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So I went to see Superchunk last night, and I'd like to make two observations. The first is that Mac is a truly phenomenal guitarist. The second is that Jon is truly a phenomenal drummer.

Also, there was this guy with really long, black hair standing in front of us, and he was probably Superchunk's #1 fan, although he behaved more like he was at a 1987 Winger concert than a 2001 Noisepop show. He was doing some seriously sloppy pogo dancing, smashing his two fists together, knuckle-to-knuckle, screaming "I LOVE YOU, LAURA" at Ms. Ballance, and--worst of all--violently whipping his hair back out of his face, causing all of us standing behind him to have to take cover every few seconds. It was bad.

So, finally I politely said to him, "Hey, man--enjoy yourself--but is there any chance you can ease up on the hair flipping? You're whipping everybody in the face."

He turned to me and delivered a line which is sure to be an all-time classic quip, "You're a bitch."

Luckily I'm at the point in my emotional career where I can brush such comments aside, and I just clapped him on the back a few times and said, "Rock out, then."

And, for the rest of the show, our crew just dodged his hair flipping and watched unsuspecting concertgoers take the vacated position directly behind him, only to be summarily lacerated by his whipping locks. It was really, really funny.

Show report: My ultimate homie Brett and I went to go see Hot Water Music tonight. Solid hardcore, high knucklehead factor. A bunch of drunk fans from Reno were slam dancing and throwing water on people. A fight broke out between two studded-belt girls. I suppose that's what one can expect from the seemingly contradictory amalgamation of hardcore, Florida, and Charles Bukowski. Am I wrong?

Geez, I am REALLY into the new Spoon record.

A tip of the 40 to Joey Ramone.

In other music-related news, today I learned that my high school buddy Chris is the DJ for the nu-metal outfit Incubus. Crazy. Now he's all over the Ozz-fest scene and MTV. Chris and I formed our first band, The Basement Boys, in 8th grade. We had such hits as "The Big Drug Deal" and "Breadsticks and Sauce."

'Twas a simpler time...

Show report: The Shipping News
4.17.01 Bottom of the Hill, SF
Watching Jeff Mueller play guitar is a double-edged sword for me. See, I 'play' the rock-axe, but by no means do I posess the control of the instrument that ole' Jeff does. He's clean, folks. So damn clean that I'm utterly inspired by his ability. So damn clean that it makes me want to chuck my black Les Paul out the window.

Anyway, I'm going to try to channel the 'inspired' vibe and suppress the 'I suck' vibe. Thus, I gotta get me a delay pedal. All I want is a simple pedal that lets me control tempo and decay. Anyone have any suggestions?

Lisa Cole, this one goes out to you.

Q and Not U was just great. The show itself was in some teeny, balmy auditorium at the San Francisco Art Institute. About 50 kids were on the scene, and for a brief moment I felt slightly old, but it was great to get back to my roots. It's been a while since the days of VFW shows for me.

In classic DIY/5-bands for 5-dollars form, the early bands played too long, so Ted Leo (featuring one James Canty on guitar) and Q and Not U each only got to play about 5 songs before the cops showed up and sent everyone packing.

In related news, I went to Amoeba with Craig, and the Q and Not U boys happened to be hanging out there. I should have said hi, but I never know how to handle situations like that.

And finally, those of you who speak to me regularly know that I've been hemming and hawing for months now, unsure as to what the hell I'm going to do with myself for the forseeable future. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's ACTION TIME.

Peace out.

'Twas a long and arduous day, navigating the treacherous waters of apartment-hunting in San Francisco. Seems like every place I've seen has some profound shortcoming: too expensive, too small, too loud, sketchy neighborhood, sketchy landlord...

During a two-hour break between appointments, I stopped into Amoeba and picked up A Future Lived in Past Tense, the new full-length from Juno. I slapped it into my CD player and found a soft spot in Golden Gate Park to take in its majesty.

And majestic it is - a lush, three-guitar storm of melody - sometimes a drizzle, sometimes crashing thunder. Perpetually whip-smart and brutally potent.

It saved me yesterday.

Holy heck, this Juno record is sticking it to me, like no record has in quite some time...

To wit:
"you said everything like it was an afterthought you should have used it more wisely that soul you bought and now your mouth's running on telling us all the ways she went wrong but nobody's listening and so soon we'll all be gone wrong so you didn't get it right no one ever gets it right what's it like at am 5 o'clock? when all the love's alseep on your block post memorial drive you'll be the last to leave to say your goodbyes to ghosts eternally lost inside your son's hands stayed warm long after he died it's all a matter of reaching it's all a matter of covering believe me it's nothing believe me it's everything you never wanted it to be it's all a matter of reaching it's all a matter of struggling believe me it's nothing believe me it's everything you ever needed it to be this can't be an afterthought this right here is all I want you are the beautiful you are the beautiful you are the beautiful you."
- by A. Carstens, used without permission.

OK, I've been gushing about the new Juno record, and I'll stop now. Except to say that it's cool that my friend Amanda and my acquaintance Cynthia have photos in the album's layout. OK, I'm really done now.

In other news, the new Burning Airlines record strikes me as... very mature.

Here's how I feel about MTV: it sucks, unless you're on it.

In light of my recent "too broke to buy music" post, I discovered that the brilliantly defiant, anthemic discography of Richmond hardcore band Strike Anywhere is available as mp3's on their web site. Sic semper tyrannis.

Just got back from seeing the Plea for Peace benefit show at ye olde Music Hall. Unfortunately I was tardy, so I missed Pretty Girls make Graves, who my friend Chris has told me to check out twice now. But, I caught the last part of Cave-In, Matt Skiba and Hot Water Music.

Here's my nutshell show review: Hot Water Music plays the best beard-core since Hoover.

OK, that's a joke, I personally liked Hoover way, way better, but HWM was pretty solid nonetheless. As I mentioned before, any band named after a Bukowski book is at least worth checking out.

And, as I sit here eating chips and salsa while writing this, I just dropped a big dollop of wet tomatoey goop all over my keyboard. Hey, it's only a $3500 laptop, what the hell?

The BK "What the ...?!?" Award of the Day goes out to Oysterhead, the new musical project of Les Claypool (Primus), Trey Anastasio (Phish) and Stuart Copeland (The Police). OK, I don't know Phish from Shinola, but I do know enough to recognize that the dude Trey can get his guitar wizardry on. And I haven't really been crazy about Primus in a while, but everybody knows that Les is a badass bassman. And then, of course, The Police — you gotta be down with the kings.

I guess Oysterhead sounds a lot like Primus, mainly due to Les' signature chaw-spittin' vocal style, but you can certainly hear the echoes of Phish's jam-band steez as well as Stuart's syncopated mastery. Will I be seeing them in Berkeley later this month? Probably not.

I was just flipping through the channels and landed on CBS just in time to see Dashboard Confessional on the Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn. Now that's just downright kooky. Anyone wanna lay bets on the first indie rockers to make TRL?

I just received copies of the forthcoming Shiner and Dismemberment Plan CDs, "The Egg" and "Change," respectively. They're two of my favorite bands on one of my favorite record labels (DeSoto), and both are very much exactly what this kid needed.

It sure is nice to have your ass kicked by music. Them two new discs I got are burnin' up the charts here on the homestead...

Now —I'm down with Shiner, believe you me, I'm down with 'em, but The Plan is just giving me the groovy licks while I get my freelance on. Someone PLEASE do a 12" remix of The Other Side and invite me to whichever party will play it. I'll freakin' dance to that shit.

Argh. I found out a job I'd been hoping for was given to a friend of someone who works there. Stupid insider connections. I could have kicked that job square in the ass.

Here's something I've been wondering about: does anyone know anything about the history behind the practice of rock bands removing the nameplates from their amps and speaker cabinets? I looked around the Net for a picture to illustrate this point to the non-initiate, but I just can't find one. You know you've seen it, though: the gold and black Marshall half-stack with all the names ripped off. I've even seen bands put black electrical tape over the nameplates, presumably because they'd rented equipment and needed to maintain their no-brand name ethic.

Is it just a hardcore anti-corporate thing (not wanting to display a brand name on stage) or is there some other story that I don't know? Does it matter?

Just back from seeing Superchunk at the Music Hall. Still representin' after all these years. No incidents, unlike last time.

Just now I witnessed a Jimmy Eat World video on primetime MTV, so all of you who voted for Saves The Day, The Promise Ring, Get Up Kids, or what have you, EAT IT! I WIN!!

Kidding. Everybody wins when emo rock hits the mainstream, kiddies.

Kidding again.

By the way, I'm wearing a Clarity-era Jimmy Eat World 'Arizona' tee shirt right now. I'm a very complex individual.

Goodbye, George Harrison. You done good.

Picked up Amy, Brett and Lisa last night in the new ride and we took it down to the Great American Music Hall to take in a solo acoustic show by Elliott Smith.

Wow.

He was wasted, no doubt. His between-song banter was nearly unintelligible, and he sat and swigged Smirnoff Ice while rabid fans screamed song titles at him. All things considered, he took the fan onslaught very well and actually indulged quite a few requests for older songs.

Highlights included covers of George Harrison's "Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)" and one of those folky Zeppelin songs about elves and faeries — I can't remember which one, but he did it pretty well after having to stop mid-song and get the guy from Oranger to re-tune his guitar for him.

Actually, Elliott forgot the lyrics and chords to a lot of his songs, especially the few XO songs that he played (he played nothing from Figure 8). He played many songs that I've never heard, and I can only assume that they were songs from his forthcoming record; and lemme tell ya, they contain some dark themes and some of the most unveiled drug references so far. Tough times, I presume. I'm hoping that he's hitting the bottle and not the needle, but... one can only speculate.

For me, probably the greatest moment was his encore of "Angeles," which is one of my favorites. He couldn't remember the bridge, and just stopped playing it — but the audience kept singing the words, which must have spurred his memory, and he launched back into the final "no one's gonna fool around with us" verse.

Day four of social leprosy. I've noticed that store clerks tend to drop the change into my palm rather than risk the hand touch. Not like the cash they're handling is any less toxic than yours truly, but hey. Can't blame 'em, I guess.

Back in late '96, fresh out of my first Internet contract job, my tech skills were low but my pop culture derring-do and so-called "writing skills" were my rock. My dream job was to review games for one of the many videogame sites that were popping up at the time. I blasted around my resume, and even got a few interviews, but I never got so much as a rejection letter from GameSpot, which has arguably been the best game site since the get-go.

What kind of talent does it take to write for GameSpot, anyway? Ask ex-Jawbreaker, current Jetter to Brazil Blake Schwarzenbach, if you can corner him. After the much-lamented Jawbreaker divorce, he paid the bills by penning a few way-too-cerebral reviews for said game site. Here are his reviews of Pandemonium, Helicops and Independence Day. Pretty funny.

I have a guilty pleasure: I just can't get enough of the new Tool album Lateralus. There are moments of Rock on that record that freakin' throw down, and I don't care what you say. Yup, it's about two shades away from Queensrÿche, but you know what? It's pumping the blood lately, and you can't front on that. Rating: B+

I really need to take a break from Mexican food. I eat Mexican (aka 'burritos' to me, as I'm not too experimental) probably three or four times per week, and I think tonight the Fates are telling me to chill on the burrito tip.

Our Gang rolled through a much-admired taqueria near Bimbo's for a pre-Dismemberment Plan meal. I ordered my requisite vegetarian burrito, which in San Francisco is about the size of a football and chock full of black beans, cheese, rice, chopped onions and cilantro. Sounds simple enough, right? Not tonight — it took like 20 minutes for them to bring the food to our table. Most taquerias get you your goods within minutes.

Thanks to this unfortunate burrito latency, we were late for the show.

Now, I'm usually not the most ancy guy around, but when it comes to going to movies or rock shows, I damn well make it a point to be early. Especially when it's a band I really admire. Needless to say I was none-too-stoked at missing the first few D-Plan songs. Still worse, that football/burrito I'd just mawed had me smelling like I'd just stripped to my skivvies and rolled around in a pile of onions. I mean, I could smell myself.

All this spells "time to cool it on the burritos, BK." And so it is. I'm going to try to work it down to once or twice per week.

Which begs a very important question: what the hell am I going to eat now?

The mind reels. Now bear with me while I change subjects back to the world of Rock:

I can't stand when clubs mix the sound for "supporting bands" poorly, while making sure that the "headlining band" sounds crystalline and perfect. Tonight the Plan's mix was just not doing them justice — at least from my vantage point in the audience. Death Cab's sound was near flawless, though.

Having worked at another of SF's big venues for touring bands, I know that some clubs actively try to make the headliners mix better than the opening acts, and that just bums me out. If the opening band plays better than the headliners, then that's just the way it is, dammit. Don't hobble a kick-ass band by letting their mix suck.

Thanks, I'm sure you all needed to read that. Actually, maybe you did.

Calgon, take me away...

Man, the world sure is kooky.

Sitting here at home, waiting for laundry, I'm playing my guitar. The AP Guitar Tuner is a teeny freeware app that works just as well as any $60 guitar tuner I've ever bought. Plus, it has tons of alternate tunings built-in, so you can experiment with all kinds of Sonic Youth-isms. Fantastic.

So, in the bedroom, in my chair, laptop whirring away on my desk, guitar perfectly tuned, I hit The Online Guitar Archive to dig up some songs to play. Another fine, fine resource. So as I'm jamming out Bob Mould's Black Sheets of Rain, I realize that in the 12 years since the song has been released (which is enough of a fright in itself), I can't quite remember all the lyrics, and due to legal issues they don't publish lyrics on OLGA. Time to find the lyrics on the 'Net.

One Google query later, I'm on Mr. Mould's personal site.

Now, I should pause for a second and say that for those of you who don't really know me personally, Hüsker Dü (and Mr. Mould in particular) are right up there with Sesame Street in exerting major forces in the shaping of my character.

So imagine my shock when reading his site:

... I got sidetracked for 7 months in late 1999/early 2000, assuming the role of Creative Consultant at the now-defunct World Championship Wrestling branch of AOL/TimeWarner. Being part of the team that, each week, created 4 to 7 hours of live episodic television watched by 3-4 million households per show was a childhood dream come true, and perhaps the hardest work Iﾕve ever done...

Bob Mould? The WCW?!? Like I said, the world is just plain kooky. Some of you who are more in the know probably feel this is old news, and I guess it is. But it's news to me. Read more here.

Don't take this as a brag, but having just hung out with Guided By Voices, I now feel like I truly grasp the meaning of the phrase "party like a rock star." I managed to escape with nothing more than a wicked pair of ringing ears, but others should fear for their livers in a major way. Hot Freaks, indeed.

Day three of camera fun: I have to send it back to the manufacturer in the UK. Seems that it's just plain faulty. Well, that was fun. I'll give you more updates in 17 weeks when I get a replacement.

In other news, Steve, the chirpy host of the kids' show Blues Clues has quit the show and is recording a record with members of The Flaming Lips. That's just plain nutty. Steve's Web site has more info, as does Pitchfork.

I should be stoked, but for some reason I'm bummed at the recent trend of "real" rock bands gaining mainstream popularity. The Strokes have zero credibility, as far as I'm concerned; the White Stripes are cool, but way overexposed; and now the Swedish rock outfit The Hives are all the buzz. Funny thing is, all three of these bands have a history of playing shows with the East Bay rock band The Pattern, who is fronted by Lookout! Records president Christopher Appelgren. Lookout! is pretty down with the punk ethic, so the whole thing is quite confusing. Maybe I should just stop overanalyzing it and listen to some Stones.

Les Savy Fav: fucking amazing.

Enough bitching. Basically, if it weren't for my homies and good rock n' roll music, I'd be dead in the friggin' water. That said, I'm a lucky guy.

Just back from the Shiner show: in a word, brilliant. In a bunch of words, I've said it before and I'll say it again; Shiner is quite simply the pinnacle example of fine American Rock.

Crushing. Incredibly loud and as tight as a band can get. Bonus: the encore cover of My Bloody Valentine's "Only Shallow" was spot-on, and a perfect match.

Hellraiserz represent. With a 'Z'.

In light of my recent indie-bitching, I point thee to a well-constructed and deservedly self-righteous rant by Mr. Morrison of The Dismemberment Plan.

Miscellaneous updates: Still ain't seen Episode Two. Hopefully this weekend if I get a sec and can deal with the crowds. More tattooin' tomorrow, despite my IRS-imposed lack of disposable finances. Craig, on the other hand, got a job and will soon be pulling down that bank. Dollar-dollar bill, y'all.

An even bigger hole in the boat is the fact that Dee Dee Ramone has been found dead of an apparent drug overdose. Damn, that sucks.

Lately I've been appreciating the well-arranged three- or four-chord guitar songs. Pure, simple songs with lyrics that hit you in the gut. New Slang by The Shins is doing just that. They're playing tonight at the Fillmore, and since I blew my chance to see them a few months ago, I should probably go. The ticket price may be a tad pricey, though.

Well, I hate to say it, but I saw the video for The Hives' "Hate To Say I Told You So" on late-night MTV last Saturday, and my opinion of the band took a U-turn. I've had their '98 EP a.k.a. I-D-I-O-T for a while now, and well... it never really kicked my ass. Of course, I think I've listened to it twice, so it's quite possible that I didn't give it much of a fighting chance. But that video from their 2000 LP Veni Vedi Vicious is pretty dope (best of all is their bassist, "Dr. Matt Destruction" with his big-ass Rickenbacker). Wish I could have seen 'em at Slim's a few weeks back, but that show sold out real quick-like. Crazy Swedes. Yes, I am probably fickle.

Had my first little wipeout this morning, courtesy of my new Paul-crafted skate. Now I have a little scrape on the heel of my hand. Feel sorry for me.

In far less wussy news, Cornbread Compton, drummer for Engine Down, has released his new single, "Lose My Head". Be warned.

Going Down Swingin', the recent, final release from Chicago's Sweep the Leg Johnny is pretty bad-ass. The addition of ex-Rumah Sakit guitar whiz Mitch Cheney really adds some serious dimension to their already ridiculously abstract, saxophone-augmented noise rock. It takes some serious effort to get through the double-LP, but I likes it.

Alkaline Trio's From Here to Infirmary is good foot-tappin' power punk, and great to write HTML to. Thanks to Gregg for opening that door for me.

And why did Chavez have to call it quits?

What the hell are you listening to?

Oh, geez. A few weeks ago I waxed praiseworthy of the song "New Slang" by The Shins, and I linked to the video. Well, just now I was taking a mental breather after a prolonged session of battling Netscape 4, and I went back and watched the video again. Suddenly it dawned on me that many of the shots are re-creations of classic indie rock album covers. Maybe this was obvious to you, but I totally glazed right over it before. Now I am even more impressed.

I spotted (roughly in order of appearance): Hüsker Dü's Zen Arcade and New Day Rising, The Replacements' Let It Be, the self-titled Squirrel Bait EP and Slint's Spiderland. There are a few others, such as the shot against the amusement park ride, that I recognize but can't place. There are many other shots that totally don't recognize at all, and maybe they aren't anything. Anyone else spot any other covers? Cool idea.

Master rocker Blake Schwarzenbach lays down some potent politics on the Jets to Brazil site. Be sure to scroll down and read the archived post first before continuing with the main page.

In other news, Buddyhead's Gossip page reports that Blake is featured in a series of Burger King TV ads that commence this month. I'll believe that when I see it, considering the source. But if it is true, someone tape 'em for me.

I was just walking to the corner store to get a Skor bar and I swear to friggin' God I was walking right behind Tom Waits. He was with some little kid. If he wasn't Tom Waits then he should take it to Vegas and make himself a good living.

Hey Mercedes last night at the Great American Music Hall. Someone needs to sit Damon Atkinson down and teach him how to play the drums, because he stinks. Actually, he doesn't. He's pretty amazingly good. As are all them dudes — there's so much technical talent there. The crowd was thin, though. I think they should have played Bottom of the Hill instead, but hey.

Mercedes.

OK, Gold Chains wins the prize for: a) shooting his video on BART; b) having a boom-box that plays vinyl; and c) an unmistakeable display of badassosity and lack of caring.

I don't care if you're surfing on a PC/XT with a 9600 baud modem. Watch that video.

Meme spread via El Toro via Rocker T.

Remember a year or two ago when it seemed like every single commercial had a Who song in it? Nissan Pathfinders playing SUV polo set to "Baba O'Reilly," and the like...

I've been noticing that The Clash seems to have signed a few deals lately. Jaguar uses "London Calling" in its new batch of ads, and Stoli bought "Should I Stay or Should I Go" for its Citrona spots. Rock on?

The fruits of my saki-induced Amazon 1-Click® frenzy have arrived. And lemme say that Rhino's Ramones re-issues are pretty hot. They're remastered, full of awesome photos and demo tracks, and all-around, I don't care that the records were expensive. It's The Ramones and they were great.

In other news, I think I might go see Gold Chains live and in person tonight. (Turns out he was spinning, not performing ... no dice.)

I've been quite the Interpol fan as of late. Someone said they are to Joy Division as The Strokes are to The Velvet Underground, which may be partially true, although I tend to trust Interpol a bit more than their ghetto-Prada counterparts. The Matador Records thing helps, I guess.

I don't need to tell you this, but NYC is the new home of rock-n-roll. And that's OK. Makes more sense than, say, Kansas City. Not that KCMO didn't deserve it there for a little while...

Well, not really. I was planning on posting a link to the new MP3 single released by The Fire Theft, a new band consisting of three of the members of Sunny Day Real Estate. Looking at Pitchfork today, I see that they're running it as their top story. Ah well.

Here's The Fire Theft's site, anyway. Hit the audio page to get the track (they're disallowing direct linking for some reason).

I gotta say, it's much better than the final SDRE release, which was rather poo-poo, in my opinion. The new track definitely represents a matured sense of songwriting (read: they're getting old). Also, you just can't front on Jeremy's vocal talents, 74 vocal overdubs of chain-smoking Christianity notwithstanding. The song reminds me of LP2-era Sunny Day, which is quite alright in my book. Kinda makes me wonder what all today's emo superstar bands will be doing in 10 years.

It's official. Har Mar Superstar is certifiably insane. The moustache alone should be proof, as if the underwear-clad shoulder-stands weren't enough already. Scary -- dare I say it -- even brilliant, stuff.

Finally, after months and months of mystery, I realized that Zwan, the "Bad Company" of the new millenium, has a web site. The band consists of ex-Smashing Pumpkins Billy Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin, ex-Chavez/Skunk/Wider/Guided By Voices/Cat Power/Bonnie Prince Billy hero Matt Sweeney, ex-Slint/Tortoise/Aerial M/Papa M/for Carnation/Matmos/etc whiz David Pajo, and ex-A Perfect Circle bassist Paz Lenchantin. Their pedigree is the size of Corgan's bank account, and refreshingly for such a supergroup, they seem to have been deliberately mysterious thus far.

I hit the site and first watched their home movies, which seemed characteristically vague and mostly non-rock, and not in a bad way. I at least had to scratch my head and wonder what these folks are up to. What with Sweeney's and Pajo's background, I can't imagine that they're making bubblegum.

But then I got back to the homepage and downloaded the Honestly song, which is simple, Siamese Dream-ish 1992 Smashing Pumpkins pop rock redux. What gives?

After three amazing days in the mountain wilderness I just now returned home and sat down to catch up with current events. Joe Strummer, dead at age 50.

Man, oh man.

Sadly, I just learned that one of my favorite heavy melodic rock bands is calling it quits. See ya, Shiner, the kings of midwestern rock.

The first I'd seen or heard of them was when I saw them open for Jawbox in 1996, and it was one of the very few times in the hundreds (if not thousands) of shows in my rock fanboy career that I was utterly, speechlessly blown away by a band I knew nothing about. For me they had the perfect combination of melody, huge song structure, hooks and sheer technical ability.

And for what it's worth, they always fought the good fight. With a sound as accessible as they had (I heard someone once say they sounded like the Foo Fighters), they could have taken a different tack and you'd be seeing them gussied up by stylists and rocking on the roofs of buildings right now. But as it was, they stuck to their guns, treated their rock like their art and did it the old fashioned way: they earned it.

» "You Said Something," PJ Harvey
» "New Slang," The Shins
» "You're Having the Time of My Life," Jets to Brazil
» "Angeles," Elliott Smith
» "I Might Be Wrong," Radiohead

As you can see, I'm good for about three chords. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Apparently Pizza Hut commissioned Ween to compose some jingles for some newfangled pizza concept with all the cheese inside the pie.

This is what Dean and Gene came up with. Pizza Hut never used any of Ween's ideas and ended up hiring someone else. (via BoingBoing)

Hey, Jason Newsted has joined Voivod! Neat.

The show was fun. Lots of good folks -- plenty of young rockers, a few crusty old-school rock heads who sat on the bench and got wasted, and a guy in a "plant a tree" shirt who eventually laid out a bunch of breads, oreos, crackers, and produce for us, all of which I suspect were dumpster-derived. Whatever.

I put together a gallery of the show.

I had never heard of Norah Jones before tonight, and to my knowledge I have yet to hear her music. Apparently she's the daughter of Ravi Shankar? Man, I gotta get out more, or something.

Did anyone see Bruce Springsteen, Little Steven, Elvis Costello and the dude from No Doubt do "London Calling?" I was working.

Har Mar Superstar is a pop culture genius.

The genius ended right there, though. Post-Har Mar dinner devolved into an overly emotional, political argument over Israel/Palestine issues; one that would make any discussion on Orangefuzz seem like Romper Room. Any point I tried to make was patently dismissed by my counterpart because apparently I am a white male of Christian descent, and have no background or understanding of any sort of persecution whatsoever. According to my opposition, I can be "punk rock" and "liberal" but any argument I make is instantly invalidated due to my white male-ness. But don't go accusing my accuser of race- or gender-based generalizations, though -- that would be offensive. I finally had to throw down my part of the tab, get up and leave.

Here's to a wonderful evening.

A pretty exhausting week of rock show-attending, all in all. Some of the shows were just OK, and some were really great. Here's a recap:

» 02.25.03: Har Mar Superstar -- As I said before, hilarious and fun. "So exclusive it hurts," quoth the naked bard.

» 02.27.03: The Court and Spark -- They sounded pretty darn good, working standard country licks into a slightly tenser indie-informed sound. I guess they usually have horns and stuff too, but they sounded just fine with guitars and pedal steel. Cafe Du Nord is a tough place to see shows, though. The stage and ceiling are just too low.

Fun side event: outside the Club that night we witnessed a thickly moustachioed man clad in very tight faded jeans, a puffy yellow jacket, amber-lensed teardrop shades (at night) and pointy cowboy boots, who was bummed that he couldn't get into the show.

Pete (the doorman): "The club's sold out, man. Why don't you go down the street to Lucky 13?"

Crazy Flaming Cowboy Dude: "Is it straight?"

Pete: "...a straight bar? Yeah, I guess..."

CFCD (with a nod, pointing to himself with his thumb): "Cuz I'm straight!"

Giving it a pause for his declaration to sink in, he spins on his heel and swaggers down the sidewalk. Hilarity ensues.

» 02.28.03: Tsunami Bomb/Hot Rod Circuit -- Tsunami Bomb bites the big one. If I wanted to listen to circa-1990 Bad Religion, I would. If I wanted to listen to an excellent current band which channels the fervor of circa-1990 Bad Religion, I would too. This band was not either. The plethora of teenaged girls in the house were very impressed, mainly with the slight gusto on the part of TB's frontwoman. It's cool if she's inspiring girls, sure -- but the band still sucked.

Hot Rod Circuit, technically speaking, is quite a solid band, but their music is super-generic emo/indie rock. They have a few songs which get my foot a-tappin, though. That's about the extent of it.

The groupie scene at this show was, let's just say, amusing to behold.

» 03.01.03: Erase Errata/The Locust -- Erase Errata were cool. Their bassist laid down some really rad lines which reminded me of The Jesus Lizard. Overall, the quality of the house mix didn't do them much justice, although if you listen to their records it's clear that audio fidelity is not all that high on their list of priorities.

The Locust, on the other hand, were probably my favorite band of the entire festival. I have their self-titled CD, and frankly it's pretty unlistenable. But their stage show was insane. Their drummer was killing it, hitting so hard and playing such intricate stuff that he literally looked like he was going to puke between each of their 45-second "songs." Brilliant. I loved it. The hecklers were very uninspired, though.

» 03.02.03: Tortoise -- I saw Tortoise years ago and was befuddled at their musicianship. Last night was just as impressive. The super-loud group of knuckleheads who loudly conversed with one another, much to the chagrin of those around them, were not so impressive, however. Ironic that I almost get into a brawl at one of the mellowest shows of the festival.

Rock on.

There needs to be more bands like Q And Not U. While too many indie rockstar-wannabes are too caught up in the trappings of fancy sweaters to think about musically innovating, Q gets up and throws down rock that is unique, clever and ass-shaking. Last night at Bottom of the Hill was another fine example of their prowess.

Yeah, they're from DC and they sure sound like it — and that's just the way I like it. They carry the Dischord torch quite well. Some of their songs are very obviously influenced by the almighty Fugazi, but while most Picciotto imitators fall dead flat, the Q guys take the melodic, discordant, arty tradition that is that facet of DC hardcore and make it their own. Good stuff.

Tickets: $32 ($16 apiece; I ended up going alone and couldn't sell my extra)
Beers: $10
Parking: $5 (couldn't find a spot, so I parked in a nearby garage)
TOTAL: $47

Was it worth it? Well, I guess so. Just barely.

Musically, the ex-SDRE dudes are on point. Jeremy's ear for arrangement is as impressive as ever, and William Goldsmith is such a good drummer. Going to shows solo is never fun, but even though their songs may have been a bit inconsistent in the jaw-dropping department, there were enough high points to keep me impressed.

The Jealous Sound were as flat as Knapsack always was. Good songwriting, booooring performance. It was good to see ex-Jawbox/Shudder to Think drummer Adam Wade rockin' it with them, though.

It had been a few years since I'd seen Rocket From the Crypt, and they didn't disappoint. Lineup changes notwithstanding, their chaingun-like ability to blast out hits from their 13-year career seemed near effortless. John Reis played his role as demented bandleader, hopped up on Stax Records and punk rock, screaming "let's hear it for the band!" and "we're so horny for your applause!"

The crowd might have been a bit thinner than years past; the garage torch may have been handed off to today's trend-friendly upstarts, but there's no denying Rocket's cred in that scene.

I shouldn't have forgotten my earplugs for this one. Friggin' loud.

Well, if you're gonna go out, that was a pretty good way to do it. Saturday night marked the Dismemberment Plan's final show in San Francisco: they're breaking up later this year, and like a good little band they're taking one last spin out on the road for their fans. And the fans were in the house, yes they were.

While The Plan didn't quite pack in the multicultural legions known to be found at hometown shows back in D.C., Slim's was well attended by hipsters, nerds, rockers, shell-necklace dudes, students and all those in between — not bad for an otherwise cold and windy Saturday.

Thankfully, Travis laid low on the vocal overembellishment which had, in my view, turned the last few Plan shows I'd seen into kitschy mockeries of their own funk. That's not to say there wasn't a heaping helping of his signature brand of inside-the-beltway indie intelligentsia ass-shaking, but fortunately he didn't overdo it with seven million "yeahs" and the weird scat singing thing.

The result? A solid show, without a doubt, belying the trappings of a D.C. rock band that didn't do the Dischord thing, avoided hipster clichés, wasn't afraid to bust out a Casio and dance, almost fell prey to major label bullshit and decided to keep it real with good old DeSoto, and ended up being one of those bands that you can't keep under your thumb — which in the end, is the best kind.

Friday night was interesting. I guess every year the local alt-rock radio station, Live 105, throws this big extravaganza concert called BFD, which stands for... well, Big Fuckin' Deal. Don't let the faux self-deprecating moniker fool you; this concert was all about the big show. This year's main stage hosted The White Stripes, AFI, The Deftones, and the Foo Fighters headlined. Side stage highlights were The Roots, The Donnas, Interpol, and a bunch of other bands that the kids seem to like. And once again, the fans showed up, yes they did. In droves.

Good old Juice did the logo and a bunch of other graphics for this year's concert, and I was fortunate enough to receive not only a ticket, but a backstage pass. I saw some crazy things.

All eyes are on Dave Grohl. I mean, I've seen many, many bands in my day. Some famous, many not. I've seen famous people at bars and at shows and what not. But this was different. Maybe it was due to his band being the pinnacle event of the evening; maybe it was due to the fact that he was being chill and hanging out while other bands suspiciously retreated to their trailers. Either way, there was a weird sense of idolatry floating around. One girl, probably about 19 or so, approached Dave and gave him what I assumed to be her band's demo CD. He accepted it and chatted for a few minutes before somebody else got his attention, so she shook his hand for the third time, turned away and immediately began to straight-up bawl, all quivering and crying like those girls from the old Beatles newsreels. She quickly walked, almost ran, back to her safety net of friends who thoughtfully gave her a pair of dark sunglasses to cry behind. Whoa.

And as far as the rock went, the Foo Fighters were really good, but the Deftones just straight up owned it. On a whole different level. Given the fact that the White Stripes' sound mix was really bad — and I don't even want to get into just how horribly AFI totally, totally, totally sucks — I wasn't expecting a very good show at the old amphitheater. Boy did the Deftones set me straight. They killed it. The way a band should be. Confident, super-tight, great songs and a style that you can't pigeonhole. The type of show where you just turn to your friend and speechlessly shake your head like, "holy shit, dude." "Nu-metal," you say? Deal with it. "But they have a DJ," you protest? How's your band doing?

A teenaged girl in the row in front of me did the Beatles-bawl thing when the Deftones first exploded. Can't really blame her, I guess.

As we've been noting, my recent tastes in Rock have swung back toward the maniacally technical and heavy end of the spectrum, but last night's Thermals show was a nice dash of the exact opposite.

Bandleader Hutch Harris played barely more than power chords for the entire set, spastically spitting out the three-minute, four-chord attacks that he'd recorded in his kitchen just last year. Drummer Jordan Hudson beat the crap out of his stripped-down kit. No toms; just kick, snare, high-hat, ride and crash. Not that I was left wanting anything more.

You can call it lo-fi or no-fi or whatever, but to my mind it's just straight-up dirty, melodic rock & roll, hard and fast, upbeat and snappy. Pure, even. Young. Carrying the Guided By Voices torch nicely, if far less drunkenly. And that's alright.

As previously noted, lots of bands, lots of work. Brevity is the soul of multitasking.

The Gossip. Darn good. Girl has some serious, serious pipes and the Deep South roots hold strong.

Hella. Insane.

Erase Errata. Not my bag.

The Locust. Even more insane. I think after seeing them twice now, I've had my fill. They're a lot to handle.

Darkest Hour. Tonight. Psyched.

Old Man Gloom next week. ISIS/Cave-In side project. Looking forward to it.

Brett bought me some CDs for my birthday, and as usual, the first thing I did when I got home was to slap 'em in my PowerBook and rip MP3s out of them. And as I did it, I was sitting there like, "what's to stop me from sharing these files with my roommate?" Or, I could just have easily let him take the CDs and rip his own files. Or I could share these files with my entire office. Or I could put them on the Internet. And everybody else with any modicum of know-how (read: the kids, the biggest consumer of music) is thinking the same thing.

Fact is, MP3s are little files. Files small enough to fly across a LAN in the blink of an eye. Across the Internet in minutes. Yeah, music used to be this packaged commodity that you bought in a store, but the times, they are a-changin'.

Get with it, labels! RIAA, you are a bunch of antiquated fools, and you're shooting yourselves in the foot by fighting file sharing. It will not go away. Figure something out. Lashing out with lawsuits against college kids is the act of a threatened, cornered animal. Adapt or die, you dummies.

The audience was comprised of about twenty nerdy rock dudes. Yup, all guys. Even the band called us out on it. We laughed.

The Life and Times were pretty incredible, though — especially considering how new the band is. Drummer Mike Myers is flat-out awesome. Even ex-Shiner drummer Tim Dow was on hand to give his propers.

Best of luck to you, fellas. I have high hopes.

Springsteen. Strummer. Fugazi. Those were the names on everyone's lips as The Constantines pounded out a much rougher, looser set than I'd anticipated. Every review mentions the band's obvious influences, but I think the draw is that The Constantines, like the