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A Chicago expatriate who's now almost a full-fledged Milwaukeean is wiping faces and taking names. Did you know that Veronica is the patron saint of both photographers AND laundry workers? |
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Saturday, November 21, 2009 Mistreated over the weekend It's been a week since I stumbled into Club Garibaldi at Stumblerfest, but it's also been one hell of a emotional rollercoaster ride for me this week. Lots of personal shit (and you, dear readers, know I don't say shit all that often. Fuck, yes. Shit, no) going down, not very very least of which was the extremely untimely passing of Brian "Lane Klozier" Barney (see last blog entry). It's the wee hours of the morning as I write this, and perhaps it will do my soul some good to rave wonderfully about a great garage punk show I hit last Saturday. Yes, I still have this blog to do, and I suppose I should wrap up last weekend before I set out for tonight's big rockabilly hoedown at the Mirarar tonight. I arrived at Club Garibaldi knowing nothing about any of the five bands on the bill that night (except, of course for hometown hosts, the legendary Mistreaters). All I knewabout them was that they were all good garage punk bands. I caught the end of Drugs Dragons' set - they looked to be a tight, but energetic standard lineup fronted by a surly confrontational bastard who stepped into the audience for the end. Good stuff. Next up was Digital Leather, who had me at the shorts worn by the guitarist. Lead singer/frontman Shawn Foree is wearing an obvious wig, and a winger vest he must have picked up at the sale bin at Sears. He's standing in front of a synth/keyboard, but while these guys have synthesizers, this ain't no Flock of Seagulls. The synth isn't there to make them a synth band. They're still a very tough garage band,- the synth is there to power the sub-bass sound that wakes up the room. They didn't even have to grow on me -- good concept, executed well. Whoda thunk this would have come out of Nebraska! OK, let's get the obvious thing lots of people noticed about Chicago's Cococoma out of the way now. Guitarist and co-lead singer Lisa Roe (her husband is the drummer and sings too) is a dead ringer for Kim Deal, from her wide open but incredulous grin right down to flannel shirt she changed into after their set. Except that as a guitarist, Roe plays rings around Deal. She's got that clearly confrontational but vulnerable voice, too. Husband Bill Roe -- who's set some kind of standard by NOT putting his drums up on the drum riser, making for a tight fit on stage -- is the chief singer. The band holds together nicely, pumping out a string of songs that have that wonderful danger of sounding like they're going to fall apart at any minute, but they never do. Lisa spastically swings back and forth while picking out her notes, and after their set, it's clear they've (deservedly) earned some new fans. The drums stay on the front of the stage for the next act, the highly recommended Hex Dispensers, out of Austin, TX. OK, really, has there ever been a band out of Austin that sucked? No, and this band doesn't either. Face it, when your town is home to a top music school -- one that's actually a public university so regular folk can afford to go there, you're not getting out of the basement if you can't play. And as long as I'm comparing garage folk to indie celebrities, the Dispensers' lead guitarist looks a tad bit like Thom Yorke, no? But they're not self-important like Radiohead. They're nothing like Radiohead. They're full of greap garage pop three minute statements, which they make, punctuate, and move on. That might be their only weakness -- that they have a formula (good pop anthem held together with gritty duct tape) but it's a good formula and they're sticking to it. Finally, the Mistreaters. They put their drums back on the riser, because they're going to need the whole stage for Christreater, who's all over it. 1-2-3-4, they're on. The crowd is moving, fists in air, swaying, the floor is suddenly slippery with spilled beer, christreater is throwing himself into the audience....well bust my britches, I'm in a good old fashioned moshpit! Out go my elbows to protect myself and my camera, out goes my butt like I'm playing defense for the Milwaukee Bucks. And here's the band, pusing through all their "hits" and goading the crowd to cheer for the bands that came before them, fans singing along, fans even firing back at the band. Good clean fun, I say. Wonderful night, complete with bands pushing their wares, including vinyl wares and a DJ keeping us happy between sets. And one of the DJ's had the Sparks "I Predict" on 45 -- a detail I caught early in the evening that pretty much sealed up the credibility of this event for me even before Digital Leather took the stage. Also seen in the past week: Two night earlier, I caught the Quinn Scharber band in the same venue. Not a huge crowd (it was a Thursday, they were up against the Fiery Furnaces, and they didn't even have Garibaldi's legendary chicken wings) but enough to appreciate Schaber's sweet tenor on his solid pop writings. I'm normally not real big on straight up pop, but this was good stuff: interesting chord changes and turnarounds, good band behind him. I liked him, and I liked the band. Good stage presence-- he understood his crowd was smaller and he worked with it. The band before him, Surgeons of Heat, had a similar thing going (they shared a guitarist/bass player), except they are clearly newer: they needed to get more of Scharber's feel for dynamics. Surgeons in Heat's songs didn't seem to have any dynamics, and after three or four (albeit well written) pop hooks, they kind of lost me. But all is not lost: the Surgeons have a good thing going, their lead singer sometimes breaks into a lovely but strong falsetto that is radio ready with the right production. But hopefully playing with Scharber will teach him dynamics, and building up a crowd. And back to Scharber: Just one thing, Quinn: Lose that hideous scarf thingy around your neck. Unless it was a gift from your mother or girlfriend or something, it makes you look like you're this sensitive poet guy that's needs John Belushi (or Worf) to smash your guitar. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to mentally prepare for Brian Barney's funeral. V'ron reported in at 8:47 AM ¶ 8:47 AM 0 comments links to this post Tuesday, November 17, 2009 Rest in Peace, Lane. Punk Still Remains
With all the "new" releases of material from The Beatles, and all the documentaries they ran on VH1 and such to "celebrate" this, we're reminded that those boys had a major rowdy streak in them, not just in trying new ideas and taking rock and roll to new ground and heights. But even in their early day, they were rockers who tore up the underground clubs in Hamburg, grabbing the frenzy of Elvis and adding thier British stamp on it. Before Brian Epstein got hold of them and polished them up for mass consumption, before they were considered the pop alternative to the supposedly grittier Rolling Stones, they were leather-clad lads, sweating and smoking and hollering their merseybeat as furiously as any of the Memphis seven did as they banged out hillbilly rock and changed music stateside. Brian Barney, also known as Lane Klozier, understood this. While some people might have been simply aghast at the concept of his band, The Buggs, all this recent Guitar Hero Beatlemania has reinforced that putting a speedpunk take on beloved Beatles hits was the spiritually correct thing to do. Those songs sounded great in his hands. After a particularly magical night at the BBC almost two years ago I'd written (from the heart): The Buggs have spoiled me. This punk girl doesn't want to hear these songs 'round a campfire sung by sensitive men who don't trim their beards anymore. I want to hear "Norweigan Wood" played fast and furious. I want to hear Badfinger's "Baby Blue" sung by desperate men who are more pissed than melancholastic about losing their one true love. Two hours ago, I'd gotten a call from a friend who told me of his sudden passing today. I called around, hoping this was some sort of awful joke, but it's not. Klozier apparently suffered a heart attack and died, at 48. That's too fucking young. Especially for a man who whose heart was destined to stay young, loud and snotty (the best compliment I can give, as those of you who know me will attest) for many more years. I wasn't tight with him, but I remember meeting him at a party at Chris Lehmann's (who drummed for him in The Buggs) and we hit it off instantly. We had very similar tastes in music, and respected the same sensibilities. We exchanged contact information, I went to see his band, and instantly loved them. I learned that Klozier was also a drummer, and before I knew it, there he was, behind the trapset for the latest incarnation of Guido's Racecar, fitting in perfectly with that band's ravaged punk bluesey burlesque. He viewed my photography and offered support and excellent critique. And one fine day, I saw his praise for my writing, which I have proudly posted at the top of this blog (with his permission). I was touched at his unsolicited words, and was proud that he said something about me that could very well be said about him. He was a great rock and roll writer -- did work for the Shepherd and other publications, but we both agreed that's not going to pay the bills. Not that he was about using his art to pay the bills, but if the $$$ started to roll in, he wasn't going to affect some stupid attitude about it either. And marketed correctly, the Buggs had the potential to bring not only smiles, but some cash. It wasn't to be, but that doesn't detract from some of the most fun shows I saw -- whether an acoustic set (yes, acoustic speed punk covering the Beatles) at Lulu, or just a great cover set at a street festival. And he was a friend of well-played, irreverent but emotionally invested rock and roll, which meant he was a friend of so much that I love. His passing is a loss for me, a loss for many of my friends who have played with him, and a loss for the SE Wisconsin music community. Rest in peace, Lane. UPDATE: According to the Shepherd Express, the funeral has been scheduled 2 to 5 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 21 at the Hartson Funeral Home in Hales Corners, 11111 Janesville Rd. V'ron reported in at 8:29 PM ¶ 8:29 PM 11 comments links to this post Monday, November 09, 2009 Tough choices made right OK, let's just say this here and now: How good are the Chop Top Toronados? Let's put it this way, I blew off going to see a surf band in order to see their reunion and catch the whole set. The Exotics were at Club Lulu Saturday night, with a CD of some lost wonders (and the only thing better than surf music is obscure surf music), Lulu is on my side of town, and the Exotics just don't play out that much anymore. But at least they're still all in town. (BTW, fellow surf enthusiast Rick Royale was at the Lulu, and he reports via his Facebook profile that the Exotics did indeed deliver a great show. Now if the wonderful Transistor Royale -- which includes Mr Rick as well as a handful of those Exotics -- would just book a show, I'd drop everything for that.) I'm still waiting for Czelticgirl to report on how the Mike Benign and Blue In The Face reunion went. I know she hit the show after the hockey game. Anyway, back to Linneman's, the site of Reunion Number 1. It was a packed bill -- opening with Dyna Flo and her Roadmasters -- with Chris The Colonel on guitar there as well. You could have called it The Colonel's night: it was his birthday, and you'd never know just how many birthday shots he put down because it sure didn't affect his guitar virtuosity. But even though he's a great guitarist, he's not that star of the show in Dyna Flo -- it's Dyna herself, otherwise known as Skirt's Jessica Knurr. Dressed in a red plaid shirt over a black skirt, pigtails in her hair, she steps onstage and belts out a honky tonk blues worthy of some filthy roadhouse just outside of Tupelo. Don Turner on sax and Felipe Calivera on standup bass complete this whole "Morphine's Tour Van Breaks Down in Memphis" vibe. Jess has the perfect amount of sass -- sass that's justified in a clear voice that grabs people and doesn't let go until they've gotten the point that she's here for a good stiff ..... drink. I'd like to see her on a double bill with the fabulous Deirdre Fellner. Floor Model is on tonight's bill, and they're a good bridge between this almost purist bluesy/country/honky tonk of Dyna Flo and the hilbilly sophisticated punk of the Toronados. They play a short but killer set. Drummer Dave isn't around tonight, so their former bass player stepped in on drums. He was supposed to play bass instead of Mark E Lee, but it wasn't to be -- so like the Colonel, Marky's doing double duty tonight. I reminded him that "back in the old days, musicians played two... heck three sets in a single night, so suck it up, dude." He does. Here's the thing about the Toronados that makes them so good: yes, they have the punk sensibility. Yes, they get psychobilly (they open with a cover of the Reverend Horton Heat's "Marijuana"). Yes, they proudly wear their Livin-In-A-Trailer look that says "And we can't even afford a spot Down By The River." But they don't settle for the simplicity of three-chord punk or country. The songs are downright complex musically, and lyrically they're clever and (would they be insulted if I actually said they were) poignant. You can tell that bassist Jeff O'Connor has jazz sensibilities, if not formal training. They didn't need to have a song that namechecks Charles Mingus to prove it, although it was one of my favorites of the night. The fact that they can pull off a Reverend cover only proves what I said earlier about the Colonel's guitar chops. (Spotted in the crowd), Paul "The Fly" Lawson pointed out, "Hey, that's the drummer from Bleed" which answered all sorts of questions as to where he gets his energy as well as attitude. And this was a band where we get to hear Mark E Lee sing. A lot. And it's a great voice for this kind of music -- bringing to mind the Vertebrats' Kenny Draznik -- a cross between sweet and salty that works with this material, although the country really comes through as his voice is just on the edge of cracking. (Look, the fact that I'm even mentioning this band in the same paragraph as The Vertebrats says a lot.) I was both floored and pissed that I missed out when these guys were together. Oh well. Maybe they can talk O'Connor to stop up from Chi-town at least once or twice a year -- the rarity of these performances will probably add to the specialness. Meantime, I have some sad gossip to pass on -- and beg people to tell me there's nothing to this rumor. I'm told that when Zappafest comes to Points East in a couple of weeks, it's going to be the last live music show there. Apparently the place has changed hands, and new management has decided against live music. What's going to go back in that room? A sports bar? (Gee, we don't have enough sports bars in Milwaukee). Points East is one of my favorite places to see a band -- clean cans, excellent (and resonably priced) drink selection, crystal clear sound (courtesy of Dave Gelting). It could stand a few more chairs, but parking's usually reasonable, and true to their ads, they really do have the best chicken wings in town. Please, please tell me this isn't going to be another Saylece's. Labels: local music V'ron reported in at 8:54 PM ¶ 8:54 PM 2 comments links to this post Friday, November 06, 2009 Playing it safe over two weekends .. And I'm sticking with tradition. And the safe and sound these days. Lord knows one would never musically call the Voot Warnings show 'safe' but I went more because I knew it would be safe in assuming it would be a good show. If it's a holiday, you can bet Steve Johnson will be booking either Voot or somebody like Shurilla, more out of tradition than anything else. And that's a good thing. It gets Voot playing back in Riverwest, where the old generation of Uptowner barflies (even those of us who don't have theluxury of just walking down the street) came out of the woodwork to see the show. Voot's halloween band this year was a simple threesome -- Voot himself on bass -- which he's been doing a lot lately, Vic Demeichi on drums, and Ron Turner on guitar. Turner is a good guitar choice for Voot: he takes those turnarounds and progressions and adds some really nice licks to them without being a hotdog or stealing the thunder, but good enough to get people to remember, "Hey, Turner's got some chops." Voot was the only one who dressed up: as the Cowardly Lion. Chatted with his lovely wife Rhonda, who assured me the Lion was part of a family groupin -- next day Rhonda put on Glinda's pretty dress and their sweet daughter went as Dorothy. Besides the usual Voot/Uptowner bunch, spotted in the crowd: Grant Richter, along with business partner and fellow intellectual about town, Rex Probe. Or at least I think it was Rex Probe. So after a grownup hallows eve eve, I got some sleep and spent theHalloween day shufling the kids around to the many partis they were invited to, all of which were in Bay View -- and Bay View had Nighttime Trick or Treat. (Our neighborhood's nighttime candy canvass was last weekend.). People, Bay View rocks. Stella made out like a bandit, and Sammy probably would have too if he hadn't been (or been coming for)the Pokey Little Puppy. He was really into being the Grim Reaper again, but he was polite. This weekend, it won't be hard to play it safe as regards music. In fact, it will be difficult to choose. Tonight, there 's a faceoff at Kochanski's between Danny Price and the Loose Change and the Grand Disaster, or you can hit Shank Hall for a Semi-Twang show. Tomorrow night is reunion night: and just what reunion I'll hit will be a last minute choice. Mike Benign and Blue in the Face is reuniting at Shank Hall along with the Wooldridge Brothers. Or there's the Chop Top Toronados reunion at Linneman's, along with a band that's been on my "Allright, must see already!" list, Dyna Flo and her Roadmasters. Stay tuned to see where I end up. V'ron reported in at 3:15 PM ¶ 3:15 PM 0 comments links to this post Thursday, October 29, 2009 My little girl is growing up.... She's cranky in the morning, just like her parents. She's bored with everything and (not so) secretly excited about it, too. She doesn't care about anything and she's worried about everything. She runs and plays and gets silly, and gets embarassed when any of the rest of her family gets silly. She's growing up, which means.... I'm becoming the mother of an adolescent girl. This week was Stella's birthday, and for some odd reason I agreed to a slumber (misnomer of the century) party. It was actually comforting despite my lack of sleep: the girls still play truth or dare (except it has become "Dare or Dare" -- these girls live in a time when it's just assumed you don't ever agree to give away your deep dark secrets.) They still stay up later than normal people would. They still can live on Halloween candy and soda and other crap. And they still play those adolescent pecking order games that thankfully seem to even out, at least at a slumber party. There were a couple of tense moments, but I was proud at how she floated about, trying to make sure everybody was having a good time and not letting anybody feel left out. Soon she -- and her friends -- will enter teenagedom, and she's both anticipating it and fighting it every step of the way. It's a train neither of us can stop, and we both wish it would slow down. But it won't, and we're managing it the best we can. And there's fun things about growing up, and about watching your little girl grow up. Today we opened her first bank account, even though she wanted to blow all her birthday money on some video game. I would have let her, but in good consciousness I couldn't let her spend that much without shopping around. She's mad at me right now, but she'll be glad later. She used to get mad if I called anybody else "Boo-Boos" (her infant nickname), now she cowls in embarassment if I so much as say that name out loud. I have to accept right here and now that she's going to be mad at me about a lot of things that she'll appreciate later. I'm going to have to say NO more often. And she'll do what al pre-teens do -- overreact and stomp off to her room over the unfairness of it all. But as I remember it, this is a period of her life she's going to need our unconditional love more than ever, and a firm guide more than ever. When I put her to bed every night, I know this -- she still wants a hug at night, even when ten minutes earlier she's cursing me for making her get her stuff ready for school the next day. She still needs that reassurance, and I'm happy to give it to her. Because no matter how much she grows up, she'll always be my little girl, and I'll still always stare at her in wonder that something so great (albeit complex!) actually came out of me. Happy birthday, little boo-boos! V'ron reported in at 5:05 PM ¶ 5:05 PM 0 comments links to this post Friday, October 23, 2009 Where I'd be if I could afford a sitter tonight Because I'd be a Club Garibaldi seeing my husband play in two, count 'em, two bands. Dr Chow, of course, and F/i. F/i rarely plays out, so this will not be a show to miss, even though I have to. Plus, headlining the thing is Couch Flambeau, and they don't play out all that often either. Besides my DH, Jay Tiller and Rusty Olson will be doing double duty, swapping instruments (drums to guitar and bass to drums, for F/i and Couch Flambeau, respectively). Nah, I'll be at the Milwaukee County Zoo for "Boo at the Zoo" -- an event I promised the kids I'd take them to long before this show was booked. And each kid gets to pick a friend to go with us, so I can't disappoint them. Last night we carved our pumpkins, and Sammy was all about Ninjas and Bionicles lately ( you can see he combined both.) Next post will feature Stella's pumpkin. But hopefully somebody at Garibaldi will be rolling tape. V'ron reported in at 2:19 PM ¶ 2:19 PM 0 comments links to this post Tuesday, October 20, 2009 Plenty of family tradition So, what do I do after I get mentioned as a music writer/photog who "documents what is happening better than any legit publication...">? I blow off art and music and spend quality time with my kids! Friday night was Gallery Night, which I normally would have taken in, but it was also the annual Halloween Glen at Hawthorne Glen, a lovely little alternative to haunted houses that MPS puts on, and our family tradition starts right on the shuttle bus. "Penguin Lady" is the bus chaperone, and she and Stella bonded fromt eh first time we did this six years ago. (Penguin Lady still remembers her). Sammy's oblivious to this, but no matter. He's the one who's ready with a joke when the guide at Hawthorne Glen asks for jokes (and, they're hysterical in that they're not funny...). He's the one who wants to be the volunteer at all the stops. My favorite this year: Name that Scat! where the kids were presented with photographs of, well, fertilizer, and they had to guess which animal left it. Sammy and Stella liked the station about the leeches, but I was also partial to the "Skunk Fu" station, where a pair of costumed skunks with elegant British accents taught the kids how to warn and then spray enemies with their skunk juice. Afterwards, more tradition that wasn't planned kicked in. Last year, we picked up some packaged pumpkin seeds at the snack station, and they might as well have been "salt seeds." They were saltier than salt. "UGGGHHHHH," we had said aloud, "..... but, hey, lemme have some more of those..." We were both disgusted and yet intrigued by them. Stella wanted to do it again this year. They haven't gotten any less salty this year. Next day was the last South Shore Farmer's Market, and they ended it with the tradition performance of the Band of South Shore ("BOSS") a marching band comprised of middle and high school kids from the Bay View Area. This band is pretty good. They started with a few popular songs (of course, with the Boss himself, doing Springsteen's "Born in the USA") and moved on to Van Morrison and such. Then they finished with a pile of Mowton hits that they said they did last year. You could tell they'd been playing the Mowtown longer because they were better at it -- depsite the fact that the Mowtown material and arrangements were more challenging. I noticed this one clarinet player smoking a horn run in Stevie Wonder's "Superstition," and it made me forget that this band was almost upstaged by their terrific drumline. The band conducter explained that most of the kids in the drumline were in the regular band, but also learned how to do drums -- which is a refreshing change from the way I remember kids being guided to the drums: use dto be that the totally non music kids were relegated to drums, and every now and then one would shine and end up being a metal or punk drummer. Now it seems that drums are recognized as a musical instrument and that's a good thing -- because they are. And there seems to be a coolness factor in being in the drumline that's only going to help produce more talent. Face it, when I was growing up, marching band was for geeks, and I suspect there's still a geek factor. But it's also where it all begins. It's where you learn not only to play your instrument, it's where you learn how to be in a band, to work together, to be tight -- and I love a good, tight marching band as much as a love a good tight hardcore punk group -- for the same reasons. There's a lot to be said for tradition. Labels: local music V'ron reported in at 7:37 AM ¶ 7:37 AM 0 comments links to this post Friday, October 16, 2009 Recessionary Trashfest - Au Cointraire! Every couple of years or so, TrashFest gets a little low key, and this was one of those years. Only the most hardcore of trashy TrashFest denizens made it out this year. "I guess with Obama being elected, we don't have a lot to complain about," mused Dan Mullen, who played bass with Mark Shurilla's Electric Assholes at the close of the night. Au Contraire, Mylz! That's why this year's Trashfest was so especially trashy! Haven't you heard, we're in the middle of a recession -- duh! --TrashFest is more relevant than ever, even if there were only about 20 non-playing or non-musicians piled into the smoky recesses of the Globe South (otherwise known as the basement of Liquor Sweets) to toast it. Dynamic Improvisational Consortium (Dr Chow's Love Medicine disguised as a bunch of jam rock geeks, all playing instruments they don't normally play) started it off with some Steely Dan song that I didn't recognize (mostly because it sounded more like a Tom Waits song in both style and delivery). Then they played that old Fleetwood Mac song (back before Fleetwood Mac got all Californey on us with Stevie and all) "Oh Well" and perennial TrashFest dancer Primativa put forth one of her intrepretive modern movements. That bled into a chance for Dr Chow to step down while she gave it to us to a recorded Fleetwood Mac song, and to work out a deal with a couple of Kenocore bands. I need to explain, to non-Wisconsinites, or to non-white trashy folk, about Kenosha, Wisconsin. Remember the last big recession -- the late 70s/early 80s -- the "Roger and Me" recession? Remember when our part of the country got saddled with the nickname "The Rust Belt" because all our cities and factories just closed up shop leaving thousands job (and home) less? Then we all started beefing up our intellectual property, we re-tooled, we got ourselves some Starbuckses, and we all kind of bounced back. (Well, at least for a decade and a half). Well, um, Kenosha, Wisconsin kind of forgot to do this. They haven't hit the 2008-09 recession because they're still in the "Roger and Me" recession. Kenosha still has a crappy unemployment rate, they still have a reactionary police force, they still are governed by the three right-wing officials who haven't lost their house, and, well, Kenosha still sucks. Of course, all this breeds the one really great thing Kenosha has going for it: a drop-dead killer hardcore punk scene. Great hardcore punk doesn't come out of places where things are going great. And since things have been sucking in Kenosha for quite some time, the KenoCore scene has been brewing and growing for quite some time. This explains why I've written before about how great Pistofficer is, and how they're keeping KHCP (Kenosha Hard Core Punk)alive, But for many in the crowd tonight, this was their first exposure to the lively, tight anthemic stage show Frank and the boys put out. Frank starts off the set standing on his head, and they take it from there. Changing instruments, strutting all over the stage, understanding that getting crap thrown at you is a compliment at TrashFest -- people I talked to were overjoyed that this wasn't just a one-off TrashFest band, they're playing their regular set. TrashFest emcee Darrell Marten said afterwards that they can't hold a candle to the late, great king of Kenocore, Beautiful Bert, but I say "au contraire," Darrell! They've picked up that candle and turned it into a torch they carry well. It was during the Nervous Virgins set that the zit of this recession was finally popped. Eric Griswold and his crew played a standardly clever set (opening with an ode to a girlfriend who can pay the rent and bills), Eric's played enough of these gigs to know that anything can happen on the "dance floor" (what with all that trash strewn about) but one particular audience member really decided to take out her angst on some of the trash. Gripping anything she could find that was longer than it was wide, "Christine" whacked the living bejeezus out of a plastic christmas lawn ornament with such furor that the rest of us were all kind of worried that the band (oh, to hell with the band, what about us?) might get hit with some schrapnel. Really -- she started with a guitar, moved to an old mike stand, and with each whacking implement she would choke up on it between hits to make sure she got maximum power between the fulcrum that was her body and the target. This was indeed a time that the Nervous Virgins had every right to live up to their name. The only "artist" you could possibly put on stage after this was Madison's Art Paul Schlosser, who's kind of a cross between Wesley Willis and Jonathan Richman. He's gleefully oblivious to what just happened before his set, he's singing a song that goes "She's Really Pretty (But Her Boyfriend's Mean), and he's apparently gleefully oblivious to the recession as he valiantly tries to sell his merch. (Dear boy, he actually has CDs and T Shirts and artwork that nobody can afford to buy.) So while we're all wrapping our heads around this guy who isn't affected by the recession because he's ALWAYS been dirt fucking poor singing and playing his kazoo, "Christine" is taking a breather from beating the crap out of christmas ornaments, and Fly is wondering whether to give him more time, since two bands have yet to show up. So Eat The Mystery performs the miraculous task of bringing us back toreality. Their schtick tonight is "Surgeons of Precision" and they offer the crowd their solution to "All Your Problems." Surgery! Anesthetized by god knows what in a pile of sinister looking liquor bottles, audience volunteers came up on stage to be operated on and receive anything from a new pair of eyes to a new asshole. I think Angie's been on a nursing kick in general, lately -- that's been her costume for a few ETM shows now. And who wouldn't let Paul Setser improve upon them? All I could think of the whole time was some old biblical quote about how if your eyes are your problem, plucking them out. Ouch. And finally, even though it was kind of early (Midnight is kind of early for TrashFest, but what can we say? We're old, and this is the recession, even TrashFest has to scale back) the Electric Assholes, perennial TrashFest closers, hit the stage. No Mr Shiny Pants this year, instead Bob Jorin was playing bass, which meant they had to find a drummer. No shortage of drummers in this crowd. Andy Pagel joined the band for a few tunes, including a really painful "Cold Turkey" and then Rob McCuen took the sticks just in time to cover the Who (which is normally Andy's turf), and then a really sorry ass version of Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll." Miles, who figured it out just in time, seems to have trimmed that atrocious beard of his for the occasion. (Yes, friends, he's my friend and I -- and all of his friends -- tell him to his face just how uncomplimentary to his chisled features that awful face hair is.) We went home before 1 am (God, we're getting old). And so ends another TrashFest. V'ron reported in at 2:47 PM ¶ 2:47 PM 0 comments links to this post From Low Trash to High Art After TrashFest, I had to give myself an artistic and spiritual enema, and thus my friend Julie and her kid treated me and mine to a lovely Sunday afternoon at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Julie is a member, and on Sunday afternoons the museum has "Drop in Art" -- where you can pop in and work on an art project using either tools, techniques, or subject matter related to either something from the permanent collection or the current exhibit. I thought it was perfect to see the Warhol exhibit the day after TrashFest, if only because Warhol made a career of turning everyday stuff (often trash -- whether that trash was rich white folk, soup cans or NYC junkies) into high art. And i have to agree with the critics who are saying this exhibit is important because this was probably one of Warhol's best periods, even if it wasn't his most famous or popular. From the first self portrait that almost gleams and glitters, you can see that the final decade of his life was almost a conglomeration of his entire career. The kids were bored, I liked it. But it was still heartening to know that the kids were excited to go to the art museum. Stella has certain pieces she likes to see, and Sammy took his turn in the infinity room. MAM has quite a good collection of modern/contemporary art, which the kids actaully enjoyed. While they did their art projects, I had a nice time checking out the Haitian art (MAM's collection is extensive) as well as the German impressionists favored by Mrs. Bradley, a major benefactor to the museum. It was all the cultural medicine i needed. The day before, we accepted it was fall and headed to Swan's Pumpkin Farm to pet animals, go into mazes, and pick our pumpkins. It's not that far out of town, but far enough that the pumpkins are only 19 cents a pound, so we could get some choice big ones. It was a very wholesome way to spend the day before heading for the trash at night. And although I'm usually all about getting from one place to another, I didn't mind getting stuck behind this slow moving vehicle as I left. V'ron reported in at 2:30 PM ¶ 2:30 PM 0 comments links to this post Monday, October 05, 2009 Doing the Math at a Comfortable Rock and Roll Reunion I didn't go to my 30th year class reunion at Rich Central High School. For one thing, I coudn't afford it. I'm unemployed, remember. Plus, while I would have loved to have seen and chatted with most of the people who showed up (none of the assholes I hated were there, as far as I could tell), with the exception of a few people I'm connected with on Facebook anyway, this wasn't my crowd. I liked about 5% of the people at Rich Central, which, doing the math, amounted to about 80 people. That's all well and good, but I knew that ratio would be the same wherever I went to college. That's why I didn't go to a small private school. That's why I chose U of Illinois, with its 30K undergrads, and yes, I ran across HUNDREDS of people I liked/loved. And a good portion of them were Vertebrats fans. So when the Vertebrats decided to have a "last" (oh, we'll discuss that later) reunion show, I dropped my independent pride and accepted the offers of people to give me a place to stay, meals (and drinks, don't forget drinks) on them, and general open arms. I decided to load up my GPS with plenty of caches along I-57 and make a quick day trip to Champaign for the 30th Anniversary Reunion of probably the most memorably great band the Champaign has produced. (Uh, guys, it's not like you were the kings of marketing anyway, but all this "Thirty Years" stuff is not exactly something your target demographic wants to be reminded of. We were all doing the math: hmmm, we were in our late teens/early 20s in your heyday, so 19 plus thirty, carry the one..... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I can't tell you how many times I heard the phrase "30 years? Jesus." Pass the ibuprofen.) My darling hosts, Cynthia and Ernie let me get settled into their living room couch, and it was off to the Esquire to dine with Wendy and Berni. Wendy and Cynthia were dance floor denizens at Vertebrats shows; Ernie was to Cynthia the cute guy who worked at the record store (there were, come to think of it lots of Cute Guys Behind The Record Store Counter in Champaign-Urbana); Berni was the bass Player for the B-Lovers, Wendy and Cynthia (along with Tina and Mimi and Melissa and Becky and Ile and ......) a bunch of college girls who between songs and beers discussed everything from that damn paper that was due Monday to that new album by the Soft Boys. All of them, as I remember, were kickass writers. I spent dinner contemplating that the Esquire was no longer just an old man banker joint in downtown Champaign, and as I looked at the menu I had to wrap my head around "Oh, the Esquire has a kitchen." We setteled into a nice table at the HighDive, the venue for the reunion. The fabled Mabel's is now closed, but this place had some Vertebrats history behind it anyway. It used to the the Illini Theatre, a porn movie house (remember, back then you usually had to go to a theater to see porn) and was the site of probably the most used of Vertebrats promo pictures -- the four of them, looking cooly sheepish, underneath a sign which boasted "Continuous Shows." They should have issued name tags, like a real class reunion because between new haircuts, (and new hair color!), gained and lost weight, new glasses (or lack of them), and just the changes that THIRTY YEARS makes (do the math) wreaks on people, plus, this was a typical bar so it was dark. Lots of squinting going on, and fortunately, nobody though it was rude to ask, "And what was your name again?" The 'Brats had played the night before, so a lot of folks had a bit of advantage on us. (Milktoast and the Outnumbered also played...). So the band takes the stage and amazingly enough, it didn't seem like thirty years ago today, we all just gravitated to the spots near the stage we always did, and fell naturally into our awkward, swaying early 80s mode of "dancing." The band says, "Hi, we're the Vertebrats" and jump right into "Johnny Avante" and instantly I'm 20 years old again. Nothing seems to have changed. They sound the same, shit, after all these years a CU soundman STILL can't deliver monitor good enough for Matt Brandabur to hear himself (unless plugging his ear with his finger is just now a force of habit, like pushing up your glasses even when your contacts are in). Doesn't matter, he still has his guitar chops and still can flip off riffs that take normal people years of practice to get right. (Truth be told, a few literally minor chord biffs, but they were the kind where that chord was a seventh or ninth or something, and he just played a straight up chord instead. We all knew because we know these songs like the back of our hand, but we didn't care.) Kenny Draznik (is he "Ken" now, or do we still call him Kenny when he's on stage) still has that perfect garage band voice: not too sweet, not too raspy, just everyman enough to be sincere and believable, even though he's probably gotten over all those broken hearts and frustrations with the phonyness of the world. Jimmy Wald is not on drums tonight. Apparently he really wanted to play guitar this whole time, and so the 'Brats brought in John Richardson, who is a good enough drummer. (It's OK John, you don't have to play the drums exactly like Wald did. Nobody ever mistook Jimmy Wald for Simon Phillips. So just because Jimmy would have never noticed, much less used those two floor toms you bothered to load in doesn't mean you can't.) No Roy Axford tonight: death in the family took precedence, and that was sad. Axford (again, not John Entwistle here) was part of the whole Vertebrats personality, what with those jowls, that 50s badass biker look, and the deadpan way he'd deliver "This is Not Earth." Only big surprise was that unlike the "last" reunion I saw (that was fifteen years ago or so), they did some covers! A little Neil Young, a touch of CCR, Johnny Rivers' "Secret Agent Man", and even a Stones cover. Doing that wrapped it up, because here's the thing about this show, and the Vertebrats in general. Their songs were timeless. You can't really call them an 80s band because they were just a darn good, straight up American rock and roll band that wrote and played very good songs. Fundamentally they were a good garage band, in the songwriting vein of (their claimed influences) of the Flamin Groovies, most British Invasion bands, and I'll also suggest they hit pop perfection on the level of Sonny Bono (if they never covered "Needles and Pins" they should -- and they'd pull it off). If you're reading this, and you weren't there (either this weekend or in 1981), and you don't believe me, go toParasol Records and drop ten bucks on their CD. You'll wonder why they never hit it big. Because they had it all: good songs, good playing, great onstage presence that was natural, not contrived, and they were approachable guys to boot. But when they played Saturday night, it was timeless, in a very comfortable way. In a "Hey, they can do covers at a reunion show and it's just like we were at Mabel's early in their career" sort of way. In a very "Hey, I'm cleaning out this closet and I found these old shoes, and they still fit, and they still feel great, and I can dance in them too!" kind of way. That's how comfortable the music was. I put my drink up on the stage just like I did at Mabel's 30 years ago. They brought up Kenny's dad to read Jimmy his last rites for "Electric Chair", they brought up achorus of fans to sing along with "Big Yellow Bus" and in the crowd I could hear everybody singing along to almost every song, just because after thirty years, it was like riding a bicycle. Once these songs screwed their way into your head they were there to stay. They had nothing to prove to anybody. We were there to be 20 again, and maybe remember that some things -- and people -- never really get old. The second to last song -- the Stones cover -- was "The Last Time" and I'm wondering if they chose that one to send a message. After all, the word out was that this was indeed The Last Time, the Last Reunion Show, blah blah blah. But that's the title of the song. The lyric at the end of the chorus is: "Maybe the last time, I don't know....." And that was a Rolling Stones song, and how many "Last Rolling Stones Tour" shows have you been to? (I saw the "Last Rolling Stones tour -- at Soldier Field in '78). But I digress. If for no other reason, you guys can't let a Roy-less show be your last. Afterwards, we all chatted up and headed over to the Cowboy Monkey, where Friday's show (that I missed) was, to see Brad Elvis's latest band, The Handcuffs. Brad Elvis was one of the Elvis Brothers back in the 80s (and the name pretty much tells you what they were like). I didn't realize what a terrific drummer Brad Elvis was/is. Animated and manic, and probably too much for this band. The Handcuffs are one of those bands I've written about before: very very good at what they do, and not my cup of tea. I couldn't figure out exactly why for a while, though. Brad Elvis was a fascinating drummer to watch, almost upstaging his chick singer, Chloe. Bass player was competent, but forgettable, and guitar player Ellis was very interesting musically: had a million riffs up his sleeve frosted with a touch of that U2/The Edge sound. But when you put it all together, it seemed like it was trying too hard to be a new millennium version of 80s New Wave. (And I've recently realized that of all the stuff that came out in the 80s -- post punk, hardcore, two tone, new psychedelia, etc, with the exception of Devo and a couple of others, I really didn't like 80s New Wave -- because of the same thing.) I like the musicianship, I liked them> -- but this was a case of the sum of the parts was greater than the whole. So I stepped on the patio and shared some drinks with some friends and caught up on old stories. Didn't get a chance to talk to any of the Vertebrats themselves. I likened this whole thing to being at somebody's wedding: the bride and groom have barely a chance to say hi to all the people who flew in, and all the guests sectioned off and would mingle with the "And how do you know them" questions. And being 30 years later, wer were alltoo tired to ask "So where's the party." Midnight or 1 ish was late enough for all of us, thank you. Sunday morning a fabulous brunch hosted by fabulous artist Sasha Rubel closed all the gaps. In broad daylight, where we could all recognize each other, all the old gang could touch base, trade addresses (or at least say "Find me on Facebook") and be seated in comfort. Lots of hugs, lots of picture snapping, lots of excellent quiche. Ernie and Cynthia drove me back to their house, and I looked at my watch, did some math, and reluctanly admitted I needed to hit the road so I could get back in Milwaukee, rested and read to go job hunting again. But overall, I did the math and it was worth it to go, in ways numbers can't quantify. Labels: local music, rants rambles and essays, road tripping V'ron reported in at 9:09 PM ¶ 9:09 PM 5 comments links to this post There were other bands in C-U during the early 80s, you know Being in C-U this weekend to see the 'Brats jogged a few memories of a pile of really good bands. The Vertebrats were certainly in the vortex of the scene, but they weren't the whole scene. Consider this: really good national touring bands (smaller than Springsteen, who'd played the Assembly Hall when The River came out, but bigger than just some combo that came over from Bloomington) did not say to themselves, "Gee, we have to stop in Champaign because that's where the Vertebrats are." No, they stopped in Champaign because there really was a pretty damn good scene there, full of people who were into (whatever we were calling "alternative" back then) punk, nuwave, power pop, garage, experimental music. (It probably didn't hurt that Champaign was right between Indy or St Louis and Chicago, and was worth a stop to pee in, so you might as well play. How else to explain why I saw so much great stuff without having to find somebody with a car to go to Chicago to see? A lot of it I saw in Mabel's alone: Iggy Pop, the Cramps, the Waitresses, George Thorogood, The Violent Femmes, Jason and the Scorchers, John Cale (John Fucking Cale played MABELS!), Jonathan Richman, The dBs (oh, ask me someday about the time we made the dBs dinner),Bow Wow Wow, John Otway, Tom Verlaine, Black Flag (oh, trust me, there was a terrific story behind that), .... and that was just Mabel's. David Johansen, Joan Jett, the Talking Heads, r.e.m., (back before Michael Stipe shaved his head and got full of himself), the Psychedelic Furs, The Fleshtones,Todd Rundgren and even an up and coming U2made it a point to put CU on their tour itineraries. But I'm pretty darn sure a lot of tour managers wouldn't have bothered if we didn't have a scene. How else to explain why all these acts didn't hit Bloomington, less than an hour away, instead? We had (if I do say so myself) a darn good underground and student media nurturing the scene -- both the Daily Illini and a fanzine called The Psychedelic Boneyard covered local, regional, national and some international acts fairly deeply. WPGU crammed in plenty of good tunes -- on a typical afternoon Jon Kamerman would be mixing Iggy's "Lust for Life" right after some Zep tune (and had to follow it up with NightRanger simply because it was on the playlist.) The later at night it got, the freeer we could get with our choices (that's why I was perfectly happy with a midnight-to-3 DJ spot...). WEFT-FM was just starting up as well, and they didn't have a playlist. I seem to remember a pirate station or two would hit the air every now and then. So here's a small sample of those other bands I remember. If you were there, remind me who else you went to see a lot and feel free to disagree with my comments. In no particular order:
There were more, and I wish I could remember them all. Help me out, kids..... Labels: local music, rants rambles and essays V'ron reported in at 4:48 PM ¶ 4:48 PM 5 comments links to this post Friday, October 02, 2009 Quarterly Wrapup I promise, I promise not to let it go this long again. But I'm headed to see a terrific show tomorrow night, and I want to blog about it, which means, I just have to clear what I've been up to the past month or so. No big essay here, just a bullet point rundown of all the great free stuff we did. Operative word here is "free." I know a lot of you bands have been sending me stuff, and promoting your shows, and inviting me via myspace and Facebook and Twitter, and no, I'm not ignoring you. I'm just busted and can't afford to go out if it's not free. Having said that:
So that's been it. I've been taking the kids to free beaches, we checked out the free film series during August at Pere Marquette Park , and we've found a bunch of geocaches, discovering more about this terrific city we live in. It's kept my spirits up in this recession and when you're job hunting, you have to have you spirits up. Nobody wants to hire a depressed homebody. V'ron reported in at 5:59 PM ¶ 5:59 PM 2 comments links to this post Saturday, September 26, 2009 Sammy conquering everything Yeah, I know I promised a round of of everything cultural I've been doing (with a special "Did you know all this was FREE?!?!") in the past month or so, but something more special has been up. It's Sammy's birthday, and that takes precedence. I've already written before about what a ray of sunshine he is, and I used to be afraid that one day he'd just turn into a mouthy teenager and all that. I've kind of evolved that for two reasons. One, everything that's been happening lately has taught me to live in the present, and enjoy today, because you will go crazy dreading tomorrow. The other is that, I'm pretty well convinced that although Sammy will go through a rebellious phase, I think he's always going to be a guy with a sunny disposition, generous and caring about his family and friends, and funny as all hell to boot. It's just in him. Even when he was little, he's always been able to make me laugh with brilliant comic timing. (Granted, the humor behind the timing was kind of simple and sometimes coarse, but still...). And he's always been able to make me smile, whether it's been with his artwork ("Mom, this is a leaf monster that's going after Godzilla!") his enthusiastic singing, or just a big squeezy hug either out of the clear blue sky, or when he' sees that I'm down and could use a hug. He's very sensitive about that too -- he innately knows when something's wrong and genuinely wants to help. He's come so far this year. He's conquered the monkey bars (so I don't have to spot him across any more), he's conquered cracking eggs into a bowl, he's conquered his fear of going down a tube slide at a water park, he's conquered reading! He's massively curious about math and how numbers work and how much x times y is, and I know all these things will show up on his report card at school. He's so insanely happy when he hits a milestone, and his joy de vivre is so infectious I put him to bed every night and thank whatever name I'm referring to "God" with that he's in my life. But when that report card comes, I read it and see all the progress he makes, and there's a constant message every term that makes me explode with happiness and pride. Yes, he's reading. Yes, he gets his numbers. Yes, he's understanding those basic little kid physics. But every term, his card ends with how he reacts with his classmates and it always says "Sammy is a good friend." And he is. This summer I saw a particular instance of that: he'd wiped out on a cement sidewalk (after I told him NOT to run because it wasn't the best paved cement ever) and he'd badly skinned his knee. After that was taken care of and the ensuing Federal case was closed (all accidents involving blood-- even less than a drop of road rash-- do involve a Federal case, you know), he saw his playmates horsing around the same way. "Don't run! Don't do it!" he cried in a panic to them -- clearly worried about them and not wanting them to suffer this same fate. It was genuinely his concern for his buddies that was coming across his face and voice. He does this a lot -- he warns us of bad things, and he's always willing to share good things with all of us. Sammy is a good friend, and he's conquered our hearts. Happy birthday, little buddy! V'ron reported in at 10:15 AM ¶ 10:15 AM 1 comments links to this post Monday, September 21, 2009 I wanna job ... one that satisfies my artistic needs OK, this video pretty much illustrates why I haven't been posting a whole lot lately. I've been busy looking for work, and you'd be amazed (or maybe not) at just how exhausting -- both emotionally and physically -- being unemployed is. So much so that I'm here to tell you that this whole Maslow's hierarchy thing has a lot to it. My big worries these days are not "Who's playing at Points East this weekend?" or "Is that sound guy ever going to do something about the bass player's EQ?" It's not even of concern to me that some band is doing the exact same thing they -- and about thirty other bands -- were doing eight years ago. These are not the things that are burning me and keeping me up nights. Go on and do what you were doing, everybody. Yes folks, I'm a candidate for Mayor of Bitteropolis. Only thing that will lose me that post is the fact that I live in a town with a multitude of excellent free music to see and terrific free things to do, which I've been doing and hope to slam chronicles of same in the next few days. I have a goal of posting every day this week until Sammy's birthday. So, really, this blog hasn't gone dark or anything. I'm not refusing to write in protest of any weird thing. No, there hasn't been any band that's been threatening to ban me from all their shows just because I said their lead singer's voice was too wussy for their genre. I'm just working up the emotional energy to write anything besides another version of "Dear Hiring Manager: Looking for a Project Manager with 10 Years of experience that will blah blah blah and yadda yadda and save you big money at Menards?" In the meantime, here I am, with this clip from Sid and Nancy (dir Alex Cox, 1986) and I have to admit, it pretty much summarizes my life at this point. "My artistic needs"? Just having enough money so I don't have to spend my nights curled up in a fetal position worrying about how to pay the bills rather than writing this sardonic yet appreciative blog about enjoying music arts and life in the Milwaukee underground and mainstream. I know this character is kind of a dork, but dammit, I have to admit, it's a catchy little tune. Stella's been catching me singing it to myself as I drive the kids to school, a task that wasn't mine until lately (and I actually enjoy morning with the kids. I know, give it time...). But I also have to admit, despite my punk roots, that this song says more for my life lately than "Pretty Vacant." Oh well. Labels: SE Wisconsin Life V'ron reported in at 3:49 PM ¶ 3:49 PM 1 comments links to this post Friday, July 24, 2009 Quick Gallery Night weekend picks It's going to be an arty weekend, but duh, it's Gallery night and it looks to be a beautiful night for it. Our family will kick off the night at BYO Studio to see "Reflections on Recession", and among the artists showing will be Cream City Photogs own Jake David Rohde. He's started an amazing photo business with Simon McConico with beautiful portraiture, but this promised to be his street work and I'm looking forward to it. Maybe we'll get some art and food while the StreetzaPizza truck drives around, carrying 'za and art And we'll hit the third ward for the usual suspects. Might end up at the Bradford Beach Carribean Music festival -- it's free and we'll catch King Solomon. Probably the thing to do is to check both MLSchumacher in the Journal, and the Onion's Decider list has great picks too, including a stop at the Borg Ward, which always has interesting stuff. The Women's Artists Resource Network is having their show, A Glamorous Gallery Night, on Saturday which could work for or against them. Several women will be exhibiting their work at Live Artists Studio 228 S. 1st Street, but on one hand, it's not on Gallery Night proper. On the other hand, they won't have the typical Gallery Night crowd breezing in and out because there's so much to see. So it's definitely going to be on the visit list. Labels: milwaukee art and culture V'ron reported in at 7:13 AM ¶ 7:13 AM 0 comments links to this post Friday, July 17, 2009 She's a lady who rambles before the weekend.
Further, Dr Chow's Love Medicine wrapped up the night. It was Miss Amber's birthday and what she wanted more than anything in the world was to hear the Grand Dame of Milwaukee GrrlPunk, Miss Stoney Rivera, come out of retirement and belt out a few songs -- and Stoney delivered. She took the stage commandingly and dueted with Frank Chandek on "Somebody Else" as well as a few great standards (such as "Lonesome Train"). Any woman working the punk or rockabilly genre in this town owes Stoney a spiritual debt, and anybody who was at Linneman's last Friday night saw why.
Earlier in the day, however, I stopped by St Helen's Polka Fest, partly because it's in my neighborhood, and partly because this is one music festival that is completely devoid of any kind of ironic posturing. The polka bands they get aren't hip and groovy, they're genuine polka bands headed up by guys who know how to spell Frankie Yankovic. And the crowd of people who dance (median age 58) aren't jumping around randomly. They know how to polka, and you can see that there's an absolute joy of memory of doing a dance they've known since they were little. These are couples whose marraiges are as old as dirt, who wear bright red pants because it's fun, who don't care who Michael Jackson was or that he's dead. The music itself has a sweet sadness that recalls oldschool weddings, european festivals, and absolute mastery of musical instruments that band geeks like me are familair with: clarinet, saxophone, and of course, the accordion, fronted by men whose tenors are almost altos. It was a nice warm up for the South Shore Frolics fireworks show that night -- a nice place to take the kiddos to see fireworks shot off by professionals, instead of stupid ass amateurs who might have blown up a whole town's economy if not for the heriocs of local firefighters. OK, done ranting about the politics of this town. I swore off politics years ago because all it gave me was tsouris. Oy. Labels: local music, milwaukee art and culture, rants rambles and essays V'ron reported in at 8:34 PM ¶ 8:34 PM 0 comments links to this post Friday, July 10, 2009 It's Not Unusual For Me To Ramble
Labels: local music, road tripping, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 1:53 PM ¶ 1:53 PM 0 comments links to this post Tuesday, June 30, 2009 A Midsummer Night's Garage Band (and other observations) Oh dear, I didn't post about the Loblolly show I so shameless promoted in my blog, did I? Well, it rocked, honeys, I can unequivocally say this. I'm usually much harder on myself, I can feel the flaws, but nobody seemed to give a damn. I think partly because, as loud and as punk as we are, we do best in an intimate environment like the Circle A, where I can pull random unsuspecting audience members out of the crowd, press them against my chest and read from "The Love Letters of Jessica McBride" in response to the usual Charles Bukowski scriptures that Floor Model usually reverently delivers. How's that for "contrast"? I daresay, it was a lovely solstice evening, spent between the bands on Warwick's patio, sipping cheap beers and complaining about the economy, especially its effects on those of us/you who actually do make a living in the creative industry. Floor Model was brilliant as usual. They could do this stuff in their sleep, but they don't, and that's why they rock. They've made it to my list of bands whose greatness I take for granted, so I have nothing more to say this time around. But opening the show was a trio called the Hullmen. I'd been promoting it as "members of Aluminum Knot Eye" but that's all I had to go on, and from what I know of AKE, that's misleading. Only one of the guys was from Aluminum Knot Eye, (so that's only 33%), he seems to be doing this precisely to NOT be AKE, and the band seems to be more garage than AKE is (again, take this from somebody who shamefully keeps missing AKE shows). But let's face it, who were we all checking out? The drummer chick. It was nice to see a female drummer --Bridgette (from Pillowfight) - play the drums in a damn good garage band with some authority. There was no weak link in this band. This was their first show, so their weaknesses were more steeped in the sort of thing that comes with time -- singer/lead needs to holler his songs with more authority, less self-consciousness -- because the melody lines demand it. They fit on a bill with Floor Model and Loblolly because thematically, they're there. Musically they were tight, they just need a touch more swagger and they could become favorites of the crowd of people who enjoy the other two bands. (Note to the Hullmen: while a compliment from me, be aware that neither Floor Model or Loblolly are paying the bills with our bands. No, you must do this for a) your own enjoyment and b) as Chairman Kaga would say, "the people's ovation and fame forever." I suspect you already knew that $$$ -iwse, you'll maybe get some free beers out of your fine work.) No summerfest rundown from me, for a couple of reasons. First, there's plenty of other music writers in town who are covering the event. And if you've read me for awhile, you know that I don't consider Summerfest a "music" festival anyway. I don't hate it, I just don't go for the music. And being that I'm still recovering from an economic setback over the past year, like (apparently) many folks, I can't afford it just to go for the people watching. Fortunately, there's a wonderful Twitter account worth following : OH@summerfest. Perfect. People are sending that account snippets of conversations they've overheard (and they're deliciously out of context most of the time!) and OH@summerfest is retweeting them. If you can't hit the Big Gig in person -- especially to people watch-- this is almost as good! And second, like I said, I'm broke. I know I can get in free, but I'll have the kids, I can't bring in my own food and drink, and it will cost me a week's worth of groceries to feed them at the gig. Can't make them stay hungry. So I'll have to pass on hearing twenty cover bands do "Mustang Sally." And bummer, I had to miss Robin Trower, too. Ah, the freeebies. Tosa Tonight kicked off their series with the wonderful Swing Nouveat in Hart Park last week. And actually, they kicked off their new band pavillion. The Tosa tonight series used to rotate amongst city and country parks in Tosa, and they had to drag in a stage and all, but this was a community effort to spruce up Hart Park anyway. Two days after the solstice, and I'm telling ya, Tosa park people, you might want to plant a few more trees -- hoo the sun was hot. But it was still a lovely hot evening listening to great, perfectly delivered swing tunes (once the sound guy tweaked it in so that we could actually hear the sax and horn section). Opening band was an OK cover band that did the KLH baby boomer tunes -- uh guys, even this crowd knows it's cliche to yell the name of the town in the song: "Hey Wauwatosa! I can't get enuf of yer love!" And if you're going to do "The Wind Cries Mary" Hendrix-style, tell your drummer to look up the word "subtle" in his book, because your singer beautifully captured Jimi's whisper, only to have it drowned out by overdriven rim shots that should have been played with brushes. Nevertheless, after twenty local leadership speeches and the cutting of a ribbon, Swing Nouveau showed everybody how it was done -- pick a style and encompass it in all its variety. They gave us Duke and Ella, as well as Frank, Dean and Sammy. I'm looking forward to seeing them at Humboldt Park Chill on the Hill. Ah, I had to miss Chill on the Hill last week: my little guy's first day of T-Ball was a conflict. Love you, Pupy Costello and love your Big City Honky Tonk, but I love my Sammy more. And maybe we'll be able to hit the American Legion band there tonight (for plenty of patriotic hits) if the weather cooperates, but maybe not. And I had to miss another Eat the Mystery show at Linneman's for similar reasons. In the meantime, I'm saving my money for Tom Jones. Labels: local music, SE Wisconsin Life, shameless self promotion V'ron reported in at 9:38 PM ¶ 9:38 PM 0 comments links to this post Friday, June 19, 2009 A Bird in Hand is worth a rant in the bush Random ramblings made while waiting for another storm to hit:
Labels: local music, rants rambles and essays, shameless self promotion, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 6:30 PM ¶ 6:30 PM 0 comments links to this post Monday, June 15, 2009 I know what you're thinking: "Did she hear six bands or only five?" Now to tell you the truth I forgot myself in all this excitement. Really. I maybe have heard six bands this weekend, but I only heard one shot. And I thought it was the PA blowing up, because that's what I expect at Locust Street. It's a freaking hippie festival, for chrissakes. I'll give you my account all this excitement at the end of this blog, because dammit, I'm a music and culture blogger. Yes, I have this whole journalism background so I'm reluctant to discuss what happened at The Crime Scene because all I know is what I saw and the rest is heresay. And there's my journalism teacher's voice in my head intoning that anything that happens at a crime scene MUST BE VERIFIED BY THE POLICE before going to press with it. Period. No exceptions. Or else "Police could not verify." I didn't get to the Street until later in the afternoon, missing the Beer Run and the first few bands, and here's why: I'd spent a very enjoyable Saturday night at the Points East Pub for a show by the terrific Animal Magnets, who are absolutely the correct set of musicians to back up Rob McCuen and his pop-machimiso, bordering on American Glam songs. I choose the word "correct" because I don't want to say "best." He's been backed up by a variety of guys who are among the best players in town in such incarnations as The Ruins, Love Bully, even the recent White Hot Tizzies. But Animal Magnets are the correct configuration of a Rob McCuen band. There's so much testosterone (both real and contrived) amongst this band that it almost makes Rob look like the wimp out of the bunch, and noneof these guys are above it all. Christ, Joel Bescow has the biggest bass drum in town. That's because he normally plays with Cliff Ullsberger, who brings in his Wanda Chrome guitar setup -- a pair of Marshall heads and a few more cabinets just to fill the 1000 square feet of Points East with sonic thunder. And thank goodness he did, because when Paul Wall's bass amp blew up, it was only a matter of swapping a few wires, accepting that a bass run through a guitar amp might be a little distoreted, and they played on. And this is one of the few bands where Chris Tishler can actually be upstaged, on both guitar and vocals. This is a band whose very lineup validates Rob McCuen's existence. There's no apparent drama, just five guys who understand and execute genuine glamorous cock-pop with razor sharp precision. Too bad all these guys are busy with equally excellent projects, so this is their second band for all of them. And, honestly, their plan of only doing this live about 2-3 times a year is correct as well. This stuff is highly perishable -- too much of it and it will get old fast. And for those of us who know and love Rob's songs, yes, mistakes were made, but these guys are all crack pros who didn't blink an eye while I cringed during a few songs early in the set ("No no no" my brain was screaming, "There's still another verse here before the chorus kicks in!") But if you didn't know these songs you wouldn't have noticed. Which is a lecture I need to give Melanie, playing bass thank you, of the following band Eva Grubb,who rose to the challenge of having to follow the Animal Magnets. They were called in at the 11th hour to take the place of some other band that cancelled at the last minute, and further contributing to the Ohmigod factor was that this was their first ever "real" gig. They're a garage cover band, but as agreed upon by everybody in the room, they have excellent taste in the covers they pick-- lots of forgotten psychedelic-era garage pop tunes. Let's put it this way, the biggest hit out of the bunch (the gauge being sales) was the Syndicate of Sounds' "Hey Little Girl." So Melanie steps off stage admitting something absolutely NOBODY in the room noticed (including myself): "I made mistakes on every song." Girlfriend, nobody plays a perfect set. Nobody noticed your flubs, because you covered 'em well. That's the trick. Plus, the weak link in this band was the drummer -- who I'm told that this is the first band (erm, time) he'd played the drums in public. But it all still worked. It would have been ridiculous to try to put a power boy band after the Magnets -- and these guys filled the room with sweet little pop nuggets to come down from the Magnets to. Great party band, they are: they will just need to get a little more self-moxie, something I'm confident will come with time. OK, time for the Locust street rundown. Because I actually stayed out until Bar time, I didn't arrive at the street until well after 2ish. Missed the Beer run, but whatever, I gained a little weight this year and couldn't fit into my prom dress. we began the ritual walking east to west and west to east, because that's really what the Locust Street festival is, isn't it? You just walk back and forth like it's a giant reception line, and you end up literally running into those people whom you only see annually at the Locust street festival. Occassionally, you stop for a band. Or you walk into a bar you normally would never set foot in, except today you do in lieu of having to piss in a port-o-let. And today's winner was Saylece's. Saylece's you say? I haven't gone through those doors since it was the Riverwest Commons (or for you real old timers, the Golden Nugget) to see Crumpler or Floor Model or some other band that I'd run into Chris Tishler at. Then there was the sudden news that it was Saylece's and nobody knew what the story was. Here's the story: it's a DJ joint now. It's carpeted. It's cheap, high-traffic carpet, but still. It's carpeted. Where the stage used to be are now a couple of relatively fresh-looking pool tables. Truly top shelf booze on the top shelf. Digital jukebox terminal on the wall. Logo in the same font as "That 70s Show." Whatever. Stella, Sammy and I each took a whiz and left. Right outside Sayleces was Matthew Heaffel, a power duo of guitar and drums that spewed some angry folkie blues that may have woked better at the Linneman’s stage. We walked down the street to the Klinger’s stage, and caught some more of Matt Hendricks, who impressed us last year and did so again this year. He worked the blues too, but he’s more of a blues guitarist than Heaffel was. The giant puppets that had been strolling the streets stopped by this stage too, and enjoyed a bit of blues. We got ourselves a serving of Klingers terrific chin=cken wings, and settled down outside Linnemans to chat with frineds and heat a bit of Frech Cut Collective. They looked promising — drums, guitars, keyboards, electric violin. Multi cultural and multi racial lineup. But then they started in and they turned out to be a garden variety rap band, albeit with a little more emphasis on melody. C’mon, will these guys please sing? I’m getting tired of being literally yelled at by rappers. In fact, a friend commented that he really liked the beat and the syncopated rhythm, but wished it was more musical. “Oh, “I said, having a sudden epiphany, “There is a whole genre of music that does that. It’s called funk” And we both agreed we love funk. Back at Klinger’s East stage, the highly recommended Phil Lee was on stage, a country bluesman from Nashville who did indeed sing a convincing country blues. Good for Klingers for scoring him — he definitely belongs on a bigger stage, at least Linneman’s, if not the Lakefront Brewerery stage. He looks like a biker, has the warm stage presence of a folkie, the sense of humor of an oldschool country man, and the musical delivery of a bluesman. And amongst his band there was a horn player whose horn was bigger than all of them, and at first, it sounded like the only note that came out of this horn was a bluesy minor sixth to their song, but give him his own twelve bars and he could get plenty of other notes out. We were all ready to fill his tip jar before we went to Linneman’s indoor stage to catch a full set from The Grand Disaster, who I’d just seen last week, but who Brian had not seen in quite some time. Brian says they’ve improved vastly since their debut last winter; I say they’ve improved vastly since their show at the Polish Falcon last week. Maybe they felt more comfortable since last week where it wasn’t their wedding to crash. Whatever it was, they seemed more confident, and for a band whose songs I’ve once described as “three minute epics” that’s necessary. The kids were getting cranky at being indoors on such a great day (even though not a half hour earlier they were whining about the hot sun), so I coaxed Sammy into dancing with me so that he could deal with the rest of the set. (However, what Sammy calls dancing, I call “moshing” because he likes to mix in a little kung fu fighting with his dance.). So that must have been something to see: my moshing/sparring with a five year old in the middle of Linneman’s with a band onstage. Go figure. Back outside to catch a set from Brother Louie, a cover band built for a hippie festival, since their setlist grabs those hits from the 60s and 70s, a time when radio’s format wasn’t as segmented as it is now. From the Raspberries “Go All the Way” to Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl” to others. Snopek joined them with the previously mentioned horn and things were fun until we heard a loud POP. The band stopped playing, so I just assumed the PA blew up. Wouldn't be the first time, you know. Then we started thinking it might be a little more serious, as Louie started saying into the microphone, "Hey, this isn't cool." (Obviously the PA was fine.). "This is a festival, let's all be cool," he intoned, and suddenly he was sounding like Mick Jagger and this was Altamont. About five minutes later I see about twenty uniformed and undercover badges running up the alley and that's when I realized this wasn't some kids playing with firecrackers. "There's been a shooting," lots of people started whispering. Now, call me jumpy but, wait a second. Where's the mass panic you usually get when somebody pops somebody in a crowd? Where's the screams? Huh? The band plays on, and within ten minutes we see TV guys running through to the corner of Weil and Locust, followed by EMT guys (there's something wrong with that chain of events), and we're walking through the crowd with people casually mentioning, "Hey I heard there was a murder today." No murder, but even so, why so blase? I.Am.So.Sure. Within another ten minutes, there's police tape going up, and we're seeing a few more badges "casually" scoping out the area behind Klingers and working their way to Bremen street. "Uh," I said to Brian, "look at the way they're scoping things out. They don't have a suspect in custody yet, do they?" That's when we "casually" scooped up the kids, "casually" bid adieu to our friends, and made our way to the car, accepting that we'd have to wait until somereal news agency with access to the police blotter could get us the facts. In the meantime, we had to make do with facebook and twitter gossip. Stuff I unfortunately missed: Eugene Chadbourne at the Ring, playing Paul Kneevers' shoelaces, and opening band The Dark Clan. Also missed a pile of terrific stuff at PrideFest, including the fabulous Etta James herself. And most sadly, I missed a production of Cabaret which featured, among other local stars, the fabulous Liv Mueller in a supporting role. Next time, honeys. Labels: local music, milwaukee art and culture V'ron reported in at 9:29 PM ¶ 9:29 PM 0 comments links to this post Friday, June 12, 2009 How have I only just heard (well in the past four years) of these bands? So last week, as I tweeted, I'm driving in my car and I hear a song on WMSE that caught my ear hard enough that I pulled over, called the DJ, and asked who it was. It turned out to be a band called Art Brut, on a record produced by Frank Black (one of our family's favorites) and that explained enough. But it was the main verse that really hooked it for me: "I can't believe I've only just discovered The Replacements... How have I only just found out about The Replacements?" I instantly went home and downloaded their latest, "Art Brut vs. Satan" and I highly recommend the whole thing. So that chorus was going through my head on my way to the Floor Model 10th Year Anniversary at the Polish Falcon last Saturday night. 10 years? I only just discoverd them a few years back! How have I only known about them for four years, when they've been around almost a decade? So I enter the Falcon Bowl hall and feel like I've crashed a wedding: it's 7:30, there's a table with buffet-type snacks, and a few entire families (including older folks and little kids) milling about. Maybe it's because I've been to so many weddings there (including my own), but yeah, there's Floor Model up on the stage, playing a clean set and they sound very comfortable playing songs that, it turns out, they've been cranking out for 10 years. It didn't feel like a punk reunion, despite the history of their posterage all over the walls. It really did feel like a wedding, a family reunion for a family I've only just joined --like I'm the new girlfriend of some second cousin or something. Sharing the bill that night was The Grand Disaster, who have definitely been in this family for awhile. The link here is bassist Mark E Lee (who is actually Floor Model's second bassist -- I thought he was the first, given that the first time I saw Floor Model they didn't have any bass -- and I lamented that very fact.). Peppered through the audience were plenty of folks from the accompanying crowd -- past and present members of the Chop Top Toronados, Dr Chow's Love Medicine (my DH was home with the kids, little did we know this was a family friendly event, at least for the first coupla hours). I've seen/written about the Grand Disaster before -- I like them, but I do agree with another person in the crowd that they're still in the process of finding their collective voice out of three dominant ones who share songwriting and vocal duties. And I don't just mean vox when I say "collective voice" -- as my friend said, when they hit it, they are right on target and will be formidable. Still, they do improve every time I see them, and I'll continue to follow their career. I like 'em. They have a mix of bravado and self-reflection that, yes, when they hit it, they hit it. And they're not caught up in any kind of stupid alt-indie self-consciousness or importance. Tuesday night was the second Chill on the Hill Tuesday. We just couldn't do last week -- it was just too cold, even for one of my favorite guys in town, Paul Cebar. But darn it, I think if I start doing summer things, maybe we can just WILL the summer to come. Stella and Sammy and I spent a sunday scoping out the new David Schultz waterpark, which, should be buzzing with happy kids in June, but who's going swimming, even in a heated pool, on a 58 degree day? Still, at least we scoped it out and it looks like lots of fun. With that "will the summer into coming" we braved the crummy clouds and headed out to Humboldt Park Tuesday night, pic-a-nic basket and folding chairs in hand, and a blanket, ostensibly to sit on, but ended up being used to cover our bodies in our chairs for warmth. First up, indie-rockers Sharking Hour. I'm sorry, maybe it was the cold drearyness, but I guess Sharking Hour didn't do a whole lot for me. They've got solid melodies but somehow their overall presentation didn't translate well to a huge stage at Humboldt Park. And they way they arranged their setlist kind of lost me early in the set: they opened with a handful of songs that started out establishing a 3-4 chord progression/melody, verse-chorus and then jam out on the verse (or just rave up the verse). Not all their songs are like this, but they did somethign like four in a row that had this pattern, so Stella and I noticed this and then said, "OK, there's their formula." When they strayed from this, they were worth listening to, even if I'm not crazy about sensitive jangly music to begin with. But the formula they're working gets tiresome after a few songs -- they need to spread that through the set and it would probably work better. The Aimless Blades followed and I was afraid they'd be lost without some of the extra instrumentation they have on their recordings. (The saxes and violins and such are actually a reason they're among my favorite local releases -- they really fill out the sound). But they came out wearing their love for Dylan and Young on their sleeves, but gave it a Milwaukee stamp and made it work. They have perfected that level of melancholic bravado that the Grand Disaster is working. Too bad it was getting chilly, the kids were getting cranky (from the chill), and it was an overall dreary night. This is the kind of music that works best on a breezy summer evening, and back when it was scheduled, you would THINK it would be a breezy summer evenining on June 9 for chrissakes. Crappy weather weekend coming up, but there's no loss for good tunes. Saturday night at the Ring there's a terrific lineup that includes Dr Eugene Chadbourne (yes, THEE Eugene Chadbourne) along with the Dark Clan and a couple other local bands to support the good doctor. They're in competition with all the goings on at Pridefest, and also the return of the mantastic Animal Magnets. There's a band with enough testosterone to make Smilin' Bob feel inadequate. Locust Street festival is this Sunday, and while I determine whether my knees can do the Beer Run, there's a very good lineup on all the stages that will underline the worthyness of this festival. I go mainly to run into other folks anyway. But tonight, I sit at home whilst the husband plays a gig at a pizza joint, and wish Marlavous and Miss Amy a happy birthday. NEWS FLASH: My band, Loblolly, has just confirmed that we'll be playing one of our rare shows at the Circle A (during one of their rare openings!) on the night of the Solstice, June20. We're playing with Floor Model, and a new group called the Hullmen which includes members of Aluminum Knot Eye (a band I've been wanting to see for over a year now). Really, I'll probably see Aluminum Knot Eye in a few years and be asking, "How have I only just heard of Aluminum Knot Eye?" I really need to see them, too. Labels: local music, rants rambles and essays, shameless self promotion V'ron reported in at 10:41 PM ¶ 10:41 PM 0 comments links to this post Wednesday, June 03, 2009 May Roundup Again, I haven't gone dark, really. I just have this new job, I'm back in Information Technology, and we're in the middle of an implementation. I'd forgotten how much IT implementations take out of me. I take them personally. Some had likened it to labor, but having done the labor thing twice, I don't think I'd go that far. Still, I've been too wiped out to a) write b) go see bands and c) write about them. I did get out to see some things and I missed others. Here's a roundup, along with some rants, because when you're pooped out from work, you gotta bitch about something, and in this economy, it would be vulgar to bitch about work when there's plenty of people who would love to have my problems.
So, I'm tuning up the bike for the bike for the freebies, and I'm headed out. Labels: advance warnings, local music, milwaukee art and culture V'ron reported in at 8:06 PM ¶ 8:06 PM 0 comments links to this post Friday, May 08, 2009 Random ramblings in Web 2.0 Back again, from another hiatus, with a pack of random ramblings, since I've been gone awhile. And I'm going to credit the internet for keeping me somewhat connected, as much as many internet tools are getting dissed these days by people who don't use them or didn't do their homework on them. We begin with a quiz I took on Facebook. No, I'm not Setser, but I took the " Are you Setser" quiz on facebook and learned that I'm an ingenue. And I also realized that I haven't blogged in a while. I've got this new job and all, and settling in there, and I've been busy with my girl scout troop (back to back weekends riding horses and camping.) And getting ready for school-year-end stuff. But it was that Facebook quiz that got me writing again. Last night I saw yet another rainbow! I'd twittered that was it coincedence or what that I've seen more rainbows since my kids were born than I've seen my entire life! At least two or three a summer -- and before that, I think maybe only 2 or three over 38 years. Go figure. I posted this fact on both Tiwtter and Facebook, and was reminded that it's nocoincedence -- that perhaps it's the kids in my life that brought the rainbows (get the bucket, I know, but then again).... or that because of the kids I'm noticing the rainbows more. Whatever it is, last night was the first one this season. Between that and my tulips in full bloom, I'm happy to say that Spring is finally here. Speaking of Setser, yes indeedy, he was in the last band I saw before I went on this random band-seeing-blogging hiatus. You don't normally see him with a guitar around his neck, but that's what he did with the Aimless Blades at Frank's Power Plant a couple of Fridays ago. I think of the Aimless Blades more as The Blaine Schultz Experience, but they're really a band, a band that loves its American songwriters (Young, Dylan, et al) as much as it loves a good garagey, psychedelic jam. They sounded more like a garage band that night than their CDs, especially the most recent, Rara Avis, would suggest, but I do like both flavors. Wish they would play out more. Opening the show that night was a grrl fronted outfit out of Peoria called Tina Sparkle. (Note to Tina's lead singer: If you're going to acknowledge the other bands on the bill -- which you absolutely should as a guest in town -- make it a point to get their names right, so it looks like your "thank you for having us" is sincere. You're young, though, I'll letcha slide this time.) Interestingly complex songwriting and a passionate rhythm section, they were, although a little long on despair and a little short on triumph. It's a trap that these sort of bands fall into, but they were damn good. Wrapping up the night was the always enjoyable Floor Model. Found out about this show from a good old fashioned email. Previous to that, I finally caught a former co-worker's band at Zad's Roadhouse. I worked with Dan Clark (frontman for the Dark Clan, get it?) last year at Anonymous Interative Design Firm and knew I wanted to see his band, who just finished a quick east coast tour. Dan's even more animated on stage than I pictured this app dev to be, and he straddles the line between seriouisness (as regards his musicianship) and parody (as regards his stage presence). That sense of humor keeps his combination of goth/vamp and rock from slipping into overindulgent prog, and I thus found the Dark Clan to be an enjoyable bunch. The only criticism I can level at this point is admittedly based in my bias for wanting both a bass and guitar in a band. Clark plays both, but not at the same time. He's a good bass player, but a more fun guitarist to watch, so my advice is find a bass player, Dan. This town's full of 'em, it shouldn't be all that hard. The other musicians in the band are two keyboards and a drummer. The full gothy sound that I'm expecting from these songs really needs both-- they keys aren't making up for the missing guitar or bass. But that's about it. They were musically competent, visually fun, and lyrically clever. Good combination, I'm looking forward to another show. Learned about this show by Tweeting Dan Clark (@downrightamazed) about his tour and he tweeted back this particular gig. It's a bit long to comment on Gallery Night, but Stella and I stopped into the Villa Terrace (not on the official Gallery Night tour) to see Enchanted Doll and we're sure glad we did. It's running through June 7, and it's worth the price of admission. Marina Brychkova creates dolls based on folk tales and legends (mostly european and russian) but that doesn't tell you the half of her amazing work. Some of the base dolls she uses are ceramic, which presents challenges when tattooing some of them. Her costume-making and beadwork are especially amazing. And the overall comment on the definition of female beauty (and many variations are explored) is compelling. Stella was a little freaked out by some of them (there are near-nudes, especially amongst the fairy folk, and they're precise…) but overall, we're glad we went. Oh, and BTW, you Twitter-haters. I heard about this show on Twitter. See, it's useful! OK, since it's timely I'll comment. No, I probably won't buy the near certain release of Danny Gokey's album, but I like *him*. He seems like a good guy and he's got a terrific voice and all. I'm just not that into Michael McDonald. Nevertheless, even if I hated him, this whole gokey-mania is good for the city. It's going to put a positive national spotlight that millions will see next Tuesday when the "hometown hero" segment runs on American Idol. The world needs to see that there's more to Milwaukee than Jeffrey Dahmer, which is still the first phrase you hear when you're traveling and you mention you're from Milwaukee. So, yes, bring on the parades and the endless coverage. It won't be any worse than traffic during that annoying Circus Parade. You can catch the entire itiniery on the Milwaukee Journal's website, www.jsonline.com. Good old school web page. And tonight, Mike Brylski and his artwork are BACK. He's opening tonight at Jackpot Studio, right across the street from the Fuel Café on Locust, and I shamefully forgot the name of the joint. Our family owns three Brylskis -- and as former (and hopefully future) gallery owner Kurt Mueller points out, "It is said that no home in Riverwest is complete without a Brylski." We don't live in Riverwest, but still. We find new things to see in our Brylski pieces all the time. Found out about this via a oldschool phone call from Brylski himself! And get this, he called my land line -- ostensibly from his land line. Oh, how 1997! And finally, since Riverwest seems to be a good place to be this evening, its worth at trip to the Art Bar to see Julie B do her solo thing early in the evening, and some of her jazz later in the evening. She's just finishing up her piece for her graduate work, and I'll blog more about that in the future. This I learned from both her Facebook posting and her myspace posting. Get over it, Web 2.0 snobs. If you have a band, as butt-ugly as the UI is there, myspace is where you have to be. It's still to musicians as Flickr is to photographers. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put on something to get "Takin' It To the Streets" out of my head. Damn that Michael McDonald. And no, I'm not downloading it via iTunes. Why pay for something you've got going in your head? Labels: advance warnings, local music, SE Wisconsin Life, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 8:15 PM ¶ 8:15 PM 0 comments links to this post Saturday, April 04, 2009 I'm back! And I'm annoyed. Hey everybody, I'm back. Or at least some of me is. Frankly, I've had a huge stick in my eye because since shortly before Christmas, I've been unemployed and that's a massive source of stress. And I suspect it's been reflected in my blogging attitude these past few months and my writing has been rather droll at best. Well, I started a new (temp, contract, but it's something) job this week, but I'm still pissed off. So it wasn't because I was unemployed. It's because there's a lot of stupidness going on in this town I normally love. Times like these I lean on my windy city heritage, flip on the radio, and let music settle me down. So while I give you some rants, I'll also give you suggested soundtrack music to settle you down as well. To wit:
Whew. That was cathartic. After the Bucks game tonight, I'm going to see my DH play in Dr Chow tonight at O'Keefe's House of Hamburg. Labels: advance warnings, bucks basketball, milwaukee art and culture, rants rambles and essays, shameless self promotion V'ron reported in at 10:10 AM ¶ 10:10 AM 0 comments links to this post Monday, March 30, 2009 Shameless Name dropping Here's a trailer for a book written by (I told you, this is shamless name dropping) my friend Dave Cullen. I remember when the Columbine story first broke -- back before twitter or facebook or any of that -- it was an email popping in my box from Dave, who'd been living/studying in Colorado. Equally fascinated and horrified, he arrived on the scene, but didn't just walk away with easy, "Oh, you couldn't trust those trench coat mafia kids" answers. He knew then and there it wasn't that easy, and I've watched him for the past ten years digging into it. Myself and many of our other common friends have read his emails over the years, as he told us how he dug up the facts, how this was becoming a big part of his life. Labels: name dropping V'ron reported in at 9:03 PM ¶ 9:03 PM 0 comments links to this post Sunday, March 29, 2009 White spring and other dances If you're not in Milwaukee, you haven't had to listen to all of us (myself included) pissing and moaning about the weather. We got (depending on what side of town you're on) between six and twelve inches of snow this weekend, not one week after we had a 60 degree day. And not two days after my first spring bloom happened -- the iris reticulata you see here, poking up through last fall's dead leaves, reminding me that it's indeed coming, this spring that never seems to get here. That's why I planted them, as well as the crocus that should be poking up this week once the snow melts. At least this wasn't hitting us Friday night, when Stella and I spent another lovely day at the Ballet. This was the biannual Genesis International competition, where Michael Pink invites three up and coming choreographers to come to Milwaukee, gives 'em each a third of his dance company, and they all get three weeks to come up with something. Winner gets 3K (whoop-de-do!) and the whole company next year to give us Milwaukeeans a world premier work. (Presumably, that will net them more than 3K). They put this all in the Pabst Theatre, which is one of my favorite places in town to see a show anyway. There's not a bad seat in the house, and you can get a drink (Stella enjoyed a Shirley Temple) and take it to your seat. The voting this year was a little messed up, though. they gave us ballots, but only with numbers 1, 2, and 3 on them -- and then Michael Pink proceeded to tell us that the order for Friday was differen than the order for Thusrday and that 2 was really1 and, and, and, oh hell. We decided to go with the "cast your vote online" option, and I have this feeling that was the point. You were supposed to be confused by the paper ballot and go online to see their snappy new website and vote there. So we did. Friday night's first performance was Eso, choreographed by New Zealand's Cameron Mc Millan. The music was by Ezio Bosso, a piece simply titled Violin Concerto, and maybe that Phillip Glass documentary on Ovation TV earlier in the day was sticking in my head, but the music did seem very Phillip Glass-ish. It was very athletic -- almost more gymnastic than ballet. McMillan even pointed out in his artist's statement that he's "interested in pure physicality as a vocabulary and form of expression in the human condition." So McMillan used this, I thought, very well in tangling his dnacers together and apart. Stella didn't like it. She's more into storytellers, and Eso might have been a little too ESOteric for her. Her winner was the next offering, from Austrailian wunderkind Timothy O'Donnell, "The Games We Play." To say the music was a string of classic and well-known pieces (Tchaikovsky, Bach, Beethoven, Bizet, Grieg) wouldn't have captured the effect the music had. Several of the pieces were arranged (performed) by Woody Phillips, who I have learned as a result of this, is a master of making power tools musical. Stella liked it instantly -- there wasn't a standard plot storyline, but there were clearly characters, there was a sense of humor, and even Stella flipped out a bit at the end, when the romantic storyline took a surprise twist (hint: a little girl-on-girl action.). I loved it too, but I had to decide if I loved it because I also enjoyed the wonderful take on the music or not. Finally, after yet another Shirley Temple (the bartender at the Pabst makes a lovely nonalcoholic mix, Stella and I will tell you), we had "City of the Shining Jewel" from european choreographer, Maurice Causey. The music was from Mikhail Karakis from his album "Morphica", and it just as well could have been the KLF from their album "Chill Out." This music -- and the dance that accompanied it -- was beyond ambient. The piece, like the music, was bits and pieces of this and that loosely strung together, with the dancers having spoken word parts. I'm sorry I'd read the artist's statement, because, it set me up against the piece: it was, um, kind of pretentious. It was like he was trying to cram every influence of his life into those 20 minutes, and the piece itself just seemed to be trying a little too hard to be "groundbreaking" and "intense." It didn't suck, and I didn't hate it, but it lacked a certain warmth that the two previous pieces had. Then, clearly in the middle of it, he gets a dancer to do a bit of Carmen's Habenera himself, but after O'Donnell's, it had the misfortune to be kind of pleading with the audience, "No, really, I can laugh at myself too! Really! Honest!" MAybe I would have liked it better if it was first, but after two really warm performances, this was a little too out there for me. (And I like the KLF -- I often use it to Chill Out.) Needless to say, I was torn between Eso and The Games We Play, but Stella and I decided that she was clearly going to vote for "The Games We Play," and so I cast my vote for "Eso" so that we kind of canceled out each other. I'll be curious as to what the "official" judges think, as well as the audience vote, which I believe should be released tomorrow. I'm also looking forward to next season -- among the shows will be Cinderella and Peter Pan -- there's story for Stella. Haven't seen a lot of bands lately. I'm still kind of recovering from that bout with strep I had, but I'm really looking forward to the debut of Dinah Flo and her Roadmasters on Wednesday at Frank's Power Plant. You may remember my raving about the fabulous Jessica from Skirt -- this is her new outfit, complete with her sweetie Chris "The Colonel" on guitar. No cover on Wednesday, either. And no, this is not an April Fools' joke. Labels: SE Wisconsin Life, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 8:56 PM ¶ 8:56 PM 0 comments links to this post Thursday, March 19, 2009 Kids, Don't Let This Happen To You I've been out all week with what has turned out to be Strep. Hey, adults out there, did you know how much strep sucks as an adult? I used to get it as a kid a lot (some kids are ear infection kids, some kids get stomach flu a lot, I was a sore throat kid...), but I don't remember it sucking this bad. So, yeah, I spent some of the previous weekend taking in some St Patrick's Day debauchery (OK, I'm old: a couple of green beers and burning down a christmas tree is debauchery) but by Sunday a fever kicked in and by Tuesday I'm getting my thoat swabbed. In the meantime, the Bucks kicked the Celtics' asses, Charlie Villanueva has become the Twitter Poster Child of the NBA after he got a tounge-lashing from coach about not tweeting during halftime. (If you can get past the stupid patronizing attitude from the panelists on the linked clip, most of whom don't know what they're talking about and thus try to make fun of it to prop themselves up, they actually make some good points about the futility of stopping a freight train: the tool is not the issue.) Well and good, but now everybody's noticing that CV31 has got game, which may be great for him, but also might up his asking price come contract negotiation time. I don't know what bands I'm going to see this weekend. I have penicillin to take. So in the meantime, I give you this photograph of some clown who can't seem to get his butt out of 1997, but has taken this tired old look to literal new lows. As I captioned on Flickr, he's within 50 feet of a school to boot, where my children can see him. Fortunately, they had the good fashion sense to laugh at him, especially after I pointed out that the poor dear apparently is intentionally looking like this. "Don't let this happen to you," I told me sensible babies. Labels: SE Wisconsin Life, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 9:15 PM ¶ 9:15 PM 0 comments links to this post Tuesday, March 10, 2009 How to fill a room Friday the kids had off school, and it was so lovely out we decided to hit the zoo, in time to catch an an abundance of spring mammalian cuteness. And then I headed over to Liquor Sweets that night to catch a McTavish show (after putting down an obligatory Shamrock Shake, described by Stella as "What toothpaste would taste like if it were a milkshake."). McTavish does the Irish thing well. This was their first outing this season -- they only do this on a seasonal basis, as opposed to year round Irish bands like Athas or the Tossers. They're just getting warmed up, and they put out the sweet Irish tunes well. Thing is, the sweet Irish tunes isn't what I love about McTavish. I'm more of a fan of when they turn into rowdy Irish hooligans, belting out protest songs like "IRA" or whipping themselves into enough of a frenzy that covering the Clash's "London Calling" doesn't seem one bit out of place. So I'm going to have to catch them at McBob's or something (if only because I was convinced last year that McBob does serve up the best corned beef made in this town by somebody not named Jake). On the same bill at Liquor Sweets that night was supposedly the last performance of the Velvet Underground Project, and I hope that's not true, but without the dancers, without the light show, they were simply OK. I still loved it, because it's the only band guitarist Dan Mullen plays in these days where he can really stretch out his talent and take his guitar places that a Buddy Holly audience just won't let him go. Part of the reason for the retirement, I've heard, is that it's just not drawing. Well, the VU weren't a giant draw to begin with, but here's the thing. Those who know VU almost hold them sacred. The idea of a cover band, a tribute band going over the catalog of a band that pretty much invented "alternative, original" music -- well, that kind of cancels each other out, no? And let's face it, the VU project almost skates on the edge of parody, what with Mark Shurilla's Warhol wig (and is it a waste of bandwidth to point out the obvious that Warhol never performed with the VU, just made them famous?). When the VU Project shines, it's when they don't try to sound like the original VU Project, because they will fail. Moe Tucker was a percussionist that was fascinated with the idea of minimalist rhythm. Andy Pagel, on the other hand, is a friggin drummer obsessed with Keith Moon. John Cale was a composer/violinist that went to left field. Guest violinist Tommy Greywolf is a brilliant versatile fiddler who's played with the likes of Brooks and Dunn. Doug Yule was an OK guitar player; Dan Mullen is a psychedelic master. The orignal VU didn't have a keyboardist; Chris Loss is a longstanding session man who's played with some of the best experimental/jam bands inthe city (including the beloved Trance and Dance band). There is no way this assemblage is going to sound like the original VU. They shouldn't even try. So, here's my advice: Lose the wigs. Bring in the Paka Paka lightshow to do something very 21st Century. Bring in the dancers if possible. Lose the Nico wig -- Marlavous is about as far from Teutonic as can be, plus unlike Nico, she sings on key almost all the time. Overall, take the VU to the next level -- be inspired by them, not slaves to them. These are musicians that are capable of that, and at their best, they take the spirit of experiemntation that the VU started. If they do it consistently, they will get more of a following. Next night, we hit a Bucks game, and once again, the anthem gave us a preview of what the game would be like. Some 14 year old girl with a voice twice her age started singing and halfway through, she choked. Just stopped. A few dickslaps laughed at her, but the rest of the crowd seemed sympathetic, as the woman sitting next to me called out, "Help her out..." Well, the girl gathered it up, and belted out the rest of the song, so that by the time of "Land of the free..." the crowd was cheering her on, and when she finished she got the loudest applause I've ever heard a BC audience give an anthem singer. And that's kind of what happened in the game. About halfway through, the Bucks started to choke, but they came back and the last minute or so we stayed only to savor the win. We all know Bango's hurt: the schtick that's goins is that other NBA mascots are coming in to help out. Tonight was "G-Wiz" -- the mascot for the Washington Wizards. I can just picture going to, say a "Sports Mascot convention", and maybe all the NBA mascots get together for a seminar about what kind of ridiculous ways to slam dunk a shot in costume can be done. Bango would stand up and say, "Uh, guys, the thing where you stand up on top of the hoop itself? Don't try this at home court." But G-Wiz was good anyway, despite his silly name. At least "Bango" has a history behind him. And he was wonderful when "Seniorgee" took the court -- a bunch of older women who, off court, probably don red hats and loud purple dresses and don't care what people think. I want to join Seniorgee in a few years. The Bucks can still go to the finals, as a cinderella, that's for sure. But I suspect that's not what's going to fill the stadium over the next few weeks. They're hustling the fan appreciation -- witness that both Charlie V and Bogut have twitter accounts (and @CV31 is really hustling the twittering.) They're working every avenue they have to connect with the fans. We zipped back down to Liquor Sweets afterwards, because I'm trying to hustle some photography work with Brother Louie, but I only caught their last two songs (they hit the stage at 9:30 -- talk about early!) so I told 'em, next time, no charge tonight. Can't review them based on two songs, but the crowd seemed to like them, and knowing their setlist, they served precisely what their function was: warm up band. They warmed the crowd well for the headliner, a group of 80s headbangers aptly called Metal Men. You know I'm not a true Metal gurl, but I had to love these guys. The lead singer brought to mind the Scoprions (I was waiting for "No One Like You") and the guitar player did all the schtick: noodling high up on the neck with finger picking both hands, apreggios up the waz, and guitar face every moment. And the lead singer joked and almost winked at the leather, lace, and badass audience that filled the upstairs of Liquor Sweets. Brian, who knows his metal, assured me that they took on Dio, the Scoprions, Ozzy, -- none of the hits, but the deep cuts that I'm sure the roomfull of proper headbanging metalheads appreciated. We headed downstairs to the Globe South to see what was there, and what was there was a promising looking Cheap Trick tribute band called Cheap rick. (Rick NOT capitalized.) I'd review them, but they were on break. A 45-freaking minute break, I'd say. The seemed to have it all: two racks full of guitars (complete with a couple doublenecks) for the "Rick Nielsen", a rack full of basses for the "Tom Petersson", a stocky guy in a shirt and tie that I had to assume was the "Bun E Carlos" and I couldn't find the Robin to save my life. Why no review? Because, I waited some 25 minutes (and they'd been on break for 10) and then finally asked them, "So when are you going on?" They replied, "Oh, in about 10-15 minutes." Glancing at my watch, I'm realizing I have a sitter to pick up. Fine guys, be prima donnas and make people wait until midnight. WhatEVER. It's not like if people want to chat and get a beer they can't go into the front bar, so get up and play already. Playing is how you fill a room. Labels: local music V'ron reported in at 6:52 PM ¶ 6:52 PM 0 comments links to this post Monday, March 09, 2009 This Little Light of Mine I'm still getting caught up with my blogging (lots went down in the arts and entertainment community this weekend) but get ready for a glowing review of my kids' school music recital. I'm so very happy with the music curriculum at Downtown Montessori Academy -- Miss Barb not only implements the official Monterrori program, but she's expanding the kids' exposure to all different kinds of music. The theme this past Thursday was Jazz -- and it's influence on American music in general. As my Sammy is in the K 3-4-5 class, they went first, changing an African tune as they took the stage, and then went into two precious spirituals accompanied with American Sign Language. I literally got choked up as they sang their hearts out on "This Little Light of Mine" with the sign language -- all these precious little kids, letting their light shine so brightly I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. They followed with an equally enthusiastic "You Gotta Sing When the Spirit Moves You" and I was floored. The K-5 kids were next, and accompanied themselves with tambourines and dances, singing The Blues (including a Rainy Day Blues that was apt.) This school isn't big enough for a full orchestra program, but they're still teaching music theory basics via instruction on the recorder -- and Stella's class delivered some ragtime/dixieland in the form of the Riverboat Rag and Dixie Cat. Even at this point, Miss Barb challenged these kids to do a little improv, and in some cases, thes kids were only hampered by their own nervousness, but I was impressed to see that they're being challenged anyway. Plus, Miss Barb's keyboard accompanient had technical difficulties, so the kids were a little thrown off since they had to play their first song a little differently than they rehearsed. I really didn't notice a problem until that had been explained, and I tried to tell Stella it was fine. What Stella doesn't understand yet is that if the audience didn't notice a problem, then you did well -- that's showbiz, baby. But she was still upset that she didn't deliver 100%. She's a perfectionist. Also impressive was the adolescent program, who took the stage with acoustic guitars, reading sheet music, and playing the melody for Sing Sing Sing. OK, they're not ready for the Tommy Dorsey orchestra, but after three months with a guitar, I was lucky if I could get through the chords for Blitzkrieg Bop, and to this day, I still can't read sheet music for a string instrument. Bravo kids. But this is kind of a giveaway review. These kids could have gone onstage and sang the phone book out of key and I would have cheered. Mostly because they're MY kids (and my friends' kids, and my kids' friends, and let's not forget our Girl Scouts, who I've come to know and love this year), but also because I appreciate music that comes from the heart, delivered by people devoid of self consciousness or irony, people who wanted to deliver they best that they could do, yet challenge themselves. Sammy's pure joy warmed my heart, and Stella's drive for perfectionism made it burst with pride. Sorry, no criticism on this or pithy comments today. You'll have to wait another day for some Sixthstation snarkyness as I approach the weekend offerings. Labels: local music, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 8:27 PM ¶ 8:27 PM 0 comments links to this post Thursday, March 05, 2009 Random Ramblings in March Well, yes, I've been away. Personal bizzyness, frankly, and very little of it interesting to you, dear readers. But I'll recap a bit, and there's plenty in store coming up.
So, speaking of the upcoming weekend.....
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bazillion Girl Scout cookies to help my kid deliver. Labels: advance warnings, bucks basketball, local music, SE Wisconsin Life V'ron reported in at 12:00 PM ¶ 12:00 PM 0 comments links to this post Tuesday, February 24, 2009 Parading Around Redemption Another freezing Friday night, another fine evening at the ballet with Stella. The marquee dance was, of course, Jerome Robbins' Fancy Free, which was Stella's favorite out of the three presentations that night. She doesn't like abstract dance, which is why she she didn't like the opener, Adam Hougland's K413. "What is K413?" she asked me, and I have to admit I didn't know the answer. We both recognized the Mozart piece it was set to, so I told Stella to concentrate on how the orchestra plays it. I think I liked it because it reminded me of the sullen teenager that Stella is on the road to becoming. One minute they're all jumping around happy, the next their heads are drooped as though I told them all they couldn't get any computer time until their rooms were cleaned. The whole troupe paraded around switching back and forth between these moods -- and I found myself giggling at the Moody Teenagers. Fancy Free, for all the fanfare it got, was wonderful, if not disappointingly short. I love Leonard Bernstein compositions anyway -- its a great straddle between sheer classical with such an American stamp on it. (Did I mention that I was a cast dancer in a teenage production of West Side Story? To this day, "Dance at the Gym" is one of my favorite Broadway musical moments.) This was a classic Broadway musical production number: very New York, very wartime respite, very flirty. And it established itself, made its point and moved on, quickly. It was almost a choreographed haiku in that respect. The evening ended with the last act of Raymonda, and that was lovely, but I've written before, I'm more into the edgier, modern ballet. Raymonda is the third act of a classical ballet, so we're just getting the celebratory dances here -- without the benefit of having gotten to see the conflict and action of the earlier acts. So it was like eating the icing off the cake and not eating the cake itself. Don't get me wrong, I can eat a whole jar of cake frosting without going near any flour, but I needed a bit more action. Still, Stella's favorite Tatiana Jouravel accomplished two things Friday night: she still stunned us with her effortless grace, and she redemed her first name after that chick on American Idol (who almost took out local Milwaukee boy Danny) drilled her annoying laugh into our heads two days earlier. Kick me now for missing Ekko Galaxie and the Rings of Saturn Saturday night: their first set was a recreation of Bowie's Ziggy Stardust album and I'm sure they followed up with plenty more glam. Frankly, I was pooped from dealing with all the snow. Still, Sammy and I accomplished the amazing on Sunday: we found free parking two blocks away from the Bradley Center just minutes before the Bucks game. Woo! And what a game it was. Just before Sammy insisted he had to hit the bathroom, we thrilled to a quarter-ending, buzzer beating hail mary shot by Charlie V -- at least a 60-footer to keep the score real. The folks we were sitting near all agreed -- it was amazing they pulled this out, because the defense was pretty sour. Still, it was good to see Luke Ridnour back, and his hustle seems to energize this team. And I'm agreeing with the pundits that even though these guys are probably not a shoo-in for the playoffs, they're still fun to watch and buzzworthy, because frankly, nobody was expecting them to still even be on the bubble at this point, what with everybody all injured and all. They're kind of like a Cinderella team at the NCAA Tournament -- they might break into the Sweet Sixteen but that's all. That's all, say, Gonzaga or Valpo ever did, right? It was Mascot Day at the Bradley Center so we got to see the regulars -- the banged-up Bango and his version of Mini-Me -- Bango Junior, who is as cute as a button as we jumps on a mini-tramp to hit a mini hoop. Bernie Brewer was there, Roscoe from the admirals, and then every manufacturer mascot you never knew existed. They all met at halftime for a quick game of hoops, refereed by Ronald McDonald, who Sammy insists is one scary clown. The Klements Sausage Racers dominated-- probably because their costumes allow their wearers to at least use their real arms and legs unencumbered. The Open Pantry Coffee Cups were outclassed. Sammy wiped out in the 3rd quater and needed an ice pack, and I credit the BC medics with being quick and gentle about this. Afterwards, Sammy took awhile to get back into the glory of things, but he still had a good time banging thunder sticks together and yelling. He's getting the hang of this game, and it might have been a close game, too. We happily left, Michael Redd bobbleheads in hand (ACL brace not included) and headed home. Quick dinner, and I ran over to catch the end of the AIM For Peace benefit -- a day-long show at Liquor Sweets to raise money for "Doc" Pfaff. You may remember he was shot when some guys tried to commit armed robbery at Kochanski's Concertina Bar. I missed the Milwaukee Police Band and all the speeches -- got in in time to hear a terrific metal cover band do a good job with "Paranoid", a touch of Desmond Bone's Edgar Allen Cash, and a solid set from Mark Shurilla and the Greatest Hits. Pfaff sat in with them, and then a lovely duet with Dave Alswager and Claire Sardina. Sardina's looking and sounding good these days. She started with a couple of Patsy Cline tunes -- which she renders with authenticity and a voice all her own, and then Alswager joined her for some Neil Diamond, and he can cover the Neil convincingly. Bad Boy's Xeno and a violinist were up next, and the theme seemed to be "Irish Rock Night." A nice U2 cover started it off, and everybody knows that I don't really care for the Cranberries, so when they started in on Zombie, I went to get a drink. They were nice enough to not attempt Dolores Riordan's "I'm Trying So Hard To Be Sinead It Hurts" hiccups, and just sang it straight up, which was enough. Then most of Bad Boy seemed to reunite, including Steve Grimm on acoustic guitar. I wasn't in Milwaukee for Bad Boy's reign, but I suspected they were unplugging their hits: it did remind me of the acoustic portion of a Yes concert in the 70s. After a solid set, Shurilla's band took the stage again, and well, you know how there's some bands that, on their night, can play any song in the universe and it's absolutely magical and you leave happy to know that there's bands that can pull off that kind of sudden attempts at songs you'd never think they could do? Shurilla and his co-horts have been known to do that on many a night, but, well, let's just say this wasn't one of those nights and leave it at that, OK? (hint: it was sloppy when John Lennon did "Give Peace A Chance" ....) I'm sure they'll redeem themselves tonight, however. It's Fat Tuesday, and about the funnest thing I can think of to do is hit what is turning into an annual Riverwest Mardi Gras parade/pub crawl. It starts at the Uptowner with the Electric Voodoo Gris-Gris band (basically the Shurilla crew dressed for Carnivale). Last time I saw them do that, it was one of those nights. Then down the street to Timbuktu for a set from Eat the Mystery, and it circles back over to Linneman's for a Sigmund Snopek set. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have about 10 hours to decide what I'm going to give up for Lent before I get my last forehead full of ashes from Archbishop Dolan. Redemption, indeed. Labels: advance warnings, bucks basketball, local music, stella sam brian family V'ron reported in at 1:16 PM ¶ 1:16 PM 0 comments links to this post Sunday, February 15, 2009 My 24th year class reunion Yeah, as Betty Blexrud-Strigens quoted me, "It's like being at a class reunion where you actually like all of the people." Somebody else had called it "The Punk Prom." Whatever you wanted to call it, the Atomic Valentine show was less of a show and more of a big party where people we didn't even know were still alive (much less in town) came out of the woodwork to send off not just a record store, but probably a piece of our youth. We got the sitter settled in, and made it to the Miramar just in time to catch Mark Waldoch's set (and were told we missed a quick set from the Squares, which I was sad about.) Lots of people had kids old enough to actually bring in, rather than leave with a sitter.
Up next was the wonderful power punk pop of the Etiquette, who, while not exactly from the Milwaukee Music Class of '91, still fit in wonderfully with all of this. They seem to have picked up the Milwaukee trademark of a great pop hook with edge and reminded me a bit of a tougher Green Day -- edgier, but with that great sense of headbanging hookieness. They aren't that much younger than most of the bands that played, but they looked it -- and had an endearing sincerity that made me ask myself why I hadn't caught them before. Milling about all night were denizens of the scene, many of whom also played in a bazaillion bands. The sound (at least from the audience) was pristine, the stage managed like clockwork by organizer Damien Strigens. I suspect part of that was also due to a level of cooperation from all the bands that comes from maturity. No prima donnas tonight, nobody hogging their time, everybody cooperating to make this show come together and work. Cherry Cake, fronted by Steve Whalen and backed up by some of the best players in the city, was up next. They didn't even do "Mrs. Wilson," the song they had on the Badger A-Go-Go CD that Atomic Records put out, and I'm kind of glad: I thought that was their weakest song anyway. Instead, they cranked out a pile of songs that were great emo, long before the term was coined (and co-opted). Whalen hasn't lost his dramatic onstage delivery (did anybody think he would?) and bassist Keith Brammer still plays his instrument slung so way below his knees I wonder how he doesn't have back issues at our age. I really regret not capturing George Morales on my camera, but he hid in the shadows all night while putting smiles on everybody's faces, glad to see him out and playing. Time to remember how stupidly and criminally overlooked by the industry the Lovelies were. I've said it before and I'll say it again: only unfortunate timing can explain why these made-for-4AD women didn't get signed and at least be nationally famous. They had the presence and vocal overtures of the Breeders/Hatfield/Muses/Belly crowd, but they were just darn better in many respects. Liv wrote great, catchy melancholy songs (she still does), she and Barb Endes harmonized flawlessly, and frankly, they both had better voices and stage manner than all those other Boston-based girl bands combined. And last night, they had a packed room of appreciative fans to confirm it. "What just happened?" a friend who wasn't around in the Milwaukee scene in the late 80s/early 90s asked me when "Bob and Joe" finished their set. "Who was that?" Oh, that was, for all intents and purposes, Die Kreuzen, I told him. They weren't on the published bill, but by the time they hit the first few chords of "Seasons of Wither" everybody knew what was going on. I was kind of expecting "Elizabeth" too, but you can't have everything. Instead, they ended their short surprise set with a great take on Cheap Trick's "He's a Whore" and as evidenced by my friend's reaction, everybody in the room knew something special had happened. I knew something special was happening some 20 years ago -- shameless name-dropping here, but Pam Rake and I had been out on the town when she dragged me into a studio to hear her friends mixing down a song. Although I wasn't quite in the mood for the usual tediousness of mixing down a song, I knew that night I'd heard something that was going to be special -- it turned out to be the mixdown of "Seasons of Wither." I'm sure lots of people in the room had similar flashback stories to tell each other. This one was mine. Thanks, Pam.
OK, you either like noisy music or you don't. I have to admit, I'm not the biggest fan of noise bands, but if I'm going to do it (especially since I married a guy whose band started out as a noise band), I could be doing worse than Boy Dirt Car, who put the industry in industrial music. And they were sonically arresting and visually stunning. They established a drop-forge-like rhythm and kept it going from there, reminding their fans why they're some of the foremost purveyors of the genre, and giving the others a crash course in it. Unfortunately, this was also the set during which the --quelle horror-- beer ran out. Miramar proprietor Bill Stace, ran out and got hold of plenty more cases, which satisfied the needs of the people who stayed, but between the challenging sonic boom in the theatre, the lack of beer for only a couple of minutes, plus the fact that, well, lots of us are in our 40s, and had babysitters to pay and shuffle home, the crowd thinned. And that's a darn shame, you people who left, because not only did you miss an compelling end to a Boy Dirt Car set, but you missed the reunion of Liquid Pink. In the back of the theatre, Atomic owner Rich Menning handed out grab bags filled with unclaimed consignments from the basement. I have to admit, I never heard of most of the bands contained in the bag I got, except for Jerry Grillo, with a CD of standards like "Georgia on My Mind" that I'm looking forward to playing. Actually, I'm going to listen to them all. That's kind of what Atomic was about: giving local bands a chance, immersing people into the hidden jewels that comprise the Milwaukee local music and culture scene. (Shit, that's kind of what this whole blog I write is about!). Rich Menning's store -- like many independent busineess in many of the towns I've lived in -- lit a fire under all our butts to keep the scene hot. We have a challenge now to figure out how to keep it burning without the comfort of a bricks and mortar meeting place. After last night's well-organized party, I'm convinced we still have -- both in talent and moxie -- what it takes to rise to that challenge. Labels: local music, shameless self promotion V'ron reported in at 8:03 PM ¶ 8:03 PM 1 comments links to this post |
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