Hear Me Out on the No Wave

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 since the Bay View Bash two years ago, 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 just missed, and I was disappointed because I was looking forward to seeing their set outside the trappings of Trash Fest.

Primitive Broadcast Service

However, Primitive Broadcast Service was on the bill and up next, and as I had previously commented,  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 Jonathan Richman quality to his stance and presentation. 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.

Ganser

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. They let the audience know right off the bat that they were going to be intense, from singer Nadia Garafalo's command of the stage to bassist Alicia Gaines' deadpan delivery, and as for guitarist Charlie Landsman, it seemed like they just wound him up and let him gyrate all over the stage.  Garafalo's performance was loaded with drama -- 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, as Garafalo wailed "WHATS HAPPENING?!?!?!" toward the end of the set, as if she didn't already have my attention.

Cashfire Sunset

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 Sleepersound.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. There was even a slower, more deliberate song that roped me in, 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.

Voot. Dependable ol Voot

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." This instrumental thing has found a place in my skull lately: 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.

the Piss Poor Players

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, "Watch the Sky" 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."

Dependable ol Fly and the Swatters

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.

Dependable ol Silk Torpedo

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.