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I'm Dave Segal, the new music editor of OC Weekly. Pleased to meet you.

To expand a bit on this post by Tom Child, I come here from Seattle, where there are as many bands as there are Starbucks units. A fair number of them are pretty good, too (the bands, I mean, not the coffee shop; I don't frequent Starbucks because I'm a rebel). I'd like to think that an area as sprawling and cultured as Orange County would have similar quantities of kickass groups. Prove that I'm not a foolish optimist. Please.

One of my goals here is to discover extraordinary talent residing in Orange County, no matter how seasoned or green it happens to be. Here's where you, the aspiring or long-under-appreciated musician, can help me to help you. Please send me your music or point me to links to your website and/or MySpace page (see my info at the end of this post). Shove your art in front of my big nose and make me pay attention to it. If I deem it worthy (and I consider myself an open-minded SOB), you will get covered, sooner or later, in print and/or on this here blog.

To elaborate, I'm looking for the extraordinary, the mind-blowing, the head-scratchingly bewildering, the brilliantly absurd. I am not looking for the one-billionth reiteration of a style that sounded tired in 1979 or in 1992 or even in 2001—unless you're so amazingly adept at it one can't help gaping in awe at your awesome replications of said traditional styles. I call on deep crate-digging DJs, eccentric laptop producers, Aeolian harpists, conga virtuosi, avant-jazzers, rock mavericks, singer-songwriters who'd rather burn down a coffeehouse than perform in one, heavy-metal junglists, rappers whose backpacks are bulging with tomes by Henry Miller and Georges Bataille— basically, anyone surfing against the grain and kicking the status quo in the nads—to send me your brainchildren for consideration.

My mailbox and ears await your handiwork. Gracias.

DAVE SEGAL
OC WEEKLY
1666 N MAIN ST #500
SANTA ANA CA 92701
dsegal@ocweekly.com

Please join me in welcoming new music editor Dave Segal, coming to us all the way from Seattle's "The Stranger." Check out his impressive body of work here. Keep an eye on this blog over the next few months for more frequent updates and feel free to e-mail any local music tips/suggestions/invites to him at dsegal@ocweekly.com.

Just returned from the dios set (see Chris Ziegler's 2004 cover story here) at the Chuggin' Monkey (located a few blocks from Mooseknuckle's and Uncle Flirty's Loft...seriously). Despite undergoing some lineup changes over the past few years, the band continues to amaze me with how ferociously they can perform live. [Full disclosure: I have at times played Guitar Hero and been entertained by the card magic of founding member Jimi Cabeza de Vaca.] The previous bands went a little long, forcing dios to play a shortish set, which ended just as things were really getting going. Passerbys stopped, listened and retrieved sticks as drummer Patrick Butterworth whipped them out the window after he'd abused the hell out of them. Watch the video here and ask yourself when was the last time you've been so entertained by a drummer. The band has a new album coming out soon and will hopefully continue to update their endlessly entertaining web pages.

I ran into bass player J.P. Caballero (pictured at left, preparing to pop his collar in flagrant violation of the house rules) on Friday and talked to him a bit about the direction of the group.

O.C. Weekly: So what do you have planned for the show tonight?

J.P.: Well, Joel's gonna do some backflips. I've been working on this tantric yoga routine. Really good stuff. And then, for the music...uh, yeah, we're just gonna sing and play guitar. Yeah, really different stuff.

O.C. Weekly: When's the album coming out?

J.P.: The record's probably going to come out in the next two to three months. We've just got to find a label to distribute it. It's more or less done. We're going to start touring for pretty much a year. We've got a car that runs on grease.

O.C. Weekly: Are you ready for that? A year long tour?

J.P.: I'm ready for it. We really want to go down to Mexico for a few months and tour Latin America.

O.C. Weekly: How have your new members influenced the sound of your band?

J.P.: There' s more coffee in the cream. There's more of an R&B power-violence feel.

See for yourself below:

Below: Patrick wards off the evil eye.

Below: Patrick dishes out the evil eye.

Also, someone reached through an open window and stole my beer during this show. Here at the end of SXSW, things have gotten desperate.

OC Weekly exclusive video of Girl Talk's performance at last night's Diesel jeans party here. If you put on your headphones, get your face right up next to the screen, and dowse yourself in other people's sweat, it'll be just like you were there.

Below: You know how we do at SXSW. No one parties like music journalists party (i.e. prowl through town searching for free booze, get drunk, complain about how the band they were in in college never made it despite being more talented then 90 percent of the other groups here, then go back to their hotel room, cry a little, and watch documentaries on local PBS until they pass out.)

I had a dream last night that I was on a date with SXSW performer Lily Allen and she was a very lovely, very cordial woman.

At various times throughout this festival, I have heard at least six separate people say, "I never want to listen to music again."

Managed to slip into the Diesel jeans party last night just in time for Girl Talk's set. King of the mashup, Girl Talk (real name Gregg Gillis) sets up his laptop, invites onstage as much of the crowd as can fit and hits the "enter" key. The rest of his performance consists of tweaking his samples, whipping his head around, and enduring the overly friendly fans who just wanna get his white T-shirt off. The audience, plied with free vodka drinks, seemed evenly divided between those who wished to grind up on each other and those who wished to hang back and intellectually appreciate Gillis' talent with the DJ mix. Gillis' work has caught on with the Pitchfork crowd due to his habit of mixing almost every genre of mainstream pop music within one song, though he has also been criticized for making it safe for indie rock kids to shake their asses—always a risky proposition. Those who have grown up listening to the radio though will find much to enjoy playing "name that sample" as Gillis rips through the last thirty years of music in three minute increments. But Gregg, uh...have you cleared those samples? If the Verve can't get away with it, why can you? Check out his page here and listen to "Night Ripper Tracks..." He samples Phantom Planet's "California" (the theme song to The OC, if you didn't already know) to great effect. C'mon, it may not have a whole lot of replay value once you know what's coming up, but it's undeniably remarkable to hear his dextrous sample skills. I caught up with Greg after his set and asked him a few questions.

OC Weekly: You ever going to come to Orange County and DJ?

Gillis: Oh yeah, uh, where? I mean, I love The "fucking" OC, you know. What's the major city there?

OC Weekly: Uh, Orange, Costa Mesa, Santa Ana area.

Gillis: Man, I would like to. It's hard for me to get to places. I have a day job. How far is OC from LA or San Francisco or San Diego?

OC Weekly: It's about 25 minutes from L.A.

Gillis: L.A. would be your best shot. I love playing L.A. shows. I'm not that familiar with the West Coast, so it's a weird place for me to go.

Well, once again, a day job gets in the way of having fun. Looks like Detroit Bar's going to have to wait.

Above: Girl Talk's Gregg Gillis tells everyone to settle down or he's going to turn around right now and drive us all straight home.

Below: While in Austin, Gregg Gillis enjoys Old Crow brand bourbon.

Back at Ms. Bea's again on Friday for another incredible daytime lineup. Old Time Relijun played what has been by far my favorite set of the festival. Lead singer Arrington de Dionysos warmed up the vocal chords with some Tuvan throat singing before launching into one of the most intensely funky, noisy, energetic performances I have seen so far. Drummer Germaine Baca somehow managed to hold the whole thing together with remarkably tight percussion as upright bass player Aaron Hartman thumped away on the strings, eyes closed. Arrington gave the front row a view of his tonsils as he howled out his filthy, filthy lyrics (something about "put my tongue deep inside her, just to taste her apple cider") and ended the set in his underwear, scraggly beard flecked with sweat and frothy saliva. Relative newcomer Benjamin Hartman (Aaron's brother) suffered slightly from the sound mix as his skronking sax and clarinet work was buried deep in the sludge, but when his reedwork peeked through the din, it was a welcome addition to the noise. The band keeps getting better and better. Check out "Vampire Victym" on their MySpace page (here) and try jerking your shoulders around a bit. Feel free to speak in tongues, if the spirit moves you.

Above: Arrington hears the word that his kitten sweater must be removed.

Below: Arrington complies and the rock Gods are appeased once again.

SXSW can have a curious numbing effect on the unprepared. The overstimulation is so pronounced, eventually one's body can't tolerate any more and it begins to withdraw. Even a sweet-tooth can only eat so much candy before the sickness sets in, and SXSW practically shoves it down your throat. It's more interesting sometimes to walk down 6th St. at 11:30 p.m. and watch the faces of the zombified attendees than it is to watch many of the bands that are actually playing.

The official shows don't start until around 8 at night, but the music continues through the day as bands that are in town for the entire festival figure they should spend their time doing SOMETHING as long as they are here. While the more popular night shows are a gamble (I tried to see Menomena last night but was turned away as the crowd was already at capacity, proving that even the mighty name of the OC Weekly can not bend the laws of physics) the day shows have a pleasant air of backyard barbeque to them (indeed many of them ARE backyard barbeques). My most enjoyable experience so far occurred yesterday at Ms. Bea's where I went to see Marnie Stern play a daytime set. The crowd size was reasonable, the weather was good, the beer was affordable, and there was a pool table around which the bar's patrons kept a respective distance so that one could actually play. Rule #1 of playing pool at Ms. Bea's, as posted on the wall--don't bang the sticks on the floor or table. Rule #2--no one under the age of 15 is allowed to play. This struck me as odd, because it was my understanding that Ms. Bea's was actually a bar, and not a place where you would have to worry about 12 year olds playing billiards. But hey, when in Texas, do as the Texans do, as I believe General Santa Anna once said.

I showed up at Ms. Bea's around 5:30 p.m. and caught the tail end of Portland based Danava's set, much to my delight. Though I hadn't heard of them before, I was won over by the monster riffage and hair swinging. There are few joys quite as exquisite as having absolutely no preconceptions about a band and being pleasantly surprised. If you will, take a trip over to their MySpace page here, pretend you have a few beers in you, you're 1300 miles from home and surrounded by people who look exactly like you and your friends which actually doesn't comfort you in the slightest, and you're wearing a ridiculous badge around your neck that practically screams "I think I'm entitled to free entertainment." Now, drink another beer and listen to "LONGDANCE" at top volume. Close your eyes and imagine a group of men in the prime of their youth hammering away at their instruments, whipping their heads around, and rasing the necks of their guitars skyward as they solo. Now, drink another beer before the song finishes. There, doesn't that feel better?

After Danava wrapped up, Tiny Masters of Today came on, a dirty ol' garage trio composed of two preteens and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's Russel Simmins on skins. Their MySpace page (located here) states that 12 year old Ivan and 10 year old Ada have "...a refreshingly anti-authoritarian stance which spares nobody, from elementary school cliques to the President of the United States." Sticking it to lunchroom bullies and George W.? Quite an agenda. They played a very serviceable set that I found charming enough, though some of the more jaded heads around me were heard to question how it was that these kids managed to snag Simmins and a slot at SXSW if not for either rich connected parents or a fan base in love more with the novelty of children playing loud guitars than the actual music. Haters, go home! They didn't ask to be born with a rock 'n' roll soul!

Finally, the much anticiapted Marnie Stern came on. The New York based singer/guitarist has generated something of a stir with her debut album, In Advance of the Broken Arm, named for a Duchamp readymade. Like a cross between Eddie Van Halen and Deerhoof, Stern finger-taps the frets "Eruption" style in a display of guitar bombast that had long fallen out of favor amongst the frequently narrow-minded "indie" fan. I was eager to see how she would be able to replicate the multi-tracked guitar and vocals live as she is but one woman, and unfortunately I was a little underwhelmed. Turns out, Stern has to play along with the backing tracks from her album (piped through the PA from her Ipod Nano that she straps to her waist.) As the Beatles discovered around the time of Sgt. Pepper's, some things just can't be reproduced live. Her set was plagued with feedback and a seeming delay between her live solos and the recorded material that accompanied her, perhaps due to a low monitor level that made it difficult for her to hear what her Nano was doing. Her guitar technique remained a thing to behold however, as she frequently abandoned her pick in favor of hammering her fingers down high up the neck of the guitar and then sliding them all over the place. She seemed slightly abashed at the technical difficulties, but her final song of the set (and my favorite song from her album), "Patterns of a Diamond Ceiling" came off quite well. I managed to catch her attention as she walked to her car and conducted a Chris Farleyesqueinterview so poor and brief I will not waste your time with it here. Better instead to visit her Myspace page here and let her music speak for itself. With any luck, cloning technology will advance to the point where soon, she can tour with six other Marnies and her live performance will match the exuberance of her album.

Marnie Stern treks on in the backyard of Ms. Bea's.

Well, it's 8:35 Austin time and I've finally got my room, internet access, and festival badge. Haven't had a chance to see any actual music yet, but I've certainly seen plenty of jaded industry types, giddy young music writers, and desperate publicists. I'm headed out into the evening to actually find some material on which to write, but in the meantime, I'll leave you with a quote from page 209 of Lone Star Swing, Duncan McLean's book on his travels through Texas searching for the original performers of Western Swing. Though not specifically about SXSW, he speaks about Austin in this passage, and I feel that his point is all the more trenchant this week. Given the obscene amount of sensory overload that occurs during this festival, how much of what SXSW is ideally supposed to be about gets lost?

"...the thing that struck me was the strange but certain feeling that nobody was really listening to the music.

For one thing, they were all too drunk. Ninety percent of them had started chucking down the heavy and whiskey ten hours before, when the pubs opened and the sessions started, and kept at it all day...

Mainly, though, folk weren't listening to the music because they didn't want to, they didn't need to. What really mattered was the idea of being at Keith Traditional Music Festival.* They liked the idea of a weekend of carousing and music: they could look forward to it for months before, they could recollect it in sobriety for months after. While they were there, of course they would enjoy it...The actual music could've been dull, clumsy-fingered, tuneless (it was often all three) but that didn't matter: it was the idea of the music that was more important than the actuality. As long as there was a vaguely melodic racket going on in the background, then everybody could keep on knocking back the whiskey, swaying in time to nothing at all, yelling at each other what a great time they were having...they were going to drink, dance and be merry, and nothing was going to stop them. Not even over-priced drinks, tarted up tourist-trap bars, and third-rate, mind-numbing, body-and-soul-less imitation-blues.**"

Kinda beautiful though, in it's own way I guess. Thoughts?

*Read "SXSW"

**Read "imitation-indie-rock", "imitation-alt-country", "imitation hard-rock", etc.

I know this is in Upland, and I know Upland is far, and I also know that I can't make it tonight because of a previous engagement. BUT Tonight you can see a shit-ton of sandblasting superstars: BARR, John Thill, AM, and This Song is a Mess but So Am I. Just drive out there with a friend and ask somebody to recommend a burrito place to you or something, swear to god all of these bands are worth it. I saw AM recently and I can't say enough good things about these dudes, they make me proud to be from Orange County like no other band has. I've never heard or seen (or can find a website) for I'm A Fucking Gymnast, who are also playing, but don't let that discourage you from going. All of these bands can and will do ANYTHING to put on a tight show so I have no reason to think of them as an exception. More details: it is at the Old Baldy Brewery in Upland (271 N. Second Ave), get there at eight. GET THERE.