Category: From the archives…

On Friday in the early evening I found myself and my generous and
patient boyfriend waiting in a long line outside of Mezzanine to buy
tickets specially priced at $10.53 each and brought to you by Live
105.3 as the radio station kicked off its annual BFD summer
celebration with an opening night show featuring the band LCD Sound
System among a couple other notable acts that would be playing the
following day at the shoreline with a huge array of amazing bands from
all over the globe in one huge multiple stage music festival, a
long-standing tradition for the hippest most popular non-pirate radio
station in the bay area.
In the past, I’ve done my share of lalapalooza’s,
Coachellas, Reading Festivals and Days on the Green to know that for
me personally I cant really take much more than three bands in one
outing, it’s too much, sensory overload, the sort of thing that has
prompted me to breeze into a lalapalooza to catch Snoop Dog only, then
leave, forsake seeing Radiohead and Kraftwerk because The Pixies were
just so mindblowing, or happily walk away from the grounds while Green
Day or The Red Hot Chili Peppers capped off a day of music or had the
misfortune to follow an amazing set by PJ Harvey or the scariest
american gothic mayhem of Ministry. While the BFD line-up was fucking
incredible, i had no plans to go and was truly glad to see that Live
105 chose to present a few of the days featured acts both before and
after the event. I was especially excited about catching LCD Sound
System because I had heard such unanimously glowing reports of their
last show here about a month ago, an affair that was sold out well in
advance on the strength of the second LP Sound of Silver, a great
follow-up to the intriguing yet hard to classify debut disc by this
mysterious one man musical force whose catchy synth-heavy and
elongated dance grooves hit with a certain urgency and twice the
hardness of your average synth-based electroshock dance record. LCD
Sound System had won the praise of many people who generally shy away
from “dance music.”
Waiting in line for the tickets was a truly edifying experience on
the behavior of todays youth. My friend pointed out that most of the
young people around us seemed to have unlimited nights and weekend
minutes with their phone plans because conversations lasted the entire
duration of our wait, and we could without straining hear each and
every sordid and silly detail about subjects such as drug busts, huge
debts to dealers, new boyfriends, how far back in the line someones
friends were, how to send maps on your phone, sharing naked phone
pictures, kitty pictures, rock show pictures, graduation pictures etc.
Texting was rampant, even between people standing close enough to
just talk. How scary is that? About as scary as the emergency shower
and eye-wash station beyond the moveable chainlink gate with barbed
wire on top that everyone leaned on while waiting. What kind
neighboring business to Mezzanine requires a Silkwood style safety
station? hmmmmm. We got our tickets and went home for a nap before
showtime as we are old enough to know about Karen Silkwood.
When we returned to the club LCD Sound System were onstage and
playing to a wildly boisterous, fists in the air dancing throng of
people yelling along with the lyrics. The air was thick and damp like
a sauna and the stage was full with lots of equipment and six
musicians total. There were 2 guitarists, bassist, drummer, keyboards
and additional keyboards for one of the guitarists and lots of
additional percussion and synth-pads for the vocalist/figurehead who
really commanded the stage with a full-tilt energy level that was
maintained throughout and built upon with a fervor and lust that had
the crowd exclaiming loudly many times. You could tell that special
measures had been taken to transform this studio project into a first
rate live spectacle, like this committed artist simply wouldn’t settle
for less and the efforts clearly paid off. The excitement level on
stage alone was pure and totally infectious, hitting the crowd head on
and running, and they latched onto it solidly. They really seemed to
respond the most to the cuts from the more recent record like the
awesome “North American Scum” which was an odd juxtaposition, seeing a
thrilled crowd dancing happily and wildly to the obvious shameful
lyrical indictment, screaming along “We are north american scum.” It
was curiously anthemic and funny and I noticed for the first of many
times through their set what a great vocalist this guy is, throwing
down an exciting performance for each song and displaying an
impressive range.
Each of the songs performed seemed a lot faster and harder live which
was totally appropriate, fitting well with the heightened response of
the crowd. This was especially apparent on the song “Trials and
Tribulations” one of my favorite cuts from the first LP and a catchy
pastiche of New Order’s “Blue Monday” only played like the band
members didn’t have ice water coursing through their veins. It’s a
nice change, dropping the cold soul-lessness and punching it up with
heat and a more human flesh and blood quality. In fact I think that
was the biggest triumph of this entire show was the totally effective
transformation of two fine studio recordings into a masterful live
performance that really delivered on every technical level. I can see
why LCD Sound System has become such a big seller and popular live
attraction.
My date and I spotted between five to seven different Amy Winehouses
in the crowd that night, a few of them grabbing and climbing past or
over us in the crowd in a very tactile manner which i guess is
customary these days for young girls as they continued to do it all
night. Whats up with that? A simple “excuse me”is better than digging
your talons into our arms as you pass by. In contrast to this, I did
witness two club security workers help out a guy who had gotten a
little too high and i was totally impressed with their sensitivity and
commitment to helping him to safety. That really rocked, hat’s off
to Mezzanine’s security staff.

Boy am I tired of seeing letters to the editor in just about every weekly paper I pick up from Jim Meko, newly reappointed member of the Entertainment Commission and the man who turned the plans for the Hole In The Wall’s relocation into a circus of delays and flaming hoops of legal process and time and money wasting tactics designed to frustrate small business owners deplete their resources and put braces on their growth and changes for selfish reasons one can only begin to wonder about, and if you think real hard on that, the speculations can get pretty insidious and scary.  What’s scarier is the worst of those possibilities are probably close to the truth.  But that’s not why I’m bringing this situation up again—I’d really rather not actually but I’m tired of this man still harping on about things in all the papers, seeking absolution and claiming innocence and suggesting that the Hole In The Wall’s owners are the party responsible for all the tumult, trials and tribulations this case has gone through.  He is a man who denies doing several things that he has clearly done, wont stand firm on his actions or words when called on it, and then tries to turn it all around to make it seem like he saved the day and is the great champion of maintaining and helping the nightclub and bar scene of San Francisco to flourish.  It’s deplorable and infuriating and if you look around, SF hasn’t had much of a vibrant or world class night club scene for over a decade.  We’ve watched many of the bigger clubs and bars falter and close, some even destroyed to make room for the developers who are turning every square foot of space possible into expensive residential properties and monstrous view-blocking high rises (count the cranes in the skyline lately?) for people who make six figure salaries and don’t relish the thought of any nightclub scene existing anywhere near them.

Though the Hole in The Wall was granted approval to relocate after negotiating with the neighboring residents and accommodating structural changes to insure everyones concerns about noise, cigarette smoke and other fears of having a bar as a neighbor, the petty controlling tentacles of Meko will linger on in many ways, most significantly with the sad fact that live DJs will not be allowed as the proper Place of Entertainment permit will not be granted to The Hole.  Many clubs face this same problem and try to find ways to work around it, like giving the DJ another duty like bussing glasses and bottles, and oh yeah, occasionally changing the pre-recorded CDs without looking too much like a DJ.  It’s totally absurd and you had better believe there will be people just waiting around to sight an obvious violation of this absurd stipulation, the one aspect of control that Meko probably smiles just thinking about, like “I did that!”  Proud man.  As a DJ, this denial of a permit strips me of my right to work at a job I’ve held for over a decade.  Oh well, too bad for the DJs, a part of the community the great negotiator isn’t giving a bit of thought to unlike the neighbors, business owners, people with children, the residents of the nearby public housing development, people who fear their parking might be jeopardized, neighbors possibly struggling with sobriety, property owners with “there goes the neighborhood” attitude, and many other groups possibly affected by a bar in their hood.  Where’s the consideration for the suddenly unemployed?  Don’t we rate?  Are DJ’s just bad people?  Mr. Meko seems to know a lot about who’s bad if you haven’t heard.  Yeah I know, he did apologize for some of the things he has said but what does an apology mean from someone who tells lies with certain regularity and continues to do so in every print possibility citywide?  Believe me I’m sick to death of this whole situation, hearing about it, explaining it to others and talking about it, but I just couldn’t read his delusional letters of half-truths and double-talk and under-handed insults directed at certain writers, publications and bar-owners who have challenged his motives, actions and statements without saying something about it.  His recent reappointment to the Entertainment Commission and his unending letter-writing attacks plus the shocking rate of development occurring all over San Francisco and especially South of Market is really creeping me out in a big way.  It’s clear to me that this city is turning into a soul-less concrete metropolis that will only be affordable for the very wealthy and will be stripped of the color, charm, diversity, spirit, art, creativity, personality and tradition that drew many of us here in the first place.  It won’t just happen over-night but as time marches on don’t be surprised to learn that small businesses and establishments that exist for a community’s relaxation and enjoyment or to showcase creativity or artistic expression or pleasure will begin to disappear.  Restrictions will eventually choke and kill the places celebrated and patronized by counter-cultures of any kind because ultimately there is no money in the underground.  Pave over it and make it all one sterile well-ordered place that’s safe for perfect children and void of temptation, loud noise, expression, imagination and other dangerous notions.  Nostalgia will be all that remains when control and cultural cleansing completes the vision of corporate greed.  Will there be room for you in this utopia?  In the long run I doubt it.

My apologies for being so grim.  As always when things are getting me down I usually turn to music for lifting my spirits and there are a couple of fine shows to take in this weekend, both at Mezzanine on consecutive nights.  The first is on Friday when LCD Sound System return to SF.  I missed them last time through and apparently they were very very good.  I was told that their latest LP Sound of Silver, which I really love, was hardly indicative of how amazing they are live.  I’m really looking forward to this one.

The following night the club presents, fresh in from an appearance at Shoreline for live 105’s Big Day Out multiple band summer extravaganza, are the incredible Brazilian band Cansei de Ser Sexy or CSS.  Their debut LP was one of my favorites of last year.  Four girls and one guy playing bubbly synth pop with plenty of sharp rocking guitar edge and hilarious lyrics in mostly English and you’ve got a winning fresh sound with plenty of dirty words and light-hearted social commentary.  Their song “Art Bitch” provides the memorable line “Lick lick lick my art tit/ suck suck suck my art hole.” You gotta love that.

Finally after waiting through a couple of abbreviated introductory US tours that oddly forgot all about San Francisco, I finally saw one of my favorite new bands of the year The Horrors play a set at Popscene and for all practical purposes the glamorous five-piece British goth/rock sensation were everything great Rock and Roll theater should be.  Since their first gig in September of 2005 they’ve played all over the world, from LA to Rome to Tokyo, incited a huge riot at a gig in New York causing $10,000 worth of damage after signing to Island Def Jam, graced the cover of NME with only two singles released, made a great video with famous actress Samantha Morton which was promptly banned from MTV for excessive strobes and gruesomeness, have been tipped by Jarvis Cocker as the future of British rock and have been referred to as the most exciting British band since the Sex Pistols.  That’s quite a lot of hype for five youngsters barely over 20 years old to stir up most definitely, and just have a look at them!  Have you seen a more brilliantly glamorous dose of a look on a band lately?  I really appreciate that extra bit of magical effort they put in their appearance.  Each and every one of them pale, thin, dapper, totally shaggable and sporting great hair and lots of eyeliner and attitude.  Call me superficial for being so enthusiastic about what a band looks like but it’s important. One need only to consider the New York Dolls, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones and other great fashion plate bands through the history of rock to see that a cultivated look can be a powerful thing and a valid part of the whole entity.   Don’t hate them because they’re beautiful, they look fucking amazing. Their debut album Strange House is proof plenty that they got the chops musically as well.

Popscene co-presented this show with another club called Shutter, which as near as I could gather is a club with a definite retro/goth bent.  This made for a darkly fashionable crowd, big hair, pale faces, heavy eyeliner, and an enjoyable mix of  early Cure, Siouxsee, Joy Division, 45 Grave,  The Gun Club (extra points for that!) and much more.  I quite enjoyed the music but as the place began to fill up to capacity with all eyes onstage and tension and anticipation mounting and a bumbling and annoying sound check routine going on, I began to resent being made to wait so long for the band of the hour.  My concert companion Michael and I still couldn’t stop smiling with excitement.  We had waited a long time for this night, listening to their debut disc end to end knowing we’d soon witness this live. Whats a few minutes more?  The crowd was surprisingly friendly for such a ghoulish looking bunch.  This was like the second-coming of Goth Jesus or something.

The band filed on stage and began assaulting their instruments creating a wall of noise that was fucking loud.  The keyboardist Rhys ‘Spider’ Webb seemed to be making the biggest racket and the most physically flamboyant and animated presence with his tight page-boy cut and dapper glampire apparel.  Then the very tall and commanding vocalist Farris Rotter (great name!)bounded onstage and with a cock of his head toward the microphone effortlessly let loose with his powerful gravel-y voice.  I couldn’t tell you exactly which song they were doing as things were so fucking loud and distorted, probably louder than any other show I’ve seen there, but it really didn’t matter much at that point, the band was merely bashing their white hot sceptor of chaos, danger and hype upon the heads of the crowd.  At last!  The crowd went just a bit nuts I’d say.

As the set progressed the sound started to improve a bit, the songs became more recognizable and the crowd more united in motion.  I became mesmerized by Farris and his performance; he’s extremely captivating and fearless, all over the stage and a few times off, batting at some ugly hanging piñatas with his microphone stand which could have had tragic results really but didn’t.  He made mention of the mirrorball in the center of the room catching his eye like he was displeased with it maybe. He then pulled the emptied party doll-like piñata head over his own and sang a muffled line or two.  With their first single “Sheena is a Parasite,” the crowd became a bit unruly and two 300 pound mountains-that-walk security guys planted themselves near the front of the stage forcing the crowd back.  They stayed there for a song or two before Farris said, “I noticed that the two largest members of the audience are standing with their backs towards the stage.”  For a brief second I thought perhaps the room might explode in violent retaliation or something but before I knew it Farris walked onto the top of the crowd, over security mountain grabbing a hold of pipes and bunched wires on the ceiling that I was sure would come down in a shower of sparks and electrocution.  He continued singing and navigating his way on top of the crowd standing upright and hanging precariously until he reached the aforementioned mirror ball and pulled it down.  He turned and made it back to the stage more laterally this time, broke the mirror ball in half and gave it to the crowd.  He defied both gravity and authority with this daring execution of supernatural rock and roll acrobatics.  In a show biz sense you can tell he is an old soul.  This was like Vaudevillian or Grande Guignol.  This was rock and roll at a fever pitch—a defining moment in Horror-time.  The band left the stage and a few minutes later did something I thought they never did—an encore!  It would have been fine if they hadn’t but I stuck around.

By the time this paper hits the streets tonight there are two fun events you’ll definintely have time to take in if you plan it right.  The first is a fancy and fabulous art opening at 111 Minna Gallery at 7pm till late.  The featured artist is San Francisco’s very own foremost mosaic expert and celebrity portraitist Jason Mecier and tonight he is unveiling the fruits of his latest project Celebrity Junk Drawer.  For this group of portraits he has asked a variety of celebrities to surrender to him the contents of their own junk drawers and with these objects he has created portraits.  Included participants range from cult and indie film darlings to former playboy bunnies, celebrated funny ladies, pop music stars, info-tainment talking heads, celebrity talk show hosts and more.  One thing that has always impressed me about Jason is how incredibly prolific he is.  What seems like hundreds of his original bean and noodle portraits have been floating around for more than a decade, gracing galleries, magazine covers, concert posters and friend’s walls everywhere, sometimes the large sizes and fastidious placement of macaroni alphabet backgrounds and other extremely detailed aspects of his work is just mind-boggling to me.  This kind of commitment and development of his medium brings to mind the endo-mosaic window that dominates the entrance foyer of The Masonic Temple on Nob Hill created by noted California artist Emile Norman who used thousands of bits of metal, parchment, felt, linen, silk, natural foliage, thinly sliced vegetable matter, shells and sea life, plus 180 colors of stained glass, not to mention actual gravels and soils of the 58 counties of California and the Islands of Hawaii.  One day Mecier and his incredible artistic talent and vision will be as highly regarded and celebrated as Emile Norman.  This exhibit will be up through the month of July and the opening reception will feature the DJ genius of Robbie Daniels aka Jer Ber Jones.  Also for a fantastic look into the world of Jason Mecier visit his incredible website at http://www.jasonmecier.com.  I’ve seldom seen such an amusing and colorful online representation of an artist.  Jason Mecier is truly a San Francisco treasure.

Next up on this nights agenda is an event I’m very very excited about and that is this Thursdays live music night at the Eagle Tavern which will be featuring three bands, Three Weeks Clean, Die Sister Die and finally an all-star all-girl Turbonegro tribute band called Turbonegra.  For those unfamiliar, Turbonegro are from Norway and are definitely one of the greatest rock and roll bands in the entire world.  They just rock harder and live as legends, creating some of the heaviest riff-happy Satan-inspired “faux-mo-erotic” lyrics and attitude ever.  “Most rock ‘n’ roll bands start as a riot, but end up as a parody,” remarks Happy-Tom, the bassist and mastermind behind the dark power that is Turbonegro. “We started as a parody, but ended up as a revolution.”  This nicely sums up the Turbonegro experience but for further reading on the subject you can refer to http://sfbaytimes.com/index.php?sec=article&article_id=4240 for a live review from 2005.  I should also mention that the band has one of the most committed and identified fan bases in all of rock and roll, calling themselves Turbo Jugend which translates to Turbo Youth and has separate chapters all over the world from Okinawa to Fresno and the San Francisco chapter has a definite affiliation with the Eagle Tavern.  In fact, I’m a bit unsure of the precise details but I believe there is some form of initiation rite involving the surrendering of their underwear to a certain bartender named Matty who in turn hangs them from the ceiling above the side bar.  I believe Matty will be anticipating several new pairs to add to the collection tonight.  This evening also stands as pre-release listening party for Turbonegro’s latest longplayer Re-Tox.  It’s going to be a thoroughly Turbonegro night if you know what I mean, and I haven’t even got to the Turbonegra part!

Turbonegra are an all-girl tribute band to the awesomest  band alive!!!  Comprised of Shelley from Bimbo Toolshed (a great band I haven’t heard from in about 8 years), Sally from Fabulous Disaster (one of the truly talented ass-kickingest drummers around) Tish from Van Gogh’s Daughter, Erica from MDC and Rina from Psychadelic Wedding, these 5 hot rockin babes will kick you in the teeth and throw your ass in the pit, so check ’em out.  I can’t fucking wait to see what utter and complete rock and roll havoc this night is going to stir up.  Expect lots of denim and sailor and leather fashion and some serious hardcore sing-alongs and a fair amount of eye-make-up as well when this furious pack of awesome musicians pays tribute to the Norwegian Rock and Roll Icons, er…GODZ.  This event rates a gigantic hands down don’t miss it.  As Turbonegro suggests, “fix your hair and sell your body to the night.”

The very next night Friday the 13^th marks the opening preview night of Kiki and Herb: Alive From Broadway.  Be sure and get your tickets for another brilliant show of shows from San Francisco’s finest internationally acclaimed export.  And don’t forget to catch their only nightclub appearance at the second installment of Glitter-box on the third Friday of  this month at Cats on Folsom Street.

First off i would like to correct something about last weeks column.
I previewed an upcoming show by the Gossip and unfortunately the band
just cancelled their  US tour.  I’m sure they will reschedule as soon
as they can.  I’m sure this might have something to do with their next
release, their first record for Columbia under direction of it’s new
President, Rick Rubin.  There was an amazing article in a recent New
York Times by Lynn Hirschberg called The Music Man.  It profiled Rick
Rubin and his recent agreement to co-chair Columbia Records.  He’s an
interesting and accomplished producer with a long history of
hit-making and a huge over-all effect on the music industry–from his
early days with Rap music and Def Jam records to his more recent work
reviving the careers of legendary performers like Johnny Cash and
producing big hit records for The Dixie Chicks.  At any rate, he’s
like the big boss of the music industry and he saw The Gossip play
live in L.A. at the Troubador and thought they were the best thing
he’s seen in five years so he signed them and decided  that their
first release for Columbia will be a live CD and DVD.  Damn, when it
seems the Gossip couldn’t get any more positive response and attention
than they’ve whipped up for themselves over the past year, suddenly
Rick Rubin wants them.  I’m so happy for this great band’s massive
lunge into the big time.  They just deserve it.  They are the most
brilliant band going and Rick Rubin saw this.  It’s unfortunate that
their tour was scrapped but I’m certain we’ll get the chance to see
them in the near future–and we’ll definitely be getting a new record
soon.  I just love it when I go on about a band in my columns for
years and suddenly they get all the success they deserve and i can
sort of say, “I told you so.”  It’s fun.  I like that.  I like being
right.  Especially when it concerns great music reaching our ears,
making us feel  happy, sweaty, sexy and alive.  Few things are better.
While i was DJ-ing at the Eagle on sunday some friends
came in with a truly fabulous and exclusive gift.  It was the fruits
of a recent recording session they conducted with that band with the
greatest name ever, Fierce Perm.  I was quick to put it right on
without even a little preview because I think this band is great.
What I heard was likely my new favorite song.  It’s called “Posters”
and its another great burst of energy from this portland based
band–adept rock hooks with a touch more melody than previous efforts
and an increasing vocal range and strength from singer Natalie who
once again doesnt go sparingly on the screaming but proves thats not
her only trick by far.  The other two songs are shorter but still pack
a punch–and I cant seem to ever stop after just one.  People
immediately responded, coming to the booth and asking who it was,
liking her voice, etc.  Of course i cant wait to say “It’s Fierce
Perm.”  Every time.  I think Fierce Perm sound like they are gearing
up for a pretty great album in their future–some smart label ought to
be working that out soon. Portland is starting to sound like the Indie
Rock music capital of the world, like Seattle once was.  The Gossip
reside there, as do Modest Mouse, The Dandy Warhols, The Thermals,
Epoxies, Quasi, Sleater-Kinney, The Shins, The Briefs, Shaky Hands,
They Shoot Horses Dont They, The Decemberists, Elliot Smith, Swan
Island, Pink Martini and many more but good music has always come from
Portland over the years.  Garage rock legends the Sonics are from
there as were Paul Revere and the Raiders and one of my punk rock
faves The Wipers.  Courtney Love resided there for quite awhile as
well.  Speaking of Courtney, it looks as if there will be a new album
from her in the near future, her collaboration with another powerful
industry hit-maker, Linda Perry.  They apparently performed a few
shows together in L.A. and New York to introduce these new songs and
mark Courtney’s return to music after her troubled scary and messy
times we’ve all heard so much about.  I think it’s awesome that Linda
Perry sees the Rock Goddess that Courtney is and wants to bring it
back to the fore.  There’s one new song floating around the worldwide
internet called “How Dirty Girls Get Clean” and it is pretty epic
actually.  It has also become one of my favorites lately with its
slightly somber dramatic acoustic guitar strumming intro that
gradually builds bigger and harder as does Courtney’s voice.
Lyrically it is awesome, but that has always been the big selling
point with me–she writes incredible songs–brilliant imagery,
masterfully harsh, evocative and honest.  Go back to Live Through This
and check those words out if you need to be reminded of her talent.  I
look forward to the LP and seeing Courtney earn back some favor in
this often cruel dehumanizing tabloid-driven world of celebrity.  She
was recently featured in Septembers Harpers Bazaar in a almost nude
photo taken in Coco Chanel’s apartment.  If Karl Lagerfeld says so,
and he does, I guess Courtney is back in fashion.  In the article  she
describes her own fashion history in detail but really, i dont sit
around reading fashion magazines.
I was just glad she’s gaining some reprieve from the hate here and there.
This Friday the 14th I have been invited to guest DJ at Charlie
Horse, the drag rock and roll club at the Cinch every friday night.  I
went there this last friday and it was a packed and jamming affair
with a fresh crowd of all kinds.  I’m especially honored because it is
Charlie Horses drag figurehead Anna Conda’s 40th birthday and she
wanted me to play it!  I’m looking forward to giving queens who rock
all I have and more so this should be lots of fun.  There will be a
cavalcade of performers throughout the night and you can see if this
bar still makes the most lethal long-island ice teas on earth., it
certainly used to.  On top of all these thrills, i cant wait to play
in a booth you have to climb a ladder to get to!  I hope we can all
remain safe but danger will figure prominently, as it should

This past friday I had the extreme pleasure of DJ-ing at Charlie
Horse, the weekly drag and rock and roll bar which has been taking
place  at The Cinch on Polk Street for three years now.  It’s quite an
established scene with a sense of tradition, a highly talented and
innovative stable of performers, a very enthusiastic young crowd and
an inimitable and gracious Hostess in Anna Conda who was celebrating
her 40th birthday with photo-collages of herself adorning the walls
and a cheap sangria drink special she made at home with her own feet!
I was a bit nervous, having not done a guest dj spot in some time but
I had the invaluable help of  Charlie Horse regular DJ Bearzabub who
handled all the programming for the performances at 11 and 12,
allowing me to descend the ladder from the joyously elevated booth
which provides a birds eye view of the club from end to end, and enjoy
the show with the very tuned in and fun-loving crowd.  Again I was
very surprised by the spirited crowd in attendance who seemingly
arrived at once.  I was getting situated and set-up and started laying
out the mandatory rock and roll that has always been the beat at the
heart of this club and before I knew it the place was practically full
and hopping.  There were many familiar faces as well as many I’d never
seen before, in all a very diverse and happy crowd hungry for a drag
rock explosion.  And unless I’m terribly mistaken Charlie Horse
charges no admission for all this top quality entertainment plus they
have quite a few drink specials and free popcorn as well.  I wondered
how I had missed out on this gem of San Francisco nightlife for so
long and realized it was mainly because I used to work every friday at
the Hole in The Wall until the evil forces known as the Entertainment
Commission brought that age-old tradition to an abrupt halt for
seemingly no good reason but greed and the want to disrupt the lives
and livelihood of a successful bar and its patrons and employees to
make way for a pristine and sterile south of market with little or no
representation of a subculture or underground and more of a lucrative
corporate utopia for people who make more than 50 K a year and long
for a place to raise their precious children.  But that’s all water
under the bridge now, though the Entertainment Commission is currently
under a grand jury investigation to try and ascertain more precisely
what exactly its function truly is.  I am pleased to see that the
Cinch and clubs like Charlie Horse are thriving in the changing face
of their own neighborhood, Polk Street, and have managed to cling to a
bit of the spirit of its history and colorful nightlife in a world
seemingly bent on burying the past and forgetting the things that make
a neighborhood and San Francisco unique.  Long live The Cinch and its
friendly committed staff and all the people involved in creating such
fine events as this.
Okay, off the soapbox and back to Charlie Horse–the two shows per
night they present really blew me away.  The first performer was
someone I’ve seen many times in the dark recesses of the hole in the
wall and the glaring bright lights of the 14 Mission bus and though
there was no stage or audience proper she was indeed putting on quite
the performance with a fearlessness that i must commend.  Tonight I
witnessed the Diva of Disaster Marcy Playground actually do it onstage
dressed like a little spanish doll from the “Its a Small World” ride
at disneyland. She performed “Fuck the Pain Away” by Peaches, eating
one of her own peachy breasts in the process and scattering enough
glitter to kill a dust-buster.  It was inspired and really got the
crowd going.  For some people the world is a stage and i was glad to
finally see this girl on one.  She’s crazy…in a good way.
Next up was Sheena Rose who had the incredible foresight and
exquisite taste to tackle Dame Shirley Bassey’s latest single “Get The
Party Started” the breakthrough hit for Pink written by Linda Perry.
I’ve been on a big Shirley Bassey kick myself lately and this song
proves there is no one quite like her.  Sheena pulled it off elegantly
adding a bit of assertion with a few well placed whacks of a riding
crop.
Then came the hilariously named Monistat with a fierce delivery of an
old Yma Sumac standard that had been lip-synced well into the ground
probably 30 years ago and she brought it back with all the fire and
attitude this stage could contain.  Another performer Donna Persona
reminded us all that disco will always have its hallowed place in the
world of drag with a donna summer song.
Then came the birthday girls performance, a clever choice of a song
by a group called Fetchin Bones during which Anna masticated a bunch
of milk bone dog biscuits and synced the final verse with a steady
flow of chow streaming rhythmically from her mouth.  It was hilarious
and apparently her signature number.  I laughed so hard i nearly
missed my cue to start rocking again till the next show.
The next set brought about some truly show stopping performances.
First up was PJ Hardon who placed the most handsome and truly sexy
thuggish blue-collar looking guy on stage as if he were watching TV
with a remote control in hand  as she synced a PJ Harvey B-side from
the Desert sessions behind him. She grabbed his remote only to be
wrestled to her knees for a savage round of forced oral copulation
then  tossed aside.  She regained her composure enough to strangle him
with a rope for the final gesture of defiance and this all took place
in about two minutes.  You can be certain i knew who i wanted to be in
this scenario…and i mean that.  This was furious unbridled
filthiness and that guy took my breath away.
Next up was probably the finest example of truly inspired lip-sync
technique of the entire night when Miss Nix tackled a brilliant choice
of song with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs “Black Tongue.”  Her timing was
ferociously effective, lingering fixed stares that were chilling with
rapid-fire gestures matching the lines “Boy you’re just a stupid bitch
and girl  you’re just a no good dick.”  This was the shit.
Next up was a talent i’d never seen before called Noseeum.  He was
led to the stage in a straight-jacket and his sunglasses were removed
to reveal these eerie dark slits fashioned with special effects make
up that brought to mind some of the genius extremes of Leigh Bowery.
He proceeded syncing a heavily tortured Cure song mostly writhing on
the floor and eventually lost his wig but continued and actually
kicked the hairpiece into the crowd who literally roared with
approval.  I wasn’t told until after the performance that Noseeum is
blind.  Amazing.
There was also an unexpected appearance by a performer who has
captivated me from the very first time I saw her, Suppositori
Spelling, who has got to be the sexiest drag performer to ever walk
the earth.  She completely blew my mind with an odd sort of cabaret
style version of “White Wedding” with a bit of “Whole Lotta Love”
thrown in.  It’s hard to say what it is about this creature that blows
my mind, that face, those legs, that ass–it’s enough to make the
devil weep.  She’s a lightning bolt of pure sex but you know there’s
plenty of brains to back it up.  Spelling is a true drag
phenomenon–she leaves me speechless and perspiring.
Fauxnique managed to sum up the entire rave culture of yesteryear in
a time capsule with a very athletic number that she remained in
character for the rest of the night     and finally Matthew Martin in his
best Margaux Channing performed “I will survive” as a birthday gift
for “forty…4…0h!” year old hostess Anna Conda who can still look
like 18 sometimes.  It was an amazing night and an incredible honor to
be a part of.  I can see why Charlie Horse has become such a
prize-winning attraction in San Francisco’s nightlife.  It packs a
high quality hard rocking entertainment punch right where we need it.

There have been a few new releases from some very well established
artists lately, one representing a comeback or reunion of all
original members, one representing the dissolution of a long time
partnership for a first solo effort, and another returning to an
earlier alter-ego created in their first band to tell the story of a
unique and troubled Dutch painter/musician who many have forgotten
or never heard of. Each of these records are remarkably strong and complete,
showing a definite forward motion creatively while in a sense returning to the
past for part of the inspiration or basic genus.
The current reunion of Bad Brains, the punk/metal Washington DC act
who started back in 79, was something that I never thought would come
to be. This incredibly dynamic and volatile punk act defied any easy
classification as basically the only all black punk or hardcore act around. They
played competently and furiously fast, showing an extensive musical
knowledge from their early incarnation as a jazz-fusion ensemble and
also delved into reggae music. They developed a big following and
influenced countless acts and musicians with their sheer power and
explosive live shows but they forever seemed riddled by conflict and
were continually breaking up and reforming with new members. In 1986
they released I Against I, arguably their strongest record with a more
expansive sound and a definite leaning towards full on heavy metal
but by 87 they had broken up again. Fast forward twenty years to
2007, past several semi-reunions, and finally all four original
members have recorded a new LP Build a Nation and it is the definitive
Bad Brains disc. It has all the crunchy guitar mayhem and rapid-fire
metal assault that made I Against I such an instant classic and the
many urgent tones of vocalist H.R., sounding manic on one song,
mellow and Jah-inspired on the next, screechingly high-pitched or spitting
out raps as fast as the guitars. This release also features the band’s most authentic
feeling excursions into reggae to date. The 14 songs are all relatively
short and driven with a vitality that few bands today can even muster, let alone
a band that hasn’t played all that much together or recorded anything this
good in over twenty years. I unfortunately missed their two recent
shows at Slims, which were sold out instantly it seems, another
indication of just how much this band still means to people and how amazing
it is that they can deliver such an outstanding new record. As far
as band reunions go, or reunion recordings, I’m hard-pressed to think
of another that is as visceral and monumental as Build A Nation.
This is a must for all bad brains fans.
Another artist with a new record is Siouxsee. It’s called Manta ray and this
disc marks the iconic Gothic superstar vocalists first solo effort in a
career-spanning 30 years. This is post Banshees, post-Creatures post
marriage to her longtime partner and collaborator Budgie, and she delivers an
effort clearly indicative of her star-power, her place in the echelon of musical
artists whose careers started during the birth of punk and developed and
sustained through the decades. In some ways you could say that Manta ray
is very much a pop record, or far more pop than the vocalists most recent
efforts with The Creatures but it doesn’t mark a huge departure stylistically
from vintage Siouxsee and The Banshees. It almost illuminates the pop
sensibilities that have always been present in much of the Banshees music,
usually just shrouded in darkness and mystery and tribal dramatics
embraced by fans who would bristle in disbelief if you dare label their Gothic
Queens music as pop.
There’s something grand and powerful about the way Siouxsee
flexes her new found freedom and abilities on Manta ray. My favorite cut
is probably the most lyrically vicious yet oddly anthemic. It’s called
“Here Comes That Day” and it bounds forward with orchestrated glamour
into a new territory, one that conjures visions of Bond girls, movie
themes, or the grande dame of all divas Shirley Bassey. Her voice sounds
positively regal and unmistakably Siouxsee as she wraps it around some of the most
alliteratively phrased lines like “Here comes that day/ here comes the
rain on your parade/ that’s the price you pay/ for a life of insincerity” punctuated
by bombastic horns and elegant string arrangements. You cant help but feel like
the sentiment is directed at her ex-partner Budgie, and this happens a few
times on Manta ray predictably, yet overall she doesn’t dwell on the bitterness.
Some of the lyrics have a distinct optimism about the future and this personal
transformation or change. Siouxsee emerges triumphant, edgy and with plenty of
the darker primal atmospherics her fans have grown to expect. I’ve never been a
huge fan, but this record reveals to me an artist and icon still going strong
after three decades of stardom. She looks fantastic too.
Another great record that popped up out of nowhere it seems is a release by
Black Francis, the alter ego of Frank Black the prolific singer songwriter originally of
the Pixies. After a myriad of solo releases, sometimes double albums,
often of a quieter more traditional nature, almost too many to keep track of,
he comes out with the loudest most rocking disc he’s put out in years.
Perhaps that’s why he’s using the Black Francis moniker on this one,
because some of these songs on Blue Finger unleash a definite and much needed
blast of Pixies-esque power and full-tilt raw emotion. It’s a most welcome return
and i haven’t been able to stop listening to it.
Taking the pared-down approach of using three musicians, himself on
guitar, vocals and harmonica, drummer Jason Carter, bassist Dan Schmid and
Frank’s wife Violet Clarke on back-up vocals for one song, the formula is a scorcher.
From the rollicking first cut, “Captain Pasty” you know you are in for a
fresh hard ride with its manic guitar and urgent vocals. Then it just slams into
probably my favorite cut on the disc, “Threshold Apprehension” with its solo
guitar intro building into a frenzied assault, Black Francis hitting those higher
registers vocally as he repeatedly sings “Threshold threshold threshold,” evoking
the tension the title aims at.
It seems this record was completely inspired by the life of Dutch painter/musician
Herman Brood. The cover art is a painting by Brood and there is a cover of
a song he wrote for his band Herman Brood and His Wild Romance called
“You Can’t Break A Heart And Have It,” and Black Francis’s vocalization alone
on this song is worth the price of this album. He goes one more than ten, he goes further than
the most intense screaming moments of the pixies and it is unbelievable.
I had heard very little about Brood prior to this record except that he was heavily
and openly addicted to drugs, was involved with Nina Hagen and he committed suicide by
jumping from the roof Amsterdam Hilton Hotel in 2001. Much of his story is referenced
in the songs on Blue Finger and his inspiration has produced one of my
favorite records of the year from possibly my favorite artist in Rock and Roll. I highly recommend
this disc for all fans of the Pixies, Frank Black, Black Francis, Dutch Artists and junkies.

I just read something disarmingly brilliant in one of those various rags you find in gay bars everywhere like this one.  The publication was Gloss and the piece i’m speaking of was written by none other than the always charming and effervescent Sister Roma, her regular columnentitled Drag It.  As with many people at the beginning of a new year, Sister Roma listed her new years resolutions and generously offered them up for all to adopt and I’ll be damned if the always non-judgemental former glass-pipe-toting sage of smut and fearless self-expression advocate has come up with the most anarchistic list of resolutions i’ve ever seen.  Hats off to Roma, a woman of the cloth no less, for suggesting that its time to stop shopping and start shoplifting, start lying like a psychopath, most importantly to yourself, hang out with people who are unhappier, uglier and more desperate than yourself, enter the witness protection program, marry a rich old person and wait, adopt a baby and sell it, join the armed services, and commit a crime and go to jail, the last two offerings bearing the same justification, a place to live, three square meals a day but one provides a gun while the other provides getting fucked up the ass!  As she eloquently puts it, they’re both win-win situations.  These are truly words for many to live by, and bless her for being brave enough to tell it like she thinks it should be.  This world is a better place with fertile minds like hers spewing out some hard and fast guidelines for the more tame or docile to adhere to.  I feel better already about the new year, which at the outset has so far been consumed by some horrible killer cold that has kept far too many people down for far too long.  Is this the year that bird flu is supposed to kill us all?  I’m definitely sick of being sick, and i really need to get well here pretty soon because i have some international travel plans.
Yes, it’s true and it couldn’t have come at a more unexpected or better time for me. In february i’m being flown to london to do a guest dj spot at my very favorite club there The Royal Vauxhall Tavern, home of the world famous club Duckie  where the always incredible Readers Wifes spin their indescribable magic.  I’m being invited to spin at a new once a month club there called Guns that promises to be dirty hardcore fagrock and invites us all to get banged.  I am very honored to be invited to take part in such an event and feel it necessary to say that if it weren’t for the long-running legacy of the Hole in the Wall Saloon and its persevering internationally reknowned reputation for a consistent style of music this wouldn’t be happening.  Yes it is true all you nay-sayers and foes of free expression, colorful gathering places for alternative, artistic, creative and non-cookie cutter queers, and true lovers of Rock and Roll music, the appeal of the Hole in The Wall has crossed oceans and international datelines and we’ve been summoned to spread the magic in another country.  So those steadfast forces who have shown unfounded and selfish opposition to the hole in the wall over the past few years, and i’m sure you know who you are, take that and your stunted notions of what belongs south of market and as Leonard Cohen says, “stuff it in the hole in your culture.”  Ah, that felt delightful to say.
It has always been my personal crusade for almost twenty years to bring rock and roll to the queers, to show that disco and techno and show tunes are not the only types of music that move or matter to us.  However, i am told by nearly everyone i know who travels abroad that nobody seems to do what i do almost anywhere else so i’m going to try to travel to other european locales like Berlin and see if i might carry on with my crusade.  This might be a rather ambitious notion but i’m putting out my feelers and emailing many contacts in preparation just to see.  I may find a less than welcoming response, in which case i’ll simply enjoy traveling abroad for awhile, but i’m feeling pretty inspired.
Speaking of inspiration, the other night at the Eagle Tavern I had the extreme pleasure of catching a set by a band who has been on a similar crusade for as long as i have and that band is Pansy Division.  Replete with a new guitarist, Joel, the band played a set that was one of the most rocking and finest i’ve ever seen from them.  It was pure ecstatic joy to watch this combo of excellent musicians really pound out a fucking smutty hilarious unhinged set, the most unhinged and punk rock I’ve ever seen from them.  The crowd was absolutely riveted and one could see that these fans in the crowd had come to know Pansy Division at different times and different places throughout their lives and they had made a considerable impact on many.  I heard more than a few snippets of stories about when and where they were when they first heard the band and how very much it changed their lives, be it in a small town in kansas or a queer radio show or whatever.  It put it all in perspective for me just what a truly important groundbreaking band they are and what a local treasure we have in Pansy Division.  What’s more is they rocked my fucking world that night, jumping up and down in unison, laughing at their own ribald and hilarious pervy lyrics, just having a great time onstage.  I’ll not soon forget what a great show it was nor will i miss other shows in the future.  Pansy Division rule, and this world is a far better place with them in it.

The New Years Eve show by the Butthole Surfers at the ultra
fabulous Fillmore (I love that venue, perfect size, rich history,
fancy chandeliers, free posters, etc) was just as amazing as I
anticipated and was possibly the weirdest and best way to ring in the
new year and purge your mind completely of 2008, the year i couldn’t
wait to be done with and forgotten. Many of my friends attended the
previous nights show and came into the Eagle Tavern afterwards where i
was spinning to report faithfully with wide grins and dilated pupils
what a great show they had just witnessed. Doug even brought me a
souvenir bit of merchandise from the opening band on that night, the
beloved and totally wrong Fuckemos who I was sorry to miss but my
super tight and slutty t-shirt with a homemade screen print of a
flying cock and balls, their name on top and below it the words
“frisco pussy” all rendered in red and blue on white, eased the pain a
great deal. Doug purchased a cum towel with the same print for
himself. I love it when the merch table is filled with treasures of
the D.I.Y. variety.
For the New Years Eve show, soundscape art/music
industry/terrorist provocateurs and visual video montage artists
Negativland were opening and my concert-going companion Michael Dute
was unusually dismayed by this detail. I assumed that their opening
spot would be harmless and consist mainly of film, considering that
the members anonymity was at one time something they liked to
maintain. The performance started out with some familiar video work
of theirs and Michael wandered off in dismay. When three men wandered
onstage in fancy tuxedos with tails and acted like orchestra members
preparing to conduct, then were interrupted by a phone call from
another member explaining technological features of some mystery
instruments to be used and all of this annoying electronic gadget-y
noise started and I immediately thought, “He’s right, this is heinous
bullshit,” and i wandered out to the lobby to people watch. Their
opus seemed to go on forever and Michael found me and vehemently
shared his opinion on the act with me ripping them to shreds. He was
in rare form, filled with disdain and not letting up. We then watched
the crowd and chose our boyfriends for awhile and smoked outside till
Negativland finished.
Thankfully breakdown and set-up took a surprisingly short
amount of time and the lights went down. I was surprised by the basic
comfort level of the room considering it was NYE. It was crowded but
not unbearable and the middle-eastern strains of the song “Kuntz”
played as the members took the stage and suddenly the recorded radio
talk show conversation intro from one of the creepiest Butthole Surfer
songs ever, “22 going on 23” filled the auditorium with its sad, sad
lament of a young woman, victim of sexual assault, who cant sleep
because of bad dreams about her attack. Then the band hit the ground
running with its depraved miasma of paranoid throbbing tribal rhythm
and searing yet mournful squalls of guitar and bass so thick and pure
it was like running in a dream, suspended and getting nowhere, just
like the girl explains in her next conversational interlude. It’s to
date one of the most chilling and hopeless pieces of music I’ve ever
heard. It’s Just fucked up, confined and doomed, ending with the
sounds of mooing cattle. It’s fucking genius. It’s great when the
first song they do is one of your very favorites and you know you like
it because you are some kind of sick fuck who derives pleasure from
such darkness. They already earned the price of admission with just
one song, and i knew they didnt perform that song at the previous
nights show. The also did a lovely version of “Creep in The Cellar”
yet another favorite.
The band had huge white screens behind and on each side of
them and projected on these screens were images from different camera
angles capturing the onstage action. Then these projections would be
manipulated and re-textured or melted or pointilized or blurred or
transformed geometrically with various filters and effects and
stop/start motion and moving from color to black and white. It’s kind
of difficult to explain the visual effects employed but i knew for
certain that it was entirely different than what my friends described
from the previous nights show. They had more of that bubbling oil
type 60’s psychedelic kind of effects and occasional girls with
hula-hoops melting in and out of shape or focus. The visuals were
innovative to say the least, and really added to the whole experience,
just like they always have with the Butthole Surfers only a lot less
sick. There were no surgical medical films or car wreck scenes or
clips from charlies angels but it was still quite effective
I also was thinking that they all looked pretty good in
general as well, especially Gibby who seemed more fit and healthy than
I ever remembered him. There were times when he looked very pale and
bloated and not the picture of health over the years. He was wearing
a wall clock around his neck like Flava Flav. For a man of 50 (can
you believe it?) he looked great, as did Paul Leary and Jeff Pinkus
who looked pretty sexy with his shaved head and pointy beard. I
couldnt get a real good look at the dual drum team of King Koffey and
Teresa Taylor who were set back on the stage a bit too far to see but
they played quite well. Two drummers will always sound special in a
band line-up.
The rest of their lengthy set included selections from nearly every
stage of their career, leaning heavily towards their eponymous first
LP and the psychedelic/stadium rock freakout period of Pioughd and
Hairway to Steven and Independent Worm Saloon. As always with the
Butthole Surfers in concert, the actual distinction of specific songs
becomes less and less possible or important really as they steamroll
the audience with an ever-growing monster of psychotropic chemical
imbalance-inducing, unhinged satan-inspired anarchistic
unstuck-in-the- time-space-continuum mayhem that cumulatively leaves
you weak, whimpering softly and wondering what happened but knowing
your better for experiencing it.
Right at the stroke of midnight when a huge mass of balloons were
dropped from the ceiling the band played one of my favorites, “Hey”
with its festive high-speed adrenaline charged ascent greeting the new
year in an aggressive flurry of motion and nihilistic balloon popping
in the crowd. They moved on through till the set ended and returned
for an obligatory encore and the stage began to fill with more fog
than i’ve ever seen in a rock show in my entire life. Then the
strobe-lights started in with their always creepy effect and the
instruments were surrendered by all players as they exited the stage,
screaming feedback reverbrating through the foggy hall of stuttering
light. It was then that i noticed a concertgoer in front of me fall
into a seizure, which is no wonder at all considering that is what
happens to some people, strobes can induce seizures. I had to wonder
if anyone had thought to tell him that Butthole Surfers=strobe lights,
that this equation was a definite.
The Butthole Surfers live have never come with a warning label, it
would be too hard and difficult to word properly.

Well, I attended the Morrissey show at the Oakland paramount and I
have to say it was far better than I even imagined it would be.
There’s something about seeing a show in one of those grand old
venues, it’s just nicer, classier, more well-mannered and my concert
going partner and bitchin rocker about town Mr. Nancy scored front row
balcony tickets so the seats were great. They even let me take my
glass of champagne to my seat so I didn’t have to chug it before being
seated. I also loved that after the first act went off stage no more
than 15 minutes elapsed before the lights went down and it was
Morrissey time. He and his five-piece band sauntered out to huge
cheers from a crowd whose median age was about thirty something and
opened with “This Charming Man” a favorite from his previous band The
Smiths and one of the most homosexually themed chart hits of the 80’s.
I liked the tone he set immediately with that song and a large part
of the audience were on their feet instantly, rejoicing in the answer
to a big question, “Will he do any Smiths songs?” Indeed he did
several, six to be precise and they were interesting choices, not your
run of the mill smattering of their biggest hits, save for “How Soon
Is Now”(which was a super-charged and edgier version, his highly
proficient band breathing new life and drama into the most
over-played song in the Smiths catalogue). Instead he chose “Ask”
“Cemetery Gates” “Death at Ones Elbow” and the one I swooned a bit
over, “Is it Really So Strange.” Well done on the trot down memory
lane.
The rest of the set consisted of selections from his more recent
releases, Swords and Years of Refusal and it was one of the new songs
that completely stood out as the high point of the night, and this was
the very first time I had ever heard it. The song is called
“Ganglord” and I’ve been playing it repeatedly at home and it has
definitely become my current favorite song of the moment. This song
finds our hero pleading with the ganglord for protection from the
Police; “Ganglord the police are kicking their way into my house and
haunting me, taunting me, wanting me to break their laws/ and I’m
turning to you to save me.” He continues with more choice words about
the police and corruption and brutality and ends with “They say to
protect and to serve, but what they really mean to say is get back to
the ghetto.” I was mesmerized by the beauty and plaintive power of
his voice as he sang “Save me, save me, save me” like the fey pale
sensitive Brit that he is, and the scenario of appealing to the
Ganglord for protection is a delicious homage to every literary
instance (Genet for example)of the gay male writers romantic obsession
with the criminal, one Morrissey has explored numerous times with
songs like “Sweet and Tender Hooligan” and “First of the Gang To Die”
which was the one song encore that brought the show to its powerful
close. I kept thinking of the odd similarity that “Ganglord” shared
with the likes of N.W.A’s “Fuck tha Police” or Public Enemy’s “911 is
a joke” and it all just seemed like genius to me. There’s Morrissey
crossing another cultural boundary, like with the huge and unlikely
fan base he has developed with Latin American audiences that I still
don’t understand even after seeing documentary films on the subject
and countless Morrissey full back tattoos on shirtless Cholos all over
Coachello Music Festival. He is a fascinating artist and currently
seems at the peak of his creativity and, believe it or not, happiness!
The famed melancholic seemed never less than effervescent, charming
and delighted to be onstage performing. Could it be? The one whose
words prompted suicide concerns from parents of his teenage fans many
years ago is now coming off as satisfied, witty, jovial and humorous.
I’ve always thought he was terribly funny from the get-go, really.
Yet another of his many wise song choices was “Daddy’s Voice” from
Swords, a song so utterly queer and hilarious it rates among his best.
“Long ago when he was young and restless/ suddenly Daddy saw the
beckoning finger of fate/ Dont make fun of Daddy’s voice/ because he
cant help it/ When he was a teenage boy/ something got stuck in his
throat/ When you’re young you crave affection/ and it can come from
the strangest direction.” The chorus is repeated and then in yet
another stroke of pure genius he repeats the entire song in Spanish
for his massive Latino following who of course love him even more for
it. This is the kind of queer outreach that leaves PFLAG and Lyric
eating dust in a way. It’s insanely funny and it is embraced by
throngs of people. I was so glad he did this song. It really packs a
giant punch and the message is of course open to interpretation but
damn, it can only mean a finite amount of things really and it totally
cracks me up. Morrissey rules for this.
It should also be noted that his band have really progressed and
grown into a seriously tight and complex unit, precision stop/start
timing, multi-layered big walls of sound to pared down acoustic
simplicity and occasional kick ass guitar heroics. The keyboards were
very slick and the drummer had a huge kettle drum and a gong to
incorporate which he did to amazing effect. Morrissey actually seems
to function more as a member of the band rather than a superstar front
man. They seem to be very in tune with each other as a rocking unit
and they seem to be having fun. In all, after this show I felt like a
bigger Morrissey fan than I’ve ever been—undoubtedly. A show that
makes you so certain of something like that is a rare and great thing.
As is this photo of Moz and his band almost naked which graced the
cover of a single released earlier in the year. He’s breaking new
ground all over the place and sounding better than ever.