When I first heard about Imperial Teen and The White Stripes sharing a bill at the Filmore I was overjoyed, as it has been quite awhile since any double bill rated an immediate “Don’t miss,” and this pair of bands are two of my contemporary favorites. Imperial Teen are the partially local (Roddy and Will live in L.A. while the Jone and Lynn remain in S.F.) combo who have delivered two critically acclaimed and solid releases of catchy, edgy pop songs with intricate vocalizations, lyrical content that runs from dark to double-Dutch and always clever, and a sound that utilizes some very charming pop sensibilities and techniques while accentuating them with angular, terse and distorted guitar sounds or elongated instrumental jams that veer into dissonance, rage, tension, joy, release—a few of the places we’ve been taken before by the likes of the Velvet Underground, Yo La Tengo and even Sonic Youth, only with Imperial Teen you get there not by way of seminal experimental rock music meanderings, nor the post-punk deconstruction of the rock song. They transport you to that swelling vital and cathartic Indie-Rock-in-the-now moment by way of the basic pop song structure. It’s just as intense when you get there, but the trip can be downright ebullient and perky with an emotional pitch of cheerfulness or innocent bewilderment. Imperial Teen’s music is a happy sound, although the lyrics are definitely not always sunshine and lollypops by any means. This duality plus the band’s unusually fresh and innovative arrangements make them one of my all-time favorites–the perfect band—not too light, not too dark, not too hard, not too wussy, they’re intelligent, engaging, humorous, and very good-looking as well. What is not to love seemed an absolutely appropriate title for their brilliant sophomore release, and the single “Yoo Hoo,” I thought was destined to be a gigantic hit but for some reason both the single and album didn’t exactly burn up the charts and ultimately sales were not as strong as one might anticipate. At present time I believe the band has already recorded a third LP and is ready to find the right label for distribution.
They performed several new and very cool songs, all of which felt and sounded right, bearing a definite style that has clearly become their own, brought to you with smiles and confidence. As usual the band really appears to be having a great time while performing, still trading instruments a couple of times like they always have, each band member handling their share of the intricate and catchy vocals and back-up vocals, the element of their sound that provides their most indelible hooks. Drummer Lynn Perko, who was recently nominated for best drummer by the California Music Awards, would have certainly won if the category were best and most beautiful drummer. She is statuesque and completely gorgeous and I also might add that she’s been hitting the skins for some of my favorite local bands for twenty years now! This achievement will be marked in an upcoming event at the Paradise Lounge on May 16 when Lynn will join members of Black Kali Ma and Gary Floyd onstage for a tribute to their former band The Dicks on the 21st anniversary of their first ever show. It’s hard to believe it has really been that long. She was also the drummer for SisterDoubleHappiness with Gary Floyd, who rang in the New Year with a reunion show at Bottom of The Hill. Nothing really speaks more of her achievement than the proof in the pudding, and Imperial Teen’s final song that night saw Lynn just bust loose with a roll that was beyond eye opening. She is such a versatile multi-faceted musician with a scope of ability ranging from subtle and reserved to intense and commanding. It defined the song, which was one of their new ones.
I’ve also got to mention that Will was sporting a bit of subversive and twisted fashion genius that I was very impressed with. Aside from being a really nice guy and arguably one of rocks sexiest players, he was wearing a simple tight white t-shirt, the armpits of which were splotched with red dye, giving the illusion that he was perspiring blood. Look for this on the catwalks this fall…inspired genius. Before leaving us with that great final song, Will mentioned that The White Stripes are brother and sister but he thought they were lovers too, playing on a much talked about and speculated rumor that they aren’t really blood related siblings, which they continue insisting that they are, so I believe them.
After the show The White Stripes put on I not only believe they are brother and sister, but as far as I’m concerned they could very well be the second coming of Jesus Christ, or the modern day Saviors of Rock and Roll at least. It has been about a year since I last saw the duo at Bottom of The Hill, when a minor buzz was starting up about this brother and sister pair from Detroit. Their second LP De Stijl was just out and they were just setting out on a massive tour of basically the world. It seems they’ve literally toured non-stop since then and just as I predicted they’ve broken big, big enough to headline the Filmore and that seems to be a pretty rapid progression. I’ve always thought that in rock and roll there’s a definite part of the formula for success that can’t be skipped or ignored and that is you must tour, non-stop and extensively, sometimes for a year or two straight. It worked for KISS—who played every little podunk auditorium everywhere, even in Medford, Oregon where I lived, laying down the groundwork for a broad fan base. I also recall that The Butthole Surfers took to the road for almost three years straight early on—which had everything to do with them becoming the most well-known hardcore punk band in the world next to The Dead Kennedy’s at a certain point. So touring like this is smart and it’s paying in spades for The White Stripes.
Their popularity does kind of shake up the norm or foundation of a few givens in rock music, like a band has to have a bass player or it cant be a band (thank you Sleater-Kinney) and that two people aren’t enough to make a band. In this respect the quick rise of the White Stripes is really very exciting, breaking down the stereotypical expectations and opening the doors for a number of other similar duos to possibly be viewed as a sound and complete unit. Coincidentally a couple of bands like this are also from Detroit as well, The Soledad Bros. and Bantam Rooster. As a matter of fact, I’d say that the White Stripes have spearheaded a movement that will make Detroit the next big music scene city, like Athens GA was and Seattle more recently. Something has been happening there for a few years now that has augmented my music collection a great deal, and when you go back even further in history Detroit is the home of many musical phenomenon like for instance the Supremes and girlgroups and the whole Motown thing, and didn’t the aforementioned KISS have a song called Detroit Rock City and did they not record KISS Alive in Detroit? I say all eyes on Detroit—something is happening there.
But back to the show, and a task I’m finding very difficult to complete. How do I convey with words something that was so purely great and joyous and breath taking as this set by The White Stripes. I don’t think I can. First off, there was never a moment throughout their set when anyone could have possibly thought to themselves, “Gee this sounds a little thin,” or “They could really use a horn section here to fill out the sound.” They sounded as full and complete as any band I’ve ever heard. Admittedly, Jack White is a total wild man on guitar, like if he didn’t have it to smack and strum and jerk and pound he would explode, and sometimes he does seem to be serving up twice the amount of a normal player, but Meg on drums (and he did introduce her as his sister) matches his frenetic pace with a completely different approach. Her beats are powerful but spare and minimal, languid and sultry and they find their place in the frenzy with a strong sense that almost seems psychic or para-normal, as if perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the blood coursing through their veins is the blood of siblings, if indeed they are brother and sister. If they are not then won’t I feel stupid? However this quality, this incredibly connected and intuitive dynamic they share really came to the fore so many times during their set, which turned into a most adventurous and unpredictable kind of medley featuring drastically different versions of their familiar songs, snippets of familiar riffs of famous songs that would turn into something of theirs before you could identify what you were reminded of, and frequent drastic pace changes executed flawlessly as they looked into each others eyes, smiling like they were sharing a joke. They did an amazing version of “Jolene,” the Dolly Parton song that started out very quiet and sensitive with original gender intact and eventually turned into an intense emotional blowout that had the crowd going nuts. Jack White was evoking the spirit of one musical icon after another, with his voice and his guitar, like Elvis, Hank Williams, Jimmy Page, Donovan, Dylan, Guthrie, Jerry Lee, Prince, Lead Belly, I’m not kidding! It went on and on—seamless reverential soul-stirring fucking brilliance. It was pretty apparent that the crowd at the Filmore knew they were witnessing something special and great. Nearly every song from their two LPs that is rendered in a more acoustic or soft style on record was turned into a harder louder or more intense version live, like the romantic little ditty “Sweet Little Apple Blossom,” which was transformed into a monstrous lust-fuelled rave-up so wanton and sexy it was kind of scary. Everything happened so fast. In one minutes time he could evoke lilting country blue-grass, raunchy blues, Led Zeppelin and the staccato post-punk guitar shards of Gang of Four! It was amazing. I left the show feeling like I had just seen something of historical importance, or that rock and roll does make life worth living.