Oh I like this song. Wait, what? The hell is everyone doing?
JDG was in town from UCSB for a few days, and wanted to check out Glass Animals at Rickshaw Stop. No arguments from me. I kinda dig their sexy jungle-by-way-of-Oxford vibe, even if every track on the album sounds pretty much the same. I figured it’d be music best appreciated live. And I was right.
Now… I’ve got nothing against taking pictures at a show. Before every phone doubled as a camera, we used to sneak SW’s little Sony into Bottom of the Hill, The Fillmore, Slim’s, and every other venue that once upon a time clearly printed “No Photos” on their tickets.
Before I deleted my Facebook, I felt compelled to document every live show with at least one snapshot; I still do that, to some extent, on Twitter. Now that I’m blogging again, I do it for…
At 9:00 last night I was eating a sandwich on the sidewalk parklet outside DNA Lounge when DH texted me: “Dude come up here you are missing something weird.”
Coming from DH, that meant something.
The “something weird” was the last entrant in the open mic portion of the 8BitSF evening. A weathered Tina Yothers meets Michael McKean from Spinal Tap in a flowy pirate shirt dropping a David Byrne staccato over aggressive video game beats. Not just weird, but also awesome.
Glad I swallowed my sandwich in two bites and ran upstairs to see the tail end of this guy’s set, but I was also happily marveling at the crowd assembling street level for the show in the main auditorium.
I stood in that damn line, and nothing. That sea of people swept through the aisles in a mad rush, grabbing anything and everything that had the RSD label. Despite being maybe 100-people deep, I still missed out on all the LCD boxsets. I left Amoeba without spending a dime, on principle.
At one point, I just stood on the upper level, staring down at the chaos in the aisles below. One girl, couldn’t have been more than sixteen, stood in the eye of the hurricane with tears streaming down her face. Happy Record Store Day.
Within minutes, eBay was full of those boxsets. Upwards of 200 bucks. My disdain grows.
The first show I attended this year was back in January at The DNA Lounge. It was one of 8BitSF‘s monthly shows, this one featuring a reunion of Oakland band The Glowing Stars. DH sold them as fronted by a “hot singer,” but I didn’t need any convincing. Going anywhere sounded great, especially to see some live music again. Even though I felt a hundred years old when I got home from work and sat on the couch, thinking how nice it would be to just stay right here until the morning and pretend that I was going to crack my books and begin studying, I made it out to SoMa.
I think the only other person in his thirties was the bartender, and I’ll bet I had at least five years on him. The place was full of eared animal beanies, technogeek t-shirts, and highlight-color hair. During the…
When our favorite musicians grow up, does it force us to grow up a little too? Or does the presence of music in our lives, invariably tied to a certain time, a particular chapter, make it difficult to stomach the maturation of the artists responsible?
Or maybe there’s a cosmic biorhythm that undulates among us. We’re drawn to music and the musicians that make it because of a more personal connection than we’d ever even considered.
When Joe Strummer found the Mescaleros, I found myself in college with two kids and a mountain of debt. The Clash was a high school crush, too tenacious and too much trouble to take seriously. In Davis, surrounded by Birkenstocks and protest signs, I encountered a world perspective that was more about reggae than rebellion.
Just a few years later, The Promise Ring was everything my rollercoaster psyche needed. But, just as suddenly, Davey…
In Idle Time’s earliest days, I was tasked with creating a punk rock primer for JH (not to be confused with JLH), who himself grew up on early 80′s SoCal punk and was, like me, interested in a retrospective. This was back when we played around with “The Institute” moniker as being truly indicative of a place of learning. Course materials included CD Stompers, crayons, and cover charges to countless pilsner-soaked dive bars.
One of those bars, Thee Parkside, is still soaked in beer and loud music, and, with the recent patio expansion, is one of the best places in The City to hang out and see live bands.
Last night, while scanning venue calendars for a show, I came across The Angry Samoans headlining a punk rock triple-bill at Thee Parkside. Were these the same Angry Samoans that appeared as a footnote…
Saw Mr. Little Jeans at Rickshaw Stop last night. She was adorable, and the set was pretty fun. But the night ended up being about a lot more than Scandinavian pop music (won’t hear me saying that too often), and the clear, black skies over Hayes Valley were humming long after the monitors got unplugged.
Truthfully, I’m in too optimistic a mood to complain about anything, but I’m also nursing a brutal hangover, so channeling that irritation into a mini-rant seems appropriate.
So setting aside how fantastic my Thursday night was, let me instead talk about how shitty it is to still be dealing with scenester scalpers.
I’ve been going to shows for a long time. A long time. And, of course, I’ve had to deal with plenty of sold-out issues: found out too late; didn’t have my act together; no money at the right time, etc. And after paying way
As a member of the local band Honeycut, Bart Davenport was a live favorite here in The City. As a current LA resident, now touring to support his new LP Physical World, he’s earned a place in the annals of my favorite live performances of all time.
The album is pretty good, and the first single, “Wearing the Changes,” has maintained its place in my New New Stuff playlist despite kicking around for a few weeks. It repels reorganization.
Last night at The Chapel was a good night. Reminder: I’m out of the pseudo-music-reviewing biz. All of us at Idle Time are. I’ll sum this up in The Point sometime in the near future, but suffice to say that the Institute’s efforts to rate, quantify, and chronicle pop music started to feel like homework right around the same time that real-world shit got crazy. Seemed like a foregone conclusion:…
Why? Clint Eastwood’s last western could just be his best. I love Fist Fullof Dollars and High Plains Drifter, but those movies just focused on kicking ass - Unforgiven on the other hand has a lot more going on with it (although it does have a few kick-ass parts too). This is a film about redemption and if it’s still possible to attain it after a lifetime of sin. Can William Munny lead a normal life on the farm and put the past behind him? Or will temptation lead him back to his evil ways? Beautiful scenery dominates this film and Eastwood lets it alone tell the story for many scenes. A perfect end to his westerns – Unforgiven is a classic.
Best Scene? When Will comes back to Big Whiskey during a thunder storm to avenge Ned’s death and we finally see the person he’s tried to make amends for. But Will knows it’s too late and so does Little Bill – “I’ll see you in Hell William Munny.” Will’s response? “Yeah.” He knows he is damned.
Why? It may not be anything like Stephen King’s novel, but I think that’s a good thing. Stanley Kubrick made it his “own” and The Shining will forever belong to him and Jack Nicholson. Both of those dudes brought to the table a perfection for their respective arts and turned a great early King novel into a pulse pounding exploration of the descent of the human mind into madness. From the opening shot of this movie there is a noticeable build up in tension that finally explodes when Jack comes smashing through the bathroom door with that ax, looking for Wendy. Like bricks, each scene builds on the last, and each one holds more and more DREAD until it all comes crashing down.
Best Scene? When Wendy interrupts Jack at work and we see just how much the Overlook Hotel is affecting him. (see quote below)
“Now, we’re going to make a new rule. When you come in here and you hear me typing [types] or whether you DON’T hear me typing, or whatever the FUCK you hear me doing; when I’m in here, it means that I am working, THAT means don’t come in. Now, do you think you can handle that?” – Jack Torrance
“Yeah.” – Wendy Torrance
“Good. Now why don’t you start right now and get the fuck out of here? Hm?” – Jack Torrance