inside the auditorium, I found my seat (around 12 rows back, although the photos make it look like I was in another county - I refuse to use digital zoom). The stage waited, silent and stabbed by light.

Around 8:30, Galás, arrived on stage, fingers met piano keys with determined force, and her unmistakable voice reached out and grabbed us. I anticipated that this show would focus on material from the two new albums, and I wasn't mistaken. First up was a Jacques Brel cover, Fernand, but like all of the songs Galás performs, she made it entirely her own. 

See the set list here. I looks like this was one of her longer sets from the recent tour. Lucky us.

If I had to pick a favorite song from the set, it was her stunning rendition of the traditional song, La Llorona, which is unfortunately not on any of her releases.

 Galás' command of silence, as always, was masterful. Her songs are punctuated with pregnant pauses and transcendent moments of tension, not to mention the thunderous rumble of precisely placed piano notes. Then there is her voice, which irrevocably draws some and sends others fleeing.

The seven song main set culminated in Galás' intimidating version of the traditional American folk song, O'death, which was another highlight of the evening.

 Barely 45 minutes had passed, but we ended up being treated to 3 encores (4 more songs) ending with an old favorite, Let My People Go, which first appeared on the 1992 release, "The Singer". I would have been happy if she continued playing for several more hours, but it seems that Galás follows the old adage, "always leave them wanting more," so I soon found myself back outside, staring at the facade of Grace Cathedral across the street.

 

After the show, I got to thinking about all of the other times I've been lucky enough to see Diamanda Galás perform, but I couldn't even remember what years those shows happened (running into my friend Jessica Way in the entrance hall, I asked if she remembered the last time Diamanda Galás graced the Bay Area with her presence, and she got it right - I wasn't even close). At home, a little bit of internet research revealed the actual dates of the other performances I've been to. I post them here more for my own use than anything else. Kronos Quartet was also on the bill at the Yerba Buena show, performing "Black Angels". I don't recall there being openers at any of the other performances.

4/15/92 Palace of Fine Arts, San Francisco (songs from "The Singer" either mostly or entirely)

11/5/93 The Warfield, San Francisco (Plague Mass)

12/6/94 The Fillmore, San Francisco (with John Paul Jones - the show included a cover of Communication Breakdown that sent the Led Zeppelin fans running)

10/21/99 Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley

10/19/06 Yerba Buena, San Francisco (Defixiones)

 It looks like a YouTube user by the name of Boris Todorov surreptitiously filmed the whole show. Watch it here. Thanks, Boris!

A Decade of Carnacki, Followed by Free Salamanders, All on the Final Night of March

The latest Thomas Carnacki show is separated from the first by a span of exactly a decade. Being a predictable species, it was patently obvious that some sort of observation had to be made. That first performance was a record release party for the then-new "Far Voyage From A Placid Island" (which is currently the only release available on the Carnacki bandcamp page), so this one, not to be bested, was a release party for the "Where's My Love, My Eyes Are Gone, The Rains Are Coming" 7", which is available in a regular edition and a limited edition inside a hand-sewn bag and featuring a piece  of original artwork.

I arrived at the Temescal a bit early, slightly before Colin and Maria of the wonderful local label, Time Released Sound. We went to the pizza place where I purchased a spicy vegan pizza that I modified with some parmesan. This was followed by a solo visit to the ice cream shop around the corner for some burnt caramel and geranium ice cream. Mmmm. Geranium.

Full of pizza and ice cream, I was ready for whatever Moe! Staiano decided to throw at us. From the looks of it, it would be shards of old 78 records.

I wasn't disappointed. After setting the sonic scene with a vibrator clattering away on a dinner plate and some noise emanating from strategically placed radios, Moe! played a short, frantic set of record percussion. The records were arranged on foam pads on top of a table, and were broken into progressively smaller pieces under Moe!'s rhythmic onslaught. Shards flew, and as time passed, the floor around the table disappeared under shiny black wedges of vinyl.

This isn't the first time I've seen Moe! do this kind of thing, but I'm always game for repeat performances. The sounds that Moe! manages to pull from the vinyl are fascinating. It makes me wish I had some surplus records in my collection.

Next up was Kristine Barrett, who accompanied herself on harmonium and what I think was a ukulele. She began with a John Prine cover, Fish and Whistle, which I probably wouldn't have recognized even if I'd heard the original (I'm listening to it as I type, and it's definitely a lot more country bluegrass sounding than the version Barrett graced us with).

The rest of her set was short, but with a lasting beauty. At one point, she spoke about refugees. I no longer remember the exact context, but with the current administration's policies weighing heavy on us, the emotions are being released in song after song everywhere I turn. This is, after all, one of the main functions of music. If it doesn't make you feel something, then what's the point? At any rate, this led to her mentioning working with Iranian singer Mahsa Vahdat, who is herself a refugee. Because of this, part of me feels guilty for being excited to learn that Vahdat lives locally now. I would love to witness her perform though, and it now seems more likely given this information.

Barrett's voice is the real star of the show, with her training and influences producing the type of music that should melt the hardest heart and bring enemies together. If more people stepped outside of their shells and appreciated what non-U.S. cultures have to offer, perhaps we wouldn't be currently plummeting into a new dark age of entitled ignorance.

Thomas Carnacki is, of course, much less accessible, relying on pure mood and whimsy. The ensemble for the evening was Greg (who is still my brother, so there is still an obvious conflict of interest as far as this review is concerned) Scharpen, Sheila Bosco, and Gregory Hagan. Sheila provided synthesizer, percussion and the like. Gregory Hagan played viola and wordlessly vocalized, and the other Greg had his usual plethora of objects, some of which he bowed quite resonantly. Amongst the latter was a bicycle wheel, which sounded great in the context of this piece and also served as a poignant reminder that, not including the memorial, this was the first Thomas Carnacki performance since we lost bicycle wheelist Jim Kaiser.

Hagan's viola playing seemed more melodic than his usual Carnacki contributions are, seeming to resonate with deep, contemplative melancholy. It sticks with me half a month later as I type these words.

As an added treat, Kristine Barrett joined Carnacki onstage and sang beautifully over ominous yet playful atmospherics. I'd love a recording of this.

As a bonus bonus, Moe! handed out cupcakes while Greg wandered around with a grin that was both real and artificial, shaking hands with all attendees.

Below is the flyer from the first show, a decade ago. Yeah, I performed solo that night. Maybe I should do it again sometime. I remember that my performance didn't exactly go as I planned it, but when do they ever? I'm sure I could come up with something much better now.

 

 I left quickly so I could get to the Uptown in time for:

 

 I figured that I wouldn't get to see any of Vesper Moth, but I was hoping that I'd be there in time for Noctooa. My figuring and hopes were both borne out. I missed Vesper Moth entirely, and got to see Noctooa's whole set. I'm listening to Vesper Moth as I type these words, and I definitely wouldn't mind seeing them sometime.

Noctooa are currently a duo consisting of Sammy Fielding and Jorge Gallo, and their music is cavernous and mysterious. Gallo and Fielding both sing and play guitar, and Fielding keeps the beat with an electronic kick drum setup. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love their voices. They are rich and full, like molasses. I love their obsession with owls too. Later, during the Free Salamander Exhibit set, Nils mentioned that all three bands were named after animals because "noctooa" is Latin for "owl". I didn't know that, and I wonder at my lack of curiosity. It never occurred to me to ask. A quick online search shows that the latin word is spelled, "noctua" though, and it is one of a few words meaning "owl".

It was actually easier to find parking near the Uptown than it was near the Temescal, which is something of a reversal of what I expected, since the Uptown, contrary to its name, is closer to downtown. After parking and walking to the venue, the first people I ran into were Nils Frykdahl and Dan Rathbun of Free Salamander Exhibit. As I said hello, over their shoulders I noticed the video screen in the bar area showed Noctooa, soundchecking. Perfect timing, except for the whole missing Vesper Moth thing.

Noctooa's set was short. The duo, illuminated by muted reds and blues, played some new songs that sounded great, and some older ones that still sounded great too. There is just something about their delivery that makes me pay attention. Audience response was good. For me, it was weird coming from a little art/dance space like the Temescal to a bar venue. I prefer the former, so there was an adjustment period.

I'm really looking forward to the next Noctooa release though. The old one can be purchased here. Go on, don't be stingy.

It has been awhile since I saw Free Salamander Exhibit. Slightly over three years, in fact. Since then, the band has released their debut album, "Undestroyed", and excellent Finnish label, Blood Music, has issued the three Sleepytime Gorilla Museum records on beautiful double vinyl. Four Fifths of Free Salamander Exhibit, for those keeping track, are Sleepytime Alumni. Only multi-instrumentalist Drew Wheeler is new to the fold. It must be noted that Moe! Staiano, who started the evening off down the street, is also an ex-Sleepytime Gorilla Museum member.

I was happy to see Dan's homemade instrument, The Log, onstage. I don't think I've seen it since the last Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show (edit: checking my review of the last FSM show I saw, I see that I'm wrong - Dan had it onstage then too). Stage right, Michael Mellender's setup involved lots of intriguing scrap metal and some brass instruments. Drew Wheeler's stuff was, as usual, tucked away in the corner next to David Shamrock's drums.

The show started with a not-unexpected procession through the audience. Michael, Nils, and Dan arrived wearing animal masks. Cow, mouse, and sheep respectively. I'm sure they are a lot less itchy than the wicker basket costumes they were using a few years ago, and they were definitely no less effective. It was like seeing some sort of pagan ritual, and the world always needs more of those.

First up was the title track from their album, "Undestroyed", based on the writings of lamentably still-jailed Native American activist Leonard Peltier. The song is one of my favorites from the album, both lyrically and musically, so it was a great way to start the set. From there, the band effortlessly navigated their way from strength to strength.

They played every song from the album, and then some. There were a couple that I don't think I'd heard before, but it has been three years since the last time I saw them play, so I could be mistaken. My other current favorite from the album, Oxen of the Sun, was played toward the end, right before the non-album set closer, Porter's Jig. There was only one porter this time, but he jigged well.

Nils' mom, Micki, was standing near me for awhile. It's great that she still comes to the shows, and it was good to see her again. I ran into a number of other familiar faces too, including my brother, who after being dropped of at home with all of his equipment, hopped on his bike and headed for the Uptown. It was like a big reunion.

Nils was in fine form, but then again, he always is. His in between song banter added the usual extra spice to the event. As for the music, I still miss Sleepytime's Matthias and Carla, but Free Salamander Exhibit trade in the same sort of high quality entertainment that Sleepytime and Idiot Flesh did. Hopefully it won't be another three years before I see them again.

For the time being, here are a couple of links to video clips from the evening, uploaded to YouTube by Johnny Axtell. Click here and here. I can see myself about 10 seconds into the second one. There are a few other videos from the night on YouTube as well.

 

Latona Odola, Gabriel Saloman, Common Eider, King Eider, and Tilo at SubRosa, 2/4/17

When it comes to evening entertainment, Santa Cruz is nearly always a quicker option than, say, San Francisco or the East Bay. The pairing of Latona Odola and Common Eider, King Eider made this a must-see event for me, and a quick listen online revealed that both Tilo and Gabriel Salomon were pleasant on the ears as well. The show was a benefit for Free Cascadia Witchcamp

Before I continue, I must admit that more than a month (closer to two, in truth) has gone by since this show happened. I blame my dying laptop and simply being busy elsewhere, coupled with just not feeling like writing. This is what happens when one is not subject to deadlines, self-imposed or otherwise. Any lapses of memory are completely my fault, as is anything else I get wrong on this site.

We got to Santa Cruz and found parking less than half a block from SubRosa. The venue turned out to be a tiny anarchist community center, with a library and patio area. We said hi to friends and found a spot inside so we could catch Tilo's set.

Tilo is the project of Lindsay Davis. She accompanied herself on acoustic guitar, and was joined on most songs by various friends, who added additional vocals, cello, and the like. She proved to have a rich, husky voice that reminded me a bit of Mia Doi Todd, or perhaps a more restrained Dawn McCarthy. The final song featured a whole crew of people singing a sort of sea shanty (if memory serves). I picked up her demo cdr too. The standout song of the disc (and possibly of the performance) is Petrichor.

Common Eider, King Eider was next, spearheaded by Rob Fisk and featuring ex-Aquarius guru Andee Connors on percussion, plus Gabriel Saloman (I think) on guitar and one additional member whose name I don't know on banjo. I'm never sure what to expect from the band, which is a good thing. Sometimes they're heavy, and sometimes they're melancholy. Often they're both.

This time out, we were treated to a long, slowly building piece of atmospheric gloom, suffocating in its intensity. The mournful howl of the guitar broke through the sonic fog like the fin of an approaching predator. Over all, the effect was not dissimilar to that of a Thomas Carnacki performance, although Gregory Hagan, who has done time in both outfits, is no longer part of Common Eider, King Eider. Traditional instruments (viola, banjo, drums, guitar, etc.) were playing in non-traditional ways throughout, and the effect by turns  meditative, haunting, calming, and strangely energizing.

Latona Odola are a mother/daughter duo of Buffy and Katrena, primarily utilizing harmonium and acoustic guitar, with occasional hand drums and other percussive objects fleshing out the contemplative songs. Both sing, and sing beautifully.

This is the first time I've seen them play outside of their home base of The Sanctuary in Oakland. They were joined by a friend on frame drum for a song or two, and debuted a new piece as well (which was wonderful, of course). Musically, they remind me a bit of Ordo Equitum Solis, although the instrumentation is a bit different. The overall effect is similar though: an outpouring of wonder wrapped in contemplative melancholy, a call from (or to) our ancestral selves, and a balm for like-minded souls. The music is stately and elegiac in the best way.

After their set ended, the spell was broken by a woman asking if anybody in the audience drove a Nissan. I admitted that I did, and found that there was a fire engine down the block because of a gas leak. I figured I'd check to make sure it wasn't my car. Long story short: it was. My car was dripping gas. This meant that we missed Gabriel Saloman's set and got to ride home in a tow truck. Special thanks go out to James Martinez and everybody else who offered to help.

It was an interesting ride home. The tow truck driver regaled us with stories of UFO sightings as we made our way over the fogbound Santa Cruz mountains. It eventually turned out that the culprit was a loose gasket, not tightened properly when I'd had my fuel pump replaced in November. At least it was fixed free of charge.

 

 

Jim Kaiser Postmortal Consecration Celebration

On January 4^th, I was sitting at work while waiting for 7:00 PM to roll around so I could lead a bunch of 5^th graders on a night hike. I decided to kill a few minutes by checking Facebook, and what I saw there hit me like a hammer. Jim Kaiser had been found dead in his apartment. I had to internalize the news, fix a smile to my face, and lead my group of 20 or so kids into the woods like nothing was wrong. It was hard.

Anybody who regularly reads this page has probably seen his name a time or three. Jim has been an integral part of the Thomas Carnacki live shows for years, as well as performing under various other names and with various other people, such as Petit Mal, and French Radio, not to mention releasing recordings, mainly in the 3” cdr format, as Petit Mal Music. Jim was also one of the masterminds behind a series of weird, experimental group jams performed under the unwieldy moniker of inn.aff.(orchext.), of which I was a member. We only ever performed on Fridays the 13^th.

Jim played a variety of instruments, but, musically speaking, he will most be remembered for his bicycle wheel, to which he affixed contact mics, and bowed with a violin bow.

I considered Jim a friend, although when I think of it, nearly all of my interactions with him were at Amoeba Records, where he worked off and on, and at shows. He was always kind, and supremely dedicated to the performing, recording, and dissemination of music. He carved his own little niche in the music world, and the sounds he produced, being eccentric and difficult by nature, fell upon the ears of a small, dedicated crowd. Jim was both affable and intense, and he always seemed to be smiling at the ridiculousness of the world around him.

The Petit Mal Music bandcamp page can be found here. At the time of writing, everything is available for free. This is part of Jim’s legacy, and hence must be shared far and wide so that like-minded ears can hear and appreciate.

The memorial was paid for by donations, with the idea that any funds left over would be donated to the Band of Angels charity, which helps supply musical instruments for children in need. The goal was met and surpassed on the gofundme page, so somewhere children will be playing musical instruments because Jim was loved. This does me good to know this.

Given the fact that Jim was part of a small, close-knit community, it was a no-brainer that there would be a memorial with musical performances. The event, dubbed the Jim Kaiser Postmortal Consecration Celebration, took place at The Compound Gallery in Oakland on the night of January 29^th. I took my daughter, Willow, with me, since she had met Jim on a few occasions and knew a number of other people scheduled to be there, including her uncle Greg. We headed up early so we could brunch with Devon Morf and some of his friends at a café in Oakland called Mama Royal’s. Devon is part of a completely different musical community (see previous post, actually), and hadn’t known Jim. Devon used to live in Emeryville, but now calls Olympia, WA, home. He was in town to record vocals for an upcoming Conquest For Death release, so I took advantage of this brief visit to do some catching up. Afterward, Willow and I went and saw a movie, and then walked up the street to Amoeba. I would have gone to Amoeba anyway, but in this instance it seemed like a pilgrimage. I don’t quite remember when and where I first met Jim, but I’m pretty sure it was inside Amoeba, where he went from being “that guy who works at Amoeba and likes good music” to being a friend.

Following my Amoeba binge, we headed to the Compound Gallery. Arriving, we found ourselves in the middle of a stressful moment regarding what sort of volume was to be allowed by the venue. The stress was mitigated by getting to immediately see friends I hadn’t seen in awhile, and by the general feeling of shared purpose and camaraderie. Of special note was the fact that both Andy Way and Matt Waldron, traveling into the area from different directions (Andy from Puerto Rico and Matt from up near Portland), had made it for the memorial. It wasn’t surprising, of course, but it was great to see them both. Matt hadn’t seen Willow since she was seven, seven years ago.

Below is a photo of Matt, Richard Faulhaber, and Dan Kletter, seated on a convenient log just outside of the gallery.

Inside, there was a slideshow playing on loop, which featured Jim from various eras of his life. Film clips of wacky fun and oddball performances were included. There was a tiny lounge where one could watch Jim's favorite films and videos, an impressive spread of food, a table full of some of Jim's belongings so they could be dispersed amongst those who knew and loved him, and more.

It must be noted that, due in part to my aging laptop finally giving up the ghost, well over a month has passed between the memorial and my chronicling of it (the event was held on January 29th, and I'm typing these words on March 12). My memories of the performances may be even less detailed than usual.

Leyna Marika Papach

Leyna's beautiful violin performance was fleshed out by some subtle atmospherics courtesy of Greg, and some subdued guitar courtesy of Jerry Smith. Like most of the performances to follow, it was relatively brief, but satisfying.

Way/Anderson/Hsu

I've missed Andy Way, and it's great that he managed to leave his Puerto Rican bar/venue in the capable hands of his partner and grace us with his presence. The combination of a venue with noise limitations and Mr. Way seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, but this set, like the others, was more contemplative and atmospheric. No paint was peeled from the walls and nobody went deaf. Bruce Anderson again painted sonic pictures with his guitar, and Angela Hsu graced us with some nice violin work. Andy delivered some quietly harrowing sonic textures, which was both appropriate and necessary.

Nick Katich & Matt Watling

I don't know Nick Katich or Matt Watling, and I'm not sure under what guise they usually perform, or indeed, if they perform regularly, but for the memorial they played two or three Jim-appropriate covers, channeling Rowland S. Howard, who was high up in Jim's estimation. Did they also do a Nick Cave song? I think they did. I want to say that they performed The Weeping Song, but the intervening month has started to erase the details.

Turk Knifes Pope

I have a couple of recordings (now a couple more, since part of the dispersal of Jim's stuff included a table of free CDs) by Turk Knifes Pope, aka Destin LeBlanc, but I had never seen him perform. I find the recorded work atmospherically satisfying, and now that I've seen Destin perform, the same applies to the live show. Sure, it was just Destin and his laptop, but he produced an uneasy blanket of sound that drew us close and held us in its warm, scratchy embrace for the duration.

irr.app.(ext.)

I've known Matt and Richard for a long time, and I've been on stage with them during the early performing years of irr.app.(ext.). These days, irr.app.(ext.) shows are rare, and local ones even fewer and farther between. Matt currently lives near Portland, OR, and most of his recent performances have been as part of Nurse With Wound. Richard is a parent, so his time is not his own. On this night though, the two of them sat down facing each other as if no time had passed at all, and quite simply delivered the goods. From looking at the picture, one might get the idea that is was a somewhat conventional keyboard and guitar kind of thing. Anybody who knows Matt and Richard will tell you that appearances are always deceiving. The performance was simultaneously humorous and satisfying on a much deeper level.

Oh, I almost forgot, the set ended with a Swans cover because Jim was a big fan of Swans. If memory serves, it was The Golden Boy That Was Swallowed by the Sea.

Thomas Carnacki

Thomas Carnacki ended the evening with elegiac beauty. The piece commenced with some absolutely beautiful singing courtesy of Elise Youssoufian and Gregory Hagan, and then creaked and groaned its slow, sad way through clouds of strange atmosphere courtesy of most of the usual suspects (Jim might not have been physically there, but he was more present than any one person in the room), Gregs Scharpen and Hagan, Jesse Burson, Cheryl Leonard, Sheila Bosco and in the final moments, Rebecca Burgan on musical saw.

Bicycle wheels were played in tribute. Greg performed dressed as a nun (Jim had a thing for nuns), and our shared sorrow made the whole performance poignant.

 

Strangely though, the most powerful moment came after the music ended. As the last notes faded to silence, the silence grew and swelled, overtaking everything. By silent assent, nobody moved, nobody spoke, and time seemed to stop. We had all clicked into the same groove, which I guess shouldn't be surprising, since we were all there for the same reason. This is the difference between going to a "show" or "gig" and being part of an actual community. This is why I love these people, even if months or years go by without seeing some of them. Even if I don't actually know all of them.

The silence might have lasted for five minutes. It might have been slightly less. It might have been much more. However long it lasted, it was the most powerful thing that's likely to happen this year.

We love you and miss you, Jim.

 

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The Lookouting!

I’m touching finger to keyboard for the first time this year, and the month is already almost gone. The month has already seen the death of a friend and the inauguration of a president who makes George W. Bush look refined and harmless. Don’t even get me started on all of the new cabinet appointees. If I had a key to this particular cabinet, I’d lock them in so they could cannibalize each other in the dark. There’s a cathartic mental picture for you.

Speaking of cathartic, kick starting the year with a punk festival helped focus and hone all of my angst into inspiration to continue working toward the kind of change I want to see in the world.

The Lookouting, for those who don’t already know, was a festival celebrating 30 years of Lookout! Records, the label associated with the early days of Gilman St. in Berkeley, coughing up a plethora of bands like Stikky, Operation Ivy, Isocracy, Crimpshrine, and a host of others. It was also briefly home to the mighty Neurosis, not to mention the less mighty but more popular Green Day.

I spent so much time at Gilman St. in the late eighties that it was like a second home. I was friends with lots of the regulars, many of whom were either in bands or publishing ‘zines, or both. I volunteered to work the door, was a “stage manager” once, helped chase away nazi skinheads, and on a couple of occasions brought home itinerant European punks who needed a place to stay for a night or two. My parents were tolerant.

Here are a couple of photos from the old days, probably taken by Murray Bowles, whose camera could often be seen flashing away in the crowd. He would print photos, always in black and white, and sell them for a quarter. That said, they might have been taken by Wayne.

As the years wore on, I attended fewer shows. These days, sometimes a year or two passes without me stepping inside Gilman. Strangely enough, my stepdaughter, Eva, now goes to shows there pretty regularly. The torch has been passed.

The first of the three shows I attended was on New Year’s Day. I drove up by myself and as usual, got there early. It ensured a good parking space, but also meant I had to wait a bit for things to get started. To kill time, I wandered around and looked at the merch tables. I said hi to Lawrence Livermore and bought his book, which ended up being my only purchase of the night. There were some nice, screen printed posters, but I still haven’t hung any of the other posters I’ve purchased over the last couple of years. Framing things is expensive and wall space is at a premium. Gone are the days when I lived in a room with walls so plastered with stuff that the actual plaster was completely hidden.

My brother Greg showed up at some point. I looked around for my stepdaughter, Eva, but didn’t see her. She later told me that she was there, but outside hanging out with friends because she didn’t have enough money to buy a ticket. I told her to call or text me next time something like that happens.

My old friend Shayne, who was a fellow Gilman kid back in the eighties, was there with his trusty recording equipment to document the proceedings. In fact, a number of other people were wandering through the crowd with camera gear too, filming for a documentary being made to commemorate the event. A clip of the Criminals has already been unleashed, and it looks great.

Day One, January 1^st:

Black Cat Music

I wasn’t previously familiar with Black Cat Music, mostly because they didn’t come on the scene until about a decade after I stopped regularly going to Gilman. Their set wasn’t bad. Brady Baltezore’s vocals were relatively high and thin, and the music was in a melodic punk vein which veered more towards the rock end of the spectrum, mostly because of the languid, satisfying guitar lines. Their set was both a window into the later Lookout! period and a nice way to start of the festival.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Kamala & the Karnivores

On the other hand, Kamala & the Karnivores is a band that I saw many times back in the early days of Gilman. It has been around a quarter of a century since the last time I’ve seen them, and it was like seeing band-members go from being young punks to middle-aged ones in the blink of an eye. Yeah, there were lots of jokes about aging and comments about the surreal nature of being back on stage all of these years later. In fact, most of the other sets were similar in this regard.

The only record they ever released was a 7” on Lookout!, I hadn’t heard many of the songs in their set since the last time I saw them play. Their music is satisfying melodic punk, with just right amount of snarling.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

The Criminals

I hadn’t seen The Criminals before, but I’d seen singer Jesse Luscious in Blatz. Jesse is also a DJ at KALX and, according to Greg, who is a fellow DJ at KALX, an elected official of some sort in Berkeley. He also put on a hell of a show, piledriving through the audience and screaming in people’s faces and acting like he wasn’t pushing middle-age. In fact, his stage energy reminded me of the mighty Devon Morf. Musically, The Criminals are more aggressive than the majority of the Lookout! bands, and the audience really got into the swing of things too. They definitely get a gold star for most energetic performance of the evening.

Check out a clip of the show (a cover Fuk Shit Up, originally by Blatz, a band that also featured Jesse, and this time out featuring Ivy DuBois from Kamala & the Karnivores on backing vocals) to be included in the upcoming Lookouting! documentary.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

The Sewer Trout Experience

Sewer Trout was another band that I saw regularly back in the early days of Gilman. Sewer Trout guitarist, Jim Maclean, died back in 2005, so the band tonight was a Sewer Trout tribute band, with a guest appearance by Jim’s brother (and Sewer Trout drummer), Hal, on vocals. Sewer Trout was one of the more melodic early Gilman bands, and while not one of my favorite bands from that era, they always played enjoyable sets. The tribute band was heartfelt, and despite some off-key vocals, was fun. Hal got up and sang a couple of songs toward the end.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Tilt

The biggest revelation for me on Day One was that Tilt is a damn fine band. As with some of the other bands, Tilt came on the scene after I’d stopped regularly attending shows at Gilman, so this was my first Tilt experience. Singer Cinder Block has a powerful, melodic voice, and the rest of the band are no slouches either, laying down some driving, tuneful punk. The crowd response was ecstatic too. I’ll be buying their music at some point.

Most “Gilman” moment of the evening: somebody in the pit waving around an old Operation game – you know, the one where you have to delicately remove a body part from the game board without touching the sides of the cavity it’s resting in, with failure resulting in the patient’s nose lighting up and a loud beeping sound. I imagined somebody trying to play it in the pit. A barrel of laughs, to be sure.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Day Two, January 6^th:

I drove up early with Eva so we could meet Greg in Emeryville. Traffic kind of sucked. Greg biked to meet us at Pirate’s Press so he could pick up the boxes of his freshly-minted new 7” and throw them in the trunk of my car.

We had time to kill afterward, so Eva used her phone to find us a nearby restaurant. We settled on a place called Las Moles, which as the name suggests, specialized in mole sauce. I ended up getting a dish that consisted of potato and cactus drenched in a mole sauce that had something like 50 ingredients. It was excellent. The horchata was the best I’d ever tasted too.

While we were driving around, we spotted a relevant ad on the back of a bus. It's weird that a Gilman band would ever end up being advertised on the rear end of a public transit vehicle.

Afterward, we dropped Greg off so he could get his bike. He must pedal pretty fast, because he beat us to Gilman by a couple of minutes. To be fair, there was a lot of traffic on San Pablo.

Scherzo

I don’t think I’d ever seen Scherzo before. They came on the scene around 1990, and I think I was still showing up at Gilman pretty regularly then, although maybe I’m mis-remembering. They definitely have that Lookout! sound down, with their songs being full of driving, upbeat melodies. They played a good, if unsurprising, set.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Wynona Riders

Wynona Riders were new to me. Their set featured subdued, almost gothic, lighting and more of that melodic, punk Lookout! sound. For some reason, their music didn’t click with me as much as most of the other bands. Perhaps it was the vocals.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Surrogate Brains

Surrogate Brains, from Stockton, proved to be the big revelation of Day Two. In this case though, I’d seen them play before (not to mention owning a record or two), but had never considered them to be among my favorites. They ended up delivering a set of classic Gilman insanity, arriving onstage wearing safety gear which made them look like Caltrans workers, and continuing the schtick for the duration. The schtick also included inviting audience members onstage to hold cardboard prompts, and lots of other silliness. Musically, the sounded pretty damned good for an old band who doesn’t play regularly. They competently straddled the line between silliness and delivering the musical goods, playing songs in a variety of styles, from laid-back to aggressive. They also looked like they were enjoying the hell out of themselves. Best set of the night, in my opinion.

 Check out Shayne's recording here, here, and here.

Corrupted Morals

Corrupted Morals is another early Gilman band. Their 7”, “Chet”, was one of the initial batch of releases, and features artwork by my old friend Mark Tippin. I was looking forward to their set. My first disappointment was that Joel Wing wasn’t on bass (if for no other reason than he was a familiar face from back in the day and that I slightly knew him). As I type, I notice that he was out of the band by the time they recorded their album (which I don’t own), so I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that he wasn’t involved this evening. The other disappointment was the relative sloppiness of their set. To be fair, they’d only rehearsed a couple of times in preparation for this show, so the sloppiness shouldn’t be surprising, but it did detract from things somewhat. Other than that, it was a fun set and it was nice to hear some of the old songs again after all of this time.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Monsula

I can’t remember if I ever saw Monsula back in the day. The only recording I have of them is the Very Small Records (ex-Lookout!er David Hayes’ subsequent label) compilation 7” “If You Can See Through It… It Ain’t Coffee”, which also features Fuel, Thumper, and dearly missed angry punx, Filth.

This is the first time they’d Gilman since 1993, and after nearly a quarter century away, they got down to business with aplomb, delivering a solid, high-energy set of songs. They were Eva’s favorite band of the night, but at least partially because she liked the singer’s tattoos.

Check out Shayne's recording here and here.

Day 3, January 7^th:

The weekend weather forecast called for torrential rain on Saturday, and after looking at the line-up, considering the prospect of driving an hour each way under adverse weather conditions, I elected to stay home and read a book. Eva, who went, said that she liked Pansy Division but not the other bands. Below are links to the Saturday sets, submitted without additional comment.

Day 4, January 8^th:

I missed Saturday, and Shayne, who had been busily filming all weekend, hit a wall (figuratively speaking) after Saturday and was a no-show on Sunday. I definitely wanted to attend the Sunday show because of Avengers, and I ended up being very glad I did.

The Jimmies

Back in the day, The Jimmies only played Gilman once, or so they informed us. This time out, they were giving away their merch for free. I grabbed a CD and a 7”, and I’m happy that I liked the band, because it would have been awkward if I had ended up slipping them back onto the table after the set (yeah, I grabbed them before I heard the band, but one never knows if free stuff is going to sit there on the table forever or quickly disappear).  The songs were basic, no-frills punk, with a bit of melody and some nice guitar bits. Nothing super different or earth shattering, but their set kicked off the final evening of the Lookouting! in style.

Here's a 30 second clip uploaded to YouTube by a user called Lindsey's Untitled Rock Mag.

Juke

Conversely, Juke was a crazed juggernaut of entertainment, with a singer who, early in the set, shouted something like, “fuck the man! Fuck clothes!”, as he ripped off his garments and flung them into the audience. The music was a bit more aggressive too, while still retaining the silly Gilman Street vibe which seems to be the common ground upon which the majority of the Lookout! bands tread. The singer’s antics brought to mind the inimitable Devon Morf, who wasn’t at the show (fortunately, I did get a chance to catch up with him later in the month). We were also pelted with books, and I grabbed a Tanith Lee novel which is part of a series, which means that in order to read it, I’ve got to find the preceding books first. It’s a good thing I like books.

Here's a 30 second clip from Lindsey's Untitled Rock Mag.

Black Fork

Black Fork brought anger and aggression to the stage, and their set reminded me about why I was initially drawn to punk in the first place. At its most effective, punk is venting with purpose. Black Fork proceeded to vent with purpose for the duration of their set, and even helped us vent by tossing a piñata into the audience. The piñata seemed to evaporate in a puff of crepe paper and cardboard, spewing its guts into the crowd. I managed to grab a couple of bouncy balls (which I have since given to the cat) and a Black Fork pin. Their set ended up being one of my favorites.

Cringeworthy, the Cringer tribute band (sadly, Cringer mastermind Lance Hahn passed away a number of years ago) was supposed to be up next, but I heard that Kamala (who was scheduled to do double duty by being a member of both Kamala and the Karnivores and Cringeworthy), wasn’t feeling well, so their set was canceled. It’s too bad, especially since I’d recently dusted off and listened to my Cringer records and was pleasantly surprised at how well they’ve held up after all of these years. In fact, I think I might like them now even more than I did the first time around. We miss you, Lance.

Here's a recording, courtesy of Bay Area Punk Shows.

Avengers

Avengers have a long history, punctuated by years of silence. Singer Penelope Houston has a decades-spanning solo career too. I never saw Avengers back in the late seventies, but I’ve caught them a few times more recently (as the Scavengers), as well as seeing Penelope Houston play on multiple occasions. Their set started with Penelope introducing a punk from Texas wearing a Punks Against Trump shirt, and continued with a blistering set of songs which, for the most part, were older than most of the Lookouting! attendees. They even threw in their cover of the Rolling Stones’ Paint It Black.  Along with the Black Fork set, this was one of my favorites sets of the festival.

Here's a recording, courtesy of Bay Area Punk Shows.

Nuisance

Nuisance was familiar to me in name only, and their set was okay in a weird, laid-back, country punk sort of way. They even played a slow, boring country song (their words, not mine – I sometimes like slow, boring country songs). That was actually one of my favorite songs of the set.

Here's a recording, courtesy of Bay Area Punk Shows.

All things must come to an end though, and as the last note died, I found myself reflecting on the differences between then and now. All of the original Gilman kids are now middle-aged, so there was a lot of grey hair in the audience. Plus, many of the Gilman kids now have kids of their own, and peppered throughout the audience were short people with big, earmuff-style earplugs. Some of them had leather jackets and mohawks too. The torch has been passed. Notably absent from the festivities were a lot of the old Gilman regulars, including Murray Bowles and his trusty camera. Murray would hold his camera above his head and snap away during pretty much every show. He has been replaced by a generation of kids with iPhones, meaning quantity over quality. That’s pretty much a sign of the times, isn’t it?

The following week, I was wearing my new Gilman St. 30 Year Anniversary hoodie, and a park ranger (I work in and near a county park) at work noticed and recognized it for what it was. He was an old Gilman kid, but hadn't heard about the Lookouting! We nerded out about Gilman while his coworker looked on bemusedly.

Neurosis at the Regency, San Francisco, CA, 12/17/16

What better way to exorcise the demon of 2016 than to go see Neurosis? Personally, my year wasn’t that bad, but I don’t live in a vacuum or under a rock, so I’ve absorbed a bit of the angst of others. After all, socially and politically, this year was an overflowing cesspool of malignancy. Neurosis shows are all about expelling angst and emerging cleansed. This one was no exception.

Arriving in the city later than I would have liked, I found all of the left turn lanes on Van Ness blocked off due to some construction project (new condos, I believe), which combined with the lateness of the hour made finding parking a bit of a shitshow. I listened to a whole CD (this one) while circling, but when I did find parking, it was literally right across the street from the Regency. I could have stepped from my car, picked up a rock, and hit the façade of the building. Thinking carefully, I left the rocks where they were, and instead crossed the street, showed my ticket, and entered to the sweet strains of Kowloon Walled City.

After detouring past the merch table, I entered the main hall and caught the last 10 or 15 minutes of the set. I’ve seen Kowloon Walled City before, so I knew more or less what to expect. They sound like they share DNA with Neurosis. All of the elements are there, from the dirge-like tempos, to the elegiac song structures and venomous delivery. They don’t impress me on the level that Neurosis does, but they aren’t bad either. In other words, they’re an appropriate warm-up act.

Between Kowloon and Yob, I ran into Ryan, who owns this fine establishment, and Steve Von Till. We caught up a bit until we were interrupted by Yob, and then drifted into the crowd to witness what was the best Yob set I’ve seen so far (out of the four or five I’ve seen). The groovy, massively heavy riffs propelled the songs forward, and the more introspective moments kept things interesting. Guitarist/vocalist Mike Scheidt varies his vocal delivery from a full throated roar to a more restrained, melodic style, which gives the songs more depth.

I enjoy Yob live much more than I do their recordings, maybe because live, the proper volume can be achieved. Their riffs are like runaway construction equipment, transforming landscapes and leaving all in ruin.

Between Yob and Neurosis, I finally found my friends Wayne, Chris, and Kate, and we eventually found ourselves close to the front.  See a video from the night, courtesy of Wayne, here.

I was expecting Neurosis to have once again jettisoned their older material from the set list (I didn’t ask Steve earlier because I wanted to be surprised), but it turned out that their set was a mixture of old and new. They started the set with Lost, from “Enemy of the Sun”, which set the tone nicely. See the entire set list here.

There was an unfortunate oversight in that somebody forgot to ensure that Steve’s mic was turned on, so the first couple of vocal lines were completely inaudible, but once the issue was remedied, I noticed no further sound problems.

After chronicling a number of Neurosis shows here, I feel that I don’t really have anything new to say. This was my first time hearing the songs from “Fires Within Fires” live, and they were great, but I don’t feel like the album has really sunk in yet. My favorite song from the album (at the moment, at least) is the quiet one, Reach, and that was the only one that they didn’t play.

My favorite moment from the set was Takeahnase, from “Souls At Zero”, which truth be told, is high on my list of all time favorite records. When Scott howls, “we tried to tell you, now let us show you”, it sends shivers up my spine.

During the show, I tried to wrap my head around how many times I’ve seen the band. Lately, they seem to be playing the Bay Area pretty regularly. This is the third time I’ve seen them this year, and I’d definitely go see them again if they played tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out I’d seen them 30 or even 40 times over the course of their existence.

This is healing music for troubled times. Long live Neurosis.

Afropop Spectacular featuring Trio Da Kali and Mahmoud Ahmed at Zellarbach Hall, Berkeley, CA, 11/4/16

It has been years (probably around 20) since the last time I went to a show at Zellarbach Hall. In fact, it has been so long ago that I don’t remember who I saw there last. It might have been Diamanda Galas, or possibly Kodo, or maybe Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I remember that Motorhead even played there once, although I ended up seeing a show at Gilman Street that night instead, possibly MDC.

I’ve been a casual fan of Mahmoud Ahmed’s music since I stumbled across his songs on an Ethiopiques compilation, “Ethiopian Blues & Ballads”. Since then, I’ve picked up a couple of his releases, but my collection is by no means complete, especially when one considers how long he has been performing and recording. I was unfamiliar with opening act, Trio Da Kali.

This ended up being a family outing, since I managed to convince both my wife and daughter to come along. We also met up with my brother afterward.

The only photo I took the whole evening was of the crappy, phone variety. I didn’t even bother bringing a camera because I knew that photography was frowned upon at Zellarbach. That didn’t stop people from trying, of course, and it sure gave the ushers a workout as they swooped in and made people put their phones and other recording devices away. It was like putting out spot fires though, and they always reignited.

Trio Da Kali proved to be delightful, playing acoustic music with interesting instruments and featuring an phenomenal vocalist in the person of singer Hawa Kasse Mady Diabate. Lassana Diabate was excellent on lead balafon (imagine a xylophone like instrument with gourd resonators). I say “lead” balafon because he seemed to be constantly, exuberantly soloing, filling the hall with sweeping cascades of mellifluous notes. The trio was rounded out by bass ngoni player, Mamadou Kouyate.

The program notes reveal that “Da Kali” means to swear an oath or pledge. In this case, it relates to griot musicians and their pledge to “maintain their art”. To my ears, it sounded like they’re doing a fine job of it. I couldn’t understand the lyrics, of course, but they brought on a translator who explained some of the songs, and even went so far as to sing and dance a bit.

There was an aura of happiness to their set, and I popped into the lobby between bands to pick up the one CD they had on offer. I’d definitely go see them again, and there is something about their performance that doesn’t readily translate to the recorded versions.

Check out Trio Da Kali on Facebook here.

Mahmoud Ahmed, who is now in his mid-seventies, was accompanied by a band consisting of more traditional western instrumentation: guitar, bass, drums, keyboards, and a brass section.

The set started with Ere Mela Mela, which is the title track from his 1975 album, and proved to be the only song of the evening that I instantly recognized. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but there are similarities between his style and that of the aforementioned Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Both of their voices have a slightly husky, quavering quality that makes them sound so exotic to Western ears.

The blown-out quality of the one photo I took visually represents the waves of light emanating from the musicians. Ahmed seems to be glowing with unbearably pure light, and indeed, after 40 years of bringing light into listeners lives, he may very well be.

What followed was a great set of similar songs, which at times inspired the audience to burst into the aisles and dance. Nobody threw money onto the stage like the audience did at the Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan show I saw in the same venue (which is something I’d never witnessed before or since), but there was definitely a lot of enthusiasm among those of us who got to witness this rare event.

The recent death of Leonard Cohen, who was only about 7 years older than Mahmoud Ahmed at the time of his passing, leaves me wondering if this will be the only time I ever get to see Mahmoud Ahmed perform. After all, he rarely tours these days.

Check out this link for currently available Buda Records Ethiopiques discs.

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White Shark Fest Day One at Winter’s Tavern, Pacifica, 9/29/16

I had initially planned on going to both days of this festival, but in the end, the prospect of a long Sunday drive in the rain, not to mention deciding to go do something with my wife instead, limited my festival experience to Saturday evening.

This was a benefit for the Ocean Research Foundation, which is raising funds for a Basking shark study, although strangely enough, admission was free, so the actual money was coming from merch sales, specifically from the beautiful T-shirts created by the great folks at Cotton Crustacean. I made sure to buy one. When I wore it to work shortly thereafter, my boss told me, "you always wear such cool shirts!"

The Ocean Research Foundation is spearheaded by Vicky Vásquez, whose claim to fame is the discovery of the Ninja Lanternshark. She was, of course, dressed as a Ninja Lanternshark this evening. Learn more here.

Winter’s Tavern is conveniently located right off the freeway, and the décor is of the hodgepodge variety, with an emphasis on the nautical. I’d never been there before, and it’s always nice to check out a new venue.

Going to a show on Halloween weekend is always interesting. A lot of the band and audience members came in costume.

The only band on the bill that I’d seen before was Shark In the Water, but openers The Great Fish were a stripped down version of Squalus, who feature ex-members of Giant Squid, including Aaron Gregory of Cotton Crustacean fame.

As for the others, Gentlemen Ghost, Turn Me On Dead Man, and Black Cobra, the jury was still out. I’d at least heard of the latter two though.

Like many of the attendees, the two members of The Great Fish were in costume, with bassist/vocalist Aaron Gregory dressed as classic Aqua Man and drummer Zach Farwell dressed as new Aqua Man.  Given that the band was just bass, drums, and vocals, they delivered a powerful set. Gregory’s distorted, sinuous bass lines and Farwell’s drums drove the songs forward with irresistible momentum. The vocals were mostly aggressively howled, somewhat obscuring the lyrics, but since the lyrics are all taken from “Jaws”, I know what they’re about. Indeed, the band credits Jaws author Peter Benchley as their lyricist.

The band doesn’t quite have the delicacy and epic scope of Giant Squid, instead going for a more playful approach to things (as if that isn’t obvious from their lyrics). At the moment, the only songs available are two live songs and a rehearsal demo on their Bandcamp page, but I look forward to a proper release if one is forthcoming.

Gentlemen Ghost was more of an indie rock band. They arrived dressed in costume as well. They weren’t bad, but not that memorable either. I seem to recall somebody saying that it was their first show, but I could be mistaken. The fact that I can't find any sort of official website seems to back that up.

At one point, they had a guest vocalist sing The Monster Mash, although something went wrong with the temperamental microphone (possibly because he was gripping it too hard) so we got treated to what was essentially an instrumental version, followed by a do-over with audible vocals. The guest vocalist was also involved with a recent Godzilla comic (all sorts of creative energy in the tavern that night) featuring Godzilla battling against Greek gods (this one, I think). At any rate, everybody seemed to know everybody at this gathering, and I felt a bit out of the loop.

This was my second time seeing Shark In the Water (the first being this show), so I knew what to expect: outrageous, heavy surf metal, funny costumes, sparse lyrics about sharks and other dangerous sea creatures, and a completely irreverent attitude. They didn’t disappoint. The band peppers its performances with “shark facts” which are patently untrue, and most likely improvised. Hilarity ensued.

This time out, they had a CD for sale, which I promptly bought.

Between bands, we were treated to some shark trivia with various prizes given out. It helped pass the time while bands broke things down and set things up.

Turn Me On Dead Man are a San Francisco based psych band, and they set the atmosphere with smoke and lasers, which was cool except when one inadvertently stepped into a beam and got a laser in the eye.

Musically, they provided the audience with languid, sprawling heavy psych epics. The vocalist looked like he was ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence. I found my attention wandering a bit during their set, but it wasn’t bad either. Check out their Bandcamp page here.

Black Cobra was another duo (guitar and drums this time), but sounded more like classic Bay Area thrash metal. After all of the anticipation, I found that they didn’t really offer an already overloaded genre anything particularly new or exciting, so I cut out a bit early.

For me, The Great Fish and Shark In the Water owned the evening. Plus, I’m always happy to support events that benefit scientific research (especially given that I’m a science teacher by trade).

Note: Apologies for the worse than usual quality of the photos. That's what happens when a camera setting is inadvertently switched.

Saint Vitus, The Skull, and Witch Mountain at the Oakland Metro, Oakland, CA, 10/19/16

I’ve written about both Saint Vitus and The Skull on this site before. Both bands have their roots embedded deeply in my childhood. Sure, The Skull is a relatively new band, but since it features vocalist Eric Wagner and bassist Ron Holzner from seminal Chicago doom band, Trouble, they can definitely be said to have deep roots.

This show was my first real exposure to Witch Mountain. I’d heard the name before, and I think I remember wanting to give them a listen based on reviews I’d read, but as with many things these days, the idea got lost in a sea of information overload.

The thing about this particular tour that got me off of my figurative couch was the fact that original Saint Vitus singer Scott Reagers is back in the band. I’m not sure if he has permanently or temporarily replaced longtime frontman Wino, since they seem to trade off. Whatever may be the case, I had somehow not managed to see Reagers onstage before. I also have to go on record to say that I prefer Reagers’ voice to Wino’s. Don’t get me wrong, Wino is a good, solid vocalist, and his voice is probably the more accessible of the two, but Reagers’ voice has Wino beat when it comes to idiosyncratic character. Reagers sings like a man possessed. His voice is every bit as unique as guitarist Dave Chandler’s monolithic, muddy guitar tone.

It being a Wednesday night, I had to jump through a few hoops to get to Oakland, including the usual forty mile parking lot called Highway 880. We expected to get there late, but still managed to arrive before Witch Mountain ascended the stage. The Oakland Metro has moved since the last time I went there, but it’s only about a block away from its old location, so we found it easily.

Witch Mountain provided us with a set of heavy, sludgy doom metal, but the thing that really put them over the top was the vocal performance of Kayla Dixon. A search of the internet (metal-archives.com, to be precise) reveals that she has been trained in classical, jazz, and musical theater vocal styles. It was quickly apparent that she was a trained vocalist, and she was also an energetic frontwoman, prowling the stage like she owned it.

Musically, the band doesn’t provide the music world with anything terribly exciting or new. It might be that I’m a jaded old man, but lately I’ve noticed that the majority of the newer bands are really struggling to distinguish themselves from the thousands of other bands releasing albums in a similar style. Oh, Black Sabbath, what have you wrought?  That said, Dixon definitely lends Witch Mountain a touch of class, and one could easily imagine her singing for a jazz or blues band, or any other sort of band really. That said, she also knows how to cut loose with a harsher vocal style, made all the more effective by the fact that she doles out the growls sparingly.

The Skull followed Witch Mountain, and even shared a guitarist with them. Kudos to guitarist Rob Wrong for doing double duty. Also of note, Witch Mountain drummer Nate Carson is a published author, contributing tales to at least a couple of weird tales anthology, as well as having the publication of at least one novel (or maybe it’s a novella) under his belt. There is a somewhat rudimentary website here, and his Goodreads author profile here. I haven’t read or bought any of his books, but since he writes the kind of stories I like to read, I plan on doing so at some point.

Where was I? Oh yeah… The Skull. The band has immaculately preserved the twin guitar attack that always made Trouble so effective, with the ultra heavy, chunky riffing giving way to tremendously pleasing melodic lead breaks.

Vocalist Eric Wagner has one of those immediately recognizable voices, although during much of this performance, it was somewhat buried in the mix. Wagner seemed somnambulant or stoned for most of the performance too, although that didn’t take away from his vocal abilities. I just wish the vocals had been a bit louder. The first part of the set was devoted to original compositions, but then, after the excellent title track from the band’s one album to date, “For Those Which Are Asleep” (bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?), they launched into a quartet of vintage Trouble songs, Pray For the Dead, Assassin, At the End Of My Daze, and the massive heaviness of The Tempter. All of the old folks in the audience were writhing around in fits of ecstasy. I guess I was one of them.

Saint Vitus rounded out the evening with a great set of songs which were mostly pulled from the Reagers-era albums, with the exception of set closer Born Too Late (from the album of the same name, originally featuring Wino on vocals) and Fear (from the Children of Doom album, featuring Christian Linderson on vocals and crappily produced by none other than Don Dokken). I was nice to hear Reagers’ takes on these songs, but it was even nice to finally hear him perform longtime favorite tracks like Zombie Hunger and Burial At Sea, the latter complete with clinking bottle sounds intact, courtesy of Reagers and a couple of glass bottles. Too bad they didn’t perform The Psychopath too.

As with the previous set, the vocals were a bit buried in the mix. Reagers really seems to give the performance his all though, as if he is using his whole body to force the words out of his mouth. Guitarist Dave Chandler was the other focal point, with his iron grey beard whipping around as he sent cascades of notes spilling across the stage. At one point, he left the stage entirely and wandered through the audience. He also did his usual shtick where he plays guitar with his teeth.

It was great finally being able to see Reagers sing the songs that endeared me to the band in the first place. Hopefully there will be a Reagers-fronted album in the works sometime soon. One can hope.