tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-196590342024-03-07T11:59:15.032-06:00the sixth station blogA 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?V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.comBlogger533125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-43955618275344823082022-10-17T14:36:00.009-05:002022-10-17T15:59:29.717-05:00The Trashy Kids are Allright<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433348890_9ff74b7ff3_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="374" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433348890_9ff74b7ff3_b.jpg" width="374" /></a></div>Yes, it's been over a year for the Sixth Station and I'm admitting I'm getting old. Used to be I went out every week to see a band, then with kids and a house and responsibility and all that jazz, it turned into "every so often" but at least I was soaking up some underground music at least once a month. Then Covid hit and we all went into hiding but I can't blame Covid anymore. Naw, I'm getting old and it was shaping up to be another relaxing weekend at home ordering out and watching reruns but...<p></p><p>Except for those years when I was dealing with postpartum lack of sleep, I have never missed a Trash Fest and I wasn't about to start now. Last year I was even *in* Trash Fest as "Giannis and the Koumpos" (yes, we did a ten minute whyte girl wail of "Basketball Jones"). </p><p>Now, if you really want to make us feel old, book Trash Fest at the Cactus Club. It was our haunt that our contemporary Eric Uecke transformed from an old-man-shot-and-a-beer joint into the now-legendary alternative music spot. But, we got old, and Warwick Seay catered to us by opening a club in Riverwest where the bands start at 8 pm and they're done by 10. <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b6/32/63/b632631abb8253892ca657eb18570026.jpg" target="_blank">Perfect for us: we can jam out and still get home in time to get a good night's sleep.</a> Uecke passed the torch to Kelsey Kaufman -- and they've carried that torch lovingly and well -- despite the pandemic shutting them down shortly after the ink dried on the sales transaction. </p><p>I know, I know. You probably got linked here because your band got mentioned in this post like it was some recipe for the perfect meatloaf but you have to wade through the author's fucking life story before you get to the part where she actually tells you how much ground beef you're going to need for this "best meatloaf EVER" but you know what? </p><p><i><b>I know </b></i><b>you just want to read about <i>you </i></b>but now you're going to have to hear about how I'd been going to the Cactus Club long before you were old enough to wipe your own ass and <a href="https://flic.kr/p/2nTu2dK" target="_blank">how we had the baby shower for our now-24 year old in the backroom right underneath that giant fan blower</a> which made life a living hell for the drummer in your band by blowing hot air right near their toms but that 1974 red shag carpet that lined the stage, walls and (surprisingly enough) floor at least soaked up the high-end frequency of your amp where you still had to crank up the treble in order to be able to hear any note higher than an F# on the low E string and <a href="https://onmilwaukee.com/articles/jonginoli" target="_blank">the out of town band didn't understand why you have to wait until the Packer game was over t</a>o start playing its 1030 for cryin out loud but we had to deal with some obnoxious guy from Scotland who didn't know how to pronounce "Favre" correctly and that one chick who's doing her makeup in the single use women's restroom was taking forEVER and you <b><i>really</i></b> had to piss and yes, I was there the night the White Stripes played just like everybody who claims they saw Nirvana at the Unicorn not really but who's gonna know I wasn't? </p><p>Deep breath. </p><p>And, honestly, people bitching about having to pay cover was kind of comforting, in a "some things never change" sort of way: like the woman who balked at paying $10 cover "just for some trash." Brian schooled her: "OK... so you came to the Cactus Club where it was clearly advertised that it would be 'Trash Fest' and there would be several bands and there would be $10 cover and the sign said <b><i>TRASH</i></b> Fest and s<a href="https://shepherdexpress.com/music/local-music/trashfest-2022-a-tradition-in-art-and-culture-continues/" target="_blank">o did every single article in the media about this</a> and you're <b><i>surprised</i></b>? What exactly did you expect?" </p><p>Trash. That's what I expected. Trashy music, trashy people, trashy beer (the beer of choice was Hamm's, replacing PBR as the hipster cheap shit since PBR is embroiled in a labor dispute), and just plain ol' trash strewn about the floor and environs, ready to be wadded up and thrown at the acts. And between generations of old fucks and new kids on the block, Trash Fest delivered. </p><p>Alright already, the <strike>recipe</strike> roundup:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433347990_3111f7fcaa_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="214" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433347990_3111f7fcaa_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />So, as usual, and comfortingly so, the Nervous Virgins kicked off the night with their standard set. The actual composition of the band changes every year, but Eric Griswold has always been the front and center constant, and after all these years still brings a lyric sheet. <p></p><p>And you can always count on Blaine Schultz coming up with yet another reason to jam on Velvet Underground tunes for 20 minutes and this year was no exception. "The Ray Sisters" played "Sister Ray" (oh duh now I get it!) for 20 minutes. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433170104_4ab7cc8879_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="534" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433170104_4ab7cc8879_b.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br />20 minutes of C, F and G never sounded so right. It's right up there with with time Blaine paid a trashy tribute to another of his heroes by playing Neil Young's "Hurricaine" for 20 minutes at the old Globe East. In a forshadowing of this very post's theme of passing the torch, about halfway through the set (which in this case could also be phrased "<b>halfway through the <i>song</i></b>") Blaine swapped his stratocaster copy with Jim Richardson <i><b>junior</b></i> (yes, Richardson <i><b>senior </b></i>was on drums) and let the youngun go to town while the crowd happily tranced along to the driving beat. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433353640_fb31802fb9_b.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433353640_fb31802fb9_b.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><br />Is that Stoney? Naw, too short to be Stoney....and she's playing a bass WHOA THAT'S JANNA! A Janna Blackwell sighting at Trash Fest as "Loving Lolli" powering through a set of classic punk, setting the tone by opening with a Spinal Tap cover. From there they kept everybody happy with a selection of songs that ran from punk to rock to metal and back again, all kept steady by Janna's bass which hung on her as comfortably as her all-black (as in punk, not necessarily goth) ensemble. Voice and attitude were crystal clear as ever.<p></p><p>Which is more than you could say for DB Fox, a recent addition to the seemingly perennial TrashFest lineup. I still wonder if this guy even gets that you're supposed to be in on the cringe factor. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433173639/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">He gets up on stage, and earnestly sings out some acoustic versions of the punk and new wave songbook,</a> but I can't tell if he's self-aware or not. But since some bands were late (and as usual, there were no-shows) the lineup got jumbled and nobody was kicking ol' DB off the state until he got his full 20 minutes. Twenty years ago, people would panic if a band didn't show up on time (or at all), but Paulette D'Amour ("The Fly" to all you old folks) wasn't fazed at all. Paulette runs the loosest tight ship ever when it comes to Trash Fest. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433355895_a0d0de35b9_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433355895_a0d0de35b9_b.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><br />The first switch came to accommodate the a band that's actually a band and not just a thrown together act for TrashFest, Atheists and Airplanes. Been a fan of their unapologetic aggressive punk for a few years now, and while the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433359120/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">rhythm section has shifted around</a>, its Emily and Jen cavorting around (<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433426163/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">and off</a>) the stage while making it absolutely clear who's in charge of the crowd, working off an all-covers set list that nevertheless was all A&A: opening with an anthemic "Cherry Bomb," working their way toward a chillingly downtuned "Hit Me Baby One More Time," and closing with a "I Wanna Be Your Dog" that thumped in a monstrous 2/2 time instead of Iggy's oozing pickup. A few years back, the complaints against this band were that they were "unprofessional" and "could barely play their instruments" but hel-LO, they were always punk rockers, and as such, Attitude was Priority One from the get-go. They've since augmented that attitude with a tight rhythm section, sharp songwriting, and arresting vocals without losing the intensity and danger that's made them go from "potential" to great. They haven't lost a bit of their charisma and that's why their set at Trash Fest is always in front of a packed room. Oh, and they can play the hell out of their instruments, thank you. <div><br /><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52432916906_dc5bf45b04_b.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="640" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52432916906_dc5bf45b04_b.jpg" width="429" /></a><span style="text-align: left;">Up next was one of the more compelling fresh acts I've seen in awhile, Dick Taste (Like Frito), the nom de stage for Maggie Dahlberg, who explained (not apologized) that she didn't apply makeup this evening because she looked like "... I was in a bar fight last night." And this woman had stories to tell, all in songs filtered through a few guitar pedals that protracted the overall fierceness of her delivery. She closed her set with a loud-quiet-loud tome where the loud part was a definitive "<b>FUCK YOU JACK SMITH</b>" that had the crowd begging more information about this Jack Smith guy that inspired such a song. Paulette told me later he discovered her in Kenosha at a Die Monster Die show, and that she knows our mutual friend, Voot Warnings. Now it all makes sense: definitely heard that Voot influence in her music and words and I'll want to see more of Dick Taste (Like Frito). </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433190899_becfde107b_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433190899_becfde107b_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div><br />Time, then for a band that existed solely for the purpose of Trash Fest, the Supremes Court, who took the stage in judicial robes made appropriately of contractor-grade black trash bags that were appropriate garb on a number of justifiable levels. (The Notorious RBG was p<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433195504/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">resent on an angelic level</a>.) Reaching deep into the catalog with tambourines for all of 'em, they did Diana Ross as dirty as the actual SCOTUS did women: Baby, where did our rights go? Come see about us, while "<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433188499/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">Brent Kavanaugh" went seeing about his next beer</a>. And I particularly liked their take on "You Keep Me Hanging On" which was more Vanilla Fudge blueswailing than Motown (courtesy of Jessica "Sonia" Knurr), and particularly impressive because it was clear that if these guys had more than the Trash Fest limit of 2 rehearsals, you couldn't tell. Now that's a TF band!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433375395_d86c5b14ab_b.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433375395_d86c5b14ab_b.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><br />And then, back to the actual bands that exist outside of Trash Fest, this time an up and coming band out of Riverwest by way of Waukesha: Anson Obvious and the Uncomfortable Moment, fronted by an equally charismatic Ariel Berberbaby, another find by Paulette: "my new favorite band," Paulette gushes, and they've made my list as well. They start out folky/acoustic (<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433440283/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">with an arsenal of washboards and harmonicas</a>) and then <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52432413967/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">Jesus pops in for a song</a>, and then Ariel <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433194899/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">pops into the audience</a> for a song <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/52433442948/in/album-72177720302945664/" target="_blank">or two</a>. All this time, you're enchanted by rocking songs with titles like "Glory Hole" (the chorus goes "It's a Hole That's Filled With Love") that summarizes how I feel about this band. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433445273_ec8dd06864_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52433445273_ec8dd06864_b.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><br />And then High Wizzard took the stage, those Jorin boys decided to skewer stoner death metal this year (previous targets have included Ska, Bluegrass, <a href="https://photos.google.com/search/_tv_videos/photo/AF1QipN20X-0_K9Y2h9AQFclMVGIm5bp926FToCTEVkU" target="_blank">last years victim was 80s techno</a>) and for about the first ten minutes it was thumping a single chord on the bass and putting some kind of wizardry jedi mind trick on the audience but <i><b>halfway through the song</b></i> I broke free and went outside to catch a breath of fresh air. I glanced at the schedule, which indicated that last band, Trash Deco would be heading for the stage, but TF closers have tended to be noise bands whose raison d'etre is to chase people the fuck out of the place, so I decided to not make it hard for them to get rid of me, and left. But I left feeling good. The old folks in my generation still have it, and the younguns are picking it up. Trash Fest may have gotten rid of me early early this year, but this city will never get rid of all this trash. </div><div><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72177720302945664" target="_blank"><br /></a></div><div><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72177720302945664" target="_blank">Here's photographic evidence of the (mostly) whole night.</a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-26016240083390875942021-08-14T19:21:00.020-05:002021-08-14T19:53:06.324-05:00Lessons From a Bipolar Artist<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/896/40475404234_bd674aa3ce_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="427" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/896/40475404234_bd674aa3ce_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />When you have a bipolar friend, your feelings about that friend are also kind of bipolar, too. Your feelings are usually not in sync with their cycle, but you definitely experience your own feelings about your friend that range from love and concern to, at best, indifference to downright revulsion. No matter how many times you tell yourself, "It's their disease that's doing this" you still can't separate the disease from this person that you care about and love who is saying and doing hurtful things to you, their family and friends. And so, to protect yourself, you attempt to cut them out of your life (which ultimately fails, because you still know that the person you care about is still in there, still fundamentally has a tender heart, and is suffering). <br /><p></p><p>And when your bipolar friend dies, have these words/phrases at the ready to explain your feelings to people who either didn't know them, or didn't share your experience with them: "<b><i>conflicted</i></b>" "I have to <i><b>process</b></i> this" "I'm glad he's finally at peace" and others, because, well, you do need to <i><b>process</b></i> your bipolar feelings about your bipolar friend. </p><p>My friend, my son's godfather and drumming teacher, my husband's friend, and overall Milwaukee force of nature, Rob McCuen, died this week. As far as we know, it was peacefully (the local medical examiner told family he didn't believe it was suicide), and he was at home. Not home in his last apartment in Milwaukee, not home with his partner in Minnesota, but in his home state of Iowa, near where his heart probably beat the strongest: the Knoxville Raceway right at the beginning of the Knoxville Nationals, sprint car racing's biggest annual event -- the Indy 500 of sprint car racing. If Rob could have picked his exit point, I'm thinking this would have been high on his list (or the Indy for that matter). </p><p>I have many wonderful stories and photos of Rob that I'll share, but please remember, this was my bipolar friend, and I'm <i><b>conflicted</b></i>. Before I can celebrate the great things about his life, I have to expunge the hurt his disease brought upon many of us who have cared for/about him for years. This past year has been especially difficult for his family and friends. He entered a manic phase and his stubbornness ( a trait that generally served him well, but not in this situation) led him to address it in unhealthy ways. <a href="https://www.milwaukeemag.com/sorry-that-wasnt-me/" target="_blank">Rob himself eloquently explains in a Milwaukee Magazine article what's going on in his head when this happens, and he admits he loses friends along the way. </a> He flat out admitted that when he wrote that piece for Milwaukee Magazine ten years ago: </p><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"If you had the misfortune of crossing my path between last April and September, I more than likely pissed you off, scared you, insulted you, offended you or repulsed you. At least you could avoid me, block me on Facebook, not take my calls or throw me away altogether. I can’t say I blame you. The many people I’ve wronged don’t care why. You can’t expect to get a pass just because you happen to be in the clutches of an illness that you have no control over, but I still wasn’t quite ready to admit that treatment was the only option I had left."</span></div></blockquote><p></p><p>Well, yeah, Rob, it wasn't "more than likely" this past year. You <i><b>did</b></i> piss me off, scared me, insulted me, offended me, and repulsed me. And you did this to your other close friends and family, people who still loved you in spite of all this. And we did avoid you, blocked you on Facebook (and, being this is 10 years later, all other social media), refused to take your calls, and in a few cases (mine being one), threw you away. Well, sort of. I didn't block you on FB, and I listened to your voice mails, because goddammit Rob, I still cared and I still had this slice of optimism that a shred of that guy left that might come through in one of those VMs, that might be able to punch through your horrible, painful disease, and show your generously huge heart to us again. I'd brace myself and click "play message" hoping maybe one of those messages might indicate you're finally going to get the longterm help you need, not some temporary relief from a bottle of vodka. </p><p>On the advice of a friend who is a mental health professional, I began to accept that this time around, it might not happen. And so a few months ago, I sat down with my 17 year old son, who had been taking drum lessons from Rob since he was 10, and had a difficult conversation with him. After all, Rob wasn't just his drum teacher. He was his friend too, and he took (as much as he could) seriously his unofficial role as Sam's godfather. He showed up at Sam's soccer, baseball and football games (since Brian worked 2nd shift) and cheered him on. He drove Sam to practice when I couldn't get out of work in time, and took him out for ice cream afterwards. He praised Sam for his technology knowledge when Sam helped him fix whatever computer issues Rob had. He turned up at his birthday parties with gifts and sometimes would just stop by and take him out for some kind of treat. He taught Sam his favorite meatloaf recipe as well as how to make his favorite pork chops. </p><p>And those drum lessons? I wish every kid could have a music teacher who loved the instrument, loved teaching the instrument, and made it fun like Rob did. So fun that at every lesson (which, by the way, he came to our house to do so I wouldn't have to drive Sam to yet another practice/rehearsal) he'd join him on the kit where the two of them would just have fun with it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxqT21NM-JpubCTgzwMnpAWZ5U6lyOzhkwvTyoTDwre_ZJ1pO6yzwA5YrEM_5Cdbd3QksZAzgf4eew' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>So yeah, that difficult conversation, that I was sorting out myself as I was explaining back in May to a teenager what was happening to the man we selected to be his mentor, as all of our friends and family were watching a rapid and heartbreaking decline: "I want you to be emotionally prepared for the fact that it's very likely we're going to be going to his funeral sometime this year. Rob is suffering from his bipolar disease, but it doesn't look like he's following his medication and he is using alcohol to escape from it..... we need to remember the Rob we loved and cared about before this completely took him over..... the fun Rob, the Rob that taught you your instrument, the Rob that came over and helped when Dad was in the hospital."<br /></p><p>And the heartbreaking conclusion I had to say to Sam: "That guy's been gone for awhile, and I think he died about a year ago. The guy inhabiting Rob's body is also very sick, and I don't think he's long for this world either." Sam understood. </p><p>So when I got the call on Wednesday that indeed, Rob had left us, hmmmm, what was one of those words again? <i><b>Conflicted</b></i>. I needed to <b><i>process </i></b>this. Hadn't I already mourned "Wonderful Rob" and had taken "Shitty Rob" out of my life, like I claimed to Sammy that I did? No, I hadn't done either of these things fully. And I still haven't. But it's time to bury "Shitty Rob" and stop feeling guilty for kicking "Shitty Rob" out of our lives. We did what we could to help him, but we had to do what we could to protect ourselves emotionally (and for some people, physically) also. </p><p>So now I'm going to celebrate "Wonderful Rob" as many people are doing on social media this week. Besides his kind relationship to my kid and my husband, he was genuinely my friend. I could call him to talk about stuff, both intense, and funny. We would run into each other and bounce ideas off each other. We could bitch at each other, and as a fellow self-centered Sagittarius, we could kind of understand what was going on. And because we could both be emotionally blunt, we could usually forgive each other and move on, and accept each other's foibles. </p><p>And foremost, we can celebrate Rob McCuen the artist. He published three books of his prose, "Square Dancing in a Round House" (self published), "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shut-Up-Listen-Confessions-Bipolar-ebook/dp/B086JJCNNL/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=rob+mccuen+me+vs+me&qid=1628976733&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Me vs. Me: Confessionas of a Bipolar Rock and Roller" (18% Publishing) </a>and the follow up "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tales-Crypt-American-Working-Class-ebook/dp/B08NFMM4NC/ref=pd_sim_1/144-9188751-1485354?pd_rd_w=rRzoQ&pf_rd_p=6caf1c3a-a843-4189-8efc-81b67e85dc96&pf_rd_r=41WCA4E9SXXAJ8HXAAV2&pd_rd_r=7b1c332c-a20f-452e-a006-df812814172f&pd_rd_wg=9gduo&pd_rd_i=B08NFMM4NC&psc=1" target="_blank">Tales From the Crypt of a Working Class Hero (18% Publishing)</a>." I'm totally distanced from the world of short track and other racing, but he was known in those circles as a keen and colorful chronicler of the circuit. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3529/3282131132_128812aeb4_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3529/3282131132_128812aeb4_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>He was a terrific drummer, who provided the beat for a number of great bands, including two of Milwaukee's best psychedelic/garage bands, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRId1KALpJY" target="_blank">Plasticland</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPDYUemSKfQ" target="_blank">Liquid Pink. The first song on this clip is "Life on the Rocks" - where they hand Rob the mike and he goes to town on his self-written contribution to the band. </a> "Life on the Rocks" fit perfectly with the rest of Peder Hedman's songs, but this was a taste of what would follow as regards Rob's songwriting. On drums, though, Rob was the master of the shuffle beat ("there goes the Rob McCuen beat again" I would say to myself as he would slip back into his go-to drum style) and his love of the merseybeat permeated so much of what he did behind the kit as well as his songwriting. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/6163/6182562327_6134d295d1_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="214" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6163/6182562327_6134d295d1_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />There were many others, of course, (I'm so sorry I missed the trashy glam of the Dog Style Dandies, and I probably would have enjoyed the Red Ball Jets, but there you go). When I landed in Milwaukee during the late 80s, it was Plasticland and Liquid Pink that introduced me to the wonderful Milwaukee music scene and those two bands drew me into a deep and varied scene that I support and patronize to this day. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/2421/3630351153_c3fed73540_b.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="214" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/2421/3630351153_c3fed73540_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />But I will maintain his biggest strength as an artist was in his songwriting and delivery of those songs. When the vocal mike was focused on him, he was one of the best frontmen in town, propped up by those snappy, catchy, and intelligent songs of his. "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYELYsjCB30" target="_blank">I'm AJ Foyt</a>" puts the listener behind the wheel of Car #14 and shows us how it's done. "<a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/track/life-imitates-art" target="_blank">Life Imitates Art</a>" is resignation disguised as pop. I'm pretty sure "<a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/track/white-trash" target="_blank">White Trash</a>" is from his Dog Style Dandies days and perfectly captures the duality of his appreciation and revulsion of that sector. When I saw him perform it live at the old Unicorn, it was the set closer, and he nearly collapsed on stage as he took his over-exaggerated bow. "<a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/track/brains-in-a-jar" target="_blank">Brains in a Jar</a>" is a high speed chase of a song that works best cranked to maximum volume. "<a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/album/step-on-your-neck" target="_blank">My Elizabeth</a>" could have very well been written by Sonny Bono and produced by Phil Spector, but being Rob, it's neither and yet brings to mind Bono's "Needles and Pins," which Rob often covered convincingly. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3642/3631186108_1e529f654e_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="535" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3642/3631186108_1e529f654e_b.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br />Hell, the entire <a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/album/step-on-your-neck" target="_blank">Step On Your Neck</a> album is a veritable "Rob McCuen's Greatest Hits," and while Rob stumbled through the years with backup bands like the White Hot Tizzies, Love Bully, Rob McCuen and the Ruins, it's the Animal Magnets that truly realized his vision for his pop machismo. As the Shepherd Express' <a href="https://shepherdexpress.com/music/local-music/remembering-rob-mccuen/" target="_blank">Dave Luhrssen's Rob obiturary</a> remembered when that record came out in 2013, it was “one of the most powerful rock ‘n’ roll records out this year—here in town and elsewhere.” Rob actually took issue with <a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-know-what-you-thinking-she-hear-six.html" target="_blank">my review of their performance</a>, because I had said "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 none of these guys are above it all." He focused on what he thought was an insult, and wouldn't back down until, over a few beers, I pointed out the word <i><b>almost</b></i> in the sentence. But that was Rob. Any slight directed toward him resulted in immediate defense, whether it was actually a slight or not. <p></p><p>And when he belts out "<a href="https://animalmagnets.bandcamp.com/track/i-love-myself" target="_blank">If I don't love myself, nobody will</a>," nothing could be further than the truth. I'm too <b><i>conflicted</i></b> to listen to this record right now, but it has been and always will be one of my top Milwaukee releases and should have gone a lot further than it did. </p><p>I suspect a project he was working on with guitarist extraordinaire Dan "Myles" Mullen (also a good friend), "Rob McCuen's High Flying Ego Trip" will be released soon, the ol' posthumous release. He put it together in the past year, during these months where we weren't speaking. (Well, Rob was speaking to me; I wasn't answering.) Over dinner a couple of weeks ago, I asked Myles, "So, honestly, is it any good?" "Yeah, actually it is." I think the best word to describe my feeling about that was relief. Rob was so over-the-top (and not in a good way) this past year that it had the potential to be a trainwreck, but Myles (who can be counted on to be blunt when assessing a musical performance) assured me it was good stuff. I'm looking forward to this. Myles and Rob could often be a formidable pair: Myles can bring out the best of Rob's Beatlesque vision. Back when the pair started working together as the White Hot Tizzies, they did a show opening for "Fright Fest" -- a night of hell rock and gothy bands accompanied by sideshow mutilation -- and it was clearly a misbooking on the level of The Blues Brothers at Bob's Country Bunker. But like those brothers, they went on stage and delivered Rob's songs and his favorite covers. As I said at the time, "<a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2006/11/could-somebody-give-me-push.html" target="_blank">Rob was on top of his game, totally unintimidated by a crowd full of kids waiting to see the muitalation act that was to follow him. He went and belted out the Hollies "Bus Stop" anyway, in perfect harmony with Dan Mullen. That's right, he sang a song about innocent love at first sight in the pouring rain to a S&M crowd of sinister goth kids. Man, that guy's got balls, and that's why he rocks.</a>" Myles delivered the final masters to Rob just a week ago, and I'm hoping somebody puts it out soon. </p><p>The general consensus among my mutual friends of Rob is that we are all hoping he's at peace. There was so much potential for disaster at this stage of the game that Rob's exit could have been way more tragic than it already is. Without going into specifics, nobody -- as much as he pissed us off this past year -- nobody wanted to see a Rob McCuen without his feet, without his cognitive abilities intact, without his ability to play music and charm us, and without that gigantic heart and soul we all knew he possessed and were lucky to be shown. Having to live with any of this would have broken his heart more than anything. I want to believe that he went to sleep in this hotel, excited as a little boy ready to go to the races the next morning. As I posted on FB when I first heard the news, I really want to forget this past year. Instead, this is the Rob McCuen I want to remember, him just passing on his love of playing music to a kid. Rob's out of frame, but you can see that's he simulating a stage strobe light and shouting encouragement to his protoge. At the end of a lesson, it was FREAK OUT time: show off your skills, put it all out there, and have fun with it, which is a good lesson for anybody. Rob is out of frame indeed, but we'll be hearing that voice for some time to come, and that's the best thing you can say about any artist. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwgYKakRS2n_5ot85EBxzTimtqhZupNJNAiIAmFjPc3wOxjHq5eAmpD-IH139oi9aE7RJeaB9VkmiI' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-26984918165024388072021-07-22T15:13:00.005-05:002021-07-23T10:12:43.789-05:00Welcome to the Bandwagon. Welcome to the EXPERIENCE.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327637900_faebb2a05f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327637900_faebb2a05f_b.jpg" /></a></div><br />It's been awhile since I've written about the Bucks in this blog. And those readers who have been following me since the get-go will remember that the reason I wrote about them all the time was that Brian and I had half season and/or full season tickets for a few years. Those few years were in the mid to late 2000s, during the Bogut, Redd, and baby Ersan years, when the Bucks were also-rans, owned by the Senator, and playing in the cement-laden utilitarian hockey arena that was the Bradley Center: a "gift to the city" by Jane Bradley Pettit but really a gift to her husband Lloyd Pettit in a failed attempt to get an NHL team to be based in Milwaukee. (We still have the Admirals at least). The Bradley Center was a great place to play hockey, but not much good for anything else. That total cement design made it acoustically awful (I saw one concert in there and never went back for that), and the capacity wasn't large enough to get Milwaukee to host anything bigger than the first round of the NCAA Tournament. And jeez it was ugly. No windows, no plaza, typical let's-not-invest-in-anything-<i><b>nice</b></i>, just do the minimum thing that people around here seem to settle for. <p></p><p>My blog posts about the Bucks honestly were not centered on the game itself that they played. They were about the <i><b>experience</b></i> of being a fan. I discussed the weather on a particular night, the parking situation. I critiqued the perfomance of the anthem, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/293461517/in/album-72157594368566763/" target="_blank">the halftime entertainment</a>, and the presentation of the food. And the fans themselves, especially <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157604696580893" target="_blank">T-Shirt Guy</a>. </p><p>And God bless 'em, the Bucks organization bent over backwards to make going to this also-ran team's games fun. They brought in entertainment. Every quarter there was a chance to win some T-shirt, or a Chipotle burrito, or a free Palermo's pizza. Maybe Senator Kohl wasn't great at building a strong front office, <a href="https://www.milwaukeemag.com/thanks-herb-an-ode-to-the-bucks-savior/?fbclid=IwAR18MPUdSZnkuBpsqPJ4RgornX5-IoKvw7oiVIpsLFKjbP2K1yT1TiKRuns" target="_blank">but he kept the team in Milwaukee, and made sure when he sold it, the team stayed here. </a></p><p>So those early millennial Bucks never got to the championship. Whatever. I grew up in Chicago as a Cubs fan. I was already raised not to expect winning teams. Going to Wrigley Field (and ditching school to do it) was the fun. The ballpark. The occasional great plays. The hot dogs that already came with mustard whether you liked it or not. The neighborhood with its locally owned taverns and shops and being jealous of people who could watch a game for "free" by sitting on their rooftops. Being part of "the lovable losers." The fantasy that sounded real for about a week about a "subway series" between the Cubs and the Sox. <b><i>Just the pure experience of the game for the game's sake.</i></b> And then I chose to attend the University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign in the early 80s and got that Bachelor's Degree in "Supporting a Team With 'Potential' Only To See Them Blow It in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004%E2%80%9305_Illinois_Fighting_Illini_men%27s_basketball_team" target="_blank">the Final Four </a>or the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1984_Rose_Bowl" target="_blank">Rose Bowl</a>" that's offered at all Big 10 schools. And of course, when the Bulls and the Bears were actually coming through during the 80s and early 90s, I watched Michael Jordan and Jim McMahon while living on the East Coast, piping up with "Hey, I'm from Chicago! Do I get to cheer?" And forget about the Cubs, my first love, during that era. The '84 Cubs actually won the NL east that year, prompting me to ask "Who <i><b>are</b></i> these imposters?" But then after two impressive wins in the NLCS (sound familiar) they blew it to the Padres, almost to my relief that I wasn't living in some alternate reality: "<a href="https://www.sportscasting.com/chokes-chicago-cubs-postseason-history/" target="_blank">Look at 'em choke!</a> Ah,<b><i> t</i></b><i><b>here's </b></i>my boys! <i><b>There's the Cubbies!</b></i>" </p><p>So when I moved to Milwaukee, and married a fellow basketball fan, and we decided to invest in half and full season tickets at the Bradley Center, I wasn't expecting a winning team. I <i><b>did </b></i> expect having some fun times, getting to shoot the breeze with people around us that we got to know (since our seats were also near season ticket holders). Brian and I either went together, or took turns taking our kids (Sammy doesn't even remember this, he was like 5 or 6 but he did have fun and always begged for those damn overpriced Dipping Dots), and Stella had a good time jumping around and eating stadium food. Like the Cubs fan that I was, it was all about the fun of just going to a basketball game. Then the Bush recession hit and we could no longer afford this. But we were still fans. </p><p>So fast forward to the past couple of years. Kohl got to the point where he was getting too old for this and sold the team and so began the argument about whether it was in the city's best interest to help finance a new stadium. I have to give credit to Lasry and the other new owners: they delivered a beautiful new stadium that took into account that other things would be happening there. It's acoustically decent, so attending a concert isn't an assault on your ears' high end receptors. It's versatile, and there isn't a bad seat in the house. They stuck to their commitment to provide good paying jobs, and to hire people from low-income zip codes, and when Covid hit, they threw some $$$ into their employees' bank accounts to help them get through a year without concession and other sales. They built not only a stadium, but a neighborhood (the "Deer District") that would (and has) spurred economic development and made Downtown a destination.</p><p>And then they picked Giannis Antetokoumpo deep in the draft and began to build the team from there. And admittedly, I was all "well and good, this will be fun" but having lived a lifetime of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc4IFIXcDcs" target="_blank">This Time For Sure</a>, I wasn't expecting the championship they promised. I was just enjoying some good games, a diverse and exciting team, and the heartwarming rags-to-riches stories of the Antetokoumpo brothers. And getting our toaster signed by Khris Middleton (who said "<a href="https://flic.kr/p/2hXMwC8" target="_blank">this is the second toaster I've signed today</a>") when we were out at the Pick N Save on Highway 100. This is the kind of corny stuff the Bucks were always good at. It's one of the many reasons I love and have always loved this team. </p><p>But this is also a team that has been coming of age during an era of heightened awareness of racial discrimination, spotlighted by the murders of Michael Brown, (remember Ferguson?) George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and others. While bitter people complained that (Black) basketball players were rich beyond their wildest dreams, money (even a shitton of it) doesn't buy you insurance from discrimination. Just ask John Henson what happens when you try to <a href="https://www.sbnation.com/nba/2015/10/27/9621368/john-henson-wisconsin-jewelry-store-discrimination" target="_blank">Buy Jewlery While Black</a>. Ask Sterling Brown what happens when you get a <a href="https://theundefeated.com/features/bucks-guard-sterling-brown-milwaukee-police/" target="_blank">Parking Ticket While Black.</a> </p><p>And while many other athletes have protested American white supremacy and its effects (do I really need to say Kaepernick in this context, or Megan Rapinoe?) and now we have to listen to white right-wingers whine about "All Lives Matter" and "Why does everything have to be about race" and other tone deaf manifestations of white privilege, Basketball is the game where a lot of this really comes to a head. </p><p>Because let's face it, basketball is a Black game. It's as Black as Hockey is white. And it's not just that it's dominated by Black players. It's dominated by Black <b>culture.</b> The music associated with is generally made by Black musicians. The fashion of basketball swag is Black: hoops players and fans are generally the most stylin' on and off court. Neighborhoods where pick up games regularly happen are Black neighborhoods. In fact, <a href="https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/disappearing-hoops-gentrifying-neighborhoods/Content?oid=84803342" target="_blank">white neighborhoods have fought to keep basketball hoops from going up in playgrounds specifically to keep out Black kids</a>. Basketball is fundamentally an inexpensive game to play -- all you need is a ball, and something to use as a hoop (you'll often see old milk crates used as the basket) and a hard surface, so it is indeed popular in urban lower-income neighborhoods which, in the US, tend to be Black neighborhoods as a result of historically r<a href="https://shepherdexpress.com/news/features/redlining-racial-covenants-and-suburbia-how-milwaukee-became/#/questions" target="_blank">ace-based redlining, especially in Milwaukee.</a> </p><p>Oh, and Covid. The NBA had already taken steps during last season to squeeze about as much as they could with no fans in the stadium and and fewer games, and the Bucks made the first round of the playoffs.... and then, not far from their home turf, a Black man, Jacob Blake, got shot by Kenosha Police. </p><p>The Bucks players, despite being millionaires, knew that because of the color of their (or their teammates') skin, something like this could have easily happened to them, just like it happened to Trayvon Martin. They knew that they were part of a community that deserved to be protected <b><i>by</i> </b>the police, instead of <b><i>from</i></b> the police. And so, facing likely (massive) fines and public ridicule on a Colin Kaepernick level, they knew they couldn't play with this on their minds. Minutes before a 1st round playoff game, they took a stand. They refused to take the court. And then something happened that brought me to tears and made me proud of this organization, this city, this city's players and fans. </p><p>Rather than punishing them, <a href="https://www.espn.com/nba/story/_/id/29747523/three-game-5s-set-wednesday-postponed-bucks-decision-boycott" target="_blank">the Bucks' front office </a><b style="font-style: italic;"><a href="https://www.espn.com/nba/story/_/id/29747523/three-game-5s-set-wednesday-postponed-bucks-decision-boycott" target="_blank">stood behind them</a>. </b></p><p>And then the <b><i>NBA and the Players' Union stood behind them</i></b>, canceling all the other games scheduled for that, and the next night. </p><p>Shit, across town, the <i><b>Brewers </b></i>refused to take the field. And then <i><b>MLB stood behind them</b></i>. </p><p>The Bucks -- and the NBA -- realized that they weren't playing this game in a vacuum and took leadership on this. The Bucks were playing for one of the most segregated cities in the nation, and as much as the Fiserv Forum did its best to boost economic development just south of Milwaukee's Black neighborhoods, more needed to be done. Bucks superstars joined Black Lives Matters protests -- and in some cases, led them. They dumped millions of dollars into Black-based economic development projects and started up foundations to provide seed money to black businesses. </p><p>And of course, there was the whining and complaining from White Wisconsin. "I don't want politics in my sports! I don't want to have to see this racial stuff while I'm trying to enjoy a game!" Well, I bet Black folks would like to forget about "this racial stuff" and just be able to drive down the street without worrying about if that traffic stop means they'll get shot. I bet Black people would love to go shopping in a high-end neighborhood without some security guard following them around. I'm not Black -- so I won't even pretend to understand the numerous microagressions (and macro agressions -- I'd say getting shot for wearing a hoodie was pretty macro). And White Wisconsin's biggest threat?</p><p>"I'M NEVER GOING TO WATCH ANOTHER BASKETBALL GAME AGAIN!" </p><p>And you know what the Bucks and the NBA said to that? "OK. This doesn't change what we're doing here." </p><p>Because while I want to believe that the Bucks front office and the NBA really do care about the issues facing 80% of their staff and players, I know they're fundamentally a business. I'll bet my next paycheck they turned to their marketing staff and bean counters and said, "What's this BLM stuff going to cost us?" And when they calculated out their spreadsheets, the answer was either "Small loss, we can live with it" or (more likely) "We will lose big$$ if we <i><b>don't</b></i> support our players." I don't have access to their profit and loss statements, but the fact that not only did the Bucks support their players, they doubled down on their support indicates the latter. They encouraged (let) the players put BLM-associated slogans on their jerseys during games. They devoted parts of the All Star game to discussing the issues. Being on the right side of history was a nice side effect. </p><p>And that's White Conservative Wisconsin's biggest fear: that Black <i><b>lives</b></i> matter more to the overall culture than white <b><i>comfort</i></b> does. Not having the economic and social sway they are used to wielding all these years is pretty hard for them to take. Despite all their bellyaching on Fox News about how we should not even try to hold law enforcement accountable and "keep this racial stuff out of sports," between 20 and 65 <i><b>thousand </b></i>people still dealt with the traffic and waiting downtown to cheer on this team. Despite all the moaning on FB, Giannis jerseys are flying off the shelves and every other corner is a popup tent selling Bucks gear. Despite white threats of ignoring the NBA, all local news lately has been dominated by Bucks stories, kind of rubbing it in that for once in their privileged lives, they're <i><b>not </b></i>the market to be kow-towed to. So yeah, I guess the NBA isn't missing those whiners all that much. The boycott isn't working. </p><p>And so, I jumped on my bike Tuesday night (I didn't want to deal with car traffic!), <a href="https://flic.kr/p/2mcDwXC" target="_blank">parked it in front of the Cop Shop on Highland,</a> and went by myself to the Deer District, where I quickly made f<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/51326855448/in/dateposted-public/" target="_blank">riends with the people</a> I shared one of those cement street block things that I could sit my senior citizen ass on for four hours and still enjoy being part of a mostly peaceful but excited crowd. Like many, I couldn't afford the ticket to be inside, but being the Midwesterner I am, I enjoyed getting to be a part of this excitement for free. (And that was brilliant marketing on the part of the Bucks -- instead of making this a $5K elite ticket for the rich, they made it a big party for the masses to enjoy). I got there early, and as I posted on FB, it felt like I was at Summerfest, staking out a spot and sitting through 3 bands I didn't care about in order to have a good place for the headliner.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326641216_bcb432826c_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="800" height="152" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326641216_bcb432826c_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>My little corner of the Deer District was filled with the most diverse group imaginable -- racially, age-wise, economically. <a href="https://flic.kr/p/2mcDx4E" target="_blank">We all joked in line</a> (well, mob) during the 45 minute wait for the portolets to take a whiz. We laughed at the t<a href="https://flic.kr/p/2mcDy7S" target="_blank">hree guys who would enter a portolet at the same time to make the line go a *Little* faster for</a> those of us who accepted we'd be missing the 1st quarter of this game. </p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327646050_f1d854de92_b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327646050_f1d854de92_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />We all told stories to each other about how long we'd been supporting this team. We compared various seasons of Bucks colors (purple! red/green! red/yellow! blue stripe!), and us older folks told the younger ones stories of the old days at the Bradley Center (and even the Mecca Arena). We collectively cheered the free throws that Giannis hit, and we collectively sighed over the missed 3-pointers we all wished they'd stop taking. We chanted Bobby! Bobby! Bobby! when Portis hit his shots. I didn't know any of these people before I got there, and I'll never see them again, and yet we were the best of friends for four hours. I needed this. I needed this collective joy that brought this city together. Heck, Milwaukee needed this. We were all in this together, on an old gravely parking lot, all watching a giant screen TV, and counting the seconds to the buzzer. And here was the moment we all realized it was finally going to happen. Not the final buzzer, but when we saw the score and knew it would take an act of god for the Suns to score 7 points in the time for just two possessions: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bZFMWC0aOAU" width="320" youtube-src-id="bZFMWC0aOAU"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /><p>I don't give a crap that a lot of these folks may not have been Bucks -- or even basketball - fans as recently as two months ago. This diverse team (black/white/hispanic, originally dirt poor and some originally middle/upper class, American, European, African, Asian roots) <a href="https://www.jsonline.com/story/sports/nba/bucks/2021/07/19/giannis-antetokounmpo-making-milwaukee-bucks-popular-worldwide-lori-nickel/8007154002/" target="_blank">has attracted worldwide attention to themselves as well as Milwaukee</a>. And that's what I really appreciate about this whole Bucks winning this thing altogether. When we are about inclusion, when we are about diversity, when we support those who have not had the privileges some of us enjoy, we emerge victorious: whether or not the Bucks won Tuesday night, Milwaukee won. Socially, economically, emotionally, Milwaukee needed this <i><b>experience</b></i>. </p><p>But, duh I am glad -- make that overjoyed -- they won. I needed a good happy cry, like the happy cry I got when the Cubs finally did it. I think we all did. So welcome to the experience. Welcome to History -- on a number of levels, not just sports. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327377119_16bbf86406_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51327377119_16bbf86406_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51325920052_5fabf3cd6f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51325920052_5fabf3cd6f_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326857573_9f7058b63a_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326857573_9f7058b63a_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326638956_15a3f1f203_b.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51326638956_15a3f1f203_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-9496933815663034122020-11-17T21:41:00.000-06:002020-11-17T21:41:16.224-06:00Setser<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/109/313361530_f34906215f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/109/313361530_f34906215f_b.jpg" /></a></div><br />Some 30 years ago, I was drinking at the Uptowner, asking questions about the local music scene. I hadn't been in Milwaukee long, but this guy I was talking to seemed knowedgable. He had to go, but he handed me his card and encourged me to call him if I needed more information. His first name was Paul, but as there were a number of Pauls in the scene, he was referred to by his last name, and even when all the other Pauls scattered about, it pretty much stuck. <p></p><p>Setser. </p><p>Actually, we were having that conversation because other friends of mine, (Paul Cotter and Dan Mullen) were putting together an Irish rock act called McTavish and Setser's talents were critical to getting if off the ground. His day job was "creative services" -- writing and playing commercial jingles, producing sound and video for various clients. But it was simply his day job at the time. When it came to the Milwaukee music community, he applied his talents as an all-around utility infielder in a band: he could (and often did) pick up any instrument and fill in that final missing note, whether it was the celtic rock of McTavish, the cabaret of Eat the Mystery, or the Americana of the Riverwest Aces. And he was never the focus of the band; instead, he was the member who made the band better just by being in it: he was rock solid behind any frontperson, filling in any blanks, whether they were musical or logistical. And he wasn't afraid to put on a costume and play the part, whether it was a serious band, or a TrashFest tribute. He did his part and got the job done. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3070/2936707024_b22777f961_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="535" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3070/2936707024_b22777f961_b.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>But most people knew him as the godfather of that wonderful tiny dive, the Circle A Cafe, that club we all love for its ecletcic lineup of music coupled with an intimacy not available anywhere else in town. In fact, short of a few house concerts, it would be hard to find a place that could cram so many captivating moments in less than 400 square feet and well before -- due to the early show starts -- any other band playing in town had even loaded in. Setser was in no small way a critical piece of what makes that tiny club the home of so many magical musical moments. <p></p><p>Because when you went to see a band at the Circle A, he was the guy who took your money at the door, and chances are he knew your name. He was the guy who set up the PA for the band and troubleshot it if anything went wrong. He was the guy who booked the band in the first place, and more than a few times, he was the guy on keyboards/ukelele/accordion/whatever <i><b>in </b></i>the band. He was the guy who, without fail, would thank the band and the crowd for coming, and then goad the crowd into cheering the band for just one more before the Circle A's cabaret license forced them to quit. He was the guy who then introduced the DJ, and plugged the upcoming shows before taking down the PA. </p><p>And then the news came on Facebook that suddenly, he was no longer with us. Within an hour, the memories and condolences came pouring in to our news feeds from every corner of the Milwaukee music scene: from the hardcore punks to the high end jazzbos, from the traashy glamourpusses to the sincere jangle-popmeisters, from the worldly ethnic musicians to the stalwart Americana players. Everybody knew Setser. Everybody loved him. And with good reason: on top of all of his talent, he was a really great guy. Honest, funny, thoughtful, caring, downright sweet. What's not to love? </p><p>When we all crawl out of our respective holes and venture out to see live music again, it's not going to be the same. Not because COVID will have changed the way we approach live music or any of that crap. No, it will be because Setser won't be there, letting you in on the honor system because he can't change your $20 bill just yet, asking the band how many vocal mikes they need, or lending his own talents to the show. Yeah, I know, we're all getting old and one by one, we're all having to bury our peers. Already this year we've had to say goodbye to the wonderful Sarah Kozar, the incredible Dave Bolyard. And now this. Beyond our collective sadness, we can't collect ourselves to mourn together except online, virtually. Any other year, we'd all be at the Circle A tonight, raising a glass to the man together, hugging each other, and telling our stories, but it's as fate decided to double kick us by taking this man from us and not even allowing us to grieve properly. </p><p>Rest well, Paul. We don't even know yet how much you'll be missed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/3116/2565686813_88f6cd408e_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3116/2565686813_88f6cd408e_b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-46074906044303753862020-05-01T14:31:00.000-05:002020-05-01T19:33:10.067-05:00Uphill and Against the WindWow, March seems so long ago and yet seems like last week. The last couple of bands I got to see live were good ol' standbys: Silk Torpedo and the Mod Violets, and I had no clue that night jut how much I take these bands -- or any live band -- for granted.<br />
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And the night before that I wandered out to Kochanski's Concertina Beer Hall, for a rescheduled (actually moved) session with the delightfully off kilter Honolulu Millionaires. Since it was literally a last minute move from another venue, and since it wasn't their usual haunt (they're normally in Trader Nick's South Shore Inn) it wasn't exactly a packed house -- more like a Jorin Family Reunion. That's not a bad thing: everybody in the Jorin family has always made me feel welcome, so I was good. The Honolulu Millionaires play, as you might guess, Hawaiian-inspired music, complete with lap steel guitar, ukeleles. And oh yeah, animatronic parrots singing Hawaiian pop lounge music. As I'd posted that night, I felt like I'd been dropped into a SpongeBob episode directed by a tag team of John Waters and David Lynch. At the time, I could only shake my head at how surreal it all felt.<br />
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But as we all now know, I had <b>absolutely no clue <i>just how surreal</i> </b>our lives were about to get in the following weeks. Six feet distances. Working from home. Online "concerts" from people's houses.<br />
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Especially for bands who'd spent the winter recording new material, and were ready to release it at some kind of grand "album release party" where we'd show up, enjoy the live show, pick up a copy of the new release and savor it on the way home from the show. And for those bands, a bit of income to offsset the expenses involved with going into the studio. So, this has been a bit of a issue for me, as this blog has generally been about the joy of live music. I think I'm going to focus on those bands who had recordings ready to go, and this whole COVID thing put the kibosh on a grand release party. Thing is, I generally don't listen to music at home unless it's background for something else I'm doing. The times when I really listen to recorded music is when I'm working out. It takes my mind off the fact that my heart is working harder than usual and thus, I get a better (read: longer) workout. Especially on bike rides. (And yes, I don't use noise cancelling headphones, in fact, I put them in loosely so I can hear traffic and other warnings. It's no louder or against my hearing than what I'd have in the car. I can have a conversation and I've been doing this for years). Usually I plan my playlist (and my ride) to have appropriate tunes during the harder parts and such. But since I went into the following not knowing what I was in for, I just plopped these on my playlist and headed out last weekend.<br />
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My ride -- and listening -- started out uphill and against the wind. Perfect. I think that's how we're all feeling about this entire situation. And it turns out the releases that came out helped considerably with that fighting every mile against some force of nature I think we're feeling.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devil Met Contention -- back when we could see them live<br />
with matching sharkskin suits..... </td></tr>
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Let's start going up 13th Street, up that hill south of Kosciusko Park, with Devil Met Contention's new EP, <b>Wait.</b> And of course, I downloaded it in reverse order, so didn't get the "single" (and and title cut) first. No, I started with "New York," a gentle warmup to the 50K I ended up riding. It's a song that didn't have the hustle and bustle of New York, but more a very late night subway ride. It could have been the soundtrack for that scene near the end of "Saturday Night Fever" where Travolta's character is riding the rails, trying to figure out where the hell his life is going. "Neon" took me through that double climb up the 6th Street bridges over the valley. The song starts off as a gentle waft (like the descent down the first bridge) but then as if on cue, a scorching guitar and soulful voice helped me up the next hill, descending into downtown, and then that long, sustained brutal climb up to Pleasant Street. My reward for that climb turned out to be "Neighborhood Lights" a melancholy romance of a song ("Say you love me with your hands at your sides...") as I cruised downhill through Schlitz Park and along the river. So it was perfect that as I approached Riverwest via the Beerline/OakLeaf trail the pop hit of the title track had me serpentining (to avoid hikers who may or may not have been 6 feet away) to the sway of the dancable track. I get that since it's the more uplifting pop song, the band led with that on the EP, but I actually preferred this reverse order, which left me happy and smiling after a both a physical and emotional rollercoaster.<br />
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<a href="https://tinyurl.com/yau2adcg" target="_blank">Go to Bandcamp and get "Wait" this weekend while all fees are going directly to the artists. </a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half ofThe Cow Ponies --<br />
at that same show as a matter of fact</td></tr>
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The first time I saw Devil Met Contention it was a double bill with The Cow Ponies, so it was perfect that they happened to have a new release ready for my ride as well. I cued it up across the Locust Street bridge, and then down to the Oak Leaf Trail. I'm trying to avoid regular trails so that I can avoid other people (again, God help us all if folks can get a clue what 6 feet means), but some spots are unavoidable. On the other hand, it was nice to see people, see human beings, and the Cow Ponies helped me enjoy a fairly flat straightaway with "All Summer Long" (it bears no resemblance to the Beach Boys tune, which would have been a little too much at this point). Robin Graham's voice is almost wistful as she reminisces the joys of a beautiful sunny day and the song's steady uptempo drive meshed with a good cycling cadence. It was followed by "Seaside Honeymoon," which in retrospect, I wished I had on when I eventually followed the lakefront downhill. Robin's voice hits some windy highnotes while the song takes you on a road trip. You're not on the honeymoon yet -- you're on your way there: making this the kind of song you want to put on the car stereo, driving down the freeway with the windows down. This makes sense since guitarist John Graham is a professional driver -- I can picture long hauls, either with or longing for the one you love in the seat next to you, with sneaky little guitar runs peeking out from the car's speakers. Looking forward to more of this kind of stuff from the Cow Ponies, who are branching out from Americana to just American music in general. T<a href="https://soundcloud.com/the-cow-ponies" target="_blank">hey haven't released this wide yet, but I suspect it will be on Soundcloud shortly. </a><br />
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By the time I was ready to go southbound, I knew I needed something driving and scorching, and without even thinking twice, I cued up Devil's Teeth's "Drop Down Gator" and put the hammer down from UWM down to the Lakefront. As usual, it was spellbinding, dangerous and fun. The ride or the song? Both. Here's the video.<br />
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So, this coming weekend I'm queuing up the latest from Liam Ford, Brett Newski, and I'm also looking forward to the recording Chief is about to drop. Thinking of a south side ride, or maybe a hike in the Kettle Moraine. That's about the closest I can get to leaving the house to hear new music.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-83598288931958407852020-03-06T16:02:00.001-06:002020-03-06T16:02:21.939-06:00A Continuing Influx of Terrific Titletown Bands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Checked the calendar for who's playing where last weekend -- Northside Creeps at the Circle A were on the bill and I hadn't seen their psychedelic punk garage (put those three words in a sentence together and I'm there) lately, but I'd had a long week at work and all I wanted to do was sit on my butt and watch yet another episode of Star Trek I'd seen seven hundred times. However, when i looked closer, I saw that a band out of Green Bay was opening and lately the stuff coming out of Brown County and vicinity has yet to fail me, so I was 75% ready to go out. I checked the TV listings to see what ST-TOS episode was scheduled and it was "<a href="https://www.metv.com/stories/in-defense-of-spocks-brain" target="_blank">Spock's Brain</a>." That did it. "I'm outta here," I told the family.<br />
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Shows at the Circle A are supposed to start at 8, but they rarely do and last Friday was no exception. Getting there early allowed me to grab my favorite seat at what I call the "Chef's table" and tom Tiedjens joined me for some nostalgic gossip and band news. His outfit, Spudbucket, released a new song/video, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kj5Pw2YLd28" target="_blank">Fraction of a Reaction</a>, that recalls the kind of Nick Lowe-ish pub rock (but very USA Midwest about it) in 2020s hi-def video directed by the Xposed 4Heads' Mark GE. He's in the studio with Ron Turner and George Mirales putting more power pop together that I'm looking forward to.<br />
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But tonight was a night for garage, and the Northside Creeps started out their set with an extended, psychedelic spacey tome that suddenly crashed into an angsty garage rant. Despite technical difficulties (<a href="https://youtu.be/kIjwWDdrdDc" target="_blank">actually it was more like dealing with a broken guitar strap</a>) they powered through a great punk set. They had a touch of surf going, too, which was a welcome sound during what is turning out to be winter's last gasp.<br />
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But I'm a fan of all these genres that the Creeps paint with: garage, punk, psychedelia, (which makes me a fan of this band), and they frost it with those snotty vocals and attitude I love so well. Sometimes they even got a little Velvet-y (as in Underground). They were a perfect warm up for the band from Green Bay, Holly and the Nice Lions.<br />
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Holly spent the warm up to the set watching the band and likely considering how there might be a curse on her playing the Circle A: I overheard her saying that every time they had a chance to play the A, something went wrong -- either weather or somebody had a conflict, or whatEVER.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holly and the Nice Lions</td></tr>
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She even mentioned during the set that "we're cursed"- - the technical difficulties the Creeps had seemed to have bled over to this band, and bass player Steven spent a good portion of the set dealing with a bass amp (borrowed from the Creeps) that just wasn't agreeing with them. In fact, afterwards they admitted it was kind of a disaster set, but neither I nor anybody else in the crowd thought so -- the set was sweaty, grinding, tight, and for awhile there, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VG3Nceg7S4" target="_blank">I thought the bass player kneeling down by the amp thing was part of his style -- that's how professionally and convincingly they plowed through their songs. </a>Instead of a disaster, they crashed into their set with a bottom heavy, crunchy sound topped off with Holly's ferocious vocals reminding me of early Polly Jean Harvey -- except instead of being from some English seaside town, this band has cheesehead written all over them.<br />
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Early on in the set, I wanted to call it no-wave, but this band had too much swagger for that. Holly's guitar style was all over the place, at times muddy with basic power chords, and at other times, with a precision that made me think of St. Vincent. Between bands like them, The Smart Shoppers, and others, yeah, there's a great scene going on in Brown County and I need to see more of it. Maybe a road trip is in order.<br />
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The next night I ventured out to Linneman's to catch another band that, like the Northside Creeps, I love but always seem to have a conflict for: The Mighty Deer Lick.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mighty Deer Lick</td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dyo86MGG8GQ" target="_blank">We know and love all the songs</a>, we know Dave's going to have at least five different T-Shirts (all on at the same time), and we know they're going to be tight because after all these years they can probably play their entire set in their sleep. They'd just returned from playing up north as a matter of fact (Oshkosh, to be exact, not exactly Brown County). They claimed in advance that this was going to be an early show, promising to be on stage by 9 ish, followed by a reunion of the Lost Toothbrushes at 10 ish. Well, the Deer Lick got onstage about that time, but there was a surprise set from the Carolinas (all of whom just happened to be in the room) before the Toothbrushes. So, they probably weren't going to get on until 11 ish and I had a prior engagement to hit. Alas, no found toothbrushes for me. Like Dave, sometimes I just have to accept that I'm chopped liver.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/PnXj2zOeGgA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PnXj2zOeGgA?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: left; float: left;" width="320"></iframe>V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-794562679218212642020-02-05T18:37:00.001-06:002020-02-05T21:19:51.601-06:00Milwaukee Glam, Dirty Glam, Glam Glam Punk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Admittedly, for personal health issues in my family, I've been a homebody these past weeks. Didn't even really see any holiday shows (not even the wonderful Holiday Extravaganza that Testa Rosa and Mark Waldoch puts on), but finally a couple of weeks ago I needed to enjoy live music and I didn't want to take any chances. So, yeah, I went out and saw what I thought was a cover band: The Spiders From Milwaukee, who are so obviously a Bowie tribute band and they were playing out on the weekend anniversary of Bowie's birth (and death) at Club Garibaldi in Bay View.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiders From Milwaukee</td></tr>
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But calling them a "cover band" is a mistake. Let's just say they are a very well-named band. They don't do note-for-note reproductions of Bowie songs. They play Bowie songs but they're very <i>Milwaukee</i> about it. They span Bowie's career hitting all the major points, but frost it up with some very Cream City touches to make it a compelling set, not just a nostalgia fest for Bowie fans. At times, they recall the Trance and Dance band with their capability to grab a theme and jam on it to a variety of moods. In fact, their take on "The Man Who Sold The World" was less Nirvana (thank God) and more like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdlU8e9wBIE" target="_blank">that time on SNL when Klaus Nomi joined Bowie on stage to make it a cabaret torch song</a>. All it needed to go full Milwaukee was an accordion or concertina.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Thin Young Duke</td></tr>
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This band is very clearly guitarist Brian Wurch's brainchild (and yes, it DID appear to come together shortly after Bowie passed), but Wurch isn't a stage hog and he knows when to yeild the spotlight to the right person. In the case of "Life on Mars", that right person turned out to be wunderkind Valor Yost, who was a very Thin Young Duke. Yost is still young (I'm not even convinced his voice has changed yet) but he's got the pipes, range, and stage presence to pull off one of Bowie's more beautiful (and toughest to sing) songs, and yet he retains a youthful endearing earnestness while he belts out the chorus. Sometimes they came off sounding like a jazz combo (especially when they'd hit the Berlin era -- clearly these guys understand what Robert Fripp and Adrian Below brought to Bowie). They closed out their set with an extended "Let's Dance" that understood where Carlos Alomar was going, and had everybody on the floor, including Mr Milwaukeean himself, Paul Cebar. Also spotted in the crowd: Dick Satan himself, Russ G.<br />
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It was all part of a Elvis/Bowie birthday party weekend, and I'd missed the Elvis portion of the show (so unlike me) but at least could judge David "Elvis" Kirby on his Presleyness, since they brought him up for an encore rendition of Johnny B Good. He's a good Elvis: struck me like he was P<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49379322648/in/album-72157712652042567/" target="_blank">aul McCartney going as Elvis for Halloween i</a>n both vocal delivery and appearance. Fun stuff. But what I liked most about them was how they weren't trying to be Bowie: rather they picked up Bowie's songs and drove straight to the South Side of Milwaukee and retained both the beerhall warmth and glamorous British elegance that goes with that. My only regret is that I didn't bring my "good" SLR to shoot this. I was going out more to enjoy myself, not report on this, and duh, I forgot that that's who I am, a music reporter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoes, setlist, beer. Everything you need for a Silk Torpedo experience</td></tr>
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A week later, on the dirtier side of the Glam continuum (and the other side of town in Riverwest) is <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49494796827/in/album-72157712652042567/" target="_blank">sixthstation favorites Silk Torpedo. </a>Like The Spiders From Milwaukee, they're not British, they're definitely Americans in their approach (they usually open the show with Alice Cooper's "Under My Wheels") but they're not just Milwaukee about it. I'd say they have the beerhall of Milwaukee, but there's a lot of gritty, swaggering Detroit in there too, along with snarky Minneapolis. They dig deep into the glam songbook, but they're not afraid to rock out top 40 hits that approach bubblegum (Sweet's "Little Willy" always brings down the house in an anthemic sing-a-long.) I'm a fan, I've sung their praises enough, and they hit an era of music I'll always love. The best part is that they're continuously mining the 70s charts for more songs to sparkle with: at this last show they took on Dwight Twilley's "I'm On Fire" and lit it up. They're consistent but it's never the same show. Spotted in the crowd: Cliff and Marie Ulsberger, taking a break from work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Eye and half of the squirts</td></tr>
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So, having worked my going-out-to-see-a-band chops back in to shape, I was ready for untested waters and I waded in with a band I caught a couple of years back (at the Bay View Bash), King Eye and the Squirts. I remember really really liking them (a good glammy punk garage band will always make me happy) but every time they played out afterwards I had some conflict. But this past weekend they were playing at the Circle A, and opening for a band out of Green Bay -- and every time I've gone to the A to catch a band from somewhere north on I-43, I've never regretted it (see also: Dorothy's Worst out of Sheboygan, Windpipe out of Green Bay) so this wasn't much of a risk.<br />
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And the "risk" paid off: King Eye and the Squirts were even better than I remembered: and they had a woman singer who wasn't there the first time I saw them who was the frosting on the cake, adding an extra voice to their already anthemic but delirously snotty songs. I don't want to call them punk (even though that's their attitude) because they all have a sophisticated level of musicianship not normally associated with punk bands. They sparingly but effectively use odd chord changes, unconventional melody lines, and jarring rhythms to put forth a swaggering show. They'd played MittenFest earlier in the day, so maybe that accounted for a shorter set than I expected, and in a silent moment after their set closer, I said, "That's it?" (not intending to be heard). They complied and played another song, claiming they were running out of time. Circle A proprietor Warwick, who was clearly enjoying the show himself, motioned for them to continue. I'll have to get out to see them for a fuller night -- these guys are definitely on the don't miss list.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smart Shoppers</td></tr>
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The headliners, Smart Shoppers, were worth giving up a longer King Eye set for. I'd already had an argument with lead singer "Joey Shops" about the appropriate error tolerance when calculating the area of a circle using pi, so I knew I was going to like this guy and his band. (Yes, they all have punk names that probably only slightly resemble their real names). Doubtful if any of their songs are longer than two minutes; they snap out with a catchy chorus and verse, make their point, and they're done while Joey's voice <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the hell is the value of pi, anyway? </td></tr>
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falls somewhere between fellow cheeseheads Jay Tiller and Richard LaValliere -- his tone, delivery and lyrics have that same nasal snarkieness with a touch of genuine sincerity that one finds in Wisconsin. Their songs burn their way into your head with couplets like: "I love myself I hate myself I don't know who the fuck I'm s'posed to be....." and "Third of a turd, Third of a turd, that's all you'll ever be." Snarky, at times vicious, always tight, they have a Devo meets the Buzzcocks thing going while dressed in semi-matching argyle sweaters/vests/socks. They often approached Voot Warnings territory in their ability to take one simple concept to the extreme, but they break it down. Oh and, spotted in the crowd: Blaine Schultz, catching a good night of punk and new wave with us. Definitely a band to catch, and yet another band that should be considered for the next New Wave fest -- but more for the early punk portion and less new wave. They definitely justified going out to see somebody different and on a chilly January night, warmed my soul.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-8372592032162085862019-12-06T12:27:00.004-06:002019-12-06T12:29:20.147-06:00Hear Me Out on the No Wave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It had been awhile since I got into Club Garibaldi. I like Club G shows because there's usually a full lineup of complimentary bands, and given the stress of the family health issues, I was really in the mood for some atmospheric jams, which is why I was looking forward to seeing Cashfire Sunset. Hadn't seen them s<a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2018/09/well-named-bands-at-well-curated-bash.html" target="_blank">ince the Bay View Bash two years ago,</a> when I mused they were well named (they played, of course, with a backdrop of a blazing orange sunset). Also on the bill were riotgrrl style punks Athiests and Airplanes, who I <i><b>just </b></i>missed, and I was disappointed because I was looking forward to seeing their set outside the trappings of Trash Fest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Primitive Broadcast Service</td></tr>
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However, Primitive Broadcast Service was on the bill and up next, and as <a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2019/10/trash-fest-2019-wheres-all-perennial.html" target="_blank">I had previously commented, </a> when they just played Trash Fest, they were probably too good for Trash Fest. And without Joe Polizzi on bass (he stood in at TF) they were almost a completely different band. At TF, they were almost a jam band, an outfit I would expect to see on a bill with Cashfire Sunset, and yes they fit on this bill but for different reasons. This bill was turning out to be a post-wave/no-wave lineup, and Primitive Broadcast Service was clueing me into that. They started out with the kind of jam I was expecting from them, and then morphed into this kind of what-if-Sonic-Youth-was-a-trance-band thing. I was enthralled. At times they got heavy, like early 70s dark metal (but not quite Sabbath) heavy, and then they'd throw in bits of pop, like they were actually fighting this crestfallen feeling and trying to convince us they're not always this way. What sealed that deal was lead singer JD Morgan's stage presence: he had -- hear me out -- a <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49087159622/in/album-72157711522531988/" target="_blank">Jonathan Richman quality to his stance and presentation.</a> As such, in a genre that usually pushes the audience away emotionally, this is a band that lets down their guard and invites us in to bathe in the music, as jarring as it can get. The only issue was that the sound mix wasn't quite right, and as such, I could see that they were playing different notes on their guitars, but since the acoustics of the room and the sound seemed muddy, all I could hear at times was just a wash of sonic blast.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ganser</td></tr>
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This was a good warmup to Chicago post punk act Ganser, who also started off like a crash of thunder and would occasionally sprinkle in bits of swooshing melody. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49087172757/in/album-72157711522531988/" target="_blank">They let the audience know right off the bat that they were going to be intense</a>, from singer Nadia Garafalo's command of the stage to bassist <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49086445128/in/album-72157711522531988/" target="_blank">Alicia Gaines' deadpan delivery</a>, and as for guitarist Charlie Landsman, it seemed like they just wound him up and let him gyrate all over the stage. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/49087170742/in/album-72157711522531988/" target="_blank">Garafalo's performance was loaded with drama</a> -- nobody would doubt that she and Gaines met at art school, and comparisons to -- hear me out -- Kate Bush wouldn't be out of order in appearance, vocal chops, and attitude. Locally, it made me wish The Immortal Plants were still together and gigging, just to see her on a bill with the sorely missed Rose Blade, trading emotional jabs. As it was, Ganser were visually and sonically arresting, a<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cU9ee7HxwSU" target="_blank">s Garafalo wailed "WHATS HAPPENING?!?!?!" toward the end of the set</a>, as if she didn't already have my attention.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cashfire Sunset</td></tr>
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So Cashfire Sunset, the band that I actually came to see, had to follow this. While they get experimental with noises, that's not what they're about. I'd almost call them a space rock band, or possibly a spacey-shoegazer outfit that I would put on a bill with -- hear me out -- F/i, Vocokesh, or maybe even <a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2018/11/musical-smorgasbord-to-start-holiday.html" target="_blank">Sleepersound</a>.They were an emotional relief from the intensity of the previous two acts, but something about it didn't quite fit, and I suspect they knew it, because they seemed a little nervous having to follow Ganser. Still, they had a different kind of intensity, even if it wasn't the same flavor as the rest of the evening's offerings, as their songs swirled and whirled and filled the room with airy, spacey and psychedelic rock. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_1396754010"></span>There was even a slower, more deliberate song that roped me in<span id="goog_1396754011"></span></a>, but I still enjoy this band for their ability to take a 3 minute tune and make it seem like an endless (but interesting) jam that I wish would go on forever. I need to see them on a night when I am already warmed up to this kind of thing -- or even just put some Hawkwind on in the car on my way to the club to put me in the right frame of mind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Voot. Dependable ol Voot</td></tr>
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A week later, it was time to come back to familiar territory, and so I popped into the Uptowner, where you might as well admit that the Voot Warnings trio is the house band. Like Primitive Broadcast Service, these are people who get and love the joyful sound of pop and catchy tunes, but have demons to exorcise. Hence, catchy AF major chord progressions on songs with titles (and lyrics) such as "Sad and Mad", and earworms like "Go Fuck Yourself" and the perennial (and classic) show closer "Dance Motherfucker Dance." <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jKnQafbew0" target="_blank">This instrumental thing has found a place in my skull lately</a>: it's a joyful little soundtrack that always threatens to go sour with an errant discordant chord here and there, but never loses its way. It was part of a four band free bill.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the Piss Poor Players</td></tr>
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The next band, the Piss Poor Players seemed to take forEVER to get on stage (especially for an acoustic act -- hey guys it's not like you have 20 synthesizers to plug in and mike up) but admittedly they were worth the wait. They opened with what was ostensibly their theme song (the chorus: "Most of all I'm tired of being piss poor) belted out by "Dustin Bones" and his appropriately gravely voice howling over minor chord after minor chord. The urban hillbilly punk peaked for me on a song that is thematically close to my heart, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlEj_IRgeZg" target="_blank">Watch the Sky</a>" which put me on a beat up old porch, drinking moonshine while listenting to 'em warn me about those damn aliens messing things up, vascillating between folk, bluegrass and then the liquor would kick in and they'd go flat out psychobilly. "Ya gotta watch up in the skyyyyyyyy."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dependable ol Fly and the Swatters</td></tr>
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Having to come back to Earth, I headed over to Linneman's, in the piss poor cold rain, to catch sets from dependable ol' standbys Fly and the Swatters, and heard the aforementioned Joe Polizzi growling out that Zappa favorite, "The Torture Never Stops" before Jessica Knurr could return to her rightful place center stage to crank out her take on Fly's dependable catalog of tunes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dependable ol Silk Torpedo</td></tr>
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They were followed by another dependable outfit I've already sung the praises of, Silk Torpedo, who bring the Cooper, Bowie, TRex and anybody else of that ilk back to one's consciousness. They made me forget that it was crappy and rainy out and that I've got a load of stuff on my mind. In fact, I didn't shoot much stills or any video because they were already being filmed professionally that night, so it was nice to just stay out of the way, sit back, and just enjoy the music of my teenage youth. Thanks guys.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-35708491326384401122019-11-01T15:39:00.001-06:002019-11-01T15:40:05.551-06:00Pop! Goes the autumn! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, I'm writing this on November 1, where in Wisconsin the ground is covered with several inches of snow (yes, this is a bit early) and thinking of all the great pop (and near pop, or punk bands pulling off pop) I came across over the past couple of months. Normally I'l post about them instantly, but a lot was going on in my life (family members in hospital, et cetera, which I know deserves more than an et cetera, but I just don't feel like telling the story again) and it all came together as I drove down to Champaign IL for another of those <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sandwichlifehouseconcerts" target="_blank">Sandwich Life House Concerts</a> that Cynthia and Ernie put together. Those shows tend to be on the folksy/americana acoustic side, but every now and then they bring in an act with a full band or somebody I remember from a full band. So when I saw that she'd booked the Peter Holsapple Combo, I put in to get the day off work and headed down for a weekend of beautiful hiking and pop.<br />
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48968470591_3a08bdc291_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48968470591_3a08bdc291_b.jpg" width="320" /></a>Many years back as an undergraduate at UIUC there was a bunch of us active in media that took pride in either discovering new bands coming through, or at least promoting them. There was a giant buzz in this musical underground when Holsapple's old band, the dBs, hit the scene. That first record, <b><i>Stands for Decibels</i></b>, sat on our turntables for a long time, and we welcomed them to town with open arms the first time they came through. Alas, unlike their contemporaries in the realm of alternative pop or jangle pop (think r.e.m., Let's Active, in fact, that whole Mitch Easter production posse) they never hit that big time pop like they deserved to. Maybe it was that thing about them that I especially loved -- they were quirky. This was not top-40 radio pop. It was truly underground music with pop sensibilities -- catchy melodies, great lyrical turns of phrase, and hooks that stuck in your craw even if they jarringly odd. That most reviewers cast songwriters Chris Stamey and Holsapple a two different types -- Stamey being the more "quirky" and Holsapple being more "pop" I think was a misnomer. Holsapple's tunes certainly were quirky, he was just less so than Stamey. Maybe that's why it was his songs that stayed with me longer.<br />
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And, as I learned at the show, he hasn't gotten any less quirky over the years. Sure, he banged out his hits, including "<a href="https://youtu.be/KYNpltZF_HI" target="_blank">Amplifier</a>" -- that catchy AF ditty about a guy who took himself out over a girl who took everything he ever cared about except a crappy old amp. That's the beauty of Holsapple's songs: they're hooky and toe tappingly musical, but they go deep into frustration, heartache, and melancholy without bumming you out. And they're not all about lost romances: "Inventory" takes you to that place you have to go after you've buried your parents -- and the heartache that goes with cleaning it out. So, while he did follow the Rule of Shurilla ("Play the hits! Ya gotta play the hits!"),and hit various points in his career (<a href="https://youtu.be/FQ3MRk7Z1eA" target="_blank">there's a song about his time </a>with the <a href="http://www.continentaldrifters.com/" target="_blank">Continental Drifters</a>) the majority of the show was his solo work, backed up by a crack rhythm section of old dBs <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48968653462/in/album-72157711520516706/" target="_blank">drummer Will Rigby and working bassist Glenn Jones</a>. And that solo work was something off my radar (my bad, and my loss!) but he's one of those guys you can go into a show not knowing a thing about their work and come out enchanted. When you're in a small room you appreciate the level of musicianship on display -- this rhythm section was elegant and Holsapple's guitar playing is precise and sometimes it hits a level of quirkiness that brings to mind Robert Fripp.) At times they would hit an instrumental surf flavor (and regular readers know that a good instrumental surf tune will win me over every time), and in fact, delivered a terrific instrumental that almost got me standing up on my board. The whole thing actually reminded me of Frank Black's solo work, which in my old(er) age, I'm starting to prefer to the Pixies. In the meantime, in the spirit of quirkiness, here's one of tunes that stuck in my craw and I found myself singing to myself <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48968489886/in/album-72157711520516706/" target="_blank">whilst hiking in Kankakee </a>the next day.<br />
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Opening the show was an acoustic set from Nick Rudd, a local popmeister whose early to mid 80s band was The B-Lovers (I still remember "Waste Some Time") that morphed into Turning Curious (and "Out Into the Light") and ended up at Easter's Drive In Studio for a lovely EP ("Soul Light Season") that sat on my turntable almost as much as the dBs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick RUd</td></tr>
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"<a href="https://youtu.be/c9Anl4UR760" target="_blank">Raising Cain</a>" was a highlight for me. I don't know the names of his songs but he closed his set with a lush tune that I told him afterwards "I want to hear this song with a full band, including a 12-string electric played by you" -- it had that kind of Byrds/Hollies psychedelic depth to it that cried out for the layers a full band would impart.<br />
Rudd put in a stunning acoustic set dripping with beauty and melancholy. "<br />
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The week before, I made my way to the <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/iTgSSbqR5WX8KA9r5" target="_blank">annual Pumpkin Pavillion</a> because the word on the street was that Milwaukee punk legends Bleed was going to dress up as the Mummies and p<a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/eZjhMAWRizYS2xoz5" target="_blank">ut on a great halloween show and they delivered</a>. Not to be outdone, The Quilz turned up the next night and <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/9zdesmNxZPJPDSkh9" target="_blank">put their ethereal spin on a series </a>of pop hits from Prince, Blondie as well as their own tunes. Both nights were perfect.<br />
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48891472417_89b35e8a1b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48891472417_89b35e8a1b_b.jpg" width="320" /></a>But the band that got me all set up for all this lush pop was a relatively newer band on the Milwaukee Scene, The Mod Violets. I'd been wanting to see them for quite some time as it was: they're loaded with people (<a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/jWPpYsG9WWEcXCMJA" target="_blank">Dick Satan, for one</a>) whose sensibilities I trust, and lead songwriter/singer Mark Lonteen is a Beatles-edge-of-pop disciple --<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48891474247/in/album-72157709580984642/" target="_blank">he's got the fab four's logo tattooed on his bicep for crying out loud </a>-- who so obviously loves the vocal and guitar harmonies on the British side of the house. I actually f<a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/UutWW4Bv8hTZxET87" target="_blank">inally got a preview of them </a>on #<a href="http://playmusicontheporchday.com/" target="_blank">playmusiconyourporchday</a>, which in itself was both enjoyable and confounding to many other the other neighbors who didn't get why there was a band playing on porches all over town. But it was wonderful pop I needed when, after a week of daily hospital visits and nervewracking medical procedures on my husband, I headed out to the Circle A for a night of pop and psychedelia and space rock. Gorgeous harmonies, playful melodies that felt more like the Hollies and a little danger thrown in for spice was the theme of the set. Much as I love the Circle A, this is a band that needs a little more room to breathe which is why I'm really looking forward to hearing them at Club Garibaldi next month (on my birthday weekend at that!) Here's a respresentative cut from them, "Proud of Me." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Unheard Of</td></tr>
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More to the psychedelic garage side, The Unheard Of was next. Geez, they've been around forEVER and geez, they're on the taken for granted list. They were the perfect band to <a href="https://youtu.be/GZeM5F48p4c" target="_blank">tune in turn on drop out to</a>. They have everything you want in a 60s flavored garage band: fuzztone guitars, wailing keyboards, trippy melodies, and toothsome vocals. They'll be playing out again in November as well and I'm hoping to catch that set.<br />
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They actually got me in the mood to make the trek over to Company Brewing to check out Rick Franecki's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MRHwk63Tgk" target="_blank">spacerock jam production</a>, Vocokesh. Brian (my husband, you know, the guy that was in the hospital) and Rick were the fundamental members of F/i, and Rick went in a slightly different direction here, so Vocokesh was a good act to follow The Unheard Of. Vocokesh was actually the opening act that night for ST37, a band out of Austin that our family has known for years.<br />
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F/i played with ST37 a few times -- at spacerock festivals and here in Milwaukee, and in fact, they stayed at our house many years back when my 21 year old was just a toddler. ("She's 21 now?" they asked as we all traded cliches about how the time flies). One of the things I like about ST37 is that, maybe it's the Texas in them, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRk2_Rpso5k" target="_blank">but while they're fundamentally a spacerock band, they have swagger</a>. As such, they delivered a rocking spacerock set that helped take the stress off an eventful fall.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punk Guilt</td></tr>
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The evening ended with a set from Punk Guilt, a local no-wave outfit that I probably would have enjoyed more if I hadn't been awash is luscious pop and brain melting psychedelic and spacerock. They started out no-wave, and went into this mode that sounded like a mashup between Black Sabbath and The Dancing Cigarettes (seriously, listen to both bands, and then go listen to Punk Guilt and tell me I'm wrong). They almost got headbanging, and while they have an active lead singer, it was ultimately d<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48891323496/in/album-72157709580984642/" target="_blank">rummer Jasmine Mace's</a> scintillating percussion that held my interest.<br />
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If you're liking the jam direction this blog post has suddenly seemed to turn, Riverwest is the place to be tonight. The Riverwest Jam Festival is at Linneman's tonight, and Undercover Organism is in the lineup -- I've seen them before and they have a great funky vibe that should fill the room up. Over at the Bremen Cafe it's an instrumental band night, with Chain Drive (highly recommended) with a couple of other bands that sound interesting: Arcade Mode says they play "video game jazz music" which should be fun. In the meantime, next weekend Milwaukee pop gods Trolley are playing a set with Lack of Reason and Certain Stars, so if you're still in the pop mode like me, that's something to do. Tough decision, but if you look outside, you'll see it's not autumn anymore, so time to stay inside and see some bands.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-58094927803730439012019-10-17T16:51:00.003-05:002019-10-17T16:54:07.244-05:00Trash Fest 2019: Where's all the perennial trash? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ahhhh, Trash Fest.<br />
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It's getting hard to write about Trash Fest, year after year, celebrating all that is discarded from the rest of polite society. How many times c<a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/search/label/trashfest" target="_blank">an I try to explain what Trash Fest is all about</a>? We're in year 35 of this ungodly mess and somehow it kind of got cleaned up. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48914776633/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">Brian (my husband, who is just recovering from a "cardiac event") was working the door and he reports the number one complaint from people was "Where's all the trash?"</a> Organizer Paul "The Fly" Lawson lamented a few years back when he went to go get the classic pieces of trash (<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/4005269156/in/album-72157622445063667/" target="_blank">the stop sign</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/4004520689/in/album-72157622445063667/" target="_blank">the broken guitars, the plastic santa sled</a>), "Somebody <b><i>actually threw out </i></b>all the trash!" Unlike last year, where newspapers were thoughtfully <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44035195870/in/album-72157703523568285/" target="_blank">pre-wadded up ready for throwing at the bands,</a> this year they lay flat on tables, almost <i><b>neatly</b></i>. Rest assured, there was plenty of wadded up trash thrown at the bands by the end of the first set, and as I assured <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915538527/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">Trash Fest newbies Atheists and Airplanes</a>, "take it as a compliment when you get shit thrown at you." Your host, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48914807708/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">Mark GE, started off the night with introductions </a>and aay we went.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening up: The Nervous Virgins</td></tr>
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Back after a few years' sproadic absence, perennial Trash Fest openers Nervous Virgins started things off, and as I'd mentioned, it's comfortingly reassuring to have this consistency back in my life. Of course they did their mash of of "Iron Man" to the tune of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing." Drummer Andy Stilin <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915870316/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">handed me their set list </a>("you're the only one who could do something with this") so that I apparently could make heads or tails of their set, but with titles like "Funk in A, "God Macho Nacho," and "You Got a Job - Soul Ballad in A" (gee, were they going to do everything in A?) you can figure out how it went.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Prettiest Scar</td></tr>
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Equally perennial (or at least getting to be) was an offering from Dave Thomas, this year in the form of The Pretties Scar, and with drumming glam queen Veechka Staff holding down the rhythm, this band was well named as Thomas grinded out 70s glam hits on his big ol hollow body guitar.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gone and Loco</td></tr>
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And yet another perennial act hit the stage: as they are wont to do, Dave Allswager and Marlavous did a duet, this time as Gone and Loco, butchering up a slew of John Lennon hits. I was both disappointed and relieved when they left the stage having avoided any of Yoko's hits. Still, we all have to ask, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCb0TsSIqI0" target="_blank">Why</a>?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atheists and Airplanes</td></tr>
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"Don't worry, we'll be trashy," the members of Atheists and Airplanes assured me as they prepared for their Trashfest debut, and they delivered. I'd heard them on the radio a few months back, but the recording I heard did not do justice to their brutal punk energy, assertive vocals, and engaging stage charisma and presence. They won me over playing what I assume was their standard set -- which a few bands can get away with at Trashfest. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915536862/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">They were all over the place</a>, j<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915327696/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">umping aroun</a>d, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915530642/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">biting each</a> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915532902/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">others' instruments</a> and making full use of the stage. Terrific punk, sharp songwriting, and best of all they <i><b>got it</b></i>. It just warms my heart to see the younguns picking up the baton here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Unmentionables</td></tr>
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So I knew Ted Jorin and his perennial familial gang was going to do a ska act, but I probably should have been prepared to see them all in their skivvies given that the name of the act was The Unmentionables and the first song's chorus was "We Play Ska In Our Underwear." I was chatting with the fabulous Jessica Knurr afterwards, and she told me that she saw the moment when Ted decided this was going to be his Trashfest offering, and she knew then and there he was going to nail it. "When Ted decides on a concept, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915341976/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">he takes it all the way,</a>" she correctly declared. I agreed: "And he <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cw3bCl8tN-I" target="_blank">skewers</a> it." The band was <a href="http://48914811073/" target="_blank">skanking all over the stage</a>, and I'm not clear how many of them <i><b>actually</b></i> <b><i>know how</i></b> to play the trombone.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Paulettes</td></tr>
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The Paulettes are also getting to be a perennial act, and the moment those cross dressers went into Lola I knew I could count on them bringing down the house again with (and now I can't hear the original without singing) "Everybody's Crazy 'Bout a Cross Dressed Man!" Again, given the crazy ass year I've had, it's nice to be able to count on something like this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Satan's Lil' Helpers</td></tr>
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And of course, Satan's Lil' Helpers -- made up of shreds of Silk Torpedo (including a <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48914821498/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">Grecian Formula'd Doug Chasteen</a> who later admitted days later he didn't know that the hair dye would last as long as it did) -- helped people come down with a blistering set of jams that <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48915353301/in/album-72157711381832711/" target="_blank">refused to be outdone by the other acts</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Primitive Telegraph Service</td></tr>
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Finally, you can also always perennially count on at least one band not showing up ( this year it was the aptly named Sha Na Not) and a noisy band closing (or driving) out the scene. This year's noise band --- Primitive Telegraph Service -- was less noisy and actually, um, <i><b>good</b></i>. Almost too good for trashfest, but it gave us all a chance to actually hear some melody, and get caught up on the trashy gossip. Fly promises to have more trashy trash next year, and I'm hoping the Atheists and Airplanes women scoop up some comrades to keep this going another 35 years.<br />
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As you may guess, eight pictures doesn't begin to tell the story of the night. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157711381832711/with/48915563387/" target="_blank">Here's full photographic evidence.</a><br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-23179167489658057392019-08-30T13:02:00.000-05:002019-08-30T13:02:30.064-05:00Lounging Around<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Once again, I'm making excuses for not keeping up the blog, but I've been lounging around. I've seen a lot of acts that could be considered "lounge acts", but only because they're not necessarily rock and roll, and a lot of them were instrumental. Actually, I was on vacation, on a cruise ship, and I saw genuine lounge acts. You might scoff at this (especially if you're a regular reader of this blog and know that I lean heavily toward punk, garage, psychedelia, but I do enjoy a wide swath of musical styles including prog and jazz) but the fact remains that cruise ship musicians are among the hardest working, versatile players around. I heard everything from a big band tribute, to a solo guitarist troubadour (accompanied by a drum machine and a dry sense of humor that I suspect went way over a few heads) and my favorite was an act that was billed as them doing a tribute to the Bee Gees. Thing is, the night before (and I missed this) they'd done a tribute to Tina Turner. The singer, however, was still in Tina Turner mode, right down to her dress, vocal styling and range, mannerisms, hand gestures, and ridiculously high heels that she navigated as well as Turner herself. Picture Tina Turner belting out "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhGbWCH6IPE" target="_blank">Massachusetts</a>" and you get the idea of how this entire set went, so that when somebody asked for "Proud Mary" at the end of the set, it was like a switch had been flipped inside her, giving her permission to emerge from a chrysalis into The Full Tina, crawling from nice and easy to flying away nice and rough. Rest assured, it was glorious.<br />
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Back home, I wasn't quite ready to hit the Kenosha Punk Picnic (which is this coming weekend), but thanks for Chill on the Hill, I had the perfect opportunity to ease me back into the wonderful eclectic world of the Milwaukee Music Scene. The lineup was Lovanova, supported by Strangelander and K-Stamp.<br />
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K-Stamp is enjoyable, slow jams R&B featuring the gorgeously smooth voice of Kwasi Stamply. He mixes his jazzy melodies with bits of hip hop and rap, but he shines best when he actually sings with this Aaron Neville-ish sweet voice that has a nice almost crusty finish to it, which he uses sparingly and thus effectively. He's accompanied by a live band of solid players, but he's very obviously the driving force behind this outfit. I'd like to see him with a full horn section: that would propel his songs to an even wider audience.<br />
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Up next was Strangelander, comprised of a pile of Milwaukee veteran players fronted by a chanteuse in the form of Amanda Huff, which brought me back to not just any lounge, but a lounge you might find in a film directed either by David Lynch or even David Fincher: from the get-go, you're gently sucked into this dreamy, sinister (but not quite nightmarish) world where danger lurks but you are safely in the audience.<br />
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Musicians take turns being featured, musically wandering in and out of focus, just like characters in a lounge, and Huff seems to have her thumb on it all as she gently dances about and vacillates between being a torch singer and a narrative force.<br />
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Lightening up the mood, Lovanova quickly established that this night was a party, where some of the top players in town had been invited. Actually, that happens a lot at a Lovanova show: if Paul Kneevers knows you, and you're available, there appears to be room on the stage for you. They've been around for a dozen years, but they still seem fresh every single time, and given that they're working this genre, that's no small feat. Actually, it's always been hard to pin down Lovanova's genre: when they first started our they called themselves jazz/lounge, but they're more than that. They bring in prog, elements of funk, and whatever the guests add on top of a very solid base of creative songwriting. Kneevers himself (in the many interviews I've seen online) often has difficulty describing it, but I'm inclined to call it mood music: this band takes a theme or melody, and paints a sonic picture with it as they run with the basic idea. There's songs they do that one could direct a scene from a movie around. As such, I took at seat in front of the stage and stayed there.<br />
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But that's not to say it wasn't fun. Kneevers seemed to be having the time of his life, and was personable enough that while the Chill on the Hill crowd covers a few acres of ground, he still was able to make it feel like we were in a comfortable small lounge, as we chatted up the audience, and brought on musicians l<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48602641886/in/album-72157709580984642/" target="_blank">ike the old friends they are</a>. By the time the set was over, it was almost unnoticeable that the sun had gone down, but that did make <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48602764222/in/album-72157709580984642/" target="_blank">the light show (coordinated by his wife, Kat Kneevers</a>) more striking and fun.<br />
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Before I hit a weekend of glam (courtesy of Silk Torpedo at the Circle A tonight) and punk (at the aforementioned KenoCore Punk Picnic), here's a couple of moments I enjoyed before I boarded that cruise ship:<br />
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<li>On my way to catch 2<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48648811357/in/album-72157709580984642/" target="_blank">0 Years of Floor Model at the Riverwest 24</a>, I came across a fun grind of a band called Axehandle Hound that provided a good walking soundtrack with a driving, menacing beat down Chambers Street. Somebody had mentioned that they started out as a garden variety metal band, but by the time I got there they roped me in with a driving blues that turned into a funky stoner rock. Couldn't put my finger on it, which I generally like in a band, but they're on my list to catch again so I can take in the whole set. </li>
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<li>But I didn't want to miss a minute of Floor Model, which regular readers know is a favorite of mine, and they fit in, as they always have, with the Riverwest vibe. Lots of new(er) songs (when you've been around 20 years, five year old songs are "new"), but rest assured they gave us old hits like "You're Not The Fonz" -- the song that roped me in <a href="http://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2006/02/everybody-dr-chow-tonight.html" target="_blank">a dozen years ago at the Points East Pub, when they were just a two piece. </a></li>
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Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled Sixthstation punk, garage and glam.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-90277769130065579522019-07-12T12:21:00.000-05:002019-07-12T13:33:27.783-05:00What I Did On My Summer VacationYeah, all the cool kids were at the Back Room at Colectivo last night to see the wonderful Grovelers open up for Southern Culture on The Skids, but I'm recovering from a great Wisconsin vacay, that started on a boat.<br />
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Yes, the way to start a vacation is to get on a boat and go on a cruise with a surf band. I signed off my work computer, turned off my work mobile phone, and headed toward to dock to board the Vista King. With my ticket, I got my free first drink, a potent margarita that has the glow of some fluid you'd put in your car. Last time I did this they were brake-fluid blue; this night they were radiator fluid, original gatorade flavor yellow. You could get a beer, but why? The Vista King's margaritas will set you up. I took a seat right by the band, and noticed I was next to WMSE's Paul Host, who mentioned (and I agreed) "these Vista King cruises are the best entertainment value in the city." He's right: for $20, you get a terrific band, a drink, a cruise through the river and lake, (and in this case, a newly-released CD!) and be done in time to catch something else if you need to.<br />
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The band, of course, was perfect: Devil's Teeth. Dressed in captain's sailing suits, <a href="https://youtu.be/NTEq-Uaa1xE" target="_blank">they introduced themselves gently, but once the boat's diesel engine fired up they fired up as well, rumbling along</a>. I've raved about this band before, but only because I saw an abridged set. This was two hours and they didn't have a weak moment. Lots of fun, <a href="https://youtu.be/fbJgqXiQGwA" target="_blank">dangerous surfy fun</a>, but they could <a href="https://youtu.be/0Rfwr_ioO1Y" target="_blank">chill out with a relaxing sundown kind of tune, too.</a> Mostly instrumental, but they did have a couple of tunes that featured vocals. I popped the CD in my car for the drive home -- it's an accurate representation of their sound. Pick it up.<br />
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Then I headed up north.... wayyyyy up north to go camping on Madeline Island. Typical vacation bands would play at T<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259024827/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">om's Burned Down Cafe,</a> but that's not my goal on vacay. Naw, kayaking (recommended: Apostle Island Kayaks, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259058157/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">led by Ed Kale</a>, who has more than a few stories to tell whilst touring the sea caves), camping, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259297452/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">eating italian beef sandwiches</a>, j<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259200516/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">umping off cliffs</a> (into water, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259228521/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank"><b><i>refreshing </i></b>cold Lake Superior</a> water) bike riding, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259251681/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">playing in waterfalls,</a> and complaining about mosquitos. A stop at the Wisconsin Concrete Park was worth the detour home -- I'm a big fan of outsider art anyway -- but this place was downright magical in Fred Smith's depictions of both <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259327387/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">everyday life</a> and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259341297/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">pop culture</a>.<br />
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And then, of course, we hit the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259278431/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">center of the Northwestern Hemisphere</a>. Some people might say it's in the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259284886/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">middle of Nowhere,</a> but actually by definition, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48259285706/in/album-72157709581272526/" target="_blank">Poinatowski Wisconsin</a> is in the center of everywhere.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/p-iDzJcljJE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p-iDzJcljJE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe>Back home in Milwaukee, all the cool kids were at summerfest for a variety of really good acts that I would have liked to have seen, but frankly, I wasn't ready for big crowds after being in natural solitude, woken every morning to the sounds of birds and other critters I can't identify. But then again, Voot Warnings was doing his annual post-fireworks show at the Uptowner, and since both expatriates Frank Chandek and Kristie Reinders were in town, I popped in. And i'm never sorry I hit a Voot show. As usual, Riverwest's living room (which is what I really think the Uptowner is) was full of friends I only occasionally get to see, and I can't really write more about the under appreciated genius that is the Voot Warnings band, so just watch yet another video of his happy little ditty "Go Fuck Yourself" and pretend that like me, you're still on vacation.<br />
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Ended the vacay by meeting up with my old college roomie/friend Miriam and we drove down to Aurora Illinois for a night of prog rock. Miriam loves prog and she's not afraid to admit it. Prog for me is like peanut butter: It's not my favorite flavor and I don't buy it for myself all that often but whenever I have it I'm all "Hey, I really do love this shit." This was the "Yes -- The Royal Affair Tour" and of course Yes (generally my favorite of the 70s prog monsters) was the headliner, with Asia (who I never got into -- but the time they existed I had discovered punk and I was too fucking cool to care about them), John Lodge (who was actually fun with his Moody Blues set, thank god for no White Satin), and opener Carl Palmer's ELP Legacy. ELP was the band that everybody made fun of the most (let's face it, they probably were a big influence on Spinal Tap!).<br />
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The venue, Riveredge Park in Aurora, was kind of like, what if one of the smaller stages at Summerfest was just that -- just one smaller stage without all the other crap (other stages, souvenir booths, $8 beers etc) around. In fact, we only paid $5 to park right across the street from the entrance, and I only paid $2 for a soda (wait, break out my old Chicago accent: pop). Beer was a whopping $4. Nice variety of concessions (including a taco truck, with good ol Milwaukee taco truck prices) at reasonable prices. Only downside was entering: this was even more intense than airport security. Geez, what are they expecting from this crowd?<br />
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To my surprise, it was indeed Carl Palmer's short (half hour) set that was the most enjoyable. I heard that tinny synth, and Palmer took his seat behind his arsenal of drums, gongs, bongos, and other percussion instruments, and then a oddly dressed man came out, took the mike, and belted out "Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends!" The keyboards were taken care of by a guitar player who ran though some pedal that gave his strings a very Keith Emerson sound. But as for the vocalist, I said to Mirian, "Who is that guy? I feel like I should know who this singer is...." He was theatrical, even more so that Greg Lake or even Peter Gabriel. "Seven virgins and a mule! Keep it cool, keep it cool" made more sense delivered by this mad hatter of a guy with tribal makeup and a choky UK accent. By the end of the song Palmer came out to introduce the band and it was Arthur Brown -- as in The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Duh, that's where Palmer got his start. Yeah, they did a few other ELP hits, including the mutual kumbaya moment from the crowd on "Lucky Man", and a very gregarious Palmer would come out and tell a story about each song, but it was when he brought Brown back for a rip roaring take on "Fire" that was the highlight of the show. Oh, and you don't pay to see the man who invented the ten minute drum solo without getting one, and Palmer delivered. He still can hold your attention for ten minutes on those skins.<br />
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Yes was Yes. John Davidson replacing Jon Anderson -- but honestly it was hard to tell those voices apart. Alan White sat in a few songs, and Steve Howe seemed to be running the show. They were good, but they seemed to concentrate on more of the deeper (read: longer) cuts and after a while it got, well, boring. They seemed to be phoning it in. It wasn't until later in the set (and even the encore "Roundabout" was fairly predictable) that they seemed to light it up, and it was the final encore of "Starship Trooper" that finally got me on my feet. Naw, I left surprised that it was Carl Palmer that I went home raving about.<br />
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But it was Yes that inspired me to bike the bucolic vistas of the Wisconsin Driftless Area on my last day, and so I did. 50 miles up and down country roads. And now, back to work.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-34029877061460741682019-06-14T14:34:00.001-05:002019-06-14T14:38:59.790-05:00Crushing Into Festival Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yeah, Crusherfest. Pride. Locust Street. That first weekend of June where you feel like how Summerfest used to feel: all those stages! All the talent! Where to go? Who to see? Oh no, there's conflicts galore! And of course, oh no, all that dang rain!<br />
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And if you're not playing any of the big festivals, you can't take it personally if there's nobody at your gig at some bar in Walker's Point, like it felt like as I strolled into the (relatively) new (to me, at least) Walker's Point Music Hall last Friday night. I went because it had been a long couple of weeks, and I needed the booster dose of glam I can always count on Silk Torpedo to deliver -- and I wanted to finally, <i>finally </i>see Go Go Slow, a crush of a band that mixes punk, no wave, and a nice splattering of glam over the top, played by a handful of Milwaukee underground veterans: Dan Kubinski, Dave Szolwinski, Tammy Raeck and Bill Backes. Experts in their field, they all come from bands where you can hear the contribution: Fuckface, Die Kreuzen, the Muckrakers, and the seven hundred varied bands Backes has played with. The result was the unlikely ability to put the phrases "headbanging" "toe tapping" and "catchy AF" in the same sentence as "no wave" and "experimental" to describe them.<br />
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48056140917_a918d6fd53_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/48056140917_a918d6fd53_b.jpg" width="400" /></a>Silk Torpedo opened the show, and by the time they started, the room had filled comfortably, rather than the dead emptyness we first saw in the front room/bar. There's a back room at the Walker's Point Music Hall, with an ample stage, decent acoustics, and a tall drink table inexplicably plopped in the middle of the room. Still, Silk Torpedo delivered as usual, a great set of 70s glam: standard Cooper, lots of T Rex tonight, Bowie, Sweet, the whole glittering gang. This band is like a salve to me: familiar, plenty of swaggering singalong favorites, and a reverentially cocky presentation. I'd mentioned on my private social media that I actually had a bittersweet moment during "Diamond Dogs" -- I flashed back to when my oldest (who I just put on a plane for her newest adventure a week before) was something like 4 or 5 years old, strapped into her booster seat, listening to a Bowie mixtape I used in the car. In her little kid voice, she was singing along: "Come out of the garden, baby, you'll catch your death in the fog" and I remember rolling my eyes lovingly at her, knowing this was both a Bowie lyric and something a mom would say. The girl's almost 21 now, the song's almost 45 years old; both are wonderful and timeless. So's this band.<br />
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The next day was, of course, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056209197/in/datetaken-public/" target="_blank">Crusherfest</a>. I wasn't the only person who didn't anticipate just how crushingly packed it would be. Word was getting around that even before the statue was unveiled, vendors ran out of beer. One more time: in <i><b>South Milwaukee</b></i>, vendors <i><b>ran out of beer</b></i>. Before the statue was unveiled, if you were late enough to get there, you couldn't even see it. You could only hear an introduction by wrestling legend Baron Von Raschke, delivering a Shakespearean-level soliloquy in tribute to Da Crusher, alog with the Novas reuniting for just one song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvBN3C2wepY" target="_blank">their one hi</a>t, which is probably now a Milwaukee standard. Seriously, I hear most Milwaukee underground bands cover The Crusher than I hear Freebird. Once the crowd dissipated, we were able to take it all in: polkas in a huge church-festival style tent courtesy of the Squeezettes. Later in the evening the November Criminals would confound the south siders with a combination of polka and rap. The wrestling tent was loaded with <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056163843/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">all sorts</a> of <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056118816/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">wrestling</a> memorabilia <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056120061/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">circling round </a>a ring set up for live action. Brian dutifully <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056120931/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">forked over a $10 spot to get "clawwed" by Baron Von Raschke</a>, while his wife (presumably the Baroness) <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056120471/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">contemplated the life as the wife of a legend</a>. Meantime, there was <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056113006/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">plenty of </a>other <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056116596/in/datetaken-public/" target="_blank">Sout Milwaukee culture</a> to take in and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056154288/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">enough Polish</a> to satisfy all <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/48056213322/in/album-72157704491185092/" target="_blank">yous turkey necks</a>.<br />
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By Sunday, I admit it. I was festivaled out. I popped by Locust Street and caught a few acts, (and shamefully missed Sigmund Snopek's wedding!) and wimped out once the rain poured in, which was a switch from some ten years ago, when I and my girlfriends ran the beer run in the pouring rain wearing evening gowns. Most of the acts I would have stayed for, frankly, have gigs lined up (indoors!) in the next few weeks or so, so I've got to rely on all the other media in town to run down the bands to see at Locust street. In the meantime, I'm still basking in the glow of a festival that paid tribute to a guy who trained for his bouts by lugging a keg full of beer from 'Tosa and back. Few things summarize Milwaukee so well.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-10519056363175340022019-05-14T16:12:00.000-05:002019-05-14T16:12:30.325-05:00Yes, Paul, You CAN Reheat a Souffle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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OK, I'll admit it. Six months ago, when this Plasticland reunion thing was announced, I had my doubts. "Reunion" shows are kind of a hit or miss thing anyway, and while I won't name names, rest assured I wasn't the only person in town who knew this had the potential to be either a trainwreck or a triumph.<br />
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/46928775065_f9c3fdfa69_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/46928775065_f9c3fdfa69_b.jpg" width="266" /></a>Well, duh, it was the latter, so let me get my lecture out of the way now. Because while I could make a few cracks about the average age of both band and audience (<a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2019/04/all-old-dudes-in-my-tribe.html" target="_blank">which I already did regarding the Mott the Hoople show</a>), I won't, because there's a lot of young bands playing today in this town who are working the acid-tinged psychedelia genre, who should have been there to pay tribute to their roots and to see how it's done by the Masters. Yeah, I'm talking to you, <a href="https://shepherdexpress.com/music/music-feature/milwaukee-psych-fest-builds-on-its-foundation/" target="_blank">entire local lineup of Psych Fest</a>: you may not realize it, but you were at least influenced, if not even made possible, by these Milwaukee spuds who were writing and playing this music back in the early 80s, wearing these snappy tailored colorful clothes, and lugging around vintage equipment when everybody else was pogoing out with their ripped T-shirts, cheap guitars and solid state amplifiers. And while sonically they could have been smack out o<span style="font-family: inherit;">f London, 1968, thematically they were pure Brewtown. As The Shepherd Express' Dave Luhrssen pointed out "<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://shepherdexpress.com/music/local-music/plasticland-revisits-the-psychedelic-revival/" target="_blank">Safe to say, no ’60s psych band came close to the theme of (lead singer Glenn) Rehse’s 'Nonstop Kitchen,' whose lyric is an exasperated account of housecleaning.</a>" </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">They promised a revue of selections from their entire catalog, and true to form, they did, even opening (as they had every time I've ever seen them) with "Euphoric Trapdoor Shoes" followed by the tune that introduced me to them, "Office Skills". (I was living in Champaign IL at the time the "<a href="https://www.discogs.com/Various-Battle-Of-The-Garages/release/1007645" target="_blank">Battle of the Garages</a>" album came out, and I'd picked up a copy since our local heroes <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wxr33sDcESo" target="_blank">The Vertebrats </a>were on it). From there, they didn't let up. They assured us they'd be doing two sets, and the crowd packed the floor for the second set (for some reason, everybody seemed to stay seated during set one). </span></span><br />
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During an <a href="https://www.wmse.org/program/milwaukeerockposters-com-radio/" target="_blank">interview last week by Blaine Schultz and Tim Noble on WMSE</a>, <span style="font-family: inherit;">Glenn mentioned that "unfortunately
there will not be a mellotron --- fortunately <i><b>not </b></i>having to haul it around!" Who could blame him? He continued: "I had to put up a lot of my equipment for sale, and that is one of the reasons
why I'm no longer an instrumentalist." But the mellotron or Glenn's guitars really weren't that missed. First off, because longtime pal Leroy Buth was on hand to fill in those Rehse guitar parts, looking like Mick Ronson's long lost brother. </span><br />
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But more importantly, it wasn't Glenn's guitars or his mellotron or any of his gear that Plasticland fans treasured. It was and still is Glenn Rehse himself: he's a consummate frontman, with a caseful of charisma, a songwriting flair in his pocket, and a vocal delivery that still shines. Keyboardist and composer Julie Brandenburg commented afterwards, "You could have gotten that sound through a good keyboard" and she's right, but we all agreed Glenn is such a purist that only a real mellotron would have satisfied him, <a href="https://youtu.be/Sl5kvHWBprM?t=46" target="_blank">and we all rolled our eyes lovingly at this realization</a>.<br />
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On stage, they all referenced their ages, not as an excuse (there was nothing to make excuses for) but as a humanizing moment. Nobody ever accused Glenn Rehse in his youth of being humble, but tonight he was, and it was endearing. But not humble in resignation, more of a comfortable-with-himself feel. And then he'd belt out another song. Bassist John Frankovic mentioned on that same radio interview that he'd be seated for most of the show, but apparently the music got in him and the tall stool onstage for him was only sporadically used. Lead guitarist Dan "Miles" Mullen, who along with drummer Vic Demichei are the only ones still working the music clubs consistently, were in their expected top form. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47055442804/in/album-72157678235179497/" target="_blank">Most people thought of "Plasticland" as Rehse/Frankovic,</a> but that leaves one to assume that Mullen and Demichei were just hired hands. Not so: both of them brought their touch to the Plasticland sound. They weren't the only sidemen in this band (Glenn even performed a song about the legendary Bob DuBlon that night, and the spirit of Rob McCuen, who couldn't make it that evening, was definitely in the room), but their contributions were critical to the reasons people all over the world picked up anything Plasticland put out.<br />
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And they went the full nine yards with the show: The Paka Paka light show was there, this time run by Dale Kaminski, Reuben Fortier (son of Jerry 4TA, originator of the light show) and A Bill Miller. They used classic old elements such as the liquid light, but it appeared to be completely digital. A careful observer would have noticed <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/32901119597/in/album-72157678235179497/" target="_blank">the flashes of old Plasticland promo pics occasionally appearing on the backdrop</a>, and with so many projectors, even the ceiling at Shank Hall was festooned with trippy color. The band itself was dressed in snappy (but somewhat comfortable) outfits. It was retro without a pathetic attempt of trying to look young. These are elder statemen of the genre, and they looked, sounded and acted the part.<br />
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They didn't play the songs exactly they way they were on the albums, but that's not what you went to a Plasticland show for. The quick little pop tunes were expertly banged out, the psychedelic acid trip jams (like "A Quick Commentary on Wax Museums") took the crowd to some inner dimension and got back in time to refill a beer, and Rehse still found time to dance a little shuffle and wink at the crowd. Particularly -- and wonderfully -- jarring was the show closing "Don't Antagonize Me": instead of the recorded version sound of a single buzzing fly pecking away at the song's protagonist, an entire band of annoying chords hammered away at the hapless singer until the song disintegrated into a tribal Bo Diddley drum beat.<br />
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A guy standing next to me was disappointed not to hear "Flower Scene" and I probably wasn't the only one who was hoping for "Go a Go Go Time" but that guy shrugged his shoulders after the set and accepted that "we'll just have to go home and listen to the records." He's right on a number of levels: word is that this show was pretty much a one-and-done deal, so if you missed it, you probably missed it. Rehse and Frankovic said on the radio that there's plenty more music to be released, so pad your wallets now, and fire up your microwaves. Despite what Sir Paul McCartney may have you believe, you <b><i>can </i></b>reheat a souffle, and Milwaukee's Plasticland knows how to do it. <br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157678235179497/with/40878331673/" target="_blank">Here's more photographic evidence of the night. </a><br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-30661321742828953052019-04-29T18:51:00.000-05:002019-04-29T18:51:29.478-05:00Waves of Sensuality<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Quilz</td></tr>
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Yeah, I know New Wave Fest was over a week ago. But the weather's finally been so beautiful lately that between the choice of writing or playing outside, you know what I had to do. But I didn't want to ignore what was a really enjoyable night, especially since I lean toward more of the punk side of what was going on in the 80s, as opposed to the New Wave side.<br />
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But the thing about New Wave Fest was that it reminded me how much I really enjoyed it. It's kind of like the comparison between the Beatles and the Stones. I love the Stones more than the Beatles, there I said it. The Stones spoke more to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love the Beatles, don't appreciate the impact they had, or anything like that.<br />
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But back to New Wave Fest. For me, it started early, and ended later than just the show at Shank Hall. I wrote last time about how it started early for me: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46699811785/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">a band called Beaker was on the bill </a>when the Electric Six came through to Garibaldi's. Beaker came out onstage dressed in lab coats, with guitars and keyboards that lit up, and automatic movements that of course brought to mind Devo, but they were more punk about it. They really need to be on the bill for the next New Wave Fest: this show can't be about us reminiscing -- these younguns are carrying the torch and this should be nurtured.<br />
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So, OK, at the "real" New Wave Fest, I got to Shank Hall late and missed opening 80s tribute band Radio Radio. And dang it, I just learned that the <a href="https://www.mkeboat.com/featuredcruisecalendar/2019/08/30/radioradio" target="_blank">Radio Radio boat cruise is sold out</a>. I'm bummed about this, because <a href="http://www.radioradiomilwaukee.com/#about" target="_blank">their playlist is built for cruising down the Milwaukee River into Lake Michiga</a>n: plenty of new wave, of course the Elvis (Costello!) referenced in the band's name, but lots of two-tone, punk, new pop -- pretty much the playlist for my college radio station back when I was an undergrad at UIUC. (Or pretty much any college radio station of the time).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Star Girls have new uniforms. Hot Aliens! </td></tr>
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I did get there in time for the Quilz, a great duo of otherworldly synth pop, where the Cocteau Twins meet the Thompson Twins in look, sound, and overall presentation. I'd seen them before at -- get this -- <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/37803704852/in/datetaken/" target="_blank">the Pumpkin Pavillion a</a>t Humboldt Park, and given that occasion was of course Halloween, it wasn't fair to judge them in that environment because you don't exactly do your standard set (they'd been followed by the Dick Satan Trio, who also didn't do their standard set that night). They've shared the stage with the Xposed 4Heads before, and for numerous reasons, I kept missing them which has been my loss. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/40644170253/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">Sage Schwarm holds down rhythm, guitar, keyboard, and anything else he can cram into his laptop </a>while singer B<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47610768261/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">ecky Heck is bathed in light </a>. She croons their songs with sweet airy voice that belongs on 4AD, but she can put out a sinister sound as well: <a href="https://youtu.be/D_uqBOSjdCY" target="_blank">their cover of the old gay bar hit White Horse</a> sent shivers down spines while simultaneously shimmying. And their take on Prince's "Little Red Corvette" was just as smooth and sensual. They passed out glow in the dark balloons to the crowd that kicked the party into gear, ready for the next act.<br />
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XPosed 4Heads on the other hand, eschew subtlety and go straight for the jugular. (Let's see if I can get through a description of them without dropping the Devo reference, even though it's obvious, what with their uniforms and highly synched stage mannerisms, even though they met the last band, the Fantastic Plastics at a DEVOtional, even though they don't just wear their nerd credentials on their sleeve: they actually have embroidered badges.) From "Hot Aliens" to a newer song, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSffqyzuF5U" target="_blank">Do Ya Get My Thrust</a>" , the 4Heads don't have time to beat around the bush. In fact, not to be outdone by the Quilz, they passed out glow in the dark sticks so that everybody could join in on the thrusting. They are here for fun and games -- but they're also wonderfully paranoid: from the title cut of last year's "Urgency Squad" to "System Overload" they pay tribute to their spiritual godfathers from Akron OH while sounding like their own thing. (Even <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47557681522/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">their set list</a> is in code). And when Mark GE digs out his old snark about the East Side, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pm_HBylzpnQ" target="_blank">Nice Guy</a>", the audience is only to oblige him when he asks "Dontcha think that I'm a Nice Guy?" by hollering back a definitive NO! <br />
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The last act of the night, NYC's Fantastic Plastics, are working the same "yeah, we're paranoid but let's have fun" turf as the 4Heads. They bring along a light show worthy of a Residents concert (and if they don't have a copy of "Duck Stab" in their collection I'd be surprised) but they're also fun, poppy and synthy. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47557717972/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">Miranda Plastic wields her keyboard and her theremin with authority</a> while her partner, Tyson Plastic, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47610799771/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">spazzes all over the stage, looking, acting and sounding like some rock and roll mad scientist</a> from some other galaxy. But the music is solid but dangerous pop, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bLbtSaUBIU" target="_blank">bringing elements of 60s space invader spy surf monster movie </a>to balance out the paranoia the do-not-adjust-set-for-we-control-the-horizontal light show they brought along. It's easy to see how the 4Heads and the Fantastic Plastics bonded out at that Devotional. </div>
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While official "New Wave Fest" was over after that, New Wave music wasn't over for me. The other night I decided to "brave" the weather after that "thundersnow" we were supposed to get never materialized. But even if it had, I would have gone out Saturday anyway: the new Lex Allen album was dropping at the Cooperage, and I knew that I'd better go see him, because if there's any justice in this world, it's only a matter of time before he gets really discovered and it will be damn near impossible to get to see him for less than three figures. I got to the Cooperage just in time to catch opening act Immortal Girlfriend, and I was enchanted. If they had existed 30 or so years ago, you would have definitely called them "new wave." They had this <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/40769161183/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">Visage meets</a> The The thing going- this is new wave <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46946375284/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">with a definite soul</a>. Their best moments are when they get into a downtempo clubbing groove and then waft their gorgeous voices over it all to produce this blues floating through the ether sound. I missed them at MAM After Dark a week or so ago and I don't want to miss them again. Note to New Wave Fest organizers: get hold of these guys. They, like Beaker, will fit right in (albeit for totally different reasons.)</div>
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/47682681832_4085649a65_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/47682681832_4085649a65_b.jpg" width="266" /></a>So, Lex Allen. Not new wave. But this was his night and I didn't expect him to just get up there and sing his songs. But i wasn't expecting <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47682665532/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">dancers, guest stars</a>, a string section, costume changes, and the man himself, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47682704272/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">working the entire room,</a> making his entrance from the second floor, schmoozing his <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47735789781/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">way across the dance floor</a>, and making use of the entire, minimal yet elegantly draped stage. Last time I saw him, I compared him to Lady Gaga; this time I saw plenty of Prince in there too, but he's got his own thing going. First, he makes it clear that he has his own Identity going (duh, that's the name of his latest jam)and as I've pointed out before, this isn't a drag queen: this is a man who looks sensational in a dress. He hides nothing: both his masculinity and femininity are on proud full display and the crowd loves him for it. He started out the night in some jeans and a jacket that the purple one might have been caught in. His repertoire surveys deep soul, to blues, to dance club (songs that should be) hits. He hid behind the drapes to deliver "Mama's Boy", a tearjerking ode that obviously means a lot to him (he told the audience he didn't want them to see him as he sung it) but I saw him <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47682668842/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">because I was standing on the side of the stage and he clearly wasn't faking the emotion he put into the song,</a> backed up by Sista Strings and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/32792290917/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">a drummer who kept the beats </a>(both analog and digital) on tap all night. He deftly moves between songs and styles and before you know it, he's changed outfits. He spent the second half of his show absolutely resplendent in a sparkly mid-length jersey shift that left little to the imagination, and managed to keep on his pizza-toed pink spike heels for at least three songs before kicking those off for the rest of the show.<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47735757941/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">He kept the crowd riveted for his new songs</a>, which <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157677723107357/with/47735757941/" target="_blank">featured the strings</a>, some dancers, and even <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46946308464/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">got assistance from the crowd </a>as he truly worked the stage </div>
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before he ripped into his old hits like "I Struck Gold" and the show-closing "Bitch U Fabulous," the latter featuring a fashion show with <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47682645322/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">a variety of models of size, color and gender</a>. It was a gorgeously inclusive, warm, wonderful night. I approached him afterwards (because even with his bombastic stage presence, he's an approachable guy) and praised him for the thing that I bet people take for granted: his songwriting. Even if he just wore jeans and a t-shirt and was an OK performer, Lex Allen is a brilliant songwriter. Every song had a catchy hook. Every song was delivered in its own distinctive style. There wasn't one weak moment in the show-- and that's the mark of a great songsmith. <a href="https://youtu.be/dsLlkzFcCQ8" target="_blank">But when you have a showman with his level of charisma</a> (let's face it, he could go up and sing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and bring down the house in a sweaty sensual grind) people tend to forget that underneath that slinky dress, there's a sharp writer crafting every moment. Why isn't this guy filling ballrooms yet?<br />
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<a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/47735734301_304d07cd4c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/47735734301_304d07cd4c_b.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/32792260837_33184f0ef5_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/32792260837_33184f0ef5_b.jpg" width="400" /></a>So Sunday afternoon, I celebrated the weather to catch a couple of reliable standbys, Two and a Half Stars and The Truck (formerly Camel Tow Truck, changing their name because, well, that's nasty.) They were at Redbar in St Francis and I'm liking that room despite the long, galley-like setup that forces the band to approach the audience in a physically narrow way. Both bands are fun bands that are very self-conscious and depreciating: Two and a Half Stars' talent is overlooked because a lot of their songs are jokey (they pay tribute to both the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-noc5TIZho" target="_blank">Milverine</a> and the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMbTDcN3XZU" target="_blank">Bay View Prius Lady</a>). For whatever reason, they've ditched the video show and that's probably for the best: they're fun enough as it is and their videos work best as YouTube moments. (Waah, either they already did my favorite, "<a href="https://www.facebook.com/twoandahalfstars/videos/370709206738101/" target="_blank">Screw it</a>" before I got there or didn't do it at all.) </div>
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The Truck, a bunch of Milwaukee music vets banging out delicious white trash musical food, (the set starts with joyful lament called "Lonely and Large") were up afterwards. They take a lap steel guitar, throw in some flying V guitar and bass,</div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46946268954/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">country-fried metal drums </a>and a lead voice that could just as easily <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47735727441/in/album-72157677723107357/" target="_blank">holler "Get Offa My Lawn" through TWO vintage microphones before spitting out the chewing tobacco juice</a>. They continued the theme of irreverent punky fun, which as most readers know is where I always come home to. What can I say? I'm a punk girl at heart but I'll listen to any wave as long as it's good. </div>
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V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-69337407684576849752019-04-15T12:54:00.000-05:002019-04-15T13:01:20.554-05:00All the Old Dudes in My Tribe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately I've been seeing a lot of posts from people in my high school class about our upcoming 40th year reunion, which of course has underscored how old we are, how many years have passed, etc. They're planning what sounds like a lovely gathering: a Friday night meet and greet at probably t<a href="https://www.aureliospizza.com/location/homewood/" target="_blank">he best place in the Chicago south suburbs to get pizza </a>(not to mention not a bad hangout for us in those days -- back before the internet, if you wanted to know who won the high school basketball game on a Saturday night, you went to Aurelio's), and then a semi-formal ("dress nice casual") for about $100 at some banquet hall where there will be OK food, open bar, a pro photog, and "music." I'm sure it's going to be a very nice affair, and if I've got a spare c-note and want to give up a prime weekend in August, it might be fun. But, I'll probably blow it off.<br />
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I wasn't one of those people who hated my high school; in fact there were many great people we went to school with there that I keep in touch with via FB and other things. But they weren't the "greatest years of my life" and I'm not sure I'm that curious enough about "whatever happened to...." given that most of the people I'd wonder that about I'm already in touch with. Rich Central was a good high school, loaded with all the cliques (phrased in my yearbook as "the jocks, the brains, the burnouts and the normal people") you'd expect (and a lot more invisible people, too). It was also fairly diverse racially, economically, and politically, which you don't normally see in a suburban high school. There weren't any "mean girls" per se; this wasn't the Westerberg High School experience a la Heathers. I wasn't exactly Miss Popularity, but I'm not bitter about my high school experience, I'm just "meh" about driving two and a half hours to spend $100 to hob nob with people I didn't hang out with that much and can easily touch base with later on FB (although I might pop into Aurelio's that Friday night for excellent pizza and a situation I can just drive away from later and maybe go see a good band in Chicago that night -- anybody I'd want to see will likely be there, too).<br />
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The bottom line: this wasn't my tribe. Nice people, generally, but not my tribe. My tribe was at the Miller High Life Theatre this past April 1 at the Mott the Hoople show. I didn't even have to ask around "who's going" when I bought my single ticket (Brian didn't want to burn a PTO day off on a Monday night, so I went alone). I just <i><b>knew</b></i> I was going to know people there. I could have just as confidently bought a ticket for the Chicago show three days later, and I know I would have run into another faction of my tribe there, <a href="https://www.thesandwichlife.com/the_sandwich_life/2019/04/ian-hunter-forever.html" target="_blank">as The Sandwich Life's Cynthia</a> confirmed. All I had to do was find my 10th row center seat, look around, and wave "hi" to the dozen or so people I immediately saw. I didn't even have to wait until that point. I knew people in the parking lot. At the bar. At the merch table (where I dutifully picked up an old school tour t-shirt, with the band/tour logo on the front and a list of the tour dates on the back). And if I didn't know them (the people in line at all these places, the people I sat next to at the show), we still had plenty to talk and laugh about and remember.<br />
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The show was predictably wonderful. Predictable in that the local press (and FB comments) made sure to get in digs about the age of the band and its audience ("All the Old Dudes" "Walker with a Mountain"). I'll admit, I started a little game of audience scavenger hunt, ("five points if you spot someone under 40 here, ten points if they're under 30"). Everybody got in some comments about how old the band was as we made it out our seats.<br />
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But also predictable in that after all those "old" jokes, those 70+ geezers ambled onstage and proceeded to kick ass.<br />
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Ian Hunter's voice is still on point, Ariel Bender came our from the shadow of the ghost of Ronson, and every person in the audience knew every song. And they shined on every song. With all these years comes experience, professionalism, and yet they were fun, loose, and appeared to enjoy themselves as much as we enjoyed it. Being Milwaukee, and being glad they started the tour here, and truly appreciating when somebody like this comes to our town, the Mayor declared April 1 "Mott the Hoople Day" in the city, and this was no joke. By the time they got to the encore (need I tell you what it was), we were all signing along and waving our cell phones as though they were the lighters we held back in the 70s in a way hipper kumbaya moment. This was my tribe.<br />
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Across town at the Riverside theatre, another faction of the tribe was watching Nick Mason's Saucerful of Secrets. I saw the setlist on a friend's timeline ("They <b><i>opened</i></b> with Intestellar Overdrive?" I asked. "Yes! It was epic!" he confirmed) and wish I'd seen it, but was happy with my choice on a Monday night. For that matter, the Pixies were the other way across town the same night at the Rave (and by most accounts they were also great, and I would have known people there, too). All three, in town, same Monday night, what is this, New York? By the weekend I decided at the last minute to hit the Robyn Hitchcock show and was glad for that, too.<br />
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Robyn Hitchcock shows are also predictably wonderful. He'll do some of his hits, he'll ramble on between songs in some story that seems like he's going off on an irreversable tangent but he'll hilariously steer himself back on track. He's been doing the schtick on "I'm Only You" where he gets the sound man to throw him into a digital delay loop and then solo against himself. (It worked better this time at the Back Room at Colectivo than it did last year -- better sound man, but still aced it best at Shank Hall two years ago.) I need to give that room another chance. We were packed into rows of seats (only "reserved seating" got a table) and when I arrived my purse was searched deeply and completely, geez, I don't get searched that much at airport security. What the hell were they looking for at a Robyn Hitchcock show? C'mon, this wasn't exactly Ozzfest. But still, I knew a bunch of people there, and the ones I didn't were still delightful to converse with as we chatted between sets. This time around, while Robyn autographed stuff, I realized all my Hitchcock and Softboys paraphrelia already has his signature; so I got an entry in my journal from him. While I was not able to go to Silk Torpedo the next night at the Circle A, I recommended that glam revival act to the folks I was sitting near (all of whom were at Mott a few nights earlier.) I thought I was going to be able to relax.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaker</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The First Rule</td></tr>
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But then another friend in my tribe, Annette, called me, and wanted to know if I wanted to join her, on a work night again, to see this band I'd never heard of (surprisingly), the Electric Six. Sure. I stopped by her house to get ready and told her, "I know nothing of these guys." <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XNFokmDKrE" target="_blank">"Watch this," she answered</a>. OK. I'm there, this band will get the job done. We got to Club Garibaldi in time to learn that there were <strike>four</strike> three bands that night, so unlike a Circle A gig, this wasn't going to be an early night like we'd hoped. Settled in to catch a great local opening act, Beaker, that served as the nudge to get me to go to New Wave Fest last weekend.<br />
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At first, we're thinking there's just a bunch of Milwaukee punks getting ready to play, but then they put on lab coats, and strap on their guitars, and they're kind of a Devo meets NiN kind of thing -- very nerdy synth, but banging it out with an almost metal like presence. Definitely a must see again band, and definitely should be on the bill for the next New Wave Fest. They were followed by a good, anthemic power punk band called The First Rule, out of Kenosha, home of great hardcore punk. The Size 5s T-shirt the lead singer wore hammered home what these guys were about -- if you like the Size 5s (and I do!) you'll like this band. My regret from the night was not bringing my good camera and relying on my cell phone camera. The lighting at Club G emphasizes the red, and that's not good if you can't adjust capture settings like on my regular camera. But I was so freaked out by the TSA wannabe at Colectivo that I was worried that bringing a DSLR to a "national" show would be frowned upon (it wasn't, BTW) that I left it at home. Won't make that mistake again.<br />
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Finally, Electric Six took the stage and delivered on its promise to bring this all full circle to the glam that Mott the Hoople started not just April 1, but decades ago. The were loud, bombastic, full of showmanship and catchy sing along songs that made this old broad happy to see that Ian Hunter's (and Iggy Pop's, and David Bowie's and Sweet's) torch has not only been picked up by my contemporaries, but by the young un's as well. Remembering the past is great, but better when you see that the best parts are being passed on to the next generation -- and the generation after that. My tribe is full, and as will be detailed in the next post, fuller than I thought.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-21708573613130859292019-03-21T14:33:00.000-06:002019-03-21T14:41:09.931-06:00Old(er) punks don't fade away; they just learn to play their instruments<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The C Sides</td></tr>
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Yes, it's really been two months since I checked in here. Frankly, I was done with the Wisconsin cold. I tried everything: I went and saw a scorching show at the Circle A, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47085013842/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">featuring the always hot Silk Torpedo</a>, bombing us with <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46521075385/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">a setlist of 70s era glam</a> that made me glad I braved the sub zero temperatures to leave the comfort of my warm house and its perpetually running Star Trek (TOS) reruns. (It was the "<a href="https://www.metv.com/stories/in-defense-of-spocks-brain" target="_blank">Spock's Brain</a>" episode that pushed me out the door.) The next day I trudged out to the South Shore Park Pavilion to see t<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47085026572/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">he Honolulu Millionaires</a>, another Ted Jorin outfit, this time with <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47085024682/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">colorful animatronic parrots "singing" along to their ballads and song</a>s. It was a weird event: it felt like an indoor church festival, with people playing board games across long tables in place of Bingo, topped off by this tropical band playing Hawaiian songs in the dead of Wisconsin winter. I need to see them in their regular haunt, Trader Nick's South Shore Inn.<br />
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So what else could I do? I up and flew out to the West Coast, where I saw <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46559526204/in/album-72157703833114522/" target="_blank">gorgeous scenery</a>, fascinating museums, <a href="https://www.secondcity.com/shows/hollywood/opening-night-the-improvised-musical/" target="_blank">hilarious comedy,</a> and good friends. I did not go and see any bands. I can see plenty of excellent music right here in Wisconsin; I have to admit that the LA scene never really grabbed me that hard and I wasn't going to be able to survey it in the short time I was there anyway.<br />
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And so when I returned to the frozen tundra, I headed out to stuff myself at the annual WMSE Rockabilly Chilli fundraiser, with favorites th<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/47429709971/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">e Dick Satan Trio</a> providing the music, and that got me primed for a pile of good ol' midwestern punk at Garibaldi last Saturday night.<br />
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Except that when somebody says punk, you think three chord anthems by tight outfits that don't necessarily get complex. No, all four bands were comprised of older people, people who had been playing long enough that they really knew their way around their fretboards and weren't afraid to go there. The C-Sides, a band out of Lake County IL set the tone for the night: pop punk "with an actual <i>lead </i>guitar," I'd written in my notebook. Just when I put it away, they turned around and morphed into some speedpunk with a little Illinois cowpunk thrown in for flavor. If they come back to Milwaukee, I'll be back to see them, but when they do, they should have some recorded material to pick up like the other bands on the bill did.<br />
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The Hullmen were up next, and their garage band sounds that I love and take for granted. Maybe it's because I was still happy from the Silk Torpedo set, but I thought I head them getting a little glammy in there as well -- the Iggy Pop style melody lines were coming through strong. As a great garage band does, they vary their approach toward melody and rhythm, but what doesn't vary is the intensity. They've been playing a lot lately to promote their latest EP, and in fact, I'll be catching them again later this month when they're on a bill with a favorite from last year's Bay View Bash, King Eye and the Squirts.<br />
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So then we had the Slurs, who ambled on stage, local swill in hand and accompanying MilwaukeeCore attitude and proceeded to kick out the jams. The sloppy IDGAF look and attitude belies obvious musical competence and a few songs into the set, I'm suddenly thinking, "what is this, I know this song...." and sure enough, they get to the chorus again of "I Wanna Destroy You" and a big smile crosses my face: "OMG they're covering the Soft Boys!" (and anybody who's known me for more than twenty minutes knows that if you want to start a conversation with me, musically or otherwise, you can't go wrong referencing Robyn Hitchcock). Lead singer <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46514629475/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">CJ Olson holds up an ever present PBR like it's the Eucharist </a>and the rest of the band hangs on tightly. My only advice to them would be to cop a line from the Hullmen and vary the tone a little more: a full set of their onslaught could use a little rhythmic shifting.<br />
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The opposite could be said for the last band, Under Hoan, who were so varied in tone, melody, approach, look and attitude that I frankly didn't know what to make of them. Like the other bands on the bill, this is clearly a bunch of guys who not only know how to play their instruments, but have also listened to (and liked) a wide variety of music and this comes out in their offering. They've got a strutting metal shredder on guitar, and a snotty punk on vocals. They open their set with flashing colorful lights like they were a hair band, and they have tight, snappy songs like a good pop band. Their logo is in a font that implies that they're roots or country rock. Maybe their name is the clue: underneath the Hoan Bridge is the Summerfest grounds, and watching them I felt like I was walking from stage to stage, checking out all the different music.<br />
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But now that the weather's getting warmer, it seems like bands are coming out of the woodwork. The Best Westerns are hitting the Circle A Friday night for some true Western Swing, (after of course, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/2214853515240546/" target="_blank">I support our city's Taco Trucks</a>). The Grovelers, with Lack of Reason and Certain Stars are at Landmark Lanes, and on Sunday, JP Cyr and the Midnightmen are letting their country/Americana set the stage for an Italian group called the Don Diego Trio at the Pabst Brewery/Taproom. Should be a good start to a much anticipated spring season.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-41179610648301578892019-01-17T12:16:00.000-06:002019-01-17T14:18:49.540-06:00A Winter Hodgepodge of Wisconsin Goodness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So Brian says to me, "Hey, there's a act I'd really like to see Saturday night... it's this guy they play on WMSE at night when I get home and its at this bar in St Francis I've never heard of and he's kind of a 90s alternative rock guy but honestly he sounds more like Frank Black/Black Francis type stuff with the Catholics...."<br />
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Hon, you had me at "sounds more like Frank Black." Pixies fan that I am, I honestly prefer Black Francis' solo stuff. So Brian made the ultra-rare trip to go see a band he's never heard of at a bar he's never been to, and I of course tagged along.<br />
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What a treat Brett Newski turned out to be. He calls himself a dork, (and his music "Dork rock") and it seems less an insult thrust upon him either by asshole frat boys jealous of his considerable subtle charisma, and more like a label he decided to wear and own before some jerk could hurt him with it. That premonition extends to his brand slogan "Don't Listen To Brett Newski" but it's like he got that all out of the way so he could concentrate on what he does best: perform great songs in intimate settings. The Redbar in St Francis was such a setting: it appears to work best for quirky or lower key acts (Pat McCurdy plays this room a lot; I've seen the Whiskeybelles on their list, too). Good beer selection, and the kitchen was closed, but there's an upstairs where you can see the show, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45753166125/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">albeit from an odd angle. </a> It also seemed like a neighborhood bar, felt like everybody in this place already knew everybody else except us, or at least knew every song in Newski's catalogue, but that added to the intimacy that makes everything work. There wasn't even a cover charge per se, instead somebody at the door asked for a "donation --we're suggesting $10 each" and for a minute there I thought it was a fundraiser and I asked for what? "The musicians." Oh. That's a <i>cover charge</i>. Guys, <i>it's OK to ask people to pay you</i> to entertain them. We handed her a twenty and found a place to perch. Probably safer that way, so you don't lose people who hate to pay cover: the DIY world is all about hustling/promoting yourself any way you can.<br />
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The plan for the evening was that Newski passed around a clipboard where people could write their requests down, and he'd plow through them, and that's exactly what happened. So this validated and underscored one of Newski's best skills: this guy comes off sincerely extemporaneous<br />
and simultaneously polished. He invited people to compete in a "stupid T shirt contest" and he <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46615693292/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">brought up his dad (a fun and interesting chap himself, according to Brian who shot the breeze with him a bit) and friends for an air guitar competition. </a>Requests for Stone Temple Pilots (yes, he pulled off "Interstate Love Song" with only a hair of irony) and The Gufs were dispatched seemingly easily but it's his own heartfelt songs that inspired me to hand him more money for his CDs and get on his mailing list. Yes, they had that off-kilter Americana road tale feel that Brian and I love about Frank Black, with similar melody lines and chord changes, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/31726590757/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">and they're strong enough that even with just his guitar and a drummer accompanying him, </a>it's got the backbone of a full band. His winsome demeanor brings to mind Jonathan Richman, except he doesn't come off nearly as naive. Rather, he's been around (he's on the road more than he's ever "home" in Milwaukee) both physically and emotionally, and lived (also physically and emotionally) to tell the tale. Despite having opened for the Violent Femmes and the Pixies, it's clear he prefers these small, intimate spaces (he does a lot of shows on the house concert circuit) and they're best suited to him as well.<br />
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And he's soooooooo Milwaukee. He embraces his roots no matter how "dorky" they may be: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5CxmwL9lJc" target="_blank">On "Ride," one of his catchiest and best songs, he leads into it</a> with a chorus of "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1981/02/20/nyregion/notes-on-people-mccartney-keeping-rights-to-wisconsin-s-state-song.html" target="_blank">On Wisconsin</a>" and finishes it with the same level of trepidation and anticipation that befits both a college fight anthem and a heartfelt song about taking an emotional risk (which, when you're a Badger fan, is apt.). We left the place feeling the same warm and fuzzies I get after a Richman show, except multiplied because, well, we love that cheesehead juxtaposition of guilelessness and knowing irony. We'll be back.<br />
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A week later, still glowing with the satisfaction of going to see somebody I'd never heard of before, I combed the listings to do it again and ended up at Company Brewing to see a pair of bands on the other side of the musical spectrum: locals Undercover Organism and from Chicago, Lunar Ticks. Both are bands that fit a description that was <a href="http://www.korperschwache.com/dead/archive/music_reviews/l_reviews.html" target="_blank">once attributed to my band</a>: "crams every influence they can think of into each song at once." This was evident on Lunar Ticks' opening tune. About two minutes in, I was ready to classify them as garden variety alternative power pop played by all-American baseball apple pie kids. But then a transporter materialized in left field and beamed us to a planet inhabited by a two headed guitar player and the two heads are Duane Allman and Robert Fripp. From there they had me transfixed. Part of me wanted to call them jazz punk, but that's usually made by kids who started out as three chord punk rockers who eventually learned how to play their instruments. No, these guys started this band already more than competent on their instruments: I'd mentioned to one of them afterwards that I bet they played in jazz band in high school. "Yeah, college too," he answered.<br />
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And it showed. They had snappy melodies and a punk disposition, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Pv1t_Mi2NI" target="_blank">that really came through on an ode to Brian's hometown. (They even spelled it punky: Wahwahtosa!)</a>. But then they'd get back on a spaceship and head back to Alpha Centuri on songs with titles like "Ultraviolet Phlegm" that made me want to listen to some old Black Sabbath and Neil Young at the same time. They're young enough that they probably don't even realize some of their influences, but in the meantime, you could probably make a pretty strong Venn Diagram of their influences with Brett Newski's. Great songwriting, top notch (bordering on virtuoso at times) playing, snotty punk attitude, yeah, I'll be back, but in the meantime, I picked up "<a href="https://lunarticksmusic.com/" target="_blank">Unknown Gnomes/Neon Hearse</a>" and it's been in rotation along with Newski's <a href="https://brettnewski.com/" target="_blank">"Life Upside Down" and "American Folk Armageddon"</a> in my car CD player since.<br />
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Undercover Organism had a similar "ehh.. je ne sais pas" going on. I'm saying this in French because they started out like some euro trance house band, complete <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/32869325808/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">with these two </a>women <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45829119005/in/album-72157704076422841/" target="_blank">circling lighted up hula hoops on the dance floor. </a>I've been getting into downtempo and synthy pop lounge lately (thinking of Gramatik) so I stuck around. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnKU9PBb1aE" target="_blank">Then, to my surprise and delight, they got Mothership-level funky.</a> The thing was, I get the feeling they're still trying to decide if they're a party band, or a techno fusion jam band (which would still work at the right kind of party). Because, at one point they devolved into a wedding band as they started to cover Earth Wind and Fire's "Let's Groove" (they just didn't have the vocal pipes to carry off what is kind of a lame party song to begin with) and just when I was about to leave, it was like they asked Lunar Ticks if they could bum a ride in their spaceship and cranked up the space acid. I stayed put and even forgot they started the cover until about five minutes later when they landed back on earth with the chorus. Hey guys, if you're going to cover 70s party funk, try Kool and the Gang -- seems a little more suited to your fun and trippy aesthetic. (For that matter, George Clinton's retiring this year. Go for Parliament/Funkadelic: you've got the chops.)<br />
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After that, t<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSYLARyJdmo" target="_blank">hey went back to their funky space trance house </a>where I was more than happy to have a drink and take them all in. They would sweep from funk to ambient (sometimes in the same song), and while the hula hoop women started to get tired, they could still hold my attention with elegant little guitar and drum runs that never got overwhelmed by the electronics -- which often happens in these kinds of bands. I'd like to see them again, on a bill with some space rock jam bands, which would give them the <a href="https://www.undercoverorganism.com/media?fbclid=IwAR05YCp7t_-tMsuwB9ncv1IKPGtgsBBAwf-mWp-cX14smTs75jA8iWpGjq0" target="_blank">opportunity to show off more of their downtempo tunes, </a>which are engaging in a different sort of party -- more like a really cool lounge. These past two weeks' of hodgepodge were a good start to the new year, though and encouraged me to go in blind to more bands.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-8646082603087291132019-01-04T22:50:00.000-06:002019-01-06T14:04:20.902-06:00Buzzing into the New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, a week after the Holiday show at the Cooperage, 2018 closed out for me (before I got sick) there as well with a handful of acts that have had a high level of generally justified buzz. I'd been wanting to see Whips for quite sometime, and as headlining act, they're what got me off the couch and into the Cooperage, but I wasn't expecting the full night of surprises.<br />
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I got there just in time for most of the set of openers Devil's Teeth, and I'm sad I didn't get the whole set. The half hour I did catch blew me away -- for sure, there is no shortage of excellent, wicked surf in this town. They reference surf, garage, punk and "the spaghetti west" in their bio and that's fairly accurate. They're not completely instrumental -- they do sing on a fair number of songs, but that "spaghetti west" description really captures the movie soundtrack quality of their music. It's not just a spaghetti western, though -- it's an action movie chock full of romance and intrigue. They're all over the stage, and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44774054950/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">Caleb Westphal's sax is the icing on this cake that makes them stand out.</a> Not that the rest of the band aren't sharp players (you have to be to pull off this genre) but the sax takes them off the beach and into a seedy noir nightclub where the danger lurks. Of course, since they're working one of my favorite genres of music well, they're on my "don't miss them" list.<br />
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So the next group (I'd hardly call them a band, they were more like a "collective") was an outfit called New Age Narcissism and while the old cliche about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts could be true, this was a group of people whose individual talents could probably stand on their own quite successfully. That makes New Age Narcissism a potential supergroup: every contributor to this thing has the potential to go off and hold a room by themselves, but for some unexplained reason none of them are nationally famous yet. The talent is there. They appear to be held together by Kiran Vedula ("Q the Sun") on keyboards/synths, and Christopher DeAngelo Gilbert, who is a professional dancer in another life. The two of them were the constants on stage, while various other performers drifted on and off.<br />
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The first of the adds was a woman called Siren. If you went to her FB page or looked her up on the web, you'd get hits of her singing beautifully folky tunes in some coffeehouse: soulfully delivering lovely songs. And if you expected that on the stage this particular evening, you'd be surprised, because she strutted on stage and belted out a powerful bitter song about hating a lost love with more authority than the Alanis Morrisette T-Shirt she was wearing. She admitted she was nervous, but once she opened up her pipes either she hid her nervousness well or it just went away. But that was it. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45677733075/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">Let's hear more from Siren! </a><br />
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She was followed by what for me was highlight of the night, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44774073110/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">Lex Allen</a>. I'd seen him <a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2019/01/making-it-through-december-with-warm.html" target="_blank">a week before at a Christmas show, and even his short time on stage there was bursting with so much talent and charisma I knew I had to see him again</a>, even if he was not working my favorite genre. (I'm not a big smooth R&B person.) But he's so good he transcends whatever genre he's working and he crossed plenty during his set of less than a half dozen songs --he name drops Janelle Monae as an influence in his bio, and anybody who does that gets points in my book (and he lives up to the comparison in his breadth of work.) First of all, you can't stop looking at him in his fabulous skintight sequined mini dress that showed off his great legs shoved into shiny black booties. I wouldn't call him a cross-dresser or a drag queen -- he wasn't wearing makeup or trying to hide his masculinity. He simply is a man who looks sensational in a dress (think: David Bowie on the cover of The Man Who Sold the World). He opens his set with some R&B (and wins me over with it), opens up with some classic soul, and the next thing you know, he's kicking out an amal nitrate fueled grind with the jubilant chorus "<a href="https://soundcloud.com/theofficiallex/struck-gold" target="_blank">I STRUCK GOLD!</a>" (yes, he had the crowd singing along) with a groove reminiscent of Lady Gaga's first couple of hits. He <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44774070860/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">poses</a> and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46540053672/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">preens </a>and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45867891494/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">sticks out his booty</a>, while assuring us during "<a href="https://soundcloud.com/theofficiallex/bitch-u-fabulous" target="_blank">Bitch U Fabulous</a>" that we are too. He constantly flirts with a crowd that already loves him, and he writes and performs catchyass songs that should be hits. In the meantime, Q the Sun and Gilbert are holding down the fort and making it look easy. I'm downloading his latest album now (oh, and he covers Pete Townshend.)<br />
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The show didn't stop there. A couple of hip hop guys (and your white girl blogger from the suburbs could be misinterpreting the genre) -- Webster X and Lorde Fredd33 took the stage and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46540089862/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">got Gilbert out from behind the drums</a> but the beats went on. This is the part where I need to say something about how hard it must be to mix the sound in that room with its high ceilings and brick walls, with sounds bouncing off like crazy. Because the thing with rappers is that the words are important, and I want to be able to hear them, and this wasn't a great environment to do that. Plus, Webster X sings his raps -- he puts melody behind his words <a href="https://youtu.be/g0Q0K4HMxeE" target="_blank">but his phrasing is pure rap</a>. Like Lex Allen, he has a soulful timbre to his vox, and it serves his delivery well: he's emotional and pointedly clear about what drives that emotion. I wish I could have heard his words better. Lorde Fredd33 suffered a similar fate: he was riveting and engaging, and also could sing many of his raps, but I felt like I was missing something important as I struggled to hear the words. I <a href="https://soundcloud.com/lordefredd33/sos" target="_blank">went online to check out his stuff </a>and yes, this guy has a lot to say that needs to be heard. He's got a more vicious vibe (he describes himself as a "<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45867906354/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">stage stomping shit talker</a>") but it isn't all doom and gloom -- both Webster X and Lorde Fredd33 were also fun, <i>furiously</i> fun and again, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45867904634/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">Q the Sun and Gilbert are still the constant holding it all together</a>.<br />
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The headliners, Whips, are a band I've been wanting to see for a while (I missed them at Locust Street this year) and it's not like they need more buzz. They're fronted by Ashley Smith, a commanding presence of a woman (even during sound check she checked her microphone with just a couple of words and the entire room turned around at attention) with one of those voices where every word seems to bubble up from deep inside her lungs. If she had been a guy, I'd call this band pub rock, but that implies a working class frontman singing about his workaday, and that's not what she is. But here's the thing. Maybe it was because it was billed as a New Year's Show, so they wanted to keep the tempo up for the whole set, but after about five songs I kind of got the point -- strong woman, strong melody, strong chorus, stable beats. I'd commented to a friend that they needed to have some more dynamic variety and rhythmic range. <br />
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He replied that I should give them another chance: their recordings show that kind of thing I'm looking for from them. I went home and googled them up and my friend was right: <a href="https://whipsband.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">their latest album shows a band with songwriting flair and some good (often sinister) melodies and tempo changes and a thematic variety that I thought was missing from this live performance</a>. This record actually has some psychobilly to it! I probably would have enjoyed the performance more had I listened to this record beforehand. This crowd would have accepted a downtempo moment or two from them -- about 80% of the audience clearly already knew their songs and Smith could have probably read the dictionary to them and gotten the love -- she's got the voice and the stage presence to do so. And so they're a band I need to see again, in a different environment, to really appreciate them-- I bet they'd be great on a bill with the Grovelers. The show that night was for the fans -- and they delivered a set for them.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-23954427014588993552019-01-04T21:07:00.001-06:002019-01-05T12:27:18.739-06:00Making it Through December with Warm December Traditions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, since the holiday time is usually so busy that going to see bands (much less writing about them) is something I have to carefully schedule time for, my grand plan was to just summarize holiday band traditions in one big post in January (like, um, now) and be done with it. Yeah, I'm doing that with this post, but I ended up getting that upper respiratory thing going around and blew off new year's eve, and decided this needed to be cut in half anyway, because now that I think about it, I got to see a lot of really great stuff but it wasn't all holiday traditional stuff.<br />
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Started off December with the annual Zappafest, which also usually coincides with mine and hubby Brian's birthdays, and this was a special edition, given that Zappa singer/guitarist Ike Willis was in the house, sitting in with Gozortenplat. I got there in time to see the Mirror Men take on a set of Captain Beefheart covers and it was satisfying. See, here's the thing. I can appreciate Zappa. In fact, I got through a grueling late stage labor with my first kid concentrating on the complexities of "Return of the Son of Shut Up and Play Yer Guitar" (as opposed to some "relaxing new age" dreck they usually play in maternity wards, which does nothing of the sort: you're shaking with waves of contractions and thinking, "somebody got PAID to play three notes slowly? Nurse! Crank up the fucking epidural -- I'm in pain AND I'm pissed off!"). But when Zappa puts lyrics in the mix, after a while, I just get tired: geez, did that guy like <i>anybody</i>? In Frank Zappa's world (much like Bob Dylan's), we're all hypocritical sheep, everything that isn't them sucks, and the smugness of it all gets tiresome. (At least once in a while Dylan acknowledges the hope and beauty in the world and that some of that beauty actually comes from other people. But I digress.) I hate saying "Shut up and [do the thing that I like you to do]" -- I know it makes me sound like some kind of right-wing blowhard that can't deal with, for instance, the fact that Bruce Springsteen is actually left wing (and has been his entire career) but oh well. That's how I feel about Zappa: my favorite Zappa albums are all in the Shut Up and Play Yer Guitar series.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/51KnGqloaT8/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/51KnGqloaT8?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" width="320"></iframe>Beefheart, on the other hand, is just plain twisted and weird, which is why the band I was really looking forward to was indeed some of the best players in town coming together in tribute. I'd gotten a little taste of it the week beforehand at Trash Fest, and it was the warmup for a truly riveting set. I'll admit, I'm not all that much of a Beefheart expert, but after hearing these guys for two Zappas and a Trash fest, maybe it's time I ran out and picked up a few of the Captain's albums and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFfKWfJ8Tc8" target="_blank">go watch this probing interview of him on American Bandstand</a>. The Mirror Men got plenty of appreciation from an admittedly hard to impress crowd, and they can list inspiring a new Beefheart fan among their accomplishments. Thanks to Blaine Schultz (who played guitar with them) for identifying <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEJ_OnJe_Z8" target="_blank">this song for me as "China Pig</a>." I wasn't taking any chances; while this song started out as a slamming blues, it went off into never never land and never came back.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr Chow</td></tr>
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Dr Chow's Love Medicine was up next, and no surprises. Dr Chow's always had several Zappa tunes in their repertoire, so it wasn't like they had to completely work from scratch to get something ready for this show. They also pick the right Zappa tunes that match their talents and delivery: highlight for me was "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmE3dkYY1t8" target="_blank">The Torture Never Stops</a>." It's almost comforting to listen to these songs delivered by what is essentially a great garage blues band: they inject a level of humanity while retaining top-notch musicianship.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ike Willis with Gozortenplat</td></tr>
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Gozortenplat traditionally wraps up Zappafest these days, and they were a good pick to be the band that Ike Willis sat with. They're sharp, well-rehearsed, know the material like the back of their hands, and opened the set with "Peaches en Regalia" (which was the recessional at my wedding -- seriously, I don't hate this man's music -- I just can't do more than an hour of it), not the easiest song to master, but they nailed it. My understanding is that Willis had received some terrible news about a friend of his earlier, and being the pro he is, still went on stage and delivered a performance that was worth dealing with the packed room. I'm hoping that playing this music, with and for people who love and appreciate it, was fun and comforting for him.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caley Conway</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liam O'Brien</td></tr>
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A week or so later I was in great shape to go hit another December tradition: the Christmas show hosted by (The Celebrated Workingman) Mark Waldoch and Testa Rosa. The last time I was able to hit this show was several years ago, a couple of days after I'd been laid off my job (yes, I got laid off a week before Christmas) and the warmth and joy these bands filled the room with saved my soul. I'm happy to say that level of warmth and love during this show -- a fundraiser for Hunger Task Force -- has only multiplied, along with the number of acts. As I paid my cover and strolled into the Cooperage, I was pleasantly happy to see Caley Conway, an artist <a href="http://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2013/08/bam-its-girl-music-post.html" target="_blank">I'd stumbled upon by sheer accident a few years back</a>, pushing out some minor key, almost torch-y versions of holiday hits. She's built upon that sweet country voice coupled with a knowing sadness that drew me in those years ago. Same thing here: her set was beautifully melancholy, yet, in keeping with -- and setting the tone for the evening -- warm. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46426341992/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">Waldoch joined her later on trombone</a>, which also set another wonderful tone: the whole evening wasn't Band A plays/take down/Band B plays/take down, etc. It was more some people would come on stage, others would come off, some people would pick up an instrument, others would relinquish their spot on the stage. It was like everybody knew, liked and respected each other and as a result, delivered this cohesive holiday show. Soon after Conway was finished Liam O'Brien came onstage, and with a voice built for it, bullied us all with "You're A Mean One, Mr Grinch." Lex Allen, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/32604853088/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">holding a holiday cocktail and looking resplendent in a glittery torn black chemise</a>, sweetly sang some Jason Mraz tune that everybody in the room except me knew (and sang along with it). <a href="https://the6thstation.blogspot.com/2019/01/buzzing-into-new-year.html" target="_blank">I'll gush more about Allen in the next post, but enough to say I made a mental note not to miss him when he played out again, and I did indeed catch him a week later. </a>He was followed by L'Resorts, a duo that rendered some originals following by a stirring "Silent Night."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Waldoch and Maya Norman</td></tr>
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Waldoch returned with Maya Norman and together they played out a darling version of "Baby It's Cold Outside," delivered by Norman with the level of flirty coquettishness necessary to keep it from being subject to all that ickyness being discussed this year, and more of the show of respectability for "what will the neighbors think of me staying at a man's house?" that I'd always interpreted it as. It was darling. Waldoch stayed on stage and soulfully sang some Christmas classics, bringing down the house with a tear-inducing take on "Oh Holy Night." Yes, unlike that lady who always sat behind me in my childhood church, his glorious tenor went for -- and triumphantly hit -- those high notes at the end.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testa Rosa</td></tr>
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The only act that could possibly hope to follow was Testa Rosa, and it was Betty Blexrud-Strigens' clear voice on top of the band's waltz arpeggio on "2000 Miles" (that wonderful Pretenders song with the chorus "It must be Christmastime....") that brought us back to earth. Gorgeous. There should have been a disco ball projecting lights across the room for it, but I'll take the green and red laser light show we had. Betty's voice falls somewhere between Karen Carpenter and Chrissie Hynde -- clearer than Hynde's and just as warm but not as melancholy as Carpenter's. Also, I like Betty's take on this more than Hynde's probably because I know Betty to be as warm and wonderful as her voice and Hynde by all accounts is, well, um, OK, Chrissie Hynde is a talented songwriter with a great voice. They then went into an even more hopeful version of Merle Haggard's "If We Can Make It Through December" that gave me chills -- probably because the first time I heard them do it was that December so many year ago when my laid off ass was trying to figure out how I was going to pay the bills, and just hearing Betty sing it calmed me down, knowing that somehow, everything was going to be alright. Waldoch joined them for a pile of happy, touching holiday tunes that lifted everybody's spirits, just as it did all those years ago. This past December was a tough month capping off a tough year for many important people in my life: this show was a bright warm bucket of beauty and warmth that helped me, once again, get through December myself. Thanks, guys.<br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-15201271862169631062018-12-06T14:20:00.000-06:002018-12-06T15:05:48.568-06:00Oldschool Riverwest Weekends<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica Knurr with the Swatters</td></tr>
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For the past couple of weeks, I've musically been relying on old standbys -- either bands I know will be good, or at least comprised of people I can count on to be great. The latest incarnation of Fly and the Swatters is a pretty good example of this. As long as I've known Paul "Fly" Lawson (in this particular evening, resplendent as Paulette), there's always been a Swatters lineup somewhere, but for the past dozen or so years it's been on the back burner because he's been in other bands. In fact, the first time I ever saw him play was a Swatters show at the old Gordon Park Pub (later the Stork Club and now it's a restaurant called Nessun Dorma) back in the early 90s. Up until this version, he's been both lead guitarist and frontman/lead singer, but last week was the Swatters debut of Jessica Knurr on vocals. First time I ever saw her was singing was with a band called Skirt, and later on she fronted an outfit called Dyna Flo and Her Roadmasters. In both cases she captured the audience with her country/rockabilly croon and sparkling stage presence, so when I heard she'd be singer for the Swatters I shook my head in agreement as she would be the perfect person to fill that slot. Not that Fly was a bad frontperson, but with that off his plate, he was able to concentrate on filling up on tasty rockabilly licks while Jessica entertained us all with her confidently flirty takes on classics, changing up the lyrics to suit herself. It's the first time she's been on stage for awhile, and afterwards she confessed to us that she might have made a few errors ("I got the first verse on 'Funnel of Love' wrong") but being the pro she is, nobody noticed or cared. <i><b>She</b></i> cared, though. "What if there was a Wanda (Jackson, original singer of that song) person in the audience -- they would have known!" Well, I doubt they would have cared either. This was <i>Jessica's </i>version, and <i>her</i> night, and she pulled it off wonderfully. If there were any other errors I sure didn't notice them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bitch Pudding</td></tr>
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Starting off that night was a set from Bitch Pudding, comprised of two thirds (Vicki and Molly) of sixthstation favorites The Six Wives of Richard. Geez, how many bands are they in? This one, while they did have a few covers, seems to be their "originals" band, and like their other outfits, has those glam-rock underpinnings that I love so well.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Voot</td></tr>
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Molly's songs are a little skewed toward Americana (they called it "grunge-a-billy"), but they both have that lovely snark and swagger that we love about the SWOR and Silk Torpedo -- so much so that it took some time to come down from it as <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/46129823092/in/datetaken-public/" target="_blank">Vicki and Molly did headstands </a>during the Swatters' set.<br />
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To make it a full Riverwestian evening, I headed over to the Uptowner to catch Voot Warnings put out a fine two sets of tunes. His current lineup (Vic Demechei on drums and Jacob Muchin on bass) is locked in tight, and is serving both Voot's darker recent songs and his old trashy standards. Frank Chandek, in town for a visit, joined Voot for a few duets, and the Uptowner once again felt with Riverwest's Living Room as old and new friends and neighborhood stalwarts wafted in and out.<br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45456558944/in/datetaken-public/" target="_blank">A week later, Frank Chandek and Fly were back, this time for a quick Dr Chow (whoops, I mean "Code Purple") set to satisfy the fans </a>before a full Frank Zappa set (this Saturday at Club Garibaldi, featuring Zappa guitarist and vocalist Ike Willis; a not-to-miss show for Zappa enthusiasts). They played the hits: Mary Ann is Insane, Godzilla, Somebody Else.... and pretty much everybody knew them all and sang along. Perhaps in predicting the events of the next day, the band introductions were all Green Bay Packer legends from days past. The band didn't even get started until 10ish -- out of character for the Circle A (which normally wraps up live music by then), but the evening was double booked, and both bookings were sure to bring in the fans.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1913</td></tr>
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The earlier booking was a act I've been meaning/wanting to get out and see anyway -- 1913, comprised of Victor DeLorenzo on drums and Janet Schiff on cello. The best way to describe them would be atmospheric. While their name (and appearance) suggests the stratosphere of some parlor/salon in that time period, Schiff employs modern technology to lay down bed tracks of cello rhythms, and then plays fetching melodies over them. Those melodies are seasoned with DeLorenzo's imaginative percussion, who squeezes out more sounds than his small kit would seem to be capable of. Their compositions seemed less like songs and more like establishments of moods: which was both a strength and a weakness. Some pieces established a mood and didn't seem to go anywhere with it (in and of itself an ambient statement) while their best moments established a mood and right when you were hypnotized by it, they'd make a left turn and drive down an entirely different path. Or, right when you thought a piece was over (and just revving up an ending), they'd let you know this wasn't the end, only a transition to a new movement. Guest stars, including the always reliable Sigmund Snopek, fit wonderfully into all this. (How Snopek managed to get his alpenhorn into the tiny club without damaging it --or anybody who happened to be in the way-- is nothing short of amazing.) It was a ethereal way to tie a neighborhood together and get a crowd who could appreciate both this and the raucus blues of Dr Chow (whoops, again, that's CODE PURPLE, folks!) ready for the logical conclusion that Zappafest will be this Saturday.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-19592663671078478562018-11-23T11:01:00.002-06:002018-11-23T11:07:18.572-06:00Musical Smorgasbord to start the Holiday Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wait, I thought to myself as I was trying to decide what to do last Saturday night, is that Wendy Schneider the Bugatti Type 35 Wendy Schneider playing at the Circle A? Why, yes it is, with a new(er) outfit called Howler on a double bill with a band called Powerwagon. It was Powerwagon's CD/Record/(whatever we're releasing new work on these days) show, and their description sounded interesting enough ("Monster Truck Rock and Roll") so off I went.<br />
Needless to say, Howler did not disappoint. Schneider still has the same matter-of-fact, clear delivery she had back 20 years ago when I saw (actually, opened for her with my band) at the Cactus Club. She doesn't howl her songs -- she lets her sharp lyrics do the howling, and her guitar do the growling. Oh, what a gorgeous, warm fuzzy tone she gets out of that axe (think: Blue Cheer) that contrasts/compliments her pointed songs and delivery. She's backed up by a rhythm section that is equally sharp yet fuzzy. The difference from her earlier work is demonstrated on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMB_vQV2sLA" target="_blank">Demons, a tune they did in the middle of their set</a> (and which opens the CD I walked out the door with): it's structurally more traditional that the dissonant Bugatti Type 35 stuff, but it retains a paradox of menacing vulnerability. They closed their set with a tension-filled grind called "Millions." I'll be back when they swing by from their Madison home, for sure.<br />
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Powerwagon had to follow this, no small task, and they were up to it. With a tagline like "Monster Truck Rock and Roll" I was expecting some kind of white trash hillbilly crap (which, don't get me wrong, I love that shit) but that's not what they ended up striking me with. I'd call it more "Monster Psychedelia" -- lots of good extended jams, swirling melodies, and keeping with the theme at the Circle A that night, fairly dark. On <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIJhz0ihpuM" target="_blank">"Soften the Blow" </a>I even got the feeling that they'd listened to a few spins of Neil Young (Rust Never Sleeps era) now and again. They <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45247332314/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">brought up a friend to belt out a rousing version of Iggy Pop's "Gimme Danger</a>" before closing out their list.<br />
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So then I hopped on the Hoan Bridge to catch another record release party at Club Garibaldi, this time for Sleepersound, who I'd seen opening for the Richard Lloyd Band. They have the blessing/curse (at least when I see them) of being completely different from the other band on the bill, and this night was no exception. I arrived in time for a set from Evacuate The Earth, a band that turned out to be <i>even <b>more</b> </i>unrelentingly nihilistic than their name or <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/45059887975/in/album-72157702540710374/" target="_blank">merch table display</a> implied. It was about when Erin Brophy put down the bullhorn that she used to warn us about the impending doom with her shrill voice and picked up her saxophone (she had both an alto and a tenor at the ready) that it all clicked: somebody's been listening to James Chance! But this band had less of that James White and the Blacks funk, and more no wave, more jazz. They're not afraid to use their considerable technical prowess-- with old and new synthesized sounds coming out of the bass (not to mention a theremin!) and drums that won't quit (Brophy adds a touch of percussion herself), they held me fixed for the perfect set length of a little more than a half hour. Any less, and it would be like "That's all you got? Shot your whole wad that quick?" Any more and I'd be like, "Excuse me, but I need to get a <b><i>drink</i></b>." Don't get me wrong, I really liked them. I like wasabi peas, too, but I can't eat a whole bag of them.<br />
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Sleepersound, then, ended up being the right glass of lemonade to wash that down. As tired as I was (it had been a long day) I knew what to expect and realized I needed the gentle rollercoaster that is Sleepersound's thing. Like their songs, they weave in and out of each other on stage to conjure up their emotional soundtrack. They had a screen up that had various moving films, but it didn't really add to their sound. Their strength is allowing the listener to come up with his/her own dreamscapes, their own little movie to soundtrack. My only advice to them at this point is to not be afraid to explore other time signatures besides the dreamy waltz of a mid tempo 3/4 -- which, admittedly, works for your stuff. But guys, you have a drummer (Dan Niedziejko, who also runs the kit for cowpunkers Camel Tow Truck) who can do this. Go for it.<br />
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Oh, and to fill out the smorgasbord, oh yeah, a couple of weeks ago I caught this band called Dorothy's Worst, a pile of high-energy punks out of Sheboygan that I'm really looking forward to seeing again. So high energy that the drummer wears gardening gloves to make it through the set. So high energy that the lead singer had to grab a stool and sing a few songs sitting down to keep himself from getting too frenzied. Just really good, speedy, tight, melodic (but not too poppy) punk to bring on winter with. Lots of good punk coming from North on 41/43. Lots of good music period feeding the holiday smorgasbord coming up. Heading out tonight to see Fly and the Swatters (at the Circle A) and Voot Warnings at the Uptowner -- sometimes you need dependable standbys to keep a long weekend going. <a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1929/43158785910_50416b36d3_b.jpg"></a><br />
<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-44945042942795174242018-11-13T20:04:00.001-06:002019-10-17T14:59:17.410-05:00Trash Fest 2018: Sorry, Not Sorry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Trash Fest -- by its very name -- is a celebration of tacky, of trashy, of reused and resusable cultural crap, and it revels in it. Consider the themes of years past. "It's Crap and That's That" "Scum Always Rises To The Top" or seasonal tributes or tributes, period; last year's fest was a tribute to the Gong Show. Sometimes the acts are parodies, some are actual tributes to trashy culture, and as founder Voot Warnings once pointed out, "some bands just come and play their standard set." If they're trashy enough, more power to them.<br />
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But when you celebrate trash, there's going to be a self-effacing part to it, such that even though this year's Fest didn't have an official theme, I'm going to go with Sorry, Not Sorry. Because as self-effacing as Trash Fest gets, no, nobody's sorry about the poor taste, the horrid puns, the slip ups and the trash. Every year new people come in to check it out and they're not quite sure what to make of it, but everybody who steps on that stage is unapologetic about it, no matter how low they go. That's why it's Trash Fest. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44035195870/in/album-72157703523568285/" target="_blank">I enjoyed my delicious taco truck dinner</a> (the taco truck parked out on Burnham in front of the Journal Sentinel Printing Press rocks) as I settled into my seat at Kochanski's Concertina Beer Hall for the festivities. Wads of trash were arranged neatly on the tables like it was a wedding reception.<br />
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Back after a multi-year hiatus, former Trash Fest perennial openers, the Nervous Virgins took their rightful spot as the opening act. Fronted by Eric Griswold (the Wisconsin contact for Burning Man -- he runs the Burning Snow Center in Riverwest), the band delivered their set of dependable weirdness, finishing off, as has been their tradition, to an a capella rendering of "Iron Man" to the tune of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" (it works, really), <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/31980723808/in/album-72157703523568285/" target="_blank">dressed as Ebenezer Scrooge</a>, but sounding like a sweet boys' choir. Oh and say, was that a <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/31980713668/in/album-72157703523568285/" target="_blank">Washday Cigar Box guitar </a>in that band?<br />
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Up next was Serena's Magic Show. <br />
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Serena Stone brought her magic act to Trashfest, and the accomplished hypnotist trashed it up very nicely for us. Accompanied by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/31980727248/in/album-72157703523568285/" target="_blank">a friend on piano</a>, she remained silent as she flipped rope and card tricks at the crowd. Even when she was flipping off the crowd, the whole effect was that of a very charming mime, as she realized that getting trash thrown at her from this audience was a compliment -- she then used her magic rings to not only wow us with illusion, but to set up target practice for the increasingly rowdy crowd. Oh, by the way, for those of you confused, she's a (her own term) "transgendertainer," not a man in drag. I'm sorry she doesn't have the porcelain skin and dainty demeanor of some manic pixie dream girl but this wasn't a drag act. Sorry, not sorry.<br />
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Exposed 4 Heads frontman Mark G.E. was this evening's MC (somebody had him confused with Paul "The Fly" Lawson, who was too busy distributing trash, playing stage nazi, playing in a band later on, doing all the press, booking the club, confirming all the acts). Mark vacillated between being Your Host of Hosts with his clear gameshow host voice, and university professor reading various bits of maintenance tips and trivia that left me with a furrowed brow thinking "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va5_rn3vG3A" target="_blank">What the hell was that?</a>" I was actually surprised that Mark wasn't in an act of his own this evening -- God knows he's got both the charisma and the trashy sensibility to pull something off. Nevertheless, he held the thing together onstage while Fly was holding it together offstage. Yet, as this thing's been going for 37 something years, I'd discussed with a few Trash Fest veterans by the door --Dale Kaminsky and Rusty Olsen (who would later appear in the Mirror Men) -- how smoothly this thing seems to run itself. How we used to need a genuine stage nazi to shuffle the bands on and off, how we needed to keep an eye on the mounds of trash so that nobody would get hurt, and how we needed to keep an eye on some of the acts so that nobody would get arrested. But frankly, most of the participants are old pros, who know they get 20 minutes to trash up the stage and 10 minutes to get the hell on and off. You don't need a stage nazi for that.<br />
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Speaking of old pros, up comes Dave Thomas, paying tribute to trash bands past and present as the Fallen Angels, and throwing in some guitar classics on his big bad guitar. But here's the thing: they nailed the tricky changes in the past songs, but they fucked up "Gloria." You know, G-L-O-R-I-A! It's the first song anybody ever learns on the guitar after they learn their first three chords - E D A ad nauseum! <b><i>How</i></b>, I asked the twitterverse that night, <b><i>how do you fuck up "Gloria"</i></b>? And even more perplexing was that right afterwards they sailed through a flawless version of "Pipeline" -- a song twenty times more difficult than "Gloria." Well, sorry not sorry, but this is Trash Fest.<br />
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<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4809/44938970445_ba9f06a656_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4809/44938970445_ba9f06a656_b.jpg" width="400" /></a>Right behind him was Dave Alswager as Johnny Trash and Marlavous Marla as June Cart-Her-Trash and their costumes, hair and makeup were dead on, not to mention "June"'s watchful "you had better walk that line" gaze on "Johnny." Replacing "June"'s autoharp was a casiotone that apparently she'd learned three notes on <b><i>that day</i></b> (the three you need to replace the horn section on "Ring of Fire") and a fourth note to add a bit of out of tune solemnity to "Hurt."<br />
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Keeping with the roots theme, up came Full Irish Breakfast, full of old McTavish and other Irish alumni. It's about time somebody took on the hallowed Irish music genre and starting out a set with "I Gave My Love A Potato" set the tone perfectly. It's a good thing they had plenty of parody ready, because musically they were spot on. Plenty of 6/8 time, and a quick little jig called "Michael Flaherty You Fucking Drunk You Owe Me $400."<br />
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So, like I said, Paul "The Fly" Lawson was too busy behind the scenes, but that didn't stop The Paulettes from taking the stage. <br />
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Paulette looked ravishing in black minidress, and of course they plowed right into classics including "Walk on the Wild Side" and "Lola." But the highlight of the set was when they busted into a ZZ Top tune, which at first seemed out of place -- a little too WKLH for this crowd -- until they got to the chorus that slipped perfectly into the lineup: "Every girl's crazy 'bout a cross dressed man!" The general consensus is that none of us are ever going to hear the "normal" version of that song ever again without singing this much more fun chorus.<br />
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4804/45127268124_3c7147ee50_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4804/45127268124_3c7147ee50_b.jpg" width="400" /></a>The Mirror Men followed this tough act, but Frank Chandik is visiting back home from Panama and this is one of those acts that isn't just a Trash Fest act. It's a loving tribute to Captain Beefheart. Most of this crowd has seen Frank and this band do Beefheart before -- and it won't be the last (catch 'em at Zappafest in a couple of weeks). Special kudos go to drummer Keith Michels -- who was already called upon in a few other bands in the evening. The Mirror Men's regular drummer couldn't make it at the last minute. Michels went out to his car, plugged in the set list, listened a few times, and reportedly told the Mirror Men, "I got this." Indeed he did. No sorry not sorry here.<br />
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Finally, your intrepid reporter threw on a T-Shirt and fronted a Dead Kennedys tribute band which we named "Rose Kennedy's Speculum" (we had to top the original band name for bad taste, and I think we did) and as a local alternative reporter put it, "spat" out DK hits that frankly, didn't need much updating. We qualified for Trash Fest: the band we were paying tribute to was a funny, trashy, albeit hardcore punk band. We fucked up a few of the changes (this is Trash Fest, after all) but in general we got the chords right. But I guess we were too angry and sincere for the alternative reporter, despite the fact that we were sincere in our love for the whole trashy genre in general. I guess he wanted us to be more silly and have more "positive" fun, despite my feelings that shouting out a quick 1 minute hardcore tune with the chorus "Nazi Punks FUCK OFF" was the most fun I've had in a while. But here's the thing. Despite last Tuesday, we're still living in a land governed by a would-be autocrat intent on stripping away rights for anybody who isn't white, male and "Christian" by picking away at the Constitution and a few critical amendments -- much as Jello Biafra warned us about 30 years ago. We did a song called "Too Drunk To Fuck" and dedicated it to our most recent Supreme Court justice, who weighed in on a decision to further curtail voting rights (and don't get me started on why this song was apt for him). We closed our set with yet a bigger update to "We've Got A Bigger Problem Now" (updating California Uber Alles to the obvious reference to Mar A Lago) I'm sorry I wasn't the happy and goofy chick that should "get over it" or "lighten up" and just <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jB2qxsmkUk" target="_blank">shut up and be happy</a> and put a real world damper on your fun. I'm sorry my version of fun reminded you that there's good trash that we celebrated and there's bad trash that got elected president.<br />
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Wait wait wait. Back up. Sorry, not sorry. Not one little bit.V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-14100997091612479202018-10-26T16:40:00.002-05:002018-10-26T16:49:43.615-05:00Warm Weekend for a Road Trip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, if you turn on the Weather Channel or clicked on Intellicast, they would have told you this was the coldest weekend in 2018 yet. I beg to differ. I enjoyed one of the warmest weekends in a while, and I didn't leave the midwest to do it.<br />
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On my way down to Champaign IL to a house concert to see Jason Ringenberg, <a href="https://flic.kr/p/jVoRb" target="_blank">I flashed on the first time I encountered Jason</a> and the Scorchers (who would eventually be renamed to Jason and the Nashville Scorchers, probably because that would sound more sellable). It was a summer day in Champaign back in 1982 ish. Campustown in Champaign during the summer was pretty dead in those days. You could stroll into Mabel's (the CBGB of C-U at the time) and see really great bands, and there'd be maybe a dozen people in this place that would normally pack in some 300 bodies on a Saturday night. In the case of Jason and the Scorchers, the dozen or so people there went and told their friends not to miss this band the next time they came through, because despite the small crowd, they lived up to their name and scorched the place. We'd never seen anything like it: a band that looked and started to sound country, right down to Jason's sweetly throaty voice, but playing it loud and fast. We didn't know it at the time, nor had anybody coined the phrase yet, but in hindsight, this was the band that pretty much invented cowpunk. Up until that point, I had no use in my life for country music (or folk, for that matter), but when Jason sang out John Denver's "Take Me Home Country Roads" at triple tempo, he did so without a hint of irony and made his point: this was great music, made by people who loved country, but also loved punk.<br />
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So, thirty some odd years later, after the Scorchers disbanded and Jason kept plugging away with his songs and his other persona ("Farmer Jason" -- a delightful children's entertainer <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqRL1yJPwI0" target="_blank">who sings about farm animals and such but never giving up his punk roots</a> ), I made the trip to my friends Cynthia and Ernie's house to see a solo performance from Ringenberg. These house concerts ("The Sandwich Life House Concert" series) are always wonderful -- I don't get down to see them all that often but I'd driven down for his set once before and it's worth the trip. This was a special performance: a 10th anniversary of Sandwich Life House Concerts, a 20th anniversary of C and E living in this particular house, and their 30th wedding anniversary. As such, C and E put together a great lineup for the whole evening: joining Jason would be Nashville legends Fats Kaplin and Kristi Rose. <br />
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As these house concerts start off with a potluck, there was a spread of food proudly set out by the locals that was a smorgasbord of Central Illinois harvest bounty.<br />
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But opening the night were a band of 16 year olds (fronted by Cynthia and Ernie's youngest son, Owen Blackwelder) called the Taxi Boys who turned in a really good set of power pop with professionalism and proficiency that belied their age. Their choice of covers --- including Pink Floyd's "Lucifer Sam", Nick Lowe's "Teacher Teacher", and a combo of the Beatles "The End/Back in the USSR" (not to mention <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUrJzQgYBCc" target="_blank">local heroes The Vertebrats</a>) -- should give you an idea of where they're coming from, but they have a really good pile of originals with odd little flourishes like dissonant lead lines and oddly placed crescendos that make for some really good hooks. This is a band that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VekMdOhNgg" target="_blank">closes their set with a Flamin Groovies cover</a>: Blackwelder even named his vintage VW Beetle "Cyril", so these aren't just a bunch of young punks with three chords. They're definitely a band to watch.<br />
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Kristi Rose and Fats Kaplin we up next, and thanks to Jason at that night at Mabel's all those years ago, my mind and ears were open to this experience and I'm really glad for that. Kristi Rose has range -- and I'm not just talking about melodic range. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ReSDQFmYgpA" target="_blank">Her tone ranges from clear to choky to raspy, her emotional range covers everything from joyous to melancholy to wistful, her dynamic range goes from a whisper to a holler. </a>But her genius is knowing exactly what vocal tools to employ when, so when accompanied by her husband Kaplin (whose versatility and virtuosity would be easy to take for granted) they deliver a riveting set. Also, she's got a terrific sense of humor that warms up a room, and set the tone for Ringenberg.<br />
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Jason Ringenberg's set proved he was the heart of the Scorchers: he had that same warmth he's had for the past 30 years. While he's a punk rocker at heart and always will be, he's not a disentranced punk rocker. Whether's he's covering Dylan ("Absolutely Sweet Marie") or stomping his foot to accompany his own storytelling songs, every song he sings wipes away any sense of jaded cynicism. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SsJmmTgGC4" target="_blank">Even when he wails a sad song</a>, he bounces right back with a rocker, a joke, or a happy children's ditty. Even when he's singing about punk itself, as in "God Bless The Ramones" it's a joy, it's a fun story despite the disaster.<br />
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He joined Rose and Kaplin for a few songs, and he and the duo took turns with a couple more sets, and then took turns on verses of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRsmQmFHS9A" target="_blank">The Weight</a> before the night was through. Farmer Jason slices up a few more of his home grown tomatoes for the spread of food that people picked at as they finished off their beers, and bid their farewells. The whole thing was worth driving through four hours of rain and chill for the warmest weekend I've had in a long time. God Bless the Ramones!<br />
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On the way out of town, Stella asked me to take a picture of this house in Urbana at 7<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44773846584/in/album-72157702855183135/" target="_blank">04 West High Street.</a> I asked the assembled locals if they knew why. Apparently its used on the cover of an album by American Football, and as I have not followed the C-U music scene in a while (so I'm not at all familiar with this band), as one of the locals told me, "Oh yeah. That's a thing," so I went and shot it. Oh, and by the way, for those of you who refer to Illinois as "Flatland" you'd be amazed at some of the beauty you'd find just off the freeway on the way down. I stopped at Matheissen State Park for a hike before I rolled into C-U. It's a lovely overlooked state park (just south of the more famous Starved Rock) and even on a grey day with sprinkling showers it was stunning. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157702855183135" target="_blank">Here's photos of the whole trip, including the house concert. </a><br />
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<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19659034.post-82845777012010034262018-09-19T17:40:00.000-05:002018-09-19T18:49:35.930-05:00Well named bands at a well curated bash<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conniption</td></tr>
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Everybody is pretty much acknowledging that the Bay View Bash is the "last" festival before we start thinking about wearing long sleeved shirts and what we're going to do for Halloween. It's the last "summer" festival, a chance to get outside while it's still nice, drink, eat street food and see some bands. The nice thing about the Bash is that it really endeavors to bring a variety of entertainment. There's only a few acts that seem to appear every year (the South Stage is getting to be known as the Metal stage, and The Metal Men headline it every year) and some you even count on (Dead Man's Carnival and some fire jugglers always turn up at the "Demo" stage) but generally, there's no repeats at this festival, which makes it a really good smorgasbord to sample plenty of different bands.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Eye and the Stinks</td></tr>
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Scheduling stopped me from getting early enough to catch an act I've been meaning to see, Vincent Van Great, but I did manage to catch the fun end of a set from King Eye and the Stinks, a dark punk outfit whose theme seemed to swing from the Cramps to some really good garage punk. The ended their set with a song that never seemed to end, they hollered 1-2-3-4-5-6 and jumped into it. And when you thought they were done, they hollered 1-2-3-4-5-6 again and got right back into it. And again. And again. And again. When they finally unstrapped their guitars somebody in the crowd hollered 1-2-3-4-5-6, and I was kind of hoping they'd go "Fooled ya," strap back in, and jump back into the song.<br />
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But their time was up and I wanted to get to the south end to that very Metal stage to see Conniption, a band that's been around for at least ten years. I've been trying to get out to see them and finally this was my chance. Bottom line: they're great. Entire set was varied originals, and they hit all the edges you expect from a good metal act: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/30913262858/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">lead singer with operatic vocals and presence</a> both on and off stage, guitar player who can seriously shred while <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/42973249780/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">headbanging a mane of hair across the stage</a>, bass player who uses both hands all over the fretboard, and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/30913213338/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">double-time drummer who holds it all together. </a><br />
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The entire set of originals had enough variety in themes, dynamics, tempo and attitude to keep me and a crowd interested for the full set. Even people I know who aren't into metal were nodding, "yeah, these guys are pretty good." It takes a lot to impress hipster Bayviewians if you're not hipster, and these guys did it. It helps that they are all obviously well-practiced at their craft: these are musicians, and it shows.<br />
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On the way back to the North end, buzz band Sugar Stems was just starting at the middle stage (which moved from its old spot on Logan south of KK, to Russell, just northeast of KK.) This was a perfectly well named band: very pop sugary, but rocking enough to not send you into a diabetic coma. <br />
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Betsy Heibler's wait-that's-NOT-Belinda-Carlisle? voice is responsible for the former, but she and the rest of her band have the same fundamental rocking but pop sensibilities as the Go-Gos. Except they're a few steps ahead out of the gate here: S<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/43874544205/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">tephanie Conrad almost steals the show with slyly complex bass playing</a>, and the band is rounded out by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/43874544205/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">guys trading vocals who make it clear this is not necessarily a girl group</a>.<br />
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And then we move to the Demo Stage, for this year's WTF in the form of the Merkins, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44064672194/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">a four piece cover band of middle-aged guys fronted by this dude wearing a romantic blouson </a>and, tight leather pants that at our age, I gotta give props for a) having the balls to wear out in public and b) wow, <i><b>they still fit</b></i>. <br />
<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1882/44064698744_e9ff5889c3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="534" height="320" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1882/44064698744_e9ff5889c3_b.jpg" width="213" /></a> I arrived at the stage in time to hear him belt out "She Sells Sanctuary" followed by some Who tune that frankly, I forgot. I was too busy trying to decide if these guys were onto themselves or not. I slipped away to grab a forgettable sandwich and came back in time to see him take on Cheap Trick's "Surrender" and continue to flirt with the women in the crowd. All I could think of was how perfectly they'd fit in at Trash Fest. I finally decided they had to have their tongues firmly planted in cheek (among other places); after all this is a band called <i style="font-weight: bold;">The Merkins </i>for cryin' out loud.<br />
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Onto the North stage, Cashfire Sunset was yet another well named band-- for the time of day (it was indeed sunset, bordering on twilight) and for their overall vibe: a really good combination of space rock with an almost pop edge. They file themselves under shoe gaze, but like many other bands that held this spot on this stage, they were too involved with the audience to really be shoegazers -- they're way too psychedelic, but admittedly they get a little dreamy. If they haven't played Milwaukee Psych Fest yet, they should -- they'd fit right in.<br />
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So, before going to see the North stage headliner, I wandered back to the middle stage to see Mike Krol -- a Tosa native who left the midwest for the big cities (namely NYC and LA) but was back for a hometown show, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of the evening. <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44784559011/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">Krol and his band took the stage wearing Tyvek jumpsuits from Home Depot,</a> giving them this Devo vibe, but the band itself looked and sounded like Devo's tour van had crashed into the Pixies' practice space. The songs had that kind of urgent/storytelling melody line that Black Francis writes, (and the bassist very certainly went to the Kim Deal School Of Bass Playing). But the hazmat suits and the onstage demeanor of the band was all spudboys. Krol himself is an engaging, charismatic, and sometimes manic performer <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44784546931/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">who augments his voice with a rack of effects boxes </a>and his stage demeanor by often <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44784539651/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">dropping into the audience and interacting with the crowd</a>. Catchy AF songs, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/30913379778/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">great interactive show</a>, crowd involvement -- yeah, this guy was my favorite find in a day full of great finds.<br />
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The night wrapped up with the much-buzzed-about Shilpa Ray, and her band out of Brooklyn NY. Everything I heard about her was punk, yet she opened her set with a lively pop tune (or so it started) called "Morning Terrors and Nights of Dread" that sounded like something the aforementioned Sugar Stems would have come up with, but crescendoed into a guttural wail from Ray and a crash from her band. The remainder of the set seemed like that song: one song she was sweet and pop, the next minute she was bringing down the house with a frenzied wail that shook your bones. Her band was equally discombobulating: ranging from g<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44064787494/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">lam guys with glitter eyeshadow</a> b<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44064838254/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">ut with countrified dress and demeanor</a> to f<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/44734612612/in/album-72157699927248351/" target="_blank">lat out punk players.</a><br />
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The band sounded exactly how it looked: this odd mix of genres that somehow worked. It was a fitting ending to a festival that rightfully boasted a variety of talent to finish out a summer.<br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sixthstation/albums/72157699927248351/with/44784605961/" target="_blank">Here's photographic evidence of my whole survey of the day. </a><br />
<br />V'ronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13651510977022872366noreply@blogger.com0