Now this is how I want to spend my birthday. The anticipation has been building for years. I have listened to Henry Rollins for over ten years go on about his goal to out-perform Iggy on stage (only Rollins thinks it’s a competition by the way). The show we are going to tonight is a rebooked one. The original show was postponed in July due to Iggy breaking his foot at the first show on the tour. Fucking awesome.
The Warfield is at 6th and Market streets. This is my least favorite corner in San Francisco. The crackheads, meth addics, and newly released from jail schizo-crack/meth-addict-hooker-zombies all vomit downhill from the Tenderloin using Taylor and Mason streets like a winter Olympic slalom. The slalom flags are swapped out for shiny objects, drugs, and tourists (victims) to harass for money. There are people passed out in the streets and alleys during daylight hours in summer. I haven’t seen that since I was last in Detroit. Luckily for us the show is now on the cusp of winter and only the die hard zombies who can battle the elements are roving about. Fun.
I never thought I’d get to see this band. When I first heard them I thought it was a sketch on SNL or SCTV. Is this real? More than I could of imagined; not just the band existing as real people making real music, but their point was succinct: Devolution is happening. It’s hard to disagree after the last decade. Over twenty years later, I’m finishing a long festival day at Coachella and willing myself to walk and stand and walk for an hour of Devo; Who knew when or if I would get another chance to see fucking Devo live, so with my wife and DMZ in tow, we head to the Mojave stage, stopping at the back, no energy left to fight closer.
“What’s with the fence?” asked DMZ, referring to the twenty five by fifteen foot black, see though, chainlink-like screen hovering behind the stage. The surrounding Palm Trees could be seen through the screen, an atmosphere creating feature of Coachella stages I’ve not seen elsewhere.
“Hopefully we’ll find out soon, my feet are not happy.” I whine weakly.
“Suck it up fat boy,” quips the wife in good humor. She’s excited, having listen to some pre-festival Devo and found they made her happy like few other bands.
With that the black ‘fence’ came to life, sprawled with brilliant colors and fast paced clips of the bands early years interspersed with animated Energy Domes. Devo took the stage, dark silhouettes in front of the now opaque screen, and launched into a song off their new, at the time unreleased, album Something For Everyone. It’s quickly clear Devo has been upgraded. No longer handcuffed by the limited audio technology in the 80’s (which they used to brilliant effect) they sounded better than ever. The new song was catchy, the late-night crowd was moving, we were all slowly compressing as the song and screen drew us in closer and closer.
“Don’t Shoot” they shout in precise unison, “I’m a M-A-A-A-A-A-A-N” belts Mark Mothersbaugh. It was Devo in the modern world. The screen, beautifully sleek and simple, turned the show into an instant party.
Click Here for Postcard from The End of The World: Chapter One
The 19-year old kid sitting next to the left of me at the bar was sloshed, and I wasn’t far behind.
And yet by the time the night was over the Duck had won over a crowd of at least six people with his vocal talents (or lack thereof)…
I had expected my last night in Cabo San Lucas to be a relatively ho-hum affair, as I eschewed the raucous Happy Ending Cantina in favor of the live jazz spot that had been as dead as week-old roadkill two nights previously. Imagine the thought of seeing the Mexican version of L.A.’s Marty & Elayne (of Swingers fame) playing a venue with the groaner-induced name of ‘Two for the Road.’ The above image is an actual picture of the ‘talent,’ who also happen to own the joint. When I arrived, as before, I had the bar all to myself.
The keyboardist was a pretty talented guy who knew some of the same cats I did from my old jazz club days back in the Big Apple. As far as the singer went… let’s just say that the more I drank, the better she sounded - and judging from the increased joviality of the handful of folks who had trickled in as the night wore on, I wasn’t alone in my assessment…
The aforementioned inebriated lad was the embodiment of the teenager on vacation in a country where he can legally get his drink on, but without the trained liver to get past 3 drinks without pulling out the stupid life-is-great grin and its partner the slurry-hey-there-buddy voice out of his sock drawer. (And don’t go telling me you don’t know what I’m talking about ). His parents weren’t that far behind, leading me to believe the kid wouldn’t be the only one hung over the next day. I didn’t think ‘Enabling’ was a chapter in Dr. Spock’s Childcare Guide, but I don’t have any kids - that I know of, anyway - so who I am to judge?
At the next set break, the rubenesque chanteuse flitted around the venue like a butterfly in her silvery muumuu, drinking her cosmo and getting chatty with all the customers. She knew it was my last night in town, so she made the most time for me. The conversation turned to Annie Ross’ version of Twisted, which we both agreed is the best one. (Sorry, Trouble and all the rest of you deluded folks who think the Joni Mitchell rendition is better). She asked me if I wanted to duet it with her on the last set of the night, which I politely declined out of the concern for the aural health of my fellow patrons. I have a singing voice which is almost, but not quite as pleasant as a screaming cat being dragged across a chalkboard table. She seemed to accept my turndown gracefully, and moved to the next lush down the line.
I have dreams about my first Coachella music festival. It all started with one sentence in January 2004 uttered by some afternoon DJ on 105.3 KITS in the Bay Area, “Radiohead’s only US date is at Coachella this year.” What the fuck is a Coachella? We scored tickets and were woefully unprepared. We got to the campground a little too early and spent the early afternoon searching for shade. Finding none, we drove out to the Salton Sea for a bit. Finally setting up our camp as the sun was setting was beautiful. We tossed a gallon of Jack Daniels over the security fence to some waiting party members. Our neighbors were LA vampires who wore all black in the 110+ degree heat! We also met a group of people who snuck into the campground and the venue both days. All five were road tripping around the US, met on the road, and were from five different states: Montana, Missouri, Georgia, Florida and Virginia. They looked like they just started a bluegrass band. We also met a guy named Squirrel who took too much Ecstasy and need supervision.
Pickle gives me shit for liking the Radiohead performance so much. Yes, the Pixies reunion show was great and all (does anyone not like “Where is my mind?”) and The Flaming Lips show and astro-ball descending from outer space is listed as one of Rolling Stone magazine’s best shows ever, but rock was made for the night. Night is where everything is hidden, waiting to be discovered, where possibility lives, and anticipation is frenzied. By the time Radiohead came on that night I had lost my friends, made some new ones and we all sang along, grooving to the music, completely mesmerized. Kraftwerk was ‘ok’ too. Along with The Killers, Elephant, Paul Van Dyke and The Cure. The night was electric. It was like New Year’s Eve in April. I couldn’t wait to do it all over again, albeit with more pre-bought shade. Much more.
The 2005-2006 Coachella’s had some surprising standouts, but I mainly went for the fun of being at a crazy show and camping with my friends. I remember 20,000 girls dancing to “Erection” by The Faint in 2005 at the Outdoor stage, and there again, in the front row, for “Tear You Apart” by She Wants Revenge in 2006. 2007 was the last decent lineup of that initial run and it definitely delivered. Manu Chao and the Rage Against the Machine reunion show, with the fire in the monstrous mosh pit, are times that I will never forget. And I doubt I’ll ever top Gogol Bordello, for my first time, in the intimate Gobi tent thanks to Tiffanie and Momus. We didn’t go again until 2010, where LCD Soundsystem got it (re)started, Les Claypool took us to Venus, and Atoms For Peace was a funk juggernaught made from meteorites crashing into the Outdoor Stage. AFP played Thom Yorke’s entire solo album with Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers (whom are henceforth known as “The Flea Show”). Flea is the Muppet’s Animal on the bass, furiously attacking the stage next to Thom’s beautiful, spastic dance. You are always surprised at Coachella, you will find interesting, new bands, make new friends from around the world, and all at around two dollars per act.
This is not a movie. This is not some piece of shit documentary showing at the selected art-house theaters in college towns and few hip major cities. This isn’t some pretentious Academy of Art graduate hipster with a super8 camcorder he found in his grandfather’s attic who is obsessively in love with the shitty band his girlfriend plays keyboards in, not knowing while he films the story of their vain rise in the music world that she’s fucking the lead singer when he’s not around. This isn’t some egomaniacal pseudo-auteur with a Jarmusch fascination and an Adderall prescription shooting hours and hours of celluloid of public transit buskers to present what he believes to be “the only real musicians in this culture of capitalist consumption and uneducated conservatism.”
This is not a movie. This is not some meta-documentary about the process of making a failed documentary about the Salton Sea artist scene being destroyed my meth amphetamines inspired by Charlie Kaufman’s adaptation of Adaptation after dropping out of college because there was nothing there for him to learn and he “just needed to get out in the shit, in the real world, and immerse [himself] in the lives of real people in order to truly capture how they live.” This is not some pathetic fluff piece about some schizophrenic performance artist who sculpts giraffe heads from his own feces on stage and has subsequently been arrested and banned from multiple cities in what the director sees as an “outrageous suppression of both the arts and our basic right to freedom of speech and expression” regardless of the risks to public health and simple decency.
This is a performance. This is an actual band comprised of professional musicians led by a man with actual singing talent and an undeniable stage presence. This is a theater and musicianship merged together at its best with a brilliant self-awareness and highly effective take on both inspirations. This is comedy and entertainment in its purest form, with great laughs being drawn from the audience who are, at times, made willing participants. This a jazz group playing Top 40 hits of the last three decades in a complete tongue-in-cheek lounge style punctuated by the tightness of the musicianship and brilliant showmanship of the lead singer who can only be described as a cross between Dean Martin and Jon Lovitz (without even completely nailing down his uniqueness). This is hours of preparation and development blessed with a natural sense of comedic timing that leaves the crowd laughing, even when they should be confused, offended, appalled, or even disturbed. These are artists who have found a way to entertain through a combination of the obsolete and the mundane, bringing brilliance into otherwise drab and overwrought art forms, and through persistence of personality and thousands of hours of practice have succeeded in breathing new life into a fading form of public presentation.
This is a performance. This is Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine.
I was about to start reading the ‘U.S. Army Guerrilla Warfare Handbook’ but I decided to throw on Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” and write this instead…(seriously)
Yes, honey, that is a massive amount of wind and rain. The laundry is done (no dryer sheets? DAMMIT!) and we should get to the show. Ok, I’ll call the cab. I have no idea when the band is going on. There is an “afterparty” at the Boom Boom Room for the Cake show at the Warfield. Dirty Odd Seven is headlining…but the Boom Boom Room says that they’re open ‘till 2am tonight. I hope that they go on before the dawn.
David Penney is a good friend of mine and I am pissed I missed their show at Johnny V’s. How long? I’ve known him at least 12 years. Back to the days of my original San Jose coffee shop I called home (Matisse). He was in my best friend’s wedding. I can’t believe that I haven’t seen him since last May. I took the train down from SF to San Jose. Frantically (and expertly) utilizing his tip-tronic transmission he drove the back roads all the way to the ocean. I have wanted to take you to the Boom Boom Room for a long time baby. I hope that they take credit cards. It has been so long since I have been there that I can’t remember.
Yellow Cab is ignoring my hails again. Yes honey, I know that I should use another cab company but I suspect that they all suck. When Yellow Cab is on it they are really fast. Like 18yr old male virgin fast. There’s the cab. Great, another SF cabbie who listens to NPR. Grazing rights? In Arizona? In the rain? Seriously? Can life get more depressing for you on a Tuesday? Used to be me I guess with the limo company. I did get tired of commercial radio. At least Yellow always takes credit cards.
This place is packed for a Tuesday! That’s Chris over there. Whoa! There’s DP. This is my girlfriend. Chris and David have both been in some awesome bands over the years. Yeah, we’ll have a drink. Drink tokens? Nice! It’s been a while. Reminds me of The Usual. Holy shit! It’s Joe Brown! I have now seen you twice in the last five years. I was in San Jose recently and was telling my girlfriend here, as we were walking across the scene of the crime, how I got a jaywalking ticket. You and I were hanging out all afternoon at The Flying Pig drinking Stoli/OJ’s when I got laid off from Expedia. How was the opening band? It is good to see you too.
The very first time I took my little sister out in San Francisco made me very aware of just how fucked up my view of reality is. [FULL DISCLOSURE.. this was just the first time I took my sister out and realized she had no grasp of my plush lifestyle]
I had the whole day off.
We started at Red's Corner. Just to make this intro really easy to understand, I'll sum it up this way...
"Hello little sister... this is"...
Black man 1, 2, 3... Jew 1, 2, 3... White guy 1, 2, 3.. Black man 1, 2...
Anyhow...
Towards the end of the night, we walked up to the front door of a Jazz club in my hood and Jimmy.. a 6'5 brother (in his 40's) in a suit who looks like he could kill me in 3 seconds. I introduce him to my sister. "Jimmy... this is my sister. If you've got a younger brother anything like you, I'd LOVE to set him up on a date with her..."
My sister is in shock and ultimately tells me, in private... "I thought you hated Jews and ..."....
[I was such a bad rapper that I actually sat at a table at my favorite coffee shop and had the entire group of black women sitting with me convince someone at another table not to kick my ass while I went to take a piss. Really. That bad of a rapper. Seriously..]
SUCH IS THE LIFE OF A POLISH.. JEWISH... GANGSTAH RAPPAH....
We have a time machine. 20 years ago...
Like all Plafrican Americans, I grew up listening to N.W.A... I bought my Raiders cap and jacket (via allowance). I was tough. I was pimp. I actually had to ask someone was a posse was. So.. like all suburban white kids, I learned how to rap. Kinda. A Raiders jacket, saying "yo momma" a lot, and having one of my friends shove me back into the car as soon as I said something really really stupid was more like it.
But all of a sudden... I felt a rush.. *scratch*.. and the plight of MY people needed to be felt... *scratch*... well, the plight of someone needed to be... *scratch*... *BEATBOX*...
I WEAR POLYESTHER... I WALK WITH A LIMP...
I had something to talk about. I had a message....
I TAKE OFF MY YAMAKA.. YOUR GIRLIE TAKES OFF HER BRA...
I... became... a gangster rapper.
[Goofy, white, glasses, listening to Eazy-E... no.. really.. it was that bad]
We got a crew together. It was Jerry K (Jewish; lawyer), Slinky Slava (Jewish; accountant).. it is kinda funny how everyone in the "crew" actually fell into the stereotype, but anyhow... We had a group of people together, everyone of them a Jew (and then me.. Jew via osmosis).
CUZ I'M JEW LIKE THAT.. I'M HE-BREW LIKE THAT...
Our crew had to represent. We had to be Kosher. We had to like Kielbasa (because sausage is fucking awesome).. and we had to be together. Kinda like.. Oh shit. So we were the Kosher Kielbasa Krew. The worst acronym that ever existed for a rap group. Everyone in the band had someone killed in a concentration camp, beaten to death, and the lives of their immediate family were destroyed by evil in recent memory. Yet our acronym was [not willing to say it... you know what it is].. oh that was horrible.
So we got a hold of pictures from one of their hate zines and re-used it. White pointy hoods.. (with yamakas)... surrounded by stars of david and sausages. We took the acronym back.
I SPIN... HER SHOES GET WET.. AND NOW SHE NEEDS TO LIGHT.. A NEW CIGARETTE...
So our gang went to Marshall's, got white t-shirts, and a bunch of iron-on bubble letters (as well as the fuzzy ones that are squarish..) and came up with the following ways to take the J in JEW back...
WHAT JEW TALKING ABOUT?.. (JEW = YOU) WHAT JEW TALKIN BOUT.. (see.. TALKIN=TALKING, ABOUT=BOUT, cool eh?) JEW KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING.. (JEW = YOU) JAMBA JEWS.. (JEW = JUICE) GET JEW ME A BEER... (uhmm.. nevermind).
...
Bring me a microphone... Bring me a topic... I'll be able to make things happen.
...
Back in the day it was a dream to have a group of friends together. It was more of a dream to have a rap group together and have the ability to put together a few tracks. Having the opportunity to get in front of the [soon-to-be-famous local bands] at random venues and spit a few lyrics was one of the best experiences of my life.
Having the confidence to show up in a Minivan in a ghetto club when you're the only white guy there and the MC scratches the microphone on purpose when you are introduced... [everyone in the crowd gives the "kill whitey" look]...
.. and then freestyling (while nearly pissing your pants).. and totally destroying one of the locals expecting an easy pass on the first round...
Everyone in the crowd instantly shows you some respect. Because you can go on for a few verses.. include the color of his hat.. incorporate his last diss on you.. and, you are creative on the microphone.
...
As a last word, and in all seriousness... calling someone a Jew isn't offensive. If you think it is, you have a fucked up view of reality. Saying the N-word, even academically, IS offensive. Listening to NPR recently, I heard it said over and over again as part of academia.
So...
I GO TO KFC.. ORDER A BIG BUCKET OF CHICKEN... ANY GIRLS AROUND THAT I CAN STICK MY DICK IN? OH SNAP I'M SO FUCKING FRESH... BURN THE MICROPHONE LIKE DAVE KORESH...
They pushed the meeting again? I hope that it doesn’t end too late. Ok, we are the shit yes I know. Global take over. Check. North America is pioneering. Got it. And…another question! Doh! Ooh…good one actually. OK. We’re done. Duck out before the boss asks me to stay late and…elevator! Howdy coworker! Going to the east bay? You commute from Concord? Ouch!
Hit the street. Gotta make this Bart train to get to the restaurant on time. Don’t want to lose the reservation. Half a cigarette done and I’m headed underground. Going to a concert in Oakland tonight. It is one of my favorite live acts. Gogol Bordello. Never heard of them? Check them out. This is my stop. See ya!
I never remember which exit is fastest here. Oh well, it is only an extra block. Downtown Oakland is so quiet compared to San Francisco. It’s only 6pm. Ok there is the restaurant. I need a cigarette to decompress. There you guys are. No I haven’t checked in yet. Ok table is reserved. Nice! They have Trumer. Bonus. Everything is good here. Yes I’ll have another smoke. Here comes the rest of the crew. They are all wearing t-shirts with something on them. We really look like we are going to a concert. Food was great…let’s get to the show!
The opener is pretty good. Lots of white guys up there but they have great rhythm. What’s up with that? Oh, they are Brazilian. That explains it. Time for a cigarette and a beer. There are Russians out here. Dean would like that. Why are they looking for Parliaments? Weird. Back inside. The show hasn’t started yet? Oh ok. Here they are. What is up with the sound? Seriously. Jesus this is bad. Like being on the lawn at Shoreline. Wow. Just plain aweful. Pot smoke. You can only hear the really hi highs and the bass is really distorted. You can’t hear the lead singer or the violin at all! Jesus! That is funny you are emailing the venue about it! I wonder if they follow the twitter feed for issues. Yes, Gogol’s new songs are way better live.
Smoke break. So the creepy old guy in the band is a perv? Some young girls were really digging him at Oustide Lands and he said what’s up to them after the show. It was funny. Not a bad spot if I do say so myself. That is the key here. Not on the floor but the next level up. Close to the beer.
Ok we are going to follow you to the front. Doesn’t seem that crowded. We are really close. I smell sweaty white people. Oh you are Russian. Hi Sergei I’m Chris. Pretty tame pit. My hat didn’t get knocked off once! No, they’ll do an encore. Wait this is pretty early! It sucks that the Fox is ending shows a little earlier now. Encore is ok. Lots of dancing. Third encore song is ‘Alcohol’? Awesome! Really cool with only three of the band up there.
Let’s just go. It is a school night. We’ll all meet tomorrow for Manu Chao at the Warfield.
Relax. He’s on his way. Joel missed the caltrain. No need to get someone else to go. OK. We can get food while we wait the spot is close to the Bart station. Great parking spot! I could hear your laugh when you were walking up. True. No one knows how to drive in this town. Hungry yet? Finally get to show you some Surf-N-Turf burritos! I just texted Joel with the address. Shit! They only gave me Surf in my burrito, no Turf. Yours too? Goddammit! Next time. Are you staying at my house Joel? Great. Should be blankets in the guest room. I know you love your Basquiat! Ha! That was funny. You can be such a dick some times! Watch out for that homeless guy. I think he is missing an eye! Not quite sure if this is the Tenderloin or not. Going to go with yes it is. No we don’t have any extra tickets for the show. “Sun” is opening up for them? I think not sir. No cameras? I love how they wait until the last minute to tell you. I’ll sneak it in as always. Because this isn’t a huge place I wonder if we’ll see anyone famous here. Great merch for the “secret” show. I will get a poster thank you. I love Zoltron! He did the Les Claypool shirt from Coachella too! We talk on facebook. He is rad. Thanks for putting these in the car! Oh we have to wait an hour for ins-and-outs? Lameage. Glad the bar’s open. Maker’s and soda only has 80 calories you say? Hmmm… This show will rock. Going to be tough to beat the Yuri’s Night show with his “Les Claypool” Band. He came from outer space. Felt bad that The Black Keys had to go on after that. Show is awesome! That VIP upstairs section looks sick! Need to get up there next time. Did that dude just snatch the cigarette out of your hand? I’m waiting for the first punch to get thrown. This big ass guy will fall like the fat fuck he is. His friends are like 50 years old! Every song they each solo it seems! This could not be better. Damn those blue collar tweakers. The pit is only on the right side of the stage. Weird. Holy Shit! They all look like they should be named Thor! Pot Smoke. Tommy the Cat!!! See you later Shawn! Hehehehe Guess I’ll follow him through the pit. Up front. I hope these pictures turn out and I don’t lose my camera. Where is Shawn? He left before me…oh he is crowd-riding!!!!!! “THAT’S MY OLD ROOMMATE!!!” Great song. Guess I’ll head back through the pit. Thanks for holding my hat Tiff! Haven't seen them do "Tommy the Cat" live before. Smoke break out front. And after some more awesomeness…”WHAT WAS IT?” – DMZ “It was a weekend…” – Les ‘Harold of the Rocks’ is my favorite Primus song by far. "Too Many Puppies" is great live too. The only way this could have been better was if they played "My Friend Fats". Hopefully when they come back in the fall. If they come back in the fall. Can’t believe that they did two sets. That was your first Primus show? I don't believe it! Do you want to get Escape from New York Pizza? Yes, I know it is probably a dumb question. Yes, I love this town. Remember this is a Sunday. Revolution Café can be fun. I’m going to watch some TV and try and wind down. I am way too amped from the show. It is 3am and I have to work in the morning.
Bart to Oakland. Change. Downtown Berkeley. Where is this place? Damn google maps. iPhone is probably confused. Call her? Oh, other side of the street. Hurry up in your flip flops. Don’t get hit by bus. Made it.
Present ticket. Stamp. Is there an opening band? -mumbling- is probably not their name as it would be hard to get on the marquee. Grab an extra flyer. Will look good on my wall collection. Oh, stairs. Guess that is why they call it Shattuck Down Low.
Lights are up. Whoa! We’re way early. Booths! Love that! Lots of roped off VIP. I think it was like $150 plus booze. There are three people here and it is almost 10pm. Pot smoke. Bar takes cards. Awesome. Drinking. Eek-A-Mouse!! Already loving this place. 2nd round. Free drink! Just got a Michelin star! Who are these white boys on stage? No black rhythm section? Seriously? Pot Smoke. Yes, they probably are from Bermuda. He has said it enough. “Green, Green, Weed” is their best song I agree.
Altercation outside. Bouncer is definitely in charge. Yes, I will give you a cigarette. I will break my one a day rule because we are at a Barrington Levy show and how often can you say that?
You should have had dinner before you drank whiskey straight.
I agree. It sucks you can’t find your friend. You usually exchange pot for coke? Weird. Yes, my friends smoke weed although I do not. Makes me paranoid. Yes, I will give them that handful of pot. Do you want a beer? No? Ok.
Barrington! There is the man! Pot Smoke. Yes, my favorite song is “Black Roses.” Only one guy knows all the words! Surprising. Reminds me of Eek-A-Mouse shows.
Whoa! My friend is swerving! Pot Smoke. Show is going well. One more round before we have to start babysitting this rookie. Bought an extra beer for mister potty McHands but can’t see him or his goatee. Feel free to grab the beer out of my hand baby. She went to the bathroom a while ago. Can you go check on her? Not there? I’ll go out front. Don’t go anywhere. Whoa! Why are you sipping water? Oh, you are really wasted. Hang out with my bouncer friend here and I will be back to find us all a cab.
Cab ride. Ghetto looks quiet tonight. Yes, I had a fun time. See you tomorrow. Please open your front door today please. Thank you.
Back over the Bay Bridge. $50 cab ride!?! Cheaper than a street sweeping ticket. Yes, I will stay at your house.
DMZ 
Tonight we see Iggy Pop.
