Let’s start off the month by finally fulfilling a promise from last month: my Noise Pop 30 recap post!
Monday We’re going to go chronologically, because that’s just how my brain works. My first show was Monday’s bill with Liily and FIDLAR. I’ve gushed about Liily already, so feel free to revisit that post. FIDLAR hit the stage next, and brought all the surfy, punky chaos I was hoping for. The last time I saw them was at a Vice-sponsored show with Metz at SXSW in 2013. They’ve added a guitar player since then, but the combination of volume and carefree sing-a-longs still make for a fun night out.
Tuesday Tuesday was a washout. I basically misread the schedule and started to head out to a show after dinner only to realize that the one I had picked out for the night was a happy hour event that started at 5. I had missed it. Boo, me. But I did spend that evening making a more specific plan for the rest of the week; learn from your mistakes, kids.
Wednesday I was ready for Wednesday. Since the Yo La Tengo show was hopelessly sold out, I headed to August Hall, instead. I had never been there before, and wow is that venue gorgeous. The first band up was Taipei Houston. This is actually the second time I’ve seen them, after they opened up for the Melvins at the Great American Music Hall last year. One of my favorite aspects about this duo is that they’re always playing for hundreds of thousands of people, no matter how small the venue is. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been able to open for your dad’s band.
Next up was a five-piece I’d never heard of, Narrow Head. I don’t know how I missed them; their sound touches all my sweet spots: dropped-D tuning, morose chord changes, thundering drums. But for some reason, I just didn’t connect with them. I remember thinking that they were equal parts Nothing and Hum, and then I remembered the Deftones exist. I was left thinking I should go home and listen to them instead.
Headlining was White Reaper. People I respect have been saying good things about them, and the few songs I sampled before were good, so I went in ready to be rocked. They are definitely good at what they do, but I found that I’m only fond of about 40% of their thing. And that’s fine. I loved the twin guitar, Thin Lizzy-style breaks from the guitar players, but there’s a little too much Southern California summer in their delivery, despite the fact that they’re from Kentucky.
Overall, not a great night out, but I’m always glad to see people make loud rock and roll, especially in a beautiful venue.
Thursday It was pouring here on Thursday. But there was no way I was going to miss seeing Bob Mould. When I started looking into getting passes, seeing “Bob Mould (solo electric)” listed in the events was the tipping point for me going all in on the expense of a full pass; I’ve never seen him like that.
Mark Eitzel opened. I saw him a lifetime ago at a CMJ event. Not much has really changed. Except we’re both much, much older. I don’t listen to him much because his stuff is just too sad for me (which is odd coming from someone who devours everything David Bazan puts his name on). But his set matched the weather, so it felt like a more than appropriate opener.
When Mr. Mould took The Chapel stage, I was a bit giddy. Just like it was billed, it was nothing but him and his Stratocaster. And it was mesmerizing. He tore through a bunch of his solo songs and a handful of tunes from both Sugar and Hüsker Dü (though “New Day Rising” didn’t make the cut). He told stories about his first days in San Francisco, staying with the rest of Hüsker Dü on Jello Biafra’s couch, as well as his love for his new home here in the City. It was a lovely, lovely night. And the rain stopped just in time to give me a dry ride home.
Friday When I started doing my research after my misplaced Tuesday, I stumbled upon a surprise: Friday’s Bottom of the Hill show featured headliners made up of one of my favorite rhythm sections in rock. But we’ll get to them. First up was Rip Room. They scratched all the right itches for me. A tight three-piece in the same angular vein as Tera Melos, but with more of a Babe the Blue Ox feel. When I went to the merch table after their set to buy their record, I got another nice surprise: They’re from San Francisco. I can’t wait to see them again.
Following Rip Room’s controlled chaos, Fauxes hit the stage. They are definitely something to see live. I don’t know much about them, still, but I do know that they have their live presence worked out. The interplay between the singer and guitar player is particularly intriguing as they blanketed you with layers of dark wave drones and pleading and swells. Not my thing on most nights, but it was definitely a memorable set.
Messthetics took the stage next. Featuring former Fugazi members, drummer Brendan Canty and bass player Joe Lally, the band also includes secret weapon Anthony Pirog on guitar. It was basically loud jazz punk. I believe a lot of the guitar work was improvised, but every single note felt deliberate and specifically chosen to drive the right emotion at the right moment. There was power and poise and playfulness, and it was glorious. His playing reminded me of Sonny Sharrock or Nels Kline or even Vernon Reid. Lally and Canty built the perfect foundation for their collective explorations. And as a treat, saxophonist James Brandon Lewis, fresh from his own trio’s set at the SF JAZZ Center earlier in the evening, joined Messthetics onstage to recreate four songs of their own. Like I said, it was a glorious noise.
Saturday I had seen a lot of people talking about Friday’s L.A. Witch set at the Kilowatt, so I set my Saturday sights on the second night of their two-night stint there. There was a fun DJ set of 60s blues rock before the opener, James Wavey, started. He and his four-piece backing band brought reinterpretations of some Summer of Love classics with reimagined lyrics rapped and sung through an echo pedal that Wavey manipulated often from the top of an onstage barstool. What stood out for me was the solid, sturdy bass playing, creating a steady groove for their entire set.
L.A. Witch took over next. And I mean took over. They were so charismatic and accomplished with their reverb-drenched rock, sounding like the forbidden marriage of Mazzy Star and Concrete Blonde. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but each song brought an unexpected twist, either of melody choice or a jaunty bass line or a tempo change. They definitely kept me on my toes, my attention constantly bouncing from guitarist to bass payer to drummer and back around again.
Sunday The last day of Noise Pop is a little hard to write about, for a number of reasons. The matinee at Bottom of the Hill was part reunion, part celebration of life for photographer Peter Ellenby (I recommend reading this great remembrance of Ellenby from The San Francisco Chronicle’s pop music critic Aidin Vaziri). It’s hard to put into words what the show meant. I didn’t know Peter. I don’t know a ton about the San Francisco scene he was a part of, either. But, at the same time, I also know it intimately. From what I could tell, the people in the room, and the bands who were on the stage, were held together by this love of a music created by a set of friends, at a certain time in their lives, that created meaning and memories which not only defined those bygone days, but helped build a foundation for the lives that were to come. It felt very reminiscent of my time in bands and clubs and record stores and radio stations in Tallahassee around the same time.
Like I mentioned in my post about O a few days ago, I discovered a lot of unknown bands through V-89, Overwhelming Colorfast included. I was never part of their scene, but I definitely understand it. I could feel both the love of, and nostalgia for, a time before lives were taken far too soon. The fact that I found out about O’s passing during the headliner’s set just added to the mix of celebration and sadness. It’s all over so quickly, it seems. Those fleeting moments when you’re doing exactly what you want to be doing, for either all the wrong reasons or all the right ones. You think your band will last forever. You think your scene will last forever. You think you will last forever. But then nothing does. The only saving grace is that you have these pressed, plastic pieces capturing these sonic time machines of the lives you lived and the people you were.
I stayed at the front of the stage for every band’s set. Oranger started the day, followed by a reformed Kingdom First, and an odds and sods supergroup, put together by Kurt Bloch of the Fastbacks, called Sgt. Major 6. Then Overwhelming Colorfast took the stage for as much a conversation as a show. I felt honored to be able to, essentially, eavesdrop on all the stories about Ellenby, and they made me miss the analogous ones I hope we’ll be able to tell about Tallahassee bands of the 90s some day.
If anyone involved in Noise Pop ever comes across this post, please know that I will think the love y’all have fostered for more than 30 years was bottled up in that single Sunday matinee. Thank you for the opportunity to share it with those who only got to read about your scene from afar. Playing at Bottom of the Hill was always aspirational for me. Up there with playing CBGB’s. I got to check one of those off my list, but being able to witness Sunday’s sets came as close as I can imagine to being on that stage, with those fans, sharing a love for the music of the 90s underground. Thank you, Noise Pop, for making it possible. And thank you, Peter, for making it special.
Black Saturday
01 March 2023
Banded.
Let’s start off the month by finally fulfilling a promise from last month: my Noise Pop 30 recap post!
Monday
We’re going to go chronologically, because that’s just how my brain works. My first show was Monday’s bill with Liily and FIDLAR. I’ve gushed about Liily already, so feel free to revisit that post. FIDLAR hit the stage next, and brought all the surfy, punky chaos I was hoping for. The last time I saw them was at a Vice-sponsored show with Metz at SXSW in 2013. They’ve added a guitar player since then, but the combination of volume and carefree sing-a-longs still make for a fun night out.
Tuesday
Tuesday was a washout. I basically misread the schedule and started to head out to a show after dinner only to realize that the one I had picked out for the night was a happy hour event that started at 5. I had missed it. Boo, me. But I did spend that evening making a more specific plan for the rest of the week; learn from your mistakes, kids.
Wednesday
I was ready for Wednesday. Since the Yo La Tengo show was hopelessly sold out, I headed to August Hall, instead. I had never been there before, and wow is that venue gorgeous. The first band up was Taipei Houston. This is actually the second time I’ve seen them, after they opened up for the Melvins at the Great American Music Hall last year. One of my favorite aspects about this duo is that they’re always playing for hundreds of thousands of people, no matter how small the venue is. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been able to open for your dad’s band.
Next up was a five-piece I’d never heard of, Narrow Head. I don’t know how I missed them; their sound touches all my sweet spots: dropped-D tuning, morose chord changes, thundering drums. But for some reason, I just didn’t connect with them. I remember thinking that they were equal parts Nothing and Hum, and then I remembered the Deftones exist. I was left thinking I should go home and listen to them instead.
Headlining was White Reaper. People I respect have been saying good things about them, and the few songs I sampled before were good, so I went in ready to be rocked. They are definitely good at what they do, but I found that I’m only fond of about 40% of their thing. And that’s fine. I loved the twin guitar, Thin Lizzy-style breaks from the guitar players, but there’s a little too much Southern California summer in their delivery, despite the fact that they’re from Kentucky.
Overall, not a great night out, but I’m always glad to see people make loud rock and roll, especially in a beautiful venue.
Thursday
It was pouring here on Thursday. But there was no way I was going to miss seeing Bob Mould. When I started looking into getting passes, seeing “Bob Mould (solo electric)” listed in the events was the tipping point for me going all in on the expense of a full pass; I’ve never seen him like that.
Mark Eitzel opened. I saw him a lifetime ago at a CMJ event. Not much has really changed. Except we’re both much, much older. I don’t listen to him much because his stuff is just too sad for me (which is odd coming from someone who devours everything David Bazan puts his name on). But his set matched the weather, so it felt like a more than appropriate opener.
When Mr. Mould took The Chapel stage, I was a bit giddy. Just like it was billed, it was nothing but him and his Stratocaster. And it was mesmerizing. He tore through a bunch of his solo songs and a handful of tunes from both Sugar and Hüsker Dü (though “New Day Rising” didn’t make the cut). He told stories about his first days in San Francisco, staying with the rest of Hüsker Dü on Jello Biafra’s couch, as well as his love for his new home here in the City. It was a lovely, lovely night. And the rain stopped just in time to give me a dry ride home.
Friday
When I started doing my research after my misplaced Tuesday, I stumbled upon a surprise: Friday’s Bottom of the Hill show featured headliners made up of one of my favorite rhythm sections in rock. But we’ll get to them. First up was Rip Room. They scratched all the right itches for me. A tight three-piece in the same angular vein as Tera Melos, but with more of a Babe the Blue Ox feel. When I went to the merch table after their set to buy their record, I got another nice surprise: They’re from San Francisco. I can’t wait to see them again.
Following Rip Room’s controlled chaos, Fauxes hit the stage. They are definitely something to see live. I don’t know much about them, still, but I do know that they have their live presence worked out. The interplay between the singer and guitar player is particularly intriguing as they blanketed you with layers of dark wave drones and pleading and swells. Not my thing on most nights, but it was definitely a memorable set.
Messthetics took the stage next. Featuring former Fugazi members, drummer Brendan Canty and bass player Joe Lally, the band also includes secret weapon Anthony Pirog on guitar. It was basically loud jazz punk. I believe a lot of the guitar work was improvised, but every single note felt deliberate and specifically chosen to drive the right emotion at the right moment. There was power and poise and playfulness, and it was glorious. His playing reminded me of Sonny Sharrock or Nels Kline or even Vernon Reid. Lally and Canty built the perfect foundation for their collective explorations. And as a treat, saxophonist James Brandon Lewis, fresh from his own trio’s set at the SF JAZZ Center earlier in the evening, joined Messthetics onstage to recreate four songs of their own. Like I said, it was a glorious noise.
Saturday
I had seen a lot of people talking about Friday’s L.A. Witch set at the Kilowatt, so I set my Saturday sights on the second night of their two-night stint there. There was a fun DJ set of 60s blues rock before the opener, James Wavey, started. He and his four-piece backing band brought reinterpretations of some Summer of Love classics with reimagined lyrics rapped and sung through an echo pedal that Wavey manipulated often from the top of an onstage barstool. What stood out for me was the solid, sturdy bass playing, creating a steady groove for their entire set.
L.A. Witch took over next. And I mean took over. They were so charismatic and accomplished with their reverb-drenched rock, sounding like the forbidden marriage of Mazzy Star and Concrete Blonde. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but each song brought an unexpected twist, either of melody choice or a jaunty bass line or a tempo change. They definitely kept me on my toes, my attention constantly bouncing from guitarist to bass payer to drummer and back around again.
Sunday
The last day of Noise Pop is a little hard to write about, for a number of reasons. The matinee at Bottom of the Hill was part reunion, part celebration of life for photographer Peter Ellenby (I recommend reading this great remembrance of Ellenby from The San Francisco Chronicle’s pop music critic Aidin Vaziri). It’s hard to put into words what the show meant. I didn’t know Peter. I don’t know a ton about the San Francisco scene he was a part of, either. But, at the same time, I also know it intimately. From what I could tell, the people in the room, and the bands who were on the stage, were held together by this love of a music created by a set of friends, at a certain time in their lives, that created meaning and memories which not only defined those bygone days, but helped build a foundation for the lives that were to come. It felt very reminiscent of my time in bands and clubs and record stores and radio stations in Tallahassee around the same time.
Like I mentioned in my post about O a few days ago, I discovered a lot of unknown bands through V-89, Overwhelming Colorfast included. I was never part of their scene, but I definitely understand it. I could feel both the love of, and nostalgia for, a time before lives were taken far too soon. The fact that I found out about O’s passing during the headliner’s set just added to the mix of celebration and sadness. It’s all over so quickly, it seems. Those fleeting moments when you’re doing exactly what you want to be doing, for either all the wrong reasons or all the right ones. You think your band will last forever. You think your scene will last forever. You think you will last forever. But then nothing does. The only saving grace is that you have these pressed, plastic pieces capturing these sonic time machines of the lives you lived and the people you were.
I stayed at the front of the stage for every band’s set. Oranger started the day, followed by a reformed Kingdom First, and an odds and sods supergroup, put together by Kurt Bloch of the Fastbacks, called Sgt. Major 6. Then Overwhelming Colorfast took the stage for as much a conversation as a show. I felt honored to be able to, essentially, eavesdrop on all the stories about Ellenby, and they made me miss the analogous ones I hope we’ll be able to tell about Tallahassee bands of the 90s some day.
If anyone involved in Noise Pop ever comes across this post, please know that I will think the love y’all have fostered for more than 30 years was bottled up in that single Sunday matinee. Thank you for the opportunity to share it with those who only got to read about your scene from afar. Playing at Bottom of the Hill was always aspirational for me. Up there with playing CBGB’s. I got to check one of those off my list, but being able to witness Sunday’s sets came as close as I can imagine to being on that stage, with those fans, sharing a love for the music of the 90s underground. Thank you, Noise Pop, for making it possible. And thank you, Peter, for making it special.
See you tomorrow?