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photo by Anthony Musick |
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photo by Anthony Musick |
She seemed terribly bothered and I was tempted to chuck my Heineken bottle at her head. Jennell was amused by my affectation, but feared I might hit someone actually enjoying themselves. I showed great restraint by not giving into more base, reactionary, animal instincts. A surprising cover of the Yeah Yeah Yeah “Maps” was perhaps the most beautiful point of the evening, I needed something to calm me down. I couldn’t help but look at the blonde girl who was my personal road-block to witnessing this great show. One of the promotional ladies came up to us and asked us if we tried the shot. No. She gave us yo-yo’s anyways. They light up if you hurl them away from you fast enough. Ted Leo said “what’s been holding you mother fuckers back so long?” after an explosion of applause. Regardless of the visual blocks to enjoying the show, I was quite impressed, indeed. We continued on like rock stars, hopping in a cab and heading to Delirium on 16th street where our friend Aaron was spinning. We drank and danced the night away, and the first night of Noise Pop went down like it was the last blow-out night.
Day Two:
Mates of State, Aqueduct, Smoosh, Still Flyin’: Slim’s
Wednesday was supposed to find me at the Mates of State show at Slims,
a much discussed teen-band Smoosh was to open for them. My friend Kym
had arrived from Portland and convinced me that Osento was calling,
and I could not say no. A day to take care of my body and my mind, a
soak and a steam and I was raging for the rest of the week. This was
of course, after a sort of howling at the full moon from a mission roof
top. . .Sasha even sang a hippy song about the moon. It was beautiful
and we made a special moon tea concoction.
Day Four:
Les Georges Leningrad, Chow Nasty, The Flying Luttenbachers, Postcoitus:
Bottom of the Hill
I love seeing shows at the Bottom of the Hill. By far one of my favorite,
more intimate venues. Having seen the Gossip, Solex, and Holly Golightly
there in the last year I anticipated seeing the much talked about Les
Georges Leningrad. I rolled up with Jennie and Flood, sauntered in and
having found myself a drink, continued to order a tofu dog with grilled
onions and mustard that proved to be the best bar food I have had in
a long time. We took a walk around and looked at the records and shirts
for sale, I noticed a lot of super-young girls, and remembered it was
an all-ages show. Good. Equal opportunity, I thought. However, it seemed
as the time crawled past, there were legions of “can’t look
you in the eye” adolescents, and “of course you’re
holding the door open for me, I am the most important thing in the world”
coked up hipsters. The attitudes swelled, and I was feeling uneasy.
Postcoitus was an interesting synthpop duo with little suit jackets
with numbers 1 and 2 on them. When the Flying Luttenbachers took the
stage and began, I could feel the tension rising. Lots of elbows in
the back and feet stepped on later, I couldn’t hang any longer.
The Hella-esque sound was driving me out of my mind.
We had planned on hitting up Mezzanine later anyways for the Peels, Lovemakers and DJ sets, so we fled into the night. Parking and some 6th street flavor along the way, we finished our drinks and touched down at Mezzanine, the DJ’s were on fire and right when people started grooving on “Sex Machine,” that awkward silence pre-band performance buzzed. The Peels came out with a forward rock persona, it was catchy and on, but I was still somewhat preoccupied with what a crappy scene Bottom of the Hill had been. I really wanted to experience this “petrochemical rock” I have been hearing so much about. Utterly disappointed and by no means drunk, I stayed through half of the set and took off to meet some friends at the Cat Club, “Hot Pants” was well underway, I couldn’t imagine going inside. I waited outside.
I wrote this:
"Here’s to a night of “rocking” hipsters
with their guts hanging out, elbowing you in the back, underage (straight
edge?) aggro kids demanding their way through the crowd, drunk girls
puking in doorways hunched over. Rock is dead. Officially. It is no
wee thing, underdeveloped and full of potential and prospects. The DJ’s
were better than the bands by far, whatever happened to craftsmanship?
The stage is merely a platform she crawls on for show. Everyone ogles
her, what’s so new and/or interesting about that? An alcoholic
haze doesn’t help. It’s the same retro shit melted down
to mere imperfection (PURE imperfection?). an endless wandering from
one event to the next, middle parts quite hazy and imagined. Has this
experiment crossed into the mainstream and gone wrong?"
Granted, I was a bit jaded by this point. But I honestly enjoy music.
Heart and soul. It was difficult for me to bear witness to the tsunami
of ambivalence at these events. Coffin stuffers taking up space, not
even watching the band(s), immersed in their self-centered universe
of me first when people who might actually enjoy it or have fun couldn’t
get tickets. Where was the balance? I was thinking too much and needed
some rest. Tomorrow, I thought, is another day. . .
Day
Five:
Joanna Newsome, Nicolai Dunger, Nedelle, Okay
Swedish American Hall
I got to go sailing the bay with some friends. We drove to Sausalito
where the boat is docked, stopping at the market to pick up some sushi
and other supplies necessary for a three hour tour. It was nice to see
the city from a different point of view. It looked ironically like a
pile of rubble up the hills. . .Coming back to the dock around 5:30
Zack said he had seen Joanna Newsome the night before and the show was
amazing. I said I was going tonight, “isn’t it a afternoon
show?” I had absolutely no idea.
The evening free, I went to a friend’s going away party at Annie’s
and much karaoke was had by all. 1am found me, Kym, and Sarah walking
into DNA Lounge for the first “Pop Rocks” to get our groove
on. We danced most enthusiastically until almost 3:30am.
Day
Six:
Walkmen, Film School, 20 Minute Loop, Every Move a Picture
Bimbo’s 3645 Club
Eating more fish and chips and a pint at Kennedy’s Irish Pub/Indian
Restaurant across the street from Bimbo’s with Christian to prepare
for the wrap up night. Another fabulous venue, swank and posh. I arrived
as 20 Minute Loop was finishing their set. My name was not on the press
list and the nice lady at the ticket window got a Noise Pop representative
for me to speak with. I told her my story, and she was super-nice and
put me on the list herself. Ticket stub in hand I got stamped for the
20th time of the week and made the rounds. I ran into Ashley and Phil
who officially deemed me a “little person,” as the lobby
was suddenly a land of giants. Perhaps we will meet later. I grabbed
a drink and spotted a large table where one woman was sitting. I asked
if I could join her and asked her about the first two bands. “20
Minute Loop was just that, and I couldn’t figure out the emotional
landscape of Every Move a Picture, were they angry, sad, about what?
I have no idea.” Her friend came and joined her as Film School
was about to go on and they took to the floor to get into the action.
I sat and I waited, I was exhausted. But Film School is quixotic, and
succeeded in taking me to somewhere else. I was thinking of the Cure
and Radiohead while listening, slowly drinking my $6 drink that I was
not enjoying in the least. A bay area band that rarely plays out, Film
School was phenomenal. If you have the chance, see them. Interesting
lighting design for the show, the spot was on the bass and guitar players
stage right, as the lead singer stayed in the shadows, it was kind of
eerie not being able to see him. Perhaps he prefers it that way. When
the Walkmen took the stage and the little piano intro warbled in. “We’ve
Been Had” summed up the week perfectly:
"We've been had, you say it's over
Sometimes I'm just happy I'm older
We've been had I know it's over
Somehow it got easy to laugh out loud"
A great live performance, flawless. I was glad I wasn’t on the
edge of getting in a bar fight or elbowed, or not looked in the eye.
I was happy to be sitting at my table with a clear view of the stage,
unhindered by the trivialities of the week. The show ended early, and
it had finally stopped raining, slick San Francisco streets took me
home to my bed I couldn’t wait to get reacquainted with. I looked
out the window and thought it would’ve been nice to go out dancing,
but perhaps too Fred and Ginger for these modern times.