Camera Phone Show Review #3: Grave for the Fireflies, Wilmot Proviso, The Fucking Wrath, Glass & Ashes, Dogs of Ire

The Glass House
7/14/06

The show must go on.

That's probably more of an old timey show business saying than in the current punk rock community, but the sentiment is pretty much the same. The idealism, honesty and urgency I remember from the scene in the 90's seems to have died out in recent years, what with the mainstream's faster and faster consumption of underground music, until you can't tell the media creations from the real bands anymore. However, there are still those involved in underground music that still give a fuck and will go out of their way to make sure things get done. They will bend over backwards to make sure musicians have an audience, a place to stay, and food if they need it. All this with little to no compensation for their efforts, save maybe a thank you note posted on their fridge.

Marty from The Party’s Over Productions did a great thing on July 14, 2006. He made sure that the show would go on. Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize there was a problem with the show until the moment Richard, Lindsaye and I pulled into the empty parking lot of Babylon, squinting and trying to make out the writing on the sign on the door. "Closed today!" it read in shaky sharpie-scrawled letters. We immediately called Rob who, like Oracle, helped us find the new coordinates of the show from his home base of operations. I have to admit, I felt a little like a secret agent. Apparently Babylon doesn't host shows anymore due to a liquor license issue or something. Without a second thought, the three of us hopped in our makeshift Batmobile and sped off back the way we came on the freeway towards Pomona, where the Glass House is located (thanks Rob).

As a result of our late information, we missed Grave for the Fireflies, which I was bummed about because I heard they've made changes to their lineup since I last saw them. They're a great band, and I suggest you check them out.


Wilmot Proviso

As I walked into The Glass House, said my hellos, and made my way past the merch tables, I was surprised to see there was a big empty space where the next band should be setting up. I had just expressed my woes to Grave for the Fireflies about missing their set, and I was ready to rock. There was an unassuming looking guy with an acoustic guitar gathering together a couple of microphones.

I'm the type of person who hears the sounds in music first, and I don't actually start hearing the lyrics until the fourth or fifth listen. Sometimes I just never ever catch them. I've had numerous conversations with Vivian about how opposite we are in that respect. The way we naturally take in the music we hear is totally different. She hears the lyrics first. That's why she can't read or study when there's music playing (unless its instrumental). I remember talking to her about Misfits lyrics, and being surprised about some of the verses Glenn was belting out over all those poppy chord progressions. Vivian and I were driving along listening to "Where Eagles Dare" one time, and a line skipped past me. "An omelet of disease awaits your noontime meal," Vivian deadpanned. I was shocked. "I've been listening to the Misfits for years. How could I have never caught that line?" I rest my case.

I only mention this because about three songs in, I was a bit baffled by Wilmot Proviso's performance. It was kind of abrasive. He sounded angry and in pain, yelling over the furious strumming of his guitar, and I was a little confused. Then it hit me, "Maybe its the lyrics." In my opinion, yelling without drums or distortion rarely works, yet the audience was responding warmly. In between songs, Proviso seemed fidgety and uncomfortable, inserting a lot of ums and whatevers into his sentences. During his tunes, though, he was in his own world, totally at home with himself. He appeared to be very sincere and earnest, howling about interpersonal relationships, but not without a certain sense of irony, ending one song with the line, "You thought this was about you."

Proviso said he's been playing music for around eight to ten years, and that if everything worked out, he'd be on the road for the next two. I thought to myself how going out on tour, perhaps doing a little soul searching can be a positive thing. I hope by the time he makes it back home, he's been able to work out some of those inner demons he might be dealing with.


The Fucking Wrath

As I was taking in the deep crusty sound of The Fucking Wrath, a few bands popped into my head. Drop Dead. Tragedy. Heroin. I can't lie: I've seen a million bands play this kind of music and no one has done it as well as those three. However, The Fucking Wrath tore it up like wild horses on a stampede, and the fact I watched their whole set is a testament to their ability and creativity. "To The Eels" was probably my favorite song they played, as it had a part in the middle that got slow and brought to mind some southern rock bands like The Sword and Alabama Thunder Pussy. There were some semi-political messages mentioned before a few songs, but I liked it better when they encouraged circle pits.

After they played, I spoke with Craig (guitar/vocals) and asked him how low they tuned. As I suspected, they were at "C". For those of you who don't play music, that's low. I mentioned Drop Dead and Tragedy and asked if they'd list those bands as influences. Craig sort of shrugged and said, "Yeah, all that stuff. But probably more like Motörhead.


Glass & Ashes

You know that part in Ang Lee's Hulk, where he beats the crap out of a tank and throws it over a mountain? Well, that's kind of how it felt when Glass & Ashes played. I think the Hulk is a good metaphor for the band here, because while you may think he's all muscle and power, he can be graceful as well. The same goes for the band, moving and shaking with intensity and ferocity.

Its really refreshing to see a band playing music with such high energy yet still challenging genres. It makes it difficult (and more fun) for people to try to describe what they sound like in reviews such as this one. I could sit here and spit out a bunch of genres like post hardcore, punk rock, and rock n’ roll, like you see in those pull-down menus when you sign your band up for a music profile, but I think we all know that those terms have become pretty meaningless and arbitrary. Does anyone really search bands on Myspace by genre? I mean, come on!

When I moved out to Los Angeles and started Modern Movement, Rob, Richard and I were having one of those initial conversations about music. I realized quite quickly that everyone's definitions of all those music types differ greatly based on region, personal experiences, and taste. Not to mention the definitions themselves change. In the 90's, emo meant something completely different than it does now. Same goes for post-punk and screamo.

Like The Fucking Wrath, Glass & Ashes is also from Ventura, CA. In fact, judging by some banter between Mike, the singer/bassist of Glass & Ashes, and Craig from The Fucking Wrath, they live down the street from each other. They also chatted about a crazy party that happened on that block, as well as some reminiscing about a different show they played with Dogs of Ire. You might think this was a lot to discuss in the middle of a show, but it was actually the most entertaining way I've seen a band handle a broken string change in a long while. Note to self: Play shows with bands you're friends with.


Dogs of Ire

Dogs of Ire remind me of being on tour. You know the kind: Its hot as hell. The van is cramped. You're somewhere in the Bible belt, trying to keep your sanity, and you swear if you can just make it to the next show, everything will be fine. And at the next show, you might see Dogs of Ire, or something like them. An incredibly intense maelstrom of chaos and raw emotion, all air screams and guitar chucking. I couldn't hear much of what was going on musically, but I think what makes them interesting is their physical presence in the room. Of all the bands, they were the only ones who had their own lighting. Even though it added to the band's mystique, I think it disconnected them from the audience a little bit. This is probably just fine with their fans, as most of them might be the type of kid that internalizes a lot of their problems and want to experience the show in a completely personal way. That is pure speculation on my part, so don't believe everything you read!

* * *

Not too long ago, one of the bands I'm in was playing a show which was put on by a promoter whose name I won't mention. He runs a website, books shows, and rents out hourly rehearsal spaces for bands. He's a really nice guy, but the way he handles bands is the opposite of punk rock. There was this band on the bill that was on tour, and they were asking him about gas money to get to the next show. He directed them to the owner of the club who in turn directed them back to the promoter. As you can guess, a dispute broke out.

This particular promoter claimed he had no responsibility to pay the touring band because he didn't book them, and that the club had asked them to play. All this while he's sitting at the bar counting cash from the door. Keep in mind, we never ask him to pay us because we are local, not a lot of people know about us, and basically we figure the money is going to other people that need it more. In this case, I asked him what the problem was with paying the out of town band, and he nearly bit my head off. "I've got expenses to take care of!" He exclaimed, and he repeated, "I didn't book the band, the venue did!"

In my experience, there's always been a sort of code between underground bands and kids in the DIY community that you should always go the extra mile for touring bands. Anyone who's ever been on a small tour knows this. The hospitality of strangers can sometimes be the only thing keeping you sane on a crummy tour you had to book yourself.

All I'm saying is, I've seen both sides of the coin, and people like Marty should not be taken for granted. He put on a great show in the face of adversity, and he always tries to help people out. Let's hope there will always be people out there that make sure that "the show must go on" isn't just an old timey saying that's lost its meaning.

Camera Phone Show Review #2: The Sword, Saviours, Akimbo

Spaceland
7/11/06

Akimbo started off the set with high energy and packed a punch. I didn't get a phone pic of them, as I spent most of their set shooting the shit with my friend Scott, who happens to play drums in Saviours.

In case you aren't familiar with these bands, they all fall adjacently into the genre of metal. Each act fills a different sub genre of metal that works well when juxtaposed together.

I can see why Akimbo was on the bill, since they definitely had elements of stoner metal in their sound. Although, it seems like skinny 16 year old boys with emo hair would get more enjoyment out of the chaotic drums and somewhat hardcore riffs than the decidedly over 25 crowd that filled the club that night. Obviously the appeal is wider than that, because heads were bobbing. I mentioned to Scott that I thought Akimbo could use a second guitarist to make their sound fuller (I've never been one to put much faith in the two cabinet method of making up for a single guitar player), but he gave a lot of praise to Aaron's guitar skills. "This is the best guy they've had so far." As I listened, it did seem that Aaron carried those higher frequencies just fine on his own. When they were playing, I remember thinking there was a lot of people there for a Tuesday night at Spaceland. I hadn't seen anything yet.


Saviours

I was astounded at how quickly Saviours set up and were ready to play. Though this impressed me, it was the way they began their songs that made it clear that they are already playing like a professional band. With a simple, "Are you ready?" from Scott, as soon as his sticks made contact with the drums, the whole band was playing. It was like they were one mind, one body. Not so much like you might see Fugazi reading each other's minds in Instrument, each member taking the lead at different moments, trying to figure out where the set should go next; no, this was a living breathing animal, and Scott was the brain. With no more than a gesture, he'd lead his band mates into the next blistering number, before one song saying, "No." to Tyler when I imagine he suggested a different song to play (pure speculation on my part).

This animal was angry, and Austin, its mouth and claws, growled into the mic with an intensity probably unmatched since Lemmy Kilmister first took the stage with Motörhead in 1975. This is not to say Saviours borrow much else from Motörhead's sound besides maybe attitude. I described to my drummer Rob that they played a more traditional metal than Akimbo. Traditional in the sense that guitar harmonies abound and the subject matter of their lyrics deal mostly with Satan.

Let me take this moment to say that Rob and his friend Lee were skeptical of Saviours before seeing them, being long time fans of metal and playing in many metal bands themselves.

From what I have guessed, Saviours use standard tuning, which is pretty unusual in metal these days. This increases the nostalgia (for me anyway) of the old days of metal before Fred Durst ever picked up a mic and tried to single handedly ruin the genre forever. Records such as Kill ‘Em All and The New Order come to mind as examples of true metal greatness before it was tainted in the late 90's by Nu metal.

Saviours manage to harken back to this older sound while simultaneously adding something new to it. Its hard to put my finger on it, and perhaps this is why they are so good, but I think it has to do with non-traditionally metal drum beats under very traditional metal guitar riffs. Of course, Scott is no stranger to the boom crash style made legendary by greats like John Bonham and Bill Ward in the days before metal had been fully established, but he also adds his own brand of frenzy between the lines which probably comes from years of songwriting with Yaphet Kotto.

I don't want to downplay the other parts of the beast that is Saviours. Cyrus on bass is like the muscled arms and fists, pounding sound like an ape on steroids, while Tyler on guitar is like the legs of a Satyr, keeping the whole creature lumbering along gracefully, kicking you in the face with cloven hooves.

After they finished their set, I took a moment to talk to Austin, the vocalist and guitarist of Saviours. I told him that my friends had been skeptical of whether or not they would deliver as a metal band, seeing as how they have so many years of legendary bands that came before, and when you play in a genre like metal, you have a lot to live up to. He nodded, agreeing that he was also skeptical of bands that try to tackle the genre. When I told him how impressed they were, he replied, "Winning over the skeptics. That's where its at."


The Sword

By the time The Sword took the stage, Spaceland was shoulder to shoulder. When they slammed into their first song, I observed the crowd as much as I watched the band. I wanted to know what, beyond the fact that they had the best time slot, made them the main attraction over the other two great bands that played that night. I thought I might be able to find the answer in the crowd, and I was partly right. I hadn't really noticed before, but during the other two bands, there was a certain contingent of person missing from the onlookers. Women. During The Sword, there was no shortage. And most of them were dancing.

After recovering from the shock of this revelation, I began to contemplate what the difference was. As soon as they kicked into "Freya" I realized: The Sword is sexy. Something about the groove makes the ladies shake it. In addition, I speculate that they use at least Drop D tuning, but perhaps they tune all six strings down a whole step or more. About 6 to 10 years ago, drop tuning was associated mostly with grunge bands and Nu Metal in the mainstream, a sound not uncommonly recognized as lame. However, lately this drop tuning is associated more with stoner rock and, in my opinion, when properly used in conjunction with blues scales, turns up the sex.

People were into The Sword in a huge way. They were cheering and flashing the devil sign every chance they got: during solos, during drum breaks, and basically at any point where all the instruments weren't blaring. Somewhere in the middle of the set, they got a little bogged down by a song probably intended to be epic, but ended up taking the shimmy out of people's hips. It was a song J.D. said was on a comp, so perhaps no one knew it as well as the other songs. I'll still put my money down that the groovier songs were the real crowd pleasers. All in all, I have to say that I haven't seen a band do an encore in a while where the crowd really wanted it.

After the last notes of the bass guitar ending on "Iron Swan" I weaved through the clumps of people trying to find Rob and Lee. When I finally did, we were more concerned about whether we would get parking tickets (I did) than how The Sword was. On the other hand, we all walked away feeling like we got what we payed for. I commented on how metal seems to be coming back in a big way. Rob turned to me and said, "these bands seem real down to earth, and that's something you don't see in metal anymore." To me, that's where its at.

Camera Phone Show Review #1: The Rentals

The Rentals at Bellyup Tavern
7/2/06


The Rentals

This was the worst show I've ever seen by one of the best bands ever. Only the acts that you truly love with all your being can really disappoint you the way the Rentals did for me that night.

As Vivian and I were driving down the 5 South, we were almost giddy with excitement for the show. Mind you, neither of us had ever seen them live before, and we both fondly thought of them, perhaps misguidedly, as the band that recorded Return of the Rentals. We had a few songs from that record on my iPod which we listened to with whimsical reminiscence. Vivian had loaded an extra track from their later album, Seven More Minutes which had different members and a totally different vibe. The collective scrunching of noses as the song came on should have been a forshadowing of what the evening had in store.

But seriously, how could we have known? The problem I have with Seven More Minutes is purely a matter of taste. They still sound like a professional band on that record, I just don't like the direction they went in. I mean first of all, Pat didn't play on it. His drum style is the secret ingredient of any band he plays in. Totally underrated. Secondly, the way Matt Sharp sang on Seven More Minutes had completely changed. He was super happy (they recorded in Spain?) and his mumbly, sad, mopey vocals from the first record were completely missing.

The point is, I didn't like what they were doing, but they still sounded like a professional band. When I refer to a band as professional, it has nothing to do with how many records they sell, what label they're on, or how much money they make. What I'm referring to is a certain focus a band has from the way the instruments sound to the way the musicians approach the presentation and performance of their act. I'm talking about that certain elusive bit of magic that changes an act from a bunch of people playing music together to one unified entity. Its easier to make a band sound professional on a record than live. When a band plays live, its harder to hide the mistakes. If they don't have their shit together, you can tell a lot easier than if you listen to a record (especially the big budget ones).

When Vivian and I arrived at the club, we both glanced at eachother worriedly. "The Bellyup Tavern?" The place looked like something out of a bad college movie. I half expected Rodney Dangerfield to come strolling out the front door with a woman under each arm.

Inside, it was bar rock central, complete with white baseball hats, muscular dudes, and ladies in miniskirts. The first band (Ozma) was playing, and I had to take a moment to let it all sink in. Ozma was definite bar rock. The music was boring drivel, but at least they sounded professional. Expensive equipment, lots of practice, and a good sound system can acheive this, even if you can't write a song to save your life.

At this point, I still managed to keep an open mind that one of my favorite bands of yesteryear would soon take the stage and blow me away. Sadly, this was not to be.

Vivian and I couldn't believe our luck when we found a table relatively close to the stage. We sat down, drinks in hand, and waited with baited breath. Two members of The Rentals came out first, opening the set with a string and keyboard arrangement that succeeded in doing its job of building anticipation (one of the marks of a professional band), and one by one the rest of the members joined in to a rising furvor in the crowd until the inevitbale climax: Matt Sharp emerged from behind the curtains! There was a burst of cheering, and I looked on, wide-eyed, excited, and ready to be bathed in the white hot rays of genius.

I suppose the moment I began to realize something wasn't quite right was during a revamped version of "Move On" when Matt began to sing in a completely different key than the music that was accompanying him. I could've taken or left the remix, that wasn't the problem.

Matt Sharp has never had the greatest singing voice. Honestly, that never made much difference to me because the delivery (on Return of The Rentals) was sincere, and the vocals were never the center of what made the Rentals great anyway. As the song began to build momentum, he began acting a little crazy. Perhaps "little" is a bit of an understatement. Maybe "stark raving mad" would be more appropriate. I'm not sure if he was nervous, trying frantically to distract the audience from his horrible vocal mistake, or if he was coked up on some kind of drugs. Vivian seems to hold with the latter, and after the song was over, I began to agree with her. He was maniacal, yelling like a monkey in high pitched squeels, jumping around with flailing arms, and overall frightening me very, very much.

Let me try to exlain a little bit about why this seemed so out of character from the Matt Sharp I thought I knew and loved. First of all, just look at the cover of thier first album.

This is the face of a mellow guy. A man who sings about simple things like moving away and hoping to make new friends. He's kind of awkward and quiet. Maybe even a little sad. This is not the kind of guy whose stage presence is like a hardcore singer, pumping his fist, and handing the mic off to fans who are screaming choruses. Matt, I don't know if you noticed, but there was no mosh pit. There was no stage diving. The only flying body occurred when you picked Rachel Haden up off the stage while she was playing bass, both of you landing with a thud.

In a perfect world, Matt Sharp would have been playing bass as well as singing, wearing a suit and tie that was a little too big for him, and delivering a deadpan performance that would sweep the audience away on dilectible moog laden harmonies. Alas, this is not a perfect world, and the Rentals we got was not the Rentals of 1995. It had its feet planted firmly in 2006. The legend has been made mundane. The godlike made human. But you know, that first record was so good, I still bought a t-shirt.

Why The Beast?

The Beast Within refers to the inner struggle most of us go through every day to do the right thing. Its kind of like what Luke Skywalker endures at the end of Return of the Jedi. Or you know, when Wolverine struggles to remain a civilized human being, holding back the berzerker rage that so often almost consumes him. Or perhaps more appropriately, when Jean Grey is teetering on the edge of the abyss as The Phoenix. As Dark Phoenix, she is a being of pure emotion, unhindered by rational thought. That's how planets get incinerated. Come on, if you could obliterate an entire galaxy, wouldn't you want to know what it felt like? Well, the challenge is to resist that temptation and subdue the beast within.