Last night I went to OCPAC's showing of Susannah not quite knowing what I was to expect from an American opera by Carlisle Floyd. I was, however, certain of one thing: my deep, unwavering passion for opera in another language. There's something about stories set to foreign songs that is mysterious and indecipherable. It sends me reeling into a magical world where I forget what time it is. I actually despise having to get up to use the ladies’ room at intermission, lest I lose that magical feeling that washes over me when I finally, regretfully, detach from my seat.

Unfortunately, I just couldn't seem to wrap myself around Susannah. I did shift around though – in my chair, uncomfortably I’m afraid, all through the first act.

Maybe it’s just me (though clearly it wasn’t) but twangy opera done entirely in a Southern drawl isn’t my cup of tea. I'm sure it is for somebody, somewhere – just nowhere within a 30-foot radius of myself and my date for the evening, editorial assistant, Amanda Parsons. We gave way to whispering important commentary into one another’s ear:
“Is the conductor one beat or two beats ahead of the orchestra when directing them?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to Wikipedia that shit.”

Better Than: Ick, it’s Monday. This is probably the best thing happening.

Detroit Bar’s no-cover Monday started off with The Deadnotes from San Clemente. An upbeat five-piece, they played the sunshiney good stuff that comes straight from the vein of The Turtles “Imagine Me And You” complete with back up vocals consisting mainly of “oooo oooos" (always impressive when a drummer can sing while pounding away, no matter how simple the crooning may be). Although they had some slightly off-key moments, highlights included the Beatles cover “You Can’t Do That” and a rockin’ keyboard solo that rocked as much as a keyboard solo can. The Deadnotes have an EP coming out within the next month should this be up your alley.

Tragically, a new design flaw kept the crowd pushed to the back of the room. Detroit had set up a row of low tables and chair several feet from the stage that acted more like an electric fence than comfortable seating. Not a single person would cross the line to get to the front of the stage—at least the crowd was polite, though sadly unable to dance.

The second band on the bill was Western States Motel. Another five-piece, this band added an acoustic guitar providing an organic sound that meshed well with this group’s electric elements. Oh, and there were maracas, too. And a xylophone. And a cowbell! Notably, this band did an absolutely delicious job harmonizing their vocals, blending the two voices together like butter. There were a few microphone issues (volume control, the occasional high-pitched wail), but that didn’t distract from Western States Motel’s sound: a squeaky clean, mid-tempo, folk-pop vibe that leaned toward Americana from time to time. Southwestern chill? That sounds right.

Finally the headliner, Silver Lake’s Castledoor, was up (they also hold the Monday night residency for the month of May). An almost vaudevillian ensemble, this clash of folksy flamboyance was just as visually appealing as the sweet music they made together. Two drop-dead gorgeous ladies played the keys and cooed wispy back ups, but the spotlight (had there been one) was definitely shining on frontman Nate Cole. Possibly the most comfortable person on stage I’ve ever seen, he shook and danced and gyrated to no abandon, thrashing about in his scarf and cardigan. Finally, some life from the audience was stirred in the form of wooos and howls.

Naturally theatrical, between songs Cole babbled on about hippy shit, the idea of being free, free pants and drinking water between your cheap margaritas. Castledoor had not one, but four tambourines along with another xylophone which seemed to be the instrument of the night. The lovably eccentric ensemble immediately conjured up a likeness to early Devendra Banhart — and sure enough, two songs after this realization the band covered Banhart’s “The Body Breaks." Loves it.

Critic’s Notebook

Personal Bias: After experiencing the live version of “Magnetic Forces," the song had claimed the title of My Favorite in the Castledoor catalogue.

Random Detail: Three bands... three hot drummers.

By The Way: Castledoor will be playing May 19 and May 26 at Detroit before their residency is up.

View photos of the event here.

There aren't too many guys in recent years that had as big of an impact on the Orange County punk scene as Mike Conley, ex M.I.A. front man and owner of Avalon Bar in Costa Mesa. Given that statement, I should have been more prepared for the overwhelmingly packed scene that awaited me behind the entrance curtain at the House of Blues.

The night was a celebration of the life and times of a man that was taken from us far too early. In support of Mike Conley's family, Orange County punk fans were blessed to share a loud, sweaty night with friends of Conley the likes of Naked Soul, Jigsaw, Cadillac Tramps, Kevin Seconds, Social Distortion and everyone's favorite lisping punk rock provacateur Jello Biafra.

A gathering of fans new and old swarmed every crack of the venue. Above the hooting and hollering at the bar, the fuzzy washed out 80's footage of Conley raging on stage with M.I.A. back in the good ol' days put a smile of the faces of some old punks long enough to make them ignore the beer in their hands for a few minutes.

The show started with a bang from crowd pleasing sets by the tribute to Naked Soul as well as Jigsaw, who got the crowd plenty riled up as they took turns thrashing and wailing on beautifully dissonant chords.

With an electric mix of humor, and OG swagger, The Cadillac Tramps were next to take the stage in honor of Conley. Psychobilly girls and boys crammed the front barricades as Mike "Gabby" Gaborno played with the crowd and rallied the band to deliver the kind of kick-ass old school swingin' punk that the Tramps do best. They were joined on stage by Johnny Wickersham of Social Distortion who added some great guitar licks to songs like "Bone Dry" and plenty of their great cataloge from the 90s. A personal highlight for me was when Gaborno unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out some fat that appeared to have a smiley face with X'ed out eyes tattooed on it. Very sexy.

As Cadillac Tramps exited the stage, I sat near the bar and got to hear a few guys talking about going to M.I.A. shows and meeting Conley and what a nice guy he was. Every story that came and went made me even more disappointed that I never got the chance to meet him.

Finally, the curtain opened up on Social Distortion and the packed crowd went wild. They performed an acoustic set, which ignited a sing-along that nearly shook the building. As he strummed his guitar, Mike Ness stayed cool and calm, almost somber as he and the band gave us anthems like "Ball and Chain," "Story of My Life" and "Ring of Fire."

The show was closed out by a sweaty performance by Conley's former band mates, the remaining members of M.I.A. The mosh pit behind the barricade picked up speed as the band fired out tunes like "Shadows in My Life" and "You Should Know Me." At one point it looked like a washing machine on spin cycle filled with sweaty clothes. And fellow punk icon, Kevin Seconds, joined the band on stage to deliver vocals on a few songs with them.

As if the long list of respected names on stage couldn't get any longer, the crowd really lost it when Dead Kennedys singer Jello Biafra trampled the stage sporting his signature grimace. I don't know if he'll ever read this, but I want to thank Jello for sweating on me so profusely during "California Uber Alles," "Let's Lynch the Landlord" and the awesome M.I.A. tune "Murder in a Foreign Place."

Though he's gained a few pounds since his heyday, let me be the first to attest to the fact that Biafra's still got some hops for on older guy. At one point he jumped into the crowd with the grace of a swan. As fans mobbed him in the crowd, the vibe of a true punk show was all around. That's a pretty impressive feat at a venue inside the House of Mouse. I've got to believe that somewhere in the building the spirit of Conley was watching the whole scene with a big smile.

Hopefully the Conley family was pleased to see such a big turnout. All told, the Beautiful Noise Benefit concert earned $33,231. But even the dollar sign couldn't match the amount of love and admiration that came spilling out of the audience that night for one of OC's fallen heroes.

Photos by Choncey Langford

Autechre, Rob Hall, Massionix at Echoplex, April 4, 2008

Better Than: Any other electronic-music event happening in the US this night.

Download: Tracks from Autechre’s new album Quaristice

Autechre (English electronic-music innovators Sean Booth and Rob Brown) still play in the dark, as they always have. No visuals, no light show, no stage banter, no dancing, no acknowledgment of the audience whatsoever sully the purity of their performance: all the better to allow you to absorb every nuanced convolution of their impenetrable compositions. And people come out in droves to lap it up. It’s pretty astonishing.

Taking the stage at midnight, Autechre (often referred to as Ae) instantly started with some malevolent, whiplash electro. Alpha-cyborg beats pummeled with Hollywood-thriller-flick impact. You could see some adventurous souls trying to dance, but not really finding the groove. Instead of getting on the good foot, folks had to settle for the mediocre tootsie. That is, the few who did try to move to these demonically deformed rhythms.

This probably comes as no surprise to those who’ve lived in SoCal for a long time, but LA crowds are incredibly undemonstrative, which is remarkable to this relative newcomer. Blasé about all the great shows that come through here every night, Angelenos see no reason to rouse themselves to overt displays of enthusiasm. That’s usually my demeanor at concerts, but I’m old and jaded. I expect younger people to freak out to fantastic music. But that certainly wasn’t happening tonight at Echoplex, a low-ceilinged, exceptionally long and unpretentiously classy space that holds 680 (it was filled to capacity for this show).

Anyway, Autechre’s hour-long set moved from the aforementioned electro—all sputtering cogs, splintering metal and warped orchestrations—to a rarefied brand of trash-compactor techno. It was some of the most agitated, infernally detailed music ever. Think of the sounds spas use to relax patrons from the horrors of civilization: Autechre’s productions are the polar opposite of those. Brains overheat trying to follow their off-kilter peregrinations, which emanate not from laptops, but rather from ye olde drum machines and synths. Hardware for hard sounds.

Opening acts Massionix and Rob Hall complemented Autechre well. The latter—Rob Hall—a frequent Ae collaborator in the Gescom project and their go-to tour DJ—generated solid IDM (Intelligent Dance Music) that caused me to flash back to the late ’90s, when the Skam and Warp labels ruled the underground electronic circuit.

Massionix (Graham Massey of 808 State fame) did a surprisingly varied live set. He began with some heavy, Jah Wobble-esque dub augmented by effects-laden soprano sax, before shifting into some warped metallic percussion passages and orchestral ambience of distorted beauty. Later, Hall strapped on an electric guitar and took an Adrian Belew-like solo over irregularly cascading beats. He also conjured some Pharoah Sanders-ian soul jazz, a rugged rave anthem and EBM that recalled Liaisons Dangereuses. Massionix's a real asset for his Autechre buddies. Make sure you get to the show early if you plan to see Ae on this tour.

Critic’s Notebook

Personal Bias: My shelves groan with Autechre CDs and vinyl and I’ve been into them ever since I heard their tracks on Warp Records’ first Artificial Intelligence comp from ’92.

Random Detail: Standing next to each other in the crowd: a white guy with an old-school punk Mohawk and another white guy with blond dreadlocks. Autechre: uniting the tribes one chest-caving beat at a time.

By The Way: During the show, I heard a rumor from Matt Alsberg of LA’s Mush Records that Prince is going to play Coachella. Just in case you were on the fence about attending…

Better Than:
Driving all the way to Los Angeles and paying to park.

Download:
"Lectric" from their album Hideout

Some bands have a difficult time replicating their sound in the live format. Film School are not one of those bands, as they manage to drown their audience in waves of sound. In order to stir up these massive waves of sound, Film School usually bring along a sound guy to obtain that perfect mix, but the sound gal at the Continental Room did her best.

Film School triggered their avalanche of sound with "Compare," as the song was extended to a noisy four-minute intro before Greg Bertens (vocals/guitars) added his reverbed, hushed vocals to the mix with accompanying harmonies from Lorelei Plotczyk (bass/vocals). A fog of noise combined with cigarette smoke from the adjoining patio engulfed the patrons of the Continental Room as the swirling dervish track "Sick Hipster Nursed By Suicide Girl" roared from the speakers. Jason Ruck (keyboards) contributed ambient layers and noises to the song while James Smith (drums) kept up the feverish pace.

It was at this point that Greg's precious Fender Jaguar guitar couldn't sustain the feedback it was creating, and it gave out two songs into their set. How ironic that Bertens' Fender died in the city in which it was born (the guitar manufacturer's based in Fullerton). He switched to his Fender Telecaster Deluxe and kept the noise alive with "Two Kinds". Dave Dupuis (guitars) was on the verge of breaking his instrument as he furiously strummed out the chords to "Lectric". Bertens would later bring out the tambourine for one of more psychedelic songs in the Film School catalog, "Capitalized I."

"11:11" provided another turbulent, feedback-laden romp, as Bertens' vocals came in clear along with a deft mixture of reverb. The song ended in a screaming fury of feedback and squeals—music to my ears. "What I Meant to Say" closed out Film School's set and also happens to be the final track on Hideout. I quickly realized why they choose to end the album and live performances with this song. It always leaves you wanting more.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias:
Film School's album Hideout was one of my top albums of 2007. Headphones strongly encouraged.

Random Detail:
My Bloody Valentine drummer Colm O'Ciosoig makes a guest appearance on Film School's album.

By The Way:
Film School will open for the recently reunited Swervedriver May 31 at LA's Henry Fonda Theater.

In the decades since the sounds of ska infiltrated Orange County, the local music scene has definitely gone through some changes. Live music junkies have been left to fend for themselves in a sea of emo, screamo, hardcore and other intricately titled audible slop.

But last night at The Grove in Anaheim, things were sunny side up again. Ska legends, The English Beat, were good enough to drop in and give us a taste of what we've been missing. Add to that a brilliant set by progressive ska heroes, Rx Bandits, and you've got yourself a real fine show.

Before either band took the stage, the scene on the front patio was alive and kicking. But mostly, they were trying to stay warm under the outside heating lamps. Clusters of sharp dressed teens in black vests, thin neckties and trilby hats fumbled around in front of the outdoor side stage where a Long Beach ska band hammered out a solid brass wailing set that got plenty of attention.

It was great to see the diverse all-ages atmosphere of 'Beat fans old and new. It kind of looked like a bunch of parents and their skanker kids sneaked out of the house and wound up bumping into each other at the same show.

Rx Bandits took the stage around 8:30 p.m. to a pit of rabid fans. The band has always been known for their dynamic live show and last night was no exception. Matt Embree (vocals/ guitar), Steve Choi (guitar), Joe Troy (bass) and Chris Tsagakis (drums) ignited their audience with some of the best stuff from their last three albums.

Within a few songs, a swirling, sweaty circle pit was causing some of the older folks to either back up or break a hip. Blue and red strobe lights exploded like bomb blasts on stage during songs like "Sell You Beautiful," "In All Rwanda's Glory," and even the ghostly rhythm of "Apparition." The band capped their set with a fire storm of guitar riffage during the song "To Our Unborn Daughters." By the end of it, anyone who had never heard the Bandits before should have cleared some space on the floor near them to bow down.

Though it seemed like almost an hour before English Beat got all seven members on stage, they were greeted accordingly with a solid roar from two generations of fans. Those that came to claim rude boy or rude girl status had plenty of reason to dust off their best two-step.

When it came to having fun, rambunctious toaster "Antonee First Class" didn't take no for an answer. The loud call and response energy he drained from the crowd had the vibe of a stadium hip hop show. Classic lines like "how many ladies want to have my two-tone babies" pretty much cemented his emcee credibility that night.

While English Beat's original front man, Dave Wakeling, had gained a few pounds since the '80s- so had most of the fans in the audience so I don't think anyone really noticed. Bellies aside, the guy can still put on one hell of a show. Backed by members Rythmm Epkins (drums), Wayne Lothian (bass/vocals), Fernando Jativa (saxophone) "Joffee" (lead guitar/ vocals) and Ray Jacildo (keyboard) the band never lost its footing during a blistering two-hour set that included hits like "Hands Off She's Mine," "I Confess" and "Mirror In The Bathroom" to name a few.

The band really brought the house down with their '80s anthem "Tenderness." Actually it was more like they brought the house up. By the time Wakeling had strummed the first few chords of the infectious pop song, over a dozen women were high-stepping, hip shaking and grinding random objects on stage. A few of 'em looked like soccer moms but hey, cougars should be allowed to have a little fun too- just as long as their kids are tucked in bed somewhere. The show didn't end until 1 a.m. At least for one night, the good old old days of ska were alive and well.

View photos of the event here.

Review by Andrew Youssef

The Bravery, Wild Sweet Orange and The Dead Trees at Spaceland
March 18, 2008

Better Than: Seeing the actual Wyld Stallons from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure since the secret show was billed as such.

Download: "Believe" from their Myspace page.

Fresh off an appearance on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno, The Bravery stopped by Spaceland for a secret show to a capacity crowd of 260 diehard fans. The Bravery is touring behind their recently released album “The Sun and The Moon Complete” which is their sophomore album with a bonus disc of songs remixed by the band.

The Dead Trees from Portland, Oregon (pictured beneath the fold) got the crowd warmed up with their straightforward indie rock set. I enjoyed their song “Loretta” as it stylistically evoked the Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix. The guitarist also unloaded a searing guitar solo with a metal slide, which always gets points in my book.

Review by Marco Villalobos

Better Than: Cleaning up spilled bong water on your dorm room carpet.

Download: Prime Eek-A-Mouse videos from back in the day: In The Ghetto, Schoolboy, Wa Do Dem, the Mouse in Israel.

He’s a Jamaican national treasure, a reggae legend, a six-foot-six black cowboy with a nasal scat that just may be the most identifiable vocal style in the world. It’s been 28 years since Eek-A-Mouse, aka Ripton Joseph Hylton, released his first album; 28 years of college students moving into their very first apartments with his music in the background as they blow trees; 28 years of asking the eternal question, “Wa do dem?” And answering always, “Me no know.”

Last night at the Vault with Pato Banton, Eek-A-Mouse proved that by the age of 51, after 28 years in show business, clocking in about 200 shows a year, it doesn’t take much to make a crowd happy. He sauntered out in his black Stetson and maroon pinstriped suit with a black long sleeve t-shirt and the crowd roared at the sight and sound of him. During any given intro, he asked about four times, “How ya’ feelin? Whatchu smokin’ tonight?” And the crowd merrily responded.

The Raveonettes and Be Your Own Pet
Detroit Bar
March 2, 2008

Better Than: Spending your Sunday night at any other Raveonettes-less venue

Download: “You Want the Candy.”

I am sorry to report that The Raveonettes only have one more SoCal show, so if you want to check them out, you're going to have to drive up to the El Rey Tuesday night. I suggest doing it.

Only one band opened the night up rather than the standard two. But a group with as much energy as Be Your Own Pet could’ve easily taken the place of three openers. Fiery vixen Jemina Pearl is a punker version of Gwen Stefani, and before the first half of the set was through, multiple members of the crowd were begging to be her pet. Pearl put in overtime and the audience ate it up.

Review by Reza Allah-Bakhshi

Better Than: Not going to see a rad band.

Download: "Keep Your Eyes Ahead" off the Helio Sequence Myspace page.

I arrived at Detroit halfway into Modern Memory's set. The L.A. rockers did their best to work some energy into the room, but sometimes standing still just doesn’t work. Some ginseng would do wonders for this band.

Musically, Modern Memory had their shit together, however, and I guess that’s what really counts. And they get brownie points for a way sick setup: an illuminated drum set and blue lights reflecting off their amps. All I could think about was how good some acid would be. Light trails galore! I tried to replicate the effect with my camera.

The Henry Clay People

The Prospector

February 23, 2008


Better Than: Staying home with your cat and hitting the peace pipe.

My apologies to The Year Zero, whose set I missed due The Paper Planes getting a late start at The Puka Bar. I heard your performance was drenched in sonic goodness and that The Henry Clays are jealous of your harmonizing capabilities.

I arrived just as Long Beach's Forcefield ON were taking the stage. With a loyal local following and band members with resumes that span a wide variety of musical spectrums, the tiny Prospector bar was quite stuffed for this six-piece's blend of spacey collegiate jam rock and Louisiana marching band horns. And because I rather not shit where I eat, I'm will refrain from going in detail what didn't work for me and rather just say that in my opinion the last rock n' roll band to successfully incorporate a horn section was Rocket From The Crypt. I just couldn't dig it. But that's just me; there was a whole room full of people that totally could.

Review by Reza Allah-Bakhshi

Album Leaf
Detroit Bar
February 21, 2008

Better Than: Wishing you could inherit Jimmy Lavalle's talent simply by touching him.

Download: “On Your Way” vid by Album Leaf

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a rainy Thursday night than to kick back with a brew and take in the visceral temptation that is Album Leaf live. And now that I have experienced it, the rest of my nights are pretty much ruined.

Opening band What Laura Says Thinks and Feels sounds like some new-age book detailing the life of a sexually confused teenage chameleon, but it’s not. What it is, though, is some of the freshest roots music to come out of Tempe, Arizona – well … probably ever. These guys got some mad mouth talent, and, along with their playful melodies, are reminiscent of a live Devendra Banhart show. I dig it.

Review by Marco Villalobos

Return of the Boom Bap featuring Del the Funky Homosapien, Aceyalone, Bukue One, and Thirsty Fish at The Vault 350, Long Beach
Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Better Than: The Rappin’ Duke

Download: Hieroglyphics crew videos, an Aceyalone video, and Del's new songs on myspace

The DJs scratched records, they scratched compact discs, they scratched virtual records from a laptop, they scratched their heads, they scratched lottery tickets and counted all the scratch in their pockets.

The beats rained upon the sagging shoulders of fans toking one-hitters beneath tables, beats rained as people toked at the front of the stage, they toked in the middle of the crowd, the smoke lilted and spun as they puffed and passed. Girls with big hair went home smelling of herb on their scalps. Women with implants went home with their bras smelling of skunk. On stage, Aceyalone called for someone to give him something to smoke, and then grabbing a pipe, he screwed his face and returned it and let it be known that one of Hip Hop’s greatest, most under appreciated MC’s only smokes green bowls.

The Hard Sell Tour with DJ Shadow/Cut Chemist, Kid Koala
House of Blues (Anaheim)
February 14, 2008

Better Than: Damn near every DJ set you’ve ever witnessed.
Download: Excerpts from the Hard Sell set.

I missed opening DJ Kid Koala’s set by five minutes, but Free the Robots' Chris Alfaro said it was amazing, and I trust his word.

DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist’s 105-minute performance on eight decks began with an instructional video explaining what the hell these wax hounds would be doing and why they’d be spinning all original 45s and no reissues, suckas. Shadow prefaced the action by telling the audience that he and Chemist would be “trying to expand your musical vocabulary” and occasionally would be attempting to recreate hip-hop classics from their constituent samples. “We’re gonna be fucking up left and right, guaranteed,” Shadow threatened, but their flubs are still more entertaining than most jocks’ A game. They had the capacity crowd rapt from the start.

Review by Marco Villalobos

Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars
Irvine Barclay Theatre / Cheng Hall
Febuary 13, 2008

Better Than: Heidi Klum giving a goodbye hug to some soon-forgotten designer on a fresh Wednesday night episode of Project Runway.

Download: Clips from the documentary or some tunes.

Africa is a beautiful planet full of melody and grace so articulate that with its sensibility, even the pain of war can be transformed into an expression of peace. Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars are in the business of doing just that.

By now you’ve likely heard of the award-winning film that documents the band’s start in the refugee camps that were their homes during the harshest year’s of Sierra Leone’s brutal civil war. To put it simply, the All Stars make a music of survival. So seeing them perform that music in an assigned-seating theatre provides a kind of irony akin to sinking into a Lazy Boy recliner to play fantasy football against a corpse while buried six feet beneath the 50 yard line of a stadium football field atop which the Super Bowl is taking place.

Black Lips, Pierced Arrows and The Growlers
At Detroit Bar
February 10, 2008

Better than: Staying at home and perfecting the 10-key.

Download: "O Katrina" by Black Lips.

You know a show is awesome when you leave drenched in sweat and covered in silly string. Also, I think I'm now slightly deaf. That, my friends, is how the Black Lips do it!

Last night's mosh pit was everything a cozy-sized venue pit should be! Or, well, shouldn't be - did anyone actually read the warnings taped to every corner of the wall at Detroit Bar? You wanna mosh? You wanna brave the mere thought of moshing? Unless, you wanna find your bitch ass in deep shit. . .and man, I wouldn't fuck with Detroit's co-owner, Chris! Although that one security guard tried to keep things calm, within the first couple of songs I watched as he was swallowed and dragged under the frenzied wave of pushing/shoving drunks.

I was cautioned by my fellow OC Weekly comrade, Kevin Poush: be alert, these guys are known for their stage antics, ie. pissing on the crowd, chucking bottles, spitting and even (gulp!) ETC.!

Coco B's, Gran Ronde, Brookline
At Detroit Bar
February 8, 2008

Better than: Accordion lessons with Weird Al Yancovic.

Download: On and On by Gran Ronde.

About 30 minutes after parking myself at stool at Detroit Bar, I had downed a Whiskey Sour, a Vodka Cranberry and a glass of Guinness. Usually these types of random anecdotes would go nowhere in regular conversation. This time, it actually summed up the evening's performances.

Coco B’s was first up, as people trickled out of the cold and into the dim light of the bar. Their sound was somewhat tangy and sweet, but despite the name, this Fullerton-based foursome did have some punch to back up their playfulness on stage. Songs like “I live in L.A.” and “Hot Pantz” got some heads bobbing in a crowd of stagnant bodies.

Review by Waleed Rashidi

Death By Stereo
at Friar Tuck's Bar and Grille, Pomona
February 2, 2008

Better than: Any band whose name contains the word "Death" in it — even the veteran metal band Death themselves.

Download: "Entombed We Collide" video.

One can never even remotely predict what might happen at any given Death By Stereo show. Case in point: Over the past decade, yours truly has witnessed vocalist Efrem Schulz zip up zippers of jacket-wearing audience members, throw his mic in the air for a random frontman takeover after resigning himself to the floor of the mosh pit, and engage himself in ridiculous stage gymnastics that would make Bela Karolyi proud, amongst other shards of insanity. So, on Saturday night at Friar Tuck's in Pomona, even before the Orange County-based melodic/metallic hardcore foursome hit the "stage" in the bursting-at-the-seams suburban venue, we knew we were in store for an intimate session of impressive action.

Review by Reza Allah-Bakhshi

Papercranes, 8MM
Detroit Bar
January 27, 2008

Better Than: Watching Conan O’ Brien since he grew a beard and his writers went on strike.

Download: “What’s Left.”

It was definitely one of those nights where Detroit Bar was more like a lounge.

A lone DJ stood in the corner spinning remixed funk renditions of old classics like the Beach Boys' “Good Vibrations” while scattered patrons threw back a pint of beer or sipped on wine. It was all too fitting for a show that would start out with the ethereal Nu-Jazz trio 8MM and end with the tepid wall of sound that is Papercranes.

Unannounced, 8MM stealthily crept to the stage at 10 p.m., unbeknownst to most. But within the first few seconds of “You Know,” a swath of patrons came out of their alcohol-induced daze and made their way to the front of the stage to sway and swagger to the haunting voice of Julliete Beavan.

Review by Reza Allah-Bakhshi

The Generators, Longway, The Unwanted Guests and Blacktop Idol
Surf City Saloon
January 26, 2008

Better Than: Your cousin throwing up all over your car after the show.

Download: “The Great Divide.”

Most people wouldn’t look forward to driving 30 minutes in a complete downpour to see a show they were only counting on being half interested in. Especially if they found out upon arrival that the camera lens they were supposed to be shooting the bands with was broken. This was the situation in which I found myself.

Add another hour-long trip back home to retrieve a working prototype Af Nikkor 50 mm lens for that Nikon Digital SLR and you could count on the poor soul partaking on this arduous journey being half-crazed by the time he actually started snapping away. I know I was, but figured my first gig with the respectable Weekly was worth it.

I had never been to Surf City Saloon, and with it being a rather new staple in the Orange County scene I was curious to see what kind of crowd coalesced. There seemed to be all kinds of H.B. slackers and punks but I chalked that up to the acts that were set to play that night. The venue had your typical O.C. dive bar vibe, but with one very big difference: a grinning owner named Jimmy who was insistent on ordering me and my buddy two rounds of whatever we where drinking.

Review by Waleed Rashidi

Circle Jerks, Hit Me Back at the
Glass House, Pomona
Friday, January 25, 2008

Better than: Spending all night watching VH1 Classic — though hey, that's a pretty close second right there.

Download: "Deny Everything."

Sometimes you just gotta wonder — where's the real show happening? Some bands are so attention-engrossing, you can't believe that you're simultaneously sharing that seemingly personal experience with a few thousand others. Other acts are such a coma-inducing snooze, all you can do to entertain yourself is to engage in the world's lengthiest round of people watching, scoping the cast of characters in the audience.

At Friday's Circle Jerks show at the Glass House, we got that comfy, happy medium. There was a sizable mosh pit, swirling with the ferocity of a fast food bathroom shitter flushing every last morsel of soup poop out of its bowl, which had placed its spiky-topped brethren in the center of the well-traveled floor. And there was also the action of the legendary Keith Morris and company, which was good — perhaps even awesome at times — ceaselessly demanding at least one eye cocked towards the stage.

Review by Waleed Rashidi

Poison The Well, The Locust (and a bunch of openers that we missed) at The Glass House, Pomona
Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Better than: Being on the receiving end of a razor-wire enema (credit: Rich Kane, "Now We're Deef," OC Weekly, 8/31/2000)

Download: The Locust's "We Have Reached An Official Verdict: Nobody Gives A Shit."

Blame it on the moderate rain, the fact that it was hump day or the national airing of some brand-new "American Idol" audition footage, but attendance was eerily light at the Glass House for what should've been a fairly full house. After all, two veteran punk scene acts — The Locust and Poison The Well — were top-billed for the night, the rain wasn't impenetrable and it wasn't like the early show ate into many a bedtime either. Nevertheless, the barricades for a half-floor show were set in place, the balcony was closed, even the venerable snack bar wasn't feeling like dishing out its usual show fare of pizza and soda, all reaffirming the insubstantial draw.

The Magic Flute
OCPAC-Segerstrom Hall, Costa Mesa
Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Better Than: Sitting at home in a pink bathrobe listening to two inches of rain.

Download: "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen" by Mozart (often referred to as the Queen of The Night aria).

Even if you don't know jack shit about opera (or classical music in general) you know the name Mozart- everybody does, and if not - are you kidding me? This guy is worth more than a pinch of your time, hell - make your way to the local video store (or use your Netflix account, whatever) and the rent the movie Amadeus to get a quick round up on this incredible, musical genius. Dark and brooding? Well what talented mind isn't on some level? What may surprise you is that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart has more than an impressive knack for comedy.

What? Hey, just a moment. Are you trying to tell me that an opera can be hilarious and (gasp) even fun?!

Yes I am. Fun and delightful opera? The Magic Flute is the perfect fairy tale, complete with an evil queen, the king of everything honest and true, a boy and girl in love and cute singing bird catchers.

Dan Deacon, Ultimate Reality, Abe Vigoda, Narwhalz (Of Sound), Kial at the Pacific Ballroom, University of California Irvine
January 16, 2008

Better Than: Attending any lecture by your favorite prof.

Download: many songs by Dan Deacon.

I arrive at UCI’s Student Center building’s Pacific Ballroom during the last song of Kyle’s impromptu set (I missed Lucky Dragons; sorry), a nuttily euphoric electro-pop nugget played while totally encircled by the mostly college-aged crowd on the floor. Pacific is a spacious, characterless conference room in which, one senses, much boredom has accumulated over the years. [CORRECTION: A reader has brought it to my attention that Pacific's been around only since Sept. 2007. That being said, I predict many years of boring vibes will accrue in this room.] However, tonight’s show likely expunged all of the residual doldrums. “My mind is fucked right now,” a young co-ed said immediately after Kyle's last song. I took that as an auspicious omen.

A prototypical nerdy dude going by the name Narwhalz followed Kyle with a short bout of Game Boytronica. He used the small device to generate a blipstream torrent while standing on a table with a flashlight in his mouth (the lights were dimmed). Spluttering twitters, truculent tweets, insistent woobs and mad burbles gushed forth in oddly hypnotic yet seemingly random patterns.

Soft Hands, The Youngs, De Luxe
January 15, 2008

The Prospector

While at The Prospector last night, some friends and I were discussing how the venue has really been on its game as of late, consistently hosting the best shows Long Beach has to offer. It is pretty much guaranteed that any night of the week you can walk into the tiny bar and see a great show from up-and-coming bands from Long Beach, Los Angeles, Orange County and even San Diego, as well as the occasional out-of-town touring act.

Last night was no different as Soft Hands (LBC), The Youngs (LA), and De Luxe (SF) came together to help celebrate Zach and Reid's (not me, Reid the bartender) birthdays. De Luxe, the name of Katrina Skalland's solo act, opened the evening with a soft set that was just Skalland and her guitar. Unfortunately The Prospector is not an ideal setting for the solo singer-songwriter due to the volume of people's conversations in the "loud seats" (what I've dubbed the 5 seats at the bar closest to the door), and the stripped-down versions of De Luxe's recorded work continually had to compete for the aural attention of the crowd.

The Vandelles, LSD and the Search for God, Stevenson Ranch Davidians
January 12, 2008
The Prospector

Better Than: Staring at your shoes while listening to Jesus and Mary Chain’s Darklands.

Download: “Swell to Heaven” by the Vandelles.

The most striking thing about Stevenson Ranch Davidians is their female bassist: she plays sitting down and uses her bare feet to press pedals on her Hammond Midi Pedalboard. Otherwise, this SoCal quartet’s psych-pop shoegazery stays stuck in a laggard tempo all set. The songs—mostly morose, introverted jangle-philia—nod (off) to Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized, but lack dynamics. The music is pleasant enough standard-issue shoegaze with aspirations to hypnotize, but the band members have zero stage presence and ultimately their set forced me to order a Red Bull to fight their lulling effect.

With a name like LSD and the Search for God, you better be awesome. LSD and the Search for God were not awesome. The San Francisco quintet had enough effects pedals and boxes to supply the entire 1980s Creation Records roster. You could sense they were striving for a lavish, My Bloody Valentine-esque wall of sound. Unfortunately, LSD are devoid of MBV’s innovation, otherworldliness and indelible tunesmithery. Don’t get me wrong: LSD craft understatedly pretty melodies and their tranquil, crystalline psych pop will mellow your soul. But there’s something hazy and dozy about their sound that keeps it from levitating very high off the ground. And that name promises way more than the band can actually deliver. Pity.

By Waleed Rashidi
Savage Republic
January 12, 2008
The Press

Better than: Savage Garden fronted by Fred Savage, that's for damned sure.

Download: A live version of "Jamahiriya."

Some bands get back together because the money's too good. Others reunite simply 'cause it's supposedly the honorable thing to do after they've chucked large speaker cabinets, empty Heineken bottles and reams of copy paper at each other when they last congregated in one sweaty rehearsal room a couple decades prior.

But not Savage Republic, which returned to the album-making revelry last year with "1938," some 18 years after releasing its last record, to build upon its legendary subterranean experimental rockin'-type-thing prowess, which has often found the group comfortably nestling somewhere between the San Pedro's The Minutemen, East Coasters Mission of Burma and a host of U.K. post-punk art-niche acts. And far unlike some of these cringe-worthy newly-rekindled bands, after catching The Republic at The Press in their Claremont hometown, we're royally glad to have them back in action.

Baroness and The Red Chord
January 9, 2008
Showcase Theatre

Better Than: Whatever tribute bands were playing in Orange County last night. Which isn’t saying much, but then again, I did have to drive to Riverside to find a decent show.

Download: "The Birthing" by Baroness, from their album, The Red Album.

Ahh, the Showcase Theatre. I hadn't been there in almost seven years. The Showcase was the club that I started going to shows at when I was in high school, back then they had all the best punk rock acts that were coming through town, unlike today. These days, the club has been relegated to hosting battle of the bands, grindcore, death metal and crust punk shows. Not there's anything wrong with those kinds of shows - it's just that the Showcase's heyday has long since past.

But that's what memories are for, right? Like going to see Straight Faced because a girl I liked was going to the show, even though I didn't like them, but being glad I went because it was the first time I saw Death By Stereo. Or the time I saw The Living End and ended up standing next to this kid who had a major "thing" for singer and was making kind of a scene. Or randomly catching a set by All Or Nothing HC and subsequently developing a little crush on Renae Bryant. Anyways, I'll quit the trip down memory lane. It was just that being inside the Showcase last night brought back a lot of memories of shows seen when I was 16 and 17 years old.

Review by Shawn Smith

Better Than: Sitting home listening to raindrops hitting the pavement outside your bedroom window while watching reruns of I Love New York 2.

The Bird and the Bee's Inara George rocks a granny dress like no one's business.

But we'll get to that later.

First, we must wax on about Kevin Poush's new band Two Guns (disclosure: Kevin works at OC Weekly and is an all-around fantastic guy). As the former guitarist for Fielding, we already knew to expect big time greatness, and Kevin didn't leave us hanging. Like a dusty desert highway, Young Guns' first ever show made us thirsty for more of their melodic, good-tempered, solid songwriting.

Next was Charlie Wadhams, who was just one bow tie short of a Victorian mountebank, yet one that sings like an earnest nightingale.

"We're going to rock your socks off," he said in a monotone droll, absent of any pretension. Mick Jagger he's not. Our socks stuck to our shins no prob. But whatever he's selling, we're buying. And we're broke!

Review by Reid Sheldon

Better Than: Going to real jail or your girlfriend’s friend’s wedding.

Jail Weddings, the 10-piece “death doo-wop” (I bet they’re going to be real tired of that tag soon) group from Los Angeles hydroplaned their way south to the Gypsy Lounge in Lake Forest last night. Led by Gabriel Hart (ex-Starvations) who, flanked by two buxom vocalists and backed by a band with all the usuals, plus a saxophonist, a violinist and a piano player, put on a show-stopping revue that included three mid-set stage exits, an impromptu rap, and two wardrobe malfunctions.

Last night's Tiger Mask "Trash Au Go-Go" show at Anaheim's The Juke Joint was a blast, the perfect example of a great bar show with blazing bands, distracting girls insisting on conversing even though they were standing 10 feet from a guitar amp, and a, oh let's just call them "not attractive", drunk couple grinding each other, that like a car crash, you can't help but stare at.

Kicking things off were Long Beach's own The Vooduo, a 2-piece drum and guitar duo that pound out some raw floor stompin' horror-tinged garage rock. Neidi Night in her Wednesday Adams outift and using nothing more than a floor tom and snare was lost in the tribal beat of her own pummeling, while Eerie Powers fingers bled on the guitar and sang until the lining of his throat could take no more. I couldn't help but t